#it's my preferred form of escapism because frankly

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

[entishramblings]

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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[jlfletcher]

All I Really Want Is You

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: bullet wounds, mentions of potential death (no one dies, just a small injury during a mission). This is told in 3rd person limited POV (of Miguel, mostly?). One-sided kind of. Reader can speak Spanish (is that considered a warning?).

Summary: This is how it all began for Miguel. From mere coincidence to something more. (Fluff/Romance)

Excerpt: "He realizes something and it’s arguable in his mind... Out of all the Spiders, you’re the anomaly."

A/N: This narrative is actually repurposed from my friend's spidersona story. It didn't have any romance in it originally but my version does and the more I wrote, the more it diverged from their initial story. They said they liked this version and gave me the go ahead to post it because they'll probably never share their's anyway.

Special thank you to my friend who edited this thing. I'm grateful that they were able to help me turn my messy notes and ramblings in a cohesive story.

I get really inspired by music. So, if I do continue to publish installments of this story, they'll most likely be written with songs included.

Also, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I've never had to format such a long post like this on here before.

Word Count: 13.9k (This is a slow burn)

Breakdown

I'm overworking 'til the sundown

Don't see the light inside my head now

There’s a faint buzzing sound that fills Miguel’s workspace. His eyes are a bit bloodshot and itchy from his lack of blinking. He’s grown irritated by now after hours of surveillance and Lyla badgering him to just take a break already. He keeps swatting her away with languid flicks of his wrist while sighing and rubbing his temple. There’s an ache in his head that’s dull yet ever-present but he feels like rest will not come to him anytime soon. He also remembered that he wanted to run diagnostics on a few of his lab’s systems that would ultimately take a while. The testing is usually run automatically but he’s disabled the scheduled maintenance cycle in order to have tasks to do when he's restless like now. Unfortunately for Miguel’s overactive mind, things have mellowed out in the multiverse for the time being. He's been trying to fill his time as he waits for something, anything to happen. It's caused him to grow a bit on edge as of late. Yes, there are still plenty of anomalies to be dealt with but he’s found the late hours to have grown more quiet. It seems that the uncharacteristic silence has planted an eerie feeling in him that he just can’t shake. What if the moment he steps away, something arises? Lyla calls him paranoid but truthfully, he can’t take the risk of complacency.

Eventually, he plops into his chair and prepares to stare at the monitors for another who knows how many hours. He glances over the society’s various CCTV displays in a sluggish attempt at monitoring the building. Yet, something catches his attention. His eyes zero in on a lone figure in the engineering lab. He blinks a bit slowly and scoots closer to take a better look while disregarding the buttons on the control panel in front of him that actually allows him to zoom in on the feed. The thought had completely escaped his foggy brain thanks to his chronic sleep deprivation. Languidly, his eyes flicker to the time and back up. 4:13 am.

I need to see you in my window

There’s not a doubt in Miguel’s mind about what or more accurately who it may be. It’s your form hunched over the workbench. Your signature pair of shoes gives you away entirely. Frankly, it’s not a surprise at this point. This may be the fourth or fifth time he's noticed your presence at such an unorthodox hour. You always tend to stay late at HQ because of your own odd sleeping schedule. He’s overheard you mention to Jess that your universe has a slight daytime shift compared to the others but he didn’t consider it to be by this much. This was nonetheless a preferred choice of company, albeit in an entirely different area of the building from him, because you're quiet and focus on your work. He's not entirely sure if the two of you have interacted for more than a single minute. Perhaps, that's why he prefers you over others. He's never actually spoken to you outside of very few mission assignments and reports. You've caught his eye before. At first, he noticed you were a bit too quiet. It initially caused suspicion to sew itself within his brain. However, after a brief investigation into you performed by Lyla, he concluded that it's simply the way you behave. Now, when you catch his eye he assumes it's due to how you carry yourself relative to others, professional and efficient. Despite the distance between you two, both figurative and literal in this moment, he finds himself watching you through one of the many floating windows before him. His fingers finally slither among the control panel to switch to a different camera in the lab. After flicking through a couple of feeds, the screen changes to an angle that shows your face. Perhaps he's a bit too tired in this instance because his hazy brain barely registers the way his breath hitches in his throat momentarily.

He's seen your bare face only once before and it summoned the same reaction from him. He's taken aback by how you look. It's a bit of a surprise in all honesty. You're so, for lack of a better term, different. And that's not claimed in some common colloquial way. You are literally different. Here at the society, a handful of faces are circulated between the Spiders. However, yours is unique and undoubtedly you. He's only ever come across one of you, the one that's sitting and tinkering in one of his labs. The last and only time he saw your bare face was a fleeting glance before you quickly shoved your mask back on. He assumes you're a bit shy because of it. However, now he can take his time to really analyze your features. He sees how your brows pinch in concentration and how your eyes look a bit red. Ah, it appears you haven't been blinking properly like him either. He sees how your tongue gently swipes out from your mouth before you nip at your bottom lip. Your hands work on repairing a circuit board with your eyes focused on the corrosion you wipe off. He watches you for a while as you work, finding intrigue in the way you do such mundane tasks as repairing a PCB and reassembling a gadget. Eventually, you sit up and stretch a bit, before rubbing your face in what he collects as either exhaustion or boredom. He understands the feeling, truly. Yet his eyes widen a bit as your eyes look at the camera and he finds himself perking up when he sees you smile. He then zooms out to see that you’re conversing with Lyla. Despite the quick misunderstanding, he finds himself enjoying the scene before him. You speak to her so calmly and casually. Do you often speak with her? Many thoughts start to pop up in his mind about you and your overall enigmatic behavior. Your smile triggers hyperactivity to blossom in his mind, his thoughts reeling at the way you look. Your lips pinch together softly as one side of your mouth curls a bit more than the other. Your brows raise as you speak with Lyla, your contentment is evident. He's caught up in the details of your face and it's nearly instinctual the way the corners of his lips twitch in a subconscious attempt to mirror yours.

And I whisper

All I really want is you

What would you do?

He has formed this habit of watching you in the late nights and early mornings. At first, it was mere coincidence when his eyes lingered on you, maybe even out of some sense of caution, but now he finds himself seeking you out after a month of noticing your constant presence. Lyla teased him about being a creep but he usually just replies with a grunt or the occasional snarky comment. Every night you’re working on something and his curiosity is piqued. However, it appears you work efficiently given how it seems to be a new project every few nights or so. His eyes flutter a bit as he sees Lyla appear next to you. Judging by the way you react to her arrival, it’s just for a chat. He notices how your hands rest over one another in front of you as you nod at what Lyla says, laughing and blinking softly at her. You’re polite when listening, putting down whatever you’re working on to give her your attention. The only assumption he's made from it being that you're simply kind. His eyes are attracted to the way your thumbs twiddle around one another absentmindedly. Do you often fidget like that? He tries to think back on the previous times he witnessed your hands when they were not busy, which is not a common occurrence. And as he watches you, he strokes the panel button under his own thumb subconsciously as if it were the back of your hand. He’s only managed to conclude one thing about them and it’s not about how you fidget.

He mutters to himself deeply in observation, “Pequeñas.”

He looks at your hands, pixelated by the monitor, and then down at his own much bigger ones. He ponders momentarily about just how small they truly are. He's certain that if he were to measure them, the entire length would barely reach 7 inches while his are well past 9, probably even past 10 in actuality. If you placed your palm against his, his hand would completely dwarf yours. If you placed your palm against his... what would it fit like? What would it feel like? What would you do if he held your hand? Wait… why is he thinking about that?

“But,” he mumbles softly as he watches you walk off with Lyla in tow, “I think…”

Laying in the rain with you

Middle of June

It’s been two months since he fully took notice of you that night with his full attention; the night he seen you truly as yourself for the first time. From what Lyla has mentioned, you’ve been here almost every night since you joined the society. It doesn’t bother him that he hadn’t noticed you for so long. To him, it made sense. He often found himself drowned in work. Things were hectic for a while, a long while, but luckily during these past few months, things have been relatively easy. Emergency missions in the middle of the night have been few and far between and usually required only one person to complete them which is why Miguel has been manning the fort all by his lonesome for some time now. However, the only other spider permitted to be at HQ during the overnight hours is you thanks to your completely reversed day-night schedule. The two of you have been on a handful of late night missions together throughout this time but he has yet to speak to you about anything not regarding work. It’s a bit strange if he’s being truthful. You may be the only spider that has never spoken to him casually, ever. Sure, he’s suspected you are antisocial but he hadn’t anticipated it to be by this much. You don’t stand out, you stay focused on your work, and you never talk to anyone. Well, that last one isn’t too unbelievable given the fact that you’re only ever here when everyone else isn’t. Miguel can’t help but wonder if you have ever spoken to anyone in the Society without the intention of completing your professional duties? The closest to such an instance was the one time he heard you speak to Jess which was also the first time he had ever seen you. Jess was going to introduce you to him but he was busy having an argument with Hobie. It never grew to be physical but his shouting certainly must have put you off considering he never saw you around again after that. It makes sense, truthfully, since that was your first impression of him. You must think he's always shouting, irritated, and highly intolerant of disobeying his instruction. That is what he was yelling about at the time after all. Well, that is until he noticed you lingering around the building at night. Honestly, you weren’t even a thought in his mind until Lyla sent him a debriefing of you just before Jess officially assigned you to the night shift. He was going to protest, citing that you have no meritorious experience to do so or something like that but he found out that you don’t actually bother him like everyone else. However, he’s grown very aware of your presence as of late thanks to his more unoccupied overnight schedule.

He even has time to just sit and think about anything other than the multiverse now. Usually, this spare time is occupied by observing you. He likes to sit back and watch all the tasks you do with no one around. He finds it relaxing in a way, which is something he’s grateful for. He’s discovered many things about you through this newfound hobby. You tilt your head with a small pout when you’re confused. You often have music stuck in your head which is made evident by the way you nod your head rhythmically. You rub your face with both hands when you’re tired and only one hand when you’re bored. You like to take power naps under the workbench specifically in the left corner of the lab, closest to the door. You usually wear civilian clothing around HQ at night but always wear the same shoes. You don’t like coffee. You drink tea but it has to be hot with steam billowing from the cup. You drink water more often than tea though, but only at room temperature. You crack your knuckles in 30-minute intervals when you type or tinker for long periods of time. You yawn frequently when the air-conditioner is pointed at you… The list could go on. Honestly, he’s a bit taken aback by how much knowledge he’s retained of your behavior and mannerisms. Why is that exactly? He can’t just claim outright boredom. Watching you is something he avidly chooses to do because he likes it. Bored certainly isn't the word he'd use to describe how observing you makes him feel.

“Why am I doing this?”, he mutters deeply as his eyes watch you type away on a computer. Maybe it’s like a child with an ant farm. It’s simply interesting. No, that doesn’t quite sound right. Even ‘interesting’ doesn’t truly capture how he feels watching you every night.

Soon a bright search window pops up in front of him, making him flinch aggressively. “Lyla!”, he shouts in annoyance as he rubs his stinging eyes; already knowing the culprit.

She pops up next to him with a shrug, “What? You asked a question and I’m answering it.”

He squints softly, his eyes focusing on the window presented to him. There are multiple articles listing words that make him furrow his brows. Intrigue, infatuation, sonder, escapism, comfort-watching. To Lyla’s surprise, he mulls them over but she chalks it up to his sleep deprivation. Some words stick out to him, finding himself unfamiliar with them.

“Comfort-watching.”, he states slowly as he selects the article. It explains what it is and what it stems from, denoting its connection to escapism. “The habitual diversion of the mind to purely imaginative activity or entertainment as an escape from reality or routine.”, he reads aloud, words muffled by his hand stroking his chin. Well, that didn’t make sense, watching you is his routine at this point.

He wouldn’t describe what you do as entertainment in theory and it’s certainly not imaginative. It’s just him watching how you do normal things. He softly chews his lip as he glosses over the other articles.

Lyla mimics his actions and strokes her chin, opening another article in front of her form. “Oh? This’ll be interesting.”, she thinks before speaking to Miguel, who’s now distracted by both the articles and his occasional glances at you. “Why do you like watching y/s/n?” [your spider name]

He replies with a sigh as he waves his hands around, positioning the articles around him, “That's what I’m trying to figure out, Lyla.”

“Just think for a moment. Off the top of your head, what’s one thing you like about doing this?”, she gestures to the monitor containing you. The two of them glance at you through one of the screens standing from your seat and stretching your whole body in an attempt to reduce your exhaustion.

Miguel’s inquisitive eyes soften a bit as he responds earnestly, “It’s familiar.” Lyla’s face flashes a bit in curiosity as she observes his expression. Before she can speak again, he continues, “This is calm and… warm.”

“Warm?”, Lyla asks curiously, her eyes fluttering over the chart in the article she opened. She's notated a couple of checkmarks now, in places she hadn't expected.

