#what else can i really say but mercy on our uniform

[keingleichgewicht]

THOUGHTS ON CONVERGENCE??????

YEAH SHITS CRAZY RIGHT

i've made some posts already but there remains a lot to talk about and i kind of want to holler about... the title. 'convergence.'

like with 'the mill', i think the simplicity of the word here kind of betrays how the deep the name really goes. so, starting with the dictionary: a convergence is A Coming Together, yes? it's a meeting place, it's a falling into line. when we talk about 'convergent evolution', we're talking about how living under the same pressures can cause very different creatures to take similar shapes. when we talk about 'convergence' in maths, we're talking about two sequences approaching the same infinity; we're talking about a curve flattening out into a forever approach to a line it won't ever reach.... !

i do too much fuckin calculus in my daily life to really romanticize it — but, you know, cmon: pafl's all about being stuck, it's about treading water, it's about the dreadful uniformity of the monsters being trapped like that eventually turns you into. so this all feels relevant. and on account of being a huge freak about etymology i will go ahead and mention that it's from the latin — convergere — and con means 'together' and vegere means 'to bend', or 'to turn towards':

circles in the sand, driving each other round the bend. or something.

SO. there are, i think, at least a couple convergences the title's referring to. the first one's kind of the most obvious one: this song's the convergence of anya-and-dima pafl, as begun in punch it, punk!, and yura-and-sanya-and-kt pafl, as begun in, well, pafl.

to elaborate: up until this point those two pafls have always kind of existed separately. they evolve out of a communal origin point — that's COMFORT ZONE, and dmitry's breakout — and they start to edge in on each other's narrative territory somewhere around olga getting arrested, but they're mostly happening in parallel. each half of the story gets one sibling, one mutant, and one stoic adult stalker who discovers the truth about said mutant (...only obviously olga and sergei reacted real differently to that discovery)

i've talked about it before um here but anya-and-dima and yura-kt-everyone-else really do feel like they exist in different genres. punch it, punk! has this brightness, a willingness to forgive, an adventure-story resilience to it, which none of the other songs remotely possess — kt's guide get's closest, but kt also gets fucking crushed for it. in punch it, punk! things to wrong, and then they go right again! dmitry gets beat up, so he gets bandaged and band-aided and fed breakfast; olga finds him out, but she doesn't call the police, and she doesn't get telekinetically dismembered either, because anna's there to help them deescalate. no other pafl song works like this, i think. in every other song, things go wrong, and then they get worse.

( ^ again i've said this already but SUPER META-AWARE LINE. eo ibis quo omnia eunt: 'you will go where everything else is going.' welcome, says yura, to what it's been like for the rest of us this whole fucking time! welcome to being completely fucking doomed, baby!)

this genre thing is why i think occam's razor doesn't qualify as the two storylines meeting, yet — because in occam's razor, anya and dima's luck is still holding. yura looks dmitry in the eye, but anna drags him away, and nothing happens. for the time being the adventure story keeps rolling. whereas in convergence their luck's run out, which to me means the narratives have come together for real. they're operating by the same tragic rules as everyone else now: for most of us that's how it goes!

so it's a convergence 'cause it's a collision, and it's a convergence because the narratives aren't gonna separate again, i don't think, no second chances on that kind of thing. from here on out anya-and-dima's fate is fully tied up with yura's, narratively first, and then also in the very literal sense that they're all going to go down into that facility together, probably. every player still on the board (except sergei) is now traveling out towards those got taken out already (kt, olga, nikita)* and those that have been down there the whole time (temnova). the paths have unified and there's only one line forward....

even our old friend The Cube's here, representing..... uhhh ......., Something. what the fuck does the cube represent? all we know is that it's a silent, perceptive little object; it's shaped an awful lot like a game dice (and we've had game-theory metaphors before, revolver roulette, cards on the table, we've talked about luck); yura found it, olga didn't want it, sanya was it. which means, idk, anyone's guess. the cube's so fuckin weird dude. although speaking of :

i am actually totally convinced that we have no idea yet what the real significance of The Cube is. the problem is that its only current known ability (recognizing zone influence in artifacts or people) is something stalkers can literally already just do. the cube didn't out dmitry or katya, it didn't have to! yura did that completely on his lonesome! which means the cube doesn't actually have something to do in this story, not enough to warrant the amount of attention it's gotten. yet. and pafl's way too tightly-constructed to hang up a gun like that on the wall and then not fire it. PRETTY SURE this thing's gonna come back to bite one way or another

but right anyway: storyline convergence. i also figure that's basically what the pronoun ambiguity in the first run of the chorus is about. we have yukari and kyo here, which is very straightforward — yukari sang both pafl-the-song and punch it, punk!, and kyo did occam's razor. this is the two siblings, two storylines, talking over each other, talking both sides of the conversation. the two sides follow each other very closely now, because they are sliding down into total convergence. everybody's on the same page now — that's not a good thing!

the other convergence i think a lot about is.... character arcs.

this is where "convergent evolution" is relevant, i figure. you will come running back like a dog. i will come running back like a dog. earlier i was saying the two halves of the story in pafl are yura-and-sanya-and-kt and anya-and-dima, and that's true, in a straight-up parallel plotlines sort of way, but also arguably the two halves of the story in pafl are just yura and dima: the protagonist and, probably, deuteragonist. two boys trying to be heartless!

i've talked about them before (uhhhh for instance) and how they are basically doing each other's arcs backwards; that's been true since at least kt's guide, where they're explicitly placed at opposite poles of her narrative, "being used is really uncool" vs "giving up is really uncool." in kt's guide they're two boys who don't believe in a future. this is a fucking lot in itself: how they each get a verse-chorus cycle dedicated to them, how yura's "he" but dima's "you." how dima says, "this life's not fit for the likes of you and i", ironically a perfect echo of sergei's "the world is a cruel place to people like you", and yura says "pathetic ones like me lose before we join the game."

the interesting thing is kt tells both of them they're wrong, but when she says goodbye to yura, she's hoping he'll keep believing in a future from now on — whereas when she says goodbye to dima she's admitting that he was right not to. there's a really deliberate juxtaposition happening there! and what's crazy ironic about it is that, yet again, she's right but she's wrong: she's kind of got them the wrong way around. she's associating yura with freedom, and dima with the cage, but not to put too fine a point on it, it's yura's fault she got locked up! it's dima who set her free!

when i say they're "doing each other's arcs backwards".... they're two boys trying to be heartless. "i've weaponized my helpless spite" vs "i've an objection not one you can overrule." "fair play is overrated" vs "men like me have the right to be cruel." that much is true...

... but also, like, the thing is, dmitry started heartless. he has no fucking reason to believe in a future; he does not even know how to imagine one. we make a lot of hay about yura having Killed A Man (big deal, it was a cop) but honestly: dmitry has absolutely killed people, right? dmitry has, at the very least, canonically tortured children. he has been the weapon with which war crimes were committed. what is yura talking about, "bark all you want?" who is he fucking kidding? what does he fucking know? dt-001-319's quiet, he was obedient for years, but he most certainly bites!

(^ BY THE WAY this shot's fascinating because it's almost a kind of flashback. this can't be dmitry in the present, because in the present he's wearing his black sweater and his stolen jacket; in this shot he's in his uniform. these are his facility clothes. weird, right?)

but yeah: yura's attitude here is almost as ironic as kt's infamous "are you afraid of pain." dt-001-319 is unspeakably well familiar with pain, and familiar with violence, and he has zero moral compass to speak of; even the highly skewed one the facility gave him got screwed when they betrayed him. i'm not sure if yura understands this, at this point, but the remarkable thing is not that dmitry attacked him. the remarkable thing is that dmitry did not follow through.

i actually don't know if i've seen anyone talk about this yet, but i think it kind of might be the single most important thing that happens in this song, and also maybe the reason it's named like it is. yura makes his threat, he puts olga up as the sacrificial lamb, and dima stops.

like, alright, let's back up: pafl, so far, has been the story of yura getting ever more ruthless. he is ever more willing to burn anything, everything, if it will get him power, if it will get him control, if it'll get him an inch of what he has always been willing to die for, which is freedom, any freedom at all. any room to breathe: that's his arc.

& at this point i think it doesn't even have to be to his personal advantage to hurt you — i'm pretty sure, now that he's made that excuse for himself, he'll take any opportunity he can get. it's a really miserable fact of human nature that you will sometimes hurt other people just to prove to yourself that you have enough control over them to do it. i'm going to talk about this some more, if i ever make my post about "poor little boy can't solve all his problems with force", but there's so much hatred in how he treats dima and anya in this song, there's so much totally vindictive joy in having that power to cause pain. he sees it as turning the tables and he's going to keep chasing it until he's turned into something awful.

to put it together: dima has been learning to care about people. yura has been learning to treat them like gears in the machine. i think the other reason this song's called convergence is 'cause this is where the intersection is, this is where they cross each other's paths. this is where they officially swap places on the roster of the ruthless. this is where it starts coming down to dust !

and my argument for that is basically: that dima stops. he doesn't stop for katya — he isn't willing to go back down into his own personal hell to save her — and that's not exactly a heroic decision but it's also, honestly, understandable, in some level. he knew her for like, two hours, and she said things to him that felt very cruel at the time, when he had just saved her life and was in the middle of having the worst headache ever conceived of. and then she went off on her own, and did the exact thing he said not to do, and got caught: you can see how, from dmitry's perspective, it's not really his problem. not enough to be worth breaking back into a death-trap for.

and to be clear: he probably has done kt a lot of wrong, in his time! again, under temnova's rule, dmitry was definitely complicit; he's a kid, and he can't be blamed, but katya's a kid too, and he's most definitely hurt her before. but i don't think his brand-new education in having a heart is really far enough along to process that yet, and i can't hold it against him, all things considered.

... so he won't go back for her. and yura has the audacity to stone cold condemn him for this. "i see your decency has long degraded." (another dreadfully ironic line! degraded from what??? he's been locked up underground since he was a literal baby!) but — and this is the important bit — then yura puts olya on the line. cards on the table, everybody place your bets....

... and for olga he agrees. for anya he agrees — because the other, easy solution is to kill yura where he stands, dead men don't report mutants, but anya wouldn't want that to happen. dmitry who was raised to believe that sympathy is a weakness and mercy is a failure and the only holy purpose is to be used, and used up, he stands down, and he gives his freedom away, and he agrees to go back to hell for someone else's sake ... !

occam's razor sparked a lot of discussion about how yura is quickly starting to resemble the doctor temnova, which, oh boy is he ever: "some ventures require a sacrificial lamb" and "sacrifices are something that we have to make" are the same song set to different tunes. i think convergence marks the point where he starts to follow through. i mean, olya's in prison for his crime! she sacrificed herself for him! as recently as the beginning of occam's razor, the guilt about this was still killing him, as it would kill anyone; now he's bartering her life as if he doesn't care at all. sympathy has no place in a righteous heart... and as far as he's concerned saving kt is the most righteous cause there is.

so that's hence the title, hence convergence, because this is where yura and dima meet in the middle (and cross over, and start fully swapping places). i am actually relatively hopeful for dima's chances right now, in a nailbitey sort of way, i am hope hope hoping that this whole mess is .... awright, not a good thing for him, obviously, but also not as bad as it appears?

the thing is: sure, he's back on the leash. he's back under someone's command. he's going to be a weapon again. but also this time, he's there because he decided to be, in order to save someone he loves. there is a difference, isn't there? that means something! yura has the leash, but unlike temnova he does not have dima's heart. dima's heart belongs to dima, more than it ever has before. his loss of agency here is also kind of a demonstration of agency! that's hopeful.

and yura on the other hand... i mean, christ alive, yura.

yura's going to keep getting worse, but we've known that for a while now. they're all going down into hell anyway. what convergence actually gets me thinking about is the question of, what is going to happen when they meet temnova again?

i worry about dima, in that situation — in particular i worry about the fact that his faith in the facility was broken, but i'm not sure his faith in temnova specifically was. after all she warned him. she set him free. she's the only one who didn't betray him! and like a dog sure seems convinced that he'll come back to following her — one way or another — waiting / like a dog with a bird at your door, and so on

but also all things considered: sure, he might, but also, he's grown a lot in the time he's spent with anya. the decision to stand down for olga's sake means he's at least figured out some concept of agency. and he's got the advantage that he knows what actual love looks like now, he's got a better model to fall back upon than temnova's "noble to serve / as means to an end." it may or may not save him — but at this point i figure he's got a chance. whereas yura....

... yura already believes everything that she believes. and yura figured it out on his own. yura didn't have to be taught. mercy is the sign of a talentless actor — and dima does mercy now, so is he really her perfect little monster anymore, her golden boy? he's kind of... gone rotten, in his time away, hasn't he? he's gotten all sorts of human. (and as we know: the only use for a motor not meant to start... )

and despite the worst of circumstances yura has been doing the precise opposite: he is, by temnova's standards, a talented actor. by god, he's a prodigy; he's a natural. he didn't even need to be a mutant, to end up a monster — he got there his own way, the old way, for hunger ... and temnova's always struck me as hungry.

i don't know! it depends what temnova's motives are — and despite like a dog we frankly still don't understand her motives at all. she works at the facility, she believes in science, but also it only makes a limited amount of sense that she'd really be there to study the mutants. after all she's some kind of zone-creature herself, if not exactly a mutant, and i'd guess that she already has the answers to a lot of the questions the rest of the scientists down there are cracking their heads over. so what does she actually want to learn? why would she go to the humans to find it? what was she trying to make happen, in raising dmitry like she did? what are her plans for him, anyway?

the only thing we know for sure is that she was trying to build a boy without a heart .

and okay, yura's not a mutant, but despite what she says in comfort zone (we still don't really know how much of comfort zone was what temnova really believes, anyway, and how much is what she's feeding dmitry to make him into what she wants) — temnova strikes me as generally too pragmatic to actually be a stickler for the distinction. there's more than one way to be inhuman, i'm sure. and anyway the implication in like a dog ("a gear in the machine grew immune to corrosion") is that temnova started out human too. it's just that she got better. she got hungry. she learned devotion.

i used to worry that temnova would take dima back, and that yura would probably get killed, because he's out of his depth and too deep in self-destruction. right now i am honestly mostly worried that they actually might get along way too fucking well

footnote:

*yes I am conflating "being in the facility" and "being in jail" and "being dead" here. this is because 1. in narrative terms all three of those are kind of the same amount of "taken out of the story" 2. because let's be perfectly honest some of Our Heroes (irony, yura is not a hero anymore) are probably going to end up biting it 3. i am totally convinced at this point that dima and yura's journey to rescue kt is going to fully qualify as a katabasis, e.g. A Descent Into The Underworld, orpheus style. which raises the question of, oh you know, who's going to look back?

[deathfavor]

@ofsavior said: “Baji-san isn’t yours. He’s Toman’s. Even if he says he’ll join Valhalla, he’s still Toman.” There’s something decisive to Chifuyu’s eyes. Maybe it’s the claim that he knows Baji better. That he can set aside a personal grudge and bias to see where Baji’s heart lies. Does Kazutora have that? Chifuyu doubts it. “You were Toman’s, too, once. You should get it.”

" He's not yours either. " Kazutora snaps, eyes narrowing at Chifuyu. This damn punk, like a little dog that won't stop yapping. " You're not Baji, you don't get to make those decisions for him. " He hops down from the wall he'd been sitting on and walks closer. " He's joined Valhalla. He's ours. He's already shown he'll beat the shit out of you. Everyone else will be even easier. " He stops a foot away from Chifuyu, gold eyes narrowing when he stares at the blonde.

" Besides. He promised he'd always be with me. " Even when the police had arrested them, it had been Kazutora who claimed he forced Baji into it. That he'd threatened Baji into the situation, anything to make sure Baji wouldn't end up behind bars with him. It hadn't been Baji abandoning him, it'd been the tiger choosing to take the fall for them both. He'll choose me. Even if it meant walking hand in hand to hell, that's what he'd promised. And Baji NEVER broke a promise to Kazutora. It's why Kazutora could really trust him. He'll always choose him over anyone else. " Baji is Baji. His choice is his. But he'll never abandon me. " He's almost entirely confident of that. Almost.

Up to the final lines, Kazutora had been remarkably calm all things considered. Irritated, challenging, but not violent. But the moment Chifuyu mentions Kazutora's history with Toman, his expression turns dark. He's swinging before he even really thinks about, punching Chifuyu straight in the jaw. His hands grab a fistful of Chifuyu's jacket to make sure he can't escape the tiger's claws, and promptly chooses to slam him into the wall behind them.

" Don't you fucking DARE speak to ME about Toman. " He snarls, veins around his eyes straining with the rage that suddenly has been let loose, like a snapped chain on a wild animal. " That's dead and over with, got it? " He slams Chifuyu against the wall agan ; the only mercy he has is Kazutora can't decide quite HOW he wants to hurt the other yet. " Toman is NOTHING to me. Absolutely nothing. It just pisses me off. I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to see those stupid uniforms. I burned mine the night I got out of Juvie, after Keisuke went home. It means nothing! Got it? Nothing. " He chokes on the rage, deciding to throw Chifuyu down into the dirt. His rage strains against his bones. " Get what? I don't know what bullshit you're talking about. " Kazutora scoffs, staring down at Chifuyu with a glare.

[wrrdbrrd]

4 - Divine

“-aaaarge!”

Sir Roderic came to a sudden and unsteady stop. He was fairly certain he had been somewhere else just now. Somewhere with a lot more noise, and people, and bloodthirsty energy.

The sky was no longer blood-red with smoke and fire. It was a clear, uniform blue from horizon to horizon, and the flat plane on which he stood was no longer made of grass and mud. It was in fact very white and fluffy. Sir Roderic looked down at his armoured boots and shifted his weight experimentally. It was soft, and some of it actually drifted over the tops of his feet like mist.

There was someone seated at a desk in front of him. Had they always been there? Sir Roderic blinked hard. They didn’t seem to be going away again. In fact, they were looking directly at him with a polite, neutral, slightly curious expression on their face.

They looked more or less human, if humans had huge feathery wings on their back and glowed with an internal golden light. They were beautiful in a way that defied gender and made Sir Roderic feel uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

It was, all in all, the kind of tableau that rendered questions like “where am I?” and “who are you?” rather unnecessary.

“Ah,” he said, instead.

“Yes,” said the angel. “Sir Roderic, is it? Of the Holy Order of Our Lady’s Mercy?”

Sir Roderic realised he was pointing his sword directly at the figure. He lowered it somewhat sheepishly. “’Tis I.”

“Right on time,” the angel said. From a drawer in the desk, they produced a large, heavy-looking book and began leafing through it.

“How did I…?” Sir Roderic found he couldn’t quite finish the question.

“Cannonball,” the angel said, quite gently. “Directly to the torso, I believe. It was quite instantaneous and you didn’t feel any pain.”

Sir Roderic thought about that for a moment. “That’s a relief,” he managed.

“I’m sure.” The angel licked their index finger and turned one more page. “Now, we do have a judgement to get through before we can let you in.”

