#hes too much of a loose canon to be tracked. at any given time

[theconfusedartist]

Hm

Somehow, despite my meticulous research and information retaining skills, I've been writing Desmond’s DOB as 1984 instead of 1987

I've been using this date and Alex's DoB to figure out when things happen in the timeline. I already got screwed over once when I found out Alex was born in 1979 and Dana was 9 years younger, and had to change a bunch of things around to make them fit the original canon, but this?? this might be (strained squeaky voice) a small problem

[theradicalace]

rambly post about splendid, splendont, and moral codes under the cut

thinking So hard abt these fuck up superheros you don't GET it.

okay, so like, splendid has been shown to be very single minded and tunnel visiony, to the detriment of other people, right? like, exploding handy's plane, setting petunia and giggles on fire, vaporising cub, and boiling a whole lake just to catch two thieves. he has ALSO been shown to disregard the well being of others to get what he wants. turning back time and letting a bunch of people die to save his bread, half assing a bunch of rescues to try and do his laundry, half assing a DIFFERENT bunch of rescues to read a romance novel, getting a bunch of people killed trying to track down mole and his camera, etc. AND he's been shown to react disproportionately to small slights. blowing up mole's car for honking at him.

all this paints a very interesting and.. frankly unflattering view of his morals. the kindest possible way to read it is just him being incompetent. the way i interpret him as a character goes heavy into headcanon territory and is only loosely based in canon.

to me, splendid has a very shallow and somewhat warped view of "good" and "evil". he's got a strong obsession with being "the good guy" and "the hero", but he doesn't really understand what that means, and he's mostly just repeating talking points without really thinking about them. thieves are criminals, criminals are bad, etc etc etc.

he falls into the trap of thinking he's a good person, and so everything he does is correct and justified. he would not be afraid to let someone he views as "evil" or "a criminal" come to serious harm or even death, for "the greater good" even if their crimes were just like, robberies or being a public nuisance. (do you see which characters i'm mentally autofilling here. there's a fic i want to write about this but that's a project for another day.) i do think he generally has good intentions, though! he's just got a lot of cognitive distortions going on up there that he should probably unpack with a therapist sometime.

now let's delve even further into headcanon territory, and talk about splendont, who's characterization i have entirely made up!

splendont, i think, frequently falls into the trap of getting too caught up in his rivalry with splendid. however, i think, if and when he's given a chance to work entirely independently, he would develop a more complex moral code.

i think he wouldn't put much focus, if any, on stopping crime specifically for the sake of stopping crime. not important to him. i think the core of his beliefs would be "i don't waste my time catching petty criminals when there's lives on the line". he's definitely not afraid to get his hands dirty and resort to violence, and he doesn't always consider the full ramifications of his actions, but he definitely tries to keep civilians out of harms way, and has a more public safety oriented mindset than splendid does. to him, being seen as "the hero" is not important, and if asked, he won't actually ever call himself a superhero, or anything of that nature. superpowered, sure, but he doesn't care for titles. i also think he's a very "ends justify the means" type of person, and can often be seen spouting off about "i did what i had to do." and all that good cliche stuff. could maybe be classed as an anti-hero? rough around the edges for sure

in conclusion: i want to study them both in a lab and my head is full of argumentative dialogue for them that i may never write

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[cuubism]

Whump prompt :

I’m awful at suggesting prompts...but what about Malec dealing with the aftermath of the body swap? We know that Alec has a lot of guilt and Magnus is having nightmares, but I imagine the agony runes effects and the body swap in general would cause trauma that the show couldn’t really dive into given the rest plot line. Lol.

Plus, aside from the moment they have before they portal Valentine to Idris, we didn’t really get to see Malec working through it. So maybe something with that?? 🤷‍♀️

I take no offense if you send this to the trash 😂 I am just not good at sending prompts 🙈

@chibi-tsukiko you're not awful at suggesting prompts!! ❤❤

also wow this is from so long ago lmao yikes

Okay so – I made this an au where alec DOES believe magnus from the start, but still doesn’t get him out until the last second because the clave has everything pretty much locked down and he has to fight his way in. Mainly because the alec not believing magnus plotline makes me INSANE lol. So that’s different here, but everything else pretty much plays out as in canon.

(ao3)

In any other circumstance, the sight of Alec smashing through a door, sword blazing, eyes locked on Magnus as he cuts through Shadowhunter after Shadowhunter like they’re mere shadows instead of physical beings would have sent Magnus off the deep end.

Well. He does feel rather off the deep end, but not in the pleasant hauling Alec down into a searing kiss, letting their surroundings fade out so he can ravish his boyfriend way. More in the Alec’s taken off the cuffs and is speaking desperately to him and Magnus can’t even fucking hear him way.

Yep, it’s deep for sure. Magnus has no idea if there’s a bottom.

He refuses to look at his hands-that-aren’t-his, or any part of his body-that-isn’t-his, but he does manage to suck in a breath that rings loud enough through his skull that it pierces static.

“—nus. Magnus, can you hear me?”

Magnus nods shakily. “I— I can.” Alec cups his face in his hands, looking in his eyes—trying to see if he has a concussion, or maybe just if Magnus is all there. Magnus doesn’t know how Alec can even stand to touch him like this. When he’s in the body of a monster.

That first moment, when Alec thought he was Valentine, before Magnus had gotten through to him, the searing hatred and disgust in his eyes—it was straight out of Magnus’s nightmares. It was what flashed through him, like a phantom blow, every time he showed Alec his real eyes. And he knows that it wasn’t directed at him, not really. But it also was.

“You came for me,” he says quietly. His voice is too sharp, too shallow. He wants his own damn voice back.

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. The Clave wouldn’t hear reason, they were convinced you were really Valentine. I had to, um…” Alec looks back at the Shadowhunters scattered through the cell block. Magnus realizes that none of them actually appear dead, just injured or unconscious. He’s loosely grateful for it, both because he doesn’t want Alec imprisoned at the Gard and because he doesn’t want all that blood on their joined hands. None of these guards were the ones who tortured him. They were just trying to guard Valentine. What Magnus would have wanted them to do, if it were actually Valentine in the cell.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Magnus says. His throat is hoarse from screaming, he wishes he had some water.

“So will Imogen Herondale when the Council finds out she broke the Accords by planning to execute a Downworlder without trial. I’ll take my chances.”

“She didn’t know,” Magnus says. He doesn’t know why he’s defending the woman who almost killed him. Maybe because it’s the less horrifying option.

“I think she did,” Alec says quietly, and Magnus shivers. He realizes he’s clutching Alec’s arm. He doesn’t know how long he’s been doing that. “Or she just didn’t care enough to find out for sure. Either way, she wasn’t willing to wait for us to track down Valentine—and I wasn’t going to let you get executed.”

Magnus hasn’t had a chance to process his almost-death. He had plenty of time to think about it, sitting alone in his cell, shaking from the aftershocks of the agony rune. He remembers being so resigned at one point that he thought, I don’t care if I die, just let it be in my own body. But processing? That hasn’t happened.

And he doesn’t get a chance now, either. A portal spins to life outside the glass wall of Magnus’s cell, and Alec raises his seraph blade, pushing Magnus behind him.

It’s so weird to see his own body in the third person, but that’s exactly what steps out of the portal. Magnus is shocked—and weirdly grateful—that Valentine was able to figure out portal magic quickly enough to not get Magnus’s body torn apart in limbo. Then again, Magnus invented the portal. It’s as second-nature to his magic as breathing at this point.

A magic that apparently holds little loyalty for its original wielder.

Magnus is thinking about that so hard, swallowing around the sharp pain in his throat, that he almost doesn’t hear what Valentine says.

“How about a temporary truce?” the not-quite-Magnus figure says. “I’m sure you want your body back. I’m sure you—” he turns to Alec— “want your— your lover’s body back. I surely do not want to be in this disgusting creature anymore.”

Alec stiffens, grip tightening around the hilt of his blade, but doesn’t interrupt. Magnus’s ears ring to hear his own voice spitting back the words he’s so often heard from others. That cruel smirk doesn’t sit right on his face. Magnus has done a lot of wrong in his life, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been cruel.

“We’ll switch back,” Valentine continues. “I’m sure Bane knows some kind of spell for it. In return, you’ll let me walk out of this Institute. I’ll glamour myself and leave.” He pulls a stele from his pocket. Magnus briefly wonders where he got it, then realizes—it’s Alec’s spare, which he keeps in his nightstand drawer at the loft. The idea of Valentine rooting around in his bedroom makes Magnus want to vomit. “I’ll even promise not to hurt anyone while I’m here. How’s that for a deal?”

Valentine must really want out of Magnus’s body to be making so many concessions. He could have done so much damage with Magnus’s magic if he could have only stomached being a warlock. But for once in his life, Magnus has to be grateful for the man’s prejudice.

“Deal,” Alec says, before Magnus can even try to tell him that he should under no circumstances let Valentine walk out of here. But as soon as Alec speaks, relief rushes through Magnus. He knows Valentine will leave here and do more harm, that they should take any chance to stop him. But pain is making him selfish. He wants his own body back more than he wants to stop Valentine, today at least.

He doesn’t protest as Alec beckons him forward and leads them both out of the cell. Magnus thinks he dissociates a bit as he instructs Valentine on the necessary incantation. He doesn’t remember it even as it’s happening. He finds a brief moment of clarity in the thought that his magic looks crude and strange when Valentine’s wielding it.

Then he’s on the floor, the cell block spinning around him, scattered thoughts hitting him from all directions. –Lilith, this makeup feels old, doesn’t the man know any skincare? –and fuck, my knees hurt, he must have been walking differently. –everything’s so bright, are cat eyes really that much more sensitive?

Loudest of all is his magic, swirling joyfully in every corner of his being. Magnus feels a rush of guilt for feeling betrayed by it before. It’s obvious in the way it leaps and soars within him, in the ways its edges feel bruised, that it had fought against Valentine’s control, missing its true warlock. Magnus lets the warmth of it cradle him against the cold that rushes in after his senses return.

This body is violated. This body is ruined. Magnus wants to throw up, or scrub all his skin off, or tear out his internal organs, he’s not sure which first. He can feel Valentine’s fingerprints all over him.

He only regains awareness when Alec taps his shoulder, helps him sit up. Magnus is shaking so hard he can’t hide or deny it, and he realizes there’s a film of blue magic all over his skin. It’s trying to heal, even though there’s nothing on this body to patch up. Only psychic wounds.

Valentine is nowhere to be seen. Magnus focuses on Alec’s face with difficulty. “You let him get away?” He’d been sure Alec would go after Valentine as soon as their bodies were returned.

“I sent Izzy and Jace after him,” Alec says. “But who knows if they’ll catch him before he sneaks out.”

“You could have caught him,” Magnus says.

“Maybe,” Alec agrees. “But my priority is you.”

Magnus presses his face into Alec’s chest. If he doesn’t hide, he’ll start crying. Or screaming.

Alec’s arms wrap around him, and Magnus shudders and tries not to break.

---

---

The only word Magnus gets out, wrenched from a hoarse throat, is, “Shower,” before he’s pulling out of Alec’s arms and stumbling away towards the bedroom. Alec watches him go, unsure if he’s welcome to follow. The guilt is drowning him—for letting Valentine go? For not preventing this in the first place? He’s not entirely sure, but it’s there, heavy in his chest. He can’t imagine Magnus wants to see any Shadowhunters right now.

It's going to haunt Alec’s dreams, the image of Magnus screaming under the agony rune. Of him almost being executed. It’s going to be a thousand times worse for Magnus.

Distantly, he hears the shower turn on. Alec slips off his shoes and jacket—and, very judiciously, his weapons—and heads for the bedroom. He doesn’t want to push in on Magnus in a vulnerable state, but maybe he can at least wait for him in the bedroom, to hopefully talk to, or at least hold him, after he gets out.

He’s grateful he does when, a few minutes later, he hears the thud of what is presumably Magnus’s body hitting the floor of the shower.

Alec bolts to his feet. “Magnus?”

He doesn’t get a response, and rushes over to the bathroom door, throwing it open. “Magnus?”

Magnus is crumpled in the corner of the shower, legs twisted uncomfortably underneath him, one arm held to his chest. Alec turns off the water and crouches carefully beside him, reaching out a tentative hand. “Hey. Magnus?”

“Hurts,” Magnus whispers, barely audible. “I thought— fuck.” A shiver runs through him, from his toes up to his hair. His eyes are shut tight.

“What hurts?” Alec asks, concern shifting to alarm. He hadn’t thought Valentine had hurt Magnus’s body, but maybe—

“Agony rune,” Magnus murmurs, and then Alec understands, even if he hates it. Magic can have a psychic element to it, and magical injuries can ripple from the soul to the body and back. And any lingering effects from the agony rune must be doubly painful now that Magnus is back in a Downworlder body, no longer capable of bearing runes at all.

“Give it to me,” Alec says, holding out his hand.

Magnus finally looks up at him at that. His eyes are hazy and feverish. “Alexander.”

“Give it to me, like I give you my strength. It’ll be less painful in a Nephilim body.” And I’d take it even if it wasn’t.

It says something about how beaten down Magnus is that he places his hand in Alec’s without further protest. “Just take a bit,” he murmurs. “Not all of it.”

Like Alec’s going to listen to that. He needs to do this, needs to prevent Magnus from hurting any more. Magnus always gets hurt when he’s helping Alec. Well, no more.

He tugs on Magnus’s energy, finding it easier than he’d like to pick up the thread of pain going through it. It’s a red and writhing thing, tangled with his magic, burning at Magnus’s nerve endings. Alec pulls on it, stifling a gasp as the pain floods into him. He knows if he makes a sound, Magnus will pull away. He pulls and pulls, and grits his teeth at the shocks that run through his body. Anything he’s experiencing now is only a fraction of what Magnus has gone through over the past few days.

But Alec finds himself unable to pull anymore after less than half of the pain is gone from Magnus’s body. The rest of it is too deeply entangled with Magnus’s magic—if he pulls too hard, he could hurt him even more.

He’s forced to retreat, but when he does, Magnus is breathing easier, slumped against his shoulder over the edge of the shower. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough after what Valentine— what Azazel— what Alec’s people did to him. Alec has no idea how to make it right, but he has to start somewhere.

“Let’s get you up.” He ignores the ache in his own muscles to cradle Magnus in his arms and lift him off the floor of the shower. Magnus makes a small hum of protest, but doesn’t try to get down. Alec carries him over to the bed and sits him down, fetching one of his silk robes to wrap about him.

Magnus’s wrists look rubbed raw, and Alec takes them in his hands, brushing his thumbs over the skin. “Didn’t break the skin,” Magnus says. “It’s fine. At least I stopped before I impulsively cut off all my hair.”

It’s definitely not fine, but Magnus is right, there’s nothing to bandage. Alec just kisses one of his wrists instead. He urges Magnus further up the bed, then follows him. “Come on, lay down, you need some rest. Unless you don’t want me here?”

Magnus seems to think about it, which hurts Alec’s heart, but he can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to be touched right now. Especially by a Shadowhunter.

But eventually, Magnus’s face caves in and he says, “Please,” so brokenly that Alec has to gather him in his arms and bring him down to the bed. Magnus flicks a wrist, and a stutter of magic lays their blankets over them. The magic whirls up Magnus’s body after it’s finished, ruffling his hair.

“Seems like it missed you,” Alec murmurs.

Magnus smiles faintly. “And I it.”

He tucks his face against Alec’s shoulder. Alec holds him close, and even closer when shudders of pain continue to wrack his body. I’m sorry, Magnus. He tries to press it into Magnus’s forehead with a kiss.

---

When Alec wakes, for a brief moment he’s certain the loft is on fire.

Then he sits up, comes back to his senses, realizes there’s no smoke or flame, only heat. And Magnus isn’t in bed.

It’s still dark outside, but Alec slips out of bed and stumbles to the living room, heart thumping in his chest. Magnus is standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed, magic darting out around him in all directions. He’s still only wearing his robe.

“Magnus!” Alec steps closer until he’s right in front of him. One of the bursts of magic grazes his cheek. It feels hot, but it doesn’t burn him. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Magnus says through gritted teeth. His face is sunk in tense lines, and he’s sweating all over. His hands don’t let up on their bursts of magic. “This place is tainted, Alexander.”

Alec realizes suddenly that Magnus is close to panic. He’s staving it off with whatever actions he can before it unravels him, the way Alec would by pummeling a punching bag. It hurts to see Magnus in that place. “Baby, it’s four in the morning.”

“Is it?” Magnus says faintly, still in his trance.

“Hey.” Alec takes a risk and takes Magnus’s face between his hands. “Hey, Magnus, look at me. It’s clean, okay? I promise it’s clean. The loft is spotless. You’re okay.”

Magnus lets out a ragged breath, eyes finally fluttering open. They’re bloodshot, but surprisingly lucid when he meets Alec’s gaze. “It isn’t,” he insists, but he wraps his hands around Alec’s wrists, and the furious magic dies down. “It never will be again.”

“It will. You just have to breathe. I got you.”

Magnus pants and heaves under Alec’s hands, but he seems to be finding some level of calm as they stand there in the middle of the boiling living room. Alec pushes him down to the couch.

“Will you be okay here for a second? I’m going to get you some water.”

Magnus nods, and Alec heads for the kitchen to get him a glass of cold water, stopping to open the balcony doors and let some cool air in as he does. He tries to settle his own thoughts as he walks back to the couch. He should have done something. He should have— have dragged Valentine out of Magnus’s home. He doesn’t know what he should have done, but it was more than what he did.

Magnus has his face buried in his hands when Alec returns to the couch. He’s shaking, and drenched in sweat. Alec carefully pulls his hands away from his face and places the glass of water into them. “Try to drink some water,” he urges.

Magnus sips at it, then soon enough is downing the entire glass. “Did I boil you in bed?” he asks when he’s done, a trace of humor back in his tone.

“Just a bit,” Alec says. “What’s with all the heat, anyway?”

“It kills infections,” Magnus says quietly, and Alec swallows hard. “I know it’s mostly in my head,” he continues before Alec can respond. “But I just couldn’t breathe thinking about him in our home.”

Alec’s never heard him call the loft their home before, but he doesn’t remark on it now. “It’s upsetting,” he agrees. “But we banished Azazel. We’ll get Valentine too, I promise.”

Magnus nods. “We have to.”

Alec runs a hand through his hair, and Magnus leans into the touch. “Do you want to take a second stab at that shower? I’ll go in with you, if you want.”

“Okay.” Magnus seems to steel himself, then stands up, holding onto Alec’s arm. He looks sort of chagrined about it, like he doesn’t like being so clingy, but he doesn’t let go.

Before they leave the living room, he waves his hand and shuts the balcony door. The wards will work regardless of whether the door is open, but Alec doesn’t blame him for wanting everything locked up tight. Not when everything already feels so broken open.

---

---

Magnus feels so humiliated letting Alec wash his hair. It’s not because they haven’t showered together before. He’s perfectly comfortable letting Alec wash his hair—when he’s not fucking losing his mind.

Bad enough he had to lose control of his body. Now his sanity’s slipping away, too.

His skin is still crawling. Even after steam-cleaning his entire apartment he feels like there’s places he missed, blood congealed in the corners. The fact that his cleaning efforts have made everything smell wrong now, have washed out incense and chai and candle smoke in favor of antiseptics and clean steam, is not helping. The apartment feels cleaner, but even less like his own.

Alec’s hands are nice, though. He seems content to let Magnus stay silent, not pushing him to talk about it. And it’s nice to shower with his own shampoo. He hadn’t gotten that far earlier before the lingering agony had taken him to the floor, and it banishes a little of the cold clean smell.

He shivers at the memory of that rune. He shivers at the idea of the Nephilim using to torture their own people, too, even ones as horrible as Valentine. Valentine probably deserves it, if no one else, but it doesn’t sit right with Magnus regardless.

Alec catches him shivering and turns off the water, wrapping Magnus in a towel.

“Do you have things you need to clear up at the Institute?” Magnus asks as he’s bundled within an inch of his life. “I don’t want Imogen Herondale breaking down my door trying to take you away from me. I may do something unwise.”

“I think Jace used his Herondale Influence to convince her not to do that,” Alec says. “Though there still may be some amount of trouble.”

Magnus doesn’t feel very capable of dealing with trouble right now.

After they’ve both managed to get into pajamas, and are lingering in the spotless kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, Alec tentatively asks, “Did you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to talk about,” Magnus says tiredly. “I just feel off-balance. I wasn’t sleeping well, before. Probably won’t sleep well now, either.”

“Is there something you want to do about it?”

“Flay myself alive?” Magnus suggests, and Alec flinches.

“You know,” he says softly, moments later, when his back is turned and he’s pouring their tea, “you almost died. I think it’s natural to feel this way.”

Nothing about the way Magnus is feeling feels natural. Not because he hasn’t been in similar mental states before, but because they never feel natural. They feel like the world is twisting and shifting around him.

“When, um,” Alec continues, tone more hesitant now, as he spoons sugar into their tea, “when I got possessed by that demon, I think I was feeling kind of similar to how you are now. I mean, it was kind of the opposite experience, but still kind of similar, I think.”

