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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about.

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors.

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear.

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet.

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke.

"Well okay, Grogu it is."

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric.

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler.

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando.

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself.

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

taglist: @honestly-shite

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #college!din #college!mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #mandocrasis fic #sessions

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kuroo-shitsurou · 3 years

Text

Communicate (Haiba Lev x kuudere!Reader)

note: first entry for haikyuu! i'm open for requests, just hmu! i apologize for any mistakes. some of my stories were intentionally made to be f!reader, but i figured gn!reader would be more appropriate. so i apologize if you see any she/her/names that are in the text. ^^

(i'm adding w/c now as well!)

word count: 3.8k

"He's not coming back tonight, no?"

For a few moments, there was silence. A gust of wind blew past the apartment complex, rustling the leaves of the trees planted down below. You sat on the chair set up on your balcony. Looking over the metal railings, you admired how the yellow and red taillights of cars stuck in traffic bobbed up and down the street. Somehow, they looked like Christmas lights tossed in a messy line; Like they were discarded the morning right after Christmas because the tree had to be taken down again.

You hugged the jacket closer to your arms, hoping to gain more warmth. Inhaling the fresh scent of laundry detergent, you smiled. Eyes crestfallen and tears just barely swimming in your ducts. The cold breeze of December brushed past your hair, tickling the back of your neck. It's the first Christmas I'm spending without you.

Your cat, Maika, jumped on your lap. She purred and mewled, rubbing her head against your warm hand. You managed to choke out a small chuckle, petting the white fur of the cat. You let your eyes wander to the glass doors connecting the living room and balcony. Your couch was there, a duvet carelessly thrown on top of it. You shouldn't help but let a few drops of salty tears fall down your cheeks.

You weren't really the type of person to cry over silly things. In fact, you rarely cried at all. As far as you remember, the last time you cried over something petty was back in second grade. You were teased for cutting your own hair; Your bangs looked choppy, and one classmate even mentioned how you managed to cut a giant chunk out from the back of your head. Admittedly, you were pretty stupid for messing around with the scissors you found on the table, but you didn't really know any better. Anyway, who knew that hair took so long to grow back?

Other than that, you don't recall crying anymore. Throughout your middle and high school years, tears weren't really present to disrupt your life. Not even when Kuroo accidentally spiked a ball into the back of your head, and not even when Yaku accidentally kicked your shin because you were standing too close to his original target, Lev.

Lev.

Although you didn't find any reason for letting yourself cry during those years, you couldn't help but tear up when you remembered Lev. You were incredibly proud of yourself for counting up to five days without crying every since Lev left your shared apartment. However, today was Christmas eve. There were approximately three hours before Christmas, and here you were, spending it with Maika, on the balcony, crying your eyes out.

To be completely honest, you knew that it was your fault that Lev left. You were a rather independent person. You had a bold personality; Never afraid of being blunt to people, never afraid of telling others if they needed to be scolded. However, you were an absolute novice when it came to showing affection to Lev.

It was a surprise, to say the least, to the entire volleyball team that the cold-hearted manager, _____-san, was dating the eccentric and hyperactive first year, Haiba Lev. Yaku, Kuroo, and Kai were in shock upon hearing the news from Lev. At first, they thought he was just kidding, but when they heard it from you, their minds were beyond boggled.

"Eh?!"

"Seriously?"

"Kuroo-san, why do you look so surprised? You too, Yaku-san. And Kai-senpai, I didn't think you'd be interested in my love life as well." You calmly said, clipboard firm against your chest, as your eyes scanned the volleyball posters displayed in the volleyball club room.

"W-Well, I didn't think it was actually true because Lev was the one saying it. I thought he was just bullshitting us." Yaku admitted, scratching the back of his head before sending you a sheepish smile.

"You're growing up too fast, _____-san!" Kuroo quipped, wrapping his arms around you like a doting aunt, "You have a boyfriend now, I'm getting old!"

"Kuroo-san, please stop patronizing me. I have feelings too. Why does this come as a surprise to you all? Inuoka-kun and Futakuchi-kun also asked me if Haiba-kun and I were actually dating. It's not like I'm a robot or anything, I can... contract love too." Your disheveled form pried Kuroo's arms away from you, and you dusted your shoulders off as if Kuroo left dirt atop of them.

"You don't contract love, _____. It's not a disease." Yaku laughed at your poor choice of words.

"You, see _____-san, we just didn't think that you were interested in romance for the time being, and for you to be dating someone like Lev, it's surprising. In a good way, though, don't get me wrong. Lev's a good kid." Kai was the calmest of the bunch, but he was simply masking his happiness. He was the one who invited you to be their manager, after all. He saw how you grew out of your shell gradually. It's nice to see you enjoying the years of your youth, as Kuroo would put it.

"Ah, I see. To be honest, I didn't think I would also participate in a romantic relationship with anyone this early on. However, Haiba-kun successfully caught my attention. I think it would be a fun experience. Whatever happens, I get to grasp a further understanding of our Russian first year, and I also gain knowledge on the department of... love." You mentioned nonchalantly.

Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai all exchanged knowing looks; Something that screamed: "Are you sure you're not a robot?"

"_____-chan!" Lev's excited voice was heard from outside of the gym. The first years finally arrived, signifying that practice would begin soon.

"Pardon me. Thank you for your time." You bowed politely to the three seniors and walked over to where the first years were leaving their things.

"_____-chan I missed you a lot today! I only got to see you in free period earlier, and that was barely 10 minutes, but you're here now!" Lev was like a puppy. He was bouncing around, showering you with genuine compliments and adorations, his smile reaching the heavens above. Perhaps, if you pat his head, an invisible tail would wag? You considered the idea.

You managed to hold back a smile of your own, only replying with, "Get prepared for practice, Haiba-kun."

"_____-chan, you can call me Lev, you know? Since we are dating and all." The Russian said softly, wanting to get his point across, but not wanting to scare you.

"Maybe next time, Haiba-kun."

When you slipped inside your living room, you couldn't help but let out a few more sobs. There was a Christmas tree left half decorated just beside your television. Cans of tea and red bull were laying just on the feet of the couch. Half-empty and empty packets of chips were on the coffee table. God, you left the living room in such a messy state.

You pulled Lev's enormous (Well, it was enormous on you. But on Lev, it was the perfect size) jacket closer to your body, wishing you could smell his scent instead of the laundry detergent.

Maika wandered into the living room and onto her cat bed, stretching her paws and making herself comfortable before she went to take a nap.

You couldn't help but acknowledge the absolute dumpster fire when you saw yourself in the full body mirror near the entrance of your hallway. You were wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas, an oversized shirt covered in stains and crumbs, and Lev's Nekoma jacket. Your hair was messy and ruffled, and you looked... pale. Eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, but your lips were white. You had never looked so awful before.

"_____-chan, you look amazing as always!" Lev came bounding to you.

"Congratulations on graduating! I'm so proud of you!" He took you in a tight embrace, lifting you up and spinning you around.

"H-Haiba-kun, please put me down!" You squealed, wriggling around in Lev's grip, trying to get away. For a split second, you could've sworn that Lev's face darkened, but you decided to brush it off.

Once your feet touched the ground, you managed to say a short and quiet "Thank you."

"Ah, this is really happening, isn't it?" Lev shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the cherry blossom trees in full bloom.

"Y-Yeah. It will even eventually happen to you too, Haiba-kun. It's the way that life progresses," You knew that you were pathetic at mustering a good enough reply, so you chose to fumble with the hem of your collar.

"Hey, _____-chan, do you love me?" Lev asked, suddenly serious. His gaze was still fixated on the trees above, their branches freely swaying in the wind, a few cherry blossoms fluttering down as the breeze carried them away.

A blush creeped up on your cheeks. Of course you loved him! More than... anything, if you were being honest. More than volleyball, more than red bull, more than anime, but why couldn't you say it?

"Speak up, damn it!" You thought to yourself.

After a few minutes passed, you were still tongue-tied. You hated yourself for not being able to express your feelings. There were already tears in your eyes, but you didn't want to cry in front of Lev; You vowed that you never would.

Lev looked down to see his senior in a low mood. "Don't worry, _____-chan! It's okay if you can't say it yet, I understand." Lev caught a single cherry blossom as it was falling down and tucked it behind your ear, " I'll wait for the day that you can say it back, so for now, I'll say it for the both of us, okay?"

You were embarrassed. You were such an asshole for doing this to Lev. To make up for your lacking skills in communication, you tapped his hand. Curiously, he opened his palm, and you placed a small object on top of it.

Lev's smile contained nothing but pure, concentrated glee.

"Thank you for the button, _____-chan, I will always cherish this. Happy anniversary. I love you so much!"

You found yourself standing at the doorway of your shared bedroom. You longingly stared at the queen-sized bed. The sheets were crisp and the pillows were fluffed. You haven't been sleeping in that bed since Lev left the apartment. It just didn't feel right. There was something about a heavier loneliness whenever you tried to sleep alone in that bed when you were so damn used to having Lev sleep beside you. That's why you've been sleeping on the couch ever since; It's uncomfortable as all hell, yeah, but at least you don't feel a large empty space beside you when you sleep. Maybe a few crumbs here and there, but that was bearable.

You pattered your way back into the living room, where your laptop lay buried under the empty chip packets. You grabbed it from underneath the rubbish and brushed off other residue before plopping down on the couch. You slipped your arms into the sleeves of Lev's jacket and opened up your laptop. You've been neglecting your uni works for the past days because your sadness just didn't allow you to function properly.

Upon entering your passcode, the black background of the loading screen faded into a photo of you and Lev. He was wearing a minnie mouse headband, and you wore the matching mickey mouse one. You were standing in front of sleeping beauty's castle at Tokyo disneyland. You were wearing Lev's gray hoodie, which made it look like you were wearing a really short dress because of how long it was. You were both smiling like idiots, and you recalled that that trip was one of the best of your life. You never usually smiled like that, but because Lev carried you bridal style and kept touching your sides, you couldn't help but squirm and smile in the photo.

Once again, tears were brimming in the corners of your eyes. The stinging pain of heartbreak and regret stabbing you over and over again.

"It's Christmas in five days, _____." Lev popped up from behind you while you were decorating the tree.

"Jeez! Don't scare me like that, I nearly dropped the lights." You replied, calming your racing heart. Was it because of how he scared you, or because of how close he was? Honestly. you couldn't tell.

Lev could only chuckle at this, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He gave you a kiss on the cheek. "You know, my first year at uni has been great so far. Thanks to you and a few of my friends."

"That's great then." You said, tone of voice returning to a monotone one.

"I love you, _____."

You couldn't even recall all the times that you froze up whenever Lev admitted his feelings for you, but add one to whatever number it's at right now.

You could only swallow your saliva and grip the lights tighter. Say it, ______, say it! You kept yelling in your head. Why can't you fucking say it?!

"I knew it." A low laugh was heard from Lev's mouth. His fists were turning white because of how hard he balled them up. His nails were digging into his palm. "Sometimes, I wonder if you even actually love me. But I guess you never did."

You turned your head abruptly. "Haiba, that's-"

Lev let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. "We've been dating for over three years now and you still call me by my last name. Are you that uncomfortable with me, _____-san?"

You cringed at how he emphasized the honorific following your name, probably trying to prove a point.

"You know that's not true."

"Of course it is!" He snapped. " For god's sake, _____, three years! Three years, and not once have you told me that you love me!"

You were on the brink of crying. No. No, not in front of him. You weren't weak, you weren't going to cry.

"In all those years that we've been together, I have never seen you cry. Not even when we're upset with one another. Are you... that cold-hearted that you don't care or you don't even feel anything? Not even for your own boyfriend?"

Silence.

The words he spat were like venom.

You couldn't speak. Your mouth felt dry and your throat felt like it closed in an instant, like some sort of invisible throat cover just squeezed itself right there, preventing you from speaking.

"I see how it is."

With that, Lev spun on his heel and went to their room. He grabbed a backpack and stuffed it with a couple of shirts, his wallet, his phone, charger, and other necessities. He slipped on the thickest jacket he owned and went straight to the front door.

"Le-"

"Goodbye."

He slammed the door shut.

That was probably the first time that you broke down in years. Who knew that it would be a guy behind your facade fading?

Who knew that Haiba Lev would be the one to make you realize that being strong-willed didn't mean being cold-hearted and nonchalant?

"Stupid Lev." You muttered to yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. Admittedly, his name seemed to roll off your tongue nicely.

You desperately tried to wipe your tears away, but they just kept coming.

"Why do I love you so much?"

"Lev, are you sure you're okay with what you're doing?" Yaku asked the taller male, taking a sip from his beer mug.

"Yaku-san, we've been together for a little over three years. They've never told me that they loves me. Never even cried. I think they're just that stone-hearted," Lev replied, taking a shot of vodka. "Either that or they're a fucking robot."

He fiddled with the necklace around his neck, contemplating whether he was going to pull it off and stomp on it until it broke. The charm attached to his necklace was the button that _____ gave him on back during her graduation day.

"Lev, you better listen to me, and you better listen real fucking good." Yaku's tone of voice was sharp, and it was something that Lev hasn't heard since his years at Nekoma. "You do know that _____ can't express their emotions well, right? They're blunt with everybody, and they're honest. But when it comes to love or romance or feelings that make them happy, you know that they can't show it as easily as you do."

"Yeah, I know." Lev answered quietly.

"But you do know that they love you, right?"

"I don't."

"You're telling me that you've never even felt that they love you?"

Suddenly, Lev's eyes shot open.

"Christ, you're going to catch a cold! Why the hell did you run out in this rain?!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just had to rush here to see you! I missed you soooo much!"

"Get inside and hop in the shower. I'll prepare some warm food for you while you're in there. There's a spare towel in the cupboard above the sink."

"Thank you, _____-chan!"

"Stupid beanpole. I told you to change clothes after practice yesterday, didn't I?"

"Sorry, _____-chan. I totally forgot." He coughed.

"Here, drink this medicine. I'll reheat your porridge and grab you a cold towel for your head. I'll also bring in the assignments that Inuoka gave me."

"You'd be a good wife, _____-chan. My wife, that is." Another cough.

"Shut up and rest before I hit you with this notebook."

"Yes, yes, darling."

"Where were you?! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"S-Sorry, _____-chan. I saw this cat stuck in a tree and I just had to rescue it!"

"Don't go running off like that! Do you know how worried the team was? How worried I was?! I thought you were gone! Look at how many scratches you have on your arm. You need to go to the infirmary, now."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Just... Don't do it again, please. Always be in my line of sight."

"Yes, _____-sama!"

"Haiba, here's your water bottle."

"Haiba, the forecast said that there might be a downpour in the afternoon. Don't forget to bring an umbrella."

"Haiba, you left your books at the gym. Here. Jeez, don't be so forgetful next time."

"Haiba, here, I bought your favorite meal. Furihata said that you forgot your lunch at home. You can't go hungry."

"Haiba, you're doing well. Your progress report shows continuous growth. I'm proud of you."

"I'm a fucking idiot." Lev said. His emerald green eyes were filled with tears. "Excuse me, I have to go."

With that, he dashed out of the bar, leaving a confused Yaku with a drunk Kuroo passed out behind him.

The former libero could only sight and take a giant gulp of beer.

"Damn right you are."

You were full on crying right now. Approximately 10 minutes before Christmas, and here you were, crying on the couch. Maika had given up on comforting you, but remained by your side as you bawled you eyes out, offering some sort of moral support or assurance that someone was there for you.

However, a few moments passed, and Maika's ears perked up. She jumped down from the couch and made her way to the front door of the apartment. She lightly scratched the door.

"M-Maika, I'm sorry. I know I'm being too loud, I'll pipe down soon." The girl blubbered, blowing into a tissue.

As if on cue, there were multiple knocks on the door.

Fuck's sake.

You didn't even care that you'd be facing whoever is on the other side of the door while looking like this. Your eyes were puffier, the bags under them more prominent. Your nose was a rosy red color, cheeks flushed and tear stains were obvious on them.

"Who the fuck-?"

As soon as you opened the door, a sudden warmth engulfed your body. The familiar fragrance you loved so much flooded your blocked nostrils.

"Le-"

"I'm sorry."

There was silence.

"I'm so sorry for everything that I said, _____. I take all of it back. I know that you love me. Your love language isn't vocal and I should have been more accepting and understanding of that. I may not know your reasons for being the way you are, but I promise you that I accept you wholly. I'm so, so fucking sorry that I left so suddenly. I love you so much. I'm never leaving you again."

Sobs racked through your body. Your form was shaking in Lev's arms. He was surprised. It's the first time he's seen you cry, and it breaks his heart knowing that he's the reason behind it.

"I'm sorry, kitten. Please don't cry anymore."

"Lev," You started, attempting to calm down, and Lev swore his heart stopped beating for a second, "I love you."

For a moment, everything stopped. They could hear the neighbors yelling "Merry Christmas!" in their own units.

"P-Pardon?"

You giggled. "I love you, Lev. I'm really sorry that it took me this long to tell you. I guess I was just scared of telling you how I really felt because... I didn't want you to think that I was cheesy or..."

Lev cut you off with a kiss. It was short and sweet. He could taste red bull and barbecue chips on your lips, and you could taste vodka on his. It was imperfect, but it was yours, and you loved it.

"I love you so much, _____. This is the best Christmas gift I've ever received."

"I love you too, Lev."

"Come on, let's get inside. I bought some takeout for us to eat." He easily lifted you up with one arm and grabbed the plastic bag of takeout with his free hand.

"Yeah, about that," You buried your face in his neck, "I'm sorry."

"We'll... Clean up tomorrow." He chuckled, looking at the messy state your living room was in. "We'll eat in our room, okay? Why don't you get cleaned up first, and I'll prepare the things we need." He placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Alright, Lev." You replied, "Sorry for causing a lot of trouble."

"Don't be sorry, malishka. We're fine now, okay? We have each other and we understand each other better now." He set you in front of the bathroom. "Now, go ahead and shower! I'll get a fresh set of clothes for you and leave them out here."

"Thank you, Lyovochka." You grinned, using Alisa's nickname for him.

"Anytime, babe." Lev turned around to go to the bedroom until,

"Hey, Lev?" You showed your head out of the bathroom door.

"Yes, _____?"

"I love you!"

The, the door was slammed shut.

"_____, you're too cute!" Lev had to use every strand of will power he had to not faint on the spot.

Who knew that his kuudere partner was such a huge softie?

Maola mewled and rubbed her head against Lev's leg.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Maika."

#lev haiba #haiba lev #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #lev haiba x reader #haiba lev x reader #lev x reader #kuudere

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 3,775

Chapter Content Warnings: swearing, references to scars, implied s.uicidal ideation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur makes it to Technoblade, and a conversation is had.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Two: shiver to that broken beat

He underestimated how cold he would get. By the time he finally finds Techno’s cabin, Ghostbur’s memories guiding him over the hills, he’s fairly certain that his fingers and toes are halfway to frostbite, and he’s shivering uncontrollably. If Techno ends up wanting to kill him, he won’t have to do much. Not letting him inside would be enough.

He isn’t sure if he’d respawn. Isn’t sure if he’s got another three lives, or if it’s just the one. Whether it’s three lives to live, three lives to lose, three lives to waste, three lives that he shouldn’t have in the first place, three lives to spare. Two lives to throw away, if need be. Or if it’s just the one.

(the one that he never wanted at all)

(an image flashes: Tommy staring into lava. Ghostbur found him like that, once, and thinking about it now makes his heart stutter in his chest)

He mounts the steps to Techno’s cabin, sparing a glace for—are those polar bears? Does Techno have polar bears tied up outside? He shakes his head, because yes, of course he does, it’s Techno, and then he is standing in front of the door, and he’s suddenly feeling a lot more trepidation about this whole thing. It’s irrational, really, but he can’t shake it, can’t shake the fear that this is going to go terribly, and this whole journey was a mistake.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his breath puffing in front of his face. “Fuck everything.” The swearing doesn’t make him feel much better, but watching his breath fog up does remind him that he is very cold, and that he needs to be inside now. Even if this ends in him respawning, it’ll be somewhere warmer than this, hopefully.

He knocks. Four times, loudly. There is no response, so he does it again. There is still no answer, and he can’t resist the dark glare that he casts at the door. If he’s come all this way only for Techno to not be home, he’s going to be very put out. He’s also definitely not above breaking into his house, if need be.

He knocks one last time for good measure, already mapping his way in. There’s a window he can break—

“Hold your damn horses, I’m coming!”

It’s unmistakably Techno’s voice, and every muscle in Wilbur’s body tenses up, ready to fight, ready to flee, ready to do whatever the moment asks of him. For a brief, hysterical moment, he entertains the idea of abandoning this whole thing, of ducking out of sight and letting Techno think that it was someone playing a prank. This is the last moment to back out.

He doesn’t, in spite of his better judgment,

(or perhaps because of it, he doesn’t know, doesn’t even know if he has ‘better’ judgment at all, these days)

and he jams his hands in his pockets and tries for all the world to adopt a casual pose before the door is swinging open, and Techno is there.

(his brother is there)

“Alright, who—” Techno starts, and stops just as quickly, staring at him with wide eyes.

Techno looks… good. He looks good. Dressed in warm layers, that damn red cape he’s so fond of flowing out behind him, his stupid crown on his head. His hair is braided neatly, his tusks sharpened to gleaming points, and if, perhaps, the bags under his eyes are a bit darker than they should be, Wilbur won’t point it out. What’s a little lost sleep, in the grand scheme of things? Technoblade seems like he’s thriving up here, the Antarctic Empire all over again, and Wilbur feels a sharp flare of

(jealousy)

(relief)

emotion. He tries not to let it show on his face.

“Hello, Technoblade,” he says. “Can I come in?”

For a long minute, Techno says nothing at all. Just stares, motionless, unblinking. Wilbur can’t remember the last time he saw his brother look so shocked.

(yes you can, you liar, you dirty liar, it was the first time he heard you yell at Tommy, really rip into him, and the shock was only there for a second, he hid it well, but you saw it, you know you did, you just pretended not to, pretended that this was all normal and what you were doing was justified)

“I hate to press you, but it’s fucking freezing,” he adds.

