#after fighting against each other in the fourth war

[alteredphoenix]

Checking out WotLK Classic. Decided to level and ding a nelf warrior to level 10.

I like to think this is my OC, Ardenn (from retail, and this is the same name I gave this elf), in his more innocent days, before the Burning of Teldrassil drove him insane and made him rage (and ultimately fail) against the Shadowlands.

Or maybe not. Maybe this is set in an AU where Sylvanas never becomes Warchief and Teldrassil doesn’t fall, therefore Ardenn never has his mental break and his familial bonds with his daughter never permanently shatters. Maybe he decides to stay an adventurer and join the Dragonscale Expedition to document their research in the Dragon Isles.

Naturally I’m a fan of Capital A ANGST and prefer my headcanon where he either (a) refuses to leave the Shadowlands until Sylvanas gets punished (a more spiteful version of the ending to The Searchers, and fat chance of that happening for him, so he stays there permanently unless there’s an off-chance she perma-dies, but if the power of capitalism has anything to say she wouldn’t so he’s shit out of luck) or (b) throws himself off Oribos as a fuck you to Pelagos when he sees his efforts were All For Nothing and may or may not have wound up in the past where the Burning probably doesn’t happen over and over again but his mind is so broken and exhausted that thinking of the possibility doesn’t register; if he recovers from everything post-Burning, he might be able to stop it - and Sylvanas’s ascension to Warchief - right before the assault on the Broken Shore...maybe.

Well. You decide.

[maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492]

The Old Guard AU where the poly!141 are a group of immortals who seemingly cannot die so they travel around for centuries fighting battles, wars, and injustice.

John Price, the eldest of them all, the first known immortal. He cannot entirely remember how old he is or anything of his mortal life. There are memories that he carries of fighting against the Romans in what he believes is present day England. Eventually though everything began to bleed together and he almost gave up hope entirely until one fateful event.

The Battle of Culloden. It is where he meets Simon Riley and Johnny MacTavish.

Simon is a lieutenant for the King, a British red coat, different from the rest if only by the black bandana with the white paint of a skull covering his face. A man who Price encounters before his death. Something about him pulling the immortal to find him upon the battlefield. That is, of course by fate, where Price first meets Johnny MacTavish as well. A proud Scott fighting for independence. Face marked by warpaint, dirt, and blood as he kills Simon with a battle cry upon his lips. And in a moment that Price cannot comprehend being reality in its entirety or flashes of the new immortals being bound to him he witnesses this: Johnny kills Simon. Simon rises and kills Johnny. Over and over the two fight, killing each other and healing, until finally they pause. As if realizing that neither is truly dying they hold each other, both looking up to Price just standing over them. A calm silhouette against the backdrop of brutal battle.

Something telling them that he knows.

Of course, none of them understand that they are bound together until later that night when they dream of the other. Price. Simon. Johnny. Living and dying. Plagued by their personal inflictions and differences. Causing Price to have to hunt the two down. Explaining that they have to all be together. They have a job to do. A greater purpose that goes beyond Johnny not wanting to work with Brits and Simon not wanting to work with anyone. (Not that John would ever admit that in truth...he just didn't want to be alone anymore.)

And by the time they dream of a fourth, the consequences of Culloden is gone from them against the sounds of a world at war.

World War II is where they find Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. Dying from a gunshot wound after freeing a camp of POWs from the Germans. Price, Simon, and Johnny race across no mans land and trenches. Across borderlines and battlegrounds to find him. It takes nearly ten days across foot before they come across Gaz collapsed upon his knees drenched in blood. Surrounded by dead German soldiers. A sob shaking him as Price settles a hand across his shoulder. The three immortals explaining that everything would be alright. That Gaz wasn't alone anymore. He'd never be alone again.

And when that war ended well the wars never end. However, the 141 as Price names them certainly didn't expect to gain another member, but one night upon a cargo train within the middle of the desert, they suddenly gain you.

Your death awakens them from sleep far worse than if the train itself had crashed.

Price watches you die, sees the wound that kills you, the pain and fear flashing across your eyes. Johnny catches a glimpse of your name tag and the features of your face; his hands hazardously sketching you upon a notepad he had stuffed away. Gaz quickly tries describing your environment and clothing. Simon looks upon them all with darkened eyes, his hand grasping his throat, as he announces that he felt you die. A statement that has Price standing as he suddenly realizes where you must be and what had led you to your death.

No more words were needed for them to all agree to find you no matter what.

[munsons-hellfire]

Hi there!! i saw you’re gonna start writing for acotar! can i request a helion x reader where it’s a double date but theyre both like no we’re just third and fourth wheeling nbd but maybe there’s an ulterior motive somewhere to get them to realize their feelings for each other??

We’re Just Friends | Helion

SUMMARY: You and Helion are oblivious to each other's feelings until you arent.

PAIRINGS: Helion x Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: SFW, fluff, angst.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: You have no idea how excited I was when I got this request. I had come up with two ideas for this and ended up going with the more angstier version because I loved it so much. I also added a little more to it because I wanted to build something between the reader and Helion. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Thank you for requesting for Helion, he is one of my favorites from ACOTAR so I had a lot of fun with this!

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

You’d been a member of the Night Court since you were born. With friends such as Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel you were able to escape Illyria before they had a chance to clip your wings. You’d found your family became of those three males. You were an emissary to the Night Court, often traveling between Courts to form a bond to have an ally in any future war. The Autumn Court and Spring Court were courts you often avoided if you could.

You knew the history between Rhys and Tamlin and couldn’t stand the male. You didn’t get along with Beron in the least. Always trying to defy what he wanted to do. One High Lord in particular had caught your attention. Helion had taken the opportunity to get to know you, he’d befriended you and whenever you visited his Court it was hard for your friends to separate you from him.

Before Amarantha happened they could see the love that was there between you and Helion. Rhys kept quiet, as did the others but they knew something would happen between you and Helion eventually. When they were trapped Under the Mountain and you were locked up in Velaris everything had changed for you. You’d become a shell of your former self and even when Prythian had been free at the hands of a human who risked her life in the process and died, you still hadn’t managed to pull through.

The months leading to the return of Rhys you started seeing Helion again, slowly but surely becoming yourself again. It was even more of a reason that Rhys and all your other friends believed that you and Helion were mates. But there wasn’t time to say anything right now with a fight on its way. The war had been fought and won. Rhys had died in the process only to be brought back.

Everything seemed to be right in Prythian. After the way you’d stayed with Vassa and Jurian to help rebuild whatever was left standing. You’d found a friendship with the two, and eventually Lucien when he joined them. Upon returning back from the work you’d helped with in the Human lands Helion had requested that you become his emissary for the Day Court.

Helion had seen how much you’d managed to accomplish in the months after the war against Hybern was over. He knew you’d be a great addition to his court, he also knew you’d look better in Day Court colors. After a talk with Rhys and Feyre, your High Lord and High Lady you had their approval. You said your goodbyes to your family, promising to come visit whenever you could and you left.

It had been 10 years since the events of the war. Things were steady now. You had everything you ever wanted, accepted you knew there was still something missing from your life. When Feyre and Rhys invited you and Helion to join them in Velaris for an outing, you couldn’t say no to them. Helion had agreed, though there wasn’t much you’d have to say to convince the male to go with you.

He enjoyed being wherever you were, so if you want to go see your family he’d follow along with you. The night had started out wonderful, you and Helion had met up with Rhys and Feyre as a casual get together, but they had other plans in mind. The mated couple was going to get you and Helion together by the end of the night. They still didn’t understand how either of you could’ve gone this long being so oblivious to the fact that you and Helion were in love with each other.

Helion couldn’t bring himself to admit it, he was afraid to lose you as a friend or worse to someone else. Meanwhile you were afraid of his rejection. He was a High Lord after all so he’d have every right to say no to you if you’d so much as mention your affections for him. The four of you sat at a table in a restaurant in Velaris. You’d given Feyre an odd look when she had mentioned that this was a double date.

You had finished your food, your eyes were on Helion as he talked to Rhys and Feyre about something. You weren’t sure what he was talking about. You’d been so focused on his face that his words slipped right through your ears. You blinked, finally taking notice that all eyes were on you. Suddenly you felt as though you’d miss something.

“Oh, you did, sister.” Rhys whispered in your mind. You glared at him, throwing your shields up to block him.

“I’m sorry, what are we talking about?” You asked softly, not looking at Helion, afraid that you’d disappointed him by missing something so important.

“I was just wondering if you’d be coming to see the rest of the family later tonight, maybe bring Helion.” Feyre said, her eyes planted on you. A smirk rested on her lips. You knew that she was having a mind conversation with Rhys.

“Oh, I’m sure Helion wants to head back home soon, so maybe another time.” You didn’t miss the way Helion had smirked at your comment.

“Nonsense, I think we can stay a little bit longer.” Helion remarked, a smile on his lips. You gripped your drink, sipping the wine slowly.

“Great.” Feyre said excitedly.

“Maybe we can even get you two together.” Rhys said, causing you to choke on your wine. You put your glass down, attempting to stop the coughing fit.

Finally you were able to get words out. “We’re just friends, Rhys.” You said, and it was a simple answer. Feyre and Rhys had caught the look of hurt that had crossed Helion’s face when those words had slipped from your lips.

“Yes, we’re just friends.” You winced, it was almost like Helion had been hurt by your choice of words. You felt you couldn’t breathe, you were being suffocated by everything around you. This was not what you’d expected to happen tonight.

“Excuse me, I need some air.” You were quick to get up and leave the restaurant before any of them could protest. The cool air hit your skin when you walked out the door. You walked down to the bridge that overlooked Velaris and the Sidra river.

More than anything you wanted to be with Helion, you knew you’d been in love with him for so long. So why did your words affect him so much, you were so certain that he didn’t feel the same way about you. That you were just an Illyrian female he wanted to bed. Your wings moved in closer to protect you from any passersby as you let the tears fall down your face.

“So that’s what I am to you, a friend?” His voice was cold, distant as the question left his mouth.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Not when you were still crying over what had happened. You should’ve known that Helion would chase after you.

“I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” You said, pulling your wings back and tucking them in tightly as you turned to look at the male.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I just, I mean we are friends. There’s nothing between us so why does it matter?” You were really hurting him, you knew that.

“Because.” He whispered softly.

“Because isn’t an answer.” You watched as he walked closer to you, closing the space between you and him. His hand gently touched your cheek. You looked at him with a glimmer of hope, of love in your eyes.

“Because I love you, I have loved you since I first met you. I have loved you since I discovered you were my mate. And I will continue to love you until it is my time to leave this world behind.”

You felt your heart picking up its pace at his words. You could hear the honesty coming from him. And then it happened, you felt it, that gold string tie around your heart. You gasped, your hand flying to your chest as you felt the strength of the bond pick up between you and Helion. Finally he smiled, still looking at you.

“But all this time, you, you were seeing other’s.” You felt yourself cracking waiting for his answer.

“It was just for a fun time. I may bring other lovers into our bed, but they will never be able to replace anything. I fell for you, my sunshine. You are the light in my life that I’ve been waiting so long for.” You released a broken laugh, tears falling down your face. “Please don’t cry my love.” He whispered as he kissed the tears away.

“I’m just so happy.” You whispered, pushing your hands into his wavy hair. “Because I've loved you since the moment I met you too. And I am so thrilled to be your mate.” He smiled at your words and brought his lips to yours kissing you softly. Cheering could be heard in the background. You and Helion pulled apart from each other to look at your family that had been nearby.

“I think it worked, Feyre, darling.” Rhys said, as the mated couple walked towards you and Helion.

A smile rested on your lips and you pushed yourself closer to Helion as he wrapped his hand around your waist. It was the happy ending you’d been looking for, your mate. And now that you’d discovered everything that happened between you and him was the bond’s way of informing you, you couldn’t be more happy.

“I hate you all.” You whispered, resting your head on Helion’s chest.

“I don’t think so. If it hadn’t been for them inviting you to dinner neither of you would’ve known.” Cassian remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Not true, General. I’ve always known about the bond.” At this you looked up at Helion.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked him.

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship in case I was wrong, or the Mother was wrong, or something happened. So many reasons, and I just don’t care because I have you now and that’s all that matters.” He placed a kiss on your head.

“No more lies, promise?” You whispered.

“No more lies, I promise.” The bargain was set, a slight sting of pain ran through your forearm as a bargain tattoo was crafted. The night sky mixed with the sun. A bargain between you and your mate. The happiest of endings, one you were so thankful for.

[sweatandwoe]

Penguins

A sort of sequel to Overflow (or takes place in the same universe in my mind)

Saren x GN!reader, 962 words. Fluff, mentioned past trauma, working through it, mentioned medication and therapy, this is some very fluffy winter nonsense

-

“What kind of creature is on your pants?” 

You glance down at your pajama bottoms - bright green fabric with little white and black birds decorating all over the legs of it. Some have hats on, and others have scarves. “It’s called a penguin.” 

Saren grunts in the doorway, and you only flick your gaze over to see if he needs help first, before glancing back to the extranet news report you had on. It takes a couple of minutes for him to remove his outerwear, and then he moves. Reaching you in moments, he only carefully lifts your ankles in his talons so he can slide his body beneath your legs. Letting your feet rest in his lap, while he rolls his head back against the couch. 

“Rough day?” You offer, and he pats your calf. 

“Nothing more than usual.” He pauses, his talons moving slowly along your leg. Then there’s a tilt of his head, and he traces one of the penguins. You hide your smile behind your datapad, as you watch him try to come up with something to say about them. His mandibles twitch when he thinks. “They’re very cute.” 

“That’s sweet of you.” 

He glances at you then. Metallic, cybernetic eyes gaze into your own. The fake irises shift, twitching almost like real eyes while he scans over your face. “I am trying.” 

You reach for him then, placing your hand over the top of his talons. Everything was still hard, but you were patient. This was all very new to him still, since the indoctrination - and even more so since his discovery of his attraction to a species he had openly despised beforehand. It had been rough, and things were still quite awkward. “You’re doing well.” 

The former spectre’s mandibles flare. “Am I?” 

You hum and tug him forward until you’re both lying on the couch. “Quite well.” You pause, to press a kiss to his mouthplates and he applies pressure in return. It’s the closest to a peck you’ll get, but you don’t mind. “Do you want to watch a documentary about them?” When he tenses, you smile. “You can say no.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He says softly after a few moments of thought, moving to tuck his cybernetic arm over your waist. “Is it alright if we watch a documentary for the colony wars afterward?” 

