#in which said bastard happens to be an arrogant fuck that has used them at some point

[applepies-and-starlight]

Absolutely random thoughts I have while procastinating on essays but I think Akechi and Ishmael should meet up (this will either turn out decently or be ish and heath's canon dynamic electric boogaloo)

[jellyfishsthings]

Ok, first of all, I would like to apologise for not posting something for almost a month, bit it was exam season so... and I know I let you my fans down *que laughing bcuz it's not true*. Secondly, I would like to say that this is a bit different, it's not smut but I think it is quite funny and represents my character a little bit... also mean!Remus cuz he rules... so enjoy ig!!!

Part 2 , Part 3

I woke up, gasping for air, sweat making my shirt cling to my body like a second skin. I must look downright crazy, with flushed cheeks, hair a wild mess, and rubbing my thighs together without a stop. My mind drifted back to the dream that caused the state of my reaction.

His hands were roaming my body like I was the only thing he had ever wanted. And finally gripping my hips and making them move backwards until they hit his, and he was balls deep inside of me. Again. And again. And again.

The dream itself wasn't the problem. Sure, a sex dream wasn't that bad, and she had several over the years, but what she moaned and who was supposedly giving her all that pleasure was. Remus.

How? How had this happened to her? Not him. Not the one boy she never got along with. Not the one person who drove her up against the wall. Not the one that-

No, it actually made perfect sense. He was the only one who made her feel something. Sure, said "something" was regularly negative feelings. Like irritation, deep-rooted hate. But it certainly was more than anyone has ever made her feel. She looked at her alarm clock. And… great, only fifteen more minutes before it was time to get ready for breakfast. How was she supposed to pull herself together after that? It was going to be a long day.

She dressed in her uniform, only leaving her blue-silver striped tie, loosely knotted around her neck, her top two buttons open, exposing her collarbones. Her trousers, replacing the usual skirt, hugged her waist and hips nicely. Thank God, if there is one, but she had single-handedly managed to convince the professors in the monthly Perfects meeting, that the female population of this school, formal and fancy vocabulary had definitely been a strong part of her remarks, should be allowed to wear trousers whenever they wanted and felt like it.

She walked towards the Ravenclaw table and quickly filled her plate with pancakes doused in chocolate because well… who doesn't love chocolate? Her eyes roamed the blurry Dining Hall. Man, she really should start using her wire-framed glasses, the ones that were an identical pair to his. They had bought them so as to match when they were still friends. Before he ruined everything.

There he was. The beautiful, arrogant blurry bastard. She would recognise his curly hair and mischievous dark green eyes paired with his scarred face glory. Damn him and his annoying good looks. And when the hell did her eyesight get that bad? Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, which was again his fault. She could proudly say, though, that she was still squinting and glaring at the world as she always did. And everything was right. Until…

"My God, you are so tight. And so perfectly marked up. Everyone should know who you belong to, don't you think?" He said as his hand travelled upwards, one of her thighs. Moving easily as all her previous orgasms slid down her legs. All courtesy of his mouth, of course. "I love seeing you like this. I never thought that fucking your brains out until you are senseless would be such an easy way to shut you up."

… she remembered that and choked on her treacherous hot chocolate.

"Well, well, the she-devil just choked on her hot chocolate? Is it because your body detests anything sweet? " his voice called out. That deep, still slightly raspy and sleepy voice that made his Welsh accent stand out more prominently. She hated that voice, she thought, yet her body betrayed her and shivered, as if it was somehow remembering all that fantastic, imaginary, things it supposedly whispered in her skin.

Oohs and aahs echoed in the room, accompanied by chuckles and whispers, praising his "sick burn."

"You know what, Lupin? I always thought you were a pretentious piece of shit, but I never thought you were so self-centered to actually call yourself indirectly sweet. Is it one of those days of the month where you need a little confidence boost?", I called back as I finished eating and stood up from my seat.

A fuming Remus was the last thing I saw as I exited the room. Now, every member of the school faculty was laughing because of my comeback.

Lost in thought I walked towards the Ravenclaw Tower, and then felt an arm grasping my wrist and pining me into the wall, despite driving my elbow into said attacker in his nose, stomach (were those abs? Who was she kidding of course her attacker would have abs) and well … dick. But they didn't react at all as if those blows, who should have winded the air out of someone. Except- right lycanthropy super strength bullshit.

"You think that was funny?" He said in a deathly quiet tone, as if he wanted to murder me on the spot… or fuck me against the wall? Okay, now she was just self projecting.

"I think it was hilarious."

"Sometime you are going to learn to respect me, foxy?"

"Sure, when Hell freezes over."

"You know, you remind me of those foxes and black cats. They consider themselves so smart and mean, yet they are unaware of the danger they will face because of it. "

"And you are the danger? Climb off your high horse Lupin." I whisper in his face. Our lips only mere centimeters apart.

words: 900 (should I continue this?)

[9leaguesofmirrors]

The Favour (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

What if Pauline refused to help Ross in season 3 episode 1 and she left before that very scarring scene ever happened? In this version, he decides to call in the help of an old acquaintance

This one is a little more ✨spicy✨ than my other fics, but it's just fade-to-black, I'm not quite brave enough to write actual smut

I love how well these GIFs go together, like Ross just made a smug comment and Lisgoe's sick of his crap 😆

**********************************************

"I've come here on my fucking time off, so this better be important."

Ross couldn't remember when he started being on speaking terms with Joseph Nigel Lisgoe, but it happened. They weren't friends, but they also weren't exactly enemies. Well, Ross thought Lisgoe was a sadistic cretin who used violence to make up for his lack of brain cells, and Lisgoe thought Ross was an arrogant bastard with no concernable personality. Other than that, they didn't hate each other

Hence why Ross didn't see an issue with enlisting his help. Since he didn't have his number, he had to track down and slip a note under his office door that read I need your help, we'll discuss at my house followed by his address

Which is how he got here, face-to-face with a very unhappy Lisgoe at his front door

"Make yourself at home."

Ignoring this statement (which he could tell was merely being said out of politeness), Lisgoe all but barged past and leaned against a counter in the kitchen

"Your house reminds me of you: dead on the inside."

"I didn't invite you here to insult me."

"Couldn't you at least have gotten dressed? You look like a right twat in that dressing gown."

"I think," Ross said as he went to the cupboard and poured them both a glass of wine "that we should focus on the real reason I asked you here."

Lisgoe curled his upper lip slightly, as if he would rather have been anywhere else at this point, but took the glass anyway. He took a sip, watching Ross closely

"You gonna tell me or am I supposed to guess?"

"Someone I hired for an undercover job has decided to go against me."

"Fucking hell, OK James Bond!"

This was met with a glare, not that Lisgoe seemed to be all that bothered. In fact, he has a shit-eating grin on his face that suggested he found this whole thing funny

"I don't know why you're laughing."

"You're so far up your own arse, no wonder you talk a load of shite!"

"I'm going to ignore that. All I'm asking is for you to get rid of her, I'm sure that won't be too taxing on you, what with the very little brain power you possess."

"I'm not a contract killer." Lisgoe put his glass down on the counter "I may be a crazy bastard, but I'm not some assassin."

"You're the only one with enough of a craving for violence and lack of empathy to do it."

There was a pause. Lisgoe took another swig of wine

He'd never admit it out loud, but it was refreshing to have someone challenge him. As much as he liked being the one everyone feared, there was something about Ross' lack of fear that both frustrated him and kept him oddly entertained

"What's in it for me?"

Ross considered his answer, but his thoughts were somewhat hazy, clearly more interested in why Lisgoe was staring at him. He was completely unreadable, which was off-putting to say the least. And yet it, for some reason, made him feel more drawn to him. He wanted to know what it would take to make him snap - what he would do when he did

"Who says you're getting anything?"

"I'm not doing this shite for free." Lisgoe sneered, taking a step towards him "It comes with a price."

They weren't incredibly close, but it was enough for Ross to briefly catch his scent. Sharp, spicy cologne which seemed to fuse with the underlying leftovers of cigarette smoke. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if he'd smoked before he came here; he could see it now, Joseph Lisgoe outside the door with a cigarette in his mouth... sucking it gently... his eyes closing as the smoke fell from his lips

Ross put an end to that thought immediately

"I could tip off the police to the rumours going around Royston Vasey about your violent tendancies, I'd say guess how many years you'd get," he put a hand on Lisgoe's shoulder and looked at him with pure mockery in his eyes "but I'd hate for you to hurt your head."

"You'd tell the police, would you?" Lisgoe retorted in a soft voice that made it sound more like a dare than a question

"What if I did?"

Despite not being the most intellectual of people, Lisgoe could read emotions on their faces and bodies easily. It's what he used to get under people's skin before he inevitably threw a punch. There was a stillness in Ross' body language that told him he was telling the truth - he respected that, in a way. Another thing he caught onto was Ross' eyes. They seemed to drag their way up and down his frame, meeting his eyes with a subtle, sharp intake of breath. He was being looked at in a way that was rare for him, yet something in him was very satisfied that it was directed to him alone

But there was something else. Something of a spark in his eyes, something that said I'm onto you

He wasn't about to give him the upper hand

"I don't ask for much." His voice was softer, slightly rough "But, if you need me as badly as you clearly fucking do, then you'll have to convince me."

"That depends on two factors: what you want, and how you want me to convince you?" Ross chewed his lower lip, an action that caused Lisgoe's jaw to tighten

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Satisfied with the edge he'd taken from him, Ross put down his glass. As he did, he made sure to let his hand brush against Lisgoe's, relishing in the way he jolted away

"There's a grand history of people who, daggers drawn, eventually find each other attractive." He said innocently, tilting his head to the side slightly as he stared into dusty blue eyes "What do you think, Joseph?"

Nobody called him Joseph

It's was Lisgoe or, if you worked for him, Mr. Lisgoe. A silent agreement among the inhabitants of Royston Vasey. He didn't know what was worse: the fact Ross had the balls to break that rule, or the fact it sounded so nice in his voice

"I think you need to remember who you're talking to. You might get away with saying what you like to the thick pigs at the dole house, but I'm not that easily fucked with."

The venom in Lisgoe's voice shouldn't have affected Ross the way it did. He wasn't scared, but it pierced through his chest and pumped molten fire through his body

"I assume," He put his hand deliberately over the man's wrist, his voice steady "you know what you want in return for all of this?"

Lisgoe took a step forward and stared. It was like he was considering not the offer, but him. Finally, he spoke again:

"Anywhere between 10,000 and 20,000 is great."

"Excuse me?" Was Ross' response, trying not to look too disappointed as Lisgoe pulled away "You expect me to pay you that amount for one simple task?"

"You're not asking me to have a little chat, are you? You want me to get rid of a bitch, and the fact you contacted me means you want it to hurt."

"You're hardly worth the oxygen I breathe, let alone £10-20,000."

"You've got a set of balls, haven't you?"

"I want you to leave."

"Now hold your fucking horses, I'm not done!"

He moved over to the address book on the table and opened it, slightly surprised by how empty it was. Surely this guy knew more people than WORK and MOTHER

"So, is your dad an asshole? Or is he dead?"

"What are you doing?" Ross asked, clearly not appreciating the question

"You got a pen?"

"Don't pretend you can write."

"Fuck off and get me a pen! Wait, shut up..."

"I didn't say-"

"Here's one."

Lisgoe had taken a pen from inside his suit jacket and scrawled something onto the page. Upon inspection, Ross noticed it was a phone number with the initials JNL next to it

"As a debt collector, I never like doing favours without getting something in return."

"And what exactly do you have in mind? If it's more money, I'm out."

"You doing anything tonight?"

Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn't one of them. Regardless, he shook his head neutrally

"I'll be back in an hour." Lisgoe put the pen down on the table "For the love of shite, get dressed."

"What's the occasion?" Ross sneered in response

"The occasion is, when I get back, I'm doing whatever the fuck I want with you."

Ross' chest caved in. He couldn't think of the worse reason: actual fear or... OK, maybe the second option. Either way, he was trying not to show it on his face

"What exactly are you implying?"

That made Lisgoe laugh a little. Ross went to question him, but was quickly silenced by being tugged by his dressing gown into a searing kiss. It was forceful, not that it came as a surprise - this was Lisgoe, after all. And Ross certainly wasn't complaining. Especially not when his lower lip was being pulled between Lisgoe's teeth

"Unless you have another stupid question, I'll see you later today"

Before he could turn and go, Ross had grabbed him by the wrist

"You said earlier that a debt collector always gets something in return, would you also say they'd rather get it in a timely manner?"

"I don't remember what I said, but sure. What's your point?"

"There's clearly something between us. A certain... heat-"

"Alright, Ozzy Wilde."

"Oscar Wilde, but that's beside the point. What I'm saying is what's the point in waiting for it to cool down?" In a moment of boldness, Ross reached for Lisgoe's jacket. Without breaking eye contact for more than a second, he unbuttoned it slowly "Unless you're too scared to-"

Once again, his words were cut short and Lisgoe's mouth was on his. It was frantic and raw, neither one of them was interested in being gentle. Ross' hands were warm, Lisgoe's skin was cold, which came together to form what could only be described as electricity. Without breaking the kiss, Lisgoe was being pushed against the kitchen counter and, well, Ross was dropping to his knees to return a favour

*********************************************

"So, what's the bitch's name again?" Lisgoe asked as he threaded his belt through the loops of his trousers

"Pauline Campbell-Jones," Ross sat down on his sofa "she's completely egregious. She's violent, foul-tempered and vulgar."

"Right, I suppose you only find those traits sexy in men."

"Let's make this clear, I only did that to pay you back."

Lisgoe didn't know why he got the urge to ask, but he sat down beside Ross and looked at him with slightly furrowed brows

"Do you fuck everyone that you ask to favours?"

"No."

"So I'm a special case?"

Ross looked Lisgoe up and down contemplatively, then replied "Yes."

"Can you say anything else? One-word responses piss me off."

There was another silence. Ross stared at the wall, thinking things through. OK yes, maybe part of the reason was to get Lisgoe on board with his plan, but did he enjoy it? Maybe he did. So what? Since when did sex mean anything? That being said, even with all that aside, Lisgoe wasn't completely insufferable to be around. In fact, he was one of the few inhabitants of Royston Vasey that he could see as being something of an equal to him

"We don't have to be strangers, I suppose. You did give me your number for some reason."

"Ignore it then," Lisgoe shrugged as he got up "I just gave it to you so I could tell when I was done with her."

Then there was an odd moment of pause

Ross stood up and they were facing each other. It was awkward and tense, but not altogether unpleasant. Just strange. Almost as if neither of them were in a rush for it to be over

Suddenly, Lisgoe snapped out of it and headed for the front door. Ross went to let him out. It was all very formulaic, as if nothing happened between them. And surely, that's all it was

Nothing at all

Once he'd gone, Ross went back into the kitchen area and looked at the number written into his book. Then he saw it

Lisgoe had left his pen behind

If he hurried, he could probably catch up and give it to him. Or he could wait for him to realise and come back for it

Ah well, what's the rush?

[hello-nichya-here]

Is Daemon in love with Rhaenyra or just using her? Why did he not go all the way with her in episode 4? Was it just guilt over using her or was there something more?

He IS in love and he IS using her. She's a way to get closer to the throne, and Daemon doesn't mind exploiting that, plus he wants to be Aegon the Conqueror and to him that includes marrying "in the tradition of their house" aka an incestuos marriage, and naturally the first choice for someone that arrogant is the princess/future queen.

But their genuine bond cannot just be ignored. Daemon is clearly attracted to her, and he tends to be less of a dick to her than he is to everyone else (still awful by the standards of any reasonable person, but it counts, and luckly for him Rhaenyra can be a bit unhinged too).

He gives her a necklace made of the steal of his sword as symbol of their shared heritage, comforts her during her mother's funeral, stops trying to act all threatening when she calls his bluff in episode 2, shows her the harsh truth that plenty of people STILL see Aegon II as the true heir despite Viserys choosing her (can also count as him trying to undermine her confidence, so it's both "tough love" AND "you're worthless, feel bad and sleep with me") and he listens to her about her fears regarding marriage/sex/pregnancy and full on encourages her to just do whatever the fuck she pleases (though this one also counts as him using her since he did to try to force Viserys to accept them gettting married, aka Daemon getting to at least be king consort).

He accepts to be part of a (fake) murder plot so she'll be rid of her husband and then marry her so her claim to the throne will be more solid (again, counts as both selflessness and selfishness), they are VERY physically affectionate during their marriage, he is clearly super happy when she's pregnant with yet another child of his (and in a deleted scene he mourns said child after the miscarriage/stillbirth), baits Vaemond Velaryon into calling her a whore in front of Viserys so he has an excuse to cut his head off in front of everyone and thus assuring Rhaenyra's son will get Driftmark despite being a bastard, and he is being very gentle when letting her know of Lucerys's death - that last one is important as it happens in episode 10, aka the one in which he treats her worse than ever.

For fuck's sake, they're CONSTANTLY speaking high valyrian to each other as that is the show's very deliberate way of setting their conversations with each other apart from the ones they have with everyone else.

Even when he was happily married with Laena, a wife he CHOSE because they had genuine chemistry and affection for each other, he was still thinking of Rhaenyra constantly, being aware of everything that was going on in her life even from afar.