“Shit,” Techno says. “Shit, how are you—Phil said that it didn’t—Wilbur.” He bursts into motion, then, and Wilbur barely tamps down the instinct to punch him, to claw at him and fight and get away as he suddenly steps forward, gripping him by the forearms, crushingly enough to hurt, to leave bruises later. Wilbur furrows his brow at this reaction, but doesn’t have too much time to think about it, because Techno is right there now, right in his face, and that’s too close. Too close. Too much. Techno’s hands almost seem to be burning through the sleeves of his coat, and his skin tingles, as if there are sparks rushing across it.

“It is you, right?” Techno says. “Not—no, Ghostbur wouldn’t, and—wow, I’m gonna need all of you to be quiet. Wait, so where’s Ghostbur, then?”

The bitterness that washes over him is surprising. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. Because it isn’t surprising that Techno asked as much, and something in him, a snarling, angry thing, whispers, of course, of course he would rather have Ghostbur than you, of course he’d rather the pathetic amnesiac remnant, the fragment of a soul that couldn’t handle a single negative emotion, much less act on one, of fucking course that’s the version of you that he likes most, what else did you expect?

(of course he prefers the you that isn’t insane, that doesn’t lash out at anything and everything, even your own family)

“Gone,” he says, short and clipped. “Or so I assume. Sorry to disappoint.”

Techno has the nerve to look confused, his ears twitching. “What? No, that’s not what I—” He stops, then, looking him up and down, his brow furrowing, and Wilbur is about two seconds from breaking out of his hold in the most violent manner possible, because it’s too restraining and too much. “Wow. Okay. You are not dressed to be out here. C’mon.”

“Do you really think I don’t know that?” he gripes, but he doesn’t resist as Techno tugs him indoors, biting back a gasp as the warm air surrounds him. He spares a cursory glace for the inside of Techno’s house, but he knows the layout—Ghostbur was here often enough. “Why do you think I wanted to come inside in the first place?”

He’s expecting a snarky comment back. It’s an old song, an old dance that they do, built on sarcasm and quips and hiding all the feelings underneath. But Techno just looks at him again, looks at him like he’s a puzzle, like he’s something to be figured out, like he’s something unexpected, and Wilbur hates it. Hates being under a microscope, scrutinized, and Techno is only one person, but he feels for all the world as though there are people all around him, looking at him, whispering, like he’s on display, stuck in a glass cage for everyone to point at—

“I, uh,” Techno says, “really, that thing about Ghostbur? I was just wonderin’. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, Wilbur, honestly. I just… wasn’t expecting it. Phil said that the whole resurrection thing, uh... didn’t pan out.”

… Right. That’s a thing that happened. Ghostbur and his stupid determination, his stupid insistence that the server needed him back, needed him alive, and Wilbur wishes he could take Ghostbur by the collar of his sweater and shout at him until he got it through his head that Wilbur alive is the absolute last thing anyone needs.

“Yeah, that’s not why I’m here,” he says, and—Techno is still holding him, and it’s weird, and he doesn’t like it. His stomach is doing flips. It’s too much, and it’s especially too much coming from Technoblade of all people, because sustained contact has never been how Techno shows affection, or much of anything else, for that matter, and the fact that he’s doing it now is throwing Wilbur off balance.

So he steps away, further into the house, and it seems that this is finally enough for Techno to get the hint. His hands slip from his arms, and Wilbur pretends that he doesn’t feel very cold all of a sudden, a cold that’s different from the snow and ice of outside, a cold that starts inside and works its way out, and—

“Then why are you here?” Techno asks, and a smile pulls at Wilbur’s lips, twisted and not at all happy.

“Ask Tommy,” he replies. “Or better yet, ask Dream.”

“Dream’s in prison,” Techno shoots back. “You’re telling me he did something from a jail cell?”

“What, Tommy didn’t tell you? It’s the whole reason they kept him alive. To bring me back. Not that anyone bothered to consult me about it, but there you go.”

It’s interesting, watching Techno’s face. He has never been outwardly expressive, has always presented a mask of stoicism to the world, but Wilbur knows him, knows what to look for, knows that the slight tightening around his eyes conveys anger, that the flick of his ears indicates discomfort, and a lot of it. What could be causing that, he wonders, feeling a grim sort of amusement. Is it the fact that Dream is alive? Or the fact that he is?

(which would he like it to be? he doesn’t know. part of him wants Technoblade to be put off by him, he thinks. it proves that things are different. that things have changed from their shared childhood. that his experiences meant something, that they mattered, that they are remembered, that he has a reason to be the way that he is)

“Tommy hasn’t been telling me much of anything, lately,” Techno says, and Wilbur only just manages to pick up on the fact that his voice is too even, too monotone, even for him. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.” He pauses, maybe waiting for Wilbur to say something, maybe not, but after a moment, he says, “You want a drink or somethin’?”

“That would be nice,” he admits. His shivering has begin to abate, but his clothes are still very damp, and they’re not doing anything to warm him up. He should probably ask for a change, but something in him balks at the idea. He doesn’t want to ask Technoblade for favors. Doesn’t want to owe him anything. He’ll take what’s offered, but that’s all.

“Cool,” Techno says. “I’ll get on that.”

They stare at each other. Nobody moves.

“Right,” Techno says. “I’m just gonna… walk past you here.”

Wilbur steps to the side, letting Techno pass him. He’s close enough to touch, close enough to brush up against him if he were just a few inches to the left,

(and something in him is screaming for it, is longing for a gentle touch, for a touch that doesn’t mean pain and doesn’t mean war and isn’t weighted with a thousand betrayals, but he doesn’t know that he can find that here, so much blood is on the floor between them)

but he doesn’t, and Techno disappears from sight. A moment later, there is a clatter, and the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Wilbur stands there for a moment longer, and then takes it as his cue to make himself comfortable.

Not too comfortable, of course. But he sits on Techno’s couch and peels off his coat, and he immediately feels warmer as the air hits his bare arms. He stares at them for a moment, pale and unmarked, and it feels wrong, that they shouldn’t be scarred. He can’t remember if he ever took wounds there, but he’s sure he did at some point, somewhere between the declaration of war and the battles and the explosions and the exile,

(because respawn brings people back, but it doesn’t erase what happened, not completely, and it’s always a tossup as to what will remain, what will linger on as a reminder)

and frankly, he feels like the ripped and torn state of his soul should show externally somewhere.

He breathes out, long and slow, and listens to Techno banging around his kitchen. He braces his forearms against his legs, clasping his hands together and lowering his head.

It might have been a mistake, coming here. He’s not sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t quite this, wasn’t quite a once-brother who seems to have no idea what to do with him, wasn’t quite conversation that is awkward and stilted and strange because neither of them knows the other anymore, haven’t since the festival, or perhaps since they reunited in Pogtopia, or perhaps since he and Tommy left home, or perhaps since Techno did, or perhaps they never knew each other at all, not really, and they were only playing house all that time.

(that can’t be true, he knows, because he remembers the days when Techno taught him how to fight and he taught him basic guitar chords, remembers the days when he bandaged Tommy’s scrapes and bruises and knew in turn that his little brother would do anything to defend him, remembers the days when the warmth and comfort of Phil’s wings were only a step and a heartbeat away, and they were happy, they were, they were)

Absently, he brings one hand up to touch his chest. He thinks he’s searching for his heartbeat, searching for a bit of reassurance, a bit of stability, but that’s not what he gets. He can feel it even through his shirt, a knot of gnarled scar tissue, thick and raised against the rest of his skin. He slips his hand under his shirt to better prod at it, to map out its edges, and it should hurt, probably, but it doesn’t. There’s not much sensation there at all, a numbness that speaks to nerve endings that didn’t quite heal right.

He knows what it is. He’s not surprised that he brought it back with him.

“Um,” Techno says, and he looks up. Techno is back, is standing in front of him with two steaming mugs, is openly fidgeting, obviously unnerved, and Wilbur might congratulate himself on it if the circumstances were any different. As it is, he takes his hand out from under his shirt and gives Techno a flat stare.

After a moment, Techno huffs and settles on the opposite end of the couch, offering him a mug. Wilbur accepts it, sniffs it, and the scent is familiar, but he can’t place it. He takes a small, cautious sip and almost spits it back out, and not because it scalds his tongue, though it does. He knows what it is as soon as the flavor hits his taste buds, and for a split second, he is overwhelmed by

(tea in his hands and more on the kettle, his father’s voice, low and soothing, and so much nostalgia that he chokes on it)

memories. It’s been so long since he had this. So very, very long.

“Phil left some behind last time he was here,” Techno says. Wilbur looks at him; he’s regarding him carefully, as if he thinks he’s going to—to do what? What does Techno think he’s going to do? Yell? Attack? Bolt? All of those have their attractions, but he sits there instead, his mouth burning with the remnants of the heat.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he opens his mouth.

“I haven’t had this blend since before Tommy and I left home,” he says, the words spilling out without his permission. “It was… the day before, I think? Sometime that week, at least. Phil and I sat in the kitchen and drank tea together, and he told me—” He cuts himself off; that’s too personal. It hurts too much to think about, now.

(he looked into his eyes and said, I’m proud of you, Wilbur, and he tries not to think about it too much, because thinking about it too much means interposing that Phil’s face, calm and smiling and happy, over the face of the Phil that he saw next, tears streaking down his cheeks and his expression twisted in desperation and grief as Wilbur begged him to—stop don’t go there not right now)

“He’s got his own base now,” Techno says, “but he’s not too far away. He said he might stop by tonight. You wanna stick around for that?”

Wilbur goes cold.

He hadn’t really considered it, in all honesty, hadn’t given due thought to seeing Phil, even though he knew very well that he would at least be in the area. Faced with the possibility, he’s not sure what to do with it.

It’s not what he’s here for. That much is certain. He should try to keep from being distracted, probably. He needs to remember that he’s not here with Techno out of familial obligation, but rather out of a desire to find information, to better know what he is about to be walking into.

“Maybe,” he says. “We’ll see.” He takes another sip of his tea. Swallows. Gathers up all of his emotions, and locks them away in a box.

He’s never been too good at compartmentalizing. But he can do it. It’s necessary,

(when you’re not even twenty-five years old and leading your little brother into a war)

sometimes.

“I was hoping you could tell me what’s been going on lately,” he says. “I want to go see Tommy, but I don’t want to walk in without knowing anything.”

Techno snorts.

“I figured it’d be something like that,” he says frankly, and Wilbur’s not quite sure how to take that. “I don’t know why you think I know anything. I don’t exactly have many friends over there right now.”

“Anything is better than nothing,” he responds, quiet and serious, meeting Techno’s eyes. He doesn’t quite know what expression he’s making, but it must be enough to persuade Technoblade, because Techno lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes.

And he talks.

He’s not lying; he doesn’t know much about the state of the server as it is now. But he knows some things, and Wilbur is interested in hearing them. Is interested in hearing about what Techno knows about the final battle against Dream. Is interested in what happened before, and what has happened since—there doesn’t seem to be a lot in the second category, thankfully, so perhaps Tommy has been able to enjoy some peace for once. Wilbur’s about to waltz in and destroy it, of course, but at least he had it for a time.

The exhaustion hits when Techno begins to talk about some kind of egg. Egg government. Egg cult? Techno doesn’t seem to know which it is, and Wilbur can’t make heads or tails of it, and it is then that he realizes that his eyelids are drooping. Which is not good; he didn’t intend to fall asleep here, and frankly, he’s not convinced that it would be safe to do so.

(lie)

But his body refuses to listen to his rational mind, and his thoughts are growing fuzzier by the minute, Techno’s voice falling further and further away. Still talking about the egg. It must be an important egg.

And then, the voice stops. Blearily, Wilbur lifts his head. He hadn’t realized that he’d begun to nod off. Techno is looking at him, something that can’t be softness in his eyes, something that can’t be fondness, because that affection was spent a long time ago, somewhere between Pogtopia and what came afterward.

“You still with me?” Techno asks.

He frowns. “Of course,” he tries to say, but the words come out slurred, just enough that he has no hope of hiding it or excusing it. Sure enough, Techno just laughs. At him. Which is rude and annoying.

“Sure,” he agrees, his voice making it clear that he is not actually agreeing at all. Before Wilbur can protest, he reaches over and plucks the mug from his hands. “I’ve got some guest rooms. Do you want me to set you up?”

“‘M not staying,” he says. Because he’s not. He’s made that determination just now. He’s gotten the information he needs out of Technoblade, and it’s time to move on. He doesn’t want to stay here,

(in a comfortable bed, safe under his brother’s watch, safe for the first time in forever, safe, safe, safe)

that’s for sure.

“Okay,” Techno says, and Wilbur is finding it increasingly difficult to think—and this exhaustion has hit fast, and that better be all that it is, because he doesn’t have the time to be sick—but he is still well aware that he is being mocked. “I’m gonna get you a bed ready, how’s that?”

“No, fuck you,” he mutters, but Techno is already gone, walking upstairs, chuckling to himself. Wilbur glares after him, trying to set him on fire with the force of his gaze, but it doesn’t work, and he is left alone in the room, on the couch, and it seems that he’s not going anywhere tonight. Not unless he takes this opportunity to leave, to venture back out into the cold with nothing but a trenchcoat that hasn’t even finished drying from his first expedition, and—

And this couch is comfortable, actually. Perhaps he can give himself permission to relax. Just this once.

He lies down. Curls up. It’s warm like this. Nice. His mind starts to drift.

He is vaguely aware of Techno’s return, sort-of cognizant of the way he stands over him for a few minutes before muttering to himself, too quiet for Wilbur to bother to parse the words out. Then, there is something covering him, soft and warm, and he must be tired to the point of hallucinations if he truly believes that Techno has just—what, tucked him in? That’s ridiculous. But it’s a problem for the morning.

There is a flash of blue in the corner of his eye. But he’s too out of it to pay it any mind.

Wilbur lets himself sleep.

He wakes up once, to the sound of a door opening, to the sound of voices, two of them, quiet and familiar. He doesn’t know what they’re saying. He doesn’t care. He’s safe here. That’s what matters.

---------

As a note, I’m new to writing for this fandom, so while I don’t have a taglist for it yet, I’m happy to make one if anyone would like, so feel free to ask!

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #wilbur dsmp #alivebur #technoblade #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #when i posted this on ao3 i got several comments that were just 'TECHNOSOFT' so there you have it

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saltylikecrait · 5 years

Text

Code Purple - Finn/Rey Fanfic

For @finnreyfridays; a continuation of my color prompt fics. Finn and Rey go on an undercover mission, posing as a couple, to help get Rey what she needs to fix the lightsaber.

“This is the place?”

Finn looked down at the coordinates and back up, looking out into space. “Must be.”

The pair stared out at a luxury space station that drifted in the blackness. Pristine silver steel told them just how recent it had been built. It was the latest, state-of-the-art station that occupied this area, taking the place of the station built during the early days of the Empire that came before it. It was considered one of the most romantic spots in the galaxy to vacation at, sought by the wealthy as a prime honeymoon destination or a worthy place to celebrate an anniversary. Unlike most space stations, this one did not have a purpose in research or refueling, its only purpose was for entertaining the rich.

“Are you sure Rose didn’t want to come here?” asked Rey.

Finn thought back to Canto Bight, when he first met Rose and remembered how grumpy she was the entire time. Her anger was aimed specifically at the luxury and the wealth of the casino resort. No, Rose was the last person he wanted to be here with, even if she was his girlfriend. He mentioned that he would have to go on an undercover mission to such a place, and she had zero interest in going anyway.

“No, I’m positive she’d hate it here,” he admitted. “It’s not very enjoyable to go to these kinds of places with her.”

Rey looked surprised. “Really?” she asked. “I thought…” Then she paused. “Wait, Finn. Are you two okay?”

He wasn’t sure what the look on her face meant, it almost seemed to be a combination of emotions and Finn found that he couldn’t read it. It was nice to be alone with Rey for once because with Rose around, he didn’t think Rey acted quite like herself. Here, she was almost back to resembling what he remembered when they first met. She was happy flying the Falcon and to chat away about whatever came to mind. Enthusiasm seemed to radiate from her again. It was nice to see her like this when she had seemed so down for the last couple of months.

But he knew what she meant. Some days, he felt like he was walking on eggshells around Rose and depending what was going on, she sometimes could not be reasoned with. When he mentioned what the mission entailed, Rose grew angrier and angrier and he wasn’t sure if it was just around the type of place he was going to or if Rey had something to do with it. He hated when it was clear there was tension between the two women.

“Well, we’ve got our issues, like every couple,” he observed. “She’s angry at me right now, but I think it’s just because of where we were going to be stationed for this mission.”

Rey looked a little doubtful.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, right?” he asked, smiling widely at her. “You and I have never really gotten to experience this kind of thing.” At least, experiencing it when not obviously being on a mission for the Resistance. Finn was certain that Rey would find something to eat that she would enjoy.

That wasn’t the reason they came here though. Through a contact, Leia had found someone that was willing to do a trade for some Jedi artifacts to help Rey out. Jedi knowledge in exchange for help to an Outer Rim world to hide from the First Order. Finn had reason to suspect why a scholar would be under threat, but he didn’t want to make his thoughts known yet.

If it helped Rey, he wanted to be a part of it. In his coat pocket, he carried a datastick with coordinates to safe transport for the scholar.

“Have you ever done a docking sequence before?” Rey asked.

“Never.”

“Wanna learn?”

Finn stood outside the ‘fresher door impatiently. He kept glancing at the chronometer by the bed, counting the minutes before they needed to leave if they wanted to get to their appointed meeting on time. Looking in the nearest mirror, he adjusted the tie around his collar, not used to wearing something so formal. He hoped no one noticed that the suit was just a little tight on his arms, a dead giveaway that his clothing was borrowed.

“Rey?” he called in. “Are you about done?”

“Just about,” she called back, cheerfully.

He just had to wait another minute or two before he heard the door slide open. Curiously, he glanced in Rey’s direction and found himself almost at loss for words.

“I- you look nice.”

And she did. The lavender dip-dyed dress was a far cry from her desert and Jedi attire. He was shocked to even see her put her hair up into one bun and do her makeup carefully with a light brushing of sand-colored eyeshadow and brown eyeliner.

No, forget nice. Rey looked beautiful.

“Does anything look weird?” she asked, turning her body back and forth to get a better look at all her angles. “I’ve only practiced one other time before we got here. Connix showed me.”

Finn nodded his head. “You look pretty,” he tried to say this with confidence but instead, he panicked when it came out as almost a whisper. He wondered if it was ok to tell another woman she looked nice if he was dating someone else. Thinking of Rose, Finn shook his head; surely helping Rey decide if she looked presentable wouldn’t be something that would anger his girlfriend. They were working undercover, after all.

“Oh.” Rey’s eyes widened as she walked over to Finn. Reaching out, she adjusted his tie. “It’s crooked.” Then she set about straightening it.

He smiled. “You’re a lifesaver.”

There was something in her smile that made him wonder what she was thinking. It was a soft smile, but the way her corners twitched was like she were trying to prevent herself from making it wider.

“What’s the time?” she asked, breaking their eye contact.

He looked over her shoulder. “About time to go.”

They headed out of their hotel room, heading down the long hallways until they came to a lift. Figuring out where the restaurant was, they went down six floors and traversed through a casino and shopping area.

“Just how big is this place?” Finn wondered out loud in a huff.

“I regret wearing heels,” Rey added, looking down at her feet. The heel of her shoes were not big by the standards around here, maybe a third of their size, but Rey was not used to walking around with her feet at such and angle. “They pinch.”

“Just a bit farther, Rey, promise.”

Luckily, they had already made reservations for this restaurant – “I can’t believe people eat like this,” Rey commented when she looked around the revolving floors that gave a view of the stars and nearest planets – and their table was ready for them. They had time before their contact was supposed to seek them out, so they took the advantage to eat a dinner of their choosing and catch up with each other using vague terms so to not give away their allegiance with the Resistance. By the way Rey talked, anyone would think she was just an adventurous pilot that knew a thing or two about mechanics. Finn hoped that he would just come across as a guy that sold blasters for a living.

They were enjoying a glass of purple wine that had a curious aroma and some soft ice cream topped with jogan fruit when who they believed to be their contact arrived.

Humanoid and strong, this man was Keshiri, made obvious by the purple tone of his skin.

“Dr. Halder?” Rey asked, cautiously as the man sat down near him.

“I went to school for many years to get that title,” he sighed, confirming who he was. “I take it you two are the people I’m looking for?”

“Should be,” Finn says. “Are we making the trade here?”

The man shrugged. “Don’t see why not.” He rummaged through his bag, pulling out a large square object covered with a cloth. “Mine for yours?” he grinned.

Finn held up the datastick, and the two slid their items across the table to exchange them.

“How did you even get this?” Rey wondered.

“Got it out of a museum’s archives.”

Finn looked aghast. “So, wait. Do you mean you stole it?”

But the Keshiri waved him off. “Relax,” he said. “No one’s looking for it. It’s been sitting in a storage box for years.”

Rey looked thoughtful again. “I wonder how it ended up with your people to begin with.”

“Who’s to say?” said Dr. Halder. “The Keshiri share a long history with the Jedi. We might not have been their allies, but we wanted to know all we could about them.” Almost matching Rey’s expression, the man looked out the viewport into open space. “That was a different time. A long time ago.” Then, he stood up. “I wish you both luck. You seem like a nice couple.” He looked at the datastick he held in his hand. “This is the luck I was looking for.”

Then, just as quickly as he appeared, the Keshiri vanished outside the seating area.

Finn and Rey gaped at each other for a moment, before their faces turned into expressions of amusement and they burst into laughter.

“Did he seriously just-?”

“Us?”

“Seriously? Can you imagine-?”

Then, they paused, staring at each other incredulously.

Wait, he wondered. Could he imagine himself with Rey? But… he was with Rose, right? So shouldn’t he not be wondering what it would be like to be with someone else? Or was that normal? Finn would admit that Rey enamored him when they first met, but after Rose kissed him on Crait, he gave himself a shot with her instead. He cared about Rose, but after the initial newness of their relationship had died, Finn found himself wondering if they would work out at all. He learned a lot by being with her, but Rose’s attitude hadn't changed much since they met and she still frustrated him to no end – and certainly not in a good way.

His head hurt thinking about all of this and he wondered if he would get in trouble or hurt Rose’s feelings if she knew what he was thinking right now.

