#there will always be a rift between them. for that reason. ''it's not your fault mqf; so don't bother mourning what we're incapable of''

[dataframe]

「 I turned my eyes away and lived 」 truth of the immortal alliance conference comes to light

[ID: Scum Villain fanart, set in Proud Immortal Demon Way. In image one, Shang Qinghua bids the viewer (Mu Qingfang) goodbye with closed eyes and a smile as he walks toward Mobei-jun. Ice arrows threaten to pierce him; dry blood trails his step and coats his uniform, hands, and face. In image two, Mu Qingfang is kneeling, surrounded by fire and silhouettes of dead disciples, looking upon the viewer (Shang Qinghua) with a stricken expression. Their hair is disheveled and fresh blood soaks their uniform and cheek. A hand lingers on their sword, hesitant to unsheathe it. END ID]

[mswritergirl02]

38 Missed calls and Tequila

In which Harry and y/n fight causing her to storm out

-> Reader advisory: mentions of alcohol and explicit language, proceed with caution.

A/N : Taking requests (:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N paced back and forth in the living room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I can’t believe you, Harry! You always do this, you never listen to me!”

Harry’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what about you, huh? Do you think you’re always right? You’re so damn stubborn!”

“Well, maybe if you cared about my opinion for once—”

“Care about your opinion? I bend over backwards for you, Y/N! But it’s never enough, is it? You always find something else to complain about!”

“Oh, so now this is all my fault, is it? Typical!”

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. “For fucks sake I never said that!

Y/N’s voice trembled with anger and hurt as she launched her accusation.

“You know what, Harry? I bet you’re cheating on me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re always so secretive about your phone, always disappearing at odd hours!”

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious, Y/N? I’ve told you a million times, that I’m not cheating on you! You’re just making things up because you can’t stand losing a fucking argument!”

Y/N’s voice rose at his accusation. “Oh, please! Don’t act like you’re innocent in all of this! I see the way you look at other girls, Harry! You can’t fool me!”

Harry’s patience snapped, his frustration evident in his tone. “I can’t believe you’re bringing this up again! You’re always jumping to conclusions, always looking for a bloody reason to doubt me! Maybe it’s your own insecurities that are driving us apart!”

Y/N’s anger faltered, replaced by a pang of hurt. “I’m not insecure, Harry! I just want to know that I can trust you!”

“Well, maybe if you gave me a chance to prove it instead of constantly accusing me of things I didn’t do!”

“I’ve been nothing but loyal to your crazy ass for four fucking years,” Harry declared, his voice tinged with frustration and hurt.

The tension in the room was thick, each word a painful reminder of the growing rift between them. Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of their words, knowing deep down that her accusations were absurd, Harry loved her. Still she was unable to stop herself from lashing out in a desperate attempt to regain control of the argument.

Y/N's lips curled into a sneer as she spat out, "Go fuck yourself, Harry!"

With that, she snatched her keys off the coffee table and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Harry stared at the closed door, his chest tight with frustration. "You're fucking crazy," he yelled, knowing she couldn't hear him and was long gone. He cursed out loud and sank onto the couch, running his hand over his face.

“A bloody fucking carpet," he muttered to himself, the absurdity of their argument hitting him like a ton of bricks. They had been fighting over a bloody carpet, of all things. It was ridiculous, and yet somehow it had escalated to Y/N storming out in anger.

They hadn't been in the best place lately. Y/N was constantly stressed out at the office, working long hours, barely having time for herself, let alone for him. And Harry, always buried in his work, was rarely home to see her, too caught up in his next album to notice the distance growing between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12am

38 outgoing calls

Harry’s nerves were on edge. He had called Y/N 38 times since she stormed out, each call going straight to voicemail. It wasn’t like her to stay out this late, and the thought of not knowing where she was made his stomach churn with anxiety.

Pacing back and forth in their empty apartment, Harry’s mind raced with worry. He had grown accustomed to Y/N’s silent treatments during their arguments, but this was different. This silence felt suffocating.

12:30 am

“Answer your phone, Y/N,” Harry muttered under his breath, frustration and fear mingling in his voice. He reached for his phone once again, fingers trembling as he clicked on her contact for the 39th time. But this time, instead of the familiar voicemail greeting, a stranger’s voice answered Y/N’s phone.

As Harry heard the unfamiliar male voice answer Y/N’s phone, his heart raced with a surge of protectiveness. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his tone sharp with urgency. “Why the hell do you have Y/N’s phone? Where is she?”

Before Harry could ask any more questions or receive a response, the phone call ended abruptly.

12:45am

It was around 12:45am when It clicked in Harry’s mind, Y/N had insisted they shared their locations when they first started dating. Harry quickly opened the app on his phone and zoomed in on her location.

Maggies Bar & Grill.

Confusion washed over him when he saw that Y/N was at a bar. Drinking was something she rarely did, especially alone at this hour. Harry’s heart raced with worry, imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys, and got behind the wheel. He knew he had to reach Y/N as fast as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N found herself in fits of laughter, seated on a bar stool behind the counter of Maggies. With tears of joy rolling down her cheeks, she swiftly grabbed her phone back from the male bartender’s grasp. Giggling, she teasingly whispered, “Don’t tell Harry,” and playfully pressed a finger to her lips.

Earlier, Y/N had confided in the sympathetic bartender about her rocky relationship with Harry. Each heartfelt confession she made was chased down with another shot of tequila, the weight of the world was momentarily lifted by the warmth of the alcohol. What she didn't know was that the bartender discreetly slipped her keys into his pocket when her attention wandered, silently determined to prevent her from making any rash decisions in her inebriated state.

“Y/N, I’m cutting you off,” the bartender said for what felt like the tenth time that night, his tone gentle yet firm. “All you’re getting is water from now on.”

Y/N pouted, shoving the glass of water away. “But I’m having fun!” she protested, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol. “I can handle a few more drinks, I promise.”

The bartender shook his head, a hint of concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t risk serving you any more alcohol. It’s for your own safety.” With that, he gently pushed the glass of water back towards her, silently urging her to hydrate and sober up.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Y/N slurred, her tone growing more aggressive as she leaned in towards the bartender, her eyes narrowed.

The bartender stood his ground, not going back on his decision. “I’m not serving you any more drinks tonight,” he stated once again.

Y/N’s frustration bubbled over, and she clenched her fists slamming them on the counter. “You can’t cut me off!” she snapped.

Just as Y/N opened her mouth to make a scene once more , Harry entered the bar, his eyes immediately locking onto her. With purpose in his stride, he made his way over to where she sat, his gaze briefly flickering to the bartender.

Harry’s expression was a mix of relief and concern as he approached. “Is everything okay here?” he asked.

The bartender met Harry’s gaze, his expression serious. “Harry I'm assuming? Yeah, everything’s fine now,” he replied, gesturing towards Y/N. “I had to cut her off a while ago. She’s had enough for tonight.” Recognizing Harry by Y/n's lock screen on her phone and his contact name.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But then who called me from her phone?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for answers.

The bartender hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Y/N’s keys. “It was me,” he admitted, handing them over to Harry. “I knew she shouldn’t be driving in her condition.”

Relief flooded Harry’s features as he accepted the keys. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, grateful for the bartender’s quick thinking.

Y/N’s drunken aggression flared as Harry turned towards her. “What are you doing here?” she slurred, her tone sharp with irritation.

“I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Of course she's drinking tequila the one thing that brings out her temper even more

Harry cut her off with a stern glare, “Your breath reeks of fucking tequila and you’re in no condition to drive,”.

Y/N turned towards the bartender, “You're a fucking snitch” she accused him loudly causing heads to turn in their direction. Harry’s annoyance grew as he watched her escalate the situation.

“Y/N, you’re causing a fucking scene,” Harry muttered, frustrated to which she scoffed, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.

She held out her hand. “Give them back. I’m driving myself home, I don’t want to look at you.”

Harry’s heart sank at her words, but he knew he couldn’t let her make such a reckless decision. “I can’t do that, Y/N,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. Let me take you home.”

Y/N shook her head stubbornly, her anger fueling her determination. “No!” she insisted, her voice rising.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Just give me my keys!”

He was over her drunk antics.

Stepping uncomfortably close to her, he took the time to observe the way her hair fell over her ear. With a firm yet gentle touch, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering for a moment before trailing down her cheek.

Leaning in, Harry's voice dropped to a low and dangerous tone. “Y/N you better listen to me.”

“Drop the fucking attitude,” he snapped his breath sending a shiver down her spine as it brushed against her skin.

Now fully gaining her attention Harry continued speaking. “You're gonna lower your voice and follow me to the car like the good girl I know you are."

Y/n began to feel as if her legs were putty with each word she processed.

“Don't make me embarrass you here love,” he said while running his finger over her bottom lip.

“Because I can and I will.”

Harry's words hung in the air, commanding and unwavering leaving no room for argument.

Masterlist

Lights Out

[sl-ut]

like real people do

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

description: abby is one hundred percent, totally, and completely straight. that is, until she meets y/n.

warnings: UNEDITED, swearing, slight hints of nsfw, alcohol consumption, a hint of homophobia? (not really but just in case)

words: 5.9K

date posted: 08/02/24

The years had not been kind to Abby. By the time that she and her friends were celebrating her twenty-first birthday, the woman had suffered many losses; the death of her mother at a young age, her father’s murder a few years back, and most recently, her breakup with Owen. She was quick to discover that the universe was not exactly on her side. 

From her perspective, Owen was not just a boyfriend. Of course, he was hardly even that at most times, but he also represented the time in her life where everything was good; Salt Lake City, spending time in the woods with him and her dad, playing stupid little games to pass the time with him, Manny, and Mel…he reminded her of when everything was easier. She sometimes felt guilty for this, considering that she sometimes couldn’t tell whether her emotional attachment to him was because of how much she cared for him or for the impossible standards she’s always held him to. 

Seattle represented a new beginning for her and her friends. They were able to find a new community, stay together, and live a semi-normal life that even the Fireflies were unable to offer them. Things were good there, people generally liked her, and she was quickly making her way up the ranks as one of the top WLF soldiers, though there were certainly some downsides. At the WLF compound, she began to see things in a new light; She was able to focus on herself for once, do the things that she wanted and branch out more than before. She was no longer limited to the small world of the few Fireflies who actually made it out of Salt Lake City. 

It’s for this reason that she holds herself at least somewhat accountable for how things ended with Owen. Of course, she didn’t blame herself for his infidelity, nor for him choosing to do so with one of her closest friends, but she knew that it was her distance that caused the rift to form between them. She felt betrayed by them, obviously, but as time passed, it seemed clear to her that she was more hurt by the fact that it was her two closest confidants who had caused the pain, not the fact that Owen and Mel had been sleeping together for months before she and Owen called it quits. 

Her saving grace during this period of her life came in the form of someone she would later consider her best friend, despite how offended Manny gets each time she calls her that. Her first interaction with Y/n was the moment that she knew she needed to have her in her life, one way or another. 

She hadn’t noticed her right away, but who would? Amidst the thunderous crowd of the cafeteria just before lunch, it would be nearly impossible to notice anyone who she wasn’t directly looking for, which in a way, is how Abby noticed her to begin with. Manny was actually the one to sniff her out first, as he so often did with pretty girls, his midnight black hair standing out against the white fluorescent lighting. She beelined for him, an annoyed expression crossing her features as she figured out the reason why he’d been late for patrol.

“Manny!” She barked, “How many times do I have to drag your ass to the gate before you actually show up on ti–”

Her attention was immediately caught by the figure sitting across the table from him, eyes falling on a young woman with a look of shock on her face, clearly concerned by the large woman who’d nearly pulled Manny out of his seat with only one hand.

“Abby!” He greeted, doing his best to brush it off, “I was just on my way to meet you when I got distracted by this one,” He winked at the girl with a laugh, “Don’t blame me, it’s entirely her fault. Cierto, hermosa?”

Every engorged muscle in Abby’s body had to hold her back from physically gagging at his obnoxious charm, but she was a bit relieved to see that the girl did not seem to be falling for it so easily. 

“Whatever,” the blonde shook her head, trying to suppress any of the nerves that seemed to have wormed their way into her bloodstream under the girl’s stare, “We’re late, and I’m not taking anymore shit from Isaac over you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He shrugged, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he began to head towards the door, offering a short goodbye to the girl before jogging to catch up with the blonde, who’d sped off in an attempt to get herself away from the girl. 

“Cute, right?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.

She shrugged, “Yeah, your standards seem to be on the rise, finally. What ever happened to the medic–what was her name again? Ginger?”

“Me and Y/n? In my dreams, sure,” He stared at her with a raised brow, “I’m not exactly…her type.”

Something clicked in her mind, and made the twisting feeling in her gut worsen. Goosebumps prickled at her skin as she thought back on the roaming stare of the girl in the cafeteria–Y/n, as Manny had called her. Had she been checking Abby out? And why did that idea excite her so much?

“Oh,” she hummed.

“You, however… you definitely were. Did you see the way she was looking at you? Like she wanted you to–”

“Shut up, would you?” She sneered, “I’m not–that’s not–”

“I know,” he sighed, though a knowing look crossed his features, “I know.”

A few days had passed before Abby had run into Y/n again, only this time, it was a much more pleasant interaction. Abby had been spending a lot of time in the library, especially since her breakup with Owen and even ended up sleeping there some nights when Manny took the liberty of reserving the room for himself and whatever girl he was dating at the time. She found some peace there, burying her nose into random books from before the outbreak and pretending that, for just a few minutes, she isn’t just the top scar killer in the WLF. There was hardly ever anyone else there, which was a definite plus; She still had a long way to go before she’d be used to all the attention she gets around the arena. This day in particular. though, someone else occupied her usual seat in the furthest corner, by the window. 

She jumped in surprise at the sight of another person in her place, holding her palm to her chest to hold in any noise that may have emitted from her throat. The girl raised her head to look over the thick spine of the hardcover book she was reading, surprise evident on her own face as well.

“Sorry,” Abby choked out, “I just wasn’t expecting…I’m usually the only one here.”

“Oh,” Y/n sat up straighter, laying her book page-down on the table in front of her, “Yeah, I usually take the book back to my room, but my roommate is a little…busy at the moment.”

Abby snorted, “I get what you mean. Mine too.”

There was a beat of silence before Y/n chimed in again, “What are you reading?”

Abby glanced down at the book in her hand, eyes scanning over the faded words on the cover. She actually hadn’t known what book she’d taken off the shelf, just slowly making her way through every book in the library, “Uh, Jane Air–Eyre. First one I grabbed.”

“That’s a good one,” Y/n nodded, “One of the classics, I think they used to call them.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Abby mentally kicked herself, of course she would completely blank in front of the girl she’d been thinking about all week (but she was still, totally not into her). “Uh, what about you?”

Y/n smiled, “A Complete History of the Western World. Call me nostalgic, but I like learning about how things were before.”

“Me too,” Abby smiles, “In a way, it’s kinda comforting to see that this isn’t how things always were, you know?”

Y/n grinned, which quickly turned into a frown, “Sorry, I didn’t even…I’m Y/n.”

Abby smiled tightly, cheeks burning red as she reached forward to accept the hand offered to her, “I’m–”

“Abby,” Y/n smiled bashfully, “I know. You’re Manny’s friend, and sort of a big deal around here.”

Abby shrugged, the red of her cheeks now stretching to reach the tips of her ears, “Yeah, that’s what everyone seems to say. Not sure if I really live up to that expectation, though.”

Y/n chuckled before glancing down at her cracked wrist watch, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she closed her book and stood up from her seat, “Sorry, not trying to run away from you or anything, just lost track of time. Talk to you later, Abby.”

The next few weeks passed with several more interactions between the pair, and Abby would actually consider Y/n to be a friend. They could often be found in the library together, or grabbing a bite to eat with one another and sometimes a few others. Manny often grumbled about Abby swooping in and stealing his friends, but he always seemed to be more than happy to see the two of them together. That strange feeling did not disappear, though, like Abby thought it would. In fact, it got considerably worse.

Instead of having a little bit of nerves around her, Abby was struggling to keep herself from constantly pulling her into her lap, or reaching out to hold her hand across the table, or to tell her how deeply in love with her she wa–except Abby is straight. She likes guys. She dated Owen, and she was deeply hurt by his betrayal, right?