You give another peck, enjoying the way his mandibles twitch against your face. “I’ll order us some dinner so we can watch both.” 

Today is an easy day. You listen to his comments on how turian fauna would easily rip apart penguins, and let him thrum with pride during the colony wars. You hold his hand when he has to take his medications and help tune up his arm before he has a shower. Falling into bed afterward is easy, with slow and thoughtful love-making before you both go to sleep. 

The next few days are harder. There are so many people on the citadel now, and he starts to get overwhelmed, fidgeting. You fight when he says he wants a gun because he isn’t allowed one - even if he can sneak one into your home. He roars and spits because he needs to protect you and himself. But you both know how he gets with guns now. It’s why they took away his biotic amps too. Not just out of fear of how strong he could be, but how he got when he had those tools. 

It was more of a fear that he’d hurt himself instead of just anyone. He had tried that a few times, shortly after the end of the Reapers and his indoctrination began to subside. It still hurt, to find him waking because you’d hear him. Sometimes mumbling and other times whispering. One time you heard him, repeating to himself after a nightmare: “Sovereign took my eyes. I can’t see anymore. None of the colors are real.” 

You manage to stop arguing each night before bed, so you never fall asleep angry at one another. The thought of phoning his therapist still lingers in your brain, but on the fourth day, you wake to find your bed has a much smaller, different figure lying beside you. 

It’s a penguin, you realize, reaching out to touch it. A toy penguin with a scarf that was far too big had been tied carefully around it. Your fingers run along the scarf, and a soft sound leaves your throat. 

When you go downstairs, he’s making breakfast for you both. You make sure your footsteps are loud, that he knows that it’s you before you move to wrap your arms around his small waist from behind. 

“I love you.” You whisper. 

“I know.” One hand comes down to rest upon your own. Talons gliding over your fingers. “I’m not good at this, I wasn’t even before - everything, but I… I want to try. I want to be better again.” 

He would never be the spectre he once was. But he could be better, be the hero that the citadel had once seen him to be. Charismatic, powerful; a leader. At the same time, if he didn’t want to be, you’d be fine with him like this. Just being your Saren, your partner, and trying to be happy. 

You think being happy would be a good ending for both of you. “I know.” 

Saren usually pauses now, before he speaks. As though reassuring himself that his thoughts are his own, to explain his own reasoning in his head before he lets it out. But this he says quickly, as though he feared when he had forgotten to say it. “I love you too.” 

Talons and fingers hold together, as the smells of two different meals fill the house.

[tallmadgeandtea]

Turn Week 2023:

History Nerdery!

Hello, and Happy Fourth of July! For today's Turn Week, I wanted to talk about Benjamin's regiment in the Continental Army. We all know he's a Connecticut Dragoon, but what does that mean and what did they do, exactly? I'm going to let you know! The Continental Cavalry is my favorite unit in the army, and I actually did an Honors Research Project on them last year for my college. WARNING: this is going to be LONG. I'm sorry. Kind of.

What is the Continental Cavalry?

The cavalry is the mounted troops in a military force, meaning they fight on horseback. At the time of the Revolution, the cavalry was considered an elite and necessary force for a proper military. Combat on horseback was dangerous- you not only had to avoid cannon and gunfire, but you had to attack other mounted troops with lances and sabers of their own.

There are two types of cavalry: light cavalry and heavy cavalry. The light cavalry had three primary duties. Scouting, which was to patrol enemy forces, movements, and the terrain surrounding camps and battlefields, which also played into reconnaissance. They also served as messengers to officers on and off the battlefield. On the other hand, heavy cavalry was troops used in action. Their objective was to lead charges and weaken the enemy’s unmounted troops, like going after their flanks. They also performed raids/ambushes or small skirmishes against the enemy. Their combat was on and off the battlefield.

Due to the near constant lack of funds for the Continentals, their Dragoons performed both light and heavy cavalry roles. A dragoon/trooper is a soldier who fights either on horseback or on foot, depending on the amount of horse available. They used weapons such as: a cavalry saber, a shortgun, and a musket.

Unlike the British army, which brought over cavalry forces, at the beginning of the war, there was not an official cavalry for the Continentals. Some state and organized militias had mounted troops- such as the Philadelphia Light Horse- but professional, commissioned troops had not seen action.

After seeing the performance of the British cavalry during the New York Campaign, General George Washington realized his army needed horses of their own. Writing to Congress in late 1776, “From the Experience I have had in this Campaign… I am Convinced there is no carrying on the War without them.”

What made up the Continental Cavalry?

In 1777, the cavalry's first year in action, there were four regiments of Light Dragoons.

The 1st Regiment of Dragoons- from Virginia, also known as Bland's Light Horse. Their uniforms were originally the "classic" Continental coat: blue with red facings, but they then changed the standard to brown with green facings.

The 2nd Regiment, also known as the Connecticut Light Dragoons, Colonel Elisha Sheldon and Benjamin Tallmadge's force, mustered from Connecticut, hence the name. Their uniform was blue with buff facings.

The 3rd Regiment, aka Colonel Baylor's or Lady Washington's Light Horse, in honor of Martha Washington. Their uniform was white with blue facings (one of my favorite uniforms in the army.)

And the 4th Regiment, led by Colonel Stephen Moylan. His troops originally wore red! coats, and this lead to some incidents of friendly fire. At Washington's order, the regiment changed to green with red facings.

How does this relate to Turn: Benjamin Tallmadge and His Dragoons.

Although the show does not get into heavy detail about Benjamin Tallmadge's battle experience, we know what battles he was present at with his regiment.

1777 the cavalry's first years as professional troops in battle. Both had very... different outcomes, let's say. Both were also mentioned or briefly shown in season 2 of Turn, and my research focused on this.

During the Campaigns, a set of troops from each regiment of Dragoons was stationed with General Washington in Pennsylvania, led by Bland, Moylan, Baylor, Sheldon, and Tallmadge.

Benjamin Tallmadge and his soldiers were present at both the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown.

At Brandywine, Washington first used the dragoons for only scouting, not combat. But as the British went after his insecure right flank, he frantically sent units of soldiers and cavalry to prevent the British from getting to the road along and to Brandywine Creek. The cavalry also acted as messengers to officers during this battle, but insufficient preparation and speed led to delayed reports. The cavalry did lead a charge that allowed Washington to retreat, but the day was lost. Afterwards, the British marched into the Continental capital of Philadelphia.

After Brandywine, Washington needed another battle to try and take back Philadelphia. With a night march, he decided to attack the British near their camp in Germantown, Pennsylvania, a small village outside the city.

Washington had four columns, 2 made up of Continental forces and two of state militias. Just as at Brandywine, his right wing was commanded by Sullivan, and his left by Greene. The Dragoons were now under their newly commissioned commander, General Pulaski. Tallmadge stated in his memoirs that, “if every division of the army had performed its allotted part, it seems as if we must have succeeded.”

Unfortunately, this would not be the outcome at Germantown. At the beginning of the battle, the Continentals were winning. Part of the camp was captured. A heavy fog and rain set over the battlefield, and the British used this fog to their advantage. They retreated into a local country house and created a stalemate.

Benjamin Tallmadge and his dragoons were first stationed with Sullivan’s division, close upon “the scene of the action.” As the battle turned against the Continental forces and the troops became victim to enemy and friendly fire, Washington ordered him to use his 2nd Dragoons to block any further retreat, to no avail. Germantown was lost.

Germantown was the last official engagement of the Philadelphia campaign. But on June 28, 1778, the Continental Army and the Cavalry engaged the forces at the Battle of Monmouth in New Jersey. Due to proper military training thanks to the Inspector General Baron von Steuben and six months of waiting at Valley Forge, the army emerged as a proper fighting force and prevailed against the British. The victory allowed the Continentals to take back their capital and keep Washington in as Commander in Chief.

Monmouth is the shown in the finale of season 2- Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot- with Benjamin leading his dragoons into the battle.

After the 1777 campaigns, Tallmadge and his dragoons would stay up north, particularly New York, to patrol and engage the enemy in raids. They also participated in the Battles of Stony Point and Fort St. George, which were shown in seasons 3 and 4 of Turn.

Sources (and further reading):

Memoir of Col. Benjamin Tallmadge : Tallmadge, Benjamin, 1754-1835 : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Brandywine: A Military History of the Battle that Lost Philadelphia but Saved America, September 11, 1777 by Michael C. Harris, Paperback | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Germantown: A Military History of the Battle for Philadelphia, October 4, 1777 by Michael C. Harris, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Cavalry of the American Revolution - Jim Piecuch - Westholme Publishing

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Dynasty of Flames

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen-Royce Reader

Summary: Being born into the most respected and equally feared houses in the realm made people look up to you as if you were a god and the devil himself, in equal measure. People say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin; and when news of the birth of Daemon's firstborn- a girl, spread, people could only wait in anticipation to see which side of the coin faced up during her birth.

Warnings: Incest (duh) mentions of blood/gore, swearing.

AN: Not proofread so I will simply die of mortification after I've had a chance to read this whole thing in peace later this evening.

Masterlist

Part 19

GIF by unravelingthepain

“Māzigon va ñuha zaldrītsos" He chuckled adoringly at his daughter as he circled around her with sword in hand, watching her huff adorably with annoyance as she rose to her feet "sylugon qopsa"

"Come on my little dragon, try harder"

Y/N gripped the hilt of the sword tighter, knuckles turning white as her cheeks flushed red- a result of her temper flaring up. This was her fourth- no, fifth time losing to her kepa in a dual and the defeat was doing her no good in keeping her cool. Meanwhile, her father seemed to be quite amused by her short temper.

Daemon had taken the task of training his daughter with the sword himself, trusting no knight to be skilled enough to teach her nor anyone with enough patience to handle her temper tantrums. She was his daughter after all.

He found it absurd that women weren’t really given any sort of training when it came to weaponry and it was absolutely ridiculous. How was a lady to defend herself? Especially when a good amount of crimes were committed against women?

“This isn’t fair kepa” she pouted as she dusted the muck off her tush, hastily advancing toward him with the sharp weapon they called a sword “you aren’t going easy on me”

“I know” Daemon shrugged as he dodged a rather weak attack attempted by his daughter. He winced slightly when she lost her balance and fell down, grunting as her knees scraped against the rough ground littered with mud and tiny stones “you’ll thank me later”

“Thank you kepa for letting me fall”

“When you are caught in a fight, you will fall a million times and you will get up a million times” he let her stand up on her own, not picking her up himself like how he used to do when she was even younger “but I am training you with such intensity to ensure that it is solely you who should rise to your feet amidst the dead fools who crossed you”

Y/N brushed the hair out of her eyes, eyeing her father ferociously as she yet again lifted her sword.

“Do not rush into an attack” he instructed her, mimicking her actions of circling each other like animals about to pounce in an attack “take a moment to study your opponent. Which side are they leaning toward? Does their footing seem strong?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes not leaving her father’s as she watched him like a hawk. She felt as though she probably even looked like some crazed animal with her clothes stained with mud and her hair all wild.

“Don’t second guess yourself” Daemon spoke softly, a tender smile adorning his lips “a dragon never doubts its ability”

Y/N wished she had visited her mother’s castle much earlier. The serenity of the place was far too therapeutic in comparison to where she lived and she was certain that with the oncoming war, this peaceful place too would fall into chaos.

Wanting to cling to this remaining bit of solitude, she continued to stay here whilst leaving the others in the dark of her whereabouts. They did not care for her or hold any remorse for what they’d done to her by taking away her crown, her reign, her mother. No, all they cared about was power, power, power.

Power for themselves, power to run the world as they see fit,

Power they stole from her.

And the only reason they’d been able to do so, was because she was a woman. How was being born with a cock an important factor for being in line to the throne? And furthermore, how important was it for someone to rule that one would forget their morals, cast aside their humanity and kill their own wife for the sake of being king?

The girl grunted with anger as she picked up her chalice and forcefully flung it across the wall and against the wall. The metallic cup fell to the ground with a loud clatter after it collided against the sturdy wall and she was sure the harsh impact left a dent in the cup.

And yet she was certain that the cup couldn’t have caused such a loud clattering sound for she heard an even louder sound of metal heavily crashing against the stone floor- the noise coming from the other side of her doors.

She stood up, hastily, as she bent down to lift her skirts and retrieve the dagger she kept strapped around her thigh at all times. And gods be good she was so glad she did, for when she finally let her skirts drop down once again, the door swung open to reveal a tall yet lean man standing in the doorway, covered from the waist down with blood. The guards that usually stayed by her door lay in a crumpled heap of tangled limbs and judging by the painful way their necks were twisted in and the pool of blood beginning to form, it was a safe bet to assume they hadn’t been merely knocked out but slaughtered.

“Tell me who sent you and I’ll let you keep your life” Y/N calmly asked, trying her very best to keep the fear and confusion from showing in her voice and body language “take another step and my offer dies and you will as well along with it”

“The one who is to die is going to be you, princess” the man sneered, marching into the room with his sword pointed at her “I’ll use your pretty mouth to fuck my cock before I slice your head off to be given to the one who paid for it”

The girl raised a brow, trying to steady her breathing as she racked her brains to formulate some sort of plan to escape this disaster. He was armed with a sword and she was at a disadvantage with only having a dagger to defend herself. She was well aware she could lead him to his death with the smaller weapon but for that she would need him to either be disarmed or really stupid enough to give her enough space to get closer and drive the dagger into his side.

His body, despite being lean, hung forward awkwardly as he stepped closer and closer, his back hunched over as if he had been carrying something rather heavy on his shoulders.

“Do not rush into an attack”

She let him get closer, until she could practically hear his boots against the floor and she hoped he couldn’t hear her heart threatening to pound its way right out of her ribcage.

His bad posture would work to her advantage; bad posture meant he was probably tired and hence, wouldn’t be fighting her to the fullest of his ability.

He mistook her still, rigid stance to be that of fear and surrender and swung his sword, aiming at her left side.

Foolish mistake.

The moment he raised his arm, Y/N dashed forward in a flash with her dagger held tightly in her grasp and she pushed it into his side, attempting to stab him fatalistically but to her dismay he was quick to push her away from him.

She’d managed to gift him with a deep gash in his side before he had shoved her with such force it sent her stumbling back into her table, her lower back colliding against the wooden edge that sent a sharp pain right up her spine and she winced loudly, muttering profanities under her breath that most people at court would gasp in response to.

The man, now even more wired up, lunged at her again; as if he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time.

This time she let him get even closer; close enough for the sharp blade of his sword to slice her left arm before he let out an agonising scream when Y/N took her chance and buried her dagger into his side that she’d previously only managed to injure.