But he noticed that as he was lost in thought, he left Rey in a silence that was becoming awkward. Not knowing what to say, he just began to laugh some more, though he noted that it was feigned.

The awkwardness was broken by the Keishiri backtracking through the restaurant, looking alarmed.

“Code Purple,” he whispered to them before running off.

A different sort of awkwardness overtook Finn. His stomach churned with dread.

“What’s Code Purple?” he asked Rey.

She stood up, looking around nervously. “We’ve got to go.” She grabbed the parcel and slipped it underarm.

“What’s going on?”

“If I think he means what it means – I don’t know if the Resistance uses the term – but we need to get out of here. The First Order might be around.”

Alarmed, Finn looked around and stopped himself. Nodding, he stood up. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

They were leaving the restaurant when they heard a gruff, “Hey you two, you gotta pay for that!”

Rey swore under her breath. “You still got that credit stick the General gave us?”

“Yeah,” Finn fished it out of his pocket.

“Great,” she said. “We need to get out of here.”

But that almost was unnecessary because as they approached the front desk to hand over the data stick, a shot rang out and everyone ducked as a blaster bolt projected across the room. The alarm the noise caused made all the diners break into a panic and in the confusion, Finn and Rey were able to get out.

Making a quick glance at where the blaster was fired from, Finn spotted a woman staring in their direction as the chaos exploded around her. In her hand, she held a blaster that Finn recognized as one issued by the First Order to undercover agents. It was smaller than the rifles he was used to, but far easier to conceal.

“We need to get back to the transport,” he urged Rey through the corridor urgently. Another bolt nearly missed them. He knew if he looked behind them, he would see the agent tailing them.

They sprinted down the corridor, back to the hangar where their transport had been stationed. Rey hit the switch to open the door before the pair jumped inside and shut the door hastily behind them.

Running to the pilot’s seat, Rey got the engine up and running, the console lighting up. “Can these things power up any slower?” she yelled at it, as if to try to will it to work faster.

Finn bounced up and down in his seat urgently, only to grip the armrest when a blaster bolt hit the side of the transport. “Hurry!” he urged.

“Does it look like I’m taking my time?” Rey growled.

The transport started to rumble as it skid across the hangar floor. In a few moments, they felt themselves smooth out as they entered space.

With a relieved sigh, Rey slouched in her seat. “Right, so not a relaxing vacation.”

“But we got the book, right?” Finn asked. “Please tell me it’s the right book!”

She still held the parcel against her side, pushed against the edge of the pilot’s seat while she took flight. Reaching down, she removed the cloth that covered it up, revealing an old and untitled leather-bound book. Carefully, she opened the book to a random page, revealing hand-sketched diagrams of lightsaber designs.

Smiling, she whispered. “It’s the right one.”

Now safe to leave his seat, Finn stood up and went to place his hand on the back of her chair, looking down at the book with her. Then, he looked up, gasping and pointing out the viewport.

“Oh,” Rey gasped along with him.

They got to see the nebula, clouds of swirling purple flecked with stars, after all.

#finnrey #my stuff #finnreyfridays

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rainbowpaladins · 6 years

Text

Untitled ABO Fic pt5

Lance was walking through some marketplace a dozen light years from where he'd last seen the team when the news broke.

Ding dong, the people cried in a growing wave, the wicked Zarkon is dead.

At first, Lance hadn't believed it. It had only been a month and the team had defeated Zarkon? But then he'd seen the source of the news: a propaganda video, made by the team themselves. In the video, Shiro and Allura took turns informing the viewer that Zarkon was dead and now was the time to rise up together to take down his empire. They were forming a coalition; a Voltron Coalition.

Lance had stood there, staring at the screen unseeing, even after the recording was over. His emotions were all over the place, ranging from happiness over Zarkon's defeat to the hard, heavy weight of the knowledge that removing him from the team had resulted in them accomplishing in a month what they'd been unable to do in the year and a half he'd been with the team.

It wasn't that he'd hoped they'd fall apart with out him. Nothing so dramatic or deadly. It was, just, thinking they'd been better off without him had been one thing. Seeing fairly good evidence it was actually true was another entirely.

Nehelo, the large bird-creature who'd been gracious enough to give him and Izzy shelter, had picked up on the downward swing in his emotions. Not that it was likely hard. He'd barely ate or drank anything, except what was necessary to keep producing milk for Izzy, since he'd seen the news.

"You should go to the party tonight."

Lance rolled his head to look at them, not wanting to move under the guise of letting Izzy sleep. "One: who's going to look after Izzy? And two: I'm not up for a party."

Nehelo narrowed their eyes at him, the equivalent of a glare. "You, Lance, are a social creature. You crave interaction with other living beings." They ruffled their feathers in a shudder. "Molina knows why."

Lance smiled, the first in days. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't have met your lovely self."

A snort was the response, along with a wing wave of dismissal. "My point still stands. I'll watch your youngling while you go out and have some fun. Get yourself out of this mood you're in."

A grin slowly spread over Lance's face. "You'd do that? For me? But you hate children!"

The dark look Nehelo gave him was magnificent. "Yes, I do."

And yet, the former(?) Blue Paladin had never had to ask for a baby sitter. Lance joked deep (so very deep) down, the Rutennan secretly liked children. Nehelo argued that the only spawn they liked was Izzy and their fondness for her was the only reason they put up with him.

Lance let the Rutennan off the hook this time without further teasing. He knew going out and socializing wasn’t going to cure his depression, but he hoped it would at least lift his spirits a little to be surrounded by people just enjoying life. He even decided to go the extra mile and wear one of the more fancier outfits he’d usually reserved for those special nights the team took a night off for some down time.

The party was already well under way by the time he got there. There was a buzz about some ‘special guests’ arriving later for the ‘main event,’ but Lance didn’t pay it any attention, throwing himself into the crowd. The dancers brave enough to take to the crowd were diversified, few even having a humanoid shape, making for an interesting experience.

About an hour in, a light tap landed on his shoulder, followed by: “May I have a dance?”

Lance blinked, turning from his current dance partner (a lizard being he was only 80% certain might have been female). He blinked again when he found himself staring up at a figure who that looked quite a bit like Allura and Coran, except for the purple skin and yellow sclera. He even had the long white hair and pointed ears.

Unlike Allura and Coran, however, there was something about the guy that put Lance on guard. Maybe it was the fact he shared similar appearances with the Galra?

The Cuban teen put the unease aside, chiding himself for judging someone based off of their looks. For all he knew, this was normal of the guy’s people and it was a total coincidence.

Smiling, he reached out and took the hand the man was holding out in offering. A matching smile crossed the man’s face, making his already handsome features even more so. Lance was tempted to ask for beauty tips, because if this guy was using anything, the teen really wanted in on the secret.

Any questions were sent to the back burner once the next song picked up, a fast one at that. What happened next was like something straight out of a movie as it turned out that the mysterious purple man was a very good dancer, resulting in two talented dancers partnering up to take the dance floor by storm. Lance laughed with delight as he was matched toe to toe and it had been a while since he had really been able to let loose with a partner and he found himself pulling out some more difficult moves. By the song came to it’s climax, they were both out of breathe and grinning from ear to ear.

As the next song started, the man pointed to the refreshments, raising an eyebrow in question. Feeling a bit thirsty after the exertion, Lance nodded, allowing the man to take his hand as he led the way through the crowd. Once there, he released his hand to snag a glass and a ladle from the juice bowl.

With the dance going on behind him, Lance was reminded of those old prom movies his older sisters really loved. As he was handed his drink, he opened with: “You’re a very good dancer. Did you take lessons?”

The man smiled, finishing pouring out his own drink. “A very long time ago, yes.” He eyed Lance over the lip of his drink as he brought it up to take a sip. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

“Multiple older sisters that all did dance.” Lance gestured to some tables off to the side that would allow them to chat and stay out of the way of anyone else wanting refreshments. The man followed him over, going so far as to pull a seat out for him. Lance thought it was a little over the top, but didn’t try to hide his amusement.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Lance asked as the man took his own seat, “What brings you to Rutenna?”

The man hmm’ed, the sound barely audible over the music. “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid. My mother was a scientist, but never got the chance to finish her research.” He placed his cup down on the table, eyes distant and fond. “I decided to try and finish her final project, which led me here.”

Not really Lance’s thing, but he had to give the man credit. Curiously, he prodded, “What was her topic?”

The man looked almost shy. “Quintessence.”

The Cuban teen raised an eyebrow, not expecting the response. “The life force of the universe stuff?”

His drinking partner raised his own eyebrow at him. “You know about Quintessence? Not many people know about it.”

Lance shrugged. He knew of it, sure. As a Paladin of Voltron (former or not), there wasn’t really any way that he could not know about it, but any time Coran or Pidge had tried to explain it in more detail, Lance found himself tuning out, so he’d missed any deeper explanation. “I had friends who know more about it then I did.”

The man nodded, as if this was within the realm of what he expected of a conversation partner. “And you?”

Lance took a sip of his drink to buy him a few minutes to compose himself. He’d had a little practice with his cover story, but it was always a little stressful whenever he had to lie and pretend he wasn’t on the run from what was supposed to be his family. “I decided to take a bit of a road trip with my daughter.” He paused on cue, as if realizing how odd that might sound. “Just with less road and more space.”

The man smiled indulgently at the attempt at a joke. He opened his mouth, perhaps to carry the conversation onto another topic of small talk, when the music came to a close, allowing the host of the party to come to the mic.

“Thank you everyone who came to show their support tonight!” The host adjusted their collar, looking somewhere between excited and terrified. Lance wondered if it was from stage fright or another cause. His answer came when the host held out a wing-like appendage to open the stage to someone off stage. “And because we all know who you’re really here for: let’s give a warm welcome to our guests.”

Lance felt like the blood in his veins had turned to ice as the first of several very familiar figures walked out, accompanied by the introduction: “The Paladins of Voltron!” He was too stunned to take advantage of the fact that right then would have been the time to make his escape while he was still unnoticed. Instead, he could only sit there, frozen in horrified shock as a pair of grey eyes met his own blue ones.

Time seemed to freeze as Lance and Shiro stared at each other from across the room. All noise was drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears. Lance might have sat there indefinitely, staring dumbly, if Shiro hadn’t taken a step towards him, lips moving in the shape of his name.

As if electrified, Lance jumped to his feet, wanting to look for the nearest exit, but unwilling to take his eyes off his former leader. “I’m sorry, I have to go!”

His dance partner glanced back and forth between him and the people on stage and the cuban teen. Without question, he also got to his feet, reaching across the table and tugging Lance towards him. "There's an exit this way."

Lance allowed himself to be pulled along, his last glimpse of his pack being Shiro going for the edge of the stage as he shouted, "Lance! Wait!"

To a degree, it broke his heart to run, to not stay and be reunited with the pack he so desperately missed, but Lance couldn't - wouldn't - allow them to deem Izzy a mistake.

So he ran. Ran like he'd run a month ago. Ran like he'd do again and again for however many times it took to protect his daughter.

"This way." As they took to the streets, Lance pointed in the direction of Nehelo's place, not giving much thought to why the strange man was still running with him, only grateful for his help. "Oh, Dios, Nehelo is going to be upset when I leave abruptly."

They rounded a corner, officially completely out of sight of the party. "Do you need transportation," the man asked.

Lance nearly stopped in the middle of the street to stare at him. "I can't ask you to get involved. Aren't you here for a research project?"

The man looked like wanted to shrug, but running wasn't conducive to it. "I can do my research anywhere." He reached out and briefly put a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Something tells me you are a good person. I would be honored to help you."

'Honored,' as if helping Lance - someone he'd just met and didn't even know the name of - was such a noble thing. But Lance was desperate, and he could fix one of those things. "Lance."

"What?"

"My name." He came to a stop near Nehelo's place, checking their surroundings. He didn't hear footsteps following them, but he didn't know if that was because they'd lost Shiro or if he simply hadn't followed.

The man also stopped beside him, studying the area to get his surroundings. Upon doing so, he turned back to the young man he'd just fled with. "Ah, forgive my poor manners." He reached out and took hold Lance's hand. Lance's eyebrow shot up as his hand received a slight kiss to the knuckles, the man grinning up at him far too charmingly as he did so.

"My name is Lotor, and I look forward to traveling with you."

-tbc

#voltron #lance #shiro #abo verse #abo dynamics #untitled abo fic #langst #shance #?#someone else makes an appearance in this story #but they're being left untagged to avoid spoiling the suprise #although i didnt try very hard to hide their identity in the story #ps: i dont know how to write small talk #can you tell?#sobs

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glimmerglanger · 5 years

Text

bthb: tortured for information

I almost forgot, one segment of ‘in the lands of gods and monsters’ (sequel to ‘as if death itself was undone,’ post-infinity war thorki fixit) was written for @badthingshappenbingo, to fill in my spot for ‘Tortured for Information:’

(I’m not doing a great job filling in five spaces in a row.)

Since the entire fic is almost 40k, and the applicable segment only close to 3k, I’m posting it separately. It pretty much stands alone as the after effects of a capture by the enemy gone very, very wrong, anyway, but further context is available on ao3! Anyway. Without further explanation:

And Monsters

Thor should have known not to trust to happiness, not even for a second.

Life had been nothing but one nightmare after another for so long. But he had thought it was past, that with his work and Loki’s they had moved beyond the tribulations of their tormented history, into a new world with their renewed people.

But everything had gone wrong once more, starting with dark whispers of warning delivered by Agent Romanoff regarding developments on Earth, so many days ago. He should have listened to her more carefully. He wished he had.

It was too late to go back and change things, to take seriously the threat the folk of Midgard might be. They had not dared attack New Asgard - not yet, Thor thought, in a wash of sick clarity, but now that he was gone they might do anything - instead luring them away, to a place where they were unprepared to defend themselves.

He did not recall all that had happened. He remembered pain, a sick, overwhelming sense of it, and crushing weight forcing him to the ground as his thoughts turned to Loki and Frigga.

He had not been able to reach them. The thought dragged a strangled cry from his throat. He could only imagine what was being done to them, what had already been done to them. Had he not sworn on his very life he would allow no more harm to come to his family? The words tasted of ash in his mouth, echoing in his head to remind him of his failure.

He had not been able to reach his child. He had left Loki to face whatever horrors awaited alone, and now they left him in the dark, chained at his neck and wrists with some strange, burning metal that he could not break, no matter how he strained against it.

His eyes had long grown used to the dark, but there was nothing to see but more dark. He could not turn his head to either side. The thick collar around his neck prevented it and bit into his jaw and shoulders. The muscles in his chest and back, all down his arms, burned with the strain of pulling against the shackles that kept his arms cruelly extended.

His knees ached, resting against the floor. They wouldn’t even allow him the pride of standing to await whatever foul fate they’d planned for him. He knew he deserved whatever they did. His failures had to be answered. But he hoped he would be able to kill some of them first.

He hoped they would not merely leave him to rot here, starving in his own filth.

He hoped--

Light flooded shocking into the room, derailing his thoughts and burning his eyes. He squinted against it, hissing, refusing to close his eyes all the way. The white brightness of it stung like fire; he snarled into it, “I’m going to--”

“There’s something we wanted to show you,” the voice came from behind him. Thor tried to twist automatically, unsure how anyone had gotten there, and caught on the chains. He could not identify the speaker. Their voice was strange and rasping, unpleasant to listen to. Nothing here was pleasant.

“The only thing I want to see is your broken body at my feet,” he snapped, holding onto the anger in his chest for all it was worth.

The unseen man chuckled, an almost clucking sound. “Then this will be a disappointing day for you,” he said. Thor could feel the stranger, standing directly behind his shoulder. They’d stripped Thor’s armor away, left him with nothing but his skin and sweat. “Before we begin,” he said, “there are a few things you should know. First of all, you can call me… Agent White”

“Where is Loki?” Thor asked, misliking intensely the direction this conversation seemed determined to head. “Where is my daughter?”

White tsked at him, as though he were a wayward pupil. “In due time,” he said. “We have questions for you.”

“If you’ve hurt them--”

White hurt him, then. He did not know how. The pain came from everywhere, from the air around him and the air in his lungs. When it passed, he hung limp for a moment, panting for breath and resisting the urge to scream.

“Listen,” White said, patient. “We have questions for you. You can answer us and make this easy.”

Thor spat on the ground. “I won’t tell you anything,” he said, and laughed, the sound breaking to pieces inside his chest.

He felt White move and strove ever harder to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eyes. White stayed just beyond his vision. “We thought you might say that,” White said. “So we set up an alternative approach, just to see if anyone else might be more interested in sharing.”

Thor’s breath caught at the words. “Loki,” he said, panting it. “He lives? You will--”

“For now,” White said. “But he’s not answering us, either.”

Thor reached for the force of the storm with all of his might and got nothing in return. It was like beating upon a closed door. He growled, “If you’ve hurt--”

There was pain, again. Eventually it stopped, leaving his head ringing and the taste of blood in his mouth. “I think,” White said, “that you are suffering under some misapprehensions. You’re in no position to threaten or issue orders. You will answer our questions, or we will hurt you until you do.”

“You will all die,” Thor told White, blinking sweat out of his eyes, barely feeling the sting of it.

White sighed. “Perhaps,” he said, “what you need is a demonstration.” Thor opened his mouth again and felt the words die on his tongue. The blinding white light in front of him changed, shifting to something that allowed him to see what was going on in the space before him.

He cried out as realization grounded itself down through his bones. Loki waited before him in a room, dark and organic. All of his armor had been stripped away, his scars dark in the greenish light. He lay on a curved table that bent him backwards, exposing his stomach and chest, the lone lines of his thighs. There were marks across his skin, purple, black, and angry red. Smears of blood spread like ugly shadows over his body. His hands were bound above his head, his hair in disorder, and his expression was terrible and distant. And he was not alone. There were two other figures in the room.

One figure circled him, impossible and terrible and familiar. Thor knew the face as well as his own, the fall of dark hair, the sharp smile, the flashing eyes. The creature looked as Loki had, once, years ago, in his mad service to the Titan Thanos. He looked corpse pale, with reddened skin around his blue eyes, his mouth pulled constantly into a snarling smile.

The second figure Thor recognized even better. He saw the features each time he looked into a mirror. But there was something wrong with his double, beyond the fact that he wore full armor and moved like a predator. It’s hands, he realized after a moment, were bloody red.

Thor yelled, crying out, and was ignored. “They can’t hear you,” White said, sounding pleased. “You may only listen, and watch. And when you are ready to stop it, you can answer my questions.”

Thor could find no reply to that, no reply as his double drew to a stop, close to Loki’s side. Loki flinched, noticeable in the tightening of the skin around his eyes and the shift in his hair. The thing wearing Loki’s face bent closer, its mouth pulled into a sharp, cruel smile as it said, “I can see that you need a break. Why don’t we just return to our previous topic of discussion for a while? Let the questions rest?”

Loki said nothing. His gaze did not shift from the middle-distance. He looked… terribly used to what was happening to him. The thought soured Thor’s gut yet further, adding to the horror of the fact that he could not see Frigga.

He startled when the doppelganger began to speak once more. “He’s just using you, as the Asgardians have always wished to use you. You know that. You’re useful now. You brought back the dead for him. You gave him an heir. He doesn’t love you.”

It was not the tact Thor would have imagined that these creatures take. They had only inflicted pain on him, after all, and surely they had to know that Loki would not---

Loki, the true Loki, jerked once, violently. He looked stricken, as though someone had reached into his chest and sunk fingers into his heart. He kept his lips pressed into a thin line, but he curled his fingers - stretched so far above his head - into claws.

“How could he?” The doppelganger continued in a slow, even voice. “Don’t you remember everything you’ve done? Everything you are? He’s a king and you’re an unwanted bastard child, left for the cold, for your enemies to do with what they wanted. You betrayed him. So many times. You know you’re nothing but a useful beast. A pliant body. How could you ever be anything more than that?”

Thor struggled against the bonds holding him, roaring in a fury that did not seem to reach Loki, where he stared at nothing, his eyes grown terribly bright, wet, as the thing with his face leaned close to his ear.

“The Aesir only tolerate you because you brought them back. And they’ll forget that soon enough. You’ll only remain useful while you keep the Jotun placated. And they don’t need you for that, really. Not with Frigga.”

Loki’s eyes widened. He seemed not to be breathing. “They’ll take her away from you,” the thing said, sounding almost apologetic. “Or he’ll get another on you and take that one. Give her to me, instead. Give her to me, before he can take her. I will make sure she never experiences pain. Or loss.”

The thing that looked like Loki reached out, brushing Loki’s face, and Thor bellowed, the sound torn directly out of his gut at the sight of that cold, vicious smile.

Loki twisted his face away and panted, “No.” His voice sounded strange and shredded. Broken. The thing with his face recoiled at the sound of it, a flash of confusion crossing its stolen features.

“What?”

“No,” Loki panted again. “You… lie. He loves me.”

The thing threw its head back and laughed, mockery in each echo of sound. Thor’s double joined it a moment later, and Loki jerked bodily against the bonds holding him down. “No one loves you,” it said. “You know that. You are forever unwanted, unloved, un—”

“He does,” Loki insisted, shaking his head, blinking his eyes for the first time in an age. “I gave him an heir. Brought back his people.” Something in Thor’s chest ached, even then, in the middle of this mad nightmare, to hear such reasons given for his affections, as though they would not have been there anyway, as though they had not endured through so many ages of their lives, as though he had not loved Loki even standing on Stark’s hideous tower, feeling the blade of a knife slide between his ribs.

“And you think that’s enough?” the thing with Thor’s face sneered. “Such a paltry offering—” Thor yelled once more, the agony of being unable to do anything to stop these lies, these lies delivered with his own mouth, too much to bear. He surged and struggled against the bonds holding him back, and got nowhere and nothing.

“It is for him,” Loki said, his quiet voice cutting across Thor’s ragged cries. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to clear something from his eyes. The skin around his eyes began to stain blue.

“You are lying to yourself,” the thing with Loki’s face hissed, grabbing his hair and wrenching his head to the side, the first time it had demonstrated violence. “Like the foolish child you are. You are only loved as long as you are useful. When your use wears out he will set you aside. You will be left alone again in the cold, while he picks some small, soft woman to warm his bed. Do not be a fool. Act now. Hurt him before he hurts you.”