They had talked about that then, but somehow Magnus hadn’t made the connection.

“So I kind of— I kind of get it. It’s okay if you feel all over the place for a while. And I mean, you helped me then. I want to help you now.”

Magnus swallows hard, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “What about me helped you then?”

Alec finally turns back around and hands him his tea. “Just… being with you. Having you hold me, making me feel like I was in my body again.”

Magnus lets out a breath. “Okay,” is all he can manage.

Alec comes to stand beside him, leaning against the counter, close enough that his shoulder brushes Magnus’s. Magnus leans against his side, closing the remaining distance. They stay like that, sipping their tea, as the first rays of sun trickle up over the horizon. Magnus lets Alec’s warmth bleed into him, and eventually, Alec entwines their fingers, squeezing Magnus’s hand hard. Holding on.

I’m here, Magnus reminds himself. His hands are his own. The heat of the ceramic is touching his skin. The heat of the sun is touching his face. He got out of that horrible place. He got out.

Eventually, he puts down his mug with shaky hands and folds himself into Alec’s arms. Alec holds him tight until Magnus’s skin reattaches to his body. And then after, too.

[alienaiver]

Half the Battle, pt. 1

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

find part two here!

warnings: slight angst about childhood/parents fighting/divorce, one (1) bottle of wine is opened, someone is betrayed in Mario Party, NOT beta-read! apologize for any mistakes! (lmk if there’s any warnings i missed!)

wordcount: 5.5k

content: soulmate AU, mild angst, fluff, post-timeskip but slight canon divergence (i haven’t read the manga yet so this is loosely based off of their canon timeskip lives), gender neutral reader, reader is a video editor, reader is bad at eye contact but the details as to why are vague/up for interpretation!

notes: this was made for @gg9183 ​ ‘s wonderful birthday event, a soulmate collab! (go read the other wonderful works!) happy birthday once again, gray!! this was meant to be a 2k one shot but.... plans and inspiration changes sometimes, right? 🥺 so this ended up as a 5k part ONE lmfao i hope thats alright w u!!! part2 will be up asap, i promise!! i hope you enjoy this!!!! 

—————————

Not meeting his soulmate was fine, Kuroo often found himself thinking. The odds of finding your soulmate’s way too low to be realistic anyways, he supported the thought. It’s illogical to spend so much time fretting about it, he finally added for good measure.

Soulmates were a natural part of life, always had been. But with the big wide world filled with over seven billion people, meeting yours wasn’t completely unheard of. But given the powers of soulmates even existing, it wasn’t unrealistic to also believe that some kind of fate would pull you towards each other throughout your lives so that you would meet each other. Kuroo however, prided himself in not caring about soulmates. His life was rich enough. People explaining their feelings about “something being missing until they finally meet them” was incomprehensible to him.

Kuroo had lived for 29 years without being able to see color. And you know what? His life was damn well fulfilling enough. He had a beautiful apartment, an economy that flourished, an adorable cat named Cucumber and good people around him. What would he really need a soulmate for? He could ignore his friends comments on how wonderful the world was in color, if only he would just start looking for his soulmate, how much meaning it gave life. Just because the people in his closest circle had all magically met theirs – not to mention how many of them had already met in Goddamn high school, Kuroo scoffed and was always able to move on.

Even though a lot of people actively made eye contact with everyone they met, even people on the street, to make sure they would meet their soulmate, Kuroo kept his eyes down. He wasn’t insecure, come on, he was perfectly happy! He just didn’t need to be late for a meeting because he got eye contact with some stranger, you know?

His life was in perfect balance as is.. Until yesterday, of course. It had turned out there was mold in his apartment complex so they had to evict it for a month while a crew would go through everything to remove it. He didn’t want to go to his mother’s place, that was too far from his work, but he wasn’t in the mood for a hotel, that was way too expensive, so he turned to his best friend of many years with the biggest set of puppy eyes he could muster and the prospect of making every dinner while he lived there.

“Fine… but don’t get in the way,” was all Kenma had to say.

And so Kuroo spent his last weekend in his own apartment packing things down to make it accessible to the cleaning crew. Cucumber hated other cats with a passion so he couldn’t bring him to Kenma’s, where three cats already happily lived, so his mother would pick him up tomorrow afternoon.

__

He sat on his couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly with Cucumber on his lap who had been stressed with all the packing down, sensing something was up. He was being extra cuddly towards Kuroo who, honestly? Didn’t mind at all. He loved when Cucumber was in mood for cuddles, though it wasn’t very often. He had been told his cat was orange and while he didn’t have a measure for what that color actually looked like, he was happy with his gray cat.

His mother was supposed to arrive any minute now, so he should have gotten up and put the cat in his carrier but it was easier to get him in it if you had two pair of hands. He scrolled through Instagram, reaching a photo put up by Tsukishima of his soulmate, the light-haired manager of their high school volleyball club, with a tooth-eating grin on her face and proudly showing off a ring on her finger, the caption said, This smile makes me wanna brag. Kuroo could physically hear the provocative tone of his voice, knowing he was one of the first in his circle of friends to actually plan a wedding. Kuroo clicked his tongue with a smile on his face and double-tapped to like the picture.

He didn’t know if it was the combination of that post and the fact that his mother was on her way but memories of his parent’s wedding flooded his mind. For a lot of people, weddings felt obsolete in the face of the whole “you already got your soulmate and you know this” thing, so a lot of couples were happy not getting married but just being together. But there was also the benefits of marriage in the practical sense, so some people did anyways, some hosting parties, some not. His parents weren’t married when he came to, but after he turned five they decided to do it so he would be protected by both of them, in case of any emergency.

It had been a small wedding, only the closest family and friends but Kuroo was vivid, so excited about being part of that whole romantic ordeal, even helping his mom find a dress and everything. He had been a huge and important part of the wedding – if he did say so himself. Everyone had been glowing at the day, the food was delicious, there was laughter, song and cheers and everyone had brought so many presents – even some for little Tetsurou, who had been very excited about his new train tracks.

But when Kuroo was seven years old, it wasn’t as romantic anymore. His parents were fighting a lot, he wasn’t entirely sure why or about what because they would never tell him about it, no matter how much he asked. When he tried to listen in, the words he heard didn’t explain anything to him because even though they were yelling at each other, the important words were always whispered, as if they knew Kuroo was listening in.

When he was eight his mom had come into his room, hugged him and with tears in her eyes and said that they were going to move away.

“Where are we going?” he asked simply, no emotion to be read on his little face. He was exhausted from his parents being this way – they were soulmates, right? Why did they fight like that?

“To Tokyo, just you and me, my love.”

That’s when he met Kenma. He had been very closed-off and shy back when they met, he reminisced. He had been a regular kid when he was younger but the way his parents split up – his soulmate parents – had closed him off pretty bad, so it was a miracle he met Kenma and started opening up again.

Kuroo smiled to himself bitterly before scratching Cucumber’s ear. He supposed this was also why he wasn’t interested in his soulmate. So many people had romanticized the whole soulmate ideal so a lot of people forgot that relationships still took work, took effort and just because they were made for each other, didn’t necessarily guarantee that they would stay together. His mom and dad didn’t officially talk anymore, but when he asked his mom as a child whether or not she still saw color, she said that she did. He also found long letters in her bedroom when he was nine, letters from his dad, so he supposed they still talked together, though Kuroo wasn’t let in on it – nor was he particularly interested. And he definitely we wasn’t interested in ending up in a relationship with someone who would end up not wanting to put in the effort for the relationship to flourish.

After Cucumber had been picked up by his mom it was time to leave for Kenma’s place. He carried the last boxes of valuables down to his basement and locked them in before trekking down to the subway with his suitcase and sports bag.

_____

You were late for work, so you scrambled to pack your things. It was Wednesday afternoon and you were supposed to meet in at 3PM, because that was around the time that Kodzuken had planned to finish his recording, he told you yesterday. You were a video editor and had met Kenma through your old part-time job in his favorite convenience store quite a few years back, back when he had first bought his house when he was 24. You remembered talking to him about video games in the store since you also played some, and after a good while of polite customer service and talk about new games, you had started hanging out outside of work as well. When you had then told him you were actually a freelance video editor but just didn’t get many jobs, he had almost instantly hired you to do his YouTube videos for him and general editing and set-ups of his streams. I know video games, not recording equipment, he had told you so many years ago.

Your original thought had been wary, because working for a friend might get messy but Kenma cared a lot about keeping it professional when you were on the clock, which you appreciated very much. In his house, down by his game room, there was a room next door with screens and all the best editing software just for you to play with. Your pay was higher than average for such a “simple” but regular gig but when prompted about it, he simply shrugged and told you it wasn’t up for negotiation and no one was being treated unfair – and who were you to go against such a good pay for a job that you loved doing and wanted to do full-time? With Kenma being a famous streamer and gamer, he often made lots of different videos for various sites so your job hours resembled a nine to five job, easy, even if the hours were off from the more conventional jobs and you usually came in later in the day and sometimes finished off late in the evening – some of his videos had a time limit for a release date of a game, so there was also days where you were extremely busy and scrambling to get the video done right for a release of a game.

As you closed your bag and ran out the door towards the subway, you checked your phone for any updates. If he’d finished early, he would’ve texted you about it, so you put your phone in your pocket and hurried towards his house.

When you arrived you immediately rang the doorbell before catching your breath, you were used to Kenma spending a few minutes before reaching the door and opening it, so when the door opened almost instantly you took a step back before looking up. The one opening the door was taller than Kenma and in a loose dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top - that’s all you saw before your eyes darted down to your feet.

“...Hi! I’m uh… Where’s Kenma?” was all you got out while fidgeting with your purse strap, it certainly wasn’t his boyfriend Hinata opening the door today.

“Oh, hey! You must be his video editor, right? He told me about you!” The man said, pointing to himself with his thumb,

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou! Kenma’s childhood friend! Sorry to intrude, I’ll be living here for the next month, I promise not to get in your way!” As he finished his introduction, he moved aside so that you could enter. As you took off your shoes you heard Kenma’s feet shuffling towards you, “oh hey, welcome, you’re early,” Kenma said with his usual deadpan expression but you could clearly hear the teasing in his voice.

“At least I’m here now, right?” You smiled back, instantly relaxing at the sight of your boss and friend. You turned to Kuroo again, bowed and introduced yourself before taking off your coat and putting it on a hanger, while Kenma and the guy named Kuroo seemed to bicker a bit about whether or not Kuroo should answer the door while he lived there.

“I’ll go set it up, have you transferred the video files to the hard disk?” you asked Kenma as you moved towards ‘your’ office, sending Kuroo a polite smile while keeping your eyes on his neck.

Eye contact was hard for you, it always made you extremely uncomfortable and you didn’t really have any before you felt comfortable with the person. Your mother had often scolded you, saying you’d never find your soulmate at this rate, which you always acknowledged with a hum or a simple yes without starting a discussion.

You honestly weren’t sure whether or not you cared for a soulmate. Your biggest argument to wanting to find one was so that you could see colors, because it’d help your career. Kenma already had his soulmate, so he was the one deciding the color scheme for his videos and helped with the color-related editing, which worked fine as of now, but you would probably appreciate to be able to do it yourself. You had also spent some years coming to terms with your struggles with eye contact and accept that this was just how you functioned. If you missed your soulmate in a random supermarket thanks to it one day, well, you’d be none the wiser, so you felt sure you’d survive without one, but you also couldn’t deny that the sound of a soulmate sounded really nice and comforting. That someone out there existed to fit you, that you were born to love someone who was also meant to love you. You were sure that finding your soulmate wasn’t a dance on roses, it was sure to still be hard, frustrating and maybe even painful sometimes, but you also couldn’t just have all the good, there was a balance that was sure to exist within soulmates as well.

After hours of going through the raw footage from his video game play and slowly editing while watching it, you popped your shoulders and stretched your arms for a moment, yawning as you did so. Your hours were always a bit intense, but that couldn’t be helped when you had six hours of raw footage to work with. Looking at the clock you saw that it was 5.30PM which meant that soon Kenma would wake up from his pseudo-sleep (which was more like a nap in your opinion) to look at your process and ask what you wanted for dinner.

Soon after a soft knock was heard followed by the door opening slowly, Kenma standing in sweats and a hoodie with bags under his eyes, “do you like hotpot?” he asked, and you smiled at him, “sure, are you cooking tonight?” he yawned while he shook his head, “Kuroo is. He insists on a ‘fulfilling meal’, whatever that means.”

You giggled before beckoning Kenma in to see some of what you’ve done so far and making minor adjustments along the way. “Now, something smells delicious and I’m thirsty,” you stated after the two of you had talked a bit about the rest of the video’s plans. As you went towards the kitchen you could hear the sound of of a nameless tune being hummed, pans sizzling from something being cooked and kitchen utensils being used.

Inside, the table was already set with plates and prepared ingredients lying ready for the pot that Kuroo was just about to put on the table. It seemed he had made an endless supply of different side dishes and really put in a lot of work for it, so you looked really forward to eating it and it smelled delicious. You grabbed a glass from the set table and went to the sink to get some water and just as your hand reached it, Kuroo had extended his hand as well to the sink and you accidentally touched.

You both recoiled as if you had been burned and you couldn’t stop the gasp that accidentally left your lips. A feeling was rushing through your body you hadn’t experienced before and you immediately apologized to Kuroo and went back to the table, foregoing the water. You didn’t notice how Kuroo was frozen in place from when he touched you before Kenma called out to him and he immediately started moving again.

You ended up eating shortly after, Kuroo serving the food and talking animatedly about him and Kenma’s childhood, making you laugh quite a bit at their (or more, Kuroo’s) antics and their volleyball days. Kuroo was the type of person to make you relax in his presence and have fun which you didn’t even notice until you got home later that evening and really thought about what a great time you had had. You found yourself surprised by how easily you clicked with Kuroo, a total stranger. It must be his charm, you thought to yourself before going through your night routine. You had to come back tomorrow and finish work, after all. You estimated the video would take you a few more days to finish but that would end up fitting well with the weekend coming, so as you went to bed you felt yourself more relaxed than you had in a while.

_____

“What are they like?”

It was Friday and it seemed you had finished Kenma’s video and therefor you weren’t here for dinner – for the first time in a few days, which did let down Kuroo just a tiny bit. He had talked a lot with you during dinner preparations when you came out from the office and during dinner as well and while you did answer all his questions (which, he admitted, there were quite a few of them) and follow up with your own for him, it still felt… off… talking to you – and Kuroo didn’t like not knowing why. “What do you mean?” Kenma asked, taking another bite into his mouth.

Kenma swallowed a piece of meat before looking up at Kuroo who was stabbing his plate with his fork in what seemed like a useless purpose. He knew he was being a little weird but meeting you was weird, even though he had no reason to explain why.

“I mean, is this how they usually act?” He didn’t even know what that question meant or why he was even asking it, nothing made sense! But he had a desperate feeling that he needed to get to know you – he was afraid of what that implied and what suspicions he needed to hold onto, but he was sure it was his gut telling him you were dangerous for Kenma to be around – that had to be it! Kenma was his best friend, his childhood friend, it had to be a gut feeling meant to protect him!

“Who knows, they’re being more polite than usual, I think. But that makes sense,” Kenma replied calmly before adding, “I mean you are a stranger who’s really intent on being social with them over our dinners, they were a bit shy as well when I met them,”

Kuroo nodded and finally took a bite of his own food. He didn’t notice Kenma’s raised eyebrows or the questioning look that was sent his way, so Kenma decided to let the subject rest.

Not seeing you today felt weird to him too and he couldn’t help the irritation building up inside him – you had just met a few days ago and only in the evenings when he was done with work and ready to make dinner – and yet, the thought of you kept invading his mind. He had gotten through work today thinking you were going to be there for dinner so when he came home and found out you wouldn’t be there, the first seed of irritation had been planted – why was he suddenly looking so much forward to seeing you? Had it been like this yesterday too? Why was it suddenly important that you weren’t there? He ended up sitting in front of the laptop in the guest room for the rest of the evening, the document left open and completely untouched.

Kuroo, however, didn’t let the subject rest in his head for the rest of that evening. Hinata was in town, having time off after a big game yesterday so Kuroo was left to his own devices – which really wasn’t a problem considering he had to make the paperwork for a promotional deal for a meeting Monday morning that he had procrastinated making – which wasn’t like him at all, he usually never pushed assignments to last minute and he then realized the reason he wasn’t done yet was because he had spent so much time over the dinner table with Kenma and you, talking even after dinner had been done for a while. You always offered to help him with the clean-up so you also spent some time talking there, drifting off to various subjects far passing the cleaning duties and sitting down again with a glass of water.

He enjoyed your company, it felt... easy, somehow, the sensation that something was off was there but it didn’t really settle in his stomach until every time after you left, as if it was left to grow a bit from a small sensation to a problem, which worried him – Kuroo prided himself as an impeccable people-reader, he was captain for both the volleyball team in high school and college, he knew how to act around business relations so well because he could read them so flawlessly – so the feelings he got from you was unsettling and unreadable and it took some control away from him – and Kuroo always felt uneasy when he wasn’t in control.

____

Kuroo heard your name and almost got whiplash from how fast his head moved towards Kenma, “what?”

“I asked if we should invite them? To game night? Being three is a little annoying in Mario Party.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea! I’d love to see them again!” Hinata happily exclaimed before taking another bite of the lasagna Kuroo had prepared tonight. It was Saturday and Kuroo had been in a daze the entire day, first at the office for a quick meeting with his boss about a potential partner he might be able to reel in soon and then doing his laundry at Kenma’s and continuing to try and make the stupid paperwork but ultimately failing before he had to make dinner.

“Isn’t it a bit late to invite someone? I mean, they could have plans already...” Kuroo tried, knowing what a pain it could be to be asked to something an hour before it happened and he didn’t want to let you go through that – that’s what he tried to tell himself, at least. In truth? He was a bit afraid of seeing you again, afraid of his potential reactions, since he had spent his entire Friday in a stupor just thinking about you. His thoughts didn’t mean much for Kenma and Hinata though, who was already texting you to ask.  “Oi, no phones at the table, have you parents taught you no manners?” Kuroo chided and Hinata immediately shrank back and apologized – Kuroo smirked, yea the Chibi-chan still had respect for his seniors. But he was quickly pulled back to thoughts about you by Kenma’s phone lighting up again, “they’ll be here in an hour. They’re asking if they should bring anything?” Kenma looked up to gauge Kuroo’s reaction, having noticed something about his friend had been off the past few days. He immediately made a funny grimace before turning it into a smile. “Yea, they can bring a bottle of white wine, if I have to beat you all at Mario Party, I would very much like to be a tiny bit buzzed,” Kuroo said, and Hinata looked at him with wide eyes, “you drink wine!? So grown up!” Hinata exclaimed, to which Kenma just muttered, “or just an old man…” Kuroo didn’t hear that though, too busy to fidget with his hands under the table, suddenly feeling nervous that you were showing up.

Hinata plopped down between Kuroo and you with a controller in hand, “I’m gonna beat you all in this Mario Kart!” to which you laughed loudly, “good luck since we’re playing Mario Party.”

“Huh? Is there a difference?” Hinata asked, making Kuroo belt out a loud laugh as well, holding his stomach, “you just told us you’d beat us but you don’t even know what we’re playing!” Kuroo couldn’t contain his laughter for a bit until he noticed how you were looking at him and instantly retracted his laugh, sitting up straight with a cough, and apologizing for being loud, which confused him to no end. He had never been self-conscious of his own laugh! He knew it could be obnoxious and loud, but he also liked it himself, and-

“That’s a really cute laugh.”

The comment earned you the stares of the century from the three other people in the room, with Kenma in genuine shock – he wouldn’t say he disliked Kuroo’s laugh, just that it was… special.

“Uhm… Uh. Thank you?” Kuroo could feel that his blush went all the way to his ears but he hoped that the light in the living room wasn’t bright enough to catch it. “Yeah uh! Sure! Mhm,” you awkwardly coughed a bit as well before reaching for your glass of wine.

You had brought a bottle of white wine for Kuroo on the promise that you’d get a glass too, saying he was your first friend who also liked wine. The word ‘friend’ had dumb-founded him and he’d just answered “you can have it all,” to which you had laughed and said it’s fine with half, you weirdo.

The game was about to begin but Kuroo was still sitting stuck on the fact that his laugh was cute – cute? Had anyone else found it cute before besides Bokuto and his mom? He wasn’t sure – he sure couldn’t pinpoint them right now anyways. He tried to shake it off and focus on the game, though quite a bit of time was spent explaining the rules to Hinata who apparently had thought they were just playing Mario Kart.

When you were 12 laps into it, it seemed that you were set to win with your four stars and 121 coins. Kenma was right behind you with three stars and Hinata and Kuroo had been left in the dust with zero stars. You had stolen Kuroo’s first (and only) star early in the game, so he was plotting his vengeance in quiet but was getting afraid that the game would end before he could do anything to you – but just as his hopes were at the smallest during the last round of the game, you were put in the same team as him in the last mini game.

Kuroo had a wide smirk when you cheered and said, “this’ll be easy then!” because no, it would not be easy for you. If he had to go down in order to take you down a notch, then so be it. He’d rather Kenma win than you did with stolen goods!