As for him not going all the way with Rhaenyra in episode 4, I believe that happened for two reasons:

1 - Daemon wasn't as fully in control of that situation as he thought he'd be. He WANTED to have sex with her, sure, but he is an arrogant, volatile guy, and Rhaenyra, despite being a virgin, was not at all acting shy, scared or even hesitant. She wasn't letting him fully take charge, turning around to face him, toy with him after he had just pressed her against the wall, her back turned to him.

Denying her suddenly, without explanation, and just leaving her there by herself, was a way to take back control - especially since this whole thing was also about making Rhaenyra get caught with him, and that had already happened, so he already "got what he wanted from her" but she didn't get the same from him. He IS still a potential candidate for the throne, so disgracing the princess AND disregarding her once her reputation is in the dirt, but his isn't because rules are different for men, is a way to prove, either to her or to himself, that he holds more power in their relationship and always will.

2 - Guilt. Daemon KNOWS what he is doing is not right. He knows Rhaenyra is very young, he knows he's manipulating her, he knows he is using and exposing her, and he knows that's an awful thing to do to his own dear niece, the daughter of the king and brother he does sincerely love (in his own way). That's why he isn't gloating like a villain after his evil plan was a success, but is instead looking all miserable and drinking all night - he is WILLING to be an utter bastard to get what he wants, but that doesn't mean it doesn't take a toll on him.

Not going all the way with Rhaenyra gives her the chance to have a "proper" first time, with her husband (be it Daemon himself or not) instead of in a brothel, in front of a bunch of people, with a married man. It lets her still keep ver "virtue" even if nobody else will believe she's still a virgin.

It's also why he leaves once she's married. Now that his one path to become king no longer exists, he isn't caught up between what he wants and what's right, as leaving Rhaenyra the fuck alone is the only option - and Daemon himself confirms in episode 7 that he did genuinely believe his niece would be better off without him, even though she clearly disagrees (and they both have VERY good reasons to feel the way they do).

So yeah, Daemon is one hell of a complicated character, and even when he is being awful, that doesn't mean he isn't also showing some humanity - and vice versa.

[dballzposting]

I’m watching a subbed dragon ball and I DO NOT KNOW how to word this eloquently / I have no screenshots of proof so I’m just wondering if anyone else has seen dragon ball and has noticed this?

In the Piccolo Daimao arch Goku straight-up has some shit to say. Before he was all young and childish and goofy, and when it came to words he STRAIGHTFORWARD in a fight - when serious, he would state outright that he doesn’t have the patience for his opponents boasts + hedges + insults + general repartee.

But at the turn of the arch it seemed like the shock and grief of Kuririn’s death affected Goku immediately, and he suddenly had words to say. He began acting more like what we see in the BAD GUYS - the attitude that denotes their weakness and is assurance of their later defeat.

Of course the memories are fuzzy by now but off of the top of my head: He called Yajirobe a bastard, to which Yajirobe responded with his debut of “Hey, that’s my line!” He also was rash to assume that Yajirobe was his enemy, but that’s because well, he just got his shit thrashed by Cymbal, and he’s not thinking straight through the grief and pain and all.

I just kept seeing little things like that throughout the arch - like the grief had loosened his tongue, or matured him, or he’s just ageing naturally - Goku engages in repartee now all of a sudden. I feel dumb because I have no solid memories now but just believe me. When he was fighting Piccolo he said some shit that had me clutch my pearls to see coming from him. Altogether, Goku is exhibiting a newfound WIT WITH and FAVOR FOR words, and a confidence that when laced with his anger and impatience almost comes across as arrogance. 

My most recent (and therefore, extant) example is when Goku is facing Mr Popo. Just in the little I’ve seen thus far, he’s sort of acting like a classic dragon ball villain E.G. loser. When Mr Popo is able to land the first hit on him, Goku actually blames it on dumb luck, and assures himself that it won’t happen again. Yknow, like all the villains do when Goku is able to land a hit on them.

And then he actually starts to insult his opponent. Yknow, the type of behavior that Goku used to not have patience for, and used to be too virtuous/mature/honorable for, and he would at times ask his opponent to cease with the hot talk and to get on with the fight.

Goku is straight up sloppy, arrogant, and IMPATIENT in this fight thus far, and the shit he lets himself think is too close to the shit that always ends up costing some villain a victory.

I know this wasn’t eloquent, and I know that I failed to offer sufficient proof, but I’m wondering if anyone else noticed this as well and has some thoughts on it. It feels like a lot of things.

Goku is still caught up in the grief and pain of the ARDUOUS ORDEALS he just went through. It’s more to ask of anyone ever, and now he’s gotta do one more fucking thing. And we can understand his impatience, then. Furthermore, it does just feel like he’s gotten older. Maybe his brain is hardening, and all of his victories are catching up to his ego. He’s not his usual self of awe and admiration for a strong opponent - he’s seen life and death too INTIMATELY these past days and he’s TENSE. In all of this he’s found his words and is playing along with the warrior’s repartee that he’s been exposed to by battle after battle.

Did anyone else notice anything similar and take start by it?

[yayaneedshercoffee]

Chapter 3 | Going Down

*TW: Gore/Graphic detailing a bit, Mentions of PTSD*

The red dim lights was all that could give you sight of what's before you in the aircraft. You can hear through coms that the pilot has reached target drop off, and it takes a second for Ghost to grab his rifle, cocks it ready, and stands.

"Alright gentleman listen up, because I'm only saying this once." He takes a step towards the center of the aircraft, brushes his leg against your knee, and gives you a glare before turning his attention to the whole crew.

Wow, now he's really pissing me off with this whole tough guy act. 'I'll show him' you thought to yourself.

"Heli will drop off Bravo team at the first stop up in the hills, where me and Sergeant MacTavish will escort a squad downhill and infiltrate 2 buildings, sweeping them clean for any sign of Hassan." He turns his head to lock right on you on his next footnote.

"Heli will then drop off the second squad towards the backside of building 3, where it's believed Hassan could be possessing a missile inside. Lieutenant Reaper will escort Alpha team to sweep the building, and confirm if the intel is correct." He walks from the back of the aircraft, down the center, getting ready to head on out.

Soap stood up, because he too knew that wasn't the right plan of action. He grabs Ghosts shoulder with his hands, getting his attention fairly quick.

"Hey L.T, did you forget Lieutenant Reaper is meant to be on Bravo squad? Laswell made it very clear on-" Soap was abruptly cut off by Ghosts hand which was inches away from his chest, motioning for Soap to sip it shut.

"Laswell doesn't know what she was thinking putting the squads together. Reaper is better kept on Alpha squad to have some sort of authority." He turns his gaze onto me, I'm already showing how pissed off I am. Eyes narrowing again, he expresses, "She won't have that under my watch, I'm in control of this whole mission. Shepherd made it clear on the first day. I'm not letting some girl I barely heard of get the better of me." He spits out. Oh-oh hell no. His words felt like venom sinking deep into your very blood, and this had already got you riled up and already standing on your feet.

"When we get back I'll put in a good word as to how insecure you feel that a woman was sent to do the job that you clearly haven't progressed in." You sneer at him, your face just inches away from his chest, the height difference was real, because you're 5'3, and with his tall towering body, his shadow enveloped you under the red lights of the aircraft.

A few members listening in had their jaws dropped, with a few "ooouuuu" leaving their mouths. One of the men on board said "Oh shit, we got drama gentlemen." Following a few snickers and chuckles, Ghost immediately gave you one last look in the eyes, making a "tsk" sound beneath his mask, dropping his head downwards to now it just barely grazing your right ear.

"It's going to take more than just this bratty attitude to make me give a fuck about what you think of me." His husky voice barely audible and only for me to get a clear hearing without the rest of the aircraft to listen in on. He continues, "Keep this up and I'll make your time here is miserable Lieutenant, you'll practically beg to get off this case." This ended up making you form a grin, because damn, you finally met your match in someone worth picking a bone with.

"Keep dreaming L.T, because I'm not going no where. I don't need to prove myself to an arrogant bastards like you." You say back, standing your ground, now his face has moved from your ear to inches away from your face.

You notice that his eyes are covered black, like he's used makeup around them to hid away his features underneath. What was the need to be covered up? What's he hiding beneath this shell of a person Ghost presents himself to the world?

"Hell, I could let you borrow my black eyeshadow if you run out of makeup L.T, but let's focus on what's happening right now, shall we, makeup guru?" You teased off the tongue. His eyes, narrowing again, but this time staring at your lips, taking a few seconds to then redirect his attention to your eyes. His gaze, full of hatred again, penetrates you're entire well being, making you freeze a bit. What the hell am I doing? Why am I freezing? I'm hardly intimidated to anyone besides the General, so why him? What does he have that's got me frozen in my tracks.

You gulp down the saliva choking your throat, still maintaining eye contact, waiting for him to make a move, a sound, anything.

"You don't realize the death sentence you just brought yourself in." His final response to you before he continues down the middle of the aircraft, immediately shouting for Bravo squad to rise up and ready themselves to be dropped. "Both teams meet up in the middle, we want Hassan alive. But remember, this is capture or kill." Ghost affirms his serious tone out loud, now standing where the aircraft's doors are opening up, staring back at the crew. Soap ended up beside you, giving you a pat on the shoulder and sending you a "Good luck out there L.T, I know we can count on you." With a small smirk formed on his lips, we hear a "Keep up Sergeant MacTavish." coming from Ghost, making Soap and the rest of Bravo squad get off.

Watching them grow smaller from your view from above, you signal your squad to ready up and prepare for your teams drop off. In the middle of situating yourself, you hear gunfire, heavy gunfire. The aircraft shakes, cause you to stumble a bit before catching yourself on the metal bars inside of the aircraft, ordering the men inside to hang on tight. "Heavy fire! Heavy fire taken!" Shouts the pilot from his cockpit. Soap coms though and says "hang on you guys, stay with us now!" He quickly sent. As the aircraft spins a bit, you find it at the opening of the aircraft that an RPG is heading directly towards you guys, making you shout "RPG!" Seconds before it hits the front of the aircraft, making you guys seriously losing altitude.

From Bravos squad in the hills, this was a horrid sight to see. As soon as you guys crashed down, fire erupted from the front of the aircraft, making Soap intensely worried as he called out through coms "Alpha team, How Copy?" Static erupted. "Alpha team, what's the casualties?" He stated again, but static was all that went though. He turns to Ghost who's already turned where Soap was, grabbing his walkie and stating, "Reaper, How Copy?"

Coughs erupted from your coms, "Ah! Two men down, 3 injured!" You exhale sharply out into coms. "It's a war zone here, we are taking heavy fire, I only have 2 other men who can fight!" You exclaim quickly. Soap looks at Ghost and states, "Right, heading your way." Immediately Ghost interjects, "Negative, we move forward with the plan, L.T Reaper and her squad can hold off Hassan's men as a distraction while we push forward." He confirms, sending his men straight to buildings 1 and 2. You give a "Roger, just don't take your sweet ass time." comment through coms as you and the lady remaining men on your squad hold off inside the aircraft. Occasionally, Soap radios to you on updates on your guys states, you giving him quick responses, hoping they'd quicken their pace through each buildings.

No sign of Hassan in either buildings, meaning now they had to rescue your team and move towards building 3. "Took y'all long enough." You retorted, seeing them within view entering the a-blazed space. Soap and the squad immediately step in, some of the men taking immediate action towards the injured men, while Soap and Ghost meet you inside.

"They're shooting from behind the tree line. If we can eliminate them then we can progress forward towards building 3 and still carry on the mission." You sharply say. Having Ghost keep his gaze at you for a moment before turning and facing the tree-line where fire was coming from, Soap crouches with you and asked if you're alright, giving him a simple "I'll be alright" before you both turn your attention to the tree-line with Ghost and fight back firepower with firepower.

It takes a while for the enemy gunfire to cease, having Soap think that it's over, until he hears heavy machines clanking behind the tree-line, making it very obvious that tanks now entered the field. More gunfire erupted, in turn shooting the private to your left dead in the head, dropping on the floor. 'Man, this could traumatize anyone', you thought to yourself, and it didn't take much from seeing that for your brain to start flushing through old memories. Memories you thought you suppressed for quite some time now.

You crouch down, holding your head within your hands, as now you can hear ungodly screams and terror fill your head. The sounds of gunfire happening right now before you adds to the mess, causing you to hyperventilate.

'Y/n! Y/n!!! We can't all escape, you have to go now!! DID YOU HEAR ME, I SAID GO BEFORE ITS TO LATE, HE'LL CATCH YOU IF YOU DON'T GO NOW!!!'

You can't, not like this, not right now. Get ahold of yourself!

Immediately gaining conscious to your surroundings, you prop yourself back up on a window to start giving gunfire back. While you were crouching, Ghost called in air support to eliminate the tanks and a few stragglers on the field. With the last man standing outside, Soap shoots him dead in the face.

"Is everyone alright?" Soap announces loudly, immediately putting his attention to the injured men, who'm he's already asked for the rest of the men on board who weren't injured, to take them back for a helicopter to come get them.

You stand yourself up, immediately walking yourself towards the opening of the aircraft, watching Soap help escort the injured men outside, you're distracted and didn't realize you had bumped into Ghost, who was facing you entirely.

"Jesus L.T, mind letting me know you're there next time or what?!" You step back, composing yourself before he could respond back.

"What the bloody hell was that I saw you do just then?..." oh shit.

[jamminvroomvroom]

unfinished business. part 2

GR x fem!reader

find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨

george russell has me in a chokehold. that’s it’s. that’s the premise of this. enjoy lmao <333 yk i couldn’t leave my boy suffering like that in part 1. thank u merc admin, my beloved, for the immaculate timing of that pic i am literally unwell.

in which george gets his revenge and you get what you’ve been waiting for.

warnings: 18+!! it’s just smut. there is SOME plot but it’s smut fr. so much smut. pls take care when engaging with the sexiness of GR. language, the teeniest eeniest hints of fluff?? sure??

4.3k words

avoiding george had become a sport for you, a game of cat and mouse.

you had spent the better part of the weekend in baku giving him fuck me eyes from across the media pen, mentally undressing him with your lip caught between your teeth. of course, you never let him get close enough to do anything about it, turning on your heel anytime he came within ten feet of you. you didn’t think that your producer was particularly happy that you seemed to be ignoring the mercedes driver, but you managed to convince them that one weekend wouldn’t hurt, indulging a bit more with drivers you didn’t usually speak to.

george didn’t like that.

you’d been laughing away with pierre after sunday’s race, congratulating him on his best finish of the season, when you’d noticed a very tense george russell making his way towards you, bypassing a long line of journalists that were itching to speak to him after his third place finish. he stood awkwardly, lingering behind pierre. he had countless other places to be, people to speak to, but he would not move, not even swayed to speak to another outlet by his press officer. it’s not exactly like you could get away now, you just couldn’t let him gain the upper hand.

just as you were finishing up with pierre, you heard the brit behind him clear his throat and you rolled your eyes, not missing the way pierre smirked, obviously feeling the rise in tension. you thanked him for his time, suddenly eager to get to george. the very least you owed him was a quick chat. you plastered on a smirk, one that only he would know the meaning behind, and got to work.

“so, george, lovely to see you. you’ve been hiding from us this weekend!” you were far too over enthusiastic, and also blatantly lying. he’d tried his hardest to speak to you all weekend.

“have i? i think you’ve been too busy for me.” he leaned in against the barrier, doing that thing where he’d bring himself down to your level. you wondered how low you could get him to sink, preferably onto his knees.

“oh, george, i’m never too busy for you.” you upped the ante, unabashedly flirting with him now, no matter how playful your tone was. “back on the podium this weekend, maybe you are making a habit of it after all?”

“after all of that motivation you gave me in monaco, it was bound to happen.” so that’s how he wanted to play it. he quirked his eyebrow, as if to say game on.

“well, you’re very welcome. are you going to get another one for me in canada next weekend?” yeah, you were definitely getting called into someone important’s office once the weekend was over.

“i think that depends.”

“on what?”

“how i… prepare myself, maybe you and i can discuss all the ways i unwind.” he smirked. you narrowed your eyes.

“and what of the rumours about a wet race next weekend? does that make any difference to the way you plan on… preparing?” you tried to move on, not liking how flustered he’d gotten you with just a few words. george just shrugged at you.

“you know how good i can be in the wet.”

you watched the bastard lick his lips, the most arrogant smirk on his face, and you made the decision that the rest of this conversation should not happen on camera. or in front of people, at all. unless they were paying for it.

“good to see you, george. congratulations on another podium.” you said through gritted teeth, thighs squeezing together beneath your sundress.

fuck george russell, you thought, as he breezed his way to the next reporter, watching you subtly from the corner of his eye. that was the problem, all you could think about was fucking george russell. as much as it had satisfied you, leaving him on the yacht to handle the problem that you created, you’d desperately craved more of him since you’d stepped off of the boat.

you thought about the way he must have ached after you’d left him, rushing back to his hotel room to take care of himself. you’d done something similar. you thought about him every time you were alone, every single night since, when you let your hands wander your body to the thought of the way he looked with his head thrown back. you knew that it had to happen again, you knew that you had unfinished business. you needed more and you had a feeling that he did too.

you didn’t have to wait too long for him to get you alone.