“Fucking bitch” he growled and clasped his hands around her neck when he lost his grip on his sword that fell to the floor with a clatter as the metal came in contact with the stone.

The princess only grunted in response, twisting the dagger that elicited an even antagonising scream and she used all of her might to kick his shin, an action that had the man stumbling back a few steps before he fell to his knees.

“Who sent you?” Y/N struggled to keep her voice confident as her sleeve began to stain scarlet with the blood that oozed out of the deep wound in her hand.

"The lady Alys Rivers" he managed to respond through his gritted teeth, breaths coming out in pants.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart beating even faster with anger.

"Alys" she repeated "where is she now?"

"As far as I know, she was headed for Harrenhal" he winced as the pain intensified "you said you would spare me my life if I told you"

"I did" Y/N coldly replied as she crouched before him, a new wave of rage washing over her at the mention of Alys "but I also said the offer dies the moment you step in, as will you"

And with that, she aggressively pulled out the dagger from his side and stabbed it into his neck, repeatedly. She was like a woman possessed, fixated on burying the dagger into his neck over and over as his screams died out until his boy lay limp on the cold floor. Blood spewed out and stained the carpet near him, her dress and her face. And even though the man lay lifeless at her feet, she adamantly kept stabbing him, his organs spilling out of his now ripped-open abdomen, until the voice of her aunt snapped her out of her frenzy.

"Princess" she called out as she stood by the door with a bunch of guards at her disposal, visibly afraid after seeing her neice murder a man with such a crazed look "a raven arrived from the Dragonstone"

The girl stood up, eager to hear what her aunt had to say.

"Prince Lucerys has asked for house Royce's support" she spoke with a shaky voice, eyes darting from her niece to the dead mercenary "he wishes to lay his claim to the throne"

Y/N let out a chuckle that seemed to have frightened her aunt and she couldn’t blame her since she was obviously not laughing out of amusement but pure rage.

"Has Jace suddenly grown weary of the war that has barely begun?" she cockily asked "already forfeit his claim and let his brother take on the burden?"

"No, princess" the older woman proceeded with caution and nervousness "prince Jacaerys is dead. As is Aegon, Daemon and Aemond, my lady. A battle broke out in the skies above God's eye and neither of the men nor their dragons survived and from what is mentioned in the letter, they believe you to be dead as well, given your disappearance"

Y/N felt as though the life had been sucked right out of her. Her father was dead?

She was upset at him, enraged even but there were things that needed to be discussed, amends to be made. The last conversation she had with him was an argument and it pained her that things were left unsolved.

Her Aemond? The man she loved with all of her being and with every fibre in her body was no more?

Aegon and Jace, the two people she had come to hate and yet also loved were taken away from her?

All for what? For a throne that deep down, neither one wanted badly enough to cast aside their friendship.

Had she caused the fight? They all seemed to believe she was dead. Gods, please no- it couldn't be because of her; she couldn’t bear the thought of having their blood on her hands.

She did not want the crown after it had cost her her family.

Hot tears pricked her eyes and she hurried out of the room, pushing past the guards to make her way out to the lawns where her sweet dragon Achlys rested.

She mounted him quickly, not bothering to say her farewells to her aunt. She was far too upset and angered to manage a conversation as simple as that.

"Soves Achlys" she instructed, voice cracking.

She made her journey to Harrenhal, in hopes of finding Alys there as the man had told her earlier. He could’ve been bluffing, or perhaps not but for her own satisfaction she wanted to check for herself.

By the time she reached the cursed castle, the sun had begun to set and the skies were painted in shades of red.

How befitting, she thought, I shall paint the earth scarlet as well with her blood.

Much to her connivence, she found Alys standing outside amidst the greenery that surrounded the castle and she ordered for her dragon to make his descent.

The princess took great pleasure in gazing at Alys' reaction for it was obvious by how pale and shocked she became that she was not expecting the princess to be alive still.

"Surprised my lady?" Y/N sarcastically chuckled as she climbed down Achlys "I'm sure you were only expecting my head and not all of me"

"Why won’t you just fucking die?" Alys grunted and Y/N had to commend her for her boldness "you ruined everything. First my chance at being a princess and now a queen"

"Aegon is already wed you dumb cunt" Y/N spat, advancing toward her "were you stupid enough to try and lure him with your love potion as well-"

"No, not him you bitch" Alys spat "Aegon was to die, but the fool just had to drag others into it"

Y/N seemed confused by her vague explanation so Alys continued.

"They were informed of your death and each council was told it was done by the other" she went on "The plan was to only have Aegon and Daemon fly into battle resulting in the king's death. Once Aemond would ascend the throne I would-"

"You orchestrated this?" Y/N asked, eyes getting darker as she glared murderously at Alys "you took away my family and you have the nerve to complain about why I am not dead yet?"

"I would kill you a hundred times over if it meant I would be queen" Alys sneered, her frustration clear in her voice.

"We have rather skilled craftsmen at our disposal but I'm afraid even they won’t be able to fashion you a crown for that big fucking head of yours" Y/N chuckled mockingly before she reached out and grasped the older girl harshly by her hair, tugging at them with such brutality that it caused Alys to shriek with pain.

"Let go you cunt" she tried to slap the princess' hand away but Y/N wasn’t letting go. She could’ve been stabbed and she still wouldn’t flinch for the pain she felt in her heart was far greater than any physical pain someone might attempt to inflict on her.

"Achlys" she called out and immediately her dragon raised his head, jaw slacking to reveal his sharp teeth and she could see the glow of the fire at the back of his throat as he awaited for her to say dracarys but the command never came. She would not give her that quick death. No, she needed her to suffer and beg for her life to be ended "nābēmagon"

Attack.

Y/N harshly shoved Alys forward just as Achlys lurched forward, sinking his razor-sharp teeth into her but not quite closing his mouth.

Y/N watching without so much as flinching as her dragon mauled Alys painfully as she screamed and thrashed, the pain getting worse and worse with each moment but Achlys wasn’t done torturing her just yet.

The princess turned around, walking away from Alys and her screams as she made her way toward the lake above which the battle had taken place.

The battle in which her father and her betrothed had died.

She remembered how she and Aemond had sat by these very waters on the day she had run away with him on her own wedding. She had never imagined being here again, alone, weeping by the lake upon the death of the man she loved.

She slipped out of her shoes, walking into the coolness of the waters that served as a reminder of how cold the world around her had become all of a sudden. The sun was about to set completely beyond the horizon and the skies matched the darkness that had overtaken her heart as well.

She watched the waters ripple with the breeze, and being here again only seemed to bring her more pain.

With the aid of whatever remaining light the setting sun provided, her eyes caught a glint of something shimmering in the waters right next to her feet and she immediately bent down to pick it up.

Her eyes brimmed with tears again and this time, she granted herself the liberty to mourn her loss and she sunk to her knees as she sobbed bitterly- clutching the sapphire gem, that once belonged to Aemond, close to her chest where her heart ached for him.

Amidst her sobs, she heard the sound of a dragon screeching but she knew the sound did not come from Achlys. She turned, wiping away her tear-stained cheeks to see Luke arrive with Arrax.

"Y/N?" he called out, as if he wasn’t sure if that was her. He hopped off the saddle, taking cautious steps toward her "is that you?"

"Hello Luke" she managed a weak smile, another tear rolling down her blood-stained face.

Luke did not care that she was covered in blood and sweat and ran toward her, wrapping his arms around the older girl and hugging her frame tightly.

"We thought you were dead!" his voice faltered and soon enough, he was crying as well "I thought I lost you, I lost everyone I.. I.."

"Shh" she cooed, stroking his soft brown curls lovingly. She no longer recalled any sort of animosity she might’ve held for him. She was all she had now. Him, Baela and Rhaena.

"I've been visiting this place ever since Jace's death" the younger boy told her and the princess responded only with a hum.

"There are talks of who is to take the throne" he pulled away to look at her, sniffling "I don’t want it Y/N, I do not want the crown"

"We do not have to talk about that now" the older girl tried her best to sound comforting even though she could feel her own heart shattering.

"We do" Luke urged "the greens do not want me on that throne and they plan to crown Daeron. If you go to the capital, make it known you are alive, you can sway the council to favour you"

"They will not kneel before me" Y/N let out a defeated sigh that Luke found rather uncharacteristic "I fought adamantly for that throne and for what? For people I held dearly in my heart to die?"

"Which is why you must go and stake your claim" Luke held her hand "it must be you. Do not let their deaths go in vain. The greens will use Daeron as a puppet. It will not be a Targaryen but instead the Hightowers ruling the seven kingdoms through him".

The older girl heaved a sigh. He was right of course, they were in a rush to seat Daeron on the throne only because they would have their influence on him and until he could come of age, Otto would rule as his regent. If Otto came into power, she was well aware he would order the slaughter of her half-sisters and Luke on accounts of treason.

"Alright" she hummed, still clutching the sapphire stone, the only thing she had of her Aemond.

Alicent nodded in agreement with her father.

Otto Hightower had assembled the council members in the throne room to discuss the succession. He put forth the proposition to have Daeron crowned since he was the last Targaryen son of Viserys.

"He is not yet of age" one of the members spoke up.

"Neither is prince Lucerys" Otto reminded, incase the man was to vouch for him instead "nor is he a true-born son of the late princess Rhaenyra. Until Daeron comes of age, I shall serve the realm as king regent"

Before any of the other noblemen of the council could agree or disagree with his verdict, the large glass windows behind the iron throne came shattering down, a few stones from the walls went flying about as well and everyone turned their backs away to shield their front from the flying remnants of glass and stone.

As the dust and smoke began to clear, little by little, the silhouette of a dragon came into view and perched on its back seemed to be a woman who slid off the saddle and walked out of the rubble and smoke and into their view.

"Mother have mercy" Alicent gasped, as if she was looking at a ghost.

"There was talk of who is sit the throne, so I heard" she spoke, hands clasped behind her back which reminded Alicent of Aemond "allow me to free you from your troubles of deciding who is to rule. I will sit the throne, just as I was supposed to anyway-"

"With all due respect princess" Otto interrupted and Y/N was well aware he was going to tell her something that would be far from respectable "it is Viserys' sons who are in line to sit the throne, and not-"

"why does the council find it difficult to support a woman?" Y/N snapped immediately "you all pray to the mother, do you not? Will you only choose to bow before a woman when it involves your personal gain?"

Otto knew the princess was short-tempered and armed with her Dragon. The last thing he wanted was to enrage Daemon's blood and suffer her wrath.

“Perhaps if you were to wed Daeron” he put forth a proposal "you would rule as queen consort"

“Wed him? I do not need to wed anyone to ensure I have your support” she scoffed, as if the idea of marriage repulsed her "the throne is mine by right, regardless if I marry the younger prince or not. Aegon usurped the throne, this I will not have you deny. Rhaenyra was publicly announced as heir by Viserys while Aegon was never claimed as his successor before the masses. And as Rhaenyra's heir I see it only fit that I should be the one crowned"

The others glanced at each other nervously. She did make a fair point of Aegon never being publicly announced as heir.

Alicent knew Y/N would be perceived as a threat by her father and she feared that he might have her executed to secure Daeron's rule. She loved the princess too much to allow that to happen.

"The council will back your claim if you wed someone of the house" she tried to persuade Y/N into agreeing to marry Daeron, for her own safety "you will be queen, just like you want. Marry Daeron and-"

The large doors opened, the old hinges creaking as the wooden doors scraped against the floor and a familiar voice boomed across the spacious throne room.

"She will do no such thing"

Y/N's eyes widened and she momentarily forgot how to breathe. Even Alicent clutched the star-shaped pendant of the seven that hung around her neck, muttering a prayer under her breath.

"Gods be good" Y/N whispered softly as she froze in place, watching the person standing at the entrance now making their way closer toward them.

Taglist: @ladybug0095 @sahvlren @bunny24sstufff @dellalyra @ellabellabus07 @champomiel @fan-goddess @lilostif16

[dramioneasks]

Just read cleotheo's fic future adventures! I liked the one-sided future fic aspect of how Hermione didn't know this was past Draco. Any other fics where there's a time travel element but only one of the pair travels and is aware they're from the past?

That time I said I love you - Skateland - M, WIP - Hermione Granger was the fourth most surprised person to find out she was in love with Draco Malfoy; after Ron, Harry and Draco himself (in that order). But after working together at the Ministry of Magic for three years she had fallen head over heels and even better, he loved her too. The wedding had been beautiful, their house was cosy, they spent Sundays reading books curled up against each other and an elderly Crookshanks ruled over them benevolently. She couldn’t wait to tell him they were expecting. Tomorrow he would be back from his trip, she would whisper it into his ear and they would celebrate. One small problem, she seems to have woken up in the Gryffindor dormitories as a teenager.

Tell Me about Us - BothMalfoysPlease - G, 5 chapters - The war ended a decade ago but Hermione is thrown back in time to her 8th year at Hogwarts.

The Troublesome Thing About Time by LadyKenz347 - E, 9 chapters - Draco Malfoy has just arrived from twenty years in the future and insists on speaking to his wife, Hermione Granger. The only problem is that the Draco Malfoy she knows is still the snarky, button-pushing boy upstairs-and not the man in front of her now.

Live Again By: Sophie733 - T, 41 chapters - COMPLETE: The war raged 3 years before it was lost. As the only survivor of the light, Hermione casts a spell that takes her back in time. The cost will be heavy as the spell changes events, forcing a friendship to form between enemies. (Eventual)Pairing: Hermione/Draco, (Eventual)Side Pairing: Harry/Luna, T for violence,some language and suggestive content. Edited&Reposted 10/3/17

How Soon Is Tomorrow? By: eevilalice - T, one-shot - It’s the day before winter hols, and Draco can’t wait. Except he’s going to have to because the day won’t end unless he saves Hermione Granger. A lot.

Anywhere by alexandra_emerson - M, 28 chapters, Words: 243,281 - Hermione breaks a time turner. When she jumps to the future, she finds out she’s married to Draco Malfoy and is determined to keep that future from happening. She’s the one in charge here! The future is not inevitable! She will not let herself fall in love with Draco bloody Malfoy! She will fix this!

Still She Rose By: Fawkes01 - M, 19 chapters - After being attacked at a bash, Hermione went home and was discovered by her friend, Draco, the next morning. After some discussion, they decide for her to go back in time to alter a few things. In the end, she goes through hell…twice. She became a victim, and she must fight through it to rise on the other side.

