#i know i should be sticking other tags on here but it's after 1 am and i am officially out of brain now

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 2

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: After the first week at the Night Court the Archeron Twins are going back to the spring court. But Y/N comes back with a souvenir of her own a parting gift from the High Lord of the Night

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1K

Chapter 1

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl

A/N: Honestly I am blown away by the love and support you all sent me for the first chapter. This is kind of a fluffy chapter. I have been sick so I apologize if this isn't as good!

It was the end of the week and Feyre was thrumming with excited energy. I knew she could not wait to go back to the Spring Court. After that night and meeting that handsome male-Cassian, I didn’t venture out around the manor at night nervous to run into him again. When I had a Nightmare, I just sat at the armchair in the room and watched my sister’s chest rise and fall until I found my eyes drooping. I always awoke with a blanket wrapped around me the next morning.

Feyre smiled, “Ready to go ho-“She paused, “Back today?”

I shrugged, “Ready as I’ll ever be, but right now I just would like some breakfast.” I paused and gave her a pointed look. “Do you think you can try to be nice to our host.”

Feyre straightened her nose sticking up in the air, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am as civil as always.” She looked beautiful in her Night court outfit. It was teal with sheer sleeves that show a bit of midriff with matching pants. I was in something similar in peach tone but mine was a skirt with slit that ran up to my thigh.  Feyre looped her arm into my own and when we opened the door, we found Rhysand on the other end ready to knock. “Oh hello, High Lord we were just coming down to have breakfast with you.” Feyre put on her fakest smile that enticed an unladylike snort to come out of me.

“Oh wonderful, if you don’t mind Feyre Darling,” I noticed she scowled at the nickname, but Rhysand continued, “I would like to speak to your sister in private for a moment.”

Feyre’s nostrils flared, “Absolutely I mind, you wil-”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed interrupting her, “Fey, it’s fine. We’ll meet you in the dining room.” Feyre looked at me and I gave her an affirming nod and squeezed her arm.

Feyre released my arm and bumped Rhysand’s shoulder with force and the High Lord smiled in response, “Are you some kind of masochist, High Lord? Its almost like you enjoy getting hurt by my sister.” I raise a brow as I see him rub his hand behind his neck and…Blushing. “Oh my, you do like when she’s mean to you.”

Rhysand puts his hand down, “I do not, hush, you remind me of the General of my armies. He’s a smartass like you.”

I smirk, “I look forward to meeting him sometime.” Rhysand’s face shifts to something more serious, “Am I in trouble?”

The High Lord’s brow furrowed, “Not at all, should you be?”

I began rocking my weight back and forth from each foot out of nervousness, “I may have snuck into the library the day we got here.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh, “Hope you found some good reading material, but no. I just wanted to make sure you are doing since…” he didn’t need to finish his thought for me to know what he was talking about.

I give him a smile, “I’m fine, Rhysand-“

“Rhys. You can call me Rhys.” He interrupted.

Rhys is what Cassian had called him in the library. “Okay, Rhys, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think you need to worry about me.” I bit my lip. Its Feyre you should be worried about she won’t talk to me about what happened Under the Mountain.

“I can worry about multiple things at once,” Rhys countered I met his violet gaze and noticed that stars that winked out at the seriousness in his tone, clearly not realizing that I had said that out loud. He took a step closer and gripped my hand to lift my eyes, his eyes drifting over to the yellowed bruise from Tamlin’s grip a week ago. “Are you treated well in his court?”

I was taken aback by his question, “I’m not sure what you’re asking me, Rhys.” I murmur lightly tugging my hand away and he lets me. “Tamlin has made is love for Feyre known. He is…good.” I gritted out the last word.

Rhys tucked his hand into his pocket. “You don’t have to say or tell me anything if you don’t want to. I know you are protective of your sister. I just want you to know that if you want to talk or need to let out some steam, you are free to do so, while you’re here.” He gave me a tight smile and was about to exit.

“We don’t like each other.” Rhysand paused at the door not turning to face me I kept going, not sure why I was sharing, “I think he didn’t like that Feyre and I are a package deal. I don’t know for certain why he is cold and…aggressive toward me. I can tell you that the wedding was the first time that he put his hands on me.”

Rhysand turned around and walked toward me and gripped my hand, “Make a bargain with me.”

“What for? I’m not dying anymore.” I felt Rhys give my hand a light squeeze, “I can take care of myself you know..”

Rhys smiled, “I know you can, Y/N, I am specifically asking for a bargain, because if we have a bargain, we will have a direct line of communication.”

I gave him a doubtful look, “Why would I need that?”

Rhys smile fell and his face turned serious which caused me to straighten my spine, “In case you need my help, I’ll know where to find you.”

My brow furrowed, “Why do you care? What do you benefit from ensuring I’m safe?”

Rhys sighed frustratingly, “Maybe I’m concerned with how your sister would feel, if something would happen to you. Maybe it’s because you were the first person to look me in my eyes and tell me you trusted me and looked at me as something other than Amarantha’s Whore. Or maybe I’m just trying to be your friend because correct me if I’m wrong, you could really use one.”

I looked at our entwined hands, and I met his eyes again, “A friend would be nice. What are the terms?”

“All I want is for you to ask for help if you need it. In return I will do whatever you wish within reason of course.”

I playfully sigh, “So turning Tamlin into a rat is not an option, got it.” He chuckled low and deep as you thought about what you want, thinking back to that night in the library and drifting to the warm honey eyes I met there. Rhys’ cough brought me back from my thoughts for a moment I thought he had brief smirk but, in a blink, it was gone, “I can’t read very well.” I blurted and that caused his eyes to widen, “Would you be willing to teach me how to read and write?”

Rhys blinked, and then smiled, “Of course. A bargain then.”

I shake his hand, “A bargain.” A light flashed and an intricate black tattoo of whirls and stars wrapped around my wrist. “These really are beautiful.”

Rhys took my hand and looped that arm around his, “Come now, we must not keep that ill tempered twin of yours waiting.”

You laughed as we left our room, “What do I say about this,” I raise my wrist, “when they inevitably, ask about it. When she asks about it?”

Rhys shrugged, “Whatever you see fit. If you want to paint me out as the villain who tricked, you into a bargain say so. I just wanted you to have a way to reach me.”

We reach the dining room Feyre quietly talking to Mor, Rhys’ cousin that we met in the middle of this week, “Careful, Rhys, keep this up and I am going to start thinking you’re a nice Fae male.” I kissed his cheek and made my way into the dining room.

Feyre stood, and gave me a warm smile, “Are you ready?” I gave her a nod and look back at Rhys who tucked a hand in his pocket and Feyre lifted her chin, “We would like to go home now.” I bristled at her calling it my home but let it slide.

Rhys nodded and held out both his hands and I extend the arm without the tattoo, in his hand Feyre taking the other, and Mor calls out, “See you next month, Ladies.”

I turn and give her a smile and wave and I can see Feyre’s eyes go wide at the tattoo. Darkness begins to swirl as I look back at the door to the hallway and my breath hitched seeing Hazel eyes and flashes of red before the darkness consumed us.

In a moment we were back in the warm heat of the Spring Court. “See you next month, ladies.” And with that he was gone, my gaze lingered on where he was.

I was whipped around by my sister as she lifted my left arm, “What did you do?”

I whipped my arm back and walked toward the manner cross my arms tucking my tattooed wrist hidden, “Rhys offered something I wanted, I made a bargain.”

“What could he possibly have that you could have wanted,” Feyre hissed trying to keep up with my pace. “Especially something that Tamlin can’t provide here.”

I glare at her, “Like how he has been so great at providing you the emotional support when you throw up every night. Right?” Feyre went silent, “That’s what I thought. Feyre as I said before, I love you, but I am my own person and can make my own decisions. Please stop treating me like I’m a child.” Lucien was standing in front of the manor, and I storm inside ignoring the red headed male and make a beeline for my room and slam my door and sitting in the armchair by my window. I felt a warm tingle on my wrist. I looked at my left arm and another wave of warmth tingled my wrist. “Thanks Rhys,” I smiled and leaned my head against the head rest and drifted off into sleep thinking of those warm eyes and beautiful smile.

Cassian POV

I spent every evening in the library this past week, in hopes I would see Y/N again. Rhys had told us that we wouldn’t see Feyre but when I had walked into that library and saw her soft eyes that gleamed in the dark fae lights and the ease it was to talk to her.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” Mor questioned her brow quirked. Her face brightened, “Is there a lucky male or Female warming your bed Cas?”

I choked on the bite of my breakfast, “Mother above, Mor. Why would you think that?

“Because you have been staring at your eggs like they wrote you a beautiful love sonnet to you. I would have to assume that someone is warming your bed.” Mor’s threw him saccharine grin.

Before I could answer Rhys returned, his face tight, his eyes met mine, “Well that went as well as I anticipated.” Rhys muttered sitting at the table and the house provided him with breakfast. He began to eat, “I made a bargain with Y/N.”

My eyes snapped to my brothers, “You did?”

He nodded and took another of bite, I move my gaze to Mor, she shrugged and asked, “Why?”

Rhys mouth tightened, “Tamlin got a little aggressive, when I picked them up on Feyre’s wedding day. He had gripped her tight,”

I gripped my glass firmly and I thought about our brief encounter. There had been a bruise on her arm, I just didn’t know where it was from. “Did you ask her about it?”

“She chalked it up to those two just not getting along but I wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone.” Rhys smirked, “Though I will say she may have had hazel eyes on her mind this morning,” He met my gaze as heat crawled to my face. “Any particular reason why, Cassian?”

Mor’s gasped, I shot her a glare, “I may have met her in the library the day the two of them got here.” I took a sip of my tea, “I didn’t do anything nefarious, just talked with her,”

Rhys held up a hand to stop me, “I know, her thoughts were loud, and it just feels like she was comfortable here and comfortable with her interactions with both of you.” He gave a smile, “Thank you, both.”

I took another sip of my tea and murmured, “Can you imagine when those two meet, Azriel?”

Mor giggled, “Cauldron spare them.”

Rhys smiled, “Indeed.” Then the three of us finished our breakfast and my mind drifted to red silk, and doe eyes.

Chapter 3

[collapsedglasshouses]

Consequences || Noah Sebastian x Reader [Part 4]

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: When Y/N gets to their hotel room, she finally finds closure to all the confusing events.

Warnings: MDNI!!, 18+, NSFW, SMUT, unprotected sex (p in v) (wrap it before you tap it!), fluffy as hell, swearing, let me know if I forgot something

Taglist: @jakekiszkasguitarpick @blackveilomens @kingdomof-omens (congrats you can call yourself 'jazz' first tag team members' lmao)

IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, PLS DM ME OR COMMENT ♡

A/N: Well, well, well… I don’t even know what to say… I couldn’t wait until tomorrow so here you have the next chapter! I let myself get inspired for this chapter. I read The Love Hypothesis again and this one quote out of it will always stick with me. Do you notice which one?

It's been three minutes since Noah left the room. You heart was racing. You didn't even know what to think. Didn't he say he wanted to talk about this when we got home? Was it going to be bad?

Your mind was racing when you stepped closer to Jolly. "I need you to do me a favor-..." - "Not going into our room for the next three hours and at best keep Nick from going to bed so he doesn't hear anything? You're welcome."

You gave Jolly a thankful and apologetic smile before slowly walking away from your group. When you came to a stop in front of your hotel room, you couldn't help but feel like you felt that night you landed under Noah's bed. Does he just wanna have sex now?

You quietly opened the door with your key and stepped into the room. There he was. Sitting on his bed, staring straight ahead seemingly deep in his thoughts. You quickly got out of your high heels before walking towards him. When you sat down next to him, you let out a devoted sigh.

"We should talk about this." He said quietly before swallowing hard. You knew this was going to be hard. Neither Noah nor you were good at talking about serious topics when it came to things between you two. You remembered that often when you annoyed each other, you would just remain silent until there was no longer a problem. So now you just nodded and hoped he would begin to talk.

But nothing happened. You two sat their in silence.

You started to think. You knew you wanted to talk with him but not once you thought about what you actually felt. It wasn't normal for best friends to just randomly hook up after ten years of being nothing but platonic.

You exhaled frustrated. "Fuck... We behave like fucking teenagers, Noah. We're literally grown adults. Why is it so fucking hard to just talk?" You stood up and started pacing around the room.

Noah looked at you. When you noticed it, you came to a stand in front of him. "What is this?" - "Y/N, I have no idea." - "I don't know it either but we need to figure it out before someone gets hurt."

Now he was the one who sighed and than he cradled his head in his hands.

"What the fuck are we doing?" You began to cry out. "What the fuck am I even doing?" With that his head shot back up to look at you. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, Noah..." You swallowed hard, being a lot more sad and frustrated than you originally thought. "You are... a fucking well known rock star. You aren't just the boy anymore who lived down the street that I maybe admired a little too much when you came over to game with my brother." You sighed. "You aren't even the boy anymore who took my virginity because I was panicking about being the last in my friend group... You are a lot more now... You are you and I am me and... I don't even know what I was thinking. You are literally my best friend, Noah."

"So-..." He began. "...you regret what happened between us?" You had a feeling his eyes changed with your statement. They looked emptier.

"No, no, no...Noah." You cried out and looked at him apologetic. "That's not even in the slightest close to reality... That's the problem… I don't regret one second with you. I think, there wasn't one day in the past two weeks that I haven’t thought of you." You explained and ran a hand through your hair. "The thing is... I feel weird. On the one hand you are my best friend. You are Nick's best friend. You are the closest friend I ever had. I think nobody knows as much about me as you do. And I love that. But on the other hand there is this thing between us. Something that I have never felt with anyone before. That scares the shit out of me, Noah."

You felt like you read straight out of your diary and metaphorically you lost a piece of clothing with each sentence you spoke to him.

"Y/N."

"I don't wanna be one of your adventures, Noah."

"Y/N."

"I heard you talking about so many girls that come and left. Either them or you not being serious."

"Y/N."

"I saw you get hurt and I don't wanna be the one to do that to you."

"Y/N"

"I just don't wanna be one of those short funny stories that you tell the boys while drinking beer."

"Y/N, you know that would never happen."

"Why are you so sure of that, Noah? Why would you think this all could work? Why would you think Nick wouldn't hate us being... whatever this is?"

"Because I love you."

Your mouth dropped slightly open while you felt like someone knock all the oxygen out of your lungs. You couldn't breath. He loved you.

Your gaze slightly softens while you looked at the man in front of you. The man who also was the boy who told you he would raise a child with you that wasn't even his when you were just 18. The boy who played every song under the planet on his guitar as long as you would stop crying about this guy who broke your heart in eighth grade. You looked at this man, the man who had nothing but love in his heart for you the whole time you knew him.

You swallowed while taking a hesitant step towards him, not being able to form a sentence. You came to a rest when you stood right between his legs.

"You don't have to say it when you don't feel it but-..." - "Say it again, Noah." You lifted his chin so he had no chance but to look you in the eyes. His hands came up to rest at your hips. "I love you, Y/N... I-... I think i loved you for a long time. I just didn't realize it until those things between us happened."

With that you slightly bent down and pressed you lips to his. All of a sudden you felt like you were going to explode. Nothing ever felt this good. Everything that you worried or thought about just started to make sense. It was so clear in front of you all along. You were madly in love with Noah.

You felt how he fidgeted with the sipper on your dress and when he opened it you let it slip down to the floor. He interrupted the kiss for a second to admire you.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

Everything inside you started to tingle. Maybe it was his words or his tone. Maybe it was the fact he was so vulnerable around you. You just knew there was no way back. You needed Noah.

You instantly kissed him again while you unbuttoned his pants. When those dropped to the floor, you crawled onto his lap while your tongues started to fight for dominance.

"We definitely need to tell Nick." He gasped, out of breath, while you unbuttoned his black shirt. You nodded. "But definitely not now." You joked and made him chuckle before pushing him back onto the mattress. For a second you just admired him under you. How his laugh reached his eyes. How his lips were slightly pink from your kisses. How his hair fell onto his forehead. You didn't find one thing about this man you didn't love.

You leaned down to him and kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" He asked you surprised while his hands drew circles on your exposed hips.

"I love you too, Noah." With that his eyes lit up and with a quick movement you found yourself under him.

"God, I missed you." Noah muttered against your mouth, making you smile. You always wanted to be loved like this and didn't realise he was exactly in front of you.

He quickly helped you out of your bra and before you knew you also lost your underwear.

When he kissed you again, you grabbed his face with your hands, noticing how you missed touching him.

"Fuck" he mumbled as he kissed along your collarbone. This alone let you moan a little. Every cell of your boy craved him.

"I'm not letting you go ever again." he almost moaned out while his hand found your core. His fingers found your clit with ease and he began to work you in circles. Your jaw dropped open in surprise at the shock of pleasure it sent down your spine.

You cried out when he suddenly stopped his movements and kissed his way back up to your face.

"Noah, I need you." You moaned when he looked back into your eyes. "I'm right here." He teased and than started to attack your neck. You knew those kisses would leave bruises, making you moan even loader.

"I-... I need you inside of me." You stuttered while your body seemed to tremble in pleasure.

"Oh god, you're gonna be the death of me." He moaned while getting up to get out of his boxers.

You bit your lip as you looked at his naked form. He was so pretty. He climbs back on top of you while you open your legs for him. Never in your entire life did you need anyone as bad as you needed him right now.

So when he teases you with the tip of his cock, you could help but squirm for more. You buckle your hips and Noah laughs quiety.

"So needy and wet for me." You could only hum in agreement.

"Please, Noah." You beg. In this moment you just wanted him to tear you in half.

"God, you look so beautiful." He whispered and let his hand travel over your body one more time.

Finally, he started to sink into you. Your mouth fell open while you felt him stretch you out a bit and then pushing you to your limit. Instantly he let his head fall on your shoulder while moaning in sync with you.

Never in your entire life you heard a more beautiful sound. When he finally buried himself inside of you, he paused to let you adjust.

You couldn't even dare to breath in that moment.

"Is this okay?" He whispered in your ear. "Hmmm. Yes... Keep going."

You could feel his smile against your neck. He pressed a kiss to your temple before pulling out of you, drawing a surprised gasp from you before slowly going back into you. He did that a couple of times while heavy breathing was the only sound filling the air.

"You feel so fucking good." He groaned into your shoulder, causing you to wrap your arms around him and trying to pull him even closer.

You almost got impatient with his gentle touch so you pushed your hips off the bed to give him a hint that he got immediately.

You let out a small yelp when he suddenly thrusted harder into you hitting a certain spot. Your noises than made him go faster while your nails found their way across his back. If he wasn't that tattooed on his back, it would have been clear evidence about what was happening here.

"Harder." You begged him. He slammed into you causing you to moan even louder, but he dipped down and swallowed your sound with a deep kiss.

"You need to be more quiet, love. When we get to your place you can scream as loud as you want." He growls against your lips. Butterflies started to form in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you." He than whispered against you lips, reaching down between you with his other hand, pressing his index finger against you clit. You truly felt like you were about to explode into thin air and allowed yourself to think about what was happening right now.

Noah, your best friend of more than ten years, the man you were madly in love with, was pounding into you while also fingering you like he never did anything else in the entire world. His pace was almost punishing.

All the tension between you. Every time in the dead of the night when you gaslit yourself into believing you didn't think of him while you had your hand between your legs. All let to this.

When he changed the angle, hitting a new spot, you instantly buried your hands in his hair, as you felt your orgasm built. His hand still circling your clit while thrusting into you. "Fuck, Y/N, I need you to cum for me."

With that you were done. You moaned loudly while you reached your high, digging your nails into Noah's back, causing him to moan too.

That's when you felt it. He groaned your name and you felt him twitch inside of you, cum spreading through you.