-

you’d been walking through the paddock, finally done with your interviews and ready to go back to the hotel when you caught sight of him. a tilt of his head told you everything you needed to know, and you were blindly following him into the mercedes hospitality suite, somewhere you definitely shouldn’t have been. luckily the paddock was emptying out, and you were somewhat shielded by his tall frame and the fact that he was george russell; no one cared who you were.

as soon as he’d lead you into a dark enough corner, he had you up against the wall, hand wrapped around your throat.

“so nice of you to join me.” he said lowly, face only centimetres from yours.

“it seemed wrong to keep you waiting even longer.” you bit back as best you could with his fingers tightening around your neck. his knee slotted between your legs which you happily spread.

“have you enjoyed playing your little game, my love? enjoyed teasing me?” he ground his knee against your clothed cunt, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

“mhmm…” you trailed off, eyes fixed on his blue ones.

“words, sweetheart.” again, his fingers squeezed harder at your neck.

“i need this.” you groaned.

“this?” he scoffed. “think what you mean,” he pressed his forehead against yours. “is that you need me.”

he kissed you, full lips battling fiercely with yours. his body was pressed completely against yours now, hand dropping from your throat to run over your body. he grabbed your waist, tugging you into a room behind him, which you quickly realised was his drivers room.

“get on the table.” he gestured to the massage table in the corner of the room and you quickly obliged, spreading your legs. your dress fanned out across your thighs, riding up over your skin, and you watched with hooded eyes as his darkened ones trailed up your exposed legs.

“why don’t you show me what you did when you got back to your hotel room that night?” he murmured, stalking towards you. “bet you regretted it, leaving me there like that, having to take care of yourself.”

“i think i did a pretty good job by myself.” you retorted, dragging your hand up your thigh, your dress coming up with it.

“still pretending? come on, love, i think we’re past that now.” his eyes were fixed on your panties, now on display for him.

“don’t think that i’m the one pretending,” you slipped your fingers into your panties, “you’re a bit too demanding for a guy who’s desperate for me.” you teased, smirking at him. your fingers circled your clit, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

he closed the gap, standing over you now, making you lean back on the table as he hovered over you.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asked, as condescending as ever. as much as it pained you to admit it, you did, nodding frantically. he slipped two fingers into your mouth. “then be quiet and show me what you do when you think about me.”

you sucked on his fingers eagerly as you sped up your own fingers, dipping them into your wetness and bringing it up to your clit. you moved faster, drunk on the way he was looking intently between your face and your underwear, which were undoubtedly soaked through. as you edged closer and closer to your end, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, pulling your hand from your panties, which were swiftly torn off of your body.

“want my fingers? seemed to enjoy them last time.” he muttered, going in for another kiss, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip.

“yeah.” you gasped, panting as you pulled away from his lips.

“yeah?” he sneered, mocking you deliciously.

“please, george. please.” you whined, eyes wide, head thrown back. that seemed to do the trick.

he didn’t even waste any time teasing you, long fingers pinching your clit before they thrusted inside you, your pussy already wet enough for him to go straight in. you moaned pathetically, hips bucking wildly as you rode his fingers. your hand reached up blindly to cup his face, overcome with the need to ground yourself. he shivered under your touch, something animalistic snapping inside of you at the sight.

“want a taste?” you whispered seductively, bringing your other hand up to his lips. he groaned, opening up his mouth for your soaked fingers. he kept his eyes on yours the whole time, moaning around your digits as he felt you tighten around his.

you were teetering dangerously close to the edge, spurred on by the lustful way he was staring at you so intensely. your legs were shaking, skin flushed pink, panties in a tattered pile of the floor, and all you could see was blue eyes. mischievous blue eyes.

when he pulled his fingers out of you, with no warning whatsoever, you had hoped, prayed even, that you had fallen into some kind of sex crazed hallucination. but as you watched him back away, readjusting the bulge in his trousers and the fingers he’d been so delectably fucking you with just moments before being licked clean, you came to the shattering realisation that it was real.

george russell had one upped you in the most torturous way: by giving you a taste of your own medicine.

“i have a meeting to go to, darling. you can find your own way out, can’t you?” he asked so casually that you wouldn’t have believed that he’d almost made you cum, just seconds ago. the only thing that gave anything away was the evil, evil smirk on his face. you just sat there dumbfounded, trying to catch your breath in disbelief. he snickered. you felt rage blossom across your chest, replacing the heat that he’d left across your skin.

“you fucking prick.” your voice was hoarse, reminding him perfectly of the way he’d just had you writhing beneath him.

“see you in canada.” he winked, and then he was gone.

-

you arrived in canada with a vengeance about you, strutting into the paddock out for blood.

perhaps this was all your own doing, the frustration you felt. in fact, it absolutely was, but you were an ambitious woman, used to getting what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. last weekend, you’d ignored him, but this weekend, you would be so unbearable that he’d just have to fuck you, teach you a lesson or whatever. you would take anything at this point, and you’d do whatever you needed to get it.

however, as the weekend progressed, you realised that he’d taken the games you played in the paddock into his own hands. you’d barely seen him, only catching flashes of him as he smiled deviously at you and ran away. you were getting a bit sick of him, to be honest, and if you weren’t so pathetically horny, you would never have chased a man like you were chasing george. you hardly even liked him, but you knew his endgame and he knew yours, and hopefully, it would include a bed.

the race came and went, a chaotic strategic mess that proved to be highly entertaining. you ignored the little celebratory butterflies you felt when george had finished the race in p4, and quickly did your media rounds in the pen. when the end of the scheduled press was nearing, and you still hadn’t seen him, you took matters into your own hands. you began to wander the paddock, followed by your camera crew as you rounded up the weekend, eyes peeled for the driver that had been on your mind nonstop for a week.

when you caught sight of him, slyly attempting to leave the merc suite without drawing your predatory attention, you sprang into action, not ready to let him get away that easily.

“george, a quick word? give the people what they want?” you tilted your head to the side persuasively, widening your eyes just the way he liked. translation: give me what i want.

“anything for you.” he replied, tone light and jokey as he fell into step beside you. your stomach twisted. you would let him do anything to you.

“not quite the podium you promised me last weekend, but a good weekend nonetheless?” you smiled coyly, trying to keep your cool, at least while you had a camera crew following you.

“guess i’ll just have to make it up to you,” he turned to look at you as he spoke, your eyes not missing the way his darkened. “we had a good weekend, couple of small errors but good progress overall, especially with lewis.” he carried on as normal, as if he wasn’t flirting with you in 4k. you were definitely going to be hearing from your bosses.

“how did it feel yesterday when you put the slicks on? do you think that compromised your session or were you looking at that kind of grid position anyway?” you asked the questions you were hired to ask, wondering how he’d undoubtedly steer the conversation back to the inappropriate territory that you’d led the pair of you into.

“it felt very wet, slippery. i enjoyed it a lot more than you might realise.” he grinned and you felt yourself throb. “sometimes the position that you’re in doesn’t matter, it can still feel good… to race from.” he cleared his throat, trying to hold back laughter at your agape mouth and glazed over eyes. “sometimes taking a gamble pays off.” he raked his eyes over your body and you felt a blush spreading across your face, leaving you pink and dazed.

“thank you for your time, george, good luck at silverstone.” you said quickly, a tight smile painted on your face, desperate to wrap things up so that you could find out what his mattress felt like beneath you. you knew that by now, you were both too far gone, pushed too far and desperate for more.

you wrapped up your segment, closing the show and ending your broadcast, enduring a quick debriefing with your team before you were released and sent on your way. your flight wasn’t until tomorrow evening, so you had plenty of time to kill and you knew exactly how you were going to spend it. when you arrived back at the hotel, you didn’t even go back to your own room, making a beeline straight for his on one of the top floors. you knocked furiously on his door, relentlessly tapping away at the wood until the door swung open and you were being dragged inside.

his lips were on yours before the door had even clicked shut, teeth clashing and tongues battling. his hands were everywhere, your hips, your waist, your ass, pulling you impossibly closer.

“you better fuck me, george. need it so bad.” you muttered, lips brushing against his as your hands pulled at his t shirt.

“always knew that you’d be like this, such a needy slut for me.” he replied. you moaned at his words.

“i just want to see if you can actually make me cum.” you whispered. he froze. you’d hit a nerve and it filled you with excitement.

“oh, darling, i know what you’re trying to do.” one hand grabbed harder at your ass, pulling you tightly against him, while the other gripped your jaw between his fingers. “i made you cum so hard on that yacht you couldn’t even stand without my hands all over you.” he peppered some kisses up the other side of your jaw between words.

“couldn’t do it in baku, though.” you breathed.

“didn’t want to. you didn’t deserve it.” your pussy was definitely soaked by now.

“of course you’d say that.” you scoffed.

something within him snapped and your tight dress was removed in a flash, thrown dramatically into a heap on the floor.

“take your underwear off.” he demanded, his hands completely leaving your body. you just stood there for a second, trying to catch your breath, whilst also trying to anticipate his next move. “now.” you quickly did as you were told, body tingling at the way his voice dropped. you were left standing completely naked, panties strewn carelessly, your bra thrown calculatedly at his head. you should have felt shy, maybe even a little bit embarrassed, but that was impossible, the hungry look in his eyes making you feel more powerful than you ever had.

“get on the bed.” he commanded, your body quickly moving of its own accord. “spread your legs, sweetheart. wanna see how wet you are for me.”

you quickly obliged, arranging yourself how he wanted, body aching for his touch. he gazed between your legs unabashedly, watching the way you squirmed on the mattress with sheer need.

“george, do something.” you demanded, trying to usher him along. he sighed, making his way onto the bed until he was slotted perfectly between your thighs.

you reached out a hand to thread it through his hair, only to be caught off guard when he swatted it away, slapping your outer thigh. you gasped, not expecting the jolt, which had definitely gotten you even wetter.

“don’t know what gave you the idea that you were in charge, my love.” his fingers massaged your thighs, working inwards until he was spreading you apart for him. “why can’t you ever just behave for me, hmm?”

“wanna be good for you, george.” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingertips skimming your folds, body relaxing into the mattress as the sounds of your wetness filled your ears.

“but you’re so bad for me, darling. so,” he ran his tongue over your cunt, “so,” he repeated the action with his tongue, kitten licking at your clit this time. “bad.” and with that final word, he buried his face in your pussy, tongue moving rapidly through your wetness. he moaned into you, sending your eyes rolling backwards in your head. his tongue worked through your folds over and over, special attention paid to your throbbing clit, which he sucked into his mouth.

you could feel your orgasm beginning to build, doubting whether or not he’d actually give it to you. his actions got sloppier, messier, the brit pulling back briefly to spit on your cunt, before nibbling at your clit with his teeth. you were getting louder and louder, moans tumbling uncontrollably from your swollen lips. finally, he allowed your fingers to thread through his hair, your grip firm, keeping him close.

“george,” you whined. “i’m gonna- i need to cum, fuck.” you cried out. somehow, his mouth sped up, but only for a second. he pulled away, barely any centimetres between his lips and your centre.

“say please.” he looked like the devil, grinning at you from between your legs. his mouth was covered in you, hair a mess, he was so pretty.

“fuck you.” you could feel tears building in your eyes as his breath fanned over your heat, your thighs trying to close but his grip on you didn’t allow them to.

“i know that’s what you want,” he winked, “and we will get to that, my love, but first, you need to say please.” he kitten licked at your clit a couple of times, before pulling himself away again. you shuddered at the sensation, but still, you held out. he sighed. “i’ve got nowhere to be, i’ll happily spend the rest of the night edging you.” his lips moved to the crease of your inner thigh, running the tip of his tongue across the sensitive skin. “i know you want me, darling. i know how desperate you are. so just,” he placed a kiss on your thigh. “say,” his tongue swirled over the skin. “please.” his lips closed and he sucked hard, marking you up for him, where only he would see.

“please, please, please.” you chanted. there was no use toying with him anymore, not when you were the only one suffering. he might have ached for you too, but he was enjoying this enough not to care. “george, please make me cum. please.”

he stood from the bed and you almost burst into tears, until you took notice of his belt buckle clinking as he quickly removed it. his trousers were gone only seconds later, and he was left in his boxers, a wet patch painfully noticeable. your hips bucked into nothing at their own accord.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’m gonna give you everything you want.” his boxers dropped to the floor and he was on top of you, barely giving you the chance to salivate over how ready he was for you. he was so hard, dripping and pink, all for you. you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock. a couple of pumps and he was hissing, slapping your hand away. he lined himself up with your entrance, head of his cock slapping against your clit a couple of times. you were so fucked out, so needy for him, arching your back to try and get him inside of you.

when he finally sunk in, your entire body went slack, eyes fluttering shut as a loud moan tore from the back of your throat. you’d been waiting for this for over a year, and god, was it worth it. he felt perfect, the weight of him resting hotly; you could feel him everywhere. he’d moved slowly at first, eyes trailing over your face, carefully searching for a tell as to how you were feeling. he quickly deduced that you felt good, the way your eyebrows creased, mouth slightly agape, the corners of your lips slightly upturned. he sped up, hips hitting yours. his thrusts were hard, hitting places deep inside of you that had never been touched. you were boneless beneath him, aside from your arms wrapped around his back, your nails digging urgently into his pale skin.

“you’re so good.” he mumbled, dipping down to kiss you. it was messy and untameable, passion flowing like champagne. he never slowed down, as desperate to fuck you as you were to be fucked.

everything tightened, your stomach, the grip on his back, your eyes. the pressure was building so quickly that you barely had any time to react to his fingers pressed to your clit, rapid circles being traced into the nerves. you thrashed helplessly, held down by his warm body thrusting restlessly into you, and you were cumming, pussy clenching around him as you unravelled. your moans were met with his own, but he wasn’t done quite yet. he kept going, fucking you further and harder into the mattress.

“george, i can’t,” you cried. “too much, too good.” you slurred your words, your orgasm leaving you fuzzy.

“too good?” he laughed. “i think you’ve got another one for me.” he pulled out of you, quickly flipping you onto your stomach. he arranged you just as he wanted, pushing one of your knees up the mattress until you were spread out and ready. he lined himself up once again, his warm skin pressed firmly against your back making your head spin. “you can tell me to stop.” he whispered into your ear, pulling the hair away from your face. he kissed your jaw, awaiting your response, giving your hip a squeeze. you were melting.

“more. please give me more.” your voice was as quiet as his, and you saw him nod from the corner of your eye, a sweet kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

he was inside you again in an instant, the delicateness of the moment fading away as he rammed himself into you. with his body covering yours, he was so incredibly deep inside of you that you felt every single twitch, pulse, drag of him, and it made you shake. you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

you ground your ass back to meet his thrusts, chasing your second orgasm, and he got the message, speeding up slightly. his lips moved over your neck, your shoulder blades, anywhere he could reach, leaving soft kisses and harsh bites that reminded you that you’d started this. you could feel him faltering, his rhythm changing, thrusts shallower. you were so close to another orgasm and the change in pace sent you over the edge, quickly spiralling. you clamped down on his cock and he was ruined, burying himself inside of you one last time as he came.

you were both exhausted, one messy, intertwined heap on his mattress. he chuckled breathlessly, and you could have sworn you heard him mutter a finally under his breath. as you both recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, flopping beside you on the mattress, brushing your hair off of your cheek again.

“so was it worth it?” he asked cockily, sitting himself up against the headboard, hands folded behind his head. you glared up at him playfully, still laying on your front, trying to keep your smile at bay.

“was alright.” you half shrugged, rolling your eyes. “not like you need me to over-inflate that ego of yours.” you teased. he laughed again, a joyful sound as you relaxed.

“are you gonna keep giving me a hard time in the press?” he asked, keeping up his banter, that you gladly returned, enjoying this lighter side of your relationship. there were no stakes right now, no cameras, no cruel jabs. it was easy.

“if you’re gonna fuck me like that, i think i’ll keep it up.”

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppetangelika @wmaximoffz @starlightoctavia @japanesekel @stardustinggold @vinvantae @chaoticallypan @ashleyo1611 @ggaslyp1 @poofy-baby-unicorns @dr3lover @smiithys  @turningxstrange @lees0015 @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @1missglum1 @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @shinydragondelusion @alexk2002 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @f-1-fan @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @f1thirsttraps @canyouseethesainz

i am once again reminding you that my taglist is a big ol mess!! happy to add you or remove, all you gotta do is ask ;)

[theonewiththefanfics]

Shield (one-shot)

Synopsis: To the new Captain America she might just be a human shield. But Bucky can see there’s more to it. What he can’t understand is why she stays.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of fluff

Warnings: mentions of blood and guns, swearing, torture, low mental state etc.

Word count: 3591

I am going absolutely feral about the fact that a portion of the series takes place in Latvia as I am Latvian :D Just seeing the signs and streets (which are not really ours cause they filmed in Prague, but are similar enough I can envision it), especially because we’re such a small country is amazeballs, so to be in such a huge show with my MCU faves is insane. Had the same kind of reaction to Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Nikolaj and the Captain Latvia episode. Riga hammer for the win :D 

P.S. John Walker is not Captain America cause he does not posses America’s ass. Also Zemo is one hundred percent Bucky’s and Sam’s sugar daddy. I won’t accept any dispute over this.

