#she's watching him like a hawk and will not speak unless spoken to

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Making this a new post so not to flood people’s dashes with one giant AU post!

@jellycreamjammedart​

Ooooo being away gives him enough time and the space necessary to have the strength to come back at all and Gregory gave him the focus he needed not to get swept away by his own mind... Maybe he stays in touch with Vanessa and they can be talking buddies or he gets an over the phone therapist or something I dunno. Could be fun. Definitely space and time for him to come to appreciate that sometimes arson is the answer to your problems.

Also lmao Roxy yelling at him from across the room to keep his gremlin on a leash. “He don’t bite!” “YES THE FUCK HE DO”

No one tell Gregory the power he has over her now. He will absolutely abuse the fuck out of it.

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

Do you do ABO fics?

I Just Want What’s Mine*

warnings: smut, dirty talk, thigh riding, degradation, exhibitionism, abo dynamics, unprotected sex, oral(m receiving)

masterist | harry styles masterlist

a/n: i do, yes. and i thought i added this to my masterlist but it’s been sitting in my google docs since i remade my acc LOL

~

YN lets out a pained cough as she breathes in the hot, sticky atmosphere of the crowded living room that her and her boyfriend have just entered. The smell of weed and alcohol hits the back of her throat with the first inhale the second her foot crosses the threshold. She can feel her boyfriend’s warm hand on her waist as he keeps her close to him, guiding the two of them through the disarray of bodies that fill the decently sized room. Looking around, YN can see all heads turn to eye them for a split second before flitting away, whispering to the people around them. Soon enough, the house is quiet save for the sound of “Young Folks” by Peter Bjorn and John.

A slight grimace decorates her face, and a dimpled smile adorns his as they get deeper into the house. Harry’s used to this atmosphere, and YN is the exact opposite. She never went to parties unless it was for family, and the only time she drank is when she was alone or with just her and Harry. The pair makes their way over to the couch that is overflowing with bodies, some people on the cushions and others resting on the back. With one look at Harry, they get the message loud and clear just from the look in his eyes. Instantly, group dissipates to give the couple room to sit comfortably. YN is both equally impressed and scared, wondering what Harry did to gain the kind of reputation he has with his pack members. With just a single look, Harry managed to assert his dominance, no words spoken.

Harry gives all of them one last intense stare before he turns to YN and gives her a bright, dimpled smile, motioning to the now empty couch for her to take a seat. She smiles in thanks and sits down, placing her handbag on her lap as he sits as well, throwing his arm onto the back of the couch, resting behind her head. The two sit there for a while as various people come by and say hello, introducing themselves to YN and greeting their pack leader, making sure they don’t get to close to his lover. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of any of them, watching each individual like a hawk. A deep growl is bubbling in his chest when Jacob, one of the inferior alphas in the pack, gets a bit too close to her, a threatening glint in his eyes as he broadens his shoulders and prepares to attack. Luckily, the man steps away in fear, and YN takes the opportunity to rub at Harry’s hand, calming him down.

The defensive man finally relaxes into the couch at her touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips. They sit and relax there for a while, watching the party happen and having their own little conversations. About ten minutes in, one of Harry’s men ends up bringing them two red solo cups filled with clear alcohol, and Harry makes sure to check it for anything out of the ordinary despite his trust for the other man. When he smells nothing but alcohol in their cups, he passes one to YN for her to sip on as they continue to talk. Sometime when they were talking, Harry had placed his free, ringed hand on YN’s thigh without her noticing, and it was gradually going further and further under her skirt throughout the conversation. YN only notices his intent when he reaches her inner thigh, very close to her vagina. She relaxes into the couch as she realizes that Harry is falling right into her trap. When his hand finally grazes the place where her thighs meet, he realizes that there is no barrier between his hand and her skin.

“Where the fuck are your panties?” he grits out, leaning over to speak directly into her ear, eyes darting up to her face. He immediately takes in the smug smile on her face, realizing this was her plan all along. “Oh, I see,” he hums. “You wanted to get punished tonight, hm?” he whispers against the shell of her ear before biting down gently, continuing. “I don’t think you’d like my punishments tonight, though,” he muses, satisfied with the way her body tenses up at the plural term. The party is awfully quiet, each wolf straining their ears to hear what the couple is speaking about. Some faces are red, eyes on their shoes, while others are listening shamelessly, stopping their actions to hear.

“Do you know who you’re fucking with? Or should I remind you? Think m’gonna. Right here in front of everyone,” he spits, trailing his right hand up her thigh once more. A smirk forms on his face as he sees her right hand that is holding her beverage start to shake slightly, nerves entering her body at his words. “Spread y’legs a bit” he murmurs, and she does so immediately, giving him access to her wet center.

His fingers instantly take purchase on her throbbing clit, a small mewl leaving her parted lips as he rubs directly over the head. Warm Wetness is dripping from her vagina and into her skirt, her hips bucking up into his hand. The second he picks up speed, she moans under her breath, the feeling making her entire body tingle. He keeps his fingers on her clit, not stopping his ministrations as her orgasm builds rather quickly. Just as she gets close to the edge, her legs shaking slightly around his hand, he pulls his fingers away and laughs darkly as he hears her cry out in frustration before turning and burying her face into his shoulder.

The two of them know that every single person in the room can smell her arousal, can hear her sounds of pleasure, but are trying their hardest to ignore it. They all know that if they even look at YN the wrong way, Harry won’t hesitate to end their lives. The rest of the partygoers continue dancing to the music awkwardly, talking and drinking as they try their hardest to ignore the situation happening in the dead center of the party. Tears of frustration are welling in her eyes, her orgasm quickly fading away. Harry, not being able to let her be, decides to tease her a bit.

“Need me to fuck you, hm? Just say the word and I’ll end this party right now so I can fuck you real good. How does that sound, Puppy?” he asks, stroking up and down her thigh with his wet hand. Despite the fact that it isn’t his home, he obviously has the power to end it just for her, and that has her cunt clenching around nothing as she nods furiously into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he coos, a condescending undertone to his words. YN nods again, this time with a whimper, making him smile in victory. “That’s cute and all, but I need your words, baby,” he warns, a thick whine bubbling in her throat when he doesn’t immediately give in.

She pulls away for just a moment to speak into his ear, her voice desperate and breathy. “Please, Alpha. Need it so bad,” she whines, burying her face into his shoulder once more. He chuckles at her desperation, his cock leaking even more at the compelling smell of her thick arousal in the air. It makes the small room feel even more compact, and he’s instantly growling out his command for everyone to leave, every single alpha, beta, and omega leaving the house in a hurry, wanting their lives to be spared.

Once the room is empty save for the two of them, Harry lifts her skirt and pulls her over to straddle his thigh, pressing her bare cunt against the thick muscle. She gasps as she feels the rough material of his pants against her clit. He barely gives her time to adjust before he’s placing both hands on her hips, helping to move her sopping cunt along his thigh. She nearly falls over at the feeling in her sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving her lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he coos, YN nodding quickly as he works her along the thick muscle. “Look at that. Y’just soaking my pants, sweet girl. ” he teases, and she doesn’t even have the energy to make a rebuttal, letting him help her cum. Moans are leaving her lips as another orgasm builds, and she can only let it happen, hoping he’ll let her cum this time.

“Gonna cum,” she whispers, her breath catching in her throat as he cunt literally quivers against his thigh, and he’s immediately holding her onto him firmly, stopping her movements. She’s instantly tearing up again, falling into his chest and babbling wordlessly as her orgasm fades away once more. Harry removes a hand from her hip and places it onto her back, rubbing up and down gently as he knows he’s being really mean.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks her, hearing her whine. “Use y’words, Puppy. Can’t understand what you need when you’re all dumb for me. Haven’t even given you m’cock yet and you can’t even use your words. Do I really have that effect on you?” he teases, watching her get all shy and embarrassed. “No need to be ashamed, Lovie. Just tell me what y’need, pup,” he tuts, grabbing her chin gently to coax her into making eye contact with him.

“Need you deep inside me, please. Need to feel you, for you to make me cum. I’ll be such a good girl for you I swear,” she whines, nuzzling into his grip. He hums in satisfaction, looking into her glossy eyes, sensing how bad she needs it. He needs it too, so he decides to put the both of them out of their misery.

“Alright, baby. Ass up” he says, landing one last smack on her sore ass cheek to get her going. She’s instantaneously scrambling to prop up onto the back of the couch, Harry kneels in order to slide behind her. “Ready for me?” he asks, gripping the base of his thick cock, preparing her for him.

She nods and lets out a whimper as she feels his weepy tip swipe through her swollen folds, mewling for him to get into her. He decides to end her suffering, sliding in her tight opening inch by inch, her walls stretching to accommodate him. The both of them groan out into the thick air of the room, and a slight squelching can be heard as he slides into her, bottoming out. Her eyes flutter closed as she feels every vein on his cock against her velvety walls, the slight sting of him stretching her out making her whimper.

Harry stays that way for a while, his hips flush to hers as he relishes in the feeling of her warm, wet walls around his shaft. She feels so fucking good he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before he’s exploding into her. The second he feels like he won’t explode with one thrust, he pulls out until his tip is resting at her entrance before pushing all the way back into her, sliding against her g-spot. She’s moaning into the arm of the couch, tears building in her eyes as she takes in every ounce of pleasure he’s giving her.

“How’s it feeling, Puppy?” he asks over her whines, a smile on his face when she physically can’t answer. “Is that deep enough for you? Feel me deep in y’tummy?” he coos, his cock twitching when she nods and presses her ass against his hips. “So fucking good around me, baby” he moans, still fucking her slow and deep.

He pulls out once more before slamming into her harder, a surprised yelp leaving her lips at the change. “Fuck!” she exclaims against the fabric, her hands fisting the cushions. She’s nearly ripping the cushions with her nails, gripping onto them tightly as he drills into her perfectly. Harry is literally so deep inside her, filling her to the brim as he stuffs every inch of his cock inside with each thrust. She’s so full of him she can barely breathe, gasping for air with each and every plunge. He can feel her starting to clench already, her past orgasms coming back at full speed.

“Y’gonna cum, m’love? Hm? Gonna soak m’cock before I let you rest?” he pants, rubbing up and down her back as her entire body locks up, her orgasm moments away. She nods into the cushions once more, biting down on the fabric as she holds back until she has permission. “Okay, Puppy. Cum for me, cum for your alpha like a good little pup” he coos, and no more than five seconds later, she’s cumming all over his cock with a shout, a thick layer of cream covering the base of him.

He doesn’t stop fucking her, riding out her orgasm. With each thrust, he feels more and more of her cream coat him, leaving his lower belly sticky with her orgasm. He fucks her until her body goes limp against the couch before pulling out slowly and making his way around to where her head is, her body twitching with the aftershocks. He rubs a hand over her head, watching her relax into it.

“Can you go again or should I just clean y’up?” he rasps, despite his throbbing cock still needing stimulation. She says nothing, propping herself up and leaning forward to take his cock into her mouth, suckling on the red, weepy head of it. A groan is bubbling from deep in his chest and he’s trying to refrain from bucking into her mouth. He’s instantly sent over the edge when YN takes all of him into her mouth and down into her throat, his head thrown back and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. She sucks him dry, cleaning every last drop of cum from his cock as his legs shake in overstimulation.

Whining, he pulls away from her and makes eye contact. “You didn’t have to do that, baby” he pants. “Was just gonna clean you up” he says, rubbing over her head gently. She just shakes her head, a yawn leaving her lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I know. Just get over here and cuddle me. M’tired,” she whispers, reaching up to pull him toward her. He chuckles at his perfect girlfriend, lying down on the couch before flattening her onto him, wrapping his arms around her. The two fall asleep within a few minutes, right there in the center of the room.

[feyhunter78]

Poisoned Tears and Scorched Tongues (7/22)

Description: Alyra can no longer hide from Aemond or from her feelings, Aemond has decided to act upon his.

Alyra sat next to Helaena during the tourney, she’d admittedly become clingy, never leaving the woman’s side unless absolutely necessary, or when Aemond appeared. That had been the hardest part, she longed to speak with him, to comfort him when she saw the hurt in his eye every time, she left the room as soon as he entered. But her uncle watched her like a hawk, so she didn’t speak to anyone but Helaena and the children.

“Jace is up next.” Helaena said excitedly, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the brown-haired man. He stood next to his grandsire, sword at his hip, as they watched the duelers. As if sensing her gaze, Jace looked towards Helaena and tossed her a quick smile.

“Jace? I didn’t know you and the prince were so comfortable.” Alyra teased, leaning into Helaena as she spoke.

Heleana looked down at her lap. “We are family after all.”

“Yes, but only through the crown princess, so it’s not as bad as a direct relation.” Alyra crinkled her nose. She knew intermarriage was a Targaryen tradition, but she was not raised to see her siblings as anything but siblings.

“Oh hush.” Helaena said, swatting Alyra’s hand as Jacaerys came closer, his lance pointed towards Helaena.

“Princess, if I may request your favor?”

Helaena nodded and wrapped her embroidered ribbon around his weapon. “I wish you luck.”

“With this, I don’t need luck, princess, your beauty and kindness shall see me through.”

Alyra bit back a smile as Helaena let out a barely audible squeal.

“He’s very charming, is he not?” Alyra commented, watching her friend’s face fade from bright pink back to its normal porcelain.

“A few words of flattery and you two are giggling like children.” Aemond sat beside Alyra nodding to her and his sister.

Alyra could almost feel her uncle’s gaze burning into her, and she gathered her skirts. “I’m afraid I may have left a candle burning in my chambers, I must go check, please excuse me.” She rose quickly and headed back towards the castle, ignoring Helaena and Aemond’s calls.

Safe inside the castle’s walls, Alyra found a shadowed alcove and slumped onto the cool stone bench before burying her face in her hands. She couldn’t keep this up. Her wedding was still two months away, she couldn’t avoid Aemond for much longer, and her excuses were getting worse and worse.

“I thought I might find you here.” Aemond’s voice startled her, and her shoulders sunk lower, there was nowhere to run.

“Please don’t.” She whispered, not daring to look at his face and see the pain she caused.

“Helaena told me what Tyrion said, the terms of your agreement.”

Alyra heard the rustle of fabric, and she let out a small whimper. “I’m embarrassed, please leave.”

“He should never have spoken to you like that; his arrogance knows no bounds.”

Alyra dropped her hands to her lap and met Aemond’s gaze. His eye was fixed on her, that brilliant purple that in the darkened alcove almost looked gray. Gray as the ocean a moment before the dawn’s first rays strike the waves, just as fathomless as the sea. She could get lost, drown in the depths of his gaze.

“He is a fool, Alyra, an utter fool.” He was kneeling in front of her, wiping away the stray tears with his thumbs, as he cradled her face in his large hands.

“I’m so scared.” She admitted, closing her eyes and letting the tears slip from her eyes. “I try so hard, I know how important this betrothal is, but I—” She let out a shaky breath, her lips trembling. “I don’t know if I can do what they ask, I can’t imagine being happy on the sidelines. Seven knows I’ve tried; my brother’s safety is on the line. But there’s this part of me that still yearns for more, for something different.” Her eyes flutter open, tears collecting on her lashes as she searches Aemond’s face for…something, anything.

“You deserve everything, the very world should be placed at your feet, the idea that he does not see that—” Aemond cuts himself off. His right hand twitches against her skin as he seemed to wrap his hands around the chains holding back his emotions and pull, keeping them from breaking loose and running rampant.

Alyra placed her hands on Aemond’s not to remove them but just to rest there and feel the warmth of his skin against her palms. The memory of his hand in hers as they stood in the Dragonpit the first time she met Vhagar came to her mind unbidden. She’d been so sacred, practically terrified of the ancient dragon, but Aemond had held her hand, never once letting go even as they flew into the air. “I don’t want to speak of him, not now.”

Aemond nodded, his eye flickering to her lips and then back to her eyes as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I don’t either.”

“You would never do that, would you? Take a lover? You are an honorable man, you put value in your vows. I can’t imagine you ever breaking someone heart in such a way.”

Aemond looked off to the side for a moment before his intense gaze returned to her. “I would never break your heart; it is most precious to me.”

“It is not me you are marrying though, we have discussed this many times, my prince.” She chuckled softly, sadly, her laugh coming out watery from her tears.

“Not for my own lack of trying, I can assure you. It brings me no pleasure to see you become the puppet of your uncle. If I could, I would kill him and the Lannister boy, if only to cut your strings and free you.” His voice was gentle as he continued, his thumb had ceased its movements, resting near the corner of her lips.

Alyra’s eyes drifted to Aemond’s lips as he spoke, each word dripped from his lips like honey, and she found herself yearning for a taste.

“I also would never be stupid enough to assume you would not be enough—no more than enough for an entire lifetime.” Aemond smirked, one hand leaving her face and skimming down her neck before returning to his side.

“Oh?” Alyra asked, leaning forward, her hand going to steady itself on his shoulder.

“Only a fool would do that.” He says, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss to her palm. “And I am no fool.”

His heated gaze, his lips on her skin, Alyra shifted in her seat, feeling heat begin to flood her system.

“I would have you for as many lifetimes as you’d allow me.” He continued, his voice earnest.

“And I would allow you as many as you wanted.” She said, the hand that was previously resting on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck, her fingers spreading into his thick hair.

“Alyra, you deserve someone who knows you, mind, body, and soul. Someone who will worship you like the goddess you are.” Aemond whispers, his eyes fluttering closed as she begins to lightly run her nails along the parts of his scalp she can reach.

“I want that, I want you.” She whispers back, as his hand drops her own and fists itself in the skirt of her dress, trying to contain himself.

“You don’t know what you’re asking; what I’d give—”

“Please?” She’s clinging to his black tunic with one hand and when he opens his eye to look at her, his pupil dilated, she tightens her grip.

The chains release and Aemond closes the gap between them. She feels alive for the first time in months. His lips are warm against her own, and he releases her dress to pull her up and into his lap as he settles onto the bench, gripping her tightly.

“Anything, I’d give anything for the chance to be with you.” He breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want anything except you.” She confessed, finally allowing herself to admit her desires instead of always catering to everyone else’s, her chest rising and falling as she kept her eyes closed too afraid it was a dream.

Aemond chuckled softly, happily, one hand on her waist the other on the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. His hands hold her as if she’s made of spun sugar, one breath away from shattering. “I want everything that has to do with you. Anything you’re willing to give me, I would be grateful for.” His words are hushed, awe filled, as if he was speaking them in a temple; worshiping at the altar of her.

Alyra lets herself imagine a life with Aemond, traveling back and forth between his home and hers on Vhagar, laying in bed together reading books and nudging the other when they come upon something interesting. Spending dinners with his family. She’d be happy, she’d have a family with someone she loved. But she was betrothed, and so was he. Their fates had already been sealed.

She feels her lip begin to tremble again, and she moves her hands to his face, pulling his lips back to hers with a desperate need. If this was the last time, she ever got to feel him, she was going to make it count. She pushed all her passion, desire, longing, and grief into the kiss, letting his skilled lips take her under as he pulled her impossibly closer.

He returned the kiss fully, and she had no doubt he was descended from the gods, heat flooded her veins making her head feel wonderfully dizzy, his grip tightened sending a thrill through her as he whispered, “my sweet Alyra, my wife, the light of my world,” against her lips in High Valyrian.

“Aemond, my love, my heart. ” She whispered back in Denouan, trying to keep the tears from tainting her voice.

Aemond ever observant heard them and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before pulling back to look at her.

“I love you.” She whispered. Her eyes no longer radiated a glimmering gold, but now the deep dull yellow of wheat trampled underfoot. The feeling of being trampled and ground into the dirt is one she feared she’d carry with her for the rest of her life. “But my family is depending on me.”

Aemond nodded, his hand still tangled in her hair, his chest heaving. “And I will spend the rest of my life in agonizing and eternally painful love with you, knowing that you are a dragon’s ride away, and yet I will never be able to have you.”

Alyra shakes her head, a rouge tear slipping down her cheek. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Aemond wipes away the tear and presses her hand against his chest so that she can feel his heart beating. “Every moment away from you is a dagger to my heart, but I will learn to live with the pain because it is a reminder of you.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, determination building. Something wild had taken over her, be it love, bravery, or frustration with her situation. “No, I won’t accept this, there has to be another way.”

Aemond thinks for a moment then speaks, “I could steal you away, whisk you onto Vhagar and marry you at Dragonstone.”

“Every action has consequences, what would be ours?” She asked, hand clutching his tunic as nerves began to smother her spark of determination.

“The loss of the Lannisters and Baratheon as allies?” Aemond seems unbothered by the prospect.

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes cast downwards. “I cannot be the reason our families lose allies.”

“I’d lose a hundred allies if it meant having you by my side.” Aemond said, gently freeing her bottom lip with his thumb.

Alyra focuses on the steady beating of his heart and lets out a slow breath. “Promise me as soon as it’s done, we will go and collect my brother.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll fly and get him for you.” Aegon’s voice had them jolting apart, and Alyra holds a hand over her heart.

“Aegon, I nearly died of fright.”

Aegon shrugged and held his wine jug in the air. “I consider this a success, you two get married and cause a scandal, while I save a child from danger, which makes me a hero.”

Alyra watched Aemond’s eye flit from her to his brother. “Go now, take your dragon and collect my wife’s brother, then bring him to Dragonstone. Tell no one of your plan.”

“She’s not even your wife yet.” Aegon grumbled as he headed towards the Dragonpits.

Alyra looked at Aemond a smile brightening her face. “Are we leaving now?”

Aemond took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “That we are, my sweet.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96 Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[whump-town]

High School AU: Emily tossing a rope out her window for Hotch to climb up so she can clean him up after his father’s been drinking

Warnings for abuse and violent language

The first time Emily Prentiss met the Hotchners she was struck by the dark features of the eldest boy. A sharp jawline accented by the purpling bruise on his cheek. Her eyes never leave him as his mother makes a sheepish but ultimately flat lie on his behalf-- or rather, his father’s. 

The youngest shows none of the same hawk like features as his elder brother. Aaron and Sean, she learns their names to be, don’t seem to have a lot in common at all. On the surface, that is. Her mother wraps an arm around her shoulder as she introduces them both, smiling as she places that Aaron is only a year ahead of Emily in school. They might make good friends. 

Emily sincerely doubts this. 

It turns out she’s cruelly mistaken.

“Would you get your big ass--” she’s found herself in an odd tangle of arms and torso. The two of them gripping one another tightly as he teeters on the edge of her window seal. “Why are you so long?!” He falls through the clearing with a huff, Emily landing on the bottom of their dog pile.

He rolls off of her a second later-- smelling of the woods and damp clothing. His breathing is disrupted by pants. Whether it be from the pain of injuries she’s yet to take stock of or from running through the dense woods this late at night. True to his nature, always the perfect gentleman, he’s the first to sit up offering her not only his hand in aid but an apology.