The last mini game was “Tow the Line” where two players were put in a sewing box shaped with nine dots as a grid and two players tied together with a string and the objective was to make the shape with the string as shown in the middle of screen. As soon as the whistle sounded, Kuroo lowered his hands and stopped using his controllers, all with a big grin on his lips.

“Kuroo, what the fuck! Get moving, we’ve started!” you yelled at him as Kenma and Hinata won the first round, signaling the next round began, Kuroo started whistling and looking away from the screen, to which you got up from your seat, “fine, I’ll just take your controller and do it myself!”

Kuroo put his arm with the controller behind him, “nah-ah-ah! You’re not winning this, fiend! That’s what you get for stealing my star!” He grinned up at you with his eyes closed as you stood with your hands on your hips, “come on man! I stole that star in the fourth round! Kenma stole a star from me as well!” you tried, “maybe he stole the one that was yours, who knows! Get over it so we can win!”

But as soon as you’d said that, the third round had just been won and you sighed and flopped down on your seat again, “not cool Kuroo, not cool. I’ll remember this!”

You both laughed as the game made ready to announce the winner, Kenma and Hinata entertained by your antics.

“You can’t avenge something that I avenged in the first place! I only did it because you did me wrong, you know!”

“You can’t use logic on me, it doesn’t apply!”

To no surprise, you won the entire game, even winning one of the two bonus stars given at the end of the game.

After the last sequence and a bow from you there was a quick break before you decided to play some Mario Kart for Hinata’s sake, since his argument was that he lost due it being Party instead. You played quite a few hours and after another toilet break you had switched places with Hinata so Kenma could cuddle up against him. You yawned, drinking the last of the wine in your glass and said, “I should head home, I have a friend coming over for lunch tomorrow.”

Hinata and Kenma both started to get up to say goodnight but you waved at them with a smile, “I can walk out myself, it’s fine!” But Kuroo had already gotten up from the couch as well, so you walked with him towards the hallway where you put on your shoes. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, which Kuroo noted and scowled a bit - he might have only known you for less than a week but for some reason he felt like it had been a lot longer, like you were old friends – it felt strange, to be so close with a stranger. He didn’t know anything about you, really. He knew your name, your job and how you liked some of your vegetables and which meat was your favorite, he knew you also loved cats but didn’t have one (he couldn’t remember if he knew why) and he felt pretty sure he would recognize you in a crowded area – why it was so intense, he was unsure of, he hadn’t tried meeting someone this way before. It had also seemed like having this game night had made you considerably more relaxed in his presence, even joking around with him instead of being polite, which made Kuroo somewhat giddy, though it didn’t really make sense to him as to why.

“I hope you had fun,” Kuroo said awkwardly, as if he had been the host and scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, I did! I’m sorry I stole your star, though,” you laughed, buttoning your jacket.

“Nah, no worries, as they say, all’s fair in love and war, right?”

You giggled and picked up your bag from the dresser while Kuroo opened up the door for you. As you exited, you turned around with a bright smile, “well, thanks for toni-”

Everything ended up a blur, too bright, too much, too noisy, too… colorful? Kuroo was still looking into your eyes as all that went through him, completely blindsided. As he took a proper look, he could see that you looked just as surprised as him, your eyes wide but still never leaving his either.

“Is… Is this? Are you? Is…” You asked after what felt like both days and milliseconds, I could stare at them so much longer, he thought to himself, the colors only making your face more clear to him. Had you really not had eye contact at all? Had you seen each other for several hours – more than a few times, without looking each other in the eyes at all? Kuroo was more baffled by this happening so late than the fact that it was happening.

He was about to say something, anything, when you promptly turned around, nervously yelling, “I-I uh, I gotta go! Goodbye!” as you hurried out of the driveway and down towards the subway.

“W-wait!” Kuroo belatedly and unhelpfully yelled out as you turned a corner, too late. You were gone. A hand was dragged down his face as a sigh left him, what the fuck had just happened? He obviously needed to talk to you about this, but he also needed to gather his thoughts about all of this, so he slowly closed the door and went back towards the living room, greeted by Hinata and Kenma who looked up at him curiously, “why did you yell?” Hinata asked with his head tilted.

“I think I just found my soulmate.”

[badgirlcovenrep]

The Goddess' Blessing (of a daughter)

Chapter Two

Here it is... hope you enjoy

After Tiffany is in warm pajamas and her hair is nicely brushed, they head to the living room to meet Edwin, who is sat at the couch watching some kind of civilian sport that features a stick. Scylla never took interest in televised sports - that was not really part of witch culture - but she thinks it's sweet, how enralled he is when they come out. She remembers Raelle telling her once that she used to watch games with her dad.

Scylla can almost see her sitting there beside him, in her civilian clothes, snacking on nachos and discussing what was happening on screen. It made her heart tug painfully. Once again she considered if coming here was a good idea at all. Seemed like everywhere she looked, she could just see Raelle, and even if she'd seen the other girl just a day before, here, inside her childhood home, it did nothing to how much Scylla missed her - and how she wished Raelle could be here, with them. Warm and peaceful and free.

"Hey, dinner's still in the oven." Edwin informs, once he sees the pair of witches have joined him, but still, he rises from the couch and crosses the living room towards the kitchen "I got some boxes of Rae's toys when she was a kid down from the attic earlier, and I thought you'd like to take a look, Tiffany."

The small witch was still unsure about her new surroundings, and Scylla gently directs her to join the man in the kitchen, where he had settled two sizeable cardboard boxes over the tiled floor, filled to the brim with random toys that went from surprisingly well kept barbie dolls to matchbox hotwheels and loose pieces of lego.

"Wow, Mr. Collar, you didn't have to." Scylla assures, as Tiffany puts her doubts aside for a minute to peek curiously into the box.

"Of course I did, it's not like these were going to use all the way up in the attic."

"Well, you're very kind. What do we say, Tiffany?" Scylla coaxes the younger girl, as she's started sorting curiously through the barbies. The necro is happy to see she seemed to be feeling safer.

"Thank you, Mr. Collar." Tiffany smiles up at him.

"You, little one, can call me Edwin if you like, and same goes for you, Scylla." He declares, and Scylla can't help the affection that settles inside her chest.

Jonas was right. She really *was* going soft. But the witch is not so sure she minds it that much anymore.

"Alright... Edwin." She nods.

"Good." The man smiles, leaning down to take the box Tiffany hadn't yet looked through, "let's take these to the living room so you can play near the fireplace. It's getting cold."

****

Edwin sits back down on the couch a while later, and Scylla helps Tiffany sort through Raelle's surprisingly big collection of beanie babies. The young witch is fascinated with them, and she's lining them up in a circle with plastic cuttlery for each, getting them ready for a tea party as Scylla watches sleepily from the couch, when suddenly the phone rings.

Edwin gets up to answer. They can hear from the living room when he picks up, but aside from that, the conversation is nothing but muffled sounds. Scylla could listen in if she wanted, farspeech is not that hard, and she can surely manage to hone in on a conversation that is happening just at the end of the hall.

But Edwin is kind to them, and she's trying to be a better person, even if she can't push away the curiosity - the thought - that maybe it's Raelle. And how much she wishes to hear her voice.

She knows it isn't right though, so Scylla decides not to peek. They deserve their privacy- not without some internal protesting, she turns her attention back to where Tiffany still played with her new (to her) toys.

"Oh, no! You spilled your tea, mister giraffe!" She exclaims, knocking the yellow giraffe plushie against it's pink teacup until it topples over the carpet, "I can't give you more tea right now, sir, the other babies haven't gotten any, you'll have to sit down and wait. Yes, I'll make you more tea in just a minute." Tiffany grabs the equally pink teapot and turns to the stuffed hippopotamus, tskng annoyedly with a roll of her eyes "some clients are so impatient, mrs. hippo."

Scylla smiles fondly, settling down into the soft cushions of the couch and resigning herself to watching the game absentmindedly. Just then, Edwin peeks his head from the hallway.

"It's Raelle." He says, and Scylla's heart jumps at hearing her name, "she wants to talk to you."

The necro would've been embarrassed at how fast she gets up, but her mind is one tracked at this point, and she can barely hold herself back from running down the hall to where the phone sat by the back door.

Edwin had settled it speaker up on top of the phone box as to not hang up, and when Scylla finally comes face to face with the device, she can't help but stop - just for a minute - in hesitation. What they had lived a year ago was so fiery and fast paced. Scylla felt as if it enveloped her whole before she could even see the surface. Like canon-balling into the deep ocean when you can't swim.

Now, whatever they had- it felt tentative and unsure. Like walking across tight rope blind-folded. It was new, and she didn't deal very well with change.

Even then, as the witch picked up the phone with a shaking hand and settled it into her ear, beside her shaking nerves - it became quite obvious to her. Anyway Raelle wanted to be in her life, Scylla would never be able to deny it.

"Hey." She says, finally, and from the other side, a soft sigh comes.

"Hi." Raelle sounds tired, and Scylla wants to ask why, but the fixer continues before she has the chance, "I'm glad you both made it safe. Dad seems excited that you're there."

"Yeah. Your dad's been very nice." Scylla chuckles, resting the palm of her hand against the wall to suppress the heady, dizzying feeling in her lungs. Like she's just now taken a breath for the first time since hearing her voice in the clearing.

"He even brought down some toys from the attic. I hope you don't mind" The necro chooses to say, looking for anything that could distract her from the feeling and help keep herself upright "you didn't tell me you had like, a hundred beanie babies."

"Oh, Goddess." Raelle moans in mock embarrassment, but Scylla can hear the smile in her voice, and she can't help but smile too, "I- hm- I forgot they were in there. I asked him to bring them down for her once you guys got there."

"They're cute." Scylla replies simply, "Tiffany loves them. Thank you."

"Well- she can have them. They don't really have use in the attic." Raelle says, and they stop for a second of amused silence before the blonde speaks again, "what's her favorite?"

"I don't know. Honestly all I know is that the giraffe is a really bad customer." Scylla replies, chuckling lightly at the previous interaction she'd watched.

"Oh, yeah, he has always been an asshole." Raelle laughs, and Scylla joins her, for a second they sit there in little fits of giggles. It's refreshing and so very light. The necro thinks maybe she shouldn't have been worried after all.

Whatever they had before, it was absolutely incredible - it took Scylla's breath away to even think about it - but this? This was all of that wrapped in warm, soft silk. This was different, and honest, and it filled her with butterflies that threatened to flutter out of her throat with each tug along the rope that tied them together so very tight. She wished, more than anything, that Raelle was there, in the dark hallway of her childhood home with her.

"Thank you." Scylla hears herself say before she can truly think about it, as she leans down to rest her forehead lightly against the cold wall to settle her aching heart, "for believing me. For helping me."

Raelle clears her throat on the other line and sighs before she speaks again. For a second Scylla thinks she might have burst the glass bubble that extended around them, but then-

"I never got the chance with my mom but I- I get to have that with you. I guess I can't help but want to try." Raelle decides. She sounds so soft, Scylla's heart strings tug once again, and she's left at a loss for words. Somewhere in the kitchen, the oven timer rings, but Scylla is barely aware of it.

"I guess I also did save your life. Twice now." She speaks out, after a few minutes of silence. On the other line, Raelle chuckles, and Scylla can't help the pride that settles over her for having caused that.

"Yeah. Guess you did."

"Scylla! Dinner!" Tiffany calls out from the kitchen, and it startles Scylla a little out of the stupor that settled over her body as he lifts her head towards the rest of the house.

"I should let you guys eat." Raelle decides, sighing as if she doesn't want to hang up just as much as Scylla hoped they could be physically together. For a second, she lets herself believe that to be the case.

" I- thank you, for calling."

"Yeah... thank you for- hm- being there when I did."

Scylla's heart tugs against her ribcage once again, and she can hear Raelle's soft breathing on the other side. The witch feels as if she could stay there all night, given the opportunity, but Tiffany is annoying Edwin with a thousand questions about the game he'd been watching (she finally finds out it's hockey) and Scylla figures she should go save their host from being questioned to death. Besides, she is quite hungry.

"Good night, Raelle." She says, finally. "Try to sleep, okay? You sound like you could pass out any moment."

"I will." The fixer assures, simply "G'night, Scyl."

****

The next morning, Edwin very graciously lends her his truck and offers to watch Tiffany while she goes to meet with the Dodgers. He doesn't ask many questions, but Scylla still offers quite a bit of information. She understands how frustrating it must be to be left in the dark, and for once she doesn't feel the need to be as secretive as she'd been before.

The place they send her to is out of the city, away from the bright lights and military patrols. She takes back roads that almost seem to lead to nowhere a couple of times, before they cut into the horizon to reveal more sprawling landscape. Protective magic, she realizes, and the only real reason she hadn't been led away by confusion was probably because she was expected.

Scylla remembers staying at the farms before, when she was very young.

It'd be a good place to grow up, she thinks. A place where Tiffany could be away from all those things that so very desperately wanted to trap her for her voice.

She remembers harvesting berries when she lived here, squeezing them into her mother's basket as she smiled fondly back. It was a good memory. All the ones here were.

Before her, the fields come into view, a variety of different fruits and vegetables, tended by people of all ages, in simple but well kept clothes. Beyond them, the pastures, where fat brown cows chewed lazily at the grass, and even beyond that an orchid of fragrant trees that Scylla knew bore a multitude of fruits, all spring and summer, from juicy plums to red, big apples.

She passes it all to reach the gates, wooden and simple, but still flanked by two imposing towers from where respective guards peered down, one on each tower.

"State your business." The one on the right demands, once Scylla has rolled down her windows to the frigid winter air outside.

"I'm here to see Velma." She says, pulling down her sunglasses.

They give her only a nod in response, and the gates open so that Scylla can drive down the winding road up to the main house. It's an old, opulent mansion, built somewhere along the Victorian era. Over the years, the community had surrounded it by other buildings and houses alike, some looking newer and others, older and dustier, but all sturdy and charming, with flower boxes and wood panelling over the windows.

People and children walk to and from them, carrying various objects and chatting along their companions calmly. It feels peaceful here, and Scylla can't help but observe their languid movement as she parks the truck by some other trailers. It's definitely different from what she remembers, bigger and yet eerily emptier.

Scylla shakes her head to clear away the thoughts, sure there are a million explanations as to why there wouldn't be many people out here when it's still 7A.M. and so cold her fingertips threaten to freeze under her gloves. She gets out of the car, adjusting her coat and nodding slightly to a pair of older witches walking by before starting her way up the familiar path to the main house.

Velma Bjelke had come from Sweden along with her parents years before she was born. They had fled the great European witch war in the late 80's. All three had never been in favor of conscription, but given the way things were going in the old continent, Scylla guessed it was worth the shot to move all the way here. She wonders if they ever regretted it. But it was never something she thought to ask before they died.

When she was younger, Velma used to be around all the time. She was her mom's best friend, with whom she shared the knack for necromancy. Velma taught Scylla her very first seeds, and she acted like a second mom to her throughout the years they were together.

Eventually Velma had settled herself at the farms, where they all lived for a few years, and when Scylla left along with her parents, Velma chose to stay behind. She never quite knew why they left, and it was another thing she'd probably never get the chance to ask.

It should be around ten years since they last saw each other, and Scylla couldn't say she didn't feel apprehensive as she went up the stairs. But as soon as her feet were planted on the porch, the big oak doors swung open and there stood Velma, looking older than Scylla remembered her but still just as recognizable as she'd always been with her curly red hair, big glasses and flowy dress.

"Sweet girl." She sighed out, "I have missed you so much"

"Hi, aunt Velma." Scylla smiles, just as the older witch takes a step forward and pulls the youngest witch into a long, tight hug, "I missed you too."

I gave Scylla another mother figure and this one ain't dying

This fic is mostly gonna be fluff but it's also gonna have some plot around the Camarilla and the Dodgers that's gonna be put in C3, which is coming tomorrow or the day after

Hope you enjoyed, and feedback is always appreciated 🥰

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Oh, Loverboy: Part 2 (Everyone x Everyone, Star x Fem!Reader Centric)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: drug use, canon compliant bullying/teasing/violence, cursing,

Word Count: 1.9k

I feel like this is just gonna turn into an everyone x reader, star!centric fic so- hope you guys are down for that

While she'd given you a taste of the silent treatment last night, it didn't stop you and the boys from teasing her relentlessly for her crush. David sat on his bike, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. He loved to tease, and he did so subtly by saying,

"He kinda looks like Jim Morrison." He started, and Star sent him a glare from where the pair of you were sitting. Even if the boys didn't know where he was taking this, Paul was already laughing. David grinned and was quiet for a moment. As if he would agree to drop it. He didn't, and finished his teasing by saying, "Y'know, we could move that poster into your bedroom." And the boys erupted into a chorus of laughter when Star threw her corn dog stick on the ground. The boys only added onto his teasing, with Paul reaching out to pinch her side and say, 

"Hey, no littering, miss." As he mimicked Big Ed's voice. She rolled her eyes again, and you grinned and gave her hand a squeeze. You knew it was all in good fun, and it wasn't their fault if Star happened to just be an easy target. Even Dwayne was having fun with it, telling her,

"I didn't know you had a thing for brunettes." Before running a hand through his own hair. Star had scoffed at that, and finally cracked when even Laddie started to laugh along with them.

"Y'know, you guys are the worst." Before she hopped off your seat and floated away from the pack of you. When you tried to follow and called after her, Marko was quick to grab your hand and spin you. He pulled you back into his arms, pulling a laugh from you as well, before he said,

"Nah, let her go. She's been hogging you." He said, and leaned down to nip at your neck. You yelped, trying to slap him away but his grip was too strong. It didn't take long for you to surrender, pulling him in by his jacket to satisfy him with a kiss. 

She'd been gone for a little bit longer than you liked. You were picking at Markos jacket, having moved to sit behind him. It was almost time for you to leave, and Star still hadn't returned. The boys did what they did best, and they were a good distraction. Mostly. The night was stretching on, and you were starting to worry your lip between your teeth. You glanced at David, concern swirling in your eyes before he glanced away. Towards the opposite side. It seemed one of you may have to go find her, draw her back. You knew it would probably be you, and you were just about to offer before David let out a small scoff.

You looked where David was looking, leaning back as you held onto the curly-haired blonde. It seemed Star had caught her stray. 

He was leading her towards his bike. It was red and not nearly as geared up as the bike you were sitting on, or the bikes surround it, but the simple act made you frown. From over here, you could almost hear him ask if she wanted to go somewhere, and you watched as she made moves to accept.

All it took was a shared glance, and the five, plus Laddie, of you had the same idea. You'd been starting to get worried, thinking that you were going to have to go track her down. And all this time she was with loverboy? Even if you didn't want to be, a part of you was pissed. You didn't know why. Sharing had been easy before, but the idea of this mysterious kid? He set you off, ground your gears. Maybe it was because you thought she could do better. Maybe it was something else you didn't want to admit. Either way, it didn't help that David seemed to feel exactly the same way. Or maybe David just wanted to be a dick.

The six of you rode up to them, boxing the pair of them in. You had your chin on Markos shoulder, and you played with a couple of the loose strands on Markos jacket. Your eyes fluttered over the boy. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and nice cheekbones. It was understandable as to why Star liked him. Hell, he was pretty. There was no other way to go about it. But your eyes moved to her right as David spoke,

"Where you goin', Star?" And you lifted your head. You were staring at her, silently asking her the same question.

"For a ride." She said. She had met David's eyes, but quickly avoided everyone else's. Your own. She even turned her back to you as she said, "This is Michael." You frowned, your eyes shifting to the boy besides her. So, loverboy had a name?

"Hi, loverboy." You said, leaning your cheek on Markos shoulder and sending him a small wave. You'd caught his attention for a moment, and you almost thought you could see his cheeks tinge at the nickname. It seemed he remembered you. He was quick to look away, hiding an embarrassed smile. Just cause he had a name didn't mean you were going to use it. Especially when embarrassing him was so fun.

"C'mon, let's go." He said, and your eyes were quick to flick to David's. He was already on it. He leaned back, calling the single word,

"Star." And her eyes flicked back to him. David clicked his jaw, staring back. It was a game of chicken. One to test if she really was mad at the lot of you. You didn't know how she'd react, but you watched the exchange just as closely as Michael did. Finally, Star gave in. She wasn't really mad at all of you, and she didn't want to stir any tensions by acting like she was. She moved to take her usual seat behind David, and your lips spread out into a mega-watt smile as you reached a hand out to touch her. Paul laughed his usual laugh, but it was more at the brunettes expense. You turned to see that Michael had deflated, a look of disappointment on his face. David smiled, and you couldn't tell whether it was from winning Star over or from Michaels loss. Maybe a little bit of both. Either way, David could be an ass, but he was a surprising ass. "You know where Hudson's Bluff is? Over looking the point?"

With Michael in tow, you'd ended up back at the cave. He was pretty, sure. But he wasn't smart. You'd guessed that the second he'd tried to pick a fight with David. To your surprise, David had let it go. You were almost impressed with him. You didn't know him to have an easy temper, but he'd even gone as far as wrapping his arm around his shoulders as he showed them their little living area. After giving him the usual spiel, of course. 