His eyes just can’t leave you as he thinks about what he’s said. It’s hard to put exactly into words, “I… appreciate her presence. She’s always there and it makes me feel comfortable.” There’s a strange feeling that stirs inside him upon hearing the words he formulates in response. You, a complete stranger, have somehow become a totem of routine in his eyes. Because after watching you nearly every night, you are always there working. Always. Despite the strange and unpredictable multiverse the two of you reside in, you sit in one of his labs, typing away on a computer. In a sense you’ve become the embodiment of normal.

Lyla repeats quietly but not lacking the casual tone she usually holds, “Her… Do you ever want to talk to y/s/n?”

He hums in thought before replying with an unsure shrug, “Honestly… I never even considered that. I don’t think I need to.”

Lyla glances back at the article and then back to Miguel, “But do you want to?”

His movements stall as her question hangs in the air. He takes a moment to apprehend what she’s asking. His eyes trail slowly from the articles floating around him to you on the CCTV display. You're crawling under that specific workbench in the left corner of the lab for what he knows is a power nap; he finds himself almost smiling at that. Does he want to talk to you? He ponders a situation in which he finds himself conversing with you casually. What would you talk about? He knows you like tea. Would you talk about your favorite kind? What is your favorite kind? How would you pronounce it? How do you pronounce certain words like caramel or aluminum? Maybe like aluminium? Maybe you say it differently than he does. He can imagine a light-hearted debate over phonetics, the two of you drowsy from the late night hours. Maybe you’ll tease him about the way he says it. How would you say… his name? You’ve spoken his name before on missions with a professional tone, always addressing him by his surname. It irks him a bit but he's never gotten around to informing you to just call him Miguel… How would you sound calling out to him in a tone that's amicable and familiar?

He’s broken out of his thoughts by Lyla waving her pixelated arms in front of him and a shout of his name, “Miguel!” He jolts at the sound of an alarm beeping around him. Bold words pop out in front of him, “ANOMALY DETECTED”. He hears his family name called out and straightens at the sound. That’s not Lyla's voice. He turns around to see you in your suit, tucking the hem of your mask into your collar as you trek to his platform. His hand waved behind him, minimizing the displays floating around him to hide the clues to his distraction with a single motion.

He hears you speak in a sober tone as you stand before him, “Lyla informed me that we’re both needed for this one. There’s an anomaly running around a metropolitan area on Earth-26. It travels quickly so we'll have to chase after it. Also, there doesn’t appear to be anyone to help.” He nods quickly, navigating through the multiversal map on his watch to open a portal. He nearly flinches as you gently grasp his forearm, looking up at him slowly.

“O'Hara,” you said calmly, which made him look at you curiously, “full stealth on this one. I’m uncertain how this universe would respond to… our kind.”

His lips nearly press into his natural pout under his mask as you address him by his family name but quickly absorbs what you're truly saying to him. He’s had a couple run-ins with a universe like this before and understands your concern entirely. He slowly pulls your hand from his forearm. The size difference doesn’t skip past him and makes something buzz in the back of his brain. Yet it’s subconscious, the way his fingers linger around yours before he releases them and states firmly, “Stay close to me.” You nod in understanding which he reciprocates before opening a portal. You flip open your watch and quickly calibrate your interface and send sync data to his watch to stay connected during the mission. It’s strange how ready you appear to be but it’s greatly appreciated. He hadn’t realized that he was staring before you turned towards him. You tilt your head softly and unbeknownst to you, he knows without a doubt that it’s out of curiosity. He gives you a nod, hoping it didn’t look as strange as he felt doing it. You step through the portal first and he’s quick to follow after as Lyla observes it all with an inquisitive squint.

All I really want is you

This was an uncommon feeling. You two chased after the anomaly, zipping through the sleeping city's skies quickly. Luckily, you both haven’t been spotted by anyone as you swing through the late-night drizzle. He started feeling a bit… he supposes ‘at ease’ is the best way to put it. He’s not foolish enough to grow complacent mid-mission but being on mission with you, working so seamlessly with him, made this feel easy. You’re professional, giving clear cues and staying on the same page. It’s as if you can hear what he’s thinking. Sure lego Spider-man is a good teammate but you’re a good partner.

The anomaly made its way to a rooftop with you right on its tail. You landed quickly with a soft roll before keeping low to the ground while Miguel landed behind you with a soft grunt. You crouched a bit as you tiptoed around gently, trying not to alarm the anomaly located somewhere nearby. He waits on standby, keeping a lookout for anyone who might see you two while you try to catch the small creature. You freeze as you see the silhouette of it, patting the ground with stubby limbs, seemingly ready to take flight again. That is until you squat down and pat the ground too. It looks at you and tilts its head, another action that you mimic before removing your mask. It slowly walks to its right and you gently shuffle to your left. You release a chuckle as you can see something that looks like a tail wagging. The noise meets Miguel’s ears and he turns to find you squatting and maskless. His eyes widen at the sight, fighting the hitch in his breath as he sees your h/c hair, it looks much softer in person. His eyes narrow is realization as he quickly replaces his intrigue with his usual pragmatism.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he speaks monotone, “What are you doing?”

You release a slow and soft, “Shhhh.” You then gently raise your hand, motioning him to approach you. His fingers twitch instinctively as he looks at your flopping hand and surprises himself by reaching out for it. However, his mellow emotions are doused in confusion as you tug him down quickly. He nearly falls on top of you, clearly not anticipating such sudden strength from you. Luckily, he manages to brace himself, kneeling behind you, and leaning a bit over your shoulder. He’s about to ask what the hell you’re doing when you point to the far corner of the rooftop. His eyes widen as he watches the dark creature slowly slink toward the two of you.

You breathe out quietly to Miguel, “Deactivate your mask.” He turns to you in shock despite you not looking at him. He’s about to protest before you whisper, “It needs to see your face.”

He acquiesces your command and slowly retracts his mask. The air nips at his warm face as he spies the creature tilting its head. You tilt your head too while whispering to him, “Mimic what it does.”

Miguel begins to protest but you quickly cut off his words, “Why-?”

“Just do it.” He nearly rolls his eyes at your sudden command but finds himself following suit as he tilts his head too. He watches curiously as the creature pats the ground with its left paw and you mirror it with your right hand. He grows a bit amused watching the two of you continue this little dance until it slowly crawls closer to you both. Miguel can hear your breath hitch as the creature steps into the light shining from over the door to the rooftop you all are on. It’s dark and covered with scales, with large blue eyes and bat-like wings. Your hand is still placed on the ground as the creature cautiously closes the distance between you. You cautiously turn your hand palm up, Miguel is confused by this but continues to watch nonetheless. The creature's eyes look up at you warily with tightly constricted pupils. You then turn your head, facing away from it and toward Miguel quickly. He barely manages to lean back enough to avoid you smacking your head into his shoulder.

He looks at you quizzically as you whisper to him, “Keep your eyes on me.” His brows furrow which indicates his clear confusion at your command. You respond cautiously yet softly, “Don’t look it in the eyes. It’s still scared.” Miguel slowly nods in understanding as his eyes stay on yours. 

There’s something that fizzles in his ears as he stares at you. Your eyes are oddly… calming. He’s never thought of looking at them before. At least not in an intentional way like this, unlike the usual polite eye contact you’re obligated to give someone you work with. It's so strange seeing you in person up close like this. He also has to fight the heat he feels making its way onto his cheeks at your close proximity. Your eyes sparkle a bit from the dim moonlight and there's drops of rain littered around your hair. You look so soft and inviting. There's not a sliver of malice anywhere across your features. He's sure this small anomaly is smart enough to come to you.

Soon he feels his lungs quiver in his chest as he watches your eyes crinkle as you smile. You’re chuckling. Why are you chuckling? His ears are roaring by the time you turn back toward the creature. His gaze lingers on the side of your face before looking down at the little one who’s currently licking and nuzzling into your hand, giving it playful nips. He smiles at that, grateful that this mission will end easier than expected.

The creature jumps on you and licks your face with a happy warble. Miguel tenses, worried that it may be attacking you until you release a giggle as you coo warmly, slowly standing with the creature wrapped in your arms. The sound tingles in Miguel's ears and he can’t help but watch you almost mesmerized as you carry the creature carefully before he stands back up next to you.

You comfort the creature with soft words as your nimble fingers quickly fashion a tracker to the little beast then click your watch. You speak calmly as you stare down at the baby creature with a smile, “Lyla, may you please check for any residual anomalies?” Lyla appears behind the creature and gives you a little salute before her visage flits around and scans the area. Miguel approaches to inspect the animal but leans back when it attempts to sniff at him which makes you chuckle at his stiffness. Then, you gently scratch between the animal’s horns as you walk closer to him to let it smell him properly. He stands awkwardly, watching its nostrils flare with each sniff of his arm.

You look around at the skyline behind him with a sigh, “What a view. Do you ever-”. Your voice fades off quickly as you squint, looking at something in the distance. Miguel notices as your hand stops moving and you cradle the creature protectively. Before he can even look at you, you shout while shoving him to the ground roughly, “Sniper!”. You yelp as something pierces your forearm violently, making your knees wobble. The creature jumps out of your hold, having sensed your body going limp before you slump into Miguel’s arms. The creature nuzzles into your dangling hand with a sad whine.

Miguel immediately enters high alert. He stays low as shots ring out above you, dragging you behind a structure to obstruct you all from whatever the hell is attacking. You're slumped against him as he shakes you softly with a tense voice, patting your face anxiously, “Y/s/n? Y/s/n wake up!” He sees the creature standing on its hind legs pawing at your thigh, looking up at him with scared eyes. Miguel shouts out into the air, “Lyla!” Immediately, a portal opens in front of you three.

Lyla speaks in a rushed tone, looking down at you worriedly, “I didn’t detect any more anomalies. Hurry.” Miguel scoops up both you and the anomaly, holding you tight as he jumps through the portal quickly.

What would you do?

Sleeping outside, the moon

Tripping with you

Miguel’s quick as he carries you to the med bay, the anomaly’s little legs trying to keep up with his long, wide strides. He places you on a bed and pulls up a med pod. He runs a full scan of your body and finds a bit of relief when it is concluded that you got dosed with a tranquilizer but he’s still tense. Usually a tranq doesn’t work that instantaneously; nor does it cause a strong shift in your blood pressure like this… It’s almost as if it’s thinned your blood. He sanitizes and gloves up quickly before grabbing some supplies to remove the projectile lodged in your arm. Fortunately, it doesn't take too long to remove all the pieces of the dart that broke apart. There's a bad feeling in his stomach as he does. He's never seen a tranq dart do such a thing. Why is it so fragile? Miguel has Lyla analyze the fragments while he cleans the wound.

He steals a glance at the little creature sitting in the doorway, its eyes watching you intently. He speaks evenly as he floods the wound with saline, gently patting it dry, “Don’t worry, she’s okay. She’s just sleeping.” He finishes wrapping your arm gingerly with a bandage and pulls the bed sheet over you, raising each of your arms to rest over the sheet. He stares at your hand in his for a moment. It’s warm. Your hands are warm and tiny compared to his. So, that’s how they feel… He blinks himself out of his thoughts and gently sets your hand down by your side to let you rest.

“You can come over. I’m done but she won’t be awake for a while.” Miguel says before looking over at the little beast. He’s almost surprised when it appears to understand what he’s said. After all, you did mention during the mission that it seemed highly intelligent relative to other wild animals. It stands, slowly trudging over before hopping onto the bed beside your leg. It looks at you and then turns to crawl on you cautiously as if it’s afraid of hurting you. After a few moments of hesitation, it pats the bed, circling a few times before settling down between your feet. Finally, it rests its chin on your leg, looking at you with large eyes while its tail curls around itself, and releases a soft bleat.

The display of how gentle it acts with you nearly makes him scoff in disbelief. It’s hard to believe that this is the same angry little beast that tried to claw at him earlier in the night. He's almost offended, truthfully. Why was it so mean to him? It seems to act like a cat, aggressive one moment then clingy the next. Miguel's eyes drift back up to look at you as he works around the room. He thinks for a moment to himself, "I guess between the two of us, I'd go to her too." He shakes the thoughts from his head. Miguel plops back onto the stool beside your bed with a sigh, having just finished cleaning up the soiled supplies. He yawns and scratches his jaw tiredly before he crosses his arms over his chest. The adrenaline that was once in his body is now long gone and his prior exhaustion floods him tenfold. However, he’s able to mutter with droopy eyes that watch your peaceful sleeping face, “What were you going to ask me?” He soon couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, his body feeling heavy and slowly slumping over as he drifted off to sleep. 

Head down

Miguel groans as he feels something slimy on his forehead. He squints harshly at the light that penetrates his eyelids but before he can get up to stretch he freezes at what he hears.

"Hey, hey. Don't do that, little one. He needs to rest."