She takes his hand and rises to her own feet. Over the course of the last few months, she’s learned her fair share about this small town in Virginia. The humidity, on the right day, is a punch to the face. The rain, which should cool things off, makes this worse. Unless, of course, the rain brings showers. The kind that do not relent for the upwards of a week, perhaps more. 

They are currently in the midst of a never ending shower. Thunder shakes the earth and strikes fear in her heart as it cracks across the sky. Aaron never seems to be bothered by these noises. If anything, he loves the rain and yearns for it when it’s gone.  Which explains why his already ill fitting clothes are twisted on his long body, dripping water on her floor.

They do this enough that all she needs to do is step to her dresser.

“Are you staying the night,” she asks, pulling open her sock drawer and retrieving the men’s pajama bottoms out from under a layer of bras. The only place she’s can be certain her mother won’t go snooping. She tosses them on her bed and waits for his reply.

He’s too busy fumbling to get himself out his wet jeans. 

That’s the difference in their families and even just the two of them. 

Where Aaron is a soft-spoken, easily flustered straight A student, Emily is a rebel on the mend. She wears fishnets and skirts that push the dress code. A parallel to Aaron’s old army green jacket with the large breast pocket where he keeps the cigarettes they smoke on her roof. He pushes her to be a better person and a better student and she helps him hide the bruises. 

Speaking of, she stands as she sees a nasty abrasion on his back. He’s turned away from her, struggling to get his wet shoe laces untied. When her hands meet his cold flesh they both shiver. She flinches when he jerks, catching her wrist in his much larger hand. 

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, something she doesn’t recognize, before he releases her hand just as quickly as he’d caught it. She watches as he clenches his fist, forcing the knuckles white with the force. “Sorry,” he rasps.

She pulls her wrist to her chest. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” she excuses. “It was my fault.” She knows better than to do something like that. He has a very short list of unspoken rules: no sneaking up, no announced touches, don’t talk about the nightmares, and never mention the bruises. 

He rises to his feet, cheeks burning as he finally steps out of his jeans and stands in nothing but an old pair of blue boxers. Emily knows better than to look for too long. She’s not certain if it’s the scars that mark most of his body or just the self-imagery problems that all teens have but he doesn’t like to be looked at. 

No matter how many times she reassures him that he’s a very attractive man.

“He’s dying,” Aaron finally announces after a baited moment.

Emily looks up from her lap and finds him sitting on the edge of her bed, the pajama pants on. His chest is bare, allowing her the chance to clean him up some. But his comment has distracted her. Her mind takes a moment to process exactly what he means. 

When Emily settles on the bed beside him, her first-aid kit in hand, he’s crying. She’d given up a long time ago trying to understand what emotions she should feel towards his father-- the man accused of hurting her best friend. She also understands that she’ll never know how to feel about him because Aaron doesn’t know how he feels. 

She reaches up and cups the back of his head, scooting closer so she can pull his bigger frame to hers. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

He sobs into her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her. 

She’d like to pretend this the first time she’s held him together after his father’s gotten a hold of him but that’s simply not true. Tonight, the bruises on his body can’t be fixed chain smoking on the roof. How can it? His father is dying. Where does that leave Aaron? A senior in high school, meant to leave in three months for college, and leave behind a dying father, a helpless mother, and a nine-year-old Sean. 

“I hate him,” Aaron gasps but she knows him too well. He’s never hated his father, not even at his lowest. “I’ll be glad when he dies,” but there is no conviction in his words. There can’t be, not at the rate tears pour down his eyes. “He’s a bastard. I hate him.”

She rubs his back, nodding her understanding as he works through his grief. 

“Emily?”

She hums.

“I’m supposed to hate him, aren’t I?” 

The Aaron she knows is the strongest person she’s ever met. He’s brave and smart. Calculus may not come to him easily but his emotional intelligence is scary. He can call a bluff from anyone and it makes him crazy good at poker. Mostly, Aaron is a kind hearted softy. He showers his baby brother in gifts whenever he can afford it and remembers every little thing about her no matter how silly. 

Because he’s loving and caring and kind. He’s nothing like his father.

“Aaron,” she has no idea what he’s supposed to feel. Her own father is distant and the only person she’s known who died was her grandfather when she was ten. “No one can tell you how to feel. There is no right answer.”

This seems to sober him and he pulls himself back away from her. He curls himself forward, hunching over. 

She patches him up. 

The bruises will have to wait for tomorrow but for now she can apply a butterfly bandage to his bleeding eyebrow. If she sneaks downstairs she can get him some ice for his lip but she redirects her energy to cleaning the cut on his side. She’s not sure what it came from. The wound is jaggard and it looks like some dirt got into it, so if she had to guess he was pushed in the driveway. Rocks leaving this wound. 

She places a bandaid over it and no matter how much she has to dig into the wound he does not flinch. 

He never flinches. 

Placing the first aid kit back under her bed, she cuts the lights out. Pulling the comforter back she takes his hand and guides him under the covers. 

“He--” his voice has lowered to a whisper. His body shakes as much as his voice. “He put a knife to my throat once,” he tells her. The darkness has provided him a cover and unable to see her reactions he feels safe to tell her the truth. “Told my mother he was going to slit my throat in front of her so that she would have to watch as--” he swallows thickly. 

Emily presses her face into his side, squeezing his hand.

“She didn’t do anything,” Aaron’s hot tears slide over his face. “She never did anything.” But that’s not true. When Emily wasn’t here she used to hold him. In the long hours after the booze knocked his father out, his mother would climb the stairs to his room with whatever food his father wouldn’t notice was missing. She’d patch up the worst of the bruises and hold him into the early hours of the morning.

Emily rubs her thumb over his knuckles. “She loves you,” she reassures him. “He does too, in a sick twisted way.” The words are forced and they both know it. She can’t be bothered to lie to him right now. Not while her mind is tainted with the sight of his dead body. Her best friend��� dead.

“I don’t think…” he feels a deep pang in his chest. His heart is aching. “I don’t think they ever did,” he admits. “Not really, not the right way.”

Emily sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She cups his cheek in her hand, squinting in the dark to see his eyes. “Sean loves you,” she tells him firmly. This they both know to be true. Sean worships the ground on which Aaron walks. After a moment she adds, “I love you.”

Neither are sure of the full depth of which she means the statement but that doesn’t matter.

Aaron nods his understanding and she settles back down beside him. He stares at the ceiling, her head on his shoulder. 

Too long passes before he hesitantly asks, “Emily?” Her breathing has evened out, she’s asleep. He squeezes her hand, their fingers still interlocked. “I love you too.”

Contrary to what both teens thing. Elizabeth is very aware of the rope hanging out of her fifteen-year-olds window. The horrid contraption the only way Emily could think to get that Hotchner boy from down the street up into their house. Never mind their perfectly good front door. 

In her daughter’s doorway, Elizabeth opens the door to a sight that has greeted her many times over the course of the last year. The teens are asleep, Aaron under the covers while Emily lays atop them, her head rests on his shoulder. He still has enough skin exposed for her to see the latest damage his father has done to him. 

With any luck, Emily will help him down the rope in the morning and he’ll knock on the front door. Elizabeth will demand he stay for breakfast and he’ll sheepishly comply. That’s the least she can do for him. He’ll hide here for the day and at night fall, Elizabeth will hear Emily’s soft sobs as Aaron makes the long walk back to his own home. 

To a condemned beating. 

Maybe, he’ll be back in the morning or next week but  he will be back and Emily will be waiting. 

A lifetime from now she’ll walk into his office and for a moment they’ll be these kids again. He’ll be reeling with loss, shaky but still that boy from Virginia who likes to stand in the rain. She’ll have a box of her belongings and take his deliberate incorrect recalling of her alma mater as an insult because she’s still the girl from all over the world who's too loud for her own good.

He’ll risk his career for her and she’ll hold his hand as the world caves in around him. 

They’ll always be the kids that Elizabeth sees right now. So close, yet worlds apart. Fighters.

[longitud-de-onda]

on a universal constant, falling off the bottom of the earth

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you and javier were best friends but life pulled you in separate directions. javi’s now just returned from colombia and you both find yourselves driving out to a spot in the desert in the middle of the night rating; t warnings; a subtle brand of depression, an existential crisis, some stuff that might be triggering if you’re suicidal or have a deep fear of death, so much angst you’ll probably want to sue me word count; 6.0k universal constant masterlist

July meant hot night air, so you leave your house and start up the truck, taking your time to wind through the streets. You don’t stop when you reach the edge of town, starting down the country road. There are no streetlights, just the great expanse of dirt and rock that rises into towering formations on either side. There’s no one else on the road. You’re too far away from anywhere anyone would want to be. 

The clear night sky out in the country has always been your favorite sight. The shades of deep purple and blue dotted with millions of stars have always fascinated you. When you were a kid you would climb up to your roof, spend hours lying up there questioning how far away every star was. You would wonder how big the universe was. Sometimes, you would imagine your house hanging off the bottom of Earth, an upwards gravitational pull the only thing keeping you from falling forever down into the dark.

You’re much older now. You had drifted in and out of your home, off to college for some time. Coming back.

You tried not to think about space like that anymore. 

In the distance, you can see the white light of a gas station approaching slowly. By the time the sign saying it’s a mile out arrives you’re already slowing down. You pull into the harsh glow, parking the truck and jumping down onto the asphalt. The hot dry air hits you hard. It’s not the invasive, sticky, painful heat. It’s soft and a light breeze caresses your bare arms to remind you that it could be much worse.

You enter the convenience store, struck by the realization of exactly where you are. 

It’s like you’re on autopilot as you walk to the back of the store, straight to the refrigerators, pulling out a six-pack of the off-brand soda you used to drink as a teen. It has been longer than you can even remember since you last tasted the sweet liquid, and you wondered if it would still taste the same. 

You grabbed a bag of jerky and a pack of M&Ms on your way to the register. 

The guy working wears the same teal vest the guys did all those years ago. The same acne riddled face of a teenager asks if you want a bag, the same careless voice. Almost like nothing has changed in twenty years except the music playing over the speakers. Who the hell would sign up to work all the way out here?

You suppose you’d have applied had you been ten years younger and unemployed.

You’re back on the road, driving away from the light, further into the emptiness of the desert. It’s easy to let your mind wander. Why couldn’t you fall asleep? Why did you leave the safety of your home? What was calling you to drive in this direction? 

It’s not a conscious decision that causes you to pull off the road, begin driving on a dirt path that hardly exists anymore, more like muscle memory. No longer does the familiar route have the worn-out path, free of shrubs, and you wince every time you have to run over another plant. 

The headlights cast long shadows across the prickly bushes. Sticks and small rocks are illuminated like devilish hands grabbing at the tires. Plumes of dust rising behind you restrict any view out your review mirror. A small animal, possibly a fox but you’re not entirely sure, darts across the trail along the point where the light fades into the black again, the motion causing you to slam the brakes. 

You start up once more, your truck bumping across the desert, out towards the hill that rises up in front of you. 

What’s drawing you back here, you’re not sure. A sick sense of nostalgia? Or a state of mind you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since you were a teen?

Even though it’s been years since you returned from college, you haven’t come back here since one August night after senior year.

You stop the vehicle at the base of the hill. A few deep breaths center you. You stuff the food into your pockets, grab your purse off the passenger seat, along with the cans of soda. They’ve grown slick with condensation and while you can do nothing to stop the goosebumps that crop up on your skin, as soon as you exit the truck and reenter the summer heat, the cold feels good. You lower the cans to touch your thigh, allowing yourself to close your eyes and take in the sensation of cold aluminum brushing up against you. 

Slamming the door closed and locking the truck, you begin to hike up the hill, stopping only when you reach a large flat outcropping of rock. 

You walk out onto the boulder, sinking into a sitting position on the smooth stone. 

When you were a teen, you and Javier would come out here

Every time Javi’s mom would come back down from her near-permanent high, once a month or so to show up for some baseball game or to take him out for dinner, she and Chucho would start screaming at each other the whole night. Javi would throw a stone up at your window and you’d slip out onto the roof, jumping down to the ground and you’d drive out, pocketing handfuls of pebbles on the hike up to your rock. You’d take turns throwing them as far as you could. Each time screaming out the name of someone or something that had hurt you. 

The one day where Javi beat up Niles Breckinridge ‘cause he kept asking you out and you kept saying no and he decided to corner you in the girl’s locker room. How Javi found out what he was doing you had no idea, but Niles was on the floor, nose bleeding, and Javi’s knuckles were bruised when he grabbed your hand and you ran out to your car, the two of you laughing and crying as you hit the highway, skipping class to drive out to the middle of nowhere. 

When your parents started screaming about your grades you had shown up at Javi’s doorstep, crying, and he led you to the passenger seat of his car. You drove in silence until just past the gas station, and up on this boulder, over canned beer and Starbursts, everything came spilling out: the way Mr. Wallace wouldn’t give you any grade higher than a C unless you wore that low cut top to school once a week, how Mr. Chapman wouldn’t explain why you got an F on every single essay even when you asked him how you could improve your grade, how Mrs. Hayes didn’t like you because you were the only kid in Spanish class who didn’t grow up speaking the language, so your accent was terrible, how Ms. Gordon would let you rewrite any essay you wanted but never offer any advice on how to improve things, how Mr. Phillips didn’t care that you could do more push-ups than at the beginning of the year, only that you still could do the least in the class. And as your tears hit the flat stone overlooking the desert, you stared up at the sky and Javi lay next to you. You laid like that for hours that day, not touching, just side by side, existing in each others’ presence. 

The time you found Javi crying at the park, having been dumped by Morgan Powell, and even though you hadn’t spoken in weeks cause he didn’t want to spend any time with you anymore, he didn’t complain when you held his hand, walked with him to your truck, and found yourselves out in the middle of nowhere. He climbed down the hill to grab a blanket from the car and only for those three minutes he was gone did you let yourself cry. 

The night before Javi left for Texas A&M you spent the entire night out here, watching the sunrise before you climbed back down to the car, and you fell asleep on the drive home. That was your last chance to tell Javi that somewhere along the line you had fallen in love, and you never had the guts to say it. He was gone by the end of the day. 

It wasn’t fair, but you were leaving too, thousands of miles away. One of the only kids to leave the state. You had managed to turn your grades around and were headed up to New York to attend Vassar the next week, and you didn’t come home for summer break that year or the next. The third summer you got a job at the pool. You saw Javi a couple times, as you sat upon your lifeguard’s chair and he brought a different girl every week, hands flying all over their bikini-clad bodies. After the PDA got a little less family-friendly, they’d disappear. Halfway through the summer, he brought along Lorraine Crawford, your middle school best friend who ditched you as soon as you entered high school, and she kept coming back, week after week. 

Javi never noticed you sitting up there watching his every move like a hawk. You had drifted far from his life, and you weren’t sure if you really knew him anymore. 

You came back home after you graduated, got a job in the town center, bought a house, didn’t have to speak to your parents again after they moved away. You became a regular at the diner down the block, and you stopped by the coffee shop on Main Street every morning before work. Some of the people you knew from high school would invite you out to the bar every weekend. You’d go. 

Javi became a police officer. Some nights you’d see him on the other side of the bar. You weren’t friends anymore and you weren’t really sure when you stopped. Probably long before that last night on the rock. 

One day a fancy letter showed up in your mail. Nice paper, frilly letters. A wedding invitation. It came with a handwritten note, not from Javier, but Lorraine. You almost RSVP’d with a no. 

The church was beautiful and happy, and more than a few people there from high school surprised you with friendly words. You were contemplating going to the reception as you waited for the procession. You weren’t close to Lorraine or Javier. Not anymore. Free food didn’t seem worth inserting yourself somewhere you didn’t belong. 

A half-hour after the ceremony was set to begin someone announced that Javier hadn’t shown up. The wedding wouldn’t be happening. As you walked out of the building you could hear Lorraine crying. A month later the word around town was that Javier had moved to Colombia. 

You look out into the dark desert. The smell of sage is potent in the heat, and a lone pair of headlights appear in the distance. You watch the car as it speeds along before the red taillights of the other side of the vehicle disappear into the opposite horizon. 

You pop open a can of soda. 

It’s a mechanical sound that contrasts the soft whisper of the wind and the snakes, a few birds in the distance, and the low hum of insects. 

It’s never quiet out here but this background noise is the only thing that has ever truly calmed you. 

The taste of soda brings back more memories you thought had been lost. The early days on the playground with Javi, two six-year-olds climbing to the top of the structure as your parents both call out for you to get down. When you were eleven the two of you ran a lemonade stand for the whole summer, saving up to buy yourselves bikes. 

It wasn’t until Javi turned sixteen and instead of wandering the streets to avoid your families, he could drive you out of town, floating between convenience stores and rest stops for hours. It wasn’t long before you discovered this spot up here.

This rock became your spot. A sanctuary.

What drew you here after all those years, you weren’t sure. You rip open the pack of jerky, letting the tangy scent fill the air. 

Why didn’t you ever come back? The hot desert air is like a healing bath, seeping into your body as you gaze at the stars. After Javi left you had dated guys, spent evenings with friends, and lived your life. But you sit here now wondering what has happened with all the time. Had you been really living? Or just wandering through a haze? 

The truth was, you knew why you never came back. 

These memories were too painful to have sorted through any earlier. A whole life, wasted, as you fell away from the one person you loved as a teenager and never truly climbed back up from. 

Another pair of headlights appear in the distance, cutting a line across the brush. The car slows straight ahead of you and pulls off the road, heading towards where you sit. You glance down at your truck below. There isn’t enough time to get down there and into your car before whoever it is reaches you. Your hand slips into your purse, grasping around the canister of pepper spray. 

If you’re lucky, they aren’t headed up to your rock. 

The car pulls up and stops alongside your truck. You jump at the sound of the door slamming and peer down. 

You’d recognize that leather jacket anywhere, even in the penumbra of the headlights of his car before they flick off. You didn’t know he was back.

Another sip of soda. Waiting. The sound of rocks sliding down the hill. A couple crunches of dirt under shoes. Plastic against stone as you pick up the bag of jerky. Metal against stone when you set down your can. Deep, slow breaths. Dark leather boots next to your leg, tapping against the rock. A low groan. Javi sitting next to you. 

You keep staring off at the horizon, your chest rising and falling. The last time you were actually really with Javi you were 18. His car parked in front of your house. 8:30am. He jostled your shoulder, pulling you up from your slumped position against the window as you slept. You got out, the blanket still wrapped around you and he hugged you on your front lawn. He whispered goodbye to you, and you were too tired to say anything back. 

All the other times your paths had crossed it had been in silence and at a distance. Years and years of nothing. You had everything to say to him but you weren’t sure if any of it was worth saying. The man sitting beside you used to be an extension of yourself. Now he’s a stranger.

You pull a cold can out of the plastic rings, extending it towards Javi.

“Soda?”

“Thanks.” He grabs the can, his fingers brushing against yours. Enough to feel how rough they were.

You had imagined his voice would be the same as the lanky teen he was back then. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that it would be this much lower, deeper, hoarser. Hesitant. 

A hiss then the pop comes. Your gaze shifts over to watch his hands. They’re so big around the small can and he lifts it up to his lips to take a sip. Finally, after all this time, you get to give Javi a good look. The years have treated him well. The Colombian sun leaving a deep bronze tone, his face a far cry from the clean-shaven boy he once was. You had seen him after college, after he grew out the mustache and his hair darkened, face filling out into an even more handsome one. But in the time since then, a few lines have been left in his forehead and around his eyes. Still doesn’t make him any less beautiful.

“Haven’t had one these in ages,” he says. 

You look away, not responding. What could you say? What was there to talk about? Could one night up here possibly cover even a portion of what had happened?

Then in a terrifying moment, your brain puts something forward that shakes you to your core. 

Did he even want to talk to you anymore? Or had you grown so far apart that there was nothing left?

Javi sets down his can and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it to the side. You can feel him staring at you, but can’t bring yourself to break your gaze at the sky. You lean back, lying on the cool stone. All you can think of is how the distance between you and Javier feels further than you and those stars.

“You know, sometimes during stakeouts, looking over Bogotá? I would pretend we were up here. Staring out over the desert like we did when we were kids. I’d wonder if you were lookin’ up at the same stars I was.” His voice cracks momentarily and he lets out a shaky breath. “I’d always think about how you’d talk about falling off the bottom of the earth.”

You press your eyes closed, blocking out the deep expanse of the universe. The speed at which you were zooming back to Javi was too goddamn fast. How can he say that? How can he think about you when he hardly gave you the time of day after you both left home for the first time. When he wasn’t even the one to invite you to his own wedding.

“Do you come up here often?” he says.

You still haven’t said more than a word since he got up here. You’re not sure if the honest answer is the one he wants. You say it anyway.

“No. Last time was with you.” You try to hide the fact that tears are streaming down your face but he wasn’t fooled by that when you were kids, he wasn’t going to be fooled now. It’s easier to let the tears show through in your voice than hide them as you say, “Did you bring Lorraine up here?”

He’s quiet and you hear the burbling hunting call of a quail. Then a soft rustling as he lays back onto the stone too. 

“Why would I do that?” he asks. 

You have the guts now to tilt your head over and give him that questioning look. 

“Why wouldn’t you? You seemed to love her. Back before, you know...”

Once again he’s quiet. The sky seems to have lost any of the reddish tinges, leaving only the deepest ocean blue. You wish it was the ocean. Maybe if it was it wouldn’t make you think so much. You could just stare and stare and empty your mind. 

A breeze blows by and you shiver, cold for the first time this whole night.

“Yeah, well. Didn’t seem right, you know? This is our spot,” he says. 

You push yourself back up, staring back down at him.

“Our spot?” you ask. “Javi, is there even an ‘us’ anymore?” 

You place your elbows on top of your crossed legs and rest your forehead on your hands. You were always too quick to get worked up. Too fast to think through the things you said. Javi had extended an olive branch and you may have snapped it in half.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“No, I’m sorry. We drifted, I don’t know.” He sits back up beside you. “You never sent a letter and I didn’t either. That first summer back you weren’t there. After the second I thought you didn’t want to see me. Stopped looking, I guess. That’s on me.”

“I was back the third summer, you know?” you say, “I was a lifeguard at the pool. Watched you come in with Lorraine week after week.”

“You were?”

“Yeah.” You don’t say how you watched him with all the other girls too. 

“After I graduated, thought I might come back. Say hello. I heard Vassar already graduated, so if you were back, you’d be there. Your parents’ place was empty.”

“They moved out. I bought a house closer to town.” You picked up your soda again and took a sip.

“I saw you at the bars a couple times.”

“So did I. You never said hi.”

“You didn’t either,” he says. 

