#the actual line is DID I ASK FOR YOUR COUNSEL

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

kendra : teal'c can die for all i care

the asgard (or a coincidence) : *thunder rumbles*

kendra, screaming at the sky : DID I FUCKING ASK

[ccarisi]

sleepyhead

summary: Your stepdad finds you fast asleep after a stressful day of work. warnings: age gap, stepcest, smut, somno, dubcon/noncon, virginity loss, unprotected piv, creampie, brief oral, daddy kink duh, kid/kiddo, sonny has zero morals 2.3k words

a/n: ever since i got this ask i couldn't stop Thinking. rushed this in one day so i hope its decent enough happy fathers day sonny <33 only proofread this once so you get what you get dt: @johnnydubcek do you forgive me for going on vacation

—

Sonny wasn’t sure if it was possible to have a day worse than this. If dealing with Buchanan as opposing counsel wasn’t bad enough, Liv was on his case from start to finish. If she brought him a weak he can’t win that wasn’t his fault. It was one thing after another and the only thing on his mind was going home, cracking open a beer, and watching whatever game was on that night.

And you, of course.

If he’s being honest you were the main thing on his mind. Coming home to your smiling face was the only thing that got him through the day sometimes, knowing that at the end of the dark tunnel that was his workday you were always there waiting for him. He figures he would have gone insane a long time ago if it weren’t for you.

On my way home now. Have you ate? I can make us dinner.

Sonny shoots you a text as he makes his way out of the courthouse, heading in the direction of the apartment. Your mom was working late tonight and he wants to make the most of every second he has alone with you. He knows how much you love his cooking, you’ll pick eating at home with him over a fancy restaurant everytime.

You there? I can make your favorite.

You always reply as soon as you get his texts, but those three little typing dots never pop up. Staring down at his screen Sonny tries again.

Is your phone off? Be home soon. Love you.

It wasn’t like you to ignore his texts and Sonny’s spiralling is in full force before he has the chance to stop it. He always did jump to the worst conclusions, but in his line of work who could blame him? Realistically, you were either away from your phone or it was dead.

Sonny finds himself rushing home, he knows he won’t relax until he sees you. It was hard to think rationally when it came to you, call it fatherly love and then some.

Almost dropping his keys in the process Sonny quickly makes his way through the door, half haphazardly dropping his briefcase off to the side. He calls out your name to no answer and his heart gets caught in his throat. He thought he was being ridiculous thinking something had happened to you, was he actually right?

Sonny treads down the hallway towards your room, peeking his head through your half ajar door only to discover you fast asleep. You were always a heavy sleeper.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as his eyes fall over your sleeping form, curled up into yourself in one of his old worn shirts. Sometimes he swore that you had more of his shirts in your dresser than his own.

You were here, you were safe.

Sonny quietly makes his way into your room, shedding his jacket before neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. The bed dips as he sits on the edge and he freezes for a moment, hoping he didn’t wake you from such a peaceful and heavy sleep. You’ve been picking up more shifts at work lately, something about wanting to have your own money and not rely on him. Too bad he’ll always spoil you rotten.

Brushing some hair out of your face Sonny admires how peaceful you look fast asleep. Wrapped up in your blanket with flushed cheeks, your soft plump parted lips, and the way you’re clutching that same stuffed animal he bought you ten or so years ago.

He couldn’t name a more precious sight even if he tried.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh baby?” Sonny murmurs under his breath as he pets your hair. No matter how old you get you’ll always be his baby, he’ll make sure of that. “Think you’ve been workin’ too hard, poor thing.” He leans in and leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Your skin was warm and soft against his lips, causing heavy desire to flow through Sonny’s veins like a river. It’s been such a long day and well, you’ve been working hard too after all. Don’t you deserve some loving?

You’ve talked about this before, there’s been sessions between you that ended up a little too hot and heavy. It’s not that you didn’t want to do that with him, you did. But would you be able to face your mom everyday knowing the truth? There was that part of you that was scared to go all the way, too. You knew he was…well endowed. The thought made you nervous.

You met in the middle, you let Sonny go down on you and you promised that you’d go all the way when he finally leaves your mom. Whenever that is.

Maybe Sonny was appealing to his darker nature when he peels your blanket off to reveal the rest of your limp body. You’ll forgive him, he wasn’t worried about that.

As gently and slowly as he can he maneuvers you to lay on your back, sushing you when you mumble incoherently in your sleep. With a deep breath Sonny moves your underwear to the side and slides two fingers through your folds. He just needs to feel you, that’s all. Maybe watch you get off and he’ll feel better.

There you go. Sonny fights back a groan when he feels your growing wetness, body responding to his touches even in your deep slumber. His fingers move to your clit next, rubbing your sensitive bud in small firm circles. His eyes stay glued to your face, watching for every reaction he can pull out of you. You looked so sweet and innocent as you subconsciously let out a hum in pleasure.

He should stop here, but he won’t. He knows that much about himself. Slow and steady as not to wake you, Sonny slips your underwear down to your ankles and tosses them to the side. He waits for a reaction that never comes while you remain fast asleep.

He used to joke that you could sleep through anything. It was a real war to get you to wake up for school in the morning, all the kicking and screaming. He would hear your multiple alarms going off from down the hall and without fail he had to wake you himself every time.

Gently spreading your legs Sonny inhales sharply as he sees your pussy slick with need. He’s just giving you what you want, isn't he? The tip of his finger circles your leaking hole and it’s just so inviting. Without thinking twice Sonny slips a finger inside of you, letting out a strangled groan at the way your pussy grips his finger. His eyes move from the sight of his finger inside you up to your face, no indication that you’re aware of anything that’s happening.

Sonny slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, admiring the way that his finger glistens from your arousal. He slips the finger inside of his mouth and moans from the sweet taste you left behind. That was enough to throw the last bit of rational thinking he had left out the window completely.

Sonny carefully positions himself between your thighs, lips ghosting over your little aching pussy. Leaning down he presses his nose against you, inhaling deeply. “Oh christ, baby.”

Without a second thought Sonny licks a broad stripe through your folds, eyes falling shut from the taste. His hands find your hips as he softly kneads the warm soft flesh there. You’re so sweet, inside and out.

His lips find your clit as he sucks softly and you let out a whine as your toes curl. Sonny has his way with you, licking and sucking away as you remain in your peaceful slumber. You were his favorite taste, and he would spend hours between your thighs if you let him.

Sonny feels the strain on his back from his position, not being able to maneuver both of you comfortably. God, he was getting old. One of these days he’ll get you a new bed, this was the same twin sized frame he built you too long ago to count.

Sitting up with a grunt he rolls out his neck and stretches his back. He could leave you be, go finish himself off in his room and be done with this whole thing.

His hands move on their own as he lowers his zipper and fishes himself out. Before he knows it his hand is wrapped around his heavy cock as he gives himself a few pumps. He can’t help it when it comes to you. But how could he? His sweet little baby.

Just over the outside, he tells himself. That’s not technically going against your wishes, so no harm done. Sonny slides his cock through your wet cunt, coating himself in the slick he left behind. He watches the way his cock slides through your slippery folds and the way your slick sticks to his shaft. You were just so fucking tempting.

Maybe just the tip, that doesn’t count. It’s hard to resist when your tight little hole was close enough for him to slip into without a moment’s notice.

And that’s exactly what he does.

With a strained groan Sonny notches the blunt head of his cock inside of you and stills, stopping himself from pushing inside you any further. Just the tip. He pulls out only to find himself naturally pushing in more. You were so tight and wet around him and he was barely inside you, the sheer thought of what it’ll feel like to bury himself to a hilt inside you has him feral.

If this was wrong then why did your pussy stretch around him so naturally? Your body works to accommodate his length as he slowly sinks deeper and deeper inside of you. “Oh fuck, kiddo. That’s it, take Daddy’s cock.” Sonny sighs as his hips meet yours.

Sonny moves as slowly as he can manage, careful not to wake you if he can help it. It borders on painful to be this slow, there’s nothing more he wants than to pound into you mercilessly as you hold onto him for dear life.

Your pussy pulses and squeezes around him as he slowly pumps his cock in and out. “Doin’ s’good sweetie, jus’ lie there and take it.” Sonny’s body gently rocks against yours and you slowly find yourself coming to.

The first thing you notice is the dull pain between your thighs from the stretch of your stepdad’s cock inside you.

The second thing you notice is the wet sounds in the air of his hips meeting yours.

The third thing you notice is Sonny himself.

“Dad…?” You mumble as you try to sit up, movements groggy and slow from sleep. “Shh, sweetie. ‘S okay, jus’ go back to sleep.” Sonny tells you gently as he lays you back down on the bed, his larger body crushing yours.

Sonny can feel his inhibitions leaving now that you’re awake, no longer worried about possibly waking you. Now that you’re awake he could focus on your pleasure, eager to hear every moan and whimper he can pull out of you. “Wh– what are you–?” Your question is cut off by a particularly deep thrust that leaves you breathless.

“‘M not done, honey. Jus’ a little bit more, okay?” Sonny grunts as his thighs slap against yours, your pussy gushing around him unknowingly to you. Your sharp gasp fills the room as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, filling you in a way that was indescribable.

“Dad– S–slow down–” you plead with him, still not having adjusted to his size since waking up. “Oh I know, honey. Daddy’s sorry, sweetheart.” Sonny apologies as he continues using your poor abused cunt.

Two fingers rub firm circles over your sensitive swollen clit as you bury your face into his neck. “Oh there you go. Feels good huh, baby?” Sonny coos as you nod against him. Your pussy clenches around him as he grins, there was nothing he loved more than making his baby cum.

Your body shakes against him as he pulls your orgasm out of you, steady fingers never leaving your clit as he fucks you through it. Your walls clamp down around him and Sonny lets out a deep guttural groan from the way you soak his cock. “Fuck, that’s it baby. Cum all over Daddy’s cock. Such a perfect fuckin’ angel–”

Sonny pounds into you faster and harder than expected as he chases his own release. Sweat rolls down his back as you drool against his shoulder while you lie there and take it, just like he told you to. “Oh fuck, that’s good. So fuckin’ good.” He moans as his cock punches your cervix repeatedly.

Without warning Sonny’s back bows as he cums hard and deep inside you. “Fuck– take it baby– take all of it–” he growls in your ear as he fills you with his hot and sticky cum. You’re too out of it to realize he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck baby, ya really milked me dry, huh?” Sonny chuckles against your neck as he lazily fucks his cum inside of you. You wince from the feeling as you come down from your high, reality settling back in. “I thought I said…” you whine, not sure if you’re talking about the fact that he came inside you or that you had sex with him in the first place.

Sonny presses a chaste kiss against your lips before unceremoniously sliding out of you, his cum spilling out onto the sheets. He’ll do you a favor and wash your sheets for you, he’s not that cruel. Tucking himself back in Sonny gently pats your thigh.

“Alright, up. Ya slept through dinner.”

[neighbourscat]

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐘 || 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . president’s son!rafe cameron X crisis manager!black!fem!reader. ||

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . lowercase intended! second person reading-perspective. mature language! ‘G’ in ‘God’ & ‘J’ in Jesus is lowercased. age-gap between black!fem!reader (32) & rafe cameron (24) / power dynamic! multiple uses of ‘y/n’ and ‘ms. mcclellan’. mentions of political corruption and doctoring. suggestion of and carrying out of an inappropriate relationship — while engaged to another! political drama! heavily inspired by scandal and how to get away with murder. wordcount :: 3.8k!++

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . pyd, justin bieber ft. r. kelly ! || nervous, the neighbourhood !

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

with a perfect, manicured nail hovering over the green-call button, you thought of every way the next few minutes could go. each turn, each road block, each scenario more vivid than the next of how your mother would make the conversation / your situation, about her; letting you know what she wouldn’t have done, like ‘lie straight to the chief of staff, the national security advisor, and senior white house counsel’, though she sure would have, or remind you again that the white house just wasn’t the place for you. the courtroom was, by her side. she was batman, you were always robin.

you’ve tried the courtroom with your mother. you’ve tried ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ law firm. it took you four years to realize that that wasn’t exactly the path you wanted to continue down, for building your own name and your own career was impossible with a.) tegan mcclellan constantly in your ear and b.) within the walls of tegan mcclellan’s fix-it-all firm. you experienced first hand why, sometimes, being employed in a family business does not work.

though, there were good things that came from ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ .. you guessed your fiancé wasn’t too bad when he wasn’t complaining about work, loathing your mother, or drinking himself to sleep. like your friends, who were ( are ) constantly competing for your mother’s attention, approval, or begging you to put in a good word so they could take charge of a case.

you switched off your cellphone. you pulled open a drawer of your new desk and dropped the device into the empty space. you froze, taking another look at your phone .. and closed the drawer — a single knock sounded at the doorframe. you quickly gathered your thoughts.

“i heard what you did.” announcing her presence; it was gemma sutherland, looking slim and trim in a navy blue dress with white stripes under a plain cardigan, white pantyhose, and dirty red flat heels — this was gemma’s first year as the chief of staff’s assistant. gemma’s job entailed her to run around the west wing; delivering reports, key files, and memos to the chief of staff and the senior advisor. “you are incredible, ms. mcclellan.”

“thanks.” you hummed, unenthusiastic. you glanced over to the door, your expression cool and calm. you waved gemma in. your dark eyes — eyes that had sized up countless opponents in debate, law school — fixed on gemma with the kind of intensity that made her stomach flip. you weren’t just intimidating; you were magnetic.

gemma could hear her heartbeat in her ears, she did her best to keep her face neutral. “i, um, just wanted to applaud you,” she answered, her voice sounding a touch higher than usual, “i actually wanted to speak with you, ask a question or two .. really quickly, before you’re off.” gemma grabbed herself a chair, one of the three that had been lined up against the wall, and set it opposite your desk. without thinking much, she asked: “the recording was ‘doctored’?” not of usual icebreaker variety.

you gave a clean nod — you removed the president’s son from the narrative entirely. the recording was manipulated? a bold lie. a dangerous lie. but in today’s age; a world where digital forgeries were becoming harder to detect, it was plausible. “i know it’s not my place, but .. i’d rather hear about it - all of it - from you than the news, or office whispers in passing, if that - what happened in there?”

gemma knew of you. she knew a lot, but she learned more from the catch-up! category of the insider’s edge ( gemma had followed every article, every piece of gossip ); a self-owned, widely-read platform run by a seasoned political commentator who thrived on breaking exclusive, behind-the-scenes stories from capitol hill to the oval office. the blog’s built a reputation for sharp, incisive commentary, particularly on the role of women of color in washington’s power circles.

you weren’t just any washington insider. you were practically political royalty; the blog had chronicled your ascent from law school — where you showed flashes of brilliance akin to your mother’s — to your internships on captiol hill, and now to your coveted role in the white house.

the insider’s edge had consistently highlighted the pressures you face: navigating your role as a woman of color in a predominantly white, male political landscape while constantly being compared to your mother’s success. the blog didn’t dare shy away from critiquing your every decisions:

the blog’s most recent headlines:

— “following in her mother’s footsteps or creating her own path? y/n mcclellan’s first 100 days in the white house starts today!”

— “does washington have room for two mcclellan women? a look at the legacy y/n has to uphold!”

— “the new! crisis manager to watch: will y/n mcclellan rise above the expectations?”

— “recently engaged. is y/n taking his last name? or is he taking hers? i’d take hers! duh!”

gemma, with her auburn bob and bang swoosh, leaned in a bit — holding both hands over the edge of your desk. when you looked into her light brown eyes, it was just enough to make gemma’s heart rate spike — yeah .. gemma read the insider’s edge a lot, went nowhere without the tab available on that samsung device in her back pocket.

“gemma -“ you had barely exhaled when a harsh knock blared at your office door. rafe cameron stood in the doorway; tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, his usually composed expression shadowed by disbelief. his gaze cut past gemma and landed directly on you.

she looked between you and the president’s son .. not wasting a second — gemma nodded, pushing the chair back. she hurried out, not even brushing past the towering man .. and as she raced way back down the hall, she realised that she had gotten an answer to something that had been bothering her for months.

gemma sutherland was a reddit user. an avid user. months ago, she had stumbled upon a conversation post that had asked what y/n mcclellan smelled like, if one had to guess; many answered ‘too good to be described’, while others answered ‘chocolate’ or ‘vanilla’ or ‘pumpkin’ or ‘sea salt’, like a cool summer night on the boardwalk.

but gemma had an answer: floral. powdery. classic. like baby lotion. or exactly baby lotion.