That’s what she told herself. Each longing to touch Y/n was just her own loneliness talking, every time she wanted to be held, it was her basic human need for affection, not because she was romantically or sexually interested in another woman. In fact, she had a little bit of a crush on one of the guys she went on patrol with the other day, or so she told Y/n. She made an effort to make it abundantly clear to the girl that there would be no romantic relationship between them, and was relieved when Y/n didn’t seem to put off by it. She continued to hang out with her, and to invite her to different social events around the arena.

This one was different, though. Abby went, fully intending to spend the night by Y/n’s side, people watching and making fun of Manny as he struck out time and time again. She had arrived to the party with Nora, a bit of pep in her step as she slid into the common area, face falling as she immediately took notice of Y/n on the couch across the room, a soft smile on her face as she listened intently to whatever the girl next to her was saying, her arm curled loosely around Y/n’s shoulders.

Abby felt sick, almost giving in to the instinct to turn and run, and she is positive that if it hadn’t been for Nora being right behind her, she probably would have. She hesitantly stepped further into the room, glancing around awkwardly in hopes of finding someone to hide her from Y/n before she could catch her attention, though it only took a moment’s glance for Y/n to turn her head and shout, waving both Abby and Nora over to where she and the other girl were sitting. 

The girl’s name was Samyah, and Abby decided on the spot that she hated her. She hated the way that she talked, the way she dressed, they way she smelled, the way that Y/n looked at her, and most of all, she hated the way that she held Y/n’s hand as she led her out of the common room, hooded eyes making it clear what was about to happen. But it didn’t really matter, because Abby is straight and this wasn’t going to last anymore than one night.

Except it did. Weeks later, Samyah was still very present in Y/n’s life. Abby cringed every time she had to witness them kiss, or touch each other in any way beyond what could be considered platonic. She prayed every night that something would happen, that Samyah would cheat or die out on patrol, anything to have her away from Y/n for more than a few hours at a time, but when it really happened, she couldn’t help but fear that she may have willed it into existence–Abby wasn’t a religious person, but this seemed to be a bit too on the nose for it to not have been divine intervention. 

Y/n and Samyah had been hooking up for a few weeks when Y/n turned up at Abby’s room, cheeks glossy with tear stains and eyes burning red. Abby was quick to take her into her arms, ignoring the selfish part of her that was singing at the mere contact. She held her tightly, sitting her down on the edge of her bed and stroking the back of her head soothingly, waiting for her to tell her what had happened. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” She had whispered into her hair before pressing a firm kiss there.

It was less than a moment later when a sharp sniff could be heard and Y/n’s watery voice began to retell what had taken place earlier that evening.

“Samyah has a boyfriend, apparently,” She wept, “She told me she isn’t gay, she just wanted to see what it was like.”

Abby’s entire body burned hot with anger, and then with embarrassment. What would Y/n think if she were to tell her that she’d been wondering the same thing? How would she be able to move forward knowing fully-well that she was no different from Samyah, someone who she had been condemning over the way that she treated Y/n? 

But was it the same? Was it really? Since she had met Y/n, she hadn’t even glanced twice at Owen, let alone any other man. She was all she could think about, day and night, and yet she still couldn’t seem to come to terms with the fact her feelings for her might have been more than platonic. It wasn’t as if she were too ashamed or was actually against the idea of her dating another woman, she was just confused as to why these feelings hadn’t come up before. Sure, there were times where she thought Mel was the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, but that was back when there weren’t many other girls around (and she wasn’t screwing her Abby’s boyfriend), and there was once where she’d had a rather promiscuous dream about Nora, but nothing had ever evolved further than that. 

These thoughts started to keep her up at night. She liked Y/n, she really did, but was it worth risking her friendship only for Abby to decide that she wasn’t gay at all? What if she was just curious? It was normal for people her age to be interested in exploring these things, only she was sort of stuck in a situation where she was unable to. She couldn’t go to Y/n for help with this, that much was blatantly obvious, but what about someone else? She tried to think of other girls she could go to for help, but there was no one who she could immediately think of that she could go to without also risking her friendship with Y/n; she’d been insistent early on in their friendship that she was not interested in women at all, especially when Y/n made it clear that she most certainly was, and more precisely, in Abby, so what would she think if she found out that Abby had slept with another woman after insisting that she wasn’t interested? That might be more dangerous than going to her for help.

It was getting harder to ignore, as well. Y/n was increasingly dependant on Abby for comfort for weeks after she ended things with Samyah, not that Abby minded, but it was growing more difficult not to hold her to her chest as they share a pillow every night, to not reach out and take her hand every time they walk side-by side, to not push her onto the bed every time she undresses in front of her, to pin her down and–

Then Y/n moved on. She was still quite upset, but she had decided that she wasn’t going to spend any more time dwelling on someone who obviously did not care about her, so she met Reagan. Abby didn’t hate Reagan the same way that she had with Samyah, she clearly liked Y/n and treated her as well as she could, considering that they were in the middle of the apocalypse. She was funny, and she fit in with the rest of their friends better than Abby would have liked; she wanted to hate her so much, but the only reason she could think of was purely out of selfishness, that being the fact that Y/n spending time with Reagan meant that she was not spending time with Abby, and after a few weeks of near constant contact with one another, Abby was sure she was going through withdrawals.

It all came to a head when Manny demanded that she take some time off of patrol. With Reagan always around, she had taken it upon herself to start accepting extra duties to avoid having to spend time with the group, and more specifically, Y/n. He’d made some arrangements and assigned someone else to her shift without even telling her, and all but dragged her down the hall and into the rec room. Y/n and Reagan had yet to arrive, but Abby knew that, if she was going to be forced to sit and watch Reagan practically hang off of the girl that she was probably in love with, she was gonna need a drink.

Abby wasn’t normally a big drinker. In her early days in the WLF, there had been a few times where she’d had more than she probably needed, but it also meant that she didn’t necessarily have the highest tolerance, especially with Manny being the one mixing her drinks. He’d been more than excited when Abby went for her second drink, and decided that they needed to go drink for drink with one another. Needless to say, by the time Y/n arrived, Abby was drunk. 

“Abs!” The voice sounded excited as they curled their arms around Abby’s neck from behind, leaning over the back of the sofa she was sitting on to hug her warmly, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

It almost felt like time had stopped the moment her eyes landed on Y/n, admiring the glint of the dim lights on her clean skin. Her hair was still damp, she’d just showered before coming to the party, and Abby couldn’t help but wish she’d also done so by the pooling of sweat on her forehead and palms. She leaned her head back against her shoulder, turning to glide her nose against her neck in a much more affectionate manner than she would have if she had been sober.

“Hi,” She mumbled, “You smell good.”

“It’s the lotion we found on patrol a few weeks ago,” Y/n laughed, “And you’re drunk.”

Abby shrugged, “No, just a little tipsy.”

Nora scoffed out a laugh as she plopped down on the armchair next to her, “Tipsy? Please, she’s been letting Manny mix her drinks all night.”

Y/n pulled away, leaving Abby to let out a small whine of defeat, “Uh oh. Something must be wrong to have you drinking Manny’s concoctions.”

“Hey!” The latino appeared seemingly out of thin air, “You’ve just lost yourself drink privileges.”

She raised her hands in surrender, “Not the threat you think it is, pendejo.”

Y/n threw herself onto the couch next to Abby, settling close enough for their arms to press against one another and sending Abby into what she assumed could only be early heart failure. 

“Seriously though, where’ve you been?”

The blonde shrugged once more, “Busy, I guess. Lots of patrols needed to be covered.”

“So you covered…all of them?”

Abby was quiet for a moment, then quickly changed the subject, “Where’s Reagan? Aren’t you two basically attached at the hip or something?”

The smile on Y/n’s face flickered for a beat, and Abby immediately felt a pang of guilt squeeze at her stomach and regret filled her for hurling such a harsh tone at her.

“Something came up,” Y/n turned her gaze to her interlocked fingers in her lap, “She’s not gonna make it.”

Abby recognized a familiar sadness in her voice, one that she had hoped to never hear again, so she dropped the topic and instead found herself falling into a conversation similar to one they would have had before Reagan came into the picture. Things felt right again, especially as Y/n’s hand grasped onto her thick bicep everytime she laughed, and she didn’t push her hand away when she reached over and rested it on her knee–that had to mean something, right?

After Abby finished her fifth drink, things began to get too fuzzy for her to handle, her head dropping back onto the back of the couch with a grunt, her eyes squinting shut in a weak attempt to refocus herself. Y/n glanced up at her, concern painting her features as she reached a hand up to stroke Abby’s flushed cheek. 

“You feeling okay?”

Abby grunted in response, leaning her cheek even further into her hand.

Y/n chuckled at her, pulling herself away to stand up and taking hold of Abby’s hand. The blonde’s eyes popped open at the contact, staring up at the girl with hooded eyes as she attempted to pull her to her feet. Abby pushed herself up, forcing her entire body weight into Y/n’s figure faster than she could have anticipated, almost knocking them both to the floor.

“Woah, steady girl,” Y/n laughed, slinging one of her arms over her shoulder, “I think it’s time to get you to bed, don’t you think?”

Abby nodded sleepily, allowing her to pull her along down the hallway, thankfully not having to climb any stairs to Abby’s room with the girl who was 95% muscle on her back. She was able to get her into the room and seated on her mattress with very little trouble–Abby was very compliant with every order that came out of her mouth. 

She sat back, allowing her to wipe a wet cloth over her face gently, her eyes struggling to stay open even though she was eager to see her face up close and personal once more. 

“Can I ask you something?” She murmured quietly, using every ounce of her strength to keep herself from moaning under Y/n’s touch. 

“Of course.”

She paused for a moment, almost like she was thinking it over, though she had no control over the words that spilled out of her mouth, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Y/n stopped her movements, causing Abby’s eyes to shoot open and fall on the grinning face before her. She laughed softly, then louder until her laughter filled the room and bounced off of the walls. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she lifted a hand to cover her mouth to contain her giggles, “That’s just not what I was expecting. But,” Y/n reached around and tugged the elastic out of Abby’s blonde hair, carefully untwisting the braid until her long hair settled around her shoulders, “I think you are very pretty.”

She smiled, mumbling out a quiet thank you.

“I have another question.”

“I think it’s only fair that I get to ask you one first.”

Abby raised her eyebrows, but was quick to nod in agreement. 

Y/n leaned back against the footboard of Abby’s bed, setting the cloth aside, “Why’ve you been ignoring me lately?”

“I’m not–” the blonde argued, pausing to compose herself, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Abby.”

The blonde girl winced at her stern tone, wary of meeting her gaze, “Look, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you, it’s just…” 

Don’t say it, her very sober subconscious was pleading with her, please.

Her drunk mouth didn’t listen, “Reagan.”

“Reagan?” Y/n frowned, “What about her?”

A small smile appeared on Abby’s lips, “Nuh-uh, it’s my turn.”

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance, but urging her to ask nonetheless.

“Do you love her?”

“Do I–Abby, why are you asking me this?”

Her bashful eyes fell to her lap, “I think you know why.”

“No, Abby I don’t–”

Her words were silenced, a hum of shock vibrating through her throat as Abby lurched forward, lips pressing sloppily against her own. Y/n froze, neither pulling away nor reciprocating, just remaining in place until Abby pulled away for air. 

Abby smiled, resting her forehead against Y/n’s softly. She was drunk, yes, but she had never felt more sober and in-tune with her own feelings as she was then, just after kissing the girl she was so hopelessly in love with for the very first time. 

The spell she was under broke the moment her eyelids fluttered open, allowing her to spot the hooded stare and tear-stained cheeks of the girl in front of her.

“Y/n? What’s–”

“You’re drunk, Abby,” she scowled, pushing herself away, “You should go to bed.”

“What? I just–No, please don’t go.”

Y/n turned to face her sharply, “Why? So you can use me for your own pleasure and then kick me to the curb?”

“What?”

“I mean–Jesus, Abby. You were there after Samyah. You were the one who told me she was such a bitch, that I deserved better, but you’re doing the same goddamn thing. Worst of all, you know how I feel about you, but you made it very clear to me that you didn’t feel the same, so I backed off.”

“I love you,” She stammered out, “I-I’m in love with you.”

Y/n laughed bitterly, shaking her head.

“Please,” Abby, fell to the floor as she tried to push her body off of the bed, “I’m telling you the truth. I-I didn’t know before, but I do now.”

Y/n sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose to collect herself, turning to face her once more before fleeing the room, “Go to bed, Abby. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Except they didn’t talk the next day. Or the one after that. Abby basically avoided Y/n like the plague after doing what she did. How could she? Everything that Y/n had said to her was true, she’d known it for weeks. Hell, it was the exact reason why she hadn’t made a move on her sooner. 

She knew she couldn’t escape her forever, though. The WLF stadium was pretty big, but they would both be living there for the rest of their (hopefully long) lives and would be bound to run into each other at some point in that time. She was also already in a fairly deep state of depression because of what had happened between the two of them, but also because of how much she just missed having her around. 

Which is why she found herself outside Y/n’s bedroom door after returning from a particularly risky patrol that had ended in only four of them returning from a group of seven. Abby was shaky as she made her way back inside the compound, her muscles screaming with every step and her body begging her for a shower and a long sleep, but her feet mindlessly carried her in the opposite direction of her own room. Her fist rapped against the thin wood before she could even process it, but she couldn’t run away now, not when she’d been pinned under a scar only an hour ago with a knife to her throat. 

Y/n looked a bit dishevelled as she opened the door, and Abby immediately thought the worst; had she really just shown up at her door at night? What if Reagan was in there? What had Y/n been doing in there when she knocked? Had Abby really interrupted her having sex with someone else?

But the lazy yawn that escaped her puffy lips forced Abby to realise that, no, she hadn’t interrupted her with someone else, she’d woken her up, which somehow made her feel worse.

“Abby?”

“Sorry, uh, is this a bad time?” She shifted her weight back and forth nervously. 

“No, I was just–no, it’s not,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, “You’ve been avoiding me. Again.”

“I know,” Abby frowned, “I’m sorry. For everything. You have every right to be mad at me–fuck, you have every right to never wanna talk to me again, but I just have to let you know how sorry I am and how much you mean to me.”

Y/n shifted her gaze to the floor for a moment before nodding, glancing back up at Abby and stepping back to open the door wider, “Wanna come in?”

Abby nodded eagerly, stepping inside with caution. She glanced around, taking in the small changes that had been made since she’d last been here. Y/n bedroom was, well, hardly even a bedroom. It was about the size of a large broom closet, just enough room to jam two twin beds and two small dressers inside, though she and her roommate had taken the initiative to make it somewhat cosy inside. Thankfully, the second bed was empty that night, meaning that she didn’t have to hold back.

“Wanna sit?” Y/n motioned to the foot of her bed as she took a seat near the headboard. 

“Uh,” Abby glanced down at her dirty attire, “I shouldn't. Sorry, I didn’t even change before I came here–fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Y/n shook her head, “Hey, it’s okay, Abs. We can sit on the floor?”

The blonde’s shoulders loosened at the use of that nickname, almost like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she lowered herself to sit directly across from Y/n on the carpeted floor. 

It was quiet for a beat, both of the girls sitting in silence as they watched, both anxiously waiting to see who would speak first. 

“Did you mean it?” Y/n was the first to crack.

“Did I mean…”

“You know what I’m talking about. You were drunk, but you avoided me like a clicker, Abby, so please don’t play dumb and just talk to me.”

Abby cleared her throat, “Yes. I meant it.”

Y/n let out a heavy breath, and Abby couldn’t tell if she was relieved or even more upset with her answer, “Okay, so you meant it. But why couldn’t you just tell me that? You knew how I felt about you when we first met, but you told me you weren’t interested so that was that.”

Abby shook her head, “It wasn’t like that. When we first met, I was…still dealing with how things ended with Owen. I was angry and hurt, and I really thought I would never get over it. But then, after a little while, I started to realise that I wasn’t heartbroken over him, I was angry that he and Mel didn’t have the decency to talk to me before they started fucking behind my back.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded, “But after that? Is it some kind of internalised homophobic shit going on? If it is, you could’ve talked to me about it, I could’ve helped you.”

