#which is fine but if you are way off base with your assessment then be prepared for disagreement

[thatswhatsushesaid]

in order for me to feel down to clown speculate over all the various different scenarios in which jgy might feel compelled to kill or cause serious material harm to lxc, i would first have to feel confident that it is clearly understood that, canonically, jgy just straight up would not fucking do that.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Pull the Thread

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Warnings: mentions of child death

Stitched Together | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

When you wake the next morning, Bucky and Sam are gone. Their sleeping areas are made up and a note is left on your kitchen counter.

Thanks again.

See you around.

-B

PS. call me if you ever need anything

Beside it is a cup of coffee and a stack of bills. You count it out and chuckle in disbelief. Bucky left you two hundred dollars for helping him out.

You grab your phone and type in Bucky's number. You insert a picture of the money along with the text:

You: you didn't have to pay me.

Bucky: I wanted to. For disturbing your night and for your work.

You: It's fine, but thanks anyway.

Bucky: Hope you have a good day, sweetheart. :)

You pause. Sweetheart. You can't help the way your heart beats a little faster when you read that word. He used to call you that when you two were dating. It was never "babe" or "honey". Always "sweetheart".

You feel conflicted. You want to scold him for calling you that...but you also really miss being called that by him.

You decide to not respond back at all, since you still need to eat before you head into work.

_____________

Bucky shows up at your place again a few nights later. This time, he's alone and with a bullet graze on his side.

You frown at him as you let him into your apartment, "Is this going to be a habit of yours?"

He snorts, "You think I purposely get hurt just to come and see you?"

You shrug, "I don't know, Buck! We don't really know each other anymore, so I'm not sure what you'd do!" you snap at him. He looks at you with surprise and you sigh, "Sorry. It's been a long day and I wasn't expecting you."

"I can go. I'll-I can find someone else to help me."

"No. You're here already. Might as well get it over with." You gesture to the couch and he sits down as he waits for you to come back with your first aid kit.

Bucky starts to rethink things. It's true that he didn't purposefully get shot at so he can see you. But he definitely didn't hesitate to start heading to your place as soon as things were handled. He just misses you.

You come back with gloves on. You have Bucky take off his shirt so you can fully assess the wound. Just a bullet graze. He lays on his other side as you clean his wound.

Again, you work in silence. You're focused on getting this done quickly and efficiently so you can go to sleep.

As you dress his wound, you say, "You should get some antibiotics or pain relievers so it doesn't get infected or if the pain becomes too much. Change the dressing often. Make sure there's minimal movement."

He nods, "Alright. I can do that."

You help him sit up and pull his shirt back on.

Once he's dressed, Bucky looks up at you, "Maybe you and I could make an arrangement."

You look at him with a cocked brow and he stammers “Not that kind of arrangement! Business! Strict-Strictly business. You take care of me and my people when we get hurt. I pay you for your efforts and we’re out of your hair until the next time.”

"...I don't know, Bucky."

"We'll be discreet. I promise. I'll make sure everyone knows not to blab about you and to only come if it's an absolute emergency."

"I'm sure you can find an actual doctor or something to help you. Why me?"

"Because I trust you."

"Bucky, my dad is the chief of police. You shouldn't trust me."

"I know you wouldn't tell your dad. Because despite how long it's been, I still know you care about me."

You cross your arms over your chest and look at him defensively, "And how do you know that?"

He gives you a cocky grin, "Because you wouldn't have helped me that first night."

"I was doing my civic duty. I'm in the healthcare field. It's my job to help people no matter where they come from."

"Okay. Fine. All I'm saying is that you do good work and I don't want anyone else fixing me and my guys up, but you. And, of course," he pauses to pull out his money clip, picking out a few hundred dollar bills. He holds it out to you, waiting.

You weigh out your options and then take the money. You agree, because, despite what your father tells you and how Bucky treated you in the past, a part of you still loves him and will always love him.

"Alright. I'll do it. Just let me know when you're coming just so I'm not surprised every time there's a knock at my door."

"Will do," he mumbles, grunting as he stands to his feet, "Get some rest. I'm sorry you had a shitty day."

"It-It's fine. I just-" you pause and start feeling choked up. You let out a sob and you lean forward, burying your face into Bucky's shirt.

His arms immediately wrap around you in a protective, comforting hug, "I got you, sweetheart. It's okay. Let it out." His heart breaks when he hears your muffled cries.

"We lost a patient today. He had cancer. He was only eleven," you mumbled into Bucky.

His arms around you tighten, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. That's heartbreaking. But I'm sure you did everything you could to make sure his last moments were good, right?"

You slowly nod and step away from him. You wipe at your eyes, "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay, Y/N. Cry on me whenever you like," he gives you a soft smile, "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. I've just been keeping that in all day. Thanks, Bucky."

"No problem. You're a great nurse, Y/N. I just know that those kids are lucky to have you take care of them. I know I am." He kisses your forehead, "'Til next time." He murmurs before heading to the door.

"Hopefully, not any time soon."

He shoots you a grin, "No promises." With a wink, he's out the door. You go over and lock it in place. You lean against it and let out a long sigh. Your heart is beating fast again.

_________________________

It's one of those nights where you dad comes over after a shift and you two have dinner. Neither of you felt like cooking, so you ordered takeout instead. You eat out of the styrofoam containers at your small dining table, pausing in-between bites to chat.

"Work's been okay?" your dad asks before shoveling food into his mouth.

You swallow your food, washing it down with water, "Yeah. We lost a patient earlier this week and I-I can't seem to shake it."

Your dad nods in understanding, "I get it. It's never easy and it never gets easy. And you can't even do anything but continue working after it happens. You gotta push through it. In our line of work, it's important to care for others, but also important to care for yourself too. Got that, bug?"

"I know, dad. Thanks. What about you? You said earlier that work's been super stressful lately?"

Your dad gives an exhausted sigh and leans back in his chair, "Yeah. Been working closely with different units. For years there's been word that the Barnes Family has been the head of several crime operations happening around the city. They've been good about keeping their tracks covered, but since George Barnes' passing, I'm hoping to see his son slip up." Your dad gives a disappointed shake of his head, "Still can't believe you were friends and dated his son."

"He wasn't a bad kid, dad."

"Yeah, up until he started being a prick to you. Good thing you broke things off with him when you did."

You slowly nod, "Yeah. Good thing."

___________________________

You hadn't seen Bucky for two weeks, but he'd been texting you here and there during that time.

He sent you pictures of dogs he'd seen while out and about, would ask about your dad, even ordered food for you when you said you were too tired to eat. It was really sweet and kind of him, but you couldn't help but still have your reservations about Bucky.

Did your heart skip a beat every time you received a message from him? Absolutely. But were you still anticipating on the day he'd turn around on you again? Yup.

You kept things friendly, but also not too friendly. You didn't indulge in anything too personal or detailed. For all you knew, Bucky could be using you to get information about what your dad had on him. As much as you wanted to think Bucky wouldn't do that, you had to keep yourself accountable and aware.

[mrsnancywheeler]

andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

3.3k words

request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!

warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.

So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.

You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.

Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.

When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.

“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.

“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"

His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."

It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.

“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."

There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.

When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.

“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.

“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.

“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."

“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.

Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.

Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."

“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.

You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.

He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.

You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.

The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.

He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.

“Can you help me clean myself off?"

"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.

"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.

“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”

"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.

Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."

"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.

His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."

"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.

“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.

“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”

He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."

It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”

He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.

"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."

“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"

“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.

“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.

Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."

“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.

“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

[dissociation-station123]

More than an Acquaintance

LADS: Sylus X Reader

~

It has been a month or two since Sylus walked into the bar. Each week you walked in he sat in your spot with confidence as if it was his all along. Slowly his eyes began to become less serious and melancholy after each greeting. Though you barely spoke much. Still the same old surface level conversations with a few more words added each time. Nothing has deterred you from your normalcy or routine.

You felt yourself slowly becoming more comfortable around him. Those warning alarms in your mind when you first encountered him dulled. He became a part of the scene of your life. Someone who didn’t know you but acknowledged you.

You did notice that the bar had got a bit more crowded than usual, people drawn in by his model-like looks. Hopeful for a chance to take him home. He always declined them in a way that still made them feel wanted. His social ability was admirable. Your curiosity peaked each time he denied an attractive person’s advances. A simple shrug your way and a raised glass is always his response.

He was an enigma. A puzzle that your brain needed to figure out. Yet you could not find a way to do so. The complexities of conversation are exhausting and you just wanted to relax, in the bar you claimed. So you simply existed in his presence.

Until he decided to set his sights on you. He was a storm you were not prepared for. You were comfortable standing in the water up to your ankles, unaware that letting him in your life, it was a sandbar.

~

“Y/N I refuse to allow you to pay.” Sylus shoves that damn black card in your face once again. You scowl which only amuses him further. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“This feels like I’m taking advantage of you. I can afford my drinks.” You rebuttal but he waves a hand in your direction and hands his card to the bartender who laughs. You sigh heavily but the moment the glass arrives you happily take a sip.

You look over and he chuckles, you roll your eyes. “Such a brat…” He mutters and you bite your cheek. His banter towards you recently has become more playful. Yet based on your observations, it seems to be some kind of defense he uses, so you haven’t given it much thought.

“Try this.” Sylus passes his glass over to you and stares down expectantly. Your eyes narrow as you assess why. He scoffs in amusement, “Tell her I didn’t poison it.” He motions towards the bartender who cackles in response.

“He paid to have this whiskey imported. Just got it in this morning. It’s top tier. Worth a try.” She smiles kindly, bringing over a new glass and setting it in front of you, pouring the contents into the bottle.

You swirl the liquor and then bring it to your lips. You look up and he is watching with a content expression. Waiting patiently for your critique. You take a sip with caution. Your eyes widen as you swallow. It is very smooth. The burn is satisfying and not harsh like the usual cheap bourbon you drink. “Mmm…” You nod with satisfaction.

He looks pleased with himself after your response. “One of my favorites. I knew you would appreciate it.” You take a longer drink humming. You give him a thumbs up and he chuckles.

“Please refrain from telling me how much this cost you. It would make me enjoy it less.” You warn him with a glare and he smiles brightly.

“I love seeing the expressions you make when I ruin things for you. One of the reasons I keep coming back here.” He teases you ruffling your hair, his light touch no longer fazing you.

“Sadist.” You mutter but you smirk as you finish off the fancy whiskey. The bottle still sits between you so he pours you more. You glance at him and he just nods, letting you know it’s fine. You gladly drink oblige.

You want to ask him why he came here. What brought him through that dingy wooden door. It felt like a line that both of you weren’t ready to cross just yet.

“It cost…” you gasp and reach up covering his mouth in a panic. His eyes crinkle with mirth, his lips soft against your palm.

“Sylus…” You warn and then feel his teeth dig into your flesh gently. “What are you, a dog?” You remove your hand chastising him and he laughs.

“Sweetie, I’ve been called that and more.” His voice drips with seduction, naturally. You almost feel jealous about how easy it is for him. How easy it is to make your skin heat up with a string of words and tone.

You roll your eyes, your frustration directed more to yourself than to him. Your fumbling and awkward demeanor forever being called cute.

“What are you thinking about?” Sylus leans closer, as he sips. Those red eyes scanning your face in curiosity. You shove him away but he still waits for an answer, never offended.

“Nothing.” You say the usual reply and pour more. He clicks his teeth. “Everything. All at once.” You continue and he looks intrigued, resting his chin on his hand.