— he closed the door behind gemma, careful not to let it slam.

“if you’re here to thank me .. don’t.” you started in ( poor ) attempt to lighten the air. and that was no good. you weren’t sure why you even tried. you remembered how he looked at you in the situation room — why would right now be any different? “why are you in here, rafe?” you should have started with that.

rafe took another step closer — hands in his pockets. and then another .. until he was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the way his pulse ticked in his throat. close enough that the toe-part of your pearly-white heels bumped into his shins — you instantly uncrossed your legs .. any type of contact had your mind melting.

low and quiet: “because you lied.”

you should have expected this. “i did what had to be done.” you had lied. boldly. completely. without hesitation. you had taken something that was undeniably real and turned it into a fabrication. a deepfake. a smear campaign. a coordinated attack on the administration.

and the worst part?

people were actually believing it. the press was running headlines about AI-generated disinformation. pundits on cable news were questioning whether the recording could be trusted. the white house’s story was sticking ..

but it shouldn’t have been, because rafe had been there.

the scandal wasn’t just bad. it was catastrophic. it had everything the opposition could have hoped for — a secret meeting, an incriminating recording, and the president’s son; the face of the first family’s younger generation, at the center of it. the tape painted a clear picture: rafe cameron had tried to broker a private deal with a foreign power — one with enough economic leverage to tip the election if they pulled their support.

if the recording had gone unchecked, it wouldn’t just cost the president his reelection — it would have triggered a congressional investigation, accusations of collusion, and a media storm that wouldn’t die down until the administration was irreparably damaged.

and you had just buried all of it. you had stood in the situation room, surrounded by the most powerful men in the country, and rewritten reality with nothing but your voice — maybe your mother would be proud. you did what you always did. you fixed it .. but fixing wasn’t the word for what you had done. you lied. you fabricated a reality that did not exist — “by any means necessary,” your mother had instilled.

“i did it. i did that. i went behind my father’s back - you should have let me take the fall.”

you shook your head, rolling the office chair back .. giving yourself space to stand up. “i fixed it. i handled it.” he scoffed, scratching the scrunch in between his full eyebrows, “th- .. that shit? you call that fucking-shit fixing? handling? really, y/n?”

he watched as you circled around him and take position at the opposite end of your office .. at the liquor cabinet; its contents: high-end and classic. whiskey / bourbon, cognac, vodka, wine / champagne. “i saved you,” you corrected. “i saved you from public - generational trauma and humiliation -“

you snatched up a glass .. you wouldn’t go for something subtle. not tonight. you bypassed the carefully curated diplomatic wines and the champagne meant for toasts. you didn’t reach for the vodka — too clean, too impersonal. no .. you went for the bourbon. something strong and powerful. something with weight. you didn’t bother with a slow pour. two fingers, neat. no ice. no dilution.

“- you are welcome -“

“oh come-the fuck-on!” with lengthy strides, rafe came up behind and stole the glass of bourbon before you could gulp down the rest. “be honest with me, huh? you’re capable of that, yeah? me, not them? right?!”

a deep sigh, annoyed and exhausted. mentally. emotionally. politically. “if i didn’t, the administration would be over.”

“bullshit.” he set the glass down.

you rolled your eyes and reached for another mini glass. “well .. what else do you want me to say?”

“hmm, how about the fucking truth? hmm? for once, maybe? that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

you huffed when his warm hands stopped yours from taking the bottle of bourbon. rafe then, gripped your shoulders and forcefully turned your front to face him completely. “what .. in the fuck .. were you even thinking?”

again: “the administration.”

rafe dropped his head — “you’re lying.” he removed his heavy hands from your shoulders and started toward your desk, creating distance. he couldn’t breathe anymore. taking a breath felt so much harder on his body. “this .. this wasn’t just about the administration.” rafe met your gaze again, “you didn’t lie to protect my father, his feelings and his job. what-the fuck-ever. you did that to .. to protect me. and i need to know why.”

yeah .. that had nothing to do with the president. and it had nothing to do with the reelection. “you don’t get it.” the answer was short, and way too simple.

“then make me get it.”

you shook your head — grabbing your previous glass of bourbon — because saying it out loud made it real. and if it was real, then so was the madness of what you had done. you had spent this entire year crafting your new career; fighting, clawing your way into the president’s inner circle, making yourself indispensable.

you felt like your mother.

the single woman who raised you to be sharp, relentless, untouchable. the woman who spent her life twisting the truth with ease, making impossible choices, cutting the world open with a scalpel and stitching it back together before anyone noticed the wound — the woman you swore you would never become. the woman who had taught you that power wasn’t about truth — it was about control ..

.. because in washington, that’s what survivors did.

rafe stared hard .. he wasn’t looking at you like a strategist. he wasn’t looking at you like a fixer. he was looking at you like he had just realized you were capable of anything.

“i ..” you were supposed to be above this. above emotions. above personal attachments. but tonight? you lied like a woman who had something special to lose. “.. saved you.” refilling the glass, “i saved you the trouble.”

“what ..?” searching your face for a new angle. “you should have let me fall.”

“i saved you ..” you repeated, wincing after the liquor intake, “.. from ruin. from becoming’a headline. front page of every outlet, broadcasted on every news channel. from the kind of scandal that doesn’t jus’end careers - it destroys legacies.”

rafe released a sharp breath, moving in — furious and disbelieving, “you think i give-a-shit about legacies? seriously?”

“i know you don’t. you’re reckless. i think you have no idea how dangerous that shit was - how one misstep, one wrong word, one leak could have ended everything. everything would have crumbled because of you!” you pointed a finger, hand trembling with restrained anger, “hours and hours and hours of everyone’s time spent into securing your father’s presidency .. wasted because of you!”

“me?!”

“yea’! yea’you! you don’t get to fuck up! you -!” and you stopped yourself. you had to. you couldn’t keep yelling .. especially at the president’s son. anyone could have barged in and caught the sight. you lowered the glass nearby and moved from the liquor station. you settled down on the arm of the lounge chair, much further from rafe now. you crossed your legs again, “you don’t get to be naive,” you said after, folding your hands over your knee. “you don’t get to be stupid. a stupid young adult .. like everyone else. you don’t get to make mistakes and think they’ll only fall on you -“

rafe stiffened, fists clenching and unclenching, his sky blue eyes widening just enough for you to see it. he dragged a hand down his dry mouth, his composure cracking. he needed the room to stop spinning — so he dropped himself down onto a corner of your desk .. looking straight at you. eyes flickering from your face, to the layered jewelry around your neck, to the closed buttons keeping your breast covered, to the glittering engagement ring on your left finger ..

he blinked off then.

“- you are the president’s son. you are the heir to a machine built on power and perception. and if you had gone down for this? if i had let you take the fall?”

a pause.

lethal, intimate: “they wouldn’t have just ruined you. they would have burned and buried you.”

rafe swallowed deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“you would have been reduced to a cautionary tale. a disgraced footnote in your father’s presidency -“ unable to sit still anymore, you slid from the armrest. “- his failure. his shame. and then, rafe? he loses. ‘nd everything .. every policy, every promise, every ounce of work this administration has done - gets erased.”

and you weren’t done. not nearly.

you were marching toward him .. getting dangerously close. so close that he was starting to see the fire in your eyes, the seriousness. “rafe ..” barely a whisper, almost intimate in its intensity, “.. i saved you from a lifetime of being the reason your father lost his second term. i saved you from a shit-storm you would have never recovered from. i saved you from the press tearing into you, from the wolves in that room who would have chewed you up and spit you out before you even knew what was happening.”

rafe sitting on your desk allowed him to finally be eye-level with you. “i saved you from yourself.”

and the words hung between. rafe just stared at you, breathing hard. because now? now he understood. you hadn’t done it because of politics. you hadn’t done it because of strategy. it had felt like desperation. you had done it because it was him. and you cared so deeply about him.

that was the real problem.

you don’t save people. you fix. you manipulate. you control. you lie to keep your clients, your candidates, your president unbeatable.

again, this wasn’t strategy. this wasn’t some calculated political maneuver. because you cared about rafe, you had to save him. and for the first time in your career, you didn’t make a move based on logic or power or control — you made it based on him.

rafe was a weakness.

no. you turned sharply, ready to pack up your belongings and head home for the night. you had said what needed to be said. made your case. explained yourself well enough — rafe’s hand caught your wrist .. his grip firm and hot, locking around the cold silver of your timeless watch, like a restraint and a plea all at once.

“rafe,” a low warning.

but he didn’t let go. “i like when you say my name ..” with little force, he pulled you back in — swift, deliberate, no hesitation.

your body collided with his, and suddenly you were standing between his legs, your knees brushing against the edge of your own desk, your breath coming fast. “wh-no, rafe.” he shushed you softly, shaking his head. he released your wrist, only for a second, to snake both arms around your waist and tug you in even closer.

his gaze — god, his gaze. “no, rafe.” you tried to rip yourself away .. he wouldn’t dare let you go. not right now. your throat was dry and every exhale felt uncomfortable.

softly, “can we stop the bullshit?” rafe tilted his head a bit, careful as he leaned in .. trying to be extra sneaky. “please?” he leaned in some more, just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your jawline, and it was infuriating how easily he unraveled you. “please? can we stop the bullshit? please?” he was intoxicating.

when he pulled back to meet your eyes and study your face .. he could see the way your lips parted, the way your next breath caught, the way your entire body seemed to betray you. “please ..?” his fingers moved, maddening and slow, and skimmed the hem of your button-up.

a test. a warning. a promise.

you didn’t stop him. didn’t shove him away. didn’t say the words you should have said. so .. he kept going — his fingertips traced the first button, lingering for just a second before he slipped it free, gentle and precise, like he had all the time in the world.

“let’s stop the bullshit, yeah?” rafe’s fingers brushed against the skin just beneath your collarbone, burning against the cool air now slipping between the fabric. “we can do that, right?” light and easy.

then, the second button.

this time, you sucked in a breath, your pulse drumming beneath his fingertips. rafe lifted his gaze, watching you again — watching every tell. because you could outtalk, outmaneuver, outthink anyone. but your body couldn’t lie. not to him. he moved lower — third button, fourth — his knuckles grazing bare skin, the edge of lace beneath. “tell me we can .. ms. mcclellan.”

and when his slick fingers ghosted over your ribs, you finally reacted — your hand shot up, gripping his wrist, holding him still. your breath was ragged, your pupils blown, and god, you were trying so hard to fight this.

to fight him.

“you know i don’t beg, ms. mcclellan ..” and for you he would, which you knew. “we’re not doin’ th’bullshit anymore, right?” instead of responding, you brought your hands to his chest, fingers dragging against the soft, expensive fabric of his blazer.

he didn’t move. didn’t breathe. didn’t dare break the moment as you slowly pushed the suit jacket off his shoulders. the fabric slipped down his arms, and when he let it fall onto the desk behind him .. you found the first button of his crisp white shirt and drew downward; you were crossing a line you could never uncross.

his shirt parted just slightly, exposing the smooth skin of his collarbone, the faintest hint of muscle underneath. you continued on .. you weren’t thinking about the scandal. you weren’t thinking about the lie you had told to protect him, about the fact that you had risked everything for him.

you were thinking about how rafe cameron had always been off-limits ..

he didn’t speak, didn’t smirk, didn’t push — like he knew this was something you needed to do .. and this was something you needed to do.

daydreaming: two bubbles had been floating around in his mind. rough .. gentle. the two words were bolded and in their own unique, distinct font. and then, more words swept in. the question: ‘how was she in bed’? reserved? kinky? passionate? placid? dominant? submissive? too lost in his own world, he opened his mouth and almost asked the question —

— without so much as a warning, he felt your thumb on the underside of his cock .. you took in a low breath, heavy and wanting as you crept all the way to the tip. the pad of your thumb teased and gently dipped into his slit before you lifted your chin, finding his eyes.

rafe’s face twisted up as he let out a wounded noise. his whole body locked, gasping .. he hadn’t felt when you unzipped his fresh slacks and dipped your hand below, into his boxers. with a deeep gulp, he grumbled out: “i can’t do this ..” there had been enough build-up. there had been far too much sexual tension the last couple of months. he couldn’t do the foreplay. he couldn’t do the teasing, the edging, the whatever else before the sex. “i can’t -“ swallowing a sloppy mess of saliva that waved over his tongue.

in one swift motion, he took two fistfuls of your button up and tore it back — loud and deafening, you couldn’t react quick enough. rafe unfastened the safety straps, spun you around, and unzipped your mini-printed pencil skirt. the professional attire crumbled at your heeled feet .. again, he twirled you back and giving you zero time to adjust, lifted you up into the air — as if you weighed nothing, his strength an effortless vigor you couldn’t ignore.

for a second, everything stopped .. the world quieted. you were so caught in the moment, so heated and so caught up in him .. you didn’t hear what he had said. yeah, you saw his lips move .. but no sound was produced.

“put it in .. need you t’do it.” a sweet whisper. a whisper too good, you hadn’t thought twice.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 10; "Are you ever dreaming of me?"

a/n: girl i had to literally grind and write all of this today bc surprise song release means daisy and oliver have a fucking STORY TO TELL YALL enjoy this mess.

Humming. 

Soft, sweet, supple humming. It vibrated like a bee buzzing close to my ear. Was there pollen growing there? Had I morphed into some type of flower?

Was I leaking honey? 

The humming lifted sweetly, a higher octave. I almost recognized the song, the tilt in it’s lift, the bend in its melodic swing. No, I did recognize the song. It was…it was something so familiar that I couldn’t put my finger on it. 

“What is that?” I asked. The picture that I had not realized was fuzzy focused, above, like an Eagle’s scope. I was watching somebody. 

But, I was in my body. I was there, on those white crested sheets, sheets that were pristine but in need of an iron. I was shivering, heat rolling down my spine as the humming kissed the shell of my ear and a voice whispered into my drum. 

“A song.”

It was amused, almost. Teasing, maybe? It knew something I did not know. 

“Yeah, but what song?” I watched the dimples in my cheeks punch holes in my face and felt the laughter gently vibrate my chest. 

The humming was…a person. A shadow, real, but so fuzzy. An outline. A depleting figure. 

They shifted. They whispered, again, “You know it.”

I giggled again. Why was I so stricken with this…thing? “I can’t put my finger on it.”

The person/shadow hummed again. This time, the hum emphasized the soft rise in the song, but still did not sing any words. I could feel the rest of them now, their hands flat against my hips and stomach, their chin pressing into my shoulder. The breeze exited their mouth each time they breathed. Mint. Something…else. Someone.

“Are there words?” 

They chuckled this time. Then, took a chest-heavy breath before singing, “I once was poison…”

I could hear the wet touch of their tongue to their lips as the words thwacked. “But, now…”

My lips uncontrollably went taut as a smile overcame my blushing cheeks. “Now, I’m your daisy,” I’m not a good singer, so I didn’t try. I just whispered the words back and twisted to meet the shadow’s eyes. 

He continued, grinning, white teeth shining over pink lips, sleepy, bagged-eyes. “Baby, for you I would fall from grace,” his one hand slid up and over my cheek. I followed it’s line and watched as black paint smeared my skin. “Just to touch your face…if you walked away-”

Oliver did not get a chance to finish because my alarm was going off. 

That wasn’t the first dream/nightmare/shit show that had invaded my nighttime slumbers or, even, daytime naps. But, it was the first in nearly 6 months. It had been really bad for the first couple of weeks. I don’t think I got a full night’s sleep for at least a month. I was up after every dream, sweating, sobbing, calling Max and yelling angrily at my stuffed squid. It was a counseling tactic that ended up saving my life (and stopping me from responding to Oliver’s texts). 