Your boys had spread out, with Marko going to get food, Paul, Laddie and Dwayne on the fountain, and David and Michael heading towards the couch with a joint in hand. You didn't live in the cave, but you might as well have. You spent plenty of nights there before retreating to your father's house. You were his golden child, and he wouldn't have you sleeping over with kids like them, as your father put it. You and Star had clasped hands, the pair of you standing near the rock entrance as you watched David sit Michael down. You glanced at the pair of them, before glancing at the poster David hung on the wall. You watched how David talked to him, before you gripped her hand and grabbed the arm of the girl next to you. You leaned in, whispering,

"Doesn't David have a thing for brunettes?" And it took Star a second to realize before she was tearing her eyes away and staring at you,

"No way-" But you were cutting off her words with your own laughter. She reached up, covering your mouth despite her own giggles as the boys looked over at the pair of you. You watched as David arched a brow, a cigarette balancing between his lips. Michael looked confused, and you almost could swear that you could hear elevator music coming from inside his head. You tried to silence your giggles, but even Star couldn't stop her smile as she dragged you towards her room. You saw David lean back, his arm around the back of the couch behind Michaels head. He's totally putting on the moves. You thought to yourself, making your giggles even harder to stop. You watched David clench his jaw, and faintly you could hear him say,

"Don't mind them, Michael. They're like a pair of hyenas, those two."

You were sure that Michael was staring at the pair of you. You were sitting on the floor, a layer of pillows keeping you from sitting directly on the gravel.  You glanced over your shoulder, but Star was quick to grab you by it. She was quick to say,

"Don't look." And you tried to be serious. You really were trying. Maybe it was the joint the two of you had been passing back and forth, but everything was funny. It was also the second you made eye-contact with her; you couldn't help the giddy feeling she made run through you, and you couldn't help your own attempts to make her smile. After a moment, she whispered, "Okay, okay, now look." You weren't surprised to see that Michaels baby blues were trained over to where the pair of you were sitting, but they glanced away at the blonde beside him the next moment when David tried to steal back his attention.

"If you don't hurry up, David's gonna steal him-" You said quietly, and you couldn't stop your laughter when she tried to shush you. Maybe it was a trick of the candle-light but you thought he'd face had turned a lovely shade of red. She gave you a half-hearted glare, tilting her head as she said,

"Shut up. You're- You're terrible at this. How did we start dating?" And you only hummed in response, sending her a shrug. You held her hand, interlacing your fingers. It was much easier to not be jealous of Stars crush when she was holding your hand, and when David was expressing his own interest. Well, it was probably mostly easier because you were high. 

You ran your fingertips over the warmth of her hand, your eyes trailing over her face as she glanced over at the other curly-haired brunette. You thought about leaning in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. To her neck. Her lips. You wondered how Michael would react to that. But Star was snapping her head back towards you and whispering,

"He's coming over." And you tore your eyes from the sight of her face just in time to see him standing near the bunched up curtains of Stars room. He seemed almost shy, but too- whatever to really show it. He was unsure of where he stood, at least aware to know that he was a newcomer. But you were sure he remembered what had caught his interest in this group first. It made a small smile come to your face, and you brought the rolled cigarette up to your lips, blowing out a flume of smoke before you said,

"Hi, loverboy." It seemed to become his semi-permanent nickname, and even just saying it made you smile. You watched how Michael moved his head, attempted to hide his face. He pointed a finger to where you were sitting, at the spot between either of you.

"Mind if I join?"

[caesthetix]

A LITTLE FEAR — Pt. 1 The First Hello

↪Jean Kirstein mini-series

↪content; canon universe, description of violence, season 4 spoiler, forbidden love, marleyan!reader, scouts!jean

"I would love to know a world without fear."

The night was quiet as the moonlight became the only thing that lit up the space you were in. No sound could be heard, save for the subtle heartbeat that penetrated your hearing.

It was so chilly today, notifying you that it was almost time for winter. You never really loved the weather to say the least, because most of the time the room temperature could drop so much even when you had a heater turned on in every crook of your house.

You hated how your fingertips could feel so numb that you wondered if they were still there. You hated how you needed to cover your body, layer after layer just to keep you warm. You hated how you had to drink the hot chocolate that you made within two minutes or else it would go cold already.

But maybe this year, you had something that you loved from it.

A small hum coming from his lips, with how your head was laying on his chest, you could feel how the sound reverberated through it. His arms draped loosely around your body, securing you there in his embrace as his finger caressed your skin.

This was the warmth that you had longed for, a physical contact which you always seek. The one that could make you feel like everything would be alright, one that made you feel — safe.

"What do you mean by that, hm?" He asked nonchalantly, but you knew him enough to hear the serious tone from his composed gruff. His usually smooth and silvery voice now sounded a lot breathy, perhaps caused by how the clock was ticking right at one am.

You didn't look up at him as your eyes fixated on the moon outside the window. Though your mind was now wandering around, mulling if you wanted to have a deep talk tonight. Yes, you had talked a lot about humanity with him before, something that always made his orbs shone a little brighter.

But what you were going to talk about tonight was something more than just a dream or how the both of you saw the world you were living in. There was something more that you needed to know from him. Because somehow you had a gut feeling that something big would happen and alter your relationship with him.

Well, would alter whatever bond it was that you shared with this man called Jean Kirstein.

You shrugged softly before wrapping your arms a little tighter around his torso, snuggling your head at the crook of his neck before you speak up.

"You know, a world without war, a world without discrimination, without a judge from the outside," You trailed off, licking your lips as you continued, still not facing the man you spent the last few weeks with. "Without having to lie and hide who you really are."

There, that was the response that answered your curiosity. It was just a millisecond but you could feel how his body jolted a little. There was nothing in between you and him, you could hear his breath hitched, you could feel how the arms around you twitched.

And without him needing to say anything else, you knew it was there.

"How," He gulped down, and once again, you could feel it. It seemed like he was pondering if it was the right thing to ask, if your words were just a random opinion instead of a statement. But he knew you too, and he knew how smart you were. "How long have you known?"

You didn't move away, and perhaps that fact was enough to make him calm down a little. Your head was still positioned on top of his chest as if you hadn't just cornered him with your words.

"The second night." You even said it so easily. He whispered a low what? under his breath, but you could hear it with how you were literally skin to skin with him. "Don't worry, you are smart to cover all your tracks." Your fingertips trailing on his chest, tracing the marks that now looked like a permanent part of him. "But you could never hide this."

He chuckled a little at this, realising the slip in his cover. You didn't know what was on his mind, perhaps he blamed himself for exposing himself to you, or he wished he didn't fall for your charm. Neither way made you feel any better though.

"So my mistake is sleeping with you.” The way he said it was ambiguous. You knew that he just mumbled that to himself, yet you couldn’t understand if it was a question or realisation. And somehow with that choice of words, you could feel a pang in your heart as you were reminded by the truth.

You and him, it was all just a mistake.

A mistake that both parties knew. A mistake that you both understood yet turned a blind eye over it. There was nothing that could justify the rendezvous that you had with him. He was an Eldian, a man that could turn into a monster if given the titan spinal fluid, even worse, a Paradis citizen.

Then there was you, a pure marleyan, one of the people who wanted nothing but extinction to the island of Paradis. But you had another worst side, and that was the fact that you were the youngest commander of the airborne unit, one that belonged to the Marleyan Military air force. 

You were someone who had full control over dozens of airships and hundreds of troops. You were someone who sent people to the front line, bringing them to their death for your greedy country to get more and more, always unsatisfied and wanting another land to conquer.

You were even worse than him who just wanted the freedom that your country took away by force.

But you couldn’t help yourself as he slid into the barstool beside you that day. With his gentle smile, trimmed facial hair, and those magnetic brown orbs that glinted brighter under the dimmed light. You remembered how you let out a small gasp by just taking a proper look at him.

Lots of men and women threw themselves at you but never once you batted your eyes on them. But goddamn Jean Kirstein and his alluring complexion, making you stumble over your own words when he asked you a simple question — your name.

It needed you a minute to finally relax under his piercing gaze, and it only needed an hour for you until you let him take you away from the prying eyes of Marley. You gave in into his touch, calloused hands that rivalled yours. His breath reeked of alcohol and yet you let those plump lips steal the air out of your lungs.

You thought it would only happen once in your lifetime. That rendezvous was shared between two drunk human beings who got attracted to each other. Yet the two of you somehow stood in front of the same motel the next day.

And the day after.

And the day after that until you moved it to your apartment.

And for you, what you had with him was anything but a mistake.

You swallowed a huge lump, gaze hardening as you stared into nothing. He hadn’t said a single word ever since then, and you wondered if he was as disconcerted as you inside. But despite the truth that had been spoken, the two of you still huddled under the warmth of your cashmere blanket.

“I didn’t see it as a mistake, Jean.” You finally confessed, and you never been this scared in your life. You had been through a lot, watching Marleyan titans devour the enemy, scattered brains on the battlefield, and yet you were never once afraid you would be like them someday.

But this, this confession, this fucked up truth about your feelings and what he would do to it was a lot more terrifying than dying in war.

“I see.” You still held your breath even though you already got your answer. It was still grey, you didn’t know what he was thinking right now, not yet. “I, too, don’t have any regret over us.” And that, that answer was enough to paint it white.

You subconsciously snuggle closer, tightening your embrace as you didn’t want to let him go. There was a dream, deep inside your heart that someday everything would end with the whole world united to walk forward together. Without the need for destruction, without the need to shed another blood on their lands.

And just once, just when you were with him was the time you could feel that dream. You could succumb yourself into another world when you laid in his arms, thinking that the two of you were just a normal citizen who would do mundane work when the sun was up, and cuddled up together for every night that came.

But you knew, since the time you traced the marks on his skin when you were sober, when you recalled what your warrior friend told you about his time in Paradis and the gear that made him have permanent marks all over his body, you knew that what you had with him was just a small nirvana that your own mind created.

It wouldn’t last, you knew damn well it could never last. And even though he didn’t say anything, as someone who supposed to be the only one who knew about the truth, he decided to keep on going and entangled himself with you. 

For weeks, for weeks he had been here in Marley, doing whatever he needed to do behind your back. You both acted as if you did not belong to the different sides at war, talking and enjoying each other's company and sharing a glass of wine before he went back to his place when the sun was still hiding behind the horizon.

“I have a question.” He cleared his throat, deep in thought as his eyebrows scrunched from either confusion or disbelief. “Why did you tell me about Marley’s plan? Why did you share the war plan with me? Me, your enemy.”

You pondered, why indeed? At some nights he would ask you some questions. But there was nothing too explicit on it as you recall. He would just ask you about your day, about how tiresome your work was, or ask about your condition when you looked so stressed some of the days.

It was just a simple question, yet you always answered some of them with a long answer as you slipped in some information about war here and there. You didn’t do it subconsciously, of course, you were always being sus and never shared work-related topics with anyone outside of the military.

“Because I want you to live.” But he was an exception and perhaps he knew that already. “Even if it’s not significant, I want you to have more chances to be alive.”

You cursed the universe for giving you a chance to love like this. To care for a man that could be killed by your country, or even worse, die by your hand. Was there anyone like you too? A Marleyan who fell in love with Eldian, not just Eldian in Marley even, but the devils themselves.

Being a part of the Marleyan Military means that you knew the truth. You knew how many mindless titans that your country sent to Paradis, and the fact that a few years ago the colossal and armoured titan was successful to breach the wall, that would mean a lot of the citizens of the island lost their lives and home.

And you didn’t dare to ask him about how many family and friends that he had lost.

“You do know that you could be executed for sharing a war plan, right?” He asked with worry lingering in his voice, yet he sounded a little exasperated, couldn’t believe that you would jeopardize either your occupation or your life for him. “You are so reckless, I swear to God.” But at the same time, he was thankful too, because it really showed him how much you care.

“Hmhm, I don’t care.” You just shrugged it off, deep in thought as you thought that the execution was worth it. “I should have died in one of the wars that I went to, yet here I am. Embracing the fact that I might be in love with an Eldian devil.”

He squeezed your body tighter for a while there, just after you said those words. Life was short, you understood that well for becoming a commander at such a young age and had been through a lot of hell. But unlike a lot of people who decided to keep their heart at bay or threw it away, you chose to keep it.

Just because you were going to die soon, didn’t mean that you shouldn’t enjoy what life had given you.

You cared and loved your friends because you knew someday you wouldn’t see them again. You had a routine where you just sat on the porch and greeted your neighbours because tomorrow you might not be coming back. You made sure to send your family a letter here and there because who knows it would be the last.

And now, you felt a strong emotion for this man that you never had before with anyone else. It was not platonic, you actually wanted to attach yourself to him without force. It was what they called romantic love, and at this point, you didn’t care anymore that having this feeling could lead you to death.

“Are you going to attend Tybur's speech tomorrow?” This question piqued your interest. You wanted to hope that perhaps he would like you to enjoy the festival with him before that. But something tugged at your heart, telling you to be careful. And this was the first time you ever felt the need to be cautious around him.

“Sadly, no.” Yet you remain as calm as possible. “I want to attend it, but duty’s calling in another post.” Now you pondered about it, every other squadron would be there, including the general himself. Yet somehow not you. “I had to check on the newly arrived airships, sucks how it’s on the same day as the speech.”

You were rambling on and on about it, ignoring the sigh of relief that slipped from Jean’s lips when he knew you were not going to be there. Deep inside your heart, you wanted to ask why did he throw the question at you, having a feeling there would be something going on.

But what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you, so you decided to keep your mouth shut.

Jean could only look at you with a frown plastered on his face. He knew that something was going to happen tomorrow. If what Eren wrote in all his letters were right, then he didn't want you to be there. He couldn't bear to see your corpse.

No, it was not that. Watching you die was something that would happen either tomorrow or some days later. But what he couldn't bear to see was your face when you knew he was one of the people behind the attack tomorrow, he was one of those people who fought with Eren Yeager, the enemy of your nation.

He could picture your face with disappointment lingering on your face. Because he knew with the plan that they had tomorrow, he wouldn't just kill the military but also the innocent citizens who had been oppressed all their lives in Liberio.

Right now he wanted to tell you that, he wanted to open up to you about the plan. But you were a commander, and if you shared the information to any of the higher-ups, that meant the attack tomorrow had a high possibility to fail.

Yes, he couldn't jeopardise that. As much as he wanted to keep you safe by telling you the reason why you shouldn't be there, he decided to keep his mouth shut. After all, what he didn't say wouldn't hurt you, right?

"Hey, love?" Jean called out, using the nickname that no matter how many times he had called you by it, always send a shiver down your spine. You let out a small hum to tell that you were listening, fingers trailing softly on his arms. "I need to go now."

"What?" You immediately looked at him, propping your body with an elbow as you searched for his smirk that was usually there when he teased you. But you found none. "Why? I mean, you always stay until around four, what change?"

He sat up in bed, both eyes casting down his lap as he tried to avert your gaze. Your lips jutted a little, trying to understand why. But then again, maybe his lips were sealed. Perhaps he had to attend a late-night meeting, or his leader started to get suspicious over the two of you.

"My comrades needed me." But that subtle answer was the only thing that he gave before he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Just sleep, I still have the key that you gave me. I will give it back to you next time." You frowned at that as he didn't give you any other explanation.

You sat there in your bed, eyes never leaving the tall figure as he snatched his clothes from the ground, wearing them one by one as he turned his back on you. 

Never once you felt like this, scared, over the unknown of tomorrow. You had tried to embrace the fact that you would never know what happened next. But with him, as you put a piece of your heart inside his soul, you started to get worried more often. And somewhere along the way, a little seed of fear started to plant deep inside your heart.

"Jean," You called out as he dusted his clothes, not wanting to see any wrinkles on them. "Why do I feel like I am not going to see you again?"

He stopped. His fingers that were currently buttoning up his suit halted as he listened to your question. You waited for him to say something and moved your body so you sat at the edge of the bed instead, wondering if he knew that something big would happen or not.

"Hey, it's not, okay?" Jean cleared his throat and turned to you. A gentle look was there as he walked toward you and kneeled to level his gaze with yours. "We will meet again, we have to meet again." You didn't know if it was him trying to reassure you, or he was reassuring himself. "I promise." But either of them, you would take it.

So you closed your eyes, erasing all of those fears and anxiety that crept in your mind. His lips captured yours, not in a passionate and rough movement like it used to, but instead, it was soft and felt so delicate.

And you wished you could have stayed like this forever, in his arms as you knew that with him you felt safe. That everything just became complete ever since Jean Kirstein came into your life as if he was some kind of guardian angel despite the nickname that was given to his race.

Yes, you could have stayed like this forever indeed. Safe, and perhaps loved.

But then you saw it as you were called back to Liberio sooner than you expected to. You saw it, all the collapsed buildings and how the rubbles trampled the innocent citizen. Everything was red, the scent of rust metal suffocated you as it was the only thing that you could smell.

No one told you about what happened here. The general was dead, all the higher-ups from Marley Military were wiped clean. There were so many countries joining this grand speech, and as you strolled around to see if there were any survivors, your mind started to speculate about who would have done something like this.

Then you heard a cough, someone, someone was alive. You point your flashlight to the source, finding an Eldian Unit leaning his body to the big rubble. He was gravely wounded with a huge gash trailing from his shoulder and down to his abdomen, and somehow you wished it killed him, so he didn’t have to suffer.

Having been through so much war, you already get used to seeing such cruelty. Wounded by a bullet and died in the spot, getting bombed as the body scattered around the ground, you had seen so much that nothing impacted you anymore.

But this wound — you snapped back to real life, not letting any horrendous thought filling your mind. You immediately checked for his pulse, it was weak but it was still there. 

“You need to keep your eyes open, soldier.” As a figure with authority, you couldn’t waver. “I am going to get you to the paramedic. Just stay still as I lift you up, and keep your eyes open.” You didn’t wait for him to answer you as you gently slipped your arms to pick him up.

“They were flying, commander.” He whispered, one hand gripping tight on your arm as if to stop you. “They looked so free up there, some with blades, and some with guns in their hands.” But you ignored it and stood up, securing his body in your arms as you started to run.

“Keep your eyes open and save your energy. Just live for the next few seconds.” You commanded, and he was just staring at the sky, somehow accepting his death already. “We are close, and you can be—”

“Commander,” He whispered out. “Have I become a good warrior? Have I redeemed my filthy blood to Marley? If I go now can I be free?” The questions rang in your ear, and you ran even faster since you knew he could be saved.

But what if he didn’t want to be saved from the start?

“Yes.” You answered without looking down at him. “You have become a good soldier in the army, you proved yourself that you have been so strong.” There was a little smile on his face as you said that, and you decided to slow down your pace. “And you will be free, you can do anything you want if you decide to go.” Because deep down, you knew he wanted it.

Your legs went limp as you realised he was gone. With a smile on his face and eyes opened as it looked up. Either to you or toward the sky, you didn’t know that. But you fell forward after that, with his body still secured in your arms. You didn’t cry, you lost so much and you thought tears were already dried.

You scrutinized him one more time, a solemn smile tugged at your lips as you slowly closed his eyes, wanting him to rest in peace. Your finger slowly traced the gash on his body, making your lips shaped into a thin line as your thought from last night was answered.

No matter how calm his eyes were before you closed it, it bore into your soul as it mocks you with a reminder.

“Are you going to attend Tybur's speech tomorrow?”

That the one who made you feel safe last night — was the same who would be responsible for the nightmare which happened today.

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[bluerose5]

First Impressions (Part 1)

Word Count: 1,726

Rated T (Warnings for Swearing, Canon-Typical Violence)

Summary: What if, after receiving that call from Garrus while he was pinned down on Omega, Castis tries to track him down?

"Are you sure it was him?"

"I'm sure." Alec's smile turned mocking, the vitriol directed more towards himself. "I'm no Shadow Broker, but I still have my list of contacts here on the Citadel, even if it's dwindling by the seconds."

"Alec—"

"I don't need your pity, Castis." His smile fell, a subtle frown curling at the edges of his lips. "Besides, I'm doing this as a favor for a friend. Father to father. You know how it is."

"Yeah," Castis Vakarian sighed, "so I do."

It had been quite some time since the elder Vakarian graced the Citadel with his presence, but ever since he received that call...

"You finish up what you have to do there, and then you come on home to Palaven. We have a lot to sort out."

Even now, the echoes of gunfire rang in his ears, but not as much as the resignation in Garrus’s voice.

"Target practice," Garrus had called it.

As if an experienced C-Sec officer with common sense couldn't tell the difference between target practice and an all-out gunfight.

Even now, Castis's chest tightened.

The thought of losing Garrus now, especially when his mother's condition wasn't showing any signs of improvement—

Castis couldn't stand the thought. He couldn't lose both his wife and his son all at once.

When Garrus never reported back, he had to do something. After he spoke with some old friends on the Citadel, Alec Ryder put out some feelers of his own at his friend's request. For a while, there was nothing.

Then, they got a hit.

The Normandy SR-2, arriving to the Citadel from Omega. A ship flagged by Citadel Control's security algorithms for having alleged ties to the pro-human extremist group known only as Cerberus.