You pull out the bag of M&Ms from your pocket. Javi laughs. It sounds clear in the middle of the night. The only competition for airwaves is the quails. You fiddle with the edge of the plastic before it glides open, and you dump a few of the chocolates into your palm.

“Of course you were hiding those.” You can hear the smile in Javi’s voice.

You hold out the bag to him and he extends a palm, allowing you to pour some into his hand. 

Looking down at your own collection, you push the candies into colored categories as best you can in the desaturated night light. 

“You know, I was at your wedding. Lorraine sent me the invitation. Said you didn’t add me to the guest list but she thought you’d want me there anyway. I was sitting there in the pews as the time ticked and nothing happened. And you know what? I wasn’t getting worried about you not showing up. That never crossed my mind.” You take a breath. “I was sitting there debating whether or not I should go to the reception. Make the two of you speak to someone you both had fallen out of touch with. It didn’t seem fair.” 

“You were there?” he sounds distant, voice shaking a bit and you glance over to see his gaze glazed over, fixated on some spot in the desert.

“Yeah. Lorraine was really torn apart after that. We went out for drinks a week later. She asked me what the hell was wrong with you. I didn’t have an answer,” you say. “We made up. She was an asshole in high school, but so were so many others. I forgave her. When she got married to Randy, I was one of her bridesmaids.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you,” he says. You think he’s going to say more. Give an explanation. Nothing comes.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Not invite you? Or leave Lorraine?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He exhales. You’re putting him on the spot, you know that. But that’s what this hill is for. It’s where you say the tough stuff. You let each other cry. It’s the place where you let yourselves feel without voicing half of it because the other knows exactly what you’re going through. 

It still wasn’t comfortable enough to let you say the toughest thing of all.  

And worse, right now, you have no idea what’s running through Javi’s mind. 

“I couldn’t bring her into all of it,” he starts. “I had been in the DEA for a year by then. Knew the tough shit I’d have to do. If I was going to go up any higher, I was scared I’d be putting her in danger. And part of it was that I was just an asshole. Guess I still am.”

You pour out a few more M&Ms into your palm. The red ones go near your fingers, next yellow, then green, blue, and brown. All the way down to the heel of your hand. You eat the red ones first. One by one. 

“You’re not. You might have been to Lorraine, but you’re not. You care, Javi.” You look over and he’s still focusing on some little spot in the distance. 

“I am though. You don’t know what I’ve done. Down in Colombia. I—I did things you wouldn’t have liked.” He stopped to put an M&M in his mouth. A few minutes passed as he chewed the remaining candy in his palm, one by one. Then washed them down with the soda. “I killed people. And my decisions left even more dead. I did so many bad things.”

“Why?” You swallow.

“You used to not ask that.”

He was right. You used to say things. No explanations needed. You both had grown. “I don’t feel like I can read you as well as I used to.”

Javi sets down his can on the rock. The soft clink seems to echo across the sweeping land. You wouldn’t be surprised if the guy at the gas station heard it.

“I had to do a lot of the things,” he whispers. “Did a lot of the other things to forget the things I had to do.”

You look over him as he closes his eyes. You think you see a tear fall down the side facing away from you, but he tilts his head away.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You didn’t use to say that either.

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that. Alone. You know?”

Javi deserved people in his life. He had gone through so much shit as a kid; to have to go through even more as an adult, it wasn’t fair.

“You mean Lorraine?” Your heart aches when you hear the way Javi says her name. It’s different from the way he says yours. Different emotions. You suppose that’s what his voice sounds like when he says the name of someone he loves.

You don’t fucking mean Lorraine though. You’re tiptoeing around it, but you mean you. 

“No, I just mean anyone. You might not have wanted to bring her into all of it but maybe you needed to have brought someone. So you didn’t feel so alone.”

If it was anyone else sitting next to him, they wouldn’t notice the way his hand shakes, the empty can making no noise, but it’s not anyone else. Maybe Lorraine would have noticed too.

You wish Javi had reached out to you, all those years ago when he thought you didn’t care. Maybe you could have gotten to be part of his life, even if you weren’t in the front row, you could still be in the theater. Not sitting in the parking lot, crying in your car. At least that’s what these past twenty years or so have felt like.

Underneath all the stars he looks so small. You both do. You want to hug him. Or something. You can’t even bring yourself to nudge his foot with yours. 

“Never said I felt alone,” he says.

“You didn’t have to.”

You feel the tears in the corners of your eyes and you try to blink them dry. It doesn’t work. You love Javi so much that if he really wanted to be with Lorraine, you were going to be there and make sure he was happy. But in the end, that wasn’t what he wanted.

It’s weird how having someone suddenly back in your life can make it feel like everything is right again. Like your entire existence has felt so pointless because he wasn’t part of it. You never believed in soulmates, but you thought that maybe someone was right when they decided that you’re bonded to someone in life. That their presence would make you whole again. They were just wrong in believing the other person would always love you back.

“I didn’t invite you because I didn’t know if you cared anymore. I felt we were too far apart that I wouldn’t matter,” he says. “I was scared you didn’t care anymore.”

“We could not speak for 50 years and I’d still want to be at your wedding, Javi. You’ve always mattered.” That was it, wasn’t it? Javi was always what mattered.

When your life felt like everything was falling apart as it always seems to when you’re a teen, he was always there to catch you. And you caught him too. Time and time again. And then your lives parted ways and you started falling with no net. Javi mattered.

“Why’d you come out here?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why’d you come all the way out here when you haven’t been back since we were 18?”

“Did you ever come back? Until today?” Even without Lorraine, you assume he might have. But maybe he’s like you. It hurt too much to come out here. Almost like you couldn’t without Javi. Not until tonight. And well, the universe seems to have had other plans.

“No,” he says. Simple.

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and I was too alone. My house felt too small. Had to get out. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I reached the gas station.” You pull out another can from the pack and flip up the tab.

If you’re being honest with yourself, it tastes terrible. Like a Coke gone wrong. But it also tastes like nights up here with Javi. You don’t think a single time you came up you didn’t at least share a can. You used to each have an emergency case in the trunks of your cars. Even when you came up to drink beer and dance and tell each other about the things going on, there was always a can of soda. 

“Guess I had a feeling. I needed to get out,” you continue.” Tonight was just the night where I finally let myself need this. Didn’t even know you were back.”

“Only got back a few hours ago.”

No. A few hours ago? He woke up yesterday in Colombia and was now sitting here at 3am on a rock hanging over the desert with you?

“What?” you ask. “And this is the first place you went?”

“I dropped off my things with my dad.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then yeah. First place I guess.”

He comes back and the first place he goes is here? What does that even mean?

He’s facing you now and you grin and raise your eyebrows. “Why?”

“Guess I had a feeling,” he mocks back. 

“Why up here. Why this first?” You’re not voicing the real question. Why is the first thing something that means you?

He reaches over, grabbing the bag of jerky and pulling out a piece. He puts it in his mouth and rips off a chunk. You know what he’s like when he doesn’t want to answer a question he knows the response to.

You stare back out and watch a car cross the desert. Then another. You lie back down, staring up at the stars again. And Javi still says nothing. 

“Maybe there’s a parallel universe out there where everything’s the same but we can both end up here but on different nights and not find each other.”

He doesn’t say anything but you can see him tilting up his head.

“Or maybe this rock is just a universal constant. Like in every version of Earth, one of us can’t spend a night here without the other. It just isn’t allowed.”

Your favorite thing about the night sky is how out here on a clear night, you can see the milky way, a saturated strip of stars belting across the dome. The fact that it’s so damn big has always scared you. You say as much to Javi.

“I’ve always been scared that we’re so small. That we mean nothing. If best friends can go from being everything to being strangers who avoid each other and don’t notice when the other is watching and the only people that care are the two friends themselves, who’s to say anyone cares about us? Maybe we’re all alone. A little rock flying around a bigger burning rock that somehow bubbled up intelligent life, an intergalactic anomaly... A little sphere that doesn’t care that my life feels pointless, and my life feels pointless because of that.”

“Your life isn’t pointless.”

“Then what is it? Because ever since college I don’t know what I’ve been doing. Stuck in my hometown, in love with all the people who don’t love me back.” It’s the first time for the night you know Javi can’t see you crying. Your voice is stable enough to hide it, and he’s sitting up, looking away from you. “And I guess it’s all fine cause I’m going to exist in this little millisecond on a cosmic scale and no one gives two shits if I live or die.”

“I do.”

“Do you, Javi? Because it didn’t seem like you were ever really looking. I could have disappeared and it would have been all the same.”

He’s quiet again and you think that it’s because on some level he knows you’re right.

“There was another reason I left Lorraine at the altar,” he says. You’re not sure if he’s answered more than one of your damn questions the whole night, only saying things that crop up new ones.

“That girl is amazing. She didn’t deserve to be someone’s second choice.”

“Second choice?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” his voice shakes and you sit up again, realizing that he’s crying.

You reach out to touch his shoulder. “Javi—”

He turns away from you. Then he’s leaning on his far arm, pushing himself up. You grasp at his wrist, hoping he’ll stay. Just long enough to finish this. He pulls out of your grip. And he still hasn’t explained himself.

“Javi,” you breathe out. “Stay? Just tonight. You never have to see me again after this. Please?”

That gets him to stop. “What if I want to see you again?”

You turn around looking up at him. The starlight shines against the longitudinal lines on his cheeks. He looks so much like the kid you grew up with.

You stand up, grabbing his jacket off the ground and handing it to him. You can’t make the same mistake you did when you were 18.

“You don’t have to stay, Javi. I’m sorry. You can go. It doesn’t matter what you meant by second choice. I don’t want to push you. I just, that last night? When we were kids? It was my last chance to tell you something and I didn’t have the guts to say it. And by the time I saw you again, it’d been a few years and you were bringing all the other girls to the pool and I was too scared to even say hello.”

He’s holding the jacket limply in his arms. You’re sure you’ve never looked at Javi in the eyes like this ever before. All those nights and you’ve never looked into his eyes and shared the vulnerability that you do now and seen the same expression staring back at you.

“I love you.” It was so much easier than you had ever imagined. The scary thing was actually not saying the words, but staring into Javi as his face shifted.

It began with shock then awe then admiration, all familiar expressions that you had seen a thousand times before. Then it morphed into something you didn’t know as he dropped the jacket and put a hand in yours, spinning you out so you stood side by side instead of face to face, and led you to the edge of the rock. He let go for a moment and when his hand returned there was a stone in it, which he closed your fingers around.

“Having to wait until now to be with the person I love,” he whispers. You’re confused until he’s winding up and throwing something. His own rock.

Oh.

You look down at the rock in your hand.

“Not telling people you love them before you almost lose them,” you say. Your rock flies even farther.

You’re smiling and you look up at Javi. He’s grinning at you and his arms pull you in, wrapping you up and you return the embrace, pulling him close.

“I love you too.”

You nod against his shoulder and pull away, wanting to really look at him.

And in Javi’s eyes, you can see the reflection of thousands of stars, shining bright and big and far away, all contained within the beautiful dark you’ve looked into for what feels like your entire life, and you can now call it home. 

-o-o-o-o-

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​ @sparrows-books​ @dxxkxx​ @opheliaelysia​ @trashbin2​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @letaliabane​ @awesomefandomsunited​

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s note: I kind of regret the song choice due to its association with a certain movie but... it fits the chapter's themes. -shrug-

Edit: Changed the song I associated with this chapter because I think it suits Aguni and Yamaneko's pseudo-paternal relationship, which was highlighted more than the murder mystery on the Beach

go ahead and cry, little boy | you know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through | you gotta let it out soon, just let it out

X

As if a spotlight had been shone on her, Yamaneko’s body tenses at everyone’s scrutiny.

“Why does this concern me?” she starts, looking at the faces around her, all of them with varying degrees of wariness, save for her fellow militants. Her eyes flick to her father’s, and resentment blooms in her chest, spreading through her veins like bitter poison.

“She’s your stepmother,” Ann responds, examining the victim’s corpse with the purpose of scrutinizing every detail. Then, her eyes flick to Mr. Yamane, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Though, she looks more like an older sister.”

“We weren’t close. I haven’t spoken a word to her before we arrived on the Beach.”

Ann tilts the victim’s head with a gloved hand, exposing the wound to view. “I’ve yet to examine the wound, but it’s clear that whoever killed her used a sharp object. You’re one of the few militants who exclusively carry a bladed weapon, along with Last Boss.”

Folding her arms Yamaneko was about to go off on the taller woman, but she mentions something else. ”He’s under suspicion, too,” she mentions as she motioned to Mr. Yamane. “Her body was dumped from their shared room.”

“Me? That’s preposterous! Are you suggesting that I have something to do with my own wife’s death? I’m not even allowed to hold a weapon! It’s those militants you should be looking at.”

“You know what?” Yamaneko interrupts, bringing all the attention back to her when her head whips towards his direction, and her voice drips with venom at every syllable she utters. “If you can beat your first wife and your daughters for years, and lie through your teeth every time the authorities get involved, I believe you have the capacity to be violent with anyone and lie to our faces.”

“You dare accuse me when you’re the one who carries a weapon and holds a criminal record,” Mr. Yamane spits back, pointing at his estranged daughter with a wrinkled finger, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve raised you myself. You’re an uncontrollable child. Disobedient. Delinquent! You dirtied the family’s name when your name showed up on the tabloids twice. It’s no wonder even your sister gave up on you.”

It took every fiber of Yamaneko’s self control to stop her from lunging at her father’s provocation. Instead, she hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t bring Mai into this. You are the reason why I had to resort to stealing! You kicked me out. I couldn’t even find an apartment without a guarantor because I was a minor. Do you think I would resort to that if I wasn’t so desperate without a family’s support? That criminal record means nothing here anyway!”

“My, my, this is a conversation you shouldn’t be having in front of strangers. Are scandals really commonplace in your family?” Niragi interrupts, and aims his rifle at Mr. Yamane’s chest. “Why don’t we just kill the old man?”

“See?! Even the company you keep reflects who you really are,” Mr. Yamane blurts, face red from rage. “No amount of discipline I tried to instill in Minami worked to keep her in check. She's a criminal. It’s why I disowned her.”

Aguni remains stoic throughout the entire ordeal, but the last thing the Yamacorp CEO said stirred something hateful inside him. He towered over Mr. Yamane in a show of intimidation. “I thought I heard you call my underling ‘daughter’ in that confrontation I broke up. So which is it?”

And just like that, Mr. Yamane’s domineering facade crumbles, stammering to answer the militants’ chief.

Hatter holds out an open palm, motioning everyone to quiet down. “These accusations won’t get us anywhere. Regardless of who killed Mrs. Yamane, peace on the Beach has been disturbed,” he mutters, expression grim, and jovial demeanor absent.

“The number of violent cases has been rising, but we have handled them quietly. This one is a public spectacle that might send ripples of fear through the entire Beach. Aguni, tell your men to go harder on their patrols and to keep themselves restrained.”

“You’re not even going to interrogate her?” Mr. Yamane exclaims, pointing at his daughter.

This time, Aguni is openly sneering at him. “Why are you so eager to accuse my underling of a murder, old man?”

The former CEO shrinks before Aguni, and any bravado he had dissipated. Yamaneko couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk.

“Ah, Mr. Yamane, you were some corporate bigwig before coming to this country, am I right?” Hatter asks him. “As number one,” he nearly growls, voice dropping an octave. “I call the shots here. Your daughter brought back high-value cards from the games. Any member of the Beach like that is a fine asset. Unless she’s proven to be a traitor, murderer or not, no action will be taken against her without the executive board’s say.”

“Then you’re complicit in my wife’s murder. I won’t forget this,” Mr. Yamane spits, turning around to barge out the door.

Niragi scoffs at his dramatic exit. “I really want to put a bullet between his eyes. What a bastard, shitting on the military sect like that.”

“As much as I hate that asshole’s guts, you killing him right after his wife just died would just draw more suspicion to me, and the other militants,” Yamaneko replies, folding her arms and eyebrows creased.

From the corner of her eyes, Mira glances at her with a newfound curiosity.

“I think I should also mention that he begged me for help to get out of this place. The executive board should watch out. He’s known for stabbing business associates in the back to climb the ranks. My father is highly manipulative, and doesn’t stop until he gets the result that he wants,” Yamaneko adds.

“Hmm. He sounds like a potential Heart specialist too. Perhaps it runs in the family?” Mira croons thoughtfully, looking at her with the eyes of a child examining a shiny new bug she had found in the garden. “Ah, but you’re willing to impart information about your own father for the sake of the Beach and the executive board?” she asks.

Yamaneko cringes at the comparison between her and her father. “My loyalty is to the Beach, and to my chief. My chief is part of the executive board, isn’t he?”

Mira regards the CEO’s estranged daughter for a moment, and grins.

“That’s enough. Hopefully this incident is just an isolated case. Ann, if any similar cases show up, you know what to do,” Hatter said, almost with an air of boredom. And with that, Hatter leaves, adjourning the meeting.

“I do think an interrogation is in order, though. If you would allow me to borrow her for a moment, Aguni?” Ann asks, tilting her head towards Yamaneko.

Aguni’s stony expression turns sour, but he nods. The younger militant steps right ahead. “If it helps me prove that I have nothing to do with this, sure.”

The chief backs off, and he turns to the rest of the militants present. “I want to have a word with the two of you. Now.”

As the chief goes off on Niragi and Last Boss, Yamaneko follows Ann to a storage closet for cleaning supplies, and clears her throat.

“Well? We’re clearly not here to play seven minutes in heaven, so if you have a question, shoot.”

Ann rolls her eyes, expression otherwise stoic. “Right. How do you usually execute traitors?”

Yamaneko gulps, looking at her hands. “I usually aim for the carotid, or any other large artery I can target.”

“And why do you choose that method? Are there any advantages to it?” Ann asks, taking out a notepad and starting to jot down on it.

“It puts them out of their misery fast. Plus, the blood spurts in one steady stream without much spraying. It makes cleanup easier.”

Ann nods, and flips a page on the notepad. “What were you doing at around ten thirty in the morning?”

“Grabbing lunch at the lobby,” Yamaneko responds, folding her arms.

“Who were you with? Who did you speak to?”

“Last Boss. Though, I saw my father in the lobby too.”

Nodding and writing, Ann continues. “And what were you doing around two hours before the incident?”

Yamaneko hesitated for a moment, and Ann watched her like a hawk, noting the shift in her body language. Clearing her throat, the militant stammers. “I… I was having sex.”

“With whom?” Ann asks with a completely straight face, pausing from writing on the notepad.

“Is this even necessary to ask? God… I was doing it with Last Boss, obviously. I’m pretty sure some of the people in the rooms nearby heard us too,” Yamaneko says through her teeth, shifting her weight on one foot. “Can I go now?” she asks, face red.

Ann nods, and tucks away her notepad and pen. “You’re free to go.”

The militant leaves. She meets up with the others, who were receiving a tongue-lashing from the chief, and she joins their misery. Afterwards, Aguni motions at his underlings, and they follow. As they walked through the halls of the hotel, Yamaneko felt strength in their numbers.

Then, Aguni halts. “Yamane.” Her head perks up. “How many visa days do you have left?”

She pauses for a moment to think. “More than a week.”

“You’re on patrol duty with me for a few nights.”

“Right. Understood, chief.”

“Meet me tonight at the gate. You’re all free to leave.”

Niragi went ahead and trudged off, mood sour from Aguni’s reminders on the use of violence on the Beach. After checking if no one else is around, Last Boss puts an arm around Yamaneko’s waist, eyes searching hers.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him, before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

“You haven’t been on a patrol yet, haven’t you?” Takatora asked her.

“Mhmm.”

“Stay alert,” he says, voice hinting at some softness.

“Of course.”

Takatora would be lying if he said that he’s nervous about his lover’s first patrol, but as he watches Yamaneko meet up with their leader from a window, he felt some relief knowing that she’s made it far enough to rise to number sixteen and gain some semblance of trust from their chief.

Feeling a little cold from the absence of her jacket, Yamaneko walks towards Aguni, doing the best she can to look focused. She wouldn’t want to disappoint him on her first patrol.

“Yamane, eyes peeled,” Aguni said as he drew his pistol and motioned the younger militant to follow.

“Yes, chief.”

Halfway through their patrol, Yamaneko speaks up. “By the way chief, could you refer to me with my nickname instead?”

This gains her a stern, questioning look. “I don’t want to be associated with my father’s family name anymore.”

The look on Aguni’s face softens ever so slightly, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

“You don’t have to call me chief all the time,” Aguni says to her after some time as he scanned the perimeter for any suspicious activity. His underling looks up to him, a curious look on her face. She hasn’t heard the chief say much outside of games.

“But I find it respectful,” Yamaneko replies, hands hovering near her thighs, where her knives are holstered. Aguni blinks a few times before moving again.

“With proper training, you’d fit in with the SDF. There are more female recruits now, I heard.”

“Nah. I’m too much of a non-conformist for that.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Yamaneko motions to her face with one hand. “Good luck trying to scrub all this makeup off my face, chief.”

The snort he gives her sounds almost amused, but Aguni’s expression remains stern. “That attitude of yours, did it get you in trouble with your father?”

Yamaneko is taken aback from the personal question, but nonetheless, she responds to her leader. “Well, yes. I tried to suppress it and be a good daughter, I promise. Regardless, it’s just an excuse to beat me. Everything I did got me in trouble with him,” Yamaneko says almost too casually, as if her experiences weren’t the damaging, traumatic ones that lingered for years.

Old, painful memories started to stir within Aguni’s psyche upon hearing Yamaneko open up about her own upbringing. In the young woman before him, he saw shards of his past self, the angry young man who wanted to get back at his own father, but was robbed of the opportunity due to his death. His knuckles turn white from the rage simmering in his heart.

They continued walking, looking over the fences for any possible intruders. Every now and then, Aguni would tell the young militant what to watch out for, and what to do in certain scenarios. The patrol ended peacefully, much to Yamaneko’s relief. She leaned against a fence when they got back to the gate. Aguni folds his arms and observes her.

“Is there anything else you need, chief?” Yamaneko asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Yamaneko, day or night?”

“Uh, night.”

“From now on, you’re training with me every five in the afternoon, sharp.”

Eyebrows rising up her forehead, Yamaneko has a dumbfounded look on her face. “Training? For what?”

“Do you want to gain an edge over your bastard father, or not?”

One look in the chief’s eyes, and she knew he had similar experiences in the past; of feeling small and powerless against someone who should have been one’s shelter from the world. “Yes.”

“Then don’t be late.”

Aguni leaves, while a dumbfounded Yamaneko stays in her spot, still processing the events of the day. Cold fingers trail on her good shoulder and she turns to see her lover’s face. A smile blooms on her painted lips.

“Takatora. You didn’t attend a game?”