It was an interesting sensation for you. One that made you squirm under him. He thrusted as deeply as he could for a few more times. The pleasure causing you to sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting down to lower the volume of your screams.

After you both helped each other through your highs, he slowly pulled out of you and looked you in the eyes.

"I'm not gonna drop the cheesy question, asking you to be my girlfriend because I think you know I'll not let you go anytime soon." He says before pecking your lips and than getting up to grab a cloth to clean you up.

"I would love to be your girlfriend, Noah." You answered him after came back and cleaned you up. Noah laughed and than wrapped his arms around your torso to cuddle you tightly.

He lifted his head and pressed his lips to yours. "I would love to be your boyfriend too, Y/N."

When he lay back down on your chest, you started playing with his hair and couldn't help but think about the reality that was just meters away from you.

How the hell would you explain all this to your brother?

READ PART 5 HERE.

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 21

Executive dysfunction is a bitch and can go to hell. I had something I could have posted yesterday while I was working on this, but no...

I am starting to wonder if maybe I shot myself in the foot with my tag rant as engagement for the last Reconnect AU was WAY down. But oh well. I can only continue to move on and hope I find new people who like my stuff.

All righty, my lovelies. We have gotten to the part where I was going to end it originally before you absolute menaces said you wanted me to continue it through season 4.

But here’s the deal, this story has reached nearly novel length of 40k. So what I’ve decided to do is call this the end of book one. And then I will start up book two, which will be through to the end of the school year and probably through the events of season 3. And then book 3 should take us the rest of the way.

I hope that’s acceptable to all of you. I want to continue it, but I think from here on out the title doesn’t fit Steve anymore and he needs a new one.

Now if you’ve followed me long enough, you know that I don’t start putting out a story until it’s done (if it’s short enough) or if I’m three to four chapters deep. So hopefully by the end of the month (if not sooner) you should start seeing book two.

I will run a poll on how you think I should do the tag list for it. But thank you all for coming with me on this absolutely wild ride. And hope you’ll stick around for the next two parts.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

***

Word had been handed down, Mindy Jones, Ollie Anderson, and Kyle Carver had been suspended with word that Kyle being the instigator might be expelled. For sure he wasn’t going to be able to walk in his cap and gown at graduation.

Steve felt a sense of relief and strangely justice too. Yes, all right suspension wasn’t getting expelled, but the kids had been punished. They didn’t try to hand wave it away.

Steve had heard that Mr Vinke, the math teacher, Mr Cole, Miss Lucy, and Chief Hopper had all gone to the principal and superintendent for all three of them to be expelled.

The suspension was a given, but the school district wanted to do their own investigation and then expulsions might be handed out after it was complete.

Steve didn’t have much hope.

Marty, Gethin, and Janice all sat with the Corroded Coffin boys at lunch, something they didn’t normally do.

“Fuck,” Janice swore. “Why I am more nervous about tonight than I have all week?”

Steve nodded, poking at his food. “I haven’t been this queasy since I took a plate to the head.”

Everyone winced and murmured sympathetic platitudes and other noises of sympathy.

“I think it’s because it’s your last performance,” Gethin murmured. “Your last chance to completely biff it on stage.” Steve and Janice looked at him in wide-eyed fear. He waved his hands placatingly. “Not that I think you will. Just that your brain thinks you will.”

Steve and Janice looked at each other and then nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That tracks.”

Eddie slid his hand under the table and gripped Steve’s knee. Steve covered his hand with his own and gave it a squeeze of thank you.

*

Steve scanned the crowd the second night. He spotted Jeff and all his family, Gareth and Gethin and their parents, Brian and all of his younger siblings, and what looked like his dad. Wayne shuffled in his seat nervously, having never been to a musical before. But still no sign of his parents.

His mom promised that at least she would be there, even if his dad refused to come. And he held on to that. He managed to make it through the show and held it together.

He went out to be congratulated by his friends and their families. Wayne brought him flowers.

“You did good, boy,” he said gruffly, after giving him a hug. “I looked it up and flowers are the gift you give someone after a well-done performance.”

Steve looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers and smiled. “Thank you. I love them.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “They might be a tad wilted by the time we’re done, because we’re taking you out to eat in celebration.”

Steve teared up a bit. “Thanks, guys.”

Gareth smiled. “You deserve it, man. That was awesome!”

Gethin nudged his shoulder. “We’re just waiting for Janice and Eddie to get done.”

Steve nodded. Eddie had to reset the stage for tomorrow and Janice had to get out of a corset and that took some time.

“Yeah, no problem!” he enthused.

Eddie finished first and came out to meet them.

“Hey, Steve!” he said. “Feeling famous yet?”

Steve laughed. “I’m going to get fat if this keeps up. First ice cream last night and then dinner tonight.”

They all laughed. “It’s impossible for you to gain weight, man,” Brian huffed. “I’ve seen you eat a whole pizza and didn’t even get bloated.”

Steve laughed. “Playing three sports does that to you. Hell, I still life guard at the rec center every summer.”

Brian eyed his lean form skeptically. “I suppose so.”

“Swimming’s fun,” Steve said. “And it’s not just for us jock types.”

Janice finally came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting guys. Sharing with Tammy Thompson is hell let me tell you. I don’t know how someone so tiny can take up so much room.”

“At least you don’t have to share the choir room with twenty sweaty dudes that wouldn’t know deodorant if it bit them in the ass,” Steve grumped.

Gethin shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that from sports?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “At least there are showers after basketball. Can’t say the same here.”

Gethin’s lips curled. “Fair.”

Wayne clapped his hands. “All right, I’ve got us a place reserved, so we need to hustle. Eddie and Steve are coming with me.”

Eddie and Steve filed out with the rest of them and followed Wayne out to his truck.

Steve slid into the middle between Eddie and Wayne.

“Thanks for this, Wayne,” he murmured. “And the flowers, too.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” he said. “I didn’t see your parents. Did they show up last night?”

Steve shared a glance with Eddie and then shook his head. “There’s still tomorrow.”

Wayne and Eddie shared a glance of concern over Steve’s head.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Wayne agreed.

An uneasy silence settled on them as they drove to the restaurant. Wayne parked and turned to Steve.

He pulled him in for a great big hug and then opened the door. “It’ll be all right.”

Steve nodded and slid out after Eddie.

The dinner was just as ruckus as the ice cream parlor the night before. With just as many people. Steve looked around and smiled.

Yeah, 1985 was his year and it was just getting started.

*

Steve looked out to the audience and knew, even in the dimmed lights his parents weren’t there.

“Tell me, Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson, or do you stand with me?” Vince asked.

Steve could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me…”

He slowly rose to his feet as he sang,

“I have been in expectation Of receiving a reply On the subject of my last fifteen dispatches. Is anybody there?”

His voice cracked with emotion as he stepped half out of the spotlight.

“Does anybody care? Does anybody care? Y’r humble & ob’d’t–”

The drum rolled and Steve looked up into the eagle’s nest where Eddie was doing the spotlight. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Steve looked down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Eddie. And then he exited the scene on cue.

Eddie swore he saw more tears in that moment then for ‘Mama Look Sharp’ that night.

But that performance of Steve’s brought out something in Vince in that moment. Vince’s John Adams bid Hancock good night, but then it changed. All the emotion and fear of not being seen or heard. The loneliness that Adams must have been feeling in that moment, borrowed from the loneliness of both Washington and Thomson.

“Is anybody there–”

Silence.

“Does anybody care–?”

Again, nothing.

“Does anybody see–what I see?”

And then Kenny came on and delivered the line with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“Yes, Mr Adams, I do.” As if to banish all the fears and insecurities that John was having in that moment.

And Steve could almost hear it as though it was coming from Eddie. As if it was coming from his friends. The party. Wayne.

Yes, his parents weren’t there. They never were. And probably never were going to be. But that didn’t mean that no one was listening to Steve. That no one cared.

They all cared. Every last one of the dozens of people that showed up the last two nights. They cared. They brought their families. Brought flowers. Thought he was worthy of celebrating. Worth treating.

For the boy with the bat.

The boy that never knew what love really was until he looked up from a god damned garbage can into those warm and friendly brown eyes. A warm hand on his back and a gentle ‘Are you okay?’

In that moment, Steve’s life had become changed. Different. Better. All because a teacher took pity on Steve and chose Eddie Munson of all people to be Steve’s protector.

And he looked up at Eddie in the rafters and though he couldn’t see him, he knew that Eddie was looking back at him. Smiling back at him. Loving him for all his worth.

And if you had asked Steve what his worth was back in December he would have told you nothing. He wasn’t worth anything but being the baby-sitter. But now?

Now Steve was a baby-sitter, chauffeur, groupie, actor, chef, swimmer, friend, brother, and most importantly boyfriend. And maybe if he was really lucky, someone’s son.

***

Fin.

Fuck, rereading this to add back in the formatting made me cry. My apologies if it makes you cry too.

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @garden-of-gay @anaibis @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites   @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @lovelyscot @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @jinxjinn @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @estrellami-1 @dangdirtydemons @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[kirain]

Hi there! I just ran across your blog purely by coincidence (I've been hunting through the Gale tag 👀) and I am absolutely appalled that people would talk to you so harshly about liking Gale. I wish could honestly say I was surprised, but with everything Else I've seen on the internet, I can't say that.

However, I just want you to know that there are absolutely TONS of us here on tumblr who like both Astarion AND Gale! I created this blog because fell in love with Astarion, but not long into delving into this world that is Baldur's Gate 3, I found Gale, and he SERIOUSLY resonates with me. So guess what? I fell in love again.

No one deserves fandom hate of any kind, for any reason, and I truly hope you find your tribe of loving, accepting Galemancers and Gale-accepters soon. And if you don't or if you're struggling, you're welcome to join mine. 🥰

Thank you! Us Galemancers have to stick together, and I'm glad you enjoy both characters! Unfortunately, I have noticed there's a lot of people like this:

As well as the cruel messages I've personally received. But since my post regarding the discourse, I've been getting far more messages like this:

As well as these in the notes of my posts:

And that's really refreshing. 😊

Of course, I know that the vicious Astarion fans are a minority, and I should've clarified that I don't think anyone should have to apologise for something they didn't do. Astarion fans who don't spread hate: you have nothing to be sorry for. You're not responsible for what other people in the fandom say and do. Don't feel guilty. ❤

Also, I want to thank you @astarioffsimpmain, and all the anons who sent me these messages. I'm sorry I couldn't get to each one individually. I tried over the weekend, but life had other plans lol. Genuinely, though, they were a delight to read, and I'm happy to see so many people praising Gale and Astarion alike. It's been a treat seeing everyone come together after so much discourse. It's almost like a perfect representation of their in-game relationship. Sleeping on opposite sides of the camp in Act 1, but beside each other in Act 3.

[artists-ally]

{Smoke on the Water} Azriel x OFC {Pt. 1}

Okay guys I know it has been a hot minute since I did something ACOTAR related, but I really like how this turned out! As always, feel free drop your thoughts in the comments and in my asks!! Also the title is from this song and is basically my MC's themsong (it's so badass). Also also this is gonna be a series so stick around and if you'd like to be tagged lmk!!

Word Count: 6,132

Warnings: language, violence, blood, mentions of r**e, set after ACOSF, potential spoilers??? A lot of plot building for this part