“It’s not that. It wasn’t that I was scared or ashamed of myself, it was that I didn’t even really think about it, I guess. Then, when I finally did, you were with Samyah, and then that ended and you were so upset, and that got me thinking that…I don’t know, what if I was the same as her? What if I was just wanting to experiment? I didn’t wanna talk to you about it because I didn’t wanna lose you, and I didn’t want you to think that I was the same as her,” Abby could feel her eyes stinging from the sudden onset of tears, “And then by the time I realised that that wasn’t the case, you were already with Reagan.”

Y/n opened her mouth to speak, but Abby cut her off.

“I know, you’re with her, and if that’s what you want, then that’s fine. I want you to be happy. But I can’t leave here knowing that I didn’t tell you that I am in love with you, so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

Y/n didn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, she threw herself across the room, clambering into Abby’s lap and messily pressing her lips against hers. Abby was quick to reciprocate, her lips moving against hers steadily and conforming the once sloppy movements into a more slow and rhythmic embrace. Her arms moved to wrap around her waist, palms sliding up and down her back greedily as Y/n gently took Abby’s flushed cheeks into her own hands. 

When they finally pulled away, they both broke into wide grins, leaning in to peck each other once more. 

“Reagan and I aren’t together. I guess I was just on the rebound and she was looking for a fling, but it’s over.” Y/n whispered, “ I love you too, so much that I do know what to do with myself.”

Abby laughed, eyes trailing down her body and finally settling on the dirt and mud and blood that had transferred from her own dirty clothes to Y/n’s. 

“Shit, sorry, got you kinda dirty.”

Y/n glanced down at herself, then shrugged with a sly glint in her eye, “It’s okay. It just means that we’re both gonna have to go shower before bed, right?”

Abby stared at her in awe for a moment, brain finally catching up to her words as she jumped to her feet, hauling Y/n up into her arms as she began a quick march in the direction of the women’s showers, the otherwise quiet hallway being disturbed by Y/n’s squeal of surprise and laughter as the tall blonde carried her. 

Though the laughter was certainly more bearable to the surrounding rooms than the sounds that echoed from the showers over the next hour, though Abby couldn’t find a single ounce of concern for the others in the moment, just glad that she was finally able to hold and touch and kiss Y/n, just like real people do.

[thewertsearch]

TT: Then why do you bother with the conversations? Obligation to predestination, as usual? There is no obligation. It's a pleasure. [....] I've always had a soft spot for young ladies.

Ew.

TT: Suddenly this conversation is kind of terrible. [...] There should be no reason for you to feel uncomfortable with this interaction. Try to think of me as one of your kindly human uncle figures. In fact, if I were in your presence now, I would offer you candy to prove it.

Ew!

TT: Can we talk about the scratch instead of this?

Please!

Man, this guy really did come right out of a child's nightmare.

You are situated near the game construct supplied by your session for causing the Scratch, yes? […] It will always be an edifice of similarly cryptic design, located on the planet that is home to the Hero of Time. Its environment dictates the nature of its construction. Its power is dangerous, and is meant to be utilized only in emergencies such as yours. TT: You mean, in sessions where victory is no longer possible? Yes.

A panic button, then. Since it's located on the Time planet, I'm guessing it's some sort of undo button - a universal ctrl-z for broken sessions.

Maybe this is why the Scratch opens rifts. If you're stretching the fabric of time across an entire Incipisphere, it's bound to tear a little.

TT: Is that sort of emergency common? […] Failure is common. But the composition of yours is quite atypical.

And whose fault is that, Doc?

TT: Then, it's like a panic button for the players to push once they realize the cause is lost. Yes, but causing the Scratch is not an easy task either. The construct must be destroyed in a very specific way to release its energy.

Why isn’t it an easy task, though? Wouldn't Sburb want to give sessions another chance to propagate existence?

Well.... if a Scratch can rip holes in reality, the game probably doesn't want to hand them out like hot cakes. Maybe you need to prove to Skaia that your session is worth the risk, by demonstrating your competence in one final challenge.

You aren't ready to cause the Scratch yet. […] TT: What will the one who does it have to do? I should let them know. He will have to scratch the surface of the plateau across its full diameter. […] You will require a certain needle to create a breach in the surface that will be adequate. […] The needles must be acquired from the denizen of the Witch of Space. Her quills are very large and potent. They will be able to cause the Scratch.

Makes sense to me. Echidna is located on the Space planet, and reviving the session should probably be a collaboration between Time and Space.

After all, we don't just need to fix Sburb's plot.

We've also got to repair the setting.

TT: This really seems more elaborate than you lead me to believe. I didn't lead you to believe anything. I told you to find the construct and await advisement on the Scratch. The plans you were making were based on assumptions and fabrications of your imagination. You were writing more stories, much like those about your false magical men.

I know, right? It's almost like she's a child completely out of her depth, and you're taking advantage of it.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Nine

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst, bad science, happy endings :)

Summary: The Heroics have been working day and night to develop the technology and reopen the Rift. Now that the day has finally come to send Marcus Acacius home, how will the four of you possibly be able to say goodbye?

A/N: HAPPY TRAILER DAY!!!! As a treat, here is the last chapter of this silly little time travel romp. Here we are, friends! This might be a cheesy ending, but this is a cheesy story :) There will be an epilogue to follow... eventually. Thank you everyone for supporting this silly fic!

Masterlist | Chapter Eight | Epilogue

(Pike)

Marcus wakes with a pit of dread in his stomach. He’s never been good at people leaving, and even if the reasons for Marcus Acacius to return to his time are real, concrete, and urgent… it hurts just the same. Inexplicably, it feels like his fault, even if logic tells him this thought is ridiculous.

Losing Marcus Moreno, however, he does consider to be his fault. He should have stood firm, repeating the hero’s directive that Acacius not be seen in public, but all that it took was one look at your hopeful, pleading looks, and he had caved.

If the Heroic never wanted to see any of them again, Marcus would understand.

Even worse is that his connection with you has never felt more tenuous. After everyone else leaves, would you stay? Or is it only the extraordinary circumstances of the Rift that had brought you all together, and when all the reasons to stay are erased, would that be the end?

As he lies in bed with three other bodies–all so precious and dear to him after such a short time–he wishes, nonsensically, that he had more than two arms, so he could hold all of you at once. Already, he feels everything slipping through his fingers.

Marcus isn’t awake for long before both Moreno and Acacius are stirring. He slips his fingers in between the General’s and squeezes hard, trying to communicate everything he’s feeling through their hands. The man gives him a lazy, sleepy smile. His eyes are, as always, twinkling with wit and mischief, but Marcus thinks he can see a sadness behind them this morning.

Or maybe he’s projecting.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He gives the Heroic a smile, too, but when he looks away with the pain written all over his expression, Marcus feels the impact of it like he’s been punched.

Your eyes slowly blink open, sensing everyone else’s movements, and Marcus presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead.

It will be okay, he thinks, but he’s not sure if he’s communicating telepathically with you or trying to convince himself.

Marcus Acacius dresses, for the first time in weeks, in the clothing he’d been found in. The four of you drink coffee at the kitchen table in silence, and Pike wonders if, like him, nobody else knows what to say.

“I’m having a car sent,” Moreno finally says, breaking a long silence.

“Thoughtful of you,” Marcus deadpans, unable to keep the sarcasm to himself, although he still regrets the remark the moment it leaves his lips.

You shoot him a hurt glance, and he looks away, too ashamed to be able to meet your eyes.

It’s all falling apart around him. 

(Moreno)

Marcus sits in the passenger seat while the three of you pile in the back of one of the black SUVs used for special Heroics business. He’s angry still, his powers prickling the nerves at the back of his skull as he tries to check his email on his phone. It’s easier to lean into the anger than to face the emotion that’s clawing at his chest, making him feel as though there’s a deep gash just over his heart. 

Hurt. 

It’s nonsensical, really–he’s the one pushing himself away; he’s the one who took an oath of solitude and willingly sequestered himself away, choosing loneliness over fear. Over loss. He must do this, and yet it feels like he’s tearing the hole in his heart himself. 

It was always meant to be temporary. The only reason the four of them are even together is because of the Rift. When he realizes that, he realizes this was doomed from the start. Marcus Acacius was never supposed to be here, and he was never supposed to receive that visit from Special Agent Pike. He wasn’t supposed to meet you, or drink your beer, or sit at your kitchen table eating dinner as though all of this was normal. It was never normal. Nothing in his life ever is. 

When they reach Heroics HQ, Marcus walks briskly down pristine white hallways, letting the three of them fall into place behind him. He leads them to the elevator down to the underground testing labs, where scientists in lab coats are hurrying back and forth, preparing for the final trial of the new technology. 

They’re about to rip open space and time itself. 

The lead scientist on the project team gives the four of them a spiel that Marcus hardly listens to–the blood is still rushing too loud in his ears. On a nearby desk, a metal-capped pen begins to wiggle back and forth, but no one else takes notice. 

You’re all ushered behind thick safety glass as they prepare to open the portal. Marcus watches as the contraption in the middle of the room begins to whir to life, internal mechanisms spinning rapidly until suddenly a blinding beam of light erupts from one end. The entire room crackles with energy, and he can feel all the hair on his body standing up straight. With a high-pitched, deafening sound, the beam grows in intensity until he can no longer look straight at it. Papers begin to flutter off of desks as the air around them whips around at the disturbance. The wind swirls and gusts, getting stronger and stronger. The awful noise reaches a crescendo, when finally, the space seems to be pushed to either side in a small explosion that creates a deafening crack of thunder. The machine powers down, and the blue beam disappears. In its place is… a portal. A portal to another space and time. The air around it crackles violently with energy, and the wind does not settle. He doesn’t remember the Rift being so… violent, but this opening was purposefully created without expending fatal amounts of energy into the lab, instantly killing them all.

“We can’t hold it open for long,” the lead scientist yells through the static. “It’s time.”

Marcus Acacius carefully removes his translator earpiece and places the device gently in Moreno’s palm. 

“I am grateful,” the man says in English, looking to each of you in turn, “for your help and… for your… companionship.”

You surge forward and throw your arms around the General’s neck, and he closes his eyes as he winds his arms around your waist and presses you closer for a few moments before letting you go. 

“Farewell, expert of Roma,” he teases with a little wink and a kiss on your cheek. 

Sniffling, you turn and bury your face in Pike’s chest to hide your tears. 

“Take care of her,” the Roman tells him softly, and the Agent nods. 

Then, Acacius turns to the hero.

“I am sorry,” he says simply. “You are a good man.”

Next to him, Pike scrubs at his cheek with one hand and turns slightly away, and Marcus feels himself breaking apart.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this.”

Marcus Acacius gives him a slow, meaningful nod and turns back toward the new Rift. The tears that the hero had been holding back suddenly break free, and he shakes with silent sobs. He’s losing all of you at once. It isn’t until now, when he’s watching it happen, that he realizes he can’t do it anymore.

He can’t live out the rest of his life alone. 

Not anymore.

“M–” he makes a small noise in his chest that may have been the start of two different mens’ names, or could have just been a sob. Either way, the eerie crackling of the Rift swallows the sound, and it goes unheard by anyone else.

Desperately, he scrambles with a shaking hand to grasp for someone–anyone–to keep him from drifting away. He manages to clasp the Agent’s wrist, and the man turns, eyes widening at the pathetic tears rolling down Marcus’s cheeks. Wordlessly, he holds out his arm–the one not currently holding you, and the hero doesn’t need to be asked twice. He strides forward and takes his rightful place: holding and being held by you and Marcus Pike.

The Roman, not hearing the commotion behind him, is still walking slowly toward the portal. There’s caution in each step, and Marcus can understand his reluctance. Unlike the first Rift, this one is more turbulent, chaotic, and loud. He wouldn’t want to step through the violently moving air either.

Marcus Acacius reaches out, and part of his hand disappears through the swirling portal.

And he hesitates.

“Sir, the portal is becoming unstable!” One of the Heroics scientists calls out urgently. “You have to go through now.”

Acacius doesn't move. 

“I like showers,” he says suddenly in his thick accent. “I like movies. I like pizza. I like museums.” He finally turns around, a brilliant smile across his cheeks. “And I like you. More than any of that.”

He pulls his hand away, and with a deafening crack that sounds like thunder, the portal suddenly collapses on itself, and the room is suddenly eerily silent.

“I… I have seen too many things,” the Roman says, quieter. “I… can not go back.” He looks at Marcus Moreno and adds cautiously, “Will your army of heroes be… not pleased?”

Marcus has been the leader of the Heroics for too long. Once upon a time, he hadn’t been concerned with optics, with red tape, or politics. Once upon a time, he was a man who just wanted to use the gift he had been given for good. To help people. To make a fucking difference.

Once upon a time, Marcus Moreno hadn’t been afraid.

A watery smile spreads across his face.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says shakily. “It pleases you.”

You let out a loud sob and jump into the hero’s arms. The Agent laughs joyfully, brushing away a few tears as he joins in the hug, sandwiching you between them. 

Marcus Moreno extends his hand toward the man who is–was–out of his own time. “Stay,” he says simply, although the decision has already been made. “Stay with us.”

The Roman grins widely, and for the first time, Marcus notices the dimple on his cheek. He strides forward and engulfs all three of them in a tight bear hug. 

“Domum,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully. “Let’s go home. …Marcus?”

All three men say “Hmm?” at once.

You laugh. “Okay, we’re going to have to come up with some nicknames.”

[hardyshoe]

Sonnenblumen - Chapter Two: Sunflowers, for strength.

Masterlist.

Also posted on AO3 - here.

⚘⚘⚘

 There is a low humming of Miles Davis coming from your player on the dresser, your room is still and you find it puts you on edge. It's something you've always felt, a disquietude in being completely by yourself. Blame it on the pub, growing up in a pack of people eager to bounce you from knee to knee while your parents worked, but it was something you couldn't quite shake. 

 Reading helped of course, you could absorb yourself entirely in a book and put it from your mind for a while but the feeling always crept in at the borders of your mind after a while. Your grandmother had called it loneliness once, in her harsh manner. 

 “What happened to all your friends, my girl?” she had tutted from her pile of blankets by the fire. A perpetually cold woman was your grandmother, occasionally her words could be taken as a veil for love but only if you suspended the hurt they caused. “I see too much of you now.”

 You had scrambled to defend yourself, feeling small and embarrassed. Unsure of what to say, how to explain your shrinking group of friends. That had been over a year ago, before she died and the fact that you hardly went out stopped being questioned. You could always work more, develop a sleep schedule that followed the opening hours downstairs and live vicariously through the glimpses of a world beyond you that burrowed between the pages of your books.

 There wasn’t really a reason at all, that was the worst thing. You still saw people from time to time, Joan was always eager to make a plan and Barbara would give you that look of hers like she knew you were finding a reason to stay further than reach. The truth was that it felt like a slipping acceptance that you would one day find to have consumed you. 

 It wasnt that you were better than them, better than the village and its day-to-day, you just felt a soul-deep thirst for more. A dread sank into you when a conversation led to plans for the future, a book club on Thursday afternoons or a fundraising group you could help with. It all felt so much like a tether. 

It helped when a few of the girls got married, got pregnant, a rift grew like a chasm between your offputting opinions on the dates they would send you on and their morning mother’s meetings. They tried, you didn’t. In the end, you wouldn't shutter off the parts of yourself that were wrong for their mould.

 You didn't hold it against them, it was more your fault more than anything and it was less than awkward when you’d see them around. But you were left with a distinct feeling of being an oddity. Marlene was insistent on coming down to the pub once or twice a month, often bringing her daughter with her. She would attempt to inspire you on the joys of motherhood, you would burn with jealousy at the simplicity of her comfortable life. It was a routine that stung with its strange distance, stained always with that closeness you both missed. Marlene had, at one point, been the closest person to you in the world and it was somehow worse to look at the bond that had drifted with time and changing lives and not be able to say that anything tragic had strained it so. 

 You weighed your draw to Aegon against this, feeling a judgement from a force outside of yourself for being so fascinated by him. The truth was, there was no explanation for your call to him that wasn't rooted in his genuine, electric humanity. The core of Aegon Targaryen’s humanity shone through his flesh and skin like the glow of a star. 

 It had been three days since he had come in for the first time, you were almost glad not to be working just so you didn't have to face looking at the door. It embarrassed you in a way, how hopeful you were to see him again. You could try and put it to reason, but ultimately, nothing mattered more than that you simply liked him. 