Loki’s fingers shook, for a moment the blue faded, and then he took a wet, hitching breath and steadied. “No,” he said, his voice wrecked and broken. The blue spread, back towards his temples and something rose from his skin, something dark and shimmering, a fog bleeding out of his eyes.

“Stop!” the creature snarled, twisting its fingers tighter into Loki’s hair, shaking him viciously. It gestured at the thing with Thor’s face, and Thor had the fresh horror of watching himself fit his fingers around Loki’s neck. He ignored the pain, the agony he bought by struggling against the bonds unto the point that he thought he might break his own bones, tear muscle from tendon. And it was not enough. “You know I am right. You are a broken thing. Ruined. He will turn against you, you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki gasped. The darkness hovered around his face, tendrils creeping down, moving towards his ears, his nose, his mouth. And Loki moved one of his arms, right through the bonds that held it, jerking lighting fast to close his fingers around the dark, shimmering thing, closing it into a cage, where it writhed, caught in a jail of skin and bone. “I love him.” He wept, still, but the anguish had left his face as he rolled his eyes up towards his double, and said, cold and sharp, “And now you will leave me go.”

The thing stumbled a step back, it’s form wavering, wearing a terror on its face that it hurt Thor to gaze upon, even knowing it was not really Loki. “Stop that,” it said, it’s voice changing in pitch, “Make him stop that. You don’t--”

“Did you think those words would stop me?” Loki asked, tilting his head to the side, ignoring the hand around his throat, almost curious as he watched the thing in his hand struggle desperately.

“They hurt you!” the doppelganger cried out. “We saw it, you believe them.”

Loki shrugged, something terrible in his easy acceptable. He pulled his legs up and reached out with his other hand, gripping the arm of Thor’s double and squeezing. “Hurt has never stopped me. And I know what you are, now,” Loki said, and his smile cut across his face like a knife. The Thor he held struggled. Some blackness spread up his arm, beneath the skin. Thor yelled himself hoarse, mad with relief and the fresh fear of not knowing for certain that whatever was going on would work.

“You should have never dared enter my head,” Loki said, and closed his hand, then, crushing the shadows in his fingers, and the creature with his face screamed, terribly and brutally, and--

And Thor’s cell went blinding white once more. “No!” he cried out. “Show me him once more, I--”

Pain flooded back, brutal and overwhelming, but Thor set his teeth against it. They had been in Loki’s head, doing something to him. He wondered if he did not have unwelcome visitors in his own mind. He tried to turn his thoughts inward, but the pain edged out all reason and he did not know what to look for, what to fight against.

He could hear things, in the bright light. The sounds of a battle. Loki crying out, screaming. Laughter. He tried to tell himself it could not be real. They were in Loki’s mind. In his mind, probably, but--

He cried out, the sound ragged in his throat, and then the world shifted, turning abruptly on its axis, the bright light fading, replaced by a shadow leaning over him. Hands pressed to either side of his head, cool and familiar.

He blinked upward, gazed into Loki’s face, pale and drawn but not wracked with agony. Loki said, “It’s not real. Whatever they’re making you see, it isn’t real, Thor, can you hear me?”

Behind him - through him - Thor heard terrible, wet sounds. But they were fading away, more and more as he searched Loki’s expression. “Yes,” he rasped, “what--”

And then Loki grunted, his fingertips pressing in tight to Thor’s head, and Thor sagged, the bonds around his arms just gone, leaving him to drop. Loki caught at him on the way down, holding him upright as Thor panted against his shoulder, rasping, “I saw--”

“Lies,” Loki said, “everything you saw was a lie.”

#bad things happen bingo #thorki #fanfic update time #psychological and physical torture #not fun times

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jswdmb1 · 5 years

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Up On Cripple Creek

“Good luck had just stung me,

to the race track I did go.

She bet on one horse to win

and I bet on another to show”

- The Band

I am an enormous fan of horse racing and have been for a long time. I chuckled a bit at the recent “controversy” at the Kentucky Derby and at those who suggested the result was unfair. Anyone who knows anything about the sport knows that was an easy call and we have all had winners taken down for that reason (on one glorious afternoon at Arlington a couple of summers ago I had TWO winners taken down after inquiries). It’s part of a sport that needs to be carefully regulated due to the gambling involved and the danger recklessness can bring to the jockeys and horses involved. So, while the decision was clear cut, I recognize how difficult it was for the judges to do what they did in front of millions of people who probably didn’t know much more about racing than the fancy hats and mint juleps. I’m also grateful we are not talking about a catastrophe that was adverted by some skillful moves by the jockeys on the horses that were affected by the interference. All-in-all, it was the best result possible given the circumstances.

But last week’s race is not what I want to talk about today. Rather, why it is that I am such a big fan of a sport that is frankly not all that popular anymore. The truth is that there was one very special person who help me develop the bug and who I thought of immediately when the Churchill Downs objection sign went up in that race. You are probably thinking you know who it is, but I’ll give you 10-1 odds you can’t guess.....no, it’s not my dad, or an uncle or grandfather. It was a quiet woman I knew named Rita Hendren.

Rita was, and still is to the day, one of the most interesting people I have ever met. Born in 1920 to a Southern Illinois coal miner, she was the fourth child of fifteen. That is not a typo. I met thirteen of them and can vouch that it was true (two passed away as infants as unfortunately was quite common at that time). Unlike today, where coal miners are men of great wealth, it was a tough living back then (before you write me a note, that was a joke). They lived in a small house with no indoor plumbing. Then, the depression hit and things really got rough. The story I was told was that when dinner time was called you ran to the table because the competition was fierce and there wasn’t always enough for everyone. Still, Rita would talk fondly of a childhood that seemed to have plenty of good times. I know better now that she likely sugarcoated some of the details, but generally she seemed to appreciate what she had.

She also appreciated her education and graduated high school in the late 30′s. That may not impress many people these days, but a high school diploma was not an easy thing to obtain in that era, especially for a woman. I’m certain that now she would have been offered free rides to the college of her choice as she was well-read on many subjects and could speak intelligently on them all But for a career, she did what she had to do to make money and moved to Chicago where the jobs were. She eventually landed at the Sunbeam factory in Cicero where she worked for many years as a quality control inspector. But despite the blue-collar nature of her life, she spent whatever free time she had reading books and watching whatever was on WTTW. In addition, she read the Sun-Times cover to cover every day and also enjoyed music. She had this great old Zenith console stereo (her sister worked there) and played 45s all day long (lots of big band and country music). She also made the best fried chicken I have ever tasted and rarely eat it to this day because nothing I have had since then can cut it (including me trying her recipe once - I just can’t figure it out!).

While she would be reading the paper, I noticed she would linger in the sports section. Then, one day when I was at her house, she made a point to turn the TV to the old channel 26 to watch Phil Georgeff on his Hawthorne recap show. I asked her why the interest in such an odd thing. She just said that she loved watching the horses and had all her life. As I got older, I found out there was a guy at Sunbeam who booked bets (this was well before OTB’s on every corner) and she had some money down on a hot tip she got in one of the races. This did not shock or surprise me. I had been watching her rake in huge pots for years at the Christmas poker games with her brothers and she always talked about how she loved the excitement of Las Vegas the one time she had been there. I was awfully curious about how she got so good at handicapping races, but I hit my teen years and got distracted.

Then, I found out at around the age of 18 that I could bet myself on the races. I went a time or two and was pretty timid about the experience with limited success. At one point, I mentioned my trips to the track to Rita and she suggested we go together sometime. So, we planned for a nice day that spring when the Hawthorne meet started and I scraped up $20 to see what I could do with a real expert at my side. I don’t remember the exact results that day (let’s just say I didn’t get rich), but I do remember learning every in and out of how to read a race program that you would ever want to know. I came to appreciate the joy of the sport and getting to be an active participant. I know it sounds insincere, but the money doesn’t really matter. When I go to the track now, I don’t bet much more than I did then and still have tons of fun. I was given a gift of analysis that could be used in a really fun way. More importantly, it gave me insight into how this woman’s brilliant mind worked. There were times I felt bad that she was just a factory worker and didn’t get a real opportunity in life, but I realized that she was a pretty happy person despite a tough life (lots of sorrow for her came in many ways, but those stories are not for public consumption). Being around her taught me what it means to be tough and use what you’ve got and not to worry about what you don’t have.

I doubt it is much surprise that I’m talking about my grandmother (on my mom’s side). Eventually, she developed a form of dementia and the last decade or so of her life was a real struggle. That hurt me more than anything as I knew (along with many others) just how beautiful her mind was and it was tough to see her unable to use it. I never forgot, however, the lessons she taught me and the countless hours we spent talking about the news, listening to old records, or the time she talked me into ditching a class in college to meet her at old Sportsman’s Park. And, as bad as I felt for her not getting more opportunity in life, I was selfishly grateful that she didn’t. It enabled her to spend so much time with me and give me wonderful gifts like appreciating how to handicap a horse race. I look forward someday to sitting with one of my own grandkids and sharing whatever quirky knowledge I have that may be of interest. Until then, I’ll keep plugging away at my two or three times a year visit to the track and I’ll never forget who got me there in the first place.

So on this Mother’s Day, in addition to wishing my beautiful wife and wonderful Mom the most joyful of days, I want to send a special thanks to my Grandma, who I just know had a bet on the long shot Country House and was slyly smiling when he was put on top at 30-1 odds. I’m sure right now, she is using that bankroll to bluff her brothers out of another pot with a pair of fours with a glimmer in her eyes the whole time. And while I miss her a lot, it warms my heart greatly to know that she can be back doing what she loved best.

And, for all of you out there who are Moms, thank you for the special talents you have that sometimes may be overlooked, but make such a huge difference on your children’s and grandchildren’s lives. It is now more important ever that kids have strong female role models in their lives, and I was incredibly lucky to have several. You are now providing that to a new generation, and I hope you had a wonderful day with those you love and they were able to show you the appreciation you deserve.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Jim

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bloodyfangedtiger · 5 years

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Got an ABO idea for Bioshock 2 story.

Johnny Topside - A single father Omega with a beautiful baby girl named Eleanor that he fathered with his supposed love Sofia.

Eleanor Topside - a young Alpha who loves to tinker around with gadgets and anything that ticks.

Sofia Lamb - a hard hearted Alpha who said she loves her Omega and their pup and yet she had been trying to experiment on her child within the womb.

Grace - a Beta who loves Eleanor just as much as Johnny does and who will bring hell onto anyone that hurts the pup.

Augustus Sinclair - a slimy Alpha that seems like he's no good but actually has a heart of gold when people aren't looking.

Story - Sofia and Johnny met at their job "Big Daddy Industries" and seemed to hit it off right at the start. At first, Sofia was a lovely and wonderful Alpha who did not belittle Johnny just because he is an Omega. During Johnny's heat, Sofia shared her desire to father a child with him and he agreed.

Not soon after they are granted their wish while at Dr. Tenebaum's office and are given a picture from their first ultrasound. Johnny could tell right away that his little bean would be a girl and expressed his feelings with uncontained joy as he hopped and skipped around his work place with the photo in his hand, showing it to everyone till he exhausted himself and sat down at his work bench crying while he rubbed his belly.

When he was five months pregnant, things started to change. Sofia forbid him from going to work and would sometimes put a belt around his belly that looked very dangerous. When he refused to have the device placed on him, Sofia would slap him and command him to obey and when that didn't work then she would tie him to a table and strap him down.

The first time he realized what Sofia was up to was when she applied an electric shock to his innocent Eleanor and then began to speak to his bulge. "Can you hear me? This is your mother speaking. I am your mother and not this filthy Omega you are growing inside of. You will listen to everything I say and obey my every command. If you do not, then I shall have to punish you."

A week later, while Sofia was out on errands, Johnny packed his things and went straight to his friend Sinclair who he told everything to.

Johnny cut off all communications with Sofia and decided on a home birth in his apartment rather than risk seeing her at the hospital. Grace and Brigid were wonderful help during the birth and thus Eleanor Gracia Topside was born.

The boys at his work helped out with raising Eleanor and even baby sat when Johnny became too exhausted to move, but he was there for her first steps and her first words. Calling him daddy and everyone else aunt or uncle, though she does call Sinclair papa at times perhaps because he was the Alpha who first held her and scented her?

Eleanor grew to be a wonderful little girl, though she is awkward around children her own age and can only talk to adults or her family. Johnny tries to help her with fitting in, first by telling her to talk about herself and what she is interested in. Soon enough she became a social butterfly.

Happiness did not last forever, however, for the Topside family. A legal representative took Eleanor out of her school and another showed up to Johnny's work. Saying that they are from Child Protective Services and that the Alpha parent has claimed Eleanor.

Elly was only ten years old when she met Sofia and she was not happy in the slightest.

The court case was grueling as Sofia spouted off lies about Johnny and his parenting. Saying that he is neglective and abusive and that his parenting has caused Eleanor some deformities and disabilities.

Johnny, Sinclair and Grace along with Tenebaum all shot back and accused Sofia of abuse herself during her relationship with Johnny while he was pregnant.

The two sides kept yelling and yelling until the judge had to call recess and have them escorted out.

It lasted for months before the judge called for Eleanor to be brought to the stand and talk about how life with Johnny is and if he ever hurt her in anyway. The Alpha testified that her father has never raised a hand against her and that he has been nothing but kind and loving to her.

Sofia fumed and became enraged when the judge accepted the child's testimony and the jury plus the judge settled the court in Johnny Topside's name. Allowing Eleanor to finally go home.

Years passed before Sofia appeared again, Eleanor now eighteen and just graduated from school.

She kidnapped Eleanor and started to condition her to follow Sofia's every command.

Johnny never stopped looking for her and soon almost five years had passed before he saw his child again, now wearing a metal suit with a collar and leash around her neck. Her eyes devoid of life and her skin pale.

Sofia ordered the young Alpha to subdue Johnny and bring him with them.

Sofia revealed her plans in her lab while she had Johnny strapped to table and bare as the day he was born with his legs in stirrups. She aims to create an army with superior DNA and take down the government so that she may rule instead. "I never loved you, I only loved your DNA and womb."

She injected him with a heat inducing serum and waited for it to take effect.

Just as he was reaching the peak of his heat and fertility, Sinclair burst in and snapped Lamb's neck before she could inject her seed into Johnny.

At this point, Johnny is overwhelmed with heat and begs Sinclair to take him like he has done during his previous heats. With a heavy heart full of doubt and regret, he does.

It takes months to break the conditioning Lamb put Eleanor through and even more months for her to resume her life where it has stopped.

Eventually, Eleanor was able to reclaim her life and went on to attend a university for engineering.

In the mean time, Johnny and Sinclair had a child of their own who they named Octavos. A few weeks later, Augustus proposes.

Eleanor graduates with a master's degree in engineering and stands with her family at graduation. Holding her baby brother while her parents kiss.

Of course when I write this I'll go more into detail and probably make it pretty long.

#sofia x johnny #sinclair x johnny #abo dynamics #bioshock2 #mpreg

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mdwatchestv · 6 years

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The Magicians 3x08: One Very Long Blog About Magicians

The day has finally come when The Magicians has begun formatting itself for maximum ease of blogging. Thank you writers of the Magicians for making this possible. You never cease to surprise and delight me with your innovation, and thoughtfulness for my blogging plight. My wedding vows to the Magicians aside, what a fantastic episode this was. The Magicians has essentially established that the standard rules of television and narrative don't apply, and that allows them to do things like have an episode of vignettes, or a musical episode, without disrupting the arc of the show. In fact, it would be more noticeable if the show didn't take these kind of risks now and again.

But let's talk about these Six Short Stories About Magic, and the larger story they came together to tell. The overriding action of this episode was the Library Heist Plan, as hatched last week. We begin with Penny, who travels via Little Book Dragon (that we never get to see! What a rip off!) to the Underworld Branch of The Library. Penny journeys out into the larger world of the undead into a spillover area which looks like it could have been ripped from Fyre Fest's Instagram. There he bribes guards with the ending of Game of Thrones, which honestly sounded pretty exciting despite the clear liberties. Penny finds Benedict hoping he is still in position of the key which drove him to taking his own life (grim), but Benedict claims The Library took it, and please can he and Penny be best friends forever? It's a little thirsty tbh.

So Penny heads back to The Library where he runs into Sylvia, his sassy Librarian supervisor from last season! As a Librarian she's still serving out her billion years even after death (as Penny is technically supposed to be doing), and she takes Penny to the one person who she thinks could help. That person is Cassandra, who looks like, and sounds like, and who probably is, a very ancient Alice. Cassandra is the author of the destiny books in The Library, blessed/cursed with Future Sight, she spends her days scrawling out the stories of everyone ever. Sylvia denies Cassandra is really Alice, but she totally, definitely is. Cassandra greets Penny by giving him her fanfiction about Quentin, which I'm sorry, is pure Alice. The subsequent stories she writes and gives to/throws at Penny make up the framework for the rest of the episode.

After Penny we get Poppy. In Poppy's story she finishes knockin' boots with Q, and gets on to the business of Library heistin'. The plan is the other traveller, Victoria, is going to form a "mirror bridge" using, what else, her own blood. Our merry band of thieves will use it to travel to the Underworld Library, retrieve the key, and then return to good old planet Earth. In addition to the key, we learn Harriet is after the supposed Giant Magic Battery the Librarians have that is powering their abiltiies. Alice points out some obviousproblems in their plan, then refuses to help. I'm really into her black dresses and tops recently though, may we never see a Peter Pan collar again! Poppy is not thwarted Alice’s obstinance, and responds by stealing Alice's Niffin Notes (tm) in order to get the proper spell for the plan. Kady, Harriet, Poppy, and Quentin travel through mirrors to the Library and split up. Despite her happy-go-lucky demeanor and "can-do" attitude, there is something not quite right about Poppy. She claims she is going along with the quest in the self-interest of getting magic back, but this is also the chick who tricked Quentin into taking what was in essence a suicide key. The fact that her storyline acted more as exposition, and less as a deep dive into her character (as we see later with Harriet), suggests to me that there is something else afoot. Also she did try and convince Victoria to cut and run early, thereby trapping everyone else in the Library. It’s red flags like that that have me a skosh dubious of her moral fiber.

Next we go to Alice. After refusing to help the Library robbers, Alice has a good ole sit and sulk. That is until Fen stumbles out of the Fillory transport clock, bringing with her a serious reality check. Fen has had about enough of her Fillory life, and has peaced out to find better company and better alcohol. However what she finds instead is Alice, moping about her lost knowledge, when Fen has lost actual children. It was nice to see another character give Alice a kick in the butt and get her out of her self-pity. I don't remember half the things people tell me any given day and you don't see me complaining! Alice takes the advice to heart and goes to The Library to apply for a card aaaannndd maybe/maybe not get in on that giant magic battery goodness. The Librarian says she will give Alice access IF she agrees to help the Library first. This has to lead to her becoming Cassandra in some time loop or something, but I can't quite see how....yet!

Meanwhile, Eliot and Margo seem to be in a spot of marsupial trouble.

Fen, still passed out in the Physical Kid's Cottage, oversees Jaime Ray Newman asking Julia for help. Jaime (too late to learn her character name) has developed some oozing sores from overuse of the mysterious white powder she has been snorting to gain magic. Don't do drugs kids. Unseen by Julia, but of course by Fen, is that Jaime is being waited on by a fairy. Fen convinces Julia this needs to be investigated as fairies are capital b Bad news. However Fen makes an unexpected connection with Skye, the shy young fairy in service to Jaime. Skye seems to be serving Jaime in exchange for protection, and surprisingly has no idea other fairies exist. Things take an even more shocking turn when Julia and Fen later discover Skye in Jaime's house with an amputated leg! Nearby Julia finds vials of the white powder Jaime had been dosing with. Ergo, the white magic powder is MADE OF fairies. Considering what we know about fairies (evil, tricksy, luminescent, mildly fabulous), this is a maj twist. Also I love the idea of pairing Julia and Fen together, both are resourceful problem-solvers and clever thinkers, and both have struggled with extreme trauma and abandonment. Honestly, I just want Fen to have a friend.

The final short story belongs to Harriet. In a series of flashbacks, we see Harriet growing up in the Library as (another twist) the daughter of the Librarian! Unlike her mother, Harriet longs to see the world, gain experience, and share the knowledge of the Library with others. This eventually drives a rift between them, causing Harriet to leave the Library for good. Of course because this is Harriet's story, the entire sequence is in ASL, in almost complete silence. With a few exceptions, a scene like this featuring three deaf actresses that is not explicitly ABOUT their deafness, is all too rare. Moving on to present day, the adult Harriet and Kady split off to look for the giant battery the Librarians have supposedly created. Instead of an enchanted energizer bunny, they find a suitcase filled with (bigger twist) hundred of vials of the white powder made from fairies! Of course only we, the audience, know this because we have been hopping around in the narrative structure. What this reveals though is that The Library is much worse than we thought if they are slaughtering fairies and grinding them up for magic powder. If the fairies of Fillory are privy to this knowledge, it gives their quest to take over a whole new light. Instead of malicious conquerors, perhaps they are merely trying to save, and if not save then righteously avenge, their murdered people. In the end, everyone escapes back through the mirror bridge except Victoria and Harriet who are trapped between worlds if not dead.

Finally we come back to Penny, who rereading Alice's fanfic realizes Benedict had the key all along. Big duh Penny. Penny is able to feed the key to the dragon, where it is retrieved successfully by Quentin and Kady. However, the seemingly helpful Sylvia betrays Penny himself, handing him over to the Librarians to presumably resume serving his billion year sentence. Ice cold.

With our presumptions about the fairies up-ended, next episode is anyone's guess. At the very least we know it will be a musical. That feels right.