Summary: The Inner Circle meets Prythian's fourth strongest and most powerful Illyrian.

~~~~~~

CASSIAN POV

“Cauldron alive,” I heard shouted over my shoulder. As I looked, I noticed one of the males in the ring with another. The first male, with short hair clipped down to his scalp, was bleeding from his nostrils quite steadily. The other male, with exceptionally long hair and much broader wings, thrust his foot into his abdomen.

Cheers and whoops sang throughout the camp, coins and bronze chips piled high on the corners of the mat. They were placing bets on the fighters. 

“They’ve been at it for over twenty minutes now,” Nesta said. I had just gotten here after a meeting with Rhysand, I merely came to see how her trainee’s were doing with their new instructor. 

Rhysand made it clear to Devlon that the females in Windhaven needed to have more to their unnecessarily brutal lives. In return, Nesta became the unofficial leader of the Valkyries. She took great pride in it; it glowed from within her when he suggested it. 

I was here because she mentioned this specific Valkyrie she wanted to introduce me to.

“Have they now?” I quirked my brow, fists placed on my hips as I watched the two of them full on brawl. The male with the longer hair hand tightly wrapped bands around his fists, soaked in blood. From his or his opponents, I wasn’t sure, but it was so dark it was almost black. 

“I told you I wanted you to observe her,” Nesta murmured, gesturing to the show before us. 

That was her? Her frame was anything but feminine. But when they switched sides of the ring, her face was softer. Not soft, not supple and smooth, but she didn’t have a pronounced features. Dark hair and eyes and this feral expression within them. 

With a final blow to the bottom of his chin, the Valkyrie knocked him flat on his back, an uproar rising from the crowd. She stood over top of him, shoulder rolling up and down with breaths. She said something to him, but I couldn’t make it out from here. 

Maybe I’ll go find out for myself. 

Other camp members threw up more coins and such, leaving them in heaping piles for her to collect. The bloodied and swollen male limped away, a look of pure shame, regret, and revenge on his face.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes as I passed.

“Khyra,” I called to get her attention. 

“Lord Cassian,” she bowed her head. I returned it, taking in her exerted body. She wore no shoes and cut off pants. Her shirt was stained with the other male's blood. It couldn’t have been hers, she didn’t have any cuts. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve seen you’re beginning to leave quite a reputation behind,” I pulled down one of the ropes for her to climb through. “Nesta speaks highly of you.”

“As she should,” was all she said. As she stood in front of me, it was clear that she was certainly not built like the rest of the females. Not like any other female I had seen before, either. 

The top of her head rested at my nose. Khyra’s hair was a lighter shade of brown now that I was up close, eyes to match. But her frame is what I couldn’t figure out. Her muscles looked more like those of the males, especially her legs and arms which were exposed to the humid air of the summer. She was riddled with scars and marks, none of which came from today’s spar. 

“My mate asked that I come and watch your training. She says it is not anything she has seen before, in her few years of training Valkyries.” “I am most certainly not like the other Valkyries, Cassian,” she snorted, tossing on a longer shirt, folding in the ripped seams of her cut off pants. 

“Clearly,” I retorted. “Is your training complete for the day?”

“Not at all.” 

“Do you have another round in you?”

She gave me a wicked look. “I don’t know, Lord of Bloodshed, are you looking for an asskicking?” “You seem very sure about yourself,” I climbed into the ring. “If Nesta is as sure of you as she says she is, I don’t see the harm of asking for a fair fight to truly test your abilities.”

“Are you sure you want to play this game?” Khyra gestured to the injured Illyrian that was tending to his wounds a few feet away, sending us dirty looks. 

“I’d want nothing more.”

I hardly even saw her move. She was just there in front of me in a split second, her hand striking across my face. My head jerked, but snapped back just as fast, balled fist flying towards her. Khyra evaded with minimal effort. 

She was agile, limber and could throw her body into the air and deliver a devastating blow. The next few she didn’t land on me, but she rolled off the mat and took my legs out from under me. My hands landed behind me, propelling me forward as I lunged for her. 

It was clear that she wasn’t just another Illyrian female. No. She was something no one had seen for a long time. Her punches were stronger, her kicks impossibly fast. 

For what felt like hours– and what probably was– we spared. Sweat seeping out of us, mixing together when we’d collide like two ancient forces. Blood sprayed from our mouths, our noses and cut eyebrows. 

The sun was near setting, an extensive crowd gathering around the ring, more bets being placed as to who would be the first to conceded. 

Khyra whirled behind me and I spun a little too late. She landed a devastating side kick to my diaphragm and I dropped to the mat, clutching my chest. Her knee ground into my cheek and I sprawled on my back, eyes hazy and half closed. She placed her foot on my throat and pinned me to the ground, not enough to close off air but a firm reminder of what she was still capable of doing. 

“How would you like to lose your pride? By conceding now or getting knocked unconscious by a Valkyrie?” 

I groaned, blood streaking down my face and bare chest. I tapped the side of her ankle with lazy fingers and she released me from my pin. Khrya took the moment to admire her handy work; bringing the most powerful Illyrian to his knees was not an easy task, and I knew I’d never live it down.

Not that that was a problem. Clearly she is far better than any of us have realized. A warm pride simmers through me at the realization that Nesta was the one to awaken this in her. She was one tough fighter, I’ll admit that.

She was quick to gather her belongings, sending a threatening glance at those around us to get out of her way before she did to them what she just did to their commander. 

“Thanks for the session, Cassian,” Khyra groaned, bending to pick up a canteen off the floor. “Next time, if you’d like a chat, a chair and a nice cup of broth would be much nicer.”

As she walked off, there was this presence about her. She was... lethal. In a way I hadn't seen in decades.

“Khrya,” a voice shouted, Emerie’s, “You did that to Cassian? Are you out of your mind?” “He started it,” she shrugged, tossing a shirt over her shoulder. I had ripped it to shreds when she speared me mid air; I was just trying to get a hold on her, but she was far more nimble than I was. Able to slip through my grasp so effortlessly. “He asked to dance so I showed him how to tango.”

“I’m not sure I know what that means but you might want to keep an eye out for him. He is not exactly known for his kindness and second chances.”

“Well,” she sighed, bending over to relace her boots, “If he does decide to go for round two, I’m sure he’ll think twice about coming alone.”

____

“Oh, Cass we were just getting ready to… what the hell happened to you?” Rhys grimaced as he looked at my face. 

We made it back to the House in the next couple of hours, not without having Nesta tend to my wounds in the camp. My eye was swollen shut, bruises matching across my face, knuckles, and ribs. I hissed as I tried to gain feeling back in my severed lip. 

“Nesta insisted that I go check out this Valkyrie, Khyra. Safe to say that she is not like the other trainee’s.”

“How long has she been a Valkyrie?” The High Lord asked, taking in my beaten and swollen face.

“According to Nesta and Emerie, just about five weeks?”

“Five weeks?” his eyes nearly fell out of his skull. “Five weeks and she did that? I don’t think so.”

“It’s true,” Nesta emerged from around my shoulders, a very amused look on her face. “Glad to see that she put a beating on you. You need it. And yes, Khyra has been training for just over five weeks now. At least with me. When the new trainee’s came signed up, she lined up with them. She cut the ribbon on her first day.”

“Should we be keeping an eye on her?” Rhys asked, taking up his spot at the head of the table. “Do you think she will overtake the camp? Gain a following and start a council?”

“No, she doesn’t need to be watched,” I groaned while getting into my seat. “All I know is that she is damn strong, we went at it for a few hours.”

Rhys gave me a look. I knew that look. Like it wasn’t the whole truth. “I'm serious, Rhys. she’s… she’s that good.”

“That may be, but I don’t know if I like the idea of her starting fights for money. We cannot afford to lose more people to this revolution that is already pressing on our weak spots.”

“I think you ought to go and speak with her,” Nesta takes up the seat to my left. “She’s far more powerful than you’re expecting.” I did not appreciate the gesture to my beaten and battered face. “What, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“I thought you were on my side?”

“I am,” she rested a hand on my forearm. “But she’s my protege, am I not allowed to be proud of her for knocking your pride down a few pegs?”

I just rolled my eyes. “What do you think, brother?” Azriel just tipped the wine glass to his lips. “I think that any female who can make you look like that is a female worth talking to.” “Okay, when did this become ‘berate Cassian hour’?” “I don’t know but we should make it an annual tradition,” my mate grinned. I pinched her thigh hard as a warning for what would be to come for that remark.

“Cauldron alive, Cass what the hell happened to you?” Mor was not shy when she leaned over to look at my face better. “I thought you were just going to Windhaven to-” “I did,” I snarled, letting my shoulders sink down into themselves, wincing at the hurt. “Now can we all shut up and enjoy a meal?”

_____

KHYRA POV

There was a soft knock at my door and I stopped my chopping to answer it. On the other side were three tall, familiar faces. The High Lord, his Spymaster Azriel, and the Commander of Windhaven armies, Cassian.

All three looked mildly pissed off.

“Khyra, is it?” The High Lord spoke with an unforgiving coolness to his voice, violet eyes boring into mine. “Cassian tells me that you are rather well equipped and well versed in combat, despite only having been training for a little over a month.”

“Come to receive a set of shiners like him, did you?” I crossed my arms, leaning against the frame of my door. “Is there something I can do for you three or can I go back to the stew I’ve been prepping all day?”

Azriel’s eyes followed the trail of the design in my leathers. To the siphons glimmering in the glow of the end of the day sun. Cassian seemed to notice them in the same beat, as well as the High Lord. He straightened his tense shoulders.

“I’d like to personally invite you to Velaris, my home, if you’ll accept my offer.”

“Per what terms?” “No terms,” Rhysand shook his head. “A mere visit, if you’d like.”

I scanned them all, not truly believing his words. I pushed off my shoulder, leaving the door open behind me as I went back to my station in the kitchen. Their shuffling indicated that they came inside.

“I am honored, High Lord, but I am afraid I must stay here,” I sighed. “I now have everyone out to get me since I have made my intentions very clear in this camp. There are bastards who want to beat me, take my spot, rape me, clip my wings… you name it. I can’t leave my cabin unattended. And, before you offer, I don’t need a guard dog, so save your breath.”

“Your choice, Valkyrie,” The Shadowsinger spoke, his voice deep and raspy. “I suggest you take our High Lord up on his offer.”

I turned to look at them. “If I leave, they will burn my house to the ground and everything inside. Now unless you plan on repurchasing everything in here, recrafting centuries old artifacts and irreplaceable family heirlooms, then sure I’m all ears. But I cannot risk sacrificing everything I’ve worked and hustled for because of a visit.”

“I can make sure that there will be no harm done to your property,” Rhysand assured, a flicker of light in his hand. “Your belongings will remain untouched.”

I watched as he placed a barrier over my small residence, I could feel its power emanating around me, against my bones. It rattled my teeth.

“Can it be another evening, I don’t want my food to go to waste,” I contained my eye roll. I did not feel like traveling. I was sore and spent from training, still nursing some injuries from taking on the General Commander. Even a few weeks later. 

“Azriel will winnow you in, see you at the house.” I guess it was not up for debate. Great, a good portion of my winnings from my fight against Cassian gone to waste. 

I flicked off the stove, cutting off the coals oxygen supply so the fire would die out quicker. The High Lord and Cassian were gone when I came back into my main hallway, the Shadowsinger relaxed against the wall.

“Have you ever winnowed before?” Azriel asked.

“No,” I said.

“If you vomit all over my leathers I will forward you the bill for the cleaning,” he said very upfront. Jeez, this male had no sense of humor. Well, if I had scars like his, I’m not sure I would either. 

I closed the door behind me, placing my hand on Azriel’s shoulder. The world dissipated, tendrils of darkness clouding my vision. Light streamed in, a magnificent house standing before me, a river running beside it. 

All the hair stood on the back of my neck as I felt the powerful wards put up around the manor. I made sure to keep my mark on all of them, my four siphons glimmering with life against the darkness of my leathers. 

I followed behind the Shadowsinger, my height nearly his. The shadows protruding from him circled around me, trying to draw me closer. I kept trying to shew them away, but they refused to budge.

“Apologies,” Azriel said, casting his eyes away from mine. “They roam, especially when they are curious.”

I just hummed, watching one disconnect and latch onto my fingers, swirling and darting around. 

We came to a grand room, the High Lord and Cassian already inside, sitting in various plush cushions and chairs made to accommodate wings.

“Khyra, please sit. I have something I’d like to talk with you about,” The High Lord had a small smile on his lips, the facade now vacant as the stars shone in his eyes. “After Cassian made his trip to Windhaven last month, it has become clear that you are an elite Valkyrie, surpassing Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie in their training. It is a wonder how you became so vibrant with your power in such a short time. You have four siphons, that is well above the male average. And there hasn’t been a female to wield siphons. Ever.”

“Your point?” I shifted in my seat, muscles locked and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. 

The High Lord shared a look at Cassian, then to Azriel, as if to ask if they were ready to agree upon something they previously conversed about. 

“We want you to join us, here in Velaris, and become a part of Court Assets. Officially as Commanding Officer of the Valkyrie Warriors.”

The words hung heavy in the air, floating around my head as I looked from the High Lord to his Illyrian counterparts.

“And what if I refuse?” I asked.

“Khyra, I highly suggest that-” “I said if, not that I was going to,” I interrupted the Shadowsinger. He surely liked to be a nuisance. “What if I don’t wish to command the Valkyrie?”

“Then that is your own choice, there would be no consequence.” “And if I were to accept?”

“You would work directly for me, living here, if you wish. Not in this residence, but in our House of Wind, or finding your own space, if you’d like. Or you could remain in Windhaven. Cassian and Azriel would be who’d train you on military tactics and war strategy. They are far better versed in it than I ever was.”

I, again, looked around the room, an unreadable expression on Cassian's face, but even more unreadable on the Shadowsinger. The air was tense, unwavering debate filtered in and out of me with each breath as I weighed my options in my head.

“What would my responsibilities be?”

“Training the new recruits, overseeing the Valkyrie training rudiments and things of that nature. Conducting recruiting events around Prythian, basic war simulations, and keeping the different camps from killing each other.” “Sounds really rewarding,” I didn’t stop my eyes from rolling this time. “This doesn’t sound like something I’d want to sign up for, I much prefer being a soldier, High Lord.”

“You will still be a soldier,” Cassian pushed off from beside Rhysand. “Even as your own legion of Illyrian warriors, the Valkyrie still fall under my overall jurisdiction. You don’t stop your training, it just shifts its focus.”

“So instead of getting to kick the lesser male's ass, I get to kick yours, fantastic.” I rubbed the space between my brows, “Fine, I’ll accept your offer. But I do not wish to leave Illyria, I don’t see a reason to.”

“If you change your mind, our borders are always open to you, Khyra,” Rhysand gave a final nod. “Would you stay for dinner? To meet the rest of our Inner Circle?” “Inner Circle?” I scoffed a laugh. I snickered, but the three Illyrians didn’t seem to find it as funny as I did. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t intend on becoming friends with your acquaintances. This is strictly business.”

“We are a family here, Khyra, and we operate as such. We have built a strong bond and it is what has allowed us to prevail time and time again. It comes with the job offer. That is not up for debate.”

“Fine,” I said flatly. “Are we done here? I’d like to get back to my cabin and change before I attend.”

“Yes, you are free to go,” Rhysand pressed his lips tightly against one another. “I will have Azriel winnow you back, dinner is in just a few hours and flying takes far longer than that.”

I didn’t miss the glare Cassian sent his High Lord as I followed the Shadowsinger out of the house. When we materialized in front of my cabin, I didn’t offer for Azriel to come inside. He didn’t follow, or ask to, thankfully. 

But that shadow lingered, curled around my wrist like a never ending bracelet. It slithered up my arm and across my neck to the other, intertwining between my fingers and back. It was a cool sensation, leaving behind a night kiss on my skin, an echo of its presence on my body.

I changed into the finest clothes I had, which was a fresh pair of Illyrian leathers. Brand new, purchased just the other day from Emerie’s shop. She had taken to designing the Valkyries their own distinct patterns. My previous ones I stole off the back of some male during my time in the Blood Rite. 

These new ones were even bolder than the last ones, its intricate scaled design curving around my body; up and around my chest, around my thighs and backside. I situated the emerald siphons in their casted holsters, attaching my Ribbon to my wrist, bringing my hair in the ancient Valkyrie way. I let the fish skeleton braid fall over my left shoulder, tucking away the shorter bits in the front. 

When I emerged, the shadows came back, enticing me to the front of the door, right to where Azriel stood. 

The male was a sight for sore eyes; his deep hazel eyes shimmering with flecks of deep brown. His hair stark against the plain gray sky. He was built more similarly to the High Lord, more lean than Cassian was. The shadows swirling around his shoulders, around the tips of his wings, writhing and whispering in his ear.

“We don’t wear our fighting leathers to these sorts of events,” he answered even though no question provoked one. He was a bit of a hypocrite since he was wearing his own. He must’ve seen the unimpressed look because he said, “I haven't had the chance to change.”

“I am proud to wear my leathers,” I stood my ground, meeting his eyes. “If you have a problem with that then I suggest you learn quickly how to keep your shadows to yourself, Illyrian, before I send them crawling back to wherever they came from.”

My threat didn’t go unnoticed, the emeralds thrumming with desire to emphasize my discretion. Azriel gave me a pointed nod, but winnowed back to Velaris, nonetheless. This time we ended up in a dining hall, a long table decorated with wine cloth and flowers stained the air. The setting sun filled the room with the most vibrant colors I’ve ever seen in my life. 

A very stark difference to the barely golden hue Windhaven got on the day to day. 

“The others are not ready yet, and I thought that Cassian and I should use this time to get to know you better,” Azriel took a seat by the corner, one of the four chairs that were made to accompany wings. I took the one across from him, the General coming in moments later and taking up the one beside him. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t done a complete background check,” I snickered, jutting my chin out to the swirling dark behind the Shadowsinger. 

“We have,” Azriel gave an equally bored sigh. “They just didn’t find anything relevant.”

“I am a pretty lucrative person, Shadowsinger. I don’t kiss and tell very easily.”

“We are well aware of that. When did you first come to Windhaven?” Cassian asked.

“I was born here,” I propped my chin on my palm. “Unlike you three, this wretched place is the only one I’ve ever been to. Besides Velaris, now I suppose, but I’ve never left.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Revenge,” I said coolly. “My father raped my mother, as I am sure you all are familiar with inside these camps, and I saw it justice enough to bring him to his own fate. That was last year, and ever since I’ve been training on my own. Emerie wouldn’t leave me alone in regards to the Valkyrie training. So I went, cut the ribbon, and kicked Cassian's ass. Now I'm here.”

“We’ve heard about you,” Azriel looked me up and down.

“I’m curious as to what you’ve heard,” I crossed my arms across my chest, tucking my impressive wings tightly behind me. 

“We knew that you were quite the Valkyrie from Nesta’s tellings, but to see it in action is a whole other level,” Azriel started. “It is quite impressive to see a female of your height and build, and to see you move the way that you do. Cassian said it reminded him a lot of watching our High Lord train when he was younger. The fluidity of your body, the way your weapon becomes an extension of your arm. It is smoothe, and original. Not a forced practice like some of the others.”

“I feel as if that is precisely what everyone should be doing,” I countered. “Everything has to stop being so by the book and a lot more about energy and flow. About the why and less about the ‘because I said so’.”

“It takes some warriors decades to learn what you have in just a few weeks,” Cassian expressed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Even we weren’t as good as you are now in that short time.” 

“Is that your way of saying that I’m better than you?” I asked the General. 

“Do you honestly believe that compared to my five centuries of experience that you’d stand a chance in a real battle?” 

“Yes,” I gave a short nod. “Granted I might be smaller than you, have three less siphons, but it makes you scared that I am equally as capable as you are, doesn’t it? You too, Shadowsinger. Your little friends haven’t left me alone since we met hours ago, I think they know that I am not to be taken so lightly.”

The room was silent, save for all our breath. Through the quiet I could hear a strap unlatch, the sound of metal scraping across cloth itching my ear. I locked eyes with the Shadowsinger, able to feel the microscopic vibrations of his movements through the shadow that was currently sliding up my ankle. 

He clasped a blade in his hand. 

My eyes shift to Cassian who seemed to spare Azriel a worried glance. A rush of voices snapped us all out of the intense staredown, the High Lord and Lady entering the room, elbows locked around one another. I stood up, not having been raised without some respect for our Court Masters.

“Khyra, this is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court,” Rhysand wore a proud smile. 

“A pleasure, Lady,” I returned her smile, despite the shiver crawling down my back. 

“Feyre, please,” she waved off. “I see you have met Cassian and Azriel already. We’re just waiting on Mor and Amren, my sisters are coming in any second.”

As told, the two older Archeron’s entered the room, giving their pleasantries to the two winged brutes at the table. I’m sure none of them heard the blade sheath back into its place. 

Morrigan, who was far more beautiful than I anticipated, entered next, followed by a bob of black hair behind her. Those silver eyes must belong to Amren. They all took seats around us, conversation filling the room. 

I answered the questions I was asked, but never made an effort to ask my own. To me, all of this was still business. I kept a close eye on the Shadowsinger and the General. Both of them kept an eye on me. When dinner was around halfway over, Amren spoke. “Khyra, I would like to hear about your beating on Cassian. The amount of copper and gold pieces I would’ve given up to see that.”

I felt my throat close. “He was looking for a challenger, and I accepted. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“No no,” Nesta wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth. “Khyra and Cassian went at it for hours, there was quite the crowd. She won by a longshot. I’m sure I would’ve been killed if I tried to do what you did, I know better than to get in the sparring ring with that fool.”

“I can’t believe you willingly fought Cassian,” Elain said, a blush to her cheek.

“Like I said, I just accepted the challenge,” I speared a carrot onto my fork, letting its snap echo. The cool brush of Azriel’s shadows crept up my skin, and I shot him a glare. His gaze was firmly on the plate in front of him, or his High Lord as he spoke to Nesta.

I watched him intently, taking in the scars on his hands. I’d be stupid to think he wasn’t beautiful.

The inky tendril crept up my chest, up my neck and to my ear.

“Keep these to yourself, Shadowsinger,” I grit through my teeth, its presence igniting my flesh in an unnatural way. His jaw worked, refusing to look up at me. “I mean it.”

Cassian caught the hiss from across the table, casting a glance, pausing his chewing. I heard the strap unlatch yet again, this time hearing his grip suction around its handle. I kicked the leg of the table as hard as I could, its corner collapsing closest to Azriel. He, along with everyone else, jumped back, and I caught a glimpse of the blade in his hand. Its power trembled in the air.

He lunged for me, and I effortlessly evaded, using my strength to shove the table into his body so he’d have to make an effort to get to me. Plates and glasses of unfinished wine were shattered on the floor, crunching under my boots as I hurdled over the broken wood, driving my hand into Azriels throat. 

He let out a gasp, swinging his arm at full force to try and scrape me. I steadied myself out of the way, bringing my arms up to protect myself when he came right back. I managed to avoid any attempts he made, but Cassian was quick to aid his brother. I kicked behind me straight into the General’s knee, sending him to the ground. 

Azriel was back on me in seconds, his body twisting and turning in every which way, shadows whirling around and around. I landed a kick to his gut, and sent him into the wall. 

Cassian tried to tackle me, but I rolled with him, landing on top and delivering a catastrophic blow right to his sternum, then right where his neck met his chest, leaving him gasping for air. I braced for Azriel when his hands clamped around my throat.

I curled my legs up and over myself, latching his head in between my knees, throwing them down. He tumbled, and I squeezed as hard as I could. Pain pierced my body, that blade he had been wielding now several inches deep in my thigh. I didn’t let it falter my grip, using my legs to pin his frantic wings down.

His eyes began to flutter close so I released him, scrambling to my knees, ripping the blade out, and dragging the gasping Illyrian against my chest. I gripped his chin and held the blade against it, taking a look around the disheveled room. 

I was met with the intense and furious eyes of the High Lord– as to be expected– but Feyre and the others seemed to have this look of awe in their eyes. 

I pressed the blade deeper into his throat, and he hissed. I stood, dragging him with me. I locked my fingers in his hair, kicking him to his knees. 