“In?”

The angel jerked their head at a large double door off to the right. It wasn’t obviously attached to any walls or other structure. “In there. It’s a very simple process, we’re just going to check your record against the Commandments to see how you did. It’s a formality, really.”

This was suddenly much more reassuring. Sir Roderic knew exactly how devout he had been. He puffed out his chest and awaited the angel’s judgement.

“Let’s see here,” the angel said, studying the book carefully. “Have no other gods, no problem there.” They gave Sir Roderic a reassuring little smile before returning their attention to the page. “Graven images, you never were much of an artist, good for you. Thou shalt not… mm-hmm, check, check, check, so far looking very good indeed, Sir Roderick.”

The knight smiled behind his waxed moustache.

“Ah. Now. Killing,” the angel said. “There is the matter of these thirty-seven enemy soldiers. Anything to say for yourself on that point?”

This was a cunning test, Sir Roderic realised. He fixed his gaze somewhere over the angel’s head and declared, “They were enemies of God!”

“Funnily enough,” the angel said, “every single one of them made the exact same allegation about you.”

For the first time in many years, the cold spectre of Uncertainty placed its clammy hand on Sir Roderic’s shoulder.

“But it was… commanded…”

“Was it?” The angel manifested a small pair of spectacles on their face and peered closer at the page. “‘Thou shalt not kill…’ hm-hm-hm… Ah, yes, sub-paragraph b(iii). ‘Unless you think they are enemies of God. Then, by all means, go for it.’”

A puzzled little frown crept onto Sir Roderic’s face. He said nothing.

The angel looked up over their spectacles at him. “That’s not actually in there, to be clear. Bit of a messy business, this. We’ll have to run it up the chain, see what the boss has to say about it. As for the rest of record, thou hast not… good, good, good. Ah. Coveting thy neighbour’s ass. Anything to say there?”

Killing was one thing, but Sir Roderic was quite sure about his obedience to the rest of the rules. He managed to find some reserve of indignation that hadn’t been frozen solid by existential terror yet. He scoffed. “I’ve never done such a thing!”

“No? What about Sir Edmond of your company? Ring any bells?”

“He doesn’t even have a donkey!”

The angel quirked a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking about the animal.”

Sir Roderic’s bottom lip trembled. His eyes began to water.

The angel chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, we don’t actually care about that one. Just a little something to keep you on your toes. That killing business, though, that is quite serious. I’m afraid it’s going to disqualify you from direct entry.”

A low moan escaped Sir Roderic’s lips. He dropped to his knees, shaking with terror, and reached out towards the angel as he finally looked them directly in the eyes. “No! Please! I repent! I’ve been a faithful servant! I don’t deserve eternal torture!”

“Oh, for the love of – no, obviously, nobody deserves that. We’ll – there, there, please don’t cry. Oh, dear. We’ll put you through some remedial – oh, I say.” The angel patted the sobbing Sir Roderic awkwardly on the head. “Please don’t pull on the robes. If they tear, it will be literal hell to get them mended. I’m sure you’ll be allowed in soon enough, give it just a few hundred years or so. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of people to get through today, lots of people on both sides to process. Yes. Just down those stairs, there. Take your time. Good man. Well, not that good, but we’ll get you there. Have a nice day.”

[betawooper]

Chapter 356 - Forgotten People of the Scenario (Transfem AU)

*Joonghyuk is transfeminine

*Jihye is nonbinary and uses any pronouns

I had mixed feelings about the party members when they came to me one by one. Lee Seolhwa appeared in the middle of the night, and inserted a story pack into my perfectly fine arm. Her fingers constantly carded through her soft white hair, a nervous tic I noticed she had if only because in TWSA, Joonghyuk had grown to find it cute.

“I’m sure you’re having a tough time since... all of that.”

Understatement of the century. Judging by the way her eyes flicked to some spot on the floor, she was lost in her own thoughts by the implications. I caught her flushing pink as some thought swept through her mind. 

I asked her what she was thinking about.

“Um, if what you said is true then does it really mean Joonghyuk and I...”

Focusing on the important matters, I see.

I smiled half-heartedly. “What else? Want me to tell you what you two named your child to prove it?”

She squeaked and her face became as red as the lipstick she wore. I had hoped making that joke would lift my mind from where it disappeared in its depression, but all it did was make me feel cruel. I really wondered why the other party members were being so kind to me.

“Che... don’t look like that. If we are characters in the novel, you still threw yourself in front of us and saved us. I remember that clearly. I’m sure the others do, too.” Heewon said.

“Mr. Dokja, I’m not sure why you told us that, but I know it’s hard for you right now.” Yoosung said.

“Yeah, Hyung! We get it if you feel bad.” Gilyoung said.

“Mr. Dokja, my manual never told me how to deal with this situation. However, I still trust you. Don’t trouble yourself over what we may think.” Hyunsung said.

Did I really deserve such compassion? When Lee Jihye came into the room, I figured he would be the one to rebuke me on their behalf. Just like Heewon had no mercy for those on the wrong side of justice, Jihye was unafraid of speaking the truth, no matter how much it could scathe. It was what he was best at in these troubling times.

I still gave her a smile to the best of my ability. While she made her way to the armchair next to me, I watched her flick her ponytail over her shoulder. She wasn’t wearing the uniform skirt now, but nothing else had changed. In the novel, that had always been a corner piece in her description.

“Mister.”

“Hm?”

“If all that you said was true, you must know a lot about me already.” Jihye said and sighed. “That means you know I’m not good at comforting people.”

“... You were here to comfort me?”

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “You thought I wasn’t?”

I froze, then chuckled dryly. “The Lee Jihye from the novel would not have hesitated to cut me down with her words, if not with her terrifying blade.”

“I guess that does sound like me, but...” He shrugged.

I didn’t know why it took me this long to realize how much he had changed. He didn’t even identify as female anymore. That was never in the original text no matter how much I checked, and even in future revisions the topic of his gender identity was never broached. Could I even trust in my own knowledge anymore?

“Hey. There is one thing I want to ask you. If you still want to make up for not telling me, or whatever.” Jihye asked.

“What is it?”

“Ms. Sangah. You said she is living in your brain. Can you tell her thanks?”

I looked at Jihye, confused. “Thanks for what?”

“For telling me about those random gaming statistics. I... I know I had all the time in the world to say it, but she was so busy trying to save our butts. I have a hard time thanking people already. You know how it is.”

“I’ll tell her when I get the chance.”

Jihye nodded. “Also, thanks to you, too.”

Now I really laughed. “What did I do?”

“Didn’t you know I was no longer gonna be a girl in the future?”

I smiled, crossing my legs and placing my clasped hands over my knees. “Nope.”

“Wha—huh? Then how did you know about Master and not me? Don’t tell me you skipped all the parts where I was in it!”

“What can I say? The author never intended this development at all.” I said to assuage his indignance. “This isn’t the only thing. They didn’t intend for Heewon to survive past Geumho Station. For Sangah to be saved by me. For me to live past the first scenario. A lot of unexpected things happened, and now nothing of the original novel remains the same.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Aren’t you afraid that someone like me both admitted to deceiving you and is now uncertain of your future?”

Jihye raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t changing the future your plan from the beginning?”

... She had a point.

“In any case, you bringing up that Master liked playing girls in video games led to me eventually seeing myself as I am. I may hold grudges over the littlest things, but I also remember the nice things, too. So, thanks for saving Ms. Sangah, I guess.”

“You’re a strange kid, you know that?”

She scoffed. “I am literally twenty years old! You can’t be calling me that anymore!”

I chuckled. For the first time in a while, I could comfortably say my heart was genuinely amused.

“Of course, of course.”

[valdomarx]

A Marriage of Convenience

Octoberfest romcom tropes day 1: fake dating

Jaskier pushed his ale aside and broke the wax seal on the letter. As he read the contents, his face pinched into a frown.

“Anything important?” Geralt asked, glancing up from his soup. 

Jaskier chewed his lower lip. “Not really. It’s from my family.” He took a breath. “They’re going to disinherit me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing, thank you very much! But it’s my 35th birthday next month, and the stipulations of the Lettenhove family will are quite clear. If the oldest son isn’t married by the age of 35, inheritance passes to the next married cousin.”

“Very keen on weddings in Lettenhove, are they?”

“Rather less keen on unmarried bachelors, actually.”

Geralt grunted. “That’s too bad. I imagine a viscount’s fortune could have come in handy for you.”

“Oh, I don’t care about the money.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just,” he sighed. “I have younger sisters who rely on me for support. If the inheritance goes to cousin Edward, he’ll turn them out without a penny to their names.”

“That’s unkind.”

“It is.” Jaskier slumped. He was glad to have left Lettenhove and its court intrigues behind, but the thought of his sisters being at the mercy of his greedy cousin was unconscionable. He knew too well all the terrible things that could befall a woman alone in the world.

“This will,” Geralt said, stirring his soup absentmindedly, “does it have any rules about who you have to marry?”

“No. Any old wedding will do. But it’s not like I’m going to find anyone willing to tie themselves to me in the next month.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll marry you.”

Jaskier choked on his ale. “You?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” he broke off and mopped the sweat from his brow. Because I’ve been in love with you for decades. Because I’ve fantasised about you saying this in a million different ways. Because having to pretend it’s real is going to break my heart.

Geralt reached over the table and patted his hand. “It’ll just be pretend,” he said, as if that were in any way reassuring. “This is a problem easily solved. Let me help you.”

Jaskier sagged. This was going to be a disaster.

-

“This is going to be a disaster!” Jaskier paced anxiously around their room. “There are so many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

Geralt sat on the bed counting bundles of herbs. “It’ll be fine.” He was infuriatingly calm. “We’ll head to Lettenhove, have a quick wedding, get your family off your back, and be on our way. It’ll only take a few days.”

“But,” Jaskier kept pacing. “We’ll have to. You know. We’ll have to do couple things. There are certain… expectations of a newly married pair.”

Geralt got to his feet and placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, stopping his anxious traipsing. “We’ll manage. Can’t be any worse than fighting drowners.”

Jaskier looked into amber eyes and felt his heart turn over in his chest. “Everyone will expect us to be holding hands, and kissing, and gods know what else. And you can’t do that.” He sighed. “You don’t even like men.”

Geralt leaned in closer, close enough that strands of his silver hair tickled Jaskier’s cheek. “I like men just fine,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then Jaskier did something terribly foolish. His body moved before his mind, his feet stepping closer, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck. He kissed him, hard, and to his astonishment Geralt kissed him back hungrily, lips parting to allow Jaskier to taste him fully, tongue exploring, hands roaming, and by the time they broke apart Jaskier was flushed and breathing hard.

“See?” Geralt said, his deep voice sending a shiver up his spine. “We can do this.”

-

Jaskier wrote to his family to tell them the good news, and he and Geralt wasted no time in heading off to Lettenhove. The journey was long but nothing they were unused to. They traveled by day, slept under the stars by night, and Geralt even picked up a few quick contracts to help pay their way.

It was comfortable, and normal, and Jaskier could almost forget about what he was about to put himself through.

At least, until they reached the outskirts of Lettenhove and they heard the whoosh of an incoming portal. The ground shook, the air rippled, and through the rent in reality stepped Yennefer, terrifying and beautiful as ever.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at them. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a snarky reply as she swept past him and went to Geralt. He stood back and watched the two of them, powerful and dazzling together, each other’s equals in capability and composure.

He had never had a chance in this competition, he thought bitterly. He would be pretending with Geralt, while she had his heart for real.

Jaskier was left at camp while Geralt and Yennefer went off to do... whatever it was they did together. (He could guess what that was.) He spent a cold, lonely night with no one but Roach for company, berating himself for feeling so hurt by something he knew from the beginning was nothing but a ruse.

-

With their arrival in Lettenhove proper, there was nothing to do but face his family. The brightest spot of his day was walking into the estate and having his sisters squeal and jump on him just as they had done as children.

He stopped laughing and caught his breath long enough to introduce them. “Essi and Priscilla, this is Geralt.” My husband to be, he thought, and something twisted inside him at that. “Geralt, these are my troublesome sisters.”

Essi dipped her head and Priscilla performed a theatrical bow. “We were wondering if Jaskier would ever settle down,” Essi said with a sly smile.

“But seeing how handsome you are, I can’t blame him!” Priscilla replied, and the two of them broke into fits of giggles. 

Geralt, for his part, took them with good humour. Where Jaskier had been expecting him to be dour, he smiled indulgently and took each of their hands in turn and pressed a kiss to their knuckles, resulting in another uproar of giggling.

“Thank you for that,” Jaskier said quietly as they made their way to the room waiting for them.

Geralt inclined his head. “Have to make a good impression on the future in-laws,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking upward in amusement. 

The rest of his family were predictable as clockwork. Cousin Edward was sour, his father was distant, and his mother was simply relieved to see him married off as was proper. Geralt sat through all of it with more patience and good grace than Jaskier would have thought him capable of.

-

The day of the wedding itself passed in a blur. With such short notice the ceremony was terribly paired down by noble standards, but still, there was the formal breakfast, the dressing in formal garments, the journey to the temple outside of the city, the clamour of priestesses and officials and his family, the exchanging of rings, the reading of texts, and of course the formal dinner.

Jaskier barely remembered any of it. Looking back, the only thing that stuck out in his mind was the feeling of Geralt’s hand clasping his own during the handfasting. And the way that, whenever he was feeling overwhelmed over the course of the day, Geralt’s hand would find his own and give a comforting squeeze. 

-

Finally the ceremonies were complete and they were left in peace in their chambers, the two of them alone for the first time all day. Geralt’s hair had been braided into two slim plaits running either side of his face, though by now they were starting to become mussed. He’d even put on a shirt of dark blue silk as opposed to his standard uniform of all black. The effect was quite stunning.

As the door closed, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped and he breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

Geralt cupped one cheek tenderly. “You good?”

Jaskier exhaled, letting the anxiety and stress of the day slowly unwind. He looked into Geralt’s warm eyes and felt, for once, safe and unjudged. “I’m good.”

Geralt brought their lips together, soft as could be, and Jaskier’s knees shook. He grabbed Geralt’s forearms to hold himself upright and, desperate for some sort of control, some sort of meaning, he pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. 

This was a bad idea, he was aware, but Geralt felt so good in his arms. He ran his hands through silky silver hair like he’d always wanted to, he pressed himself close to that muscled chest he’d spent more time than he should have admiring, and he moaned unrestrainedly when Geralt picked him up, locking his legs around his waist.

This was a terrible idea, he knew, but Geralt carried him over to the bed with firm, confident steps, and the temptation to touch, to hold, to kiss was overwhelming. This would only lead to heartache, but he was weak in the face of love, as always. 

Geralt laid him out and took him apart with soft lips and careful fingers and a wicked tongue, and it was everything he’d been dreaming of for years, and yet so much more intense than anything he could have imagined. Geralt was dazzling beneath him, warm amber eyes and pale scarred flesh, beautiful and kind and more than he could possibly deserve.

-

Nuptial celebrations in Lettenhove were mercifully brief, and with the ceremony completed and recorded to the satisfaction of the genealogists, they were free to depart.

There were, however, some customs which could not be avoided.

“You’ll be honeymooning nearby?” Jaskier’s mother asked, with the understanding that this was not a question.

“Actually, we thought -”

“They’ll be staying in my cottage, won’t you?” Priscilla interjected. She’d availed herself of her position, such as it was, to secure a tiny ramshackle cottage on the Kerack coast. It wasn’t opulent but it was, thankfully, far from prying eyes.

Jaskier gave her a tiny nod of thanks and she winked.

“A cottage?” His mother’s lip turned up in distaste. “How quaint.”

“And there’s ever so much to pack, so we must be on our way -” he excused himself with a bow, tugging Geralt behind him.

Out of the view of their parents, Priscilla and Essi set upon him with hugs and kisses, thanked him for saving them from the horrors of cousin Edward, and packed up an obscene quantity of cheeses and wine to take with them.

By the time they departed the estate, Jaskier was even smiling.

-

It was quiet and calm on the coast. The cottage overlooked the sea, rolling and tempestuous, and had just enough space for a kitchen, a bed, and a bath. They had everything they needed, even a stable for Roach outside.

Even though it was only for a few days, Jaskier imagined Geralt would be bored and unhappy, feeling trapped in a place so small. But he seemed content: riding along the coastline in the morning, brushing Roach out, going fishing in the afternoon, preparing the catch for their evening meal.

Jaskier showed him his favourite spices and how to prepare the fish with butter to make it rich and indulgent, and in the quiet moments he wrote poetry or simply sat on the battered chair on the porch of the cottage and watched the waves.

Geralt returned to the cottage with a net bulging with fish and a smile on his face. He’d been doing that more recently, Jaskier had noticed, smiling in a way that seemed natural and unforced. He even left his armour and swords in the cottage and waded down to the sea in just his trousers and shirtsleeves, disarmingly casual.

It was comfortable, almost domestic. 

And it was a torment, showing Jaskier a tiny glimpse of a life he’d never have.

-

Their last night on the coast, Geralt cooked the remainder of their provisions into a feast, poured the best wine they had, and set a fire in the hearth. He piled up blankets and pillows, laid down their warmest furs, and pulled Jaskier into his arms in front of the flames.

“Thank you,” he said, dotting kisses in a line up Jaskier’s neck, “for taking such good care of me.”

Jaskier fidgeted unhappily. “You’re the one doing me a favour,” he reminded him. That seemed important to remember. This was a favour from a friend, nothing more.

Geralt hummed against his neck, the vibrations rippling against his skin. “I can see some advantages to me,” he murmured, continuing his line of kisses up Jaskier’s jaw and toward his lips.

Jaskier, stupidly, allowed Geralt to turn him around, hands delicate around his waist, allowed him to bring their lips together. He allowed a kiss, soft at first, and then another, more intense, moaning into Geralt’s mouth. 

“Can I interest you in an early night?” Geralt purred in his ear, and everything in Jaskier’s body said yes, and everything in his mind said no.

Eventually, his mind won out and he pushed Geralt away. 

“No,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry, Geralt, but this was a terrible mistake.”

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Geralt’s sad expression. He was hit by the urge to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Hey,” Geralt’s voice was so soft behind him. “It’s okay, Jaskier. Whatever it is. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I won’t do it again.”

Jaskier deflated. He turned to face Geralt, watery eyes and all. “That’s not the problem. I don’t want you to stop. I want this to be real.”

Geralt stood carefully still. “What do you mean, real?”

Jaskier took a breath, tried to imagine how to explain himself, how to convey what he felt. “I’m in love with you!” he snapped in the end. Not his most eloquent work, but perhaps his most honest.

Geralt tilted his head. “I know,” he said. He looked down at the ring on his finger. “Isn’t that the point?”