(“Daisy, I need to tell you something…”)

I ended up going back to my therapist for about three months. It didn’t take long for me to edit my life, considering I was already pretty open to the change. I knew I was accepting poor behavior from people (it ended up being much more evident in my work life) and needed to be more assertive. My first session was…interesting. I sat down on the couch across from Marie, who I had not seen since I was 19, and started bawling. The first month went like that, crying about Oliver and how much I missed my mom (something I didn't even know was affecting me). And then the ball got rolling. 

And, now, when I had these dreams, when I woke up in a hot sweat and my cat jumped from the bed in a fright, I knew what I needed to do to not spiral. I pushed the covers off of me and thought about the dream. It was…fucked up. And I couldn't even remember if it had actually happened or if I made it up. Curse me for being on a Taylor Swift kick lately. Her lyrics were causing me to go loony. 

It was realistic. Too realistic. I had almost forgotten how Oliver felt against me, at my side. Nothing in the world felt quite like that. I’d tried to replicate, sure, and got pretty close during my first semester of graduate school whenever an international student (British) and I had a fling. But it was…weird. And, then I ended up opening up more to Marie about Oliver. 

And then I dropped out of school. 

The cool, early-March air was biting at me. I’d forgotten what it was like to live in an upstairs apartment during the winter. An old one, at that. So I pulled the covers back over my legs. Processing…

The dream did not mean anything bad. It was simply a memory, a twisted one, at that. Gaps filled with things I wish were said, probably. It was…bittersweet, a new, difficult emotion I’d been struggling to wrap my head around. 

I opened up my journal and wrote it down, wrote down how it had made me feel, and how I was going to cope with it. Cleaning. Spring cleaning, to be exact. The apartment was a pig-sty, to be frank. 

Unopened boxes, cobwebs in corners, paint splatters from the trimming I’d installed last week. Not to mention the entire shop downstairs…

I got up from the bed, practically skipping to my dresser but a foot away from the end of the comforter. The bedroom was tiny, tinier than I was used to. I slipped on warmer clothes and tied my hair back. 

I Bluetoothed my phone to a mini-speaker and carried it with me to the kitchen. I popped on the kettle and shoveled half a pop tart in my mouth. Evie rubbed herself between my legs, probably dropping massive amounts of fur on my pants. I squatted down to love her while the kettle started to whistle. I snapped up before the water could boil and poured it out over the bag of tea. 

“Let’s go, Ev,” I murmured over the rim of my mug as we shuffled into the living room. 

It was a fucking wreck. I groaned and threw my head back, causing some of my hair to slip out of the tie. 

I set the speaker and tea off to the side and got started. I was off work today, luckily, so I had time to really dig into things. But I did still have plans to go out later with a friend. And it was late. I’d gotten pretty good at having a routine, but the mornings after I worked I did not have any energy to get up at a good time. It was better than it had been. 

The first two weeks after I’d dropped school, I stayed up until 4 am every night and slept on my new (thrifted) couch until the sun set. It was…a process, moving here, getting the swing of things. 

But, this felt good. Unpacking- finding a place for everything. My mugs in the cupboard above the stove, spices along the wooden rack my mom had haphazardly installed a million years ago. The cat’s stand by the big picture window, where all of our random throw pillows sat. I hadn’t realized how many things were left by her until I got the keys from Sam and we drove my stuff down here. 

But there were things- the spice rack, the pillows. Her old, vintage vanity squeezed in the extra (tiny) bedroom that Sam and I used to share. I’d made a point to clean that one up the most when I first got here, considering every one of my friends wanted to visit as soon as they could. It was a peaceful spot, where I’d also unloaded my books onto our old bookshelves and bought a comfy reading chair. A pull out bed set beneath the chair, some fancy contraption Max had found at some Swedish furniture store overseas. He was always sending me pictures of decor pieces. He knew me too well. 

I got about three boxes unloaded before I splatted myself onto the (clearing) couch, phone and glass of cold water in hand. My phone began to buzz with a call from a familiar contact on the screen. 

“Daz!” absolute ruckus on the other end. “Daz I miss youuuuuuuu!”

The voice was absolutely slurred, nearly drowned out by the club music thumping in the background. A few other voices yelled atop his and it seemed like the phone rustled around. 

A new voice, my brother’s. “Daiiiiiissssyyyyy, waiiiiizzyyyyyy, mmaeeeeeeeeee!” 

Then, Ronnie, a stern, calm and collected familiarity, “Daisy? Are you there? Sorry for these idiots. It’s been a crazy ass week and they’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” I giggled as she scolded them somewhere away from the speaker. “Celebrating what?” 

“New tour! New song, album, fucking lore!” Ronnie yelled in response. “Sorry- hang on. Max- if you want to talk, come outside!”

The noise lessened, yet a string of voices seemed to follow her outside. I pulled my phone away and optioned to FaceTime them instead. Their faces loaded before me- Ronnie, Max, Sam, and even Cyrus. I grinned wide at the sight. 

Of course I’d kept contact with everyone. Ronnie and Sam helped me move in the off-season, Max visited maybe 3 or 4 times. Cyrus, Adam, and I correspond in the group chat we’d made last summer and now still used. We’d play Minecraft together on the weekends, recommend each other books, and they'd send me samples of new music they were working on. 

Only instrumentals, though. 

They were some of my favorite people. It had just been a month or so since I’d actually spoken to all of them on the phone. I was- usually- working when they were not performing, writing, or traveling. But, this was the first Friday I had gotten off in a while. And, considering the time difference, I was pretty sure they’d just finished some show or something. 

“Ugh, anyways-” Ronnie began and met my eye through the screen. “We’re celebrating, if you couldn’t tell! But, how are you? What are you up to? Max wanted to call cause he said you work too much and probably miss us. Which we all know is true. We miss you Daz!”

Everyone yelled in response, cheering my name and waving and grinning. I could cry, I missed them all so much. “I’m good! I miss you all so much more! Please come visit soon!”

Ronnie glanced back at Sam, so quickly I almost didn’t notice it. She wore a sneaky smirk. “Well, here’s part of the reason we’re celebrating, peaches!”

I jumped up onto the couch, dancing around as they shared the news. They’d be here in a week! Visiting me and my tiny little rundown apartment and shop for an entire month! They had some time off before the next tour cycle started and they could not think of a better place to be. 

“We wanted to see you and help you get settled! We know it’s been a few months, but we basically ditched you at the apartment before we had to get back to Europe. So, clean off the couch, Daz!” Sam pushed his way to the phone to speak to me. I could tell he’d been drinking. His eyes were red, bloodshot and his smile was crooked. Oh, how I loved and missed him. 

But, soon! He’d be here!

We’d be here, together, continuing mom’s legacy. 

It was a dream. Come true. 

One I hadn’t even known existed until I found myself in the streets of Europe. 

But, here she was. Jumping up and down on her thrifted couch with her cat. Her very own cat! Her hair short, her hair chunky streaks of blonde. I was…Daisy. I was Daisy Hatlett, if she had ever existed and taken up space in her own existence. 

I plopped onto the couch. Max took up the screen now. “I’m coming, too, Daz! Clear out the extra bedroom, lovely!”

“Oh, my God! You guys! I don’t think I’m going to be able to house all of you. Next, you’re going to tell me that Cyrus and Adam are coming to stay, too!” I pressed a hand over my eyes, but still could not stop grinning. 

I peeked through my fingers because it went silent on the other end. All I could hear was the thumping of London club music resounding throughout the patio they were hanging out on. 

“Jeez, tell me you hate me, Daisy,” Cyrus spoke up, attempting to break through what I could only describe as awkward silence. 

Max pressed his lips together. “She might. She might.”

“So,” Sam swept the phone from whoever had been holding it and walked away from the crew. “Listen, Daisy. I should have called you when we were all sober to deliver the news, but…um. To make it easier, you know? I don’t…we’re all- basically management heard us talking about visiting. They looked into it and I guess there’s a good recording studio like an hour from you. They want us all to have some privacy in a small town to recuperate and, I guess, chill. But they want the guys to still be able to tweak parts of the album before it comes out. So…yeah, they’re sending us your way. We’re all coming.”

My dream felt like a premonition now. 

It was crazy how, after months and months sober from something, from somebody, after resisting relapse and cravings and a text message that loads after the plane touches down, it’s crazy how you can still feel it. On the tip of your lips. The very drug you’d been getting over. And you could feel, for even just a second, just as helplessly young, dumb, and naive as you had nine months ago. 

“Oliver’s gonna be here? In my town?” I murmured somewhat, knowing I looked stricken. 

Sam nodded sadly. “But…listen, okay. You won’t even have to see him. He’ll be…he’ll be in the hotel or recording most of the time. And…even if you do, Daz, he’s, like, a completely different person. Fuck, he laughs now. Like, all the time. He’ll show us dumb ass memes and laugh-”

“I don’t need to know that,” I shook my head with a giggle that was anything but joyous. “Um…it’ll be fine. It’ll feel-” use those emotions, girl, “weird. But, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see y’all!”

I ran a hand through some of my blonde streaks. Sam watched and trailed the subject off, distracted by the alcohol and my hair. “Daz, you look so pretty. You look…you look so grown. And healthy. So healthy. I love you, sis.”

I pouted my lip at the complement. “Aw, Sam-Ham! I can’t wait to see you!”

And see him, I would. Him and Cyrus and Adam and Ronnie and Max and…and probably Oliver. But, I was not delicate now. I was a grown woman. I was…mature, like Sam had said. I’d finally started to live my life and I wasn’t susceptible to a bacterial growth like Oliver. 

That’s what he was, in mine and my therapist and my friends’ minds. A growth. A tumor. And the old me had died from him. From that, a new Daisy, a healing, evolving Daisy was reborn into whoever the hell she wanted to be. Like a butterfly, I’d emerged from a chrysalis. 

“Send me the details of your flight and I’ll come pick ya’ll up! We can give everybody a tour of our hometown!” I urged him. 

Sam gave me a thumbs up, but Max was talking over him again. “Is she good with it? Does she like the idea? Is she gonna kill us- Daisy!” 

Max gave me heart-eyes through the phone, grinning. “Daisy, I cannot wait to see this flower shop. I cannot wait to help you get it all set up and ready for the grand opening! Have you set a date yet?”

Oh, haha, totally! I have everything together! I wanted to lie through my teeth. But, I know I couldn’t. Instead, I shrugged, “Not really. It’ll happen when it happens. I’m still trying to get settled back into things. I’m unpacking the living room today since I’m off.”

“Blasting Tay-Tay, I’m sure,” Ronnie teasingly rolled her eyes. 

“Hell yeah, girl!”

“Blast our new song!” Max whined, “I love Tay-Tay, you know I do. But get us some streams, babygirl!”

I exited out of the FaceTime app and opened Spotify. I could see their faces in the corner of my screen as they continued yelling. “Yeah, come on! It’s so fucking good, Daz. You’ll love the end part, for sure,” Cy added in. 

“Mayyyybe,” I shrugged, though I did ponder the idea. 

Emergence. 

What a title. 

I wondered about what Sam had said- how Oliver had changed. 

And I wondered if he felt like me, different, aged. New. A butterfly in the place of where a caterpillar had been. A reborn soul in the place of a tumor. 

Maybe I couldn’t listen to it. It would remind me that he’s human. Which, of course, I knew. It was a fact that had helped me heal. But, I think hearing about his own struggle with his identity might send me over the edge. 

I was going out later…and that always meant alcohol, which fixed any reopened scars. Not healthy, I know, but journaling didn’t always feel fun to do. 

“What’s it about?” I ventured, opening back up the FaceTime. 

Cy and Max side-eyed each other. Sam and Ronnie had left a second ago, probably to get drinks. 

“Um,” Max shrugged, “you know who’d you have to ask that question. Sorry, Daz.”

“Well, you helped write it, right, Cy? C’mon, tell meeee,” I pouted again.

Cy shook his head, “I wrote the drums, that’s all. It was…it was all Oliver, hun.”

I rolled my eyes and opened Spotify again. The cover was pretty, all rosy pink flowers. 

It reminded me…God, it reminded me of my mom’s shop. 

I wonder…

Wondering was a dangerous thing. I shut down my brain. 

I talked to them some more, hearing about their most recent tour, The Teeth of God. Though, they had visited off and on when that tour happened, so I basically knew everything, But I loved when Cy and Max told stories. They were hilarious. 

We talked for another half an hour before Ronnie and Sam came back. They made a big deal about some song that was playing in the club and demanded Cy and Max come dance. After a round of phone-hugs, smushy kisses on the camera from Max, and promised-calls from my brother, the sound of a hung up FaceTime call resonated. 

I checked the time. It was somehow nearing 5pm already. My stomach was growling. 

So, though I lingered over the music app with the tip of my thumb, I exited out of the app altogether, I got up and went to make myself dinner.

-

Friday nights in my hometown were busy. 

I noticed after my first few shifts at the local pub. I made more money there from just a three day weekend work week than I had at the clinic. Sure, men were creepy and pigtails brought in more money, but having a surplus of ones was sick. 

All this to say, I was happy to have this evening off. 

I’d reconnected with a few people from high school and they’d been begging me to go out on a Friday. Tonight, Jay and I would be hitting a bar 15 minutes up the street that had a pool, mini golf, and some band headlining the small stage. 

He was knocking on my door around 9pm, just in time for my setting spray to dry and my shot of vodka to kick in. I used to drink to get drunk, and now I just did it to chill. It was fun. 

I opened the door with a chirpy, “Hey!”

Jay, a tall, blonde-headed car salesman, leaned down for a hug. Sure, he had been a frat boy at the local community college and had asshole friends in high school. But, everybody grows out of those embarrassing phases and become…well, he was sweet and paid for dinner when we went, opened the car door when he drove me places, aaaaaand he was a pretty good fuck. Hey, grown up Daisy did grown up things now, like sleep with the captain of her high school football team. 

I squeezed my arms around his neck, catching a whiff of the sweet cologne he was wearing. And- was that smoke? Cigarette smoke? My mind almost flashed back, but I moved on. “Mm, you smell good,” I giggled as I pulled back. 

Jay kissed the corner of my lips, sliding his hand to my fingers. I shut the door and he began trotting us down the steps to the side entrance of my building. “You, too. And you look good, too. I like this skirt.”

His other hand tugged at the bottom of the tight black piece. I giggled again, “Well, thanks. Thought I’d dress up for once.”

“Aw, you don’t have to. You look just as good in your sweatpants as you do this little number.”

We loaded into his car as we talked, soon rolling down the road. We were not together. And, no it was not because I had developed some weird attachment issues. I was really just looking for a low-commitment fling while I went through this major transition in my life. And Jay’s wife had just left him for some lawyer in the big city up North. 

We had the same needs and wants right now. 

We had a good time at the bar, sloshing back shots every once in a while, dancing on the tiny little dance floor beside the similarly mini-stage. I was no longer a light-weight now that I regularly drank, like normal people my age. So, it took a few extra Dirty Shirley’s and Long Islands to get me to the point that made this night out really fun. We went from playing pool to practically mosh-pitting to Mr. Brightside. Jay went so far as to volunteer to sing with the band and I became their honorary tambourine-girl. I demanded a photoshoot and drunkenly posted the pictures to Instagram with the caption, “FEEL THE BEAT!!!”

Eventually, the night started to wind down. We drove back to mine (old Daisy would have had an aneurysm if she knew I was letting someone drunk drive me) and had sex on my couch. The cat was still an adjustment for me, considering she liked to sit by the picture window and just stare at me. 

When it was over, Jay picked her up and held her to his bare chest, boxers low on his hips. “You’re a little creep, aren’t ya?”

I giggled as she nuzzled into his neck, purring through her sweet little mouth, “She really is. I don’t know how to get her to stop either.”

Jay sat on the arm rest and Eve jumped from his arms, back to her spot on the windowsill. He leaned down close to me and wrapped a hand around my cheek. “I have a pretty good idea.”

He was flirting, making a pass for another round. I blushed, nonetheless, and kissed his wrist. “What might that be?” I smiled coyly. 

Jay took my lips in his, a supple kiss, before whispering and nipping at my ear, “The bedroom has a door.”

I let him kiss me until I was in his arms, his hands strong under my thighs. He sobered me up through another restless round of (sure, vanilla) sex. Afterwards, he curled me into him, a deep sigh rattling from his chest. 