He's about to just sit up to explain that it's too late but your voice breaks through with a gentle coo. "Oh. Look what you did, honey. You messed it up…"

Before his mind can propel itself into countless thoughts of hearing you say the pet name in such an endearing way, he feels something gently card through his hair. There's something that erupts down his spine at the sensation and that faint fizzling in his ears returns. Especially when he can feel your fingers graze against his helix as you sweep some strands of his hair behind it. He feels his body melt at your ministrations.

Now, he chooses not to move or open his eyes. He pretends to be asleep on what he can blindly tell is the edge of the bed you’re resting in. He enjoys this, the sound of your voice as you comfort and hush the little anomaly the two of you caught. He hears sad warbling and feels the bed move a bit. He manages to cautiously crack an eye open to peek at you cradling the creature close as it sniffs and licks your bandage gently.

You speak softly to it, "Hey, shh-shh. It's okay, I'm okay. See?" You poke the bandage, not where the wound is but the edge of it, to prove that it's fine. You point at Miguel which causes him to shut his eyes quickly before you speak again, "He protected me and helped me get better. So, it's okay." He feels the bed shift as you quietly chuckle, "Ah, ah. Don’t do that, love. I don't want to wake him up, he was really tired." He can sense you stopping the creature from approaching him further as you stand.

There's a soft shuffle that can be heard around him before he feels something drape over his shoulders. You speak so delicately near his ear as you cover him, “Thank you for taking care of me. Sweet dreams.”

He hears the rustling of fabric and the soft plodding of your feet along the floor accompanied by your voice, "Okay, baby. Let's go." Miguel's eyes peek open to see you walking out of the infirmary with the little creature trotting next to you.

Once you’re gone he turns his head, pulling the fabric off his back. It's your cardigan. The one that you were wearing earlier before the mission. His eyes still feel heavy as he bunches up the fabric under him. His nose is flooded with a scent he's unused to. It smells warm and comfortable and soon he drifts off again with his arms wrapped securely around your cardigan below his head.

That’s what you are, he thinks. Warm and comfortable.

I don't know when to come up for air now

It's been a couple of days since your e-26 mission together and you haven't spoken since. Like usual, you spend the night in the lab and Miguel busies himself with some backlogged reports. However, his eyes still glance over to the monitor displaying you occasionally. He's noticed that you haven't worked as much as before. Sure, you’ve tinkered with a few things but you mostly just write in a notebook and slump over the workbench now. He pauses to inspect your face then switches to a camera angle that shows what you're writing. Oh. You're not writing, you're sketching something. He zooms in to see a picture of the anomaly you two sent back after Miguel woke up that morning. Just as he thought, you were depressed because your little friend had to go back home. That’s a lie, he hadn’t actually thought of that at all. Truthfully, he was starting to grow concerned that something was wrong with you… He watches as you add detail to the eyes, the tip of your pencil faintly tracing along the paper to simulate each streak across its irises. It's this that reminds him of when he stared into your eyes. They're much richer than expected, drowned in a color that is so… you. It's you because it's comforting and relaxing and deep. Comfortable and warm. He remembers the words with a soft hum.

He catches something bright appearing next to you. It's Lyla. He's found that you two converse almost every night. What do you two talk about? How many things have you discussed? There’s something unknown that bubbles in the pit of his stomach as these thoughts fill his head. Eventually, his curiosity gets the best of him and he switches on the audio feed. The thought of this being a violation of your privacy, completely slipping past him. He gently sits down as he listens to the two of you talk.

"Raon? What does it mean?", Lyla questions curiously.

You rest your chin on your hand as you lean against the table, looking up at Lyla with a warm smile as you reply, "It means joyful. He looks just like… ah, it’s nothing." You trailed softly but soon chuckled with a wave of your hand.

The scene before him makes Miguel smile softly to himself. It’s such a mundane conversation yet he finds enjoyment from it. Especially from the soft chuckle that comes from you. 

"Hey, did you ever get around to-" Lyla begins but is cut off by your quick response.

"Nope… sorry.", You apologize with a bow of your head, realizing you interrupted her, "I should probably soon, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. The window of validity is closing, bud.", Lyla conjures up a window beside her before shutting it slowly as she raises a brow at you.

You nod and sigh, standing from your seat before turning to leave, "You're right. Thanks for reminding me, Lyla."

She hums to you before disappearing off the screen. She soon pops up next to Miguel who’s watching the feed of you walking through a corridor. She leans over his shoulder and speaks near his ear, "Stalker much?"

Miguel jolts at that and quickly exits off the camera display. He grunts and pulls some reports in front of him in a feeble attempt to cover up what he was doing, "I'm not a stalker."

She smirks and sings with an almost smug tone, "Ah, c'mon. It's just a joke, Miguel. Don't pout."

He states evenly as his eyes glance over the files presented before him, “Not pouting.”

“You never answered my question, y’know?”

“What question?”

“Do you want to talk to y/s/n?” She emphasizes her words with raised brows as she slowly orbits around his head to face him.

He blinks in thought, recalling the recent mission. You’re unfinished words wading upon the surface of his mind and truthfully they have been in his thoughts ever since you first uttered them into the night air. It wasn’t in your usually professional tone. It sounded more casual and unfortunately, you were cut short before finishing your sentence. “Do you ever… Do I ever what?”, he muses as his fingers rub at the side of his chin. He nods slowly before mumbling, “Yes… I think I do.”

Lyla bends down to smirk smugly at him with her arms akimbo, “Good.”

He squints at her and voices his confusion, “What do you mean? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“O’Hara?”, he stiffened as his eyes went wide at the sound of your voice. He composes himself quickly with a low grunt before turning to you.

Unfortunately, you misunderstand this, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You’re not interrupting me. I just remembered something. Did something happen?”

You absorb his fast-paced sentences, “No, I just wanted to talk to you.”

He’s shocked by this but his face doesn’t show it. If only you knew of the discussion you just interrupted by coming here.

“I wanted to formally thank you for taking care of me.”, you spoke calmly while looking up at him on his platform. He noticed your hand resting over your bandaged arm, confusion taking over his features. You noticed this and looked down at your arm too, nodding before your gaze returned to him. You subconsciously rub the bandage as you speak, “Ah, this. I don’t… heal as quickly as the rest of you.”

He mulls over your words, the rest of you. You speak in a way that alienates yourself from the Spiders. It’s a phrase he can understand due to him constantly being put in his own category relative to the other spider-people. Other… He supposes he speaks about himself the same as you. So that’s that sense of familiarity explained, albeit partially. He asks with his naturally stoic expression, “Why is that?” He watches with furrowed brows as you think of how to respond.

You softly shake your head with a shrug, “I just don’t.”

Before either of you can speak again, Lyla questions while pointing at you next to Miguel. There’s a small smirk on her face, “Hey, y/s/n? What’s that?” Miguel looks at her curiously before looking down at the box in your hands.

“Oh, this is just… This is for you, O’Hara.”, you take a step forward towards his platform. Miguel’s brows shoot up not only at what you say but at his now descending platform. He looks over to Lyla who smirks at him, clearly the cause. He clears his throat as his workspace reaches your level, “Is it something to sign off on?” He thinks that maybe you’re ready to beta-test new equipment that needs approval first.

You shake your head and hand the box to him with a small smile, “No. This is a thank you.”

He furrows his brows again as he slowly opens the box with his words trailing off, “A thank you?...” It’s… they’re empanadas. You just gave him a box of empanadas as a thank you? 

“I heard Jess mention you liked empanadas. Sorry, they’re not the ones from the cafeteria though.”

He stares at them for a few more seconds. They’re warm. Are they fresh? How? It’s almost 3 am. Did you pick them up from your universe? “You didn’t have to give me this. I didn’t really-”

“You saved my life.” His eyes widen a bit as they meet yours. Ah. So you found out…

Your hands wring together nervously as you speak, “Lyla showed me the analysis of the fragments you pulled from my arm. Etorphine is a strong agent as is but it was formulated into a high-dose soluble projectile. If you hadn’t helped me so quickly, it would have dissolved into my blood and…”

“Thank you.”, Miguel all but whispers with his head down.

“You don’t have to thank me for thanking yo-”

“You took that shot for me.”, he quickly cuts you off. His eyes slowly trailing up to meet yours with firm sincerity. “Why did you take that shot?”

You rub your nape as you avoid his gaze and reply in an almost soft voice, “Ah. I didn’t really think about it… my body just moved on its own.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence that spreads between you two as you both avoid each other’s eyes. Miguel stares back down at the food before speaking, “You really didn’t have to give me these.”

You speak with gentle hand gestures, a trait he didn’t know you had until now, “No, no. Please take them. I made them to thank you. It’s how I show proper gratitude. Honestly, I don’t think it’s enough.”

He looks at you in thought before looking back down at them with raised brows and a gentle smirk, “You made them?”

You tense, eyes darting to Lyla but she only offers you a quiet snicker. You sigh before nodding slowly, “Yes, I did. I’m sorry if you think they taste bad.”

He’s amused at your word choice. You didn’t say if they taste bad, you said if he thinks they taste bad. So you cook. And it sounds like you cook well given how confidently you speak about what you make.

Before he speaks, Lyla asks you something and motions you toward the control panel, “Y/n/n, come take a look at this.” [your nickname]

You bow your head briefly at Miguel with a modest smile before making your way to the screen Lyla opens for you. That’s another habit of yours he wasn’t fully aware of. He stands back and watches as you point at the screen and discuss it with Lyla. Your arms cross as you stand before the monitors, your face morphed from your inquisitiveness as you inspect the blueprint Lyla shows you. This makes him calm again. Watching you always made him calm and relaxed. However, it feels a bit stronger when you’re standing just a meter or so away from him. With you here now, so close to him, he actually feels warm. There’s a heat that surrounds him that he just can’t really explain. He continues his musings before taking a bite of the empanada absentmindedly but his eyes shoot down at the food as he tastes it. These aren’t like the ones from the cafeteria, they’re far better. The cafeteria carries standard beef empanadas. Beef and seasoning, it’s hard to mess it up. But these? Is this stew? This is honestly the best thing he's eaten in a long time. His foot stutters as he prevents himself from stepping closer to you and swallows the delicious bite before mumbling, “Are these-”

“Salteñas, sí.” His eyes travel up to see you looking back at him with a warm smile and nod. The way you say it is so natural. It rolls off your tongue so smoothly. Do you speak Spanish?

“Wow, it eats!”, Lyla cheers sarcastically.

“Lyla!”, he groans in annoyance.

“What do you-”, you unfurl your arms and look at him with what he recognizes as concern, “Sir, are you not eating properly?” You turn to face him completely and approach him slowly when all he returns is silence.

Lyla floats over to you, her voice laced with a haughty tone as she tattles, “No. No, he is not.” He grunts and tries to snatch her holographic form. His hand just misses her as she teleports to your other side with a giggle.

“O’Hara,” you call to him in a tone that’s so soft while still holding firmness. That’s new. It’s not as casual as he imagined and you’re still addressing him by his surname but he’s still pleased with how it sounds coming from you in that tone. “How often do you eat?”

He tenses a bit and looks away from your eyes before he gets lost in more of his thoughts. “I eat.” His brows furrowed as he mentally berates himself for his obvious statement. Of course, he eats. Estúpido. His embarrassment quickly triggered his next words despite how unexpected they are, even to him, “What does it matter to you?”

He feels an odd sense of uneasiness as he notices your lack of reaction. He’s quick to attempt to amend his words, “It’s appreciated but it’s none of your concern when I do and don’t eat.” Then there is more silence. It weighs heavily in the air awkwardly. He realizes his words may seem a bit harsh given how tense his voice is. He’s unsure what to say now and for once the silence from you isn’t so comfortable.

“O’Hara.”, you say more sternly as you cross your arms. He can’t help the way he feels like a child being scolded by their teacher. What truly catches him off guard is how firm your tone is despite how gentle you look at him, “Stop deflecting.”

It all makes him feel a bit small despite him being the one looking down at you due to your apparent size difference. He’s never been fond of his height. It’s annoying and cumbersome but the way your body positions itself to stare at him makes him think that it’s not that bad. Your head has to tilt back for your eyes to meet his. Those rich eyes of yours… The e/c encompasses your pupils in such an inviting way [eye color]. And each time you blink he catches a glimpse of how your lashes flutter against your skin. His eyes slowly travel along your features. Your forehead creases softly as your brows raise. The action makes your eyes appear larger as you look up at him. Then he sees your lips moving slowly. They’re not shiny nor are they chapped. But they do look smooth as he sees the tip of your tongue softly curl behind your teeth as you speak. Your words slowly grow less foggy before he flinches at the feeling of your hand gently holding his forearm. There’s a slight ringing in his ears as your voice finally reaches him.

“Mr. O’Hara, are you okay? You’re flushed.”

“What?”, he breathes out in a rushed tone before his eyes focus out to see the entirety of your worried expression. He gently tugs at the collar of his suit uncomfortably. He actually feels the heat now, it’s more intense than before.