“The point?” Jaskier exploded. “The point!” He couldn’t stop himself from waving his arms as he ranted. “Oh, sure, I’m certain that the ideal marriage is between one person who’s hopelessly in love and one person who’s indifferent and besotted with another. I’m sure Yennefer will be delighted when she hears about this whole situation.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m in love with Yennefer?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

He paused, obviously weighing his words. “That night when she visited us outside Lettenhove, she wasn’t surprised by the news. She told me congratulations, and that it had taken long enough. I think she knew long before I did that I wasn’t in love with her, not really. My heart already belonged to another.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean… You and her, you’re not...”

Geralt shook his head. “What she most wants is something I can’t give her.”

“And you?” Jaskier asked, dreading the answer.

Geralt took his hand. “What I most want,” he stroked his thumb over the ring around Jaskier’s finger, “is something I already have.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt. It was almost too much. It was overwhelming. “You really love me?”

Geralt smiled softly. “I really do.”

Jaskier threw himself into Geralt’s lap, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. “Tell me again,” he said, because he was needy.

“I love you,” Geralt said, kissing down the side of his face. “I love you,” he said, lacing their fingers together against the furs. “I love you,” he said, their bodies moving together, finally free to feel with the intensity they had been hiding for so long, their scents mingling together with the fresh salt tang of the sea.

-

The sun shone brightly and the wind whipped their hair as they packed up Roach the next morning. Jaskier paused to admire the view one last time: The rolling waves, the steep cliffs, the shingled beach. 

Geralt slipped his arms around his waist from behind and dropped a kiss just beneath his ear. 

“What does our life look like now?” Jaskier asked, eyes on the waves.

He felt Geralt’s smile against his hair. “Much the same as before,” he said. “With perhaps a few improvements.”

Jaskier turned then and kissed him fully, no need to hold himself back, taking Geralt’s hand and running his fingers over the ring there.

“Ready to head back to the Path?” 

Geralt smiled, and Jaskier would never tire of that. “Ready if you are,” he said with softness in his eyes, “husband.”

[emf005]

Knock On Wood

Oliver Wood x Reader

Warnings: The Puns are real, fighting, fluff... (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Please Like and follow and let me know what you think!

What a lovely day to bother the Gryffindor quidditch captain, Oliver Wood. You swung your legs off Fred’s lap and ruffled George’s hair as you went to your dorm.

“Where are you off to?” George asked, tossing the pranking ball at you. You caught it and tossed it right back before it could release the gas from inside that smelt like a dead skunk bathed in vomit, a smell of your own invention you were proud to say.

“I overheard that Ollie was going down to the pitch for some extra practice. Think I need some work on my,” you flipped your hair dramatically. “Chasing.” The two scoffed at your horrible pun, considering you were the best Chaser in all of Hogwarts. Both figuratively and metaphorically. You ran up stairs and grabbed your gloves, threw on your riding boots and grabbed your broom. Everything you owned was pretty worn out, you were muggle born and your family wasn’t exactly the richest. Actually you were poorer than the Weasleys', and there were only four of you!

They looked back up at you as you jumped the last four stairs and walked out of the room to go bug the keeper. You loved bugging Wood. His name was meant for puns. It's just perfect! I mean, Oliver, obviously a good nickname for him was Ollie, which he pretended to hate. And then Wood. There were so many there. And then he was a Keeper. Like, he just made it too easy for you!

“Ollie!” You called happily from the bottom of the pitch. He glanced down and you could hear his eye roll. You flew up and met the Keeper in the air. “What a surprise meeting you up here, hun!” He rolled his eyes and turned his broom around so you wouldn't see the blush on his cheeks from the nickname you had given him. Well, one of the many nicknames you had given him.

“What do you want, Y/L/N. I’m practicing here.” You frowned and leaned forward on your broom.

“Maybe I wanted to practice with you, Ollie. I’m hurt you want me to leave so soon. I got all dressed up just to see you.” He glanced at your attire.

“Honored. You should really get new riding gloves and boots,” he mentioned.

“Yeah, they’re on my list right next to a cyclops.” He rolled his eyes at your sarcasm. “Come on Wood, I bet I can get a few past you,” you grinned, sitting back up on your broom.

“Ha! You wish, Y/L/N!”

“Scared?”

“Never.”

“Then Wood you go get the ball and we can have a go at it!” He groaned at you pun.

“Stop it.

“Stop what? I just told you to go get the ball,” he flew down and started to walk away from you.

“You know what!” You smirked. He showed back up a few minutes later as you were speeding around the pitch. He watched you go in awe at how fast you were flying. How perfect your form was. And how good you looked doing it.

Stop it. He told himself as he called up to you. He tossed up the Quaffle and you zoomed over catching it in one fluid motion, going so fast you nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Lets go, Ollie!” You shouted down to him, tossing it up in the air and catching it. “I gotta beat you by four!” He mounted his broom and flew up to you.

“Why? What's at four.”

“Fred, George, and I have some… business to attend to.”

“Which hallway do I have to avoid this time?” He sighed, making his way to the posts.

“There's no fun in that, Olive oil! You might stop people like you did last time,” you pouted.

“Did you just call me Olive oil?”

“Your name is Oliver, did you not expect me to make an olive pun?”

“I was hoping.”

“I guess you could say you were-”

“Don’t do it.”

“Knocking on Wood.” You smiled.

“I hate you.”

“Nah. You love me,” you blew him a kiss making his cheeks heat.

The game was close the whole time, but you ended up winning by one point. Though, he did not accept his defeat.

“That wasn’t fair!”

“Just because you were too busy laughing at my joke, Ollie, doesn’t mean it wasn’t fair. You always tell me to be more focused. Maybe you should follow your own advice instead of gazing longingly at me,” you joked as the two of you headed to the locker room.

“I don’t gaze longingly,” he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah ya do, mate,” George said, coming over and putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Only at her though,” Fred clarified, doing the same thing on the other side of you. You laughed at the two trouble makers.

“I’m just flawless, he can’t help it. Right, Ollie?” You joked, but he just stalked off to the showers frustrated. You frowned and creased your eyebrows. You didn't take it too far, did you? “Did I say something offensive?”

“No.” they said together, smirks on their faces.

“Hey, Ollie!” You yelled to Oliver, running towards him in your Gryffindor uniform. It was the Slytherin v.s. Gryffindor match today, and you were ready to kick some serpent ass. Oliver just nodded to you and kept walking. You frowned and stopped watching him go. What was that? Fred and George came up behind you.

“What was that about?” George asked. You shook your head and looked after the boy you longed to talk to. It was a well known fact amongst the three of you that you liked him. They had tried to get you to tell him on multiple occasions, but every time you went to say something, a pun just came out because of your nerves.

Harry came over to the three of you and looked past you to see Wood walking away with his shoulders a bit slumped.

“He’s been like that all day.” Harry said, shaking his head. “Don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe throw him a pun or two today, Y/N. Looks like he needs one.” Harry left you three to stare after Wood as he made his way to where the majority of the team was, ready to walk out and begin the game against the Serpents’ house.

Brutal. That was the only way to describe how they played. Well, that was also how your team played. The rivalry between the houses fueling the urge to win. Skill increased, adrenaline flooded through everyone on the pitch. Rooms zoomed through the air, the wind combined with the cheers and boos from the crowd was deafening.

It was brilliant.

Y/N zoomed through the air perfectly, avoiding everyone as she threw the Quaffel into the top goal post. Gryffindor cheered and she smiled, flying her broom around in victory as the Slytherin’s booed her. Y/N watched the Quaffle get tossed around by a few Slytherin’s and zoomed over to them. As it was tossed in the air she intersected it and flew around towards the Slytherin side again, scoring yet another goal. The Slytherins sneered at you and, unbeknownst to you, had a plan up their sleeves.

The Quaffle was tossed to you again and then you were being chased, but this wasn't your normal chase. You had two Slytherin players in front and back and two on your sides.

You swore to yourself as they got closer. Suddenly they all just dispersed. You were far up in the clouds at this point and it was hard to see. You began to speed back down when something hit you in the head, knocking you off your broom.

You fell. You heard screaming, but you didn’t know if it was you or someone else. You felt yourself slow down but you were still going fast, the Quaffle still tightly in your grasp as you hit the ground. Everything went black.

Wood watched the Slytherin team surround you and take you up into the clouds. What were they planning? The team dispersed and flew back into view, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen. Then he saw your figure falling. His heart stopped. Dumbledore cast a spell to slow you down but you were still going too fast.

“Y/N!” him and the twins cried in unison, flying down to meet you on the ground. Your body bounced and you were out cold. The rest of the quidditch game was canceled and everyone made their way out onto the field to see what happened, Madam Hooch in front of them all. The three boys stared down at you unmoving body thinking that the fall killed you. The Slytherin’s walked off the field, not caring anymore. They had won. But that wasn’t the reason Oliver Wood’s blood was boiling. They had hurt you and that was not ok. Ever.

Madam Hooch took you to the hospital wing and Fred and George were about to follow when they noticed Oliver heading towards the Slytherin shower area with his fists clenched. They followed.

“Oi!” The boys clad in green turned around at his voice. “Was that really necessary? She could’ve died!” Marcus Flint scoffed.

“Not our problem.” Wood clenched his jaw.

“It is your problem.”

“Why, pissed off we hurt your mudblood girlfriend? Can’t even buy herself proper riding-” Flint didn't get to finish his statement thanks to Wood’s fist in his face. He stumbled back and Fred and George grabbed Wood’s arms pulling him away form the fight.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you!”

“Wood, shut up mate!” Fred hissed, struggling to pull him away.

“Lets go right now! I’ll fucking take you all down. Right here right now! Lets go!”

“Wood!” George hissed. “No. If you won’t come with us for your own sake, at least do it for her sake.” Wood growled, making the twins lean back. He just growled. They had never seen him get so defensive over something. So protective.

“Yeah! Go running to your mudblood girlfriend, Ollie.” The three froze. The twins dropped Wood’s arms and in three seconds he was on top of the Slytherin’s beating the lot of them to a pulp. They looked at each other and slowly backed away.

Wood could take care of himself. That much had always been clear. But this… This was just horrifying.

You started to stir a bit, everything in your body aching, you head pounding. You felt sticky, but not your normal sweaty sticky. You groaned and opened your eyes. The lights of the infirmary blinded you a bit.

“Y/N?” The twins? Your eyes adjusted and you saw two redheads staring at you from above. It all came back to you and your blood boiled. “How do you feel?”

“Can I please have a knife?”

“First off, no.”

“Second off, why?”

“I am going to stab each and everyone of those Slytherin pricks so they bleed and hurt and beg me for mercy.” You groaned.

“She’s up?” Your head snapped up at Wood’s voice, but you couldn't see him.

“Yeah.”

“But she’s in a killing mood again.” The twins patted your leg, silently telling you they’d be back later. Oliver came and sat by you, you turned your head so you could see him.

“You look good.” you smirked sarcastically.

“Yeah well, you don't look picture perfect either.” You cringed mockingly.

“That hurt Ollie. Almost as much as these broken bones.”

“You're lucky you're not dead.”

“I mean, there's still time for that. So…” you stabbed his shoulder three time with your fist. “Knock on wood.” He let out a laugh and you smiled.

“You laughed.” He looked at you.

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you never laugh. Why do you think I always try? Who knew falling off my broom would get you to laugh.” “Yeah, well. Don’t go doing that again. You gave me quite the scare.” You laughed, cringing at the way you felt your ribs shift. He looked panicked. “What happened? Do I need to get Madam Pomfrey?”

“Relax, Ollie. It was just my ribs shifting. Nothing to over react about. So, what did happen to that pretty face of your? You look like a woodpecker attacked you.”

“You really can’t turn the puns off can you?”

“I just got to get Olive them out.”

“Wow. That's pathetic.”

“You never answered my question. Are you alright?”

“I just had a row with the Slytherin team. They called you a few… unsavory words.”

“Pour mudblood?” You asked without breaking. His eyes widened, surprised to hear you say the slur. You shrugged. “Yeah. They say that a lot.”

“And you’re just fine with that?”

“Well, I mean. No. But, what am I going to do about it? Take on all of Slytherin house?”

“I did.”

“Which was incredibly stupid. Why would you even do that?”

“Because they insulted you!”

“Ollie, why does that matter? I’m no one important!”

“Yes you are!”

“Really? To who?”

“The twins! The team! To me!” You fell silent and he heard what he said. He was about to cover it up.

“I’m important to you?” He swallowed.

“Yeah. Always have been.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Always will be. Y/N." He started to gain more confidence. "I have been in love with you since our first year when you made a Woody woodpecker joke at my expense. Whoever that is.” You laughed, remembering the cartoon.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I was scared.”

“I scare the Oliver Wood? That's an accomplishment.”

“I’m trying to confess my feelings here!”

“If you just kiss me, I think I’ll get the hint!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” He grabbed your face and, as gently as his adrenalin allowed him, brought it to his, putting his lips on yours, finally. You two would have continued to make out if not for a clearing of someone’s throat. Oliver disconnected your lips and looked back to see Madam Pomfrey.

“Miss. Y/L/N needs her rest, Mr. Wood. I am well aware of you two strained and prolonged crushes and am glad to see you two have finally stopped acting like buffoons and gotten to it already. But she has just fallen from an extraordinary height so it is appreciated if you would keep it to a minimum until she is well enough to at least walk.” She turned on her heels and walked out. You started to laugh and Oliver placed a kiss on your cheek.

“When you finally get out of here, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to,” he whispered into your ear. He pulled back with a smirk on his face and you gaped at him.

“Ollie!” You laughed. “Didn’t know you had that side to you.”

“Lots of things you don’t know, love.” he kissed your head. “Get some rest.” You smiled, your eyes already closing.

“M’kay, Ollie.” You were on the verge of sleep when you muttered out a question. “Hey, Ollie?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’ll still kiss me when I wake up, right?” He chuckled.

“I don't think I can stop now.” You smiled, sleepily.

“Good. I don't want you to.” You fell asleep and he watched you for a moment.

“Neither do I.”

Let me know what you guys think! I love feed back!

[xsugarysweetsx]

Request; from @tsundere-cherry-girl

Hello there! I love your writings btw, especially the Levi ones. I’ve seen you write scenarios like this before so I was gonna ask if you could do Zuko x pregnant reader. If you’ve read the comics, she becomes pregnant around the time of the Promise and goes into labor after the final battle in Smoke and Shadow. The child being Izumi. If you haven’t read the comics you don’t need to do that. I just want to see some Zuko and reader with baby Izumi fluff UwU

A/N: I changed it up just a tiny bit to fit the comic but also be it’s own story as well, ALSO! I’m sorry this took so long! 

Warning; Long, had to be cut for length

Please enjoy~🍰

*******************************************************

The night was calm, quiet, and warm. You laid in your husbands arms as you both slept. After so much chaos, hatred and war you were finally able to rest. Well, almost, Zuko has been very jumpy since being crowned fire lord. Although some of his hunches did turn out to be true, he was very set on someone trying to kill him 

“Guards!“ he had woken you from your sleep calling for the guards again, “Someone is here, secure Y/N and search the area!“ he ordered them as he jumped from bed. You following him to bring him back to bed

“Fire Lord Zuko, there is no one here, you’re safe“ one explained rushing to the door where he was ready to fight. Sometimes you thought he had too much trauma as a child that it will forever effect him

“Zuko sweet, please come back to bed. The guards have been here the whole night“ you said laying a hand on his chest attempting to keep him in a calmer state 

“You highness I can assure you no one is here-“

“There have been 5 attempts already on my life! Next thing you know they’ll come for my wife“ he grabbed the guard by the front of his uniform to make the message clear as to how serious he was 

“Sir we’ve-“ just as the guard spoke his head had been hit by an object knocking him out to the floor. Zuko pushes you behind him and gets into his fighting stance ready to defend you 

“Who’s there?! Show yourself“ just as commanded the intruder shows themselves whirling around what seemed to be a metal ball with spikes. Right before your eyes they go at it. Taking swings at each other, sooner than expected Zuko has his opponent at his mercy being taken away by his guards. He comes back to check on you

“Hey are you alright? Are you hurt?” he checks your face, you hands anything that could have gotten a scratch. You were physically okay but mentally you didn’t feel so well. You haven’t been feeling 100% for some time now and you were getting suspicious 

“I’m not hurt but, I don’t feel well Zuko“ you said leaning your head on his shoulder “Can you help me to bed please?“ You ask him, he wraps an arm around you and helps you walk to the bed and lay down. Walking back to the door his guards wait for his order

“I want double the guards here tonight and tomorrow I need the royal healer here for Y/N“

“Yes Sir!“ he closes the door and walks back to your side of the bed. Kissing your head he watches over you through the night. For one, you might not feel well, and the other being of what just happened. It was going to be a very long night....

~~~

The next morning the healer came as asked and took some time to check up on you while Zuko got ready for the day. He had given you some medical tea blends and told you to get rest. Turns out you were pregnant. Now you needed a way to tell Zuko, and with all the stress he’s under you wouldn’t know how to react. You had just finished getting dressed when he had walked in 

“Y/N, I’m heading out into town to settle last nights incident. What did the healer say?“ he asked coming over to where you sat

“Well, it’s nothing to be worried about but, something that will change everything“ you said fiddling with the tips of your hair 

“Well?“ he urges you “Come on Y/N, if I hear you’re okay it’ll make my day better“ he offered a soft smile which he knew, you melted for. You said and take his hands into yours and look into his eyes

“I’m pregnant...“ his jaw went slack almost as if he were frozen in time. It scared you “Zuko...?“ anything, he could just make a sound but you needed to hear him say something. 

“I....I have to go. I’ll see you later.“ he said kissing your forehead and leaving without saying another word. You were, hurt. You didn’t blame him completely because expressing his emotions wasn’t exactly his forte. Instead while he was out you went to the other person you trusted the most.

Knocking softly on the entrance to the garden Iroh was sat drinking some tea. 

“Ah Y/N, good morning come have some tea. I heard Zuko went to town to settle some things“ he said as he poured you a cup “I’ve also heard you’ve got something on your hands“

You simply nod and take the tea he held out to you

“So, why don’t you tell me about it“ he said with a kind smile. Iroh was probably the wisest, kindest soul you knew.

~~~

Later that afternoon Zuko came back and if anything looked more tired than before. You had a hunch as to where he was but you were hoping it wasn't true. Walking to him you cup his chin with both your hands and make him look at you in the eye

“You need to relax more...“ you said running your thumb over the bags under his eyes “You’re going to be tired before the baby gets here..and stop visiting your father, it’s not good for you“

His larger hands come up to hold yours “I’ll try, and I’m sorry about before...I’m happy” he offered a soft smile 

“Are you really?“ you pout slightly making him peck your lips 

“Yes I am, I know I’m not the best person for a father or husband..”

“Zuko“ you bring his forehead to rest on yours “You are the best person to be my husband and the father of my children. I couldn’t want anyone else“

-

As time went on things only weighed in his shoulders more. You were probably the only thing that kept him sane. You were also starting to show, your baby was growing nicely and very restless as well. On days when Zuko would have trouble sleeping the baby would get restless leaving both of you tired. But he had figured it out, if he lays in bed with you and talks to your bump, the baby calms down.