XO MD

#the magicians #martha writes #the magicians syfy #the magicians gifs #syfy #the magicians recaps #the magicians review #tv recap #tv review #tv gif #jason ralph #summer bishil #hale appleman #marlee matlin #jaime ray newman #fairies #felicia day #arjun gupta #Olivia Taylor Dudley

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loveiscosmicsin · 6 years

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Home Cooking

To @dancingfox on Tumblr, as part of the IgNoct White Day Gift Exchange @ignoctgiftexchange, I offer you a fic (it was a struggle because I was debating with five ideas at once and suffering from writer’s block and then life got really crazy that I didn’t post until way past the dates). I’m not sure what you like since you gave me “Anything, truly :)”, but I can safely assure you that there’s nothing about non-cons or excessive violent themes in this, just lots of fluff and I hope that’s okay! Though this fic can be read on its own, it’s branched off an Fateswap AU where Noctis is the Oracle and Lunafreya is the King of Light and Ignis is her advisor titled “Radiance”. Happy White Day and Happy Gift Exchange, I hope you like this. Sorry for being super late to you and the mod behind the event. I feel massively guilty but I wasn’t going to abandon this. - Title: Home Cooking Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Courtship is such an antiquated tradition to Noctis, but he’s willing to push the aversion aside and show how he cares with a thoughtful gesture while Ignis is staying in the Crown City. - “Well,” Luna began, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap. Unbridled excitement coursed through her, almost similar to the feeling she relished harvesting raw elemental energy from touch alone, as the King of Light and her trustworthy retainer passed the first landmark. “Our second time in Insomnia swiftly approaches.” “Indeed.” Ignis replied, eyes closed in contentment as he sipped from a can of Ebony, flipping through the magazine, his steady gaze was fixated across the pages. “You must be absolutely delighted that we are to see dear Noctis once more. These last months must have been torturous for you.” “Of course, my lady.”

Luna let the next couple minutes of silence sink in, save for the sounds of the train in motion, before narrowing her eyes and a slight twitch at the corner of her frown took form. “So... pray tell what is so intriguing in this issue’s quarterly that you deign to provide me a proper answer?” “I’m rather absorbed in this soufflé recipe,” Ignis answered without looking up and nothing more. He raised the Ebony again as to solidify the answer he had chosen and end the discussion there. Dissatisfied with the poorly made apology and in one swift motion, Luna pressed her palm firmly on the can and snatched the magazine out of Ignis’ hands. “Why,” Luna’s blue eyes widened before she grinned knowingly as her suspicions were indeed correct. Her advisor had artfully concealed a magazine behind a cooking one. “Ignis, consider yourself caught in the act. You’re reading a fishing magazine!” The woman turned to the can in her hand and shook it. “And not once have you requested a replacement for your beverage. It is empty.” Ignis sighed, color high on his cheeks as he plucked magazine back and set it on the table between them. "I suppose saying merely looking at a recently discovered fish had my mind swimming with recipe ideas wouldn't suffice as an answer?" The advisor tried, Luna sent him a look and he grimaced before admitting, “Noctis informed me that he enjoys fishing..." Luna smiled. "It's his favorite past time, I'm told. You may find this hard to believe considering my brother’s animosity towards him, but Ravus taught him how.” "It seems very... time-consuming." He tried for a delicate term but the way Luna hid her mouth behind her hand told him he had failed. “He wished to take me fishing at one of his favorite places.” "He will be thrilled to know you've suddenly taken an interest in it." She laughed, earning her a tired stare. "Do not worry, Ignis, for when he sees you, fishing will be the furthest thing on his mind." To see Ignis and Noctis have gained such familiarity and fondness in such little time warmed the heiress’s heart in full. It was unexpected, certainly for her advisor who was quick to assume that the Oracle of Futurity was no more than a voracious beast. Fortunately, his opinion changed overnight when Noctis restored his vision and the two became well acquainted. Luna couldn’t help but feel wholly obligated to cheer and tease Ignis whenever she pleased, much to her advisor’s chagrin. Ignis nodded in appreciation for the reassurance, but the conversation wasn’t over. He gingerly caressed the worn and curling corners of the magazines, conflicted. “Actually, there’s something that I must address with you, Luna. It’s urgent, but we can discuss it later if you prefer.” Luna blinked, her mouth slightly agape. Ignis can be stern and alarmingly taciturn at times, even as a young child, he groomed himself this way so to prove himself worthy of Luna’s retainer despite the disability. He was looking at her now with the same intensity he did then, the scars from the burns could never smother the radiance from the soft sky blue and puffs of white. There was a storm cloud hovering above him. “Do not say that when I have not heard what it could be about first.” Luna regained her composure albeit she stammered when she said this, taking his hand in hers. “Let us discuss this now or I fear we could not enjoy the rest of our journey comfortably.” Ignis was inclined to agree. The lump in his throat bobbed slightly as he avoided looking directly at Luna’s worried expression. “If I could now, I would bend the knee for you, Lady Lunafreya. At your word, my counsel and my blades are yours, always. You will always be my princess and Tenebrae’s True Queen.“ “Ignis,” Luna pulled her hand away, feeling the blades of Ignis’ carefully placed words piercing her heart. “Are you... leaving me?” Her eyes stung, hurt, reminding herself that she was royalty and mustn’t cause a scene in public. If it was her closest friend’s requests, she must grant him leave in a dignified fashion. At that, the advisor’s eyebrows were raised as if offended, no, appalled by the inquiry. That reaction was unwarranted for the princess wanted to berate him for thinking that she would handle this delicately when he knew her much better than that. “No, I believe you’re mistaken by what I’m trying to get across,” Ignis reached out to loosen his collar and cleared his throat, embarrassed but the princess didn’t know by which, the misunderstanding or the topic on the tip of his tongue. “I merely wish... to ask for your permission to initiate a formal courtship with Noctis.” “Oh.” Luna’s cheeks glowed hot not long after the request was spoken. “Oh,” she repeated, pressing her mouth against her palm. “Then why must you waffle on when you could speak plainly? I... I thought you asking for a dismissal.” “My apologies,” Ignis amended, offering the woman a handkerchief. “I underestimated how quick you are in jumping to conclusions, Highness.” Luna sent him an icy glare to which Ignis added, “But I cannot fathom how you would be without your Hand.” Luna dabbed at her eyes. She cannot imagine herself without Ignis either and can undoubtedly forgive him here. “Now, does Noctis know of this? Is that why you’ve come to me?” “I have not consulted him on this, no.” The advisor paused, knowing that he had to explain himself. “It is customary for subjects to the Crown to ask his liege before pursuing a romantic partner.” “From an antiquated tradition that has not been in practice for years? On Eos?” Despite being two years his senior, it still came as a shock to Luna that Ignis was terribly old-fashioned and a secret romantic, Noctis was fortunate indeed. In all the time they had together and cherished, Luna never thought she would see the day when Ignis would consider dating. Her advisor was quite popular among the young ladies at balls and such though he didn’t seem to notice or care of their affections. Luna decided that she will continue to support the two in any way she can. - Noctis took a step back, wiping at his brow as he did so to admire his work. He consulted the cookbook propped on a stand before glancing at the final results. “Not bad after a couple tries,” Noctis commended himself, putting his hands at his hips. “Chef Noct’s got a nice ring to it. If I wanna have a career change.” He may have gone overboard with the quantity of the ingredients and he’s surrounded by an abundance of tofu cartons and potatoes than he ever had in his life, but a pat on the back was in order. The Oracle of Futurity and Crown Prince of Lucis may have been renowned for performing miracles before the age of twenty and now, he can cross off making his boyfriend lunch on the list. Though debatable of how high of an accomplishment this was, it was major. He wouldn’t cook for just anyone. He wouldn’t have asked Gentiana to gather texts of cookbooks or dragged Prompto along to the grocery store for the ingredients for just anyone. Baked tofu skewers and potato salad on a bed of sprouts, a common comfort dish in Tenebrae though the sprouts there served for bedding and to secure the food together in the plastic lunch box. A-not-so novel pairing, but the Prince Oracle thought a meal would ease whatever homesickness the Tenebraean Crown Advisor may experience and it was simple to make. He had let the thoughts ruminate constantly through extravagant recipes far beyond his skill level and wanted to present a meal in good faith while not wanting to show that he didn’t spend more time than necessary to prepare. And from what he glossed over, he found that he was really good at slicing and dicing. The Oracle turned his attention rectangular tin box emblazoned with Lucis’ allied province’s emblem featured by the male King of Light and female Oracle from the Cosmology watercolor illustrations he read as a child. The current bearer of the title and childhood friend, the King of Light, gave it to him. ‘Not yet,” Luna chided with a airy giggle when she stopped Noctis from opening it. ‘When you see Ignis, share these with him.’ Though it was a gentle smile, there was an underlying threat that if she did find out that Noctis didn’t abide with the instruction, he wouldn’t keep his hand. His phone alarm erupted with the iconic King’s Knight victory fanfare. Time to see Ignis. “Unescorted?” Ignis inquired, raising an eyebrow in amusement when Noctis waiting in the reception room alone. “My apologies. Were we to meet today?” One of the guidelines of courtship dictated that the two people involved must always be escorted by designated officers on dates. At times, even Luna joined them and others, Prompto and Gladiolus or Gentiana. For all his life, Noctis had the world’s eyes on him and for once, he would just like just Ignis’ when it was just the two of them. Noctis didn’t have knowledge of Ignis’ intentions to court him until the advisor was granted a private audience with King Regis. Apparently, everyone knew but Noctis. And something in him sang for his own validation, emboldening him. ‘Ask me,’ the Oracle challenged breathlessly when he pulled the advisor to the side, away from prying eyes. Despite wanting the whole world to recognize their relationship, something must be made clear now. ‘Not Luna. Not Dad. Me.’ Ignis won’t be dating the Crown or the Prince Oracle, not even the playboy persona he built up in their first meeting, but Noctis, as he is, no gimmicks. Noctis only wanted Ignis. To his defense, at the time, Noctis thought he and Ignis were dating already, sharing an interest in each other’s hobbies, exchanging letters when they were apart, all but without putting a label on it. He wanted to make it official then and still do. Ignis did ask and Noctis accepted without a moment’s hesitation. “Nope, but you got me anyway. No objections allowed.” Noctis braced himself for Ignis to protest, had a counter in mind that he can’t send him back because an attendant wasn’t in their company. Thankfully, there was none. “Your spontaneity never ceases to amaze me. I find that very refreshing about you.” Surprising him was a good call after all. “But I got something for you,” Noctis announced, holding out the stacked lunch boxes wrapped in a plaid cloth. “Hope you brought your appetite.” The two retired to the courtyard with the lovely view of the garden and greenhouse across from them. “Baked tofu and potato salad,” Ignis studied the dish, approving the vibrant colors. “You made this for me?” “With a dash of sagefire,” Noctis took an imaginary pitch of spice and with a flick of his wrist whisked it into an imaginary dish. “Bam.” As he said it, he felt a case of embarrassment overwhelm him. “How thoughtful,” Ignis reached over to give Noctis’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll savor every bite.” Ignis eagerly bit into one of the skewers and thoughtfully chewed. Enthusiasm and curiosity then turned to a furrowed brow and a slight grimace. It was gone as instantly as it appeared, but Noctis was attentive enough to not let it pass. “Does it taste bad?” Ignis shook his head, taking another bite. “It’s delicious. The... condiment has a distinctive taste.” Noctis frowned. It was just barbecue sauce. Couldn’t he tell? He snatched a free skewer and dug in before spitting the tofu block right back out. Salt. He mistook for what he thought was sugar for salt and Ignis was still eating it. “Uh, Ignis, you really don’t...” “I’m a man of my word, Noct.” After some time of verbal gymnastics and Noctis trying to retrieve the lunch box only to be thwarted at every turn, Ignis closed the box and sighed happily, “That was delicious.” Noctis completely doubted that, but the potato salad was the only thing that wasn’t ruined. He handed a can of Ebony to him. “Yeah, sure.” “I meant what I said,” Ignis sipped the can. “Because you made it for me. I look forward to the next lunch you’ll bring me.” Well, at least that wasn’t a complete failure. “Hey, Luna gave me this,” Noctis presented the decorated tin box. “Wouldn’t let me open it until I see you. Pretty serious about it, too. Dunno what that’s about.” “Oh?” Ignis tilted his head, quizzically. “Lunafreya’s hardly grave about—“ Cookies, shaped like the rare minted Oracle Ascension Coins commemorating every anointed savior in office, greeted the two men. Instead of edible replicas of the currency, they were edible versions of Noctis and Ignis’ faces with... a distinguished choice of design. No doubt that Luna was going for cute and it took her a great amount of time to design. “Ah, this is certainly her doing. No question about it.” Ignis sighed, picking up a cookie with his face on it. “She knows that I don’t fancy sweets.” He said, putting it close to his parted lips. “Wait!” Ignis looked at him. “Isn’t it...” Noctis averted his gaze. “Isn’t it weird that you going to eat your face?” Ignis smirked. “Would you prefer that I eat yours?” “I...” How was the Oracle supposed to answer that seeing the mischievous gleam in the advisor’s eyes? - Lunch passed by quickly, and Ignis offered to take Noctis back to the Citadel to which the latter accepted wholeheartedly. “May I, Your Highness?” Ignis held out his hand, and Noctis knew what it meant. “You may...” Ignis lowered his head, intending to brush the knuckles with a chaste kiss, the only permitted contact in formal courtship, but Noctis dove in first and met his lips with his own, sealing a first kiss. If there were any doubts that this Prince Oracle wasn’t proactive, those doubts should be dispelled at this point. The advisor was beside himself, his cheeks tinted red and stuttering as he adjusted his glasses. “N-Noct...” “So...” Noctis was grinning until his cheeks hurt, so over the moon that his tongue boldly ran wild with revelation and a growing desire to kiss Ignis again. “Was that your first or...?” “It certainly was not!” It was.

#ignoctgiftexchange #ignoct gift exchange #ignoct #White Day #IgNoct White Day #IgNoct White Day Gift Exchange 2018 #ignis scientia #lunafreya nox fleuret #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #ff #ff15 #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy #Fateswap AU #Dancingfox

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hotelsweet · 7 years

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you might kill me with desire - chapter 1

With his feelings in the past, Jake returns from his undercover stint with the Ianuccis. Only months later, he and Amy are assigned a hugely high-profile case, and life seems set to become incredibly exciting- Until all at once, everything from their relationship to an unexpected string of murders gets complicated.

HERE IT IS!! WELCOME TO ANGST CITY

here’s the ao3 link if you’d rather read there

without any further ado:

“Nope! I’m calling bullshit.”

“Huh?! Why?!”

Across an old, slightly battered table, filled to the brim with NYPD detectives from one ninety-ninth precinct, a tipsy Jake Peralta glares at an even tipsier Gina Linetti, whose narrow eyes and slight smirk stay completely focused on him despite the five margaritas she’s managed in the last couple hours.

This objection escapes him in almost a shout- partially out of necessity, thanks to the moderately noisy blur of voices and solid, raw sound of rock music coming through the sound system, and partially due to shock. What about the three-minute tale of him losing his virginity in Mrs Stratton’s glorious Mazda Miata wasn’t believable?

“Oh, sweetie,” Gina takes his hand, pursing her lips a little, “I know we went through a brief separation in high school, what with my infiltration of the cheer team and your position as a total loser-”

“Was not,” he interjects, at the muffled sounds of amusement from Amy and Terry, and what may have even been a snort from Rosa. Gina squeezes his hand pityingly.

“We both know you were, and we also both know that you actually lost your virginity in your mom’s Ford Fiesta.”

“Okay, okay, so I may have exaggerated the car-”

“During a football game, in the parking lot,” Gina continues.

“Fine! It wasn’t at the beach. Are you happy? Everyone totally believed me until now,” he sits back, ignoring the hubbub of amused but firm disagreement this evokes, “and now you’ve ruined it.”

“Nobody believed you, Jake,” Rosa says simply, monotonously. “This game was meant to be truthful, that’s why it’s funny.”

“Like when I told you all about my experience with Evangeline on the train!” Boyle pipes up, though he’s barely halfway through the sentence before he’s cut off by noises of disgust from the squad.

“At least Boyle’s was believable. You started by telling us it lasted a full hour,” Amy, sat in front of him, rolls her eyes.

“Whatever,” Jake replies, topping off his beer. “Okay. I’m getting more drinks, but I want you all to know that I’m hurt and offended none of you believed I could have been such a stud.”

“Sorry, Pineapples,” Amy’s cool voice comes after him as he stands up for the bar, provoking another round of laughter. A tickling mix of annoyance, affection, and amusement spurred suddenly in his centre makes him look back. She’s sat between Terry and Rosa, her thick dark hair falling over the navy collar of today’s blouse, and her cheeks a flushed rose, telling of those glasses of wine she’s managed over the last few hours.

“No worries, lost-your-virginity-in-a-library,” he replies candidly, prompting another round of giggles, and an eye-rolling from Amy.

Walking over to the bar only emphasises, both mentally and physically, the amount of alcohol Jake’s had this evening. He glances at his watch quickly once he’s reached the bar- half midnight. They’ve been here for hours. This one’ll be his last, he decides.

“Jake! What can I get for ya?” A familiar voice approaches after a few minutes.

“One more round for the squad, Carl, thanks.”

“Got it,” he responds quickly, disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

A slight tug on Jake’s elbow asks him to turn around. He obliges, looking to his side, where he finds Amy, smiling up at him. Her expression is, as he knows it to be after a few drinks, almost youthful; her dark eyes admiring and happy, her lips in a small smile, and her cheeks flushed with heat.

“Y’okay there?” He asks over the noise.

“Mm,” she responds with a nod, sliding into a bar stool next to him. “Boyle started talking about that girl again,” shes says, pursing her lips, “so I thought I’d come help with the drinks.”

“Ew. That’s fair enough,” Jake says empathetically, briefly sharing a look of disgust with her. “God, it’s so much later than I thought it was.”

“Right?!” She agrees, laughing a little. “It’s been a good night.”

She’s not wrong. It’s been weeks since the whole squad has been at the bar together, bogged down by stats and papers and ongoing cases, limiting them to groups of three or four if anyone’s ever made it out.

“It has! Everyone needed it, for sure.” Jake looks back at the squad, all still chatting happily in the booth.

“It almost feels like normal now, don’t you think?” Her voice is almost nostalgic as she turns these words over, but there’s no hint of irony, or even sadness- she’s happy, and the warmth in her voice momentarily makes his chest ache.

Immediately, in response to the affection, Jake feels a tightness, a reflex, a warning, suppressing those feelings right back down to where they belong. Out of sight, out of mind. Mostly.

“What d’you mean?” He asks carefully.

“Well, you’ve been home, what, three months? We celebrated you coming back from being undercover, then things kind of went back to their normal routine, blah blah blah…” she leans against the bar on her elbow, tilting her head over sideways, maintaining her gaze up at him. “But it’s not really felt like having you home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah. Like, when you came back, we had that whole awkward thing,” she says quickly, gesticulating by waving her hands around awkwardly, “but now it’s like you never left.”

“I know this is a pretty wild conclusion to jump to given that you just visualised the night I told you I liked you with… aggressive pretendy-spider-hands,” he says, mimicking her gestures, “but are you saying that you missed me?”

Amy rolls her eyes and picks up a couple of beers as Carl puts them in front of her. As she picks them up, her hand brushes his, and numbly, Jake almost shoots his own away- her touch burns, electricity darting over his skin.

“We all missed you.” She says simply, smiling warmly- and with that, she’s off, headed back for the booth.

In a small pulse beneath his skin, Jake can feel himself watching her, something within him hot and fluttering and still very much there.

Lord knows if it’s not going away for six months undercover, and another three back at home, it’s not going away now.

***

At 9:13am, not three sips into her coffee, it’s safe to say that Amy Santiago finds it almost laughable that only a few months ago she truly, genuinely missed Jake Peralta.

Currently attempting to use a yoyo, which is anchored in his mouth, he awkwardly bobs around at his desk, completely distracted. What started as marginally intolerable fidgeting has become a full-fledge project; he’s dipping his head up and down like a large, clumsy bird, trying to get the yoyo to spin just beneath him. Boyle watches on, interested.

Funny that for months she’d be up at night thinking about him, worrying about him, and right now she could actually, really, truly punch him.

It’s been a long morning; the night before, all the heating in her bedroom broke, which created the worst combination on the planet- a perpetually too-cold woman and the mid-January cold seeping into her room. She’d slept on the couch, in three coats and every duvet she could find in her apartment. Waking up had meant shivering as she got dressed and ready, and desperately trying to ignore the stiffness in her neck brought about by the draft coming from her room.

The yoyo clanks as it hits the floor, and Amy grips the computer mouse so hard she swears she almost feels its plastic shell snap between her fingers.

The thing is, it might not even bother Amy were it not for the small noises of victory he keeps making.

That, and the repeated clattering of the yoyo hitting the floor.

And the rowdy victory cheers every three freakin’ minutes.

Who’s she kidding? This is a pain in the ass. An unprofessional pain in the ass.

“Jake,” she sighs, exasperated, finally giving in, pressing her hands over her face. “Please.”

“M’busy, Ames,” he mumbles in reply, not looking up from the yoyo hanging from his mouth.

“This is a police precinct, not a preschool classroom.”

He rolls his eyes and briefly removes the yoyo from his mouth.

“And yet I’m still being lectured by a nerd behind a desk.”

“Whatever,” she smiles tartly, standing up to go and pour herself another coffee, “Holt will be here in ten minutes and there’s no way he’s sitting through this.”

“Spoil-sport!” He calls after her as she heads for the kitchenette. “And stop memorising his schedule, it weirds me out!”

She spins round on her heel indignantly and looks at him disparagingly.

“What?”

“I haven’t memorised his schedule, jackass. Well, I mean, not completely. It’s a morning briefing.”

Jake looks inquisitively at Charles, who confirms this, nodding back at him apologetically.

“Huh. I never picked up the actual time of those, I just kinda follow everyone else.”

“You’re like a goldfish,” she mutters, heading for the kitchenette.

“A super handsome goldfish!” Charles chimes in, but Jake doesn’t say anything else. Amy breathes a sigh of relief.

The annoyance begins to fade, just a little, but a large part of it remains under the surface. It’d be a lie for her to claim that this is all Jake, this bad feeling- truthfully, it’s like she’s been on a downward slope since she broke up with Teddy six weeks ago.

She can’t close cases like she used to. She can’t focus like she used to. Hell, she can’t live in her own damn apartment like she used to. Something inside her hasn’t felt right, slightly uncomfortable, slightly wrong, since the whole ordeal- while before she was a detective with a boyfriend and a relatively warm apartment, she’s now a freezing cold loser who’s in a slump and has to sleep it off alone in the world’s coldest living room. There’s no safety net now she’s not got Teddy, just her, and her future, and her career, and it’s all she can think about.