“The curse of the overthinker.” He says and you nod. “Must be difficult.” You nod unable to maintain eye contact. “It’s better to just live in the moment. You should give it a try sometime.”

A prickle of irritation runs down your spine. “As if it’s that easy.” You growl not meaning to sound so annoyed. This does not deter Sylus, it almost looks as if it excites him.

“It could be.” His voice so matter of fact, you mock him. Your body freezes as he grabs your chin and tilts it towards him forcing you to face him. “Don’t be such a wimp.”

Rage bubbled to the surface, the kind that had been building up for years. A dam that had been battered and never repaired. The cracks slowly leaking over time, bursting to life. “That look is intoxicating.” The arrogant bastard spouted out with a twisted mannerism.

“You are fucked up Sylus. I’m sure that’s how you ended up here at this shitty bar.” You say venom laced in your words which only made him smile larger.

“A similar broken soul.” He says nonchalantly with a shrug. “I wish I could wear my expressions as freely as you do.” He admits his face showing nothing.

“You could.” You say condescendingly, “You're just a wimp.” You grab the bottle from the counter and take a long swig directly. This conversation seemed dangerous. A rough way of getting to truly know each other.

His eyes lower for a millisecond. Then he releases your chin and his whole body shakes as he laughs, a genuine sound. It bounces around the empty bar.

“Closing time.” The bartender reminds us as you continue to grimace at him. She nervously looks back and forth. You take in a breath, burying the anger as fast as it had appeared.

“Already…” Sylus mutters looking at his phone surprised. “That’s a shame.” He almost looks truly disappointed. You felt bad for snapping back at him.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him and his eyebrows raise. “Well?” You begin to gather your things as he processes your question.

“Are you inviting me back to your place?” He asks cheekily and you groan. You elbow him as he tries to move closer.

“Hell no! There is a pizza truck down the street.” You counter as the bartender closes his tab and tosses the empty bottle of expensive whiskey in the trash. You see her laugh, you both become a form of entertainment for her.

“That makes more sense. You would never be so bold.” He says as he starts following you out. You turn to him, crossing your arms.

“Are you hungry or not? Cuz this can be goodnight.” You stand tall even as he towers over you. “But it seems you weren’t ready for the night to end yet. Need to be distracted from something a bit longer.”

A strange silence fills the space between you. You see him contemplating if he has let you get too close. “So clever. Yes I can eat.” He opens the door for you and you walk out without a response.

~

You watch him stare at the grease as he lifts the large slice of pizza. “It won’t kill you.” You say as you take a large bite and make a pleased sound. The bread is the perfect combo to soak up the alcohol.

“Says you…” He whispers, hesitant but takes a tiny bite. You smile when he goes for a bigger one quickly after.

The metal bench was cold even through your jeans, the air felt good against your flush face. The night was quiet as you both ate without speaking another word. The strange comfort of having someone beside you is nice for a change. You admit you weren’t ready to go home either.

“You are a kind person.” Sylus speaks up taking you by surprise. You see he has finished his food in record time.

“You don’t know me.” You say matter of fact. Your thoughts tell you differently. Everyday bombarding you with mistakes from your past. This man, this stranger who appeared could not understand.

“It’s your actions. I can tell that those who see you regularly appreciate you.” He continues, and you don’t know how to respond. You don’t want to accept this.

“You never once make me feel unwelcomed. I know you could tell I was bad news the moment your eyes landed on me.” He explains as you finish your slice. You hold out your hand to take his napkin to toss. He grabs it and kisses your knuckles brazenly.

“Napkin weirdo.” You scold him and he chuckles, handing it to you. You get up and throw them away. Sitting back down and lifting the water bottle to your lips you take a long gulp.

“I want to get to know you.” Sylus blurts out and you finally look up at him. He looks like when you first met him, stoic and serious. “Don’t you dare utter why.” His voice is demanding and leaves no room to rebuttal.

“Why should I get to know you?” You ask instead. You see him processing your question. Giving it true consideration. You sense he was not used to others questioning him.

“It would be fun. Probably unhealthy and addictive. Just like your bourbon.” He was so confident. Shame probably was not a concept he could comprehend. It was damn intriguing.

“Tell me why you walked into the bar.” You borrow his temerity, wearing it for a second. It felt foreign and strange but not wrong.

“Love.” He says the word like a curse. You are taken back by the pure disgust on his face. So much emotion, you wonder what that feels like.

“So a broken heart then?” You ask and he just nods. “One sided?” Sylus bites his lip and if his expression was not so somber you would have found it attractive.

“Have you ever been in love?” He does not answer but counters. The past creeps up into your peripheral and you cringe. “That was a yes.”

“I was married once.” You answer, “But not sure if it was love. I felt numb most of the time. Or anxious.” He frowns at your statement, a slight sense of anger lingered in his eyes for a second.

“You didn’t deserve that.” You turn to him with a flat expression. He looks back still so assured. It pissed you off now. The way this man could ignite the flames long put out.

“I could have. Stop assuming.” You shiver as the wind turns bitter. You look at the time and sigh. “I like it when you're at the bar.” You finally admit and he nods.

“I’m glad I walked in.” He responds, again the calm silence. “It’s getting late. Let me walk you home.” He stands looking to the sky at the moon above. He looks weary and forlorn. Yet so very beautiful. There is no way he was real.

“I can walk by myself. This is my turf anyways. I’m not too far.” You explain stretching. The food settling nicely, your mind not clouded by the haze of liquor now.

“There has been some increase in muggings in this area. Let me feel like a good guy just this once.” You nod and he thanks you. You walk next to each other shoulders inches apart. You know he is slowing his pace based on his long legs. He was thoughtful even if he wanted to be painted as the opposite.

“Here we are. Have a goodnight Y/N.” Lost in your thoughts you arrived home quicker than expected. On autopilot you look around and then thank him.

“Night.” You say and go to place your key in the door. As you turn to open it you come to a realization. Sylus leads you to your door as if he had walked it before. You turned around but he was already down the street. The warning bells that first alerted you rang again but there was this strange tingle in your chest, possible excitement?

[pancakeke]

hey just wnated to give a tip dont use tap water for the marimos, leave it out for 24 hrs, if possible use pond water or something with natural bacteria 🫡

I understand that you had good intentions by trying to give advice, but please understand that if I wanted advice I would have requested it.

and I'm really really not trying to be mean to you here, but this is a good example of how not knowing the context of someone's situation and then giving unsolicited advice can spread misinformation.

using pond/creek/river water for anything other than a pond jar is a bad idea. the contaminants this may introduce to an aquatic system far outweighs the benefits good bacteria may provide. potential water quality issues should be assessed by testing first. changes should be made based on test results, and only by means of safe chemical or bacterial additives.

good bacteria is most useful for eating up detritus and fish waste before its decay can create chemical imbalances in a tank. but I don't have any critters that poop and my marimo have never appeared to shed dead parts. if anything they generate more living tufts of algae that then start looking for a place to anchor themselves, which is a whole different problem.

again, sorry if this comes off rude but I see sooo much misinfo spread around the houseplant subreddits I follow as well as on instagram. a lot of it comes in the form of unsolicited advice that doesn't directly address anything at hand.

the (serious) fish/aquarium hobbyists are way more likely to be straight shooters, though I guess that comes with the territory when the hobby has a higher barrier for entry and it's easy to do tests that can back up your claims lol

my marimo have been cute and doing fine for the 6 years I've owned them. the only reason I killed one recently was because I neglected them all completely for months. I'm going a little more extreme with their setup now (like adding pumps and stuff) because this would either extend the time they can be left alone OR I'll want play with their habitat more, which means I'll check them more. also once I started looking at the types of aquariums equipment out there it all seemed fun and I wanted to get silly with things.

[isa-ghost]

More Avian Phil Headcanons

For @oopsiewhoopsiez :D

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Previous Avian Phil headcanons

One of his other running bits is having beef with plain glass. He can literally see it just fine. He pretends he doesn't. Lullah will without fail fall to pieces emote when he gets on the bit.

Another running bit is that he has to resist the Urge to eat seeds when he's farming. He'll stand there dramatically trembling his hand with a bunch of seeds in it like hhough,, s e e d,, until the kids hit him like PAPA PLS.

GRAINS on the other hand he's like FUCK YEAH CONCRETE. He'll eat the shit out of some bread. Why do you think he likes avocado toast so much?

He whistles a lot, usually when he isn't thinking about it. Doesn’t realize he does it, much like the boosh boosh

I've mentioned it elsewhere but AAAA the gay ass intimacy of letting your husband help you preen!!!!

Believe it or not, his first instinct is Flight. It's more likely he's snuck up on or not expecting what's coming at him, so fighting is unwise because he doesn't know his odds and that's just straight up not survivalist to do. The best thing to do is flee first, THEN assess what was after him. The same way that birds often yeet the fuck away when something gets too close to them.

He knows a stupid amount of what to and what not to feed literal birds bc he knows what does and doesn't bother his own stomach. He has less intolerances than an actual bird, but he has a sensitive digestive system nonetheless. This does not stop him from pounding down Mexican food like a total whore, shit's too good.

He knows TONS of things about aerodynamics purely based off his experience with flying. He has a very easy time estimating how well something will fly

Btw he has excellent agility from all his flying. He's better in the air, but it can apply to the ground too.

He loves flying with other people :D If his wings had healed at the time, he would've 100% flown with Jaiden at some point :(

One of the main reasons he wants his wings healed is to take all his friends flying tbh. Which is what fucked him up most about Ender King destroying his wings before leaving his body :(

Tubbo loves asking him cursed questions related to bird things. Google "bird ass blasting" (I promise it's not smth bad, it's a real thing). Tubbo has asked Phil about this. Phil short circuited.

Oh you KNOW he thrives on making cannibal jokes when he eats chicken.

Another cursed thing Tubbo has said to him: "Chickens are like living dinosaurs which means they're old and chickens are birds and also you're a bird and you're old so therefore you're a living dinosaur."

Multiple islanders have made the joke that Phil has a secret wife who laid Chayanne and Lullah bc they're eggs and he's a bird. It has made him die inside every time.

[oneatlatime]

More Zuko Alone Thoughts

Last season our expository Zuko episode was The Storm, an episode which I loved. It was both a well-written and well-animated piece of media, and enthralling to watch. I don't want to say enjoyable because of the subject matter discussed, but it was certainly good.

This season's expository Zuko episode was Zuko Alone, and I didn't like it. Although it was animated fantastically, I found the characterisation of Zuko in the present day sections to be completely off. I found it embarrassing, awkward, and frustrating to watch. Now, I've seen the rating this episode has on IMDb, so I know this is just my opinion, and a fairly unpopular one at that. I'm also aware that I'm biased because Zuko is not my favourite character. But I want to explore why, in my opinion, The Storm stuck the landing while Zuko Alone flubbed it.

Here's what I think is the main reason: The Storm is Aang's story about his past, juxtaposed with Iroh's story about Zuko's past. Aang and Iroh are our storytellers; Aang and Zuko are the stories being told.

Zuko Alone is Zuko's story of the present, being experienced through Zuko's perspective, juxtaposed with Zuko's story in the past, being experienced through Zuko's memories. It's too much Zuko, and unlike the characters in The Storm, Zuko has no idea what's going on.

Despite his flightiness and inability to take things seriously, Aang is perceptive, socially and emotionally intelligent (as much as a 12 year old can be), and able to be subtle when the situation calls for it. Look at The Great Divide: as soon as he had the appropriate backstory info, he saw right to the heart of the conflict, he saw that it was stupid as Hell, and he saw and successfully executed a way to fix it that relied entirely on an accurate assessment of all involved parties' stances. And it worked.