“What do you think it’ll be Zuko?“ you asked 

“Hmm, I think it’s a girl. They refuse to listen, and gets upset when I don’t talk to it, I’d say it’s you any day“ you gently wack his shoulder causing you both to laugh “I don’t mind what they are, if they’re healthy and we can make them happy is all I care about“

“You’re going to be a great father Zuko“ you said kissing his forehead 

“But...what if-“

“I’m going to stop you ahead of time. You are NOTHING like that man and you will never be. You are the kindest, strongest, best man I have ever met and our baby is lucky enough to have you as a father” 

Yes, he was terrified to make the same mistake this father make the same mistake his father made. You knew him better than anyone and if he were half as back as his father, you wouldn’t be there at that moment.

~~~

By the time you were almost due it seemed as if war had never left. From Azula attacking once again, to disagreements and even almost a Fight with Aang. Things were heavy on his shoulders, he’s tightened security because of your baby. The last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to you both.

Finally a day where everything was being settled, calmly he felt some kind of relief. That was until a guard barged into the meeting room to announce you had gone into labor. The funny thing about Zuko is that he’s fast and for some reason no one sees him. As soon as people looked away from the door and back to Zuko, only his chair was in their sight.

“Do you think he left that fast when he heard you were alive?” Sokka asked as the room became quiet

Rushing to the healers room at the door he was told he wasn’t allowed inside.

“What do you mean?! My wife is giving birth to our baby and I need to be with her!” This was going to be an old rule he was going to get rid of...

“I-I apologize sir but it’s been a tradition for generations-“

“ZUKO!!” Next thing you knew one of the midwives came to the door and saw Zuko and said

“The lady wishes for you to be with her Fire Lord Zuko” she said timidly. It took him less than a second to trip of his cape and run to your side. This was it, the end of your pregnancy, labor, the day your baby would finally be in your arms. It was a very difficult day for you, she took all day to be born and finally when the moon was high in the sky she made her appearance. She was just perfect, and for a moment the world seemed so at peace.

“She looks like you“ you whisper to Zuko as you both gaze down and admire her 

“Yeah but, she’s beautiful like you“ he whispered back, he truly felt something he’s never felt. It was happiness, excitement, protectiveness, and everything in between. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this happy, this was the best day right next to your wedding day.

Just as you expected he really was a wonderful father. During the first few weeks he wanted you only on bed rest. At night he would help care for Izumi and calm her when she needed it. He was actually the one who taught her to walk. When Aang and the rest of your friends met her, he was secretly super proud and cocky about it. They couldn’t get over how much she looked like him and just how cute she was.

He also liked to have her sleep in the same bed as you guys while she was still young. When he couldn’t sleep he would just gaze at her and talk to her, even though she couldn’t answer back.

“..and you could be anything you want to be, and you could rule the kingdom your way. If you’re like your mother I know you’ll be a kind and smart ruler. You probably can’t understand me right now but, I love you and your mother so much“ you felt your hear swell while you pretended to be asleep. 

Although your favorite memory was him showing her how to bend when she first made a flame. She was around 6 when she first bended and he felt the flame of pride light in his chest. He showed her how to meditate and control it instead of training. He was always patient and gentle with her. It was very safe to say he was never the same as his father was with him.

Izumi and Zuko were nothing more than the center of your universe, the apples of your eye. And you knew it was the same for Zuko when he looked at you. 

*******************************************************

I hope this was okay!❤️

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 6: Heart-throb)

“Do you really think that I think there’s no helping you?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Check the fallen model ⊹

I didn’t think too much about it, instead, hurrying over to where the car model had fallen. 

I picked it up and inspected the damages.

There was a long crack in the middle and several parts had broken off, scattering compartments all over the floor.

MC: Can this… still be saved…?

Just as I was thinking of how to break this bad news to Osborn, his low voice sounded from behind.

Osborn: What a big commotion.

Osborn: What? Did Mitt get into an accident?

I steeled myself and stopped covering the scene of the “car accident” that had occurred. I got up and handed him the car model that I held.

MC: The “culprit” knocked this car model down and fled.

Osborn frowned, reaching me in a couple of long strides.

He took the model and turned it around a couple of times, observing it with an indifferent look on his face.

MC: Is it too damaged to fix?

Osborn: I can just send it for repairs over the next few days. Let's go look for the cat first.

He calmly placed the broken car model back onto the shelf, taking a “let’s talk about this later” stance.

This model had been placed together with many other car models that looked new, pristine, and without a scratch. Not to mention, the glistening trophy that had been right next to it. A wild guess entered my mind.

MC: Do all the car models here hold some sort of commemorative meaning?

Osborn: Hm? Why do you ask?

MC: I mean, if they are some sort of special memento to you, then they should have been subjected to routine maintenance, right?

MC: If so, then you should also have the tools for it along with any part replacements, yes?

Thoughtfulness slipped into his eyes.

Osborn: You want to help me fix it?

MC: Yeah! That cat was just spooked real bad, and it wouldn’t do us any good if it got a bigger fright the next time and reacted even worse to it if we continued chasing after it.

MC: So, why don’t we leave the cat hunt for later and fix the car model back up first?

MC: Plus, I’m pretty dexterous with my hands. Wanna give me a chance to show you my prowess?

He raised an eyebrow, his pale green eyes glinting.

Osborn: Okay. Here's your time to shine.

Osborn stretched his arms over my head. For a while, all I could see was his broad chest. I felt my breath hitch.

Then, he suddenly lowered his head. His face was incredibly close to mine.

The scent of black cedar assaulted my nose. I blinked. My brain was lagging.

MC: Oh, okay.

Osborn: Take it.

My gaze slid to his hand. Turns out that he’d just been fetching the toolbox that had been in the cabinet above the display shelves.

Osborn: I'm waiting.

I took the toolbox from him and opened it.

I was greeted by a multitude of components in all shapes and sizes. Some of the tools in it were similar to the ones I used when making my designs, but there were also some that I’d never seen before.

I picked up a tool that looked like a cross between a pen and a knife, looking to Osborn for advice.

MC: What's this?

Osborn: An exacto knife. It’s used to cut off excess parts of the joints when required.

MC: Mmhm, okay. I've remembered it.

Osborn: This is a cutting plier, screw sanders, tweezers...

Osborn picked out a couple more tools from within the box and introduced them to me.

Osborn: Anything else you can't recognize?

MC: Not for now.

Osborn: Okay. Then let's remove the damaged compartments first.

MC: Okay.

First, we used a screwdriver to remove the damaged compartments. Then, we replaced them with brand-new spare parts.

This race car model was really different from those being sold out in the market. It was made with exquisite craftsmanship, and its internal makings were far more complicated than I'd initially thought.

When it was time to add colours to it, Osborn prepared the required paints and set them out in measured portions onto the palette with ease and finesse. He smoothly handed me a brush.

Osborn: Do you know how to touch up the paintwork?

I hesitated.

MC: I've painted outfit designs before for design needs, but I'm sure it's completely different from actually painting a model.

MC: I don't know if it works the same…

Osborn: See my demonstration first then.

He dipped his brush into the red paint, carefully painting it onto the model. It came out very uniform and smoothly layered.

I'd stared at him, watching him do it a couple more times. But, no matter how much I watched the same process, I couldn't quite grasp it. Even if I tried mimicking his actions, my paintwork always turned out patchy and uneven.

Osborn laughed, placing his hand over mine and directing the brush I held.

He directed my brush, guiding me on how I should be painting the compartment with a focused look on his face.

It was all serious and business, except… My focus was inevitably drawn towards his movements and breaths.

Osborn: Get it?

MC: Mmhm...

I tried my hardest to remember the way he did it and followed suit. The end result was much smoother than what I'd been accomplishing before.

After the finishing touches were in place, I raised the model and showed it to him.

MC: Like… this? This should be done now, right?

Osborn: Not bad. You've got standard.

My spirits soared at having received such direct praise from him.

MC: Since I'm such an apt learner, how about enlisting my help again the next time you make another model of a race car?

Osborn slightly raised a brow as he contemplated my paint-stained hands.

Osborn: I'll think about it.

MC: Does this even need to be considered?

MC: I'm pretty quick to pick up hands-on skills, not just fixing up models of racing cars! So I'm a fast learner no matter what it is!

MC: You can test me again if you don't believe me!

Just as I was boasting about my assets in an attempt to make myself appeal to him, Osborn's calloused fingers suddenly brushed against my cheek.

The rough texture of the pads of his fingers made my heart skip a beat.

MC: What's wrong?

Osborn: You got something on your face.

I doubtfully touched my face. Suddenly, I pulled my hand away to find my fingers stained with red paint.

Astonished, I look at Osborn's hands, only to find even more red paint on them…

MC: Don't tell me you drew something on it!!

Osborn: What gives?

MC: Hey! You're biting the hand that feeds!

Osborn: Whatever do you mean by that?

Osborn: I'm just adding some blush and colour to your face. Makes you prettier.

I was taken aback, nonetheless.

MC: Okay. Then, I'll add some colour to your cheeks for you!

Osborn: Whoa, hey! Easy!

MC: Nothing you say now is gonna stop me!

I swiftly picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint set out onto the palette, rushing straight for his face.

Osborn quickly reared back, but I subconsciously followed right after his retreat.

And this was how I toppled him down to the ground with him doing nothing to defend himself.

Osborn was astonished. He'd attempted to get back up, only for my other hand to immediately dart out to pin him down by the shoulder.

MC: No moving!

Surprise flashed through his eyes, as his usual impish smile crawled its way back up his face.

Osborn: Wow, what an aggressor.

MC: That's right. Now's my time to retaliate!

MC: No use trying to escape!

I circled the air with the brush, purposefully observing his face to make my mark.

MC: Hmm, what do you want me to draw on you?

Osborn seemingly accepted the fact that he was going to be an inevitable victim of mine since I already had him "pinned" down. He folded his arms behind his head, giving my question some serious thought.

Osborn: An air drawing?

MC: Dream on!

Osborn: Mercy, please. I beg you.

MC: It's too late to be begging me for mercy.

MC: Hmph. Just watch me improvise on the spot~

Just as I was rummaging through my brain for a glimmer of inspiration, a light bulb suddenly lit in my head. 

I had an image now: Mitt as it was fleeing.

❖☆———————————★❖

I leaned down, supporting myself on Osborn's shoulder. 

Following the curve of his jaw, I applied colour to his skin, drawing a colourful cat.

Osborn had his guard down, seemingly content to watch me work my "artistic talents" with him as the canvas.

The surroundings lapsed into silence.

I was drawing it on with such rapt concentration, yet I was still able to notice his long black lashes and hear his familiar steady breathing ever so clearly. I could somewhat feel the slight rise and fall of his chest.

I vaguely registered our close proximity to each other. My heart seemed unable to settle with the fact that we were so close to each other that our breaths intermingled, clamouring loudly within my chest.

I blinked twice, finishing off the last stroke before getting up and putting some distance between us.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Done?

I nodded.

Osborn: What do you think of your work of art?

Huh? Is he asking me to rate my own work?

I quickly gave him a once over, only to realize that I'd been distracted at the end, so it'd turned out a little funky. I nearly laughed at it right then and there.

MC: Ahem. I think it's not bad! You've got a big kitty on you now!

He waggled his brows, lazily raising his body halfway back up. His features were suddenly enlarged before my eyes once more as he leaned closer.

Osborn: Happy now?

MC: Mmhm… Pretty happy.

Osborn: Then let me tell you something that'll make you even happier.

He moved even closer, his words gently flowing with the air, wrapping themselves around my ears.

I shuddered as a scalding heat started creeping up my neck.

MC: ...What is it?

Osborn: The other kitty's right behind you.

Mitt: Meow~ Meow~

The last of his words were drowned out by the sudden meowing that sounded.

I snapped out of the trance of the moment, much to my embarrassment. Mitt had actually slinked behind me somehow without my knowing!

MC: Right, we should hurry and catch it before it gets up to no good again!

I quickly climbed off Osborn, flushing red as I fled.

A light chuckle sounded behind me in response.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I’ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[noladyme]

Chess II - Chapter 8

Out of the clutches of Waller, and out of the once loving arms of Rick, Chess is back to her old ways. What the hell else is she supposed to do? A text-message from an old friend brings her back in to it though, and secrets – both her own and Rick’s – forces her to deal with the most difficult opponent she’s ever had to face. The man who made her.

This is the second story about Chess and Rick Flag. I recommend you read the original story here, before getting in to this one; both for history on their relationship, and for context.

This story is non-canon. Remember to comment 😊

TW: angst, fluff, violence, ptsd, smut

Chapter 8

“Turn left in two miles”. Rick grunted nonsensically at the electronic voice. “This car cannot be American!”, Peacemaker said from behind us. “It talks!”. “It’s just the gps”, I sighed. “Whatever. I say turn right. It’s probably trying to trick us”, Peacemaker declared. “The car isn’t trying to trick us. It’s trying to get us to our destination”, I said. “Which is, where again?”, DuBois asked. I sighed heavily, and turned in my seat so I could look at him. “We need to go see the prince. Ask him the ins and outs of Hatter’s operation”, I said. “I thought we had you for that”, Harley said. “Yeah, but he might have new information. And we need to know how he escaped”, Rick said. “What’s the plan, boss?”, DuBois said. “Don’t call me that. We’re all on the run here. I’m fucking awol from my post. I’m screwed as much as the next person in this van”.

Nanaue raised his giant hand. “Yeah, buddy?”, I asked. “Snacks gone. Eat prince?”. Cleo – seated next to Digger, the two of them not having let go of each other since their kiss – looked at the shark. “You can’t eat the prince, Nanaue”, she smiled. “When we get to the ambassador’s place, you can’t kill anyone… or eat them”, Rick said. “We’re already in enough trouble. We’re only there for information”. “But hungry…”, Nanaue said, his tone slightly warning at this point.

“You can eat bad guys", Cleo said. The shark looked confused. “You can usually tell the difference on what they’re wearing”, Digger said. “If they got on a uniform, they’re probably the good guys. Like police, or guards… shit like that”. Nanaue seemed to slump together in something resembling sadness. “Guards at aquarium throw things. Call Nanaue freak. Guards at prison yell and shoot. Make sad me”. His tone made my eyes water. “Not all good guys are good”, Bloodsport said, an edge to his voice. I agreed with him. I remembered how I’d been treated the first time I’d been brought to Belle Reve, and been at the mercy of the good guys there – how I’d spent days in a dark cell, treated to cat-food, and Griggs' wandering hands and eyes. It made me wonder if there was really such a thing as a good guy.

Then I looked at Rick. The good in him almost glowed through his eyes, but not in the way it had from the men and the woman I’d just seen at Wayne Manor. He was an actual good guy, not because people had decided he was, or because he wore a uniform. I was overwhelmed at how just a day ago, I’d been so angry with him; and now he’d dug himself so deep into my heart again, that I was sure he’d never leave it. Maybe he never had left. We’d had a bad break, but Rick loved me. Sure, he’d done a shitty thing, by bringing me back to Belle Reve – drugging me wasn’t his finest moment – but he’d done it for his dad. He’d always do his best to do, if not the goodthing, then at least the right thing. I could trust him.

I must have had a strange expression on my face, because Rick turned his face to look at me. “What?”, he asked. I felt my cheeks flush from having been caught starring. “I can trust you”, I said quietly. He frowned, and sat up a little straighter; snapping his head back to face the road ahead. “Of course you can. Why would you ask that?”. “I wasn’t asking… just saying”, I said, a little taken aback by his reaction. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and grabbed my hand. “Sorry. This whole situation is just really stressful”, he said. “No, I get it…”, I said; not sure if I actually did.

We shot each other awkward smiles, when suddenly Harley’s head popped up between us. “What’ya talking about?”, she asked. “Nothing”, I said. “What’s up?”. “Peacemaker’s gassy”, she said, theatrically gagging. “Am not!”, Peacemaker roared from the back. Harley rolled her eyes. “Do you want to switch seats?”, I asked; feeling Rick’s hand twitch in mine. “Nah, wouldn’t wanna split up the lovebirds”, Harley giggled teasingly. “But when are we there yet?” Rick turned a corner, and the electronic voice spoke again. “Destination in one mile”. “Oh! Thanks, car”, Harley smiled, and reached forward and patted the dashboard friendlily; before going back to her seat.

As Rick pulled up in an alley, down the street from the large, luxurious townhouse, where the ambassadors family lived, Peacemaker cocked his gun. “Ok. Here’s the plan. I’m going to go in there, make my way through any guards, get the prince, and bring him back here to the van. Then we’ll drive him off, and interrogate him”. “Woah! Easy now. We’re not here to do another kidnapping!”, Rick said. “I’ll go in. If we’re lucky, I haven’t been reported yet, and I can still use my military id. Chess goes with me; and the rest of you… Just don’t blow up the car”. “You just said you’re not our boss”, Peacemaker said with childish indignance. “Please don’t leave us here with him”, Abner pleaded meekly. “We’ve been just sitting around forever. Give us a job”, Digger said; and looked at Peacemaker. “At least get him out of the car. It’s getting rancid in here”. “I am not gassy!”, Peacemaker roared.

Weasel let out an earsplitting shriek, and we all stared at him with wide eyes. “The werewolf is right”, Harley said. “What?”, Rick grunted. “We all need to pitch in here. Keeping us cooped up in here, while you two go hang out with some prince, isn’t necessarily going to get us anywhere with those other kids”. She looked around at the others, before looking meaningfully at Rick again. “We all got contacts in the city. Let us go figure out what we can from them”. Rick frowned deeply at her words. “Come on, mate… When have I ever done anything that would make you not trust me?”, Digger said. “How many times have you tried to escape Belle Reve? You andHarley”, Rick said, distrust painted all over his face. “Only once…! Together, anyway”, Harley shrugged. “Oh, yeah. That was a fun one!”, Digger laughed. “Remember that one guard, with the lazy eye? I can’t believe we pulled that of, actually. I’m…”. He caught on to Ricks expression, and cleared his throat. “Sorry…”. “We all got a timebomb in the back of our necks, Flag”, DuBois said. “There’s not a chance in hell Waller will let any of us get away with this, if we don’t actually do something good with the time we have – even if we do, she might kill us… We have every incitement in the world to do the right thing, right now; if we want to keep our heads”.

Rick ran a hand down his face, and groaned in defeat. “Ok… Everyone go get info from wherever it is you can. We’ll meet here in three hours. Nanaue, that’s when the big hand is on twelve, and the small hand is… Actually, you just go with Cleo. You can keep an eye on him, right?”. Cleo opened the door of the van, and pulled at the shark’s arm to follow her. “Of course. We’ll go check with some of Sebastian’s cousins”. Digger almost jumped from his seat. “I’m with them. Catch you later!”. He sprang from the van to join the two others, before anyone had a chance to protest. “I’ll go catch up with some birds I know”, Harley said, and went to get out of the van as well. “I wonder if that cop still has my Kevlar bra…”.

Bloodsport patted Krill’s shoulder. “You’re with me. There’s a mercenary speakeasy in Downtown we can hit. Maybe we can catch a drink, while we’re at it”. Abner’s eyes lit up. “You wanna go with me?”, he asked. “Of course. You have good taste in liquor. I saw you mixing cocktails at Sammy’s. Let’s go”. The two men climbed out of the van together. Rick and I looked at Peacemaker, who sat with a glum expression. “I don’t have any connections… or friends”, he muttered. Weasel let out a shrill wheeze; and the muscled man rolled his eyes. “Fine… but you’re paying”. The creature and the bonehead left the van, and slammed the door behind them.

Rick and I locked eyes, and nodded at each other, before getting out of the van; and we began walking towards the townhouse.

---

“I think I should go in smiling”, I said, as we walked down the sidewalk. “Why?”, Rick asked. “Because we’re about to go visit an ambassador; and while you look like GI Joe, with an honest purpose I look like I just stepped out of a teenage boy’s wet dream”, I said, pulling my jacket a bit more closed over my see-through mesh top. “Well, we are going to see a teenager”. He looked down at me from the corner of his eye, and smirked. “I wish I’d dreamt up something as hot as you, when I was a teenager”. My cheeks flushed, and I bumped him with my shoulder, to get him to stop. Rick moved his hand down behind me, and put it on my hip; giving it a squeeze. “I’m serious, Kitten. I’m finding it hard to focus right now”. “Well, focus anyway. We got work to do”, I said; before catching myself, halting, and getting on my toes to peck at his cheek. Rick turned his head quickly, and caught my lips with his own; making my knees weak from his kiss. Only the rumbling sound of thunder made us pull apart, and hurry on our way.

Just before reaching the front steps, I looked down at my chest out of habit. When I saw that the light on my harness was still green, I smiled at Rick, and shrugged. “Well, that’s already taken care of”, I said. “Yeah”, Rick said, apparently having forgotten all about my harness as well. He chuckled almost nervously, and I took his hand. “We’ll be fine. Nothing to be nervous about”. “No, you’re right”, he said. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, gave him one last, short kiss, and smiled. As I disappeared, Rick’s expression grew pained. “I’m still here”, I whispered. He nodded shortly, squeezed my invisible hand; and walked the last few yards towards the townhouse.