P.S.S. please also remember - John Walker is a character not a real person. John Walker is played by an actor who is doing his job the same way the actor who played Joffrey did. Do not harass him etc. but rather appreciate the insane talent he has. This place is a Wyatt Russell stan place.

P.S.S.S. Kinda spoilers for the show so if you haven’t seen it, don’t read this.

He hated him. Bucky genuinely hates him. He never thought he had despised something or someone so much, not even HYDRA, as much as he hated John Walker – the new Captain America. He wanted to scream at that, at the fact that this arrogant asshole was carrying Steve’s shield, the symbol of freedom and everything good, while in reality, he embodied none of what it stood for.

           Walker and what he’d learned his sidekick was Battlestar, had swooped in from a helicopter while Sam and he had been following the Flag-Smasher vehicles, and, well, they hadn’t been a lot of help, which he shouldn’t be too surprised about. But what he had been surprised about was when they’d all been thrown off of the semi-trucks and scattered all around a field, someone else had been in the mix as well. 

A young woman with Y/H/C hair and determined Y/E/C eyes was rushing towards them, screaming for them to stay on the ground. When Bucky looked behind, he could see why given how one of the radicalised people had jumped from the trucks and was barreling at them with an automatic cocked at them

           But it wasn’t Walker who jumped up running past her, shield at the ready to take on the fire. No. He just remained sitting as the stranger kept her pace. She leapt at the two with a grace of a cat, pushing him and Sam back to the ground and immediately got blown back by the received ammunition, gasps leaving her mouth as the bullets entered her body.

           Sam’s wings extended and created a body length shield as Bucky snatched one of the knives strapped to the man’s side and flung it with deadly accuracy into the Flag-Smasher’s neck, dropping him to the ground. 

           There was blood when he looked back. There was so much blood, and once again it was all over Bucky’s hands, and he couldn’t breathe properly, pressing down on her abdomen and shoulder and side, and. oh god, there were too many bullet wounds...

           Two wide Y/E/C eyes stared back up at him, mouth gasping down shallow breaths as he held down on her wounds trying to stop the blood from pouring out. God, there was so much of it.

           “Don’t close your eyes,” he gritted, his body trembling. “Well get you help. You’ll be alright.”

           But then Walker spoke up, and Bucky saw read because of a different reason. “She’s fine, just leave it.”

           His head snapped to see that arrogant bastard cross his arms as he hissed. “Leave it? She’s fucking bleeding out! She took those bullets for you, and you just want to leave it?!”

           Walker just smirked, nudging his chin towards her body. “You’ll see.”

           “You let her use herself as a shield while you did nothing!”

           “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Because that’s her whole point.”

           And that’s when Bucky felt her skin shift underneath his hands. Slowly the blood stopped pouring out, Y/N’s breathing evened, and her eyes closed not because death was calling, but because of relief as the regenerative cells kicked into high gear.

           Bucky gazed in wonder as the wounds closed up, and when only scar tissue remained he snapped his blue eyes to her, Y/E/C ones already staring back at him.

           “Who are you?” he whispered

           “A human shield that’s what,” Walker answered in her stead, but Bucky just sneered.

           “I asked who, not a what. She’s a fucking person.”

           Once more he looked back down and saw a strange look in her eyes. It was as if she was trying to decipher what those words meant, but once the shock from such a huge assault had ended, she gulped down a breath and gave him a crooked smile. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

           A lopsided one came to grace his own face. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.”

           “Bucky.” Her eyebrow rose. “Well, it’s very nice to finally meet you.”

           He smiled at her, and not the painful smile he’d given the senator before her arrest, but a real genuine smile, one that made the skin around his eyes crinkle. 

           “And it’s very nice you didn’t decide to die on us.”

           “Yeah, yeah, can we cut this meet and greet shorter?” Walker interrupted them, and if Bucky hadn’t been holding onto Y/N’s shoulder as she tried to rise from the ground, he would’ve punched the guy. 

           “I told you she was going to be fine.”

           Bucky threw him his best murder glare but stopped when he felt Y/N squeeze his hand as if saying ‘don’t bother.' His brows furrowed in confusion. She just shook her head.

           “We should still find you a hospital.” He talked to Y/N directly, ignoring what the new Captain was saying. “It doesn’t matter that you can survive something like that, I’d rather make sure you’re checked out by professionals.

           “It won’t be necessary.” Walker slipped the shield on his arm and nudged his partner to start walking with him, pretty much expecting the rest to follow. “It was her choice anyway to take the hits.”

           “It doesn’t mean she should!” Bucky pretty much hollered, startling even Sam.

           At that, he saw Y/N’s eyes widen and her head snap up to look at him. All the breath got knocked out from Bucky at the emotion in her face. It was like she didn’t believe what he was saying like she didn’t know it was a possibility to not put her own life before someone else’s, that maybe someone is supposed to do it for her, someone could protect her.

           “She absorbs fucking bullets and infuses them in her body.” John mocked. “I’d say it’s a win-win on both sides. Everyone else stays safe, and she gets stronger, right? The whole bleeding thing is a hitch in the system, but our guys say with enough scuffles that should stop as well.”

Walker looked at her. Y/N just gulped, staring back down at the ground between her knees. 

           When he looked back at everything the moment he’d seen Zemo in the cell and the asshole had said something still remained in him from the Winter Soldier, came back to connect with the scene. He’d hated that sentence because Bucky knew it was true. The Soldier would always be a part of him, but that was what therapy was for – to accept it and let go. But in that minute, he wouldn’t have cared one bit if the ruthless assassin came to the surface if it meant snapping Walker’s neck like a stick. 

           He treated the woman as if she was below him, as if Steve’s shield somehow made him better than her, better than anyone, and yet, even when he’d been given the privilege to carry it, he’d rather use a human person, no matter if they had powers, as a shield.

           A soft hand touched his side, and Bucky looked at Y/N, his breathing heavy at Walker’s words. 

           “I’m alright.” Her voice was softer than he thought it would be. Maybe it was because she was trying to stay out of John’s earshot, but even the gentle whisper made something in Bucky’s chest stir. “Thank you,” she said. “For checking up on me.”

           Bucky stiffly nodded, standing up and offering both his hands for her to take, but even with that, it took Sam holding her by the waist to be able to stand. The Falcon had to catch her, in fact, when she took her first steps, an awkward chuckle escaping her mouth. 

           “It’s been a while since a hit like this.”

           Sam quirked a brow and smirked. “You always have a tendency to do stupid shit like that?”

           Y/N’s whole body relaxed as he said so, and a sting went through Bucky’s own. How bad were they treating her if basic kindness and a little bit of joking made her feel so safe?

           Just as he was about to ask her more, to offer to take her with them, Walker spoke up again. That conversation was an absolute disaster, and the fact that Walker thought Sam and him would actually ever consider working with him on this mission was idiotic. 

           It ended with the two Avengers watching how Walker threw an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, making her knees buckle with the weight, her from still regaining strength, but he didn’t care, just dragged her along with him and Battlestar.

           “Are we just gonna let ‘em do that to her?” Bucky sneered, arms crossed watching their retreating forms over the field.

           He felt Sam glower next to him. “There’s not much we can do.”

           He hated that he was right.

           Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N. One meeting had left him shaken to the core not just about her, but about how there was something deeply off with the new Captain America, that if they didn’t take action something horrible would happen, not just because of his arrogance, but because of some seed he could feel had rooted itself in the other man’s heart.

           But by that point they’d been in Madripoor, had met Sharon who’d been on the run from the US government ever since the dismantlement of the Avengers, and had now followed a lead to where the Flag-Smashers had settled in Latvia.

           Zemo seemed to not only have a billion cars, but a billion apartments scattered around the world, this one being in the heart of the Old Town. 

           Bucky was on the roof looking over the twinkling lights of the city. His bed had been too soft as it always was, and even the floor wasn’t it for him, not a wink of sleep coming his way as his thoughts were flooded by Y/N.

           Well, the sleep part wasn’t true. He had been able to drift off, only to dream of how the woman didn’t get better, didn’t absorb those bullets and had died right in his arms. That’s when he decided he needed a breath of fresh air.

           The sound of shuffling feet made him whip around from the scenic view only to be greeted by a form he’d now recognise in a full-on ski-suit in pitch-black darkness.

           “What are you doing here?” Bucky stood up wanting to stride over and check her for any wounds she might’ve gotten while around Walker. Any new scar on her body would mean the same number of teeth he’d knock from that Walmart-version-Captain-America’s mouth.

           “Came to warn you.” She shrugged, soft winds making her coat flutter. “John and Lemar are resting, but come morning they’ll be on your ass, so you might wanna make a move now.”

           Bucky shook his head. “I don’t get you. You’re nothing like them, I can see that you know how wrong it is, for him to be carrying that shield, that he’s making a mockery out of the name and legacy Steve built, and yet…”

           Y/N hung her head lifting her shoulders, hands in her pockets. “I gotta do what I gotta do.”

           “He’s an asshole,” Bucky hissed. 

           Y/N gave him a painful look. “I know. But I don’t have anywhere to go. Besides… you have your own way of making amends. Well, this is mine.”

           Dark brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

           She let out a painful chuckle, not because of the memories now plaguing her waking thoughts, but because her wounds were still healing, and instantly Bucky came closer and took her hand, running a soothing thumb over her palm. Wounds he was sure were new.

           Y/N froze at his touch, and Bucky was about to pull away when she put her own thumb over his. He had to bite back tears at how tenderly she was looking down at his palm. Like no one had ever comforted her when it hurt. 

           “When the Blip happened,” she started, voice low and quiet. “I watched how my sister and mom disappeared right in front of my eyes. We were driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, and there was a truck before us. It was carrying loads of metal scraps. The driver of the truck got blipped as well.” She swallowed harshly. “I can still feel how the beam went through my shoulder, how it broke the bone and skin, and how I just wanted to disappear like they had just to make the pain stop. But I didn’t. It hurt so bad.” Y/N looked at Bucky, tears running down her face. “It was burning and tearing, and so much pain… and all I could do was scream, but no one heard me because everyone else was screaming, and I was just one of the thousands doing it.”

           Y/N shook her head, and when Bucky leaned closer to wipe away the tears, she sighed at the feeling. “I passed out sometime later. From the pain the… well, everything. And when I woke up, I heard people outside the door, trying to rip it open, I could see red lights flashing, but where I expected that beam to be was nothing. When I looked down at myself there was a hole in my shirt, but instead of a hole in my shoulder, a round scar was the only thing left from that moment.”

           “They took me to the hospital, and when they tried to put an IV in, my body just swallowed up the needle.” She took a shaky breath, and Bucky squeezed her side. ‘Go on’ he tried to convey with the touch. ‘I’m here.’

           “That’s when the tests started. They were fine at first. Blood samples when they managed to get any, saliva and all that good jazz… but then they started poking. And poking turned into slicing which turned into stabbing until I was their personal pincushion, as they tried to see what my body would and wouldn’t take.”

           Y/N was shaking by that point, but not because of the wind that had picked up, but because of anger, of the horror, she’d had to go through. It took everything in Bucky to remain calm and let her continue.

           “Two years they did that. And then one time they went a bit too far. Someone had stolen a vibranium spear from the Dora Milaje.”

           Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat. He wasn’t moving a muscle.

           “They wanted to know if I could absorb the strongest metal on Earth, so slowly…” Her hands went to her front, to the white blouse she was wearing and started popping open the buttons. Bucky was just about to protest when he understood.

           “They pushed the spear too far.” Her finger ran over a rhomb shaped scar right in the centre of her chest. Right over her heart. “Pushed it right through.”

           “How did you survive?” Bucky was appalled, but in awe at the same time. 

            Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t. I died then and there on the table. They took my body and dumped it in some ditch. From my own calculations, it took me about a day to heal. They’d sown in a scalpel in my stomach a few hours before, so I’m assuming it used that as the binding material for the cells.”

“I was so angry.” She looked at him. “At everyone, at myself, that I couldn’t help my family, that I allowed them to just use me like that, I just went off the deep end. I did so many bad things…” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I read about the Winter Soldier, y’know. His whole thing was efficiency, quickness. I – “ She choked on her words. “I wasn’t. I wanted to drag it out. Wanted to find each and every one of the bastards who laid their hands on me and make them suffer as I did.”

           Bucky’s hand settled on her waist as he pulled her closer, feeling her body keen at the motion as she looked for reassurance. “I’m not a good person, Bucky. This.” She motioned with her head to her body. “This is my repentance for what I did.”

           “What he’s doing is not right. What they’re making you do is not right.” Bucky shook his head. “Just because it might not kill you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. No one had any right to touch you.”

           “It’s the price I pay for what I did.”

           “Pain?”

           Y/N nodded. “Eye for an eye. Pain for the pain I caused.”

           Bucky shook his head. “That’s not right.”

           “How else am I supposed to do this?”

           “By getting help yourself first.”

           Y/N’s eyes widened, and Bucky sighed. He understood how impossible that thought seemed, that someone who’s done so much bad could deserve help from others, but he understood her situation better than anyone. “Being here,” he said, “being able to say these things… I can only do that because I got help. It was mandated by the state, but nevertheless…” Both chuckled at that, and Bucky’s heart lightened at the sound, at the genuine sound of joy from her. “But the therapy… I hate to say this, but it helped. It’s not easy. I sometimes detest going to the sessions, and I might be failing them quite miserably right now, especially with rule number two –“

           “What’s rule number two?”

           “Don’t hurt anyone,” Bucky mumbled. “And I’ve broken it quite a lot recently, I know that which will either make me end up behind bars or will add more therapy sessions to the list, but I’m not afraid anymore.”

           Y/N gulped, gazing just as intensely at Bucky as he was at her. “Of what?”

           “Of reaching out.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of asking for help. Of understanding that I deserve help, and I deserve to receive it.”

           “Yeah, but the thing is I’m not like you.” Y/N looked away from him. “No one forced me to do this, no one brainwashed me. I did everything out of my own volition. Me. No one else. You deserve that help because HYDRA did all those things to you. You are a victim of war. I’m not. All those horrible things I did… I did them. Not some alias of mine.”

           Bucky’s heart hurt at the fact that Y/N couldn’t see she was a victim of her own circumstance, and how now the government was punishing her for it. And that’s when another brick hit him – it was exactly like Isaiah’s situation. Both came from marginalised groups, parts of society where the ones in power have been trying to oppress and control them for as long as he could remember, he just couldn’t see it. He could see Sam’s point of view now. Maybe not as clearly as he should, but he was starting to wipe away the fog.

           “They used you just as much as HYDRA used me.” He asserted, and Y/N’s eyes widened at his sure statement. “Just because a pile of shit has a bowtie on now, doesn’t mean it’s no longer a pile of shit… Come with us.” Bucky’s forehead pressed to hers. “Let’s do this the right way.”

           “It’s mandated by the US government that I stay by John’s side and help him.”

           Bucky smirked at that, nudging his nose against Y/N’s. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re in Latvia then. Besides Captain America has no pull here.”

           She laughed, warm breath slipping over Bucky’s skin, and he had to close his eyes as the thought of her breathless and underneath him invaded his mind. “Unfortunately, this deal stands whether I’m inside the borders of USA or outside.”

           Y/N looked over the skyline to where the country’s national monument stood. A woman, hands up in the air outstretched with three stars in her palms, with words she couldn’t understand when she'd arrived etched on the granite at the bottom. Some local had translated them for her. For the Fatherland and Freedom.

           After the blip and the experiments, she didn’t feel like she had a home. She’d been imprisoned and prodded like some lab bunny to see what her body could do. What her body could be used for.

           Bucky followed her gaze as she kept looking at the statue. Different stars, different saying, but still with the same meaning of what he saw when he looked at the Captain America shield. Freedom. Justice. For the love of their home.

Something deep started to burn in her chest, and even Bucky could feel the shift. 

           A ferocious look appeared in her eyes as she looked at him. “Let’s get that shield.” She wasn’t going to let Walker taint that star, she knew would happen if he had it for much longer.

           They’d had a single meeting beforehand, and during that half-hour, he’d been terrified for more than two-thirds of the time about how Y/N might die in his arms, die because she’d taken bullets meant for him. 

           He was so glad she hadn’t, not because it would be another life lost because of him, but because he felt like he’d found a twin flame – someone who’d understand him and his troubles. Someone he could help.

           Maybe that could be the true way he could make amends – help someone in the same situation.

           Bucky smiled.

           Y/N did so too, and his heart skipped a beat looking at the woman.

           Her body might be able to absorb the metals piercing it, Walker might call her a human shield, but he knew she was so much more than that. And he’d spend however long it took him to prove so to her. Maybe even in more ways than one.

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Please reblog if you like this. For whatever reason my Bucky fics aren’t appearing in the tags :(

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[liddolwhynot2000]

Moments Levi shared with his beloved baby daughter- Kutchel

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aka Levi giving all his 💕Uwu's💕 to his baby girl

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Dadaaa

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It's Levi's day off, and even though he tries his hardest not to look it, he's eager to run back home. He's determined to not waste a second of being off duty.