“You’re burning up. It’s warm in here too…”. You quickly grab the box of food from his hand and place it on a nearby tabletop before pulling him toward the entrance of his work area. “Here, come with me.”

You take my hand like there's a way out (way out)

And we're escaping through the window

Miguel isn’t sure how but he now finds himself in a rather unfamiliar situation. You’re dragging him around by the wrist. However, it’s apparent that he follows seamlessly behind you. It feels natural for him to just maintain your lead, especially when there’s very little energy within him to resist. He watches how you walk in front of him. You walk in a way that makes you look smaller than you actually are. It’s as if you’re trying to hide. Why is that? Your shoulders are slouched a bit forward as you guide him through the corridors. His eyes drift to the back of your head, watching the way your hair gently bounces with each one of your steps. You halt for a moment which causes him to nearly stumble into you. Your grip on his wrist falters briefly before sliding down to take him by the hand. The action completely slips past you as you decide where to walk next, but it surely does not get past him. He has to fight the urge to squeeze his hand around yours but utterly fails. He’s not too upset about this. Truthfully, most of his awareness was occupied by trying not to let his claws protrude from his fingertips. You turn back to look at him but he’s quick to avoid your eyes, oscillating his head mindlessly.

You must have taken this as a sign of his unwell state because soon you're tugging him through the cafeteria with a firm whisper, “Over there. You need fresh air.”

His red face and his lack of words must make him appear as though he won’t be able to last the trek to the infirmary. You gently squeeze his hand which makes his eyes snap back to you quickly. Making your way to the large terrace, you push the glass door open. The air sweeps past you both as you guide him to sit on one of the patio chairs scattered among the outdoor area. His eyes are dazed as he looks up at you standing in front of him but they haven’t left you for even a moment since you squeezed his hand. But now your hand is no longer in his. He’s surprised to find himself a bit annoyed at that. You’re moving too fast, he thinks. All your actions are slipping away from him thanks to his hazy mind and he doesn’t appreciate it. You pull a handkerchief out of your back pocket and pat his sweaty forehead. His eyes watch you as you do. Your lips press into a line as you gently bite your bottom lip. Your eyes are full of concern as they roam over the sight of his flushed face. You remove your hand from his space as you step back a bit, wanting to let him feel the light breeze.

He spies how your hands start to reach out but retract back to your side, settling on your hips instead. You speak evenly as you look at him, “Are you okay? Does that feel better?” It’s gradual as he breaks out of his cloudy stupor, the wind finally cooling him down. He nods slowly before something slithers out of his brain and past his lips.

And I whisper

“What?”, you tilt your head curiously.

“Miguel….”, he breathes out, “My name is Miguel.”

You blink at him and speak with a bit of concern, “I know tha-”

“I don’t like being called O’Hara or Sir or Mr. O’Hara. Call me Miguel.”

You nod softly as you take in his words before giving him a small smile, “Okay. From now on I’ll call you Miguel.”

He almost smiles at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue but catches himself before it’s too late. His brows furrowed in confusion as you gently extended your hand toward him. You smile softly as you gently grasp his hand and shake it with a kind tone, “My name is y/n. It’s only fair that you address me as such.”

His brain stalls for a few moments, absorbing your name. It’s so fitting in a previously unknown yet expectedly pleasant way. Of course, that’s your name. He looks up at you in thought as you gently pull your hand from his, “Y/n, huh? It’s… pretty.”

He tenses in realization for a moment before slowly speaking, ensuring that his own curiosity remains undetectable, “The other night on e-26, on the rooftop. What were you going to ask me?”

You’re taken aback and stand back up, your lip jutting out in a pout as you try to remember. Your eyes wander to the table beside the two of you in thought but Miguel’s eyes stay on you. He takes in the sight of your face morphed in contemplation. It’s the same look he’s seen countlessly through the late nights. Except this time, it’s not pixelated or blurry from his monitors. Now, he can see you up close. He can see clearly how your chin softly wrinkles as you purse your lips and the way your eyes crinkle at the outer corners. It’s almost comical how earnestly he takes in such ordinary features with the same scrupulousness as a lab experiment.

“Do you ever look out at the skyline… and feel at peace?” The words flow out of you softly as you move to sit on the patio table next to him. Your eyes glide up to look at the lights below that decorate the horizon.

Miguel finally tears his eyes from you to look at the skyline before you both. It’s hard to hear the vehicles from up here but he knows they’re there. He can see the lights flicker and wane in the distance as his body relaxes into the chair. He realizes how familiar he is with the scene and breathes out lowly, “Yes. I do.”

He can see you smile in his peripherals before your voice fills the space between you, “I’ve always found comfort in the horizon and the view of the land below. The sunrise and sunset. I think Raon would have been mesmerized by this view of the city lights.”

He turns to look at you curiously, “Raon?” Truthfully, he was a bit curious about the word you mentioned to Lyla earlier.

You nod with a hum, crossing your legs and propping your chin on your elbows as you get comfortable. “The baby creature from our mission. Raon.”

Miguel notices how the word our rattles around his brain but pushes that feeling aside. He attempts to overpower it with a wry remark, “Did you name the anomaly?”

You release a breathy chuckle and nod, “Kind of. There’s a story from my universe that had a baby dragon named Raon Miru in it. Looked exactly like him too, blue eyes and all.”

He finds relief now not just in observing you but in your close presence and words. He’s intrigued by what you say. He can’t quite place the origin of such a unique name. He knows Japanese but he’s unsure if that is its correct origin. He takes a moment to look at you in thought, certain that he wants to hear more, “That name, what does it mean?”

“It’s a bit on the nose, truthfully. It means ‘joyful dragon’.”

“Raon Miru.”, he repeats to himself as he turns back to look at the skyline with you. There’s a comfortable silence that swells between you both. It takes a few more moments before your voice slithers into the empty space.

“Do you truly not eat well?”

He turns to look at you again but immediately regrets it. Well, not really. Your eyes are full of concern as they meet his. He sighs and shakes his head, “No. I don’t.”

“Why?” You ask so simply as your eyes never leave him.

He bites the inside of his cheeks and contemplates whether he should brush this off and lie or just tell you the truth. He chooses the latter, citing that he genuinely enjoys your consideration. “I’m busy. I lose track of time and just forget.”

Lyla finally decides to pop up next to you, “Hey, y/s/n. You actually remember to eat stuff. Mind keeping Miguel in check for me?”

Miguel stiffens quickly shaking his head to protest but before he can, you respond. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Cool.”, Lyla nods and disappears having completed her job as instigator.

His eyes travel to yours in question only for you to smile gently at him with a tilt of your head. “I need to make sure you’re properly taken care of.”

Need, you say. Not want. The way you say it so matter-of-factly makes his lungs quiver, just like that night. His mouth shuts as he slowly leans back in his chair. The way you look at him lets him know that there’s no room for debate. You nod with a smile as you watch him acquiesce your response. “Good. So, did you like the salteñas?”

He nods and speaks with a low hum, “Yes, they were good.”

You beam at that and lean toward him unconsciously, “Really? I was worried there for a second. By the way you heated up, I thought you had a bad reaction.” You straighten up as your features quickly morph in realization of something before speaking, “That reminds me. Lyla?”

“Yo.”, she appears in front of you like a pop-up ad.

“What’s the temperature in Miguel’s work area?”

She conjures up a thermostat and squints at it, “Yeesh, 85°F and climbing. At the time of reporting, it is approximately 20 degrees higher than average. Excessive heat appears to be emitting from a ground-level display console.”

“Oh, may you please-”

“Filtering and cooling as we speak, captain.”, her little hand bumping her forehead to salute you in assurance. “I’ve shut off the machine since it’s under minimal usage priority. Consider this a work order.”

You chuckle at her antics, “Thank you, dear. I’ll be sure to repair it asap. It also sounds like your active monitoring is on the fritz, I’ll check that too.” You then turn to Miguel, leaning in inquisitively to see if he’s cooled down enough.

He questions absentmindedly with an almost gravelly mumble, “Hablas español?” [Do you speak Spanish?]

You're taken aback but smile softly, “Sí, pero no lo hablo con fluidez.” [Yes, but I’m not fluent in it.]

He finds the corners of his mouth gently lifting at your words, “Me suenas fluido. Tu acento es natural.” [You sound fluent to me. Your accent is natural.]

Your smile seems to grow ever so gently as you nod, “Thank you. I grew up in a diverse place. Lots of people spoke languages other than English.”

Miguel found himself completely relaxed as he spoke with you about anything and everything. Like that, the conversation flowed between you for a long while.

All I really want is you

What would you do?

Your brows shoot up in shock before a small smile blooms on your face. “Good. Let’s meet out on the terrace at 3 am. You better not leave me hanging.”

He smirks at your warning in amusement, you said it in such a way that carries no real malice. He nods in understanding as you two walk side by side languidly, back to his work area. The conversation hasn’t stopped. Miguel thinks this is the longest he’s ever talked to someone, speaking more words in these last couple of hours with you than he has to anyone in months. It’s odd to him how easy it is to talk with you. It makes him feel like he’s conversing with an old friend.

He’s lost in content conversation with you as you two enter back into his lab and continues even after you begin to work. He leans against the main control panel on his platform as he watches you repair the display console that practically turned his work area into an oven. Miguel’s arms are crossed over his chest, somehow unsure of what to do with his hands. He speaks with a more calm tone, “So you’re the one who does repairs around here? You’d think I, of all people, would know that.”

“I actually did think you already knew that but I suppose me coming in here and working on your tech while you’re out during the day is a bit of a clue as to why you didn’t.” You calmly respond to him. Your voice is just a bit louder than normal in order to ensure he can hear you properly. After all, half of your body is inside a relatively large electronics console.

“So what’s the issue here then?”

"Just a basic issue. Overclocked GPUs and faulty heatsinks don't really mix well.", you sigh with a shrug after gently crawling out of the unit to drop some screws into a small tray beside you. You present a damaged PCB to him and point at a burnt section of it with the tip of your screwdriver, “See, a few of them have blown fuses.”

He’s tuned into what you say and nods in acknowledgment. He knows what you’re talking about and enjoys it because it’s not rushed and not frantic like during the day. It’s calm and comfortable.

"Although I told Pete to run manual diagnostics on this which he said he did. Liar." 

Miguel is amused by your annoyed grumble as you work. He’s a bit curious as to why you refer to Peter by nickname when you’ve only started calling him by his given name a couple hours ago but he figures it’s fine since Peter is the one who initially recruited you from what he can recall. 

Miguel leans a bit over to peek at the mess that is the internal hardware before you crawl back inside. "I'm going to guess that he didn't even look at this at all."

"Yeah, pretty safe to assume that. I should have known better than to ask him. He's been preoccupied lately.", you groan from inside the panel. You look a bit funny like this, with half your body inside the console.

“Why did you ask Peter to look at it then?”, Miguel asks a bit curiously.

“Um, my arm was still messed up, Sir. I couldn’t really pronate it without feeling uncomfortable.”

He hears how nonchalantly you say it and senses that you don’t want to bring up the injury again. He nods curtly to himself and continues while changing the subject, “Don't call me Sir. It makes me feel old.”

You smile softly to yourself as you respond, “Sorry, it’s a hard habit to shake. I mean, you are the boss. But you shouldn’t worry, you’re not old by a long shot. In fact, I’m your elder…”

Your last few words are muffled but he manages to pick them up. His brows raise in intrigue as he asks, “Is that so?”

The way you tense at what he says doesn’t slip past him but you soon answer in a calm voice, “My universe’s present year is several decades earlier than here. So despite being biologically younger than you, I am chronologically n/y years older than you.” [number of years]

Miguel turns to work on some reports as he says, “Well, you still look spry enough to handle the duties of a Spider.”

You nearly snort at his comment. You must have not expected it, judging by your reaction. You continue to work, your eyes focused on the components you inspect as you jest in a sardonic tone, “Thanks, jefe. I’m glad to know you think my body is still young enough to be thrown around on missions.”

He has to bite his lip to contain the chuckle that he feels vibrate in his chest. He didn’t expect you to respond so sarcastically but he’s glad that you did. If anything, it makes him want to continue talking with you, “So why haven’t I been formally notified of your work here?”

“Well, if something breaks or needs general maintenance, Lyla is informed and she then passes that information to me. She typically deals with software issues and I’m the hardware person. We don’t usually bother you with these things because you’re always so busy as it is.”, you offer with a shrug as you crawl out and sit on your heels, inspecting yet another PCB.

“It wouldn’t be a bother. I need to know about these things.”

You look up at him and chuckle quietly with a soft shake of your head, “There are reports on file of every single repair I’ve done but… the last thing you need to worry about is a coffee maker gone haywire or someone’s empty web cartridges.”

“Aren’t you busy too? You take missions yet you still pull the Society’s odd jobs. Why?”

“Not really. I’m active mostly at night or in the early morning hours. Even when there is an active mission, I’m D-team at best.”