It’s not right. Undoubtedly, she feels better without him, no longer needing to keep up a façade, but the change seems to have… thrown her off-balance. It’s not uncommon in her breakups, in anyone’s breakups, she supposes, but now it’s different to when she was in her 20s. It’s a gritty wake-up call, a harsh reminder to re-evaluate herself and her progress.

There’s also the convenient truth that a good half of the hurdles in her relationship with Teddy were caused by the fact that she wanted someone else.

Someone who’s doing a victory lap of the bullpen, high-fiving everyone, after having successfully bobbed a yoyo from his mouth for a minute straight.

After a deep breath, she takes the first sip of her second cup of coffee.

As usual, it’s bitter, and not as hot as she’d like it to be, but it’s enough. More than enough- a nagging desperation for energy pulls at her and soon enough she’s chugging it like an energy drink.

“Y’okay there Santiago?” Terry murmurs a tad concernedly as he walks past.

“Perfect,” she says dryly.

The morning passes slowly, with little to no progress, on Amy’s part. Their briefing comes and goes, and everyone’s in and out of the bullpen as usual, following up on cases and signing off paperwork. As if not being able to get anything done wasn’t frustrating enough- being surrounded by people doing just that pokes at the critical, stubborn little demon in Amy’s brain, griping about how little she’s done.

By four in the afternoon, she’s given up, slouching back into her chair and staring aimlessly at her work. Her life’s been messy and slow for weeks, but now three whole days of this crap at work, and she’s not been right about one thing, hitting dead end after dead end. Unless, of course, you count Holt being completely unimpressed by Jake and his yoyo-mouth tricks. That, of course, earned a small boost in satisfaction, even if only for the look on Jake’s face.

The day is slow, and stupid, right up until she receives the email, one that in weeks to come she’ll wonder if she would have been better without. One that in years to come she’ll know changed her life.

It crops up in the corner of her screen, a little red exclamation mark bobbing above it in the corner of her screen, marking it as urgent. It excites her more than she’d willingly admit; modifying her email so it could notify her out of its own window was one of her proudest achievements when Savant had all of their operating systems updated.

from: [email protected] to: [email protected], [email protected]

Detectives, please meet me in my office as quickly as possible. Might I ask that you make as little fuss as possible.

Regards.

Captain Raymond Holt

Immediately, Amy’s heart starts racing. This is something, whether it’s a new case, a new opportunity, or, hell, even just the two of them being told off for something. It’s a distraction.

Or maybe it’s something more.

She looks over at Jake, who’s fiddling with a ball of elastic bands in one hand and using his computer with the other. He seems relatively unfazed, which is how she knows he hasn’t seen the email- there’s a reason Holt had to ask them not to make a fuss, and that reason goes by the name of Jacob Peralta.

“Hey,” she whispers over at him. “Hey!”

He glances over, briefly, then looks back to his screen.

“What’s up?”

“The email. Holt.”

“Huh?”

“We both need to be in Holt’s office. Now.”

“Why’re you being so quiet?” He looks at her confusedly. “That urgent-whisper voice is creeping me out. But also kind of turning me on.” He tilts his head to the side teasingly.

She rolls her eyes.

“C’mon,” she mutters softly, standing up and heading for Holt’s office.

“No, I’m serious! Could you say the following words in that exact voice? ‘You must remain quiet in the library-’”

“Jake.” She pivots on her heel outside the door to Holt’s office. “Keep the weird librarian kink for after the super serious meeting.”

“Y’know, I can honestly say I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

She rolls her eyes and knocks twice on the door, before clicking it open gently.

“Santiago, Peralta.”

“Sir,” they reply in union. Jake grins at Amy.

“Please have a seat.”

There’s something about him, Amy thinks, something serious- quickly, she glances around the room. Immediately confirming her suspicions, she notices the drawn blinds, the closed window, the soft music playing from Holt’s record player. She can’t help it- part of her starts to get excited.

“I’ve called you both in here to discuss a potential opportunity. It would entail both of you working with Major Crimes.”

“Ew,” Jake blurts out, which earns him a blunt nudge from Amy’s knee.

“We’re all-ears, sir,” she smiles.

“I wanted to keep this rather low-key as this opportunity, this case-”

“There’s a case?!” Amy asks excitedly, unable to help herself. Holt simply looks at her- she sits back in her chair, almost apologetically, sensing Jake’s smirk without having to look at him.

“Due to Peralta’s success undercover, and our scores in last year’s tactical village, I’ve been approached in search of two detectives. This is… an incredibly high-profile case.” Holt looks between the two of them slowly, completely still.

“Awesome. We’re in. Who is it?” Jake pipes up quickly. Amy glances over at him and almost rolls her eyes at how excited he is now he’s realised someone famous is involved- but she holds back. It’d be a lie to say she doesn’t feel the same. “An actor? A singer? Oh my god, it’s Taylor, isn’t it?!”

“Jake,” Amy cuts in, desperate to hear the actual details. Holt nods once, and she can’t help the surge of teacher’s-pet-pride that swells in her chest.

“I presume you’re aware of Kristoff Clare.”

“Wow, yes,” Amy replies, eyes wide, sharing a quick look with Jake. “Billionaire, entrepreneur, philanthropist-”

“He was in that AT&T ad with the dog!” Jake grins.

“Yes. I believe he is an investor in the company,” Holt offers. “You are… aware of him?”

“Are you kidding? He’s crazy famous. He’s almost at the top of the Forbes Rich List,” Jake replies matter-of-factly, resulting in an odd look directed his way from Amy. “What?! I saw it in a fancy magazine at an airport lounge.”

“Is he okay?” Amy asks eagerly.

“He has been receiving a number of threats. Major Crimes is only actually involved because until a couple of weeks ago, a child was at risk.”

“A child?” Jake’s expression changes.

“Kristoff’s daughter, Angelica, recently turned eighteen. A detective from Major Crimes was asked to step in as a family favour, but since the case appears to be rather open-and-shut, they’ve decided to pull detectives from our precinct instead.”

“So, what, are the threats not serious?” Jake looks a little confused.

“As I understand it, Kristoff is relatively unbothered by the messages he’s been receiving. He’s merely looking into more protective measures for the estate-”

“The estate,” Jake grins over at Amy. “Dope.”

“- And increased security.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why on earth would Major Crimes pick up two detectives from Brooklyn? Only, I assume this estate is a good distance away?” Amy asks carefully.

“Westchester, yes,” Holt confirms. “I’ll have to ask that you don’t let this get to your head, Peralta, but…” He clears his throat. “Kristoff Clare asked for you.”

Jake’s face lights up like a toddler who’s just been presented with a bucket of candy.

“Buuuuh what-now-huh?!”

“I believe he read into your work undercover with the Ianucci family. When he was told the case was being delegated, he named you.”

“Awesome,” Jake half-laughs. “Man, this is crazy.”

Amy sits still, trying to keep her breathing balanced, but inside she’s completely giddy; a high-profile case, and an easy one, too- this is a cakewalk, and it’s going to set her back on track. She knows it, can feel it lifting her from her shoulders, her confidence tiptoeing back already.

“So. The nature of this meeting is essentially just a proposition, offering the two of you this case. You need to understand that this will mean a lot of time between this precinct and Major Crimes, as well as visiting the estate. What I mean to say is,” he considers, “this case will be an incredibly interesting one, but it will also require a lot of effort.”

Amy looks over at Jake intuitively, but he’s already looking towards her, eyes wide, as if to ask- is this guy serious? Of course they’re going to want the case. Who’s he kidding? Excitement flutters in her chest. It’s been a while since her and Jake have had an exhilarating case, and this one might be simple, but it’s a slam-dunk. Career progress. Media attention. Meeting super-famous-billionaires.

Who could say no?

***

As they approach the entrance to One Police Plaza, Amy finds herself furiously prodding Jake’s shoulder as he speeds ahead of her, desperately trying to get his attention.

“Jake!” She gives up, resorting to calling for him like a dog.

He turns around immediately, seemingly unbothered- or perhaps entirely unaware- of her repetitive poking.

“’Sup?”

“Don’t laugh, but…” She breathes deeply, and steps back a little. “Blaser buttoned or unbuttoned?”

Jake just looks at her, not reacting. She doesn’t move, looking at him earnestly, at which point he appears to realise she’s serious, smiling softly.

“You look great as you are. If you change it you’ll only make yourself more panicked.”

She sighs. He’s probably- no, definitely- right, and they both know it.

“Okay, yes. Unbuttoned it is. Good. Let’s go.” She brushes herself off for the sixty-millionth time this morning and gives herself a small shake, ready to go. However, as soon as she steps forward, she feels a warm hand take her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “What?” She asks Jake, whose grasp remains firm.

“We’re gonna crush this. Don’t worry.” He smiles sincerely, softly, and for just a second, it reminds her of the night he told her he had feelings for her. Almost nine months ago. She nods, once, knowing he’ll understand it as a movement of gratitude.

“C’mon,” she smiles, and like that, they’re moving again, straight into the lobby, showing their IDs and being let into the elevators just like the higher-ups, surrounded by important-looking, well-dressed, stoic cops and filled to the brim with excitement.

Amy’s posture is so tight just trying to keep herself still that she could almost burst, mustering every ounce of inner strength just to maintain a professional appearance, while Jake does little to nothing to restrain himself, chatting excitedly about his potential code names (his current top three being Axe, Hurricane, and The Thunder). Their elevator hauls itself up to Major Crimes, and neither of them can keep the smile off their faces.

As they step into the hall, Amy realises neither of them have been here since she rejected her job offer here last year. She watches Jake fondly, thinking of the spelling-error-ridden letter she still has kept tucked into a drawer at home. Right now, he’s looking at the number and the name of each office as they walk the hallway, looking for the details they’d been given by Holt yesterday.

“Okay, so here’s the deal.” A familiar voice comes from the other end of the hallway, from behind Amy. She daren’t look.

Jake turns to Amy, his face turning to total despair.

“Nooooooo, c’mon,” he mutters, and just like that, Amy knows her recognition of the voice was right.

“I don’t want you on this case. Super rich dude wants you on the case,” Keith Pembroke explains casually as he approaches them. “So you’re here. What’s up, Jakey?” He grins smugly at Jake. “How’s that big white ass? Ready to get briefed?” He laughs fully, clearly amused by himself.

Jake grimaces uneasily, shooting Amy a look.

“With all due respect, Officer Pembroke,” Amy says calmly, resisting to urge to say Vulture out loud, “we have just as much right to be working this case as you do.”

“Trust me, Santaigo, I’ve got no problem with you being here,” he says with a wink, and just like that Amy would almost rather punch him in the face than keep her spot on this case.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he mutters, opening the door to his office.

Their briefing is quick, almost identical to what Holt had explained to them yesterday, charts and explanations and the reassurance that, yes, they will both be meeting Kristoff Clare. They’re to visit the estate in a week, then immediately begin working directly with the family full-time to enforce stricter protective measures. In under half an hour, they’re walking back out again.

“Did that not worry you a little?” Amy looks over at Jake the second the elevator shuts and they’re on their way out.

“Huh? Not really. He’s the worst, but we’ve dealt with hi-”

“No, Jake,” she hushes him cursing out his superior before they’ve even left the building. “I meant… how little Major Crimes seemed to know. When it came to detail, there was almost nothing other than that Kristoff needs them, and that there’s going to be a hell of a lot of media attention.”

“I don’t know,” Jake considers, “It’s a pretty simple case, right? It seems pretty open-and-shut, like the Captain said. I’m sure if there was any potential it could be something more, the Vulture would make as much a deal out of it as possible.”

“I guess so,” she finds herself agreeing, though she knows her hunch tells her something’s off.

“But hey!” Jake beams toothily over at her, “this is it! Jake and Amy, back on a case!”

She laughs a little at his unhindered enthusiasm.

“I’m serious!” He continues, “I know it’s going to be a pain in the ass having the Vulture above us, but we haven’t had something big like this since… well-”

“Since before you left,” she finishes his sentence for him, smiling gently. “Since Wint.”

“Exactly.”

Amy’s fingertips clasp clammily over the soft leather strap of her bag, tense, as the two of them maintain their gaze on each other, just for a second or two. She knows her chest, her cheeks, must redden, because her heart picks up its pace and just like every stupid moment she’s looked at him since he got back, one thought, one word, spins around aggressively in her mind: unfinished.

“We’re all good, right?” Jake says a little awkwardly, after neither of them break off the stare.

“What?” Amy’s voice sounds far weaker than she intended, resulting in a tiny pang of embarrassment, internally kicking herself.

“All that stuff with us… it’s in the past.”

“Oh, right,” she replies quickly, too quickly, “yes. Of course.”

“Good,” he says, a little relievedly- “I know you’ve just broken up with Teddy last month, and I didn’t want you to think I was going to try anything, use this case to my advantage.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says assuredly, “I know you’d not use a case to get laid.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I mean,” she corrects herself, “not with me. You’re better than that.”

“You’re too kind,” he sighs, smiling warmly at her. She chuckles softly.

“Woah, careful- that’s dangerously close to flirting.”

He laughs, and within a couple of minutes they’re talking about something else, headed back to the nine-nine. For a moment, it really feels like everything’s going to be fine, going to be normal- maybe even going to be fun.

Under the surface, an aching in Amy’s chest begs to differ, thrumming thickly, electric, as she watches him chatter and laugh and smile as if everything makes sense.

***

“To Amy and Jake, for scoring an incredible case and abandoning us for at least eight weeks!” Charles shouts, earning a round of cheers as everyone follows suit.

“Oh, c’mon, I’d never abandon you, bud,” Jake throws an arm over Charles’ shoulder. He sighs loudly. “I just have to go and hang out with super rich famous people for a few weeks until they love me and accept me as one of their own. I’ll buy you anything you want afterwards.” He grins at his friend, whose face lights up.

He’s exaggerating, of course- they all are, the warmth of the beer and the bar and the excitement of what’s to come enveloping the air. Everyone’s at least five drinks down, with Shaw’s now close to closing- but nobody’s going anywhere anytime soon. Gina’s got the night planned out, even emailing out (much to Amy’s delight, and consequently, Jake’s amusement) an itinerary for the evening.

“You guys are so mushy,” Rosa teases, rolling her eyes. Jake spots a small smile tugging on her lips, though, her tell; she cares just as much as Charles.

“Yeah, we’ll still be at the precinct a couple days a week,” Amy says as if it’s obvious, that drunk confidence of hers practically dripping from her lips as she speaks. “If you’re gonna cry about anything, it should be how far you’re all gonna fall behind without me holding you up,” she shrugs, with a small smile, calm in the face of the outrageous laughter from Gina and Rosa and general shock from everyone else that this elicits.

Jake watches her, sat tall on her barstool, her smile never wavering.

Internally, he finds he’s telling himself he can’t help the way his chest swells as he watches her, the way his heart pounds and he lights up from the inside out.

It’s not deliberate. So it’s harmless.

And yet, he can’t help but scold himself-you know better.

It’s a whisper. It aches more powerfully the longer his eyes stay fixated on her, paining him to his core and fortified by her dark, smiling eyes, and the head of raven hair falling loose over her shoulders. It’s the nights undercover, completely alone, when a memory of her on a rooftop trying to throw peanuts into her mouth is what got him to sleep. It’s every moment of uncertainty she’s resolved within him from the second she stepped into the precinct for the first time, almost seven years ago.

And it’s all useless.

Someone’s nudging his shoulder, and then he’s coming back to the room- something’s happening, people are moving.

“Jake!” Gina snaps her fingers in front of him. “C’mon, wake up, it’s time for bar two!”

He jumps up, inventing some excuse about finishing his drink, and moves with the group as they pile into taxis outside Shaw’s.

For just a second, before her head dips into the taxi in front, he swears he catches Amy looking back at him.

***

As soon as Jake steps outside The Nightingdale, onto a sidewalk lit only by its bright red neon sign, his ears begin to ring, unaccustomed to the absence of heavy music. The mid-January air, at this hour, is practically biting, so freezingly cold it almost hurts, but it’s exactly what he needs; his forehead glistens a little with a thin sheen of sweat (already fast disappearing) and he’s just a tad too warm from all the dancing.

Absent-mindedly, he sinks against the brick wall, letting himself breathe for a second, a familiar, numb, intoxicated ringing in his head. This is gonna hurt tomorrow.

It must be at least three in the morning. The Nightingale is their third and final stop of the night, predominantly a dance club with several tables at the back, concealed by shadows, creating what Jake knows to be a slightly disconcerting feeling; the sense that there’s always more space, more people, than you can see.

For the most part, everyone’s been on the dancefloor, going crazy for the unusual blend of heavy club beats and cheesy 80s and 90s music that they’ve been playing all night- Gina’s been throwing shapes like she was born for it, Amy’s repeatedly succeeded in shimmying Rosa into action, and Jake’s even performed an entire routine with Terry (including lifts, obviously). He nearly laughs to himself at the drunken image of his dance moves.

Something’s shifted within him, most of his tension from earlier in the evening having melted away, hand-in-hand with his sobriety. A certain contentedness washes over him; a big, exciting, relatively simple case that’ll instantly boost his and Amy’s careers, an incredible group of friends and colleagues whom he adores, and living in the greatest city on earth. He opens his eyes, taking in the buildings around him, under the flaming vermillion light so bright that it coats the street around him like treacle.

Out of nowhere, the doors to the bar are thrown open, so fast Jake actually jumps.

“Oh, hey.”

Amy smiles over at him. Then, quickly, he notices she’s looking over with narrowed eyes, like she’s trying to see through fog.

“Hey, partner.” He immediately regrets this greeting, briefly cursing himself for its awkwardness. Amy doesn’t seem fazed, walking slowly out into the street. “Y’okay there?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, her gaze not leaving him. It’s almost intense, he thinks. She never stares, not like this. She smiles. Then she grins, surrendering to a soft chuckle. “You’ve got…”

“I’ve got…” He repeats in an attempt to prompt her, unsure if she’s too drunk to make sense or if she’s just being quiet.

“You’ve got salt- or sugar, or something, just above your mouth,” she laughs. “I was staring because it kinda looked like a patch of… uh… gray stubble.” Her speech is languid, soft, he realises, like she’s thinking over every word she says.

“Oh,” Jake laughs relievedly, comforted by what appears to be only mild tipsiness, on her part, and a valid reason for staring at him so hard his chest started to tighten. “Must have been from the shots…”

He pushes the back of his wrist over his chin.

“No- wrong spot,” Amy interjects gently. “It’s… you’re…” She cuts in repeatedly as he somehow misses the spot over and over, until she rolls her eyes and steps towards him.

She comes close, until she’s stood only centimetres away from him, taking her thumb and pressing it softly over a spot to the side of his mouth, and wiping away whatever’s there.

Jake watches her carefully, completely frozen in his spot; after she’s taken her hand away, she doesn’t move, her eyes locked with his. It’s perhaps the most intense thing Jake’s ever experienced, simply looking at her, maintaining this eye contact for so long. His body tightens- his heart is racing, and he can feel his cheeks heating despite the cold. Not that either of them would be able to tell, he thinks, under the colour of light.

Finally, there’s movement- with only the fading sounds of traffic, under the scorching red of a neon sign hanging above them, Amy sucks her thumb clean.

He’s not sure whether he should be mildly uncomfortably or mildly turned on, and he knows his face must show it, because he’s stuck, completely unable to move, fire shooting under his skin at hundreds of miles an hour until he could swear he’s about to burst. All she does is stare at him, her eyes somehow darker than usual and completely focused.

Ask him tomorrow, and he’ll tell you that it’s him who moves first.

In actuality, it’s not quite that simple; like two runners crossing a finish line, so incomparably close that they’re not even a microsecond apart, it’s impossible to tell who’s first as they crash against each other.

Jake’s mind is alight, everything happening at once; the alcohol has his heart pounding yet manages to slow the kiss down, just enough sobriety pinching at his senses to pick up on every miniscule detail of the woman in front of him, of a moment he’s longed for for far too long.

When he slides his hand up her back and she tugs him closer, one hand pulling gently at the fabric of his shirt and the other sliding into his hair, he wonders if she can tell how much this means to him.

With her body completely pressed against him, and the soft sound of a moan escaping her throat as his mouth moves to the underside of her jaw, and then her neck- he considers that it may even mean something to her, too.

He’s surprised at how small- yet firm- her hand feels on his waist, pulling him closer and tugging at his shirt.

He’s even more surprised when he feels her fingertips skimming the top of his jeans, his breath catching quickly in his throat.

She looks up at him with a small smile, and pressing herself up against him in all the right ways, he’s not sure how he’s still standing, tipsy from the alcohol and absolutely intoxicated from Amy’s touch.

It’s five, ten minutes of teasing, toying, before he realises- no, remembers- that they’re out in the open, pushing each other to a point where, despite the patches of sludgy snow and violently cold air, they’re close to tearing each other’s clothes off. It’s like a game; she’ll pull at his jeans, he’ll suck a little harder on her neck. She’ll bite his lip, he’ll slip a hand under her shirt, the small of her back burning under his fingertips.

“Yours,” she says quietly into his ear, in a voice so thick Jake’s knees almost buckle. “Please.”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat, “yeah. Okay. Yes.”

They pull apart a little, eyes still locked together. It’s a moment of complete amazement, Jake realises, every sensation in his body heightened, from the soft tingling of his lips to the dull ache in his lower abdomen. Amy’s expression changes, now looking at him like she’s trying to figure out a math problem.

“Wait,” Amy says quietly, and for a second Jake’s heart sinks- she’ll say what they’re both thinking, that this is crazy, that they shouldn’t. “Do you want to?”

He almost can’t believe she��s asking him this, looking at her a little incredulously.

“Yes, Amy, I…” He struggles for the words, astounded by the innocence in her questioning eyes. He squeezes his fingers around hers gently where they’re already brushing against each other. “I’ve wanted this for… too long,” he says, half-laughing at himself, shaking his head a little.

She presses herself up on her toes and kisses him sweetly, simply, her fingers curling around the collar of his button-down.

“C’mon,” she says quietly, and with that, she’s taken his hand, and she’s leading him into the street.

She’s in total control, he realises quickly, from asking him to take her home to hailing down a taxi, into which they both climb with only mild stumbling and tipsy giggling- particularly after Jake bumps his head on the roof of the cab.