“I was patrolling on the upper floors. I can’t leave you here on the Beach alone either.”

“Ah,” she replies, holding his hand as they walk back to their room. “I guess we deserve a little break from all the madness of the games.”

After some time, as they lay on their shared bed, Yamaneko asks her lover a question. “Are you worried about my father being here?”

He nods, and squeezes her small hand.

“Don’t worry too much. Besides, the chief said he’ll be training me every five in the afternoon. I’ll kick the bastard’s ass if he tries anything.”

Takatora tilts his head. “The chief?” he asks almost disbelievingly.

“Yeah. It’s kind of strange.”

“You didn’t do anything to earn his ire, didn’t you?”

Yamaneko raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“Good luck. He’s... strict.”

“I know, I know.”

The first day she trained with Aguni, she expected it to be difficult, but not this severe. The wildcat pants as she ran her second lap around the Beach, sweat dripping from her skin and stinging the healing burns on her left arm. Onlookers were staring, and some militants were chuckling among themselves. Niragi sees her, and yells after her.

“Yamaneko, what the hell are you doing?”

“Chief wanted me to run laps!” she shouts, voice hoarse.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?” Yamaneko asks, irritation growing. “No time to talk, gotta run!”

Hanako, the militant who once accompanied her in the dressing room, watches as Yamaneko jogs past her, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. When the chief asks us to do something like that, it’s usually because we pissed him off,” she mutters.

“She must’ve pissed him off bad, then,” Saiko butts in, passing the other girl a cigarette.

As fast as her legs can take her, Yamaneko sprints at the last few meters when Aguni comes into view. As she runs past him, she collapses and lies on the ground. Her feet ache, and it doesn’t help that her sandals aren’t made for running.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to cool down. Walk!” he barks, and Yamaneko suppresses a pathetic sigh as she forces herself up. She paces around in circles, occasionally stretching her arms and legs. Satisfied, Aguni lets her sit, and he tosses her a bottle of water. She gulps it down.

“I’m gonna hit the showers now, chief,” she pants, and Aguni tilts his head.

“You think you’re done for the day?” he asks.

Yamaneko couldn’t answer, looking at him in disbelief.

“Not yet, you’re not. You still have some grapples and knife techniques to study. Stand up!”

She swore she wanted to cry, but Yamaneko kept her mouth in a tight line, swallowed hard, and got on her feet.

“This is nothing compared to the shit I endured in the past,” she thinks to herself, and carries on.

Two. Three. Five. Ten times, she ended up on her ass, disarmed and beaten by the chief every single time. As she was starting to reconsider what she thought earlier, the chief holds a meaty hand out, and she grabs it. Aguni helps her to her feet, and pats her back, almost making her lurch forward.

Yamaneko freezes at the friendly touch. All the touches she got from authority figures, her father especially, was nothing like this.

“Focus on your footwork.”

Then, he leaves without saying anything else. Tired, bruised, but fulfilled, Yamaneko shouts a spirited “Yes, chief!” as he walks away.

Taking a deep breath, the younger militant finishes what’s left of her water, and heads back to her shared room. Takatora is waiting inside, fresh from a patrol, and upon seeing her sweaty and disheveled form, he lets go of whatever he was reading to check on her.

Yamaneko holds two thumbs up and beams at him, voice failing her.

“Did the chief go too hard on you?”

“No. Well, yes. But, it’s fine. I learned a lot,” she says as she sits next to him. “You know, he’s more of a parental figure to me than my own father.”

Takatora snorts at the idea of Aguni being a father, but the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her. He’ll never say it out loud, though.

On the tenth day of Yamaneko’s training, in the middle of sparring with the chief, one of Hatter’s men approached them.

“Aguni. Please come with us. Take her with you too,” he says in an urgent manner, brows furrowed in concern.

“You better have a good reason for this interruption,” he growls, picking up a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“There’s been another killing. Please take care of it discreetly. Hatter doesn’t like it when things like this goes public.”

A lump forms in Yamaneko’s throat as she follows Aguni to the hotel room holding the victim. When they arrived, Ann was there, assessing the situation, and the victim sprawled on the floor, a diagonal cut on his neck. A few men were setting up a stretcher nearby, and they halted when they saw the leader of the militants enter the room.

“It’s similar to the previous case,” Ann starts, taking off her shades. “The wounds are consistent with the type I found on Mrs. Yamane. A laceration to the neck with a sharp object,” she continues, holding a clean handkerchief and tilting the victim’s head. “And this time, the glass fragments stuck on his skin are more obvious. Whoever committed these murders used a shard of glass as an improvised weapon.”

The taller woman turns to Yamaneko. “I’ve corroborated your statement with the other residents on your floor. They indeed heard you that morning, so you couldn’t have been with your stepmother. Your method of exsanguinating traitors before disposal doesn’t align with the ones used in these murders, either. The odds of you being the killer are low, from this information.”

“Any clue on the killer's identity?” Aguni asks, watching the corpse. The victim died with his eyes wide open, the look of terror etched on his face.

“We have a lead,” says Ann, full of cold confidence. “For now, bring her to the makeshift lab discreetly. I need to do a full autopsy.”

Boots thudding against the floor, Aguni walks towards the corpse, and hooks his arms under his armpits. Instinctively, Yamaneko grabs his feet. As they lay him down on the stretcher, the victim’s mangled arm, riddled with stab wounds due to his attempt of protecting himself from his assailant, slips and dangles off the edge. Looking around, Yamaneko grabs the end of a curtain, and puts it back in place. The victim’s Beach tag, number 28, reflects the moonlight streaming from the window, and Yamaneko’s eyes trail to the glittering mess of broken glass on the floor, which contrasts with the dark blood splatters on the wood.

“Hey, Ann,” she calls her attention. “I think I found the murder weapon.”

The taller woman hands her the handkerchief, and she picks up a large shard of glass, its pointed end jagged and stained with blood. Ann holds it out in the light, making out some fingerprints.

“Good,” she said, then she prompts them to follow.

“That face is going to haunt me,” one of Hatter’s men comments, and Yamaneko gulps.

“Me too,” she adds.

Hatter’s devotee looks at the militant, a question hanging from his open mouth, but he chooses to keep it shut. Sensing his hesitation, Yamaneko rolls her eyes and quietly gets to work.

Glancing at the dead’s face, whose eyes were frozen in an expression of distress, Yamaneko grimaces and closes his eyes with her fingers. She pulls the curtains off the rods, and covers his bloody body. The crimson quickly soaks through the fabric.

That night, the wildcat sat in the bath longer than usual.

Wading over to his lover’s side, Takatora helps Yamaneko settle into his chest as he wraps both arms around her. In silence, she mulls about her day, brows furrowed.

“You’re bothered by something,” Takatora speaks up.

“I had to carry a corpse with the chief earlier. And my father is still living on the Beach. Ugh. Takatora, I just want to get away from all this. I mean, I’m not going to leave and turn traitor. I crave some change of scenery, maybe explore some places outside the Beach.”

Playing with Yamaneko’s hair, Takatora presses his mouth behind her head. “Supply runners leave for food and gasoline at eight in the morning. I help put away the gas when they return in the afternoon.”

Yamaneko looks up to give him a mischievous grin. “Do you think we can scare them into driving for us?”

He nods, and she laughs with a childish giddiness.

“Great! There’s this place I’ve been wanting to visit again.”

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

How they act around their crush: GD edition

[This one’s for @glass-grapes​. I saw your submission and am completely psyched that you love my blog! I know that I’ve only recently had it kick-off with a few posts, but I have been wanting to start one of these since January. Hope this is to your liking! (p.s I didn’t know if I should do pre or post time skip, so I did a little dabbling into both]

Claude:

We all know Claude here is both a go-getter and a tease 

If he finds you interesting then there’s no reason for him to hide it. A  battle of wits never hurt anyone, and boy do you two fight well

He is s a s s y. If you’re chatting with some other students he might stick his nose into the conversation to toy with you. It’s all in good fun, right? Just a little mini-game on his way to achieving bigger things  

That’s what he tells himself 

Some days he finds you a bit too alluring, and can’t help being self conscious of the other people around

Fiddles with his braid when you throw him for a loop

Will pay extra special attention to you in battle, and makes excuses to the prof. for why you should be near him. He really is a snake 

Post-Timeskip he hides his bias even more. Not enough to fool his close comrades, but enough to avoid you receiving any extra attention from the enemy  

Sometimes slips items in your room to distract from the stress. Tea, a new blanket, etc.

During the five year gap he keeps track of your whereabouts. After Garreg Mache fell he decided that his dream would take priority as planned, but also believed that one day you would be at his side 

Wasn’t surprised at all to see you at the reunion, but that familiar urge to tug his hair returned too  

Judith and Nader have already heard about you prior to your meeting. Much to his dismay they view his buried feelings as open range comedy

Lorenz: 

We all know how Lorenz acts when he finds someone of interest. The guy is a huge flirt which causes the professor wayyy too much stress 

He’s not as in-tune with his sense of romance as you would think. In the early stages he’ll treat you the same as all the other ladies: a potential partner for house Gloucester.

Date offerings, frilly words, gifts, acts of kindness. Ah tis but the duty of a noble, yes? 

No. 

One day he lets that stubborn side of his personality slip out, and you come back at him with just as much fire. He becomes so angered after it, but somehow hearing the words from you hurt more than if someone else were to say them

That’s when he knows that he’s in deep, and from then on he treats you more gently. He’ll watch his tongue around other women, and sets his sights on only you. His mannerisms are the same as before, but now he tries to learn more about you as a person vs. just the cold hard statistics

He’s a blusher. He has a naturally light pigmentation so it shows. 

After the time-skip he’ll watch you like a hawke. Do you like his new hair cut? Surly it’s an improvement from before sorry bro it’s not

Sets his dignity aside to request that you be given a hexlock shield during battle, or placed near him. Claude won’t let him live it down

Ignatz: 

He m i g h t avoid you, but please don’t take it the wrong way. That’s just how he is, you know?

Young Ignatz isn’t that confident in himself. You’re...well ‘you’. And he’s...well, ‘him’

Oddly enough he confides in HIlda of all people. It originally began with wanting to see if she was still on stable duty with him, but ended up with him working and her talking

When you’re nearby he chooses not to speak unless spoken to. If you didn’t know his tells he’d come off cold, but one look at his hands wringing together just proves he was nervous 

Byleth puts you two on cooking duty together: que panic. He legit grovels at their feet to pick someone else. They don’t, and that evening he sketches a wonderful picture of you sifting through different seasonings 

On your birthday he struggles to give you the gift he prepared. It ends up with Lionie giving you it while he watches from afar. 

When you’re older he is much more verbal with his opinions 

More often than not he lets those honey-coated words slip out, which usually end up with him excusing himself quickly 

Invites you to join him during downtime at least once a week. Every day could be his last, and goddess forbid yours. He wants to spend time with you even if he isn’t the most graceful companion never mind that he’s a smooth-talking mofo

Raphael: 

If there’s one thing Raphael is good at, it’s showing that he cares 

The boy is a giant muscular teddybear. He will carry your things, he will spar with you, he will eat anything you cook without complaint, and he will hug you; hard. 

Unlike everyone else he’s pretty open with his feelings. Life is short, you know? 

If you make him particularly bashful he’ll laugh loudly. More so to cover up his own embarrassment than because he finds the situation actually humorous

Adopts this habit of constantly asking if you need anything. The guy loves to dote on people, and lookie here you’re the perfect target 

Remembers all important dates like a pro. On your birthday he drops a gift right on your desk first thing in the morning 

Goddess forbid anyone gives you trouble. Without the smile on his face he looks the murder type, and the guy uses it to his advantage. He will happily escort you anywhere you need to go 

Once his sister is settled he might honestly stick with you during that five year gap. He’s made his feelings painfully obvious, and you haven’t chased him off. Why not stick around? 

Hilda: 

Yo she’s clingy 

She knows you have to be a catch and a half to steal her heart, so who knows who else that you’ve smooth talked 

Just like everyone else she’ll still get you to do her bidding...but, maybe a smidge less 

She feels guilty, but won’t show it 

Hilda will do all in her power to not let the news reach her family. The last thing she needs is Holst sending her more letters, or worse: showing up at the monastery

Y’all she will don her best perfume for you. She will push all her work onto Cyril and drag you to have lunch with her. This is normal Hilda behavior so she has no reason to be shy 

Will flirt openly and proudly. If you recuperate she’ll go gossip to Marianne about how you’re ‘totally smitten’ with her

Post-skip she’s not much different. Most of her time is spent doing what she can for the cause, but when you see each other she’s more bold. 

Like always she doesn’t like to have expectations pushed onto her. She does have one for herself though, and it’s to stay by your side. 

Marianne: 

During the academy years she tends to admire from afar 

Her favorite memories are of when the professor signed you both up for choir practice. She loves your voice, and it was a time where there wasn’t any pressure for conversation 

As time passes she’ll become less adverse to talking. Quiet greetings will be whispered when you cross paths, and occasionally you two have lunch together 

Marianne is not as reserved as people assume her to be. She’s just had a rough time, and if you take things slow with her then she’ll gradually have a stronger presence in your life. She hopes that this comes true for you two 

Eye contact hasn’t always been her forte. She does try to maintain it with you though 

Her feelings remain at a stalemate through most of the academy days. Only when she bypass’ some more personal-issues does she let her emotions go free

About halfway through the war period she changes. Her stance is more vertical, and she becomes the one to take initiative in your relationship 

She’ll still blush upon any physical contact, and in some cases she’ll lose her breath when you talk. Don’t take the momentary silence as a bad thing, she’s okay. 

Occasionally she’ll be restless and unable to sleep, worrying about the future she now has in her grasp. You might find her scouring for a cup of chamomile late in the night 

Lysithea: 

She’ll deny herself immediately. For Lysithea the future is an anomaly. One of which that no amount of studying or research can uncover.

It’s painfully obvious that there’s a spark between you two. Anyone can see it, and Hilda has pestered her many times regarding confessing 

If the situation was a bit different, she would. Lysithea is no push over, but she also doesn’t want to invest time into something that will bear no fruition 

She keeps her cool around you for the most part...or at least until you’re out of hearing distance 

Then she completely loses composure. Did someone say clammy hands? Because hers get slicker than lorenz’s hair gel 

Leads to stress eating, not gonna lie. There are many late night trips to the mess hall, and many angry cooks over the missing sweets  

Times are different post-timeskip though. She’s a bit more reluctant to let these feelings go 

Occasionally there’s some open flirting on her part. If you recuperate then it becomes more frequent and less forced. The sassy banter between you two becomes the deer’s free entertainment

Leonie: 

She’s commonly been viewed as ‘one of the guys,’ for her personality. So she’s very insecure about getting friend zoned 

It’s not like she was actively searching for romance. It just happened, you know? One day something just struck a chord 

She never took the time to picture sharing a life with someone. Most of her life has been spent worrying about her village, or working hard to attain some kind of recognition from the Captian 

For a split second she considers going to Byleth for some advice. Now isn’t the time for school-girl crushes. Now is the time to be forging a path to the future

Decides to completely ignore the ache she feels when you’re nearby. Just...lets it go. 

She’ll put hella distance between you two. The only time she’ll initiate contact is during sparring 

After the timeskip she stays this way too. Well, until HIlda calls her out on her bullsh*t (if you haven’t noticed from all these. Hilda is a perceptive little cookie)

Just like anyone she’ll go through the moral dilemma of deciding to confess or not. She instead chooses to just let her feelings do as they please, and if something happens then it happens 

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 8 of ???

Elanor was sent off with the Cobriana ring--Sisal’s ring, my ring--and a letter written in my hand to take back to the Keep. I insisted a guard go with her and Raymond, Vasili’s cousin, volunteered. I agreed with the choice that the less even tempered Emune stay with us. He’d done nothing distrustworthy, but the way he watched Adelina made me want to keep him close. I trusted Raymond to see Elanor back to the Keep safely, and to ensure my words were delivered to Andreios’s hands.

Why Andreios, and not my mother? Because I didn’t trust her anymore.

I loved my mother, I truly did. And I believe everything she did that felt so stifling to me was out of love as well, and overprotectiveness. She had told me it was time for me to become Queen. Well, a queen didn’t ask for her mother’s permission. She let the captain of her guard oversee her safety, and had her staff carry out her orders. My mother wasn’t needed in this decision.

And, I wanted to see what she and my generals would do.

I needed to know if I could trust those who had led in war to follow me into peace. This week at the Lyssia farm would show me much, and Zane and I could adjust our plans accordingly.

 Zane and I. Our plans. It still seemed so ludicrous. But the cobra stayed by my side, making small sounds here and there as I drafted my letter, making suggestions rather than corrections, which I greatly appreciated. This was the hardest letter I’d ever drafted in my life. Having help was very welcome.

 I gave Andreios specific orders on who and how many he could bring, knowing that he would come himself--and hoping he remembered our old signal of the vase of roses I’d carefully moved to the trunk of my bed before fleeing--and that there was no way the heir to the Tuuli Thea would be allowed to spend a week in the outer territory unguarded.

 Especially once he got to the part about me doing so with Zane Cobriana.

 I couldn’t help but remember the look of betrayal on his face when I’d thrown myself between him and Zane. I wondered if I’d have to do it again.

 This week would tell me so many things.

 As we exited the Lyssia bedroom, surrendering it to its proper owners, the ladies of the house made some fuss about letting us keep it. Zane and I both demured, him with considerably more cool than myself, me knowing it wouldn’t be long until Andreios arrived. I’d have a long night of aruging with him on my hands, I knew. Unless I was willing to play the absolute monarch like my mother did. I tried not to do that with Rei. I didn’t have enough friends to risk the ones I did.

 I realized with a start that I’d mentally put Zane on that very short list. Not a good friend, by any means, but... Well, I’d asked for an ally, and he seemed to be doing his best to do just that. I’d spent so long being told my place, having to push and claw for every liberty and point that I’d started thinking of anyone on my side as a friend. Zane was a fellow monarch, an equal. I didn’t know him well enough yet to be friends.

 But surprisingly, I wanted to. Every interaction I’d had with him, Zane had opened up. Alarmingly quickly, by avian standards. He was so ready to talk about his pain, his losses, his vulnerabilities, his dreams. Maybe I was projecting, but he seemed as hungry for a friend as I was.

 Maybe friendship was enough.

 I felt my cheeks heat at the foolishness of the thought, especially as I looked up and realized I’d lose track of Zane. Emune hadn’t, and I’d simply trusted my guard to have my back. That was beyond foolish; the serpiente could move so frighteningly quick--

 No, I stopped myself. It wasn’t foolish.

It was trust.

 I turned to offer Zane a tentative smile, to show him this small blossom of trust--

 and found him with Adelina.

 They weren’t touching--they weren’t even being that civil with each other, I noticed--but their movements spoke of bodies well familiar with one another, moving seamlessly to set up their bedrolls by the fire as they quietly bickered.

 That is not a man unfamiliar with your body.

 My flush deepened, and I’d have given anything for the guard at my back to be Andreios instead of Emune. What must he think of all this, his mad future queen and  these bickering serpents.

 What would the rest of the court think of me.

 It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter, not really. But... it did. It didn’t matter to me, personally, but it would affect my ability to lead. The Shardaes were well loved, for their patronage of the arts and their generosity with all their had--and their gifts of song. That, more than anything else I knew, was what kept us in the hearts of the people. That lingering kiss of magic that cast the mind back to our mythical hawk queen--one who danced, Zane said, over a serpiente symbol.

 My head was beginning to hurt.

 I turned my back to the arguing couple--and they were most certainly a couple--by the fire and addressed Emune.

 “I assume you’ll want to keep a watch rather than sleep?”

 He nodded, his habit to remain more or less mute, I supposed. I bit back a sigh.

 “I figured as much. Then I shall nap in the rocker, until Rei--Captain Andreios comes.”

 I knew better, I really did. But what I wanted was Rei, not Captain Andreios. I wanted to talk to my best friend, to unravel the tangle of my thoughts in the retelling of them, and maybe, I added guiltily, spend a few minutes in his arms. Just for the comfort of it but--well, Zane was in his favorite pair of arms. Why shouldn’t I retreat to mine?

 Because he wants to take you as his...mate. I realized I still didn’t know the word. If it had been just me and Zane, I might have asked him. But I wouldn’t interrupt he and Adelina for the world.

 “That can’t be comfortable.”

 Zane’s words cut through my thoughts, startling me in my rocker. I blinked owlish eyes at him, head absolutely scattered.

 I realized, belatedly, that I was looking at him alone. Adelina wasn’t in his bedroll. She was perked grumpily on the raised edge of the hearth, back to the fire and her Arami, eyes locked on Emune. Her gazed flicked to me and Zane as we spoke, but she never uncrossed her arms, or moved from her tightly coiled lounge against the stone. She looked just like Zane had in the camps, I realized. Was it from physical familiarity, or a mark of some serpiente style they both trained in?

 “I said,” Zane said again, tearing my thoughts from Adelina and all that violent potential, “That can’t be comfortable. If you’re tired, Danica, come lay down.”

 My eyes darted around the room, to Emune, to Adelina, to the door I just knew Rei would come through the moment I laid down--if I lay down.  Not a chance.

 Zane laughed, and it sounded bitter, and tired. Had I spoken that last out loud?

 “To public for you to relax, pretty Danica?”

 I gave him narrowed eyes. “Why do you always do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Say my name like that, like its some kind of title. And like I won’t know which Danica you mean, if you don’t inclue ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’. Is there some other Danica I should be aware of?”

 To my utter shock, it was Adelina who laughed. Zane shot her a dirty look, and Emune almost jumped out of his skin, but I just stared, enchanted by the startling sound, as cold and hard as the rest of her.

 “She has you there, my Arami. She may be a better match for you than I thought, if she sees through you this easily.”

 I blushed and looked at my lap, unable to think of anything to say. Besides, she wasn’t technically addressing me.

 Of course, then she did.

 “Lay down with him, brave Danica. I won’t bite, and I won’t let him bite you either.”

 I felt my eyes bug from my head. I felt more than saw Emune react, and I halted him with a raised hand. Drawing my composure around me like the armor it was, I raised my eyes to Adelina.

 “I understand you are very familiar with your Arami.”

 Zane snorted, but Adelina watched me with utterly unreadable eyes. I understood the measure she was taking of me, and did my best to live up to it.

 “But I am not your Arami, or whatever the equivalent title would be, and I do not know you. I ask that you kindly refrain from teasing me until we are both comfortable with it.”

 Adelina arched a perfect, pale eyebrow. “Ask?”

 I nodded, chin held high. “Yes, ask. You are not of my court; it is not my place to rule you. But I thought I’d do you the courtsey of asking directly, rather than dragging your Arami into it. I assumed you’d prefer to speak directly, since you felt so comfortable doing so a moment before.”