“What was that?” I laughed, rearing my head back to see him better. “Something to share?”

Jay shared my laugh, though there was a deep, distant look that settled in his eyes. “No, no…well…I don’t know. I was just thinking…”

“Oh, no,” I mocked, “is the world ending?”

“Oh, Zee,” he pretended to squeeze me to death. “No, I just…we’ve been going out for some time now.”

Oh. 

Oh!

Ohhhh….

“Yeah?” I sat up now, his arms falling off of me. 

Jay followed, slowly, cautiously. Was he feeling how I had felt when Oliver passed me off like this?

I pushed that observation away. It burned going down. 

“I just…you have to know that I’m really into you, Zee.”

The nickname felt weird. And I felt…weird. This all felt weird. 

“Jay, I…” i raised my hand to stop him, but he kept going. 

“Honestly, I think I’m falling for you. I have to tell you before we end up hurting each other. Because I know you must feel it, too-”

“I’m gonna be sick!”

I rushed from the bed and to the bathroom, a few steps down the hall. Jay called after me, unaffected by the rush, “Oh- okay! Let me know if you need anything!”

I shut the bathroom door behind me. Slid down it’s wooden spine. Pulled my legs to my chest. I was breathing heavily. I didn’t even need to throw up, I just- I needed away. It was suffocating in there. 

I thought that this was just a casual thing, but I guess not. 

And now I just felt- like shit, to be honest. 

I tip-toed back into the room just to see if he was asleep or not. Luckily, he was passed out, jaw loose, snores coming from the back of his throat. He worked long hours.  I praised the universe for the saving grace and continued to pray that he would forget about his conversation by the morning. While he was snoring, I put on some pj’s and went out to the living room. I sat beside Evie on the bench by the big picture window, watching as the moon turned red. A blood moon. I didn’t even know that was today. 

I got up to grab my journal and sat back down. Something in me stirred. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the phone call earlier. Maybe it was this confession from Jay. 

Maybe it was that dumb fucking dream. But I was missing London. I was missing the dirty streets of Paris and the spitfire rain in Ireland. I missed the gray skies and seeing my brother everyday. 

I missed Oliver. 

I let myself feel it. I had fought it for so long, but now I just tried to accept it. It was okay to miss people. I loved him, after all. But, this feeling usually passed after a moment. 

I opened my journal and wrote about it. I wrote about how it slickened my throat and made my chest feel tight, the regret, the missing, the moving on. 

It was worse than normal. It wouldn’t go away. It screamed in my heart and burned my head. 

I don’t know why. I was over it (wasn’t I?) but my head started to race. He was…alive. Despite the fact that I didn't even know who he was anymore. He was doing things and moving on with his life. Me, too. I guess. 

Oliver was a living and breathing person. His life didn’t end when our love did. That was hard to wrap my mind around. Though I was doing the same thing. 

He was still writing songs, touring shows, painting himself in black every night. Writing songs.

And here I was- buying my mom’s old flower shop with Sam, moving back to our hometown, deciding I didn’t want to go to grad school. 

Emergence. Out from underneath…

He was still…growing. I was growing. We were growing- away from each other. 

Something about tonight, the blood moon or the information that he had released a song…something unravelled in me.

I could not stop thinking about him. 

Was he sleeping with somebody, too? Was he dating some girl? Was she the reason for this new song? Was she clutching his bicep in the busy streets of London and laughing in the park in Paris while he told some stupid joke?

Was he falling in love with her? Was he confessing like Jay had? Or was he detached like me, unable to really move on from what we had last summer? 

Unable to love somebody else the same way he loved me. 

And then I found myself going through our text messages. God, I was really spiraling. 

I’d deleted them when I got back home from London, but then my phone took a shit and I got a new one. Here, the iCloud hadn’t been backed up in so long that it reverted back to how it was when I’d boarded the plane. Oliver text messages and all. 

Even the notification I’d gotten when I landed, the one I deleted, silenced, and never even opened. Airplane mode only lasted until you turned it off. Then, whatever failed to deliver just…popped up, wooshed through the atmosphere and over the seas. 

It still was unread, and I ignored it even as I scrolled all the way up to the start and took myself through the journey of last summer. 

Oh, Daisy…

The words he used, the things he told me. Fuck- the picures he sent me. I found myself wet again even though I’d just been relieved twice. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The names he called me. 

Love, darling…

Sneak to my room later- meet me after the show- you tasted good. 

Fragments of messages raced past my vision. Blurred. Anxious. It was all coming back, though I am not sure now that it had ever really left.

How could I have ever forgotten about him? Sure, my body lost the memory of him. But, even then, I think if I squeezed my eyes shut enough, I might be able to replicate the feeling, pretend Jay’s blonde hair was dark brown, that his blue eyes were that sweet greenish-tan. Pretend that his hands, strong, sure, were the toned ones of a certain Brit, fingers strong from piano and guitar playing. That his voice was laced with an accent, his tooth crooked but beautifully supple atop his pink, plump lips.

And, then…there was his spirit. The things he liked- the coffee and Ray Bradbury books. The song about someone being a fisherman and that poem about that fisherman painting looking over the top of a love affair. The signals he always sent me through these coded messages. 

I’d forgotten that one. 

But, there it was- a link to a PDF, an offer to let me borrow that book that he loved. 

Reading it now- 

“You lie bent up in embryo sleep

below the painting of the blue fisherman

                             without a pillow…

I watch you and wonder at you.

I know your face by touch when it's dark

I know the profile of your sleeping face

the sound of you sleeping…

I know the hills

         and gullys of your body

                   the curves

                             the turns.

But there are times

when you can smile in such a way

that I'd forget a ten year war

and lie down in your shadows' shadow

and live on sounds your stomach makes…

But there is little salvage to be had

in bent and broken nails

and things that might have been

if I'd had wiser eyes

or been a fisherman

                         in blue.”

Had I been that naive?

He never used the words directly, but it was clear now, how vivid that love was that he had for me. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

There was something else. Something I could not quite place. What- what the fuck was it? Nudging at my brain like Evie nudged at my thighs. 

I smelled it. I smelled it somewhere. I traced the smell, sniffing through the air like a deranged lady. I sniffed the edge of the couch. It was there but it was- faint. Like it was a lifetime ago. Then, Jay’s t-shirt on the arm rest. Warmer. His coat- dangling off the coat rack. I patted the pockets and there it was- a pack of cigarettes. I was an addict moving through the world, tracking down the scent of a drug or a drink like a pack dog.

I held them in my hands, squishing the pack. Then, gently, I brought it to my nose and sniffled the aroma. Cigarette smoke. 

Oliver. 

The roof. The pool. The city. The look of his cheeks cinching in as he breathed in the cigarette smoke. The smell as he held my hair back and I puked on the streets of London. The smell of his fingertips on my cheek. The taste of him after I chased him down in the hotel elevator. Me quipping to him that it would fucking kill him- him laughing. 

His laugh, fuck his laugh. Fuck, holy shit. I was weeping a little bit now. 

I wonder if he could feel it, 12 million miles away from me. I pinched myself like a voodoo doll and willed the feeling. 

It smelled like a part of me that I had pushed down for months. Healed, sure, but pushed away.

The part of me that had loved him. 

I took a cigarette from the pack and felt around his pockets for a lighter. Then, ashamedly, looking around the apartment like someone was going to catch me in the act, I slipped on some shoes and a hoodie. 

I took the stairs down to the flower shop and weaved my way through boxes. I took a seat on the stool behind the counter, crossed my leg over the other. It was freezing- nights in May were never warm. But I ignored goosebumps, embraced them, almost, and kept moving. 

I lit the cigarette without ever touching it to my lips. I watched as the edge caught the flame then set the cigarette on the counter. I typed through my phone, searching for something on Spotify. I hit play. 

Emergence. 

I lay my head on my hands, propped upon the counter, eyes practically crossed as I watched the cigarette burn. I closed my eyes, breathed in his smell, and listened…

Come on, come on out from underneath who you were…

I looped the song. Once, twice. A fifth time. And, then…

I opened the text. 

I didn’t know who I was right now. This wasn’t the old Daisy, but it wasn’t the new Daisy, either. This was someone entirely new. Someone…

Someone who needed to know the answers. Someone who still could not believe it. 

Someone. Just someone. 

“Daisy, I need to tell you a few things. If you do not want to hear me out, that is okay. You do not owe me the time nor the space to speak my truth. But, I don’t think I would able to live if I did not do so.’’

Crying. Sobbing. I took a moment to breathe in- cigarette smoke- and centered myself. 

“Fiona is somebody who I used to lo-”

I stopped there. I deleted the message. 

I relapsed, if only for the night. I let myself revel in the drug, revel in the burning memory of him, if only to just get it all out again, if only to just fulfill the prophecy and will of that fucking dream.

Then- I went back upstairs and lay myself underneath Jay’s arm. 

I listened to his soft snoring as I fell asleep, sniffing and smelling like cigarette smoke. 

[peterparkouryo]

lies between us² | *ੈ✩‧₊˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

prompt: You and Peter have been frenemies for as long as you can remember.

warnings: fluff, arguement(s), and banter

word count: 2.2k

part one

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

Two months. Two months since Peter confessed he had feelings for you and two months since your first date, since you last talked to him. To start with, the tryst went absolutely amazing, for the most part. Peter certainly surprised you. You had not expected someone nearly as incompetent (in your opinion) and naïve as him to be so strong matched about your preferences.

The minute the boy showed up at your door, he thankfully did not bring flowers because you mentioned at one point during your many conversations how cliché the boutonniere is. He, of course respected your thoughts and instead arrived with a bouquet of sticks, which you did not find funny, but Peter swore it was a comical idea he believed would make you smile (it didn't). 

You recommended your first date to be somewhere luxuriated, like a movie date to which he told you happened to be even more maxim than bringing you flowers and woefully you agreed.

So, you two decide on a sandwich from Delmar's second establishment and a walk through Central Park. The first thirty to thirty five minutes of your time was filled with conversations you missed, how hard and pointless school was, and the fact that Peter was Spider-Man. Something you still can't quite believe.

You didn't know the exact way to ask him about his alter ego, nervous to offend him, but thankfully you gathered up the courage and he was more than happy to tell you.

He told you about how he was bit by a radioactive spider on your grade nine field trip to the science centre, and how for the past three years he had been trying to impress the Tony Stark. Peter then told you he never really had an internship with the billionaire, it was just a cover up for his vigilante side. 

You asked questions, he answered and to you, at least for the most part the date was unexceptionally good, until he decided to be more dense than he already was.

'Oh, crap." Peter pulls out his phone from his pocket and glances down at it. You blink in confusion as he turns up the volume and listens to police officers from what you can only assume is a 911 dispatcher app.

"What?" You glance from the phone and narrow your eyes at him, sensing what you already know.

"There's a robbery on sixty fourth avenue.."

You stare at him in confusion, not really understanding if what he was suggesting was actually about to happen, so you sigh and place your hands on your hips.

"And that's your problem because?"

"I mean, I am Spider-Man, so."

You huff and roll your eyes at his stupidity.

"The police can handle it." You suggest and Peter frowns as if you just recommended the boy donate his blood.

"They won't come fast enough." He insists and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

The boy cropped up this dogmatic counsel to ditch you on your first ever rendezvous to stop a bank robbery that can easily be terminated by the police, given it was their job to do, not his. You sensed a common amount of fury climb through your body.

"So, you're suggesting that I let you leave while we're on a date that you asked me on?" You tilt your head in confusion and watch Peter press his lips into a thin line, a greater than sum of thoughts dispute through his eyes.

He contemplated your question for some time before he nods slowly.

"I'll come back, it'll take ten minutes or less. Bank robberies are my speciality." The boy offers you a smile and you roll your eyes, in spite of your inner torment, you sigh.

"Fine, ten minutes or less. If it eleven minutes or more I will consider this the worst first date ever." You point to him and Peter smiles as you agree to let him escape to his mission.

"I'll be back in ten, promise."

You nod silently and observe him turning away from you and exiting the park.

You had no idea why you believed him, because eleven minutes, twelve and eventually an hour had past. You gave up the hope he was coming back. Embarrassed by your reliance, you walk of shame your way back home.

What was even more disappointing was the fact he had not reached out to you that entire night after his failed promise, so you swore to yourself to declare the date with him the worst one you have ever experienced, no matter how terrible future ones may be.

-

"Boys are idiots, that's why I date girls." MJ shrugs and pops a chip into her mouth, the noisy cafeteria being a familiar background to your ears.

You told Michelle a sugarcoated version of Peter standing you up on your first date, still being respectful about his secret identity even if you hated everything about him in the moment.

"I should have never agreed on that date." You cross your arms as the girl raises her eyebrow.

"It's not the end of the world." Michelle reassures.

You start to wonder which side she was even on.

"Yes it is." You argue.

The brown haired girl sighs and sits up. "Okay, so what if Peter stood you up on your first date—"

"Ever." You interrupt to add.

She narrows her eyes. "On your first date ever." You nod at the correction.

"The best part of this whole conflict is you got a free sandwich."

You furrow your eyebrows at her insensible words, despite it being true, was not the wisdom you were searching for.

"Whatever, it's very humiliating to have a like slash dislike relationship with someone and agree to go on a date with him, only for the boy to turn around and stand me up. He didn't even apologize." You explain, your anger bubbling up at the memories.

"It's been two months and you're now just telling me this." She points out and you glare at her.

"I was still in disbelief and that isn't the point."

"You're right." Michelle nods. "The point is that you need to stop avoiding him and talk to him. I'm sure he has done everything in his power to apologize."

MJ is absolutely right. For the past two months, Peter went out his way to talk to you, apologize, and get your attention. Being the stubborn person you are, you ignore his attempts and steer clear of the spider boy the best you can. In your eyes, it was justified (maybe slightly unfair), because you were not the kind of individual to easily forgive. Especially when the reason for your obstinacy only started due to the certainty Peter stood you up to cease a misdeed that could've been done by the police department. Not only did he leave you longer than he promised, he made no effort that same night to explain why it took him more than an hour.

Instead he waited seventy two hours later to approach you, and you knew you were worth more than a three day later apology. 

As the weeks passed, he never sought to give up his efforts which may have been just a tiny bit admirably but also terribly annoying.

"No." You shake your head, Michelle sighs as she glances behind you.

"Well, better find a hiding place quick, your knight in shining armour is coming this way." 

You quickly turn around to see what she was talking about and you see Peter with a weary determined look, coming your way and you stand up as swiftly as you can, unfortunately not fast enough to escape him as he catches your arm with a gentle grip, but still firm enough to make sure you can't run away.

You look at MJ for help and she pretends to not see you.

"Wait." Peter pleads and you shake your head at your so called best friend and side eye the boy, not in the right headspace to officially face him after two months of avoidance.

"Can I talk to you, please?" You feel Peter's hand withdraw from your arm, examining you carefully.

Notwithstanding your urge to say no, and to leave you alone, you narrow your eyes and huff out a flatten sigh. 

"Fine," You cross your arms as Peter looks around nervously before clearing his throat. 

"Not...not here." He shakes his head.

You glance around the cafeteria, the bustling noise of students undeniably obnoxious. Certainly, you sensed Peter's hesitation to want to converse with you in such a wildly known public place that tends to shape commotion. 

Sharing one last look at MJ, you gesture for the boy to lead the way.

Peter guides to the hallway outside the cafeteria, placing his hands into his pocket. It's not lost on you how nervous he is. You could not understand why the boy was practically shaking in nerves considering when it came to you, he always seemed so sure and somewhat, maybe slightly confident. There was banter, teasing and harmless insults through the time you've known him.

However, recently, Peter's endurance struggled.

"I haven't seen you in two months." Is the first thing he says to you and it takes you a minute to fall back down to earth.

"I wonder why." You raise an eyebrow in defence.

"I didn't ditch you on purpose."

"You didn't explain why either."

Peter immediately presses his lips together, his hand running through his hair in frustration. 

A few seconds of silence goes by and he sighs. You can see the wheels turning in his brain as he tries to come up with an answer, an explanation even.