He's missed his family- you and your calming presence. The stability that he falls into at merely being in the same vicinity as you, is difficult to resist-even for a man like Levi.

Your gentleness somehow meshes well with your child's rowdiness, always laughing and wreaking havoc in the house. He wants to hold his baby brat, even if she'll try to pull his hair out for it.

So he hurries back home, but of course, he has to get past your little guard first. Standing with his cloak still in his arms, Levi craned his neck down to stare at the tiny creature sitting on the floor, blocking his path to his beloved wife. Said creature, wearing a blue dress, is his adorable one year old daughter.

The baby doesn't bother to spare him a glance, too busy babbling as she plays with her blocks. Levi's fine with it, it took him a while but he's learned to accept that babies don't care about, well, anything.

He ponders lifting her up and cradling her in his arms for a cuddle. But, considering the ferociousness with which his daughter is bashing two blocks together, he decides that he values his ability to hear.

Kneeling down, he sets his cloak on the floor and sits in front of her, waiting to be noticed. Kutchel looks at him, her big black eyes innocently blinking at him. She shoves a block into her mouth and gurgles, recognising him.

"Do I have your approval to go to your mom now?"

"Ba da guuu"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

More random babbling. Tiny hands busy themselves with trying to crawl away, so Levi pats her on the head and gets up to go to his wife. He doesn't notice his baby pausing mid crawl to pout at him, wanting him to stick close.

He also doesn't see her little face cutely scrunch up, thinking of ways to stop him and bring one of her favourite humans back to her.

''Daadaaa."

Levi freezes, his heart immediately melting. He can't stop himself from turning back to his child, not when she calls out for him like that.

He cradles her in his arms, unaware that you're watching from the kitchen door, committing the sight to memory.

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Conversations

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You've been with Levi for so long now-so much of your life has been spent with this wonderful man and you have no regrets whatsoever.

You do, however, have secrets. Not serious ones, but pure ones. Small, precious memories you've kept to yourself. They're you're little secrets- events that you look back on with fondness.

Events Levi doesn't know you saw happen.

You remember, when you were exhausted from giving birth, how lovingly Levi talked to your newborn daughter.

'Hey brat, you better keep it down now. Your mom just fell asleep- don't yawn. You're already not listening to me-'

He thought you were asleep. If it weren't for your stitches, you would have giggled and alerted him to the fact that you were listening.

You remember all those times you were never woken up by Kutchel crying-because Levi would wake up before you.

'Go to sleep.'

'oooooh'

'I said; Go. To. Sleep. Don't smile at me-- hey stop laughing-'

You caught on to it very randomly, and the memory warmed your heart to this day.

Levi often had silly little conversations with baby Kutchel, when he thought you weren't in hearing range.

'Yes this is the right way-no what do you mean I can't fold shirts like this-you're pouting you obviously don't agree.'

'Kid- I don't know why you like Eren so much-but this works because he can be an unpaid babysitter-no? Fine, I guess I can pay him a little. Okay fine, I'll pay him more then a little.'

'Do you like this dress? Me neither. How about this one-these socks are awful why the hell do you have these-'

'Yes tea is better then coffee. Coffee is for soulless creatures like Mikasa-Hey, don't cry dammit, why do you have to like the brat that glares at me so much huh? You tiny traitor.'

'So I'm taking you to that military ball tommorow-and I expect you to cry enough that I have an excuse to leave. You cry, I leave and then you get as much milk as you want. We good? Good. Don't tell your mother.'

'You threw up on that military police soldier-I'm proud of you brat. Now, let's aim for throwing up on Erwin. Or at least trying to rip his eyebrows out. I feel like the rumour of them being fake might be true.'

'I know you can't talk much, but make a vow to me that you will, never, ever say yes to anything your Aunt Hange asks of you. Trust me, it's for you own good.'

'Kutchel- stop that-I will pay you to stay still. Here, here's all the money I have, which isn't much. Take it and stay still- why the hell are you still wiggling, you need to put your socks on dammit-'

And so much more. It warmed your heart to think of how beautifully he had bonded with her from the start. And you can only be glad you get to see their entire journey together.

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Cloak

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Levi is a man who values cleanliness above all things-he's made sure his house is so clean that all the rooms are sparkling. Despite having a baby in the house, who had recently learned how to walk and subsequently wreak havoc everywhere she wants to, he still tries his hardest to stick to those standards.

So that's why, here he is, pathetically trying to wash clothes, with a clingy toddler who has made it her life's mission to ruin his life. How is she doing this, one would ask. Well, making sure that he can't even put the damn clothes in the basket was one.

'Kutchel-no-stop it, give that back.'

Levi's a little ashamed of himself, just his hands moving to grab his swords are usually enough to strike fear into the heart of his enemies. Yet, here they are, incapable of winning a tug of war with his one year old brat.

He's really, really glad that Hanji can't see him right now.

He manages to get the shirt out of Kutchel's strong grip, causing her to pout and flail her arms with a whine. Levi refuses to give in and snatches the next piece of clothing before she can. He gives her a stern look.

'No.'

With that, he dumps it in the basket. Kutchel doesn't appreciate it, sitting down and pouting at him cutely. It doesn't last long, because she busies herself with the clothes again. At least she isn't snatching them from his hands this time, and only picking on the clean pile.

He gets up to get some more detergent, smiling to himself at the sound of happy gurgles. Once he comes back, he catches sight of Kutchel, and nearly drops all the powder.

His child is exactly where he had left her, except she's now wearing his Survey Corps cloak. Her black hair, much like his own, is messy and the hood is too big for her tiny head. She looks up at him, and smiles in the face of his horror. On one hand, it's pretty damn cute. On the other hand-

'Oh hell no-'

He starts to take the cloak off of her, ignoring her cries of indignation. His child won't have anything to do with the Survey Corps. Ever.

Too bad 15 year old Kutchel Ackerman had every intention of stealing his title from him- but that's a story for another time.

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Clapping

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Levi has self control. Plenty of it, actually. One could easily argue that, after Erwin, he's one of the most composed individuals in the military.

He's dealt with all sorts of people-rude, snobbish, arrogant bastards who think they stand a chance against him. His expression never waivers, even as he insults them to the point their ancestors are crying in the graves.

But what's happening right now, it makes him lose his precious self control. His face, so used to being that of an expressionless grumpy old man, is scrunched up in anger. Levi does not like what's happening.

Not one bit.

Levi can deal with people trash talking him, he never falters despite all the accurate short jokes. He can deal with people bashing Erwin without flinching-because even he's wanted to kill the man once and can't really blame others for wanting to do so as well.

However, what Levi can't deal with in a calm and rational manner, is -

'The fuck did you just say?'

'I said, your daughter is just a dumb brat.'

Yeah, this Military Police Senior Officer is dying today. Levi hopes Erwin is ready to deal with an irate Nile

'Shut the fuck up-I'm the only one who gets to call her a dumb brat.'

The Officer moves to speak again but Levi silences him with a soul burning glare. Levi turns to his brat. Kutchel is sitting on the carpet, wearing a tiny, cute red dress you had bought for her on sale. She's surrounded by numerous toys, gifted by his comrades.

'Kutchel-'

The baby pauses in her play time, which is chewing a stuffed bear, and turns to look at her papa. The officer looks confused.

'If you're happy and you know it clap your hands.'

There's a pause in the room. The officer looks surprised, although he thinks Levi just proved his point. Kutchel looks to be only a few months old and Levi has just monotonously stated a sentence that is usually sung. There was no way the brat would actuall-

Kutchel squealed in delight, pressing her hands together slowly. Once she notices her papas approval, she starts clapping happily.

Levi smirks, while the officer sweat drops.

'See that, bitch? No' dumb brat' does that at 9 months old.'

Of course, Levi still had to beat the guy up a little after that. No one picks on his baby but him.

____________________________________

Sorry

____________________________________

'Eat it.'

Levi pushed the spoon towards Kutchel, who refused to open her mouth.

He had seated her on the table, ditching the highchair. A bib was secured around her neck, and the brat was clearly hungry.

Except since she had eaten three bites, she refused to eat more. Levi was slowly getting more and more frustrated.

'What's your problem? I know you're hungry.'

Kutchel stared at him sadly, and his irritation thawed at the sight. His child was usually pretty well behaved when it came to food. She usually liked eating fruits and vegetables, but for some reason, kept rejecting her baby food.

Levi frowned, before deciding to taste it himself. Maybe if he ate one in front of her, she would want to eat it too-

Levi paused.

He slowly ate, resisting the urge to throw up. He grimaced and awkwardly avoided eye contact with Kutchel, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

There was judgement in her eyes- something he couldn't blame her for.

The hell sort of crap had they been feeing her? It tasted awful. No wonder she wouldn't eat it.

Sighing, Levi shoved the bowl full of food-that-must-not-be-named away. He lifted Kutchel into his arms.

His brat pouted slightly, her small arms wrapping around his neck. Poor kid was hungry, as evidenced by her discontent expression.

Levi smiled at her lightly, tucking her head into he crook of his neck.

'Sorry Kutchel-let's go to the bakery and get some pastries. And when we get back, I'll even mix some chocolate in your milk. Just don't tell your mother okay.'

____________________________________

A/N: Heyooo. Just randomly thought of Levi being a dad and this came to mind. These are actually only some of the moments I thought of, I have plenty more in mind. Maybe I'll write those out too. Hope y'all enjoyed this! ❇️

[kingandfireheart]

The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

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

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

--

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

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

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

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

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

[xlovelyyoongix]

playing the part | myg

summary: On set, Yoongi was your enemy but off set, he was your secret lover. 18+

prompt: y/n is the star of an action movie and Yoongi is her enemy. While they hate each other in the movie, they genuinely like spending time with each other in real life.

genre: action, angst, smut, fluff

warnings: violence, guns, fist fighting, near-death experience, swearing, unprotected sex (please be safe yall) female receiving, stimulation while being penetrated, creampie, aftercare, and feelings that can’t be said out loud.

w/c: 4k

Rating: 18+

a/n: I was initially going to post this at the very beginning of the year, but I ended up getting sick and testing positive for covid-19. (please don’t worry about me. I’m feeling much better now 😊) But a few of my followers have been asking about me since I haven’t posted in a while, so I figured I’d give everyone a quick update. I’m glad to be back and happy to be working on all of my WIPs I have planned for the month. Please everyone, social distance, wear your masks, and stay safe. Happy reading  💕

"I'm done playing games with you." Your furious words bouncing off the walls of the abandoned warehouse as the weight of your pistol points directly at the male standing in front of you. "Hand over the money, or I'll put a hole in your head," Your finger seconds away from the trigger.

Yoongi chuckles, a cocky smirk stretching across his lips. "You won't shoot me-"

BANG

Before Yoongi ever had the chance of completing his sentence, the melody of your warning shot echoes, causing a vibration of whitenoise to jolt the walls of your inner eardrums. Missing on purpose, the bullet still managed to graze Yoongi’s skin, a thin line of blood trickling down his cheek.

Yoongi snickers at your attempt to frighten him while wiping away the blood that stained his flesh. "Why waste a bullet when you could have easily taken my life?" His words oozing arrogance as his body strutted forward, emptying the gap between the two of you. "Is it because you don't have the strength to kill the man you love?" He taunts wickely, onyx eyes peering into yours.  

With Yoongi being this close in proximity, the muscles in your body begin to tense, jaw clenching tightly as your sweaty hands gripped the handle of your gun. "Shut up!" You shout, not allowing him to use your emotions against you.

Yoongi observes your hesitant behavior, licking his bottom lip enticingly. "How about I make it easier, so you don't miss next time, hm." He sarcastically hums, gripping the barrel of your gun to position the weapon against the flat of his forehead. "I've done the hard part; now, all you have to do is shoot, baby girl." He mocks with the pet name he once called you.  

It was at this intense moment, you begin to regret it all. Accepting a job that required your feminine charm to seduce a drug lord that just so happened to owe your client an uber amount of money. You've done it before, sleeping with the enemy only to assassinate them by morning, so why was Yoongi so different? Why was this so hard?

Was it the luxurious dates? His charming smile? Unworldly sex? You don't really remember, only knowing that somewhere along that line, loving him was no longer pretend. "I said, Shut up!" You shake your head in hopes of ridding your brain of all the useless memories that only made your job harder.

"FUCKIN' DO IT!" Yoongi shouts through clenched teeth as his grip around the barrow of your gun tightens.

Flinching with your eyes shut, your finger pulls the trigger, producing another loud bang that causes your wrist to jerk from the power of the gun. Your heart drops at the sound, and you're afraid to open your eyes, knowing the second you do, your vision will be met with your lover in a pool of his own blood.

"Fuck, you were actually gonna kill me that time, huh?"

The sound of Yoongi’s voice causes your lashes to jolt open, shocked that the man was still alive and well, standing before you. It was then you notice your weapon carrying, hand being pinned above your head. The swift bastard must have trapped you in the second before you pulled the trigger. "I have a job to do, and I won't let feelings get in the way of my mission." You announce proudly, but more so to convince yourself than anything else.

Yoongi clicks his tongue at your response. "Is that so?" Taking advantage of your pinned  position, he stares your body down with an almost hungry eye. Your smooth skin glistening with sweat, large eyes that seemed to out shine the moon, delectable lips slightly parted to breathe, and a leather body suit that hugged every heavenly curve; curves he was once oh so familiar with. But, it was also in that moment Yoongi realized, despite the lustful infatuation that pulled him towards you, he'd be damned if he let anyone take his life. "I'll just have to kill you first then."

Before you could react to Yoongi's threat, his stealthy foot sweeps from under you, knocking you off your balance. Your body collides into the ground, gun sliding across the cold concrete. "Shit!" You eye down the weapon, collecting your balance once again to dart towards the object but Yoongi's headstart nearly beats you to it.

He takes the chance to reach down to grab the pistol -possibly to use it to end your life- but your survival instincts emerge,  causing your body to fling forward, tackling Yoongi like a linebacker on a football field. "Son of a..." He sneers at the weight of your body straddling his waist, fist flying forward to attack his face. Blocking your attacks, Yoongi grows frustrated with how long the altercation has lasted. "Okay, baby girl, this ends now." Grunting, Yoongi  uses his upper body strength to flip you, landing on your back as his heavy body pins you in.

For a short moment, Yoongi takes the time to admire your beauty. Messy hair splattered around your glistening face, chest heaving in attempt to collect your breath and cheeks an exhausted pink. "You're so fuckin beautiful..." But as soon as the soft words left his lips, a hand reached behind his back, removing a silver gun from it’s holster. “Which is why it pains me to do this.” Cocking the weapon, Yoongi presses the hold metal to your temple. "But before you go, say one last thing for me."

You struggled with all your might to wiggle yourself from under Yoongi, but his masculine weight bore you to struggle. You also attempted to reach for your gun, only half an inch away, but it was to no avail. "What?" You question back with a sneer, but not because you actually care -or maybe you do- but more so to buy you some time before your death.

Yoongi snickers, leaning in to ghost his devilish smirk over your swollen lips. "Tell me, it wasn't all fake." His jet eyes begin to soften as the pad of his thumb caresses your cheek. "Tell me, you love me."  

Your heart skips a beat but not because of the adrenaline spiking through your veins, but because even after everything, the fights, the betrayal, his heavy gun pressed to your temple, you still loved him. In an ordinary world, you'd be considered a psychopath for falling for a drug lord, but you didn't live in the real world. You were a hitman, and with your busy schedule and the blood of your enemies permanently staining your psyche, there was no room for traditional romance. You convince yourself that was the reason for your undeniable infatuation towards the blonde-haired male, just a girl yearning to finally feel the warmth of love. "Go fuck yourself." It pains you to say it, but in the end, you'd rather die with pride than with the taste of affection on your tongue.

Yoongi winces at your aggressive words towards him. Despite his rugged exterior, he was capable of feelings, and he did love you. He loved you more than any woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Being in this predicament indeed penetrated his heart so deep, he doubted he'd ever recover. "That's a shame." Regaining his stern demeanor, Yoongi clenches his jaw and positions his index above the trigger. "Goodbye, baby girl." A second away from ending your life, the two of you are interrupted by a loud shout.

"CUT!" The director whistles the alarm, and the once dark warehouse illuminates with bright fluorescent lights, bringing the scene to a complete stop. "That's a wrap for tonight, folks," he calls from behind a row of cameramen. "I want everyone back on set first thing in the morning. We'll be finishing up the final scene of the movie tomorrow" The stage and camera crew breaking out in applause at the work that was completed.

With the scene finally over, Yoongi pulls himself from on top of you, kindly extending his arm to assist you up with an eyeing smirk.

"You're fuckin heavy, you know that?" You harshly joke, taking his hand to accept the offer to help you up.

"That's funny," Yoongi's voice dripped with seduction, using his strength to whisk your body into his chest. His soft lips ghosting over the shell of your ear to whisper, "You weren't complaining about my weight last night-."

"Shhh!" Your hand cups over Yoongi's mouth, shushing him before anyone could witness his handsy flirtation. "You know better than to act like this on set." You arch your brow, matter-a-factly.

Yoongi parts his lips to respond but was interrupted by his makeup team stepping on set. "Mr. Min, let's get you cleaned up and ready to go." Politely placing her hand on Yoongi's back, she guides him along before he could get a chance to say good-bye.