Two uniformed police officers stood posted by the front door, as we walked up the stairs. Rick pulled out his military-id, and showed it to them. “Colonel Rick Flag. Official business”, he said, using his most authoritative voice. It was kind of hot, and I fought the urge to pinch his butt; this wasn’t the time. “What business?”, one of the officers asked. “Government top priority”, Rick said quietly, as if to avoid any passersby from hearing. “We’re trying to get a clearer picture of what happened to the young man when he was taken; so that we can avoid any similar situations in the future”. The other cop let out a scoffing laugh. “Good luck, man. The princess is keeping the kid under serious lockdown. Even more than usual”. “The princess?”, Rick said. “Yeah… The ambassador’s wife. She’s the Markovian king’s sister”, the first officer said. “Of course…”, Rick said. “Well, I’d still like to try”. “Go ahead, colonel. We’ve been stuck out here ever since the prince returned. They don’t want us in the house”.

The two cops went down to the bottom of the stairs, and Rick rang the doorbell. A few moments later, a man dressed in a suit, vest and tie opened the door. He looked every bit the butler Mr. Alfred Pennyworth didn’t, in his much more relaxed attired. Next to each other, the two men would have been day and night; tuxedo and tweed. “May I help you?”, the butler asked. “I’m colonel Rick Flag. Can I speak to the ambassador or his wife, please?”, Rick asked. “The ambassador is on business in the capital, and her royal highness is disinclined to receive guests”, the butler replied. I began to move up next to Rick, to slip past the butler inside, but felt Rick grab on to me. He must have felt me brush by him. “I understand that the last week has been very trying, but I’m here to try to understand the incident better; and figure out how the American government can avoid something like this from happening in the future”. “Irons? Who is at the door?”, a voice chimed from inside. “The authorities, ma’am. They wish to speak of the… episode”, the butler replied. “Send them away. We have nothing to share”. Rick raised his voice to reach the woman inside. “Your highness. I’m a colonel with the American Secret Service”. “Which colonel? Cavill? Affleck?”. “Flag, ma’am. Rick Flag”. There was a long pause, where the butler simply starred at Rick. I was yearning to just sneak inside, and just about to ignore Rick’s firm hand on my wrist and pry it off, when the woman spoke again. “Irons, come in here”. “Yes, madam”. The butler slammed the door in Rick’s face. “What’s happening...? Should we stay?”, I whispered. “He didn’t ask us to leave”, Rick muttered quietly. I tugged at his sleeve. “Hey, is the task force really secret service?”, I asked. “Well, we’re secret…”, he replied.

After a few long moments, the door opened, and the butler greeted Rick again, this time with an overbearing smile. “Right this way, colonel”. We followed the butler into the house. I stayed close behind Rick, trying to make myself as small as possible, to not be made. It wasn’t the first time I’d been invisible inside a rich person’s house, but it was the first time I’d done it with Rick, and I admittedly wanted to impress him. We walked down a hallway, and ended up at a double door. A flag – Markovian, I figured – stood by the doors, making the grand house seem very official. The butler opened the door, and we stepped into a living room right out of an interior designer’s dream. A somber looking middle-aged woman, dressed in a tailored suit, stood in front of the fireplace. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Rick.

“Her royal highness, princess Valeria of Markovia”, the butler said, before turning towards Rick. “Colonel Flag”. “You are not colonel Flag”, the princess said matter-of-factly. Rick looked taken aback. “Yes, ma’am. I am”. “You will address me your royal highness…”, she said. “And you’re not. Colonel Rick Flag would be in his seventies by now”. I saw Rick’s face go white, and quietly stepped up behind him; putting my hand on his back, to let him know I was there. “Ma… Your highness… You may be thinking of my father. Colonel Rick Flag sr.”, he said. “My father left the service a little over ten years ago”. “Your father… He has a scar…”, the woman said. “Bellow his left eye. He got it in Bulgravia, on a mission there”. The woman swallowed thickly, and sat down in one of the big chairs by the fireplace. “Leave us”, she said to the butler. She gestured towards the couch. “Please have a seat, colonel”.

Rick sat down, and leaned his elbows on his knees, clearly uncomfortable. I quietly made my way around the room, to check for security, and potential exits if we needed to get out quickly. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time”, Rick said. “You were the one to come here in need of something. Don’t rush”, the princess said. “You’re right. I’m sorry…”, Rick smiled uncomfortably. “It’s just… My superiors are trying to get a better picture of what happened to your son…”. Her eyes flickered. “He was taken. He came back. End of story”, she said. “Tell me more of your father. You say he’s resigned. Is he well?”. “No… yes. He’s alive. Some health issues, but he’s being looked after”, Rick said. “That doesn’t sound good. Is there…”. “I’m sorry, your highness. I know I came here out of the blue, but time really is of the essence here”. Rick gave her a stern look. “I’m here to try to stop the man who took your son from doing the same again. To him, or anyone else”. The woman frowned. “Well, I…”.

“Mom, I’m going out”. A lanky but good-looking teenager, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, had entered the room. I recognized the prince from the picture I’d seen in the file, in Belle Reve. “You’re going anywhere!”, the princess exclaimed. “No more of that. Go to your room, and finish your studies”. “But…”, the teenager said. “But nothing, Gregor. Upstairs!”. Rick got on his feet and began approaching the kid. “Gregor? Prince Gregor…”, he said. The teenager groaned as if embarrassed. “Colonel, my son has nothing to say to you”, the princess said. She got up and stormed over to the teen, and almost pushing him out the door. I grabbed Rick’s sleeve again. “Just keep her talking. Give me some time”, I whispered in his ear. He gave me a quiet hmm in response.

“Your highness, I’m sorry”, he said, as she turned around. “Sometimes my job makes me a bit…”. “Brutish? Impolite?”, the princess said coldly. “Yeah. Both of those”, Rick nodded. “I understand that you’ve gone through some serious trauma from losing your son like that, and if you don’t want me to speak with him, I completely respect that. But… if there’s anything you can tell me yourself; like what happened the day he disappeared, and if he said anything when he returned… We’d be able to save other kids from this mad-man”. The princess stood for a moment, as if deep in thought. “It was traumatic indeed… and I’ll tell you whatever I know; if only to avoid other mothers having to go through the same pain, of not knowing if their child is alive or… My son was very brave that day”. In a very dramatic gesture, she turned away for a moment, as if gathering herself. “Please sit”. Rick did as he was asked. “The day the prince didn’t come home, did anything out of the ordinary happen…?”.

I didn’t hear the princess’ response. I was already making my way out of the room, following the teenage boy upstairs.

---

I followed the sound of loud music, and the smell of AXE-body spray, down a carpeted hallway. The door to the kid’s room was slightly ajar, and I slipped inside. He was seated in front of a computer, playing a game; a headset covering his ears. He was speaking to someone through the mic. “Nah, man. I can’t. She’s been psycho ever since I got home… Yeah, I would, but the window’s got like extra sensors on them these days. If I open one, an alarm will go off”. You go, tiger-mom, I thought to myself.

As limberly as I could, I made my way through stacks of laundry, and piles of dirty dishes. I went up behind the kid, put one hand over his mouth, and pulled off his headset. “Don’t scream. I’m not here to hurt you, or take you away again”, I whispered. “Say goodbye”. The kid nodded, and I let go of him. He put the mic to his mouth. “Gotta go. Call you later”, he croaked.

The prince swirled around his chair, and looked at where I was standing; a completely confused expression on his face. I looked down at myself, and realized I was still invisible. “Oh, right. Sorry”, I said, and reappeared. The kid almost fell off his chair. “Dude!”, he exclaimed. “Not really”, I said. “I’m Chess”. “Hey…”, he replied, drawing out the word. “I’m boobs… I mean Gregor… Greg… G”. “Hi, G”, I smiled. “I do indeed have boobs. But could you maybe focus on my eyes?”.

He cleared his throat, and moved his eyes upwards, meeting mine. “You were just invisible”, he said. “Right? I’m not crazy. I mean, I haven’t even touched drugs since like two days ago, so it can’t be a hallucination”. “Yeah, I was just invisible. It’s this thing I do”, I said. “But that’s not why I’m here”. “Cool. No. Totally… Uhm, do you wanna sit down?”. He gestured towards his bed; which was almost sunken completely into the floor, under the weight of dirty laundry. “Nah, I’m good”, I said. “I wanna talk to you about what happened when you were away”. Gregor’s eyes flickered. “Why?”, he asked. “Are you, like, the police?”. I almost guffawed in laughter. “Look at me. Do I look like a cop?”, I asked. “Not really… But then, why do you wanna know?”. I sighed deeply, and gave him my most pleading eyes. “Because of the other kids… The ones he still has”. Gregor swallowed thickly, and looked down at his feet. “I don’t wanna talk about it”, he muttered. “I know… Because what happened to you when you were with him, was probably the worst thing you’ve ever experienced. Trust me, I know”. The kid’s eyes flew up to meet mine again. “Know what?”, he asked. “About what he does… How he messes with your head; makes you do things… I know, because it happened to me; years ago. He took me, and hurt me… And made me hurt other people… I went through hell; and you did too”. “Yeah…”. He frowned a bit. “I guess”.

I crouched down, and took his hands. “I get it. Thinking about that stuff… it’s the worst thing in the world. If you don’t wanna tell me, I understand; and you don’t have to… But please; tell me how you escaped. I just want to know, so I can get in there, and get those other kids out!”. “I can’t help you”, he said quietly, looking almost ashamed. “Anything, G. Like, what did the room he held you in look like? Which door did you use to escape? Did you see any guards?”. “I can’t tell you anything, because I wasn’t kidnapped”, Gregor said, finally meeting my eyes. “You… what?”, I croaked. Gregor leaned back, and pulled his hands from mine – it was possible I was squeezing them a bit hard. I got back up to stand, and backed away from him slowly. “Then… what happened?”.

Gregor leaned back in his seat, and began fiddling absentmindedly with the chord to his headset. “No one took me... A couple of weeks ago, my mom freaked out ‘cuz I got arrested with some blow on me. She told me she was sick of me disappointing her all the time; not living up to the family name. Said I needed to go away for a while, stay at a friend’s place, and then come back with a story of being kidnapped, and escaping”. “But you didn’t escape. Not really…”, I said, struggling to keep my voice leveled. “No. I stayed at this house, with this weird guy. Called himself Mr. Hatter… It was kind of sweet, really. He had some shrooms, and I just hung out for about a week”. “And then he just let you go?”, I asked. Gregor nodded. “My mom paid him to make it look like I was taken; and then, when the week was over, I just walked out of there. She thought it would look good, if the story was that I escaped. You’ve done nothing else worthwhile. With this, at least you’ll have one courageous story in the history-books” He rolled his eyes, as he mimicked his mother. I kicked a chair overburdened with comic-books; making it hit the wall. “Fuck!”, I roared. I simply couldn’t help myself. “Someone like you really shouldn’t be king of anything!”. “You’re telling me! I’ve been trying to avoid that shit like the plague…”, Gregor said. “Look, I’m sorry. Really…”.

I clenched my fingers, trying desperately to keep from shooting out my claws. “G… Did you see any other kids there…? Anyone being mistreated, abused… maybe in cages?”, I asked as calmly as I could. “I don’t remember a lot, those shrooms he gave me, were pretty gnarly…”. He must have caught on to my desperate expression, because he seemed to want to help. “Maybe I saw a couple of kids around. It was like this constant, weird party; with tea, scones and drugs…”. He narrowed his eyes, and looked off in the distance. “Yeah, there were some kids there once in a while. But they seemed just as out of it as me; maybe even more. He’d tell them to do weird stuff, like sing or dance; and they’d just do it… But that’s all I remember, I swear”. “Did he have any guards around?”, I asked. “Maybe… I mean, someone had to be bringing in the tea…”. He looked like he was about to puke. “Fuck, I hate tea”. I let out a frustrated laugh in agreement. “You and me both, kid”, I said. “Shit… You really don’t remember anything, huh…?”. “No… Just his eyes; I really didn’t like looking him in the eyes. And his weird top hat… And he rhymed, constantly! Creepy as fuck”.

I sighed in defeat. “I wish I could say thank you, but I’m a bit too pissed right now to mean it”. “I accept that”, Gregor muttered. “I really wish I could help you… Are those kids really in trouble?”. “Yeah”, I nodded. “They really are”. Gregor frowned, “There’s one thing… The door I left through. It worked with voice recognition; I think. When it was time for me to go home, he walked me downstairs, and went up to this terminal-thing. Pulled out an old recorder, and played this song”. “What song?”, I asked. “It was this girl; just her voice singing a kids song”. I felt my hands beginning to shake. “What song?”, I breathed. He closed his eyes, as if trying to remember. “Uhm… I’m… I’m a little teapot, short and stout. This is my handle…”. “… this is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout: Tip me over and pour me out…”, I finished the song. Gregor smiled at me. “Yeah. That’s it”, he said. “It’s funny, you kind of sound like the girl in the recording”.

It was like a punch to the chest; and I swallowed bile. Finding it hard to breathe, I turned around, and walked towards the door. “Thanks… Bye”, I rasped. “Hey, wait! Did I help?”, Gregor called after me. “Yeah… I… have to go”. I smiled, disappeared from view, and ran down the hallways, away from the room.

I made my way to the living room, where Rick was still seated. His face was white, and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Without announcing myself, I reappeared in front of him and the princess. “We got all we can out of these people”, I said coldly, before turning to look at the flabbergasted princess. “You are some piece of work, lady. Letting your son pretend he was kidnapped, so he’d get the reputation of a badass…”. Rick frowned confusedly. The princess looked at me with wide, rageful eyes. “What is this? You come in to my house… invisible, like some freak! And then you accuse me of…”, the princess began. “You used the disappearance of innocent kids to make sure your son would go down in history as a hero, who saved himself from a mad man; probably not even giving a shit about them, because they’re lower class… You didn’t even make an effort to get them out with Gregor”. “How dare you! I host a banquet every year, to support lower income families”, the princess hissed. “And I treat my staff with all due respect. You can ask your friend here about that!”.

Probably recognizing the look on my face, Rick got on his feet, and went to stand between me and the now fuming woman. He held out his hands, ready to stop me if I decided to jump at her. “Y/N, calm down…”, he tried. “Kids are being hurt, and you used that to your own advantage”, I growled. “Not only that; you risked your son’s life, by putting him in the hands of a maniac!”. “Mr. Hatter would never hurt Gregor. I paid him good money…”. “I’m sure you did. That’s all that matters, right? Money and reputation. If you’d just get your head out of your ass for a moment, you’d see that you have a son upstairs, who doesn’t want a thing to do with being any sort of royalty or ruler… He’s numbing himself with drugs, because he can’t deal with the pressure, you’re putting him under. Take off the crown, and be a mom!”. The princess stood up, and pointed a manicured finger at us. “Colonel… Out of the respect I hold for your father, I will let you leave this place, without calling the real authorities” “What about…?”, Rick began. “I’ll keep my promise”, she said. “Now, get out”. “Up yours, princess!”, I said, grabbed Rick’s hand, and dragged him out of the room.

I disappeared from view just in time to not be seen by the cops outside. Rick must have looked funny, as he almost ran down the streets; pulled by the arm by some unknown force. “Y/N, stop…”, he said. I ignored his words, and kept walking. Rick pulled at my hand, and made me follow him in to a dark doorway. He grabbed my shoulders, and my mirage dropped. “Stop!”. “They lied, Rick! Hatter didn’t take the prince. They just said he did because… Fuck! You know what? I changed my mind. I’m going back there, and I’m gonna punch that royal cunt right in her designer nose!”.

Rick pulled me in to his arms, and rubbed calming circles on my back; while kissing the top of my head. “Breathe, Kitten… It’s ok; you can cry”. “I’m not crying. I’m just pissed", I growled. He pulled back, and wiped a tear I hadn’t realized was there. away from my cheek. “Yeah, you are. You’re also sad, and crying; and there’s nothing wrong with that”. I felt my lower lip begin to tremble, and suddenly I began sobbing. “No one cares about those kids… He’s still got them, and the only reason they sent us after him, was because of the prince; but he wasn’t even taken by Hatter… They used those kids’ kidnappings as a way to make themselves look better. It’s like we don’t even matter. No one cares what happened to me…”. “I care, baby. I do", Rick assured me.

After a long moment, I wiped my eyes, and looked up at him. “Thanks…”, I muttered. A slight smile spread on his lips. “Do you want me to go find a cop car for you to slash the tires of?”, he asked. “Kind of…”. I sighed. “Can we get out of here?”. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and took my hand. “Let’s go”.

---

“What was the deal with her royal bitchiness, and your old man?”, I asked, as I wiped ketchup from the corner of my mouth. I’d just devoured a hotdog; not having had a meal since the donut earlier that day. The sky was growing dark, and more rumbling announced a coming rain-shower. Rick looked up at the clouds with a frown on his face. “She told me that she was a kid, she had a favorite nanny. They stayed in touch after she grew up, and the nanny went home to Bulgravia”. He met my eyes. “She was one of the people my dad saved that day when he…”. “Oh…”, I said. “Yeah… The nanny is dead from old age by now, but she wrote princess Valeria letters telling her about what happened… The princess said she’d testify in defense of my dad, if he ends up… if Waller sells him out”.

My jaw dropped, and I instantly felt shame flushing through me. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Rick! I messed that up now, didn’t I…?”. “I don’t think so. She seemed pretty dead set on making sure he’d be rewarded for what he did… She loved that old lady. I know that Wayne guy said he'd take care of it; but having the word of a royal highness can't hurt, right?". I shrugged slightly in reply. He threw out our napkins in a nearby bin, and took my hand; leading me down the sidewalk. After a moment of walking in silence, I looked at him through the corner of my eye. “Maybe I do have just a little bit of an anger issue…”, I muttered. “You don’t say”, Rick chuckled. “Shut up”, I said. “Yes, ma’am”. He squeezed my hand.

We rounded a corner, to make our way back to where the van was. “So, the kid wasn’t kidnapped?”, Rick asked. “No. If there’s one thing Hatter loves as much as having control over people, it’s money”, I said. “All that technology he used for his experiments, isn’t free. He needs money to do his… work. The princess probably paid him a good amount for his hospitality towards the kid”. “It’s weird. How would she even know who Mad Hatter is, or how to get in touch with him?”, Rick frowned. I shrugged. “I have no idea”. We walked in silence for a moment longer. “But the kid got us a way in to Hatter’s headquarters, right?”, Rick asked. “Yeah. My voice”, I said. “What?”. “I think Hatter’s using an old recording of me as the key to the door”. “Meaning, you have to be there when we go in”. Rick’s expression grew dark. “That was never really a question”, I said. “Oh, it absolutely was… is”.

I halted in my tracks, taking Rick by surprise. “We’re not doing this”, I said matter-of-factly. “Doing what? I’m just saying…”. “You’re trying to keep me out of the fighting; just like you always do”, I said. “I have to be there when Hatter goes down”. “And what if he gets to you? Hurts you?”. “There’s nothing he can do to me, that he hasn’t already done a thousand times over”. Rick shook his head. “No… You come with us to the door, let us in; and the rest of us take it form there”. I raised an indignant eyebrow at him. “I’ll just smile if you try to keep me away. Slip in before you”. “Not if I arm that harness, you won’t”, Rick said; nodding towards the disc on my chest. “You’d rather me blow up, than go with you?”, I scoffed. He looked taken aback by my words. “No, of course not… And it wouldn’t…”. He halted himself, as if having said something he shouldn’t have. “I just wanna protect you”. “I’m a big girl, Rick. I can take care of myself. Have, for a long time”. “I know you can, but… I don’t want to lose you… again”. He looked like he was in actual pain. Raindrops began falling; first as a light drizzle, but before long, the skies opened, and the rain fell hard. “Come on!”.

We ran back to the van, and I opened it with my new watch. We climbed in the back, and closed the door. I shrugged off my jacket, and Rick took off his own. “If I’m ever gonna get over the stuff that happened to me, I have to face it…”, I said, as we sat across from each other. “Face him. I need to look that man in the eyes, and show him that he didn’t break me… That he doesn’t own me anymore”, I said. Rick closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. “I know. I just wish that wasn’t the deal”. He looked at me with determined eyes. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get you what you need”.

Through the tinted windows, I saw a couple running together under an umbrella, making their way through the alley, and into a doorway. The man dipped down to give the woman a deep kiss, and she giggled as he patted her bottom, to make her go through the door. “Remember that week we spent at the cabin?”, Rick asked. “Which time?”, I chuckled. “It was kind of our go-to getaway spot”. “After Fawcett City”, he smiled. I laughed out loud. “Yeah, it rained the whole time. You hadn’t had time to fix the roof, so we had to sleep on the floor, ‘cuz the pullout got drenched. We were miserable”. “We had some good moments too”, Rick smirked. “You’re just saying that, because all of our clothes were constantly wet, and we had to be naked the whole time”. “Well, you look good naked”, he shrugged. “Right back at you”, I said. I looked down at my watch. “We still got some time, before the others are supposed to get back”. Rick’s smile became a full-on grin. “Get over here”.

With a giggle, I practically jumped at him, and straddled his lap. As we devoured each other in a deep kiss, Rick rummaged through his pockets for the key to my harness. When he finally found it, I’d already unbuckled his pants, and had my hand down his boxers, working his cock to a full erection. He pulled the straps down my arms, and I got up just long enough to shrug it off; before dropping to my knees in front of his seat, and wrapping my lips around him. “Holy shit, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me!”, Rick rasped, as I sucked at him; bobbing my head up and down. I looked up at him, and smiled with my eyes. Making a long languid lick down his dick – enjoying every inch of deliciously tasting skin – I sucked one of his testicles in to my mouth. I hummed around it, and then released it with a pop. “Yum…”, I said. “You like that, huh…?”, Rick smirked. I nodded, and he put his hand to the back of my head. “Then get back to it”.