"I know and I'm sorry. I got distracted and its not like I forgot or anything. May found out and it got really messy--" You hold up your hand and immediately he snaps his mouth shut.

"What do you mean she "found out?" You blink in confusion as he raises his eyebrow at your question.

"That I'm," Peter glances around, presumably to make sure no one hears before looking back at you. "Y'know, that I'm Spider-Man."

Your eyes widen in surprise at his admission, the sudden guilt overwhelming your thoughts. Had you known your every so often 'friend' was going through such a thorny conflict, you probably wouldn't be half as mad as you've been the last few months.

If only he had told you.

"Why couldn't you tell me that? I might've like, supported you through it or something." 

You're not really sure if there was anything you could've done, but what you are sure about is Peter coming to you for any sort of comfort might he needed.

"I'm sure." Peter nods and steps closer to you. "You have to believe me, that I didn't mean to ditch you and I realize I probably should've tried a little harder to talk to you after our date." He admits and you can't help but smile slightly at his words.

A part of you (mostly your head) tells you to hold him a bit more accountable, to expand his defence. Your heart however, remembered Peter Parker has always been the sweet, remorseful, boy next door friend(ish) you've known for years. 

And if you've learned anything from your on and off again friendship, you know when he's sorry, he really means it.

After much debate, positives and negatives, you were willing to forgive him, one last time.

"Alright, you've convinced me." You say as you cross your arms.

"Convinced you to what?" Peter furrows his eyebrows at your albeit, vague submit. 

"Forgive you. Obviously you suck at excuses, so I'm willing to forgive you one last time." You explain, watching Peter nod with hesitation. 

Yet another beat of silence occupies the air and you press your lips together, having nothing else to say. You've done your part of forgiven, now it's his turn to accept it.

"Perfect." Peter smiles at your mercy, quickly hugging you.

You flutter somewhat and your arms instinctively hug him back. The new, yet familiar warmth evades a gloomy outlook and you find yourself wanting to embrace him no matter the circumstance.

Atlas, reality returns as Peter pulls away from you slowly.

"Does this mean we're friends again? Like again for a long time?" He gazes at you with the most puppy eyed stare you've ever seen and you have to look down in fear you might not have much control left.

"Yeah, I guess we can be friends without the enemies part." You reassure, glancing at Peter as he smiles.

"That's good to know. Maybe down the road you can..." He pauses for a moment and you notice he bites the inside of his cheek.

"Be my girlfriend."

Your heart jumps at his words and your eyes might seem as if they're about to jump out of your socket. 

"What?"

"Huh? I'm kidding." Peter laughs and you frown before glaring at him.

You didn't find pulling at your heartstrings humorous.

"We can start very slow, no rush. I'm just glad we're friends again."

The lunch bell rings, a flock of students rush out of the cafeteria, chattering and what not overtakes the comfortable atmosphere as you stare at him.

"I thought you liked me?" You blurt as you tilt your head.

Peter blinks before nodding, "I mean, I do, but it's been two months since we last spoke, so it would be kind of weird to...jump into something."

You sigh, not wanting to verbally agree with his statement.

"Friends." You hold out your hand.

"Friends, for now." Peter shakes your hand with a smile.

The familiar comfort returns and Peter offers to walk you to class, which you of course accept.

taglist: @victoriousskylar @ietss @astrogirl0666 @hahehhwjavaja @superlegend216 @b4tm4nn @imawhoreforu @sunsettee @myfangirlinessononeblog

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch19 P1: Runaan and Skor's Discussion

I'm not as happy with this section as I have been with some of the other tough ones, and I haven't quite isolated what the problem is. It might end up going through some bigger edits? I don't know, I kinda wanna just be done with it, since while it feels clumsy, it did go over what I wanted it to do.

Skor wasn’t far away when Runaan found him.  He didn’t even need to track prints through the snow, as the other swordsman was sitting on an outcropping of rock within sight of the cave entrance, eyes fixed on the human village below.  Runaan made sure to crunch a bit of snow on his approach, and saw Skor glance at him, so he wasn’t startled when Runaan sat down on the rock beside him. 

“How stable are you?” Runaan asked softly, without looking directly at him, just looking out of the corner of his eye.

Skor sighed through his nose. “He’s coming with us, isn’t he.”

“I asked first.”

“That’s a yes.” Skor rubbed his forehead tiredly, and when Runaan looked a little closer, he winced internally at the exhausted lines around his eyes and the tight pupils.  He wasn’t panicked anymore, but this was taking a toll on him. 

Runaan sighed, not bothering to contradict him, and cast his own eyes down to the village.  He spared a moment to hope Rayla - and those he had sent with her - were doing well, and the humans had found some help for the egg. “It seems the most viable option going forward.”

“We can’t trust him.” Skor growled. “You know better than anyone, Runaan.  Humans can’t be trusted and that one works for her.”

Runaan tilted his head at him. “And what makes the princes so different?”

Skor pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “Nothin’.  Small children don’t have higher morals, they have needs and people who fill them, and human children grow up slower than ours in that way.  Right now, that’s us, so of course Ezran wants to help.  It might even work for a few years.  But once he goes home, is surrounded by adults that hate us the way they do for enough years?  I doubt it will last.  Callum is old enough t’ have his own values, but he won’t be the one on the throne that could actually harm us.”

Runaan frowned a bit and looked back down to the village, where he had sent them, entrusting the future of the world to the boys Skor now spoke of with such skepticism. “I don’t think either of them are young enough to be in that state of mind,” He said carefully. “While it’s true that human children mature . . . slower, Ezran should be around the same mindset as Rayla was when I took her in.  She was more than capable of this kind of planning and reason - as you well know.”

Skor shook his head. “Does it matter?  We’ll do this, and it’ll be a reprieve for a few years, if it works.  It’ll save our home from Zubeia, at least.  I don’t doubt their intentions now.  I just . . . don’t trust them to keep them.  Especially back in Katolis once it’s over, with her counsel.”

“Perhaps,” Runaan conceded, reluctantly, after a moment. “But while she is vicious to us, she is a general in a war.  We have never been given a reason to believe she would turn on her own people, and these are her own nephews.  I do not believe she would give Corvus orders that would lead to their harm.”

“Like your friends would never have abandoned their posts or their daughter?” Skor asked, and the words struck Runaan so close to the heart that he couldn’t even process the tone that they came with.  He flinched involuntarily.

He didn’t grit his teeth, but it was a near thing, and he groaned softly into his hands as he rubbed the stress lines from his own face. “That was different.”

“Yes, it was,” Skor growled. “We knew them better than we know her.  What makes ye think we can trust her more than we trusted them?”

Runaan growled right back at him. “I am not saying we should trust him, and certainly not her.  Even if she would turn on her nephews, the tracker may not be willing to harm them.  He knows he can’t fight us.  We keep him with us, keep him close, to keep an eye on him.  If he stays true to his word, he may be an asset.”

“And when he doesn’t?”

“We put him to sleep, and drop him as far off our trail as we can, and leave.” Runaan said, meeting his burning golden eyes again. “If he continues to chase after that, you and Ram may deal with him as viciously as you choose.”

Skor held his gaze for a long minute, searching, before finally giving a huff and looking back down at the village, his shoulders dropping in concession.

Runaan kept looking at his profile, and sighed again, softly.  He placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Skor leaned away from it for a moment before settling, pushing back against the weight of it instead. “I know how difficult this is.” He said. “Believe me, I understand what I am asking of you.”

Skor shook his head. “It’s what’s best for the mission.” He replied, voice brittle. “What it does to us is secondary.” He looked over at Runaan through his hair and acknowledged, softer, “I lost my voice, but you lost four lives to her.  That’s far worse.”

Closing his eyes at the memory of the elves he had been forced to abandon inside the caves, Runaan took a deep, even breath, and shook his head. “I will not quantify suffering.” He said after a moment. “You lost a life, too, in a way.  The life you should have had.”

The thought hung in the air between them for a moment, both well aware that if things had turned out differently - if Skor had not lost his voice, and his pride had not been killed under Runaan’s command - he would likely have retired several years ago.  He would not be in Katolis at all.

“I’ve made my peace with that.” Skor said softly. “Have you?”

Runaan blinked at him. “Have I made my peace with what?”

Skor glanced at him through his hair. “Losin’ the life you should have had.”

“What are you . . .” the question died in Runaan’s throat as Skor tilted his head towards the village below, the implication from before pressing in like blades around his ears.  He laid them back a little defensively.

“You set all your plans aside for two elves who’ve gone on t’ betray you.” Skor pointed out softly. 

Runaan rubbed the marks across his nose, closing his eyes against the darkness pressing in from his sides. “You know as well as I do the Dragonguard had no choice in leaving,” He said slowly. “What was I supposed to do?  I had been a part of Rayla’s life since she was born.  Was I to leave her with someone else?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Skor said, tilting his head to look at Runaan around the hair that fell over his face. “That was seven years ago, an’ she’s only fifteen.  They didn’t have a choice about leavin’?  They left t’ protect her?  They threw her life away along with the rest of us when they ran.  Saved their own skins instead.”

“Skor-”

“We’ve all a right t’ be angry with them for that,” Skor pressed. “But even before that, Rayla’s only fifteen.  She’ll remember more of her life with you than with them.  She’s practically grown, and they did what, sent letters?  That’s not parenting, and you know it.  They dropped that on you, an’ never let ye take the title ye deserve for the responsibility ye took, too selfish to let her have a family they weren’t a part of.”

Runaan flinched, hand dropping from Skor’s shoulder and covering his own face as he grimaced. “That doesn’t - Skor, I can’t deal with this right now,” He said desperately. “She is their daughter, she is the one who suffers the most from what they’ve done.  Her feelings on the matter come first.”

“That’s my point.” Skor shifted his weight onto his opposite hip to turn a little more towards Runaan, arching his brows pointedly. “You’re the only adult in her life that always puts her first, except Ethari, and honestly, my friend, I’m not as sure as you are that he’d choose her over you.”

He would.  Runaan was more than confident of that.  He grimaced at the very thought of making him choose, though, and shook his head.

“I’m not sayin’ ye should talk to Rayla about it.” Skor said. “It’s not her job tae take care of you.  But I knew them, too.  Ye do have other friends, not all of us willin’ to fuck you over for seven years and end it with a stab in the back.”

Runaan flinched again and snapped. “Alright, yes, I am angry!  I am confused, and frustrated.  I do not understand what changed, I trusted - I loved them as my brother and sister, and I can’t - I don’t understand why they would betray us like this.  But I cannot deal with this right now.  I must do what I can to minimize the damage from what they’ve done, to Rayla and to our people’s reputation in the eyes of the dragons.”

“You’ve been cleanin’ up after those two your whole life.” Skor observed softly.

Runaan grimaced. “That will no longer be an issue after this, will it?” He said bitterly, and then narrowed his eyes at Skor. “And you are deflecting.”

Skor wrinkled his nose at him and lifted his lip to show one chipped fang in halfhearted spite. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Runaan showed his own fangs right back, heart aching at the memory of when that fang had been chipped, but appeased when Skor’s mouth closed again under his show of dominance. “I will not force you,” He said anyway, a little wry after Skor had done exactly that to him. “But know that I am here if you need it.  I know, better than anyone, why this is difficult for you, and I share your concerns.”

“It’s what’s best for the mission.” Skor repeated reluctantly, and groaned softly as he leaned back on his hands, raising his face to the sun’s heat and closing his eyes against its light. “Runaan, if he says anythin’ else about that woman’s honor -”

“I will not restrict his right to speak,” Runaan said, but shrugged when Skor scowled. “But I will not restrict yours, either.  If he offends you, respond as you wish, just - verbally.  We don’t resort to violence until he does.”

Skor’s eyes remained shut but he nodded slowly. “Fine.”

He would not have returned to the field, and Runaan would not have allowed him to stay there, if he weren’t capable of stabilizing even under circumstances that brought up plagues from his past.  Runaan accepted this answer and looked back down to the village below.  He took note of a small group of people - four - one smaller than the other three - leaving the well-trodden path towards where he and Skor sat up on the slope. “The children are returning.”

“Then we should do the same.” Skor said, sounding far calmer than he had when Runaan first approached him, at least, and nodded with eyes open when Runaan looked at him again.  They both stood up and dusted the bits of snow off of themselves, and took a few breaths to clear their minds after the discussion they’d had.  Skor returned to the cave, ducking inside with only a glance at Runaan.  Runaan remained by the entrance, waiting for the children to return.

For all they weren’t all his children, he couldn’t help his growing concern for the human boys, and he had known Ram since he was quite young as well.  They were all his responsibility.

He shoved Skor’s words from earlier out of his mind.  Rayla’s needs came first.  He knew what he had to do about his friends’ betrayal, and processing his reaction to it could come later, when he had less on his plate and could justify devoting precious energy to doing so.

[codenamesazanka]

the leaks:

skimming through the entire chapter 431 with my rough translation skills.

Uraraka's Quirk Counseling expansion seems to be her (and Tsuyu) trying to single-handedly screen for problems and child abuse by spending one month at every single (elementary) school/school district? They're helped by volunteer heroes.

She's also helped by Hawks, who negotiating with the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology and other organizations to provide support to change quirk education.

She is the best hero. 😭😭😭

My worries about quirk counseling have been slightly mollified by this. Slightly. It's geared towards very young children, and we don't see the actual counseling, just Heroes spending time with kids to make sure they're not showing signs of distress, but it's nice to see this tiny glimpse.

Uraraka has dreams about Toga, and wonders if Toga left her blood/quirk/will inside of Uraraka similar to how OFA functioned. Uraraka can't remember the content of the dreams, though, and wonders if Toga is trying to send her a message.

Deku says he's developed a policy to help students develop their quirks. He also goes around to elementary schools and facilities and give lectures, sharing his experiences with young girls and boys.

Shouto has taken up pottery-making classes, after thinking a lot about fate and inevitability and his path

The entire class mobilizes to capture a car thief who may or may not have used his quirk - alert said that if he does just his quirk, it might cause a big accident? idk about this part.

When Deku asks Uraraka out, Uraraka finally remembers her Toga dream, which is Toga telling her that just like how Toga lived as she liked, Uraraka should live as she likes. So Uraraka says yes to going out with Deku.

.☠️☠️☠️.

Laughing so hard because 'go live as you please!' is so Toga! It's Toga's ideal and guiding principle. She clung to being her quirk-influenced, bisexual-love, creepy-smile self, fighting to love and die as herself. She would be happy for Ochako following her heart! But did it have to be the most conventional hetero cutesy romcom shit.

The OFA-esque accumulation of will and power of Toga's quirk and love and ideals............... to encourage Ochako to date Deku.

I don't believe the League is mentioned at all by name except for Toga via Uraraka's dream, and one line from Shouto saying he was praying at Touya's altar (thus confirming that Touya is dead).

AFO is mentioned but in context of young heroes deriving their impressions of heroism from the AFO battle? idk about this part.

Two flashbacks to Shigaraki, from Deku.

First is Deku flashbacking to him inside Tenko's heart, holding Tenko's hands, as he talks about how even if he had OFA, he would still come to want to be a teacher.

(Feel like this is interesting because AFO has always been 'Sensei'/teacher to Shigaraki. In a way it feels like Deku is trying to be a Good Teacher to AFO's Bad Teacher, I guess?)

Second is Deku ruminating on Shouto's talk about 'inevitability' and how he's doing everything he wanted, and he's blessed. He flashes back to Shigaraki's "Really, do your best," which is when he also notices Uraraka laughing and get heart eyes.

So i'm laughing again that even without a dream ghost, Shigaraki's words about destruction also gets used and recontexted to fuel Deku/Ochako.

Did that extra panel of Shigaraki's almost-smile in Chapter 423 come about just to give us this ~*~parallel~*~???

It's pure gold. Villainous creeds (Destroy everything / Live as I please) ultimately used to not even prop up the Heroes doing heroic stuff related to the society that the Villains were rebelling against... but rather to get Deku and Uraraka on a date.

[inkedwithcharm]

Almost Yours | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 9

You sipped your latte and listened to Taehyung explain — in far too much detail — why the café’s playlist offended him personally.

“It’s winter,” he said, gesturing with his straw like it was a conductor’s baton. “Why are we listening to bossa nova?”