 “My girl, I've been knocking this door off of its hinges. What are you doing?” the voice of your mother shudders you violently back to your room, she chuckles at you hand on your chest quelling your violently beating heart. 

 “Sorry, I’m sorry. I was miles away,” your hands come to the air by your head to waft vaguely, a farce of an explanation. 

 “I see that love,” she casts a gaze at the mess of record sleeves and magazines lazing open over paperbacks. It will be clean tomorrow but the clutter attests to your difficulty to place your mood.

 “Is everything okay?” 

 Her face takes on an almost smug look, “There appears to be a gentleman here for you. Your father said I should come and get you”

 You don't rush to leave your room but the feeling is there, pushing against your desire to calm it. “Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute.”

 She nods, a thoughtful lingering gaze staying on your until she dips around the doorjamb. Almost certain that she has heard the spike in your heart through your tone, you take a breath and gather yourself in the smoothing of your skirt. You stay for a moment, staring at the clippings of paintings and portraits on your wall, before you follow.

 The crashing of the Saturday patrons bathes you in sound and warmth and peace. You slot behind the bar and pour yourself a pint, another for someone else whom you parse the crowd for. When you find him, you pick through the over-busy tables with extra chairs pulled around them to the table by the window, near the darts board. He has a drink already, nearly empty and running condensation down his hand where he holds it. Bill is watching him unabashed between shots, he taps Brian on the arms when you sit and mutters something to him. Brian laughs. 

 Aegon doesn't notice you until let his drink clank onto the wooden table top. “You came back.”

 He does a daft grin with his top and bottom teeth on show. It's comical and you feel yourself smiling at him in return, albeit, less manically. 

“I told you, you can’t do away with me now. I have decided to make this my regular drinking spot.” 

 “It’s high stakes for a pint,” you point out. 

 He grins and lifts his hands from his lap, facing them back out to you and wiggling his fingers as though he were a pirate showing off stolen rings. There are none. Instead, from his middle knuckles to the wrinkles at the top of his wrist, are violet-vermillion slashes of bruises, interweaved with patches of split skin harshly grazed. They are not fresh but they had not been there on wednesday. 

 “Who did that to you?” you ask between your fingers as they are splayed over your mouth in horror. You feel ill, he doesn't even look like he’s in pain despite the anger of the marks. They are clearly sore, whether or not he is showing it. 

“Head of house, he was royally pissed off with me.” His face is bright but you can’t tear yourself from his hands. “The old bugger caught me going through the front door, didn't even ask where I had been, just took me to his office and shredded me.”

 Shredded is right, you cannot fathom a response to his humoured tone. He looks at you properly, face falling and he puts his hands under the table again. That just makes you hurt for him even more. 

 He begins again, slower and calmer this time, “It’s fine honestly, nothing I haven't had before. They will heal enough for me to write properly by monday lessons so it's not such a great problem. The headmaster once did me in so hard I had to bandage them for a week, it's nothing compared to that.”

 He doesn't realise that he is only making it worse. “Aegon, this is not right.”

 “I mean, it is my fault,” he says, lightly humoured and shrugging. He drains his first pint and swaps the empty glass for the full one you had brought him. “No one could claim I wasn’t asking for it.”

  “I really can’t see how you being struck like that is at all an apt punishment for sneaking out.” your voice is high and questioning as the wrongness builds in the sides of your head. Of course caning happened at your school but, the local primary was small enough though that it wasn't often. The headmistress was stern and surly yes, but she was not a cruel woman. The only people you could ever recall being punished in such a manner were always the older boys, those acting with malicious intent. 

 He just shrugs again. His acceptance makes your blood scream against the underside of your skin, hissing and roiling like the surface of a comet. “Aegon, you did not deserve this.”

 He seems taken aback by the tone of your voice, like your anger had been directed at him. You can't bear him thinking that and take his hand from his glass, using your thumb to blend the cool moisture into his flushed skin. It is then that you notice the shaking, how his tendons contract against his will under the cuts. 

 “Of course I deserve it,” there is a blankness behind his eyes, like the words are not his own. 

 You call him out on it, cannot help yourself. “Who told you that?”

 It is in his silence that you recognise what you had missed. When you do, you could kick yourself for how boldly it glares through his papery skin.

 There is something profoundly broken in Aegon Targaryen. You know so little of him, his insides and what lies beneath his riotous façade are so uncharted to you. Yet the festering wound of what has been done to him cracks in front of you, his fragility as bare as a bone-china teacup. You can see right through him. 

 You wonder how he has held himself together for so long, when there is something so clearly wrong that you cannot breath without choking on it. 

 He looks blank, like you have just asked him if the sky is blue or questioned some other deeply rooted fact of the world. He opens his mouth to speak, throat constricting around his confusion and the welling misery. 

 Then Brian falls over behind him, the entire clientele give a low roar of friendly mocking and Aegon jumps in his seat. Almost falls off his chair himself. Brian gets up and shakes himself off, takes a ribbing from Bill and puts down his darts. The sign that the night has reached its natural end reverberates through the drinks finished in too-large mouthfuls, gulped down by patrons with one arm in their coats. 

 “I suppose that's my call then,” Aegon says as your father rings the bell for last drinks. It clamours violently in your ears, everything does. Following the quiet of your conversation you can't quite get used to the noise that you had dropped away from in the privacy. 

 “You don’t have to,” you offer, somewhat futilely given the hour and that you know he has a freezing bike ride ahead of him. “I can clean your hands and wrap them for you?”

 He smiles curiously at you, trying to figure something about you out. “It’s okay,” he flexes his fingers at you as he stands, it looks agonising and you watch a bead of blood weep down the back of his right hand at the motion. “It is part of the punishment.”

 “I can't let you out like that,” you say, horrified. From your sleeve you draw a handkerchief, the lace edge catches on your nail in your haste to draw it out. You don't give him time to object, damping the streaming blood with the white cotton. 

 This close, you watch the shadow of the red grow wider under the material before it relents, soaking through suddenly, the threads glistening slightly with the blood. For a cut that is days old, it bleeds like a fresh one, testament to the thin and brittle new skin. There is a reason the hands are often the chosen spot for the punishment. 

 You both watch in silent impasse as the stain edges closer to the embroidered sunflower on the corner, he tries to draw his hand back before the flower is tainted but you tighten your hold. Staring as the colour draws up the yellow threads like ichor towards the heart of the flower. 

 He looks at you then, you look at him. His left hand comes into your vision, brushing under the skin of your eye clumsily, in the unpracticed manner of non-dominance. You feel every grove of his fingerprints as they brush so carefully against your cheek. 

 You've forgotten how to breathe, every attempt catching in your windpipe, fighting against your heartbeat as you feel it where your voice should be. You are sure of what you want, where this is going, yet stuck dumb by the magnitude of it. 

 The moment breaks when you remember where you are, he withdraws slightly as your eyes move to the now empty pub, unsteady despite the solitude. He is looking at your joined hands when you look back. 

 “It’s ruined now,” he says, apology thick on in his words.

 “It will wash out,” you say gently, pushing away the bizarre panic that claws between the folds of your brain at the idea of removing this trace of him. “Besides, what is the use of keeping it pristine if it’s needed?” 

 “But it was such a nice flower,” he is mournful and your chest feels tight with it.

 “It still is, something is ruined just because there is evidence of you touching it, Aegon.”

 That look eclipses his face again, like he cannot understand a word you're saying. 

 “I don’t understand you,” he says, like it hurts him. 

 “And I don’t understand you. Yet,” you emphasise the last word and he frowns slightly.

 He is quiet as he backs towards the door, not looking away from you but to find the handle. He still has no coat, you watch him shiver as the cold air creeps through the crack in the door to taunt the bare skin of the back of his neck. His eyes flick between your face and the handkerchief, held in a limp hand by your side. “You see more of me than anyone ever has before.” 

 You speak through your cracking heart, voice so quiet you're not sure he will hear you as he turns to leave. “I want to see all of you.” 

 He stiffens and braces a hand on the door, swinging back on his heels to look at you again. He gives you that same smile he did when he left the last time, all sad self-deprecation. “You won’t like it when you do, Sunflower.” 

 You catch him through the window, walking towards a bike against the corner wall, his left thumb plays with the forefingers, grazing lightly again and again. Your fingers find your cheek and rest there until he has disappeared into the hazy night. 

⚘⚘⚘

 Later that week, Marlene comes in. Early in the afternoon, as always, baby Elsie hanging her head over the edge of her pram to look around. She hands the squirming girl over to you and sits with her tea across the little booth. 

 “How have you been?” you ask, following the delicate routine you both have created. She tells you about her husband, always so fondly, about the dinner party they hosted with the other young parents from the village. She hurriedly apologises halfway through the story, highlighting the disparity and how you would have been invited if you had just settled down with one of the miner boys like she had. 

 However, it never stings like she seems to think it will. You feel the coldness of loneliness sure, but your desire to be invited to the dinner parties down in the prefab new-builds outside of the main town is so minimal you can hardly find it in yourself. Little Elsie is heavy in your arms, no matter how much you love holding her and letting her play with the collar of your blouse. 

 “Barbara tells me you are going with one of the boys from the prison.” She jokes, they used to call it that when they were in school, finding the isolation snobbish and resenting the presence of the big old buildings on their horizon. 

 “How does Barbara know?” you say, quick and scrambling. 

 “So you are?” Marlene raises her brows, sipping her tea diplomatically. 

 You don’t know what to say, how to find your words. It shouldn't feel as though you are on trial like this. “I am not ‘going with’ him, I have only seen him twice.”

 Marlene just cocks her head at you, not saying a word. 

 “I hardly know anything about him! Besides, how would Barbara know? She’s normally only here on quiz nights.”

 “She was here the other night too, and told me that “pretty blond boy with the eyes” was all over you.” Marlene bats her eyelashes and fawns. You can see her smiling round the edges of the teacup.

 You hadn't even known Barbara had been there, you rattle through a replay of your memory of the night but you can’t find her in the haze of not-Aegon that clouds everything but him. “He was not! We just talked.”

 She scoffs as you and you keep rambling, trying to defend yourself. “Honestly, Marlene! We just had a drink and spoke. It was mostly about that school anyway, he isn't at all like what you would expect one of those posh boys to be. He hates it there, I can just tell. I think he only comes here to be anywhere but that horrible place.”

 “Long way to come to get away,” she says ruefully, poking at the handle of her cup and hiding her smirk in her downward glance. “Besides, you’ve gone shrill.”

 “He has a bike,” you say in an attempt at self defense, wincing at the way her lips pitch higher at the corners. “It isn’t like that I swear! That school is vile, worse than you would believe. You should have seen his hands, he was cut up so badly I have had to stop myself from marching down there at least three times a day since I saw.”

 Elsie is wriggling in your arms, trying to reach for your hair to tug on. You move her to your lap so she can pull at the buttons on your cardigan. Marlene does not say a word for a minute, finishing her tea and placing the cup in the saucer. The light from the window shines thinly through the china and you think of Aegon. 

 “Sweetie, it is okay to like him,” her hand comes to rest on your arm. You want to brush her off, tell her that she has the situation all wrong. Reiterate that you hardly know him like that changes anything. 

 She smiles at you, softly and you are reminded of how different your lives are as you sit here talking about a boy while holding her baby. You suddenly miss your friend like she  was taken from you against your will and you feel such guilt in the part you played in the distance that scratches between you and her now. You miss Barbara’s sternness and Joan’s unkillable royalism, even Mary and her personal dichotomy between genius and naiveté. It nearly overwhelms you, the impossibility of bridging the gap as it exists now.

 You feel unbalanced and wonky when you look at her again to speak. You could not say for anything near certain which was the greater cause.

 “I have never seen anyone burn so brightly with such suffering as their only fuel.” The words feel so close to your mind speaking for you that it almost frightens you.

 However, it does not eclipse your certainty in your feelings, you trust yourself before anything else. 

  Marlene traces along the knuckles at the base of your fingers with the tip of her index, the light touch is comforting in a way you haven’t known in some time.“Just be careful, it sounds like he comes with some heavy baggage.”

 “I’m strong enough to carry it.”She nods at your response, like she expected nothing else of you. Like she knows she cannot change your way of thinking. 

The conversation drifts after that, lighter topics, not skirting back towards the darkness in the edge of the far fields behind the pub. You find yourself grateful for Marlene’s company in a way you haven’t before, somehow she had known you in a way you had not realised. Shame prickles at you at the way you had dismissed it all so easily. 

 When she leaves, you ask her to come back soon, ask her to bring Barbara and Joan if they would want to come. You mean it, she smiles and says she will. That she will find a babysitter for Elsie so that she can come for a proper evening with all of you. There is hope in her receding silhouette and she takes a weight with her that you had been carrying for quite some time, the burden leaving your shoulders feeling foreign and light. 

 You hope that you can let yourself believe that it is not acceptable to have your friends and to let them be important to you. Maybe too much time has passed and the distance between you and them is irretrievable, but they are kind people and you think there might be a chance they could hold you steady in this rocking sea you have found yourself.

⚘⚘⚘

 On returning to your room your eyes find the handkerchief, blood browned from drying to the cotton. It sits on your bedside table, just as it has since you put it there after he left, where you could look at it in the night and find the darkened silhouette in the shadows. There is something disgusting about keeping it as it is, you know that, but you couldn't bring yourself to put it into the laundry basket. The wrongness of the gesture had enclosed your thoughts so wholly that it felt like a force of nature.

 You trace the remnant of him on it, feeling the raised edge of the stain under your finger and lingering on the bloody sunflower. 

 You cannot deny your fascination with him, but also the way you feel a twitching desire to show him that he is not responsible for all the bad he smoulders with. The way he had shown you his hands like they were the tip of a sunken iceberg of guilt had scratched something in you. It is madness, but you cannot shake it. He is madness, a dichotomy of vivacious energy and deeply carved trenches of suffering. You want to know all of him. 

 Your sewing box is dusty from months of unused under your bed, you dig through it with intent. It isn’t something you can forget how to do, thread the needle and pull the cotton tight over your embroidery wheel, run stitches through the bloody cloth with a dull pop every time the needle passes through. 

 It takes a few hours, silent work seeing you curled around the handkerchief like Picasso’s guitar man around his instrument. You have a single minded focus for that time, resolute in your act and you grow in surety as you watch your vision bloom under your fingers. 

 In the end, you take the handkerchief from the wheel with a shaking right hand, numb from such steady exertion, fingertips aching around a now phantom needle. You smooth out the marks from the wood and fold it into a square, one that shows the melding of your handiwork and his mark clearly.  Though you want to give it to him straight away, you know you are unlikely to see him for a few days. You tuck it into the top drawer of your bedside table, feeling its weight even when you have shut the drawer. 

 When you sleep that night, on your side so that you face the invisible presence, you dream of shining lilac eyes, blond hair and sunflowers.

⚘⚘⚘

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for stopping by and hello again to anyone returning. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I am terribly fond of it and the first intro into one of the fic's original characters! Sending all my love, as always thoughts and comments are my lifeblood. SlaginSecret xxx 

@neithriddle

[rennivere]

"You never told them?" He asked incredulously, practically gawking at the mage, taking a moment to look over the group before sparing a soft laugh of disbelief. "Oh. Oh, I'm impressed. That you managed to keep your upbringing as an Ascian a secret this long is truly something to be commended. Elidibus would be proud. Brava."

It was as if time had stopped.

At first, she wasn't sure she wasn't trapped in a dream. She'd pictured herself in this scenario at least a hundred times over the years, imagining how the Scions would react when she told them the truth about herself.

She was an Ascian - born and raised. The rift between shards was no place for a child, and yet it was there that she grew, her mind shaped and molded to believe unquestioningly in the Ardor.

Promises of greatness, of power, strength, and knowledge were spoken into her ear, filling her mind. She grew to worship Zodiark, just as she grew to loathe the people of the Source and its shards.

Then again, those people were hardly people at all - or so she was lead to believe. Even she was imperfect, just a fragment of what she could be if they succeeded in rejoining the star.

Naturally, like the rest of her kin, she sought that perfection. She never thought she would ever question her beliefs, until she met them.

The Scions were not weak, poor excuses for mankind. They were strong, intelligent, personable, loyal to a fault, and they extended a hand of invitation towards her based on a lie - that she was just a normal adventurer, and not an Ascian sent to infiltrate the Scions on behalf of the Emissary. Then again, why would they have any reason to distrust her, when she had so willingly killed one of her own in Thanalan?