It was under the command of no other than Commander Shepard.

Why was Castis not surprised?

Between his and Alec's contacts, they had been able to discern that there were indeed aliens listed as part of the ship’s crew. A surprising move, given the organization's history, but Castis was far from calling them friends. Just because they expanded recruitment beyond their own species did not make them allies.

Add in a Spectre miraculously back from the dead, and the whole situation reeked of trouble.

Alec agreed, so they approached the matter with caution.

Thankfully, Solana understood when Castis had to drop everything and go. All that she asked was that he return home with the knowledge that Garrus was safe. That's it.

Of course, that wasn't enough to satisfy him.

Castis knew that Garrus was alive now, but that wasn't enough.

The next time he and Alec were pinged, they received intel stating that Garrus was spotted poking around the shipping sector of Zakera Ward with Commander Shepard, seeking out a notorious forger. For what? Spirits only knew.

The only other info that they had was that there was a drell and a quarian accompanying them as well.

While they awaited positive IDs on those two, they continued following Garrus’s trail, questioning the loose-lipped volus who was more than happy to give up Fade's position after his lousy bodyguards wandered off for a break.

Eventually, they were led to Harkin's position. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out that Garrus had already been there, what with the trail of bodies and mechs they left in their wake.

Seeing Harkin curled up on the floor, the bastard took one look up at them, then swore under his breath.

"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me," he spat. "First your son, and now you? Haven't you Vakarians done enough?"

"Heh," Alec chuckled. "We're just getting started, tough guy."

Tapping at his omni-tool, Castis sent out an alert. While he dealt with Harkin, Alec approached the open console nearby, downloading all of its content, including the most recent call to a client.

"Have fun explaining yourself to C-Sec, Harkin, or is it Fade now?" Castis paused, crossing his arms over his chest as he peered down at him. "You can't resist making a fool of yourself for even a second, can you?"

"Hot take, coming from you." Harkin sneered. "You can't even keep that hot-headed son of yours on a leash. Bet C-Sec was glad to finally have his insubordinate ass off the force."

Castis saw red.

He took a step forward, but Alec's hand came down onto his shoulder, stopping him in his path.

"He's not worth it," Alec reminded him gently. As C-Sec swarmed the area, Alec jerked his chin in the direction of the door. "Come on. Let’s go find him before it's too late."

They strolled out together, heads ducked close and voices kept low.

"Did you find anything?" Castis asked.

"More than enough," Alec assured him. "Garrus is looking for a turian by the name of Lantar Sidonis."

"Can't say I've heard of him."

"Hmm..." Alec hummed thoughtfully to himself. "There was a location sent to set up a meeting. Orbital Lounge."

"Good work," Castis said, but Alec shrugged off the praise. "Let's go."

They stopped to make a quick change in a clothing store along the way. They got dressed in casual attire, posing as a couple of friends enjoying the sights.

By the time they made it to the lounge, Castis was already getting antsy. He struggled to maintain his cover, his eyes darting this way and that.

Alec elbowed him in the side.

"Calm down," he warned. He turned towards a random window display to glance over the selection of model ships. "Maintenance walkway above. Over your shoulder and to the right."

Castis snuck a peek as soon as he had the chance to.

He felt all of the blood drain from his face.

Turning quickly back towards the display, he hissed under his breath, "He has a rifle."

Alec shushed him before they could attract too much attention.

"I know, but do we really want to announce that little fact to the entire plaza?!" he whispered frantically.

Right.

Taking a deep breath, Castis composed himself. Usually, he wasn't this bad at remaining undercover, but the stakes were too high —too personal— to ignore.

It was hard to remain calm when your son was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

Killing in a public place...

What happened to make him fall so far?

"I spotted someone up there with him," Alec said, breaking Castis of his reverie. "Shepard, maybe?"

Looking around at the crowd, Castis shook his head a moment later.

"No, not Shepard. Look. To your left."

Alec followed his line of sight, then ducked his head back down.

"Her, the quarian, and I'm assuming that's Sidonis," Alec said, counting them off one by one. "Which means that might be the drell up top with Garrus. A lookout, perhaps?"

"Hmph."

That was when Castis noticed the spotting laser.

His pupils narrowed into thin slits.

"No."

Alec stopped him again, stepping out in front of him with his hands spread wide.

"Wait, wait, wait," he ordered. "Let's see how this plays out first."

Castis turned on him with a glare.

"My son is about to commit a murder in plain sight, and you want me to wait?" he snapped.

"I want you to think clearly," Alec corrected. "Take another look at who the spotting laser is trained on."

Staring him down, Castis huffed impatiently, but quickly complied. They couldn’t afford to be stuck at an impasse at such a crucial moment.

One look was enough to clear up the image that had been blurred by emotion.

What in the—

"No." Castis shook his head in disbelief, but that didn't change what he was witnessing. "No, Garrus is too fond of the Commander. He wouldn't hurt her."

The conviction with which he spoke surprised even himself, but Garrus's attachment to Shepard was undeniable, as much as he was loath to admit it.

Even then, he couldn’t deny what was right there in front of him. The spotting laser was focused on the back of Commander Shepard’s skull, clear as day.

However, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

When Sidonis moved, Garrus followed him, but the Commander was instantly there to block his opening.

There were a few tense moments where words were exchanged, far too quiet to hear from where Alec and Castis were positioned. They went back and forth for a bit, and Castis admittedly feared for the worst when both Shepard and Sidonis started to leave.

The second Garrus had a clear shot at Sidonis, Castis held his breath.

But the shot never came.

"Well," Alec muttered, "that was anticlimactic."

Castis glared and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"That's my son, Ryder."

With a grumble, Castis dragged Alec along. Their hunt wasn't over yet.

"You should meet mine. I feel like if Scott would've let him go, then he would have somehow managed to pull the trigger by accident. A real stroke of bad luck, that one."

"Spirits."

Strolling through the crowds, they laid low for as long as they could.

By the time they found Garrus again, he was talking with the others by a skycar terminal, presumably waiting on a cab.

A whole flood of emotions came crashing down on Castis at once, and there was no holding back. Not anymore.

Ignoring Alec's warnings not to do anything rash, Castis stormed off in their direction.

Insane how, after so many years of being friends, the N7 was only choosing now to try to be the voice of reason when Castis wanted to be anything but.

Out of everyone, the drell noticed him first, regarding him with suspicion.

Before he could warn him, Castis called out, "Garrus!"

The other three instantly froze, right before they turned to face him.

Garrus’s eyes widened, his mandibles falling slack as he gaped.

"Dad?"

"'Dad?!'" Shepard and the quarian echoed, shocked by such an unexpected turn of events.

The drell, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit perturbed.

"Ah, his father," he hummed, nodding in understanding. "Your presence in the lounge makes sense now."

Alec's brow furrowed.

"Hold up, you knew we were there?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call you two 'subtle.'"

"That doesn't matter!" Castis snapped.

Clenching his jaw, his mandibles were clamped down tight.

Time to get this meeting back on track.

"Garrus, we need to talk."

[createandconstruct]

can i ask about amarant coral? the monk in red himself~

Can you ask about Amarant Coral? *cracks fingers* Oh I insist that you do. Welcome to my Amarant Appreciation Post:

favorite thing about them: First off best thing about Amarant? His theme. The percussion and the guitar. It’s great and it captures him so well. People out here like “take Amarant out of the game he adds nothing.” EXCUSE ME? You remove the Amarant you remove the Amarant Theme my friend and that is something I do NOT vibe with. 

least favorite thing about them: I wanna know more about him. Now Amarant doesn’t need a backstory or history in the game. In a sense, he already has one that connects him to Zidane and explains his motives and actions and eventual arc. But my issue is, Square never gave him anything else. If you look at Ultimania there’s additional lore about other characters, like Steiner for instance. You learn Steiner was a war orphan who was saved by the Pluto Knights - explaining his devotion to them. Amarant though? Square was like “uh... yeah he was born....? And then he uh got famous...? Idk then he met Zidane. You figure it out.” Square. I hate you. 18 years from his birth until he became “well known”. WHAT WAS HE DOING. WHY’D HE BECOME A SECURITY GUARD. WHAT WAS ON HIS RESUME. TELL MEEEE. Like, okay, what the actual in-game canon gives us on Amarant is sort of enough. He’s a purposely written mysterious “cool-guy” character so we’re given scraps to make him unknown but come on. In the published after-game canon, like Ultimania, we could have been given a bit more. He says he doesn’t remember anything about his origins or parents, but why. Was he another victim of Gaia’s wars? Probably. Was he born on a battlefield? Fighting for his life, living without comrades, taking scraps whenever he could? Was he betrayed when he was young? Is he a supposed to be a version of Zidane had he not been adopted into Tantalus by Baku??? These are questions I deserve answers to, Square.

favorite line: “’I can't just walk away. It goes against my nature...’ You're a real simpleton. Forget it, guys. There's no stopping this fool." I love this. Amarant figures Zidane out pretty quickly after Ipsen’s Castle. Zidane is hardheaded and also an actor. He acts cool and pretends his reasons for doing things are loose but when he’s decided something it’s always for a reason. You don’t need a reason to help people, but Zidane has his reasons for helping Kuja and while Amarant doesn’t give two shits what they are he knows Zidane won’t be stopped because, despite everything, Zidane saved a loser like him. Also this line “Tell me! Why didn't you kill me!?" Because I quote it all the time and it makes myself laugh. Amarant is such a drama queen and Zidane knows it. Zidane’s like “dude... what is your damage, it’s 5 pm on Tuesday in Madain Sari. I ain’t getting blood on my gloves cause you’re having a temper tantrum.” And then Amarant runs away to have an existential crisis. He’s 26 but compared to Zidane, he’s the real teenager with angst.  

brOTP: I could talk about Zidane or Freya with Amarant but instead I’m gonna say the underrated dynamic of Amarant and Eiko (and also Vivi).  Amarant with the kids is truly the greatest gift given by his presence in the game. Amarant has never known true suffering until he became a designated legal guardian of a group of minors. It also kills me how he’s the one to volunteer to carry Eiko and Vivi up the Iifa tree. He looks at Zidane and is like “you have seriously been the ‘adult’ of this group???”

OTP: Gotta say the Freya and Amarant dynamic. I really enjoyed their unlikely friendship in the game but then the content. The fan content. The Freya x Amarant fans out there, you win. Ya got me. You captured me and I am now imprisoned by their banter and begruntled allies to lovers story. Even if they’re not romantic I love them together and really wish the game gave us more of them. But even Lani and Amarant together are valid, though I prefer them as butting head bros. Not much content for my girl Lani out there either, she deserves more.

nOTP: Nothing I can think of. I tend to like platonic pairings for Amarant. The dude needs friends because he can barely define the word friendship.

random headcanon: Before Zidane returns at the end of the game Amarant wanders around a bit, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t feel any place with the others in Alexandria, Burmecia, or Lindblum. I imagine he goes off on his own for a bit like before but this time he’s not after Zidane or a fight. Instead he’s got no particular destination. Yet he somehow always finds himself running into people just like him - or the old him - friendless lonely people who are looking for a fight. He doesn’t go out his way to find these folks he simply runs into them and decides he might as well knock some sense into them. He does however make it his business to go after any murmur of people hatching any ideas of going after the far off little village on the Lost Continent. The home of the genomes and black mages. They were so helpless, so weak that anyone who’d want to mess with them is pathetic in Amarant’s book. Until Zidane returns, no one has the chance to even look at the Black Mage Village the wrong way because in the shadows Amarant lurks, making damn well sure of that.

unpopular opinion: I kinda love that he’s just there for most of the game? While I agree he gets the short end of the stick in the same way as Freya, not receiving additional individual character spotlight (which could have very well been supplied through discoverable lore in the world/npcs or through sidequests) I never considered his “standing off to the side” as a detriment to his character. 

Many would probably agree that Amarant always felt like a bit of a parody of the loner character, or at least the stereotype of the loner character. Amarant is so easily paralleled with Squall and Cloud’s surface-level attitudes because his dialogue always felt like something to poke fun at. As the player we’re supposed to align with Zidane’s way of thinking and how he views Amarant. When Amarant loses to Zidane and pretty much grits his teeth and goes “KILL ME,” along with Zidane we’re supposed to kinda raise our brow at him and go “...really, dude?”

 Amarant’s a character introduced as an antagonist who has more in common with the power hungry villains of the game. Like many of the characters in FFIX, Amarant is in search of purpose in life, which he has never found, because he was always looking in the wrong places - in places of violence and power. Very toxic-masculinity of him. Amarant is “cool” on an aesthetic level but in reality he’s the polar opposite of cool in terms of what FFIX states about the need for others to be intertwined in your experiences so that you can live a full life. 

I sort of love that he’s like a grumpy pitball following a 16 year old and his friends around. Then he sits in the corner when they all meet up and discuss current events acting like he doesn’t care (not to mention he casually walks as everyone is running as fast as they can to escape Terra - made me laugh cry on my first playthrough) He is “just there” but that’s because he has no where else to be, no where else to go, he’s a man without a home. And until Zidane offers his hand, at the point where Amarant is most willing to take it at Ipsen’s Castle, he’s not truly a party member. He IS an outsider for almost the entire game but at Ipsen Castle he joins the party, becomes a comrade, and decides he’ll allow himself to change paths and start a life where he has friends and lives, as well as fights for them. Which is why after that moment, Amarant finally has a victory pose.

song i associate with them: I was scratching my head for so long trying to think of a song or track that had Amarant vibes until it hit me. Outskirt Stand by Tsukasa Tawada (from Pokemon Colosseum). Amarant is so chill, he’s not a bombastic guy, so he needs a theme that drops me in the rocky open desert of the Lost Continent like I’m just lumbering around looking for a monkey-tailed menace. Some other Amarant tunes:  Pyrite Town, The Under, Snagem Hideout tracks from Pokemon Colosseum. This post is just an elaborate call to action for everyone to listen to the Pokemon Colosseum soundtrack. Tsukasa Tawada is so great and he has a YouTube. Check him out.

favorite picture of them:

Yoshitaka Amano’s Salamander Coral. I love him. He had too much power. 

Also everything drawn by @crispy-ghee. Everything. I will think of this Comic forever until I die. Tattoo it on my flesh. The banter, the dynamics, the post-game content, the Zidane prince-consort outfit, the new Amarant outfit, the stuck-in-the-same-place relationship him and Freya have. Perfect. Go read it and consume Crisipy’s stuff. And also check them and their current art out, they just consistently get better and better. Here’s a first panel preview of my fav comic. Read it.

 @hannahlady​‘s Amarant art and their Freya/Amarant art is just ugh. *Chef’s Kiss* Here is another preview because you should go look at it.

Here’s a piece that deserves so much more love by @snackage. I LOVE how they drew Amarant. Here’s a little preview. It’s SO GOOD

Anyway TL;DR: Amarant is love and life and you’ll have to pull him from my little gremlin hands.

[curioskitty]

THE・Rarest Bakugou

Given Bakugou-kun's description as a "juvenile delinquent" (Horikoshi sensei uses the term 不良少年, or furyou shounen, meaning juvenile delinquent boy), it's expected that he wouldn't conform to standard. So obviously, it's not possible to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie properly................

What is up with this perfectly tied nonsense right here?!

Bakugou-kun, I thought I knew you!!! THE LIES! THE BETRAYAL!!!

But, it's probably just a fluke. You didn't mean it, right Horikoshi-sensei?

WTF?! WHY?!!! Horikoshi-sensei?!

Yep. Contrary to expectations, Bakugou-kun wearing a tie correctly only ranks at Ultra Rare status: difficult to find, but not impossible.

So, what's rarer than a tie-wearing Bakugou-kun? Go Beyond, Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In fact, it's even harder to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie improperly. Given proto-Bakugou's loose tie design, I would have expected that to be the likelier delinquent-esque tie option. But I've only seen Horikoshi-sensei draw him like this once:

(Horikoshi-sensei's one year celebration illustration. This is still fairly early in the publication.)

On top of that, Bakugou-kun consistently wears his uniform tie-less and with at least one button undone on his shirt collar. His pants are always slung low on his hips and legs bunching up at his feet (except when he had to wear jeans for Best Jeanist). You can even see panels where Horikoshi-sensei drew in the rips at the hems near the heel where they drag on the ground.

So why the inconsistency, Horikoshi-sensei? I see you over there, stop pretending you didn't notice. I know you're paying attention.

Horikoshi-sensei gave proto-Bakugou a loosened tie, so what is the reasoning for taking Bakugou-kun's tie away?

Some No-Tie Theories

Fan Theory #1: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW

//Like Midoriya-kun, Bakugou-kun came from a middle school with gakuran uniforms. They never learned how to tie them. Midoriya-kun messes up his tie, while Bakugou-kun doesn't even bother to try.//

I actually think this is the least likely reason. Bakugou-kun was designed to be a naturally talented genius. I think this applies to anything he wants to do. If he does something, it's always perfectly done.

Bakugou-kun can (and does if you look above) tie it perfectly when necessary.

CONCLUSION: If Bakugou-kun doesn't do something, it's completely out of personal preference or because he doesn't see a reason to.

Fan Theory #2: REBELLIOUS NATURE

//Bakugou-kun is a delinquent and maintains that image because he thinks it looks cool. Or maybe he is rebelling against fashion designer parents. Either way, because of his family background he knows how to tie a tie, but wants to be a rebel.//

I'd give partial points for this one. I'm pretty sure he wears his pants loose at least partially because he thinks it looks cool. However, Bakugou-kun's parents were noted to be designers and not specifically fashion designers.

Despite appearances, this is the kid that sleeps at 8:30pm, doesn't break school rules, and yells at his friends for smoking.

He zips up the collar on his gym track suit all the way. Both the summer and winter versions get the same treatment. He doesn't feel the need to "make a statement" by wearing his track uniform incorrectly. Outside of class, he can and does sometimes wear his track jacket unzipped, but during class he always wears it properly.

So then why does Bakugou-kun refuse to wear the band T-shirt and Christmas party Santa outfit? Because he isn't cooperative. In Ultra Analysis, his Cooperativeness Stat was the lowest rank: E.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun may be non-conformist and uncooperative, but he isn't a rebel.

Fan Theory #3: TRAUMA/PTSD

//This is one of the more popular theories. Between Dabi grabbing his neck, the Sludge Villain and being restrained at the School Festival, our boy has been through the wringer. As a result, he just doesn't like stuff around his neck because it gives him anxiety.//

The Western Fandom is definitely concerned about the mental health of the kids. But I don't actually think this is the reason. Not that I don't think they all need some therapy and self care, especially right now, but there just isn't evidence for this specific trauma in Bakugou-kun.

He wears scarves and even turtle necks without a problem.

On top of that, Bakugou-kun ALSO unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and gakuran in middle school; even from before the Sludge Villain incident. There isn't any evidence Bakugou-kun changed his dressing habits due to trauma. He wore a scarf to the entrance exam for UA, too.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun has ALWAYS worn his shirts with the top button unbuttoned.

These 3 theories are inadequate, too. Even if they did explain the reasons Bakugou-kun doesn't wear a uniform tie, they don't factor in the reasoning for why he DOES wear his other ties properly sometimes.

HC#1: Bakugou-kun's preference

Bakugou-kun doesn't seem to care about his image and how "extras" see him. Even during the press interviews after his hero debut, he wore the same style of open collar look. He's not shy about being nude or taking his shirt off.

But what he hates is being uncomfortable.

He is "explosively brawny". Just look at how thick Bakugou-kun's neck is when compared to Midoriya-kun's. It isn't just that Midoriya-kun is supposed to be scrawny, but also that Bakugou-kun has a thicker than average neck.

Bakugou-kun doesn't like to button up his shirts all the way because it's uncomfortable. It's reasonable that he zips his track suit and everything else up because those are looser at the neck or made of stretchier materials.

As for why he doesn't wear the uniform tie at all... Don't forget Bakugou-kun is a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak.

He always tucks his shirt in. For the band performance he wore a collared black dress shirt. From what we saw of his room, it's minimalist and clean. I don't see him wanting to look like a slob.

A sloppy loose tie would probably irritate him more than just not wearing it (which is even funnier when you think about Midoriya-kun's chonk tie. It probably makes him want to strangle Midoriya-kun, or maybe just tie it himself...)

Bakugou-kun has difficulties compromising when it comes to his high standards. So if he has to wear it, it's going to be either 0% or 100%.

HC#2: Explosiveness

Why draw Bakugou-kun with either 0% tie or 100% tie? If Horikoshi-sensei is going for a delinquent image, wouldn't the 50% tie option make more sense?

Taking a look again at Bakugou-kun's profile page, Horikoshi-sensei describes him to be explosive in every way. That includes his whole body being "explosively brawny", but also adds a note that he looks slender in clothes.

Horikoshi-sensei put an effort to make every element of Bakugou-kun's character in some state of either fully compressed or explosive.

His slimming clothes, general appearance and even his speech patterns are highly compressed (blunt/terse) and loud. The extremes of his attitude are compressed too; if Bakugou-kun is not loudly raging, then he's quietly observing.

This contrast is key to his character. You can't explode if you aren't compressed first. It's supposed to be shocking to see how brawny he actually is under his slenderizing clothes. And I always feel shocked whenever I see this kid compressed into a tie.