-Lisa

[scrapratsoldier]

IT'S THE FIRST DRINK they have together.

The second they have as friends. By the fourth, Cal isn’t so sure. He hasn’t had a lot of close friends or hard liquor. The way their eyes seem to hold longer with every refill could be as common as sand on Tattooine.

Greez glances at them from time to time as he polishes glasses, countertops, and bottles. He throws one or even two elbows into Monk's side vent to encourage the droid to do what you were made for, huh with a gesture. Cal and Bode are never empty, even with Monk, and Zee, too, steering themselves and their conversation clear of the two men sitting at the end of the bar closest to the back access.

None of that is inherently strange. Neither is the way they lean towards each other to hear over the three songs on replay (gotta get on Greez about that) or how the trust between them, between two survivors, makes it easier to talk about the past— they’ve already saved each other's lives and shared grief in the short time they’ve been acquainted. The first time Bode looks at Cal's mouth when Cal smiles isn’t all that exceptional. It’s by the fourth that Cal isn’t so sure.

Cal is more than a lightsaber, Greez said, but Cal isn't so sure about that either. All he knows is war. He knows how to survive. When you let loose, how loose? He has to be ready for anything. Just not this type of anything. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with a look or even four. He doesn't know what to do about the hand on his thigh when they laugh so hard he almost chokes on his Slippery Monk (which was part of the joke, what an awful name for a cocktail). He doesn't know what it means when Bode, with something encrypted behind his stare, casually asks, "Show me your workbench?"

Cal almost doesn't want to show him his workbench. He knows how to say no, yes, and maybe, but Cal is a survivor. His instincts are sharp. He knows when he's being backed into a corner, and that's why he almost doesn't lead him down the stairs, past the storage and the kitchen, to the little room Greez had set up for him over five years ago with the hope that, someday, the Jedi would rest in it. He could take the stairs back up to the bar; he could dive down the smuggler's tunnel; or burst out the last door into the street; even with all of these exits, Cal does not have an exit strategy.

Cal is a survivor, and letting Bode back him into the corner of the room feels like it goes against everything he's ever learned.

"I'm not twice shy once bitten, Kestis," Bode's thick arms pen him, his head lulled nonthreateningly, his dark, glossy hair dusting the shoulder pad of his armor; eyes lazily closed; smile rosy from drink and anticipation. "Either way you wanna take that." He does not touch Cal, but his breath does, tickling Cal's crop of violent red hair; and his intent does. "You just let me know."

"I," Cal breathes, his eyes at half mast, the buckles tinking on his vest as his chest quietly heaves, and he fights, he fights the fight in himself. His arms are rigid at his sides, tied up as tightly as they've ever been.

"I don't know. What I'm supposed to say."

"What do you want to say?" Bode prompts. He smells like sweat, oil, and alcohol, and if any of that should be a deterrent, it is not. He smells like hot metal and hard work.

"I don't know," Cal says stiffly.

"The only wrong answer," Bode says, lifting his head and examining Cal's pink, freckled face up close. "Is the one you'll hate yourself for. Or me. I'm your friend, Cal. That can extend past the battlefield."

Cal's jaw knots. He looks down. His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "The type of friend you're talking about. I've mixed the two before," Cal says. Merrin. Never again. "It…complicates things."

Bode chuckles. Shakes his head.

Cal looks up at him quizzically.

"It's already complicated," Bode says. His eyes shine bittersweetly. "It's always complicated. I'm just trying to survive. War…"

Bode lifts his hand from the wall, and after a short stall of hesitation, he slides it against the side of Cal's neck. A warm, heavy weight. Encouraged, when Cal's lashes flutter and his mouth parts.

"War," Bode says again, his thumb stroking the deep scar on Cal's cheek. "Hardens you. I want to stay soft. For my daughter. For Tayala's memory of me."

Cal leans in with a shiver like Bode's is the first hand that has ever touched him, his own hands reaching up to cusp the sides of Bode's face. Bode presses their foreheads together and steps closer. He turns his face in and, in a husky whisper, murmurs, "Let me soften you, Cal."

Cal is a survivor.

Bode is too.

Cal knows he's not alone, but when Bode lifts him off the floor, wraps Cal's legs around his slim waist, and carries him. When they both tuck into the tiny bed cubby and laugh because Bode bumps his head. When they shed their armor and clothes. When their hands and mouths cannot still, and Bode moves in him, and, after, they take turns talking about their scars… He really feels it.

Not alone.

And he wants to be soft, too.

[ducklooney]

Duckvember - Dead, Sleeping, Inner, Broken, Dapper, Jobless and Zealous Duck (Ducks) - Donald's classic shorts and The Legend of The Three Caballeros

This is going to be a long post, but I am posting my drawings that I have drawn in the past few days related to the theme of Duckvember in several ways. I drew mostly through redraw scenes, but in my own way in my own style.

The first drawing is actually a redraw of a scene from one of my favorite series "The Legend of The Three Caballeros" where the Three Caballeros hugged each other plus Clinton Coot, Donald's great grandfather who is sadly dead. Yes, it's from the episode "Mt. Fuji Whiz" where the Three Caballeros get stuck in the underworld, but luckily get out.

The second drawing is a redraw scene from the classic 1946 short "Donald's Double Trouble" in which Dapper Duck begs Daisy Duck instead of Donald, and I added Donald who is broken after seeing who is replacing Daisy's boyfriend.

The third drawing represents a redraw scene from the classic short "Donald's Dilemma" from 1947, in which Donald, after his head was smashed, completely changed his character and became a famous singer and avoids Daisy Duck and throws her a coin, but actually Daisy only wants Donald back. Yes, that classic short is very controversial because Daisy almost kills herself because she lost Donald. Eventually Donald returns to normal and Daisy Duck returns.

The fourth drawing represents a scene from the classic short "Donald's Crime" from 1945 in which Donald, who wants to propose and impress Daisy and who is unemployed, secretly takes a piggy bank from his sleeping nephews (Huey, Dewey and Louie).

The fifth drawing is a redraw of a scene from the propaganda classic short "The Spirit of '43" in which Donald is confronted with a good conscience (embodied in the good duck prototype Scrooge McDuck) and bad sin (embodied in the bad duck prototype Gladstone Gander) and who must understand that taxing the state is the only way to ensure the security and progress of the state as well as the supply of weapons, in the fight against the Nazis and other Axis powers. Yes, it's a propaganda cartoon drawn during World War II.

The sixth drawing is a redraw of a scene from the first Disney television series called "The Wonderful World of Color" in which Professor Ludwig von Drake is the main character and this is actually from a scene in "Inside Donald Duck" in which Ludwig is a psychiatrist and wants to solve the problems his nephew Donald has. Yes, it is from 1961.

Most of the classic shorts represented by these drawings were mostly directed by Jack King. I hope you like these drawings and these characters and that there are fans of the classic Donald Duck shorts.

[skeith-platinumprincess]

Today I would like to go over the history of an alternate universe Spider-Man who was created solely to be a gag character but in recent years has been getting actual serious attention. I am of course referring to:

Patrick O'Hara, the Web-Slinger.

The Web-Slinger first debuted in the very original Spider-Verse event but don't go into this expecting to read much of him. Unlike other popular Spider characters like Spider-Gwen and Peni Parker he didn't get his own issue to tell you his origin or anything like that. No, he was instead part of the book's gag team.

Throughout the original Spider-Verse event we would occasionally get to check in on Miles Morales and Drake Bell Ultimate Spider-Man recruiting the goofier spider-people across the multiverse. We even got a full issue of them recruiting the 1967 cartoon Spider-Man! At one point in this requirement spree we check in on them and see that at some point they recruited a cowboy Spider-Man

That's basically it for Web-Slinger's role in the original Spider-Verse. No name, no actual lines other than Yehaaaw, and after this point he's just in a few background panels.

Someone at Marvel must have really liked this idea though as he made more appearances in later Spider-Verse events. Such as in Spider-Geddon where he gets to be alongside Superior Spider-Man, Spiders-Man, and Spider-Punk as a team of Spider-Men who are willing to kill people

Spider-Geddon also gave us Vault of Spiders, a collection of short stories set in the universes of various Spider-People. Here we got a 7 page story showcasing Web-Slinger in his own world fighting against his version of Morbius. This little story also gave confirmation that yes, he shoots webs from his guns. They are literal web shooters

Next up we have what it easily Web-Slinger's biggest apperance: the 2019 Spider-verse event. In this comic Miles Morales has to jump from universe to universe helping various spider-people fight crime. It's a fun little book even if it doesn't serve much purpose. I'd love if they brought the concept back for some sort of Spider-Verse Team Up.

Anyway, the fourth issue of this book has Miles travel to Web-Slinger's universe, now officially numbered as Earth-31913, to help him save a Mexican village being raided by El Escorpion.

Basically everything we know about Web-Slinger comes from this issue since it's the only time he has really gotten to shine. So here are a few details we learn about him here.

His version of Uncle Ben was not his uncle, but rather a war buddy of his. I cannot tell if it was the Civil War or the American-Mexican war though

Yes, his horse, named Widow, WAS bit by a radioactive spider, the same spider bit both of them which gives them a telepathic link to each other. They call it the Rider Sense

His name is Patrick O'Hara, in previous appearances he used the name Parker, but that was in fact a fake name. He only tells Miles this because he trusts him

That wasn't the last we saw of Webslinger though, we actually got to see him and his earth again earlier this year in Extreme Venomverse. Usually the Venomverse stories will either take place in a earth that is only slightly different from Earth-616 or they'll be in their own world with no connection to anything. As far as I can tell the only times a Venomverse story have set themselves in the universe of an already established alternate Spider-Man were Venom Noir from this month and last month with Extreme Venomverse #3

After passing out from wounds in the desert, Web-Slinger finds himself nursed back to health by a woman named Madame Brock. To repay the favor he helps Ms. Brock fight off a pack of goons who are threatening to burn down her place of business.

And that is the Web-Slinger's most recent appearance in the medium of comics. However he has seemingly gotten popular enough to start appearing in other mediums. He got to team up with Drake Bell Ultimate Spider-Man once again when that cartoon did a Spider-Verse storyline AND he got to appear briefly in Across the Spider-Verse, Miles even steals Widow from him here!

[drarryglobesficrecs]

Hogwarts Eight Year- drarry fic recs(under 50k)

Pt. 1

To Hurt and Heal by cassisluna(21k)

They say that everybody who gets out of Azkaban comes out a little mad. After the war, Draco Malfoy spends three months in Azkaban. He just wants to go insane in peace, but Harry Potter finds that he, inexplicably, still can't leave Draco alone.

Potterella by VivacissimoVoce(22k)

Harry’s friends want him to find true love. But when a spell that promises happy endings goes out of control, fairy tales come to life and Draco becomes Harry’s Prince Not-So-Charming.

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There by magpie_fngrl(17k)

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest desires come true. Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Instruction For A Misplaced Slytherin by bixgirl1(8k)

Potter stared at him with an intense, indecipherable expression. He cleared his throat. “You know what? It would be easier to learn if you just showed me,” he said abruptly. In which Draco has a crush but fancies himself kind, Harry is oblivious but overly ambitious (and the teensiest bit sneaky), and things get dirty really fast.

Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch(43k)

The problem with living with another insomniac is, eventually, they find out you’re one, too. When Harry and Draco return for their eighth year, they think they’ll see very little of each other. Then McGonagall assigns them to room together. And the castle starts breaking. And there’s that thing with Potter’s magic.

The Heart's Honest Truth by bixgirl1, carpemermaid(16k)

“Don’t you think I would have gone to Pomfrey if I thought she could help me?”

“Then what can I do?”

“I nee—” Malfoy broke off with a soft grunt and a pained expression. He took a shaky breath and tried again, his voice wobbling. “Will you touch me, Potter?"

Draco is cursed to speak in questions. Well...Spelled, thanks to the stupidly improper archival practices of the fourth century. Harry Potter is there to save the day, but Draco isn’t going to give in to his help so easily. Fortunately, the method of saving might be more satisfactory than Draco expected this time.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium by DorthyAnn(5k)

Harry's far too hot. Draco's always cold. And somehow against all odds, together they create a perfect equilibrium.

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn(14k)

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (faithwood)(21k)

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

The Difference Between Dust And Soup (Is You) by gnarf(17k)

When Harry returned for his eighth year at Hogwarts he had high hopes that he'd have a normal and quiet year for once—he had earned it after all!

But when he found Malfoy starving and unconscious in the Astronomy Tower one night, it all started over again. He had to figure out what happened to him.

After Harry started to cook for Malfoy, and while sharing their secret dinner night after night, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a possibility of them becoming more.

In Evidence of Magical Theory by bixgirl1(43k)

When a hex meant for Draco accidentally catches Harry as well, they're forced to learn to understand each other in ways they previously might have thought impossible.

In which Harry and Draco can't fight, so they fall in love instead.

The Owl Who Came for Christmas by dracogotgame(17k)

Draco has a debt to pay off, no matter what Potter thinks. And he has a Very Good Idea to go along with it. Things don't go as planned.

The Standard You Walk Past by bafflinghaze(46k)

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened.

That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

Dear Diary by AWickedMemory (TeddyLaCroix)(21k)

// This can’t possibly go worse than the last time I kept a diary. //

After the war, Harry picks up a journal to write in… and it writes back. Luckily, it’s not a Horcrux on the other end this time.

Strange Bathfellows by bixgirl1(27k)

It started with a bath. Or a potions accident. Or maybe it started before that, but who can tell anymore.

Featuring: Uncomfortable wanking, more comfortable wanking, mutual wanking, bath sharing, inappropriate betting, secret shagging, those secrets at Hogwarts that everyone knows, and oblivious Harry who knows one thing: he's falling in love.

Storm in a Teacup by Faith Wood (faithwood)(7k)

For reasons he'd rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter's hair. This cannot end well.

Smoke and Sweets by BiscuitBrunch(21k)

Draco spends his eighth year at Hogwarts under a study contract, working the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey.

He should have foreseen how often that meant bumping into Harry Potter.

(In which a touch-starved Draco has a praise kink that Harry is delighted to indulge.)

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster(16k)

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

Good Company by Greenflares(8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

Drop Everything Now by parkkate(21k)

After accidentally bonding himself to Malfoy, Harry finds himself in an utterly precarious situation...

Lumos by birdsofshore(41k)

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Cracked by epsilonargus(46k)

"Loving Harry Potter would be a messy thing and Draco knew he wasn’t much of a whole person himself, but Merlin, he wanted to love Harry Potter." An Eighth Year fic, wherein Draco is a delusional mess and Harry is always trying to save him.