“Okay,” the High Lord spoke all too calmly. “You’ve made your point. I suggest you let go of my Spymaster or you’re going to meet a very lovely place underneath a very tall mountain.” “You think I’m afraid of the Prison?” My laugh was anything but friendly. “I slaughtered my own father, I face a fate far worse than rotting in a chamber, High Lord. That would seem like a vacation for where I’m going.”

“Let go of Azriel. Now.” He demanded, and I felt razor sharp talons creep down my spine, caress my soul as a gentle reminder of the things he was capable of doing. I did not loosen my grip, nor did I break my eye contact. 

“Rhys,” Feyre spoke, “Get out of her head.”

The presence left and I let my breath go. They seemed to exchange a heated conversation behind their eyes, and Rhysand came back looking defeated. I dared a glance at Cassian who slowly pushed to his feet, joining everyone on the other side of the room. 

“I suppose she will do,” Rhysand tilted his head, a more impressed look coming over his features. 

“Suppose I will do for what?” I snarled, strengthening my grip on the blade. 

“I hosted this dinner tonight to see how well you could handle yourself against a threat. I asked Cassian and Azriel to provoke you and take you on, at the same time, merely just to assess your skills and see what you are capable of. Mostly because I didn’t believe him, and partly for my own amusement. Clearly, you are far stronger than any of us realize since you were able to survive an attack by Truth Teller and are still standing. Remarkable.”

My blood boiled, burned and scalded my insides so deep I thought about throwing the blade at the High Lord himself. I gave Azriel one good blow to the back of the head and he went tumbling forward, completely stunned and unable to move. I planted my foot in between his wings, pressing deeper and deeper until he cursed. 

“Lie to me one more time and I will bring down a terror on you so vast you will not have time to prepare or to run or to hide. I will start with the Shadowsinger, then your General. Then I will tear every Illyrian to pieces and leave their wings on your front door step as a reminder that I am not one to betray. You think you have an idea of what I am capable of, High Lord? I do not take dishonesty lightly, I suggest you don’t ever let it happen again.”

I took my foot off his back and dropped the blade to his side. Rhysand watched me closely, tracking every single one of my movements.

“I think I might need to find myself at training tomorrow,” Morrigan whispered to Nesta. She gave me a heady glance from head to toe, eyes burning. 

“Consider this your formal introduction to our Court, Khyra,” Rhysand gave a blisteringly fake smile. “But I suggest that if you throw threats in my home again you should prepare to never walk out of here again.” My mind seized yet again, and I fell beside Azriel. My neck strained, and my vision darkened. 

“You were invited here as a guest, and for a place of employment. Don’t take it for granted because I can easily find a replacement and send you to the Court of Nightmares.”

Spit collected in my esophagus with the force of his hold on me. “See you say that and yet, there is no one capable of competing against me. We all know that.”

Through my strangled speech, he had this scowl on his face. He dropped me and I rubbed the ache in my shoulders. “Your post will begin, effective immediately. You will report here to me every week and discuss the things that are being discussed and spread through the camps. While you are in Windhaven, you will receive one on one training from Cassian and Azriel to further develop your skills.”

“Great,” I pushed to my feet. “Am I excused or do I need to finish all my vegetables before I can leave to go play?”

I saw Morrigan suck in her lips, Amren with a wry smile on hers. Elain had a deep blush, Nesta a smirk to match Amren’s. Feyre looked equally amused and concerned, but didn’t give me a look of disgust when I brushed past.

“Oh, and Khyra,” Rhysand’s voice made me pause in the hall. “If you ever threaten to kill Azriel or Cassian ever again, I’ll make sure you never see a Velaris sunset ever again.”

I don’t know how, or why, that made me recoil, but it did. I guess if I had one thing to look forward to, it’d be that. Seeing anything other than gray and brown and the general bleh that was Windhaven. 

“Noted.” Was all I said.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC questionnaire

Thanks to @elsie-writes here, @mysticstarlightduck here, @riverkaplan here, and @somethingclevermahogony here!

My previous questionnaires:

Robbie, Gwen, Maddie, Noelle, Jedi, and Kelsey here.

Carmen, George, Akash, Sam, Lexi, and Ash here.

Gabriel, Carla, Parker, Rose, Alex, and Ewan here.

Liam, Hye-Jin, Wendy, Wade, Issa, and CJ here.

Below the cut I will do: Teo, Niri, Jazlyn, Anathi!

#1- Teo

Do you believe in the paranormal?

“Sis, my boyfriend literally can heal a broken arm in seconds. You would not believe the shit I've seen Parker do just because Wade can heal him. Oh yeah, and Parker literally is an airbender. How can I not? If a vampire walked into the school I wouldn't blink.”

What oddly-specific T-shirt would you wear?

“This shirt that says ‘born to shit, forced to wipe,’ I want it so much you don't understand.”

Do you usually cry at sad moments or happy moments or both?

“Definitely sad moments. I mean, I would not put it past me to cry when happy, but I can't make it through sad movies, man. Not at all.”

#2- Niri

Where is your favorite place in the world?

“I have an easy answer to this. Carla and George have a quiet room in their house. I can go there if I feel too overwhelmed or if I want to be alone for a bit. The room also has good lighting. I like it if someone joins me, though usually just a few people at the same time. Otherwise my reason for going into the room is ruined. [He smiles slightly.] I like everyone in the Aequales. Although there is a lot of people.”

What food do you hate the most?

“I dislike pasta. Pasta is not bad. It tastes good. But the texture really bothers me. I cannot eat spaghetti.”

Do you like watching sunsets or sunrises?

“Yes. I 100-percent love sunsets and sunrises. I am an artist. Maybe that's the reason. I feel inspired. New day, too.”

#3- Jazlyn

If you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life, what would it be?

“I would wear a tank top and shorts, easily. Why? Well, I think it would be fun, definitely make me stick out among the modest Utahns I'm forced to interact with. But also they show off how good of shape I'm in. And girl, I'm in good shape. It's hard to find pants for me, since I'm mostly legs. So why not show them off? I'd probably wear cute sandals, the necklace Ewan gave me, and my gorgeous hoop earrings.”

Who's the person you trust more than anyone else in the world?

“Obviously, Ewan. He is the kindest person I know. He would never do anything wrong.”

What's your dream job?

“I would actually find sales fun. I plan to get a marketing degree when I go to college next year. It seems fun to convince people what to buy.”

More Jazlyn: OC interview

#4- Anathi

Who in this world do you trust most, and why?

“... I guess Tyler. Kinda by default. He actually listens to me. Always kept promises, too. I relied on him for many reasons.”

What was your favorite place in the world when you were young

“The park. Where I could hang out with other kids. Before my powers kicked in.”

What is your favorite memory?

“When Tyler and I first met, we talked for hours. I would like to experience that feeling again.”

I haven't written for Anathi yet so this was probably only okay. Shorter responses are intentional tho

Your questions:

Tagging @writernopal @aziz-reads @mk-writes-stuff @romances-not-tragedies @little-peril-stories

@evilgabe29 @maggiekwest @chauceryfairytales @pluppsauthor @willtheweaver

@winterandwords @melpomene-grey @i-can-even-burn-salad @mysticstarlightduck @talesofsorrowandofruin

+ ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS

How do you make decisions? Long deliberation, or impulse? Logic or emotions?

What is the best thing that could happen within five minutes after waking up? Does it signal that the entire day will be good?

Is there anything that you find difficult that you feel should be easy?

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy

[runnning-outof-time]

You’re Not The One | Tommy Shelby x Reader

PART 1 — Loyalties

Request: yes by anonymous...and @zablife a while ago

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: After the realization of her and Tommy's relationship sends shockwaves throughout the company, (Y/N) struggles to decide if she should step down from her position or not.

Warnings: language, smoking, mentions of drinking

Word Count: 4038

A/N: this was a fun one to write. It starts off right where Loyalties ends. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

———

"Be mine," he whispered against her lips after pulling away from them slightly.

"Huh?" she exuded a breathy response, unsure if she'd heard him right.

"Be mine, (Y/N)," Tommy repeated himself, looking down at her through his eyelashes as he rested his forehead against hers, "I want you to be my girl."

"I already am yours, Tommy," she told him, making a smirk form on his face as he shook his head the best he could with it rested against hers.

"No, love...officially," he clarified while running his thumb over her lips.

(Y/N) smiled at him, giddiness building up in her stomach at his words. She knew that he was attracted to her (obviously), but she never thought that he'd ever seek out a labeled relationship with her. "Yes," she said, pulling back so that she could look at him properly and nod her head.

"Yes?" he asked her. It was almost like he wanted to hear it leave her lips more definitively.

"Yes, I'll be yours," she gave him what he desired, her smile widening as he dropped his hands from her cheeks to hold onto her waist.

"Perfect," he grinned, leaning down to press his lips to hers once more.

She pulled away before things got too heated, giggling as he began pressing kisses to the side of her neck. "I've gotta get back to work, Tom," she told him, but her words did nothing to stop him. "Tommy..." she breathed, trying not to give in to the feeling that his lips were giving her. "Thomas," she said more definitively this time, and it worked. He removed his lips from her skin to look at her with raised eyebrows.

"Went all serious on me there," he commented, making her laugh slightly.

"I had to...I have to get back to work," she told him, sticking to her guns even though the way he was looking at her was making it really hard to.

"I'll let you go only if you promise to come to the Garrison later," he wagered a deal.

"I will," she nodded her head within seconds of hearing his words. Tommy just grinned at her quick response and kissed her once more before he let her go out of his office.

——

A bright smile was evident on (Y/N)'s face as she walked through the doors of the Garrison. She glanced around the room before turning to the right and making her way to the door of the snug.

Upon opening it, she noticed that the room was packed. Arthur, John, Esme and Finn were sitting in the booth that wrapped around the table. Polly and Michael were standing to the right of the door; Polly had her arm draped over her son's shoulder. Tommy was standing to the left of the door, leaning up against the ledge that connected to the other side of the bar. (Y/N) only glanced over at Michael before she walked over to Tommy's side.

She was unable to stop herself from wrapping her arms around his stomach when she got to his side, a smile on her face. "What did I miss?" she asked him before pulling back so that she'd be able to kiss his lips quickly.

"I've just given Michael here a watch so that he'll never show up to work late...since he's now officially a member of the Shelby Company Ltd.," Tommy happily filled her in, motioning to the younger man with the cigarette that was perched between his fingers.

(Y/N) then looked over to Michael, who looked like he'd seen a ghost, and sent him a smile. "Congrats, Michael. There's not a better company, or family, to be a part of," she told him, her arms wrapping tighter around Tommy's waist as she felt his arm drape over her shoulders.

"Got something else you wanna announce there, Tom?" Arthur spoke up before anything more could be said, effectively switching the topic of conversation as he sent a suggestive nod in the couple's direction.

"Yeah...(Y/N) and I are together now," was all Tommy said on the matter. He then grinned at (Y/N) as the room erupted in hoots and hollers. Everyone was quick to express their excitement about the news that was just presented to them...everyone except Michael. (Y/N) was able to feel his angry eyes burning into the side of her face.

"Took you long enough!" John jokingly exclaimed as (Y/N) finally pulled her gaze away from Tommy to look at everyone in the room. Correct in her feelings, Michael looked like he was fuming and ready to explode. John and Arthur were still hollering about the news, Esme and Finn had happy smiles on their faces, and Polly was just sitting off to the side with a grin on her face. (Y/N) knew without a doubt that the older woman was happy that they'd finally put a label on what had been going on for some time now.

It wasn't until the commotion died down that Michael made a b-line for the door of the snug. The silence that fell in the room felt very heavy as (Y/N) stared at the door with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Without much thinking, she unwound her arms from Tommy's waist. "Excuse me for a moment," she said to no one in particular as she walked over to the door and exited the snug.

She then exited the tavern and looked in both directions before she found the person she was looking for. "Michael!" she called to him, walking in his direction as she watched him try to strike a match with his shaky hands. "Michael, what was that in there?" she asked as she came to a stop next to him.

"It's not obvious?" he quipped back at her.

"It may be, but I still want to hear it from you," she countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You chose him over me. Over everything we had in the past. Over all of the love that I showed you. Did you forget about the fact that he's your boss and you're a secretary?"

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at the final part of his statement. "I can't believe that you've just brought him being my boss up after you asked for me to become your secretary today," she hissed at him, pausing and shaking her head, "and yes, I chose him despite everything we had because what we had is in the past. I've been with Tommy for a while now and I'm not going to let you ruin my happiness, ok? So if you truly did love me, like you just said you do, you'd let us be and drop the selfish and entitled act you've got going on." She kept her eyes locked on him as he stared out at the road. Silence fell between them as the tension continued to rise. "Ok?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised as she expected some kind of answer from him.

Instead of verbally answering her, he merely sent a glance in her direction before he flicked his cigarette and began walking down the street. (Y/N) let out a sigh as she watched him walk away. She couldn't help but feel like her heart had been shattered. Although she didn't feel for Michael in that way anymore, she still cared about him and wanted to have a civil relationship with him since they'd be working together.

She stood on the street for a few more moments before returning back to the main room of the Garrison. She found Polly sitting at the bar before she was able to return to the snug. So with a soft smile, she sat on the empty stool next to the older woman.

"Has Michael left?" Polly asked, her eyes still trained on the glass in front of her.

"He has," (Y/N) responded in a soft voice, still in shock from the conversation she'd just had. "He's unhappy with the fact that I'm with Tommy now."

"He'll be unhappy for some time, but he'll get over it..." Polly said, pausing as she finally turned on the stool to face (Y/N), "he may be my son, but he's just like every other man...can't take it when something doesn't go in his favor."

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile at the slight grin Polly wore. "Thanks, Pol," she mused, happy that the other woman still had some words of wisdom to give even though the person in question was her son. "I'm going to go back with Tommy now," she said as she moved off of the stool.

"Go on. He's still in the snug," Polly nodded her head towards the small room with a smile on her face.

——

A few weeks had passed since Tommy and (Y/N) announced their relationship to the family, and things have only gotten better for them since. What hadn't gotten better since that night, on the other hand, was Michael's thoughts towards them.

It seemed like he was just waiting for there to be any sort of affection shown by either of them. One time he got what he wanted. Tommy came to (Y/N) at her desk and asked her if she could get the logs he needed onto his desk before the day was over. It was something mundane and minuscule but it still made (Y/N) feel giddy inside. He always leaned over the desk so that he could be closer to her when they were talking. She agreed to his ask with a smile and accepted the kiss that he pressed to her lips. Her smile only grew as he stood upright again and sent her a wink before making his way to his office.

The smile didn't stick around for long though, because as soon as she looked forward, her eyes fell onto Michael. He pushed himself off of the archway, indicating that he'd been standing there for a little bit, and made his way to (Y/N)'s desk. "I needed to ask Tommy something, but I didn't want to interrupt...are you working hard or hardly working there, (Y/N)?" he quipped, his eyebrows raised as he came to where she was sitting.

"Tommy's in his office," (Y/N) answered him with a flat voice and a straight-faced expression. He was obviously looking for a rise out of her, and she was trying hard not to give it to him.

"Thank you," he responded, the grin on his face telling (Y/N) that he was pleased with his witty statement. She kept her mouth shut as he continued on to Tommy's door, wanting to take the high road in the situation. With a shake of her head, she tried to push his remark out of her mind and get back to working on the itineraries that needed to be finished.

——

The witty remarks from Michael didn't stop there, and they got more and more childish in nature with each time they were uttered. (Y/N) tried to keep her thoughts to herself, but it was starting to get out of hand. She hadn't given him the slightest reason to be making these comments, and she tried her best to be civil with him and work alongside him. But yet he still continued on with his jealousy and sourness.

The usual work day was just ending up when Tommy walked through the halls of the offices announcing that a family meeting would be taking place once they closed down for the night. His last stop was at (Y/N)'s desk.

"Family meeting tonight. I want you there," he told her as he entered the little lobby-typed room her desk was situated in.

"Ok, I will be," she responded with a smile before his words sunk into her mind, "wait..." she paused, her eyes snapping up to Tommy, who had just reached the side of her desk, "you want me at a family meeting?" she asked, emphasizing the word 'family'. She'd sat in on many meetings of the company, but hadn't attended a family meeting before.

"Yeah. You're family, (Y/N)," he answered her question like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She smiled at his words. "I'll be there," she formally assured him then, her statement making the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

—

The rest of the work day passed quickly and, soon enough, the members of the Shelby family were sitting around a table in the betting shop. Tommy stood at the head of it, and (Y/N) was sitting to his right. Esme and John sat in the two seats to the right of her. On the other side of the table sat Arthur, Finn and Michael. Polly was situated at the opposite side of the table from Tommy. Michael was next to her whereas Arthur sat on Tommy's left.

"Ok..." Tommy paused to clear his throat, making all of the side conversations quiet down, "before we begin discussing matters that directly affect this family, are there any company matters that need to be brought up?" he asked the group, glancing around at each person.

"Yeah, is it alright if I ask about how the London expansion is going? Since you boys seem to keep me out of it," Polly spoke up from across the table.

"London's going well," Tommy nodded his head before continuing, "Arthur's got control of the pubs there now. He's making sure that there's very little discrepancies about what's happening within them. We've made contact with Alfie Solomons and have entered agreements on having our men there for protection," he confidently gave her a rundown on what was happening.

"Can you vouch for this, Arthur?" Polly turned her attention to the eldest Shelby brother, who glanced between her and Tommy before nodding his head.

"Yes. We've...we're doing good in the pubs. Profits are coming in steadily," he answered, nodding his head while talking before his eyes went to the table once more.

"Good," Polly nodded before bringing her cigarette up to her lips.

"Anything else?" Tommy asked the room again.

"Yeah, I've got something..." Michael spoke up as he leaned forward in his chair.

"What's that, Michael?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked over at the younger man.

"I was thinking that maybe we shouldn't allow personal relationships to be held within the company," he brought up his point. It was left vague, but (Y/N) knew exactly what relationship he was talking about. It didn't help that he was staring right at her when he said it.

Tommy also seemed to know exactly what he was getting at. "That'll be hard because this company was built on 'em, Michael..." he paused, striking a match to light the cigarette that was perched between his lips, "we're all family here," he then ended his statement by blowing smoke out into the room.

(Y/N) crossed her fingers and hoped that the topic would end there, but Michael wasn't quite finished. "Some of us more so than others," he quipped, his eyes still focused on the woman across the table.

A heavy silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity to (Y/N), but in reality, it only spanned a few seconds. Tommy's voice snapped her out of the haze she was in, "some of us moreso than others, indeed," he agreed as he kept his gaze on Michael, "and if you knew your place in this family, you'd know that you don't fucking talk about any 'personal relationships' that do not concern you. Is that clear?" he paused again, his eyebrows raised as he waited for a definitive answer. Michael only mumbled something incoherent in response. "Is that fucking clear?" he asked again, dropping his voice instead of raising it.

"It is," Michael finally answered through gritted teeth, his gaze leaving (Y/N) to hook onto Tommy.

The two stared at each other for what, once again, felt like an eternity before Polly spoke up: "are you two finished with your childish business that we can get on with this meeting like adults?" she asked them, her eyebrows raised in a pointed look.

The silence held for a few moments after that before Tommy broke the gaze and cleared his throat so that he could continue on with the meeting. (Y/N) really didn't listen to what was talked about after that. Instead she zoned out and got lost in her head, her mind now telling her that she had no right to be sitting at this table anymore, even though she most certainly did.

——

A lot was on (Y/N)'s mind in the days after the family meeting. She couldn't get Michael's words out of her head and wondered if maybe she shouldn't be mixing her personal relationships with her professional ones. She didn't want to leave Tommy though, so the only other thing that she could think of was leaving the company. The company that had become more like a family to her; the company that took her in when she had nothing to her name...the company that she could no longer be a part of because of her relationship with its head.

She entered the betting shop and walked through the floor until she got to Polly's office. Thankfully the woman she was looking for was in her office. She thought that it'd be easier to go to Polly with this rather than Tommy.

"You need something, (Y/N)?" Polly asked as she looked up from what she was working on.

"Not really, no," the younger woman shook her head as she walked further into the office, "I wanted to come and talk to you about something," she continued, explaining why she was there.

"Alright," Polly nodded, setting her pen down on the desk to give the other woman her full attention, "about what?"

"I'm leaving the company," she came right out and said what was on her mind, her words making Polly's eyes widen considerably.

"You're what?" Polly asked, shock in her voice.

"I'm resigning from my spot in the company," (Y/N) repeated herself, a solemn tone in her voice. She didn't want to be doing this, but it was what was right.

"Why so suddenly?" Polly asked another question, "has something happened between you and Tommy?"

"No," (Y/N) shook her head before continuing, "Tommy and I are fine...great even. I'm resigning because I've realized that I shouldn't be mixing my personal relationships with my professional ones."

(Y/N) wasn't even finished speaking before Polly opened her mouth, "Jesus Christ," she breathed with a sigh, "it's because of what was said at the meeting, isn't it?" she asked for some clarification. (Y/N) simply nodded her head before Polly sighed again. "That boy..." she trailed off, shaking her head and glancing across the room for a moment, "he doesn't know what he's talking about, (Y/N). Jealous is all he is," she continued, looking over at her again, "he's my son, but I will not stand by him when he acts like he clearly does not know his place. Your work within this company is valued; regardless of what your relationship with Thomas is...do you understand that?" she ended her statement with raised eyebrows, her eyes locked onto (Y/N)'s.

(Y/N) didn't quite know what to say at first. She blinked a few times, taking time to let the older woman's words sink into her brain. Then, she slowly started to nod. "I understand, Pol," she said in a soft voice as the faintest smile formed on her face.

"Business is up, and I'd say it's because of you," Polly stated, a hint of a grin on her face.

"Pol..." (Y/N) trailed off, her smile breaking through as she looked away and let out a bashful laugh.

"Men work better when they've got a steady woman in their lives...I've seen it myself," Polly continued anyway, her eyebrows lifted slightly to show her seriousness, "and that's definitely the case with Thomas."

(Y/N) couldn't stop her cheeks from heating up as the other woman talked about her relationship. "Thank you, Polly," she found herself awkwardly thanking the woman sitting across from her, "I really needed to hear all of that," she then said sincerely.

"Is that all you needed to discuss?" Polly asked then.

"Yes, that was all," (Y/N) smiled, "'s been taking up my mind and I needed to get it out to someone. I'm happy I chose you," she said as she stood up from the seat she was in.

"I'm available any time you need to talk," Polly smiled at the standing woman.

"Thanks, Pol," (Y/N) said softly as she turned to walk to the door.

Polly's voice stopped her before she could open it: "now will you speak to Michael or shall I?" Her question made (Y/N) turn around and think for a moment.

"I will," she answered after a moment's pause, nodding her head definitively.

"Good," Polly also nodded, a proud expression on her face. Her words were true. Michael may have been her son, but (Y/N) had become like a daughter to her. She hated seeing such a lovely woman so bent up, and she now hoped that she'd have the courage to go speak her mind and put this problem to rest.

——

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) knocked on the door that read 'M. Gray, Chief Accountant' etched into its glass. "Come in," she heard called from the other side. After taking another deep breath for good measure, she turned the knob and opened the door.

"(Y/N)," Michael greeted her from where he was sitting at his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked as he fiddled with his cigarette, a slight grin on his lips.

"You need to drop whatever it is you have against me," (Y/N) came right out and said what was on her mind.

"What?" he asked, surprised by her sudden statement.

"You've been making my life hell here since the day you found out that I chose Tommy over you. I want you to know that I won't have it anymore. You're not the one that I want, Michael. You need to accept that and drop the petty remarks and childish behavior," she further explained her statement, her words dripping in seriousness.