They’re silent in the taxi, communicating only by sharing that tight, hot stare that kicked this whole mess off. Without any obvious movement, staying as respectful to their driver as humanly possible, it’s a good fifteen minutes of teasing- Jake’s hand, on Amy’s leg, presses itself higher and higher, until he’s slowly rubbing the inside of her thighs.

It’s hard not to be in complete awe when he watches her bite her lower lip, tilting her head back as he touches her inner legs over the fabric of her jeans. Her fingers close over his in response, and when he tightens his hold, her breath hitches so loudly it’s essentially a gasp, the cab driver’s eyes darting over at her in the rear-view mirror. It’s somehow the hottest, most intense part of their evening so far, if the most restrained.

Once they arrive at Jake’s it’s like the two of them lose all tact, completely starved of each other and now allowed to taste, allowed to feel, granted permission to one another.

They’re kissing before they’re even up the steps into Jake’s building, murmuring softly and teasing each other until it feels almost futile that they’ve come all this way home, as though they could easily end up having sex right here in the hall.

As soon as they’re in the elevator, Jake’s got her by her legs, scooping her up and hoisting her up against the wall. Immediately, she laughs. Half of him wonders whether he should be concerned by her amusement at him attempting to be sexy, and the other half makes every effort to savour that joyous sound, and the feeling of her laugh shaking through her body as he holds her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says quickly, “it’s just so cliché.”

“I could always put you down,” he offers sarcastically. “The floor looks super comfy.” They both glance down at the gritty metal base of the elevator.

“C’mere,” she mutters with a smirk, pulling him towards her and into a heated kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He goes faint at the taste of her, sweet against him.

He aches so strongly for her, at this point, that he almost jolts in shock at the rich, unhindered sound of her moaning, as he takes his mouth over the top of her chest. The elevator shudders, as if it’s aware- though Jake knows it’s simply a lack of structural security.

Without thinking, he pulls the emergency stop button, and the elevator grinds to a stop, a loud clunking noise echoing through the shaft.

“Here?” Amy asks quietly, shock coursing into her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Jake’s a little proud- there’s a hint of disbelief in her expression, and he understands why: the last hour or so, he’s held back, scared to push her beyond what she wants.

Not anymore- he wants her, and he wants her-

“Now.” His voice is hoarse.

Amy’s eyes shift quickly into something different, something hungry. She nods once, and like that, it’s happening all over again.

Feverish heat blossoms within him in the most perfect way, an exquisite release after months, years, of waiting for her. They’re all over each other, so entangled that Jake’s only indicator of which movements are his are the sensations under his fingertips; her hair, as she kisses over his collarbones, the buttons on her shirt, as he fiddles to undo them, her lips, as his hand clumsily cradles her jaw.

When he shivers, the 4am January cold seeping into the elevator, she laughs, making some joke about how rushing will catch up with him- not that she seems to mind. She tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him closer. Her smile is too much, driving him insane; so he kisses it off her face, until those honeyed words melt into just one word; his name, over and over until it’s all he ever wants to hear for the rest of his life.

The way her breath stops when he’s finally inside her is unparalleled to anything he’s ever heard before. He’s not sure he can bear to forget it, not sure what it’ll mean if he never hears it again- in those first few movements he finds he has to do everything to hold himself back, stop himself from coming apart on the spot, the feeling of her around him too good to be true.

Her hands, still a little cold, find his hips, guiding him into her. It’s a combined effort, to stay upright and keep Amy balanced on the rail, but somehow they’re managing, and it’s utter heaven.

“Jake, oh my god-“

Amy can hardly talk, her breath now entirely out of control- this does very little in Jake’s favour, desperately trying to hold himself together and make this perfect for her. He twists around a little, so he’s at a slightly different angle- immediately, her eyes widen, and her head drops back.

“There, right there,” she manages, her voice tight. “Please.”

The sound of her pleading, begging, very nearly sends him over the edge- so he decides to help her instead, focus on something else, taking one of his hands from under her legs and starting to rub her softly. Immediately her groaning becomes almost uncontrollable, and though he’s largely just astounded by how incredible she is, Jake’s able to take consolation in the fact that she may actually be finding it more difficult to keep herself together than him.

He can’t get over how beautiful she is. It almost feels wrong, unforgivable, that someone like him should be able to experience her like this- but the way she’s holding onto him for dear life goes past making him feel wanted. He’s needed, and by the one person to whom he would readily give everything.

It ends too quickly, both of them unable to keep themselves from finishing- Amy first, then Jake, at the sight of her.

In total disbelief, all Jake can do is look at her, in the seconds that come afterwards. He doesn’t know much about how a situation like this, much about what comes next; he’s had a one-night stand or two, and he’s slept with women on the first date.

But he’s never moved so quickly with someone he’d rather die than lose.

Eventually, the emergency button is slotted back into place, and the elevator begins to move. Neither’s hands ever leave the other, not entirely.

Amy follows him into his apartment, touching, tugging, bringing him to bed, and a harsh realisation invades his head, fizzing off around his body in excitement, intrigue, and a dash of worry.

Nothing is going to be the same.

***

“Jesus, fuck…”

Not even entirely awake, Amy manages to stir herself awake with her own voice, cursing intuitively at the throbbing in her head. Without opening her eyes to the cruel world outside, she lifts herself up onto her elbows and presses her thumbs against her temples, desperately trying to alleviate some of the pain of the headache.

The sudden upward movement makes her surprisingly dizzy- at which point she realises that this is no mere migraine. No, this is, undoubtedly, a hangover. She sighs deeply, letting herself fall back into her pillow.

It’s when she misjudges the distance between her head and the pillow, and promptly bashes her head into the wall, that Amy knows she’s not in her own home, immediately startled awake.

Rubbing her eyes open, everything seems to hit at once; her complete lack of clothes under these sheets, the impeccable warmth of this bed, and the unmistakable freckled back of the man lying next to her.

Instantly, the night before floods back into her head, her stomach twisting violently in a sickening assortment of guilt, shock, confusion, and excitement. Her hand shoots to her mouth, completely taken aback by herself. The main thought running through her mind- though she can’t seem to place an exact moment or movement that could serve as evidence- is that she started this. She’s the reason they’re waking up naked together. And she’ll be the reason things get completely weird from here on out.

Unmoving, so as not to wake him, she watches Jake, who remains completely passed out, his bare back exposed as he lies on his front.

“Oh my god,” she whispers quietly, thinking about the way this completely still, sleeping man had held her, had touched her, only hours ago.

Somewhere in the room, a phone buzzes.

Amy looks around, not even considering that someone might need to get in contact with her. It seems to be coming from the floor, as far as she can tell, which is in a general state of disarray; a mix of her clothes and Jake’s, as well as the usual Peralta-clutter that she knows too well to gather in his apartment, has the floor almost completely concealed.

Awkwardly, she clambers out of bed, pulling the throw blanket off the corner of Jake’s bed to cover herself as she searches for her phone.

It’s still in the pocket of her jeans, which sit awkwardly at the end of Jake’s bed- she pulls it out and sits on the end of the bed to inspect it.

To her absolute horror, her lock screen is filled with notifications, all of them filled with various expletives, all-caps words, and exclamation marks.

She scrolls down, until she sees the one text that has her close to throwing up on the spot.

“Morning,” Jake’s voice comes from behind her, magically sleepy- he presses a kiss against her bare shoulder, and for a microsecond, she feels a little calmer, but the second the turns to look at him, she knows her expression gives her panic away, because Jake’s face changes immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s… my phone…” she shows him the screen, then, with a grimace, opens The Text, the one sending her brain into a spinning, guilty frenzy.

“Oh my god.”

Keith Pembroke 06:24

I need you and Jake at the estate NOW.

Kristoff Clare is dead.

#IT'S HERE I PUT IT UP AH #I hope you enjoy it my luvs #my writing #jake x amy #darcey speaks #b99 fic #jake x amy fic #peraltiago fic

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drferox · 7 years

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20 Questions with Dr Ferox #20

Sometimes it blows my mind how many questions and comments you all have and want to share. This makes 400 we’ve got to in this format. Once again I’ve tried to tag people, but if you sent a question on Anon you’ll have to look yourself to see if you were answered.

@crazy-aquarium-lady said: Do you have any experience with farm or large animals in general? Goats for instance?

I spent the first few years of my veterinary career working in mixed practice, which included large animals and goats. I really did enjoy goats, though they often weren't kept as seriously as other livestock, but I'd have to admit I'm somewhat out of practice with large animals.

Anonymous said: omg all of your animal names are incredible. i once met two cocker spaniels called Beans and Trousers and that was pretty amazing

Bean and Trousers are great names too

@sketchingblanks said: Hi there Dr. Fox! Thank you for your wonderful blog and all that you do. My dwarf hamster recently passed away at the age of 3 and I'm a wildlife rehabilitator who has dealt with animal death many times before, but it's never quite the same when it's one of your own. However it did make me wonder what is the smallest animal you have ever worked with? Was it more fun or challenging? Question tax: How do you take your tea? I usually have something herbal (like peppermint/spearmint) with honey.

The smallest patient I've personally dealt with was a mouse. But the finch with the broken leg was pretty close. Believe it or not I don’t actually drink tea.

Anonymous said: Question: have you ever treated an arthropod (specifically tarantulas, because they can rupture their abdomen pretty easily) or know someone who specializes in that? Because I'm quite interested in knowing if vets provide care to arthropods, or if its better for the owner to perform medical care to their tarantula at home (ICU's, helping a bad molt, treating hemolymph leaks, etc).

I haven't personally treated an arthropod, though I learned a bit about them during work experience at the Melbourne Aquarium, most of their medicine seemed to be 'just don't make them sick'. There are vets that will treat them though, the Bird & Exotic Animal Clinic is my go-to for exotics (you should check out their facebook page).

Anonymous said: You dont have to reply to this if you dont want to, i just wanted to say i have rats and i love them so much and i will do anything they need at the vets. Because idk i thought maybe you might need encouragement that there are people who prioritize exotic animals health. I hear a lot of stories of people that wont get vet care for their rats but not a lot about people who do. Thought it might give you a little bright light amongst all the dark. Have a great day youre amazing.

People like you are definitely out there. Thank you for your comment.

Anonymous said: just needed to blow off a bit of steam because this still annoys me, but my father told me that taking a hamster to the vet to make sure she's healthy before taking her to college with me as a support pet was "a waste of money." granted, he hasn't taken the family cat to the vet in about seven years, so he generally seems to think that veterinary care is a waste of money. i love my hammy and i just want to make sure she's healthy, but since she isn't a cat or dog, she's "not worth it"

Anon, sounds like your father would think any dollar spent at a vet clinic is a waste of money, regardless of what sort of animal it was. There's not much you can do to change people's minds about this, so just do what you need to do.

Anonymous said: It's amazing how many people don't understand how economics works. They seem to expect vets to do everything for free or for cheap, but if they did that, how could they afford to eat? And besides that, you guys DESERVE to be paid for your time and effort. I wish more people thought about it like that instead of just looking at their bill and thinking that their pet's life isn't worth that much. Thank you for everything you do.

Veterinary medicine is one of the fields where people seem to think it's criminal for a practice to make a profit. Most other professions are not vilified for making a wage, but we're expected to like our jobs enough to work for free. Partly this is our own fault because we start to believe it after a while but we do frequently undercharge, do desexing surgery at cost, and treat strays and wildlife for free. The difficulty is most of this charity is invisible

Anonymous said: I want to say thank you as well because I thought I wanted to become a vet for the longest time, but reading this blog among others has actually taught me that it probably wouldn't be right for me. Now I'm more interested in something like a research professor. The amount of respect I have for you is boundless. I love seeing your work and following you and I think it's a good thing that I stumbled across this blog. This way I won't be stuck in a career that I wouldn't like.

Being stuck doing something you don't really like isn't a fun place to be. I'm glad you've found some more options and hope everything works out great for you.

Anonymous said: My favourite part of your blog has always been your vet stories, so I've been curious -- What kind of case/problem gives you the most satisfaction to solve?

Anything where I actually find a treatable diagnosis. Animals that get better 'mysteriously' are great and all, but I want to know why. And getting the answer is only bitter sweet if the answer is catastrophic or terminal. EPI, Addison’s and reconstructive cases are my favourite, because you can do so much good for them.

@daedricprincessxoxo said: Cute story for happiness: So a nurse-for-people brought in her dog for a sick visit. Unlike most human med people I've met, she was so respectful of those of us in veterinary medicine, and absolutely fascinated by how similar it all was to human medicine. Not only was she a dream client, her dog had freckles on its nose, which the vet adored too. What was funny is when she referred to the dog's spay as a hysterectomy instead.

It's great when you get a good one instead of a know-it-all. Technically a dog spay is an ovariohysterectomy though, we take those pesky ovaries out too.

Anonymous said: Im a vet assistant at a local shelter, and while helping a family look at dogs they remarked to me, "yeah our daughter is allergic to dog FUR but not dog HAIR. Do you know which dogs have just hair?" Needless to say, i was a little speechless and just recommended a poodle. Theres no real difference....right?

It's only semantics but some people like to use it to feel special. Hair and fur are chemically the same, if you're really allergic to one you're allergic to both, but hair is finer and typically longer so either doesn't shed or sheds much more rarely. It's weirdly common for poodle owner to be proud that their dogs have hair instead of fur. As long as they end up loving the dog, it doesn't really matter.

Anonymous said: Here's one: I work at a pet store. A man came in asking for a remote electric shock collar for a 3 lb Yorkie. Told him we carried nothing small enough to be safe. He told me it wasn't for barking - he and his wife had cattle, and when they went to visit the herd the dog would go pelting towards the cows. He said, "I just need something to drop er so she don't get stomped." I suggested a leash. He replied, "Nah, she don't like leashes."

Nothing the general public does or says surprises me anymore.

Anonymous said: I have a natural English Cocker. Her tail is heavy, constantly wagging, and a hazard to any legs in the vicinity :) Where I am there's a lot of working cockers, and hunters will swear up and down that docking is necessary because they'll ruin their tails in the brambles, etc. I'm not convinced - my (pet) dog loves diving into thick cover and this has never been an issue. Their ears are surely more of a risk, I'd think, but no-one's trying to crop those. Is there any real merit to docking?

No, there is no real merit to docking healthy tails and you're correct in assuming the ears of cocker spaniels are far more problematic for these dogs. Cocker Spaniels are the most notorious breed for difficult, drug resistant ear infections, with quite a few of them requiring lateral or total ear canal ablation surgery, but nobody would even think about docking Cocker Spaniel ears. This is because docking and cropping are done for aesthetics, not function.

@cakeandpi said: A long time ago, I took my cat in to the vet because he was limping badly and did not want to be handled. Turns out, rather than breaking his leg or anything like that, his hip joint had essentially eroded away and - to quote - “looked like swiss cheese”. His leg was amputated and it healed nicely, though he never let anyone close to that part of his body again. He had a long, easy, and mobile life, until he was roughly 18 years old (he was a shelter rescue) when his kidneys finally gave out on him for good. Whatever happened to his hip bone, it was unusual enough that the vet sent a sample to a vet research clinic. It’s been a few years since my cat passed, and even more since his amputation, but it helps a little to think that that sample might one day help, I don’t know, with orthopedic research or something of the sort. Maybe. Question tax: I really like your fantasy-animal science posts!

I of course have no way of knowing where the hip bone went, but I'm sure somebody, somewhere will make use of it. Veterinary Medicine is advancing all the time, which is the best thing about science, and accumulating raw materials and data is critical for us to be able to do so.

Anonymous said: hi dr ferox! i love your blog! earlier today my sister cut our cat's claws with human nail trimmers. i know you're not supposed to do that, but i don't know why. i looked at his claws after she told me she did it and they don't look hurt. should i be worried? thank you so much!

I use human nail trimmers on my cats' nails all the time. It's fine if your technique is good, though they're not the easiest device to use for that purpose.

@gemma-handyman said: Dear Dr Ferox, I've tried to find the answer via google but have come up short. Do you know why some cats have such an affinity for loaves of bread? For instance, my grandmother's cat, Cece, would drag loaves beneath my grandmother's bed and fiercely protect the pilfered loaf. She's not the only cat I've heard of with a strange penchant for gluten and carbohydrates. Do you know why some cats love loaves of bread? Question tax: came for the mythical breed breakdowns- stayed for the irl info

Cats can digest carbohydrates, and from a metabolic point of view they're likely treating it as glycogen in terms of dehydration. Some cats like novel chewing textures, celery leaves is another common thing for cats to like, so may be just chewing it for fun.

Anonymous said: I want to be a vet tech but everyone always says I'm selling myself short... vet techs are just as useful right?

Of course they are. Have you ever seen a human hospital function without nurses?

Anonymous said: So our clinic has a batch of neonate puppies. 10 of them. I'm clearly not going to be able to sleep for the foreseeable future, as I'm on puppy duty. At least they're cute.

Good luck bottle feeding the little squeakers. They'll turn into waddling balls of chaos soon enough.

@fndm-trsh-sht said: my cat is a lil shit- but a cute lil shit- t h a t i s a l l- *slinks awaayyy*

Most cats are buddy, but we love them anyway.

Anonymous said: Something about the angle of trashbags ears reminds me of a goblin. Hes wonderful

He is a bit of a gremlin, he's starting to grow into his ears though.

#veterinarian #vetblr #20 questions #dr ferox

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itsohh · 7 years

Text

Cariño Part 1

Source

A/N: I’m back, this is cause it’s my birthday on Saturday and wanted to upload something. Uploaded on mobile (gross) will fix up later (fixed)

Summary: Gabriel Reyes makes a regrettable action which results in him losing his lover but he finds out he hasn’t lost them forever.

Word count: 2258

Warnings: Possible swearing, torture, and violence. Smut will be in future parts. Possibly worse. You have been warned.

Master list Part Two Part Three

“I thought we were supposed to be on suspension.” You raised your eyebrows at Gabriel who only replied with a lazy grin and a shrug. “Officially we are.” “So you want me to check out Null Sector? In London. A place we aren’t supposed to be.” “You won’t be actually engaging with them, just spying. Mccree will make any contact with them, you won’t be linked anything, but it might take a little while.“ “Alright, alright. I got it, check out the rioting omnics and start to report back.” You nodded and turned on your heel, walking away. “And cariño.” Gave paused as you spun around and made eye contact with his warm brown eyes. “Stay alive, this place wouldn’t definitely be a lot shittier without you.” He softly smiled at you. With your eyebrow raised, you took a few steps towards Gabriel where you placed your hands on his collarbones and slipped up until your hands were resting around his neck. “Well aren’t you a romantic.” A warm chuckle slipped from his mouth in response to your words.

He pressed your body closer to his larger frame, his arms around your waist. He leaned down and pressed his soft lips against your own. At first, it was gentle and sweet but it became so much more passionate and full of lust, your body’s firmly pressed against each other. His tongue poked at your lips, asking for entrance which you soon accept, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth and dance with your own tongue. A short cough was heard behind you however you ignored it. Gabriel put up his index finger and broke the make out session which had occurred. You turned to see Jack standing there, once upon a time he would have been embarrassed or would have stuttered however he had grown used to the often make out sessions which you shared with Gabriel in public. “Jack.” You greeted him before giving him a sly smile. “Agent.” He spoke with annoyance in his voice.

“I should have a theme song cause I'm in here like an action movie and shit.”

“Don’t me just infiltrating a death trap.”

“Uh I want pizza, wait, no. I want a solid homemade meal. My mama used to make a killer Quesadilla. You should make me one when I get back.”

“Note to self: get more milk before coming back.”

“Oh, man Gabe you gotta check this place. There are hundreds of these fuckers.”

“Huh, would you look that. You should probably let Mccree go hang in London for a bit. I heard Kings Row is nice this time of the year.”

“Oh shit, this is uh, not good. I’m probably gonna be late for dinner. Heh. Yeah, I’m bleeding pretty bad Gabe. I fucked up. I fucked up real bad.”

“Gabriel Reyes… if you’re.. receiving this… I want you… to know that… I… love you.” That was the final audio log which Mccree found. It haunted Gabriel, he would think to himself, perhaps if things were different and you were there on official business that you would still be with him. Perhaps if he sent something with you or if you were there as an Overwatch agent and not a Blackwatch agent you would still be skipping around the base, perhaps you would still be teasing the rest of group or sitting in his lap at lunch breaks. Perhaps you would still be in his arms smiling or making love to him in your shared room. But you weren’t. You hadn’t for a long, long time.

Jack walked into the room after getting Tracer ready for her first mission, he found Gabriel starting to play the audio logs again. “They have to go after her. Find her.” Gabriel spoke up and Jack just sighed. “We can’t ju-” “Bullshit, Jack we have to find her. If not one of our agents then I will myself.” Gabriel hissed towards Jack. “I care about her too Gabriel.” “Then why the fuck aren’t we trying to find her this goddamn second?” “Because we can’t Gabriel. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, as Strike Com-” “Then do it as Jack Morrison because it’s the right thing to do. I’m not just standing by while the person I love is out there dying.” “You might not want to hear this but you heard the logs, Gabe. She’s gone. Dead. It would be a recovery for a body and we can’t waste resources on that.” And so they never looked.

Reaper only let out a sigh as he entered Kings Row, Widowmaker was rather happy about being back. Or at least as happy as she could be, she had a glint of a smile on her normally neutral face. Quite simply she was remembering the last time she was at Kings Row and was pretty chatty about it. However, Sombra was still the center of attention in the trio, asking for details from Widowmaker and bathing in the information. Their mission was to enter one of the old omnic bases from the uprising years ago due to a lead on some information which could benefit Talon largely and be used to blackmail omnics or at least increase the hatred towards them if it was ‘accidentally leaked to the press.’ Reaper entered first into the hatch which was the only part of the place that was exposed to the surface. His shadows rose up from the ground, creating his more human form he scanned the room with his eyes. The place seemed to be completely abandoned, the lights were out and there was a thick layer of dust forming upon the ground. “Wow, this is insane,” Sombra spoke as she appeared next to Reaper. Widowmaker stayed outside, making sure that no one followed them down. Sombra brought up a small box with small miniature drones inside. Her fingers danced across the holographic keyboard which had appeared and they all suddenly whizzed to life before flying down the different corridors. The pair of Talon agents stood still but still on guard until Sombra got a lead. “Aha, the power is this way.” She notified Reaper before skipping down the path to the left.