For a long time, I sucked at him, flicking the tip of my tongue against his perineum every time I got to his tip. I massaged his balls, and felt them tense in my grasp. After a while, Rick tugged at my hair. “Kitten, stop… You gotta stop”, he croaked. I pouted in protest, when suddenly he put his hands under my arms, and pulled me up to stand. I had to bend a bit, to not hit my head against the roof of the van, as he yanked my leggings and panties down. Once my lower half was naked, Rick leaned forward, and pulled me against his face, with a firm hold of my butt. He sucked my clit into his mouth, and I let out a rasping moan. “Please… I want you inside me”, I pleaded. Rick chuckled against my pussy, and only held on tighter. “Rick!”, I croaked. “No. You’re gonna come like this first”. He sunk two fingers in to me, and began scissoring them. His tongue and lips got back to work, and I had to grab on to his shoulders to keep from falling. I put one foot up on the seat next to him, letting him go even deeper with his fingers, and making room for his mouth to get at me just the way he knew would make me see stars. Soon I cried out, and came in violent shudders; my legs almost giving in. Rick pulled back, and smiled up at me. “Good girl”.

I pulled his fingers out of me, and moved to sit down again. He grabbed himself, and pressed against my entrance; and once I finally settled on his lap, he bottomed out with a groan. He quickly pulled the mesh top over my head – leaving me naked but for my bra – threw his arms around me, and held me tight, while I began moving my hips to ride him. Rick kissed and nibbled at my pulse-point, and my eyes rolled back from the feeling of how perfectly he filled me. The sensation of his hard, velvety dick moving in and out of me, and his hot breath against my neck, was perfection. After a while of me moving on top of him, he pulled back a bit, and looked at me almost embarrassedly. “Could you… do the thing?”. I chuckled. “You’re such a freak”, I said, gave him a deep kiss; and smiled.

Rick looked down at his cock being squeezed inside me. He groaned loudly, and grabbed a hold of my invisible breast, pulling the cup of my bra down, to try with my nipple. “You feel amazing… Don’t stop”, he demanded, making me move faster on top of him. Rick’s hands began exploring my body. Unable to see me, he was reacquainting his hands with my skin, curves, scars and bumps. With Rick, I never felt like I had anything to be ashamed of, when it came to my body; invisible or not. Rick moved one hand down my back, and over my bottom. His fingertips travelled between my cheeks, before his middle finger stroked over my puckered hole. Gathering some of the wetness from or joined sexes, Rick pressed the tip of his finger inside me. “Oh my god…”, I breathed. “Want me to stop?”, he asked. “No… more!”.

As Rick's finger pushed into me, I felt my mirage beginning to falter. I flickered back in to view, as my muscles clenched around Rick; unable to keep up my smiling. Desperate to draw out the bliss streaming through me – and seeing my second orgasm on the horizon – I kept riding Rick’s finger and cock with a fervor. “I feel it, Kitten… Let go for me”, Rick panted. With his free hand, he grabbed the back of my neck, and it was like he was trying to push himself deeper into me. I let out a raspy moan, and suddenly my climax washed over me; like a warm wave. As I came around him, all control and strength left me; and Rick took over controlling my movements. He pulled out his finger, and spun us around – placing me in his seat – all while his cock was still inside me. Thrusting forcefully in to me, Rick soon let out a loud groan; and came himself. He collapsed against me, and we both smiled blissfully.

A loud tapping against the window, and the shrillness of Harley’s voice, tore us from our little bubble. “Are you finished yet? It’s raining out here; and we’d like to get inside”.

---

Tags: @supernaturalcat7 @blondiekook

[mono-dot-jpeg]

having a sweet but hot-tempted s/o - k. akabane, n. shiota, c. ryuunosuke, i. yuuma

a/n: im rewatching the series and god i love them ✨✨ i need to make content of them NOW-

karma akabane

Now you were usually a very sweet and nice person but when Karma found out about your hot tempered side, he liked to bring that side of you out a lot. The class was usually worried that you would really snap at him one day but you never did. Sure, you got mad at him but you never got too into your anger.

But he won't deny, he liked your sweet side. I mean who wouldn't? You were really nice to everyone but you stood up for yourself when you needed to and you had a fire in your eyes. He liked that.

He loved you a lot, he would admit that gladly. He liked seeing you mad everytime he teased you. It was pretty cute to him.

"Oh, y/n!" He sung teasingly as he sat on the couch lazily. "Come out, we made a deal!" You can practically see devil horns grow on his head.

"I hate you for this, Karma!" You huffed as you walked out of your room. "Why do you even have this?!" It was a maid uniform.

"Why not? Got it just for you, babe!" He stuck his tongue out, winking at you. "You look pretty cute! I wonder what the class would think about this." You can see him pull out his phone to take a picture of you.

You quickly climb onto him to grab his phone but it's just out of your reach. "Karma! Don't you dare!" You kept trying to grab the phone but no success. You hadn't realized but you were right where he wanted you. His free arm wraps around your waist pulling you close to him. "Karma! What are you doing?!"

"Having fun in teasing you, of course." He chuckled. "I'm kidding. Just wanted a cuddle." He said with a false innocence to it.

“Yeah right! You’re just enjoying every second of this bet!” You yelled at him, hitting him though it didn’t do anything. He laughed while he held you tight. “Let go of me, you idiot!”

“Aww but I wanted to hold you a bit longer!” He smirked as you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I hate you..”

“I love you too!”

nagisa shiota

Nagisa had always been close to you, even before you started to date, he often saw and seized your hot tempered side. He often got called the “y/n Tamer” since he kept you in check and kept you calm. Though you sometimes got called violent, Nagisa knew there was more to that than your hot temper. 

He liked both sides of you. He kind of wished that he was as assertive as you could be. You were usually the one protecting him than him protecting you. It took a small stab at his pride but you always reassured him that you liked him the way that he was. 

He never liked seeing you mad but he did like when your cheeks went red as you get flustered by Karma teasing you.

“y/n, what are you doing?” You can see Nagisa watch you worried as you’re glaring at a bully from B Class that had just made fun of you and Nagisa.

“Can I please beat him up?” You asked him, pulling at the sleeves of your uniform roughly.

“Please don’t do that.” He dropped a sweat at your question, holding your hand to hopefully calm you down.

“Nagisa!” You dragged out his name, nearly whining. You heard another insult from the bully, quickly glaring at the bully. “What do you have to say now, coward?! Fight me!” You challenged as Nagisa is already trying to tug you back towards the E Class classroom. “Let me fight them!” You huffed as he continued to tug you away.

"y/n, I love you but please don't fight anyone.." He said as you both arrive at E Class. "As much as I appreciate you standing up for me, I would like to just ignore them. We have each other and that's okay!" He smiled.

"Nagisa, you're so cute!" You smiled brightly at him, hugging him tightly.

chiba ryuunosuke

Chiba never understood you at first with your sweet yet fiery personality. It nearly scared him during PE classes since you got fired up easily. But curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. He ended up falling for you. It took a lot to confess to you but he did. When you were around the male, you were so...quiet and sweet. 

The class would’ve thought you were just shy but not until PE classes started. It was no mercy for everyone including Chiba. But in a way, that made him feel respected. You acknowledged his skills and he acknowledged yours. Neither of you went easy on each other just because you were both dating. 

He never saw you off-the-rails mad but it was somewhat entertaining to watch you get a little mad at some trivial thing. 

“Fight me, Chiba!” Now your classmates would’ve been worried if it wasn’t for the fact that this was a daily thing. “I’ll get you this time!” You swore as he silently chuckled at your antics. “Don’t laugh at me!” You huffed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll fight you.” He says softly.

“When you say it like that, I don’t wanna fight you! I want some energy from you, Chiba!” You tell him as you prepare yourself to fight. Before you could even say anything else, he got you down on the ground quick with an anti-Koro knife under your neck. “Hey! I wasn’t ready!”

“An assassin is always on guard.” He mutters to you.

“I want a rematch!”

“Let’s not get carried away, y/n.” A few rematches later and you still lost all of them.

“Chiba! You’re too good! Come on!” You huffed. “I totally was gonna win one today!” You sat on the grass as class was coming to an end. He laughed a bit before wrapping his arms around your waist and easily picking you up. “Hey! Give me a warning next time, Chiba!”

“Class is ending, y/n. We have to get back to our next class with Koro-sensei.” He gets you right back into E Class as you mutter complaints. “I love you, you big baby.”

“I’m not a big baby!”

isogai yuuma

Isogai never seemed bothered by how you got angry often. Professor Bitch was kind of like that in a way. He was used to it. He knew you for a while too, how people made rumors about how violent you were which was a complete lie. For someone who got angry often, you couldn’t even hurt a fly sometimes. He found some entertainment in that. Isogai was definitely the y/n Tamer like Nagisa.

When he first found out about your hot tempered side, it was when you heard people making fun of E Class. Karma was supposedly at the scene as well while he watched you tell off the arrogant students. He decided to make friends with you since you joined E Class not long after Isogai himself had joined.

He never wanted to see you very burning mad and sometimes he didn't wanna deal with your hot tempered self a lot. But let's be real, he still loves you nonetheless.

"Yuu-kun!" You call out to him, using your nickname for him. You had decided to visit him at work, quickly ordering what you normally do.

Unfortunately for him, Asano and a few of his lackeys were here as well. They kept Isogai's job a secret so at least E Class and A Class weren't on full rival terms, but it didn't mean both classes were friends.

The lackeys had started to poke fun at Isogai while he was busy. You were a booth behind the A Class students, biting your tongue back from yelling at the dumb lackeys. But they just kept talking bad about Isogai and E Class. You had enough.

"Can you just shut up!? We still work just as hard as you guys do. You don't know what goes on in our lives! Don't judge a book by its cover!" You tell them.

"y/n, please calm down.." Isogai sighed whilst he placed your order on your table. "It's not worth wasting your time to say things they won't listen to."

"They're just so frustrating!" You mutter as you adjust yourself to sit properly. You started to eat a little bit while your boyfriend left to get out of his work uniform. He came back sitting across from you. "I thought you had work until 6."

"I wanted to spend some time with you. And also I need to keep you in check."

"I can handle myself!" You puff your cheeks out, causing Isogai to chuckle at your antics. "Thank you for the food.." You mutter to him softly.

"I love you too, y/n."

[lesbianlotties]

FS prompt :) Deena's like lesbian catnip for every closeted girl within a 50 mile radius. She's completely oblivious, too. Sam, however, is pretty amused by it... and completely not jealous (ok, maybe a little jealous).

Sam Fraser was not a jealous person.

But every person has a limit.

It seems that every day there is a new girl attracted to Deena. Even if Deena is oblivious to all of it, Sam isn't. She might get a tiny little bit jealous sometimes.

Read on AO3

Shadyside was a relatively small town. And not the kindest one at that either. Gossip traveled fast in Shadyside. It didn’t come as a surprise that most people that were at least remotely aware of Deena’s existence also knew she was a lesbian. Something else that didn’t come as a surprise to anyone but Sam, was that the same couldn’t be said about her. Usually, people were shocked to find out Sam was a lesbian. Most of the time she didn’t mind, but there were only so many times she could stand being called Deena’s “best friend” when they were literally holding hands. One woman once had the nerve to call them sisters, and Kate swore she would never stop making fun of them for it.

Sam didn’t mind that random strangers didn’t recognize her immediately as Deena’s girlfriend. But then… well, there were other kinds of people.

It was impressive, really, the number of closeted girls that lived in Shadyside and neighboring towns. Even more impressive was the way they all seemed to possess a sixth sense to know where to find Deena, and a fantastic talent to completely ignore Sam’s presence. Sam didn’t blame them… entirely. She understood them. She had been in their place. Eyes hopelessly following every move of Deena, overthinking everything she said and the way she walked, paralyzed by fear at times and ready to risk it all for one girl the rest of the time. But Sam did take the risk, and she did it first , so all those girls had no right to even hope Deena would notice them because Deena was already taken and… Sam Fraser was not a jealous person, she liked to tell herself.

Deena, at least, seemed to be completely oblivious of the flock of star-struck girls that chased her wherever she went. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t notice though.

One day, the two of them were together at B Dalton’s, the bookstore. Deena decided to take a break from lovingly making fun of Sam’s taste in horror books above everything else and started wandering a different aisle of the store. It was a slow day though, the shop was far from crowded with only a couple of clients there. So, Sam started gathering all her patience the minute she heard someone say, “Oh! Hi! You, um, you’re Deena, right?”

Sam kept her distance because she was totally not a jealous person. She was just amused. She couldn’t avoid overhearing the entire conversation though. The girl asked for book recommendations and Deena literally listed Sam’s favorites books. The girl tried to talk to her about romance books and Deena flat out said she wasn’t interested in them. It was almost tragic.

When they made their way to the register, Heather managed to hold back her laughter enough to playfully purse her lips and bat her eyelashes at Deena and say, “Would you give me a book recommendation too?” Sam laughed, rolled her eyes, and held Deena’s hand just a little tighter on their way out of the store.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Sam replied in a high-pitched tone that wasn’t very convincing. “That’s adorable, actually.”

Josh nodded, and the two of them continued to stand there awkwardly beside Deena’s car. They were watching as two of Josh’s classmates tried their absolute hardest to make Deena fall madly in love with them during a two-minute conversation in the school’s parking lot.

“No, I don’t think I’d be a good drum teacher, honestly,” Deena was saying. She shrugged, she had her hands buried in the jacket’s pockets, she looked like she was trying to disappear into it. “My hair? Uh, I just… use shampoo, I guess?”

Sam chuckled. She wasn’t jealous at all. If anything she admired the younger girls making an attempt when they didn’t stand a chance. Besides, she was the one who knew Deena’s entire haircare routine. Her respect for them was abruptly cut short when the girls managed to pull Deena’s hands off her jacket to compare their hands’ sizes. A second later, both girls and Deena were jumping in place, startled by the sudden and too loud sound of the car’s horn. Sam didn’t even try to hide her sly smile.

Sam swore again and again that she wasn’t a jealous person. But was it too much to ask that they could go to the store without Deena being hit on by hopeless girls?

This time it was a new cashier. To make things worse, for Sam at least, Simon was training the new girl, and definitely having a little too much fun with the scene in front of him.

“You make really good choices,” the lovestruck cashier was complimenting a truly unimpressive assortment of groceries on discount. “I could give you some recommendations if you’d like.”

“Yeah sure,” Deena mumbled, completely unaware of what she was agreeing to. She wasn’t even looking at the girl, she had all her focus on the bills in her hands, trying to make the math about how much she had left.

A step beside Deena, Sam was standing there, not completely frowning, but…

“This is for you,” Simon said, passing Sam a plastic bag. “For all that jealousy on your face.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she told him, snatching the bag off his hands.

She wasn’t jealous, she really wasn’t. She had no reason to be. She was the one carrying Deena’s groceries back to the car and kissing her in every red light on their way home. Plus, nobody needed to find out that from that moment on, Sam would make them stall or hurry up their shopping depending on which cashier was available.

Sam didn’t even want to use the J word again. That was a feeling she simply didn’t experience. But she could get a little annoyed, right? She could have some questions. Like how was it possible that another one of the cheerleaders hadn’t noticed she was dating Deena? Why on Earth would Kate introduce her to Deena? Could Deena really be that oblivious?

“Don’t be jealous, Samantha,” Kate said.

“Don’t call me that,” Sam replied. “And I’m not jealous! That is just sad.” She gestured in the general direction of the cheerleader twirling her hair on her finger in front of Deena.

“It worked for you though,” Kate noted. Then she reached out to hold Sam back from marching forward to reclaim her girlfriend. “Calm down, Sam. That girl could drop her skirt right then and there and Deena wouldn’t notice. She only has eyes for you. It’s gross.”

A small smile appeared on Sam's face. “I’m going to let that one fall during our next routine,” she said.

Kate threw her head back laughing. Then she was merciful enough to drag away the other cheerleader before Deena had to repeat again that “It’s actually cold tonight so no, I’m not hot in my uniform.” As much as it bothered her, Sam definitely agreed with that other girl about Deena in her uniform.

Sam Fraser was not a jealous person. She repeated that like a mantra so often, and she restrained herself from acting jealous so faithfully, all because she knew that someday someone would cross the line. Of course it would be someone from Sunnyvale.

It was another football match in Sunnyvale. Sam and Deena had a routine, a plan that never failed them, to meet behind the bleachers when nobody would notice. One time Sam arrived a little late and there was already a Sunnyvale cheerleader trying to get Deena all to herself.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam whispered to herself as she observed the scene from a safe distance away.

Deena was taking a step back from the girl invading her personal space. “Oh. Hey,” Deena cleared her throat. As much as she was known for a somewhat ruthless personality, she’d never known quite how to turn a girl away from her. “I’m, uh, actually waiting for someone.”

“You sure you weren’t waiting for me?” the Sunnyvaler insisted, stepping even closer.

Deena laughed awkwardly and took off her band hat to hold it between them as a sort of shield. The hat, of course, ended up falling to the ground. The stranger leaned down to pick it up, surely planning to pull off some great move that would totally sweep the Shadyside drummer off her lesbian feet. Of course, she didn’t expect to look up and find said Shadysider’s girlfriend standing there with a grin too treacherous for an otherwise very sweet face.

“Thank you so much,” Sam told her, taking the hat off the girl’s hands. “You can leave now.”

Sam didn’t wait for an answer before turning around and slowly but confidently pushing her girlfriend backward until Deena’s back hit the wall. Sam started kissing Deena without sparing a single second to check if the other girl had walked away at all.

After a moment of gladly accepting Sam’s fierce kisses, Deena’s brain caught up with what had just happened and she pulled back. “Whoa, Sam, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, quickly diving back for another kiss.

“ Sam. ”

After Deena pulled back a second time, Sam scoffed. “I’m sorry, did you want to invite her?”

They knew each other well enough to know what was going on and how to deal with it. Deena knew exactly when to be concerned about her girlfriend’s temper and when to smirk at her and further push her buttons. “Sam,” Deena said her name softly and held her even closer, smiling at the precious frown on Sam’s face. “Are you… jealous?”

“You know what?” Sam sighed deeply, melting in Deena’s arms. “Yeah, a little.”

Deen chuckled adoringly, and placed a small kiss on the corner of Sam’s lips. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know,” Sam interrupted her. She was back to smiling brightly, genuinely. They were back to feeling like they were the only two people in the town, the only people in the entire world. “Just kiss me again so I can be sure,” Sam whispered the playful request, closing the gap between them once more, enjoying the way she could feel Deena smiling as they kissed.

[writingmanaged]

The Answer

Request: Hey there, I have a request if you want to write it! :) So obviously set in the Marauders Era, the reader is a Ravenclaw and has had a long and rough day and just can't answer the riddle to enter the Ravenclaw common room. So she gets really frustrated and starts crying when for some reason Remus notices her and sneaks her into the Gryffindor common room so she can have a place to sleep? I think that would be really cute :')

A/N: This was so cute and so much fun to right! Thank you SO much for the request, I loved it.

Ship: Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!Reader

Fluff

T/W: Anxiety in a way?, a panic attack

(Y/n) had had enough already. The day was simply terrible. First, it was waking up late. Then, stupid Quirell just had to spill all of his juice on her. By the time she had gotten back to her dorm and changed her clothes she was already late for class. Not only did she loose points for that, but she also had less time than everyone else to complete a test.

The rest of her day wasn't any better. She had gotten into this huge fight with her best friend and she had to spend the rest of her evening alone. She was both physically and emotionally exhausted when she reached the top of the stairs. All she had to do was answer than silly riddle and finally get into the comforting embrace of sleep.

What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?

(Y/n)'s mind was completely blank. What? She could barely even hear the riddle. Her mind was blank and she simply couldn't process another thought. No, no, no...

She was way past curfew. Is she couldn't find the answer, then there was no way anyone else could. Because everyone else was inside, in their warm beds, while she was outside and unless her brain started working again she were to sleep there on the cold floor.

Her breathing became unsteady and all she could hear was her blood boiling. She was panicking. Wrong move, she knew it. But she simply couldn't calm down. She hadn't even noticed that big tears had found their way down on her cheeks, like a broken sink that couldn't be closed.