Iroh has easily the highest perception stat in the whole show, when he isn't being deliberately obtuse. His wisdom is off the charts, if his one liners are anything to go by.

So despite some very (very) notable differences, Aang and Iroh have similarities in their personalities and their perspectives, and importantly for this post, in their self-knowledge.

Then we get Zuko, who has the perceptiveness and subtlety of a mud brick to the teeth, all the wisdom of a bandaid wrapper, and the social and emotional intelligence of something that starts to grow in your sink when it's been too long since you did the dishes.

Aand and Iroh can see the themes, lessons, mistakes, and places for improvement in the stories they're telling, about themselves and others. Zuko is stumbling through both his past and his present. The Storm is compelling because the audience gets to simultaneously learn expository detail and watch Aang and Iroh go through a process of self-analysis, recrimination, and commitment to doing better. It's an info dump with a hefty dose of character building on the side.

Zuko in Zuko Alone is a dumbass blindly stumbling into the same mistakes we've already seen him make, learning nothing in the process (that I could detect - maybe he'll run into the family's older brother in a few episodes and work up the courage to save him based on what he learned during his time with that family, who knows). Zuko has been trained to be a fighter, not a person, so of course he's going to fail at the 'soft skills' parts of being human. So Zuko needs someone with him to do/model that soft skills work until he learns how to do it for himself. But Zuko is alone in Zuko Alone, so the character development that could have happened doesn't.

I don't need morals and themes explicitly spelled out in the narrative; I'm fine with subtext. But Zuko in Zuko Alone so thoroughly misses what's going on in the episode that it's annoying to watch. And there's no indication at the end of the episode that he's learned anything from having missed those things. There's no indication that he's aware that there was anything to miss.

In The Storm, Aang has Katara to bounce off of and help talk him through his story. Iroh's wise enough not to need a foil, but he does have the ship's crew, both as a reason to tell the story and as an audience to play off of. Heck, in Bato of the Water Tribe, Sokka has Bato giving the speech about the lonely wolf to help him understand the point Sokka's dad was trying to make in the flashback, and avoid the wrong course of action (leaving Aang behind). Aang moves on from self-recrimination and Iroh has won back Zuko's crew's loyalty at the end of The Storm; Sokka has finally understood 'being a man means being where you're needed the most' by the end of Bato of the Water Tribe. But Zuko is alone by choice in Zuko Alone, so he finishes the episode exactly where he started, his mother's last words entirely misinterpreted. No wiser, probably unable to even articulate where he went wrong beyond fire = bad in this context.

There seems to be a theme in this show of the necessity of friends and family networks and support. Aang (with Katara's help), Iroh (with the crew as audience and motivator), Sokka (with Bato's help), all come to better understandings of their responsibilities and/or their mistakes by working things out with the help of at least one other person. Zuko ditches Iroh to play at being a lone wolf and fails in a way that's frankly embarrassing to watch.

So the reason I don't like Zuko Alone is that he's doomed to fail from the start. Zuko is (trying to) go about his character development in a way this show has already showed us is opposite to how it should be done. I'm not fond of 'doomed from the start' narratives as a general rule, mostly because to me they feel like a bad investment. If you know it's all going to end badly (because it started wrong), then why bother committing the time and effort the narrative asks of you? (She says, having read The Silmarillion twice).

So if I became Queen of the world tomorrow and decreed that Zuko Alone needed to be changed to fit my personal tastes, how would I do it? The obvious answer is to shove Iroh in there, but it probably wouldn't work anyway, because Zuko is not showing any signs of being ready to listen - REALLY LISTEN - to those wiser than him. I'm not sure if he's even ready to admit yet that there are people who ARE wiser than him. He's already admitted that there are people with more martial prowess than him, like his sister, but I don't think Zuko actually values wisdom enough to see its worth. So it's probably not even on his radar. If Iroh's presence wouldn't work, what about having a removed narrator, like Iroh did for Zuko's story in The Storm? A narrator who is not as thoroughly blind to what's going on in the past and the present as Zuko. Maybe a single episode character, who tells the story of that time a stranger came to town? That might work. It would fit with the genre this episode is paying homage to. Or you could have an interesting juxtaposition, where the narrator character is not omniscient, narrating the present only, and Zuko is completely alone during the flashback bits. That would probably lead to Zuko making the same mistakes anyway, since it's really his past that he needs to work through.

Or maybe I'm reading way too much into this and I just don't like Zuko enough as a character to like a Zuko-centric story, no matter how it's told. Or maybe 24 minutes of second-hand embarrassment is 24 too many for me. At least he's keeping Song's horse bird fed.

[macgyvermedical]

What’s your most controversial hospital opinion?

Hoo boy.

I'd have to say it's a tie.

First, I'd say that the medicalization of nursing practice was a mistake.

See, medicine and nursing are two different sciences. Medicine treats disease (for example, asthma). Nursing treats reaction to disease (for example, the difficulty breathing related to asthma).

While an RN (Registered Nurse) is technically an independent license (as in, we are able to do our own assessments, create and implement our own care plans without direct oversight or orders), we still can't prescribe. Now that's fine- I'm definitely not saying an RN should have prescriptive privilege.

Because we can't prescribe, though, we need someone with prescriptive privilege to order things like pain medication, nausea medication, bronchodilators, and other things that drugs might do better than available nursing-based alternatives.

The problem is that hospitals tend to require orders from a doctor for things that should be entirely under a nurse's purview. Things like q2hr turns for pressure injury prevention, fall prevention interventions, patient education, and other things that by law don't require a doctor's order, and for which doctors are not well trained. This tends to end with a subpar set of orders related to the nursing care of that patient, and nurses don't really have the freedom to override these orders (or the time to educate our medical counterparts on nursing care to get those orders changed).

Now, there are nurses who can prescribe- Nurse Practitioners (NP or DNP, depending on their highest degree).

So if I ran the nursing world, I would de-medicalize nursing care. There would be a nurse practitioner on each floor whose job it was to manage pain, nausea, discomfort, urinary retention, wound care, constipation, and other things that are reactions to disease that require drugs or other orders to manage. This would free up doctors to focus on things they were trained for, and allow nurses to do what they were trained for, and, hopefully, result in better outcomes for the patient.

Second, and this one probably is more controversial, I think the trend towards single-occupancy rooms in hospitals was a mistake.

Not, of course, because I feel like privacy shouldn't be a thing or that single rooms are too cushy, I just genuinely think the care would be better in a ward-style setup.

Here's the thing. When a patient is in a room alone, we can't see them and they can't see us. They don't know if we're actively taking care of someone else, and we have to go all the way into a room (and all the customer service that goes into going into a room) just to check if a catheter bag needs emptied or if SCD pumps are on, or if one of our many confused patients is trying to get out of bed.

This tends to result in situations where patients feel like they've been forgotten or aren't getting the best care we can give them. It also results in things like food or needed medications being left in patient rooms for a long time because we didn't see it dropped off, and patients who go hours without an SCD pump being on because we might only see them once every 2 hours (instead of a quick check every time we're on the way to another patient).

And finally, while this sounds ridiculous, the size of the hospital floors that are needed to house single-occupancy rooms are a drain on time when time is at an absolute premium.

See, picture you're doing a 12-hour shift and you have 6 patients. That's 2 hours of care per patient spread over 12 hours. That's not direct care, either. Order needs changed or clarified? That's 10 minutes gone. Charting? That's another 45 minutes. Pretty soon you get down to less than an hour to give meds, do all necessary assessments, treatments, clean ups, education, etc... Spread over 12 hours. That amounts to about 20 minutes in a patient room spread over every 4-hour period. Say it takes 30 seconds to get from one room to another. Say it takes more than a minute to walk from the med machine to the room. That time all adds up, and eats into those 20 precious minutes.

Versus if I could have all 6 of those patients laying in beds right in front of me, maybe with walls between them and the option of a curtain facing the hall for privacy, I could provide considerably more nursing care with the same amount of time.

[mortuarywriting]

well hell. wip wednesday and i havent written much of anything so im just gonna share what I've got for chapter 2 i guess? poor reader is very tired and uh. exhausted to say the least.

Morbid below!

You just level a very tired look back to muttonchops, "is this the part where I'm taken out back like Ol' Yeller?" The big one tilts his head a bit, your gaze tracks the movement and you just sigh, "what? Bullets are cheap. I'm sure you have an allocated training amount for range days, I'm an easy target," at this you gesture inward, nobody would accuse you of being Small or Petite or any of that bullshit, "and it's not hard to move the brass from whatever secondary location to the range. Hell, knives are even cheaper," as you say it you know you have a goddamn preference.  You don't wanna die like this of all ways but you don't exactly know how many rights you have since you are very publicly dead. Like in a perfect world you somehow get slipped back to your bedroom, you're fine, there's no bruising and you just had a wild dream. Second best you'll take a weird sleepwalking incident- mortifying in it's own way but a fun anecdote for later. You don't want to be talking about how easily they can kill you. How even if they let you off base what the hell could you do? You're entirely at their whims and that's sixteen levels of horrifying. "Don't think from the article there was enough left of me for uh, an open casket," you nervously fiddle with your hands, kinda all you could do with them, "and hell, cremation isn't exactly the hardest thing. Makes me more portable than I ever have been in life." You huff as you lean back, meeting the eyes of mutton chops and just. Matching his gaze. You know exhaustion is written in every line of your being. You just keep his gaze as long as the three of you sit quietly. You're half convinced there's some level of scent warfare you're still missing, but you can't find yourself to give half a damn. "Medical's initial assessment is back." You blink, that's not where you were expecting this to go, "okay? Can I talk with her about them or-" "You don't have scent glands. They want to do x-rays to analyze your sinuses-" "Wait aren't there laws about healthcare information privacy-" "- among other select tests, and we will make decisions upon further results." You go to jerk your hands up in exasperation, "awesome. I've been voluntold for more needlework. Joy of joys, is it a dissection or still a vivisection if I'm only legally dead?" He levels an unimpressed look at you, and you level your own right back. You can't help yourself from grumbling, "need to know just how much of my medical history gets to stay private with this bullshit." "I get access to records as your alpha-" You scoff, "I didn't vote for you." The big one shifts from foot to foot, but muttonchops continues as if you hadn't spoken up, "-assigned to your case and determining how to classify your presence on this base." Your brows furrow, "why would you need to be my assigned alpha for that, or granted my medical information. The way someone smells is no basis for a system of-" "Are you quite done," he sounds like he's at a resigned tired stage- which, fair- and the big one is looking at muttonchops… expectantly?

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Happy wip day!

May i perhaps request an Angel Neil AU?

WIP Wednesday (3/27) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 143)

Andrew blinks. “What?”

“If you admit there’s a girl, you can go.” Aaron says. And it smells like the sort of trap Andrew would lay. 

“Straight to entrapment, huh?” Andrew asks, almost proud.

"Maybe."

"Well, as good of an idea as it was. I'm afraid I must disappoint you. Because, for the last time, there’s no girl— on planet Earth or otherwise— in which I am interested at the moment.”

Aaron looks him up and down, trying to find a lie in that statement. He won’t though, because it’s the truth. A stupid truth based on a technicality, but a truth nonetheless. Finally, Aaron seems to give up. “Fine. I believe you.”

Andrew gives him a look. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah. I thought about it a lot last night. And I couldn’t think of any girl who would ever risk her life and ask you out. Or any sane girl who would say yes if you asked her. So… If there was a girl, she’d have to be imaginary now wouldn’t she?”