 Her lips thinned, and I couldn’t tell if it was in displeasure or to supress a smile. But she inclined her head right back and settled back against the stones.

 “Very well, Lady Shardae. I will refrain from being so familiar with you, until we’re all comfortable with one another.”

 I didn’t care for that parting shot at all. There was mockery in it, and implications I didn’t quite know how to untangle. I knew I was being made fun of, challenged, but so indirectly that I didn’t know how to counter it. But Adelina didn’t seem to expect any response, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the warm hearthstones.

 I didn’t look at either of the men, instead choosing to mirror Adelina’s repose. I’d both passed and failed this first test, of that I was sure. But I didn’t know how to make use of my new allyship with Zane to figure it out while we were all waiting so tensely for the Royal Flight to come.

 Oh feathered furies.

 That’s what they’d been arguing about.

 Adelina, Zane’s only guard, had surely been unhappy at the idea of being outnumbered three to one--because I had been adamant in my letter that no more than four guards be on the grounds at any given time. I knew I couldn’t keep Rei from bringing scouts, and this was avian territory after all, but I could and would limit how crowded this small farmhouse would get, and I’d thought four was a reasonable compromise. That’s how many usually walked with me in the fields, and this was simply the fields.

 But Adelina had no reinforcements coming.

 And her King--her beloved prince and personal lover--had told her to shut up and sleep on it. Or whatever words he’d actually used. I’d assumed a lovers’ spat because that was how I saw her first, the obvious lover I was going to surplant, and least publicly. Zane had all but said he’d keep lovers, and--oh skies above, this was all so stupid. We could never be lovers. I could daydream about what it might be like to kiss those lips, or let myself lay down beside him and that tempting fireplace. But Adelina knew the real thing, and there was no way I could ask her to give him up just to save a little face. For all I knew, the serpents wouldn’t care one way or another.

 And as I’d said to Zane, they wouldn’t like him one way or another. A mistress on the side was the least of Zane’s villanies, in the court’s eyes.

 But again, there were those vows to be upheld. Oaths really did bind the strength of the Tuuli Thea to the service of her people, and every oath sworn to or by her helped strengthen her magic. We were all hoping my powers would grow when I took the throne--part of why my mother had decided to step down. Her own gifts lay more in veils and illusions, in tricking the mind to be at peace, and not notice the thing she didn’t want noticed. Mine lay in comfort, and the mending of small wounds and illnesses. I had hoped against hope when I held Gregory that my gifts could give him enough life for his own magic to do the rest. But Cobriana magic, it seems, did not line in healing. Or at least, that prince’s hadn’t.

 I wondered what powers Zane had, and if they had any use outside of battle.

 And maybe he had none, I reminded myself. Just because the falcon monarchs had magic and the avian monarchs had magic, and the tales of  Cobriana on the battlefield seemed like magic, didn’t mean it followed that Zane had any gifts. Goddess, my own younger brother Xander could only sing away the noticing of pain, and conceal tropes that did not move. Only if they stood perfectly still, and numbered less than a score, could Xander keep his people from sight. It had been hoped his gifts would grow on the battlefield--

 Instead they were lost, he was lost, wasted. Just so much spilt blood.

 I must have fallen asleep without realizing it, my thoughts of blood turning to dreams of blood. Because I woke with a strangled cry of “Zane no!” as Andreios shook me awake.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty​

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes

[classified-bluerose]

put me back together - quentin beck x reader

a/n: (mild) spiderman: ffh spoilers ahead. probably a very OOC quentin but hey... the man got me clownin’.

quick notes: reader is an avenger, quentin is quentin, this is far too soft tbfh but it’s fanfiction so \_(0-0)_/. just suspend your belief & hope u enjoy!

a/n 2: unedited, unbeta’d. idk man. i’m just in love w jake gyllenhaal (gylenhaal?) and mysterio is hot as hell.

(GIF is not mine)

—

chapter one: breathless

—

quentin beck is a meticulous man - he planned every facet of his revenge plot down to the smallest of details. arranged contingencies and back-up plans and waited, with the patience of a saint, for the correct moment to strike. he ensured any and all top-tier avengers were MIA, left it just long enough for SHIELD to pull together some semblance of it’s former operation but short enough so they were still finding their feet in the aftermath of the Blip. getting around the kid, parker, would be easy enough. he’d been through a tremendous amount of trauma, and quentin could use that to his advantage.

the one thing quentin beck didn’t count on, though, was you.

you, an avenger - or a former avenger, at least - who fell somewhere in the middle of all the others. not by power level, simply by how known you were. the widow and the hawk were rarely spotted and little was known about either, whilst iron man and captain america owned the heart and soul of the entire nation. banner was known for his destructive capabilities and thor worshipped for his literal godliness and appearance.

how shallow the common folk can be, quentin always mused.

then you - powerful, but not plastered across billboards or tv ads. quiet and lowkey, but not quite invisible. quentin was aware of your existence but never paid much attention to it, having heard that, following stark and roger’s deats that you’d quit the superhero charade and disappeared into the ether.

so, the man of mysteries found himself more than a little surprised when fury showed up mexico, with you in tow.

a little bit of panic hits as he watches you appraise the scene - this could be a problem, he thinks to himself, scanning his brain for any possible solution. it is only when he begins to interact with the shield agents that he notices something.

although you are standing in his presence, alive, solid, real, it‘s pretty obvious you aren’t exactly there. haunted images flicker across an otherwise stoic face as shoulders bow from the weight of grief and guilt and trauma. glassy eyes stare through and not at, words mumbled in montone in response to fury.

okay, quentin thinks, hiding a smirk, i can work with this.

—

the plan changes ever-so-slightly before venice. it is simple but brilliant, even if he does say so himself. having already laid the groundwork for his tragic backstory, it is easy to weave your character into the tapestry he was creating.

pained glances, longing expressions, a hesistant greeting - all little, subtle clues hinting to the fact that quentin knew you in his alternate world.

fury picks up on it first, of course. the spy who’s secrets have secrets still has the eye for detail he’s famous for. you, on the other hand, are oblivious to quentin’s actions - obvlious to pretty much anything happening around you. you don’t speak unless directly spoken too, don’t offer insight or advice on how to defeat the elementals. it‘s almost like fury has dragged you here in a bid to convince you to return to the fold.

quentin learns as much as he can about you as he flies over the sea to italy; not much could be gleaned from online sources but he pulls out just enough information to put together a rough sketch of who you are, what you wanted, what you’d lost.

you’d worked with the avengers since 2012, sided with stark in the infamous civil war years later - the idea of you being close to that man was enough to set quentin’s blood boiling - and had fought in both battles against the mad titan thanos. your powers were certainly impressive - your ability to conjure and manipulate fire set off a fresh worry. the final elemental that mysterio would face off against was the one made of ‘’flames’’ - what if you decided your powers would help with the destruction of the molten man?

quentin files that thought away for later as he clicks on a rare picture printed on some trendy news site. he almost doesn’t recognise the girl in the photograph as you. you were younger, looked lighter, did not carry as many ghosts on your back. and you were smiling. wide and bright and shining and quentin struggled to pull himself away from the sight.

when he did, he itemised the information he’d gathered into what he could and couldn’t use to win you over. after all, every superhero needs a love interest to protect, right?

you were close to stark, that much was painfully, bitterly obvious. newsreports following the aftermath of the last battle hinted at an intimate relationship with the black widow, too. both those people were dead and gone and that meant there was something missing in her life. an empty space that quentin was certain he could fill. the battle had caused some damage to your powers - almost like a battery, the effort and strain of fighting thanos had drained your energy quite significantly. you were slowly returning to your original state, but right now you were weakened, hurting. vulnerable.

perfect for quentin.

he gathered his information, updated the team on this latest development, and braced himself for what would come next.

—

when he reaches venice, it’s clear that fury has mentioned to you that quentin has taken an interest. you seem slightly more alert, meeting his gaze for periods longer than a half-second. your body language changes minutely - your arms, usually crossed tight across your chest, now hang looser at your waist, fingers interlaced. it is by no means a huge shift, but enough for quentin to make his move.

after a meeting with agents, fury, and spiderman, he hangs around the base setup, lingering at consoles and waiting for the last of the people to trickle out. you have stayed on to keep an eye on quentin - fury is no fool and recognised that this stranger from some other world could turn out to be just as much a threat as the monsters he was fighting. quentin couldn’t surpress a smile as he thought, oh, you don’t know the half of it.

he quickly rearranges his face when he clears his throat and approaches you, slowly. you glance up. he took his time to savour this moment - this scene he was most excited for.

he smiles, softly. ‘’ hey. i was hoping i’d a get a chance to talk to you. ‘’

no verbal response; you simply gaze at him expectantly.

quentin let his eyes take in every inch of your face - not a hardship, in fairness, you were beautiful in every way to him. if any other world really did exist she’s the girl he’d approach at a bar and offer to buy her a drink.

focus, quentin, he reminds himself, and breathes out a short laugh. ‘’ it’s so good to see you. ‘’

again, no real answer. just a tilt of the head, confusion in the eyes.

he let his fingers fall to the simple silver band on his left finger, twisting the metal around. your gaze follows the movements and there’s a brief moment where quentin swears he can see the cogs turning in your brain.

the blank expression breaks - a frown furrowing your brow, lips parting in a silent ‘’oh’’. excitement brims low in his belly - it’s working. she’s already figured it out.

you take a breath and turn your head away. when you look back, your face is neutral once again. but there’s something there - a softness that’s new. a tiny chink in the armour, all that quentin needs.

‘’ i’m sorry for your loss, ‘’ you tell him, ‘’ but i’m not her. ‘’

he nods quickly, ‘’ i know, i know. it’s just ... you look like her. ‘’ he falters in his words and feels tears building behind his eyes. seeing his watery gaze you clam up and he curses himself for getting too into it. after a second, however...

‘’ i know how it feels. to lose the one you love. to feel like it’s your fault, like you could’ve - should have - saved them, ‘’ you sigh and rub your face, tiredly. ‘’ but that’s not gonna help you save this world, quentin. ‘’

the sound of your name leaving his lips sends a tremor through his heart. he freezes momentarily - what is this feeling? - but quickly shakes out of it as you continue.

‘’ you gotta move on, ‘’ your voice is nothing more than a whisper, ‘’ you have a chance, now, to win, and you can’t let bad feelings ruin it. ‘’

you meet his gaze almost shyly, and he feels physically drawn in to you, doesn’t even realise his feet are moving until he’s barely a breath away. startled by the sudden closeness you take a step back and harden your features once again.

quentin apologises, sounding sincere, ‘’ i didn’t realise ... you’re not like her, not entirely. she was ... she didn’t have powers. ‘’ he lets the ghost of a fake memory flutter across his face. ‘’ but she was still the strongest person i knew. ‘’ his voice splinters on the last word and tears slip down his face.

you hesistate, he senses the uncertainty, and moves to turn away as though ashamed.

his stomach does a victory flip when your hand comes to touch his armoured shoulder. from underneath long, damp lashes he peeks down at you. you look as though you’re hurting for him and something harsh twists in his chest. he doesn’t have time to think about it, though. not when your hand slides down the material of his costume and finds it’s way into his.

you squeeze it gently, the unnatural warmth of your skin almost burning against his palm. quentin finds himself feeling comforted, tries to climb out of the moment and remember that this isn’t real -

he slips a little bit when you squeeze his hand a second time, and say, ‘’ just make her proud, quentin. you can save this world. do it for her. ‘’

his breath leaves him and he’s silent for a long moment as he gazes down at your face. he feels cracked open, raw, vulnerable. eventually, he nods, waits for his voice to even out. squeezes your hand back, a little tighter than necessary.

‘’ i’ll do my best. ‘’

|| Part 1 of ? ||

[edgydepressedchoicesthot]

24: my love was stronger than your pride (any ES pairing)

Summary: Neither of them knew that this was the last time they’d see each other before Andromeda’s sacrifice made time reassert itself.

Something else they didn’t know is that the same force that tore them apart would bring them back to each other. Seraxa/Yvonne

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248093

A/N: Well, this one took a while. Apologies to @brightpinkpeppercorn for taking my sweet time with this. I originally asked for prompts to get myself out of my writing funk, and I decided to take the quarantine as a chance to use some new free time to start writing again. I hope you’re all doing okay and staying safe.

After getting the prompt, I thought a bit on what ship do to this for; Estela/MC, Quinn/Michelle, Craig/Aleister (idk lol). But seeing a post saying that Serafine in Bloodbound is Yvonne from the Vaanu!Ending (who she OBVIOUSLY IS DAMMIT), that got me thinking. When I was fresh in the fandom, I heard someone suggest Seraxa/Yvonne, and I kinda liked the ship. And after seeing the “Serafine is Yvonne” Theory Fact, I wondered: what has she been up to? Is she keeping in touch with the Catalysts? Has she been back to La Huerta? HAS SHE SEEN HER GREEN GIRLFRIEND AGAIN? And thus, this fic was born! I made a few alterations to the canon (Yvonne stuck around during the Cetus battle and helped out), but nothing so that it’ll be too unrecognizable. Enjoy!

BTW I am not responsible in any fashion if you injure yourself whilst trying to lick your elbow.

————————

The pirate was probably trying to be stealthy, but Seraxa still heard her coming.

Night blanketed Elyys’tel, and lanterns hung all over the Great Tree, made to look like their own star-filled sky.

Andromeda, just Handfasted, was off enjoying the night with their beloved. The rest of the Catalysts joined the Vaanti in the festivities. People danced by bonfires and played as many games to rival the ones from the last Valinorim. All the laughter, singing, and happy shouts melded together into one joyous roar.

The last Seraxa saw of Taari was he and Zahra running off to play what she had called “dodgeball”, leaving Seraxa with her thoughts.

“Not one for parties?”

That was the second time she and Yvonne had spoken. The first was just before Varyyn’s coronation, when she bid the Catalysts a fond farewell.

Seraxa had thanked, or at least acknowledged, Yvonne for helping to protect the Vaanti during Cetus’s attack. The pirate tipped her hat with a flourish and a wink, and called her “milday”.

Taari promptly asked if the pirate was her new girlfriend, and Seraxa assigned him a long list of chores after the Valinorim.

“I’m here for one, am I not?” Seraxa replied, not turning around.

“With the way you scowl like the sun’s in your eyes, you could have fooled me,” Yvonne was right next to her now, joining Seraxa in standing off to the side instead celebrating. It looked unfamiliar to Seraxa, since Yvonne seemed the type to waste no time in celebrating.

Seraxa also remembered the way the pirate arrived in the midst of Cetus’s attack to help, and how she led a crowd of Vaanti to safety deeper into the jungle.

“Truly though,” the pirate broke the warrior out of her thoughts. “Do you ever rest?”

“I am not fighting or preparing for a fight, so you can say I rest now,” Seraxa retorted.

“You’ve not touched a single drink the whole day, and watching everyone like a hawk does not help your case. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you relax.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so keen on watching me.”

To Seraxa’s surprise, Yvonne blushed. She didn’t take that long to recover though.

“Still, with you being a military leader, that warrants a day off, no? Two, at the least?”

All the more reason I can’t let my guard down, Seraxa thought to herself. Everything seemed safe before Cetus attacked, and attacked he did.

Seraxa’s pride refused to acknowledge what might have happened if the Catalysts hadn’t come when they did.

“And I told you, I am resting. If we are to talk in circles like this the whole night, you’ll grow weary.”

“That I doubt,” Yvonne said quietly with a mischievous smirk that Seraxa didn’t quite understand. “You seem to have missed quite a show earlier,” the pirate continued. “The big one, Craig? He challenged one of your soldiers to a match.”

“Then Ursa is a dead man for sure-”

“He won.”

“Hm?”

“You heard correct,” Yvonne smirked. “Against several, actually.”

“He…he, an outsider, bested my warriors in a spar?”

Seraxa’s mind went through all the grueling exercise regimes she would put those warriors through to compensate for such a defeat (she will get names), before Yvonne spoke again.

“No no, they did not fight.”

“…Then what did they do?”

“Craig licked his elbow, and challenged one of your soldiers to do the same.”

“Whaa…” Seraxa’s jaw dropped.

“And several of your troops tried to succeed where the first had failed. None of them could.”

Seraxa…had no words. Elbow licking? She expected warriors under her command to be above making a fuss over something so ridiculous…

Her eyes darted down for a second to her left elbow; only for a second, but long enough for the pirate to catch.

“Try it.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“We both know you’re thinking about it,” Yvonne waggled her eyebrows. “Someone did manage to accomplish the feat, at last.”

“One person out of nearly everyone in Elyys’tel?”

“Yes. It was Grace. And naturally, she won the prize.”

“There was a prize as well?”

“Indeed. She had the privilege to watch as all who tried and failed form something they called a ‘human pyramid’. It was quite the disaster.”

A smile played on Seraxa’s lips, one that she couldn’t quite smother. Not overly large, but big enough to be visible.

The pirate leaned closer, eyes squinting as they inspected Seraxa’s face. The warrior’s cheeks heated up.

“What are you-”

“Checking to see if your face has cracked,” she said earnestly. “It appears intact, and lovely as ever.”

Lovely…lovely…

Lovely…????

Seraxa’s mind went blank, as if her mind was thrown into a time loop, focused on that one word.

The two of them stand in silence for a minute. Seraxa’s eyes glanced once at Yvonne, feeling an uncomfortable rising of anxiety at the awkward quiet.

She turned to Yvonne to speak. Later, when Seraxa thought back on that moment, she could never remember what she had wanted to say, because what happened next took over her full attention.

Yvonne leaned in and kissed Seraxa.

The kiss was like lightning; quick and intense. Yvonne’s lips were warm and searching, and pulled away.

Once again, Seraxa’s entire mind went blank.

When the warrior was silent for a few seconds, vulnerability flashed on the pirate’s face.

“I’m sorry, was that not-” Seraxa swapped their places with a kiss of her own.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seraxa said when they broke apart. “Unless it’s because you didn’t do that sooner.”

A laugh escaped Yvonne’s lips as they met Seraxa’s again.

Neither of them knew that this was the last time they’d see each other before Andromeda’s sacrifice made time reassert itself.

Something else they didn’t know is that the same force that tore them apart would bring them back to each other.

————————

Something Seraxa was used to waking up to was the sun’s rays shining through the windows of her home, or her cats’ morning playfulness dragging her from sleep.

This morning, she woke up to Yvonne, behind her in bed, tightening her arms around her lover in a secure hold.

Speaking of the sun, all of Seraxa’s windows had now been boarded up to keep it from shining through, accommodating Yvonne’s now-nocturnal nature.

It had been almost two years since the first time she had seen Yvonne after Andromeda’s sacrifice. The Catalysts when they made their yearly visits was always a welcome sight. But seeing with them, someone she had thought she’d never see again, was a surprise to say the least.

When everything had settled, and it was established that there wasn’t any trickery afoot, Yvonne had quite a tale to tell.

After being taken back to her own time, she said that she came into contact with creatures from the world outside of Vaanu. Creatures that made her into one of them, an immortal.

An immortal, with a regular need for blood.

Yvonne couldn’t stay on the island any longer than a month before the need for blood would become unbearable. Neither of them knew how Yvonne would take to Vaanti blood, if it would nourish or poison her, and Seraxa wasn’t willing to risk it. Pavos volunteered to run tests on Vaanti blood, and only ended up confirming what they feared.

Thus, Yvonne could not stay for any longer than three weeks at a time. And affairs on the outside world kept her from visiting as regularly as she would have liked.

It was probably for the best, Seraxa thought. Adventure was in Yvonne’s blood, and she was not meant to pick one place to live out the rest of her days.

Yvonne had told her all of this on the first few days she had come back; that she did not want marriage even if her nature wasn’t a factor, and said that she understood if a relationship with her was too much for Seraxa to handle.

Thoughts back to the present moment, she turned around, and joined Yvonne in a mutual embrace.

“Did I wake you?” Yvonne asked sleepily.

“Yes,” Seraxa smirked. “But I’ll have to get up soon anyway.”

“Can’t you order someone else to take care of your duties for the day?” Yvonne asked. “You need your sleep. And what good is authority if you can’t flaunt it every once in a while?”

Yvonne’s nature altered Seraxa’s sleep schedule quite a bit, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

“I’ll be back by nightfall,” Seraxa shifted and pulled Yvonne closer.

“That’s still too long.”

“You’ll survive without my embrace for a few hours,” the warrior resisted the urge to laugh.

“You’re so cruel,” Yvonne whined, snuggling closer.

“We’re here now,” Seraxa buried her face in Yvonne’s hair. “So until I hear a knock on the door, I’m yours.”

They’re not sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until Yvonne poked Seraxa’s nose.

“You look too thoughtful for someone who just woke up,” Yvonne commented, and Seraxa finally noticed she was frowning.

“I was just wondering…” Seraxa began. “Before I met you, I was resolved to live a life without a partner. There would be no guarantee of a long life, so I did not want anyone to need me, a wife or a child, should I leave them behind.”

Yvonne stroked her face.

“That’s a lonely way to live, my dear.”

“For a while, I thought it was the only way I could live.”

Yvonne said nothing, and Seraxa continued.

“Both my parents died in battle when I was a child. It was a reality I had to face when I followed in their stead as a warrior, and more so when I was named War Chief. I’ve have so long to get used to the idea, that my pride wouldn’t allow me to indulge anything else.”

“Well it’s a good thing I plan to keep you around,” Yvonne said before giving Seraxa a deep kiss. “What we have might not be normal, but-”

“It is not normal, and I want it no other way,” Seraxa kissed Yvonne this time.

“Thank you,” Yvonne breathed. “For letting me in, and for having a place for me with you.”

“Thank your ability to break past a War Chief’s defenses, my love.”

“I’m afraid it was rather simple,” Yvonne curled up closer to Seraxa, nuzzling her head into her neck. “My love was stronger than your pride.”

Seraxa pressed a kiss to Yvonne’s head.

“And I thank the stars for that.”

 A/N: Seraxa is a little spoon, Yvonne is Serafine Dupont from Bloodbound, and both Craig and Grace can lick their elbows. I don’t make the rules I just think them up and write them into a story.

Also, Yvonne and Seraxa might not have the “living together” relationship I thought of when I started writing this, but in my mind this is the most realistic scenario for these two to be together. Yvonne’s too adventurous to stay in one place for the rest of her life, and Seraxa has a big sense of duty regarding her responsibilities to the Vaanti that I can’t imagine her giving up (even more so if she becomes Elyyshar when Varyyn leaves with Diego). So, in the end, these two have a long distance and open relationship (I strongly headcanon Yvonne/Serafine as polyamorous), but they love each other very much and fill their time together with as much lovey-doviness as possible.