~~~~~~

Remus Lupin was pissed. He had never lost a bet before. But how was he supposed to know Lily would agree to dance with James? What had gotten into her? Honestly...

It wasn't like he wanted to stay at that party any longer. Partying wasn't his favourite past time. He'd simply rather stay inside his dorm, under his blanket, with some chocolate and a nice book. But nope! Thanks to his dear Padfoot, he had to go all the way to the Ravenclaw common room and come back.

He thought he could use this as an opportunity to relax into the deadly silence of the empty hall. But instead of that, another bitter melody intruded into his ears and scattered his heart. It was the echo of someone sobbing.

He approached the (y/hc) haired girl and sat down next to her. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't be sure while her face was covered in tears. Remus placed his hand on her shoulder, looking at her in concern. "Are you alright, miss?"

(Y/n) recognised that voice. It couldn't be anyone else but Remus Lupin. He hanged out with those popular Gryffindors but he wasn't arrogant like they were. Or at least she didn't think he was. She had seen him in the library tutoring the first years. He had even given them chocolate.

"I'm fine." She mumbled, not sounding fine at all. Remus was very familiar with behaviours like this, both for his friend and himself. "You don't look fine. Please, let me help you."

(Y/n) wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. "Aren't you a Gryffindor? What are you doing here this late at night?"

"Well, one should never have bets with any of my friends." Remus said and laughed, in that soft tone only he knew how to. It helped (Y/n) relax and take deep breaths.

"What's the problem?" He asked her as soon as she relaxed a little.

"I-I can't seem to find the answer to the riddle..." She admitted in embarrassment.

"Let me see if I can help you." He told her and approach the door only to make a confused expression as soon as I heard it. "That is definitely the most weird riddle I've ever heard."

At that (Y/n) laughed. "Isn't it!?" But soon the smile dropped. He couldn't find it either. She was stuck outside, at Peeves' mercy.

Remus looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, there will be a free bed in my room tonight."

"Huh!?" (Y/n) exclaimed, once more embarrassed. Sharing a room with some of the most popular boys in her year?

"Well there is a party in the dormitory tonight. My friends will spend most of the night there if not all of it." He explained. (Y/n) seemed hesitant. "I don't know, Remus... I wouldn't like to make your friends uncomfortable." More like, it's going to be too uncomfortable for me.

"It'll be fine! I promise! Sirius is definitely spending the night outside. He always does." He promised. She was still opposed to the idea, but it sounded better than sleeping on the floor and so she agreed.

On their way down to the Gryffindor common room, Remus kept asking her questions. It turned out he remembered her name from classes. She was right when she thought he was a nice guy. Only nice was definitely not enough to describe him.

The common room was very lively. But (Y/n) didn't even have the strength to turn and look. She simply followed Remus all the way up to his room. "Wait. Won't you get in trouble for this?"

Remus shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Not if no one tells McGonagall."

(Y/n) smiled and sat down on a bed as she looked at the room. It was very odd. As if an invisible line seperated the room. The first two beds were alright. Not too neat, not too messy. The one she was currently seating on, was the definition of cleanness. She was almost terrified of ruining it by sitting. The last two, were a complete mess.

"So um... This one is my bed that you're sitting on. On your left are Frank's and James' beds and on your right are Sirius' and Peter's. Take your pick." Remus told her sweetly.

"Um... Could I maybe take yours? It's alright if not! It's just, I don't even know if the other guys are okay with me sleeping here!" Also, your bed is a dream, she wanted to add but didn't.

"Sure, no problem. I'll just sleep on Sirius'." He agreed without giving it too much of a thought. (Y/n) took off as much of a uniform as possible. She was left in her shirt and skirt, but it still felt rather uncomfortable.

"Would you like one of my shirts for a pijama? I don't mind." He suggested gently as she shyly nodded. He had already let her in his bed, why not?

She tucked herself in his bed, enchanted by his smell, and Remus sat on the messed up sheets with a book on his hand.

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

"Goodnight, Remus. And thank you..." And like that she drifted into the nicest sleep of her life.

She had probably slept in, but who cares? It's Saturday. She wouldn't have woken up at all if it wasn't for all those male voices discussing something. Their conversation was blurry at first but soon she sorted it out.

"So yeah, apparently she had a bet going on with Marlene..." Someone said. She recognised that voice as James Potter's. Laughter echoed in the room immediately.

"Keep it down, will you!? You'll wake her up!" Remus scolded them. Her sweet Remus... Wait, her?

"Yeah guys, you'll wake up Moony's girlfriend~" Someone, who (Y/n) couldn't recognise said and the guys laughed again. After laughing a bit more (with the exception of Remus who told them to shut up) they kept quiet.

"Has anyone noticed that all our names contain the letter S except for Peter?" James Potter says.

"Ah! That's suspicious! I don't trust you anymore, Pete!"

"Funny, Padfoot..." Peter Pettigrew, (Y/n) guessed, answered to the comment that must have been made by Sirius Black.

And then it hit her. "Oh, merlin's beard..." She mumbled as she stood up.

"oh, (Y/n), good morning. Sorry if we woke you." He smiled weakly towards her.

"It was the letter M..." She sighed.

The guys looked at each other in confused. "Blimey, Lupin, your girlfriend's as weird as you!"

"The letter M..." She repeated. "was the answer to the riddle."

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Demon Alya submission (starts off angsty, gets fluffy at the end) made by Anon

Alya hissed with pain and strained to get up, but the magic sigils which had been chalked around her blazed with a strange pale light and her body slammed back to the hard cement floor. Her tail lashed back and forth wildly, hard enough that it hurt when its tip smacked against the wall, and her wings beat futilely to break out of the iron bindings that bent then flat against her back. “You sure we can’t work this out?” she asked in the best ‘temptation’ voice she could muster despite her pain. “I can give you power, wealth, fame…”

“I need no fame, demon scum,” boomed the exorcist who had bound her. He was an older man whose hair was going silver and who wore what looked like a cross between a priest’s cassock and a military uniform. He had a sword at his side whose blade was carved with holy sigils, and a few other exorcist accoutrements hung off his belt. Now he raised a book high while his eyes, which seemed almost to be trying to bulge out of his head, fixated on her. “All I need is the knowledge that you shall be destroyed forever, as God intended!”

Alya bit back a curse. She was still mad at herself for letting this guy get the jump on her, but by the time she’d realized that she was being followed, he was close enough to use some kind of magic spell to make her pass out. She’d awoken in what looked like a cheap basement, with a cement floor and bare plaster on the walls, and with sigils and iron bonds preventing her from escaping. “You can’t destroy me forever,” she snapped. “You might be able to banish me back to Hell, but I’ll be back on Earth eventually.”

Of course, that wasn’t a great scenario for Alya. Not only would she get in trouble for losing a fight with an exorcist, and not only would she fall behind on her soul quota, but her classmates wouldn’t know where she’d gone. It would be just like she’d abandoned them. And Alya couldn’t bear to think of how sad Juleka would be if Alya cut and run, or the rest of her cult, or… or Marinette. Alya knew Marinette would be devastated, and she desperately wanted that not to happen, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.

Then the man laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little depraved beast? You’d love to be able to turn and wreck havoc once more. But I’ve found a way around it!” He tossed a little voodoo doll next to Alya. “I will bind your spiritual essence to this doll, then burn it. As the doll crumbles in the flame your spiritual essence will be split asunder. When I’m done you’ll be little more than millions of tiny bits of demon, each tied to a tiny bit of ash, and that ash scattered to the winds.” He grinned. “It could take thousands of years for the bindings to weaken enough for you to reconstitute yourself and even begin trying to regain a corporal form. And seeing as how you’ll be in utter agony the entire time, I highly doubt you’ll be sane enough to tempt any more innocents into your clutches!”

Alya gasped. What the man proposed might actually work, and would subject her to millennia of torture. And worse than that… by the time she put herself back together, her classmates would have been dead for millennia. She’d never see them again unless they went to Hell. And she’d never see Marinette, period, because that girl was so pure she’d surely get rushed right to Heaven the moment she died. 

She’d never see her best friend again. 

“You can’t do this!” Alya said, almost ashamed of how terrified her voice was but not being able to help it. “Please!”

“Silence, demon scum,” said the exorcist. “All your kind deserve this.” He began to chant, and Alya cried out in pain as she felt her essence being pulled towards the doll. She tried to fight it—

And then the door to the basement smashed open.

By the time Alya realized what was happening, she saw Rose—holding a flaming sword, wings spread to their full length, halo blazing such a righteous fire above her head that Alya could barely look at it—looming over the man, whom had been knocked into the wall and slid down. “YOU DON’T DO THIS!” screamed Rose in genuine rage. “EVER!”

The man stared at Rose in terrified shock. Rose glared at him, then turned to Alya and swung her sword at the sigils. They burst into a bright flash of light and vanished as soon as her holy blade touched them, and Alya was able to scrambled out of the former circle. A couple quick, careful strokes of Rose’s sword sliced the iron bindings from Alya’s back, and she sighed with relief as she stretched her wings.

“What are you doing?“ the man demanded. “Don’t free her! You are an angel, you must support our battles against demons. They are evil beasts who tempt others, so it is right that we hurt them! That we banish them and make them suffer all the pain they have inflicted—“

“IT IS NOT YOURS TO JUDGE!” screamed Rose loud enough that the man flinched back. She took an angry breath and said, “If a demon is doing something bad, then it is permissible to oppose that demon. I have opposed demons who were about to hurt or damn someone. But Alya was doing nothing, and even if she was, ‘opposing’ does not mean ‘torturing!’” She took a step closer and raised her sword. “The job of a holy warrior is never to inflict pain for the sake of doing so! To never do more damage than necessary to fight evil, to always show mercy where possible and encourage others to repent!” The fire on her blade blazed higher. “YOU ARE NO PALADIN!” she went on, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. “YOU ARE JUST A KILLER, AND—“

Alya hesitated, feeling on one hand that she really wanted to see this guy get absolutely thrashed by Rose, but knowing on the other she had an obligation to her friend. “Woah, woah, hold it,” said Alya as she quickly grabbed Rose’s hand to stop her from stabbing the exorcist. “He’s defeated, okay? You don’t need to kill him.”

“But he tried to kill you!” Rose said through teary-eyes. “You’re one of my best friends—“

“And I’m here to remind you that the stuff you said about you guys not being supposed to do more damage than needed applies to you too.” Alya bit her lip and looked at the exorcist who was now trembling with fear, his glee at his earlier successful tortures of Alya having seemingly already been forgotten. “Look, Rose, even if you can get away with killing the guy and not Fall or be stripped of your angelic status, you’ll still hate yourself for it tomorrow.”

The exorcist stared at Alya with bewildered eyes. “You are a demon!” he rasped. “You want her to Fall! I know it! All demons want angels to Fall!”

Alya frowned. “She’s my friend,” she snapped. “That’s more important the feud between our bosses.”

Rose was still standing with her blade raised. “But he hurt you,” she whispered. “You’re wonderful, and he hurt you, and I can’t just let that go.”

“Who said anything about letting it go?” Alya said. “Like, he tried to torture me to death. That’s really evil, so I’m pretty sure his soul’ll go to us when he dies, and that means we’ll have all eternity to get back at him.” Unless he repented and went to Heaven in the end, Alya thought, and if he did… well, that would be a bummer. She really wanted to get her claws at this guy. But she’d rather let this guy have that chance than have Rose kill him right there and suffer regret for it every day after for all her eternal life. “And even setting that aside, I can get the guy in jail with my Whisper powers. That way we know he can’t hurt anyone else.”

Rose was still hesitating, so Alya gently helped her lower the sword. “He’s not worth it,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Finally, still trembling with rage and sorrow, Rose let Alya escort her out of the basement.

###

It only took Alya about ten minutes to jail the guy. She was quite skilled with Whisper, the power of demons to, well, whisper evil or hurtful thoughts into the minds of unsuspecting mortals. During her training she had learned how to convince humans that everyone hated them and was only pretending to befriend them out of pity, or that their spouse was cheating on them, or that—whatever the priest at church said—they really had done something beyond forgiveness and so might as well go forth and sin some more.

Now, though, Alya used that power to Whisper into the fanatic’s head. “There are demons everywhere!” she whispered. “In that trash can! On that curb! On top of that police car! If you don’t fight them, they’ll destroy Paris!”

The fanatic raved and ran around, swinging his sword wildly at the demons his mind convinced him were all around him. That, of course, led to police officers swarming and tackling him. Alya smiled as she watched Roger Raincomprix bundle him into his police car and take him away, saying something about asylums and institutionalization. “He won’t be bothering anyone ever again,” she said. Then she turned to Rose. “How did you find me?”