“It’s giving cozy,” Hoseok replied, stealing one of your biscotti without asking.

“It’s giving dental clinic,” Taehyung muttered.

Jimin leaned in across the table, face half-hidden behind his cup. “So… you really told him.”

You nodded slowly. “I did.”

“And?” Hoseok asked.

You exhaled. “He didn’t know. That I liked him before.”

All three of them went still.

“Oh,” Jimin said softly. “Oof.”

“Did it feel weird saying it?” Hoseok asked.

“No. Actually…” you paused. “It felt right. Like saying something I should’ve said years ago — not because I wanted anything from him. Just so I could stop carrying it.”

Taehyung gave a soft smile. “And did he say anything back?”

“He apologized. Said he didn’t know.”

“You feel lighter now?” Jimin asked.

You stirred your coffee. “I do.”

None of them said anything for a while. Then Hoseok leaned forward again.

“I’m proud of you,” he said simply.

So were you.

Two weeks later

Hospital Counseling Room

Monday, 1:03 PM

Three soft knocks.

You stood and opened the door.

Jeongguk stepped inside, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a faint hint of cologne lingering in the air. He looked different — not dramatically, but lighter. Like someone who’d stopped holding their breath.

“You look well,” you said.

“I feel… better,” he said, smiling a little.

You both sat in your usual spots.

He didn’t fidget like before. No bouncing knee. No picking at his sleeves. Just stillness.

“So,” you said, “how have the past two weeks been?”

“I did something,” he said. “Something I didn’t think I’d ever do again.”

You waited.

“I talked to my brother.”

You blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Texted him first. Then we met. Just for coffee. Nothing deep. But… it wasn’t awkward.”

You smiled. “That’s a big step.”

“It felt like climbing a mountain. But when I got to the top, I realized it wasn’t as steep as I thought. Just… scary.”

You jotted a note, but your eyes stayed on him.

“I’ve been sleeping again,” he added quietly. “Through the night. No waking up at 3 a.m. No heart pounding.”

You felt something soften in your chest. “That’s incredible.”

He looked at you. “I think I’m improving. I’m not fixed — but I’m not stuck either.”

“Progress isn’t a straight line,” you said. “But what matters is you’re moving.”

He nodded once.

Then hesitated.

“There’s something else.”

You waited.

“I accepted a freelance design contract in Tokyo. For three months. Starts next month.”

Your brows lifted in pleasant surprise. “That’s huge.”

“It is,” he said, a little breathless. “I almost said no. Thought I should stay. Keep the routine. But then I thought… maybe it’s time to leave the version of me who was afraid of everything.”

You smiled, quiet and proud.

“Thank you,” he added, voice gentler now. “For helping me build that version.”

You let the silence hold for a beat.

“You did the work,” you said.

He smiled. “But you reminded me I could.”

As the session wrapped, you stood by the door, holding it open like always. But this time, he didn’t rush.

“If I don’t see you before I leave,” he said, “thank you again.”

You nodded. “You’ll do great in Tokyo.”

He gave a soft bow, then looked at you one more time. Like he wanted to say something more. But didn’t.

Not yet.

He stepped out into the hallway.

And you exhaled.

You returned to your office, sat back down, and looked around the quiet space.

So much of your life had changed in small, unremarkable ways.

But today, it felt like something shifted.

Not because anything ended.

But because something else was beginning.

It’s strange how peace can sneak in quietly — like sunlight through blinds on a lazy Sunday morning. You don’t even realize it’s there until someone makes you laugh too hard over nothing, and you think, Oh. I’m okay.

It’s not perfect. Life rarely is.

But it’s softer now.

You were on your second cup of coffee when Hoseok stormed into the break room like he was auditioning for a hospital drama.

“I swear on my most expensive sneakers — if one more intern calls me ‘Ma’am’ because of my middle part, I’m filing for early retirement.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Ma’am?!”

“Ma’am!” he hissed. “And they bowed!”

From behind him, Jimin wheezed. “You do give off sophisticated widow energy in that coat.”

Hoseok pointed at him like a man wronged. “I am radiant. Not retired.”

Taehyung walked in next, holding a green smoothie with a straw that curled like a pig’s tail. “I think you look like a sad prince who dances alone in palaces.”

Everyone paused.

“Thank you,” Hobi whispered, moved.

The four of you squeezed into the back corner of a café across from the hospital. The cushions sagged, and someone spilled oat milk on the table, but it felt like home.

“So,” Jimin said, taking a sip of his matcha. “Are we emotionally stable this week, or are we in denial again?”

“I’m stable,” Taehyung said, sipping his kale-ginger blend. “I’ve journaled three days in a row and only thought about quitting once.”

You held up your coffee. “I slept more than five hours last night.”

Hobi threw his arms up. “My skincare routine is back. I did a clay mask, and I cried halfway through — but they were therapeutic tears.”

You laughed until your cheeks hurt.

This — this was your life now.

Not built around romance or heartbreak.

But friendships that didn’t leave.

Inside jokes. Group chats. Honest check-ins.

Even when everything else felt uncertain, this corner of your life stayed warm.

Afterward, the three of them walked you back to the hospital entrance.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Taehyung said. “And if I forget, remind me to bring the colored pens you like.”

Jimin gently bumped your shoulder. “Text me if your last session runs late. I’ll order dinner.”

Hoseok handed you a small pastry bag. “Here. I bought it earlier. You looked like you needed something sweet.”

You blinked, touched. “You guys are soft.”

Jimin smirked. “We’re emotionally evolved.”

That night, you watered your plants. Folded laundry. Read a few pages of a book you kept meaning to finish. You saw Jeongguk’s sketchbook on your shelf, the one he left behind after his final session.

You hadn’t heard from him since he left for Tokyo.

You hoped he was doing well.

You hoped he was sleeping better.

You hoped he was finding joy in new places.

Just like you were.

You brushed your teeth to the sound of city traffic outside your window.

Pulled your curtains shut.

Turned off the light.

And smiled — not because everything was perfect, but because for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like something was missing.

You felt full.

Here.

Home in your own life.

The first thing you noticed was the smell of photocopier ink.

It was strong in the conference room — mingled with the too-strong air freshener someone insisted made the place smell “professional.” You were only half-listening as the department head went through the upcoming conference details.

Something about a joint program.

Something about new tech initiatives.

Something about bringing together healthcare and innovation.

You sipped your lukewarm coffee and scribbled a grocery list in the corner of your notepad. You were going to buy detergent after work. Maybe oranges. Your plants needed misting. You had a quiet weekend ahead.

Everything was normal.

Calm. Predictable.

Until a sheet of paper slid across the table toward you.

You glanced down — just politely.

Then froze.

“2025 Seoul x FutureMed Collaboration Conference”

“Connecting Psychology, Technology, and Community”

Presented by: ArborTech Ventures | CEO Kim Seokjin

Your pen stalled mid-loop.

For a moment, everything else — the voices, the papers, even the sharp click of someone’s pen behind you — dropped away.

Kim Seokjin.

Of course it was him.

You’d forgotten the name of his company — something about growth, about innovation. You’d vaguely remembered it being mentioned in passing during a dinner conversation once. But now, there it was. Printed in clean serif font. Unapologetic.

“You okay?” Hobi asked beside you, eyes flicking from your suddenly still hand to the paper.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… surprised.”

He leaned over and scanned the sponsor list. His brow raised, just slightly.

“Ah,” he said under his breath. “That kind of surprise.”

You said nothing.

Your coffee suddenly tasted bitter.

Later, in your office, you sat at your desk staring at the email with the formal invitation to the event. All hospital psychologists were encouraged to attend. There would be workshops. Panels. Networking. A small exhibit area. The schedule looked packed.

You stared at the sponsor list again.

Read his name.

Then closed the email.

You didn’t know what felt heavier — the fact that he was sponsoring something that touched your world… or that part of you still felt something about it.

That night, you told Jimin about it over chamomile tea and takeout dumplings.

He listened without interrupting, one leg tucked beneath him on the couch.

“So… what are you going to do?” he asked gently.

You stared at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow.

“I mean it,” you said. “It’s just a name. He’s not part of my world anymore.”

“And yet,” Jimin said, chewing slowly, “you’re the one who memorized his company name after seeing it for two seconds.”

You gave him a flat look.

He smiled softly. “I’m not judging. Just saying… closure isn’t always a clean door slam. Sometimes it’s recognizing that the name doesn’t sting the way it used to — but it still echoes.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Instead, you leaned back, cradled your mug in your hands, and exhaled.

Quietly.

Thoughtfully.

Maybe you’d go to the conference.

Maybe you wouldn’t.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter at all.

But for the first time in a long time, you remembered what it felt like when his name wasn’t just a memory — but a shadow you had to walk through.

And this time, you were walking through it differently.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything — the name on the sponsor list. You told yourself that the night before, even as you double-checked your hair in the mirror. Even as you put on the soft gray slacks and tucked your ID badge into the front of your coat.

You were here as a professional. That was all.

Psychologist. Speaker. Colleague.

Not the girl who once ran out of her own heart.

The conference center buzzed with polished shoes, light perfumes, coffee carts and sleek booths with perfectly adjusted lanyards. You walked through the maze of stalls with Jimin by your side, both of you reviewing your panel notes for the 11:00 AM talk on trauma-informed design in therapy spaces.

Everything was clean. Professional. Predictable.

Until it wasn’t.

You had just turned toward the central atrium when you heard someone behind you say his name.

“Mr. Kim? Oh—he’s over by the mental health tech exhibit.”

You froze for only half a breath.

Jimin noticed. “You okay?”

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just… let’s head that way. Coffee stand’s nearby.”

You didn’t expect him to be there, not really — but the second your eyes found him, you knew it was inevitable.

Kim Seokjin, standing tall in a navy suit, clean white shirt, dark watch strap snug on his wrist. He had that sharp, composed look CEOs wear at events like this — but when he turned and saw you, something in his face softened.

You stopped walking.

His gaze didn’t falter.

Then he smiled. Not the practiced one you’d seen in media, but the quiet one you remembered from childhood — the one that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw you before you said anything.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lower, careful.

You smiled. “Hi.”

He looked at you fully now — eyes scanning your conference badge, the way your blazer fell over your frame, how your shoulders held no hesitation.

“You look…” He paused, blinking. “You look incredible.”

You managed a small smile. “So do you. CEO suits you.”

He let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Mostly just tired and trying not to trip over investment charts.”

You turned slightly toward Jimin. “Oh — Seokjin, this is Park Jimin, my colleague. We work together at the hospital.”

Jimin offered his hand, polite but unreadable. “Nice to meet you.”

Seokjin shook it, nodding. “You too.”

There was a beat of silence — professional, but something lived underneath.

“So,” he said, looking between the two of you. “You’re part of the psychology integration panel?”

You nodded. “Trauma-centered approaches. We’re in the 11AM slot.”

“Right,” he said. “I read through the abstracts. You’ve… come really far.”

You glanced away, heart flickering somewhere deep. “Yeah. Took a while. But I like where I am now.”

Jimin’s phone buzzed, and he gently touched your arm. “I’ll grab our handouts and find us seats.”

“Thanks,” you murmured.

Once Jimin stepped away, you turned back to Seokjin.

“You’ve done well too,” you said softly. “ArborTech… this whole thing. It’s impressive.”

He shrugged lightly. “It kept me moving.”

Then, after a pause — “But it’s strange. Seeing you here again.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“Because I spent a long time thinking I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t respond. There was too much history between that sentence.

“I didn’t know how to reach you,” he continued. “I mean, I tried once or twice. But I figured if you wanted space, the least I could do was respect it.”

You nodded. “That was the right choice.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else — something more. But instead, he just offered a faint smile and said, “You’re amazing up there. Speaking. Teaching. Helping.”

“Thank you,” you replied. And you meant it.

“Maybe I’ll catch your talk.”

“Maybe you will.”

You turned away gently, walking back toward Jimin, your pulse still steady — mostly.

From behind, Seokjin stayed in place, watching you go. And something in his chest shifted.

You were no longer his best friend.

No longer the girl from across the street.

You were something steadier now.

And somehow, further away than ever.

Seokjin had been to hundreds of conferences.

Tech launches in Hongdae. Executive summits in Tokyo. Banquets with slideshows so dry he sometimes wrote grocery lists in the margins of his handouts just to stay awake.

But he’d never once sat in a folding chair at the back of a mid-sized panel hall, watching a woman he used to know unfold words with that kind of quiet gravity.

You stood at the front of the room in slate-gray trousers and a crisp cream blouse, your conference lanyard tucked against your chest as you adjusted the mic. You weren’t flashy. You weren’t loud. But the way the room stilled when you spoke — that was power.

“Good morning,” you began, eyes scanning the room. “I’m Dr. Y/N L/N, clinical psychologist with Seoul General’s mental health department, and today I want to talk about something deceptively simple: safety.”

You clicked the remote, revealing the first slide:

“It’s not enough to treat symptoms. We have to treat silence.”

You continued.

“Many of our patients come to us having carried things for years. Stories they never told. Pain they never named. Not because they lacked the language—”

You paused, gentle. “But because they lacked a listener.”

Seokjin felt his breath catch.

You weren’t here to dazzle.

You weren’t here to prove anything.

You were here to say something real.

“Trauma-informed care,” you said, “isn’t a specialty. It’s a lens. It shapes how we enter a room. How we ask questions. How we wait.”

The next slide was a photo of a small patient room — soft lighting, calming art, a round clock instead of a sharp-ticking one.

“We don’t always realize how easily clinical spaces echo harm. Fluorescent lights. Glass doors. Cold metal chairs. These things speak before we do.”

You looked up from your notes and scanned the room again.

“They say: You are a case file. You are a diagnosis. You are temporary.”

He watched you take a breath — not because you needed one, but because it grounded you.

“What we try to say instead,” you continued, “is this: You are safe here. You are allowed to exist without performance. You are not too much.”

A hand went up during Q&A.

“How do you measure that kind of safety?” asked a man from one of the startup booths.

You smiled. Not condescending. Just steady.

“We don’t measure it with numbers. We see it in nervous shoulders slowly relaxing. In tears that come without apology. In the moment a patient looks you in the eye after months of not being able to.”

A beat.

Then you added:

“And sometimes, you see it when someone comes back — after thinking they never would.”

Seokjin swallowed.

He wondered if you meant it that way.

If that line was for him.

But it didn’t matter.

Because what you’d said — it didn’t belong to just one person.

It belonged to every life you’d touched since walking away from the version of yourself who once waited for him to turn around.

The final slide came up: a wall of sticky notes — handwritten messages from patients.

You pointed to a few and read them aloud.

“I felt heard.”

“I wasn’t rushed.”

“I mattered.”

And finally:

“It was the first time I told someone the truth.”

You let those words sit in the room a moment too long.

No one moved.

Not even Seokjin.

When the panel ended, polite applause rose — soft but sincere.

You stepped back from the podium and exchanged a few words with your co-presenter. Jimin leaned in with a smile and whispered something that made you laugh, and Seokjin saw it clearly now:

You were not the girl from your old neighborhood.

Not the sister in someone else’s shadow.

Not the memory that once ran from him.

You were here. Whole. Present. Rooted in your purpose.

And he couldn’t touch that anymore.

He stayed just long enough to see you smile once more before slipping out of the room — quiet, unnoticed.

Outside, the city moved as if nothing had happened.

But inside, he was still trying to catch up with the sound of your voice —

and the echo of everything he didn’t say when it still might have mattered.

People began to file out. Seokjin stood, slipping his phone into his pocket, nodding politely at a few passing attendees. He glanced back once before stepping into the hall.

You were still at the front, talking to two young interns who looked slightly starstruck.

He smiled — softly. Sadly.

You didn’t see him leave.

And that was okay.

In the hallway, Seokjin walked toward the nearest window, letting the late afternoon sun warm the side of his face.

For weeks, he’d imagined what it would feel like to see you again after your mom’s birthday.

What he’d say. What you’d say.

He never once imagined he’d feel… proud.

But he did.

Not because he had a part in the person you’d become.

But because you became her without him.

And that was the part that both hurt — and healed.