“You are correct.” Andrew laughs, trying not to reveal just how much that assessment hurts. Or would hurt, if he cared about his brother’s- or anyone's- opinion of him. “Now let me ask you, my dear brother. Are there any girls who value their lives so little that they would mess around with you when we have our deal going? If so, I would suggest telling her to get lost before I find out and remove her skin.”

Aaron pales slightly at the threat and Andrew takes it as a victory.

“Uh, guys…” Nicky interrupts from the bedroom doorway. “Are we fighting?”

“Yes. We were. But we’re done,” Andrew says. Then he rips the door open and leaves before Aaron can open his mouth again. After he stomps his way down to the car, he leans against the passenger door and lights a cigarette, just in case Aaron has decided to look out the window. 

‘She’d have to be imaginary’, rings in Andrew’s head and he scoffs. What a bastard. Why the fuck is he related to that dick? 

Well, because two deeply disturbed individuals forgot to use a condom twenty years ago, Andrew guesses. With that thought, Andrew recalls what Betsy had told him yesterday: ‘If you were six years old, and not almost twenty, I would say you’ve got an imaginary friend on your hands.’

Such rude people he surrounds himself with.

Is it so hard to believe that Andrew is friends with a beautiful, funny, incredibly stupid man who just happens to be an angel? (Yes. Yes, it is.) Andrew looks up to the roof expecting to see said angel, but he’s not there. As he drops his gaze back to the parking lot, the others file out of the Tower's front entrance. And the four of them climb into the car and take off for the stadium.

[neeksparksg]

In the Quiet Moments

The old door to the Men of Letters bunker groaned open as Y/n stumbled inside, her arm clutched tightly to her side. She was used to handling injuries and powering through the pain, but this last hunt had left her drained, and her stubbornness had only pushed her so far.

She quietly descended the steps, the dull thud of her boots on the stairs barely audible in the vast silence. Sam and Dean were likely still out, which meant she'd have the bunker to herself—well, mostly.

"Y/n?"

Y/n flinched at the sound of Charlie’s voice, though she quickly tried to plaster on a nonchalant expression. There was something different about coming back here and having Charlie around. It wasn’t like entering those empty motel rooms or patching up wounds in the back of the Impala with Sam or Dean muttering about how she should've been more careful. No, with Charlie, there was a different warmth, a soft kindness that she didn’t fully understood.

Charlie appeared at the base of the stairs, her expression shifting from curious to concerned in an instant. “Whoa, what happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing major. Just got scratched up,” Y/n shrugged, but her voice betrayed a slight tremble, giving away her exhaustion.

Charlie crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow in a way that was both exasperated and tender. “Liar. Sit down. Let me take a look at you.” Y/n huffed a laugh. She let herself be led to the library, where Charlie set her down in one of the cozy leather chairs before disappearing briefly, only to return with a first-aid kit in hand.

“Now, let me see what we’re working with,” Charlie murmured, settling beside her and gently guiding Y/n’s hand away from her side. Her touch was careful, soft as she assessed the torn fabric and exposed skin.

Y/n winced as Charlie’s fingers brushed over a particularly tender bruise, but she was more focused on the warm look of concern on Charlie’s face than on the pain. “I’m fine, really. It’s not a big deal.”

Charlie’s soft laugh made Y/n’s heart flutter. “Yeah, well, you say that now, but if you don’t take care of these things, they turn into big deals later.”

“So, are you going to tell me why you went out hunting without Sam or Dean?” Charlie asked as she dabbed a cotton swab against Y/n’s bruised skin, her eyes flitting up to meet Y/n’s gaze.

“They were being idiots, and I didn’t want to deal with them today” Y/n avoided Charlie’s gaze, hoping to keep her composure, but the warmth in Charlie’s eyes made her defenses feel like they were made of paper.

“Well, I’m glad I was here when you got back, that way I can be sure my favorite Winchester Is Ok” Charlie murmured, her hands lingering just a moment too long on Y/n’s arm.

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, a strange contrast to the chill of the bunker’s air. There was something in the way Charlie looked at her—like she was seeing past the scars, the walls Y/n had built up. Charlie saw her as someone worth caring for, worth protecting, and that knowledge settled in Y/n’s heart, making her feel lighter than she had in days.

“Really?” Y/N teased, wincing a little as she settled down. “I thought Dean was your favorite.”

Charlie shot her a playful look. “Don’t tell him, but he’s a close second. Now, seriously, let me check that out.”

Y/N watched Charlie move around with a familiar ease, grabbing a first-aid kit and a damp cloth , her expression softening as she carefully helped Y/N shrug off her jacket, revealing the tear in her shirt where the cut had bled through. Y/N shivered slightly as the cold air hit her skin, but Charlie’s gentle fingers brushing over her shoulder quickly warmed her up.

Charlie knelt beside her, dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth. Y/N hissed at the sting, her fingers clenching around the edge of the chair.

“Sorry,” Charlie murmured, her gaze fixed intently on her task. “I promise I’m almost done.”

“You’re good at this,” Y/N whispered, smiling despite herself. “Didn’t think you’d have a knack for patching people up.”

Charlie laughed softly, her gaze flicking up to meet Y/N’s. “I’ve been around you Winchesters long enough. Picking up a few survival skills is sort of necessary.” She looked down at the wound again, brushing her fingers gently over Y/N’s skin as she carefully applied some antiseptic. “Plus, I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

There was a weight in Charlie’s words that made Y/N’s heart beat a little faster. She met Charlie’s eyes, and for a moment, the silence between them was charged with something unspoken, something Y/N had only dared to imagine in quiet moments during late nights on the road.

Charlie finished bandaging her up, but her hands lingered on Y/N’s shoulders, her thumbs brushing over her collarbone. “You know, you could’ve called me,” she said softly. “I would’ve been there in a heartbeat.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, reaching up to tuck a strand of Charlie’s hair behind her ear. “You know me. I’m a Winchester; We don’t exactly know how to ask for help.”

“Well,” Charlie said with a smile, “it’s a good thing I’m stubborn.” She moved her hand up to cup Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against her skin. Y/N felt her breath hitch, her fingers instinctively reaching up to wrap around Charlie’s hand, holding it there as if grounding herself.

They stayed like that for a moment, the air thick between them, before Charlie leaned in slowly, her lips brushing against Y/N’s with a tentative softness. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as she let herself melt into the kiss, her other hand sliding around Charlie’s waist, pulling her closer.

When they finally pulled away, both breathless, Charlie smiled, her eyes twinkling. “So,” she whispered, “if you’re going to keep coming home beat up, I guess I’ll have to keep patching you up.”

Y/N laughed softly, running her thumb over Charlie’s hand. “You’re okay with that?”

“With you?” Charlie grinned. “Absolutely.”

They sat together for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Despite everyone she had lost, Y/n allowed herself to sink into Charlie’s embrace, hoping, wishing, begging for a future together..

[batsplat]

I’m not sure if this is something you’ve ever done so if your answer is “lol no” totally fine!! But I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a kind of race breakdown of Laguna seca ‘08? Or maybe just of the key moments? I watched it and a) fucking loved it. Truly incredible. 24 laps of these guys within a second of each other like HOW???? Can’t believe that actually happened this sport is so insane. But b) I think maybe I just don’t know enough abt motogp yet but I don’t understand why Casey was sooo angry with Vale after? I get the 4th lap corkscrew send was extremely dicey but like…the rest of it just looked like hard racing to me??? Am I missing something?? And Casey seemed to be racing him BACK just as hard? Even when Casey goes off & falls that wasn’t even really fully Valentino’s fault, I didn’t think? Like his overtake pushed Case a bit wide, BUT they’d just been trading overtakes back & forth, and also it looked like his original push wasn’t enough to make Casey go off but then Casey kind of made a mistake and wobbled a bit further into the gravel? Am I wrong?? What do I not understand yet lmaoooo help me batsplat you’re my only hope <3

yay laguna 2008 enjoyer <3 okay so, full disclosure, somebody sent me an ask about this... uh, quite a long time ago. and it's something I do want to do because a lot of my casey posts keep dancing around how I don't have a specific laguna post to refer back to. AND it's so key to the psychology of that rivalry that you do kinda need to go into the weeds with that race to really get their whole deal. AND it is a race I have extremely extensive notes on, in terms of the build up (which I've obviously already posted a lot of on this blog) and the aftermath, but also for the race itself. so this WILL be posted at some point, hopefully like. this year

the main stumbling blocks have been a) for lap by lap analysis, it makes sense to have a bunch of screenshots. which is finicky anyway, but even more so with tumblr's image limits. just takes time to do - and I've been busy enough these last couple months I've mostly been posting things I write up quite quickly. and b) that sense of... well, it's fine if I do it in my own notes where it's just for me, but if I'm posting analysis in public - even if about four people are reading it - I am deeply, deeply aware of the gaps of my knowledge in this sport. like, I've done my due diligence in that I have read as much reporting as possible about the race, listened to both versions of the commentary I have available on numerous occasions, etc etc. but I've only ever posted sports Analysis online for tennis. which is a sport I am actually an expert in, and feel entirely confident in my ability to analyse as well as anyone. tbh. and the contrast does make me painfully aware of my own limitations when it comes to analysing An Actual Race in motogp, like you can tell when someone doesn't know what tf they're talking about

which is particularly pertinent given that my read on this race does take a somewhat sceptical view of some of casey's assertions, based on all of the evidence I have at my disposal. and I am wary of that, because obviously he would know a lot better than me!! one problem is that casey does lean into rather vibes-based descriptions himself at times, which aren't particularly easy to fact check. like, he talks about being able to read other riders' body language on the bike and just never quite feeling on the same wavelength as valentino. which may well be true, but obviously I have absolutely zero way of assessing that

with laguna specifically, he's repeatedly said that while he DID have a problem with the corkscrew overtake, it was actually a lot of the other stuff that was bothering him too. as far as I understand it, a lot of it's about the lines valentino was taking - which is more about defending than the actual overtakes. I think the main actually identifiable culprits are... first of all. how valentino behaved down the main straight, with casey consistently getting a better run out of the last corner and the ducati straight line advantage giving him an edge in that bit of the track. after having been overtaken on the inside of turn 1 early on, valentino took care to hug the inside before running casey wide towards the outside edge of the track - making it so that any overtake into turn 1 would be quite dangerous. now, it's worth pointing out that an overtake into turn 1 is ALWAYS quite dangerous. the rider consensus on that turn (which is really more of a kink in the track before you get to the tricky turn 2 hairpin) is that it's more terrifying than the corkscrew - very fast and because of the elevation change, you're taking it completely blind where you quite literally cannot see the track ahead of you. one of the truly all time great overtakes in the sport actually comes in 2011, casey on jorge into turn 1 around the outside. it's something casey specifically is just crazy skilled at, to an extent where he's said that HE doesn't find it dangerous because he knows he can pull it off. but it is always a helpful reminder that laguna 2008 was very much an insane guy-off. valentino started it but casey DID respond, and repeatedly overtakes valentino at the most terrifying bit of the track. his perception of what is 'risky' or 'dangerous' is still not exactly in line with that of normal people

the other substantive critique is... well. casey hasn't quite gone all the way on this, but he certainly flirted with accusations of brake checking. which would obviously be quite a serious allegation and it's the one specific thing he said which valentino didn't take kindly to - most of the other stuff valentino just brushed off. again, casey's not gone all the way here.,, and this one also isn't easily verifiable for the layperson. you can definitely see that in the lap where casey crashes, valentino is taking some.......... uh. creative lines, like one of the corners after the corkscrew he does LEAP across the track to a comical extent. it is reasonable to believe that valentino was deliberately mixing up how early or late he was braking to unsettle casey, and something like that might have helped cause the crash. casey at this point was frustrated enough that he was really hugging valentino's back tyre, maybe even in order to try something before the main straight this time. when he almost runs into the back of valentino, he does have to adjust his line and is too hasty in trying to make up the ground again on valentino... which leads to the very slow tip off where he runs his bike from the shallow gravel into the deeper stuff. his mistake, yes, but did valentino contribute to it? and did valentino cross any lines in doing so?