Another thing, this is my first time writing a bilingual character while not writing up scenes directly from ES, so I apologize for any mistakes. Since I figured Yvonne is either in her late twenties or early thirties, and since being multilingual would almost be a necessity in sailing and adventuring, she would be a fairly decent English speaker. And I learned some of the biggest reasons for bilingual people slipping back to their native language is when they’re either really tired or go back and forth from speaking their native language to the other one. And since Yvonne is spending a lot of time lately around primarily English-speaking people, she probably wouldn’t have spoken much French at all. I hope I did it justice. I heard from other members of the fandom that PB butchered the way Yvonne and Tio Nicholas, both bilingual, would have spoke, so I wanted to do better and tread lightly. 

Finally, I have no idea what alien forces enable a select few to lick their fucking elbows and I don’t care to know.

[another-stupid-writing-blog]

Area 5 – The Monster Queen’s Court

Ronan leads you through the village, and you see monsterfolk of various shape, size, and species, each running away as you turn to look at them.  

RONAN: Don’t worry about them. Let’s just focus on the trial for now.  

Eventually, he brings you to a large circle of humanoid trees rooted to the ground, each towering over you, and each with features of various animals. Ronan gestures for you to stay at the southernmost part, while he goes to the west. To the eastern corner, you see an ant-woman staring at you, with Xoknath behind her. In the northernmost part, you see the biggest of the dryads, bearing a face you find all too familiar.

Yitrie. You had met her before, when you fled from the city, and had talked with her after the whole incident. She, High Elder of the Monsters, is usually so kind in appearance, but right now she’s staring down at you with such contempt and disappointment.  

YITRIE: [Hello, Alexis.]  

…You say hello.  

YITRIE: [Is everyone ready to begin?]  

ANT: [The prosecution is ready, Your Wisdom.]  

RONAN: [The defense is ready, Your Wisdom.]  

YITRIE: [Well, then. Let us begin. Today marks the trial of Alexis, leader of the human rebels, who is accused of trespassing, assault of a guard, assault with a deadly weapon, and breaking of a signed treaty. How does the defense plea?]  

RONAN: [The defense pleads guilty, Your Wisdom.]  

YITRIE: [Interesting. The court acknowledges the defendant’s honesty as a show of good faith. Given her reputation, we had expected a fight.]  

Yitrie chuckles at her own joke, followed by all the dryads in the circle. The ant-woman also joins in, and you see Ronan pretend to laugh too, though he makes no sound, and you can sense the fear coming off of him. Yitrie raises a hand and the laughter stops.  

YITRIE: [Regardless, the court accepts this plea. Is there a bargain currently in place?]  

ANT: [No, Your Wisdom, there is not.]  

YITRIE: [Then let us discuss this situation, starting with the defendant’s motive.]  

RONAN: [Your Wisdom, my client was contacted by a human spirit, whose description matches that of the zombie that attacked our village just yesterday. He had told her, much like he told many of us a few days ago, that unless she made her way eastward to the tower of a wizard, said wizard would conquer the human kingdom, followed by our village. When Xoknath interfered, as per his duty, she did not believe she could communicate her reasons for passing through. The fact that Xoknath is new to the English language, and the fact that we’d remained neutral about this threat so far, may have contributed to this line of thought. In an act of desperation, she struggled against him using the tools she had on-hand, thinking it was in our best interest.]  

ANT: [With all due respect, Your Wisdom, this is a very weak motive. Even if we know now that the human spirit may have spoken the truth, there is no way she could have known this at the time. Mere speculation does not justify a crime this severe, nor does it explain how quickly she resorted to said crime. May I call Xoknath to the stand?]  

YITRIE: [You may.]  

Xoknath steps forward.  

ANT: [Xoknath, Guard of the Border, can you please describe what happened during the incident with Alexis?]  

XOKNATH: [OF COURSE. EARLY MORNING, I WAS PATROLING THE WESTERN EDGE OF THE FOREST, ACCORDING TO SCHEDULE. THEN, I SAW THE HUMAN CROSS INTO MONSTERFOLK TERRITORY. I DID NOT RECOGNIZE HER AS THE FOUNDER OF THE WESTERN CAMP, SO I STOPPED HER AND GAVE HER THE STANDARD LECTURE, AS BEST AS I KNEW IT… SAYING NOTHING, SHE IMMEDIATELY TOOK THE IRON SPEAR SHE HAD WITH HER, AND DROVE IT TOWARDS MY CHEST. I BELIEVE I WOULD HAVE BEEN SERIOUSLY MAIMED, OR EVEN KILLED, HAD I NOT BEEN WEARING ARMOR. I TOOK MY OWN SPIRIT CRYSTAL WEAPONS AND USED THEM TO DEFEND MYSELF, TRYING AS HARD AS I COULD TO GO MAINLY FOR THE LIMBS. EVENTUALLY, SHE WENT DOWN, AND I TOOK HER INTO CUSTODY.]  

ANT: [Thank you, Xoknath.]  

ANT: [You see, Your Wisdom? Immediately. Centre-mass. Bladed, iron weapon! A stable individual would not resort to such measures without at least attempting discussion or retreat, and yet she did. Clearly, she had come prepared to do something of this nature, and we should not overlook this in the slightest.]  

YITRIE: [Agreed. I personally believe she had reasonable things at stake to do what she did, but the way she conducted herself does give the impression that she had been waiting for an excuse to kill someone anyway, which is horrid. I personally have died many times before, and while it may not be permanent, one’s first few deaths can be extremely painful and frightening, to the point where they affect one’s outlook for all of eternity. This should not be ignored.]  

An uneasy atmosphere fills the room.  

YITRIE: [Even still, not many of our own populace willing to risk leaving the village to deal with this wizard issue, even though it affects all of us. She should definitely face punishment, but it does feel a tad wasteful to let her courage go unused. Perhaps if, during punishment, we got her to change her tactics to focus more on communication, and to use less lethal force when battle is unavoidable, she might be less of a threat. Then, perhaps, we could permit her to continue her quest.]

ANT: [Your wisdom, how could we possibly re-train her in such a way? She is a lunatic!]

YITRIE: [Well, since we are already killing two birds with one stone, why don’t we make it three birds? The goblins still need our assistance with the undead human, and we just so happen to have someone who’s shown willingness to approach danger. If we sentence Alexis to community service, I can send her to the goblin caves to retrieve the zombie, alive and bound. If she complies, we can send her on her way. If she kills him, or becomes infected, we’ll keep her in custody. In any case, at least it won’t be us.]  

ANT: [But how can we be sure she won’t attack the civilians?]

YITRIE: […We’ll send a chaperone to watch her every move, and we’ll only let her use less-than-lethal weapons. If she becomes a problem, the chaperone can step in and deal with her. If she is unable to complete the task, they can take care of the zombie as well. Otherwise, their main goal will be to watch from a distance. All in favor?] About three quarters of the dryads raise an arm-like branch.

DRYADS: [Aye!]  

The dryad next to Yitrie leans in towards her.

DRYAD: [Wait! Who should we appoint?]  

YITRIE: [That’s a good question. We need someone very attentive and cautious, who will watch her like a hawk, but they also need to be strong enough to intervene, should things go awry. With both his suspicion towards Alexis, and the strength of body and spirit he has proven recently, it seems Xoknath would be the ideal candidate.]

You see Xoknath lean forward and open his mouth as if to yell something, but then his posture sinks. He subtly clenches his fist and begins to speak through grit teeth.  

XOKNATH: [I WILL COMPLY WITH THESE ORDERS, YOUR WISDOM.]

YITRIE: [Perfect! Now, without any further ado, we sentence Alexis to community service, and mandate a follow-up trial for when she is finished!]

Yitrie claps once. The other dryads then each bring their hands together into one harmonious clap. The ant-woman exits to the south, while a weaselfolk man appears from the north, carrying a burlap sack.

WEASEL: [Here are your belongings, Miss Alexis. Uh, well, some of them, anyway. We had to throw out any food that had spoiled and confiscate any bladed weapons, so your spear is now a staff. We apologize for the inconvenience.]  

You recovered your LOST ITEMS!

The weasel-man exits as well. Xoknath approaches.  

*

Xoknath joins the party! You can now CRAFT and DECRAFT items, including animals, as well as speak Monster Pidgin and HOGSPEECH while Xoknath is alive.  

*  

XOKNATH: XOKNATH NO LIKE YOU, UNDERSTAND?  

Perfectly clear.

XOKNATH: XOKNATH WORK WITH YOU. YOU NO BE BAD.

You have no intention of getting sidetracked more than you have already.

RONAN: Well, uh, since Xoknath here already knows some English, will you be okay without me? I can take you through the village if you want, but I really don’t wanna leave this safe zone if possible.  

Yes, having him come with you will be helpful for now, (you’re not really thrilled to spend time alone with Xoknath), but you’ll be fine if he doesn’t want to leave the city. You thank him for his work defending you.  

RONAN: You’re welcome. I’m sorry things got as crazy as they did. If there’s anything more you’d like from me, just say so.  

You nod.

XOKNATH: UGH. [DOUBLE-CROSSING SHITFUCK! OKAY,] XOKNATH KNOW WAY, GO FIRST. YOU FOLLOW.  

With that, Xoknath begins leading the way back through the village, and you and Ronan follow.  

Area 6 - The Woods

Link to First Page

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

You Pop When We Get Intimate*

pairing: werewolf harry x reader

warnings: abo dynamics, smut, dirty talk

~

YN lets out a pained cough as she breathes in the hot, sticky atmosphere of the crowded living room that her and her boyfriend have just entered. The smell of weed and alcohol hits the back of her throat with the first inhale the second her foot crosses the threshold. She can feel her boyfriend’s warm hand on her waist as he keeps her close to him, guiding the two of them through the disarray of bodies that fill the decently sized room. Looking around, YN can see all heads turn to eye them for a split second before the ending away, whispering to the people around them. Soon enough, the house is quiet save for the sound of “Get Into It (Yuh)” by Doja Cat.

A slight grimace decorates her face, and a dimpled smile adorns his as they get deeper into the house. Harry used to this atmosphere, and YN is the exact opposite. She never went to parties unless it was for family, and the only time she drank is when she was alone or with just her and Harry. The pair makes their way over to the couch that is overflowing with bodies, some people on the cushions and others resting on the back. With one look at Harry, they get the message loud and clear just from the look in his eyes. Instantly, group dissipates to give the couple room to sit comfortably. YN is both equally impressed and scared, wondering what Harry did to gain the kind of reputation he has with his pack members. With just a single look, Harry managed to assert his dominance, no words spoken.

Harry gives all of them one last intense stare before he turns to YN and gives her a bright, dimpled smile, motioning to the now empty couch for her to take a seat. She smiles in thanks and sits down, placing her handbag on her lap as he sits as well, throwing his arm onto the back of the couch, resting behind her head. The two sit there for a while as various people come by and say hello, introducing themselves to YN and greeting their pack leader, making sure they don’t get to close to his lover. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of any of them, watching each individual like a hawk. A deep growl is bubbling in his chest when -, one of the inferior alphas in the pack, gets a bit too close to her, a threatening glint in his eyes as he broadens his shoulders and prepares to attack. Luckily, the man steps away in fear, and YN takes the opportunity to rub at Harry’s hand, calming him down.

The defensive man finally relaxes into the couch at her touch, a sigh leaving his soft lips. The two sit and relax there, watching the party happen and having their own little conversations. About ten minutes in, one of Harry’s men ends up bringing them two red solo cups filled with clear alcohol, and Harry uses his strong nose to sniff it despite his trust for the other man. When he smells nothing but alcohol in their cups, he passes one to YN for her to sip on as they continue to talk. Sometime when they were talking, Harry had placed his free, ringed hand on YN’s thigh without her noticing, and it was gradually going further and further under her skirt throughout the conversation. YN only notices his intent when he reaches her inner thigh, very close to her vagina. She relaxes into the couch as she realizes that Harry is falling right into her trap.

“Where the fuck are your panties?” he grits out, directly next to her ear as he darts his eyes up to her face. He immediately takes in the smug smile on her face, realizing her plan all along. “Oh, I see. You want t’get punished tonight, hm?” he whispers against the shell of her ear before biting down gently, continuing. “I don’t think you’d like my punishments tonight,” he finishes, satisfied with the way her body tenses up at the plural term. The party is awfully quiet, each wolf straining their ears to hear what the couple is speaking about. Some faces are red, eyes on their shoes, while others are listening shamelessly, stopping their actions to hear.

“Do you know who you’re fucking with? Or should I remind you? Think m’gonna. Right here in front of everyone,” he spits, trailing his right hand up her thigh once more. A smirk forms on his face as he sees her right hand that is holding her beverage start to shake slightly, nerves entering her body at his words. “Spread y’legs a bit” he murmurs, and she does so immediately, giving him access to her wet center.

His fingers instantly take purchase on her throbbing clit, a small mewl leaving her parted lips as he rubs directly over the head. Warm Wetness is dripping from her vagina and into her skirt, her hips bucking up into his hand. The second he picks up speed, she moans under her breath, the feeling making her entire body tingle. He keeps his fingers on her clit, not stopping his ministrations as her orgasm builds rather quickly. Just as she gets close to the edge, her legs shaking slightly around his hand, he pulls his fingers away and laughs darkly as he hears her cry out in frustration before turning and burying her face into his shoulder.

The two of them know that every single person in the room can smell her arousal, but are trying their hardest to ignore it. They all know that if they even look at YN the wrong way, Harry won’t hesitate to end their lives. The rest of the partygoers continue dancing to the music awkwardly, talking and drinking as they try their hardest to ignore the situation happening in the dead center of the party. Tears are welling in her eyes in frustration, her orgasm quickly fading away. Harry, not being able to let her be, decides to tease her a bit.

“Need me to fuck you, hm? Just say the word and I’ll end this party right now so I can fuck you real good. How does that sound, Puppy?” he asks, stroking up and down her thigh with his wet hand. Despite the fact that it isn’t his home, he obviously has the power to end it just for her, and that has her cunt clenching around nothing as she nods furiously into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he coos, a condescending undertone to his words. YN nods against his shoulder with a whimper, making him smile in victory. She pulls away for just a moment to speak into his ear, her voice desperate and breathy. “Please, Alpha. Need it so bad,” she whines, burying her face into his shoulder once more. He chuckles at her desperation, his cock leaking even more at the compelling smell of her thick arousal in the air. It makes the small room feel even more compact, and he’s instantly growling out his command for everyone to leave, every single alpha, beta, and omega leaving the house in a hurry, wanting their lives to be spared.

Once the room is empty save for the two of them, Harry lifts her skirt and pulls her over to straddle his thigh, pressing her bare cunt against the thick muscle. She gasps as she feels the rough material of his pants against her clit. He barely gives her time to adjust before he’s placing both hands on her hips, helping to move her sopping cunt along his thigh. She nearly falls over at the feeling in her sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving her lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he coos, YN nodding quickly as he works her along him. “Soaking my pants, honey. So fucking wet for me, hm?” he teases, and she doesn’t even have the energy to make a rebuttal, letting him help her cum. Moans are leaving her lips as another orgasm builds, and she can only let it happen, hoping he’ll let her cum this time.

“Gonna cum,” she whispers, her breath catching in her throat as he cunt literally quivers against his thigh, and he’s immediately holding her onto him firmly, stopping her movements. She’s instantly tearing up again, falling into his chest and babbling wordlessly as her orgasm fades away once more. Harry removes a hand from her hip and places it onto her back, rubbing up and down gently as he knows he’s being really mean.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks her, hearing her whine. “Use y’words, Puppy. Can’t understand what you need when you’re all dumb for me. Haven’t even given you m’cock yet and you can’t even use your words. Do I really have that effect on you?” he teases, watching her get all shy and embarrassed. “No need to be ashamed, Lovie. Just tell me what y’need, pup,” he tuts, grabbing her chin gently to coax her into making eye contact with him.

“Need you deep inside me, please. Need to feel you, for you to make me cum. I’ll be such a good girl for you I swear,” she whines, nuzzling into his grip. He hums in satisfaction, looking into her glossy eyes, sensing how bad she needs it. He needs it too, so he decides to put the both of them out of their misery.

“Alright, baby. Ass up” he says, landing one last smack on her sore ass cheek to get her going. She’s instantaneously scrambling to prop up onto the back of the couch, Harry kneels in order to slide behind her. “Ready for me?” he asks, gripping the base of his thick cock, preparing her for him.

She nods and lets out a whimper as she feels his weepy tip swipe through her swollen folds, mewling for him to get into her. He decides to end her suffering, sliding in her tight opening inch by inch, her walls stretching to accommodate him. The both of them groan out into the thick air of the room, and a slight squelching can be heard as he slides into her, bottoming out. Her eyes flutter closed as she feels every vein on his cock against her velvety walls, the slight sting of him stretching her out making her whimper.

Harry stays that way for a while, his hips flush to hers as he relishes in the feeling of her warm, wet walls around his shaft. She feels so fucking good he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before he’s exploding into her. The second he feels like he won’t explode with one thrust, he pulls out until his tip is resting at her entrance before pushing all the way back into her, sliding against her g-spot. She’s moaning into the arm of the couch, tears building in her eyes as she takes in every ounce of pleasure he’s giving her.

“How’s it feeling, Puppy?” he asks over her whines, a smile on his face when she physically can’t answer. “Is that deep enough for you? Feel me deep in y’tummy?” he coos, his cock twitching when she nods and presses her ass against his hips. “So fucking good around me, baby” he moans, still fucking her slow and deep.

He pulls out once more before slamming into her harder, a surprised yelp leaving her lips at the change. “Fuck!” she exclaims against the fabric, her hands fisting the cushions. She’s nearly ripping the cushions with her nails, gripping onto them tightly as he drills into her perfectly. Harry is literally so deep inside her, filling her to the brim as he stuffs every inch of his cock inside with each thrust. She’s so full of him she can barely breathe, gasping for air with each and every plunge. He can feel her starting to clench already, her past orgasms coming back at full speed.

“Y’gonna cum, m’love? Hm? Gonna soak m’cock before I let you rest?” he pants, rubbing up and down her back as her entire body locks up, her orgasm moments away. She nods into the cushions once more, biting down on the fabric as she holds back until she has permission. “Okay, Puppy. Cum for me, cum for your alpha like a good little pup” he coos, and no more than five seconds later, she’s cumming all over his cock with a shout, a thick layer of cream covering the base of him.

He doesn’t stop fucking her, riding out her orgasm. With each thrust, he feels more and more of her cream coat him, leaving his lower belly sticky with her orgasm. He fucks her until her body goes limp against the couch before pulling out slowly and making his way around to where her head is, her body twitching with the aftershocks. He rubs a hand over her head, watching her relax into it.

“Can you go again or should I just clean y’up?” he rasps, despite his throbbing cock still needing stimulation. She says nothing, propping herself up and leaning forward to take his cock into her mouth, suckling on the angry head of it. A groan is bubbling from deep in his chest and he’s trying to refrain from bucking into her mouth. He’s instantly sent over the edge when YN takes all of him into her mouth and down into her throat, his head thrown back and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. She sucks him dry, cleaning every last drop of cum from his cock as his legs shake in overstimulation.

Whining, he pulls away from her and makes eye contact. “You didn’t have to do that, baby” he pants. “Was just gonna clean you up” he says, rubbing over her head gently. She just shakes her head, a yawn leaving her lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I know. Just get over here and cuddle me. M’tired,” she whispers, reaching up to pull him toward her. He chuckles at his perfect girlfriend, lying down on the couch before flattening her onto him, wrapping his arms around her. The two fall asleep within a few minutes, right there in the center of the room.

~

[lvllns]

5 questions for writers!

i was tagged by @goblin-deity​!! thank you so much owen!!!

i’ll tag: @allisondraste​ @serbarris​ @arlathen​ @trvelyans​ @lavellane​ and i am probably missing a few writers so if you wanna do this, consider yourself tagged!!

some of this is under a cut bc it got long since i am incapable of picking “short” things that i like oops

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why? Oh Isseya for sure. A lot of it is because I have her so fucking fleshed out after writing so much of her. I know her like the back of my hands and she is so damn easy to slip into and write. I did really enjoy writing Solas as well, that was a whole experience.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write? Friends to lovers is so good and is my absolute favorite. Tending wounds is another good one. FOUND FAMILY, give me that good good slow burn friends to lovers with a side of found family actually.

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written? from rare is this love.

This is what they are. Protectors that are forgotten about until they’re needed to stop the world ending and even then, when they fall nobody notices unless they take an archdemon with them. Nobody will remember Riordan. Nobody will talk of how he flung himself at a fucking archdemon and wounded it enough to ground it so the two of them could have a chance. Isseya knows, she knows, she will spend the rest of her life talking about him but it will not matter because only the name of one of the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden will be spoken in taverns after the sun has gone down.

also this from ritl:

Isseya moves, stands on the handles of her daggers and leaps. Comes straight down with her longsword and uses her momentum to bury it deep into the skull of the archdemon. It sinks in cleanly, but slowly, so slowly. Her arms shake.

There’s a blast of heat and light. Bright and hot. She closes her eyes, looks to the side and holds steady pressure. Forces the blade to stay deep in the beast. The leather of her gloves starts to smoke a little, her hands begin to ache and it’s too much. It’s too much and her arms hurt, her eyes hurt even though they’re closed. Her right foot slips off the pommel of the dagger that she’s using as a foothold, and she swears.

The archdemon is thrashing around, screaming and bellowing and twitching. Its massive body rolls around, knocks soldiers and dwarves and mages and elves around. Sends them flying and Isseya knows death throes when she sees them but she hurts all over. Her body slams against its neck as her other foot slips off the dagger and she clings to the longsword, desperate to end this.

And right when she thinks she is going to have to let go if she wants to keep her hands, the dragon falls to the ground with a deafening thud.

Everything goes silent and dark and the heat recedes. Isseya lets go and falls to the ground. Lands in a heap and curls into a ball. Her head knocks against the stone and isn’t that just great. Every single part of her aches and has a heartbeat. She flexes her hands, winces when the leather gloves crack and she tries to pull them off but she is shaking so bad she can’t get a good grip so she gives up.

The sounds of battle still ring out around her. No doubt the last few darkspawn getting their heads removed. She reaches to her belt and pulls a thick, red elfroot potion free. Pops it open and swallows it down without even a grimace. It won’t heal her, not even close, but it numbs everything enough that she can climb to her feet. She braces herself on the shoulder of the archdemon. Dips her head low and takes a few deep breaths before she steps away.

Her knees knock together, legs shaking from sheer exhaustion, but she takes another step. And another. Gets herself to where she can see the fighting. Where she can see the darkspawn retreating and soldiers cheering and there is so much blood everywhere.