Flower War by XxTheDarkLordxX(8k)

“So, I was thinking—” Neville cut off, causing Harry to peer up curiously. Neville’s eyes were narrowed on the flower, small frown marring his features. “Oh, how rude.”

“What’s rude? It’s just a flower. Strange, since Malfoy sent it to me. Do you think he was cursed? I mean, it’s not like him to be nice.”

Neville snorted, mouth twitching rapidly. “No, it’s not,” He agreed readily. “Malfoy sending this makes perfect sense though. The flower means, Beauty is your only attraction."-

Or... the one where Harry and Draco have a flower war. Their tamest fight yet to date as they trade silent insults, cutting barbs and even a few compliments sprinkled in.

the in-betweens by derekmaliknurse(42k)

A tale of inter-house unity, Dirty Dancing, the various charms of certain Gryffindors and the Slytherins who fall for them, and Celestina Warbeck, in which Harry James Potter shares a room with one Draco Malfoy and despite seven years of past seething hatred, has the time of his life.

Dragons Don't Talk by RamaThorn(15k)

In which Harry can't talk, Hermione soon will have a nervous breakdown, Ron's just confused and Draco has some illwishers (and talks a lot).

Dreaming of Harry by Writcraft(18k)

The first night Draco Malfoy dreams of Harry Potter, everything changes.

Sod Off Potter. by Bellad0nna(34k)

When Harry wakes up to a strange voice invading his head he feels as if he should be far more surprised and concerned than he actually is. Although it's to be expected at this point, after all there is always 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 wrong and it almost always involves Malfoy.

Or that one where Draco and Harry find themselves connected through some kind of ancient legilimency bond and decide to work together to figure it out. Love ensues.

The Smile by bixgirl1(1k)

Harry smiles at Malfoy, Malfoy smiles back, and Ron is surely rolling his eyes in the background somewhere.

Nice Things by aideomai(22k)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Hungry by birdsofshore(24k)

The first thing Harry knew about it was when he woke up lying on a bed in the hospital wing, with his arm firmly stuck to the scrawny, milk-white arm of Draco bloody Malfoy.

Show Me by loveglowsinthedark(7k)

“We can be friends, if you like,” he says instead, nonchalant and careless.

“What I’d like,” Potter says seriously, “is to kiss you.”

Draco feels his jaw drop, feels the way his hair tumbles into his eyes when he whips around to stare at Potter. “What?” he breathes.

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” Potter repeats sombrely, no hint of mirth evident.

“You think?” Draco says steadily, proud of himself for holding himself together.

Potter’s eyebrows slide up briefly but then Draco can’t think or act or speak or breathe because Potter is leaning in and cupping his cheek gently. “I know,” Potter says simply, and kisses Draco.

[nenyabusiness]

Haladriel Week Day 1: Firsts

The first night she slips into his chambers in Númenor, the only explanation she gives him is a quiet, “Can’t sleep.” He raises an eyebrow as he moves over to the side of the bed—a silent offer, which she silently accepts. She steals a corner of his blanket as she curls up on the opposite side of the mattress, her back turned toward him. Minutes later, the soft thuds of her heart slow down, her breaths deepening. He usually spends his nights staring up at the ceiling, but watching the steady rise and fall of her chest is a far more relaxing activity. He pretends to sleep when she sneaks out of bed right before dawn, and neither of them speaks about what happened as they spend the following day preparing for war.  

The second night, she doesn’t say anything at all. With a shy look on her face, she simply walks over to the bed, and he once again offers her half of the mattress. She allows herself to take up a bit more space this time, and she steals far more than just a corner of his blanket. He once again spends the night watching the soothing rise and fall of her chest. Beings like him don’t sleep, but under the right circumstances, they can rest.

The third night, she doesn’t hesitate before curling up on the side of the mattress that he was already starting to refer to as hers. She claims her half of the bed properly this time, reducing the distance between them to a mere inch or two—enough to keep their bodies from touching, but not enough for her to keep the heat of her body or the scent of her hair to herself. For several hours, he fights the temptation to eliminate the distance between them altogether, and when she leaves the bed before dawn, he doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.    

The fourth night, he decides to change their routine. When she climbs into her half of the bed, he wraps and arm around her waist and pulls her against his chest. Her pulse quickens, but she doesn’t push him away. After a while, her tense muscles relax, and she drifts off. An unfamiliar warmth fills his chest when she falls asleep in his arms; a surge of irrational emotions that has to be a side effect of wearing a human raiment. For some reason, it feels right to shield her with his body. It feels right to protect her as she sleeps. It feels right, all of it.  

The fifth night, she follows the new step of their routine on her own accord, moving closer until his body envelopes hers. His physical form is tall and broad; a flawed creation marred with sharp angles and rough edges, but the little Elf fits perfectly in his arms. A different instinct, just as primal as his need to keep her safe, makes itself known. The only thing separating her skin from his is the fabric of her nightgown; thin, but not thin enough. He spends the night in a strange limbo, more satisfied than he can ever remember being but still craving more.

The sixth night is the night before their departure, and when she enters his chambers, there’s a spark in her eyes that he doesn’t recognize. She closes the door, takes a deep breath, and then pulls her nightgown over her head, dropping it on the floor. For a few moments, they stare at each other; a wordless conversation about wants and needs and consequences. His answer to every question that pops up in her eyes is yes. She carefully approaches the bed, neglecting her half of the mattress entirely, and he grabs her the moment she’s within reach. For the first time since she initiated their routine, he finally has her under him, skin against skin, lips against lips, their bodies fitting together like two halves of a whole. When she eventually falls asleep in his arms, he knows that whatever fate has in store for him, she is a part of it. No matter what happens, he will keep her.

He spends the seventh night on a ship full of Númenórean soldiers, staring up at the ceiling. Beings like him don’t sleep—they wait.

[inosakutema]

↳ 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐢 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚

Do you know which divisions Temari, Sakura Haruno and Ino Yamanaka were chosen to join in the the Fourth Shinobi World War?

The three kunoichis were put in different units according to their abilities. Here is an explanation to their assigned roles:

-

-

⇨ TEMARI was placed in the Fourth Division - Long-range, with ninja experts in wide attacks and distance fighting.

Their role was to collaborate with the Intelligence Division to support the other units. They are also the shield of the shinobi of the front lines.

Although the commander of this division was officially Gaara, Temari was the temporary leader of this division during their confrontation against the Third Raikage. She also led the Wind Release Team against him and against the attacks from the Ten Tails.

-

⇨ SAKURA HARUNO was placed in the Third Division - Intermediate-range, with ninja experts in above average speed and physical strength to aid in combat taijutsu.

Their role was to support both the close-range and the mid-range units in the front lines.

Sakura and other medical ninja of every division officially joined the Logistical Support & Medical Division during the peak of the war. She was second in command, aiding Shizune and healing countless shinobi and defeating the White Zetsu from eliminating the jōnin medical ninja.

Against Madara Uchiha, Obito Uchiha and the Ten Tails, Sakura "became" the Logistical Support & Medical Division for the remaining of the war, by herself or using Katsuyu to heal the Alliance and provide them with chakra and energies to continue their battle or rescue her allies from other dimensions.

-

⇨ INO YAMANAKA was placed in the Fifth Division - Special-range, with ninja from clans possessing hidden ninjutsu and battle formations.

Their role was mainly provide support and specialized attack tactics. They also may join other battalions that are in tight situations.

After the death of her father, who was in the Intelligence Division in charge of connecting all divisions telepathically with each other, Ino "becomes" the Intelligence Division and connects the leftover members of Alliance telepathically and sharing her comrades' plans.

Original post.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Traicionero | j.p.

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Word Count: 9.9k (Ahaha woops)

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence. Oral (f receiving). P in V sex. Fingering. Dubious consent (Javi is drunk when he gets to her). Plot with smut basically. Poorly translated Spanish. Possibly OOC Javier?

Author’s Note: I don’t even know why I wrote this. More importantly I don’t know why I needed any sort of plot to fuck Javier Peña but alas. Here we are. Also, yes. I totally got the opening line from Teen Wolf. Don't fuckin' judge me.

Requests are OPEN

“Do you wanna hear it in Spanish, Peña?” She mocked, standing tall in front of the ambassador’s office door. He was glaring down at her, eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Fucking clever, princesa,” he countered, reaching out to move her. But she blocked his hands. 

“Touch me, and I swear to God, Peña —Escobar will be the least of your concerns.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary,” he taunted, grabbing her upper arms to move her once more. With her heel, she slammed her foot into his boot and he cussed angrily and released her. “Jesus Christ. Just let me through.”

“I’m under strict orders to let no one in this office. Especially you.”

As the new assistant to the Ambassador of the US in Columbia, she wasn’t about to risk her job because of some pretty boy agent who thought he was the shit. Crosby had made himself very clear when she was hired: don’t let Peña boss her around; don’t let Murphy guilt trip her. She was the fourth assistant in three years, with the other three having quit due to pressure or been fired for not being able to follow orders. 

Crosby blamed Javier Peña for the first two quitting; certain the agent didn’t call or hurt their feelings enough to make the women refuse to work with him. The third one was fired for leaking information to the press. 

She would be different. She already was. Agent Peña wasn’t going to get her in bed, for one. He’d tried during her first week. Flirted up a goddamn storm. Complimented everything about her from her hair to her nails to her shoes. It was a fine daydream at first —he was pretty and polite as far as she could tell —until Crosby called her into his office and warned her. 

So she stopped with that dangerous daydream, choosing to ignore Peña. Just because he was attractive didn’t give him the right to fuck around with everything that had a pulse. Besides, the whole better-than-you thing he had going on annoyed her after the second week. And the way he kept looking at her —like she was a piece of meat needing to be inspected —made her never want to wear a skirt again. 

Which she hadn’t, by the way. She had taken to wearing slacks and flowy blouses that didn’t expose more skin than necessary. Was it inconvenient in the Colombian heat? Absolutely. But did it keep Agent Peña from staring at her? Not really at first, but he didn’t do it as much now. And that’s what she cared about. 

“I will happily schedule you an appointment,” she offered, though she didn’t step away from the office door. 

“Yeah, next fucking year.”

“Actually, I think he has an opening tomorrow at 10.”

“Yeah, I needed him 10 minutes ago, sweetheart. Not gonna fly.”

She just shrugged, hands on her hips as they stared each other down. However, maybe Peña realized he had been beaten. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to fight with her anymore. Because finally, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off, bitching about wasting his time. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, Steve Murphy tried his hand. 

“I really recommend you walk away from me, Agent Murphy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

———

Four months into the job, and the war against Pablo Escobar, Ambassador Crosby ordered her to take up a desk at the base. She didn’t argue, given his reasoning was solid (“I need someone there to filter through the bullshit. They come to you, you call me.”). However, her new position meant a significant lifestyle change that was a bit more abrupt than she expected. 

Turns out, living on a Colombian military base was awful. And even more so, if you were American. And a woman. And as if those two things didn’t make her question quitting her job almost daily (not that she would, but goddamn, she wanted to lately with the amount of bloodied soldiers and cops that came in) —it meant spending an annoying amount of time with Murphy and Peña, who had been sidelined. 

Her desk was ten feet away from where the two DEA agents set up their space. Murphy offered to push her closer, joking that they could be the three musketeers, but she just returned to the paperwork she had already filled out, ignoring him. 

“One of these days, you’re gonna be thankful it’s us here and not anyone else, hermosa,” Peña stated one evening, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from his lips. 

“I’ll be thankful when you actually manage to catch Escobar instead of fucking up raids,” she countered, not looking up from the notes she was rewriting for Martinez.

Murphy laughed at that, and she glanced up as his chair creaked when he leaned back in it. “She’s got a point there, Javi.”

“Shut the fuck up. Whose side are you on?” 

“The side that’s usually right,” Murphy continued, looking at her with a grin. 

She almost made a comment regarding listening to his wife if that was the case, but she stopped herself. It had been a bad day when he stormed out of the base the afternoon that Connie left; she wasn’t that cruel.

“Flattery gets you nowhere with me.” She hummed a bit, setting her pen down and rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. The words were jumbling together, and translating from English to Spanish was difficult for someone who was not fluent in the language. And low on caffeine. 

“Oh, we know,” Peña replied, sitting on his desk. “If it did, we’d have so much more intel —,”

“Agent Peña,” she interrupted, looking up at him with tired eyes. For a moment, she swore he looked concerned but she chalked it up to wishful thinking; thinking he could care about anyone but himself was a reckless path to put herself on. “As much as I just love listening to you bitch about me doing my job correctly —I can’t handle it right now. So either get me coffee, or shut the fuck up.”

Neither he nor Murphy said another word, looking between each other for a moment before Murphy motioned for him to move. Peña was about to slide off his desk when the phone rang, and his attention snapped back to his actual task at hand as he answered it. She blinked a few times, shaking her head for a second to wake herself up, before she stood up. 

Stretching her arms up over her head, she let out a quiet groan as her joints popped. When was the last time she stood up? It felt like it had been hours. 

Peña looked at her curiously, phone still pressed to his ear. He paused for a moment, hand over the bottom of the receiver, and this time, she was sure there was concern evident in his tone. "You okay?" 

She paused, surprised by the genuine concern in his tone. Dropping back into her chair, she ran a hand over her face, trying to think of something witty to say. But Peña's unexpected display of empathy caught her off guard. For a moment, she considered brushing it off with a dismissive remark, but the weariness in her body won over her usual defenses.

"You actually wanna know?” She asked, eying him closely as she wondered if he actually cared. But Peña nodded, kicking his feet up on his desk as he leaned back his chair, motioning for her to keep talking. She hesitated a moment before she finally spoke, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. "Long nights, endless paperwork…I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Understanding flickered in Peña's gaze, and he nodded sympathetically. "I get it," he replied, glancing at the phone for a moment before he let out a frustrated huff, though he motioned to the phone as if to say he was reacting to the caller. “Look, those notes are gonna be there when you get back. Martinez won’t be here for an hour or two anyway. Why don't you take a break, grab some fresh air –there’s a café down the street from the base that has the good shit.”

She opened her mouth to argue –to make some snide comment about his knowledge of the area –but stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let her guard down. Peña may have shown a brief moment of concern, but she knew better than to trust his actions completely. She had learned from both experience and word of mouth that he had his own agenda. She wasn't about to let her guard down just because of a momentary lapse in his usual demeanor.