the one thing casey has said where I do kinda call bullshit is him writing in his autobiography that some of the sketchier stuff wasn't shown by the tv cameras. maybe he doesn't feel like they provided the ideal angles, but for the duration of that battle casey and valentino are on screen like. a decent 80-90% of the time. I made a note of every time they switched away from them, and it really isn't a lot - certainly not for any overtakes minus that extremely annoying thing in lap four where casey is clearly sizing up a move into turn 1 and they randomly show hayden's back camera. neither myself nor the commentators were particularly thrilled about that, but it's casey's move and almost certainly the only actual overtake the cameras missed. casey says "a couple off moves off camera added to my frustration" which... this does feel like a bit of a sleight of hand tbh, like buddy you're going to have to provide a little more detail there on what exactly you think the cameras avoided showing. it's not like the tv direction is attempting to stitch him up here - they were eating this shit up and wanted to show every last second of it

in general, this is something that's true of a lot of casey's criticisms about this race: he's talked about it a lot, talked about how much it changed for him, but he does have a tendency to dance around actually making specific complaints. if you're being generous, you can say that he'd get a lot of shit for doing so. but, well, it's not like he's exactly holding back when criticising valentino a lot of the time. if you think he brake checked you, then just say that!! in one of his more valentino-esque traits, casey does have a tendency to heavily hint at a substantive accusation without QUITE spelling it out. it's the same trick he pulls with the suggestion that valentino blocked him from yamaha... which he obviously implies very heavily in his autobiography, but doesn't ever actually say outright. and it's a pretty neat trick in that it does allow certain talking points to get assimilated into popular narratives without setting them up to be fact checked. which is fascinating in its own right and a necessary corrective to the general narrative of casey as a forthright straight shooter who hasn't put a lot of thought into how to sell himself, but it's also a bit annoying if you're actually trying to assess 'the truth' of what happened. please, casey, enough talk about how you learned of the darkness in men's souls on that day... a little more detail, I beg

now fwiw, I do actually think casey is perfectly justified in complaining about valentino's riding. the main reason for this is that valentino himself has merrily confessed he was willing to do anything to stop casey from winning that race - which means that casey's belief valentino was ready to crash them both out was 100% correct. you can quibble about the specific moves, but at the end of the day valentino did obviously go into this race with the aim of intimidating casey. he could have injured both of them in order to prove a point, and I think that is something you can entirely reasonably take issue with. 10/10 for execution, good job on not actually crashing (even though a bit of his bike actually broke during the corkscrew overtake so it was completely lap of the gods stuff) - but that doesn't necessarily make valentino's approach morally defensible. casey's problem, of course, is that you have to say that it did WORK. if ever there was a single race that won someone a title, it's probably this one

which obviously just sucks for casey!! it plays into so many of his issues so perfectly that OF COURSE it's not something he's going to easily get over. and this is something that I do want to discuss in more depth in the actual laguna post, since it's definitely more my wheelhouse than analysing motorcycle overtakes - but my god was the psychology of this race horrendous from casey's pov. and you're flirting with quite a thin line where... I don't want to dismiss casey's interpretation, I think it's a reasonable stance to take, but also what's most fascinating to me is the emotional side of things. where it's less about completely rational assessment of whether xyz move should be allowed, and more about what casey felt - which is obviously also the arena valentino was interested in, more than actually winning the race. that's the selling point of this race: usually, you deploy tactics based on your understanding of your opponent's psychology to win the race you're actually in. valentino's primary goal was to get into casey's head and make him suffer. this was a long-term investment, right... and assessing exactly what it did to casey emotionally, why it felt so awful to him and how valentino achieved the desired effect - that's the really juicy stuff to dig into

there's also something else worth addressing here... part of the issue is that your perception of the racing is going to depend on what version of the sport you're most familiar with watching. a lot of the actual hard racing from laguna 2008 probably won't register as particularly out of order because there's also been a bit of a shift in riding standards in the intervening years. in 2011-12 the three competitive aliens kind of got away with dialling the aggression way, way, way down - just as a group taking a very conservative approach to what constituted an acceptable pass. 2013 reverses that trend, first and foremost because of marc joining the premier class. since then, the amount of aggression has generally crept upwards. there'll be several different reasons for that - rivals having to adjust to marc's level of aggression, the speculation that moto2 as a category was producing crazier rookies (this was a big talking point in 2017 with zarco, who valentino memorably had his issues with), and also technical changes. in the current formula of the sport, it's just a lot harder to overtake - and a lot of the previously common styles of overtaking also just wouldn't really be feasible nowadays. so you've got a lot of block passes, divebombs, shove it up the inside from a mile back (because that's as close as you can generally get to your competitor) and hope for the best... overtaking with contact has been completely normalised - something like pecco's first (?) cut back on marc in jerez this year would have been controversial in a different era, but now basically everyone just went 'good job yeah'

how you feel about this shift is always going to be a matter of personal opinion, and I'm definitely not completely in the laissez-faire camp on this myself - but it does undeniably mean you need a bit of extra context for what was considered 'hard' racing back then. and yes, obviously valentino himself is to some extent directly responsible for this shift. it's not like he never complained about other riders back then, he's always had a stance of 'fine if you can pull it off but don't be an idiot', but he definitely became more uncomfortable with some of the riding by his competitors over the years. which is ALSO a reasonable stance! riding aggressively by the standards of your time doesn't mean you have to take a complete carte blanche approach to all hard racing for evermore. it's their lives at stake, at the end of the day, so I do always feel like people should afford riders an open mind when they're giving their opinions on aggressive riding. even when their opinions vary rather dramatically. one moment that always sticks out to me in illustrating this shift over time is casey overtaking dani in motegi 2008 and gesturing back to apologise for pushing him wide. and......... I cannot stress enough to you how harmless that move looks to my eyes. it does not even register as hard racing to me, let alone something that would warrant an apology. things really have changed

then again, obviously you do have to remember that casey's complaints weren't exactly popular back then either. yes, you can chalk some of that down to favouritism towards valentino - but I've gone through quite a lot of forum posts too, and even the neutrals/casey fans really did love this race and took issue with casey's complaints. the commentariat certainly did - including sources I personally don't view as biased towards valentino over casey. everyone was super excited to HAVE a battle like that again. proper racing had become so rare in the 800cc era that this felt like a real throwback to the golden age... casey was never going to get much of a sympathetic hearing from a fanbase who had gone from the glory of the 2006 season to the dire tedium of 2007. it is casey's misfortune that he not only had an approach to racing that is less appealing to the casual fan, but also just happened to emerge as a frontrunner in a season everyone already kinda hated for non-casey reasons. almost everyone felt like he overreacted after the race and had conducted himself poorly both with valentino and in the media. that's why he apologised for what he'd said a few weeks later when they reconvened in brno, saying it had been a heat of the moment reaction (an explanation valentino readily accepted) - but obviously this is not an opinion casey earnestly held. the psychology of that apology is obviously fascinating in its own right, like that must feel like shit to have to do,,, but it is another bit of important context that gets forgotten about sometimes. it's not that casey's complaints are illegitimate - it's just ALSO likely that his stance has been made more radical by how truly awful the whole experience was for him, in ways that aren't just related to the literal riding. and at a certain point, he kind of needed to make sense of all of this, come up for a narrative for this race to help keep himself sane. if the world thinks you lost a race because you were a weaker person, perhaps you need to tell yourself you lost because you were a better one

all of which will be discussed in a lot more depth at a later juncture! even in this post I've deliberately kind of buried the lede in terms of where I'm at when it comes to the psychology of this race. this IS a race I obviously just have.... so so many thoughts about, always - which is why responding to this was so quick and easy lol, no consulting my notes required for any of it. at some point all of this will be written up with actual sources provided and lap-by-lap analysis. it's such a fantastic little case study for how sports psychology works, like I could write research papers on this thing. love the race, love them both, don't particularly want to side with either of them in their interpretation of this race but enjoy both sides and think they're both Valid. we'll never see the like again

[makethatelevenrings]

Hawkie Talkie // S. Riley x gn!disabled!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: gun violence, blood, canon typical violence, reader is in a wheelchair which shouldn’t be a “warning” per se but just so any able-bodied bitches get bent out of shape you can’t say I didn’t warn you, swearing but it’s COD so

Summary: When the base you’re at is overrun with hostiles, Ghost is especially concerned about their intelligence officer. You’re fine, aside from your jokes.

Frankly, you could do without the ear splitting alarm that was shrieking through the base. Yeah, yeah, it was to alert that hostiles were active and encroaching on the base, but it was also really fucking distracting.

You pushed your wheelchair towards your door and locked it before moving back to your desk. Pulling open the desk drawer on your right, you grabbed the slim plastic case you were looking for and opened it to reveal a small comms unit. The earpiece settled in your ear and you strapped the collar around your throat before turning it on. Voices immediately assaulted your already battered ears and you winced.

“I take it there’s a slight problem?” you quipped. Your fingers flew over the keys in front of you as you pulled up a map of the base with coordinating CCTV.

“Hawk,” Simon’s voice came over the comms, every bit sharp and dark. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t your Simon at that moment, but Ghost. “How copy?”

“Office is secured and from what I can tell, no hostiles nearby. Same cannot be said for you, Gaz. Two coming in from the left.”

Two shots reverberated through the comms and you smirked. Hawk, they called you, due to you being the eyes of the operation. An intelligence officer contracted by Laswell to work for the 141, you made sure they got the information they needed before and during their missions coupled with any threat assessments and cyber security. Being in a wheelchair might restrict you from being in the field, but your job proved to be a lot more important.

“Who are these guys?” you asked. “Let me rephrase that, who the fuck did you all piss off enough?”

Soap snorted at your question. “Looks like some remnants of AQ trying to get revenge.”

“Hawk, do you have a visual on the whole base?” Price interrupted.

“Have had it up since the alarms sounded, Captain. What do you need to know?”

“How many hostiles and where?”

Your eyes scanned over the screen, correlating the data with the cameras. “Twenty-six active hostiles. Looks like they started with forty, four groups of ten attacking from each direction. Ghost, you’ve got three on your tail.”

“I’m heading your way,” the phantom snapped.

“Negative, Lieutenant. I’m fine.” Truly, you were. Your office was near the heart of the base so you were decently far from the action and the pistol in your desk drawer would help out if anyone did get past the rampaging soldiers out there.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Worried about me, Ghost? Price, two heading your way on your left.”

“Less flirting you two,” Price said before gunfire erupted over his end. You waited for it to subside before you changed your cameras to focus on Soap’s location. Shit. Ghost was handling the northern quadrants, Gaz and Price to the south, and Soap was on east. That left the west undefended.

“The west quadrant is unprotected. Anyone able to engage?”

“Give me five minutes,” Gaz shouted. You watched as a diamond formation started making their way to the heart of the base.

Towards you.

“Hawk, get out of there,” Ghost barked. You opened your bottom drawer and opened your gun safe. As you checked the ammo and turned the safety off, you scoffed at Ghost’s suggestion.