“D-team? Why do you think that?”, Miguel is genuinely confused by what you say. After all, the two of you worked so well together during the missions you have been on with one another.

“I’m just not that capable when compared to the Spiders.”

There’s that phrasing of yours again. It paints a clear separation between you and the society. Why are you so unwilling to include yourself with them? What exactly makes you speak this way? Miguel then thinks back to your first mission together, when it was just the two of you. Although it felt foreign at first, you two completed it quickly and efficiently. He speaks in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal, “You are very capable.”

“Yeah, you think so?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

You sigh casually as you stand up, carrying a small tote against your hip of damaged hardware to be further inspected, “Well, I could just be pleasant to be around.”

He releases a breathy laugh at your arch remark with a shake of his head. If only you knew how important your presence has become to him over all these late nights.

You perked up at the sound as you placed the tote on a nearby desk, turning to him as you asked, “Did I just make you laugh?” 

He was about to groan in annoyance on instinct but caught the look in your eyes before he did. Your face didn’t show a single sign of ill intent. Rather, it carried what he identifies as wonder. His lips purse a bit as he looks away from you, trying to avoid your gaze to spare himself from how overactive he’s found his mind becomes when gazing upon your bare face.

“Oh, now you’re pouting.”

“Not pouting.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.” 

Miguel’s brain stalls as his ears pick up a previously unknown yet gratifying sound. Gentle giggling slips from you and it makes that buzzing sensation in his ears return. But he's not upset because he knows you're not laughing at him. It’s that kind of laughter that isn’t rude nor teasing. It’s kind and full of joy. He can’t help the upturn of the corners of his mouth, finding your delight somewhat infectious.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just too cute.”, you wave your hand softly as your other hand attempts to muffle your chortling before grabbing the tote of hardware to repair again. You turn to leave to your usual lab to work but your joyful sounds have yet to cease.

Miguel’s frozen by your comment. Cute? In reference to him? That’s not… that’s implausible and honestly, unprecedented. The more he speaks with you, the more he learns just how strange you are. You’re different in not only appearance but behavior as well. He's sure now that you are unique to the Society in such an eccentric way. He realizes something and it’s arguable in his mind. It makes sense why you exclude yourself from them all. Out of all the Spiders, you’re the anomaly.

Laying in the rain with you

Middle of June

“Miguel O’Hara! Get your butt out here now!”

He groans and rolls his eyes with a smirk as he looks at the time. 3 am, on the dot. It’s time.

The two have grown very well acquainted with each other over the past 8 months. There was a stint of anomalies surfacing during the early overnight hours. For a while, it seemed you and Miguel were dispatched nearly every night but now the instances have slowed to every week or so. You’ve learned a lot about each other and have acclimated well to each other’s presence. His hands swipe away the monitors floating around him as he calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, yeah. Just a second, needy.”

“Needy?! Puh-lease, you would waste away without me.”, you chuckle as your body swings around the entrance to his work area. You cross your arms and lean against the doorway, “Ven a comer.” [Come eat.]

“Sí, Mami.”, he mumbles amusedly, stroking his chin as he stares at the monitors in front of him. [Yes, Mom.]

You chuckle and walk over to him, “Don’t make me drag you out of here.”

He closes the floating screens around him with a flick of his wrist before turning to you with a smirk. His hands rest on his hips as his platform descends to meet you. The soft fizzling in his ears returns as you look up at him with a small, playful smile. The sensation is no longer foreign to him. It’s welcomed now. Warm and comfortable. “Yeah, uh-huh. And how do you suppose you’d do that?”

Your grin is almost mischievous as he finally stands in front of you, “I’d figure it out. I’m very resourceful, you know?”

He nods and begins to walk with you to complete your late-night ritual. “Oh, are you now?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” You repeat the words he told you from your first night together. At this point, it’s more of an inside joke; a reference that often appears as you two converse.

“I thought you said it was because you were pleasant to be around.”, he hums amusedly.

“Well? Am I?”, you look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes gleam with warmth and he’s not sure if you truly know just how beguiling it is.

He mutters as he avoids your gaze, knowing damn well he wants to say yes, “Don’t fish for compliments.”

“But you would compliment me.”, you state in a way that’s laced with playfulness. You bend a bit at the waist to catch a glimpse of his face with your hands resting neatly upon your lower back.

He meets your teasing gaze for a moment before rolling his eyes, “What’s for dinner?”

He sees your lips curl up in his peripherals before you state nonchalantly, “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise? What do you mean? What for?”

“What? Don’t you trust me?”, you chuckle in amusement after he rambles a bit. You managed to identify that habit of his despite his general seriousness after the many nights you've spent working together.

“I trust you as far as I can throw you.”, he replies collectedly, or so he hopes.

“Liar.”, you hum with an amused smile on your lips, “Nonetheless, I suppose it’s good that you’re an incredibly strong man that can throw me very, very far.”

You chuckle again as he groans beside you. You’re far too sharp for your own good, having seen right through his strategic word choice. You two enter the terrace and something feels different. The air is a bit warmer tonight. Miguel supposes it’s just that kind of summer night. One where the heat from the day lingers into the late night and rekindles the following morning. His eyes shut for a moment as he absorbs the scent floating around. It’s familiar, it’s… enticing. He blinks softly before turning to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise as he sees that setup you’ve made. Upon the ground is a large blanket with a couple of small pillows. There are a few containers of what he knows is your cooking placed in the center. It’s not extravagant but something does stir in his stomach as he sees you turn to him. You almost look coy as you gesture behind you but your eyes never lack that warmth he knows as yours. “Yeah, it’s a bit silly but… happy 50th successful mission, partner.”

He stiffens at your calm yet happy proclamation. The word partner rattles around his brain for a few moments before the gears in his brain turn again. 50 missions? Have you two truly been on 50 missions already? Oh, who is he kidding? Of course, he knows that already. The two of you have actually been on 58 missions to be exact but they can’t always be successes.

You walk over to pull him gently by the wrist to the blanket, “Come on already. Food’s getting cold.”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk as he indulges your command with reluctance, but only externally.

You let go of his hand and sit at one end of the blanket, “Mira, I made some of your favorites.” You remove the lids of the containers presenting a small variety of his preferred dishes. There’s a smile on your lips as you pull out the final container, presenting it to him with a kind tone of voice, “I even made Stobhach for you. And I’ll let you know I’ve perfected my recipe.”

He can’t help the small curl of his lips as he sits opposite of you. You seem so excited to show him all that you prepared for tonight. It all almost makes him blush. He’s learned fairly early on in your acquaintanceship-turned-friendship that you show affection through care. Especially, by giving someone a home cooked meal. He stares down at the food and hums, “Thank you.”

You return with a hum of your own. Besides the banter and wry humor, words aren’t really necessary between the two of you. You’ve learned to read each other well. Body language, quirks, and even the noises that rumble from each of your chests. It’s almost animalistic in its simplicity. Miguel has come to realize how truly perceptive you can be, similar to himself. You two actually share a lot of similarities like your inquisitive nature and reclusive behavior. And he’s come to the conclusion that that is why you two can exist so harmoniously together. It’s not hard to be around you. To him, your presence is easy.

All I really want is you

What would you do?

You two have been talking for a while, the food long gone and your bellies satiated. There’s a bubble around you two as you converse like you’re in your own little world. 

“Come on. Lay with me.”, you look up at him with warmth in your eyes as you pat the space next to you. He truly can’t find it within himself to deny such a gentle command. He moves to lie next to you and stares up at the few stars that manage to make it through the city’s light pollution. It’s times like these when he ponders upon his actions and realizes how easily he finds himself following your instruction. He’s not upset about it. He just finds it odd although certainly not unwelcome. Truthfully, he’s grateful that he can take your lead and not have to be in charge, even if only for a moment. But these moments fill his chest with something warm. Warm and comfortable are his two choice words to describe you in any situation. Whether it be as you two work in silence in one of the labs or when you patch each other up after rough missions.

Sleeping outside, the moon

Tripping with you

He hears a sweet sigh from your lips as you relax on the blanket next to him. You whisper into the night air with the same gentleness one speaks a secret, “This reminds me of one night when I was a teen. In my universe…”

Miguel’s ears perked a bit as you began. It was very rare for you to speak of yourself, your experiences, or your universe. Every time you did, he was sure to pay attention and commit each word to memory because if you ever spoke of it like this, earnestly and unprompted, it meant you were revealing a part of who you are. That you were trusting him with a part of your very essence. To keep it safe.

“California isn’t gone. There’s a coastal city there called San Francisco that my friends and I traveled to. We spent hours there. We watched the sunset on the bay and the evening fog that rolled in. And eventually, we laid back on the sand and looked up at the stars. Just like this.”

He didn't say anything or make a noise. He just stared up at the stars with you, listening intently.

“I felt so calm that night. I knew in that moment that nothing else mattered. And for the first time, I felt at peace. My whole life I didn’t do much. I stayed at home filling my time with random knowledge and tricks. I avoided people and kept to myself as best as I could because I had learned very young that people were not to be trusted.”

Miguel feels his chest tighten at your words but keeps silent. There’s a darkness that barely laces your voice but it is there. He picks up the sound of hurt in your tone and it grips him tightly. There’s a tumultuous feeling in his stomach. He’s eager to preserve the pieces of yourself that you delicately hand him but it doesn’t change the feeling of helplessness that floods him. Your honesty is encased in sadness, a build-up of fears and insecurity that he’s far too late to have prevented. So he listens because maybe, just maybe, something you reveal to him in these genuine passages of your lore can help him protect the parts of you he keeps.

“I learned that family was everything because family would never hurt you. It’s funny now… Now, I think I’m nothing but a memory yet to be forgotten by them.”

He turns to look at you curiously but the concern is unmistakable in his eyes. Of all the countless nights you’ve spent together, you’re finally revealing why you are the way you are. Why he feels like he knows you without words. Because loss and loneliness radiates off you like bittersweet perfume yet you contain it with walls built of sufferance and capability. He’s always held a certain affinity to you that he could never quite describe until now. Before his thoughts submerge his consciousness, he notices how your eyes are screwed shut and the way your fist is squeezed tightly around the strings of your hoodie. Your clenched fingers resting above your heart almost as if you're quelling pain into passivity.

You sigh quietly as if to prepare yourself for what to say. “Things happen. At one point you think you know where you are. Then you blink and wake up somewhere else entirely.”

There’s a brief pause before your next words. Your eyes slowly flutter open to look up at the stars with glossy eyes and a gentle yet certain voice, “I’m here now and I’m actually very grateful for all that has happened. I’ve learned things I never thought were possible, about reality and the world. About people and about myself.”

He’s a bit surprised as you speak to him with sincerity, “I know I’m strange, Miguel. I know I don't make sense and that I don’t really fit. But you make me feel understood. And you make me feel like I’m not really alone… Thank you.”

You turn to find him staring at you in surprise. Your smile is small but your usual warmth has returned, and truthfully, he thinks that it never left. “Sorry. That was a bit heavy, huh? Just forget I said anything.” You offer with a chuckle before laying back.

All I really want is you

Your eyes are closed as you bask in the moonlight and his eyes travel over you. He takes in the soft curl of your lips and the faint flush on your cheeks from the cool air and candid words. The temperature isn’t too bad but thanks to the extreme altitude of the building, it’s crisp yet foggy. It’s an odd feeling, the air is damp from the clouds rolling through the skyscraper but Miguel feels warm. So soothingly warm. Especially, with you laying so close to him. So earnest and so true. He finds it odd how comforting this feeling is despite it being foreign to him, or rather dormant. He’s astonished by your trust in him. It fills him with something that he wasn’t entirely sure he was missing. Suddenly it's apparent what exactly this feeling is. The same feeling that he's felt for months. And it finally sparks in his mind as you look at him with tired eyes and a warm smile.

I love you. 

All I really want is you

What would you do?

He can nearly taste the words on his tongue but he remains silent as your eyes stare into his. Suddenly he feels very awake as his own thoughts dawn on him. Managing to tear his gaze away from your familiar e/c eyes, he finally speaks as he closes his eyes with a coy smirk.

“Never.”

It’s you. Now, it’s something that’s as certain as fact in his mind. He feels the heat of your hand resting on the blanket between the two of you, right next to his. Right where you belong, he thinks. Right next to him.

All I really want is you

Is you, is you, is you

Appearing near you two and out of sight is Lyla. She watches you two and makes a final checkmark on the chart she pulled from an article months ago, when Miguel was initially questioning his interest in you. She smiles to herself as she looks over the chart then back at you two as you exist in your own little world. The words softly illuminated in the window beside her, Infatuation vs. Love, with all her markings under the latter.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! Also, big thanks to everyone who voted on my poll regarding this fic. I am open to your opinions and questions! Please feel free to ask me anything!