Chapter 10

[nabi-unveiled]

Fadel: The Why Edition

We've come a long way with our characters in The Heart Killers. The secrets are all out (as far as we know). Our characters are well understood now.

Keen - He may have won the fashion wars this week (the bar was low in episode 10), but he's a textbook example of feelings of inadequacy, jealousy of his brothers, and mommy issues.

Style - He's a man who loves with his whole heart because he knows people shouldn't be taken for granted. His experiences and loving relationship with his dad mean he's gained insight into trauma, grief, and the power of love. He's even served in this kind of grief counseling role to his dad before so his responses to Fadel's grief completely line up. It's been a consistent thread that he loves with his whole heart, and he's 100% in.

Kant - He used to travel the world with his parents and still longs for that freedom even though he took on responsibility early in life. Sorry Babe, once you're 18, he says your on your own.

Bison - He's a feral cat who was daddy's spoiled princess and has the temper to show for it.

Bison enjoyed his childhood on that island with his lackeys and his parents. They played Frisbee. They watched movies together. We've been explicitly told that he had a fun, spoiled life prior to the hitman gig. He doesn't like being a hitman. He'd rather have someone else do his dirty work. Because we all know he's going to get enraged and need someone to clean up his mess. "Young Master" indeed.

But I'm still left wondering about Fadel. His natural personality explains a lot about his need to plan and tendency to control, and we understand where he's at now emotionally. The impact of his ex's "disappearance" is depicted beautifully in the last part of episode 10. Even if I really don't understand how a man like Fadel didn't search for him. But I digress. Let's go back to before the ex even existed. Unlike our other three mains, there's a lot about Fadel I still don't fully understand.

So Fadel...

Why were/are you able to kill without hesitation?

You have a strong moral compass. You only kill the "bad guys". But unlike Bison, this job didn't seem to phase you until it got in the way of the life you wanted. If love hadn't come around, you'd have been fine continuing the job. You asked Style in an earlier episode why he became a mechanic.

But what about you? Bison told us you don't hesitate when it comes to killing. And that was true long before the ex ever existed in your life. We know you were good at it. It's why Lilly wanted to keep you on her side.

Does it actually bother you but you hide it? You do mask a lot.

Was it simply because it was the family business and you wanted to please your mother? We know you value family.

Was it because you are always going to do your best in anything you try? I hear your burgers are good.

Did you actually want to do the job? Because taking out the bad guys - that feels like the right thing to do. You scolded Style for texting while driving and intervened in a domestic violence situation. You have a bit of a justice streak.

Or was there more to it? Something from before you were even adopted? Because out of our main four characters, we know the least about your biological parents. Other than they were murdered, you've never really mentioned them.

Why did you take Bison under your wing?

The bond with Lilly is understandable, but you didn't have to bond with Bison. You obviously didn't bother AT ALL with Keen. So why Bison? When did it start? Was it when you did hits together? Or did your brotherhood start before that? Because really, even if you are a protector by nature, it begs the question - why not protect Keen too? I mean there's at least a few years between your adoption and the shooting training scene. I get animosity later, but to have not built up a bond at all in those early years? That actually shows pretty high walls long before the job started or the ex was ever in the picture. You only let the chosen ones into your "family" even then. Keen didn't make the cut. But why?

Why do you have the scar?

It's obviously not because of the ex. Were you really just telling the truth all along? Just an occupational hazard? No big meta mystery here?

I mean it's happened before. The urn necklace you wore turned out to be a professional tool not a sign of grief or loss.

Regardless, I'm going to be honest with you. I still have questions.

[hashimasims]

Malcolm: So what do you think Mint? See yourself working here?

Minthe: Yes! Most definitely! I . . . I thought I already had the job.

Malcolm: I offered it, yes, but you never said whether you accepted or not.

Minthe: Of course I accept! I can't wait to get in the Lab.

Malcolm: Mind me asking why you walked out on your internship with FutureSim Labs?

Minthe: I knew that was going to come up eventually. No I don't mind. Umm . . . It was because of Kevin.

Malcolm: The douche-canoe you were avoiding at the club?

Minthe: That'd be the one. The day I got the email offering me the internship is the day I found out that he was cheating and we broke up.

Malcolm: That seems a bit weak of a reason to leave an amazing opportunity on the table.

Minthe: It is. I shouldn't have let it affect my life but, I thought he was going to propose to me, I found the ring and this beautiful letter but that night he came home covered in another woman's lipstick. I spiraled emotionally and . . . well it was a dark time. I sought counseling thanks to my friend and I'm much better now. It was just a small blip in my life that affected everything for a good portion of time and I don't plan on letting that happen again.

Malcolm: Glad to hear it. But I hope that means you're not planning on bottling up emotions in the future just to avoid another setback.

Minthe: What else would you suggest?

Malcolm: Continue talking to people, your friend seems like good support. Then there's always your fake boyfriend.

Minthe: Sorry bout that.

Malcolm: Why? You needed somebody in that moment, why not me? Besides, I offered. I did mean what I said though, the changing my title part, though more along the lines of changing it from fake boyfriend to actual boyfriend.

Minthe: You're my boss, that would be . . .

Malcolm: Unethical? Maybe, if I was actually your boss. I may have been the one hiring you but my Mother is your boss. Have dinner with me tomorrow night.

Minthe: I shouldn't

Malcolm: Fine, let me take you out to congratulate you on your new job, as your friend.

Minthe: umm yeah I can agree to that. But just friends.

Beginning|Previous|Next

[scrimpswrites]

Rules: Post the first lines of your 10 most recently published works, then attempt to tag 10 people!

Thank you @a-smol-nugget X3

Tagging @astralpenguin @acetypeface and @menasors if ya wanna

Waited to post my newest fic to do this teehee, newest to oldest :3

🤖🔧 It was pleasurably hot days like these that Noah didn’t need to layer up- didn’t need his windbreaker, or even his overshirt. Hell, today was so perfectly scorching that he was only in his wifebeater and those goddamn shorts. Mirage had seen them before but oh so fleetingly. E

🤖🔧 Stationed here was boring. Scratch that, stationed anywhere lately is boring. He had gotten so nice and used to his new alt mode when Optimus banned him from street racing, could blow their cover, get him in danger, so on and so, so forth. Earth could be so amusing and he was missing out big time. This time he was under aching fluorescent parking garage lights, mere feet from the real earth, for weeks. T

👽🦖 1983. I went home to Massachusetts after the frozen hell we all faced. What time I had spent there felt exponentially greater than what it actually was. I needed something to do. My hands felt too empty. I might have taken up my old job if they had let me, but the bastards turned me away. Mental counseling. I was, supposedly, a fuckin’ nutjob who thought he saw shit in the snow. E

🤖✈️ Dear diary

Absolutely miserable. Those two go out of their way to make me absolutely miserable. I can’t go one click without one of their scrutinizing optics and stupid cables being theoretically up my aft. metaphorically* like ew. I would never. T

🤖🔧 The handcuffs were a weird idea. Mirage watched too much TV, and sometimes he wondered if his partner was watching anything else when he wasn’t there to keep an eye on him. He really was alone far too much. Mentally, he reminded himself to ask about that, and to check what channels the mech had access to. Mirage must have gotten this idea somewhere. T

🤖🔧 Noah had been screwing around with the ‘bot in his garage for far longer than he thought he would be, and in a lot more ways than he ever intended. Fixing turned to cleaning, cleaning turned to petting, petting turned to some real nice interior work… until interior work stopped being Mirage and started being Noah. E

⛦ “Did you like me wearing them?” Oh god all he could hear was the blood rush in his own ears. It could have been an extraordinarily normal day if Dean hadn’t asked Cas what was on his mind. E

⛦ Dean fumbled with the keys to his apartment, entirely distracted by the warm body pressed against the door. He mumbled his frustrations and she laughed, almost falling when the door swung open behind her, and backing up in her unbalanced stilettos. NR

⛦ Dean pressed his shoulder against him. They were in the kitchen with Sam. They didn’t really have to say anything. That was how things were, and Dean liked it. T

🤖🔧 It had been a few weeks of peace and quiet now, and Mirage and Noah had settled into a new form of normal, which surprised them both. With all that had happened, Mirage feared for the worst between them, even with hope. All camaraderie aside, they could have parted ways after Mirage’s recovery as friends, or brothers, but instead he found himself staying in the garage. T

[thebarontheabyss]

head empty except for this wip that is living rent free in my head.. please pay me rent, i am broke xD

how would the ros react with an mc that has zero self preservation skills. an absolute disaster. no sense of danger at all. but incredible luck. the "brings a wolf home because they thought it was a dog and wanted to find its owner" type *young mc holding up a very unimpressed but otherwise chill racoon* LOOK WHAT I FOUND! mcs teacher: *distressed and confused noises* How did it not scratch you????

Lol, sorry for squatting your mind!

So In the afterlife, where mortality is a concept of the past, danger is not exactly as straightforward. So, your MC's disregard for self-preservation becomes less about personal risk and more about the absolute chaos they leave in their wake!

The Raven would have a field day with the MC’s antics. "Oh, another 'pet' to add to our collection? Maybe next time you'll bring home a dragon," he’ll quip sarcastically, his tone laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. Despite his remarks, he’ll be a bit worried about the potential messes to clean up.

Death would be constantly perplexed by the MC's actions. "What… drove you to do that?" they'd ask with a puzzled smile. The MC’s behavior would definitely leave Death even more confused about human (or formerly human) nature.

Lilith/Damien would revel in the MC's unpredictable nature. They'd see it as a source of entertainment and might even encourage the MC's reckless behavior for their own amusement. "You do keep the afterlife interesting," they'd remark with a grin.

Morgan/Morgana, used to their own brand of reckless magic, would find a kindred spirit in the MC. They might caution the MC but would also be intrigued by their audacity. "Just make sure you don't bring down the bar with you," they'd warn, half-jokingly.

Peisinoe would view the MC's behavior with a mix of disdain and reluctant admiration. "Such flamboyance in tempting fate. But do remember, not all of us are as charmed," they'd say, ensuring their space remains an oasis of calm amidst the MC's chaos.

Shelly would be both worried and amused by the MC's antics. "You remind me of my little siblings," she'd say with a laugh, making sure to keep an extra eye on the MC and hiding the strong booze, just for safety measures.

Hastur would be ever-vigilant, ready to intervene if the MC's luck ever ran thin. "There is a fine line between bravery and folly. Tread it wisely," he'd counsel, his watchful eyes always on the lookout for any actual danger.

Yaga would grumble about the MC's escapades, predicting all the ways it could go wrong. Despite her complaints, she'd always be prepared to offer advice or assistance, albeit grudgingly.

He Without Name would observe the MC's actions with silent curiosity. "Chaos… Entropy…" He will whisper after every incident.

[sageandred]

911 Lone Star Rewatch Notes~ Season 2

Been recapping the episodes for myself as a refresher; posting this one late from the drafts, but oh well!

2x01: Back in the Saddle

why tf don't I remember a stolen military tank driving down the street? lmao

Police on the scene: "And if he decides to shoot at us with the cannon?" "..Duck." 🤭 Carlos <3

ohhhh now I remember: Owen->🧍‍♂️🚎<-the tank RT UP 2 HIS FACE

I remember loving Tommy's entrance/introduction. She was a great addition in s2.

Tommy is so calm, lol, while this roller derby girl has a piece of floorboard sticking thru her torso

..and her arm?!?! Ooo that looks painful

"Is it that noticeable [that he's stressed]?" "I noticed and I'm pretty sure I haven't looked at you since you walked in." Marjan (loml)<-->TK dynamic things & "I noticed her noticing." ok, i love Paul (nothing new)

Carlos massaging TK while he's stressed and telling his divorced-kid experience story. (it's abt the details)

Tommy getting harnessed up to climb a cell tower, making a tourniquet at the top, and being targeted by a crossbow shooter in her first episode. They put the paramedic in action.

lmao "We're taking fire." "Did you just say —? ..we don't hear anything down here." I love the crossbow angle; it's so unserious.

"You know if you get yourself shot again, you're never making it out of the doghouse." (he cares so much) -- "Firefighters. You really are a smug bunch." "You love it." ❤️

"TK knows [abt his dysfunctional divorcee parents hooking up]." "Everybody [knows]." I love their healthily dysfunctional lil family dynamic

2x02: 2100°

I never noticed Owen kind of side hugged his son-in-law before he was his SIL at the cancer remission party

Is this back-to-back episodes of the first (on-screen) times TK and Carlos call each other babe (Carlos in 2.01 and TK here)? They "moved in" and became domestic immediately.

How did Carlos get away with that obvious (poor!) deflection about meeting his parents?

Also how did I kind of miss TK's kindof delection (embarrassment) from how happy he was and jumping to progress the relationship by bringing up Carlos' parents casually in conversation (and he was soo offended in 2x04 after a full season of avoiding a relationship <3)

"I get to rappel into that?" " 'Get to?' That's an interesting choice of words. " Marjan-TK friendship gets to shine!

At the pool scene, why did Nancy actually freeze???

Ok, she redeemed herself and performed the rescue act.

I didn't necessarily expect Tim to survive, being a recurring character and all, but that impact of the lava ball was shocking the first time I saw it...right before the cut to commercial.

Mateo says he was asked to report on what HE saw? (ig they could just ask everybody, but..) I wonder if he and Nancy will ever talk about/mention Tim's death in conversation. [I think they do when they connect later (to go to counseling???)]

It's actually crazy how little time Captain Vega was there before some insane disasters occurred.

Buster (Keaton), the cat, this is your introduction.

Marjan and Paul boxing together ❤️

You see the difference in how long they've been together by how Grudd and Tarlos have their comfort scenes and TK not really expecting for Carlos to be waiting on the stairs vs the assurance with Grace waiting in the bed already and simply reaching back to hold his hand. Both couples don't need to say anything. It's a big moment for tarlos, because they're a newer couple.

2x03: Hold the Line

kind of pleased that I just so happened to reach this episode when I reached the s4 episode of og on my binge-watch

Tell me why I don't remember Eddie being from Texas (idek)??

"I think that guy [Buck] is staring at you." (and Marjan's head whip); this was so funny

Buck, Mateo, & TK being the ones to end up on digging duty is the most fitting scenario of what you'd expect for each of them (& ofc Marjan and Paul get out of it by volunteering for the other job)

First time I saw this I wasn't watching 911 and wondered why this guy was even flirting w/Marjan

Why do I think the pep talk Judd gives to the "scrawny" boy about fighting back is meant to be significant to his own exp. (I don't remember it coming up later; could relate to his ptsd idk)? Edit: I wonder if it was him thinking abt his friend we find out abt in 2x09?

tarlos phone call even when Carlos isn't in the episode <3

"Dumbass and Dumbasser"

TK and Carlos SHOULD find themselves in LA & reference the gaydar now that Buck is confirmed bi

2x04: Friends with Benefits

They mention Owen's fear of clowns here, before we ever find out how deep it runs.

"I do like people to know you're mine." & the "maybe we should [come here more often]." (no reason for this I just love) ❤️

This is based on nothing substantial but will Carlos & TK move at the end of season 5??? [oh my god i was right!] prob not (just cuz he wasn't set on staying close to family and asked would he move. "If it was for the right person."

I love the awkward Carlos parents meeting so much. Poor TK. This is why I was waiting w/all the TK getting settled into the new relationship notices (he's so much more outwardly emotional about things than Carlos atp)

note: Marjan is 25. She mentions with her fiancé that they always planned to marry in 5 years when they're 30.

2x05: Difficult Conversations

"Guardian Angle" poor Mateo

Gwyn and Owen were such a mess, but they were a perfectly matched mess

Poor Grace (father cheating) / Grace and Judd are so healthy/respectful of one another (Grace reassuring Judd before he has to say anything, and him respecting when she doesn't want to talk about it)

2x06: Everyone and Their Brother

I feel like they've been pairing Marjan, Paul, and Mateo more as a trio this season and it's a fun combo of personalities. Then, they've been showing a lot of Judd-TK.