But…maybe she’d be a little nicer, if only because he was also being nice. The skepticism still lingered, but she couldn't help but entertain the idea that perhaps there was a genuine moment of connection between them, however fleeting it might be.

“Do you want anything?”

He looked back at her, his brow raised as he considered her offer. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuffed out his cigarette and hung up the phone. "Finally offering to do a coffee run? Took ya long enough," he teased, his usual annoying self resurfacing. “Not today, cariño. Maybe tomorrow.”

Her momentary hope deflated, replaced by annoyance. So much for his newfound niceness.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Unlikely," she retorted, brushing past him as she walked out of the base. 

When she returned an hour later, coffee in hand and the sun setting over the Colombian horizon, she found that her notes were typed up and translated, sitting in a neat pile on her desk. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the fading daylight, creating a sense of calm in the otherwise chaotic office. Her brow furrowed as she looked around the makeshift space they called an office, the empty chairs and silent surroundings indicating that Murphy and Peña were both long gone for the night.

A mix of surprise and intrigue washed over her. She hadn't expected anyone to take the initiative to organize her notes, especially not Peña. It was a small act, but it hinted at a flicker of unexpected consideration. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

With a curious smile tugging at her lips, she sat down at her desk, her fingers tracing the neatly typed pages. As she perused the translations, she couldn't help but appreciate the effort that had gone into it. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring its warmth as she leaned back in her chair, contemplating the possibilities. Tomorrow would only bring more chaos –such was the life they lived in Colombia –but for now, she would appreciate what felt like an olive branch being extended.

Maybe she would be a little nicer to Javier Peña.

———

“Come out with us,” Steve offered about two months later, leaning back in his chair.. “We finally gotta win –we’re all going out to celebrate.”

In the weeks that followed Peña’s random act of kindness, the three Americans found themselves on far friendlier terms than before. Sure, Javier was still narcissist of the year —but he was nicer about it. What she would have deemed snarky commentary before had become a back and forth banter that Murphy swore up and down was flirting. Each time he made that comment, she gave him a dirty look and rolled her eyes, always responding with something along the lines of In his fucking dreams. 

To which Peña would always have a comeback, usually following suit of Always in my dreams, cariño or something equally as cheesy. It was always returned with a little smirk on her end, or a wink from him. 

Okay so maybe it was flirting. 

But it was friendly flirting. Nothing more. That path was reckless, even if she was starting to hate him a little less than before.  

“And watch you get shit faced while Peña flirts with anyone with a pulse?” She countered, fanning herself with the folder in her hand. Summer had hit Colombia hard, and she was melting in her blouse and slacks. Even pulling her hair up didn’t stop her from feeling like her body was more liquid than skin. “I’d rather not.”

“Got better plans?”

“Maybe I booked a nice hotel for the night so I could pamper myself,” she mused, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at the blonde agent. “Maybe I have a date. Who knows? It’s not really your business, is it?”

“There’s not any nice hotels around here, so try again,” Steve teased back, moving to sit on her desk now as he looked down at her. “About the date…I mean, you could but do you actually?”

She gave him a pointed look, before glancing around the base. One of the soldiers was walking by with a box of files, and she called out his name –Andrés. He paused, leaning over the rail to give her his full attention, just as Peña stormed into the base. She didn’t pay him too much attention as she smiled up at the soldier, batting her lashes some as she asked him out. Peña, however, stopped and watched the interaction, brow furrowed.

“¿Salgamos esta noche?” 

The soldier looked surprised for a moment but nodded rapidly, smiling brightly at her as he offered to get her at 7. “Absolutamente. ¿Siete?”

“Suena bien.”

The soldier nodded again and walked off to finish his work, clearly a little more pep in his step. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave Murphy a smug grin. “You were saying?”

Steve just rolled his eyes in exasperation as Peña abruptly yanked his chair out, carelessly tossing his jacket onto the desk. She observed the interaction between them, her brow raised in curiosity as Peña began rummaging through his drawers, seemingly searching for something.

"What's wrong, Javi?" Steve asked, pushing himself off her desk and approaching his partner, concern etched on his face.

"Nothing," Peña snapped, his tone sharp and dismissive. He retrieved a cigarette from the drawer and swiftly lit it, remaining tight-lipped and refusing to offer any further explanation.

She watched as Steve glanced back at her momentarily, a mixture of frustration and confusion evident on his face. Sensing that they were about to engage in a private conversation, they leaned in closer to each other, their voices dropping to hushed whispers that shielded their conversation from her ears.

Unable to catch their words, she watched Steve’s back with a deep frown. It was moments like this, where the two shielded themselves from her earshot, that reminded her that they weren’t properly friends. They didn’t trust her not to rat them out to Crosby. The secrecy between the two partners only reminded her that she was not part of this little team of theirs.

Peña abruptly stood again, frustration etched on his face, and snatched his jacket once more. Steve, mirroring his partner's actions, swiftly straightened up and retrieved his own coat. He cast a brief glance back at her, his eyes reflecting weariness but also attempting to offer a reassuring smile, before the two of them hastily exited the base. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed through the room, fading into the distance as they disappeared beyond the door.

Left behind, she remained seated for a moment, her mind swirling with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and concern. She stared intently at the retreating backs of Javier and Steve, their forms gradually vanishing from view. Questions flooded her thoughts, demanding answers to what the hell just happened.

***

She ended up canceling her last minute date, having decided that whatever was going on with Peña and Murphy was probably far more important than proving a point to Murphy that she could get a date. 

It had been nearly three hours since the two agents practically ran out of the base, and while she didn’t directly ask Crosby what was going on, she tried to dance around the question. The ambassador just told her that someone was leaking information to Los Pepes, allowing the vigilante group to take down another one of Pablo’s guys without the DEA or Colombian police being involved. Crosby told her to keep an ear and eye out for anything off and well…

Javier Peña was off that afternoon.

However, she didn’t mention that. 

She just promised she would and hung up, running her hands through her hair as she considered what to do next. As she tried to focus on her work, she pushed thoughts of Javier Peña from her mind. If she even began to think that Peña was the one leaking intel, then she would panic around him and she knew that was no good. It wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, especially if he wasn’t.

Another half an hour passed before Peña’s phone rang again. For the first few rings, she ignored it. It rang all the time –usually tips and intel, or Messina calling to scold him. Usually, it would stop and go to his voicemail. Tonight, however, it stopped then rang again. After the third time, she huffed in annoyance and stood, picking up the receiver. Before she could say anything, however, a voice that she’d only heard through captured recordings, hissed in her ear: Don Berna.

“I thought we were meeting for coffee, Peña?”

Immediately, she hung up the phone and stepped away, her eyes wide. Silently, she cursed to herself as she hurried back to her desk and grabbed her bag and satellite phone then rushed out the doors of the base. Maybe it was just a cartel guy who wanted to turn a new leaf. There wasn’t a reason to think that Peña was working with Berna or feeding him information. She couldn’t just assume the worst.

Okay, so that wasn’t true.

She always assumed the worst in Javier Peña. She had since the moment she met him, and she had continued even after he proved he wasn’t necessarily the worst. But she couldn’t assume that he was actually helping Los Pepes kill innocent people just to get to Escobar. There was just…there was no way.

“Answer your phone, you jackass,” she hissed into her satellite phone, listening to it ring a few times before being hung up on. She dialed it again, getting into her car with it pressed to her ear. “Javier Peña, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you myself –,”

“What the fuck do you want?” He answered, voice clipped and laced in anger.

“I think we need to meet,” she replied, and she wondered if he could hear the trembling in her voice. “For coffee.”

There was a silence that hung between the lines, static being the only sound that filled the cracks. She was shaking, her heart threatening to break through her ribcage as she waited for him to speak. To own up, or lie, or anything. 

“Agent Peña,” she hissed, trying to get him to say something back to her. 

“I’ll be at the café in ten minutes.”

“Is that the same one you fucking meet –,”

“Shut your damn mouth,” he snapped at her, hanging up the phone. 

She stared at it blankly, taking a moment to calm her nerves before she threw it into the passenger seat and took off into town. Maybe it would have been better to walk, give her time to cool down and find a reason to justify why a cartel boss would be calling her, but she wanted a quick getaway if everything suddenly went south. 

Not that she thought Peña would do anything to her –but she couldn’t be sure anymore. 

She parked outside the café, sitting in her car for several minutes before she considered even getting out. What she should be doing is going back to the base, calling the ambassador, and telling him what she had learned. How could she be risking her goddamn job because of Javier fucking Peña? In what world did that make any sense, especially given how –

The passenger side of her car swung open abruptly, and a jolt of surprise shot through her body, causing her to let out a startled yelp. Instinctively, she pressed herself further into the door, her back firmly planted against it, as Peña climbed into the car. The sudden proximity between them made her acutely aware of his presence, and a mix of emotions washed over her like a tidal wave.

Her heart pounded in her chest, its rapid beats echoing in her ears, as she struggled to regain her composure. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, momentarily frozen by the intensity of the situation. The surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins made her briefly contemplate the idea of delivering a forceful blow to his face—a physical manifestation of the frustration and exasperation he had caused with his reckless actions.

As her mind raced, grappling with conflicting thoughts and emotions, his voice cut through the silence, jolting her back to reality.

"What did he say?" he demanded, his tone firm and unwavering.

She found herself gaping at him, caught off guard by the absence of denial in his response. The sheer audacity of his nonchalance left her momentarily speechless. A mix of anger and disbelief flickered in her eyes as she struggled to find her voice.

"You're not even going to deny it?" she managed to utter, her words laced with a blend of astonishment and accusation.

Peña met her gaze, his own eyes locking with hers, unflinching. "Why the fuck would I? You already know," he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "You're not an idiot."

His words struck a nerve, and she felt a surge of conflicting emotions within her—anger, disappointment, but also a lingering sense of understanding. But that understanding was being overtaken by the sheer anger she felt towards the agent. She watched as he briefly glanced out the back window, seemingly checking for any signs of surveillance, before returning his focus to her, leaning in closer.

"What did he say?" he repeated, this time his voice softer, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability amidst the tension that hung in the air.

Her initial impulse was to withhold the information, to maintain an element of control and power in this nightmare they were engaged in. But as she looked into his eyes, the walls she had built around herself began to crumble. 

“He just…he said he thought you were meeting him for coffee,” she explained, looking up at him with a small frown and her brow furrowed. 

Peña's eyes darted away, unable to meet her gaze directly. His usual confident demeanor wavered, revealing a hint of guilt that played across his features. A heavy silence filled the car, punctuated only by the sound of their collective breaths. She waited anxiously for his response, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping against hope that he would vehemently deny the accusation. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, his admission hung in the air, weighted with a sense of betrayal.

A mix of disbelief and anguish washed over her, the realization hitting her like a brick through a window. Her voice trembled as she spoke again, her words laced with a mix of sorrow and desperation. "Peña...please, tell me it's not actually you that's leaking our intel to Los Pepes."

He sighed heavily, a mixture of regret and resignation etched on his face. "I wish I could say it's not true," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I've made some choices...choices that I thought were necessary, because things weren’t getting done.”

Her world seemed to crumble around her, the foundation of trust they had built eroded in an instant. A whirlwind of emotions raged within her—anger, hurt, and a profound sense of disappointment. She had trusted him, relied on him for months because she didn’t have a damn choice, actually managed to kind of like the bastard and now that trust lay shattered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Javier?” She demanded, pushing herself upright, scrambling to hit him anywhere she could. She wasn’t necessarily the strongest, and truthfully didn’t really know how to throw a punch, but she was angry. And he deserved to be fucking hit. 

And he let her. 

He sat there, stoic and unmoving, his face a mask of acceptance. He made no attempt to dodge or defend himself, allowing her fists to rain down upon him. Her poorly trained punches landed on his arms, her fists colliding with his solid form, but he didn’t flinch or retaliate. His passive response only fueled her anger further.

The sound of her strikes echoed in the air, each smack a cathartic release of frustration and disappointment. Her fists became a conduit for her emotions, as if the physical pain she inflicted upon him could somehow alleviate the emotional pain within her. But with each blow, she realized the uselessness of her actions.

As her punches gradually weakened, exhaustion and sadness began to replace her initial rage. The weight of the situation pressed upon her, and she felt the heaviness in her limbs. Her fists gradually dropped to her sides, her trembling hands a reflection of the turbulent storm of emotions raging within her.

She looked at him, searching for any sign of remorse or explanation in his eyes. But his gaze offered no explanation; nothing that he was able to say to make her feel better. He knew what he did, and she knew he didn’t regret it.

Breathing heavily, she fell back into her door, the intensity of the moment hanging between them. The anger that had fueled her actions now subsided, leaving a void filled with a mixture of disappointment and a longing for answers. The silence between them seemed to stretch on, punctuated only by the heavy silence of unspoken words.

“Get out of my car, Javier.”

He swallowed hard, she could hear it, before he pushed her door open. As he turned to get out, he paused, looking back at her. She stared forward, gripping her steering wheel tight enough that her knuckles were white. 

“I…,” he took a breath, looking down for a moment before he shook his head and got out. “Can’t believe it took this long for you to call me by my first name.”

She let out a watery laugh, trying to keep herself from crying. He stared at her for several moments, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead opting to start her car and wipe her eyes. For just a little while, she really thought maybe he wasn’t that bad. That Javier Peña was actually a decent person, who she was begrudgingly attracted to. She knew that he and Steve did things a bit against the rules; it was hard not to see it. But this was too far, even by that standard. 

She took a deep breath, swallowing down her tears again. “I was so close to not hating you —,”

“If you’re gonna tell Crosby —,”

They spoke over each other, and both stopped as they waited for the other to finish. 

“I’m not,” she finally said, before she could stop herself. But she still refused to look at him. “I…I’m not gonna tell him, Peña. Consider it the only favor I’ll ever do for you.”

He let out a wry chuckle, shaking his head as he finally got out of her car. The door slammed against the frame, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he walked around the front to her side of the car. Hesitating, she rolled the window down, finally meeting his gaze as he rested his hand on the roof, leaning down. 

“Thank you, hermosa,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned into the car further. “And for what it’s worth —I’ve never hated you.”

Truthfully, she didn’t hate him either. Looking up at him from her seat, she had the sudden urge to pull him into a tight hug; tell him it was okay. That she understood why he did it. 

But she’d be lying if she did. Because she didn’t understand; not really. 

———

He was drunk.

No, that wasn't accurate.

He was shit-faced.