[jeonsweetpea]

Moonstruck (14)

Werewolf & Vampire Hybrid!AU, Supernatural!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader | Werewolf!Taehyung x Hybrid!Reader (ft. BTS)

genre: angst, e2l, supernatural, thriller, slow burn

rating: mature

description: Ari wants to see who truly loves you by pitting your lovers against each other.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: contains SPOILERS!!! kidnapping, cussing, fight scenes, betrayals, blood, dark magic, attempted assault, (temporary) deaths, 

a/n: The series is almost over! Just one chapter and I hope you’re enjoying reading as much as I am writing. Hope to hear your thoughts. Thanks for sticking around so long and giving my series a chance. <333 It's also on AO3 if you prefer reading over there!

Moonstruck Series Masterlist

“It’s a pity our own granddaughter has to die,” a gentle voice said. 

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing the old couple from before. An immediate realization dawned upon you as you noticed the chains, bounding you in the shape of an X to the cold stone wall. These were no ordinary chains—every wriggle, every struggle, intensified the pain. Wolfsbane and vervain were laced into the links, sending stinging sensations to your wrists and ankles. Your body felt groggy, so it was certain you were injected with something beforehand.

Last thing you recalled was falling into the frozen lake. The freezing water filling up your lungs… oh right. Jimin had killed you too. Just your luck.

Looking around, it was evident this wasn’t the lake. But it wasn’t the underground cellar or cave in the mountains. Where exactly were you?

“Don’t get soft on her now. She’s awake,” a gruff voice responded. 

“Granddaughter?” The question hung in the air, escaping your lips in a hushed whisper. Another whiff of your mother’s familiar perfume triggered a sudden realization. “You’re…” 

“Your grandparents? Yes, dear. It’s sad we had to meet this way, but we had to make sure you died once these stupid 100 days were over,” your grandfather replied. “Frankly, we should take matters into our own hands.”

“We can’t. We don’t have the stake and that witch girl is frightening. They’ll kill her at the end of the day anyway,” your grandmother assured. “Besides, it’s nice not having to get our hands dirty.”

“100 days?” you breathed, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was difficult battling the drowsy state forced on you.

“God, she sounds delirious. Yes. Because you sired that other abomination and Jimin and that Ari girl are so insistent in breaking that bond first before killing you.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter,” your grandfather retorted with his arms crossed. “As long as you’re dead in the end, all the hybrids you’ve sired will cease to exist too.”

The weight of this revelation jolted you out of your drowsy trance, and you shot them an alarmed glare.

“What did you say?”

“Oh? You didn’t know? When you create those repulsive hybrids and sire them, you form a sireline. It’s like a family tree that never goes away. So if you die, then all the non-Original hybrids you created will die too. Even if the sire bond is broken.”

“Is that true?”

"We didn't dedicate our lives to learning everything about you just to lie now."

"Then... does Jimin know about this? He'd never let Jungkook die," you questioned, sensing the answer in the subtle withdrawal of their body language.

“Of course he doesn’t know. He’s too hellbent on killing you to realize he’s gonna kill his lover too,” your grandmother sneered. She approached you and bent down eye-level, analyzing your features carefully. “Remarkable. You look just like your mother.”

You spat in her face and she wiped it away immediately, taking a few steps back. She chuckled at your feisty behavior, a dark amusement in her eyes.

“Mom will never forgive you for doing this!” you exclaimed.

“Do you think we care? We disowned her when she eloped. Who would’ve thought she was pregnant with you…”

“You’re my family. Why does it matter so damn much to you?” you asked, your voice teetering between anger and disappointment.

“Blame your mother and father. They were never supposed to fall in love, much less have a child. Your existence is a loop in Mother Nature and unnatural!” your grandpa exclaimed. “It took us an eternity to track you down. Imagine our surprise when Jung Dawon showed up to the hospital where we worked.”

You held your breath. “She was your patient?”

“I think her name is Jiwoo now, honey,” your grandma reminded with a pat on her husband’s shoulder.

“Ah, right, right. What would I do without you?”

The two of them started to snuggle their noses together, their display of affection making you want to vomit. 

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! You two treated Jiwoo during her coma?!” you asked.

“Yes. That’s how we crossed paths with Jimin, H.O.P.E.—shame they’ve disbanded now thanks to your professors, no doubt. And then the Jungs had to die or Jimin wouldn’t have upheld his deal in the bargain,” your grandmother informed.

“You killed Hoseok’s parents… You deserve hell.” A past memory suddenly resurfaced to the forefront of your mind. “Years ago, Dad said you reached out. Said you apologized and wanted to meet me. Was that all a lie?”

Her gaze met yours, an expression of feigned pity playing on her face as she nodded, and your grandfather, reveling in your naivety, let out a cynical chuckle.

“You’re lucky your mother was so stubborn and unwilling to meet us. She even went so far as to make you move homes time and time again. It’s like she knew we had cruel intentions,” the old woman remarked.

“Cruel? Is that what you call it? This is diabolical, I deserve to live just as much as you do! You call my existence unnatural, which is hypocritical considering none of us are human!”

“She talks too much,” the old man interjected.

“Yeah, let’s shut her up.”

“No, no! I’m going to reveal everything! You won’t get away with—”

It was futile. Your grandmother held your head still while your grandfather retrieved a ball gag from a nearby table. Your nose picked up wafts of vervain and wolfsbane, causing you to whimper. As the straps secured around your face, your skin ignited with pain, and you couldn't contain the sobs that escaped.

Your relatives walked away from you once the task was complete, heading for the stairs. The last words you heard were from your grandmother.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

Meanwhile, back at the dimly lit cellar…

Cage 1: Jungkook, Taehyung, Sunghyun

In the first cage, Jungkook stood tall, his back against the bars. Taehyung was standing on the opposite side, muscles tense, while Sunghyun minded his business and rested on the cot in the middle of the two. 

Cage 2: Namjoon and Yoongi

In the adjacent cage, Namjoon lay unconscious, sprawled on the cold floor. Yoongi sat with his back against the cage, observing their surroundings with a calculating gaze.

Cage 3: Jin, Hoseok, Jiwoo

The third cage housed Jin, who gazed through the bars with a mix of determination and worry. Hoseok stood tall with his sister Jiwoo sitting beside him, a protective arm wrapped around her. 

No one dared to utter a word. Each person bore the weight of their own struggles in the metallic confines, the atmosphere oppressive and thick with tension. The silence broke when Taehyung got down on all fours.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook questioned.

“I’m getting out of here. [Y/N]’s in danger.” He closed his eyes, narrowing his focus while using his werewolf instincts.

“Turning won’t work. These cages were built to withstand supernaturals,” Jungkook recalled, his arms crossed in a display of frustration. Taehyung, irritated by the diversion of his focus, furrowed his eyebrows and then opened his eyes. 

“Well, it worked for Hoseok. Didn’t it?” he declared as he stood up, hands planted firmly on his hips.

“I was set up by you and Jimin! You tainted my food!” Hoseok argued. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t your lover over there?” Taehyung smirked, his words a venomous tease.

“Go to hell, Taehyung!” Yoongi exclaimed.

Chaos reigned as accusations flew, each member of the imprisoned group hurling blame and calling out their short-comings. Only did the sound of the creaking cellar door garnered their attention. The unexpected arrival turned out to be Ari, who was descending down the staircase in a frantic scramble. 

“Oh my god, what have I done? You all have to get out of here!”

A collective confusion lingered, yet none dared to question Ari's sudden change of heart. Retrieving the keys from her pocket, she approached the nearest cage—Taehyung's. Nervousness interfered with her attempt to unlock the padlock properly.

“Come on, Ari!” Taehyung yelled.

“I’m trying here!” 

In an unexpected twist, Ari fell to her knees, clutching her chest and breathing heavily. She let out a pained groan, followed by an unsettling expulsion of water. “Oh… that can’t be good.”

“What the hell is happening to you?” Professor Jin asked, gripping the cage bars for a closer look. “The dark magic is killing you!”

“It’s not that. Jimin’s trapped in the frozen lake. He’s drowning and dying over and over.” Struggling to stand, Ari's focus remained on the stubborn padlock. “I’m running out of time. She’s going to come back soon.”

Moments later, the padlock clicked open. She swung the cage door open, urging the boys to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A dark, menacing voice emanated from Ari's lips, her face contorting as if an evil force sought to break free.

"Let them go!" The familiar, authoritative tone sounded like the Ari they knew, yet beneath the surface, a fierce battle between the light and darkness waged.

“No. You’re too weak to stop me!” 

Ari threw up some more water as she collapsed to the floor with a thud. She reached her hand out to the boys and whispered. “Run…”

Her hand dropped and she was unconscious. The shock of it all left everyone frozen when her eyes suddenly fluttered open, pitch black, and she scrambled to her feet at lightning speed. 

Taehyung, Jungkook, and Sunghyun rushed upstairs but it was too late. Ari used dark magic to telekinetically rip out Sunghyun’s heart, permanently killing him. His remaining corpse fell down stairs as Jiwoo shrieked. Hoseok shielded his sister away from the sight in a tight embrace, trying his best to calm her down.

“Now… you two. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. We still have to go talk to your beloved [Y/N].”

She knocked them out with the snap of her fingers before teleporting them to your location.

You gave into exhaustion and surrendered to a nap for however long possible. Nothing mattered anymore. You were trapped and because of your reckless plan, so was everyone else. Your grandparents wanted you dead and at this point, you yearned for an end. 

What stirred you from your slumber was the sound of groaning. You slowly opened your eyes and saw Taehyung and Jungkook lying on their stomachs a few feet away. They were chained to the floor like animals. 

Jungkook was first to fully regain his senses, sitting up right away at the sight of you. “[Y/N]! You’re alive—oh fuck. What did they do to you?”

The ball gag and restraints didn’t aid in your efforts to communicate as the only sounds you could make were whimpers. Taehyung, driven by desperation, got on his knees and tugged at his chains madly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out. It’ll be okay!”

In the heart of the room, Ari manifested from the ceiling and floated down like an angel. A dark one, that is.  

“What is it about you, hmm? You have not only one but TWO suitors who are willing to do whatever it takes to save you. To love you. Meanwhile, I can’t even have one…”

She landed gently on the ground as she circled around Jungkook, eyes locked into yours. “You said Jimin never loved me, but what about you? Do you really think Jungkook loves you? He admitted feelings for another.”

You bit your lip to fight back tears. This was too painful to deal with.

“[Y/N], don’t listen to her. Listen to me,” Jungkook begged. The sadness within your gaze caused a pang in his heart. “This is the truth. There were times I spent the night at his dorm because I couldn’t stand watching you with Taehyung. I got to bond with him on a deeper level. He was the first friend I had outside of you that didn’t judge me. Didn’t make me feel like a loser. Like I was weak.”

“So you kiss him,” Taehyung remarked. “A little heart-to-heart and you’re all tongues.”

“He kissed me!” Jungkook snapped at him. He refocused on you. “During the sparring session. I was trying to get information out of him. Promise! Of course I felt something; it was a kiss. It surprised me. But that doesn’t mean he’s the one I love.”

“Excuses, excuses,” the werewolf said with a dismissive hand gesture. 

“You don’t get to judge something you don’t understand. The sire bond affects emotions and it’s almost broken. I’ve been living my life through a filter! I don’t know what’s what anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t believe her when it mattered most. Nothing’s worse than not being believed. She must’ve been crushed.”

Taehyung’s right. You were.

“You watch your mouth!”

“Or what? We’re all chained because that bitch of a witch can’t stand the fact her boyfriend is in love with you! This is all your fault!”

Ari cackled and rushed over to Taehyung’s side like a devil whispering in his ear. “That’s right. Rile him up.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Taehyung huffed in disgust. “You killed Sunghyun.”

Your eyes widened, devastated at this information. Professor Jin was right. The Ari you knew was long gone; she would never murder someone in cold blood. 

Your ex-best friend paced back and forth and then shrugged. “Oh, please. You don’t care about him.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you near me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re not dead. Sunghyun was asking for it by trying to escape. And he showed Jungkook my journal.”

Jungkook’s ears perked up at this. Ari smirked and continued, “Yeah. I know about it. My old self had a tendency to jot everything down and then spelled her drawers, so I wouldn’t be able to see it. That is, until you and Sunghyun used his amulet to bypass it. Thanks for that.”

She snapped her fingers and the journal in question appeared in her hands. She flipped it open and hummed in amusement. 

“Hmm… wow, I really did not hold back. Lots of juicy information in here. But,” she closed the book, “she didn’t write everything down. You really want to know the truth, Jungkook? The whole truth?”

“What is your end goal, huh? Where’s Jimin?” Jungkook questioned. Ari replied with nothing but a smirk. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Let me talk to him. I can stop all of this. He can have me as long as he lets [Y/N] go.”

Ari grabbed his neck in a chokehold and he wheezed, powerless against her unexpected strength. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? Jimin is mine and mine only. There was a time when I’d share him, but not anymore.”