He would not be the last, either. She would stand opposed to the Ascians again and again, and what began as a ruse to gain the trust of the Scions soon became Aletheia's reality. Hydaelyn certainly had more than just a simple hand in that matter, her words - whispered into Theia's mind in every dream - causing the mage to question everything she had ever known and been made to believe.

These people around her who were supposed to be frail, fragmented excuses for what they once were and could be were not sacrificial lambs for the greater 'good'. They were people, with their own lives, loves, and stories to tell.

They deserved to live and love.

They deserved the truth.

And yet, for years, Aletheia kept her deepest secret close to her chest, for fear that her closest companions would turn on her in an instant if they knew the truth of her deception. She tried to imagine every possible scenario, and always, something would deter her from disclosing the truth.

And now, with that truth exposed, every instance where she could have - should have - told the truth to her companions flashed through her mind.

Emet-Selch's words echoed in her head until her ears began to ring from the silence that followed.

"You know, ever since I first had the pleasure of seeing the famed Eikon-slayer, Warrior of Light-turned-Warrior of Darkness in person, I thought there was something a bit strange about you. A bit… familiar. At first I thought it might just be a side effect of immortality: Being cursed to see the same dull face reappear every century or so… but that's not it, is it?" "No, no. You're a bit older now, grown and matured… but you still have the same hopeful gaze that used to stare oh so longingly after Elidibus, praying he would give you the light of day. It wasn't often we allowed ones so young in on the truth, but you were a bit of a special case, weren't you? Oh, yes, I remember you now. Aletheia, was it? It has been oh-so long."

He had the gall to look surprised when the Scions turned to her in various degrees of confusion and shock. Urianger was the least outwardly affected - though Theia had long theorized that during the man's own stint as a double-agent, he had somehow learned of her truth, but kept it to himself. Still, his eyes shut, brows furrowing as he lifted a hand to stroke lightly at his chin in thought.

Beside him, Thancred reeled back, staring at Theia with wide, questioning eyes that desperately sought answers, silently begging the mage to dismiss Emet-Selch's claims.

Minfilia remained at his side, concern and uncertainty causing her to step forward, hands pressed to her chest as she peered around past her guardian, towards the Warrior.

"What is he talking about, Theia? Do you actually know each other?"

"Yes, pray tell, what is he talking about?" Alisaie pressed, turning her full body towards the mage, finally prompting Aletheia to break the unblinking, piercing glare she had on Emet-Selch.

"Are you implying that Aletheia is... an Ascian? That's absurd," Alphinaud tried to reason, giving a dismissive scoff - though there was a swirl of fear and uncertainty in his eyes as he looked towards the aforementioned mage, then back again, "You truly expect us to believe that?"

Emet-Selch's expression was infuriating.

He looked genuinely dumbfounded.

"You never told them?" He asked incredulously, practically gawking at the mage, taking a moment to look over the group before sparing a soft laugh of disbelief. "Oh. Oh, I'm impressed. That you managed to keep your upbringing as an Ascian a secret this long is truly something to be commended. Elidibus would be proud. Brava."

The thick fabric of his gloves resulted in a dull, muted pat as he clapped slowly in response. His expression began to shift from one of genuine surprise to something far more sardonic, a slightly quirked brow, one corner of his lips upturned in a smirk as he lowered his hands back to his side, causing his weight to droop forward again into his usual slouch.

Theia said nothing, every word dying on her tongue as her hands balled into fists at her sides, digging the sharp points of her metal claws into her skin nearly hard enough to pierce both palms. She had half a mind to do just that - surely she deserved a bit of physical pain to pair with the emotional devastation.

Emet-Selch meanwhile must have taken her silence as an invitation to continue gloating.

"Well, I originally came here with a proposition for you and your little band of heroes - a possible alliance, in fact - but it appears I've made a bit of a mess for you to sort out, haven't I? My sincerest apologies, Hero. Would that I had the ability to take it all back so you could go about your merry way, keeping secrets, killing Lightwardens, and all that..."

"Alas, it seems I may have to choose another day to extend an olive branch to you and yours. I suppose I will give you a bit of privacy while you figure out how to justify the past few years of deception to your friends. Do try not to turn on each other: You'll need all the help you can get if you hope to defeat the remaining Lightwardens."

Theia thought she might scream. She thought she might conjure a blaze in her palm and lob it at the Ascian out of pure rage, but she was frozen, left only to watch as the man gave a flick of his wrist, a dismissive wave as he stepped towards the conjured portal of swirling darkness had had appeared only moments before. He stopped just shy of it however, his hand turning as he gave a gentle snap.

"Ah! But before I go: If your friends do happen to turn on you, or you decide you wish to hear my proposal in full, don't hesitate to seek me out. Difficult decisions lie ahead of you: Decisions best made with the benefit of knowledge to which only the eternal are privy."

A slight smirk curled onto his lips once more as his gaze locked on Aletheia's.

"Until then, hero."

The sound of the man's twisted, corrupt magic warping and twisting echoed off the crystalline walls of the Ocular as Emet-Selch passed through the shadowy portal, which rippled before shrinking around him, swallowing him.

Time seemed to halt as he disappeared, the room deathly silent aside from the natural hum of magic from the tower around them. No one seemed keen to speak first, though Theia could feel six sets of eyes peering through her.

In the end it was the Exarch who broke the silence with a somewhat uneasy clear of his throat.

"Perhaps it best to focus now on the matter at hand, and address some recent revelations at a later time," he suggested calmly, unaware of the short fuse he had just lit by speaking up.

"A later time?" Alisaie balked, her boots giving a squeak against the crystalline floor as she twisted towards Theia. "No, I think we address this now!" Steps far heavier than the girl's stature would imply echoed off the walls as she turned to place herself in front of Theia, staring up at the Hyur with eyes that swirled with everything from confusion, to fear, to rage.

"Is it true? Is what Emet-Selch said true, Theia?"

"I'd wager that her silence should more than suffice as an answer to that question," Thancred chimed in, his tone bitter. Aletheia swore she heard the leather of his gloves creak as his hands balled into fists at his sides. "An Ascian," he verbally spit, as if the word alone left a sour taste on his tongue.

"While 'tis true that this deception is great, I would implore thou all to remember that our friend hath been steadfast in her resolve. She hath never once strayed from the path of good, and hath proven through her actions alone to be a loyal companion. I suggest we do not let these revelations taint our opinions of our friend too hastily, and instead grant her a chance to explain herself,"

Urianger. Of course he would have a level head. Aletheia might have thanked him with a look, had Alisaie not scoffed, drawing her silver gaze.

"Oh yes, please do explain why you deemed it acceptable to keep a rather important detail about your life a secret from us this entire time! An Ascian? Really?"

"I have not answered to the Ascians since before the turn of the era," Theia finally spoke, though she wasn't able to get much further before Alphinaud was chiming in with a dry snort.

"So you admit it, then. While we have been fighting against the greatest threat our world has ever known, little did we know that one of their own was in our midst the entire time. Did you truly never deem it necessary or relevant to share this little fact with us? Has it truly just slipped your mind all this time?"

The boy sounded more hurt than angry, bewildered. He moved to stand beside his sister, perhaps to help anchor her lest her anger turn into something more - or perhaps ready to join her. Theia wasn't entirely sure, though she was certain that nothing pained her quite as much as seeing those near identical sets of eyes staring up at her in dismay.

While all of the Scions were undeniably dear to her, the twins had become especially important to the mage. She viewed them both as her own siblings - and if she was right, the feeling was mutual. Despite their capabilities as fighters and their shared fierce independence, Aletheia often found herself quietly and gently doting on the pair, always the first to remind the rest of their party that the Leveilleur twins were still, by all accounts, kids.

They did as teenagers often would of course - scoffing and defending their own faculty, insisting they didn't need any extra care than the rest. It only endeared the mage more to her two young companions.

That made the looks of disdain they gave her now hurt far, far worse.

"Clearly she did not think it necessary to be honest with us. It certainly puts into question what other secrets she has kept since the start," Thancred muttered dryly, contempt dripping from his words.

Alisaie was certainly passionate, but Thancred looked at her as if he were a lover scorned. Thancred was the one who recruited her into the Scions at the start after all, the one who put his trust in her and shared their secrets. Not to mention, he was also the one with a rather personal reason to despise the Ascians, beyond simply the threat they posed to the world.

She couldn't blame him for being upset. She couldn't blame any of them, frankly. She couldn't even blame Emet-Selch for exposing her truth - though she would, she realized consciously.

That was simply far easier than accepting all of the blame outright.

"Had I been honest upfront, would you truly have believed me if I said I was no longer loyal to the Ascians?" Aletheia asked, annoyance slipping into her tone as she turned to properly face the group, putting her back to the Exarch, who used that as an opportunity to approach the group, stopping not far from her left.

"Well we'll certainly never know now, given how you lied to us all this time," Alisaie spat bitterly, "Thancred makes a valid point. What else have you kept from us?"

"Nothing," Aletheia responded firmly, "I have been honest in every other regard. What would I gain from weaving a web of lies? Nothing," she repeated, her brows knitting above her bridge as her gaze flicked over the group. "Tis true: I am - was - an Ascian. I was born on the Source, but I was raised in the rift between shards, brought up to worship Zodiark and to believe only in the Ardor. I answered to the Emissary, and it was he who tasked me with seeking out the Scions and to report back with what I learned."

"But in seeking out the Scions, I encountered Hydaelyn. She spoke to me, and I began to see the truth. In meeting you all, I began to learn that everything I had been led to believe about mankind was a lie."

"And how long did that take, exactly?" Thancred scoffed, his arms rising to cross over his chest as he sneered at the mage. "Exactly how long was it before you stopped reporting back to your betters? How long were you sharing our secrets before you switched sides?"

Stubborn, stubborn man.

"Less time than it took for you to fall victim to Lahabrea's plotting," she said flatly, though her words were not pointed or accusatory. Thancred seemed to still take them as such though, given how his nose flared, arms unfolding as he moved to take a step forward, only for a small arm to outstretch across his midsection, giving him just enough pause to stop and look down at the pair of solid cerulean orbs staring up at him.

"Stop, stop," Minfilia insisted, her voice pleading. "I... I can't imagine how you all must be feeling right now... but it is as Urianger said: Theia has more than proven herself to be on our side. If she wasn't, why would she be helping with the Lightwardens? Not to mention all the stories you all have told me about what you've done together on the Source... if she were secretly still working with the Ascians... why would she do so much to thwart their plans...?"

Her words were enough to have Thancred stop fully in his tracks, his head tilting as his gaze downcast, though his posture gave away his continued frustration. He would not be so easily convinced.

"Agreed," the Exarch now chimed, "Which is again why I propose we turn our attention to the matter of the sin eaters. In striking down the Lightwardens of Lakeland and Il Mheg, together, you have accomplished more in your short time here than all of our forces managed in the last century,"

He emphasized together, Aletheia realized, stressing the word to help further his point. On either side of her, Theia heard both Thancred and Alisaie scoff, both equal parts unconvinced. Alphinaud on the other hand sighed, his head nodding.

"Perhaps you are right. For now at least, let us focus on dealing with the sineaters. We can address certain... revelations once the greater threat has been addressed," the young Elezen suggested, his tone slipping into that of the young diplomat Alphinaud often portrayed himself as, for better or worse.

"Agreed. To that end, it is imperative that we address the remaining Lightwardens of Kholusia, Amh Araeng, and the Rak'tika Greatwood. Alas, their precise whereabouts are as of yet unknown to us," the Exarch agreed, "Which is why I propose we divide our forces and conduct a systematic survey of each region. Once we have found our quarry, we may then determine how best to proceed. I imagine this will also allow us all the time needed to gather our thoughts and decide how to best address the various matters at hand,"

"Fine," Alisaie muttered bitterly, "I'll take Amh Araeng by myself," she said firmly, leaving little room for argument from anyone else.

"Then I will make for Kholusia," Alphinaud followed, his body turning. Neither twin seemed inclined to meet the gaze Aletheia spared them both. "I have connections there both in and around Eulmore that may prove useful."

"Wonderful," the Exarch approved with a nod partially hidden beneath his cowl, the slightest smile tugging across his lips - the man clearly relieved that the party had not deigned to continue their verbal assault on their companion. "Then I would recommend the rest of you venture to Rak'tika, where you will find Y'shtola. We will need her aid in finding the Warden hiding there."

"I doubt all of us will be needed to find Y'shtola. Urianger, Minfilia, and I will venture there in search of her. It shouldn't take long to track her down,"

Ah. Thancred's words were a firm message on their own: Aletheia was not invited on their venture into the wood, it seemed. The mage felt her teeth grit as she turned to peer at the man, her gaze flicking towards Urianger, who met her eyes before giving a quiet sigh, clearly disinclined to argue.

"Very well then. I have my own matters to which to attend as well."

The Exarch brandished an envelope from within the folds of his robe, further drawing attention away from Aletheia's exposed past. He spoke of the invitation he received from Lord Vauthry, and his intent to take the man's offer, despite the thinly veiled trap it tried to conceal.

Aletheia had a mind to offer to accompany the Exarch, but she wasn't given the chance before the Exarch turned towards Alphinaud, personally requesting his escort instead, leaving little room for Aletheia to insert herself.

Thus, plans were set in motion, prompting her companions to turn and take their leave. Aletheia hesitated, her lips parting as she tried to find the words to say - something, anything, be it a desperate plea of her case or something else that might help rebuild their confidence in her... but her tongue went dry, any words she tried to utter never making it to her lips. She was left to watch as the five Scions departed the Ocular, leaving her to watch as the door began to swing shut behind them.

The silence that followed was so deafening, Aletheia nearly forgot that she wasn't alone.

"For what it is worth," the Exarch spoke, his words smooth, carrying a warmth to them that had Theia finally taking a breath, a modicum of hope fluttering in her gut as she turned to look at the man, who greeted her with a gentle smile beneath his hood, "I do not view you differently. As Urianger said, and Minfilia after him, you have more than proven yourself time and again to be a hero, just and true. It may take time for the others to see it that way... but I have faith that time will heal these fresh wounds."

Theia's brows furrowed in thought as her head dipped, lips pursing in a tight line as she bit gently at the inside of her bottom lip in thought. Perhaps he was right... but did she deserve their forgiveness?

"Thank you, Exarch," she finally said, her attempts at a steady tone somewhat failing, unease slipping into her words. The Exarch's response was only to smile a bit wider, nodding as he lifted a hand, his crystalline palm solid and cold as it moved to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly - a fleeting gesture of comfort before he let his arm fall back to his side.

"If but I could do more to help convince them. Alas..." he trailed off then, seeming to mull over his thoughts as Theia peered down at him with a pinched brow. "Might I suggest you also venture East to the Greatwood? Be it alone or with the others. Despite Thancred's words, I believe it would be beneficial to have more eyes and ears on the ground. And... perhaps you'll manage to stumble across Y'shtola yourself, and be able to share certain matters with her in your own words."

She couldn't argue with that.

[see-you-in-the-sky]

Hey Scott

How do you deal with the feeling your brothers are growing up so fast and they might not need you anymore? I swear mine were just kids ten minutes ago and now… whaaaaat?

It doesn’t help that it’s kinda my fault they had to grow up so fast but I think they are happy? And that’s the main thing right?

Anon person who definitely doesn’t have a similar name

Oh wow, well isn’t that a big can of worms…

Well, I don’t know your situation, but for me I suppose it’s not too bad. There’s only about 5-6 years (give or take if you round the months) between me and my youngest brother, Alan, so we were all pretty close growing up. Sure I helped out my folks once I was marginally competent to do so (walking the tinies home from School, chores, etc), but I was lucky in that it never really became my whole job. I was as much of a manic, feral child as the rest of the pack, heh.

But I do feel ya on the whole “not need you anymore” thing, sometimes at least. We’ve been doing this Rescue gig a few years now, and we’re all doing great! I couldn’t be prouder of my brothers, especially the ones who never planned on becoming pilots (I’m looking at you, Virgil, you’re a natural!), but I’ve gotta admit, I do feel a bit obsolete at times. I mean, Thunderbird One is the scout craft, they send me to get the lay of the land, talk to the people on the ground and then…

Sit at mobile control. I know it’s an important job but… I feel like I should be doing more, y’know? I hate sitting around when there’s something I can do to help. It’s probably one of the main reasons I’m so nervous about when we have to do this whole thing without Father, I can’t take sitting at that desk.