Javier stumbled through the dimly lit bar, his movements unsteady and his mind clouded by a swirling haze of alcohol. The weight of his actions bore down on him, threatening to suffocate him with a potent mix of guilt and self-loathing. Each step he took was a struggle, as if the weight of his choices had multiplied tenfold.

He had watched her drive away, leaving an empty void in his chest. The taillights of her car faded into the distance, a visual representation of the fracture he had caused in the barely there friendship they had in the first place. She wasn’t supposed to find out; no one was. 

Driven by a mix of remorse and self-loathing, he turned on his heel and sought solace in the numbing embrace of a bottle of whiskey. The nearest bar became his sanctuary, a place where he could drown his sorrows and temporarily escape the consequences of his actions. He slumped onto a barstool, his weary eyes scanning the array of bottles lining the shelves.

As the minutes turned into hours, the world around him became distorted. The sounds of laughter and chatter blended into white noise that didn’t make any sense, and the faces of the patrons merged into indistinguishable shapes. His vision blurred, mirroring the fog that clouded his mind.

Javier's drunken stupor was a feeble attempt to escape the weight of his actions, to find temporary solace in a realm of blurred lines and diminished responsibility. But as the alcohol seeped into his veins, it only served to deepen his self-disgust. The numbness it brought was merely a hollow facade, concealing the pain and regret that gnawed at his core.

As the night wore on and the effects of alcohol began to really make him think shitty ideas were good ones. With the memory of her face —disappointed, angry, teary eyed —front and center in his mind, Javier made a decision. 

He needed to see her, even if it meant facing the wrath of her anger and disappointment. It didn't matter that it was late in the night or that his thoughts were still muddled from the alcohol. He couldn't let her think he was this bad man, trying to fuck up everything they were working towards. 

And he didn’t want her to hate him. Jesus fucking Christ, Javier didn’t want to go back to her snapping at him every time he spoke. Or glaring at him over her paperwork whenever he asked her questions. He liked whatever they had going on —flirting, banter, whatever it was. 

Javier wanted it to keep happening. 

Javier just wanted her, however she would take him. And by her reaction tonight, in her car, his whiskey-addled brain saw something that he hadn’t seen before. 

Driven by a mix of determination and a glimmer of hope, Javier left the confines of the bar and stumbled through the dimly lit streets. Every step was unsteady, but his movements were fueled by a desperate need to find her and see her again.

Minutes felt like hours as he walked down the streets towards the apartments she lived in. The weight of his actions sat heavily on his shoulders, and while he didn’t regret what he was doing —he needed to at least apologize to her. 

Finally, he arrived at her doorstep, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he knocked on the door. As he waited, he rehearsed the words he wanted to say to her, hoping that they sounded at least somewhat coherent. 

There was shuffling from behind her door, and Javier glanced at his watch with a frown —realizing it was well past midnight. 

“Shit.”

Panicking, and suddenly feeling far more sober than he was when he was making the walk there, he turned on his heel to walk away. His hands ran through his hair as he started cursing himself for being so fucking stupid. 

As Javier turned to leave, his heart pounding in his chest, he heard her voice calling out to him, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly turned back, his eyes meeting hers. She clearly had been woken up by him, her hair braided but messy from sleep. 

She stood in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest, in her pajamas. Just a thin tank top that revealed the curve of her shoulders and shorts that showcased her slender legs and a look of confusion and frustration on her pretty face. 

Unable to tear his gaze away from her, Javier felt his resolve crumble. The urge to be close to her, to reach out and hold her, consumed him. He took a hesitant step towards her, his heart pounding in his chest. His voice was a mere whisper as he spoke, filled with a mixture of longing and guilt. 

She stepped back, frowning. “Are you drunk?”

He stopped short, recognizing her concern. But he nodded slowly, swallowing hard as he did so. “Just, uh. Just a bit, yeah.”

“Go home, Javier.”

“I can’t, cariño,” he admitted, running his hands over his face then up through his hair. “I…I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

He considered his options –both, neither. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t leave (though he definitely couldn’t), but he knew why he wouldn’t. 

They stood there in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of their complicated relationship hanging in the air. Javier struggled to find the right words, to express the turmoil churning within him. He was not accustomed to vulnerability, especially not with someone like her. They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other most days. 

That wasn’t exactly true, though. In recent weeks, they had gotten on better than before. Closer, friendlier. He liked having that in his life, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“You hate me,” he finally managed to say, leaning against her door frame to look down at her. “And that’s fine. I deserve that.”

Her eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of something that he couldn’t pinpoint flashing over her face. She glanced down either end of the hallway, Javier following her movements, before she pushed her door open fully and motioned for him to come inside. There was clear hesitation on his end, standing stiff there for a moment as he considered what she wanted.

“If you can’t leave, Javier, then you need to come inside before I shut the door in your face.”

Decision made for him, he stepped through into the threshold of her apartment, breath stuck in his throat. As she stepped back into her apartment, shutting and locking the door, the atmosphere shifted from the tension-filled hallway to a space that bore the traces of familiarity and comfort. 

He couldn’t help but look around her home –something he truthfully thought he’d never see, because let’s face it: she didn’t want him there. Even if they were friends.

The living area was tastefully decorated, and the walls were adorned with framed photographs capturing cherished memories and moments of laughter. In the corner, a small bookshelf stood on the opposite side of the couch, covered in various books and pieces of her that pulled it all together. The couch was the same couch as his –one provided by the embassy to ensure their agents and workers were at least somewhat comfortable. But throw pillows were stacked haphazardly on each end, with a blanket tossed back as if that was where she was asleep.

It must have been, because the bottle of open wine and empty wine glass sat on her coffee table. Javier stared at it blankly, considering the things he’d done to cause her to want to drink her problems away like he had that night.

She pushed him some, towards the couch, before she yanked the blanket into her arms and sat down. Javier hesitated again –where was the confidence he used to radiate when a woman let him into their home? He should feel cocksure and horny; the one unobtainable woman he’d been pining for since she arrived in Colombia was pushing him onto her couch while she barely wore clothing.

But that wasn’t why he was there. And that wasn’t what she was doing. He wasn’t there to seduce her, or fuck her. He was there to beg for her forgiveness; to have her be his fucking friend again.

"I don’t hate you,” she finally sighed, running her hands over her face. “Not anymore, I mean. I did, at least a couple months ago.”

“What changed that?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the couch, looking down at his hands.

“You finished my notes for me. The ones for Martinez, when we first got set up at the base.”

He blinked a few times, trying to pull up the memory of doing that for her. She never asked him for anything; either out of spite or because she didn’t want to rely on him. But then he nodded some, huffing out a weak laugh as he did.

“You looked like you were going to fall asleep at your desk,” he explained, looking up at her finally. “I just…I felt bad; figured I’d give you a break.”

“That’s when I decided I didn’t actually hate you,” she admitted, pulling her knees up to her chest as she looked at him. “I don’t know if I liked you, per se –that took a little longer to accept; that I liked you. That I thought we were friends –but I didn’t dislike you. And I…still don’t hate you.”

Hearing that she thought they were friends made Javier’s heart absolutely ache. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. It was in that moment that he realized his feelings ran deeper than he had ever admitted to himself. She looked at him as a friend, and Javier was suddenly realizing he wanted her more than that.

“Probably should.”

“I should,” she agreed, but then she shrugged some, taking a deep breath as she tried to fight back a yawn. “I don’t though. I’m just…I’m disappointed, Javier. Angry, because now I have to lie to the fucking ambassador of the United States. Risk my job. Pretend that I don’t know you’re actually a moron who makes shitty decisions.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” he told her, shaking his head. “You should be covering your own ass, not mine. I told Murphy the same thing –,”

“Good to know that Steve is also a fucking idiot –,”

“Listen to me,” he cut off, turning to face her properly, suddenly serious as he stared her down. “If anyone asks –if someone even so much as hints at you knowing whose working with Los Pepes –you fucking tell them the truth. Do you understand me?”

He watched her closely, his heart pounding in his chest as she contemplated his words. Her exhaustion was evident, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for adding to her burden. But he needed her to understand, to protect herself and let go of any association with him. He didn't deserve her loyalty, especially after what he had done.

“I’d be smart to walk away," she began, her voice wavering slightly. "It would be the right thing, the safe thing. Kick you out, call the embassy. But..." She paused, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as she continued, "I care about you, for some stupid ass reason. So, maybe I won't tell anyone anything. Maybe I'll protect you."

Her response, however, caught him off guard. Her voice, tinged with weariness and vulnerability, carried a sense of tenderness that he didn't expect. He listened intently, his eyes locked on hers, as she admitted her conflicted feelings. Javier's breath hitched as she revealed her concern; how she felt about him. His heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude, disbelief, and a touch of apprehension. How could she still care after all of this? After everything he’d done to her, how he’d treated her, and what he was putting her through now?

He wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to thank her for her unexpected act of compassion. But a mix of emotions churned inside him, leaving him at a loss for words. Instead, he simply nodded, his throat tight with a gratitude that was choking him.

In that moment, he knew that her decision carried its own risks. He knew that he didn't deserve her protection or her care. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of what he was doing. 

As they sat there, something shifted between the two. There was a thread –a thin, barely there thread that tied them together now. And in that fragile thread, Javier found some sort of comfort. 

“I’m going to bed, Javier,” she sighed, standing up from the couch with a yawn. “You can stay here, if you want –on the couch.” The last part was added quickly, as if she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t offering up her bed to him in any way.

He shook his head though, standing up as well. She looked up at him, and Javier couldn’t help but notice just how close the two of them were suddenly. They stood just inches apart, tired eyes gazing at one another. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, his heart pounding in his chest, but he looked away quickly.

“I appreciate it, but I should go,” Javier replied, his voice slightly hoarse. He tried to ignore the sudden urge of longing that coursed through him; ignore the desire to bridge the distance between them and pull her into his arms. But he couldn't act on those feelings, not now, not after everything.

She nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. He could tell she was wrestling with her own conflicting emotions, just as he was. They both knew the boundaries they had set, the unspoken rules that controlled their actions. As they stood there, their gazes locked, Javier's resolve wavered. He wanted to kiss her suddenly. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips. He wanted to lose himself in her.

He was about to pull away; leave her alone for the night so they could pretend nothing happened when they got to work later. But then he felt her hand gently cup his cheek. Her touch was soft, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and a longing of her own. In that moment, she was the one that tore down the boundaries she had put up.

Deciding that he couldn’t take it anymore —gravity was too much and he couldn’t escape the pull of her touch against his skin —he closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands as he pressed his mouth to hers. Months –he’d spent months wanting to kiss her to shut her up. Use the action to get her to be quiet, to stop scolding him. But now, she wasn’t yelling at him or arguing with him. She was pulling him into her touch, biting at his lip, returning the kiss. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling herself closer as returned the kiss –biting his bottom lip as she responded with equal fervor. It was unexpected, her immediate response, but Javier wasn’t going to push her away now that he had what he wanted.

Tracing his tongue along the seam of her lip, he coaxed her lips open and licked into her mouth. A quiet whimper escaped her, and Javier swore he could feel it in his very bones as he pushed her back towards the couch again. One of his hands dropped to her hip, holding her against him tight, as the other tangled into her hair. She mimicked his motions, her hand finding its way down his chest to the exposed skin under his collar as the other tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

As he pushed her into the couch, refusing to break the kiss, she pulled him down on top of her. He rested on his knees, caging her beneath him as her fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt. His hands rested above her head, nipping at her bottom lip again while she finally pushed his shirt open and ran her nails down his chest. He hummed into the kiss, rolling his hips into hers involuntarily before finally breaking away to rest his forehead against hers.

They both breathed heavily, staring at each other with lust blown eyes. Her eyes darted from his face down, then back up at him and Javier wondered, momentarily, what she was thinking. Because all he could think about was slipping his hand under her shirt and feeling her skin against his. 

“I can’t just be one of your hook ups,” she whispered, grabbing his wrist to stop him from moving further up. “I won’t be, Javier.”

He stared down at her, catching his breath as he slowly nodded. He understood the weight of her words, the depth of her desire for something more meaningful. He pulled his hand back, trailing his fingers over the skin of her stomach gently until his hand wasn’t under her shirt anymore. Instead, he rested it against the fabric of her top, looking down at her. 

“You won’t be,” he assured her, his voice filled with a tenderness that surprised even him. “I…I haven’t — this won’t be —I’ve wanted for months….I want you, cariño.”

She searched his eyes, searching for any sign of deception or doubt, but all she found was a sincerity that mirrored her own. Wanting to find comfort in her touch again, Javier leaned in and pressed his lips to her chin –light, barely there. But enough to cause her to suck in a breath as if he had bit her. His hand slipped back under her stop, grasping at the hem of the thin fabric, so he could pull it up carefully. It was easily pulled over her head and tossed to the floor with his shirt –leaving them both bare from the waist up and pressed against one another.

Her hands, somehow impossibly soft, traced down his arms, nails barely grazing his skin. It was a careful gesture, but it was all he needed to continue. Taking to her wandering hands, Javier wrapped them back around his neck before his hands trailed down her sides until they settled at her waist. She sighed at the touch, tugging him closer to her as he gently clasped her waist, drawing her nearer, their bodies pressed together. His fingers pressed into her skin, no doubt leaving marks where his nails dug in. A gasp escaped her, mingling vulnerability with desire, as his tongue slipped into her mouth again. 

Enthusiastically, she pulled him even closer, pressing her body against his like he had dreamed of so many times before. At any moment, he expected to awaken in his bed, painfully alone –painfully hard –left with nothing but fantasies of her consuming his mind. But the feeling of her biting his lip, of her hands fumbling with the button of his jeans reminded him that this was real. She was there, under him, touching him back just as desperately as he was touching her.

“Gonna take care of you, hermosa…,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her mouth down her jaw, to her throat. His hands deftly tugged at her shorts, trying to push them down her hips.

Her hips rose to meet his touch, helping him get rid of the last two pieces of her clothing that kept her from him. Once her shorts were tossed to the growing mess of clothes on her floor, his fingers trailed between her thighs, pressing just barely into her. Her head fell back into the arm of the couch as she whispered his name, as if trying to beg for more. He grinned into the skin of her throat before pressing a kiss there.

“Tell me what you want,” he continued, nipping at her collarbone as his other hand reached up to palm at her breast.

“Take off your pants,” she ordered –though she was breathless and arching into his touch.