She released him with a fierce anger, and he coughed, struggling to regain composure on all fours.

“Turn,” she commanded and Jungkook snapped his neck up to look at her. 

“What?”

“It’s the last day of the sire bond. You have to turn one more time, right? So do it.”

“You’re delusional. I’m not doing anything you say.”

“Come on. Amuse me. You might be able to save your precious [Y/N] by turning.”

“No.”

Ari fumed at his response, kicking him in the stomach and forcing him to fall on his back. She stomped on him multiple times, your muffled screams rendered useless. The air was charged with tension as Ari spoke, her voice tinged with frustration and jealousy.

"Do you have any idea how infuriating it is, Jungkook? Watching you and her, with your damned sire bond, risking everything for each other. It's sickening!"

Jungkook grabbed her foot to stop her from crushing his ribs any further. “Ari… this bond is beyond our control. It’s not something we asked for.”

Ari scoffed at his response. “So why won’t you turn? End it. End this stupid connection you have with her. Show everyone your love was conditional, a hoax!”

She left his aching body and went up to you, a clawed hand in front of your face with a malevolent black glow. 

“Turn or I’ll kill her,” she threatened, the White Oak Stake presenting herself in her grasp. Panic gripped you at the sight of the weapon. “That’s right, bestie. This is the one and only stake that can kill an original hybrid.”

“Don’t lay a finger on her!” Taehyung roared. She turned around, tapping the stake against her palm in a rhythmic cadence, reminiscent of a stern ruler used for chastising children in the past.

“Ah, yes. The other lover is vying for your affection. God, you just can’t catch a break with these two!”

“This doesn’t have to end this way. We both want the same thing. I’ll talk to Jimin, we’ll figure something out. As long as Jungkook is out of the picture, it’ll be worth it! We can still be a team.”

“Team?” Jungkook questioned. 

“We?” She let out a chuckle. “There is no ‘we.’ You and Jimin have dictated everything from the start. He strung me along like a fool. All I wanted was his love. I was willing to risk it all only for him to want someone else and cast me aside entirely!”

She faced Jungkook. “My journal revealed all of Jimin’s plans, but not Taehyung’s. I think you’ll find this interesting.”

Taehyung's gaze narrowed, a subtle intensity flickering in his eyes as he shook his head slowly.

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“Where do I start? Oh. Taehyung is the one that ordered H.O.P.E to attack you that dreaded day. You know, the day that started it all.”

Ari reveled in the chaos she had orchestrated, the atmosphere thick with tension and despair. Jungkook's eyes burned with fury as he faced Taehyung, betrayal and anger intertwining in the lines of his furrowed brow.

“You planned this? The attack, the kidnapping?”

Taehyung, unapologetic, met Jungkook's accusatory gaze with a stoic expression.

“[Y/N] could’ve died! We all could’ve!” Jungkook exclaimed. 

“The plan was only for you to die. That way [Y/N] would find comfort in me and only me. But then you survived. Stupid sire bond.”

“Oh yeah, the whole scavenger hunt thing was also Taehyung’s idea. Jimin pretended to be a hunter to kidnap [Y/N],” Ari added. Jungkook’s confusion was blatant.

“What on earth could that possibly accomplish for you, Tae?”

The werewolf shrugged, reluctant to answer. Ari, the puppeteer of chaos, was more than willing. 

“He was betting on [Y/N] saving him with her blood. Then he was going to kill himself to become sired to her like you.”

“You crazy bastard!” Jungkook roared, chains rattling as he attempted to pounce on Taehyung but couldn’t. “All of this pain and suffering, all for some twisted desire to be bound to her?" This isn’t love, it’s obsession! You don’t deserve her!”

Taehyung held his ground. “And you do? I actually want to be bound to her for life. All you’ve ever done was taken her for granted! Just turn already!”

“If I do turn, it’s to rip you to shreds!”

“Yes~, yes~!” Ari cried. “Indulge in your anger! Let the beast out!”

She ripped his clothing off with no remorse, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Seeing him stripped against his will left him vulnerable and the humiliation almost killed him. He punched the ground, the concrete pulverized into tiny pieces and his knuckles bloody. 

Clapping eagerly, Ari urged for him to turn. You hated seeing him in such a vulnerable state. When your gazes met, there was nothing but shame and heartbreak. You didn’t know what to expect once the 100th day arrived, but this definitely was not it.

“Maybe one isn’t enough,” Ari remarked, striding over to Taehyung’s side and tearing his clothes to shreds. “You turn too. Fight each other. You want Jungkook dead and [Y/N] all for yourself, right?”

“Fuck you, I’m not some pawn for you to toy with!”

“Aw, come on. I’m actually helping you out here. I know tonight’s not a full moon, so it’ll hurt like a bitch. But don’t you want [Y/N] to see how sexy it is for you to turn anyway? You said you love her.”

She sauntered back over to you, the White Oak Stake dangerously close to your chest. 

“Either you guys turn and battle each other or this goes through her heart.”

She casted a spell and had the stake hovering in front of your chest and the boys roared with anger, but had no choice. The air thickened with an impending sense of dread. You, restrained and unable to look away, watched as Taehyung and Jungkook grappled with the impending transformation, a painful struggle that unfolded before your eyes.

The first tremors wracked Taehyung's form as his body contorted with the agony of shifting. Bones cracked and muscles rippled beneath his skin, the visceral sounds of transformation echoing in the confined space. His anguished groans reverberated through the cold, unforgiving walls. Without a full moon, this process was far more difficult to go through, but he persevered thanks to the emotional intensity of his love for you.

Beside him, Jungkook's transformation mirrored Taehyung's torment. The once-human features distorted, replaced by the primal visage of a werewolf emerging from the depths within. Claws unsheathed and black fur sprouted, a physical manifestation of the feral power coursing through him.

You’ve watched countless transformations over the years, but none were as painful as this one. It was as if your heart was being incinerated, the connection between you and Jungkook severed. A part of you cherished the pain because it’d be the last time you two would feel each other’s emotions. 

Ari watched with a sadistic smile, leaning close to your ear. 

“This is fun, isn’t it? Love versus obsession. Or maybe love and obsession are the same. They’re trying so hard to save your life.”

Your silence earned a “tsk” from her.

“Don’t feel like talking?” she taunted. “Well get this. Remember how my grandmother was the one who taught me magic? She visits me in my dreams sometimes. Do you want to know what she told me?”

Jungkook and Taehyung’s combined screams of agony made it difficult to focus on her voice, but she leaned in even closer, whispering ever so softly.

“My grandma delved into dark magic once. Your father made a deal with her. He paid her to make your mother fertile. With you.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You clenched your fists in disbelief and whined, not wanting to hear more.

“That’s right. You were conceived with dark magic. You always told me it seemed like the universe was against you and now you know why. Darkness follows you wherever you go; you’re not meant to be happy. That’s how you were able to use my dark potions. That darkness lives inside you. And it’s your father’s fault.”

Tears welled up in your eyes before cascading down your face. She giggled at your suffering, adding salt to the gaping wound in your heart.

“It must hurt to know every single person in your life has betrayed you in some way. You have no one left.”

The transformations were nearing completion. Sounds of bones snapping and muscles contorting filled the basement, a symphony of agony that echoed the torment of Taehyung and Jungkook’s dual existence. Taehyung's body convulsed, his once-human features now obscured by the emerging gray fur, streaked with haunting shades of white. Jungkook's transformation mirrored the shadows, his form engulfed by inky blackness as he fought against the pain that laced every fiber of his being.

As the final moments of the agonizing metamorphosis approached, the chains binding them groaned under the strain, holding firm until the transformation reached its peak. 

“One more thing,” Ari whispered. “The stake has been spelled to kill Jungkook once he finishes transforming.”

“No!!!” you screamed, although muffled. “Jungkook stop!!!”

Jungkook, having more experience, finished his transformation before Taehyung’s. Ari turned to you with a wicked smile. 

“Enjoy the show, [Y/N].”

You watched in despair as the spelled stake launched through the air straight for Jungkook when Jimin emerged from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the dim light. His eyes, determined and resolute, locked onto the impending threat aimed at Jungkook. He leaped in the way, the impact of the enchanted stake against Jimin's body resonated through the basement. 

His shoulder had been hit, but it was not a fatal wound. In the stunned silence that followed, Jimin's eyes met Jungkook's with an unspoken understanding. 

The next few minutes were a blur. Taehyung completed his transformation and was liberated from his chains seconds after Jungkook. Ari, relentless in her pursuit, launched another attack at Jungkook, but Jimin intercepted with a spell of his own. You squinted and recognized the blinding glow of Sunghyun’s amulet around his neck. 

The black wolf and Jimin united forces and the two of them battled Ari together. 

Meanwhile, Taehyung sprinted to you, using his teeth to pry the chains from your limbs. As the metal links fell away, you fell on top of the beast’s body. Using his agile speed,. Taehyung bolted out of the building as fast as possible, leaving Jungkook, Jimin, and Ari behind to hash things out.

You clung onto his back as he navigated through a common neighborhood with the veil of nighttime, your fingers tightly entangled in his fur. Though a bit groggy, you could feel whatever was in your system was wearing off gradually. It dawned on you that you were held captive in the Jung family’s old house, specifically the secret basement Professor Jin and Yoongi had uncovered months ago.

Taehyung kept running until he reached the secrecy of the woods. As he eased to a stop, you rolled off his back, laying on the forest floor and taking deep breaths. The wolf nudged your cheek with his nose, a comforting gesture, followed by a few licks to your face, as if to ease your worries. 

As much as you loved the notion, you couldn’t erase the truth of what he had done. You swiftly got to your feet and shook your head.

“Stop. I know what you’re doing.” He lowered his head and let out a whine. Human or wolf form, he had mastered the puppy dog eyes. He nuzzled his head against your side, desperate for solace, but you rejected him. “Taehyung, no!”

As you retreated, your foot came into contact with something, kicking it further backwards. Turning around, the moonlight revealed the mystery object buried in the snow. The sight pulled an involuntary scream from your lips, causing a startle strong enough to make you fall on the cold snow.

There laid your grandmother’s decapitated head and with little effort, you spotted your grandfather’s nearby.

Taehyung had reverted back to his human form and wrapped his arms around you in a protective embrace.

“Shhh, shh,” he cooed in his deep, soothing voice. “It’s okay.”

You pushed him hard enough that he fell onto the snow. “Did you do this?”

His eyes widened as he stared at you, shocked. “I’ve been spending the last few hours TRAPPED because of you. How the hell would I have time to do this?!”

You sat criss-cross, hands on your head in distress. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He grunted, rising to his feet, and offered you his hand. You peered up, finally registering he was without clothing in the moonlight. The soft glow accentuated every chiseled feature of his handsome face, rendering you speechless. Staring at his hand, you contemplated taking it. 

“No,” you finally said, getting up by yourself. “I don’t even know why I’m apologizing. You brought the hunters here. You were working with Jimin. YOU wanted Jungkook dead.”

“I promise when I conspired with Jimin, he didn’t tell me he was going to kill you. He wanted to be with Jungkook and I wanted to be with you. Believe me, darling. I had no clue of his true intentions.”

You were sick of crying, but that was all you wanted to do. Angry tears were slowly dripping down your face as you used hand gestures to convey your frustration.

“I can’t just forget it all.”

Taehyung cupped your face with both hands, his eyes full of hope and desperation. “But what if you did? Let’s run away together. Start over and forget all this misery.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he murmured, placing a chaste kiss on your lips to seal his words. “You and me.”

He continued to kiss you despite your feeble pleas for him to stop. Your tone lacked conviction, perhaps due to exhaustion. Maybe you found a glimmer of belief in his words. Or maybe deep down, you craved his touch to momentarily replace your ache. 

The warmth of his lips, the weight of his breath, the hand on the small of your back—you melted for a fleeting moment. In the end, you had to force yourself to pull away.

“Tae—”

“Allow me to tell you my offer before you make a choice.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes. “If you allow it, I will whisk you away to where you will only experience peace and be loved the way you deserve. In the daytime, I will be your loyal companion, a listening ear, anything your heart requires to feel at ease. Soft kisses, warm candlelight, watching your favorite show on repeat,” he said with a chuckle. Then his eyes darkened with lust. 

“Later deep into the night, I will be your source of release, making love to you for hours on end until you’re drowning in pleasure that humans wish they could experience. Passionate kisses, lingering touches, our sweaty bodies pressed together.”

He squeezed your shoulders with gentle pressure and brought you closer until your chests were touching.”

“I don’t want nobody else. You are all that matters. Not your fertility, not your history. Just you.”

Your resolve was crumbling. Taehyung knew all the right things to say and knew how to make you feel good. You wished things were different but at the moment, you wanted no one. You just wanted things to end.

“Tae… I can’t. I need… I need to be by myself. This is too much.”

“Too much?” Taehyung’s grip on your shoulders suddenly felt tighter. You didn’t even register how fast he pinned you down, hands held above your head. “Was it too much when I fucked you?“

“Stop! What are you doing?”