Isseya looks around and finds herself locking eyes with Alistair. He’s a mess. His gauntlets are gone, his shield is dented and his hair is stuck to his head. Blood and ash and sweat streak his face, deep cuts that will scar mar his skin but —

But he’s alive.

And so is she.

Isseya laughs, high and strained and pushes herself into an unsteady, limping run. Thinks that when this is all done, she is never running again.

Alistair drops his sword and catches her when she leaps at him. She throws her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and laughs into his hair. Laughs and cries and kisses the top of his head. The metal of his armor is uncomfortable where it pushes against her but she does not care.

They’re alive.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written? This is from salt.

“Solas?”

He startles. Jumps and sends an apple flying through the air. She catches it easily and her brows turn down as she looks at him.

“I am —”

“You went somewhere and it didn’t look very nice,” a small smile as she hands the fruit back to him. Her fingers brush his and he barely keeps his body from blowing apart.

He shakes his head violently.

“Memories,” his smile is more teeth than anything. It only makes her look more concerned. “They return in pieces. Sometimes I find myself swept away,” his fingers drum against the table to the beat of an old song that he has not heard since a party at Dirthamen’s many years ago.

She hums before setting to work peeling the orange. “My name’s Abigail, by the way.”

He thinks he has never been so off in his entire life. “Ah, please pardon my inability to remember how one handles a conversation.”

Abigail snorts. “‘Handles a conversation?’ It’s just talking Solas,” she waves an orange segment around as she speaks. “Handling implies that it’s uncomfortable,” a blink as she leans across the table. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I — No?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He takes a bite of the apple and leans back in his chair. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat right out his throat. Is this really all it takes, to catch him so flat-footed? A nice conversation? Pretty eyes? He rolls his shoulders and flops his arm over his face.

“Yeah, you look like you’re having a blast over there.”

and this bit from rare is this love:

“Zevran” her voice is barely above a whisper and holds his gaze until he looks at the door. “This seems...like it is very important to you.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” there he goes. Walls and bricks and stones to hide behind. “You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now,” his body is tense, like a trap ready to spring and she is reaching right for the trigger. “Feel free to sell it, or wear it...or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”

Something odd nudges in her chest. At the spot where that plant took root so many months ago.

She turns the earring over in her hand.

“So...not a token of affection, then?” She tries to keep her voice light but immediately he freezes. Amber eyes wide like a spooked halla.

Somewhere in the back of her skull, glass shatters.

“I...look, just...just take it,” he stands now, runs a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have...so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”

He’s pleading with her to take this earring and ah, that’s it. There’s fear laced throughout. Fear and nerves and he is looking at her like she is on the verge of tearing his heart from his chest.

“I - Zev, vhenan,” he flinches and she holds the earring out toward him. “Please believe me when I say I want to take it but...I can’t,” shaky hands pluck the gold earring from her fingers and she watches as he chases every emotion from his face and oh how it hurts to be closed off from him so suddenly after all this time. “I think...I think it means something more to you and I won’t take it until you can be honest about what it means first.”

“You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, do you know that?” The words are sharp and he takes another step away. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this,” he opens his mouth. Shuts it. Shakes his head. “You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

“You’re being childish,” gold eyes narrow and he snorts. “You are! Zev, we have to communicate, to talk about things,” her voice softens. “This doesn’t, Creators guide me, I care about you Zevran. I love you and whatever you need to work through, I’m here for you but you need to let me know what's going on. I'm not, fuck, I know there are things that will take time, on both our ends, but I can’t accept this when it is clearly more than just the pretty earring you’re trying to pass it off as.”

He says nothing. Hands scrub over his face before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I - Give me a few days, please,” twists the leather around his wrist, eyes flicking to her own and he looks terrified.

She takes a step closer, just enough so she can touch his arm briefly.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?” Her head tilts as she wraps her arms around herself. “This won’t...what we have, it will not work if we don't communicate with each other.”

“I know. And I promise I will tell you, I just…” a heavy sigh, a hand through his messy hair. “A few days Isseya. Please.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

She watches his face crumble, a hand covering his eyes for a moment before he dips his head and quickly leaves the room.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?: SO MANY. I have a ridiculously large modern au plotted out and I want to write Isseya/Zev meeting there so badly. Also really want to write Penelope/Fen in that au bc oh BOY that’s good stuff. I also have an Alistair/Hawke thing that’s been rattling around my skull and I so desperately want to write them meeting up at Skyhold after everything that’s happened since the Blight.

[rosegardentwilight]

Like a Moth to a Flame

A03

Summary: -A showdown between Hawkmoth and Chat Noir leaves only the truth as the dust settles. -

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/M

Gen

Fandom:

Miraculous Ladybug

Relationships:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Characters:

Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Additional Tags:

Identity Reveal

Fluff and Angst

Feels

Hawkmoth Reveal

Chat Noir Reveal

Ladybug Reveal

The Confrontation- Les Mis

some adrinette - Freeform

Slightly Aged up

A.n.- You can blame this on my love for musical theatre. Once I listened to Confrontation from Les Mis, I knew I had to do this one-shot (I recommend listening to it at least once in reading this). It's a little different from what's usually in the fandom, but I wanted to write it. I hope you enjoy it.

The biggest thank you to @bluetreeleaves who is like the best beta ever. I love you so much.

Gabriel didn't know where things went wrong. This was supposed to be his moment, where he’d finally claimed both miraculouses and make the wish to restore his wife. They’d finally return to being a family once more. Everything had gone to plan up to today.

With the hope of Emilie slipping away, Gabriel had become more assertive bringing the fight to the duo catching them off guard by joining his Akuma. Chat was battling the akuma which meant he had the opportunity to face his biggest foe.

During the attack, Hawkmoth noticed Ladybug’s earrings were within reach, but when he dove for them, she dodged at the last moment. Even with her calculated moments to save herself, a misstep sent her flying off the Eiffel Tower. Hawkmoth could do nothing but watch in slow motion as Ladybug fell from a couple of stories high. She fumbled with her yo-yo, but when she threw it, the string came up short.

Crack .

He could hear the sound - followed by a loud cry of distress - then silence. He only took one step towards her, frozen as a red light encircled her body, leaving his arch nemesis in her civilian form. A gasp ripped from his lungs. No—it couldn’t be.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng?

He knew her. She was the one who had caught his eye to hire before she finished her time in university and competitors took notice. It was her all this time? He had hoped that she would make a suitable match for his son. He witnessed their flirtation every time he had been around. The sounds of their laughter often filtered through his office. The noise more often than not caused his lips to tug back into a smile.

This whole time his son had been fraternizing with the enemy -  whether he was aware of the knowledge or not.

Hawkmoth inched forward, which seemed to release more white butterflies than he could count. Out of nowhere, they began to land around Marinette. He had never seen them act like this; as if they were protecting her.

She needed medical attention. Gabriel’s life had fallen into a pattern of jadedness and bitterness, but even he wouldn’t let a teenager die.

“Don’t think about taking another step towards her.” Chat landed in front of him. He opened his fist to allow the disintegrated butterfly to fall from his grasp. Without summoning his powers, the black glow returned to his fist; this time with a flicker of green. “I’ll kill you right where you stand.”

Gabriel stumbled back to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Chat!” Rena Rouge and Carapace called out as they rushed to Marinette’s side.

This was the distraction that he needed. He slipped away behind a metal pillar. Releasing his transformation, Gabriel instantly felt the inflamed spots on his side. Despite her age, Ladybug packed a punch when she wanted to. Maybe Natalie was right; he was getting too old for this.

Gabriel made a promise to himself: don’t cross the line again. Give up being Hawkmoth and his bitter ways.

And he’d kept his word - until today.

When Chat Noir appeared broadcasted on his screen, Gabe stiffened. Any lightheartedness that he was used to seeing was void, leaving behind a shell. Gabriel had meant to go see Marinette over the last two weeks, but his fear and guilt kept him away.

“Hawkmoth.” Chat’s voice matched his dead-set eyes. “I know you’re watching. It’s time to end this. The bridge over the Seine by the Eiffel Tower. 1 pm today. I have Ladybug’s Miraculous. But if you want it, you’ll have to fight me for it.”

The screen jumped back to the shocked reporter trying to regain her bearings. Gabriel rested his head in his hands. This was his last chance to save his wife with no one else getting hurt.

But everything about this screamed trap.

Nathalie burst into his office within seconds, eyes glistening. Before he could speak, she beat him to it.

“Don’t go.”

It seemed that all was needed to unwind the prim and proper assistant was a threat against him. Eyes still sealed shut, he stood from his seat, hands resting on the desk.

“I have to.” He had dug himself far too deep to avoid the consequences now. If he even had a shot to win—to bring her back.

“We both know it’s a trap!” Any concern laced in her voice was gone. In its place was anger bubbled up to the surface.

Gabe squeezed his eyes tighter. “I know,” he whispered, “But I have to”- his words faded and any remaining fragments died as they tried to flutter their way out of his mouth.

Nathalie reached forward and placed her hand on the edge of his shoulder. “If anything happens-”

Gabriel found his voice. “Take care of Adrien.”

“And Emilie.” She promised, offering a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Nathalie. You’re more than just an assistant you know—to Adrien and I— it’s like you’re part of the family.” It sounded disjointed, but the smile he received made it loud and clear. She believed him.

He stood tall on the edge of the bridge, tightly grasping the cane in his hand. He had an akuma waiting just out of sight in case Chat Noir had any tricks up his sleeve. It was the only way Nathalie would allow him out of the house. The streets were blocked off to prevent the curious Parisians from wandering into danger.

Chat Noir landed in one smooth motion, twirling his baton.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he said coldly.

“You thought wrong.” Gabe defensively slid his feet.

This is for Emilie; he reminded himself.

Before another word was spoken, Queen Bee, Rena Rouge, and Carapace landed behind Chat. All of them looked angry. Beneath the suit, Gabriel started to sweat. Even with his extensive training, four against one was hardly a fair fight. His eyes slammed shut as he let out a breath.

He had promised that he wouldn’t release the akuma unless necessary. Chat was the one to change the rules. He was merely adapting.

“I see you didn’t come alone” Gabe tapped his cane against the cobblestone, a smirk forming, “well neither did I.”

The akuma jumped out into the open to make her presence known.

Like clockwork, Chat shouted to his teammates to stop her. A flame shot out of her hands causing them to scatter. The akuma let out a laugh and leaped from building to building, leaving fires in her wake. Her mission: to make Paris burn.

Chat was the first to pounce - unleashing the rage that had built in him over the last couple weeks.  Gabriel could hardly blame him.

With each blow Gabe blocked, he watched the fires of passion blaze in Chat’s eyes. Hawkmoth used his cane to knock a blow to the hero’s stomach, winding him. But despite the setback, Chat managed to jump, and his claws made contact to the exposed skin not protected by the mask. Even without a mirror, Gabriel could feel the blood trickling down his mouth. He used his sleeve to wipe it away and made a mental note to come up with an excuse for his injury.

Chat called upon his cataclysm, and his eyes darkened narrowing at the villain.

Hawkmoth prepared to charge once more in hopes that the destructive power would dissolve his cane rather than himself. Because Chat wouldn’t kill him, right?—although, that wasn’t a guarantee; he did hurt Ladybug after all.

The attack fell short when an explosion rang out, shaking the ground where they stood.

That was close - too close.

The only thing that could cause that kind of shockwave was —no.

His face paled underneath his mask the moment he saw the smoke and fire raging from the Agreste Manor.

No—Emilie! Adrien! His life’s work!

Nathalie could tend to one, but not both. He had to get back there.

He hadn’t made it a few steps in the direction before a strong grip on his shoulder threw him back, his cane flying to the other side of the bridge.

“Chat Noir - Wait! Listen!” A thousand words sprang to mind, but he lost his ability to articulate while keeping the panic from his voice. “Before you say or do anything there’s something I must do.”

Gabriel didn’t care if it took groveling to save his wife and son. None of what he would accomplish would mean anything without them. “There’s this woman—“ now was not the time to go into detail, the manor was filling with billowing smoke and ash. “She needs my help to-to be reunited with her child, but she’s in danger because of the fire. Please, I need you to help her.”

“You must think I’m mad. Ladybug and I have hunted you for years, and you want me to let you go?” Chat scoffed. “You are responsible for all the fires in the first place.”

“I never asked for Paris to burn.” With every second passing, he could taste more ash. Gabriel gasped as a second explosion caused the west wing to cave in. He was running out of time. “Please!” He begged. “I’ll —I’ll give up my miraculous! All I’ll need is a few hours to help her then it’s yours.”

“That’s an excellent ploy to get out of here if I actually believed you. A man such as you can never change.”

Gabriel saw Chat swinging and took the opportunity to lunge for his cane in time to deflect the blow.

“If I can not convince you in my honesty,” Gabriel growled, “then I’ll fight my way through because I made a promise.”

A couple of parries had them deadlocked, but Gabriel had the height advantage.

“What promise?” Chat gritted through his teeth. “Do they know the destruction you cause?”

“To the woman I love.” Gabriel pushed, and Chat slid back. “That’s big talk from someone who wields the Kwami of Destruction. I guess that makes us the same. Is that why ladybug is so cautious of you?” The superhero was already wound up. If Hawkmoth poked at his weakness enough, he was bound to make a mistake and Gabriel could dash back to his house.

“Leave her out of this!” Chat began his next set of relentless attacks. Gabriel didn’t want to admit how close his rival was to overpower him.

“I’m nothing like you,” he hissed between a lunge. “I believe in honor and my duty to protect the city of Paris. You-you only think of yourself.”

“You know nothing,” Hawkmoth growled back. “All I ever wanted to do was save her, and now whatever happens to her is on your hands.”

Chat lips thinned into a line, “My duty is to the law—the law that you broke. You must pay for your crimes.”

“Not without her.” The phrase provided new rejuvenation in his attacks. “I’m warning you, boy. I’m stronger than you. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I will have my vengeance.”

“Then you condemn yourself to the darkness!” Chat cried.

“And If Marinette died the day she fell off the tower, you would too!” By the look worn by Chat on that day, he was one step short of losing control. If his teammates hadn’t arrived—who knows what would have happened. “You wanted to kill me, admit it!” Gabriel allowed his anger to bubble over.

“Everyone has a brush with the darkness.” It was a confession straight from the hero’s mouth if Gabriel ever heard one. “But everyone always has a choice.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t do anything to save Marinette?”

The sounds of the fire claiming more ground in the Agreste manor was Gabriel’s downfall. Chat Noir had been lucky for once and timed his blow the second he looked away. Hawkmoth let out a cry when the bruises from the earlier fight smashed into the ground. After the stars and blackness faded, he realized that the end of a baton jabbed his throat.

“You know nothing about me,” Chat spat. “For me to give in would make me just like you. I would grieve and find a way to move on because it’s what she would want. It’s what I did when my mother disappeared on my father and I years ago. It’s what I do every day with the life-sucking schedules as my father plans every part of my day because he can’t stand to be in my presence. He cares more about his fall line than he does me. So don’t you dare say what I would do because I will never become scum like you.”

“Adrien?” The name slipped off his tongue before Gabriel could stop it. Chat Noir sounded so much like his son when he had his flares of disobedience. Worse case, the superhero would brush off the name. However, that didn’t happen. Gabriel’s heart started to pound, watching a mixture of emotions flood Chat Noir’s face. His eyes blown wide and mouth stunned open, the superhero’s reaction could only mean that his hunch about his son was right.

“What did you say?” Chat whispered, but at Gabe’s silence, the temper started to flare. “Who are you?”

Gabe couldn’t bring himself to look at the hero. He was afraid— afraid if he turned his head, he wouldn’t be able to see anyone but his son.

Gabriel found himself at eye level when Chat pulled him up by his shirt.

“Who are you?”

A quiet rage reflected in the hero's eyes but Gabriel still couldn’t speak. Relief flooded his system. His son was safe and far from the blazing house.

That peace faded quickly.

He had spent countless resources to make sure Adrien was shielded from any harm in his endeavors, but now, to find out that all this time—and because of him—he was going to be sick.

An extra tug reminded him that he didn’t have the luxury of shutting down. Gabe had little confidence he would be able to get any words out, let alone explain his reasoning, but he managed to mumbled his phrase. His punishment: watch the horror creep onto his son’s face.

The grip that held him up released and Gabe had to stumble back to not drop back to the ground.

“No.”

His hollow whisper chilled Gabriel to the bone. By this reaction, both of them had hard truths to swallow.

“No—no, you can’t be.” Adrien stumbled back, mouth gaping open.

“This was the only way to bring Emilie back.” The explanation in itself wasn’t enough, but he still wished that Adrien could understand.

“You mean...” Chat Noir shook his head as he dismissed whatever thought running through his mind. “I can’t.” A sob encased his words.

Gabriel watched his son ran away.

Going after him would do no good. He was sure he was the last person Adrien wanted to see right now; no doubt he’ll retreat to Marinette.

A roll of thunder only provided seconds of warning before the sky opened up and rain poured down. How fitting: Paris came alongside Gabriel and wept with him.

Gone. Everything was gone. Gabriel stood at the edge of what once was his home with only charred ruins remaining. The lost of the mansion wasn't what weighed on Gabriel's heart - it was his son. As much as he wished that he could erase what Adrien said, the words repeated in his mind, again and again, torturing him further. He didn't know if his son would ever have in his heart to forgive his transgressions. Only time would tell.

Nathalie had been waiting for him with an umbrella, but he didn't deserve shelter. The one good thing that came of this: Emilie was safe, and the underground sanctuary was unharmed. He would have to move her eventually, but for now, he pushed his worry down.  He dismissed Nathalie for the rest of the day. After all, what could she possibly do with a burnt down house? All Gabriel wanted was to lick his wounds in private.

However, that privilege was shattered at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Out of a small spark, a great fire was born.”

The voice didn’t belong to Nathalie or Adrien, and to his surprise, he turned to see Adrien’s Chinese tutor. Why on earth was he here?

“But those who play with fire may become its victims.”

There was only one reason he could think of for why he was standing there. Out of the corner of his eye splotch of green hide behind the man confirmed his suspicions; not just any green blob, a kwami to be exact. “Come to punish me further, Guardian?

"Why would I punish you further when you have already punished yourself?"

"This is all your fault. You were the one to introduce her to this world - this magic. You used her love of helping people, and you exploited it until it was too late."

"She was warned of the dangers, but she allowed her good intentions to be overshadowed by fear of what tragedies could happen to her son. The same tunnel vision brought the events of today."

"We did what's best for our son!"

"And yet he was destined to wield the Miraculous of the black cat. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent fate."

Gabriel's fists curled by his side but he held his tongue.

"Where is she?"

The change of topic was abrupt, and Gabriel wondered how he knew to ask about her; unless Adrien had spilled everything to him.

"Right this way."

His first instinct was to shoo the guardian away from his wife. She had been a secret for so long; it was strange to see another person outside of Nathalie down here. The longer the silence lasted, the more his nerves tightened in his stomach.

"How long has she been like this."

"Since the doctors said there was nothing they could do for her. The machine made sure that her condition didn't deteriorate, but nothing worked.

"When Marinette fell off the tower, she unlocked a healing force from her miraculous. It is a slow process, but we've seen improvement in her condition."

"What?"

"If there's a way to save Emilie, would you do anything?"

"Of course, I would!" Gabe bellowed. What did he think he was trying to do over the last several years?

"Then I'll help."

Gabe's heart jumped inside his chest. He had wasted all this time thinking that the guardian was the enemy when they could have been working together.

"I have a couple of conditions," Master Fu warned.

Gabriel couldn't answer fast enough. "Anything."

“I need your miraculous.”

He had waited for this moment for years: the day that he got the privilege of marrying the love of his life. With the help of the Miraculous, Marinette had made a full recovery. Adrien had wasted no time and confessed his feelings at the first opportunity. They had been inseparable and more in sync than ever before. Eight months into dating, he proposed- and she said, “yes” and made him the happiest man alive.

The ceremony lasted in a blink of an eye, and now Marinette was his wife. He was able to provide her everything she wanted and more. The one sore point of the planning was Marinette asking if they were inviting his father. The question made him wince, but he knew she didn't mean any harm. Under guidance from the guardian, Adrien hadn't told her who Hawkmoth was. All Master Fu told them was that Hawkmoth repented his ways and he would bother Paris no more. Marinette simply thought that Gabriel and Adrien had a bad falling out, but never pressed the matter.

The papers had covered the Agreste fire; only Adrien knew the truth. But as time passed, thoughts of his father faded. He attended therapy, which helped, but not as much as Marinette was his rock.

"I can't believe we're married." Marinette's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "If I could  tell a younger me, I would have died on the spot."

"I remember telling Ladybug that she wouldn't be able to resist me. I can't believe you had the biggest crush on me."

"Who could blame me."Her finger scratched the underside his chin playfully. "You're quite a catch, Kitty."

"Well, I'm all yours now." Marinette's bluebell eyes drew him for a kiss.

"Uh, M. Agreste?" One of the waiters leaned in, interrupting the lovebird's moment. "I have this note that I was supposed to pass on to you?"

Adrien took the note and blinked at it blankly. He was in the middle of his wedding reception, and almost everyone was here, so who would have a give him a note. No one was eyeing him more than usual for a wedding, and yet, he still felt a pair of eyes on him.

Adrien shot Marinette a reassuring smile before opening up the paper- and his heart stopped. Not much was written, but he could recognize the handwriting from anywhere.

I’m sorry.

Immediately his eyes scanned the crowd. His father must be here somewhere; otherwise, he wouldn't have pulled a stunt like this. At last, his eyes caught a flash of his father's signature red pants.

"Adrien, are you ok?" Marinette gained his attention as she placed her hand on his arm.

"Yes, I'm fine." The last thing he wanted was to worry her further. “I’ll be right back.”

Adrien pushed himself faster, hot on the phantom's trail. The closer he got, the more he was confident that his eyes hadn't deceived him. After one incident of running into a bell boy, the hope of catching up seemed lost. His pace slowed when he reached the front of the hotel. Looking further was pointless; he could have gone anywhere.

A car started to move, and his breath hitched when he saw Gabriel standing on the curb.

"Father!" The word ripped from his throat causing Gabe to turn. He crossed the gap being mindful of any cars. Maybe it was his imagination, but he heard his name mumbled.

"What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked. “I didn't mean to take you away from your big day with Marinette."

"You didn't." Quiet settled between them, but Adrien knew he had to push through the awkwardness. "Master Fu says that you're doing well.”

“I am. Recently, I’ve given a long thought about my priorities, and my therapist suggested that I try to make amends. I realize how selfish my motives were before and I’m sorry. I know that a simple apology won’t undo all the damage I caused, but I hoped it could be a first step.” A car pulled up and stopped right in front of them. “I’ll be in town until Sunday, and I was hoping we could meet.”