HC#3: Deku & Kacchan

These two are set apart from the class by design and very much on purpose. Horikoshi-sensei designed them to be at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

If Bakugou-kun has muscular arms, then Midoriya-kun needs muscular legs. If Midoriya-kun buttons up his shirt all the way to the collar, then Bakugou-kun's collar has to be loose. Their designs reflect their connection.

So if Midoriya-kun has a poorly tied tie, the opposite of that is either non-existant or perfectly tied. If it's perfectly tied, he'd just blend in with the class.

The no-tie option just makes more sense.

Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou

Horikoshi-sensei only ever draws Bakugou-kun with a tie in specific scenarios. Costume events that require the neck tie as part of the costume or "fancy" events where everyone is in formal wear. And even in those, Bakugou-kun manages to not wear his tie 90% of the time.

So, I just imagine that when Horikoshi-sensei makes Bakugou-kun wear his tie, he's super grumpy! Just look at his face in every illustration he's wearing a tie in. He's probably hot, uncomfortable, and really not enjoying himself at all.

Ultimately, the "Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou" is a Bakugou-kun who wears the tie and SMILES while doing it.

(Yes, I know that's NOT actually a tie. Shut up Bakugou-kun. You're only smirking in this one because you won the Popularity Poll for the 5th time in a row...)

(Well that's random, you say? Welcome to my blog. Considering the stuff going down on canon, I figured I should give fans, and myself, a break from angst to talk about something silly.

Please note that this applies only to the manga. I've found that the anime isn't quite so strict about how Bakugou-kun looks.

Regarding the headcanons, I just want to clarify that everyone is free to think whatever they like. I enjoy all headcanons and support your right to have them.

I wrote this a while ago and then debated posting it because it's such a huge meta about... Bakugou-kun's tie. I had regrets. But now it's become my new years post. Regrets were for 2020, it's already 2021!

Demons out, fortune in!!! I know it's not setsubun for another month, but 2020 was such a demon.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!)

[shihalyfie]

A timeline of Ken’s fall into the Kaiser persona

The timeline of Ken meeting Wormmon and going through a sequence of events that made him into the Kaiser is relatively unclear, especially because Ken’s own memory is distorted, but production notes and other minor clues in the anime hint at a timeline that works with it:

August 2000: Ken goes on some kind of adventure with Akiyama Ryou and Wormmon

Late 2000-early 2001: Osamu dies

Around 2001: Ken goes on a second adventure with Akiyama Ryou, is hit by the Dark Seed, Oikawa sends him the fateful email, Ken visits the Dark Ocean

Late 2001-early 2002: Ken begins his conquest as the Kaiser

Yep, that’s right: Ken went on two different adventures with Akiyama Ryou.

A further breakdown of this timeline is under the cut!

So the thing you’re probably wondering is “wait, this is supposed to be a Tag Tamers tie-in, but Tag Tamers doesn’t make sense with this at all! Didn’t it say Ken went on an adventure with Ryou in March 2000 right after the Diablomon incident?” The thing is that for as much fanfare as there is about Tag Tamers being important to 02′s timeline, in fact, very little of Tag Tamers makes sense with 02 itself, and the game is is so contradictory that it doesn’t actually help you understand 02 much at all. This is, unfortunately, par for the course with Bandai licensed games, which don’t exactly have the greatest track record of keeping true to anime characterization or being remotely consistent with it at all (Daisuke’s characterization in Re:Digitize is borderline insulting), and everything we know about Adventure and 02′s planned lore doesn’t make sense with it either. In the end, we’re just going to have to follow our very loose attitude towards the concept of canon and default to the anime’s depiction of things for the sake of this particular analysis, pulling from Tag Tamers only when we can incorporate details from it in a way that doesn’t contradict everything.

02 episode 33 has Ken explicitly bring up the idea of “an encounter with a Digimon” that led to him becoming a Chosen Child happening in August 2000 (Koushirou had just mentioned the recent wave of Chosen Children having had a preliminary encounter via the 1999 incident). Unfortunately, we don’t know any more than this, due to Ken’s own memory failing, and the subject is left there.

(Again, yes, this is contradictory with Tag Tamers, but remember that said depiction of “Ken and Ryou watching the Diablomon incident” also contradicts Ryou clearly being seen by himself in Turkey in Our War Game! The anime is consistent with itself; the game is the outlier here.)

So when the Digivice emerged from Osamu’s computer (actually meant for Ken) in the flashback in 02 episode 23, we see a very young Ken with a purple shirt. Let’s take a closer look at this design.

We’ve received a lot of versions of this design sheet over the years, but all of them are consistent about one thing: this design depicts Ken as nine years old, in third grade. (Whether it gives grade level or age depends which version of this reference sheet you’re following, but everything is consistent about this.)

All of Ken’s various designs as depicted in this episode and other flashbacks are very clearly marked and depicted, and even the younger design of “Ken at the time of blowing bubbles with Osamu” has its own sheet (he’s four years old at that point). Moreover, the above nine-year-old design has an explicit instruction on this particular sheet: “please use this for his interactions with Osamu,” meaning that this is the design everyone was instructed to follow up with during any scene where Osamu is alive.

The Animation Chronicle confirms that this happened in August 2000, so it seems to be shortly after Ken’s “initial encounter”. (Or maybe this is the “initial encounter”? Ken might have conflated both.)

This is the same design Ken is depicted with when he first is sucked into the Digital World (again: he’s clearly depicted as going in alone, not with Ryou as Tag Tamers depicts). While Ken’s memory is understandably very muddled, a lot of the details here make sense with each other:

The worst thing we see of this little venture is Wormmon having to fight a Gazimon. It’s not a big deal of a thing they have to fight through.

It’s clearly short enough that Ken can go in and out during the duration of an afternoon without anyone in the real world noticing (besides Osamu).

Ken’s looking like he had a lot of fun -- definitely not the kind of thing that seems like he went through a lot of trauma.

It’s unlikely anything much of a big deal happened during this point, other than some emotional bonding with a new best friend.

Osamu also died shortly after, given that Ken is still depicted with this design in the surrounding events as depicted in 02 episodes 21, 23, and 45. (Spring 2003 also refers to the titular spring as “the third spring” since Osamu’s death, confirming that Osamu must have died within the time period of late 2000 to early 2001.)

Ken is depicted at Osamu’s funeral in 02 episode 48, and while his clothes are different and we don’t get a full-body shot of him, note that there’s attention paid to making sure his design aligns with the above purple-shirt one -- his bangs drop in the center, rather than pointing left.

However, Ken remembers a trip through the Digital World in 02 episode 43, and Ken is depicted with a very different design that doesn’t match up with the one depicted in 02 episode 23. This has often been passed off as animator error, or Ken’s memories perhaps being extremely muddled, but what we know about the surrounding circumstances doesn’t actually suggest that...

This design is consistently written in notes to depict Ken as ten years old, in fourth grade. Not only that, if you look closely, Ken is visibly slightly taller, so it’s not just a simple question of clothing; his bangs are also depicted as pointing left, the same way they’re generally depicted with him at eleven, and not dropping in the center the way his nine- and four-year-old designs depicted.

On top of that, the surrounding circumstances behind this adventure depicted in 02 episode 43 also seem to be very different from what was depicted in the one from 02 episode 23:

The battle is clearly depicted as being against Millenniummon, and, regardless of whether this is following Tag Tamers or not, that’s clearly a big deal of a defeat.

Ken’s injury from the Dark Seed is enough to completely send him on the verge of death, which probably would not elicit the same kind of casual reaction he had during his emergence in 02 episode 23′s flashback. It was mild enough that Ken “recovered from his injuries and went home,” but that’s definitely not the kind of thing you’d expect to result in Ken be emerging with a big smile on his face (especially since Osamu’s violent reaction back then was implied to be out of jealousy for Ken’s happiness). Moreover, Ken returning in a poor state of health would probably be much less likely to be noticed by his family when Osamu is dead (and therefore not there to notice) and Ken’s parents are deep in grief.

This incident is the one that directly caused Ken’s trauma, meaning it’s more likely that this incident is going to be the one that got scrambled up in memory (it didn’t take long for Ken to recall his initial adventures with Wormmon in comparison back in 02 episode 23).

Ken refers to this incident as “two years ago”, but recall that, on top of his own unreliable testimony and scrambled memory, 02 episode 43 (when he brings this up) takes place during late December 2002, meaning that an early 2001 date doesn’t necessarily fall out of the question here, and it’s also not the first time 02′s final quarter taking place at the very end of December has thrown off date references. (02 references to “age” and “relative time” are often very rough in general and a bit too overly realistic, considering how long of a period 02 spans over and the question of things like exactly how long Daisuke can be said to be “eleven years old” over the course of the series, or the fact Osamu is said to be 7 when Ken is 4 and 11 while Ken is 9, so the more important part is paying attention to the fact the design sheets are so explicit about referring to different things.)

Moreover, this design of “ten years old, in fourth grade” is used in 02 episode 23 to show the events that we retroactively know happened right after that:

Once Ken had the Dark Seed in him, it makes sense that Oikawa wouldn’t hesitate to reach out to him, since he now had a great opportunity to exploit him mentally! Remember that this design debut all the way back in 02 episode 23, which meant that we knew that there was some kind of “timeskip” between Osamu’s death and Oikawa emailing Ken, but...if that were all there was to it, why would Oikawa wait so long between Osamu’s funeral (which clearly had Ken with his nine-year-old design) and now, especially since this “timeskip” would have given Ken extra time to mull over and recover from Osamu’s death? It makes much more sense when you apply 02 episode 43′s context that Ken’s Dark Seed implantation happened between Osamu’s death and the email, with Ken still having a really horrible year mulling over Osamu’s death, then getting dragged out like this and having something traumatic stuffed into the back of his neck that had the potential to feed on his already thick emotions of grief, and finally being at the right emotional point for Oikawa to make use of him.

It also explains why the Kaiser didn’t become enough of an issue to merit intervention until all the way in April 2002 -- presumably, of course, the Holy Beasts needed time to prepare, but if Ken wasn’t implanted with the Dark Seed until 2001 and Oikawa’s email shortly after that, that means Ken building up his persona as the Kaiser only really had less than a year to form (especially since 02 episode 23 states that Ken suddenly “doing well in school” didn’t start happening until Ken roughly got to the same height as Osamu was when he died, and the illusory meeting between the brothers in 02 episode 49 shows that Ken’s not actually that much taller than said height at eleven).

Moreover, if you do know the development circumstances behind Tag Tamers and 02: Tag Tamers already existed by the time 02 episode 23 was released, and so did Ken’s ten-year-old design (hence why it and Ryou’s design consistently show up together in concept art). This ten-year-old design had already been associated with “the time Ken got hit with a Dark Seed” (which really seems to be the only holdover in common between Tag Tamers and the anime) by the time 02 episode 23 was made, and despite that, Ken was given a completely different nine-year-old design for the flashbacks in 02 episode 23 that consistently got its own sheet. And you can’t say the animators forgot the ten-year-old design existed, because they clearly were fine using it for the other flashbacks in 02 episode 23 that happened to not be that flashback -- it’s hard to easily pass that off as “animator oversight” when it’s conspicuously introduced in the anime in a context it’s not known for and only revealed to be in its original context later.

Why did they suddenly change designs and depict such a “timeskip” back in 02 episode 23 when, if it really were supposed to all be related to the same events anyway, they could have just reused the designs and called it a day instead of making a whole new model sheet for an entirely new one? Whole entire character designs don’t just come up for no reason, especially when sheets are so consistent about them corresponding to different things, and the nine-year-old design seems to be made specifically for the purpose of having a distinct one for anytime Osamu was alive -- so it’s much more likely that this distinction is actually intentional (regardless of whatever the game says in terms of specifics).

As an amusing side note: Ken’s unusual height has been pointed out by a lot of people, and it’s sometimes been speculated as a bit of fridge horror that his unusual height growth might have also been impacted by the Dark Seed (especially given the 02 episode 23 comment about Ken reaching Osamu’s height correlating to when he started expressing similar “genius” tendencies), but even putting aside the fact he’s consistently portrayed as tall even in Kizuna and the epilogue: if Ken indeed got hit by the Dark Seed at 10 instead of 9, that means the kid had some pretty considerable height growth between those ages even before anything supernatural came into play. His father’s also tall, and Osamu was pretty obviously around the same height as Ken at age 11, so there’s clearly something in the Ichijouji family overall. Ken’s just tall.

[sjmsstuff]

Light and Dark

Chapter 2

A/N: hey gang, it’s chapter 2! This is not really canon compliant but if you squint real hard it is. I wrote this at 2 am and edited it during French class so I have no idea what state it’s in, please enjoy x

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing (duh, it’s me), minorly nsfw but like not really, references to sexual and child abuse (not so much this chapter but probably later)

The silence pressed in the second she disappeared.

He was such an idiot.

She had been wearing his necklace though. Cauldron, how could he even call it his necklace, she didn’t know it was from him. Azriel wasn’t even entirely sure why he had given it to her but seeing it in his pile of solstice presents… that led to thoughts of Elain and after the fiasco at solstice he’d tried his best to forget about her.

Too often however, his mind meandered back to thoughts of her face, her mouth. Usually those thoughts came barging into his head late at night, when company fell asleep and his shadows disapated. Recently however those thoughts had changed.

Since solstice that mousy brown hair had taken on hues of red. Turquoise eyes closed in the throes of pleasure and a slimmer body writhed beneath him.

He was so unbelievably fucked. Or maybe the issue was that he wasn’t getting fucked.

He should Rhys’s advice and find company at a pleasure house. He must really hate himself, to lust firstly after Mor, who had shown no interest in him in 200 years. Then Elain, who was mated, and now Gwyneth, with her history she probably wouldn’t want a male to look at her for too long.

Which made him some massive creep to think of her like that. Azriel really did try not to. But when she appeared unannounced, like last night, he couldn’t help but think…

No, he wouldn’t go down that road. Not until he was fully sure she wanted it.

Azriel had beeen so surprised when a shadow curled around his ear in the stormy night and whispered of a nymph girl climbing the stairs. He was out of his seat and down the steps faster than he could consider any potential consequences.

And there she had been, standing in the hallway, looking like she might want to turn right around and march back down, but a shadow flicked against his ear, singing softly and he spoke her name.

He wanted to reach out to her, his shadows took that as a cue and tried to reach out themselves before he pulled them back. Something about her was affecting them, drawing them in. Or maybe she was affecting him like that.

That was a dangerous thought.

She had stood silent, lithe frame backlit by the torches behind her and said,

“Would you like some company?”

Her voice was a melody. His shadows purred in answer.

The worlds axis must have shifted, he could probably look outside to find the stormy sky had turned as blue as her eyes he was taking too long to answer and she was looking at him oddly, perhaps noting the shadows flying around his shoulders.

They were so excitable in her presence, he couldn’t control them and that was extremely concerning. Az doesn’t like what he can’t control.

All worry was chased from his mind as he climbed the stairs and another topic was thrust into his brain.

Gwyn from the back was almost as glorious as she was from the front.

Gods what he wouldn’t do to grip those hips and grind that perfect little ass on his-

No.

He stopped himself, looking away before his control could be tested further. She said it herself, she was here for conversation and Mother damn him he would talk to her casually.

Gwyn was not going to be a repeat of Mor or Elain. He was not going to lust after another female that wanted nothing to do with him, and pine away until his demise.

Gwyn was going to mean more than that. He would keep her at arms length, so that he may keep her as a friend.

And he was making a fool of himself. She asked his favourite colour and the only colour left in the world was that of her eyes.

And he laughed, for the first time in weeks, stress melting from his weary bones after just minutes with this fabulous creature.

And he told her things he had never told anyone, that was dangerous.

He was a spymaster, mother damn him. A spymaster wasn’t much good if he told a female all his secrets after a few pretty smiles.

But gods, her smiles were pretty. He wondered how pretty her mouth would-

No. None of that.

He needed her out of here so he could collect pieces of his sanity before he spilled any other important secrets.

As she walked back towards the library however, he almost called her back. An unruly shadow seemed to take that as an opportunity to reach for her, but Az whipped it back.

Dangerous indeed.

And yet, that night he slept without dreams. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Well truthfully, he could, it was a time when his hands were unscarred.

Cassian was back the next morning. Ever his cheerful self since the mating ceremony almost a month ago. He had been unbearable for a week afterwards. Azriel had had to vacate the house of wind and call a halt to lessons as Cass had almost taken his head off and Nesta had growled at Emerie the first time she tried to enter the house.

Not to mention the scents and sounds emanating from different rooms. Azriel was happy for his brother, truly. Even if it did make him green with envy and blue with melancholy.

The following week, the happy couple were back training but Cass was so distracted Az managed to beat him into the dirt on no less than three occasions. Azriel waited another week before moving back into the House, still half considering Rhys’s offer to fumegate it.

He had kept occupied by tracking Koschei, or rather attempting to track him. The King had proven hard to pin down, a source of growing frustration to Azriel. He despised having to bring bad news to his High Lord, and now that Rhys had Nyx to worry about he hated it even more.

But Rhys maintained that they had faced threats before and triumphed but the failure still weighed heavy on Az that morning in the training ring.

He tried his hardest not to look at Gwyn. He couldn’t help it sometimes, her hair caught the light when she twirled under Emerie’s punch.

It looked like a flame come to life in the early morning sunlight and he challenged any living male not to loose breath.

It was with a warriors assessment that he allowed his gaze to rove over her slight body. He was admiring her form and positioning, definitely not imagining her in different positions. That would be both unsavoury and unprofessional. Which is why he hated himself for doing it.

Gwyn hardly noticed him, barely glancing in his direction and he had the strangest urge to pick a fight with Cassian in attempt to garner her attention.

That wasn’t good.

The warrior in question was flirting with his mate while she squatted, arching her back in a way that was unnecessary and counterproductive but Cassian didn’t call her up on it, he seemed too busy enjoying the show. Nesta however corrected herself and continued on while his lovesick brother pretended he hadn’t been leering at his mate.

Gwyn too had spotted the encounter laughed, a tinkling sound that lightened something dark in Azriels chest. She looked around to see if anyone else had caught what she had, and that’s when it happened. Her eyes met his and the world shifted again. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed in the wake off her own. One thought consumed him as he turned back to his own priestesses and guided them through the next set. He was so unbelievably fucked.

Tagging: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @illyrian-valkyrie

Chapter 3

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for my writing or this fic x

[spade-snax]

Alright! Here goes my Bugsnax Grumpus last name headcanon!

(This ended up being way longer than I thought it would've been, oh god-)

I think we all can agree that the headcanon where a Grumpus child has their parent's combined last names as their own last name is a very common headcanon people share. It's a good one! Even I like it a lot. And when applied to OCs or fankids it makes for some hilarious names.

It'd make sense in-canon and I feel like it gives the Grumpus world more depth as their own little tradition. (Honestly give me ANY culture/tradition headcanon for Grumpuses PLEASE THOSE ARE MY FAVORITEEEE I even had one for teeth a while ago that I may share publicly one day!!)

But I've been thinking about this, especially because of Cromdo and my own OCs - Neddy and Rason Honeyfidget. With Rason being Neddy's dad, if we only used this headcanon then Neddy shouldn't have this last name... Well, there's a lore reason why he doesnt and that is that his mother has died while he was still an egg, a while before hatching. Rason made him take on "Honeyfidget" only.

But that's just the backstory that got me thinking at the name traditions as a whole, so I'll try to avoid OC talk any further to make this friendlier for others who do not know about my OCs and are just interested in reading this headcanon.

Another headcanon I want to mention as I apply it to my own is the headcanon that Triffany changed her last name to Bronica's last name as a way to honor her. You can definitely change your name to anything you want in the Grumpus world, but changing your last name to a relative's like your grandparent's last name is possibly quite common!

And now I want to bring up Cromdo and the fact he is divorced. It has been confirmed that Cromdo is divorced and that his name may reflect that. (Though originally it was answered in the AMA that "Cromdo Face" just sounded funny at first and that it is possible that he did loose a half of his last name this way!)

Also I want to say that he wasn't abusive to the child mentioned! I remember there was a small confusion and drama about that. And I believe one of the devs on the YH discord mentioned that the 1# tie was a reference to Octodad. I do not remember if that confirmed that he is a father or if this answer by Sage was possibly wrong. He cannot see the child because he lost custody of them and lost in court. I do not have screenshot evidence of this. On a side-note I believe this could be one of the reasons he grew to be so money hungry. He didn't have enough money back then to keep his child. Again I want to say it could be ONE of the reasons and not the exact reason why he is this way.

This is more so of an ramble about my headcanon and what I want to say rather than some comprehensive thing, I am so sorry dfwergeg it's just how I write and explain things and I gotta mention it ALL (Great addition to "Guzma, your ADHD is showing")

Anyways, back on track with my HC.

But in this/my headcanon - Cromdo is divorced, he has had a child, and lost a part of his last name because of the divorce. I do not know how human marriage last name and stuff works properly so uh, see this as just speculation about a fictional species' culture rather than a carbon copy of our own. Which it clearly isn't LOL

I personally think that you can do multiple things with your last name when you get married! (And how it can affect the child's last name!)