They stared at each other for a few moments. (Y/N) watched him intently as he mulled over the words she’d just said. Then, he clicked his tongue and shook his head slightly. “I have to hand it to you, (Y/N)...I thought you were coming in here for something entirely different,” he admitted, “thought you finally changed your mind.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t,” she was quick to shoot back.

“I’ve yet to understand why...” he trailed off, looking up at her with raised eyebrows.

“You don’t need to know why!” she stressed, her words coming out a little louder than she’d hoped they would. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself before continuing, “what you do need to understand, though, is that if you keep this act up, it will be you who leaves this company, not me,” she made sure that her eyes were locked with his as she finished her sentence so that he’d be able to see the seriousness she held.

Michael’s eyebrows stayed raised as he processed her words. After a few moments, he nodded slightly. “Well said, (Y/N)...well said,” he commended her, a bit of a grin still playing on his lips.

(Y/N) sighed at his witty response. There was no getting through to him, and all hope for a serious conversation had been thrown out the window. So she took a step towards the door so that she’d be able to grab its handle again. Before opening it, she left him with one final sentence: “I liked you much better when you were Henry Johnson.” And with that...she was gone.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicallovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75

MASTERLIST

[pianocat939]

Ah- So the survey resulting in people not wanting me to add other love interests

So it will be turtle oriented only.

I'm gonna start working on the sticks of the...story-

(I'm just gonna be rambling here to start planning + idk if people wanna know more)

Anyway-

I've decided which monster goes to who-

Double-mouthed lady is gonna be Mikey.

The black charro will be Leo.

Bunny Man will be Raph.

And finally Nishi Daak will be Donnie (I was originally planning to do Jiangshi Donnie, but then I decided against it for the sake of plot diversity). Fun Fact: it means The Call of the Night in Bengali apparently.

.

.

.

I'm deciding to introduce each monster in a specific order. The thing I haven't decided yet though is to either shove the whole meeting and horror into one part, or keep it separate for each monster.

Like- the horror is only the initial event to get MC away from them- after their introductory parts I'm thinking to literally send MC into a weird ass plot change-

I don't know where I've thought this but...once MC is in a safe place after encountering all the monsters, they get cursed by something (idk what it is yet) and literally get sent to a fucking mansion where they'll be trapped there for a whole week.

And at the seven days, determines the ending- surprise surprise I'm making 5 endings. (1 for each monster, and a "good" ending)

[The more I write this the more it sounds like some dating sim plot]

This is all I'm gonna reveal to the public for now- cuz obviously, I've just started the process.

I will say I am quite excited to start working on this tho-

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.

.

Oh and one more thing-

Should I make a tag list once I start posting? I know quite a few people do it for their longer fics, and I wondered if I should too...

(If you're certain you wanna be on the tag list just tell me and I'll make a list ahead of time)

Watch me forget the tag list completely when I actually post it lmao-

[morallyinept]

PART 1

Thank you so much to everyone's positive response on this! 🥰 I'm so glad you all thought it was a good idea, and one that you want to get on board with. So many of you too, which is great! I've had to split it in two parts as there was so many of you!

Marcus and I are stoked! 🤗

Below, you'll find the pairings...

Now, the pairings have been done as randomly as possible. I tried to pair with things you might have in common initially, but some profiles are empty or don't have much to give away, so in the end all names were put into a hat and I pulled pairs, so it's as unbiased as possible.

☝🏻This isn't about popularity or numbers, this is about making a new friend in the fandom. If you've been paired with someone you're already speaking with/getting to know, that's great! Continue that friendship.

If you happen to be paired with someone who you've attempted to get to know before and it hasn't panned out so well, why not give it another try?

I can't re-pair you, I'm afraid, as we had even numbers, so I apologise in advance if you end up with someone who you haven't gotten on well with before. (Hopefully, that's not the case.) But you are always free to reach out to me - I love making new friends too!

And please bear in mind, I've tried my best - I'm not responsible for what you guys do and how you interact with one another. Please ensure you're respectful and kind and treat others how you would want to be treated.

And if you need some pointers on starting the conversation, you could try these:

Remember why we're here - Pedro! Have a chat about your favourite roles he's played, or films. Which character of his is your favourite and why? When did you first discover him? Why do you like being a fan of his?

Are you a writer/reader/both? Perhaps you can talk about your favourite fics you've written/read? Again, why did you like them? Same goes if you're an artist or creator of any kind.

Saying a simple hello, how are you? Can lead onto great things. Don't be afraid to say hello and strike up a conversation.

You got any pointers, Marcus?

I mean sure, yeah. That's a great question... personally yes, I like butter with my popcorn. 🍿 Looks like we have something in common, bud!

It's up to you about how much you want to give away about yourself. Stick to your boundaries. Natural friendship will progress how it should - naturally. And those boundaries will become lowered in time. Don't force it, and please, be respectful of one another's boundaries.

If it fizzles out after a few messages exchanged, that's okay. Please don't take it personally. We all have lives off of Tumblr, and it might take some people longer to reply, or they may be really shy. Try not to bombard them with messages.

☝🏻Remember you will only get out of this what you are willing to put in. Please be kind and respectful to one another.

Okay, Marcus, let's get to the pairings...

PAIRINGS:

Anyone that re-blogged or commented on the original post has been included, even if you signal boosted, unless you specifically stated you didn't want to participate. Hopefully I've not missed anyone. Some of you I am not able to tag so I have linked to your profile for your friend to find you. Please reach out to them when you're ready:

@chronically-ghosted & @schnarfer

@maggiemayhemnj & @bubble-pop-eclectic

@kittytiddywinks & @khindahra

@ineedcomfy & @toxic-seduction

@boliv-jenta & @sj66

@deathwife & @perotovar

@itsokbbygrl & @sawymredfox

@toointojoelmiller & @secretelephanttattoo

@jennaispunk & @beefrobeefcal

@qveerthe0ry & @prolix-yuy

@missredherring & @beecastle

@sp00kymulderr & @sydneyinacoma

@innerpersonunknown & @nerdieforpedro

@sin-djarin & @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain

@ishabull & @rhoorl

@katareyoudrilling & @i-love-movies

@myloveistoolittle & @javierpenaispunk

@grogusmum & @quicax3

@all-the-things-2020 & @ghostofaboy

@lizette50 & @nicolethered

Good luck and have fun getting to know one another! Marcus and I would love to hear from you guys about your new friendships too, so please feel free get in contact and let us know how it's going! 🖤

[iridescentoracle]

Hello! I am here to ask about your Dior headcanons re: the political cohesion of Doriath. 👀

Oh man, I didn't expect anyone to actually take me up on that!

(Okay so I got partway into writing this and then realized I should probably note up front that I tend to stick to the Silm (& LOTR/the Hobbit where applicable, but they... aren't, here) as the most authoritative version of canon, and I can get into why and where the nuances/exceptions are there (I do say tend to stick, it's not hard and fast!), but that's mostly a side note here: the point is simply that I don't really factor other drafts or the poetic Leithian into my take on Doriath, Thingol, Dior, etc, just what we're told in the actual Silm. I also read the Silm as an in-universe history text compiled by in-universe scholars, who, being people, are going to have their own biases and blind spots, even when they're doing their best to be accurate!)

So, this is a two-part thing: #1, there's the political cohesion of Doriath before & at the time of Thingol's death, which i talked about in the tags of the post that prompted this ask but is kind of necessary as context for the Dior part to make sense, and #2, there's the actual Dior headcanons. Both of these parts are very long because I've never really seen anyone else suggest any of this stuff and I want to explain where I'm coming from thoroughly enough that it actually makes sense to people who aren't me, but the TL;DRs:

TL;DR 1: I think Doriath was probably a hot mess politically after Thingol died, with tensions between various groups of Sindar and Laiquendi in the leadup to Thingol's death & Melian's departure, and more political tensions afterwards between those who wanted Beren & Lúthien to come be the new rulers, and those who thought they should stay gone, with someone still in Doriath taking over.

TL;DR 2: I think Dior became Eluchil, potentially at the request of some portion of the Iathrim, hoping to help prevent Doriath from devolving into civil war, and saw dealing with the Silmaril-Fëanorioni situation as a lower priority than stabilizing Doriath's internal political situation until it was too late.

1. The political cohesion (or rather, lack thereof) in Doriath prior to Thingol's death

So, okay, the thing about Doriath is that we don't actually have any real idea of like... how much the Iathrim liked being the Iathrim? We're never told about any intra-Iathrim conflict, but a) the Silm was probably compiled mostly by surviving Gondolindrim or their descendants, so they wouldn't know about anything liike that unless surviving Iathrim told them, and after the Second Kinslaying I don't imagine many Iathrim would've been eager to talk about how things had actually been tense/messy/etc when they could remember everything as having been perfect until it was ruined by the Fëanorionrim, and doubly so after the Third Kinslaying, so why would anything like that make it into the Silm?

and b) what we do know about Doriath is that it wasn't really Doriath as we know it until Morgoth came back to Middle-earth, and everything went to hell.

At the start of the first age, you suddenly get Doriath (the fenced land!) being the one protected area of a continent that used to be totally free and open. How many Sindar actually didn't particularly care for Thingol's style of leadership, or simply preferred to live nomadic lives, going basically wherever they pleased, until suddenly that wasn't safe anymore, and you were only guaranteed survival if you were close enough to Menegroth to be within the Girdle when it went up? ditto how many Laiquendi had no interest in swearing loyalty to Thingol right after their own king had just been killed, but again, made it to safety and stayed there over taking their chances on their own in the outside world?

I think it's entirely possible that there were always potential political tensions under the surface in Doriath that just... never got written about, because they never boiled over into actual political conflict, and so it was never the sort of tension that had any bearing on the historical record.

Except then Beren & Lúthien happen to the world, and a few years later the Narn, and in the blink of an eye suddenly the only king Doriath has ever had is dead, and the only queen Doriath has ever had is gone and the Girdle with her—and more than that, the only rulers the Sindar had ever had for three thousand years before Doriath existed.

And where a few years earlier I think the Iathrim would probably have turned pretty universally to Lúthien, now she's abandoned them for her human husband—and while she's my favorite character in the entire legendarium hands-down and I don't blame her, I think that's another place there might have actually been some very mixed feelings among the Iathrim that nobody wanted to admit to later because how could anyone have been upset with Lúthien—and on top of her abandoning them for him, I think it's extremely probable most of Doriath did not actually get over their xenophobia about humans in general or Beren in specific when Thingol did (we know for sure at least some of Doriath didn't, cf. Saeros insulting Túrin's mother & sister to his face), but again, who's going to admit to having had a grudge against the holy couple of Middle-earth after the fact, you know?

Conversely, there could've been a sizeable faction of Sindar who had been totally loyal to Thingol until everything happened with Beren & Lúthien, but who found his actions towards them and/or Finrod to be where they drew the line, and while (unlike B&L themselves) that faction stayed in Doriath, there could've been a new, additional tension on that front.

Finally, for all we know there were multiple factions within the Laiquendi of Doriath, with political tensions stretching back to before their king died, rooted in who-even-knows!

2. Dior

All of that, of course, sets up a very, very messy political situation for Dior to walk into.

The Doriath stuff is arguably more speculation than actual headcanon, but here's where the unambiguous headcanons come in: I don't think "Dior Eluchil set himself to raise anew the glory of the kingdom of Doriath." Obviously that's how it got written down, but bluntly, I can't see Beren and Lúthien having a kid that stupid or, like, power-hungry and arrogant?

What I can see is a situation where the messenger that brought word of Thingol's death and Melian's departure asked Beren & Lúthien to come take over as the new king and queen, we promise we're not mad about you leaving and we won't be xenophobic to your husband anymore we swear it's fine now pretty please, Beren & Lúthien said no, and the messenger either asked Dior as a second choice, or said "okay fine none of that was actually true but Doriath is falling apart and we need a leader ASAP and there's about eight different contenders* (mostly kinsmen of Thingol or Laiquendi) being backed by various factions and it's going to devolve into civil war any minute so if you care at all—" and Dior said "would I do?"

(* Ask me about my Galadriel headcanon)

I don't think Dior necessarily wanted to be king of Doriath, and I don't think he saw the throne as his birthright or anything like that; I don't think anyone involved, from Thingol to Lúthien to Dior himself, ever considered the possibility of Thingol dying and needing an heir! I think it's possible he was asked, or at most that he offered, and either way, I think he saw becoming king as taking on a responsibility for the sake of others.

(Which, like, "well here's a potentially impossible task that I'm going to take up even though probably no one thinks I'm actually capable of it, but it's my duty to help others as best I can" sure does sound to me like an attitude one might develop when raised by Lúthien "I kicked Sauron's ass cast a sleep spell on Morgoth and persuaded the Valar to find a loophole in the fabric of reality" Tinuviel and Beren "I stayed by my father's side as an outlaw to give my mother time to lead the rest of our people away hopefully to safety knowing I would never see her or any of them again (and then spent several years being a giant thorn in Morgoth's side for good measure)" Barahirion, where "apparently my grandpa I may or may not have ever met died, guess that makes me the king of a place i may or may not have ever been" does... not.)

I also think he either took on the epithet Eluchil, or was given it by whichever factions of the Iathrim accepted him as king, when he actually became king. Obviously he's going to be referred to as Dior Eluchil even before that in retrospect because that's how he's thought of later, but that doesn't mean it was actually a name he always had, you know?

The final thing is, I think if Dior essentially walked into a political situation five seconds from devolving into civil war, it makes his inaction regarding the Silmaril prior to the Second Kinslaying make more sense: the Fëanorioni have been sitting around doing nothing about the Silmaril in Doriath / with Beren & Lúthien this whole time, the letter saying "hey that's our Silmaril give it back now" is probably just a formality, and Dior's only been ruling for a couple years, there's still plenty of people dubious about whether he should be king at all, he might well be subject to at least some of whatever xenophobia remains about humans in Doriath, and in general all the work he's done on stabilizing the kingdom will absolutely come undone again if he screws up; he's trying to keep a kingdom from falling apart, the Silmaril thing can wait.

Of course, it wasn't a formality, and it couldn't wait, but why would Dior have known that?

[training4theapocalypse]

A Nest of Vipers (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings / Tags: Smut, Secret Relationship

Summary: Una Montague wouldn't be caught dead dating a Gryffindor. Luckily for her, the feeling was mutual as far as Cormac McLaggen was concerned.

A/N: Dear god, please forgive me for what I wrote while ovulating. First time writing an OFC but I think it's still as hot as reader-insert. OFC and McLaggen are both 18. Also I just want to say that I fucking hate JK Rowling and am gleefully bastardising her work.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, (let me know if you want removed/changed at any point btw!)

Chapter 1: Smudge

The Slytherin common door shut with a thundering echo. Una Montague looked up from her Astronomy homework and locked eyes with Meredith Prewett. Uh-oh.

Professor McGonagall had asked Sabine to stay behind after Transfiguration that day and judging by the way her high heels stomped across the stone as she stormed towards the group of sixth-years sitting by the fire, it had not gone well.

“You’re in my seat,” said Sabine Zabini with a cutting glare. 

Pansy Parkinson sprang up without argument. “Sorry Sabine. Let’s go,” she added to her friends who hastily packed up their things and made themselves scarce.

Una and Meredith rushed over from the little alcove at the lake window as Sabine sank into the onyx wing-backed chair with a woeful groan.

“Sab, are you okay?” fawned Meredith, perching on the arm of Sabine’s chair. 

“If I ever see that old hag again, it’ll be too soon,” she hissed. 

Una sat down on the hard marble table in front of them. “What did she want?” she asked. When McGonagall had asked her to stay behind, Sabine had told Una to go on without her, and so had she made her way down to the dungeons and found Meredith studying in the common room.

“She told me if I want to sit my Transfiguration N.E.W.T., I’d have to start taking remedial Transfiguration lessons with her.”

“No!” gasped Meredith. Una didn’t say anything. She knew from sitting beside Sabine all throughout the previous year that she was lucky to have even made it to seventh-year Transfiguration. But the first few weeks of term had made it apparent that she was not keeping up with the curriculum. 

“Well, of course, I told her where she could stick her remedial Transfiguration.”

“You didn’t!” said Meredith. Sabine caught Una’s eyes before rolling hers.

“Of course, I didn’t, Meredith. No, I thanked her very much for the kind offer but told her I’m withdrawing from the class. Obviously.”

“Oh, Sab,” Una groaned. “You should have just done a few extra lessons with her.”

“Ugh, as if.”

“Who am I going to make fun of her hideous hat with now?” Una smirked, trying to hide her excitement and Sabine returned it. There was one person in Transfiguration who didn’t have a partner and Una was already making silent plans to sit next to him.

Cormac McLaggen. Tall, stupidly beautiful, beautifully stupid Cormac McLaggen. God, she wanted him. But Slytherins and Gryffindors barely spoke to each other here unless completely necessary in lessons. Both houses liked to think they were the others’ opposite. But Una knew that they were simply two sides of the same coin. 

Cormac barely even looked at Una. And for some reason that made Una want him more. 

When she, Sabine and Meredith walked down the corridor arm-in-arm, boys - even the Gryffindors - couldn’t help but stare. Slack-jawed, awestruck, terrified by the trio’s powerful feminine energy. But not Cormac. He was head and shoulders taller than the three of them so he didn’t even need to avert his gaze - he just simply looked over them as if they weren’t there.

Sabine and Meredith (but especially Sabine) would be horrified if they knew about Una’s crush. Sure, he was good looking but it would be social suicide to date a Gryffindor. Even one as well-connected as him - apparently his Uncle was extremely high-up in the Ministry.

Una had a stupid habit of wanting what she couldn’t have. And, fuck, she was desperate to have him. Even just once. Just to find out what he’d be like. He was so big and broad and downright intimidating. But Una was sure she could have him whimpering, begging for her-

“Hello? Earth to Head Girl?” Sabine and Meredith looked at her expectantly. Una blinked a few times and shook her head.

“Sorry - I was thinking about… Transfiguration. What were you saying?”

“Who are you going to sit beside tomorrow?” asked Meredith.

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Una made a show of rolling her eyes. “I’ll probably just sit at the back by myself. I’ll get a lot more work done without you there,” she teased Sabine.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” said Sabine, pulling her long, black braids over her shoulder. “Whatever are you going to do without me leading you astray?”

It wasn’t so much a question of what, thought Una, but who.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A bag landed on Cormac McLaggen’s desk with a thud and he looked up in surprise to see Una Montague perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at him. “You’re good at Transfiguration, right?” she asked abruptly.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Can I sit here?”

What fresh hell was this? What was one of the Vipers doing sitting on his desk? It was rare to see any of them alone. Cormac looked behind her sceptically. “Where’s your friend?”

Sighing heavily, Una pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. “I’ll sit somewhere else.” 

She turned to walk away, swishing her hair as she went. But before she took a step he said quickly, “Wait - yeah, you can sit here.” He supposed it would be poor manners to let a pretty girl, albeit a notoriously mean one, sit by herself at the back of the class when there was a perfectly good empty seat next to him.

“Only if I’m not inconveniencing you.” 

Already feeling like he was about to regret it, he gestured to the seat.

Cormac continued to look unsurely at her as she slid into the seat next to him. “What happened to Sabine?”

Una rummaged in her bag. Cormac expected her to take out her textbook but instead, she withdrew a small, black compact mirror and some lipgloss. “Oh, she dropped Transfiguration...” Cormac watched quietly as the lipgloss wand drew across her lips, spreading a shimmering pink glaze over them. And for some reason, he felt like he should look away. Like he was watching something extremely private. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “She couldn’t handle it.” 

She pressed her lips together and pouted a little in the mirror, examining her neat work. The way she preened herself made Cormac want to reach out and smear the gloss over her face, just to see her reaction.

She snapped the compact shut and jolted him out of his daze with a start. 

“I should give you two for flinching,” she smirked. 

Professor McGonagall strode past them to the front of the class and the chattering students quietened down. She announced that they were going to be working on conjuring birds today.

“Might I remind you that your N.E.W.Ts are only a few months away and none of you are yet to successfully conjure more than a feather.”

The class groaned and got to work, trying with limited success to conjure birds using the Avis spell.

“Why is this so bloody difficult,” grumbled Cormac after some time, concentrating on his wand tip while Una lazily brushed a comb through her hair - her wand abandoned on the table. “Conjuring inanimate objects? Fine. But birds…”

“Have a lot of trouble with birds, then?”

“Oh, very funny.”

“I’m serious. I’ve never even seen you with a girl.”

Cormac lowered his wand and turned in his chair slightly. Oh, so this was why she sat here, was it? He couldn’t deny she was good-looking. But still, a Slytherin.

“Oh yeah, been watching me, have you?”

“I’m just very observant.”

“I’m single if that’s what you’re asking?”

Una rolled her eyes. “You wish, Cormac.”

Cormac leaned back in his chair and looked her over, resting his arm on the backrest as he did.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked innocently, putting her brush in her bag before raising her wand and pretending to concentrate on conjuring birds.

“I’ve never seen you with anyone. Except for the Vipers. Or is that a thruple situation?”

“The Vipers?”

“You know, Slytherin’s other monsters. Sabine and Meredith.”

Una laughed. He had half-expected a shrill cackle. But her laugh was warm, even genuine. “Oh, so is that what they’re calling us in Gryffindor Tower?

He shrugs. 

“It’s catchy.”

“So? Are you?”

She too lowered her wand and leaned in closer to him. “Are you asking if we fuck each other?” she murmured, staring intently into his green eyes. “Are you picturing me rolling around in the sheets with them in the Slytherin girls dorm? Making them moan my name?” she teased.

Cormac paused and swallowed. “What if I am?” he said, and was pleased when it sounded more confident than he felt. They were both playing with Fiendfyre, talking like this so brazenly in the classroom. But he wasn’t sure who was more skilled in this Dark Art.

“I should slap you,” Una said, moving closer still so he could hear her barely audible admonishment. He felt her bare leg in her stupidly short skirt pressing against his.

“Don’t. I can only get so hard.”

Her eyelashes dipped as she looked down at his lap. Una drew a sharp inhale when his fingers twitched suddenly towards his belt.

He smirked.

“I was joking. But I should give you two for flinching.”

Uno looked up again at him coolly. “You’re not gonna give anything to me.”

“Oh yeah?” He gave her an arrogant smile as if he found it hard to believe. “Why’s that?”

“First of all, I’m not that easy. And second of all, I wouldn’t be caught dead dating a Gryffindor.”

“Who said anything about dating? What if  -”

“Miss Montague, Mr McLaggen. Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Silence fell over the class again and Una and Cormac turned hastily in their seats to face the front.

“I was just explaining the theory, Professor” Una said sweetly, seemingly unphased by the interruption.

“Then perhaps you could demonstrate?” Professor McGonagall challenged, calling her bluff.

Una pointed her wand and out shot six yellow twittering canaries.

McGonagall’s lips pursed together in a thin line. Cormac was sure she was about to award Una points but instead she addressed him. “And Mr McLaggen?”

Cormac extended his own wand. A stream of feathers erupted from the end and floated down onto the floor. Una bit her lips, trying to stifle a snicker at his expense.

Any further embarrassment on his part was saved when the bell rang signalling the end of class and McGonagall dismissed them.

“I suppose I’ll see you on Friday?” asked Una casually, positioning her bag on her shoulder.

“Thursday.”

“The next lesson’s not 'til Friday.”

“Slughorn’s dinner thing. You’re not ditching it again, are you?”

“I don’t know… Sabine and Meredith say it’s a waste of time, sucking up to an old has-been like Slughorn.”

“They don’t need to come.”

“Trying to get me alone, Cormac?”

Cormac laughed. “It might just be nice for you to make some new friends. You’re not that bad when you’ve slithered away from the Viper’s nest.”

Una narrowed her eyes. “I happen to like my current friends, thank you very much.”

“Sure but I only meant  -”

“Believe it or not, I don’t actually care what anyone from your house thinks of me or my friends. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my thruple.”