Javier chuckled almost darkly into her skin, pinching her nipple as he squeezed her chest. Then he pulled back, sitting up above her. His eyes roamed over her figure hungrily, taking the chance to appreciate each curve of her body as he pushed his jeans and boxers off, kicking them to the side. Most of the women he slept with would try to cover themselves up under his gaze –turn red with sheepish grins. But she just rested her hand behind her head, meeting his eyes for a moment before taking in his naked self as well. Just as hungry for him as he was for her –it made his cock twitch. 

“Still so bossy, even when I have you naked under me.”

“Someone needs to make sure you follow directions.”

Her laugh was airy and light, and Javier grinned down at her as he took his cock in his hand, stroking himself slowly. The way she practically glowed under him, radiating something he wanted to bask in forever, made him want her even more. His other hand slipped between her legs again, where he ran his fingers over her clit and through her wet folds. Her eyes closed in response, arching into the touch with a hum, and Javier savored how wet she was for him. 

Javier adjusted, half kneeling between her legs and pressed wet kisses over her thighs as he spread her open before him. She gasped at the sensation, thighs instinctively closing around his head but Javier tsk’ed, pushing her legs open to continue peppering kisses along the sensitive skin of her thighs until his nose brushed just barely against her clit. Her reaction was to shoot her hands down and tangle her fingers in his hair, pleading with him to hurry up. 

He made a satisfied noise, grinning into the skin of her thighs, before finally giving her what she wanted —what they both wanted —and started to lick and kiss at her clit as if it was the last meal he’d ever eat. She gasped, her legs jerking up only for her heels to rest on his back. The sounds she was making —begging, soft and breathless gasps —egged him on, involuntarily causing him to buck his hips into the couch to relieve his own ache. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she moaned, arching up as his tongue delved deep into her core. 

Her reaction only spurred him on, replacing his tongue inside her with a finger —then two, with ease. His tongue circled her clit as he pumped his fingers in and out, setting a steady pace as she clenched around him. She was tight, deliciously so, and the thought of her clenching around his cock was driving him wild. 

“Come for me,” he whispered against her skin, pulling away from her clit just enough to admire her. Watching her chest heave from her ragged breathing, pretty face contorted by pleasure as his fingers continued to disappear in and out of her —she was close, he could feel it as she yanked his hair harder. “Come for me, hermosa.”

His mouth captured her clit one more time, his fingers curling just enough to hit the sensitive spot inside her. She cried out, squeezing his fingers with her pussy while trying to close her legs around him. But he didn’t let her, free hand holding her leg down as he nipped and licked at her clit, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers inside her. 

She cried out suddenly, body trembling, as her orgasm washed over her. He slowed down, but didn’t remove his fingers from her, working her through her climax. She pushed him away from her clit, overstimulated and breathing heavily. He didn’t stay away long before he pulled his fingers  from her and replaced them with his tongue once more, lapping up the juices that soaked her pussy.

“Javi,” she gasped, hands shaking as she pried him from between her legs. 

She pulled him up by his chin, only able because he let her, and kissed him hungrily. This kiss was sloppier, all teeth and tongues, allowing her to taste herself. Javier groaned into her mouth, pulling himself back onto the couch properly, only to yank her by her hips into his lap. Straddling him now, she looked down at him with hazy, lust filled eyes as she grinded against cock.

He hummed, leaning his head back as his hands slid up her waist, gripping the flesh there tight and guiding her movements as he did so. Her hips rolled against him, coating him in the remnants of her climax, and the head of his cock caught against her clit, causing her to hiss in response. Javier grinned, unable to help himself, as his eyes opened to look up at her again. Releasing his grip on her waist, one hand reached up to the back of her head to bring their mouths together again. His other hand groped her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipples as he bit at her bottom lip.

“Javi, please,” she sighed, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe over his lips. She was reaching between their bodies now to grasp his hard cock in her hands. “I need you, Javi, I need –,”

“What do you need, cariño?” He teased, trying to keep his hips from bucking up into her. “Take what you want, baby. C’mon…”

She nodded frantically, rising up onto her knees above him. Javier’s gaze dropped to her hand around him, where she was guiding his cock into her soaked pussy. As she slowly eased him into her, one of her hands shot up to grip his arm, digging her nails into the skin to distract from the stretch. Javier’s head fell back again as she sunk down on him, his hands dropping to her ass just to hold something. Because if he didn’t –shit, he would lose any semblance of control he had. 

Her grip on his arm tightened as their hips met again, sinking him entirely inside her as she tried to adjust to his size. Javier groaned as her walls clenched around him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up –causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, her hands gripping the back of the couch. With her tits in his face, and his hands grasping her ass, Javier was done for –fuck control, he needed to ruin her.

Javier trails his fingers down her arms before wrapping them back around her hips, holding her tight against him as he pistons up into her. She hadn’t been expecting it, a surprised cry leaving her lips as he slapped her ass in the process of fucking her. He pulled her up, and she got the hint as she rose to meet his thrusts, bouncing on his cock to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

“Been thinking about this since the first time you yelled at me.” He punctuated his last word with a hard thrust up that had the tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it made her drop her face into his neck, crying out his name. 

“Fuck, Javi –you feel so good– Please, God– please, please–” Her words died in her throat when he yanked her down particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in slow, hard grind. She let out a choked sob of his name, pussy clenching hard around him and stealing a low moan from the back of his throat. 

“Knew you fuckin’ liked me, princesa.”

She moaned again, and Javier jolted up some as he felt her tongue trailing over the vein in his neck and over his jaw. Her mouth was on his again, and he could feel her tightening around him as her wetness started to smear between their bodies. The sound of their skin slapping against skin only urged him forward, each thrust becoming messier and harder. It was almost too much when his one hand dipped between their bodies, fingers fluently toying with her clit.

Between the touch on her clit and the thrusts up into her, Javier could tell she was close and he’d be damned if he came before her. Kissing her harder –all tongue, and teeth, and spit –he sped up his thrusts in time with his fingers on her clit. She bit his lip for a moment before she gasped, closing her eyes tight as her body tensed up under him, only to spasm around him as she came. The only sound she made were airy gasps of his name, begging him to keep going. Javier wasn’t far behind as he thrusted up into her a few more times before his hips stuttered to a stop.

She dropped against him, breathing heavily as she slowly came down from her high. Javier’s hand dropped away from her clit, and while his grip on her hip loosened, he didn’t release her from his hold. Her forehead pressed against his neck, tucked just under his chin as she tried to catch her breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath himself, as he savored the moment of her skin against his, holding her close to his chest.

Eventually, however, she adjusted and pulled away from him –pulling his softened cock from her with a wince. He stayed there, however, looking over at her through half squinted eyes. She didn’t move far –having simply slid onto the couch to lean down and rifle through their clothes on the floor. When she came back up, she leaned back against the armrest of the couch, skin slick with sweat and glowing from their post-sex haze. In her one hand was a cigarette, that she lit with a lazy grin, before holding it out to him.

Javier watched her for a few moments before he took the cigarette and snuffed it out, pulling her back down the couch by her ankles. She yelped in surprise, but it devolved into a laugh as he leaned over her and grabbed her chin, kissing her lazily. Her arms wrapped around his neck, returning the kiss eagerly. When he pulled back, Javier melodramatically collapsed onto her, laying between her legs with his head on her chest. Her hand ran through his sweat-drenched curls.

“This doesn’t mean you get special treatment at work,” she murmured, and Javier could just hear the grin in her voice.

“Give me a few minutes to recover, and I bet I can change your mind,” he challenged, though he closed his eyes as she ran her hand through his hair.

“You can try to change my mind by staying, and taking me out tonight,” she countered, and Javier chuckled into her skin, nodding.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

[1setethisneat1]

Fire Emblem 3 houses really should have just made Seteth the out right fourth lord of the routes. Like it's super annoying looking back at it how he's both important and yet not important to the Silver Snow route, when it's obvious that should be his route. He should also be shown more importance in the other 3 seeing as Azure Moon has us important to the church, Crimson Flower has El's bias(quote on quote for that cause she's blaming a whole race of people who were nearly genocided for the actions that only Rhea took) against the Nabateans, and Verdant Wind because that is literally the only route we get to fight Nemesis.

Hell, another idea would be to make Flayn the 4th official lord. And actually go deep into how a lot of this has affected her. Like we never get to see much of the two, and usually when we do it's is a big lore dump. Not that I don't like it and that they weren't written well, just that they could have been better.

Like have El question her ideals because she gets to know Flayn in Crimson Flower, or have her shit talk her and Seteth as they choose to side with Rhea.

Have Dimitri be able to interact more with Flayn, have her be the one to smack some sense into him because he's being stupid and won't let someone heal his wound after a battle. Have Seteth speak to him and it remind Dimitri of his father and him have either a freak out moment as he pictures Seteth as his dead dad or which I would prefer more, have him break down in front of him. Have him absolutely sobbing as Seteth holds him and comforts him like a father figure that he's desperately been needing.

Have Claude be more combative with Seteth. (He deserves more interactions with Seteth in my opinion) Have them bounce off each other on how very different their ideas are. Have Seteth actually been cornered by Claude into revealing history on himself and let the player choose who they side with more as points for whoever they side with. Heck you can even have this with Flayn but Claude being more sympathetic towards her as Flayn not only has supports with him, but also because Flayn is that freaking Charming!

Have Flayn actually see the damage that Rhea has done and question everything she knows. Give her actual rage moments, let her mature even more to where we could have her more cut throat and mirror El in SS. Or have that she shows resilience by keeping a smile on her face even when she's going through some of the worst stuff mentally. Let her show the leadership that is hinted at with her being Cethleann. Show the side of her that was a Saint that actually experienced War.

Have Seteth show that side of him. Show the actual power of a major crest and why they are sought after instead of the subtle things they do. Have Seteth be able to actually move the earth and summon vines and other things to his defence. Actually show his power of performing miracles just as his description says he can. Like an act of mercy that he can give to El when we fight her. Maybe even something that has why people follow him. Hell, show more of him actually talking to people cause that's what he's good at from seeing his supports.

These two deserve so much better than being left on the sidelines. They are literally some of the only survivors of a race that was nearly wiped out. That deserves more attention than what it gets. It's just so much wasted potential and story that we are never gonna get.

[moonlight-prose]

♱ OVER THE MOON ♱

a/n: i haven't written for this man in awhile and i really really miss it. so don't be surprised if writing this fic inspires more after kinktober is over. also we'll just all pretend that i actually posted this on the eleventh and i'm not a week behind.

day eleven - praise kink + edging | kinktober 2022

summary: he loved you as if you were all the stars and moon in his sky, because to him…you were.

word count: 956

pairing: joaquín torres x f!reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, cussing, fingering, edging, praise, spit kink a bit, fluff.

Music filtered from the living room to the bedroom—a soft crooning voice singing in Spanish about a love they held for someone wholeheartedly. A love that you understood; one you kept close to your heart like a well guarded secret you didn’t wish to reveal. He seemed to do the same. Always whispering to you his praises, his words of devotion that made your pulse quicken and heart beat solely for him.

A ragged breath was all you could hear as his fingers curled right where you needed them to. His lips formed a smile the second he heard you make a sound—having gone quiet after the fourth time he proceeded with his actions. For an hour you’d been spread out on the bed, your body glistening in sweat while he worked his fingers between your thighs. Bringing you right to where you needed him before pulling away.

After the third time you were begging him to let you cum and by the fourth you’d lost all ability to even form words let alone say them.

He kissed a path up your chest, thumb spreading slick along your clit until you were taking in gasps of shuddered breaths. It was a fight to remain sane—each thrust of his fingers nearly shoving you over the edge. Yet it wasn’t enough to give you that final push, not enough for you to finally feel that blissful release you were throbbing for.

“Joaquín—” His fingers curled again, ripping a moan from you. “Shit,” you sighed, your eyes shutting on their own accord as you felt the familiar tightening in your stomach.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, taking in the sight of you wanton with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for me baby,” he said, each word causing his lips to brush against yours. “So fucking pretty taking my fingers like this.”

You whined, chasing his kiss, the thrusts of fingers, anything you could get to bring you that maddening euphoria you were longing for. It was as if heaven and hell were waging war within your body. One fighting for the damning pleasure that spread through every inch of your being and the other attempting to rein in control just to hear more of his praise.

“I–I can’t—”

Sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, he bit down on it gently—the tangy taste of you on his mouth from earlier now spreading along your own lips. It made your mind reel, your vision blurry with every swipe of his thumb along your clit and fingers plunging into your dripping cunt. Spit trailed down your chin as he pulled away, your lip falling from his mouth with a pop and leaving it swollen. Just the sight of his brown eyes growing even darker at the sight of you completely at his mercy made your walls clench, a pathetic moan being swallowed by his lips.

“I know you can do it querida,” he mumbled, licking up the trail of spit. “You’re so good. One more and I’ll let you cum. Can you do that for me baby?”

You preened underneath his praise, moaning into his mouth as he sped up. Shocks spread up your spine with each stroke of his fingers, the building of pressure in your stomach almost painful. But you fought against the urge to finally give in. Digging your nails into his back, you held onto the last bit of control you had, clutching it so tight you were afraid it would snap in two.

“Yes,” you managed to get out, your thighs shaking from the oversensitivity of holding out for so long. “Yes I’ll—fuck!”

A smile flashed across his face, his thumb pressing down even more on your clit and sending your head back into the pillow. You wondered if your heart actually stopped, if you were even still breathing from how tight each muscle was.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, caressing your cheek as you gasped for air. “My pretty girl. All mine.”

You nodded frantically, head spinning from the pleasure burning its way through your body. “Yours.”

“Alright baby.” Pressing a kiss to your chest, he felt the last strands of your control snap. “Cum for me.”

Crying out his name so loud it bounced off the walls, your back bowed off the bed—head digging into his pillow. He was everywhere. His warmth covering your body, scent filling your senses and words echoing in your mind. You wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was the gravity holding you down to earth and the weightlessness that carried you into the sky. Your own version of equilibrium.

He kissed along your neck, scraping his teeth against the skin as your walls contracted around his fingers that still pumped steadily into you. Words of how pretty you looked while you came, how he couldn’t wait to taste you again, were pressed into each kiss, each brush of his lips against yours. It all blended together until all that you could process, all that you felt was him.

Whimpering, you finally came back down to earth, blindly grasping for his hand to cease his movements altogether. He did so within seconds, knowing the ins and outs of your body better than you did.

“I got you,” he breathed, forehead leaning against yours. “I’ve always got you.”

It was more true than anything you’d heard in your life. More real than the fucking universe. You sunk into it like a pool of water—drowned yourself in him just as he did with you. He loved you as if you were all the stars and moon in his sky, because to him…you were.