And my brothers are so good at the job now that I do sometimes wonder if I’m obsolete, if I’m only kept on out of Father not wanting to cause a rift. It’s kept me up at night, and it damn well hurts. Not great for the ol’ mental state. It eats away at ya, doesn’t it?

How do I deal with it? Well, I talk to them. It’s not easy (I’m a Tracy through and through), and Tin’s had to beat me over the head with a brush more than once just to get me to do it, but I talk. Father knows how I feel and he’s assured me it’s my brain making up malarkey, that I’m irreplaceable. I’ve also been talking with Brains about giving Thunderbird One more capabilities that’ll let her do more on her own. That helps.

And my brothers? Well they’ve admitted (in their own ways) that they think they’re always gonna need me. We’ve been such a tight unit for so long that we actually struggle to function without some form of contact with each other. That’s why John’s first stint on Five was so brutal, Grandma said it was like someone had taken away one of our senses or something. Heaven knows how we managed to have careers for that stint. We’ve all grown more independent over the years, but we’re still a package deal. And being the eldest means I tend to end up being the leader. They need me, I need them.

If your siblings are anything like mine, don’t expect them to go ditching you.

You’re right about the most important thing being their happiness. Especially when they’re the most important thing to you. I don’t know who you are, pal, but whatever happened, it’s not your fault. Sure, I haven’t got two hoots about your situation, but you seem like a damn decent human being, doing their best with the cards they’ve been dealt.

I hope this ramble helps.

Similar name…?

[incesthemes]

Happy Wincest Wednesday Ciel!!!

If you have time and you'd like to ramble, what are your thoughts on how the story would've been affected by the brothers swapping ages, as in Sam was born first and Dean was born second?

You've got a lot of opinions and they're interesting opinions and this is something I think about a lot so I was curious whether you had any opinions on role/age swaps basically

(but like don't feel pressured to answer this today or whatever /gen)

hi cass!!!! happy wincest wednesday!!!!!! 🥳 i always have time for you. and for wincest of course.

this is such a good au and i love swaps of ALL kinds... i'll admit i've only ever given age swap cursory thought before, but it's SO appealing to consider so i definitely have things to say. i'm going to assume you mean that sam is still azazel's specialest little boy king and dean is just there 🧍‍♂️

overall i can see john being much more distant with sam and dean growing up. i'm pulling inspiration from lucas in 1x03—if sam was old enough to really understand what happened to his mother, i can see him turning out like lucas for a while (especially considering dean did too, apparently). and if he showed signs of psychic powers during that time, as sam alluded to and lucas exhibited, i think john would be particularly wary of opening up to his oldest kid—sam is the one in danger, sam is the one he has to protect, so he can't confide in him. i can see this isolating john not only from his kids but also everyone else, unless he found someone to trust early on. maybe at the roadhouse—maybe jo's dad. or maybe he didn't have anyone and he hardened himself instead.

either way, he doesn't have a kid he can confide in, and as a result a rift would naturally grow between him and his kids. i think at sam's age, he would be cognizant of both john's warmth and love prior to the fire and john's distance and secrecy after the fire. it would be only natural, i assume for sam to blame himself for this, and i think he would internalize it: it was his fault he was attacked, he's the reason mom died, dad hates him for killing mom, and he deserves this hatred. if you combine that with john's inevitable harsh training, i think you can breed a self-loathing in sam that's incredibly strong, incredibly internalized and suppressed, and incredibly defining of his character. it might, i think, manifest in similar ways to canonverse dean's self-loathing, but without the manic protectiveness toward his brother. it's much more turned into himself, because there's no object (person) onto which he can cope with that loathing in an attempt to reconcile his feelings. it's all him, baby.

as a result i think he might cope by being a kiss-ass. a quiet and submissive yes man out of a desperation to regain his father's favor, and by the time he's ever conscious of this effort being futile, it would be way too late to fix that behavior. it's habit now, and he falls in line at the snap of a finger. you get a similar conflict between canon dean and sam in season 1, but it's different. canon dean obeys john because he's afraid of losing sam; this sam would obey john because he wants john to love him again.

because of this difference i don't think this sam could truly start to extricate himself from john until after his death, when dad's love is entirely off the table for him. you could probably start to see the healing process start once they meet up circa 1x20 and john finally starts closing the distance, but it would be a monumental thing.

dean is actually where i struggle most with this swap. canon gives them very distinct roles, but swapping their ages pushes almost all of the responsibility onto sam's shoulders and leaves dean without much of anything. i think he'd be nearly as sheltered as sam was in canon, being the youngest, the weakest, and the most vulnerable. keep him out of the loop for as long as possible and keep him safe.

a way i can see out of this is by emphasizing early on his role as michael's sword. if his mythological role is more evident or as evident as sam's, that can generate some conflict that keeps dean relevant and indeed prominent in their story. it would be something to motivate john away from confiding in dean even after he gets older, something to motivate his protectiveness of both his kids because he can sense the danger they're in and the predators out to get them. i could speculate on this more but then i'd just be talking about a different au i already want to write lmao.

either way, i don't think dean would feel quite so excluded from the family as canon sam did because this sam is in the same boat with him. it's a problem with their father, not them. i think this could foster an early codependency between sam and dean because they have no one else to confide in, and they're equally excluded from the family. so while sam would probably not have the same formative experiences as dean that led to an intense protectiveness over sam (a la 1x18), i do think they would form a strong bond nonetheless through their mutual isolation. maybe sam isn't so much interested in protecting dean as he is in caring for him (or simply just caring about him), and through this shifted dynamic they might have a more equal, sibling relationship as well, rather than a parentified one with sam feeling responsible for dean's life.

i'm almost sure that dean would be driven to a life of rebellion toward john without his oppressive loyalty and fear driving him to obey his father. given how he reacts once he begins to extricate himself from john in canonverse, i think this dean might even be more rebellious than canon sam was (especially since canon sam wasn't actually all that rebellious and his rebellions were more so instigated by john than anything). he might harbor a deep grudge for john and possibly urge sam to take his side in matters, only to feel deeply betrayed when sam clung desperately to dad instead. all this to say i can definitely see dean packing up and leaving for college the moment he turns 18, probably without any intention of ever returning. get the hell out of that family and never look back (except on the too-frequent nights when he's sorely missing his big brother).

as for the story itself, i think sam would probably remain to be somewhat fragile—in the sense that without john around, he has nothing to stop him from falling apart. he would likely quickly buckle under the immense responsibilities he has, especially with the rapid development of his powers, and without dean as a steady rock he can share that burden with, he might even descend into evil just as foretold by his destiny. it seems that the majority of the other special kids embraced their powers because they lacked a proper support network or a loved one to share the burden with and keep them on the right path—dean is a good brother, but without a lifetime of responsibility to protect his brother driving him forward, i can't see him rising to the occasion in a way that would actually save sam. so it would be pretty interesting, i think, if this age swap resulted in them actually fulfilling their destinies, becoming the vessels they were born to be, and seeing the apocalypse through. there are other ways it could play out of course, but i'm feeling very partial to this :3

anyway i've probably written enough (lord) so i'll stop here. thank you cass and happy wincest wednesday again. you're so good to me 💞💞💞

[ecargmura]

My Happy Marriage Episode 9 Review - Arata Needs To GTFO

A new conflict arises in our engaged couple as a rift forms between them. None of them are at fault, but how long will it take for them to resolve everything and for them to be happy again. I’m honestly not prepared with the upcoming angst.

Miyo is someone who never had someone to ease her burdens growing up. She has always been shouldering everything ever since her youth. No matter how much Kiyoka wants her to air out her dust, she’s still airing her dust in a closed room with the window closed. Metaphors aside, I’m trying to say that Miyo is someone who is unable to depend on others due to her upbringing. That was why she was shouldering everything from not talking about how her nightmares were bothering her to how she wants to be the wife that Kiyoka deserves. I think Hazuki’s story about her divorce has warped her views in a negative way, honestly. She’s misinterpreting the message Hazuki was conveying onto her. What Hazuki wants from Miyo is to have a happy marriage without regrets. Miyo thinks that if she’s unfit to be perfect than she’s going to get divorced and that Kiyoka wouldn’t want her anymore. It’s frustrating to see her slowly revert back to how she was back then, but it’s understandable since trauma doesn’t go away instantaneously. I just wish Miyo had more courage and more confidence to speak up about her worries to her fiancé.

Kiyoka’s not exactly wrong nor is he exactly right in this episode. He’s wrong to have said he regrets letting her study and such. No person should bar the person they love of what they want. I know that he immediately regrets saying that, but it just shows that Kiyoka is still flawed and imperfect. He never fell in love before and never had the opportunity to shower a fiancé with attention and love like he does with Miyo now. He’s doing all he can to help her ease her worries and sorrows. I think the talk he had with Miyo in the night about how he wants Miyo to depend on him and to let out her worries was sweet. It shows that Kiyoka sees her as family and wants to be there for her as her husband. It hurts seeing him worried about Miyo and how his worries and anger are erupting. I just hope Kiyoka is able to resolve everything now that he got a lead on the Usuba family via the Tsuruki surname.

If gaslighting was a professional job, Arata would be the top in the industry. He’s such a snake. He’s the reason why Kiyoka and Miyo have a rift in their relationship now. Someone should punch him ASAP. I cannot stand this creepy fuck’s face. He’s doing this on purpose too and that irks me even more. You cannot tell me he made a mistake of coming to the Kudou manor thinking he’d be there; YOU KNEW HE WAS IN THE OFFICE AND YOU TOOK THE CHANCE TO PURPOSELY BE LATE JUST TO CHAT WITH MIYO! I CAN SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU, YOU FOX! I hate that he’s spewing such drivel about worth and their marriage for ulterior motives. He’s gaslighting Kiyoka most of all as he keeps telling him that he’s not worthy of Miyo for he never pays attention to her, makes her worry and what not. SHUT THE FUCK UP! He has the AUDACITY to think he knows more about Miyo when he knows little about her as a person. 

Arata makes me angry. I just hope that his motives are revealed next episode because I cannot go another episode with this conniving bespectacled snake with his gaslighting tongue. What are your thoughts on this episode? Does Arata make you angry like he does with me?

[hirazuki]

how about "shiro + lotor 2" from your WIPs? (sorry for making you VLDpost in 2024)

Lmao it's my own damn fault for admitting to VLD WIPs in my folder in 2024 XD

So this is supposed to be another missing scene, along the same lines as my one VLD fic I do have published, this time between Shiro and Lotor when they're on their way to the Kral Zera.

Lotor shifted again, braced against the cool metal, careful not to let the back of his head bump against the edge of the dashboard he was leaning on.  Senses honed by almost ten thousand years of persecution insisted that he remain standing, behind the pilot, in case something -- anything -- were to go awry; smooth sailing after the turbulence of take-off did not by any means imply that safety was guaranteed. The prince, however, had forced his body into a sitting position. With wrists propped up on bent knees, he had chosen a spot to the right of the pilot’s chair. Not only could he use what respite he could get before they arrived at their destination, but the man that had expressly -- and covertly -- gone against the wishes of his team deserved that courtesy. Shiro was risking his very position within Voltron to aid him, and had been open-minded and supportive of him from the start; the very least Lotor could do as thanks, he reasoned, was not hover over the man’s shoulder, behind his back, suggesting not only a lack of trust but possibly sinister intentions. He looked up at the paladin. The man had his hands on the controls, occasionally making some adjustments on the screen in front of him. Probably skirting patrols.  The slight veering off-course of the mechanical lion had increased in frequency the longer they were in flight.  We must be getting close. Neither of them had said much, beyond going over the details of the plan, but it was not uncomfortable. The soft whirring of the Black Lion’s engine and beeping of her controls was pleasant enough that the half-Galra found himself thinking that flying like this for the rest of his life would not be so bad. Soothing. That was the word.  “I apologize,” Lotor said, eventually, breaking the silence. “For what?” “I am aware I have caused a rift between you and the rest of the paladins. That was never my intention.” “Oh,” Shiro replied. “Actually, I don’t think it was you, specifically. It’s… been a long time coming. You were just a convenient subject.” “Ah, convenience. It does always seem to come down to that, doesn’t it?”

[thetimelordbatgirl]

You can't just post a "choose violence" ask game and not expect me to choose violence.

1, 3, 4, 7, 16, and 20?

The character everyone gets wrong. Has to be a tie for me really between two fandoms: Ben in Descendants and Marinette in Miraculous. Ben because for some reason some fans think he's the one who wanted Mal to act like a lady of the court in the second film and that the film was right that he didn't love her as she was when??? No??? The film itself showed Mal kept doing the spells to herself even when told not to by Evie??? Let alone the films climax literally had Mal see Ben always loved her for who she was because of how she looks on her cotillion portrait??? And even in books, Mal's shown deciding to use magic on herself with no prompting from Ben at all??? Like where the fuck is any of these claims about Ben in film or books because I fail to see them anywhere. And Marinette is just a victim of the fandom's sexism, because despite it being shown she wanted to tell Chat Noir everything but Fu instructing her not to, fandom for some reason blames her for it and acts like she mistreats Chat Noir as a result, with fandom even getting pissy at her for finally having enough of Chat Noir's flirting and yeeting him into a bin before dragging him to a roof to lecture him as by this point, Chat Noir has been shown constantly not respecting her boundaries or no to a relationship- but according to fandom, she's a meanie who shouldn't tell the future Nice Guy no and just go along with his shit.

3. Screenshot or description of the worst take you're seen on tumblr. I don't have screenshot's really because these takes go between Tumblr and Twitter in all honestly: Mabel Pines is the worst character in Gravity Falls. I know its cooled down nowadays and people even are realizing how stupid the hate for Mabel was, but we really have to acknowledge how sexist it was and still kinda is at times in the fandom when it comes to Mabel. A demon tricks her into handing over a rift that she has no idea what it is even as Ford and Dipper didn't tell anyone about the rift because said demon preyed on her emotional vulnerable state??? It's her fault the demon proceeded to begin his take on the apocalypse because didn't you know female characters are supposed to know everything in the plot and be perfect human beings who never get negative or fall for anything. She wants to save her pig from being given away to someone who will just eat him while Dipper is just obsessed with a relationship with Wendy that will never happen no matter what he does??? Mabel's the selfish one who has to let go of what she loves just so Dipper can be happy apparently...ignoring said happiness won't happen but- Mabel wants to help a merman stuck in a pool ultimately so he can get home while AGAIN Dipper is just obsessed with being around Wendy for a relationship that won't happen??? Somehow Mabel's selfish, ignoring the definition of selfish is putting your own needs before others but here was she putting someone else's needs before hers. And no I'm not calling Dipper selfish and the worst either, it's just noting how Dipper throughout the show also did shit like Mabel, but somehow he's given a pass while Mabel isn't by these people.

4. What was the last straw that finally made you block that person? I...honestly don't think I've blocked many over fandom reasons, more like non-fandom reasons such as someone constantly stalking me and whenever I see terf's.

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them? ...Does a fan creation count or...because I wanna say humanized version of Star from Wish, aka Star Boy. Because he's literally just another Jack Frost from Rise of The Guardians but with zero anything that made Jack good. He literally just exists in fandom just so they can force a straight romance onto Asha, because for people who say Asha should have a romance, they forget about her best friend in the movie as a option, let alone don't seem to care for Asha as a character overall beyond shipping her with OC fan creation, but then they'll probably complain in the future about wanting a Disney main girl whose got no romance...

16. You can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcannon, etc). So much came to mind for Percy Jackson here, aka Percy suddenly going from someone who wants to try in school despite how people treat him for his disabilities to now just being a lazy student, Annabeth in book terms calling Percy 'Seaweed Brain' as in books its just adding to how Annabeth treats him like he's an idiot always and Percy being seemingly fine with abandoning his life and family in New York to live in the military organization known as roman demigods who literally use child soldiers while the adults sit around doing nothing and said child soldiers don't really get a choice as they have to enlist and do some years in service before they can just live as they want...so uh, guess tie between all three???

20. Part of canon you found tedious or boring. Final tie for these answers: 73 Yards from Doctor Who and Rise of Red for Descendants.