And with that, Cormac watched as Una strutted out of the classroom, leaving him to kick himself for managing to fumble the quaffle so hard - right when it was going his way too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you miss me terribly, Una?” cooed Sabine when Una found her and Meredith beside the common room fire that afternoon.

“It was the worst,” she said, plopping herself down on the sofa, watching the way the fire danced against the green tiles. “McGonagall picked on me and didn’t even give me a measly point for doing the Avis spell correctly. And nonverbally I might add.”

“Typical,” said Meredith. “It’s so unfair. She hates us.”

“Who did you end up sitting next to?” asked Sabine, flicking through her magazine.

“Erm, that guy… McLaggen,” said Una, as if his name was of little consequence.

“Not that oaf.”

“I know,” said Una. “And it’s not like I could even copy him - he was about as useful as a chocolate cauldron. I’m surprised he’s not in remedial Transfiguration.”

Sabine laughed but Meredith paused thoughtfully.

“He is quite handsome though, isn’t he? And rich, I think.”

“Eugh, Meredith. You have terrible taste,” said Sabine.

Una quickly copied Sabine’s look of disgust while Meredith backtracked.

“I just meant he’s alright to look at. Still a Gryffindor though, obviously.”

“And an idiot. Didn’t you hear how he ended up in the hospital wing last year? Eddie Carmichael dared him to eat Doxy Eggs for a bet. Some Head Boy he is, Una. Between him and McLaggen, you’ll have your work cut out for you this year.”

Una wrinkled her nose.

“Poor Una,” said Meredith sympathetically.

“I did find out some good gossip though,” said Una raising her eyebrows and leaning back on the sofa. “The Gryffindors call the three of us The Vipers.”

“That’s rude,” said Meredith but Sabine shrieked in a fit of giggles.

“I love it!” she laughed. “We really are just living in their heads, aren’t we?”

Una grinned. “I know.”

Sabine closed her magazine and stood up. “Let’s go down to the Great Hall. I’m starving. What do vipers eat anyway?”

“If they’re anything like Ashwinders then insects. Raw eggs,” said Meredith in an attempt to be helpful.

“That’s disgusting, Meredith,” said Sabine, linking her arm through Una’s. Meredith hurriedly latched on to her other side. 

“Speaking of dinner,” Una said. “I’m thinking about going to Slughorn’s on Thursday.”

“Ugh, pass,” said Meredith.

“Why?” asked Sabine, giving Una a shrewd look. “Blaise said it was terribly boring.”

“I know but I probably ought to as Head Girl. Bit of a snub if I don’t go twice. And maybe it’ll help my marks in potions.”

“You reckon?” asked Meredith.

“Well, it can’t hurt my marks if he likes me.”

“That’s a good point,” said Sabine thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll come too then. I need all the help I can get since I’ve got one less N.E.W.T. this year.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shit, thought Una. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blaise Zabini was waiting in the common on Thursday night when Sabine, Una and Meredith finally ascended from the girl’s dormitory.

“Mum was complaining you’ve not written to her yet,” he told Sabine.

“I’ve been busy.”

“All four N.E.W.Ts proving to be time consuming, then?”

“Shut up.”

The four of them made their way along to Professor Slughorn’s office. They opened the door to find several plush seats already occupied around the extravagantly decorated table. Una felt irked when she noticed McLaggen was notably absent. This whole thing really would have been a waste of time if he didn’t turn up after all.

“Welcome, welcome!” Boomed Professor Slughorn. “So nice of you to join us. Blaise, good to see you again - and you’ve brought your sister!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me,” said Sabine graciously as they found their seats and Slughorn beamed. Sabine had such a way of making people feel flattered, even special just from her presence. 

“And our Head Girl, Miss Montague. And Miss Prewett! I taught your father, you know.”

“Yes, sir. He spoke extremely highly of you,” said Meredith, sitting down.

Una sat on Sabine’s right, leaving a few seats next to her empty. Just in case, said a small voice in her head.

Slughorn began introducing everyone. Una was surprised to notice the way Blaise’s eyes lingered on a fifth-year girl, Ginny Weasley. Though she wasn’t sure if it was distaste or something entirely opposite. Interesting. Una didn’t say anything - she just made a mental note of it, the way she so often did with snippets of potentially damning information.

Slughorn’s office door opened again and Una looked to see Eddie Carmichael entering. Her heart sank as she turned back around again.

“You could have held it open,” said Cormac McLaggen’s voice. Una froze, not daring to glance at the door, incase Sabine noticed her constant fidgeting in her seat.

“Sorry, mate,” said Eddie, pulling out the free seat beside Una.

Cormac slid into the open chair before Eddie could. “That’s more like it, cheers mate.” He looked at Una. “Alright? - ouch!” 

Eddie slapped the back of Cormac’s head before sitting down on his other side. Cormac ran his hand through his dark, curly blonde hair.

“Idiots,” scoffed Sabine under her breath.

And Una had to agree. 

Cormac shuffled his seat in closer to the table. His shoulders were so broad that Una could feel his arm pressing up against her. Even if she folded her arms, she could still feel him, taking up far too much space.

As the evening went on, they listened to Slughorn regale stories of all the famous students he had taught, each of them members of what he called his ‘Slug Club’. Every time he said the name it made Una cringe. He fawned over Cormac, asking him about his father’s Ministry connections, praised Meredith’s dad’s apparent Potions prowess as a youth and asked Sabine and Blaise what their famous mother was up to. He didn’t have any questions for Una. Although Una was pleased about this - it seemed like only she, Eddie Carmichael and for some reason, Ginny Weasley, were here because of their own merits.

After dinner, Slughorn summoned a bottle of Elf-made wine with a flourish of his wand. “Just for those who are of age,” he chided the younger students in a sing-song voice, “And only a glass each. Or else you’ll need an Awakening Draught tomorrow!” He chuckled. “And speaking of which - “ Slughorn looked at the seventh-years mischievously, “- you’d do well to brush up on that ahead of our lesson on Monday.”

Sabine grinned at Una and Meredith. It had been worth enduring the evening after all, if they were getting tips about the following class.

As Una drank her glass of wine, she felt Cormac’s leg brush against hers. Maybe the wine had emboldened her but she didn’t shrink away. Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning her leg against his. 

On Una’s left, Sabine and Blaise began sniping at each other again when Blaise suggested that their mother might send her a howler. On her right, Cormac was telling Eddie about his plans to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

Una lifted her glass to her lips but paused when she felt something. A large, warm hand grazing her bare leg. Cormac’s. She looked down but her lap was covered by the tablecloth. 

She moved in closer to the table and Cormac made to withdraw his hand when he felt her shift but she placed her own hand firmly on top of his, before returning hers to the table.

Cormac continued talking to Eddie as if nothing had happened while Una felt his hand trail further up her leg and under her skirt. She took another sip of wine and pretended to listen interestedly as Slughorn started waxing lyrical about a friend he had who was writing a biography about a Vampire.

“I simply must introduce you to Eldred Woprle, Miss Carrow. He has a lot of contacts at the Daily Prophet, you know.”

Una felt blood rushing below her waist as Cormac’s fingertips traced across her inner thigh. Her own hand gripped her wine glass with more force than was necessarily required, just for something to keep herself steady.

“I was sort of hoping Potter would be here tonight. It’d be good to get him on side before tryouts.”

“I don’t know why you’re arsed, mate. I keep telling you - football. Now that’s a real game.”

The plush, cozy room now felt stiflingly hot. Adrenaline coursed through Una’s body as she shakily raised her glass to her lips to try and hide her face. Cormac’s hand skirted over the crux of her thigh. Wine met her lips as she tilted her glass, letting the fruity, slightly sour liquid infiltrate her mouth.

“Well maybe I’ll tell Mum that you’ve got detention with Flitwick already - then we’ll see who gets a howler.”

Una’s heart raced in her chest. The several conversations going on in the room turned to white noise. Slowly, carefully, so as not to brush against Sabine, Una moved her legs apart. A silent invitation. She breathed shakily as she felt Cormac’s fingertips slip under the hem of her soaking wet underwear.

“My my!” cried Slughorn suddenly, causing Una to flinch and inhale an entire mouthful of wine. “Look at the time!” Cormac quickly removed his hand as Una began choking and spluttering.

Sabine gave her a concerned look as she coughed. “Are you alright? You’re bright red.”

Una wiped her lips, trying to compose herself quickly. “I’m - I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just went down the wrong way. And wine makes my cheeks flush.” She extracted her compact mirror and lipgloss, re-applying it hastily.

“It’s gone straight to your face too, mate,” said Eddie Carmichael, looking at Cormac. 

Cormac laughed and touched his hand to his warm face. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose it does a bit.” 

Una looked at him and felt herself flush even deeper when she saw him press two fingers thoughtfully against his lips. They were wet.

“Oh, how time flies when you’re having fun. You’d all better be off back to your dormitories. And if Mr Filch gives you any trouble, you just send him straight to me,” said Slughorn, waving his hand in the air.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Sabine, standing up abruptly.

Una pushed her chair back and followed her, Meredith and Blaise out of the room without so much of a backwards look.

As soon as they got out into the corridor, Meredith laughed.

“What a drag that was. Honestly, it would be worth failing Potions if I never had to endure that again.”

“I know,” agreed Sabine.

“I think I preferred it to another evening with Malfoy and the rest,” scoffed Blaise. “They’re always brooding these days. And I suppose the wine wasn’t too bad. If you don’t choke on it, that is.”

“Hilarious,” said Una.

“What did you think, Una? You were unusually quiet.”

Una’s abdomen tingled. Her brain worked overtime to come up with an excuse while blood rushed in her ears.

“Well, I had you lot squabbling on my left and two idiots on my right talking non-stop about Quidditch.” Una rolled her eyes convincingly. “But it wasn’t too dreadful. At least we know what’s coming up in Potions on Monday.”

“Well, that’s it sorted then. You can go with Blaise next time and report back to Meredith and I if Slughorn gives us any more hints,” said Sabine, with finality. 

Una mulled this over, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. It certainly would be easier to talk to Cormac McLaggen if she only had one person keeping an eye on her. She could hardly just be expected to talk to Blaise and only Blaise all night. She was allowed to network, right? And perhaps, she thought, Blaise would like to network with Ginny Weasley.

“Fine,” said Una. “But you owe me. Big time.”

Sabine linked her arms between Una and Meridith as they sauntered along the corridor to the dungeons. Una still felt faintly embarrassed about her unseemly choking display. With her free arm, she searched for her mirror in her tiny handbag, wondering if she had any wine down her front.

“Shit,” said Una, stopping and the four of them halted. “I think I left my compact.”

Meredith groaned. “I’m not going back in there. If I have to hear anything else about Vampires-”

“It’s fine - go ahead. I’ll see you two in the dormitory. See you later, Blaise.”

Una untangled herself, turned on her heels and passed the last few stragglers leaving Slughorn’s dinner party.

Her heels clicked as she walked back up the deserted corridor and around the corner.

“Forget something?”

Cormac McLaggen was sitting on a window ledge in the dark hallway, checking himself out in Una’s little black mirror. He snapped it shut and hoisted himself off the stone ledge, walking towards her.

Una extended her palm expectantly.

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, standing in front of her. Una looked up at him as he towered over her. He was so tall she had to strain - her face was only at eye level with his chest.

“Avada Kedavra?” suggested Una, attempting to snatch the compact from his hands but he reacted quickly, pulling it out of her reach.

“Ooh, not quite,” he grinned.

She took a step towards him, their chests almost touching as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Please, Cormac?”

He hadn’t expected her to surrender so quickly. Cormac grudgingly gave her the compact back and they stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them daring to address what had just happened in Slughorn’s office.

“You know, that lipgloss is very pretty,” he said, curling two fingers under Una’s chin. Her heart pounded in her chest again as she looked up into his strikingly green eyes. His own lips were rosy, tinged slightly pink from drinking the same wine. “Too pretty.”

Cormac took his thumb and slowly dragged it across her bottom lip, smearing it down her chin. He squeezed her face roughly and Una smacked his hand away, scowling.

“There. That’s better.” He gave her an arrogant smirk. “See you tomorrow.”

Una let out a scoff of disbelief as Cormac walked away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. 

She opened her compact and examined herself in the mirror - a pink, glittering streak was smudged across her chin and there were faint red marks from where he squeezed her face.

He was right, she thought as she looked at her slightly dishevelled appearance, she did look better like this.

Chapter 2: Struggle

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day. 

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered. 

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead. 

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.  

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead. 

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.” 

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him. 

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing. 

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end. 

“Racetrack Higgins.” 

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.” 

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?” 

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?” 

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.” 

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself. 

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.” 

Jack said nothing. 

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him. 

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely. 

Jack snorted. 

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted. 

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later. 

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.” 

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful. 

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down. 

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there. 

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all. 

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them. 

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say. 

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church. 

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant. 

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.” 

“He was never going to tell you that story.” 

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?” 

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing. 

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.” 

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name? 

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him. 

Albert would know how to fix this. 

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations. 

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started. 

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck. 

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him. 

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.” 

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend. 

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert. 

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?” 

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food. 

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?” 

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows. 

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing. 

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look. 

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals. 

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide. 

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.” 

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.” 

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking. 

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.” 

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away. 

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.” 

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time. 

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed. 

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?” 

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.” 

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time. 

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.” 

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said. 

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms. 

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.” 

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered. 

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump. 

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point. 

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

[teaveetamer]

I am curious, I've been watching the discourse going on for a bit without getting involved and at this point I feel like I have to ask.

What is the desired result here? Why are you engaging in the discourse at all? Clearly this is not a discussion, so what do you gain from interacting at all?

(I will send this to several people, just out of curiosity)

Alright anon allow me to explain what's been going on with me on my end.

The year is 2019 (yes, we're doing this). FE3H has just come out. I play it and rather enjoy it actually. I've got a couple of ships that I'm into, some fanfic I want to write, etc.

I go onto Reddit to chat with people about the game. Now I don't really like Edelgard, but I'm chill, I'm open to discussing the game and getting alternate viewpoints. Initially it's more or less fine.

Then some posts start coming up. People start getting really aggressive about this. I'm trying to have a conversation, but it feels like their goal is just to shout me down. I get in arguments, I get in fights, I get misgendered, I get called a bigot, I get frustrated, I get ablest rhetoric spewed at me, and I waste my life.

Stop. Take a look at myself. I'm literally sitting here arguing about Edelgard von fucking Hresvelg for hours of my day. I'm annoyed, I'm irritated, I'm always in a bad mood. Ugh.

Now it's 2020, early times I think. I resolve to stop looking at Reddit so much with regard to this game. It's not worth the hassle and the frustration. I should be, like, out doing things and having fun not wasting my time arguing with a bunch of weirdos on the internet. I want to have fun again, not be angry. I delete the Reddit app from my phone and install a blocker on my web browsers, even.

Start using Tumblr for more than just shippy stuff, and find people who agree with me, who are saying the things I've been saying. I stop feeling crazy for liking the game the way I like it. I make a few posts on my main blog but you know what, I don't really want my main blog embroiled in this shit, though I want to add my voice to the conversation. So I make this side blog.

Make some posts. I get flooded with asks from other people about the game, saying they agree with me and they're thankful that they aren't the only ones who think the way I do. I think within like a month of existing this blog had double the posts of my main blog (which has existed since 2016, so for four years at that point), most of them from asks.

The blog was initially for me to vent and throw in my two cents here and there, but I figure I'll keep it around in regular use because people seem to be benefiting from it.

Early on I tried to establish a rule for myself that 1) I wasn't going to go looking in any main tags (e.g. the Edelgard or Edelgard Positive tags) for stuff to reblog or talk about, and 2) I wasn't going to go into any Edelgard specific spaces looking for stuff to talk about (e.g. r/Edelgard or even Dimitri-critical tags). However, anything maintagged that was looking for a fight (e.g. a Dimitri-critical post in the main Dimitri tag) was fair game.

I'm not perfect, but I did try to stick to that rule. I talked about things that happened on the main FE Sub or FEH sub. I did my best to encourage my anons to not go seeking out stuff to bring back to me from Edelgard spaces. After all, this blog was meant for venting and having my own personal space where I could talk about my views without getting accosted. I thought it would be petty for me to go bring back stuff from other places.

Moving into 2021, I was kind of done with 3H. I was still getting like dozens of asks a day about 3H discourse. I'd answer one and five more would pop up in their place. By now we're like, well beyond 3x or 4x the amount of posts I have on my main blog. I'm getting kind of tired of it. It's a lot of the same points over and over and over. We're in pandemic times, so I can't even walk away from it and do something else IRL for a while before coming back to it. I feel like I'm wasting my life again. I feel like I've said anything and everything I could have possibly said about the subject. I ask people to stop talking to me about Edelgard. Eventually, everyone mostly obliges.

I still chat about it here and there, but I'm chatting about other stuff too. This blog is still about venting just about venting about more than 3H. A lot more petty fandom shit in general.

Now we're in, like, 2022. I don't remember exactly, Pandemic Time makes some of this a bit of a blur. I notice a new kid on the block, doing basically what I'd noticed happening on Reddit. Going into the wrong tags. Picking fights. Posting things in the wrong tags. Picking fights.

I'm over it, I'm done, I don't want to deal with this shit anymore. I block the dude. Most people I know block the dude or ignore him. We figure he's new here, he just hasn't learned the etiquette.

He gets increasingly hostile. I'm not really paying that much attention, just getting info about it from the fringes. Again, we figure eventually he'll just go away if we ignore him.

Then Nilsh gets harassed off the platform.

My mutuals are getting increasingly hostile anons and combative reblogs.

At this point I'm relatively unaffected. I guess because I don't tag anything, so he didn't find it.

And you know what? I'm still like "he'll get bored. He'll leave eventually." We were all like "just ignore him, he'll leave eventually."

People try to explain tags to him. Try to help him curate his experience so he quits arguing with people who don't want to talk to him all the time.

Then Moonlitboar gets harassed off of the platform. They take the URL. He's bragging about having done it. He's spreading this vitriol to other platforms and convincing others to join in on the harassment.

And I'm like. Okay. This dude isn't leaving. This is what he wants. His goal isn't to talk about this game—his goal is to hurt us.

I unblock him and respond. We go back and forth. He stops... for a time.

Here's the thing. I didn't re-block him after that, and I didn't do that for a couple of reasons. First, because at this point I'm still hopeful that he's just unaware of what he's doing, and that he'll acknowledge how messed up it was and apologize. I'm all for second chances. The second, because he's dangerous and I'm worried that if I don't keep tabs on him, he's going to try to hurt me.

It's not long until he's doing the same shit again. He tries harassing BWIIDT, he tries harassing FantasyInvader, he tries harassing Ezra, he tries harassing RandomNameless, he tries harassing Emblemxeno, he tries harassing Gascon, he tries harassing people I've literally never even heard of. I keep calling him out, and he tries harassing me. He calls me hysterical, accuses me of acting like a victim. Tries to make me feel stupid and small by saying I don't have anything worth his attention to respond to.

(By the way dude, my point about that was that you were being misogynistic but treating discourse like it was only worth responding to if it came from a man. See, I noticed that you only liked to attack people you thought were cishet white men like yourself, even if we were saying basically the same things at times. The fact that you continue not "debunking" any of my posts doesn't upset me; it proves my point)

He blocks me. I can't say for certain why, but my bet is that he realized people were actually listening to what I had to say, and having a queer woman question the actions he purported to be for the benefit of queer women wasn't a great look for him.

He's still trying to harass me. He's taking screenshots, he's using my name, he's @ ing me. He's casually lying about me. He's using sexist rhetoric implying that I shouldn't be listened to because I'm just too ~in my feelings~ and he's the true victim of my hysterical victimized martyr complex (geez, you sure a a feminist ally for that one, aren't you?)

You know, I did actual research when one of my anons accused him of being a trump supporter and tried to lie about him? I burned an entire evening on that, because I didn't want to be spreading lies about people. Meanwhile he lets his anons casually and repeatedly misgender me without so much as a passing correction, and he hangs out with people who spread lies and slander accusing others of heinous crimes.

And you know what? If I knew it was going to be like this? I'd still waste that evening and correct that anon. It's not about getting a petty win or convincing people he's a bad person for me. It's about being respected.

So to get back to your question. Why am I doing this? Because I have to. Because I know that if I don't he's going to hurt someone else, just like how he hurt Nilsh and Moonlitboar. The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior, after all. We ignored him and he didn't leave, so now we have to say something.

What's the desired result? I want to be respected, like I've tried to respect them for almost the entirety of this blog's existence. I want my boundaries acknowledged. I want him to stop hurting people for no other reason than to hurt them, because they don't agree with him.

When will I stop? When he stops.

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Hung the Moon (Chapter 6)

Chapter 5 | Masterlist | Chapter 7

Pairings: Marc Spector x f!Reader, Steven Grant x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Summary: You go to Marc for help. 

Rating: Mature

Content: ANGST! Language, violence, gun violence (no descriptions of gore)

Word count: 4K

A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments!!!

A few notes for this part: 

1. I’m mostly following the canon of the show and the events in this series occur some time after season 1. However, I’ve completely removed Layla from the story. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE her in the show. I just didn’t want to tackle Marc and Layla divorcing (because I really like them together) but I also wanted Marc to be single, so…

2. I’ve included some elements from the Marvel comic’s universe, but I am only somewhat familiar with their histories in the comics, so I’m making up pretty much whatever I want here. While these things are elements of the story, it’s not important to understand anything about them. However, if you are familiar with the artifact (finally revealed here) and what it can do, I really loved the idea of Marc having it all this time and not using it. I may expand on that in a later part, I may not.

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst

~~~

The streets are wet when you leave your hotel, but you barely notice. The rain has stopped, but you barely notice. The sky is clear with the full moon shining bright, but you barely notice.

You probably shouldn’t be walking this late at night, but instead of calling a car, you try Jake again. You know he won’t answer, but you try him again.

Your feet pound the pavement - harder than is necessary - as if you need to be reminded that you’re solid, you’re on the earth, you haven’t drifted away.

You cross the street and step right into a puddle. It doesn’t slow you down, not even when the water soaks into your sock and the chill sets into your skin. 

Their flat is farther than you remembered. How long have you been walking?

You’re standing outside their door. How did you get there so quickly? You raise your fist to knock. Who’s going to answer? You rap your knuckles on the wood. Who do you want to answer?

Earlier, after Jake had left your hotel, you fell asleep again. You woke a few hours later, the last rays of the sun casting a dim glow through your window. Steven had texted you while you were sleeping and you messaged him back. Then you got a bite to eat at that place on the corner you kept passing and had been wanting to check out. You got the number three with the special sauce. It was fucking delicious. You don’t remember now how it tasted.

You knock again, louder this time.

After sleeping all day, you couldn’t get to sleep that night. You turned on the TV and watched some reality show about famous people living in a house together and hooking up. You didn’t know who any of them were. But after two episodes you had opinions. It was as they were revealing who got voted off that week that the text came through.

You should have been sleeping. You shouldn’t have seen the text until the morning. But you weren’t and you did. You saw it right away.

The locks are clicking open on the other side of the door.

You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. If you’d had any other choice, you wouldn’t be. But you can’t wait around for another week - or more - to talk to Jake. You can’t even wait another hour. You have to do something.

Now.

The door swings open. He’s wearing blue striped pajama bottoms and a grey T-shirt with the neckline all stretched out. He’s barefoot. His hair is sticking up in the back. He’s squinting at you through tired eyes. You don’t know who he is.

Neither of you says anything.

He blinks a few times. Then his eyes widen and he smiles.

“Steven,” you say, and you do a poor job of hiding your disappointment. It had to be Steven, you think bitterly. This couldn’t have been easy, could it?

“Hiya,” he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He steps aside to let you in. Your waterlogged shoe squeaks against the floor as you enter. The lamp beside the bed is lit, the only source of light in the place. It illuminates the ring of sand and the ankle restraint trailing from its post to where it’s stretched out in front of the bed. The light only barely reaches you and Steven. His face is deep in shadow, but you can make him out well enough.

As though just realizing it, he says, “It’s the middle of the night, love. Is everything alright?”

He’s standing so close to you. You could reach out to him and he’d wrap his arms around you, your face against his chest, inhaling his scent. You clear your throat, but even still you barely get the word out. “No.”

His brow knits together in concern. It would be cute if it weren’t so painful to see him worried for you. Steven’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve what you’re about to do.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Um…” You stare at Steven’s hands - nervously folded together at his stomach - while you think.You have a choice to make. You can confess everything to Steven, hope that he cares enough about you to reveal what he knows - if he knows anything at all. You can ask for Jake, revealing the alter who, for some reason, wants to stay a secret. Or you can ask for Marc, who you promised not to go to.

You lift your gaze to look into Steven’s eyes, willing Jake to appear. If he would just show up, you wouldn’t have to hurt Steven, you wouldn’t have to betray Jake. He could help you fix this…right?  But if there is someone else listening, it’s not Jake.

Steven tilts his head, waiting for you to say something.

You give yourself one last moment. To remember his face so full of concern for you, so full of caring. Then, like a coward, you squeeze your eyes closed because you can’t bear to watch his heart break. You open your mouth and say the words. You don’t recognize your own voice. “I need to speak with Marc.”

Out of all your options, Marc seems to be the most straightforward. The most transactional. And that’s what you need right now. A quick exchange. No emotions. No mess.

Steven doesn’t say anything, and you wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. You open your eyes and flinch when you see the pain in his face. Despite this, he says, rather unconvincingly, “‘Marc?’ I don’t- I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He’s going to make you say it again. “Steven. Please.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I need to speak to Marc.”

A range of emotions travel across his face - none of them good. His face contracts, all of his features draw in tight, shutting everything out. When he opens his eyes, it’s not you that he looks at. He addresses the small, square mirror on the wall by the door, saying, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You look in the mirror and see the dark silhouette of Steven’s reflection and nothing more. You’re aware that he’s speaking to Marc, but you keep your mouth shut.

He listens for a moment, then he turns to you. “How do you know about Marc?” he asks. “How long have you known?” From the guilty look on your face, he concludes, “The whole time. What a sod I am.”

He turns back to the mirror. “Did you know about this?” Then, defensively, “I dunno what to believe, do I?…No, I’ll handle it.” 

He’s barely able to look at you as he says, “I think you should leave now.”

All you want to do in that moment is run away, but instead you say, “I can’t do that, Steven.”

“I’m not giving you the body,” he says to Marc, his volume rising.

He looks at you in a way you’ve never seen him look at you before. In disgust. You weren’t prepared for that, but you know you deserve it. And anyway it’s better than facing his misery. With a forced evenness, he asks, “What is it that you need from Marc?”

“Is that Marc?” you ask him cautiously as you point to the mirror. “Is he talking to you?”

“What is it that you need?”

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. “I’d really prefer to speak to Marc directly.”

He’s struggling. He glances over at the mirror and listens. He gives you one last look - one of utter betrayal.

A moment later that look of betrayal is wiped from his face, replaced with a hard, cold stare. It’s so jarring that you feel your body jolt in response.

You’re face to face with the mercenary at last.

He folds his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge against the cuffs on his T-shirt, and leans one shoulder against the side of the bookshelf. “You better start talking. Now.” The London accent is gone, replaced by a subtle Chicago one.

You shiver from a sudden chill in the air - whether that’s Marc’s effect or faulty heating, you don’t know. It makes you stammer and his scowl deepens. “I-I work for someone who’s looking for something you have.”

“What?” he spits out.

“The Siege Perilous.” You feel strange saying the name of the legendary amulet aloud. Its value lies not in its age or the gold and precious stone it’s made from, but rather from the rumor that it has mystical power. You don’t believe in that, but your boss wants it - for reasons unknown to you - and what your boss wants, he gets.

Whatever Marc thought you were going to say, that wasn’t it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wow, you think. He’s a really bad liar.

“Bullshit. I know you have it. It was first uncovered at the dig site of the Tintagel ruins, 12 years ago. It was lost when the site was raided by thieves. You were one of those thieves. You took the Siege Perilous for yourself and never handed it over. And now I need it. I can pay you for it.”

He listens to you, calmly. Completely unperturbed by how much you know. All he says is, “I don’t want your fucking money.”

“You’ll kill people for money but you won’t hand over one lousy amulet?” 

A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Do you even know how dangerous it is?”

You want to laugh even though it’s not funny. “I don’t fucking care!”

“Who do you work for?” He tosses the question out there as a challenge. Not in so much as he’s expecting an answer. More like he wants you to know he’s got your number.

“That’s not important.”

He doesn’t budge. Just stands there with his arms crossed, staring at you, his eyes half-lidded, his expression guarded. The burble of the fish tank fills the silence.

“For fuck’s sake,” you say. “Just name your fucking price!”

You get no reaction from him, and that really pisses you off. You don’t understand him. You really thought that he would have a price. But he doesn’t seem to be interested in anything. In fact, he seems rather bored by the conversation.

Quietly, you ask, “What do you want for it?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. No one is ever getting their hands on it again.”

He’s calm and sure, and that tells you that there’s no persuading him. You have no play left. This is it. This is where it ends. You tell yourself you won’t cry in front of this man. But the tears fall anyway.

“Shit. Fuck,” you say turning from him and trying to blink them away. There’s nothing for it though, they are streaming down your face now.

You try to inhale, but you gasp for breath instead. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You try again and your throat makes a loud hiccuping sound but if you managed to take in any air, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Your vision narrows to just the floor beneath your feet. You’re not aware that he’s touching you until he’s tilting your head up and his face swims into view. As though from a distance, you hear him say, “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

You try gulping air again and your throat makes a horrific squawking sound instead.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just keep breathing.”

Suddenly his head falls back until he’s facing the ceiling, and his eyes roll up into his head. A wild thought occurs to you: That you’ve both been poisoned somehow, and are now dying. Because that’s what this feels like. It feels like you’re dying and you desperately want it to stop.

But then he recovers and his hands are cupping your face, the gentle pressure from his palms grounding you, the soft pads of his thumbs wiping away your tears. “Necesito que respires, necesito que te calmes, mi vida.”

You feel relief and terror in equal measure. You try so desperately to speak to him, it makes it even harder to breathe. He presses his forehead to yours and he makes gentle shushing sounds.

You don’t know how long you stand there with him. He stays with you through it all, with one hand rubbing calming circles along your back, he occasionally whispers soothing words to you. When your breathing finally steadies and no fresh tears wet your cheeks, you whisper, “I’m sorry. Jake, I’m so sorry. I know I promised.”

“Mi amor,” he says tenderly and he rubs the spot between your eyes, smoothing the crease there. “What happened?”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you pull out your phone and open the video your boss sent you. You hand it to Jake. You don’t want to watch it. Again.

You know it too well. The lighting is poor, but there’s a woman. Her hair covers half her face, but the face is familiar. The men, deep in shadow, move around her, but she is unmoving - bound as she is to a chair, by both hands and feet, in the center of a dark warehouse. The camera moves in on her face. A tear slides down the visible half of her face and soaks into the gag tied around her mouth. She looks like you.

His head snaps up to you. “I have 48 hours,” you croak out. “To deliver. Or they hurt her.”

“She’s your…?”

“My sister,” you whisper as if saying it any louder would somehow cause her to break.

He mutters a string of curses in Spanish. Then he pulls you to him and wraps you in a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t worry, mi vida, I’ll take care of this.”

You hug him tightly and you wish that there was something he could do. He sounds so serious, but you know that if he tried anything, he’d just end up dead.

He pulls back to look at you. “Do you know where she is?” He points to the video that is still up on your phone.

You shake your head. “Not exactly.” Even if you did, you don’t think you’d tell him. You appreciate what he’s trying to do. But you don’t need to be responsible for his death, too.

“What do you know?” he presses.

You sigh. “She’s somewhere in New York City. In one of the warehouses my boss’s organization uses. But I don’t know which one that is. It’s impossible to tell.”

“But you know where they are?”

You shake your head. “Only some of them. Not all.” Your eyes sting with fresh tears. “What am I going to do?” you ask him.

He grabs the bottom of his T-shirt and uses it to dry your face. He opens his mouth to say something but his body goes rigid before he can. The muscles in his neck strain.

His eyes open wide with alarm. He looks down at his shirt that he’s still clutching in his hand and notices the spot that is damp with your tears. “Steven? Was that you?”

Ah, Marc again.

You carefully school your expression, but not in time. “Who was that?” he asks you.

You keep your lips pressed together.

He stalks over to the mirror until he’s right in front of it. He gazes into it for a moment then says, his voice deep and dangerous, “Come on, I know you’re in there. Are you gonna keep hiding, hmm?”

He waits for a response, his eyes searching his reflection, then his shoulders twitch in surprise. He’s eerily still afterward, his body taut with restraint. By the murderous expression on his face, he looks like he’s about to destroy the mirror.

“Who are you?” he asks through gritted teeth. His eyes bulge in anger as he listens to the response. “‘Jake?’”

Oh fuck. You can only watch in horror. This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t mean for Marc to find out about Jake.

Marc sets his stare on you. “Do you know him? Jake?”

You hesitate. What should you say? What would Jake want you to say?

“Do you know him?” he asks again, but this time he doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns back to the mirror, saying, “‘Don’t talk to her?’ Buddy, she came to me.”

He stares at his reflection, listening to Jake. He briefly glances once in your direction, but in that one glance you get the impression that he knows. That he knows everything. You wish you knew what Jake was telling him.

When he turns back to you, you can immediately tell it’s not Marc. “Is it true?” Steven asks you. Sweet Steven with the soulful eyes. Right now they’re brimming with tears. “You really do know him?”

“Steven. I’m sorry. I really-” Your eyes fill with tears, too. “I didn’t mean- I’m so sorry.”

Steven doesn’t reply to you because Marc’s fronting again now. He steps towards you and takes you by the arm, pulling you toward the door. “It’s time for you to go.”

There’s a wild look in his eye. He’s got a loose lid on his anger and it’s about to explode any second.

“No, please,” you beg him. “Please don’t do this. Let me talk to him, please.” You don’t know if you mean Jake or Steven, but either way it doesn’t seem to matter to Marc. He’s not listening to you anymore. He opens the door and shoves you - firmly, but not roughly - out.

Down the hall, the elevator doors slide open, revealing four very large men inside. You lock eyes with one of them and something like recognition sparks in his eye. You hurl your body at the door as Marc is pushing it closed.

You stumble back into the flat and slam the door behind you. Your shaking hands fumble with the locks.

“They’re here.” That’s all the explanation you can manage.

You know Marc is right next to you but you don’t look at him. As if looking at him would prompt him to try to kick you out again.

“No way,” he says, and at first, you think he’s talking to you. “I’m not giving you the body again.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he’s addressing the mirror again. “You’re the reason Steven and I have been miserable,” he says. And that rage he had a lid on? Yeah, the lid is peeling away.

He laughs at something Jake - presumably - says, but it’s devoid of all humor. “No, I can protect her. You can fuck off.”

Oh fuck. They’re talking about you.

You don’t have time to be concerned about that because then Marc bellows, “YOU WHAT?” And with even more intensity than you thought was possible, “KHONSHU?”