“You didn’t show up for that thing you were doing with Juleka,” Rose said. Both girls were hiding their spiritual forms and looked fully human, but Alya got the sense that if Rose’s wings had been visible they would have been curling around her like a cocoon. “She got worried and used a spell from your library to track you down. I was closer so I got to your first, but she’ll probably be here soon too.”

“I should text her to let her know I’m alright,” Alya noted. She took her phone, which the fanatic had left in a corner of the basement and which Alya had reclaimed, and sent a message to Juleka. “Want to get home?”

Rose nodded weakly.

Alya frowned. “Don’t beat yourself up over losing your temper,” she said. “It happens to all of us.”

“Sure.” Rose shrugged. “Uh huh.”

Alya paused. Clearly, she thought, Rose needed more help. And now that Alya was out of her bonds and was back in action, she was just the girl to help her. “Anyways, I’m going back to my place, and you’re coming too,” she announced.

Rose blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I said, we’re going to my place,” Alya announced. “Come on, Rose. You saved my life and I owe you one. Let’s get going.”

Rose clearly didn’t know what was going on, but she smiled a little and let herself be dragged along.

###

When the pair got back to Alya’s apartment, they dropped their guises and Alya sighed as she flopped back in her bed. “I never thought I’d see this bed again,” she murmured. “I didn’t think I’d see you, or Juleka, or… or Marinette again either.” She shut her eyes, knowing how badly she would have been hurt to never see the adorable fashion designer, and also knowing how much pain Marinette would have been in if Alya had just vanished. “Thank you again, Rose.”

Rose nodded weakly.

Alya got Rose over to the couch and settled down with her. “Why are you still sad?” she asked.

Rose hesitated, and Alya said, “If you don’t want to share it with me, that’s fine. We can just rest here; I’ll put on some cartoons or something until we both feel better. But if you’re sad, you can talk to me.”

It took a few moments for Rose to say something, during which time she slumped over and snuggled against Alya. One of her wings tickled Alya’s nose and she sneezed, which made Rose giggle. Then Rose cuddled deeper against Alya and said, “Am I a bad angel?”

“No way!” Alya said. “You’re awesome at what you do, and I’m saying that even though what you do makes it harder to me to tempt souls a lot of the time.”

Rose smiled at that. “But I almost didn’t save you,” she said. “And I almost murdered that guy after he was already defeated.”

“You did save me in the end, which is what counts,” Alya said. “You did your job. And while you got mad at the fanatic, you didn’t kill him.” She paused. “We’ve never had an all-out fight, so I can’t say for sure what would have happened if you’d tried to break my grip and kill the guy, but based on what I know of you I think you could probably have thrown me aside and killed the fanatic if you really wanted to do so. You didn’t, so you knew on some level killing him was wrong.”

“Right, but I still want him to suffer for what he did to you,” said Rose. “And I’m not supposed to. Angels aren’t supposed to hate, even when we’re fighting evil.”

“I’m not exactly an expert on what you guys believe,” Alya said slowly. “Since we demons and devils have a different system. But I think I read somewhere that your boss is really big on forgiveness and understands that everyone screws up sometimes. I don’t think He’d want you beating yourself up like this, and I think He’d be satisfied with how you saved the victim—me—and didn’t do any more damage to the guy once he wasn’t a threat anymore.”

Rose mulled that over for a few moments. “You really think so?”

“Sure,” said Alya. “Besides, any God who would get mad at you over—what, yelling a bit after stopping a torturer?—wouldn’t be a God worth worshipping.”

“Don’t say that about God,” murmured Rose, but she sounded a lot calmer. “That makes sense, though. Thanks, Alya.”

“Happy to help.” Alya gingerly scratched at the base of Rose’s wings, and she sighed in contentment.

“You know,” said Rose after a few moments of that, “You’d make a good angel.”

Alya jolted in shock at that, and Rose laughed. “Don’t say that!” Alya feebly protested. “Seriously, I—I would not want that job. I don’t like the idea that I’d have to be nice all the time because my boss demanded it. I like what I am, where I have the freedom to be how I want.” She realized she was blushing and tried to make herself stop. “Besides, I’m not that nice in general,” she went on. “You’re an exception.”

“Nah,” said Rose. “You’re nice. If you wanted to be an angel you’d be great at it.” She chuckled, and then she asked, “But I’m curious about one thing. That guy said that demons want angels to Fall, but you worked really hard to stop me from Falling today. Was that just because we’re friends, or do you oppose angels falling in general?”

Alya didn’t know why, but she was blushing again. “Uh,” she began. “Look, I’m all about freedom. That’s why I like my side of things in the first place. I think you should have freedom too, and if I thought you really, truly wanted to Fall, then I would offer my help to you—you know, finding some sin for you to commit that wouldn’t do anything too bad or hurt anyone you didn’t want to suffer—so you could live as you wished. But I know you, and I know that in your heart you don’t want to do anything so bad that you Fall. You like being a holy angel warrior for God. You love being able to spread blessings and help usher souls into eternal bliss. And if that’s your choice, I want to help you maintain it. Because we’re friends.”

The idea of friendship was still a new one to Alya, who of course came from a place where there was no such thing as friendship, where everyone was out for themselves and anyone dumb enough to admit to weakness would find that weakness mercilessly exploited by classmates, neighbors, and random strangers. But now that she was in the human world, she had friends, and she found that she liked it. (Granted, she had to keep her friendships hidden from her bosses—especially her friendship with Rose—but she was a demon and deceit came naturally to her, so that wasn’t too hard.)

Rose smiled gently. “I’m glad we’re friends,” she said.

The two stayed still for a few moments before Rose reluctantly raised herself up. “I guess I should go,” she said. “I’m sure you and Juleka need to do whatever you were planning on doing before you got abducted.”

“We were just planning on watching some fun anime and having some snacks,” said Alya. Then, as if on cue, she heard a knock on the door and grinned. “It’s open!” she called. Then she turned to Rose and said, “When I texted her earlier, I told her to get back to my place so we could resume our plans. That must be her now.”

Rose tried to get up, but Alya wrapped her tail around Rose and tugged her back down. “I don’t want to get in the way,” Rose said quickly. “I’ll leave.”

“No, you’ll join us,” corrected Alya. “Because this is my room, so I can invite who I want, and I want you here. Because this is my cult, so Juleka has to do what I say, and I say you get to stay.” Her eyes twinkled. “And because I know you and Juleka love spending time together, and so since you also had kind of a rough day, a little time with your favorite paladin and my favorite priestess is just what Dr. Alya ordered.”

Rose grinned at that. 

Then Juleka entered the room carrying a bag.  As soon as her gaze fell upon Rose she smiled brightly, and Rose returned that smile. “Alright,” Juleka said. “I’ve got the DVD for that anime you told me to find, ‘Kill La Kill,’ and your snacks.” She took some cups out of the bag. “Three hot chocolates—one with cinnamon, because I know that’s your favorite, Rose—some microwave popcorn, and pastries from the Dupain-Cheng bakery.” She paused. “Marinette told me she’ll be free in an hour or so. Would you want me to invite her?”

“Sure!” said Alya at once. She’d have to hide her demon form once Marinette arrived, of course, but it would be worth it to hang out with the fashion designer. Marinette always seemed to brighten up any room. “And thanks for helping Rose save me with the tracking spell. I owe you one.”

Juleka waved that off. “It’s a friend thing,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Such a sentence was something Alya would never, ever have heard in the demon world. Debts there were jealously maintained. But she liked this way, she found… even if she did intend on finding some way to reward Juleka for saving her life. “Sure,” she said to change the subject. “But I still appreciate it. Anyway, what kind of pastries did you get?”

“Angel food cake for Rose, lemon cake for me, and chili-chocolate cake for you,” said Juleka as she passed out the treats. Rose sniffed her cake and sighed at how wonderful it smelled. “I’ll pop in the DVD and then we can start the show.”

Juleka did so and then sat on Rose’s other side. Rose grinned and spread her wings wide enough to give partial hugs to both Alya and Juleka, and Alya’s tail flicked a bit before running against the other two girls’ backs. Rose giggled. “That tickles!” she said.

“Sorry,” drawled Alya. She bit into the delicious cake and grinned. Chili and chocolate was a hard combination to get right, but the Dupain-Cheng family were masters, and the cake was absolutely perfect. “My bad.”

“You’re not sorry,” said Juleka lightly. “That’s a lie.”

“Well, lying’s a sin,” chirped Alya. “And as a demon, that’s kind of my thing.”

Both of the other girls laughed, and then Rose draped her arms as well as her wings around the other two. Juleka hit the button on the remote and the show started.

Alya sighed, her pains from earlier almost completely forgotten as she relaxed with her friends. The human world was good, she thought. She was very glad she hadn’t been kicked out of it. And she’d try to stay in it—and be with the people she cared about, including the wonderful angel and the amazing human currently sitting on her couch—for as long as she could.

———

AW THAT WAS WONDERFUL

GO ROSE

I like how its been decided that between Rose and Alya theres a bad cop and good cop dynamic going on

Alya is the good cop

[notnctu]

a jeno smut (agressive😳) with 61, 11, 50. enemies to lovers - high school au

thanks for requesting! i hope you like it, you can read it under the cut!!

-author doie ❀

p.s. soft reminder to everyone that requests are now closed. we apologize for the wait and are doing our best to finish them all! thank you for your patience :)

e2l!jeno x fem!reader prompt #11, #50, #61 - “I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.” &  “You’re so god damn amazing.” & “Would you just shut up and kiss me already.” genre - smut (unprotected sex)

lee jeno, the popular attractive jock that had every person wrapped around his finger. who made the corrupt high school social hierarchy with athletes reining at the top anyways? jeno sits comfortably at the top of the food chain, while everyone gets chewed and spit back out. high school is going to be something you’d never want to look back on.

but your spitefulness doesn’t make you blind to the heavenly sculpted body lines of jeno. and if anything you felt for him that isn’t hatred, it is completely lust.

as you watch him dash across the open green field, his helmet protects his soft face, but the uniform hugs the thickness of his thighs. if it isn’t for your school spirited friend dragging you to a football game, this event would be no where on your agenda for a friday night.

“go jeno!” the cheerleaders jump at the bottom of the bleachers, with pompoms and their pretty matching uniforms. spins and twirls. claps and excitement. cheering in unison. the entire squad whipped for one player on a thirty person team. lee jeno.

the crowd goes wild when he lands the touchdown at the end of the field, earning the final winning point. the commotion overwhelms you and through the screams, you try to speak to your preoccupied friend, “can we leave now?”

“no y/n! we still have to join the players at the diner around the corner!” absolutely not.

you groan and cross your arms, “i’m just going to go home.”

“who’s going to take you?” she asks, completely immersed in the triumphant energy that surrounds the both of you.

“i’ll walk.” you say your goodbye while hurrying down the stairs. you kick at the dirt out of frustration and slight annoyance, a small cloud of dust circling at your shoes.

but when you look up, a sweat drenched jeno is running up to you with his helmet in his hands and the most taunting smile that has you walking off. “wait! y/n..” he calls and you really debate whether or not you’re willing to deal with him at the moment.

“bold of you to approach me.” you spin on your heels to face him and he shares the same annoyance at the encounter.

scoffing, “bold of you to actually show up to my game.” he bites back harder, a smirk growing at your silent figure.

“you did ask me to come.” you mumble, avoiding eye contact. and you feel a bit flattered that he even noticed you in the crowd of so many people.

he runs his free hand through his hair, pushing it out of his gorgeous face. “i’m joking. i know you didn’t come to just see me... right?” he lifts a suggestive eyebrow.

“oh because you’re so god damn amazing?” sarcasm lingers your tone, “don’t get your hopes up, jeno. unlike everyone else, i’m not brainwashed by your popularity complex. i had to be dragged out of my room to participate in such cliche high school sporting event.”

“okay, sweetheart..” the tinge of the nickname isn’t friendly, accompanied by an irritable smile through his teeth. “i need to go change, but is it too much to ask if you can meet me outside of the locker room?”

“it’s asking much more than i ever offered, which is nothing. why would i wait for you? nonetheless want to keep speaking to you?” his teammates are quickly rushing off the field, pushing at jeno’s shoulder playfully every time they passed by you two. and he’d only give a small smile in return.

“i think we really misunderstand each other..” he begins softly, “i just want to get to know you better.”

“make it quick.” you grumble. jeno’s face lights up, and his happiness puzzles you and makes you wonder why he actually cared to talk to anyone of lower status. he runs off to the boys’ locker room and you exhale heavily.

perhaps, you’ve never really given jeno a chance. he’s just always been in a bad light in your eyes, arrogance and pride? he never seemed like he cared about anyone other than his own status. and you never understood the hype around the school’s prized possession. and what made up your hatred for him was assumptions of his character... besides his random flirtatious comments, you avoided ever actually having a conversation with him.

when you see the rest of his teammates walking out of the locker room, changed and chatting among themselves about heading over to the diner, you walk over to the open door.

“jeno?” the locker room is empty, with very dim lighting. and you catch a glimpse of jeno’s bare muscular back, shorts hanging around his waist.

“has anyone ever told you not to freely walk into a boys’ locker room?” he chuckles and turns around, distinct lines across his abdomen from long hours of working out. jeno is extremely fit.

“i got lonely waiting outside.” you sit on the bench next to his bag. “you’re not going to the diner with everyone else?”

he shakes his head, pushing his things on the cement floor to sit right by your side. the heat of his skin brushes against your shoulder. “i know you’re not going, so there’s no point.”

you really couldn’t tell if he is being genuine, “when were you so obsessed with me?” you mockingly eyed him.

“when you became the only girl not obsessed with me.” he picks your chin up to face him and through the poor lighting, you see his seriousness blinking back at you. and he’s suddenly so close to you, feeling his hot breath pant on your lips and the drop in his gaze.

but he pulls away and begins cleaning up his football gear, what the fuck was that. “do you want to grab food somewhere else?” he asks nonchalantly, like he wasn’t about to kiss you several seconds ago.

“jeno, i’m suppose to hate you.” you stammer over your words, clenching the bench at the confusion that settled in your heart.

“why do you hate me?”

and you rack your brain with all the possibilities. “you walk around as if everyone is suppose to kiss your every step. you’re like the typical popular meathead.”

“you hate me because everyone loves me?” he laughs, “i guess it gets annoying when i’m all everyone talks about.”

“it is.. no offense.” you rub your arm sheepishly, but jeno doesn’t seem to take any hurt to your comments. instead, he’s still the go lucky happy boy that approached you off the field.

“i’m sorry then, i apologize on behalf of everyone’s obsession that it stopped us from getting to know each other.” jeno smiles kindly at you, “because i think you’re really worth getting to know.”

“we’ve barely ever talked.”

“but from those small interactions, i feel more than i would speaking to anyone else.” he grows a bit shy, rubbing the back of his neck out of habit.

it’s almost like jeno’s egotistic front faded away and you’re left with a shy high school boy. it’s so out of his regular character, so you wonder if this has always been the real him. underneath all the powerful glitz, is a shy jeno lies fiddling his fingers.

it’s your turn to lift his chin to face you. “maybe i’ve misjudged you.” you admit, your whisper tickling his bottom lip and you notice the tightness of his jaw.

inching closer and closer, he stops again and moments from pulling away, you hold his face in your hands. “is this okay with you?” he’s nice, remembering to check in on your comfort levels despite the heavy sexual tension that filled the locker room.

“would you just shut up and kiss me already?” without another second of hesitation, jeno leans in and presses his lips against yours. his hands travel up into your hair, down your neck to your waist.

“the first thing i learn about you...” he speaks in between each feverish kiss, his fingers holding the ends of your shirt. “you’re a great kisser.” he plants one on your cheek as he helps you out of your pants.

you lay down on the cold bench, your shirt is lifted to reveal your bra. he pulls down the fabric, your breast spill over and he sucks harshly at your nipples. your moan echos against the walls of the empty locker room and he slips a hand into your panties.

he rubs your wetness around your clit, dipping his finger into your hole. there isn’t enough time to dance around each other’s bodies, anyone could potentially walk in like you had before. you push at his bare chest, and slip off your underwear.

jeno follows, his cock springing up against his abs. he’s much thicker than you had anticipated, and you gulp at how good you’re about to feel. your legs wrap around waist as he rubs the tip of his dick up and down your pussy.

your back arches every time it hits at your sensitive bud. “fuck, i’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

jeno feels pride swell at his chest, “i’ve never wanted to fuck anyone this badly.” a small glint reflects in his dark eyes when he pushes into you. you muffle your scream into your forearm from the incredible stretch and the sudden intrusion.

jeno inserts him fully into you without mercy to you adjusting to his length. he pulls out, only to snap back in harshly. he grunts at the tightness of your walls around him, and it only makes him want more of you.

his grip on your waist steadies him as he fucks you into an oblivion. you’re a moaning mess every time you feel how good his hips roll into you. “fuck me like you fucking hate me, jeno.”

he smirks, “fucking the enemy? that’s bold of you.” jeno pulls you to sit up, his dick now hitting upright into you. your arms naturally wrap around his neck and your legs fall over his thighs.

his hands hold your ass, moving your hips up and down for you. “does this feel good, baby?” he whispers into your ear as he grinds more aggressively.

“fuck yes.” you breathe out. his tip kisses your sweet spot so harshly, enough for you to see stars. then he bottoms out as your legs start to shake around him.

“you want to cum, hhmm?” he hums, holding your hips in place as he rolls deeper and deeper into you. his grip on you is too strong, unable to move away from the pleasurable sensation, it’s inescapable.

“y-es.” you barely get out before every part of your lower half spasms out of control from the goodness. a soft moan erupts from your throat as your climax runs its course. jeno bites down on your shoulder lightly, muffling his low grunts.

despite your walls gripping onto him for your dear life, he gets a few rough thrusts to edge himself to his own orgasm. right when he’s about to explode, he pulls out and sprays across your tummy. his white liquid creates paint strokes across your skin.

you kiss his cheeks, leaving a small peck on his lips. through hot deep breaths, you both try to control your fast paced hearts. “so, did you still want to get food?” he chuckles.

“you still want to get to know me?” you quiz him, getting lost in his dreamy eyes.

“of course, i meant it. this..” he stands up to carry you to the bathroom. “..this is just the beginning of us.”

[philliamwrites]

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N:  the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate.  Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?” 

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off. 

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades. 

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had. 

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?” 

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time. 

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground. 

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel. 

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted. 

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did. 

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.” 

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition. 

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment. 

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since. 

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun. 

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart. 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo. 

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly. 

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself. 

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost. 

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time. 

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time. 

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together. 

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz  that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place. 

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.  

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand. 

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward. 

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs. 

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine. 

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone. 

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto. 

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected. 

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider. 

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling. 

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away. 

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins. 

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams. 

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina. 

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat. 

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance. 

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there. 

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again. 

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him. 

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot. 

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat. 

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped. 

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!”  the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. 

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now. 

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it. 

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back. 

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope. 

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back. 

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another. 

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said. 

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and… 

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison. 

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again. 

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose. 

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know. 

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine. 

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest. 

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name. 

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo! 

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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