“Yeah, let me just roll myself into the middle of a shootout. That sounds like a brilliant idea. I thought you were supposed to be an expert strategist.”

You could hear the echoes of gunfire in the distance and it wasn’t just over the comms. Flipping the lights off of your office, you quickly set your monitors to sleep in hopes that it would look as though your office was unoccupied. You pushed your wheelchair back, sliding up against the back wall. Your gun sat in your lap on top of the little blanket covered in Casper the Friendly Ghost that a certain Mancunian gifted you.

“Hawk,” Ghost hissed. “I’m close to your location.”

“Yeah, well, so are they.”

You could hear the other offices next to yours being raided. The 141 wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, but they had elected to stay late to wait for you while you finished up some paperwork before you headed to the pub. Dumb fucking luck.

For these motherfuckers, that is.

The handle of your door rattled and you steadied your hand on the grip of your pistol. The glass next to the door shattered but you didn’t flinch. A hand reached through and unlocked the door.

The second it opened, you laid the leader out with a single shot to the head. Gunfire erupted at random from the next two, but you dispatched them cleanly. A strangled gurgle and choking sound came from the final man and his body was dumped onto the ground with a knife clearly sticking out of his neck.

There he stood, the phantom that haunted his enemies. Blood streaked across the armored part of his mask and splattered across his uniform. You offered him a smirk as you wheeled out from your hiding place and glanced down at the corpses around you.

“You good?” you asked. His chest heaved with a heavy breath and he strode forward, yanking the edge of his mask up to rest across the bridge of his nose. Ghost bent down and his glove curled around your jaw, forcing your face up, and collided his lips with yours. It bordered more on the edge of pain than pleasure as your teeth clashed and tongues battled for domination. He groaned into your mouth and you grinned wickedly. Only you could pull those noises from him.

Without looking, you raised your gun and fired over Simon’s shoulder, directly hitting the hostile who aimed to sneak up on you. He collapsed into a pool of his own blood and Ghost finally pulled away to look at your latest victim.

“Jesus bloody H. Christ, love,” he grunted. Ghost tugged his mask back down and studied the path to the door. He quickly nudged the bodies out of the way so you had a clean path out of the office to follow him out.

“Hawk good?” Soap asked over the comms.

“Hawk’s bloody fucking brilliant, that’s what,” Ghost grunted.

“Hey guys, what type of phone does a hawk use?” you quipped as you followed Ghost out. “A hawkie talkie.”

Simultaneous groans erupted over the comms, but it did nothing to lessen your shit eating grin. Price muttered something about transferring you to Antarctica, but you ignored them all. You just glanced at the goliath of a man beside you, seeing his mask move with his muted laughter.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Tête-à-Tête

Part Two

Part One is: here

Her uncle was true to his word. Which both did and did not surprise Kayo.

After all, the man had sworn vengeance on Jeff Tracy and International Rescue, and he pursued that vengeance with a single-minded determination. On the other hand, he broke all sorts of promises – both explicit and implied – in the course of that pursuit.

In any case, Kayo was once again bound, gagged, and blindfolded, before being bundled off out of her uncle’s hideout. Unfortunately, the goons were efficient, and Kayo had no inkling of where she had been taken.

After a final parting gift of a dose of a short-term knockout drug, she was deposited – unrestrained – neatly beside Thunderbird Shadow. Once she came around the goons were long gone and the winds had eroded all trace of their passage.

Kayo was shaky on her feet, so she did a quick assessment of her condition, and reluctantly put in a call for help.

It was now a race between the GDF and International Rescue to see who would get to her first.

Twenty minutes later and the GDF had won the race; her brothers being held up by the collapsed skyscraper that had held their attention for the past … it was now sixteen hours.

The GDF medics had cleared her of any permanent damage, only the lingering effects of the drugs her uncle and his minions had pumped into her. Once her body cleared those out, she would be fine.

Colonel Casey was in the process of debriefing her on her details of her ‘encounter’ when the roar of multiple Thunderbirds shook the GDF flyer. Five minutes after that all four earth-bound Tracys had boarded the flyer; and John’s hologram popped up from her wrist comm, even as Scott muscled his way into the room, his brothers following.

Colonel Casey’s decision to debrief Kayo in the on-board conference room of her Command Flyer was typically foresighted of the women.

Once the Tracys had reassured themselves that Kayo was, indeed, as physically okay as the GDF had reported, they retreated to the far side of the conference table – John transferring to Virgil’s wrist comm –, and listened intently as the debrief continued.

Kayo was going over the physical description of the interior of the Hood’s lair for the third time (Virgil had shunted John to Scott, and was using a 3D rendering art programme he could somehow access through his wrist comm to build a model based on her description), when the door opened, and an nondescript-looking NCO marched smartly to Colonel Casey’s side.

The man saluted, and passed over a holodisplay, and Kayo could only just make out the words ‘pathology report’, ‘substance analysis’ and ‘urgent’.

Casey dismissed the man, and speed-read her way through the files.

The storm of emotions on the older woman’s face had Kayo’s hackles rising, and the Tracys edging towards her.

Scott was the first to break, moving to stand and read over the Colonel’s shoulder.

Casey looked back at Kayo, “What did The Hood tell you about the drug he administered?”

Kayo frowned, remembering. “He said it had cost him a lot of time and money to source; that it was new, and guaranteed to work, with no side effects. Oh, and he has already used it! He implied that he had used it on politicians and businessmen to extract personal information he was blackmailing them on.”

Casey paused, considering. “Did he tell you this before or after he administered the drug?”

“After.”

“And what questions did he ask? If you can remember the exact words he used, it could be important.”

Kayo stared at her a moment, perplexed, before Scott nodded to prompt her. She shut her eyes, and replayed events in her mind. It was surprisingly easy to recall details.

She spoke slowly, reluctantly. “He asked, ‘And so, Kayo, my beloved niece, how are you these days?’, then ‘I told you, my dear, I just want to catch up with you. So, how are you?’.” She paused. “Next was ‘The Tracys are keeping you busy? Not too busy, I hope. It wouldn’t do for you to be overworked.’ And then, ‘And how is your dear father? It has been a very long time since I have had news of my beloved half-brother.’”

Kayo paused, considering, but a small voice insisted that the next questions were rhetorical, and therefore not questions. “The last thing he asked was, ‘Do you still love me?’” she concluded, quietly.

Colonel Casey’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Kayo, but I had to ask. Your bloodwork came back, and we identified the ‘truth serum’ he used on you. It is a new formula, and one that is very tightly controlled, as it is extremely effective. But the Hood lied, while there usual side effects of disorientation are not present, it has a very nasty side effect in that it makes the subject … suggestible. Anyone given this drug is very vulnerable to instructions or alternative information provided whilst they are under the influence; and the influence is very difficult to shake, even after the drug has worn off.”

Casey sighed, “It appears that the Hood is making an attempt to recruit you by trying to reinforce his relationship with you.” Her gaze softened, “Please, Kayo, be mindful of this, and be careful whenever you next encounter him.”

Kayo nodded. “I will, Colonel. My father has warned me about my uncle ever since I was a little girl. To side with him would be to betray my father.��

“And I am both glad and sorry to hear that, Kayo.” Casey looked at the holofile in her hand, again. “Was it only ‘family matters’ that you discussed?”

Kayo opened her mouth to speak, hesitated a second as the little voice whispered insistently in her head again.

“Yes, Colonel Casey. That was all we talked about.”

Notes:

This was never originally meant to be a two parter, but the Hood went off on a tangent, and he really isn’t the type of person who would act out of sentimentality. On screen, he always has a plan, though in the beginning IR can outwit him, later on, he becomes sneakier, with back-up plans and redundancies in place.

[le-agent-egg]

Ok now that school for me is over I finally feel comfortable for talking about how this year went for me, because holy fuck it was horrible.

Now I in absolutely no way wish to overstep boundaries for anyone who sees this, so here we go: trigger warning for s**cide, s**cidal thoughts and tendencies, s*xual assault, mentions of r*pe, smaller mentions of homophobia/racism/transphobia, potential fetishization of trans people, and just general power abuse from schools. Please, for the love of god, if you do not feel comfortable with any of these topics, do not read this post.

I would like to preface by saying that I come from a very European bloodline, like everyone leading up to me is European, however I myself am Canadian, and I have a lot of North American influence in me. With that being said, one thing that is pretty common from what I know is for people, especially in the country my mom is from, to be people pleasers. I am a very heavy people pleaser, I don’t like talking about my feelings, all that fun stuff.

In the city I live in, there was a school that I wanted to go to for two reasons: most of my friends were there, and there was a specific program I wanted to be in, though it was mainly the former and not the latter. The only problem is that due to the amount of people going there, it is a closed school, meaning people from out of zone are unable to attend UNLESS you are in the program. You can see where this is going.

Even though I was ok with going to my designated school for a while, around of March 2023 I decided I did want to go to the school with my friends. I submitted my first application form, and around June, I got an email saying I would in fact be a candidate for the program.

Tenth grade starts, I start going to the school, and everything is fine for the first little while. Some details will be kept private, but some work related things happened to my family around early October. Now for the really fun part:

The thing about this program, and honestly school in general, is that it’s very focused on academics, and almost wearing people down. We were doing a novel study on the book The Chrysalids, a book that I personally relate to very much, when shit really went down.

To start things off, we had a pop quiz on the book, that I ended up only getting 40% on. I was completely freaking out, only thinking of how angry everyone was going to be. Then while we were reading the book, a lot of the religious references started getting to me, the ones regarding the “true image of man” if you’ve read the book. (For context, I am a trans man, and that stuff kinda made me feel. Not very good.)

So I end up going to a school counselor, talking about that, which eventually leads to me finally spiraling into talking about my own suicidal thoughts. For a bit more context I’ve been struggling with mental health since around the sixth grade after needing to go to the hospital for something with my eye, as well as my grandfather passing away. I started talking about just how bad I was feeling, and since it’s part of the safety rules, the counselor did have to call my parents. Let me tell you there is nothing more awkward than your parents finding out about the fact that you’re dealing with suicidal thoughts, especially over phone.

So. Long story short, we ended up going to my city’s children’s hospital for a risk assessment. We talked about some stuff, got some resources, all that fun stuff. Really awkward to explain to people why I wasn’t in class.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, I’m called down to the office again. Since this was around the time the people at my school were doing assessments for people for if they would get into the program or not, I got the news that based on the past week where I finally snapped, that they didn’t deem me fit for the stress of the program, despite the fact that for the previous month and a half, I had been doing fine. Additionally they said that I could stay with only one class instead of the required two, however this was the one I didn’t want as much. They kinda gave me a pity acceptance because they thought I would be too much to deal with haha. My dad kinda went off on them.

When I got home that day, I decided that after having my own mental health issues used against me, I wanted nothing to do with the school. Also, again, if you’ve read The Chrysalids, you’ll probably understand why I relate to much to the main character David (being in a society where you’re different from others, but in turn seen as a hassle)

Officially speaking, I denied the pity acceptance around December, meaning that in grade 11, I would be going back to my designated school. We were also getting help from a few counselors, so that really helped. I also ended up doing my oral final for English on being a part of a society that treats you bad because your different with David from The Chrysalids and Juliet from you can probably guess where. I cried during it lmao (because I said that I would end up like David in the sense of finally being somewhere that accepts me, rather than Juliet with… you can see the implication.)