A slight giggle escapes past your lips as you watch Yoongi being dragged offset by his team. Your eyes begin to feel heavy for the need of rest, and your throat produces a yawn. Exhausted, you head towards the direction of your makeup team, ready to escape to the confines of your trailer for the night.

   1:30 in the morning is when you're finally able to leave set and head back to your trailer for the night. Stepping out of the shower and into your silk robe, you examine your body in the fogged mirror, muscles sore from stunts -you swore to your director you didn't need a double for- and bags under your eyes being the evidence of long working hours. You couldn't complain though you loved your job, the excitement, the thrill, everything that came with being an actress, and you wouldn't trade it for the world.

A small knock at your trailer door interrupts your thoughts, wondering who it could be at an hour like this. Possibly the director wanting to go over tomorrow's scene? Curious, you peek through the blinds, but not surprised by who you see. A smile slips across your cheeks as you open the door, revealing a handsome blond-haired male standing before you. "I think you're lost." You playfully tease, pointing to the row of luxury trailers in the distance. "Your lodging is that way."  

Yoongi smirks at your sarcastic facade, playing along to entertain your ploy. "No,." He quickly replies, walking up the steps to your trailer until standing directly under you. "I think I'm in the right place." His large hands slip across the silk of your robe, finding their favorite spot on your hips while seductive eyes peak at the curves of your cleavage.

"Is that so?" You question, arching a tempting brow, "So, what is an A-list Actor doing at my trailer so late into the night?" Your fingers trickle to the nape of Yoongi's neck, dancing circles across his ivory skin.

"Well." Yoongi's nose slowly dips across the curve of your neck, getting a tasteful whiff of your natural scent before his pink lips ghost over the shell of your ear. "I came to fuck my co-star."

Yoongi's daring confession causes a vibrating tingle to spike throughout your body, increasing the lustful heat growing between your thighs. Surrendering to the fervor your body craved, your plush lips crash into his, with tongues beginning to dance together in harmony. Lost in the passion, your hand locates Yoongi's collar, pulling him into your trailer, and with a swift kick, he closes the door behind him.

The actor wastes no time shoving you against the counter of your tiny kitchen, large hands fiddling with the lace of your robe. Your silk falls around you, pooling to the floor, unveiling the flawless secrets of your womanly beauty. "Fuck." Yoongi nearly growls at the sight of smooth skin, supple breasts, and voluptuous curves. "I've been waiting for this all day." He could barely finish his sentence before his hungry lips were attacking your neck, teeth nibbling and sucking the flesh while wandering hands located your nipple to tease.  

"Y-Yoongi." You whimper from his touch, body arching off the counter to welcome his ardors actions. "R-remember not to bruise me, okay." If it were up to you, you wouldn't complain about the trademark evidence Yoongi liked to leave throughout your body, but things spread fast in the media. You couldn't risk a 'dating scandal'; in the middle of shooting a major motion picture movie, the press would eat you alive.

"Shit, forgot, sorry." He mutters an apology, loosening his hold on your breast and trailing succulent kisses down your abdomen. "Guess I'll just have to leave hickies where people can't see them." A flash of greedy lust shimmers in Yoongi's eyes the moment he hoists your thigh over his shoulder. His mouth nearly watering at the glorious sight before him. "So fuckin' wet for me already." Teeth sink into his bottom lip enticingly, witnessing your glistening arousal coating over your heated sex. "Makes me wanna taste it." Yoongi's crafty tongue darts out, sliding between wet folds until lapping across a sensitive bundle of nerves that causes your body to weaken.  

"Fuck, Yoon...," You could barely finish your sentence as Yoongi's ambush on your needy clit caused you to fall mute. Your hand gripping onto the actor's shoulder, rolling your hips into his mouth to ride out your delectable pleasure. "M-more,"  

Knowing precisely what you desired, Yoongi slowly inserts two digits deep into your soaking walls. The second he hears your breathy moan,  his fingers curl at just the right angle, locating the spongy surface responsible for your g-spot. "Mhmm," You're a wiggling mess, so Yoongi uses his free hand to hold your hips in place while his mouth sucks up your clitoris once again.    

"Shit~." The delicious stretch of his fingers and stimulation on your nub causes the muscles within your abdomen to tighten. With your body preparing for an orgasm, your fingers move on their own to lock in Yoongi's thick hair, guiding him to where you need most. "B-baby, c-close." Words frantically falling from your trembling lips.  

Taking note of your approaching release, Yoongi stiffens his tongue, lapping figure 8s around your pink nub to send your body into overdrive. His thick fingers thrusting into your walls, producing creamy arousal that dripped onto his knuckles. Yoongi absolutely loved watching you like this, legs wobbling like jello, skin glistening with sweat, pretty lips moaning his name. He took pride in witnessing you being a fucked-out mess. His own personal, fucked-out mess. "Cum, baby."

As if on demand by Yoongi's words, the tightness within your abdomen bursts, body tensing as the magic of euphoria courses through your veins.  "Y-Yoon-, fuck~" Lashes slamming shut as an assortment of circling colors rupture behind your eyelids. Your body rides out it's sinful high only for your body to fall limp moments after.

The evidence of your orgasm drips between your thighs as Yoongi carefully removes his digits from inside you. Standing to his feet, his tongue licks the last of your arousal that lingered on his fingers, always making sure your lovely juice never went to waste. "Fuckin delicious." He smirks devilishly, hungry eyes peering down at your exhausted state.

You can barely catch your breath as your hazed vision attempts to focus on the handsome man before you. His thick brow wickedly arched, jet eyes glowing with ungodly lust as the corner of his lips curls smugly. An expression that only meant Yoongi wanted more. "Ready for my dick now, babygirl?" He's quick to make haste of his shirt, tossing it someplace behind him and stepping out of the thick material of his jeans.    

You gulp anxiously at Yoongi's erotic words, curious eyes trailing down the curves of his abdomen in awe as if you haven't seen his immaculate body 100 times before. "Mhm." You reply with a hum, teeth sinking into your lip while impatiently waiting for the reveal of his sturdy dick.

Yoongi chuckles at your minimalistic response, dropping his boxers to unveil the erect curve of his fat length. Stroking up the base of his impressive dick, leaning into your ear to whisper, "You know I need to hear you say it." His warm breath causes an array of goosebumps to accumulate across your skin, a delightful shiver slithering up your spine. "Tell me what you want."

Having moved between your legs, Yoongi's mushroom tip begins to tease against your folds. "I-I," Your lashes flutter as the heat of desire begins to spiral within you, as if you hadn't already experienced a powerful orgasm a few moments prior. "I want you to..." You mew, Yoongi positioned his tip at the soaking hole of your entrance, knocking you from your train of thought.

He grins smugly at your expression, always taking delight to taunting your body. "Tell me what you want me to do, or I'll stop-"

Knowing better than to keep Yoongi waiting, you nearly shout. "I want you to fuck me, Yoongi!" You sound needy, but that's beyond your worries. Your body wanted him, your aching pussy craving him, and if you had to play the part to get what you wanted, so be it.  

Not giving you a second to breathe, Yoongi's fat tip thrusts into your wet core. "Fuck~" You both curse in unison, you because of the delectable stretch that made your pussy full and Yoongi due to your drenched walls tightening around his girth.

"Mhm, Yoons~." You whimper at the sting of his stretched entrance, but you absolutely love the feeling.  How his dick fits perfectly snug within your walls, the throbbing of protruding veins and his oozing tip teasing at your moist cervix. You often fantasized about staying in this position forever. Having Yoongi live, deep inside you as time passed the both of you by; then again, you're also dying for him to bang your brains out. "Baby, please." You plead for him to start moving inside you.

With your tight pussy finally adjusted to his size, Yoongi's large hand's grip at your hips, beginning an easy pace in and out of your core. "Shit~" His teeth clench, hissing at the heavenly sensation of your narrow walls sucking at his length. "You're so wet and warm. Always taking my dick so well."  

Your lashes begin to flutter at the sensation of Yoongi's fat tip massaging at the area of your g-spot. "All for you~." You purr, scooting as close to the edge of the counter as possible, craving for his inches to reach further inside you. "Please," With brows furrowed together beggingly, eyes screaming for him to go faster.

Observing your desperate expression, Yoongi knew it was time for him to pick up the pace. He grips at your thighs, placing your legs around his waist while positioning his hips at the angle that could explore deeper into your slit. "Ah, shhhhhit." He hissed at the pleasure, hips beginning to snap in and out of your sopping core at an autopilot speed.

Your nails pierce into the flesh of Yoongi's shoulders, holding on as he pounded into you. With your neck lulled back, your head knocks into the shelf with every swift jap he punctures in, but you don't care. Your skin is on fire, and your pretty pussy, utterly addicted to the pleasurable attack. "Feels good," You hum, eyes locking down on the pornographic scene of your creamy slick lubing Yoongi's shaft as his dick pleasantly stretches in and out of your entrance. "Wanna cum all over your pretty dick, Yoon." You plee, lips in the form of a pout.  

Your whimpering need causes a carnal temptation to spike within the actor, producing the adrenaline he needed to please your every desire. "So cum, baby." His veiny hand slipping between your thighs, swiping across your clit while pounding into you.

"Oh, god," You moan—the attack on your sensitive nub precisely what you need to feel the pressure building within your core. "Fuck, baby," Your legs gripping tighter around his waist, encouraging him to keep up the speed that slammed into your cervix.

"So fuckin' wet." A throaty moan escapes Yoongi's lips, your walls sucking tightly around his girth as he fucked into you deeper. He could feel the familiar ball of tension tightening within his core, dick becoming increasingly sensitive upon the approach of his release." y/n," breath staggering in his throat as he grunts your name. "Fuck~, gonna cum soon." Glistening sweat pearling across his creamy skin, with jet eyes glossed with desire.

Your hips rock forward, matching the devilish speeds of Yoongi's thrusts as your eyes lock on him. The ends of his blonde hair paste to his steamy skin, lips, pink and swollen, and dumpling cheeks a rosy fluster. The expression in his glass orbs screamed that he was close. "Me too," you moan with arching feet and toes beginning to curl. "Cum inside,"

"Shiiiiiit," Despret to oblige your request, Yoongi continues his powerful ruts, the erotic sounds of your wet pussy guiding him. He could feel the muscles throughout his body starting to flex along with the anticipating tingle of his ballsack, begging to release its load.  "B-baby I,..." His thrust becomes sloppy, and the tight grip he has on your hips causes his knuckles to whitein.  He would explode any second.  

Even with his body tense, Yoongi doesn't let up the massage on your clit. Only speeding his swift swipes on your throbbing nub, sending spikes of electricity zapping throughout your body. "Y-y-y-Yoon...., g-gonna~," and just like that, an euphoric explosion happens within your core, blasting you into ecstasy. "FUCK!" Your back arches, your head lulls back, and the muscles within your wet walls clench around Yoongi's dick, sucking him in for dear life.

"___, g-gonna..." With one final thrust, Yoongi's pulsing dick shoots warm coats of cum into your core. His throat releases a horse grunt, eyes rolling back, and breath getting caught in his throat ."Hmm," He hums at the peaceful feeling, the pent up stress of a long workday finally vacating his body. "Fuck, you're pussy's so good." He chuckles, eyes fluttering open to witness your sweaty body stretched out across the counter, swollen pussy leaking his creamy cum.

Your exhausted body doesn't stop a smirk from slipping across your flustered cheeks. "You're dick's so good." responding to Yoongi's complement, chest heaving for air.

A gummy grin pulls across Yoongi's lips in observance of you. Your messy hair pooled around your face, skin lushly glossed, and large dewy eyes that expressed your body's satisfaction. You meant the absolute world to Yoongi, and being with you on and off set was the best year of his life. Getting to watch you grow as an actress and putting your best foot forward every day. You were Yoongi's muse, his love. "I'll clean you up." He runs a paper napkin under the warm fouset, placing the dampness across all the places between your thighs he left a mess.

You watch Yoongi in awe with your heart fluttering in your chest. It was clear the growing spark between the two of you was more than just sexual tension. You saw the way he'd sneak cute glances at you on set, how he'd be the first one to make sure you were alright after an intense stunt. You want to confess that you love him, that he meant more to you than just a person to fuck. But, the time wasn't right. The two of you still had a job that needed to be done. "Hey." Your small voice, grabbing Yoongi's attention. Instead of saying, I love you, you say, "Good luck on set tomorrow."

However, Yoongi finds the truth in your soft eyes, making it clear you held the exact same feelings that he harbored to himself for the past year. "Yeah," There wasn't a need for him to say much; he knows that you know the truth of his heart. "Good luck to you too."

date posted: 1/8/2021

[hello-nichya-here]

What are your thoughts on Taylor Swift and the controversy about the dead fan?

*sighs* Okay, lets make one thing clear here: I have not seen any brazilian fan, media, or law enforcer so much as implying Ana's death was in any way Taylor's fault, because it wasn't.

T4F was extremelly irresponsible for forbidden people to bring water to the concert in a stadium, filled with metal plates and a ton of pyrotechnics, during an awful heatwave that got the temperature of 60°c (140°F). Lots of people got second degree burns, over a thousand fans passed out, and lots were sick enough to vomit. And, tragically, Ana died - and the bastards didn't even give her family the money to take her body back to their city, so she could buried. They had to ask for donations.

None of that is Taylor's fault, and I say this as someone that has never really cared all that much about her music (though I do think she should not have used pyrotechnics that day due the heat, and fans DID beg her not to). Brazilian companies can be very irresponsible and not give a fuck about anyone's safety as long as it makes them a little bit extra money. I also don't blame her for canceling the show of the following day as "By the way, someone died" is a more than understandable reason to be upset, and considering the temperature was still absurd, she would have been risking another tragedy. She did well to not perform again until it was safe to do so.

HOWEVER, the way she and her associates have handled the situation is attrocious. A quick stories saying "Guys, I'm so upset, I won't even talk about it or mention this girl's name at all" is not the same as offering sympathy to the family - and despite what plenty of foreign fans/media outlets have been saying since this happened, NO, Taylor/her associates did NOT get in contact with the family, did NOT offer condolences or any help, and did NOT pay any homage to Ana. Like I said, she did not so much as say the girl's name, and a moment of the show in which fans were planning to have a minute of silence in Ana's honor was changed, preventing it from happening.

This was made worse since people started comparing this to the time Taylor's mother visited a girl that passed out in concert in Dallas and offered her tickets to another show, and are wondering why there's this odd "don't talk about it" approach now.

The cancelled concert also led to controversy - because the fans were not warned that it would no longer be a show until they were all ALREADY in the venue. Again, this was nearly 24 hours after the tragedy, so there was more than enough to announce that (completely understandable, and like I said, probably far safer) change of plans.

She has not been pushing for any kind of punishment towards T4F either, even though by now it is abundantly clear they are to blame for one of her fans being dead, and several others needing to be hospitalized. She'd obviously be more than within her rights to do so, as it's her image attached to this mess, and she could have easily ended up sick/injured herself. Once again, the actual people here in Brazil were the ones calling out how absurd T4F's behavior was and are pushing for it to be illegal for companies to do anything remotely simmilar to what they did.

Some of her associates were also getting in trouble with the police because they covered their car-plates to not be identified by fans. Disregarding a countries' law when people are already thinking you're being a bunch of arrogant assholes that expect to get away with anything and everything.

I don't know if her management or her family or a friend or whoever told her that keeping quiet was the best away to avoid a scandal, but if someone DID tell her that, Taylor needs to stop listening to that person immediately and address the issue already, because right now she's coming off as cold and VERY disrespectful.

Tragedies happening in concerts or festivals is nothing new, be it in Brazil or anywhere else. Shit can always go wrong in a place packed with people, specially if the organizers are idiots. But there is a way to behave when that happens, and it includes the artist in question having the basic decency to at least contact the families and say "I am so sorry for your loss, I'm looking into what I can do to make sure this never happens again" - aka the bare fucking minimum.

[seal-writes-stuff]

tea prompts – Bruce Robertson

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug and alcohol use, implied/mentioned NSFW, mental health struggles

Summary: all in the title (prompt list here)

A/N: Hi everyone! Decided to reuse the prompt list for Bruce because a) it’s December, so the bastard man is on my mind again and b) it’s a good list, alright? As usual, requests are open, so feel free to hit up my inbox. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

lemon tea; what are mornings like with them?

You rarely see Bruce in the mornings. More often than not, by the time you wake up the bed is empty and he’s already gone, to the point it’s almost depressing. He usually leaves some kind of breakfast for you – he’s far from the best cook in the world, but he tries his best. Bruce pretends that he does it because it’s convenient, not because he’s a big softie deep down, and you pretend to believe him.

peppermint tea; what do they get excited about?

You, mayhem and work – in that order. Bruce feels like he needs to be on top of the world all the time, so any opportunity to do that really gets him going. You find it intense, but you know you’d never want him to change. After all, that’s one of the reasons you fell for him.

chamomile tea; what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?