“I’m- not sure. You know with the wedding and all.”

“Right. Another time then. If you change your mind, I’ll be at the Four Seasons Hotel. ” He opened the door of the limo. “I have a meeting to attend, but I- I hope for true happiness in your marriage with Marinette. That’s all I want for you.”

“Thank you.”

Adrien couldn't divert his eyes from the retreating car. Years had passed since he had seen his father, but the second that he came face to face with him, air knocked him senseless. However, none of the negative emotions Adrien associated with his father were present. Seeing him only made him wish that things were different. The offer to meet up with him before he left on his plane was a tempting one. Master Fu had assured him that he had kept an eye on him over the years and he could see a difference.

And Adrien couldn't ignore the fact he missed his father.

"Who was that?"

Adrien spun on his heels as Marinette came into view. He hadn’t meant to take her away from her wedding. He should have known that he had been away too long.

"Uh- My father." Out of nervous habit, his hand rubbed the back of his neck.

Marinette's eyes furrowed. "And you didn't ask him to stay? I know you wanted him here today."

"No, he couldn't stay." Adrien’s eyes fell to the ground, suddenly finding his feet interesting. "But he did invite me to meet up with him before he leaves town."

"You should go,” she replied without hesitation.

Adrien’s eyes jumped up. "What about our honeymoon?"

Marinette reached out and brought Adrien's knuckles to her lips. "Our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow night. There's no reason why you can’t go meet him tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Adrien, if you have a chance to reconcile with your father, I'd say you can't pass that up. We have the rest of our lives together."

Adrien wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her head. "Alright, I'll go. How did I get so lucky with a wife like you?"

"What can I say? You're my lucky charm."

He would argue it the other way around because things were finally starting to look up for Adrien Dupain-Cheng-Agreste.

[golden-pickaxe]

Odal - Part 9

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 1564

Warnings: none

[All Parts Here]

A/N: Short but yea, important in the story! Enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes, I cut my finger while making jam and typing on a computer is hard rn

[Playlist] - Especially this song for this chapter: Brun- Garmarna

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tags: @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23 @hallowed-heathen @twilight-loveer

Despite Bjorn’s apparent dissatisfaction with the outcome of the battle, he could not prevent his men from having a great feast that night. The temperatures had dropped significantly, after it had rained once more, which did not dampen the euphoric mood of the army in the slightest.

 You had just left the healer’s tent, where you had taken a nice, warm bath, and where the wound on your left upper arm had been cleaned, salved and wrapped up tightly in fresh cloth. You hoped that it was enough to keep it from getting infected.

The pain was obviously still there, although numbed, and you planned to numb it even more with a few nice cups of ale, or some of the wine the army had collected while raiding a farm on your way down from Northumbria.

You had to admit, you were not too fond on the English wine, but with the mood you were in, you were not all too picky where the intoxication you were after came from.

 The sun had barely set in the west, the sky still tinted in all kinds of colours, reflected by the many low hanging clouds above England. You were sure, it would probably rain again before the night was over, but by now you were almost used to the constant wet weather of the country. It made the grass green though, and the ground fertile, and Hallgrim had mentioned more than a few times how good this land would be for farming.

 Your tired eyes searched over the mass of celebrating warriors in front of you, hoping to find a familiar face among them. Your sisters had joined the celebration shortly after dropping you off by the healers, only Asta making sure that the wound of her favourite one was not life threatening.

Hrafna had departed from you even sooner, wanting to get herself clean, before meeting up with Halfdan once more.

 A cool breeze picked up, and blew though the campsite, sending goose bumps over your exposed arms. To not irritate the wound, or accidently pull off the bandage around your arm, you wore a sleeveless, linen tunic on your upper body, which of course was not the most warming piece of clothing you could think of.

 “I’m glad to see that your wound is not half as bad as it had looked on the battlefield, bleeding all over the place.” You suddenly heard a voice, a familiar voice behind you, causing you to quickly turn around.

 There, sitting on a short bench right next to the opening of the healer’s tent, was no one else than Ivar the Boneless, slightly bent forwards, so he could rest his arms on his useless legs. You had to swallow.

He seemed to have also cleaned up from battle, his short hair still a bit wet and swept to the back. He wore simple clothes, his legs bound together with thick belts, and a luxurious fur was around his broad shoulders to keep him warm.

 “It’s just a scratch.” You answered, shrugging, but flinching shortly thereafter, as the movement was not the smartest considering the location of your wound. You cursed under your breath, your right hand immediately moving upwards to cover your bandage.

 “I can see that.” Ivar’s soft voice was amused, as he tilted his handsome head at you. He seemed to muster you for a few seconds, before he leaned back a bit, gesturing towards the free seat on the short bench, right next to him, implying for you to sit down.

 You had heard a lot of stories about the young prince since you had arrived in Kattegat, and during your time raiding England, and you had to admit, you hesitated for a moment. After what you had heard, and after all your previous encounters with him, after the dream, you were not sure if following this invitation to sit with him was the smartest idea. On the other hand, though, it was equally stupid to just ignore or refuse a request from a prince like that.

 Making up your mind you finally walked over to him, spotting two ale filled horn cups standing next to him on the wooden bench, before you sat down. Ivar watched you like a hawk the whole time, and with a light smile, picked up one of the cups and taking a sip, his far too blue eyes never leaving yours.

 For some reason it was impossible for you to supress the smirk that formed on your lips, as you picked up the other cup, drinking from the bitter sweet liquid in it. You sighed at the taste, only noticing now how thirsty you actually were. It felt odd, you had to admit, sitting here so casually with the prince, and you were not quite sure what to think.

 “And why do I deserve such special treatment, as for prince Ivar of Kattegat, son of Ragnar, to bring me, an unimportant shieldmaiden from king Harald’s army, and from low background, a drink of celebration?” you asked, returning his gaze curiously.

 Ivar seemed to be taken aback for a moment, as he seemed to not have expected you to ask him so directly, as he simply pursed his plump lips in an amused fashion, averting his eyes and looking over the dimly lit campsite.

 In the distance you heard the music picking up, flutes and lyras joining in the drums and other instruments that your people had brought with you, as suddenly Yeva’s beautiful voice echoed over the noise of the celebration. She sang one of the many wonderful songs that she had learned from various skalds visiting Vestfold, her slight accent almost unnoticeable among the familiar lines.

 Now that the sun had completely set, the air around you was colder, the temperatures dropping even more with the coming night. Your breath formed small clouds in front of your face, but despite the thin, linen tunic you did not feel cold.

For once, your woollen trousers and leg wraps certainly did great in keeping you warm, but in general, you were used to far lower temperatures, even in summer. Only the moisture in the air, you could do without.

 “I want you to fight by my side, walk with my chariot, when we attack king Ecbert.” Ivar finally spoke up again, his blue eyes returning to you, his gaze unwavering.

 Now it was you who was taken aback, as you had not expected his words, frowning slightly.

“I am with my sisters.” You answered without thinking, unsure if you should regret speaking so quickly.

 “Well, now you are with me.” Ivar tilted his head once again, his tone of voice making it sounds as if his words were not up for debate.

 You swallowed, not sure what to say. From everything you had expected from him after you had sat down next to him, this had not been among it.

 “Why?” you had to ask.

You had talked twice to this man, if you counted your drunken encounter in Kattegat, and had, other than that, only shared a few glances across training grounds or battlefields. Also, you were no one, you were a karl, a farmer, a simple shieldmaiden in another king’s army. Why you?

 Ivar frowned for a moment, but then smirked.

“I don’t know, you are special.” He looked away again, his usually so confident demeaner suddenly faltering. From one moment to the other he seemed like nothing more but a shy boy. “You fight with no fear. You fight very well, better than most of my men.”

 “I almost died today, though.” You said, tilting your head and causing him to look at you once more, his blue eyes briefly wandering over to your bandaged arm. He seemed confused.

 “But your wound is not that deep.” Ivar frowned. You were, frankly, not quite sure how he knew that, unless he had spoken to one of the healers who had treated you himself, which was a thing you could not really imagine.

 “Not because of the wound.” You started, searching his eyes for a reaction to your words, although you were unsure what exactly you were looking for. “An English man brought me down, and almost killed me.”

 “How did you survive unharmed?” Ivar asked, confusion now written all over his pretty face. You had never seen king Ragnar or queen Aslaug in your life, but you were sure that they must have been beautiful to produce such a good looking son.

 “Your brother saved me.” You said.

 “Which one?” Ivar seemed anxious, but otherwise unreadable.

 “Prince Hvitserk.” You were not sure what difference it made which one of his brothers had saved you, or why you even told him that. You guessed you simply had to talk about it, as despite your numerous fought battles, and the many wounds you had received during them, you had never come so close to die.

 Ivar relaxed hearing your words, nodding with a light smile appearing on his face.

“Good. Good.” He murmured. Then, his eyes were fixated on yours once more, the expression in them so intense that you could not turn away. “To our victory.” He then said, raising his cup with a smirk.

 “And to many more feasts for the ravens.” You answered, causing him to smile broadly, before draining your entire cup of ale.

[privateer-universe-blog]

Project X, Episode 3

Bad Company

Intergalactic Red Cross Official Log

Cross-12: Florence

17:56, Mountain Planet Athnan, 3/27/30141

I got through most of the party by running through repair manuals for Cross-12 on my computer chip, up until when the Queen came to greet us. I shifted uncomfortably in my suit, glancing nervously around at the other partygoers. There were a few different species here, but they were all relatively humanoid. Most of them hailed from the same system. James looked much more relaxed than I felt, having done this sort of work a million times. The queen, in her crimson dress and gold corset, gracefully and graciously spoke with each guest. It was hard to believe that she and her husband created an entire fake world just to prevent a revolt. Anything for power, I guess. I had been worried about the illusions clashing with the information from my chip, but the antidote had done its job well. James and I stood in the corner, waiting anxiously for the queen to greet us. Finally, she reached our group.

The queen addressed James first “You look vaguely familiar. Have we met before?”

James swallowed, glancing at me.

I put my hand on James’ arm “My wife―” god it felt weird saying that, “―gets that a lot. She just has one of those faces.” I cringed internally. Seriously? That’s the best I could come up with?

James smiled awkwardly at me. “I do, don’t I, darling? Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The queen smiled. I noticed that her eyes held little of the warmth in her smile. “The pleasure is all mine. I do hope there will be peace between our planets for years to come.”

And with that, she left in a sweep of gold and red.

James rounded on me. “Nice save. I’m sure that won’t get us caught,” she hissed.

I shrugged, even though I was shaking slightly. “I’m trying. I’m not as good at this as you are. I’m not even sure why they picked me.”

James sighed. “Just, let me do the talking, okay?” She grinned. “You can be my arm candy.”

I breathed out a shaky laugh. That I could do.

After the King and Queen made their rounds, soft music began to float through high-tech speakers on the walls. Couples began introductions and various rulers made small talk. I noticed a man standing on his own, watching the proceedings with the eyes of a hawk. He was looking for someone. James saw him too, and quickly pulled me into a conversation with the leaders of a planet close to the one we were supposedly ruling.

This pair were an older couple dressed in yellow. James spoke with them for a few minutes on the topic of alliances in the Kalaius System and the environmental health of dark spots in our ‘home system’.

I kept my eyes on the man, even while responding to the couple. He caught my eye and I looked away quickly. James suddenly dragged us away again, hurriedly saying goodbyes and excuses while she pulled me in the direction of the private meeting rooms and the lavatories.

“Okay,” she said, once we were situated behind an unsuspicious-looking potted plant. “That man you keep looking at is the Minister of Pharmaceutical Practices, which is basically a fancy way of saying he’s the head of the whole operation, and he’s been notified that there might be IRC involvement tonight,” she rattled off.

I nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

James frowned at me. “You mean to tell me that you don’t have―”

I ran a hand through my hair. “This is your mission and you expected me to have the plan? Great. Did you know he would be here?”

James shook her head. “No. I knew he existed, but I didn’t think he would―”

“Of course he’s here!” I whisper-yelled. “I love you, but you are an idiot sometimes.”

James grabbed my shoulder. “Shut up. He’s looking this way. Act natural.”

“‘Act natural’ she says,” I groaned.

We watched anxiously as the the guy slowly turned back to a conversation with a pair of green-clad nobles.

James glared at me. “The information we’re looking for. An agent by the name of Dmitri should have it.

I nodded slowly, glancing around nervously. “And,” I whispered, “Do we know where he would be? Or what he looks like?”

“Hot.”

“James. Focus. Give me details, I don’t want to be stuck at this godforsaken party longer than I have to be.”

“Fine. Well, I worked with him a couple years back. He’s about yea high,―” she waved her hand at a spot above my left shoulder “―with black hair and blue eyes.”

“Okay. Do you know where he’d be?”

“Uh, he’s one of the staff here.”

I sighed. “Do you ever look at what they give you?”

James chose to ignore this.

I rolled my eyes. Thankfully, one of us has some sense. I checked the files on my computer chip. “He’s one of waiters.”

James rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. I was hoping we’d get to eat.”

While we waited for dinner to be served, James and I mingled with the other guests and made polite small talk. It wouldn’t do to appear unsure of ourselves or out of place, earlier incidents aside. I let James take the reins for a while, choosing to search various databases for information regarding the history of the planet, its rulers, and anything else I could find that might prove useful. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be found. Someone was keeping everything clean. No malpractices, no unjust punishments. I sighed inwardly. I hated field assignments. My suit was beginning to itch and I was starting to sweat. James looked at ease, chatting with some duke or duchess or whatever.

I breathed a sigh of relief when dinner was served. I hadn’t spoken much during the evening, and I was glad to finally have an excuse not to talk. I was seated next to a rather large man in a deep purple vest, while James was next to the smallest woman I had ever seen. On the table in increments were enormous flower arrangements, giant white petals sitting in the center with small violet buds on long green stems drooping over the pristine ivory tablecloth. Waiters in black tuxedos and lavender bow ties marched in carrying silver platters and bottles of champagne. I searched the faces, looking for a man fitting the description James had provided.

My attention was drawn away from the staff by one of the security officers rapping his knuckles on the table. The guests quieted and the officer straightened, clearing his throat.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but there is something I need to call to your attention,” he said.

James looked at me pointedly, trying to catch my attention. She opened her eyes wide and kept jerking her head minutely at someone out of my field of vision. I ignored her.

He went on. “It has come to my attention that there is enemy infiltration here tonight. I warn the infiltrators to turn themselves in immediately, my queen may show mercy.”

I schooled my face into a more neutral expression. Across the table, I saw the minister I had noticed earlier glaring around. His eyes landed on me and I swallowed, redirecting my attention to the security officer.’

“I also would like to assure our guests that no harm should befall them tonight. Thank you, that will be all,” he finished, returning to his station at the edge of the room.

James elbowed me.

“Ow! What?” I said, irritation coloring my voice.

“He’s here.” She discreetly pointed to a waiter standing behind the people a few seats down. He fit her description, and I had to agree, he was kinda hot.

The guy must have noticed me staring, because he looked over at us and gave a tiny nod. He and the other waiters began to set their trays in the long middle portion of the table. My mouth watered at the array of dishes in front of me. There was food from every planet I had ever visited, and some I hadn’t. I was afraid I’d abused my computer chip trying to search for the names and origins of all of it.

Dmitri made his was over to us filling champagne glasses. When he reached James, he picked up her glass and filled it, spilling some of the bubbly drink onto her napkin.

“Terribly sorry Madam, let me get you a new one,” he said, replacing the wet napkin with a dry, folded one.

James smiled at him, and when he had moved on, carefully placed the napkin in her lap, removing a slip of paper from within the folds of the fabric.

When people started to tuck into their food, James nudged me again. “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” she whispered. Then she stood up and casually walked in the direction of the toilets, her heels clicking on the polished floor. I sighed, picking up my fork and helping myself to a tray of edible flowers cooked in cream. If I had to wait, may as well eat something.

When I reached the bathroom, James opened the door quickly and yanked me inside.

“What’s with all the violence? You have something to tell me?” I complained.

She rolled her eyes. “Dmitri has a sense of humor, apparently.”

I looked at her questioningly.

“He decided to hide a freaking file chip in this.” James pointed to a metal box mounted on the wall.

“A tampon dispenser?”

James looked unamused. “A tampon dispenser.”

I mean, not a lot of species need tampons, so it was a pretty clever idea to put the information somewhere where it would be rather unlikely for anyone to find. James, however, didn’t seem too impressed so I decided not to mention that.

I cleared my throat. “So did you―”

“Yes, I got it.” She held up a tiny piece of metal. “Let’s get out of here so I can plug this into your skull.”

“Why can’t you use one of the ships computers? You know I hate being a computer,” I whined.

“The ship’s computers won’t work with this. They’re too slow and it’ll take much too long to decrypt unless you do it,” she replied.

I sighed. “Fine.”

James opened the bathroom door slowly. She jumped slightly and stepped out quickly, tossing the chip in an underhand motion towards me as she went. I heard her speaking on the other side of the door, and then a deep voice responding. I mentally searched myself for somewhere to hide the chip, and then reached up and combed through my bright red hair. Finding the file port, I shoved the chip in and opened the bathroom door.

James was having what looked like a staring contest with a guard. When I opened the door, his eyes jumped to me, and he blinked.

James flung her arm over my shoulders. “We were just leaving, weren’t we, darling?”

I looked at her. “Uh-huh.”

The guard coughed awkwardly. “You two, you, uh, keep yourselves out of trouble.” He fled.

James laughed, removing her arm from around me. “Let’s go. We still have dessert.”

Dessert, although delicious, was almost unbearable. I was so nervous that someone would stand up, point at us, and shout ‘hey look it’s the spies from the IRC’. James was much more relaxed, easy for her, she didn’t have life-or-death information shoved into her noggin. I could barely eat, my hands were shaking so badly. Eventually I just gave up and rested them in my lap, waiting for it to be over. I became aware of an itching sensation where the chip was plugged in. I was afraid of that. My computer chip may be fast and powerful, but because it’s only the left side of my brain and can’t ever perfectly align with the right side, it overheats really easily. Especially in situations like this, when I’m stressed. When I sleep I turn it off, and that gives it more than enough cooldown time, but anxiety makes it heat up faster.

That presented a new problem. I could either turn the computer off, shutting down half of my brain (this would make me, for all intents and purposes, useless), or I could take my chances trying to fight through the pain. “This is why I don’t do stressful field work,” I muttered to myself. The chip would have to be unplugged if I chose the first option, and that introduced a host of other issues, so I would have to go with the latter. I shifted restlessly in my seat, trying to ignore the burning sensation that was slowly taking over the offending side of my head.

Five minutes later, five horrible minutes of agony, of trying to force myself not to give away how much pain I was in, the gala was over. Guests were leaving slowly, saying their goodbyes. James, who had probably noticed my constipated expression and figured out what was happening, hauled me out of my seat by the arm and dragged me off to the landing dock.

In retrospect, it would have been a lot easier to take the chip out considering the attention we were drawing anyway. I remember vaguely registering the image of the dock, the ship waiting for us, and trying to keep myself from swaying into James. We stopped. Why had we stopped walking?

“...thorough search.”

“I’m sorry, my husband needs to lie down.”

That was James speaking. There was a guard blocking our way. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. I was leaning heavily into James, and one of my arms was over her shoulders. I didn’t recall it being put there.

Another voice, this one from behind me, spoke up. “You must be searched before you can leave, Madam.”

James sighed. “Stand up on your own for a few minutes,” she whispered. And then she dropped me.

I stumbled backward, almost falling off the landing dock. James had punched the guard behind us, knocking him off the dock. I think he must have fallen onto another level beneath us, but it probably wasn’t too far because I could hear him shouting for more guards. The other guard charged at James, and she ducked out of the way, pulling her blaster pistol from a holster underneath her dress. She aimed a shot at the guard’s leg, temporarily disabling her. The woman unsheathed her own blaster and aimed a shot at me. Through some miracle, I managed to duck, only to trip on one of the shoes James had discarded when she hit the first guard. It was just as well, he had managed to draw out a few others and they fired round after round of blasts, barely missing the top of my head.

James shot the guard again, this time in the arm and the guard’s blaster clattered to the floor. She hauled me up and out of the line of fire, and my burning head spun. The ship’s crew had started the engines and the ship was humming, ready to take off immediately. The main door opened slowly as James and I made our way to it. The security on the the level below us aimed their guns at the ship, but barely made a dent in the metal (our D18s might not have guns, but they more than make up for that with defense). Reaching the ship, James shoved me through the door and collapsed beside me, exhausted. I felt the ship leave the port, and heard the clank of the door shutting. I reached up and pulled the file chip out of my skull and put in James’ hand. Then I crawled onto a seat, buckled myself in, and shut my brain off.

When I woke up the was floating through Cross-12’s docking bay. James was conked out next to me. When we landed, I gently shook her awake.

“James. James, wake up.”

She blinked slowly, and then reached into her pocket to retrieve the chip, handing it to me. I turned it over in my hands, scrutinizing it for damage. The doors to the ship opened behind me and James stood, stretching her arms above her head.

“Let’s get to the debrief. I’d like to see what sort of intel Dmitri has,” she said, hopping out of the door.

Later, James and I were back in our uniforms and seated at the table in one of the meeting rooms. I jiggled my knee nervously and played with the cuff of my uniform until James pulled my hands apart. I hated debriefings, especially when the mission hadn’t gone according to plan. We weren’t supposed to injure people, and we certainly weren’t supposed to make as much of a mess as we did. The captain of Cross-12 stood in front of the blank screen at one end of the room, addressing the mission team. Our squadron commander stood behind her.

“I can’t say I’m terribly impressed with this,” she professed. “We no longer have the element of surprise. The information on this chip will tell us the location of the places where the drugs are manufactured, but we’ll have to delay our attack. The Anthan may not know what we’re there for, but they’ll be on high alert anyway.”

My heart sank. I knew we’d given ourselves away, but to have it said in front of everyone made it ten times worse. I felt my face heat up and James put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“That being said, we are lucky to have our agents come back to us with themselves and the intel intact,” Captain Gramm continued. “I’m sorry that this has been short, but we have a lot to take care of to prepare for the coming attack. Thank you, and good evening.”

On the way back to our quarters, I couldn’t shake one question from my mind. “How do you think they knew we were there?”

James frowned. “I have no idea. We weren’t exactly smooth in the beginning, though.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I just, I don’t know. I guess I wish I knew what we did wrong.”

“For all we know it might not have been something we did. Someone there could have recognized one of us and tipped off the guards.”

“Well I know one thing for sure,” I said.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I am for sure not getting any more infiltration assignments ever again.”

James hummed. “It’s not for everyone, but I think you held your own.”

“Maybe. It still could have gone better, though.”

“Go to bed, Florence.”

-T.R.R. Carroll