"What made you change your mind?" "I am going to be a father." Do not do this to me. 😭 Do not say this to him.

and TK deciding he wants to be a paramedic this episode, making his own path away frm his dad (a good arc, I like)

2x07: Displaced

Poor Nancy; it's not just that she's missing Tim, it's that she's missing her old team and how she, Michelle and Tim had their own work fam dynamic

(because this brought unexpected hilarity) the Magnetic Field MRI call >

Did they just randomly mention that Paul has ridden a motorcycle (got into an accident)?

2 times they just randomly have Ronen wearing an earring this episode, & I know it's more fitting for his character than Rafael's, but the fact we'll never get both on screen at the same time..

It hurt my heart how the baby wasn't Owen's, but it led to some good stuff next ep, so ready for that!

2x08: Bad Call

marks 1 year of TK's sobriety

Why have I never noticed JUST how cute Carlos' ecstatic clapping at the end of TK's speech is? (also long Grace-Carlos embrace in bg of Gwyn & Owen talking!)

"I trusted my instincts like you always taught me." "Ah, yeah, see, but the thing is, son, you gotta have the right instincts." i love this Carlos-centric ep

Carlos and his future father-in-law this ep ❤️ (he actually gave him more encouraging advice than Gabriel abt trusting his gut 😢/ (both words can be helpful) )

TK just straight up told Nancy about his parents baby out of the blue on the way to the call (ok, they're friends!)

2x09: Saving Grace

1995(12 yrs old)->2020: Judd is 37 as of

I know Judd wouldn't feel this way, but the accident was actually his friend's fault by pushing down on the pedal

the correlation of Judd feeling responsible for his friend's accident to feeling responsible while he waits for Grace to wake up

😭😍😭 is all I have left to say for this ep

99% expecting Grace to be in Graduate School for s5; we'll see

2x10: A Little Help from My Friends

the Tarlos move-in episode (well their new home doesn't last long)

TK: "Carlos is making his grandma's ropa vieja.." 🥲 I can't wait for our husband's era

I loved the Mateo-Owen roommate arc

It just occurred to me how technically the fireteam (minus captain) will be only Mateo, Marjan, & Paul without Judd and TK's long-standing paramedic title now. (because this szn we see the 3 of them bounce off of each other a lot more & that will be present in s5)

Carlos was put on the spot during that intervention and he still doesn't feel comfortable calling him "Owen" my bby😄

2x11: Slow Burn

This is the second storyline where Marjan's been put in a position to feel like she needs to step back from something, because of perception w/her online presence.

"...a easy mistake-" "that our son should've corrected" why did I never notice the REAL accusation in that line?! (i think it just feels like it because of Carlos' reaction afterwards; i could write a whole analysis on the Gabriel-Carlos miscommunication + their backstory 😢 s5 is gonna break me!!!)

2x12: The Big Heat

idc, I like Billy now (his deadpan is funny)

The consistency of Judd playing video games in scenes is 💯 (appreciate the continuation)

Again, Tommy went thru it her introductory season. Charles 😭

2x13: One Day

not much to add here; this episode is really sad for Tommy-

but man, I forgot how heartbreaking that opening scene is!

2x14: Dust to Dust

2 weeks since Charles' death

wait I can't remember what happened after Tommy saying she was retiring...

Aww Nancy "..how I wanna be as a paramedic, as a captain, and hopefully one day as mom"

..oh, that's right, Tommy realized she needed to go out in the dust storm & that helping is her calling (duh)

Mateo's a firefighter! (I totally forgot this (when, i mean))

oh that's right, I hate Billy again!

I think I'm gonna write very little for these since I've seen all of this before and then, I end up with long posts.

[s-wave-entertainment]

Also, fuck it, a vague mention isn't enough (I will talk about Murder Drones: Eps. 5 and 7 here so just in case I have any new fans!):

For my main audience, I have an AU for you too! It is also still being workshopped, but it has a lot more structure than the TADC one does. Basically, I built a "What If?" scenario in which The Solver had kept its promise (ACTUALLY, DON'T GET INTO TECHNICALITIES WITH ME I KNOW THE LOOPHOLE I KNOW) and not discarded her. If she had survived the massacre and been left to fend for herself, until The Solver needed her again.

Tessa walked away from the massacre that night. Not okay in the slightest, but physically unharmed. She had no known relatives or family friends (that would be willing to take in a child, that is), so for a while JCJ housed her themselves in a cleared-out office room. This is when the researcher who rescued her that night, Dr. Lisa E Merit, decided "this is bullshit and this child needs Actual Help," and decided to adopt her herself - and actually pay for the counseling Tessa needed.

There was a drone involved eventually - who was originally Lisa's work assistant - named Mary. Lisa realized after a few days that Tessa didn't exactly do great all by herself in a house all day, so she eventually asked her to come home and assist her adopted daughter instead of assist her at work. Mary agreed (initially reluctantly as she had no idea how in the hell to interact with a kid), and her and Tessa became pretty fast friends.

I actually gave her a pretty good family, so you're welcome for not torturing her any more! ...That is until a few years down the line (Tessa is maybe 23, 24 when this happens) when the Solver appears In Her Apartment and basically tells her "Hey I'm gonna fuck this bitch up in three days, and you have those three days to decide if you wanna help me (and live) or not (and die). I've got a peace offering for you in case you're still mad about the whole 'killing your entire family' thing." And that peace offering is Serial Designation J, in her disassembly drone form.

Obviously, beyond J being her friend, I should explain a little more. Tessa, after she concluded her education, was easily recruited into JCJ. She didn't want to do this, but if she had any hope of finding the truth about what happened to her friends that night, she needed the company to help her do it. So basically Tessa is running her own operation under the JCJ name behind everyone's backs (except for Lisa, who knows about it and actively helps her). So there's that.

Anyway, this is why she took J as a peace offering but had her help hijack a ship and escape Earth before shit got fucked. The whereabouts of Lisa and Mary are unknown to me currently - I may have Tessa have taken them as well since in CANON she arrived with three ships, but at the moment they did not make it off the planet. I have a little content, mostly writing, but what do y'all want - should I drop it?

[mrs-johansson]

Chapter 6 - Dark Phoenix II - Emergence of conflagration

Part 1:

“It’s our biggest sighting of Klaue in six months. Our destination is Casablanca, Morocco. We all know he operates mainly in Africa. Our sensors have found Vibranium in the biggest amount yet. Our mission is to retrieve the Vibranium. Klaue has become one of our highest priority targets, if anyone messes up this mission I will fire them myself, understood?” Looked around the room of agents. There were about 10 agents plus Sam and Natasha. “We leave 0500 sharp. Vibranium is the strongest metal on Earth, so prepare yourself.” Everyone stood up and took their files before leaving the conference room. “I’d hate you to be my boss,” Sam walked up to me. “I am your boss,” I chuckled dryly knowing he still doesn’t think I’m his boss. “Okay, fine. Is there anything else for the mission? I’d like to be prepared,” he said and I looked up from the leftover papers. “You know your way around raids, we can use your experience with this many recruits. You have to take this seriously, Sam. I count on you in this one,” I said and he dropped his smile and put on a serious face instead. “Absolutely, thank you for trusting me with this.” I gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder before he left.

“Any notes for me?” Natasha leaned against the table, crossing her arms in front of her chest, a slight smirk on her lips. I looked her up and down before going back to the papers. “Notes… Romanoff, I don’t know if I could give you any useful advice. Just don’t vandalize my mission, I heard that’s kind of your thing,” I said without looking at her otherwise I would have laughed straight away. “Yeah, that’d be fun though. Anyway, I was thinking you and Katarina could come over later. I’ve got something for her,” she suggested and I chucked. “Natalia, you have to stop buying her new stuff every week,” I grabbed the papers and made my way to my office, Natasha following close behind. “But I love seeing her face when she's surprised. Y/n, she stopped abnormally fast, we need to spoil her while we can,” her arm gently snuck around my waist pulling me closer so she could leave a kiss on the side of my head. A smile came along my face feeling so much happiness and calmness in our relationship.

The last 6 months were a growing experience. Natasha and I started going to couples counseling. It was my idea and Nat was pretty skeptical about it at first, she needed some convincing but eventually she agreed to do it. After six months of doing it, she actually became fond of it. It keeps us in line I think.

Natasha and I haven’t moved in together yet which I think was a healthy balance to our relationship. We made sure to build it up securely and honestly, trying to be as independent as possible while also being in a loving relationship.

Of course, we spent all of our free time just us two and Katarina. We always try to spend some quality time together, either going to the zoo or some museum that Katarina could enjoy too.

So that’s been great, I love our relationship and I feel like we will be good.

Katarina had stopped growing fast and since the surgery, her hearing and speaking abilities became better and better. She’s gonna turn 4 in just a month and she’s the most amazing little human. Nowadays, she talks your ear off if you’re not careful enough. It became a tradition that every time Natasha was over at our place, Rina read Nat a chapter of Harry Potter.

Her abilities still don't fail to amuse us. She’s reading like she’s in high school and her vocabulary is insanely high. My dad has offered that he could teach her physics and math but I denied it. She’s 4. I want her to have a childhood. Watch her play the snow carelessly, scrape her knee on the playground, cry because she can’t stay up too late, or smudge her face into her birthday cake. I don’t want her to grow too fast unnecessarily. She deserves every little moment there’s to enjoy.

“What did you get her?” I asked Natasha while we entered my office. She took a seat in my chair very quickly. “A set of the Harry Potter movies. Special edition,” my mouth fell open, and looked right at her. “I wanted to get that for Christmas. Oh my god, you have to stop at least until her birthday. You’re gonna steal all my gift ideas,” I said. I packed away all the files and got my bag. “Fine. Ready to go?” She turned with the chair but did not care to stand up. “Just one more thing,” she stood up and closed the door before turning on the shades in the glass windows. “What are you doing?” I asked and she just walked back to me and took the bag out of my hand, dropping it to the ground, making me gasp. “That’s a really nice bag, why would-“ She cut me off with a kiss. Very unexpected at the moment but not complaining.

Her hands were quick to get a grip on my waist, moving to the edge of the table. I pulled myself back for a second, taking heavy breaths. “We need to pick up, Katarina,” I panted. “We have an hour, calm down,” Natasha kissed down my neck, hands roaming my body. “Thank god, I couldn’t have left this room,” I put my hands on her face and pulled her back into a kiss.

***

“I have to make this room soundproof,” I mumbled to Nat as she closed the door behind us. “Maybe next time keep it down a notch,” she bumped her shoulder to mine with a smirk on her face. “Maybe next time-“ “I hate that my office is next to yours,” Maria walked past us.

After I basically ran to the car and Natasha took her sweet time we finally made our way to Katarina’s school and picked her up. I ordered the groceries on the way and once we got to Natasha’s place it just arrived.

Rina ran inside the apartment as Nat chased her while I took the groceries from the delivery guy. “Wow, I’ve never delivered anything to an Avenger, you guys are really cool. Thanks for keeping us safe,” said the man, and I appreciated how nice he said it. “Our pleasure,” I smiled at him. “Is it possible for me to take a picture with you?” He asked a little hesitantly. “Of course, no problem,” I stood next to him and we took a picture before he said thank you and left.

“Was there a problem with the order?” Asked Natasha as I entered the kitchen. “No, he just wanted to take a picture with me. He was really nice,” I said.

Unpacked all the stuff we ordered and after a little while I cooked something real quick, not in the mood to make anything big. We sat down and ate then Nat spoke up.

“I’ve got something for you,” she said, pinching Katarina’s side. The little girl’s eyes widened and a big smile appeared on her face. “Really?” She asked. “Yup, stay here,” Nat stood up and went off to her room and a couple of seconds later walked out with a bag in her hand and a cheeky smile on. “What is it?” Asked my daughter curiously. Natasha handed her the bag and Katarina was quick to rip open the box and when she saw it she gasped loudly.

“Oh my god, yes!” She said excitedly and observed the package of Harry Potter movies like it’s a treasure. “Thank you,” Rina jumped out of her seat and was quick to shower Natasha with hugs and kisses. “You’re welcome, baby,” she kissed her head while hugging her close. “I love you, Natty,” Katarina mumbled against Nat’s shoulder and the smile that pulled on the redhead’s face was remarkable. “I love you too, Bean.”

The rest of the day went by really fast. Clint was nice enough to take Katarina to school so I could go to the mission in time so at 4 am sharp I was already at the HQ, preparing for our departure. Got my guns and knives ready and met with Nat and Sam at the deck ten minutes before 5.

“Be aware of the trainees. I don’t want any of them to mess this up or get killed on my watch, but stick to your mission too. Be safe and don’t do anything stupid,” I said to the two of them. “She’s talking to you,” Sam glanced at Natasha who scoffed at this. “She’s definitely talking to you,” she said. “I’m talking to both of you.”

At 5 we took off with the team, flying straight to Morocco. Our estimated arrival was 6 which was successful thank god because I didn’t want them to slip away this time.

“Sam, I’ve got you new glasses, you have to wear these,” I handed him a box and he took it with a smile. “Wow, a present for me,” he opened it but the smile dropped from his face. “They look the same,” he said. “Yeah, but they have a Vibranium sensor in them. It detects metal, which makes our job a little easier.”

“Okay everyone, it’s showtime. Team R leaves first then Team W and then Team S. Comms are on at all times, you see something you share, yeah? Don’t die,” I said then we were ready to go.

Nat left first with her team then Sam and lastly me. I was very protective of this mission because I’ve been after Klaue for the last six months and he always seemed to be two steps ahead of me.

I neared the main entrance with four agents behind me, Nat and Sam’s teams already making their way inside.

It was a bigger building than these compounds usually look. Security was way more advanced and a lot more guarded. “We can get through, but there are way more guards than we expected, Y/n,” heard Natasha over the comms. “Yeah, I got that. But I’m not leaving until I have Klaue.” “You’re the boss.”

[lcb2-radiohead]

Talking to Okonkwo is difficult. He's a man of few words, normally content to communicate in scowls and grunts. I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually heard him speak.

I asked him if he had seen those things before. He shook his head.

I asked if he knew what they were. This time he didn't even respond, just glared at me.

Finally, I just asked him to tell me anything about them, anything at all. They clearly affected him in some way, so he had to have some idea.

This time, when met with silence, I didn't ask another question. I just matched his silence and hoped that he would fill the void with an answer.

All on its own, my head started playing a snippet of music that seemed to imply an impending response. He stared incredulous at me, and I just shrugged and held up my hands in a gesture of surrender.

When the music reached the end he sighed and said, "You wouldn't understand."

<"Try me.">

"You are not Igbo. You were not raised with our customs. You are not known in our villages. To explain to you would be like explaining to a goat."

I laughed.

<"You're right, I'm not Igbo. I'm not anything. I'm a complete blank slate, a tabula rasa. I have only existed in this world for less than a week. I come to you with no preconceptions.">

<"Just explain it like you would to a child.">

He did. I won't try to transcribe all of it. There were a lot of long pauses and evasions. I was rebuffed on several clarifying questions, but persistence won out more than it didn't.

These are the basics:

Where he comes from, deep in a great forest, the lines between man and spirit are not as clear as they are here. Sometimes, men become a spirit. They wear a mask, they dance, and they are that spirit, at least for a time. These were their ancestors, if not directly then at least spiritually, and the manifested spirits are called Egwugwu.

I'll admit, I struggled with the dichotomy. To him, the question of whether or not they were a person wearing a mask or physically transformed was immaterial. They were just Egwugwu. That's all. To even question whether the mask was real was a grave blasphemy.

When asked if he was ever Egwugwu, he proudly said yes. Many times. He was an important man in his village, so it was part of his duty. He was also the only one large and strong enough to embody some of the more powerful spirits. However, he would not elaborate on those.

I admit, I had felt something strange from the appliance-heads, these Egwugwu. They were not fully human, even the ones that looked it under their masks. And I hadn't even noticed that their fighting resembled some ritual dance.

<"So the Egwugwu are your ancestors... but these weren't ancestors, were they?">

"No. They were... abominations."

He did not elaborate.

I sighed. This wasn't an interrogation, it was supposed to be counseling, and getting any more information out of Okonkwo wouldn't be worth the effort this late. So I thanked him and dismissed him for the day.

Well, these books on my shelf have to be good for something. Time to get to research. It's not like I sleep or anything.