To say it’s chaotic is an understatement: sometimes he gets an hour of sleep, sometimes he gets fifteen hours straight. Nobody knows which one it will be this time, least of all Bruce. It took a while before he stopped waking up with a gasp every time you touched him (he wasn’t used to anyone being this close to him the whole night), but otherwise he’s a pretty heavy sleeper... Or at least he pretends to be so you would cuddle closer to him. But Bruce’s pretty sure that’s a secret he’s taking to his grave.

earl grey tea; how did they court their s/o?

Bruce can be very charming when there’s something he can get out of it, but the genuine feelings he has for you get him to stumble. He ends up just hanging around a lot, hoping you’d eventually get the hint. If you don’t, he just assumes you’re together now and gets genuinely surprised when you don’t take his occasional offers to fuck as courting. He then awkwardly asks if you’d like to be, trying to put on enough fake arrogance that you wouldn’t notice how flustered he is. You accept, of course.

milk tea; what are their kisses like?

Rough and messy; he kisses you all over until your face and neck are sore from his beard. After any time apart, Bruce really wants to show you how much he’s missed you, and that’s his way of doing it. That said, PDA is rare because he has a Big Badass Reputation to uphold (besides, he wants you all to himself).

coffee; do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?

Too easily. There’s always this little voice in his head, telling Bruce that you deserve better than him, someone who’s not horrible and worthless, but like hell he’s letting it happen. When Bruce notices you chatting with someone else, laughing at someone else’s jokes, he jumps to you in seconds: throwing one arm around your shoulders, looking at them with a big fake smile - definitely not a good sign. This other person, the person Bruce thinks is going to take his place, is already pulled into one of his “games” before they even know it. Most of the time, you have to stop it before things get out of hand.

It never crosses his mind to blame you for any of that – just “this ballsy fucker”, as he puts it. Still, Bruce doesn’t want to scare you off, so he desperately tries to keep all of his jealousy to himself. But you know it, you absolutely know it, especially when Bruce starts clinging to you all of a sudden, asking if you’re really his girl, in that authoritative tone that usually hides his fear. You calm him down the best you can, squeezing his hand discreetly, giving him a few kisses. The whole “rivalry” is very obviously happening only in his head and you wish he’d believe you on that.

At the end of the day, Bruce knows you love him and that’s all you need.

rosehip tea; how romantic are they? how do they show affection?

Bruce has… Interesting ideas about romance. In theory, he could do the most cliché “sunset, kiss, final credits” routine, but it’s forever tied to some kind of manipulation in his mind, so he avoids that. Instead, he goes for small gestures – getting your favorite food on the way home, picking up your favorite book at the store because “it was on sale” (it wasn’t), things like that. Bruce’d also deal with all and any problems in your life himself if you didn’t stop him.

black tea; what do they look for in a person?

Probably a one-night stand, if anything. Bruce’s not the kind of guy to look for a relationship, especially not after Carole. The love he has for you is sudden and unexpected, but it’s the first thing in a long time that finally puts him at ease.

pomegranate tea; at what point did they know they loved their s/o?

After your first big fight. Bruce’s extremely detached from himself, so he pushes his feelings away for as long as humanly possible – he doesn’t want you to get hurt. At times, this makes him even more of a dick to you than to everyone else, which is saying something. He thinks he’s doing you a favor, not letting you get too close.

One day, you’re sick of it. You tell Bruce that he’s an asshole, that you’re tired of him treating you like this and take a step back, no matter how much it hurts. He’s not too bothered at first – he just scoffs and goes on with this day. Big deal, he’ll live.

But the more time goes on, the bigger the gaping black hole in his chest becomes. Drugs don’t help, alcohol doesn’t help and meaningless sex doesn’t help. It takes everything in Bruce to admit that he misses you, that he really fucked up this time and would do anything to have you back in his life before it’s too late.

matcha tea; how and when do they propose to their s/o?

It’s a process, to say the least. Bruce prepares three different speeches, but disregards all of them because they, in his mind, are all shit. He buys you a ring and then loses it. He buys you another ring, but ends up pawning it because something else comes up. He buys the third one, but pawns it again, because it’s ugly, and you’ll obviously say no, and why does he even bother-

Bruce just ends up saying “Hey, wanna get married?”when you cuddle on the couch after a dinner together. Of course you say yes.

chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?

Honestly, every time he doesn’t come to you with some absolutely insane offer can be counted as spicing it up. No matter how well Bruce hides the most extreme parts of himself, you still think he’s the wildest person in your life. There’s no need for any spicing up.

hibiscus tea; what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?

As simple as it is, his home. Bruce thinks it’s empty without you, and any token of you being there - a hand cream here, a really soft t-shirt there - warms his heart a little. He mentions it off-handedly once, thinking about how boring it sounds, but it’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever heard in your life.

green tea; how do they comfort their s/o? 

Bruce’s first reaction is panic. He hates sympathy, so when you’re upset, he has no idea what to do. Besides, it’s been so long since he’s genuinely comforted anyone – so he just sits next to you and pats your shoulder with an: “Uh, there-there, cheer up”. If it makes you laugh, Bruce marks it as an absolute success in his mind and does it every time from now on. If you start crying even harder, he freaks out and tries to distract you – grasping at every straw, anything at all to make you feel better.

russian caravan tea; how experienced are they with relationships?

Surprisingly, not really – especially not with long-term, healthy ones. Most people he’s been with got overwhelmed quickly and left, so Bruce decided it’s easier to steer clear of relationships altogether. You’re the first person in a long time to make him consider changing his mind.

english breakfast tea; would they want a family?

It’s a question Bruce asks himself a lot. Deep down, he craves it more than anything, but in his mind, he’s already ruined one family and he’ll definitely ruin another. It would take Bruce a lot of time, trust and probably therapy to sort his feelings out.

rooibos tea; what’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?

Cuddling, especially after a particularly hard day or one of his episodes. Bruce’s really touch starved, so when you hold him close, running fingers through his hair, he thinks he did something right in his life. No matter how he feels about himself, no matter what other think of him, he’s finally exactly where he wants to be.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #9: Elevator Pitch: Hawks

In which you and Hawks spend some quality time together, and you’ve spilled coffee on your shirt.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), vaginal sex, up-against-the-wall-sex, partially-dressed, semi-public, uncaffienated sex, stranded/stalled elevator, hawks is a smarmy piece of shit

Notes: Okay, enough feelings! Only porn. What better way to jump back on the thirsty bandwagon than with everyone’s favourite smug bastard? Today’s prompt was ‘In Public,’ and while this isn’t the most public of public places to have sex, it’s definitely one that I’ve been thinking about... a little too often.

Kinktober Masterlist

“What was that?”

The elevator gives a sickening clash and lurches to a stop. You look up so fast you can feel the strain in your throat, glancing suddenly back to the control panel to see if it can possibly offer you any more information.

The lights die over your head, plunging the elevator into darkness. You give a little scream.

“That’s not good.”

The voice next to you is familiar but grating. Of all the people to be stuck in an elevator with, it has to be Hawks.

He runs the agency two floors above your office. But your companies share many of the same amenities- these elevators, to name one- and you’re unfortunately all too familiar with the self-serving hero.

As if things aren’t bad enough already.

Your manic Monday is already off to an excellent start, proven by the coffee stain on the front of your blouse. Apparently, the morning train was just a little too crowded to be careless with your latte-the half that didn’t get sloshed all over your front ended up on the floor- so here you are, trapped in the dark with the dull edges of a caffeine headache already beginning.

“Hang on-“ It’s Hawks again, and before he finishes his thought the emergency lights flicker to life. He seems entirely too relaxed given the situation. It’s pissing you off. He’s leaning against the opposite corner of the elevator with his wings tucked neatly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

He looks you up and down.

“Damn, you musta put on a few pounds if you’re heavy enough to short out the elevator.”

“Don’t even start,” you hiss. Your headache is getting worse. Spending nine floors with Takami Keigo was supposed to be bad enough already. You don’t have time for this.

“If anyone was going to be too heavy for the elevator, it’s you,” you snap back. You brush past him to the control panel and he starts a little as you push yourself between it and him. His wings give an alarmed little flutter and he steps aside, opening the space between you again.

You’re jamming your thumb against the ‘call’ button, but nothing seems to be happening. You’re not altogether sure how this is supposed to work- you’ve never been stuck in an elevator before. But Hawks looks as though it’s happened to him on a weekly basis. You suppose he sees worse on the daily, given his line of work.

“I don’t think anyone’s comin’ for us, kid.”

You glare over your shoulder at him, hearing the smirk in his voice. He raises a gloved palm to his mouth and yawns. Then he stretches, and his wings follow suit. He can’t extend them fully in here, but you’ve still forgotten how big they really are.

“Might as well get cozy,” he sighs. He slides down the wall, stretching a leg out and hooking his elbow over the other knee, bent.

“No thanks, I’ll stand.” You toy idly with the front of your skirt, brushing an invisible coat of dust from it. It’s when you notice him watching you that you stop and furrow your brow. He’s staring right at your chest. Not even trying to hide it.

You’re just about to say something when his eyes flick up to yours and his smirk, if possible, gets even lazier.

“Rough morning?”

You fold your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the coffee stain that you had conveniently forgotten about seconds before. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re permanently ticked off at him, though.

You decide that he’s not worth answering and avert your gaze. Sullen silence settles over the two of you for a moment. Finally, he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let me ask you something,” he prompts.

“No thank you,” you answer.

“No, no, that’s exactly it. You don’t like me. I’m not an idiot, kid. But the thing is, I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to deserve it.”

You swallow. Hard. Your cheeks are going hot. The truth is, you’re not entirely sure why you don’t like him.

You’d like to say it’s because he’s self-serving and arrogant. Because he saves people for the clout and not because he cares about their safety. He’s only ever been snarky and sarcastic to you, and you’re sure he treats his staff like garbage. He soaks up the celebrity status like a goddamned sponge.

You’d also like to say that you’ve followed his career so closely for the same reasons. You scour the Internet for stories about him and save newspaper clippings from your coworkers’ subscriptions, looking for evidence that your claims are true. You need to hear somebody else talk about his arrogance because it pisses you off to no end how obsessed with him you’ve become.

“I don’t… I like you,” you scoff. If you could press your back even further into the elevator wall, you could.

He laughs. Throws his head back and laughs and you want to disappear.

“You treat all your friends like that, kid? No wonder you look so sour all the time.”

That does it. You’ve had enough of Hawks, enough of this elevator and this damned headache. You’ve had enough of today.

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why I don’t like you?” Your eyes narrow. Your arms tighten across your chest. Hawks gets to his feet. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he seems to tower over you in the narrow space.

His tawny eyes narrow as he tilts his head, serious but inquisitive.

“Enlighten me.”

“You are the most egotistical, self-centered person I’ve ever known,” you hiss. “You treat women like they’re disposable, you-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stops you, holding up his palms. “Like they’re disposable? What in the hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week,” you retort. Later you will sink into your desk and expire as you remember saying these things to him, but he asked for it. And you’re starting to get claustrophobic.

“So what?” He shoots back.

“So what? So what? So what makes you think you can go around breaking hearts like that? You’re gonna make some enemies, y’know.”

“Sweetheart, those girls don’t want anything to do with me, either. No false pretenses there. I think you just don’t like seeing me with other women.”

Your stomach lurches, rejecting the idea. But you know that it’s true.

“Don’t be ridicu-“

“No, it’s my turn to speak now,” Hawks growls. He steps closer, caging you against the elevator wall. Your cheeks and ears are burning. One step closer and the coffee on your blouse will start to boil all over again.

“If you’re jealous,” he hints, bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’d be happy to treat you like those other girls, kid. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Hawks-“ you choke. He’s so close now that there’s no way you can pretend you don’t want this. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the soft, spicy Monday morning scent of him filling your senses.

He grins, and his lips brush the crook of your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the next second his mouth crashes down on yours and you’re kissing him back. You from ten minutes ago would be disgusted at the sight of this, but you can’t even deny wanting this. Not when he’s giving it to you. Not when you didn’t even need to ask for it.

You’re not shy about combing your fingers into his disheveled hair, tugging him closer to you. Already he’s tugging the hem of your blouse out of the top of your skirt. He rips off his gloves and pops open a few of the buttons without even breaking his mouth from yours. It’s only as he digs his fingers into the fabric and pulls the folds open around your chest that he pulls back to have a look.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I wanted you from the second I met you, y’know that?”

You consider pinching yourself. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you hook a palm around the back of his neck and pull him harshly down to you again.

“Shut up,” you hiss, dragging his mouth back to yours. Your hands wander, pulling the strap of his belt out of its loop and giving it a harsh tug. It pulls tight and he grunts, then you let go and let the buckle fall open. You reach in further, going for his fly. He lets you. As you dig your hand into the opening of his pants you realize that he’s already hard- already rock hard.

Maybe he really meant what he said.

You shove his pants down around his knees and he grabs you by the backs of yours, hiking your thighs over his hips. His hands crawl up your thighs and under your skirt. He finds the strap of your thong and you nuzzle into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet as he swipes a thumb up your clothed slit.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. “Soaked for me already, sweetness. God, lemme have you.”

He shifts his hips forward and presses the head of his cock against your entrance, easing forward until he’s sure he’s lined up correctly. Then he rams into you without warning and you nearly wind yourself on his shoulder as all the air from your body rushes out at once.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” he growls, starting into a brutal rhythm. “You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say something? I coulda been fucking you this whole time.”

You’re in the clouds at this point. The words he’s growling into your ear are blurring together, clouded by the immense pleasure that he’s sending through your gut with every thrust. He fits you perfectly, it seems, and you’re already drawing embarrassingly close to the edge.

“Hawks,” you practically sob, your head lolling against the wall as he fucks you into it. “Can’t hold on- gonna… g-gonna..”

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetness? That’s it. That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart, aw, hell, I’m there, baby.”

His voice is growing shaky now, his thrusts erratic, and as the elastic band draws tight in the pit of your stomach you realize he’s not far off, either.

He gives you one, two, three good thrusts and you’re falling, coming so hard around him that your vision whites out for an honest minute. Currents of tension rush from your head to your toes as you clutch at his back and whine and pant through your climax.

He follows close behind you, driving his hips into your sensitive pussy before drawing abruptly out of you and coming in long spurts against the inside of your thigh.

For a dozen heartbeats, the two of you are still, catching your breath. Settling into what you’ve just done.

The emergency light flickers as the regular lighting returns. The elevator gives a telltale beep and a shudder and starts heading downward. Your brain short-circuits.

“Get off,” you hiss, shoving him off you. You tug your skirt harshly down around your thighs, hiding the mess as he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants and zip up. You’re two floors from the lobby when he turns back to you and starts.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.” Your fingers race to the buttons on your blouse and you fumble to get them fastened again. He reaches over to help but you bat his hands away as the elevator draws to a stop. You’re just finishing the last button when the doors slide open, revealing the surprised faces of a coverall-sporting technician and your boss.

“There you are,” she gasps, relief flooding her features. “The power went out and they told me people were still stuck in the elevator, I- good morning, Keigo,” she greets, giving a little nod of acknowledgement to Hawks, who’s taking his time strolling out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’,” he greets idly. Then he calls your name, and you look past your boss’s shoulder. He’s smirking, his eyes lit with the memory of what you’ve just shared.

“See you around,” he calls. Then he’s gone, and your boss is asking you some sort of question, but it flies straight in one ear and out the other. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. Every time you close your eyes you remember him, groaning in your ear and forcing himself into you.

You are so fucked.

[tinysidestrashcaptain]

It's Only Logical - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Confrontations and Justice

First Chapter Previous Chapter

Pairings: Logicality/Prinxiety

Warnings: TW for Jason Bryce, Violence, and swearing!

His flowers, he thought. Plants that he’d raised from seeds, bulbs, babied along their whole lives, now lying ruined on the ground. Twisted, trampled and ripped. Innocent, and he took a silent moment to grieve before racing around the corner of the building.

He skidded to a stop as he saw Jason Bryce swing a baseball bat, shattering a window. “You son of a bitch!”

He saw the surprise on Jason’s face as he whirled around, followed by rage. “Heard you were busy today. Figured I’d be done and gone before you showed up.”

“Well, you figured wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He swung the bat again, shattering another window in a hail of jagged glass. “You think you can get away from me? Humiliate me, sick the police on me?” Another crash, another window gone. “Someone needs to put you in your place.”

“You humiliated yourself, and if you don’t put that down and get the hell off my property, I’m going to do a lot more than sick the cops on you.” Logan raised his chin, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Is that so? Just you and me now, isn’t it?” Jason slapped the bat against his palm, glaring at him. “Do you have any idea what you cost me?”

“I have a general idea, and it’s going to be a lot more soon. Trespassing, destruction of property.”

Jason didn’t use the bat on him, but he could see the look in his eyes when he considered it before tossing it away. He lashed out, slapping Logan across the cheek with that familiar, brutal force that snapped his head to the side.

Logan felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest as he faced Jason down, ignoring the throbbing of his face. “That the best you’ve got? Seems like your dick isn’t the only thing that’s soft anymore.”

“You mouthy little bitch!” Jason snarled, throwing himself at Logan. “That fucking nobody ruined you, that stupid clod with his little brat! You’re mine, you’ll always be mine!”