Let's use Chandlo and Snorpy as examples, because I think they make great last name combinations. (And Snorplo is HELLA !!/pos)

- You can change your last name to your partner's last name, like we do commonly. (At least, with all the cultures I'm aware of and how marriage works for us.) Examples: Snorpy Funkbun, Chandlo Fizzlebean

(This one isn't very common to do!)

- You can change one half of your last name to a half from your partner's last name. Examples: Snorpy/Chandlo Funkbun/Fizzlebun

(Not as common either, but it still happens. It is actually more common than the first example. This was the case for Cromdo. I'll get back to this later. Grumps usually reserve this for their childen, which is the most common way of naming your children!)

- You keep your last name after marriage! Example: Snorpy Fizzlebean. Chandlo Funkbun. Canon examples would be Wambus and Triffany as well!

(Most common one to do as many wear their last names with pride or for other reasons - such as Trifanny when she changed her last name to Bronica's last name in this headcanon.)

Before we get to the kids again, I'm gonna go back to Cromdo and what can happen during divorce.

During divorce you can simply change your name back if you changed it, or keep the last name you took from your partner. Many simply change their last names back to what they were originally. Some, if they went by the half/half method, take away the half from their ex-partner only. This leaves some Grumpuses with one worded last names, such as Cromdo.

I think he changed a half of his last name during marriage. After the divorce, he didn't want to "wear" his partner's name anymore and changed his name to Cromdo Face only as Face was a part of his last name he was given at birth. This is most often the default for Grumpuses who have been divorced and took only half of their partner's last name.

If Cromdo - (or any Grumpus with a one-word last name! There's certainly rare cases of Grumpuses who have one word that didn't go through divorce. Possibly Grumpuses with bad attachment to one of their parents - so they change or remove that half of the last name they got from said parent. If their last name was a combination.) - were to re-marry he could take one half of his new partner's last name, or not change his name at all.

I want to get onto how naming a child would work with this situation, so I will talk about ways of naming children before I get back to this! And by naming I of course mean the last names only, lol.

(One rule is that, unless you change your name later in real life for any reason, it's gonna have to be one of these otherwise! Your Grump parent cannot make you up a new last name. It is just a part of the tradition they have. Though re-naming isn't looked upon in any way by the majority of Grumpuses as there are many reasons to do so!! Unless you're a jerk or you value your last name TOO much.) (Also when I say "you" I don't mean YOU as the reader literally. I mean a hypothetical Grumpus child!! It's just how I like wording things.

(...I've been writing for almost an hour, brain scrampled eg)

- Your last name is the combined name of your parent's last names. Examples: Fizzlebun, Funkbean

(VERY COMMON! Most Grumpuses will do this when first naming their child!)

- Your keep one of your parent's last name! Fizzlebean or Funkbun.

(This all works if you have multiple parents btw! Can make for SUPER crazy long and funny last names. This *all* applies to marriage, too! I hope it is easily applicable. I do not want to go in depth on that. Feel free to hit me an ask about this if you want me to explain it more in depth!! I wouldn't want to exclude polyamorous relationships ^^ )

(Also yes, last names that are just the same word repeated twice/multiple times are possible too. Fizzlefizzle, Funkfunk... How fun are these to say? Gives me Grumpus OC name ideas already.)

But yes! Back to Cromdo! Or any Grumpus in the same situation, but as I've stater earlier, Cromdo is just an example here. If he were to re-marry and NOT change his name, there's two posibilities:

His new partner has a full last name.

In this situation, if they have a child they can keep the full last name from Cromdo's partner. Or they can have one word from his partner + Face. For reasons stated below the child cannot have "Face" as their only last name.

His new partner has a one-worded, short last name like he does.

In this situation, if they have a child they have to name it a combination of their last name's. No exception. Having a short last name is a sign of something happening in your life, and it is traditionally not put onto a child, unless they are adopted with no last name. That still counts as something that happened in their life, as their birth parents possibly just gave them away with no care in the world.

------------------------------------------

At this point I am almost completely off track, so please do ask me questions as I am not sure where I completely left off - Or rather if there is something I forgot that I wanted to mention.

By the way, for combining last names and such, you can also mis-match! Doesn't even have to be combinations. This applies to everything, even for (Full last name + one-word last names) where it makes sense the most. Examples: Beanfizzle, Bunfunk, Bunbean, Bunfizzle, Beanbun, Beanfunk. I'm personally a big fan of Bunfunk and Beanbun :P)

And this applies to siblings, too! It isn't uncommon for parents naming their children mis-matched last name combinations if they have multiple ones. (This ties into my headcanon for Filbo's many siblings and that he isn't a single child. He's in a big household and has at least 2 siblings. ONE OF WHICH I want to make into an OC! This requires me to make the parents, too, but I am not so bothered about that :P)

I'm out for now, all my brain power has left me a few paragraphs ago and I've got to go eat lunch

But again I encourage people to ask me questions (If anyone was brave enough to read through this!!)

And if I got anything wrong, do let me know! I am not all-knowing and I could've missed some VERY OBVIOUS mistakes.

And sorry if the writing is wonky at times! Sometimes it is done on purpose but sometimes the fact I only pretend I know how to write + the fact English is my second language IS SHOWING

(Also I sometimes just write how I think, without much thought put into the sentence if I don't proof read, so HSDFWERGRGT)

[andromedasstarship]

in the stars - chapter 4

photo credit - @ssa-emilyhotchner​

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader 

warnings - canon typical criminal minds, stalking, angst. pretty tame chapter 

summary - “I’m on a date.” You responded flatly. The other end of the line went silent.

a/n - hi besties. so this chapter is p short compared to the last one, i had like  7k something chapter 4 and it just didnt feel right, BUT that means chapter 5 is basically done i just need to edit it soooooooooooo hopefully wont take a long time lol! enjoy, heart yall forever 

masterlist // series masterlist // read it on ao3 

chapter 3 / chapter 5 

-----

The rest of the team was left in various levels of shock. Everyone was struggling to process the bomb of information that had just been revealed. With hindsight, it was easy to connect the strange levels of tension and intimacy that radiated between you and Hotch. What was more difficult to swallow, was the new understanding that Hotch had been keeping this secret for nearly five years. Random ‘trips’ that Hotch would take out of state or the subtle sprinkles of wealth showing up in the form of gifts suddenly made sense. 

This was completely uncharted territory for the entire team. Given Hotch’s history, it wasn’t too difficult to understand how protective he may be of any relationships post-Haley; but the magnitude of your relationship- both in terms of your status as well as length-, and the withholding of information even on the case was a different form of betrayal that couldn’t be kicked under the rug. 

Hotch had always been one of the fiercest advocates for unity, truth and an equal playing field when it came to information concerning a case,- Morgan was still feeling second hand embarrassment for Jordan- for him to be the one to hold back such influential info was difficult to fully wrap their heads around. Anger, of course, was felt and there would certainly be time for that anger- not even getting started on the amount of questions everyone was bound to have-, but as the team was silently processing, they all reached similar conclusions. Hotch was displaying a softness and side of him they hadn’t seen in a very long time and they wouldn’t let their valid frustrations get in the way of solving this case. 

Morgan was the first to speak, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I need to text Garcia about this.” He said, shaking the phone a bit. Everyone managed to laugh at that, all certain that Garcia would have the most interesting reaction to the news.  

“You know…, the other day when she was giving me a tour of her house, I pointed out a bottle of Dalmore 25 she had on the wall. She got really weird about it and I thought she was trying to play modest, but this, this makes a lot more sense.” JJ remarked lightheartedly. 

“So now we know Hotch has some game then, huh?” Morgan quipped, a large grin on his face. When everyone just stared blankly back at him, even more confused than they already were he continued. “Do you all not remember when he ‘magically’ got a bottle of Dalmore 45, those start at twelve grand” 

Reid was about to open his mouth and add to the conversation, but just as the words were leaving his mouth Hotch stormed back into the conference room. One hand was tightly balled in a fist while the other was gripping his phone. 

“She’s not answering her phone. Three times, it went straight to voicemail.” 

“She isn’t on set today, when she left this morning she told me she had work related errands to run.” Emily recounted, racking her brain for any more info about your whereabouts. 

Hotch strode over to an open laptop at the edge of the table, quickly hitting a series of buttons until a very flustered Garcia appeared on screen; her mouth dropping open when she saw Hotch. 

“Questions later Garcia,” Hotch opened, already anticipating that someone Derek would have informed her of the latest news, “I need you to track Y/N. I want her current and last location.” 

“Yes sir! I uh, I will do that right now for you.” Garcia responded, clearly doing her best to hold back the hoard of questions and comments she had. The sound of her vigorously typing filled the room. “Alright sir, so the bad news is that it looks like her phone is currently turned off, but! The last place it pinged at was outside of Chateau Marmont about three hours ago. Which for those of you who don’t know this place is notorious for being the A-lister hideaway-” 

“Garcia, do a wide search for her name and location for today’s date. Check to see if there’s been any media sightings on her whereabouts.” Hotch ordered. He hadn’t forgotten how uneasy it had made him once he found out how easy it was to locate you. Paparazzi were a different form of ruthless and he’d never realized how difficult it actually was for people in the spotlight until he met you. 

“Let me see…, yes sir you are right! I’m getting a bunch of hits of her entering the-” Garcia’s sentence falling off with an ‘oh’. 

“Garcia, what’d you find?” 

A headline popped up on the screen. 

“Emma Co-Stars Pictured Together Out At Lunch: Has The Love Moved Past The Screen?” 

Underneath, multiple photos of you quickly loaded. There you were, cheerily standing next to your co-star, looking up at him with a big grin on your face. The photos showed the two of you in different positions as you made your way inside. A few of him as he opened the car door for you. One of you with your arm wrapped loosely around his while you walked up the door. One of you ducking under his arm as you entered the restaurant. 

The tension in the room was palpable as everyone did their own mini attempt at profiling the photo. It was difficult, you’d clearly proven to be a great actress and they knew you were capable of manipulating your outward emotions. It was even more difficult considering it was just a handful of mediocre quality photos. 

Hotch was tightly gripping the edge of the table, forcing himself to keep a level head. He knew it was unreasonable to get angry over the idea of you with another man, but it didn’t help the pang in his heart as he recognized the genuine signs of happiness you were emitting. 

“JJ,” Hotch said, voice dangerously calm, “call the restaurant and have them discreetly tell Y/N that ‘Andi’ is calling her.” Discretion was the highest priority for him, the envelope being even further confirmation that the unsub was closely trailing you. The last thing he wanted to do was either trigger a violent reaction or cause him to go underground.

Back when the two of you had been together, out of an abundance of caution, you used to refer to Aaron as ‘Andi’ in public. You hated not being able to thank him in speeches or mention him in any capacity, so this had been your best way around it. 

“Yes sir.” JJ responded, quickly moving out of the room to make the phone call. 

“Garcia, do you have any leads on the kid that dropped off the envelope?” Hotch asked. 

“No sir. The car he left in was reported stolen a few days ago with no leads as to where it went. Camera feeds loose the car about three blocks away and his face was too obstructed to get any hits that way.” 

“Alright, once JJ comes back with confirmation Y/N’s gotten the message, I’m going to pick her up. I want the rest of you to work with Garcia and categorize these photos. Cross reference whatever you can to get a timeline.” Hotch ordered, the rest of the team not being to be told twice. 

-----

“Where the hell are you?” Aaron demanded. 

Even through the phone, you could tell he was absolutely seething. It was bad, by the time you had picked up the phone you’d amassed a total of twenty texts and nearly ten missed calls from Aaron; not even mentioning the individual missed calls you had from each member of the team. It was bad, but in your defense it had been less than an hour from the first missed call to your current response. 

What could you say? You were big on not being on your phone when you were spending time with friends. 

“What do you mean, where the hell am I,” you answered, rolling your eyes as you leaned up against one of the private bathroom countertops. “How did you describe it before Agent? I’m very in ‘demand’.”

You could hear him groan through the phone and wondered if he was running his hands over his face; something he used to always do when you were being difficult; he absolutely was. 

“Y/N-” 

“I’m on a date.” You responded flatly. The other end of the line went silent. As you were debating whether or not you should add the part about it being a publicity date, Aaron’s voice came through. 

“End it. I’m picking you up. The drive there from the station shouldn’t be more than 30 minutes.” Aaron said, his voice dangerously even. 

“I’m perfectly capable of getting back to the station on my own Agent. I don’t need you stirring up an absolute scene-”

“Y/N,” he started, voice commanding in a way that told you he was serious, “a package was delivered to the station today. Filled with hundreds of photos of you over the years,” he paused again and you could hear him take a deep breath before continuing, “there’s photos of us in there. The unsub knows.” 

You went silent, mouth opening over and over, unable to find anything to say. You had always envisioned a world where you and Aaron were some sort of ‘public’ knowledge, but never like this, obviously never like this. 

“Y/N, I need to come get you,” Hotch said, his voice much softer now, “I can’t-, I need to see that you’re safe.” 

“I’ll make something up,” You said quickly, before adding, “there’s a private valet area, I’ll send you the instructions to get past the gates and I’ll let the security know you’re coming to pick me up.” 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, don’t draw any attention to yourself.” And with that he hung up, leaving you stunned in the bathroom. You gripped the edges of the counter, staring at yourself in the mirror. You wished you could stay in the bathroom for hours, desperately needing some time to privately process what Aaron had told you. 

That wasn’t in the cards for you though, so you quickly did some pointless attempts at ‘straightening’ your appearance- more for your benefit than anything else- before you turned the lock and left back for your table 

You slipped back into your seat across from your friend and co-star Johnny. 

“Your friend alright?” Johnny asked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you said with a small smile, “she’s fine. But my Agent called me when I was in there, she apparently managed to set up some last minute FBI consult to help me prep for an audition I have coming up. According to her, she ‘pulled a lot of strings for this’.” You said, rolling your eyes. The lie sliding out of your mouth with ease. “Whoever this FBI dude is, is supposed to come pick me up right about,” you looked down at your phone, “now apparently. So I guess our little date has to end early.” You said, giving him an exaggerated sad pout. 

Johnny rolled his eyes at that, giving you a small laugh. The two of you were both equally uninterested, romantically, in each other. But you did get along quite well, so being ‘forced’ into hanging out with each other outside of filming wasn’t bad; you’d probably hang out outside of filming anyway 

“No worries, we still on for running lines later tonight?” He asked. 

You thought for a moment, before nodding. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now, help me flag down the waiter, I want to get one last drink in before I go.” 

-----

About twenty minutes later you found yourself waiting out in the private courtyard of the restaurant. You were doing your best to calm your nerves, this being the first opportunity you had to try and process what Aaron had told you. You should’ve seen it coming, if the stalker was so obsessed with you, he must’ve noticed Aaron in your life at some point. But you had been so careful. 

Then the other obvious thing hit you. His team knew. You were wondering how the team had taken the news when you saw the black SUV come into view. Aaron quickly stopped the car in front of you and before you could move to open the passenger door yourself, he was out of his seat in a flash, coming over to where you were standing. 

For a moment you were both silent. You felt tiny under his unrelenting gaze, his eyes scanning your entire being as he ensured himself you were okay. 

Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, ensnaring his arms tight to his side. As soon you realized what you did, you were internally kicking yourself, moving to loosen your arms nearly as fast as you had put them there.

“Aaron I-” 

Before you could finish your attempted apology, Aaron had pulled his arms from under yours and repositioned them around you, pulling you tightly against him. Your head naturally fit perfectly under his and you took in a deep breath, letting his scent surround you. It was cliche, but you both were thinking about how perfectly your bodies melded against each other.  

You felt his hand rest gently on the back of your head, gently stroking down your hair in a steady rhythm. “I got you.” He whispered, so quiet you nearly didn’t hear it. 

You pulled your head back so you could look up at him. “I’m scared.” You said, admitting it aloud for the first time.  

Aaron was staring hard down at you, his face soft. “I know,” he started, moving a piece of hair away from your face, “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay?” 

You nodded at that, missing his warmth when he started to pull away from you. He kept a protective hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the passenger seat. He opened the door and helped you in, gently shutting the door behind you. As soon as your door was shut he wasted no time in getting in the driver's seat, starting the car up again. With a quick check to make sure your seatbelt clicked was in, Aaron peeled out of the parking lot. 

A few floors above the courtyard, in one of the private hotel rooms, a curtain was angrily thrown shut. 

-----

taglist - @mac99martin @iwaizumiee @kylorendrip @hqtchner @lieswithoutfairytales @ssahoodrathotchner @midsummernightdream @weasleylovers @evans-dejong @itsmytimetoodream @yoshigguk @28cnn @cuddlyklaus @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yallgotkik @sunflowersandotherthings @averyhotchner @kimmy-k-k @uwu-sebastianstan

a/n- if youve asked to be on the taglist and dont see urself, please send another message! im really bad about putting people on my tag document lol, even if ive like responded in tumblr!!

no permission is given to copy or republish my writing on any other platform or account. if you see this story outside of my blog or my ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own nor claim to own criminal minds or any of the character involved in it.

[themangolorian]

look how long this love can hold its breath (ALT part 5)

I’m a mess and wasn’t happy with this as the final product so, for lack of a better word, the canon Chapter 5 can be found below. I won’t take this down just to be fair, but I’ll unlink it from my masterlist and the other chapters. i’m so sorry for being all over the place but thank you all for being so understanding.

Real Chapter 5

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

words: 5.7k

warnings: (18+ only) strong language, violence, sexual/explicit content.

a/n: all i can say is thank you all so much for being patient and waiting for this update. 💖 i know it’s been forever and i hope to have part 6 out much sooner than that. 😩 i hope there are still interested readers! please mind the warnings. 🛑 this chapter contains especially explicit sexual content so please please please don’t read if you’re under 18. 🛑 please enjoy! 💕💜❤️💖(p.s. not all the tags below actually linked but i’ll do my best to let anyone it didn’t tag know individually that i updated b/c i can’t think of a better system 😩)

You sucked in ragged breaths as you ran, your side starting to pinch painfully. The warm humid air of the jungle made it impossible to fill your lungs as you ran. You could hear Peña’s panicked breathing at your side and just behind you. Urging you on under his breath as low as he could. Every time you thought the voices of the men behind you had started to fade, one would yell. Each time, they sounded closer than the last. The roar of a small engine, like that of an ATV, sounded suddenly. Instinctively, you knew headlights would follow. A split second before it would have been too late, you dived sideways into Peña. And then you were both falling, tumbling down a steep ravine. Bright lights pierced the now empty air where you’d just been running.

30 Hours Earlier

“Are you alright?” You jumped in your skin when Peña barked the question at you, but your eyes were still darting in terror between Mario’s body and the half-open barn door behind which would appear any second a dozen narcos.

Luckily Peña was not so frozen in fear as you. He was suddenly in front of you, drawing your attention away from what you could only think of as looming doom. He studied you with eyes too soft given the circumstances but when he seemed satisfied, he swiftly moved into action.

Before you could stop him, not that your trembling hands would have allowed it, he was ripping the band and gun from around your exposed thigh. Then he was dropping to his knee and scattering hay out of his way. You opened your dry lips to question him when you suddenly understood: he was hiding the gun.

Peña dropped the weapon in a loose patch of dirt and shifted the hay back over the spot until it was piled high, then pulled you away from the wall.

The shouts and sounds of men talking excitedly were growing louder. They were almost to the barn. Peña pulled you behind him as he made his way to Mario’s body. There, he crouched down and swiftly pulled the now dead man’s gun from the back of his jeans, flipped the safety off, cocked the hammer and then shoved it into the man’s slowly stiffening grip.

Then Peña was turning toward the barn door.

“Espérate,” you managed to croak, your throat almost too tight with fear to speak. Your hand went to the strap of your dress, and you yanked, but your hands were shaky and you couldn’t-

“Déjame.” His voice was nearly tender but then he was roughly ripping the dress strap, jolting you off-balance.

Before you could stop him, Peña was scooping you up in his arms.

“Tienes que llorar.” He reminded you quietly as he strode towards the door of the barn, and you swore you could hear your heart beating through your chest.

You’d never before had to improvise while undercover to this extent, but as you felt more unbidden tremors pass through you, you knew suddenly it was not going to be difficult.

You curled into Peña’s neck as if seeking protection, your nails digging into his shoulder. Before you could stop yourself, the flood of fear and adrenaline you’d been holding back was released. For the first time in Peña’s presence, you began to weep. You were grateful that he merely thought you were putting on an act.

Cradling you in his arms, Peña strode out of the barn. He managed to make the power of his stride appear to be borne out of anger instead of urgency.

“¡Te lo dije, Pacho!” he raged at the man, only one among the many of those approaching.

The group of mostly men, some wide-eyed women, froze in their tracks.

“¿Qué es esto?” Pacho looked bewilderedly past the two of you into the barn where you were sure he could see- the results of what had transpired.

Peña didn’t slow his stride. “Ese hijoeputa tocó a mi mujer. ¡Te dije que iba pasar!” Peña spit out, rage evident in his tone.

“Mario. Muerto.” You heard called out indistinctly from the barn by the men who had rushed in.