You’re probably thinking “oh yay we’re at the happy ending!!” Nope nooooo haha we just finished semester one. Now moving onto semester two:

We need to go back in time to set the stage a little: Remember how I mentioned that one of the main reasons I originally wanted to apply was because most of my friends were going to that school? One of them, who I’ll call D, was included in that. D and I had met in eighth grade, since we were in the same French class and debate team. He introduced me to a larger group of friends, where I actually met a lot of cool people. He was someone who I considered my closest friend, and honestly, the main reason I wanted to go to the school.

Around the start of ninth grade is when my egg cracked so to speak, and I realized I was a trans guy. He ended up helping me choose the name Zach, which is what I’ve gone by for the past year or two. After everything else I say you’ll understand why I’m thinking of changing it, mostly because I feel like I didn’t really choose it. Anyway.

Ninth grade is when I probably should have realized that stuff was getting a biiiit weird. Obviously ninth graders are not known for being very mature. So one thing D would always do is hug me before I got to my next class. Seems innocent enough right? Well I’ve always been averse to physical touch - ask my parents, they can confirm that even when I was a toddler I hated being hugged. But I really liked D, platonically I should say, so I let him hug me, because I liked seeing him happy.

This evolved into him kissing me goodbye. For most of ninth grade he wore a mask, but around halfway he stopped, and often times our lips would make contact. People would always joke “haha you’re dating get a room” but I hated getting kissed, like genuinely hated it. Probably because, again, I am very averse to touch, and was never ready for a romantic relationship. I would just kinda dissociate whenever he would do that.

These jokes didn’t stop once we were in tenth grade, and neither did he. The kissing stopped, sure, but it evolved into constantly touching me and wrapping his arms around me. Again, I am very averse to physical touch, but even with feeling wildly uncomfortable I let him do it because I’m a people pleaser. I think what sucks for me is that so many people probably noticed how uncomfortable I was with all of this, and yet said nothing, like “hey are you ok with being touched”, or something. I understand I should advocate for myself, but I genuinely felt so trapped.

Whenever I would try to hide in the school, he would always somehow find me, and start the cycle over again. Sometimes he would hug me to tight that it physically hurt. But the worst thing is that, on multiple occasions, he would “accidentally” touch my ass, inner thigh, or upper chest. This is, as my friends describe both it and the kissing, borderline sexual assault, and under no circumstances will i EVER let myself be treated like that again. I felt like two years of a mutual trust build between us had been tossed in the trash, because even with a crush on me, he couldn’t keep his hands off me.

Not to go all conspiracy theorist mode, but I honestly feel like it might have something to do with the fact that I’m trans- none of this happened before I came out to our larger group, but after I did, all of this happened. Let me tell you that larger group has a lot of not very good people in it, like I’m talking thinking that racism/homophobia/transphobia/rape is the funniest thing ever. WHICH IT IS NOT. IT’S NOT VERY GOOD TO MAKE JOKES ABOUT RAPE WHEN SOMEONE IN THE GROUP IS BORDERLINE SAING SOMEONE ELSE.

So. Not very epic. But wait, there’s more!!

Another person who went to the school was someone who I knew in ninth grade as well- lets call her A. A is known to have a very big princess complex- she’s never been told no in her life, she always thinks she’s the center of attention, and she loves making herself seem like a victim. Literally, in a team-based activity we had, when we said we work bad as a team, she took it as a personal insult.

Another thing A is really bad with is that she does not know how to keep her hands to herself. She would constantly poke at my waist, even when I told her to not touch me. When we were learning some basic CPR stuff, and I said “don’t touch me”, she was like “Oh ok I guess if you’re choking I’ll leave you to die since you don’t wanna be touched” ?????

She was one of the worst with the “get a room” jokes, even when I told her to stop. We had a martial arts unit, and at one point she was hitting me so hard and frequently that I was unable to recover. Where did having respect for your opponent go? We’re sparring, not trying to kill each other lmao (also she actually did end up hitting my wrist pretty weird, and it was so painful I ended up sitting out for the rest of class. yippee.) To top it off, on the last day of school when I was telling a close friend about why I wouldn’t be in the school next year, A decided to barge in saying that it was my fault for getting kicked out of the program because of my mental health issues. Not a very nice thing to say to someone.

ANYWAY. TL:DR, I ended up getting my mental health used against me to get denied from a program, was borderline assaulted by someone who I thought was a close friend, and had a generally bad experience with another student who ended up telling me that it was my fault for getting kicked out of the program, all in the span of less than ten months.

Thankfully I am doing better now that I’m leaving that school and the bad people in it for good, and I also have some really great friends as well. Honestly I’m just glad I survived this year, because as bad as it sounds, without everything happening, I don’t know if I would have made it to 16.

If you’re still reading this, have some sweets because fuck that was heavy. Thanks <3 🍫🍰🧁🍩🍪🍦

[the-lonelybarricade]

As the River Flows - Acotar Gift Exchange (3/8)

Summary: As Feyre lamented quietly over the misfortune of her life, there, in the marketplace, she heard a merchant instruct to its patron: Place a butterfly wing under your tongue before you sleep, and you will dream of your true love.

Or a Feysand magical regency AU. This is part three of my @acotargiftexchange for the lovely @sideralwriting. This chapter was also supposed to loosely be for the @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 wedding prompt, but the plot's moving a bit slower than anticipated.

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist・Series Masterlist

-

“What’s happened to your fingers?”

Feyre jolted up from where she’d been half falling asleep in her chair. Across the table, Nesta was scowling over her copy of Letters to Young Ladies on Their Entrance Into the World. Their Father and governess had insisted they each read the marriage manual cover to cover before they made their societal debut.

The sentiment of love will be found to take its colourings from the imagination of the person by whom it is cherished. Virtuous and amiable young women do not often fix their affections on base and unworthy objects; but they may, and most frequently do, fancy perfections and fine qualities in their lovers which no one else perceives, and which too frequently they do not possess.

From the way Nesta had narrowed her eyes at the bandages littered along Feyre’s fingers, it seemed that Feyre wasn’t the only one having difficulty staying engaged with the reading material.

Feyre set down the book so she could duck her hands into her lap, away from Nesta’s scrutiny. “I was sewing.”

“Oh?” Nesta thrummed her fingers against the table, assessing her coolly. “I’ve never seen you sew a thing in your freetime. I was under the impression you weren’t capable.”

Swallowing her outrage, Feyre lifted a hand from her skirt and waggled her fingers with more belligerence than was owed. “Evidently, I’m still honing the skill.”

“What were you sewing?” Nesta pressed.

“Buttons,” she said smoothly. “One of the buttons on my cloak had fallen off.”

“Odd, that you attempted to mend it yourself.”

“I mended it perfectly fine,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. “The only thing odd is your surveillance.”

Nesta shut her book. Feyre stiffened at the flame she saw burning, cold as a winter frost, in Nesta’s eyes. “You know what else is odd?” Her eldest sister raised an assessing brow. “That you’d be wearing a cloak at all, when you’ve never seen a winter chill in your life.”

Her heartbeat amplified, until Feyre could feel each pulse lodge in her throat. Nesta knew. Perhaps not the specifics, but from the way Nesta’s lips thinned into a grimace, she surely guessed that Feyre had been up to something impermissible. The three of them were all allies with each other before they were allies with their father—and if Feyre had done something she feared admitting even to Nesta and Elain, it could only truly relate to one thing.

Magic.

“Girls.” They both fell quiet at the sharp reprimand of their governess, from where she sat in the corner of the library, stiff-backed as always. Even in her leisure. “I hope your conversation isn’t distracting from your preparations for entering society.”

It was perhaps the first time Feyre had ever been relieved to be scolded by her governess. She quickly diverted her attention back to the marriage manual, ignoring the way Nesta glowered in her periphery. She could stare all she liked—it was a secret that would only ever exist between Feyre and her true love.

While the love-sick maiden avoids a clandestine engagement, and continues to employ the greater part of her time in elegant and useful occupations, there is but little danger of her sacrificing either her happiness or her duty to a hopeless passion or an impudent attachment.

Love—in the abstract, imaginative, and romantic sense of the word—is a chimerical passion of which but few young women can form any corresponding or adequate idea, and of which still fewer are in the least danger of ever experiencing…

Feyre suffered through 20 more pages which outlined precisely what a sensible woman should take into consideration when seeking matrimonial engagement. Love, apparently, took minimal precedence. It stuck with Feyre through the remainder of the day, until the sun touched the ground and she couldn't help writing out her thoughts in a letter.

-

My newly acquainted rake,

As the Winter Solstice draws near, my Father’s marriage preparations become more and more extreme. I’ve been made to read a host of manuals to help me achieve a successful married life with my father’s hand picked suitor. Did you know that Elizabeth Lanfear discourages seeking a love match? She asserts that ‘Love Matches, at least those which are generally so called, do not always prove the happiest’. Tell me, for I trust as my true love you will speak plainly, why in a world where finding your true love is as simple as catching a butterfly, we are discouraged from pursuing them as our match? I can understand why my father would discourage such a thing, when he has his own motives for securing me a husband. But Elizabeth’s interests claim to align with the women she advises, and she certainly doesn’t know my Father. Why would she advise against something that is so easily within reach?

It has occurred to me that your interests ought to be considered. As we may potentially be entering a courtship, your insights about my future matches are likely far from objective, regardless of my asking you to remain so. Perhaps I’m seeking your counsel, knowing you will assure me that I’m wise in sneaking behind my father’s back, breaking his strictest rule, and risking severe punishment. All to speak to someone I have been discouraged from pursuing by an alleged expert in marriage. I do not understand why everything I’ve ever been told directs me opposite to you. Why is love such a deplorable thing to desire?

I have always been one for taking risks, you see. I am not daunted by the idea of betraying my upbringing. I only wish to know if you also believe that love is, as Elizabeth puts it, “chimerical”.

Yours, despite the judgment of my Father and Elizabeth,

Feyre Archeron

-

Feyre. My darling, Feyre.

I admit, my opinion on the matter is swayed in knowing that you are the woman I wish to one day call my wife. Yet, I like to believe that I am a man whose heart and mind frequently agree. I can say with sincerity that in advising a woman who was not my true love nor future wife, I would be inclined to disagree with Elizabeth.

Love is not chimerical. I believe Elizabeth errs too heavily on the side of caution. You would be surprised by how easily love is given beyond the confines of your father’s manor. The greater challenge is finding love that agrees with high society’s rigid rules and harsher judgements. I’m certain Elizabeth fears that if she advises young women to pursue love above compatible means, she’ll be held responsible for all the esteemed ladies that suddenly run off with their farmboys. Love is easy to find, yes, but the circumstances for which it is encountered are not always convenient.

Regardless, I believe that when love is found—even outside of the “appropriate” societal bounds—it is worth pursuing at any cost. I hope when we eventually meet, you will find our match worth pursuing. As your husband, it would be my utmost endeavor to prove to Elizabeth that a love match can prove indisputably happy.

With my deepest affections,

Your rake

-

Rake,

Just as I expected, your quill is as honeyed as your tongue. Still, I agree with your observations, and I’ve always found myself exhausted by the endless restrictions of High Society. Though Elizabeth, my Father, and my eldest sister would all deem me a fool in love, I would gladly run away with you, if it came to it.

On a less romantic note, I fear I cannot continue sending these letters. Nesta suspects my bandaged fingers are the product of more than sewing and I fear that if my fingers continue to remain in this state, her investigation will transcend idle curiosity. It’s the fault of a foolish lie, since I claimed I was attempting to sew a button to my cloak. We live in perpetual spring, and to my governess’s behest, I have never taken much to sewing as a hobby.

This will be our last written correspondence before the Solstice Ball. Please, if there is anything I might use to identify you, tell me now so that I can ensure you are chosen as a potential suitor.