Choose violence.

[stay-prideful]

Helluva Boss x Reader (L4)

Loona Part 4: Let's Do This

Reminder:

I decided to change the pronouns to keep the reader gender neutral. If I missed something, please let me know!

When it was time, you entered Blitzø’s office. The one window in the room had its blinds closed, resulting in the room becoming very dark. It felt like a boss room chamber. That’s a surprisingly accurate description, given he’s actually a Helluva “boss,” you thought.

Blitzø was sitting at his desk, fingers steepled. His eyes were closed. Was he sleeping? Thinking? You couldn’t tell.

“Blitzø?” you called out as you closed the door behind you.

His eyes snapped open, and he flailed his arms in surprise.

“Damn it, Moxxie! I told you not to disturb…oh. It’s you.” Blitzø composed himself. You could tell he was much calmer than last night, even if he did have eye bags that made him look sinister. His words didn’t contain malice (except the ones that had been for Moxxie); it seemed he had prepared himself.

“Sir, about last night,” you began. You gave time for Blitzø to respond. He nodded respectfully, allowing you to go on.

“Sir, I care for Loona. As a person, and as a friend. What we talked about last night should have stayed between her and I. I acknowledge that I deceived you by keeping the fact that I was a sinner from you. I had my reasons, and you can probably guess them, given the current state of The Pride Ring. Although, I suppose it had to come out eventually.”

You gave a slight pause.

“I may be a sinner, and I guess that means I have been universally deemed a ‘bad person,’ but I intend to always treat everyone here at I.M.P. with the utmost respect. I know that you’re protective of Loona, but you being over-affectionate, and over-protective is what’s causing Loona to lash out at you. I’ve seen that she does care for you. But your behaviour? Eavesdropping on our conversation last night? Interrupting by coming out of the fucking bushes? It’s not respectful to her. To your daughter.”

Another small pause. You took a big, deep breath for what you were going to say next. You fucking furry.

“Sir, I fully intend to ask Loona to be…something to me. And I want to be that something for her. So, I will ask her. I am making it clear now that I will accept the response she gives me, whatever it may be. I know this might disturb you, but I would appreciate it if I had your blessing to do so. I don’t want to create a rift between you and your daughter, and I definitely don’t want to diminish the professional relationship between the two of us.” You gestured between you and Blitzø as you finished.

Blitzø was silent for a while; he looked tired. He took a deep breath, and then spoke.

“(Y/N). Loona…said a very similar thing last night.” Your pulse quickened. What did that mean?

“Not about…whatever…lovey-dovey bullshit you just said.” He waved his hand in the air, dismissing that part. “She really chewed my ass out; She was mad at me for listening in, for interrupting. And for leaving.” Blitzø was fidgeting with his hands, clearly uncomfortable with being so honest. “She wants me to stop screwing with her personal life. She made that very clear. I was not…okay, last night. I argued with her, saying I was just trying to protect her. She said she doesn’t need protection, and she never did. And…she’s right. She doesn’t.” Blitzø took his eyes off his hands, and looked up at you with soft, but still serious eyes.

He paused, then looked down again.

“Apparently, she hadn’t told me everything, or honestly almost anything true about your ‘con-ver-say-tion’ after your fight.” Blitzø used air quotes when he said that, sounding out every syllable. “I don’t blame her. I’m a shitty dad.” His voice broke.“I would’ve found a way to blame you entirely for the conference room. I’ve often refused to hold her accountable for…anything, really. It’s a fault of mine. She told me that…she does hurt me out of fear of me getting too close. That she still has a fuck-ton of trauma. And that you made her self-aware, about how she was behaving. She told me it was you who managed to make her change for the better.” He put his arm out towards you, palm up and fingers out. It was a way of pointing at you, without sticking his finger in your face. “You two had that heart-to-heart first, where she confessed all of it…and I wasn’t there for her.” His arm rested against his desk again. He was taking shaky breaths.

Blitzø had been looking down at his desk for a while, avoiding your gaze. He looked up at you, with squinted, determined eyes. You realized that he and Loona probably hadn’t argued all night. They both hadn’t slept because they felt guilty about what they had said, or hadn’t said, to the other.

“For the times that I can’t be there for her, you’d better fucking be there.” He pointed at you with a wounded expression, his voice trembling with emotion. You weren’t angry at the gesture this time. You were thankful. “You have my fucking… ‘blessing,’ or whatever. But if I ever…” Blitzø got up out of his chair, climbed over the desk, and grabbed your shirt by the neck. “…hear about how you weren’t there for her, or if you hurt her in any way, I will skin you alive, stuff you like a pig, and mount your FUCKING head on my wall.”

He let your shirt go, and fell back into his chair. His arms were crossed, and his face was deadly serious.

“According to your schedule, I have a mission with Loona that I need to be at soon. I need to catch up on some rest. Now, out.” He motioned towards the door. You quickly obliged.

One down, one to go. Not that they’re just tasks. These are people I need to make amends with, you thought.

You stepped out of the office, and almost ran into Loona. You managed to stop yourself when you saw her. She was remarkably close to the door. Had she been trying to listen in from outside?

“Sorry!” You said as you braked. Then you decided to just ask. “What are you doing, standing so close to the door?”

“He give you shit?” Loona asked, dodging the question. She had her arms crossed, and was looking at you with a guarded expression on her face. She’s definitely still angry at me, you thought. But she did ask, so maybe…

“A little, but I think I gave him more shit.” You paused. “Loona?”

Her ears perked up, but her expression remained stoic.

“I let you down last night. I should’ve talked to him, argued, something. I made you deal with him, because I was scared. I was a pushover. So I decided I needed to fix it, and make up for it as soon as possible. When I was in there, He told me how you came down on him last night about it. He feels guilty about everything. I understood you needed to, but it was my fault you had to in the first place. I’m so fucking sorry,” You apologized. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Loona’s posture relaxed as she heard what you had to say. She thought for a moment. “Blitzø’s always been overprotective and…huggy. I would’ve given him shit about it, eventually.” She looked like she was thinking of doing something, and was slightly uncomfortable about it.

Then, In a single movement, she uncrossed her arms and hugged you. Your arms were pinned to your sides, so you just stood there, stunned. Her neck craned over your shoulder. She spoke as she held you.

“I appreciate that you’re sorry, but don’t ever fucking do that to me again. Or I’ll put you in the hospital, for good this time.” She growled, but she still held you tight. Perhaps too tight; you could feel her claws digging into you through your clothes. OUCH. You were really glad that she couldn’t see your face right now. Unfortunately, your tail was definitely giving you away. Although, being happy for being forgiven is reason enough, you thought. Thankfully it wagging doesn’t communicate anything more than that I’m happy or excited.

Loona pulled away to an appropriate distance, but left a hand on your shoulder. You tried to keep your composure. She smiled at you. It was clear you had become a close friend to her. If I’m smart, and lucky, I hope I can become something more to her, you thought.

“It’s nice to hear you gave him shit, too. Satan only knows how much more of that he needs.” She took her hand off of your shoulder. You silently wished she would put it back. I’m touch-starved, you realized. You’d been in Hell for months now. It had been rare that people gave you respect as a hellhound, let alone touched you in a way that made you feel cared for. You had no family down here (to your knowledge), and you had been unable to form any meaningful relationships up until I.M.P.

You thought about the conversation you had with Blitzø just a moment ago. He had given you his blessing to pursue Loona. Granted, you were supposed to be there for her, no matter the state of the relationship between you two. He had given you a pretty violent warning as well, if you weren’t. I don’t need to be worried. I fully intend on keeping that promise, you thought.

As you thought of Blitzø, you felt you could at least try to help mend the relationship between him and Loona. “He seemed…sorry. He does feel guilty. You should talk to him when you’re with him out there together.”

You held up Stolas’s grimoire, which you used to send the assassins of I.M.P. to their targets. It helped that you were more familiar with Earth than any of them were. Although it fucking sucks how I learned how Blitzø managed to convince Stolas to lend it to him. You had heard far too many horny messages from him to Blitzø, being the receptionist for I.M.P. They were honestly enough to make you blush whenever you even thought of the idea of them.

Loona raised her eyebrows in realization. “Right, mission. I was busy catching up on sleep…” She rubbed the back of her neck as she said that, looking away. Was she blushing?

You nodded respectfully. “Hey, umm, since Blitzø knows that I’m…you know.” You gestured with your hand. “I was wondering if you’d be okay if I told M&M. I haven’t yet!” you clarified. “But now that the cat’s out of the bag, I feel kind of bad not letting them know. They also seemed worried about what happened last night.”

Loona turned her gaze back to you. If this body of yours had sweat glands, you’d be drenched. She was quiet for a while, thinking, but also keeping her eyes locked on you. Shit, did I say something wrong?

“Yeah, that makes sense. It’s your secret. That would mean I get to stop covering for you.” She winked and punched your arm. “I’d also feel bad for not letting them know.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. You stood there for a moment, just enjoying her company, and the fact that she seemed to not be mad at you anymore. At least for now.

“Well, if you’re ready, I can open the portal now…” you said, almost hoping that she would want to continue talking with you.

“I’m ready,” she said confidently. You walked over to the front of your desk, then opened the grimoire to the right page. You double checked where the portal needed to be on Earth, and gave a thumbs-up to Loona. She nodded.

“BLITZØ!”

You jumped slightly, startled. She had shouted from next to you, towards Blitzø’s office door. You looked at her, and she gave you a teasing smile. You tried to ignore the pounding of your heart as Blitzø came out of his office.

You opened the portal, and Loona and Blitzø headed through. Loona turned back to smile and wave at you. You waved back. When she had turned around again, Blitzø gave you a thumbs up, which confused you. He then used that thumb to draw a line across his neck, communicating that while he now trusted you, you were not off the hook if you ever fucked up. Yeah, that’s more of what I was expecting, you thought.

The portal closed. The second it did, Moxxie stuck his head back into the main room. You almost didn’t notice, but you turned around to see him suddenly there. He walked up to you sheepishly. He seemed to be doing things he wasn’t supposed to a lot lately. He looked up at you, fidgeting with his hands.

“I take it your talk with Blitzø went well?” he asked.

“Yeah. I think it did.” You smiled to yourself. “I’m ready to tell you and Millie now. You know, what it was that caused a bit of an upset last night.”

His eyes went wide. An open smile slowly started to reach across his face. If the highlights in his eyes had a shape, they would’ve been stars of wonder and happiness. He pranced out of the room, calling “Millie! You’ll never guess what…” you stopped hearing him as he went deeper into the building.

Soon, both of the small imps were before you, eagerly awaiting your explanation. They were practically jumping up and down with excitement, clutching each other. You chuckled, and knelt down to their height. You were all huddled together, ready to finally share this massive secret.

“I’m sorry to say it, but I’ve been deceiving the both of you for a while,” you started. The imps seemed to get more excited as the suspense continued. “Loona found out the day we had the massive fight, and we talked it out. She helped me keep it from Blitzø. Eventually Blitzø found out, last night, and was, of course, mad at me,” you continued. The imps were holding their breath, clutching each other’s hands as they awaited your confession. “I’m…not actually a hellhound. I’m really a sinner. I think Millie also almost found out last night, when she noted my eyes. Apparently real hellhounds have white irises, and I don’t.”

The imps’ faces fell. They stopped jumping, but still held each other. They looked up at you in confusion.

“So that’s why your eyes are all fucked up,” Millie said. Your head reeled back from the sudden insult.

“Sorry!” Millie apologized, reaching a hand out towards you sympathetically. “I guess, I was just surprised that your secret wasn’t what we thought it was.��

You tilted your head, and your ears perked up. “Wait, what did you think it was?”

“Well, I thought you was dating Loona, and Moxxie thought you were (insert sexuality/romantic identity that would not be attracted to Loona. Whichever one would be the most wrong/funny)” Moxxie nodded in agreement. Millie turned to him and said “Which is still dumb, hon. You know Blitzø would be supportive, no matter what they were.” Moxxie’s eyes went wide in realization at his mistake.

Your heart started beating fast at her explanation. She thought you were already dating Loona? Behind Blitzø’s back? That would be a plausible explanation from their point of view…but what made her think of that? Were your animal behaviours that you had been trying to get under control this entire time, undermining you? Had your blushes been visible this whole time? You suddenly remembered the first day you had been at I.M.P., and had mentioned Vortex to Loona. She had blushed, and you could tell from beneath her fur. SHIT, you thought, as you suddenly remembered all of the times when you had flushed in front of her, hoping that the fur on your face hid it.

You slapped a hand to your forehead, thinking about it. Loona probably already knew that you liked her, and hadn’t said anything to spare your feelings. You could your feel your face getting hotter yet again, and you quickly covered it with your hands. Too bad that made it more obvious.

“Oh. OHH!” said Millie as she observed your reaction. “You do like her! I knew it!” Millie gave the air a some quick fist pumps, and Moxxie reluctantly handed her a small amount of money. They had made a bet; she thought it was so obvious. Fuuuuuuuuuckkk…

Millie then closed what little distance was between the two of you in the huddle. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, in that strange little hug one does when comforting someone. Moxxie did the same, but on the other side of you.

“At least you didn’t get fired!” Moxxie offered. “Moxxie!” Millie scolded.

Moxxie tried again. “I mean, now that I can see it, I can’t help but think that you two would be a great couple! Just ignore the fact that you might get hopelessly rejected, and have to quit this job that you worked so hard to keep—as well as having lucked into never getting fired—out of embarrassment, so that—OW!!” Moxxie was cut off by Millie sucker punching his gut. You were silently grateful.

This time, Millie spoke up. “Listen (Y/N), it’ll be fine. I can’t say for certain if she’d take a chance on you, but we both know that she cares about you. I mean, it sure looked like you two had something going on.” She poked your chest, teasing you. “You know, Moxxie and I met at I.M.P., and Blitzø thought I was going to hate him.”

While you were embarrassed, you did appreciate that the married couple was trying to console you, if not urge you to pursue Loona. Maybe you did have a shot at this. Even though you didn’t really know Loona’s reasons for behaving the way she did around you. Maybe she pitied you, maybe she thought of you as a close friend, or maybe she really did have feelings for you, as Millie thought. After all, you had already declared to Blitzø that you were going to ask her out, because you had already decided you were going to. There was no backing out of that.

“Thanks, you guys.” You gently tried to stand up, letting the imps take their arms off you before you rose to your full height. “I appreciate your support. But it’s still really fucking embarrassing that it was that obvious,” you snickered. These two imps were your friends: your confidants. You could trust them. “To be honest, I had planned on doing it today; talking to her, I mean. That’s partly why I met with Blitzø today.” You nodded towards Moxxie, who confirmed it to Millie, although he hadn’t known that was part of the reason. “I thought maybe I could do something simple, like ask if she wanted to grab coffee alone sometime. Well, I know she also likes alcohol, but taking her out to a bar might be a little out of my comfort zone. Can I ask what you guys think?”

“Keep it simple.” Millie smiled reassuringly. “And don’t be afraid to be rejected! You have to respect a woman’s boundaries.” She nodded to you, serious. You nodded back. “Also, make your intentions clear from the start. It could also turn out that she agrees to the date, and then you discover that you’re better off as friends.”

“Yeah. Ooh, and don’t bring her flowers on the first date! That comes off way too strong.” Moxxie offered. “I agree: keep it simple, like Millie said.” He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, confident in the advice. “Honestly, Loona doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be into that.”

“This seems like a lot,” you said nervously.

“Well, you did ask for advice,” Millie came back with.

“You’re right,” you said. “I just hope I don’t ruin what we have already, and make work unbearable, like Moxxie said,” you confessed. Millie punched him again, this time in the shoulder.

“I deserved that,” Moxxie relented.

“Hey, when exactly are you planning on asking her?” Millie questioned. Her eyebrow was raised dramatically as she folded her arms.

“Well, if her mission goes well—which, let’s be honest, this is Blitzø and Loona we’re talking about here, they’ll be back soon—I’ll ask her while she’s in that good mood that she always seems to come back in,” you said.

“That’s sweet!” Millie said. “Although…you should ask to talk to her privately, when she’s not in front of everyone,” Millie said. “It takes the pressure off of her.” You nodded again, agreeing. You hadn’t thought of that. Loona would be in the middle of the office, and you didn't want to do that to her.