Logan caught Jason and used his own momentum to throw him against the wall, lashing out with his fists, which clearly caught Jason by surprise. “I don’t belong to anybody but myself, you arrogant piece of shit!”

Jason grunted as he took the lighter blows before pinning Logan’s arms down and tossing him to the ground. He was bigger, and stronger, and he used his own body to force Logan down in the dirt. “Maybe you just need to be reminded. Isn’t that right, pet?” He gripped the back of Logan’s neck in a familiar hold that had his stomach churning with fear and disgust.

“Get your goddamn hands off of me!” Logan snapped, kicking up and out until he connected hard enough to make Jason wheeze and loosen his grip.

He heard shouts and running feet, and Logan scrambled away to slowly stand on rubbery legs as Virgil tore around the corner two steps ahead of Patton.

“I’m fine. I’m okay.” Logan said calmly, although his head was spinning like a carousel. “This bastard might need medical attention, though.”

“Fuck him!” Virgil snarled, reaching out to Logan. His hands feathered over Logan’s face as he checked for injury, scowling. “He HIT you? Jesus fucking Christ, he hit you?!”

“I got him worse, believe me. And we’re going to press all sorts of charges.” Logan gave a wan smile and patted Virgil’s shoulder as he slowly took stock of himself. He scowled as he spotted the tear on the knee of his pants. “Goddammit! I got this suit especially for today. All sorts of charges.”

“The police are on their way. Barbara called on her cell on her way back to Roman’s to get us.” Patton’s voice shook, and Logan could tell from the look on his face it was a combination of fear and rage.

“Good. That’s good.” Logan sagged a bit, the adrenaline draining out of him. “Virgil, can you do me a favor? Bring this piece of shit around front. I don’t want to see him any longer or I might grab that bat and do something that’ll land me in jail.”

“Let me stand him up first.” Patton reached down and hauled Jason up on his feet with one hand. He turned and looked at Logan, all steely blue eyes. “Sorry.” And plowed his fist into Jason’s face, sending him sprawling to the ground again.

“I don’t mind a bit.” Logan could feel a wide grin spreading across his face as his knees wobbled dangerously. “Not one damn bit.”

Virgil hauled Jason up by the back of his collar and started marching him away, grinning meanly as he kicked the bastard’s feet out from under him as they walked. “Oops, you’ve got to watch where you’re going, Brycey.” He looked back at Logan with a grin. “You sure kicked ass today, Lo.”

“Thanks. And if he so much as twitches wrong, you go ahead and hit him as hard as you want. No complaints from me.” Logan gave a tremulous smile as he leaned against the wall of the shop building. “But I think all this ass kicking has left me out of sorts, so if you don’t mind, I’ll sit right here and catch my breath?”

“Here.” Patton took off his suit jacket and laid it on the ground. “No need to mess up your suit any more than it already is.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Logan sank gratefully down, leaning against Patton to take in the warmth and support he offered. He sat quietly until his heart rate slowed to normal, until the tangle of nerves, rage and disgust in his belly had eased a bit. Broken glass glittered in the sunlight, scattered on the ground around them. Glass could be replaced, he reminded himself. He’d mourn his flowers, but he’d save some of the wounded, and he’d grow more. An abundance of more.

“How’s your hand?” he asked Patton.

“Fine. Good.” Patton all but spat it out. “He’s got a chin like a marshmallow.”

“Big strong man.” Logan turned to wrap his arms around him, and didn’t mention Patton’s raw scraped knuckles. Patton gently helped him to his feet, and he leaned in close, refusing to let him go just yet.

“He must have been crazy to think he could get away with this,” Patton muttered, glaring in the direction Virgil had dragged Jason off to.

“A little, I guess. I imagine he planned to be done wrecking my place before the wedding was over. He’d figure we’d blame it on kids -- or the police would. And all I’d have was a mess on my hands. A man like that has no respect for others. He doesn’t believe anyone can best him.” Logan replied softly, resting his head on Patton’s shoulder.

“One did.” Patton shot him a look, clearly indicating he wasn’t referring to himself. Logan rubbed his arms, then clutched gratefully at the lapels of Patton's jacket as he picked it up and draped it over his shoulders, wrapping an arm around him. Logan burrowed into his warmth, unsure if his bones would ever be warm again.

“I can hardly believe this happened. If you hadn’t come when you had--” Logan cut himself off, refusing to entertain that line of thinking.

“We could hear you shouting.” Patton said quietly. “You cost Virgil and I several years off our lives. So I’m going to say this once.”

He turned, taking the lapels of his jacket into his hands and holding Logan steady so he was facing him. “And you are damn well going to hear it. I respect and admire your steely will, Logan, and appreciate your temper and capability. But the next time you so much as think about taking on some lunatic with a bat all on your own, I’m going to be doing some ass kicking. And it’s going to be your ass with the bullseye painted on it.”

Logan angled his head, studied his face, and saw he meant every word he’d said. Son of a gun. “You know, if I hadn’t already decided on this thing I’m about to ask you, that would have done it. How can I resist a man who lets me fight my own battles, then when the time is right steps in and cleans house? After the dust is clear, he gives me a good piece of his mind for being an idiot. Which I was, no question, no argument.”

“Glad to hear we’re agreed on that.” Patton replied dryly.

Logan took a step closer, and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling his boyfriend closer. “I really love you.”

“I really love you back.”

“Then you won’t mind marrying me.” Logan felt his body jerk, just a little, just once, then settle in against his own, warm and true.

“I don’t see a problem with that. Are you sure?” Patton murmured, gently sliding his hands around Logan’s waist, holding him close.

“If you had asked me that a few months ago, I’d say no, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. I’m a logical person, a person who thinks things through, and then over-thinks them, and then thinks about them some more, and some more still – and yet I don’t know that I can define love. Yet the cliche about love, of course, is that you’ll know it when you’re in it, right?” Logan asked, looking up at him. Patton lifted a hand to gently cup his face, smiling softly at him. “I used to think it happened explosively. That love was something astronomically powerful that not only swept you off your feet, but knocked you down on your ass and soaked through your skin and became an overarching force that was impossible to ignore. But, what if that’s not it? What if love is quiet and soft? What if love is gradual and delicate? What if love isn’t an explosion, but is instead this calm feeling you get when you wake up one golden Sunday morning and realize that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than next to this person whose quirks make you laugh until you can’t breathe? Lately, I think I’ve stopped trying to define it and have started to believe that being in love is about more than just explosive emotion. And yet, it’s also about more than just finding someone to coexist with in the same space at the same time. Love is about finding someone who lights even the tiniest parts of your soul on fire. It’s about finding someone who makes you more you, who will even surprise you every now and then by knowing you better than you know yourself.” Logan leaned into Patton’s touch, feeling his heart leap even now.

“Am I that person to you, Lo?” Patton’s voice was thick with emotion, his blue eyes shimmering with tears.

“I believe I have found that person in you, and no one else will suffice.” Logan’s hands fisted in his boyfriend’s hair, his face intense. He didn’t talk about emotions, didn’t do this very often, so he wanted to take the opportunity to pour out all the words he’d probably never say again while he still could. “I want a safe place to rest my lips, and a soft place to land. I want someone who will keep me in his heart because that’s where I’ll be warm and safe. I want someone who will look at me when I’m at my messiest and kiss me on the forehead, someone who thinks I’m lovely in the morning, and at night, and during all the in between times. Someone who knows how much I like to be whispered to and who isn’t scared off when I’m crying, rare though that may be. Someone who can sense when I’m overwhelmed, who just knows when life is too much and who will, in those moments, stand close enough to me to block everything else out. Most importantly, I want someone who will stand beside me and face my battles with me, rather than standing in front of me. I want you, for the rest of our lives. I want Thomas and Parker and messy pizza nights and and everything that goes--”

Patton cut him off with a fierce kiss, swallowing whatever words Logan may have said. Logan made a soft sighing sound and melted into him, happily yielding in that moment. He leaned on him, knew without a doubt that he could lean on him--and trust him to step back when he needed to stand on his own.

Everything inside of Logan calmed, even when they broke the kiss and he snuggled against Patton’s chest, looking out at the destruction of what was his. He would fix it, save what could be saved and accept what couldn’t. He would live his life, plant his gardens, and walking hand-in-hand with the man he loved, he would watch both bloom. It wasn’t how he’d planned to do this, not by a long shot, but it was still the happiest moment of his life. “Do you think Thomas will be okay with it?”

“Are you kidding? He’d been pestering me for weeks now, asking when I was going to marry you and when we’d get to come live with you forever. Pretty sure he’d already decided you’re his stepfather.” Patton grinned, rolling his eyes fondly at the thought of his energetic son. “Now come on, slugger. I think we’ve got a police statement to give.”

“Mmm. But let’s hold off on announcing our engagement for a few days. I want Roman and Virgil to have their moment. Even if Jason put a dark cloud on it.”

“Are you serious? Virgil got to see him get his ass kicked. He’ll probably thank you for the wedding present.”

Logan threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing in the sunlit air around them. No matter what else came next, he knew he had faced his demons and won. And he would never have to face it alone.

A/N: And that's it! We're done! Welcome to the end of It's Only Logical. I cannot believe I started this fic in 2017. Or that I finished it. I'll probably do some one shots or drabbles from this universe, little stories and bits of things that couldn't fit into the main fic, but the bulk of it is here. And all done at last! Apologies again to my former tag list. I lost it, and I feel terrible that for the end I couldn't tag you all. This chapter won't be any different on Ao3 or Wattpad. For those who weren't aware, Ao3 has the Explicit version of this fic, and Wattpad has this non-explicit version, possibly in an easier format. I've linked both, so if you feel like going back and re-reading all over again, you can. I love you all so, SO much and I appreciate all the support and patience you have given me. <3 Also? Roman stayed behind to keep the wedding guests calm, but he's going to be overjoyed when he hears what happened. And I like to think Virgil finally got to punch Jason Bryce right in his stupid, stupid face.

[cienie-isengardu]

There is one thing that you mention a lot and it is Bi-Han's lack of social skills and well I do not agree at all, that is, Bi-Han as with Sektor is quite introverted but I do believe that the Lin kuei taught them social skills to be able to infiltrate them among the people during missions. Bi-Han I think he has manners and social skills but he doesn't hide when he doesn't like someone. He was sarcastic with Quan chi but at no time did he insult him or refuse to do his job

I do not have any doubt that Bi-Han’s speech patterns depend on whom he is interacting (x) but as much as honesty and straightforwardness are in itself valuable traits, frankness is not always an acceptable choice to rely on. Having social skills helps to navigate how to behave and talk to different people to not overstep or break generally accepted norms and in result, to build a healthy relationship, or in case of living in a strict warrior society, to not get in trouble. Bi-Han for me lacks in this department, especially in mentioned interaction with Quan Chi, because he was not on equal ground with the sorcerer yet had this borderline challenging attitude. And most likely yes, some of the rudeness came from not liking nor respecting the suspicious guy that already proved to be some insidious bastard for hiring another man for the same job. But the thing is, he wasn’t there to question a lucrative customer that was personally approved by the Grandmaster and he should keep his accusations and rude remarks to himself, not throw it into the sorcerer's face just like that.

I mean, as much as dark and evil Lin Kuei are, customer service is a vital part of the earning money process. Bi-Han wasn’t there as equal to Grandmaster (the superior whom he swore to obey) nor Quan Chi (approved client). Between these three characters, Sub-Zero was just a tool to finish an already made transaction, no one was interested in what he thought or felt at that moment. As much as the accusation to some degree may be forgiven, since Quan Chi openly antagonized Sub-Zero by calling Lin Kuei the ninja (an intended insult) and admitted to hiring Shiray Ryu (the enemy of Lin Kuei), he shouldn’t be so aggressive nor so open. It toned down once Grandmaster stopped their argument. Even then, Bi-Han could - should - ask about the mission in a more polite or at least neutral way, instead of “If it's so precious, why don't you get it yourself?”, since his superior made it clear Sub-Zero is gonna do another job for the client (“Now you will use the map on your next mission. Quan Chi has once again retained your services”).

The whole situation feel to me like Grandmaster promised Quan Chi the best man for the job but said man had this “fuck you” attitude from the start. Sub-Zero represented Lin Kuei but instead of the professional and obedient subordinate of Grandmaster there was an abrasive warrior who called Quan Chi on his lies and backed down only because his boss had enough of his attitude and the pointless argument. Not the best social awareness if you ask me.

Bi-Han wasn’t any more polite to Raiden (“That's it? Not even a thank you?”) and either deliberately provoked Scorpion during the Tournament or he was simply brutally honest about not caring about Shirai Ryu’s fate. Which, considering what he knew about the massacre, Scorpion’s obsession about him and just heard Hanzo’s promise to not kill him, he was stubbornly arrogant or really lacked empathy or good understanding of emotional impact his words may have on his sworn enemy. Considering how Bi-Han is described as “the most cunning” above all, we know he is pretty intelligent. But his harsh, abrasive, often confrontational behaviour makes me think he is good with cold logic, not exactly with empathy and because of that, he is not always reading the situation well and may “forget his place” when dealing with people he does not respect or care about or outright provoke them in the worst way. The whole argument with Quan Chi in the first place shouldn’t even happen because really, it wouldn’t be the first time an outsider (client) didn't care about the assassin's life and saw him as just a tool. Grandmaster himself wasn’t bothered nor surprised by Quan Chi’s deal with Shirai Ryu and so Bi-Han’s outburst is even more out of place in my opinion.

How much of this is Bi-Han’s intention to be a rude bastard and how much came from limited social skills (and maybe from introverted nature?) is of course up to debate. But to be fair, all cryomancers have this cheeky and passive-aggressive attitude in common (Frost for example seems like being constantly angry at everyone and doesn’t hold her sharp tongue, younger Kuai Liang literally disturbed Mortal Kombat last Tournament and told Shao Kahn to give him murderer of brother, Conquest!Sub-Zero was no less stubborn and asocial). I do see cryomancers in general as the asocial, aromantic & asexual (maybe even autistic to some degree?) people whose natural coldness may have handicapped sense of social norms and the fact that they are trained killers (thus have empathy dulled even more) don’t help at all.

At the same time, I strongly believe that not every warrior was constantly or even often working undercover and Lin Kuei used its members adequately to their skills. Some are better at spying (thus are better at interacting with people to get the needed information), some are better killers (whose interaction with people doesn't matter as long as the job is finished). There is not enough source material to say for sure what was Bi-Han’s specialization but Mythologies: Sub-Zero strongly suggest is was actually assassination and theft, as we were told by Grandmaster (“Once again, our most cunning assassin and thief is successful.”). The known jobs he did involved breaking into heavily guarded places (Shaolin Temple, Temple of Elements) to steal artifacts and killing people on the way. There was no need for Bi-Han to have any social skills nor during the Mortal Kombat Tournament, when he was hired exactly to eliminate (kill) Earthrealm’s Champions. Of course, this is barely the tip of the iceberg, more or less the last year of Bi-Han’s life, but if he truly was one of the clan's best, sending him on long-term undercover missions could be a waste of an opportunity for profitable earnings. I mean, stealing and killing are usually short-termed jobs, the “go in and get out” as fast as possible to not leave any trace behind. Those jobs of course also take time for proper preparation but because of its specific nature, a warrior can be sent from one place to another almost immediately, especially if the lucrative customer (like Shang Tsung or Quan Chi) needs to solve an urgent problems quickly. The game and movies are separated sources, but Mortal Kombat (2021) seems too put Bi-Han mainly on the assassination jobs or staying at Shang Tsung’s side than anything truly involding good understanding of social ettiquete; beside the sorcerer, Bi-Han did not interact much with other people, even with his own allies. Then there is the possibility that Bi-Han could work ultimately more in lawless, wild Outworld than modern Earthrealm which also would affect his behaviour and sense of social norms.

I believe Bi-Han took some undercover missions, but I see him more like operating in the city to do some quick dirty jobs and moving to another target than staying in one place for months while playing “normal” human being. That way he was more useful to clan by earning good money in short period of time and maybe correcting faults of other warriors (supervising them) or killing Shirai Ruy / enemy’s agents along the way. He probably could fit into society for a specified period of time if that was absolutely necessary but I don’t think it happened often. And even then, he most likely kept to himself because Bi-Han is introverted by nature.

At the end of day, the coldness and social detachment was a useful trait for a killer and murdering was most likely Sub-Zero’s expertise so forcing him to spend months on anything else seems to me like wasting both his potential and good job offers. So the Grandmaster (Lin Kuei) could tolerate Sub-Zero’s natural frankness because his social skills weren’t ever the priority.

Bi-Han’s abrasive ways to communicate with others, lack of empathy, the visible isolating himself leads me to think he lacks social skills (and maybe even could fit somewhere on autistic spectrum). At this point of time, I think cryomancers in general are dense when it comes to social norms and interacting with people and I don’t mean it as they are stupid or unable to learn. They just have different (mental?) mindset about such things than other people, even other Lin Kuei warriors. Of course, it is just my take on the matter so anyone can disagree : )

(Ironically, I have the impression that Sektor would do better in long-term undercover work than Bi-Han but he is hardly better at pretending to be a normal human being. The difference is that he is the quiet type easy to overlook while anyone not familiar with Bi-Han's specific behaviour will see him as the rude bastard.)