Something went hard in Pacho’s jaw, but he was looking at the barn, not at either of you.

Still cowering into Peña’s shoulder, you could feel the tension in the air. Could hear through omission the way everything had gone quiet. As if the entire surrounding jungle was aware that a single sound might break through the lull, transform it into an explosion.

You felt someone brush past and knew from the heady scent of cologne it was Pacho.

Peña you were sure gave no outer indications that he was worried, but you could feel his arms tensing around you.

Then-

Pacho spit in the direction of the barn.

“¡Al fin!”

You released the breath you’d been holding when you felt Peña’s arms go slack with relief. But then he was pulling you closer, his hand cupping the back of your head gently.

The gesture alone brought fresh, real tears to your eyes, and you released a sob you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You heard the murmur of distress among the women.

Then Pacho was commanding his men to get rid of the body.

“¿Estás bien, ángel?” You felt a hand brush your arm but ignored the sentiment. Pacho could put on the appearance of being kind, but he was still dangerous.

Then Pacho was putting his arm around Peña’s shoulder and leading you both back towards the mansion, murmuring apologies under his breath and commending Peña for killing the son of a bitch.

Several yards later, Peña put you down gently but drew you into his side covering the back of your head with one large hand, letting you hide your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. While part of you hoped the gesture was convincing, there was another part of you that knew the embrace was genuine - at least for you. Although his holding you was necessary for the charade, you weren’t sure you could get through the next several minutes without his arms around you.

When Peña attempted an explanation as to why he’d taken things as far as he had, Pacho waved it away, reassuring him that Mario had had it coming for years, almost as if he didn’t want to hear what kind of monster he’d actually had in his employ.

Once back at the mansion, Pacho barked out instructions to his staff, directing them to start a hot bath in your room and to provide you with strong warm brandy.

At the foot of the stairs, he clutched Peña’s shoulder and apologized again, assured him that had Peña not killed Mario, he himself would have.

“Que se sientas mejor, mija,” he murmured, a hand lightly at your back, before departing.

You thanked Pacho in a choked voice and Peña draped his arm protectively around your back as he held you at his side now.

You clung to Peña until the two of you were back in the familiar bathroom, and even then you didn’t detach yourself completely. He too seemed reluctant to let you go. Instead he dismissed the staff kindly, thanking them warmly. Only when the door was closed did he extricate himself - gently - from your grip, so as to lock the bedroom door securely behind the staff. Then he was crouching next to the sink to ensure the gun you had stowed there remained in place.

Peña turned to you as if to express disbelief about having survived the ordeals of the last hour. But when his eyes landed on you, something in them softened, and he closed his mouth, as if changing his mind about what to say.

It was then you realized you were shivering despite not being cold. You lifted a hand and stared at it, watching bewilderedly as it shook of its own accord. Then your teeth were chattering.

Peña was in front of you in the next second. He seemed to hesitate, but then his much larger, warmer hand was enveloping yours and you closed your eyes at the warmth that simple gesture brought to your entire body. The next thing you knew, his other hand was taking your chin and lifting it. You opened your eyes narrowly to see him staring down at you in concern. The softness in his eyes struck you with a tenderness so intense that it almost hurt.

“You’re alright.” He promised. “He’s dead.”

And you had to close your eyes again to prevent him seeing your tears. The hand at your chin went to your cheek, and you felt his long fingers brushing against your temple lightly. You let your cheek rest heavily in his palm.

He squeezed your other hand and you felt a surge of panic when he began to withdraw both of his hands away from you, sure his intent was to leave you alone in the bathroom. But you suppressed the urge to keep hold of him, frightened somehow that such an attempt would make you seem weak.

You barely noted the regret his eyes held as he backed away towards the bathroom door. “Bañate…y hablaremos.”

You stared at the door as it closed behind him, saying nothing. Your teeth chattered violently as shivers ran through you though you were not actually cold. Your eyes drifted blankly towards the bathtub, the surface of which was steaming, but there was something foreboding and dark about the bottom of the deep tub. You eyed the shower now instead but couldn’t seem to draw forward the strength you needed just to move toward it.

So you stood there in place, shaking. Later you wouldn’t be able to say how much time had passed during which you just stood there with your eyes closed trying to keep your mind blank. Trying not to think about Mario’s cold blank eyes, about the moment you’d seen the life leave his eyes. You’d been around death before, but never so close.

You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt his warm presence, heard the slip of his bare feet on the cold tile, and so were not startled when he took your hands in his. You didn’t open your eyes, too afraid to look at him, afraid of what your reaction might be, could not stand to break in front of anyone again, least of all Peña.

He let go of your fingers and suddenly his large warm hands were running up and down your biceps as if trying to rub warmth into them. “You’re okay,” he said hoarsely, his tone of voice so different than usual. “You’re okay.”

He seemed to make a decision then. He let go of you again but then you heard the shower door squeaking open, heard the water blast to life. Not a minute later you could feel the heat and steam emanating from the open door. The next thing you knew, he was draping his arm supportingly around your waist, shifting most of your weight to him and leading you into the open shower.

You gasped in both surprise and delight when the steaming water hit your still clothed body. Slowly the cold that had somehow seized you began to dissipate.

Peña did not leave you. You stood, leaning against his broad chest, his hands gently clutching your arms. He began trailing his fingers lightly up and down the surface of your arms, displacing water as it fell. His touch was gentle, so gentle; it was hard to equate such softness with Peña.

So you opened your eyes to see it for yourself. His long fingers trailed over your wrists, then circled your hand so that the backs of your hands were resting in his palms. He used his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your palms for several seconds. He relaxed his grip on your hands and ran his fingers back up each of your arms to your shoulders, his nails lightly grazing your only now slightly tremoring skin.

You followed Peña’s hand with your eyes until you found your head turned, your gaze meeting his. You’d expected to find him uncertain, hesitant. Instead, you happened across a sweet openness and understanding. His dark eyes were wide open and viewing you with an intensity you weren’t used to, that made your eyelashes flutter now in your own uncertainty. There was concern and worry there too but they seemed secondary to whatever else was happening in his gaze.

Peña’s hands continued to traverse the planes of your skin, one skimming lightly across your collarbone, the other sliding down along the back of your arm. The shivers now racking your body were vastly different from those you’d had before. His hand fluttered up your neck until your jaw was resting in the large palm of his hand. His thumb brushed your cheek. You wanted to close your eyes again but could not tear your gaze away. Had his eyes always been so expressive and mournful?

His other hand found its way to your stomach as he furtively pulled you the last inch back into him. The movement, finding yourself flush against him, awoke something more in you now than just curiosity or relief. You found yourself hit suddenly with an onslaught of lust, a wave of bright hot desire that threatened to envelop you fully if you did nothing to satisfy it.

His eyes darkened at whatever flash he saw in yours. In the same moment, you were turning in his arms and he was swooping down at you.

The kiss was nothing like the brief one you’d shared before for show. Instead there was a clashing of teeth and a bruising of lips. You fumbled desperately at him, your arms clutching the back of his neck, dragging him down to your lips. He was scrabbling at you just as urgently, clasping your body tightly against his as he plunged his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned involuntarily, and Peña’s hips bucked into yours at the sound. A growl tore its way from his throat and he was backing you into the shower wall, water spraying every which way from the abrupt movements of your bodies beneath its stream. Without relinquishing the kiss, he was pinning your wrists almost gently against the cold shower wall, pressing his wet t-shirt and boxer shorts up against your torn dress.

You cried out into his mouth when you felt the stiffness of him at your hip. You grinded against him as you sucked on his tongue, trying to make the kiss as deep and intense as possible. No matter how much you gave into your desire, you felt as if you could not get enough. He seemed to share the sentiment- because then he was letting go of your wrists and dropping his hands to your behind and squeezing the flesh of your ass roughly, pulling you into him. Your hands dropped into his hair and you gripped it tightly, eliciting another husky groan from him.

Now he was lifting you with a fervent urgency, hooking your legs around his waist so that you were pinned against the tile only by the weight of both his body and desire. He broke the kiss to a moan of disappointment from you but was then sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue along your flesh before letting it go and nibbling gently on it, all the while rocking his hips into yours, creating a frantic friction that was building both your desires to an anguishing high.

Then Peña’s lips were trailing down your chin to your neck where he kissed, sucked and nibbled at the skin there. All you could do was clutch his hair and surge your body forward into his.

You dropped one hand down to clutch desperately between your bodies, wanting to feel his length with your bare skin.

He let out a choked groan when you found the outline of his cock in his pants and squeezed.

“Please,” you begged, forgetting how to voice precisely what you wanted from him and hoping the appeal would be enough. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Peña’s voice was rough, as if he was drunk or had just woken up.

You nearly shrieked when he dropped you, but you landed agilely on your feet, gripping his hips. Then you were helping him peel the tight wet t shirt up and away from his skin. The shirt landed with a loud slap against the shower floor when he threw it, but you were already yanking his boxer shorts down, falling to your knees as you went.

You found your lips level with his cock and did not think twice before surging forward, your lips eagerly open. He gripped your head roughly with a guttural moan as you took him into your mouth. Your lips formed a tight o around his girth as you pulled back to run your tongue over his tip, enjoying the taste of his arousal on your tongue. He sucked air sharply in through his teeth, his grip on your head almost painful, but it was as if you could no longer feel pain.

You kissed the tip of his cock and then took him back into your mouth and began bobbing up and down, hallowing your cheeks and lapping at him with your tongue as you went.

“Así,” he grunted. “Así.” The word set your cunt to throbbing and you moaned.

When his hips began jerking almost involuntarily, he stopped you with a rough grip at your jaw. He thrust twice into your mouth, until his cock hit the back of your throat and you gagged.

“Fuck,” Peña rasped, jerking backwards.

He slipped out of your mouth with a loud pop but you had only a second to breathe before he was hauling you back up to him and capturing your lips once again, somehow more passionately than before. He ran his tongue over your teeth, tasting himself, before pulling away to take the hem of your ruined dress in his hands. Then-

Peña hesitated, his eyes going soft as he glanced up at yours, no doubt clouded with desire. A question. As if he was worried about being too forceful with you. Your chest went weak and you licked your swollen lips before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, then another directly on his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth as you broke the kiss.

You lifted your own dress now up and over your head. His hands joined yours, taking the torn dress from your grip where it joined the discarded t-shirt in a soaking pile of forgotten clothing.

Peña focused his eyes on yours for a second more, as if ensuring this was what you wanted. Then he dropped his gaze to take in the sight of your body. A sharp intake of breath that somehow made you more shy than had he not reacted at all. He seemed entranced. When he met your now bashful gaze, his eyes had darkened somehow further, desire dilating his pupils fully.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Peña said slowly, deliberately. He was at his gentlest now, cradling your face in his palm as he leaned down again to take your lips with his. This kiss was sensuous and so much more intentional than all the others. He took his time, devoting attention to every inch of your lips and tongue, even running his own tongue across the roof of your mouth. “So fucking beautiful,” he repeated deliriously after breaking the kiss again.

Too shy and unsure how to respond, you grasped his hand and brought it to your lips, wanting to somehow show the same level of devotion without words. You brought his fingers to your lips and kissed them softly all at once, then each individually, all the while keeping eye contact with him. His eyes flashed inscrutably with something more than just desire.

Peña’s index finger snagged on your lips, and he traced the outline of them briefly before you were opening your mouth to allow him access. His middle finger joined his index and he groaned. You closed your eyes in pleasure at the sound and sucked the digits, wetting them with your spit, running your tongue between them, letting him briefly fuck your mouth.

Then he was pulling his fingers out and you opened your eyes just as his fingers found your clit. You cried out, feeling your knees go weak, as you clutched his wrist, though you did not stop him. Using the fingers you’d wet with your mouth, he rubbed light circles over your clit. He had only to dip one finger lower to find you inconceivably wet.

“Fuck,” Peña gasped, gathering the wetness and dragging it over your clit so that you were almost crying his name.

You pushed desperately at his hand until he lowered it further again and you gasped loudly when his middle finger entered you first.

“Please,” you begged, catching his gaze, glad to see your hunger for this reflected overtly back your way.

“Fucking- so tight,” he muttered as if stringing words together incomprehensibly.

With your grip on his wrist, Peña began to pump his fingers into you, curling them inwards, hitting a spot that made your vision go half blurry.

“Please,” you sobbed again and Peña’s fingers stopped, still buried inside you.

He was suddenly at eye level, gave you one long blazing kiss, then whispered into your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

The tenor of his voice, the demand, almost made your knees buckle. Your head dropped to his shoulder. But you were no more than your want in the moment.

“Fuck me,” you breathed into his skin, wet from the still running shower.

Peña nudged your head aside and put his lips to your neck, kissing, then gently biting the exposed skin there. “What?” He said softly into your skin.

You bit back the frustrated moan, not wanting to give in, not wanting him to see the depth of your desire. But then his fingers began thrusting into you again, curling up into that spot that made you forget yourself.

“Fuck me,” you groaned again. He nipped at your earlobe and you cried out at the sensations coursing through you. “Fuck me,” you begged, louder. “Please fuck me.” You nudged at his jaw with your forehead until his lips were visible then surged up at him, capturing his lips in another bruising and demanding kiss. The movement dislodged his hand and his cock brushed lightly up against your slit.

Peña stiffened and let out a painful groan. Now he was the one losing control. He ran his fingers roughly up against your clit once more. Before you could even cry out in pleasure, he was pulling you behind him as he threw himself down on the built-in shower bench, dragging you after him. He sat on the edge and jerked you to him, directing one knee, then the other to the tiles on either side of his legs, so you were straddling him.

You could feel his stiff cock brushing the inside of your thigh. You were so drunk with want that you felt one more touch without completion might break you. His hands were on your hips but he made no move to sheathe himself in you. He leaned back, indicating you were free to continue at your own pace. You gazed down at him wondrously, studying the depth of Peña’s expressive eyes, the way shower water made his eyelashes sparkle with drops of wayward water.

Your cunt was throbbing with need, but you found yourself soft, yet again so soft, in the presence of a man you’d never thought you could feel such things with. You’d been with your fair share of men, but not one of them had made you feel a fraction of the emotion currently coursing through you. Surprising even yourself, you leaned forward to kiss him deeply, willing into it what you were feeling that he might understand the gift he was giving you, one you hoped you were adequately reciprocating. Before breaking the kiss, your warm hand found his dick and Peña gasped now into your open mouth and you smiled against the outline of his lips, laving at them once with your tongue.

His grip on your hips tightened almost painfully as you guided his cock to your entrance. You met his eyes with yours, intent to watch him as you sank down on him.

Peña let out a ragged, harsh moan, his fingers digging so deeply into your skin you were sure he would leave bruises. But the pleasure you felt drowned out the pain as your eyes shot closed, your lips forming an o of pleasure. He was so big and filled you so fully. Your cunt pulsed around him, though you did not move, and he groaned again almost as if in disbelief.

You only realized you’d been holding your breath when you let it out and began breathing shakily again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, anchoring you as you lifted yourself back up until only the tip of his cock was within you. You could feel him slightly shaking beneath you from the pleasure of it all as you sunk back down on him. He filled you impossibly more than before and your back arched as your cunt sucked in his length greedily.

Peña’s eyes rolled back in his head as you began to ride him and his hips began to grind up into you each time you sunk down. Almost as if not knowing what to do with his head, he turned it to kiss the hand you rested on his right shoulder. Briefly he helped you bounce up and down on him, his hands tightly gripping your hips, but as you caught momentum, his hands traveled up to yours, taking them. Your fingers linked together and that was suddenly your leverage as you rode him up and down. His hips jerked upwards again and again.

You could feel yourself tensing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, almost as if any one movement could shatter you as you held yourself together so tightly. Peña’s breathing grew ragged as you sunk down on him over and over, squeezing your muscles as you went. Both of you were shaking. Any second now-

You cried out in frustration when Peña lifted you completely off him. Your pussy pulsed almost painfully at the loss of his cock. But you had no time to react. Suddenly you were sitting in Peña’s place and he had fallen to his knees and twisted around. Before you could say or do anything, he was burying his face-

You cried out jaggedly, your spread thighs trembling uncontrollably as Peña’s tongue hit your clit, already sopping wet. He sucked your clit between his lips, then ran his tongue downwards and blessedly towards your entrance before dragging it upwards and running it over your clit again. The sounds his mouth were making against your cunt, even with the shower running loudly still in the background, were obscene. He moaned in satisfaction, as if he’d been waiting impatiently to taste you.

“You taste so fucking good,” his groan reverberated through you.

Then Peña’s fingers, wet with your juices, were plunging into your cunt. You whimpered loudly at each and every sensation. His mouth on your clit. His fingers pumping frantically into you. The way his nose brushed against your clit every time he furled his tongue downwards. Suddenly his other hand jerked out of your grip and he was pushing down on your belly just as his fingers curled upwards inside of you.

Your cunt pulsed intensely then and you lost your vision, seeing only black for several seconds as something within you shattered. Your release hit you in waves and you melted backwards into the glass and tile of the shower. A cross between a growl and a scream left your throat, the rest of the noise trapped in your throat. You felt wetness spurting from between your legs. Almost distantly, as if from above, you saw Peña hovering open-mouthed just above your cunt, licking his lips, saw the wetness of your juices smeared across his lips, chin and cheeks, caught in his mustache. You whimpered weakly, barely managing to breathe out his name as your body quivered in the aftershock of it all, feeling almost too weak to move.

You cried out when Peña leaned forward to lap at you one last time. The sensation was too much and gave you enough of a jolt to make you sit up and pull away from him. But at the same time, you were urging him up to face level so as to kiss him yet again. You could taste yourself on his lips and found your tongue darting out to catch remnants of your orgasm from his chin and lips, wondering what his reaction would be. His groan did not disappoint and you made a point of kissing along his upper lip, cheek and chin, gathering your own juices before returning to his mouth and kissing him deeply, tongues swirling around one another.

You were the one to break the kiss this time, and Peña’s lips followed yours upward, searchingly, wanting more. But it was your turn to take control. You pushed him away gently so you could stand unsteadily on shaking legs. You found his dick blindly with one hand and pumped once, twice, so he was bucking into your hand. But then you were turning away from him swiftly and bending over, against the cool shower tile, arching your back and spreading your legs wide.

“Fuck.” He spit. “Fuck.”

“Fuck me,” you ordered him now, looking back from where your cheek was pressed up against the tile.

He wasted no time in gripping your hips and sliding his cock along your slit. You yelped when his head slid over your clit. Then he was positioning his cock at your entrance and sinking into your wet cunt. You couldn’t stop the sharp cry that left your lips. The sensation was once again too much and not enough all at once. But Peña seemed past thinking. He pounded into you, sinking deeper than you had even managed to get him while riding him.

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you cried desperately into the cold tile, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure. His fingers gripped your ass tightly, as he snapped into you.

“Carajo,” he was muttering, his words slurred. “Fuck,” he managed as he slammed into you one more time before-

You swallowed half a scream when he hit your cervix, feeling your own pleasure building yet again. He stiffened behind you, freezing in place. A guttural groan. Then you could feel his cock within you spurting his pleasure deep into your core. He was coming inside of you. The realization itself, the throbbing of his cock within you and the noises he was making drove you once again to the edge. You gasped in surprise, then let out a long loud keening moan when your climax hit again as your cunt began pulsing around him.

“Jesus fuc-“ Peña’s hand slapped hard against the shower wall as your walls clenched tighter around him. Then he was half collapsing over your back, his cheek resting against just the back of your neck. You felt his shuddering breath against your wet skin. Then- a kiss. And another. Soft and sensuous as his cock slipped out of your still pulsating cunt.

You felt your knees beginning to give out. He seemed to anticipate that and before you could fall, one strong large arm came around your middle to hold you up to him.

Then Peña was standing you both up straight. He watched you with wide, soulful eyes. His hands came up to run lightly over the sides of your face. He took your chin in one hand, tilted your head up and kissed you once, twice. Then the tip of your nose. Your forehead. Fully sated, you let your head fall against his chest now. He held you like that for a few more moments, then leaned away briefly to finally shut off the stream of water behind you both.

The sudden silence in the shower did nothing to stop the roaring in your ears at the earth shattering orgasms you’d just experienced, especially not when it was magnified by the way Peña leaned down again to kiss the side of your neck, your shoulder, his mustache tickling you slightly.

Then he took your hand and led you on your trembling legs out of the shower. He was gone briefly before returning with two large warm white towels. Letting you just stand there, he wrapped one cozily around you, folding it over to keep it in place before wrapping the other around his waist. His arm went around your shoulder and he led you as if in a trance back out to the bedroom where he’d thrown the covers back so all you had to do was climb in. When you did, you shifted over to the middle of the bed. Without question, he slipped in after you, covering you both with the blankets.

His arm went sturdily around your waist as he curled his body around yours from behind. You shivered once, now with only pleasure and contentment. Your eyes closed when his lips pursed against the back of your neck once more.

“Duérmete, corazón. I’ll watch over you.”

Feeling more content than you had in years, you let yourself finally melt into him and give in to the demand of sleep hanging over you. Your last sensation of consciousness was the way Peña was rubbing the back of your hand that he held in his.