Foolishly yours,

Feyre

-

Feyre,

When we we meet, I will look into your eyes, and I will tell you that they are the most beautiful color I have ever seen.

That is how you will know it’s me.

-

Feyre’s true love did not visit in her dreams.

In some ways, she was relieved. The marriage manuals emphasized the importance of modesty, and Feyre didn’t trust that if her rake requested another kiss, or something more, she wouldn’t indulge him.

Still, as the days passed to weeks, she found herself thinking about him often. Imagining what he might look like. Trying to recall the sound of his voice, since it was the only thing she could use to identify him.

The longer the silence lingered between them, the feinter the memory became. Feyre became increasingly nervous that she wouldn’t be able to identify her true love at all by the time the Solstice Ball arrived. If he even came at all.

On the eve of the ball, she caved and caught another butterfly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me?” Teased a voice out of the darkness.

Feyre try to savor the sound, a sommelier searching for every hidden note.

Deep. Sensual. Decadent. Like velvet, or a rich chocolate cake.

Or a warm evening beneath a starry sky.

“Will you be there?” Feyre asked, knowing she was betraying her anxiety. She hoped he would find it flattering. And if he didn’t, well… he wasn’t the one about to be married off for the remainder of his life.

A gentle hand wrapped around the fingers she’d rested in her lap. She couldn’t fathom how he was able to find them so seamlessly in the dark. He lifted her hand into the air, laying a gentleman’s kiss against the back of her hand.

“I will be there, Feyre. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world.”

“What will you—”

“Go to sleep,” he chided with a soft laugh. “I’m sure your body will need the rest.”

“I am asleep,” she argued.

He lowered her hand, and she nearly jumped when his lips found her forehead next. “Happy birthday, Feyre darling. I will see you in the evening.”

-

“Remember Feyre—”

“Yes, yes,” she snapped, pushing away her governess’s fussing hands. “Don’t take my gloves off, I heard you the last dozen times.”

“Feyre!” She rolled her eyes at Elain’s feigned outrage. They all shared a mutual contempt for their governess, but Elain, at least, encouraged civility. Their governess bristled, brushing her hands roughly on her skirts, before she turned to fuss over the pins in Elain’s hair instead.

Fine. At least Elain enjoyed being fussed over. Feyre pulled at the hem of her gloves again. Her palms were so sweaty that the fabric was slipping more so than usual. If it were Nesta or Elain, it wouldn’t have been an issue. But Feyre’s tattoo crawled all the way to her elbow, black as spilled ink on a fresh winter’s snow.

“I told Father you needed a long sleeved dress,” Nesta complained, irritation so sharp in her voice that Feyre straightened her back.

They were perhaps all a little high strung that evening.

“The glove covers it fine, Nesta.”

Outside Nesta’s open window, they could hear the guests assembling in the garden. It was the perfect evening for a ball. A warm, cloudless night, bathed in silver moonlight that shone nearly as bright as day. The servants had strung up lanterns alone the stone path that circled their great marble fountain. It made for a pleasant area to take a breath of fresh air between the dancing that was set to take place in the ballroom.

Already, Feyre could hear the drifting sound of violins.

With a long, shaky breath, Feyre pulled the elastic of her delicate mask over her head. Next was the dance card, which Feyre had to hold out her wrist for Nesta to tie. Once Nesta was finished, she held out her wrist wordlessly for Feyre to return the favor. Except wrapping the ribbon around her sister’s wrist felt like slipping a noose around her neck. They stared at one another through masks of swirling gold and silver, words just out of reach to express the emotions they were never quite capable of sharing with one another. She squeezed Nesta’s fingers once the dance card was secure, and that said enough.

If they could depend on no one else tonight, they could depend on each other. Elain managed to escape their governess to loop her arm through Feyre’s and then Nesta’s.

“Shall we?” She asked, with none of the excitement that had been in her voice when she’d talked about this evening as a little girl. Then, their mother had been alive, and talks of suitors and romance had been exciting.

Had their father truly warped this occasion, or had the veil just been lifted from their eyes? Suddenly, Feyre felt guilty for not having encouraged her sisters to try their own hand at magic, to ensure their true loves would be here, too. She had been nervous of the repercussions, and that it was a step of defiance too far even for Nesta, but now Feyre wondered if she had doomed them by withholding this secret.

Not that there was anything she could say or do now, as the three of them descended the steps and the ballroom doors opened, enveloping them in layers of sound—the softly playing orchestra, the idle chatter of the attendees, the sound of glass flutes filled with sparkling liquid. It all quieted the moment they entered the room.

That was when their Father stepped forward from the heart of the crowd. “Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce to you all my three beautiful daughters.” They dropped arms, forcing pleasant smiles toward the curious, near predatory crowd.

“My eldest daughter, Nesta Archeron.”

Chin held high, eyes as cool and unyielding as a winter storm, Nesta curtsied to the room.

“My dearest, Elain Archeron.”

Elain smiled so brilliantly, no one would ever have believed she was standing at the front of the ballroom unwillingly. Feyre could already see the way some of the men’s eyes glazed as they watched her gracefully bow her body. All she could see was a pack of wolves eying a fawn.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. Searching for him. Surely, he would not look like a wolf.

“And my youngest. Here to celebrate her debut into society and her 21st birthday. Feyre Archeron.”

For a moment, Feyre considered standing her ground. It would be delicious to stare her father in the eyes as she refused to bow. But knowingly it would reflect poorly on her sisters, Feyre lowered her body towards the ground and spread her arms just as her governess had made them practice. Again and again and again.

“They’re all staring,” she said under her breath, trying her best not to fidget as they walked with each other through the parted crowd. Their governess said that tonight she needed to emulate perfect, poised Elain.

Feyre noted, with some measure of satisfaction, that perfect, poised Elain was looking fairly pale herself.

“Let them stare,” Nesta said. “They’re to come to us.”

Indeed, they hadn’t made it to the refreshments table before the first bachelor stepped into their path, eager eyes fixed on Elain as he bowed. “Lord Graysen,” he said. A lovely voice, but it wasn’t deep enough. Not at all like being caressed by moonlight.

Soon Elain was sequestered to the dance floor, followed by a brave, darked haired man who dared weather Nesta’s icy demeanor. Handsome, even through his mask, but there was something about the way his eyes wavered over Nesta’s body that made Feyre’s stomach drop into her chest. Lord Tomas. Not her true love.

If he was here, as he had promised Feyre he would be, she liked to believe that he would be the first to approach her. If only to ensure that he could secure a place on her dance card.

“Lady Feyre,” someone said at her back.

She turned, and was met with an exquisite golden mask embedded with emeralds and shaped like whorls of leaves. Jade green eyes shone beneath the twisted metal and his lips were curled into a friendly smile.

She hadn’t imagined the shoulder length blonde hair. But he was certainly handsome.

“Pardon me, Lord…”

“Tamlin,” he supplied with a small, charming laugh. “Duke of Carterhaugh. Please excuse my terrible manners. I was momentarily blindsided.”

His voice was… different. Deep. A bit rougher, less like velvet and more like corduroy. “Blindsided by what, your grace?”

“Your eyes,” he answered. “They’re the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.”

For a moment, the room swam and all the sound fizzled into a muted buzz. She searched Tamlin’s face, assessing his intention. He was smiling. Smiling knowingly. And truly, what were the chances that any other suitor would be so forward. So shameless?

“That’s an awfully rakish thing to say,” she said, studying every muscle on his face.

Tamlin grinned. “Maybe so, lady.” It was him. It had to be. “But I am only speaking the truth.” Feyre might as well have been floating as he held out his hand and asked, “May I have the first dance?”

He was here. And he was a duke. Surely, her father would be ecstatic at such a match.

“Tell me more about yourself, your grace.”

“Please,” he said, his touch light as he guided her towards the dance floor. “Call me Tamlin.”

Feyre withheld a giggle. Over a month now, she’d agonized over what his name might be. Tamlin. They moved among the other couples, searching for a space in the waltz. His hand was on her forearm, so warm. This close, she could smell him, and it wasn’t quite the same as she remembered. It reminded her of opening the window after a fresh rain. What had he smelled of before? Magic is fickle, and perhaps her dream of him hadn’t been a perfect mirror to reality.

“Tell me Tamlin,” Feyre said as he drew her into his arms. “What do you think of the stars?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder blade, the other clasped hers firmly. “The stars?” He asked as he led them into the flow of dancing couples, graceful as any debutante could have hoped to find in a dance partner. “I think the stars are beautiful. Though I—”

Feyre watched those jade eyes widen. His attention snapped over her shoulder and Feyre whirled in time to watch the doors blow open on a gust of night-kissed wind. The candles nearest the entrance guttered, bathing half of the room in shadow before they flared back to life.

The crowd gasped,some even screamed, as they all scrambled to part way for a figure that strolled in on long, even steps, straightening the lapels of his black jacket as though there wasn’t a single soul watching.

Shadow leaked from him like ink in water. Magic. Magic unlike she had ever seen it. Raw. Powerful. Even across the room, she could taste it in the air.

The masked stranger angled his head, blue-black hair shifting with the movement. Candlelight glowed against his face adoringly, illuminating a pair of bright violet eyes that swept over the room and landed directly on her Father.

“Lord Archeron,” he greeted. “What a charming soiree. A shame my invitation was misplaced.”

Tamlin’s hand moved up until he was gripping her shoulder, pushing her towards the back of the crowed. “What’s going on?” She whispered to him. “Do you know who that is?”

“Prince Rhysand,” he said darkly. “From the Northern Kingdom.”

She’d heard very little of the cold, merciless North. But she’d heard enough to go stiff, watching with horror as the dark prince approached her father, walking almost past him, before he placed a hand on his shoulder and said something into his ear.

Something that made Feyre’s father stumble backward. His face had drained of all color, but she could see him fighting to maintain composure as he said, “My family is honored to have you in attendance, your highness.”

Coward. But she could forgive him for it, on this occasion.

Rhysand was picking a fleck of dust off his shoulder as he said. “I wish to dance with your loveliest daughter.”

There was a moment of silence where Feyre could feel her father panicking. Something gnarled and twisted inside of her couldn’t help revel in it. For once, he understood how it felt to have control taken from him. Her gratification faltered the minute he began stuttering, “E-Elain, darling, come dance with the Prince.”

Sweet, gentle Elain. It was no secret that she was the loveliest of the sisters. Not just in beauty, but in nature. Her heart was good, kind in a way their Father had always declared was rare.

“No that one,” Rhysand said, not even glancing in the direction from where Elain had hesitantly stepped out of the crowd.

“Nesta, then,” her Father said.

Feyre tried not to feel insulted at being declared the least lovely—it was such a vain thing to focus on. At least Nesta, with her steel heart and iron will, would be most likely to weather the conditions of the North. Should it come to that.

“No.” The Prince’s tone was almost mocking. “Not that one, either.”

“Feyre,” her father called, sweeping his eyes over the crowd in search of her.

Tamlin’s hand tightened on her shoulder, but it fell away as she stepped forward. The ballroom was so quiet, the click of her shoes resounded through the room with each step. The world’s most resentful death knell.

The prince turned, violet eyes assessing her approvingly. “Feyre Archeron,” he purred. Her cheeks burned in humiliation at the knowledge that every single person was watching, holding their breaths so they could hear each word in perfect clarity. “The rumors are true, then, that you have eyes like stars.” He leaned in close, so that the next words were but a private secret between the two of them: “They are the most beautiful color I have ever seen.”