You have the good sense not to interrupt at this moment, even though you are confused as hell and even though at any moment those men are going to find their way through the door, locks be damned.

Sure enough, the door knob jiggles and then the pounding starts like they’re trying to knock down the door. You retreat back into the flat. Marc is still arguing with Jake.

When the gunshots start and the door breaks open, you’re crouching behind the desk, peering over the edge and through the bookcases between. 

At the same time, Marc throws his head back once more and - well, you’re not sure what you’re seeing. Out of thin air, fabric wraps around his body. In mere seconds he’s wearing an elaborate costume. On his back hangs a large white cape that falls nearly to the floor. He wears a matching hood that comes to a pointed ‘v’ over his forehead. Tantalizingly, he’s in a skin tight bodysuit, pitch black, that shows off every muscle. His face beneath the hood is masked in the same black. There’s a pearly white crescent moon in the center of his chest, and white gloves and boots cover his hands and feet.

The men look fairly stunned, standing there with their mouths hanging open. For a moment, nothing happens. Marc - if it is Marc - stands before them waiting. The silence stretches like a rubber band and snaps as the men simultaneously open fire. You don’t even have time to be horrified because the bullets do absolutely nothing. They don’t slow him down or knock him back. They just bounce off his chest.

He rips one of the guns right out from one of the men’s hands, and turns it on the other three, quickly shooting them between the eyes with remarkable precision. Their bodies tilt backward and topple the table in the kitchen as they go down. The one guy left advances on him but he shoots him in the knee and the guy falls to the floor with a painful cry.

The hood and mask disappear, revealing Marc’s face. No, wait. Jake’s face. At least, you think it’s Jake. If that glint in his eye is any indication. “Why did you come here? What do you want with her?”

He points in your direction, where you still crouch behind the desk. The man looks over at you but you’re not sure he even sees you. He’s breathing heavy when he says, “We’re not here for her. We’re here for her boyfriend. Some bloke named Steven.”

He has a London accent. You don’t think that he’s part of your boss’s organization, but rather contracted out for this job. To get to Steven.

Whether that’s to kill Steven or abduct him, you don’t get to find out. Before you even see him raise the gun, Jake shoots him again - this time in the head - and his body hits the floor with a thud.

You can’t take your eyes off the bodies. At least not until Jake - out of costume and back in Steven’s pajamas - comes toward you and blocks them from view. He asks you if you’re alright. You register that what you’re feeling is called ‘shock’ but the word doesn’t really mean anything to you.

He offers his hand to you, but before you can reach to take it, he draws back. His body convulses once. Then twice. Through gritted teeth he says, “Let me just talk to her.”

Jake disappears, Marc in his place. He hauls you to your feet. “Who do you work for?” This time when he asks you, he expects an answer.

You shake your head. No matter how bad things are right now, you know they’d be worse if you gave up your boss.

Marc thinks for a moment - or at least he appears to be thinking. Then he says, “‘Big Man?’”

You feel the blood drain from your face leaving you cold. In a hollow voice you ask, “How did you know that?” He doesn’t say anything and you ask again, more insistently this time. “How did you know that?”

It takes you a second to realize that it wasn’t Marc who knew. “How did he know that?” you ask now. “Jake, how did you know that?” You’re trying to look into Marc’s eyes as if they could show you Jake.

“Your boss is one of Khonshu’s targets,” Marc explains.

Which, of course, doesn’t explain anything to you. “What the fuck is ‘Khonshu’?”

Tonelessly, he tells you. “He’s the Egyptian god of vengeance. He uses a human avatar to do his bidding. I used to be his avatar until very recently and it seems Jake still is.”

You try making sense of what Marc just told you. If this Khonshu is trying to get to your boss, and he’s using Jake to do it then-

Marc puts it into words for you, “Jake was using you to get to Big Man.”

You feel sick. The room smells of death and gunpowder. You’re an ocean away from your sister who’s in peril. And the one person who you believed would help you has been lying to you the whole time.

“I’ll explain more later,” Marc says. He either doesn’t notice your distress or is too preoccupied with the current situation. “Right now, we need to clean up this mess and get going.”

“Going? Going where?”

He takes a deep breath and sighs. Like he’s lost a war with himself. “We’re going to go get your sister.”

~~~

Translations:

Necesito que respires, necesito que te calmes, mi vida. - I need you to breathe, I need you to calm down, my life. (Thank you @randomchick546!!!)

mi amor - my love

Chapter 5 | Masterlist | Chapter 7

[yuusaris]

@rochelle-echidna showed up in the thief king bakura tag cuz I follow it, doing a "post a couple paragraphs of your WIP" share-a-thon thing and said anyone who sees it could do it and I saw it and I wanna do it, I wanna I wanna I wannaaaaa!!!!!

tagging @millenniumringg, @justapalspal @nightingalejune and @ladymdc and anyone else who just wanna wanna wanna like meeeeeee

I'm obvs gunna do a few of these, obviously. I have too many WIP's not to share. I'm gunna do my lmk ones first, then the ygo's and I'll end on a very delayed WIP for rvb, mmkay? mmkay.

--[Unnamed]--

(Context: My last dump was to make way for this - a whole new plot and direction for a fic whose name doesn't suit it right now and is thus unrtitled - the idea is... well, honestly, this is almost all of the first chapter, so, it'll speak for itself.)

“Like a…bri-- a- a wife?” Macaque’s brow furrows. “You want to get married? You.”

“What’s that tone? I could get married if I want!” Wukong spits. “If I even want a queen - I mean, it’s not like we even need one.”

“Then why are you thinking about it?”

Wukong groans, “Well, everyone else’s got one!” and deflates at his status - the odd-king-out. “Bull’s totally gunna marry Jade Face, Peng and Tusk are saddled up, King of Confusion’s just got that new thing on his arm, even White Snake snagged herself some human to mack on-- Not that it matters!” Wukong defends - no, declares, because it is a fact. “Cuz I don’t need one just cuz everyone else is doing it, just - why’s everyone dipping on party time because of some spouse, what’s so important about them? Am I missing something here?”

“If you have to ask, you’re probably not ready for that kind of relationship--”

“Relationship, shmelationship, what’s that gotta do with anything?!” Wukong, just as he finishes, decides he doesn’t like the look on Macaque’s face either. “Y’know, for my right hand man, you’re not bein’ too helpful right now.”

--[Almost And Enough]---

(Context: My S4 Wukong In The Broken Scroll fic I've been working on sinceeeeee fffffuck, whenever it was S4 came out. I've been working on this all year and Chapter 1 IS done, but I want to finish the fic before I post. Either way, we've got a Wukong - currently not Wukong and therefore Monkey -deciding to share his Secret, that being, he's going to leave to find immortality. And he picks a very particular person to share it with first...) The Macaque looks to the sky, the trees, the fruits - as long as it’s not as his King. “The others should know.” Is his only, halting, response.

Monkey shrugs, shoulders hiking then rolling back in a way he hopes is cool. “I wanted to tell you first.”

“Why?” The Macaque asks with a dismissal that’s purely performative. “We’re not close just because we’re part of the same troop - We’re almost strangers, we’ve never even talked.”

Lies are sort of like secrets--

“You should tell the other mountain troops to merge with ours.” Monkey had suggested. “It makes no sense for us to hoard the cave when there’s others who need the shelter too!”

“I can do that,” replied the monkey, a macaque with three round ears to each side of his head. His face was a wild splatter of red with exciting flares, more extravagant than the smooth curves of Monkey’s peach-pink patch. “You’re King now, so...”

--but much less fun.

“Well, ‘almost’ isn't a stranger, is it?” Monkey grins when he finds a stick in the ground - almost a branch but just shy of earning the title. Absently, he answers as he slings it over one shoulder, “Besiiiides, us not talking is as much on me as it is you so, this is me breaking the ice and you being forgiven for not trying.”

--[My Poltergeist Is Dead And Everything Is Worse Now]--

(Context: a trauma-release fic I've been writing while mourning my cat. Weirdly took on life with sections named after bits of Bojack's eulogy for his mother. It's a funeral, taking place within the Milleniaum...Cube? Cube. Plana Cube, after Ryou got ousted from the movie by the Cube. If Joey went to a place no one remembers him, Ryou went to a surrealist funeral, where he'll be around all the people he lost, with a big focus on the Spirit of the Ring. His family is written in past tense because they have passed away and this cannot be undone or forgotten)

He sits at the pew, next to his mother, with his sister crawling into his lap. The Spirit sits behind him, and toys with Ryou’s hair, drawn back as respectably as a boy with long hair can manage. Ryou shakes his head to shake the hand off, but only succeeds in garnering Amane’s infant hands instead. 

“It doesn’t make sense, him being gone.”

Ryou listens to her speak, his eyes on the casket.

“It doesn’t feel real.”

Ryou looks to his side. His mother’s head was bowed, not looking at the coffin. Her stiff body and closed eyes unnerve him from her seat. In a rhythm, she took one long breath, exhaling, and each after became smaller and smaller. In a moment, she didn’t seem to breathe at all - Ryou checks for her chest to rise wide again, and ends up staring instead.

“Did you love him?” Ryou asks her, a thing that’s haunted him just beneath his foundations.

A glassy eye was open, pointed in Ryou’s direction. The answer took longer than Ryou was comfortable with, and the answer itself had been no sweeter.

“Do you?”

--[Love, The Me That's Killing You]--

(Context: Ryou has discovered Bakura's got Hanahaki disease and it's killing them both as they share a body. So he's trying to figure out who is it Bakura could possibly be in love with. Despite efforts to dissuade him, Bakura eventually concedes to the search, rushing Ryou past pictures of the Battle City finals until--)

“That one!” Bakura points. To a young girl with cinnamon brown hair.

“Jounouchi-kun’s sister?” Ryou asks, dreadingly, as Bakura nods, furiously. “...She’s… thirteen.”

There’s a choking sound. “Not… not that one, then.” Bakura rasps. “The other one, there was another one, still had the hair and the - there! Yes, her!” He points, it’s Isis. Ryou’s confused.

“But you just said-”

“I made a mistake, am I allowed to make mistakes?”

“About someone you love,” Ryou gestures to the petal pile, “this much?”

“It was - dark,” Bakura stutters. He stuttered. “And windy, and there was - we were in a lot of pain, Landlord…” Bakura’s brushing it all off.

“You’re dying over someone you just mistook for someone else?”

“Well, it’s not like I spent a lot of time with her, is it?!” Bakura barks. 

“Then what could you possibly love about her?!”

“That… is…!” Bakura stops, sputtering, “That is exactly it! She doesn’t speak to me unnecessarily, just how I like it! She knows her place, unlike a certain someone!” 

“Seen and not heard, is she?” Ryou gags, of his own reflexes, in disgust at the slime-coated sentiment. With a choke, Bakura balks, mumbling about Ryou understanding when he’s older.

--[3 Reasons Why (I Never Told You I Was Playmaker)]--

(Context: I love VRAINS. I love Chatshipping. I will write the Chatshipping somehow.)

“You don’t gotta tell me all that,” Shima says - as if it’s so simple to say even this! “Just say you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You would have complained that I was keeping something from you,” Yusaku replies, without looking. “You would have felt hurt, gotten upset and run off.”

“I’m never upset with you!” Shima’s shocked, somehow. Yusaku only glances at him, brows stitched in dulled disbelief. “Well.. not for more than an hour, at least!”

‘Not for more than an hour’. Typical Shima.

“And," he continues, pointedly, "I wasn’t upset you ‘got secrets’,” Shima looks out, as if looking for where Yusaku’s eyes had just been. “You act like I’m too stupid to understand stuff.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Yusaku’s quick to deny. Something about what Shima said twists a knot in his chest. “I think you’re overexcitable and you don’t always think things through, and-”

“Sounds like a stupid guy to me,” Shima interrupts with a frown. 

Yusaku’s mouth is stuck open from that, having no course correction for that comment.

Shima, not Typical Shima, stands up. He’s not looking at Yusaku. His fists go into his pockets.

“Whatever,” He shrugs. “See you at school.”

With too straight a gait, Shima walks with a tremble. It quickly gives way into a bursting sprint once he can’t hold it back. And Yusaku is the coward who doesn’t stop him.

--[Wedding Soup (Chapter 2)]--

(Context: after a sleepless night and wrestless workday, Ryou's sunset afternoon ends with many... many tsuchinoko in the backyard. They are notorious liars, known for their penchant for drinking and a deadly bite.)

“And I didn’t even get a chance to answer, the cashier just went,” Ryou pauses, as another dizzy spell hits him. “ ‘Cash or Card’.” With an offended sniff, he takes another long drink of tea - black and intense and brewed with double the teaspoons to make sure it keeps him awake. Ryou sets the mug down with a huff. “As if I’m doing something burdensome by personally restoring a cultural landmark.” 

“This is a nice trap,” One of the tsuchinoko says from the writhing ball. 

“It was certainly the nicest there,” Ryou says. “Not too painful, is it?”

“Agonizing!”

“Oh good, you wouldn’t believe how awful the others looked.” At the corner of his eye, Ryou spies another one slithering towards a covered trap. If the others are aware, they’re just as keen to warn it as Ryou is. “I even looked some up before I went out -  for every humane trap I found in that place, there were ten more glue traps.”

“Sounds fun!”

“I know. I swear, the heartlessness of some people--”

A snap, a yelp, then the frantic rattling of metal as the tsuchinoko flings itself across the trap cage. Ryou dons his thick gloves again, getting up from his spot on the back porch. “Here, here,” he says softly. One hand holds the snake firmly by the back of its tiny head, the other taking the flat bottom of the small cage. He lifts it from the ground, quickly shifts it to the larger tank, and tilts it before opening the flap. 

“In you go.”

--[Gore Couture]--

“Just last week, residents of rural Blood Gulch reported screaming around 2 AM. Police responded within minutes of the third report, but were only able to narrow down the location an hour after arriving on the scene. When officers arrived, they found no body, but confirmed the presence of human blood and organ tissue.”

“Can this schmuck emphasize any more words?” Isaac leaned against the break room counter, watching up at the screen.

“This isn’t a gossip channel,” Mason Wu’s stressed tone signaled agreement. “Someone’s missing at least a liter of blood.”

The television at the station at least showed part of his work on the news, a brief interior look into the storage cubicle. Without the corpse in the arranged outline, there were only blood splatters, disarrayed furniture and a signature - Gore Couture by Felíx.

Maybe the accent on the ‘i’ was a bit much.

“A liter?” Isaac gaped. “Ho-o-oly shit.”

“You’re a damn sociopath,” Wu whipped back to glare. “You do know you’re on thin ice for being a no-show that night--”

“I told you already,” Isaac shrugged. His coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim of his mug. “I was with somebody.” It wasn’t a lie - Isaac was with abody.

[tobiasdrake]

Okay. I have my capitalist-whomping stick and a pumpkin spice muffin manufactured by the culinary engines of capitalism. I am ready to throw down in what is literally an intellectual thunderdome.

Yeah, it is surprising that Makoto's end-goal for entering the Mystery Labyrinth is more or less just "cool battleground for our fight".

Problem is, I don't know how he's planning on getting out. The only known way to leave the Labyrinth is when Yuma solves the mystery and reaps the culprit's soul. A visitor tagging along only leaves if they're with Yuma when he does that.

Shinigami has mentioned a second way but warned repeatedly that it comes at a terrible price. Maybe you have to, like, sacrifice Yuma? Which Makoto would be fine with.

His plan is to assume the role of L after killing L, so that he can control the Kira investigation and ensure the truth is never found.

I don't disagree. That's why you should be putting your resources into helping them, rather than simply preserving them.

Like, c'mon, man. I don't trust the UG either. Those assholes want to make immortal super-soldiers out of homunculi. You did a good thing by breaking the city free from their control. I agree that if the truth about Kanai Ward were exposed to the world, you'd lose that bargaining chip.

The only thing protecting this city from exploitation and genocide is blackmail. Once that trigger's fired, it loses those protections. I get that.

How about, instead of stabbing each other, we all put down our swords and talk through ways to manage safe, ethical research into homunculus physiology using Amaterasu resources? Can we do that? Everyone?

Vivia's finally getting through to Yuma. But. Like.

I'm not one for centrism. Often times, the centrist position is simply a refusal to engage with either side of the argument.

But. Like.

There has to be a middle ground between

1 - Let's expose the truth to the world and then let UG do whatever it wants to the homunculi of Kanai Ward! 2 - Let's keep the homunculi forever imprisoned within a cage of rain, gradually dying out over decades until all that's left is the barren husk of a city and a well-populated zombie enclosure.

I don't want to fight Makoto over this. But I don't think his autocratic leadership is enough.

I mean. He's not wrong on that front. The Mystery Labyrinth is a truly awful justice system. We've been wantonly murdering people left and right, something I've never shied away from criticizing our methodology for.

But. Like.

Your morality isn't defined by what you're against. It's defined by what you're for. This is not a tug-of-war. Yuma's flaws do not make Makoto good by default. "Everybody sucks here" is a valid outcome.

If exposed externally? This city will become ripe for exploitation by UG, who would want to take control of any effort to stabilize the defective homunculi for their own immortal soldier programs. If they aren't slaughtered outright.

But that's no reason not to expose the truth internally. Kanai Ward's an isolated city-state with no contact with the outside world so there's little fear of information leaking out. And once people know, they can work together to help solve the problem. After an adjustment period of outrage and panic, of course.

Which is why they should have a voice in it. Makoto is not their voice. He's as much an outsider as Yuma. He's just the outsider who's decided he knows what's best for them.

You can push through this, Yuma. You can--

Nope, there we go. Guess we're jumping, then.

Oh hey, a Labyrinth portal. In the Labyrinth. Will we have to solve the Mystery Within a Mystery of Why Makoto's Full of Shit?

Let's see, I drew....

That's an okay hand. I'll play Margulaw first because he's good for filtering and accelerating mana....

Don't fall for the false dichotomy, Yuma. Makoto says there are only two outcomes here: Ultimate doom for Kanai Ward or keeping things as is. He would ask you to choose between them. But you don't have to play his game.

Who says those are the only options? Him? He came here to stab you. Why are we letting him define the rules?

One of whom is currently roaming the Restricted Area as a feral and the other four are "dead" with conspicuously pink homunculus bloodstains.

Makoto and Yuma have the same manners of thinking and reacting to stress. I wonder why that might be.

To be fair, that's for good reason. You're a monster who kills people.

Nice to finally get a flashback of Number One's pact with Shinigami.

Shinigami was Number One's answer to Yomi's silencing methods. Makoto and Number One weren't in cahoots. They were simply both playing long games against Yomi.

Knowing that it was Yuma who said all of this makes it hit... about the same, really.

But Number One's philosophy may be more complicated than it appears. I note that he keeps qualifying the exposing of the truth. He wants a perfect solution, not just a solution. He wants to expose the truth to make everyone happy, not just to expose the truth. By that logic, if the truth didn't help everyone then it wasn't a good enough truth, right?

Of course, he also quoted this bit again.

So, y'know, maybe he still sucks and I'm giving him too much credit. There is no "perfect solution" for Kanai Ward without empathy for the people living in the city. The WDO creed is Logic Bro propaganda.

I like Shinigami's addendum here. Everybody has their own morality; Their own interpretation of the facts. But you need to first lay out the facts before you can decide how you want to interpret them.

The acquisition of knowledge is never, in itself, wrong. One must acquire knowledge before they can decide what to do with it.

However, this does fall flat given that Shinigami's superpower is committing spirit-murder of the killer regardless of whether they were in the right or not. Historically, Shinigami has never empowered Yuma to figure out for himself whether the truth is correct. Once the truth becomes known, Shinigami always forces his hand to do one and only one thing with it. Her powers decide what we do with the information, not Yuma.

The metaphysics aren't meshing well with the message she's trying to deliver here.