“Okay, thanks you guys. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“No problem, (Y/N)! I trust you’ll let us know how it turns out!” Millie winked and elbowed your leg playfully. She probably would’ve done it to your arm, but the imp was too short for that.

“Yeah. Good luck!” Moxxie said. Millie took him by the hand, and walked back, deeper into the office.

They had met at I.M.P., you thought. It’s possible I could have what they have.

As predicted, Loona came back quickly with Blitzø. They were talking loudly and happily together. It seemed that they had managed to resolve any issues they had while they were out on mission.

You waited until their chatting died down, and you tried to gently interrupt.

“Hey…Loona?”

Loona looked at you, a wide smile on her face. She tilted her head at you, like a curious dog’s. Gods was she beautiful. Even back when you resented her, you had loved to see how happy she was when she came back from missions. It was when she was the most genuine.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?” she asked.

“Could I talk to you? Out in the hall, I mean?” You asked nervously.

Loona’s face dropped slightly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong! I just—”

“I know what they’re talking about, Loony,” Blitzø interrupted. What the FUCK Blitzø? You screamed at him with your eyes. He continued.

“It’s nothing bad. Just head out; I’ll watch their desk for a while.” Blitzø shooed her towards the direction of the main door for I.M.P.

Instantly, you were relieved. He didn’t spill your secret, despite having been kept in the dark about yours. You gave him a thankful nod. He responded with a “I’m watching you” gesture.

“Okay…” Loona still looked confused, but she opened the door and walked through. You followed, and she held the door open for you. You walked past her, and stood against the wall of the hallway. The succubus that usually occupied the office across the hall weren’t there today, and they had their blinds closed.

Loona walked over to you, and cocked her head to the side curiously as she stood in front of you.

“(Y/N), what the fuck is going on?” she said, concerned.

“Loona, I…look, you’re a really cool person. You always speak your mind, and you live your life unafraid of how others will respond to you. You’re capable of kicking so much ass, it’s ridiculous. I really admire you for that.”

Loona blushed and gave a small laugh. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You could feel the blood moving through you. It felt as if your hands were vibrating. You were shaking a little. This was it; you were finally going to confess your feelings to her, and you were even more scared than you had been when Stolas broke the door down on your first day here. Facing the wrath of Demon Royalty was nothing compared to this.

“What’s going on?” Loona asked, nervously. The blush remained on her cheeks.

“Look, I know we’re friends right now, and I don’t want to ruin that. But…I started to develop feelings for you. It started when we had that conversation in the conference room.” You tried to confess this while avoiding the actual violence that had occurred that day. “It kind of just…kept getting stronger after that. You kept talking to me, and I…I really like you Loona. Could we go out for a coffee sometime? Oh, and I also want to make it clear that I’m more that capable of taking reject—”

“Did Moxxie put you up to this?” Loona asked angrily. You looked up at her. You hadn’t realized that your gaze had fallen to the floor; you had avoided looking at her out of fear. Her brows were tightly knit, and her snout was squished into a snarl. Her teeth were showing. Those daggers that had killed many victims out on assignment.

“…W-What?”

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[letterstomymothershewontread]

Brother,

There is so much I want to say to you, yet I know and fear that it all falls on deaf ears. I cannot believe you're fourteen, it blows my mind honestly. To me you'll always be half my height and nine or ten years old. I think that's because I'm mentally stuck as someone who's nineteen or twenty. I'm sorry that I struggle to see you as the age and person you are rather than the age and person you were about five years ago. I realize now that's what sissy always did to me and it caused a huge rift between the two of us for about a year and a half.

I haven't really spoke to you in months now because last time we did you asked about what happened between mom and I, and not wanting to completely dive into that with you tried giving you the abridged version. In doing that I just seemed to upset you because of what I said about mom, about how one of the reasons I was and am still upset with her over is her homophobic microaggressions and tendencies. Rather than you listening to me and letting me explain my feelings like I wanted you to, you went on the defensive instantly. I honestly just gave up trying to explain anything at that point, it was clear to me that you were too far gone already. You've put mom on a pedestal and have made her out to be the 'good guy' or the 'good parent'. That is not to say she isn't or is the good one. In time I have learned, just as you will, that people are hardly ever just in the black and white. Life and people are nothing but grey areas, the sooner you learn that the less healing you'll have to do.

Mom is not the 'good parent' and dad is not the 'bad parent'. They are neither one or the other. They both have their strengths and weaknesses just like the rest of us. Dad for example is not good at handling conflict but, he is good at giving advice and he's good at helping you with any car or electronic need you have. Mom on the other hand is a little bit better with conflict but she still isn't great at handling it. On the flip side mom is good at giving hugs and she's great at car conversations.

I know they have tried three times over at being parents, and yet we all still turned out with some sort of unresolved parental trauma. The biggest reason I personally think we've got so much trauma is because of how we've painted mom and dad out to be strict black and white characters. That isn't our fault however, I think they both noticed and used that to what they thought was their advantage. In all honesty, all they ended up doing was help drive a rift between them and us, be it mom and I or you and dad. All that said, it was not okay and it still isn't okay. I hope you see all of this before it's too late and you want to cut one of them off but if that's what's needed, then I won't cast any stones.

I worry about you almost daily, brother. I worry that you're not eating enough or that you're not exercising enough, or if you're showering. I genuinely fear you'll turn into an incel, and that scares me. I can't tell you this though, you get mad anytime I express my concern and that may be on me frankly. I may not be expressing it properly but the intention is the same none the less. I also worry that you have no friends and I worry about what that will do to your mental health. I suppose the silver lining is at least I don't have to worry about you being killed in a school shooting since you're homeschooled. That does leave me to be worried about if you're actually getting an education.

I wish I could explain everything to you and I wish I could be there for you. I know you won't understand why I just cut everyone off, I just wish you would listen. I know if you would listen to me explain things, I think you would understand. I wish I could give you advice on how to handle things but I also fear all of that would go in one ear and out the other. I think about messaging you sometimes to check in on you but I stop myself every time.

I think at the end of the day why everything bothers me so much is because I see so much of my younger self in you. I see how depressed I was and how angry I still am to be honest. I hope you don't let it eat you up inside like it did me though. If I had one wish for you, that's what it would be. I'd wish that all the anger you carry wouldn't burn you from the inside out. Once it starts to, you start to spit fire at people and though you can't see it's effects, they're there and they're lasting. I hope that one day some of your sadness will melt away and your rain cloud will no longer hang over you but, instead you'll have maybe a little cloud or even a little sunshine. I wish I could say I remember when you were a happy little kid but if I'm honest, you've never really been a happy little kid. You had your moments of course, everyone does however, over all you've always seemed so melancholic. If you haven't considered it already, you should really take up the goth style, you'd suit it well.

Anyway I know you don't love music but I would appreciate if you'd listen to this song. That's where you and I are extremely different, I speak with music and you don't like music. I know it's not in english but I made sure the video has english lyrics with it.

[magiclwritings]

Cass' gaze drifted from where Apollo had stood to where he had disappeared to. It had been a long time since the two of them had a go about anything but it was about to happen whether any of them liked it or not. He usually kept his opinions to himself where it concerned Apollo because he'd understood at his core that things hadn't been easy for him especially and that he was adjusting that would take a lifetime of work to undo but fuck that. He was quick to lay the little boy down on the sofa opposite Isaac but not before he made sure to deliver a look to rival that of a god in fury at the man quietly sitting there.

Isaac didn't say a word. He was at a loss for what to do. It was his fault Apollo found himself in such a frenzy and everything was so disjointed. He could hardly blame Oliver and Cassio for being so apprehensive and stand-offish. He'd been an asshole and in-turn had corrupted Apollo to a point he wasn't sure he could pull him back from. What was he to do? Call his parents and beg for help? They'd laugh and insist he figure it out. After all, what had all their teachings been for in the first place? They'd warned against anything outside of their small hoard for this reason. Isaac angrily ground the ingredients and only then did he feel the look from across the room. His eyes simply raised and he took in a snarling blond that had ever right in the world to wring his neck at that moment.

"I'm going to fix this." Cass said very plainly and quietly. His rage was hardly something to be feared but he was pissed. More pissed than he'd been in a while and he was over whatever this rift was. "Whatever Oliver told you to do with that then do it." Cass shifted around, pulling his wand from his waist band and he snuck one last look at the sleeping child. His cheeks were so pink and his little curls just fell on his face so perfectly it hard not to see Apollo in him at that moment. "This thing between you and I is done. And whatever you did to him." He gestured towards the basement door with his wand. "I'd better never catch you doing it again. He is my friend. Will always be my friend and I respect your relationship a hell of a lot more than you respect ours." If he could have compared this feeling to anything it would have ben to when Curr's fur was completely on end and eyes were as wide as saucers. Cass had had enough. Between this and the deal he and Apollo had struck with their 'bosses', there wasn't room for this jealousy. They had to figure this out and they had to do it before it was too late. Before Isaac and Oliver find out what we've gotten ourselves into. Again.

Isaac simply nodded. What else was he going to do? Cassio had a point. He'd put them in a bad spot and he nodded. "Go. I'll keep a' eye up he'e." Cass didn't nod or acknowledge or thank him in any way but instead opened the door to the basement, only to hear Oliver and Apollo already talking in tones he didn't like. "Fuck." His wand was out but at his thigh as he walked down the steps as quietly as he could manage. Oliver's face was the only one he'd seen, Apollo's back was to him but he held his hand up signaling for Oliver to not acknowledge him. What the fuck is he doing?

Cass felt himself edging more and more behind Oliver as the moments ticked by. Apollo was out of his mind and all he wanted to do was run. There was something seriously wrong with all of this. He could have accepted the kid and that mess on it's own but for Apollo to be using something so dear to them like that? He wasn't sure what the hell was going on but it had to get figured out and it had to get figured out now. He smiled down at the boy in his arms. Whatever was going on he just wanted to make sure that he got out of this. The more and more Cass thought about it, the more it seemed they were being punished for something. That was the only rational way he could figure this in his head. It had to be something he and Apollo had done.

Isaac gaze drifted from his work to the sight of their hands clasped together. He could feel the heat radiating through Apollo's palm and he looked at him then, concerned that he was looking so out of it still. Granted there had never really been a guideline for his magic but this seemed ... well, he was pretty pissed when all of that went down. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment and slowly pulled his hand free from Apollo's grasp. He even went as far as scoot his leg off of Apollo's in that instance. And then his gaze drifted towards Cass but his focus was not on the blond but rather who was in his arms. What was happening now was his fault, they could have already had a lead and Isaac took that from him.

"Cass an' I will wo'k o' our differences la'a." He spoke softly but matter of factly. Something told him from the look Cass was giving him in that moment that they would indeed be speaking later. That was fair. Isaac owed him a few apologies for the years of cold shoulder he'd often served to him. "Yeah ... later sounds good, Isaac." He bowed his head, more grateful than he could even express in that moment. "Why don' ya go get the chalk." He offered, turning back to look at Apollo. Isaac needed to explain a few things to these two if he could get a moment. "We already pu' this off fo' too lon'. Poo' Oliva will be loo'in all ova." Isaac gave him the biggest smile, whatever Orion had told him to do, Isaac was quite certain they could make work with Oliver and just themselves if it came down to it. What mattered now was that little boy in the arms of Cassio.

"Please my lo'e. We can' be wastin' mo' time." He realized how hypocritical that was but they had to get moving. Apollo had to just work through the magic in his system. It would stop .... eventually.

[luveline]

hotch baby blurb! can we pls have some domestic hotch... breakfast on the kitchsn counter just the two of them (i imagine this is in a world where they're married w/ more kids after Jack so like. run down tired parents vibes)

thank you for your request! ♥︎ fem!mom!reader 1k

The problem that morning is that the kitchen table is covered one end to the other. Toys, coats, Aaron's briefcase, your laptop, your notebook and pencil case, Jack's AP history project. So despite your good intentions of wanting to sit down with Aaron and have a romantic Sunday breakfast, there's nowhere for you to sit. 

"You should've waited for me," he says, as if summoned by your troubled thoughts. He's good at that. 

"I wanted to do it before Janey wakes up." 

Jane is three years old, which is currently your favourite age she's ever been, but makes breakfast hard. 

Aaron nods and holds out his hands. You brace yourself on instinct and try not to squeal too loudly when he starts to lift you, hopping so he can set you on the counter.

"What are you doing?" you ask through laughter. 

"The table's a mess," he says. 

"I'm sorry–" 

"You will be if you apologise for something that isn't your fault," he threatens. 

Aaron is unsurprisingly an amazing partner. He always carries his weight. And though his job gets in the way sometimes, you can't lie: he's a dreamboat, and he makes being married with two kids feel as easy as it can. 

Which, regretfully, isn't easy at all. But still. Go Aaron. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and almost give him whiplash pulling him back. 

"I'm just grabbing plates," he says, confused. 

"No, sorry, can I have you for two seconds? Sorry." 

He stands between your legs, waiting patiently for you to do whatever it is you're planning. He's used to your over apologising and your sudden fits of affection. They drive him insane for different reasons. He looks content now if slightly flummoxed, his unkempt hair bordering his brow, his sleep shirt rolled at the neckline from a deep sleep. You should know, you'd spent the night nestled against it. 

"You can have me as long as you want me." 

"We both know that's not true." 

He smells like toothpaste. You pull his face to yours, resting your cheek against the side of his chin. Your arms curl around the nape of his neck, trying to hide him from everything.  

"I wish I could make the world stop spinning," you confess. "For me and you." 

"I can definitely arrange that, honey," Aaron says. You love his at-home voice. He talks to you in a register that's sweet and soft and low, like there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be, and nobody in it he'd rather speak with. "You know I'd do anything you wanted." 

"You wouldn't let me give you a massage last night," you complain. 

He laughs, almost giggles in your ear. "Listen to me. You think I don't know you, but I do. I know exactly what kind of massage you wanted to give me." 

"Then why'd you say no?" you whine, not truly offended.

He's of course entitled to reject your advances for any reason at all, but you already know why he'd said no. Jack had likely been awake down the hall. You wouldn't have really done anything so salacious for that exact reason yourself, but it's fun to joke with Aaron like this, and hear his words broken up by a scandalised laugh. 

"Because you're a minx," he says, fingers pressing hard into your side. You love the pressure of a good squeeze and he knows that. "My neck's a little stiff right now, if you're still offering." 

You end up with a plate of French toast in your lap, Aaron's hips between your knees. You press at the notches in his neck and he feeds you bites of sugared fruit. It's not the romantic breakfast you'd envisioned, but you like this better, anyways. 

"There?" you ask, listening for a rift in his breathing. 

"You're really good at this." 

"I've given you enough of them, Hotchner," you say, digging your fingertips into the knot that's giving him trouble. He leans forward into your touch, and for a while everything's quiet.

When you feel like the knot's been defeated you start the cool down, rubbing your hands over his abused skin slowly. This part doesn't really do anything. It's an excuse to be close to him and nothing more. 

"How's that?" you ask gently. 

He drags a hand over your face. Heavy-handed but with kind intentions. His thumb slides from the skin beside your nose to the delicate skin under your eye, where he strokes a lazy back and forth. 

"I love you." 

You lean into his hand. "I love you, too." 

"Oh, gross," Jack says. 

Aaron steps away from you and you smile at your baby. Jack isn't yours but you'll always love him like he is, more and more for every impossible inch that he grows, and you're delighted to see Janey hugged to his chest.

"Hi, my loves," you say. "Sorry, your dad's just harassing me again. You know how it is." 

Aaron snorts, shovelling French toast and fruit onto a new plate for Jack. "You know how it is," he echoes. 

"Did you sleep okay?" you ask Jack. 

You've been asking him the same question every morning for years. Every morning, he says, "The same as yesterday." 

You assume it to be a good thing. 

"Swap with me, buddy," Aaron says, offering Jack breakfast to steal a floppy looking Janey in exchange. 

They swap, though Jack isn't eager. He's cool now he's in middle school, too cool to hug his dad most of the time, and nearly too cool to tell you he loves you when you drop him off, but he's never too cool to dote on his baby sister. 

"She's worth more than a plate of toast, dad, come on." 

You smile around a mouthful as they argue for your girl. She tips her head back and gives a small, happy smile that's a hundred percent Aaron when she sees you. You decide you love breakfast time.