Sombra pulled the large switch which moved down with a large clank, the rest of the generator letting out a large groan but did what it was told and started to work away. The lights flickered on which illuminated the facility. Reaper followed Sombra until she found a large room in the center of the place and hacked into the main computer which dulled basically the entire room. “My God.” She took a step back in shock and under his mask Reaper raised an eyebrow. “What.” “They weren’t just torturing people but once they were finished with that they would do experiments on them.” She explained before making a large gesture which placed a whole series of video clips on the screens around them. However, he froze at the sight of one of them. “Let me see that one.” He pointed to the clip which Sombra brought down with a gesture.

Her once flawless body was covered with bruises which littered her skin and blood dripping down her face from the large cut on her forehead. She had jumper cable on each of her index fingers which were attached to a small generator. In front of her was a man, a cyborg. Half of his head had been replaced with omnic pieces and there were only patches of flesh left on his body. He turned the dial up on the generator to 100 milliamperes. “We are in the dangerous zone for you to die. But judging by my calculations a strong person like you will survive this. Besides if you die. We will bring you back. Now tell me what I want to know.” The cyborg spoke in a monotone, his eyes glowing a bright gold which contrasted against the purple metal which made up most of his body. Reaper watched as she mumbled something quietly and the Cyborg leaned in. She then spat in his face giving a weak sly smile. “I said fuck you.” The cyborg frowned and wiped his face before standing back and a lever allowing the electricity to flow through her body. Her hands clenched down on the chair, sweat beaded down her head. She clenched her jaw, stopping herself from screaming until he switched it off again, her body still jerking slightly as the current flowed through her body. “I can do this all day sweetie.” She muttered out before adding in, “but it’s gonna take a lot more than a lil sting to make me break.” She hissed out. The clip ended and the date changed to a month later. She was still there but looked barely alive, there were large bags under her eyes and was slowly wasting away.

The cyborg was still there but was injected something into her bloodstream. “These are nanotechnology, it will keep you from dying but we control it so. We can also basically control your blood. We haven’t tried it on anyone yet so you will be the first in a great advancement in science.” He brought up a holo screen and typed in something that he couple see. Her body jerked forward and she let out a long high-pitched scream in agony. Reaper could see her veins become large and lumpy, pulsing in a jagged way. “I thought it would be interesting see your blood has these little doors and the way your veins are shaped stops your blood from going backward. I always wanted to see what happened if they could go backward. Even before I was in this improved body. Her screams died out into small whimpers as she started to drift off however he gripped onto her collar and made eye contact with her. "Oh no you’re not sleeping just yet. It’s been, what a month. Don’t want to break your record.” Reaper could see it in her eyes. She had lost hope. “Like I give a fuck.” “Oh good, I have so much more to do. Let’s see what your heart does when I skip allowing oxygen into your blood system.” He started to type away when the screen went black. Reaper’s head snapped to Sombra who had a nauseous expression on her face as well as the odd tear running down her face. Reaper often forgot that not everyone could handle something like that. A profile of the woman soon came up on the screen. “She’s still alive,” Sombra whispered and his eyes snapped to her status.

NAME: UNKNOWN CURRENT STATUS: ALIVE

LOCATION: BIOMETRICS LAB F2567

CAPTURE: WAS FOUND TRANSFERRING INFORMATION TO AN OUTSIDE SOURCE AND WAS CAPTURED FOR INTERROGATION

“Sombra take a copy of their database then show me where she is,” Reaper demanded. “Got a copy while we were watching the um, I'll show you to the lab.” She spoke before jumping out of the chair and jogging down a pathway. She weaved in and out of the rooms until she found where she was looking for. It was a large room with a high ceiling. In the middle was a glass tube with metal casing. Inside was the naked woman in a slightly green tinted liquid and a breathing mask over her face. Sombra typed away on the computer next to her. The liquid started to drain away and the woman’s eyes fluttered open, she thrashed around for a second before she calmed down, examining the room. The front of the tube slowly lifted as the rest of the water drained away, she was left suspended by the tubes which were attached to her body as well as the metal plate which kept her in a singular position. Once the machine was finished she ripped the mask off her face and yanked out all of the tubes which were plugged into her.

Small streams of blood mixed in with the droplets on her skin. As she attempted to stand her feet have way however instead of hitting the floor Reaper had materialized in front of her and caught her in his arms. “Smooth.” Sombra cracked a smile, and her voice had broken the thick silence which had grown in the room. Reaper ignored Sombra and just stared. He couldn’t believe she was alive. He couldn’t believe that this was real. She attempted to cover as much of herself as she cold which snapped him back to reality. He took his cloak off himself before wrapping it around her smaller frame. “Not that I'm grateful and all that but um who the fuck are you?” She spoke up which caused Reaper to grin under his mask. Even after everything she was still the same girl. “Well since you asked, my name is Sombra and mi amigo here is Reaper. Don’t worry his broody to everyone, the señora outside is Widowmaker.” “We should leave.” Reaper simply stated and paused. “Can you walk or should I carry you.” He asked.

“Can or want? Because I'm certainly down for the second option.” She gave a weak smile but he did as she asked.

Outside of the facility, they all meet up at the chopper. The woman let out a small gasp as her eyes found Widowmakers. “Amelia.” She whispered in shock. Widowmaker did seem slightly taken back, however, didn’t make a fuss about it. Reaper looked down at the woman grip onto him slightly more and frown before her body went limp in his arms.

#reaper x reader #reader x reaper #gabriel reyes #overwatch #blackwatch #talon #gabriel imagine #reaper imagine #gabriel x reader #reader x gabriel #posting at 1 am #cries #i hate mobile #widowmaker #sombra #jack morrison

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tweakerwolf · 7 years

Text

Ren Endings 8 + 16

Here’s a few easy to get endings involving Sweater!Ren :D

House:

You wake up in a strange house and almost immediately someone comes over to check on you. It’s Ren, from the bar... he tells you that you’ve been asleep for hours. Ask “W-what happened?” to try and get your bearings and he tells you that he met you at the bar and it wasn’t until you got up to leave that you just... passed out. He tried to wake you but couldn’t and then, being a good guy, he brought you back to his house to safely recover. Ren then offers to make you something to eat since you’ve been out for a few hours now... but you’re eager to get home so say “I really should be leaving...” but he insists that you can at lease stay for for food. He even drops a hint that it’s been awhile since he’s had anyone to cook for but then cuts himself off and hurries into the kitchen. Looks like you’re staying for food.... you shift in the chair and hear a clinking noise and you notice that there is a chain coming out of the wall and it’s connected to your ankle. At the same time you finally realize that there is something around your neck too! Apparently you yelled out in surprise at the discovery because you realize that Ren’s stopped making noises in the kitchen. You pry at the thing on your neck, trying to find a way to get it off while Ren comes back to check on you. He asks what’s wrong, command that he “Let me go!” You lunge at him but the chain pulls you up short. Ren only comments that you should calm down because getting riled up on an empty stomach isn’t good. You grumble, since the chain won’t let you reach him, you move the conversation along, asking what the thing is around your neck. He replies that it’s a hand-me-down- a gift! Now you’re starting to realize just what kind of situation you’re in. Ask him “Are you insane!?” because this shit ain’t right! He can’t do this! He should’ve left you on the ground because this is straight up kidnapping! Ren tsks and says that it’s apparently time to start your training. Before you can ask what he means, he pulls out a remote and presses a button. A painful sensation rushes through your body (mini screen shakes), turns out the thing around your neck is a shock collar.

Time to move on to test #2: he wants you to sit. Get pissed and tell him “I’m not an animal!” Tell him the truth, that he has you chained up because he’s a little bitch. Ren responds by shocking you... surprise. Ren says that he can make you sit. Say nothing (”...”) in defiance. Surprisingly he doesn’t shock you again, saying that you’re doing a little better by not acting out. He pauses for a moment and then asks if you’re ready for dinner before he rushes back into the kitchen to check on the food. You take the time to think your way through the situation... you’re chained to a wall and you have a shock collar around your neck. Escape doesn’t seem easy, better not rush into it until you have a plan. Ren surprises you by suddenly appearing back in the room- you didn’t even hear him coming... that’s going to be a problem. He’s got dinner for you, and he’s got a cheeky grin on his face... He holds up a dog bowl with your food in it. He puts it on the floor and tells you to eat it, still grinning. Lock eyes with him and -kick it- because you aren’t going to put up with his shit (broken heart).

Ren comments that you’ll just be going hungry then. Maybe it’s time to get you settled in, maybe once you have time to adjust, you’ll drop the attitude. He goes to take your shackle off but reminds you about the collar! You aren’t scared of the collar though, as soon as he unlocks the shackle -run- for it! Ren is quick to react though, pressing the button and using the electric shocks to stop you in your tracks. He helps you to your feet and insists that he’s showing you to your room! And he does, taking you down the hall and leading you to a room. It’s simple but there aren’t bars on the window or chains to lock you up, that’s nice. Ren makes the comment about sprucing the room up in the future and what? Ask “how long are you planning to keep me here?” and Ren deflates a bit, telling you to just get some rest and then hurrying out of the room. You explore the room a bit but then fall asleep on the bed. Later, when you wake up you look around... the house is quiet, should you risk exploring? The door is unlocked but it almost feels like a trap -Call for Ren- and see if he responds first. Maybe he’ll give you permission to leave the room. He doesn’t answer though, so that means he’s probably gone... You can’t be sure though, and you feel like shit after all the shocks from earlier. Maybe you mouthed off a bit too much... -stay in the bedroom- just to be safe. Get some more sleep.

The sound of a slamming door wakes you up and you hear some muffled talking and some thumps. You try to listen but Ren is talking too quietly. Suddenly he calls out for you, saying he has a surprise. He wants you to check behind a door to see the surprise. The room is dark and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust but eventually you see someone- Lawrence, taped to a chair. Apparently Lawrence was originally going to take your place but then you were there and messed everything up. So instead, you get to be Ren’s special friend and Law is going to be the sacrificial lamb... Ren wants to share a very special experience with you, he pulls out a knife and hands it to you. You are to hurt him, make him bleed. Uhh... How can he expect you to do this?! Tell him “He didn’t do anything to deserve this”, not that Ren cares. He says that you need this. Something about the way he’s talking warns you to just do as he says... who knows what might happen if you fight him on it. -Give in- and cut Lawrence, but at least -make it quick- for the poor guy (and for yourself)... slash his throat and watch the blood pour out of his neck (CG of Law with a slit throat). You drop the knife and wait for Lawrence to die. You jump in surprise when Ren touches you, commenting that he knew you’d get along well. You freak out, falling to your knees as you realize you’re a murderer. Ren says that he understands you, he’s a murderer too. He tells you to go relax while he cleans up. You bury your face in the couch cushions and doze.

Eventually you wake up and you’re okay for a moment but then everything comes flooding back to you. Ren appears, looking about the same as you feel (Sweater!Ren)... You two just stand there for a moment before Ren finally speaks. He thought killing would be easy, he’d never actually... killed someone like that.

Ending 8:

“You’re a monster” - call it like it is! This is all Ren’s fault! Ren looks hurt by your outburst but then suddenly he looks pissed (broken heart). He calls out that Strade was a monster! Lawrence was a monster too! (oh?? hmmm) All Ren wanted was for someone to love him- he was lonely and he chose you of all people! You step away from him, scared of the look on his face. Ren calls you ungrateful and unloving... Ren thinks that you’re the monster! The remote comes back out and you try to run but he presses the remote (mini screen shakes) and you fall to the floor. Ren stands over you and holds the button down. Died- Ren shocked you to death.

Ending 16:

You’re feeling like shit and Ren looks like he feels the same way, try to lighten the mood since... who knows what Ren is capable of, he still has the remote after all. Tell him “Neither have I” and he actually manages a small smile. A joke? You both chuckle a bit, trying to cope with what happened. You comment that you’re both criminals so... Ren tells you that the house is made for people like that. The house looks fine, it’s actually really nice! This isn’t the worst place to be. Ren is happy too, since you both have each other Survived- It’s not so bad.

#Boyfriend to Death #Boyfriend to Death 2 #btd #btd2 #btd game #btd endings #btd Ren #Ren endings

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seekerandthewizard88-blog · 6 years

Text

The Other Side of Fear

(This was originally written in July...)

by Kat

I’ve been hunkered down this past week…. in the mouth of a lion.

I chose a moment like this once. I walked willingly into it, acquiescing to my ex’s daughter who pleaded with me to share the moment. I knew I wanted a lasting memory with her for many reasons, and I didn’t know when the next opportunity would be… Her bright eyes were so full of wonder, excitement, and life- mine, as usual, so cautious. I remember every second of those few minutes. Terror has a way of burning timeless, hyper-detailed memories into one’s mind. I said yes. There would be no going back. It was only a rollercoaster.

I can hear each click of the belt, the angle of ascent getting steeper, and how my organs felt pressed up against the inside of my ribs. I remember gripping her little hand and searching it for safety. I can remember how a laugh looks when you use your whole 11 year old body, at the inappropriate words coming involuntarily out of my mouth. I can remember trying to decide if it was better to close my eyes since we were being pulled backwards and I could almost calculate how perpendicular I was to the ground if I kept them open. I remember my heart beating ferociously in protest when I closed them. I remember when there were no more ominous clicks… when it stopped being impending as the belt released and suddenly there was no tether any longer, just dead weight and gravity. I remember the roar of the wheels against the futility of my most primal screams into the air and the moment after I could no longer hold on tight- my muscles going flaccid from a combination of sheer exhaustion and hormonal overload.

I closed my eyes as I was flipped upside down for the first time, not knowing what to expect. Then something happened in that loop as I was carried by the experience. I remember being surprised at how easy it was to slip into the feeling of surrender. I suspect it had been there that whole time, waiting for me to notice. I became aware of the cool breeze on my face as we whooshed through the air. I was nowhere else in the world. And then, just as I was enjoying this new feeling, I felt the car slow to a crawl as we docked. I laughed. It was over. I had survived what I had deemed earlier as certain death. As I struggled to regain voluntary control of my legs, I remember my spritely companion whipping around to realize that I was lagging far behind in a daze. She skipped back, beaming, to collect me and guide me back to the group. I can’t recall what happened after as I had probably used all my mental storage for the day in those 5 minutes. I only remember how happy she was that she got to be the one riding next to me.

There was a moment looking back when I realized I was on the other side of fear. How many rollercoasters have come and gone since that time? Even still, I get stuck in the moments of rigid muscles and primal screams, protesting the inevitable…. This past week was one of them.

Wednesday afternoon, sitting in class, and suddenly I’m on a rollercoaster. That’s what panic attacks, or whatever this is, are like. An involuntary amusement park ride anytime, anywhere. I excused myself into the hallway to regain my composure and prevent my passing out in front of the whole class. I had also convinced myself that I could talk myself through it without resorting to Xanax and its zombie-like effects.

I finally broke down Thursday night. I hadn’t slept since Tuesday night and I had missed school, missed a final, went to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, still no answers, mind going a mile a minute about what it could possibly be… and in the ambulance, all I could think was- how can I relate my symptoms in such a way that they’ll do this or that test to see if it’s what I think it is this time. Something was obviously very clearly wrong, and I’m a very rational person. But, having to carry it all on my shoulders, the phrase "no cure." FUCK. 5 hours of sleep in 36 hours. Delerium. Consulting all the people. Friends, energy healers, doctors, acupuncturists… Maybe it’s ascension symptoms. Maybe it’s my thyroid. It's EBV. It’s a possible heart defect. It’s liver overacting on spleen. MAYBE it's fucking Maybelline at this point. But why won’t any of these doctors listen to me? The panic/anxiety is the branch, not the root! Last month I was certain it was a kidney stone……….. but they are fickle things. Perhaps I passed it. I never saw anything. But I can’t trust these doctors to care. No one these days is out for our own good. (Interesting point of view, aka, POV). Clearly I have trust issues at play…. is the world trustworthy?

Sigh. Reading that last paragraph is a fraction of the frustration I felt living it.

I think it was wednesday that I looked down randomly at my tattoo. I only have one. It’s in sanskrit and it means, “the path to God through surrender.” I thought to myself, how can I surrender to a terminal diagnosis? How can I surrender to pain and unbearable insomnia in the midst of such visceral suffering? How can I surrender to what I thought was certain death? Ahh… the illusion of the rollercoaster. What is really here? What is the shape of the face of this demon that I had been avoiding since over a year ago? How could I know if I never looked? How much of the suffering was my own creation?

I still can’t tell you the meaning of certain things months, years, or decades after they happen. Can you imagine a perspective so vast it encompasses the wisdom of everything that has ever transpired throughout time and space? I’m lucky if I can notice my surroundings as I walk lol… Sometimes I get a glimpse of a piece of a speck of a thing inside this galaxy. A real glimpse. And in a microcosmic way, I think... maybe this is what it's like to be Source. Except it's like that simultaneously with every speck everywhere. Omnipresence as they call it. Mmm.

Would I have gone on the real rollercoaster alone? Absolutely not. Did sharing the experience make it any safer? No. But the perception of it was different. The meaning of it was different. And so the spirit had a different experience.

Forgive the chaotic juxtaposition of the fibers I am weaving throughout this tapestry. The connections happen too fast to adequately explain the pathways it took for me to arrive at my next thought.

My mother has been staying with me this past weekend. Terror hasn’t changed except for that I chose to share it. And in so doing it has taken on a different meaning. Since she got here, I have been able to sleep. I still get symptoms, but I feel safe because I know I am loved and supported. There are countless people who have showed up for me during this difficult time. Ones who stayed up 8 hours on the phone while I tapped my collar bones and forehead while singing row row row your boat in harmonious rounds. Ones who have seen me through some really hard times over the years. Ones who know some of the scary paths I have had to walk down. Ones who gently suggested that I see a therapist. The ones who know me, who see me, who care to tell me the truth as they see it. The ones who have lived through their own rollercoasters. The ones who are happy to be the one who gets to sit next to me for the ride.

I have always felt like if I can’t help, the least I can do is to not add to the collective shit pile. I didn’t ever want anyone worrying about me, especially not my mother… not in her state. It finally took a few trusted friends telling me their experiences (after getting over their shock that I hadn’t told my mother what I was going through) - one said that she wished she had a mother like mine, willing to rush to my aid and be a mother at the drop of a hat, and another who related that her mom is her rock, always the first one she calls. Both of them said that I can’t stop my mother from worrying… I realize now that they were right. She’s always going to feel how she’s going to feel. But I deserve to feel loved and supported, and I have only myself to blame if I isolate and push that away, whatever avenue it tries to come to me from. You can’t cut yourself off from help like that and expect it not to change you and how you view the world. No one is meant to go through this life alone. I thought I was “helping” by keeping quiet, but what I was really doing was devaluing myself. So in effect - deep down - I was saying, “my pain doesn’t count,” and all sorts of pathology stemmed from that belief, with its heavy roots running deep into my subconscious layers.

I don’t know how I end up with the perspective that I do. I’m grateful that terrifying experiences end up gifting me these life saving gems of wisdom. Honestly, I can’t take credit for any of it… it just comes to me like a whisper as I sit and observe with an open mind. What I’m hearing lately over and over is- my pain counts. Speaking my truth has to become the foundation for my life. Support is available always. I am so protected and guided it’s ridiculous. I have always had everything I needed. Now I choose to use what I was given without hesitation or guilt. No longer will I glorify the struggle, carrying all the weight of the world on my shoulders. We all end up in the same place, at least according to my friend who is a medium, so why not let it be easy? This life is hard enough. If you are lucky to have friends and family who care for you, let them. Let them build you up and give you strength so that you can pay it forward with your beautiful mission. Let love inspire you and you will create something greater than you could have ever hoped to all by yourself. As you continue to live life, it means more. With each passing day, everything is more. The fear is more, but the love is also more…

I am sitting in my fold out chair facing the ocean. My mother is off to the left in front of the receding tide collecting rocks… only the whitest, roundest rocks to put in her potted plants back home. She doesn’t get to the beach often. She looks so small crouched there in the sand. I used to collect rocks as a child, and still do the very same when I am at the beach. I have never been more her daughter than now as I’m watching her from my perch. She has been cooking for me and learning all my food allergies. I have been warning her about the implications of drinking milk when you are lactose intolerant. The other day I got her to drink some celery juice. Yesterday she gave me a ruby ring that belonged to my grandmother. I feel my ancestors around me. I have been wearing my hair down since I haven’t been much in the mood to style it, and also it has gotten quite long since I haven’t had a chance to trek up to Meriden amidst all the health issues going on. I realized I don’t wear it down more often because it makes me look more asian and feminine… as I reclaim my strength these past few days I realize I can think of no image of strength more profound than the sight of my mother standing at the sink washing the last of the dishes instead of sitting down to put her feet up. But then I think about another kind of strength- the strength it takes to say - I need to sit down. I think about telling her to rest because we already had to stop and get Advil due to her back hurting. I really couldn’t be more like my mother if I tried. The two of us have been stubborn, giving to a fault, and worrying about everyone else but ourselves... and this has been going on in our family for generations. A fighting spirit, never giving up, but not knowing how to slow down and recharge.

As I continue my education, the theme of balance persists. We will not be able to control when the rollercoasters come, how big, how many… but we can learn in those moments how to adjust so that our suffering is much less. What I’ve learned is that work can wait. People are more than happy to help and understand when you speak from the heart with authenticity. We all struggle. If we can learn how to connect to each other from that space of understanding, then there is nothing to worry about. Whatever brings us more stress in those moments needs to be examined. And if it cannot be altered, then perhaps it is time to let it go. Nothing is more sacred and more valuable than our well being. It needs to be something we are committed to guarding and defending as if our lives depended on it, because it does.

I have missed work and school, but as I’m getting closer to figuring out what helps me feel better, I’m more able to figure out what direction to go in next and what immediate next steps need to be taken care of. All I can say is- honor your path, honor your struggle, and honor each other. I’m re-inspired to regain voluntary control of my legs because I know now which way I need to go. I am surrounded by people who have helpful information and I know it is only a matter of time before I pull out a victory. And I will be very eager to share that with all of you! ......

Endless gratitude and blessings,

The Wizard

#Self love #Self work #Self help #self awareness #Mindful living #Mindful #gratitude #growth #change #Choice

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