“Answer me!” He started to grind his cock against your thigh unashamed, the heavy pants causing chills to go down your spine. “Didn’t it feel good? Didn’t you enjoy it?”

He slipped a knee between your legs, pressing down hard enough to elicit a whimper from your lips. 

“Let me take you again. I’ll make sure you feel good.”

He placed searing kisses along your neck much to your dismay. You refused to lay still, squirming around to avoid contact, but you were still too weak to retaliate. 

“S-Stop,” you sobbed. 

He removed his hands from your own and grabbed onto the column of your throat, admiring your struggle. “You always did like it rough. So beautiful. So sexy…”

To your relief, he didn’t choke you but caressed your neck gently like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Realizing his true intentions behind that action, you summoned every ounce of strength to act quickly. Planting your feet firmly on the ground, you arched your back, utilizing the leverage to break free from Taehyung's hold. In a swift, well-timed move, you twisted your body and managed to flip the situation.

Now he was the one pinned down and you swung at him once. Twice. Then once more to ensure he was unconscious. You let out screams of rage while doing so, hating everything he’s become.

When he no longer moved, you rose from the cold ground, your steps heavy in the snow. That was when he grabbed at your ankles, forcing you to stumble forward.

“There’s no reason to stand,” he said in a venomous tone, “I like you better on all fours.”

The sounds of your struggles entwined with his grunts as he scrambled to lay on top of you, clawing at your body with his greedy hands, not caring how he was shredding your clothes or how you were getting bloody scratches from his nails. He wrapped his arm around you in a secure chokehold and you began to lose vision.

“You sure pack a punch. I’ll bite.”

Taehyung’s eyes shifted to a fiery goldenrod as he bare his fangs, sinking them into the side of your neck harshly. You let out the most blood-curdling scream as crimson dripped down and tainted the snow. It was like the world stood still, the betrayal amplifying the unimaginable pain. 

He finally released you after he got his fill, making an obscene lip-smacking sound after having tasted you. 

“You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up. I always claim what’s mine, [Y/N]. And that includes y–”

A sudden blast of magical energy knocked Taehyung off your back and his body landed far away, rolling in the snow until it came into contact with a tree. You’d be sure to thank your savior if you made it out of this alive. All you desired was to fall into a deep slumber, hoping this was a simple nightmare. 

You felt someone’s hand rolling you onto your back and you saw the shiny amulet around his neck. 

“Jimin… what irony…”

“I’m not saving you,” he said, holding the White Oak Stake above you. Seems like he was going to end you for good. “I just needed him out of my way.”

You didn’t have it in you to explain why you deserved to live. Not even for Jungkook’s sake, considering your lives are linked. You closed your eyes and accepted your fate. Jimin watched you carefully, his hand trembling. He couldn’t do it. 

When he was drowning in the lake, the amulet fortunately collided with his body and ended up saving him. He then had an encounter with your grandparents, overhearing them talk about the sire line. He was left in the dark, hating that if he ended you, he’d lose Jungkook too. So he murdered them out of spite for hiding something so crucial.

And now, when his plans were so close to fruition, he just couldn’t risk it. Part of him hoped your grandparents were lying, but what good would that do them now? Their main objective had always been eradicating hybrids. The thought of them going after Jungkook never crossed his mind and he felt incredibly stupid.

You opened your eyes after some time had passed. Jimin was quick to notice, so he raised the stake up high, forcing himself to express determination to kill you. Underneath his facade, you could see the internal struggle raging within him.

“You can’t do it, can you?” you breathed. 

“Shut up!”

“You know about it. The sireline. That’s why you’re hesitating, isn’t it?” Your question reignited the conflict burning within him and he snapped, bringing the stake downwards with force, aiming towards your chest. 

However, your moonstone necklace blazed with intense light, stopping Jimin in his tracks. You couldn't help but notice the eerie similarity to the glow emanating from his amulet when they were in closer proximity. No matter how hard he pushed, the stake wouldn’t budge any further. 

That’s when Taehyung pounced onto Jimin, sinking his teeth into his neck. A struggle unfolded in the snow, but Jimin finally overthrew him. Blood spurted from Jimin’s neck and mouth as he fell to his knees and then collapsed completely. 

You stood up, mirroring Jimin by clutching the side of your neck as you walked toward him. There was no way he was going to survive a second werewolf bite. Not this time. 

Silence lingered between you and Jimin, an unspoken exchange of emotions, a complex tapestry of anger, sadness, and spite colliding with exhaustion, frustration, and burnout.

But the ordeal was far from over.

Taehyung ran over to you, shaking you by the shoulders. 

“Do you fear me? Do you hate me?” His eyes gleamed with madness, a wicked smile on his lips. “Nothing is going to stop us from being together. I want you to do it. Kill me!”

You were tortured by his existence and he knew it, exploiting it to his advantage. But if you ended him, that would be falling right into his twisted trap. With his blood in your system, he’d become a hybrid. 

“N-No.”

“Kill me, [Y/N]! I know you want to! Do it!” He roared, forcefully grabbing your hands and pressing them against his neck. “Strangle me! Rip my heart out!”

“You’re being crazy, stop!!!”

A snarl in the distance froze both of you. As Taehyung looked over his shoulder, a black wolf emerged, lunging at him. Taehyung was jovial in his struggle against the wolf, elated to have his wish granted.

“That’s right. Take your anger out on me. She doesn’t love you anymore! Your love was a sham!”

Jungkook growls intensified, clawing him to a gruesome death. You ran over as fast as you could, desperate to stop him.

“Jungkook no! Don’t do it! He bit me!”

As if your words reached him, Jungkook transformed back into his human form, staring at his blood-covered hands in horror. Seeing your neck wound, guilt consumed him, and he fainted.

"What have I done?" he whispered before collapsing. You caught him just in time.

"Jungkook? Jungkook, wake up!" You patted his face urgently. "No, no. What's going on?"

In the distance, you spotted someone crawling through the snow toward Jimin's dying body. Marching over, you grabbed Ari by the collar.

"Ari, what the hell is happening?! Fix it! You're a witch, you're strong. Do something!"

She shook her head. "I can't… I'm dying too. Jimin and I… we're linked."

“What?!”

“The night of the banquet when we took shots of alcohol… I spelled it to link our lives forever.”

“Oh my god… what about Jungkook? He’s not waking up!”

“Why do you think?” she said in a hoarse whisper. “He and Taehyung are linked too.”

[comicaurora]

Hey I'm getting into DnD, do you have any podcast or series of a DnD campaign to recommend? I know there is critical role, but wich one of those should i start with? Is there a better beginning than critical role? I am lost here, please help

This is gonna very much depend on your personal preferences and attention span! I recommend sampling a range of DnD podcasts to find your personal tolerances and what parts appeal to you. I'm not the most widely-read person in this space because frankly most DnD podcasts are on too slow a boil for my attention span, but I've got a few you could check out-

Critical Role is the biggest and most well-known one for sure, but pacing wise I personally can't get through it. I love it in concept, but it's slow enough and huge enough that my brain zones out in the downtime and I lose track of important details when things speed up again. I think my first successful exposure to it was a brisk two-hour video that's just a Best Moments Of Grog compilation. That's also why I've been really liking The Legend Of Vox Machina, which keeps all the biggest and best moments but paces them like an actual story instead of a game. It's not representative of the experience of playing a TTRPG, but it is a lot of fun.

I personally enjoy limited-run miniseries a lot more, because they work better for my limited attention span, and on the critical role front that means I recommend EXU Calamity, a Doomed Heroes far-distant prequel to the modern setting of CR. Only four four-hour episodes and it's on a bit of a slow boil for the first three, but because everybody involved knows how the story's going to end, there's an endless drip of dramatic tension along the way. The DM, Brennan Lee Mulligan, is going to show up a lot more on this list.

On the subject of short miniseries DM'd by Brennan Lee Mulligan, Escape From The Bloodkeep is my personal favorite and the one I revisit the most. Six two-hour episodes, deeply unhinged and intrinsically comedic as it's a full-series parody of Lord of the Rings. I recommend it for a lot of reasons, not least of which being that Matt Mercer, who is an excellent DM, gets to play, and his playstyle is a great example of how to roll with the punches and the dice, since his extremely menacing nazghul captain is afflicted by a string of hilarious failures and he kind of just owns it, to the point where his character arc becomes accepting his worth as an individual with the power of friendship. It's a great example of not taking yourself or your character too seriously, which is a vital skill for players to learn in order to handle the whims of the dice sometimes (or often) not cooperating with your narrative wishes. If CR isn't working for you but you're interested in what you can pick up from this extremely talented DM, this is a good way to get that!

Dimension 20 (Collegehumor's DnD branch) has several series I really like, most of them DM'd by Brennan Lee Mulligan again. His DMing style really works for me, and he takes an approach to pacing that I quite like, so they're generally a safe bet for me. One I categorically recommend is The Unsleeping City, an urban fantasy DnD game set in New York City. This one is 19 two-hour episodes, so longer than the other miniseries but still much shorter than CR, and it can give you a bit of a sampler for (a) the genrebending you can do with DnD and (b) a longer-form story with a less rigidly determined finale than the previous examples. Brennan's DM style is very cool, and he puts an unusual amount of focus on characters getting solo vignettes, which is sometimes considered a bit gauche in DM circles because it means the other players don't have a whole lot to do during those solo conversations, but it works for him and his players and the effect is very cinematic!

But if you want to see a different DM's style in the same space, A Court Of Fey And Flowers is run by Aabria Iyengar, one of the EXU Calamity players, and she has a very different but also cinematic DMing style! The game is also a hybridization of DnD and a different system for facilitating Jane Austen romances, which is dope. Only the first episode is up on Youtube, but that should probably be enough to let you determine if you want to check out more.

I'd be remiss if I didn't at least mention the two DnD Actual-Plays I'm in, Rolling With Difficulty and Heart of Elynthi. Rolling with Difficulty is subdivided into three seasons of 8-10 four-hour episodes each, with each season having one overarching plot or threat but mostly being composed of episodic adventures - it's a Planescape series, meaning most episodes take us to a completely new plane of existence to deal with its unique geometry, fun denizens and wacky threats. It's also a lot more edited than some actual-play podcasts, with an effort to avoid the slow parts and the dice-rolling, mental math, "what am I gonna do this round," etc. Heart of Elynthi is an ongoing series that's only about five or six episodes in, with an overarching mystery in the background and a "collect the things to save the world" plotline in the foreground. It also streams new episodes on Twitch on (some) Wednesday afternoons, so if you'd benefit from a live chat to hang out and talk with during games, that might be worth checking out to see if you like it! Elynthi also has had some pretty cool behind-the-curtain stuff about how the players can handle in-character disagreements without them turning into IRL fights, which is something I don't think I've ever seen another DnD actual-play explicitly unpack but is also extremely important for players to consider, so that's fun.

[bubblewonderabyss]

When/if the tADC cast is shown in human form, I really hope they don't visually resemble their avatars, for a few reasons -The program forces them to forget their own names, clearly anonymity was a priority here -The avatars are clearly reflecting their personalities, not their physical bodies -It's such an overdone and frankly kind of lazy trope in the trapped-in-a-video-game genre, I'm tired of it

(Nothing against those who do draw them that way of course, it's just not my preference)

And since I hate complaining without offering an alternative, here's my (PROBABLY WILDLY INCORRECT) speculation on what they might have been like when they were human under the cut

(cw: self harm, animal death)

Pomni -Had long blonde hair which she wore down, she would have preferred it short but [insert loved one here] loved it, so long it was. Also doubled as a convenient curtain when she was outwardly freaking out -On the skinny side, flat as a board even, strong legs though -Well dressed in an understated way, she didn't like to stand out -Was really into gymnastics as a kid, moved onto jogging once she got older and busier -Ate a lot of neon colored tv dinners/poptarts/fast food as a kid, avoided it like the plague in her teen years and beyond because "it's gross" -Had a rabbit once, but it escaped and what was left of it was found in her back yard a week later, she never had the heart to get another pet after that -Part of a friend group, but didn't hang out with most of them individually -Watched American Idol religiously

Gangle -Chubby and really tall, yet always felt small, so her posture was really bad -Either lived with her parents or spent most of her time holed up in her apartment, didn't get much sunlight either way -Dressed modestly to cover up some self inflicted scars -Anime was not really part of the western cultural consciousness in the late 90's, most people assumed it was either just kid stuff or just porn, so she probably didn't have many friends outside of a few fellow anime fans -Very quiet and withdrawn but could talk for hours about her new favorite anime (and yes, she preferred subs to dubs) -Loved trying different kinds of snacks -Her keys had a shit ton of keychains and charms attached -Drew a lot and kept it all in a big binder

Zooble -Kinda short -Exceptionally good posture -Moved around a lot as a kid, their favorite place was an apartment one block off from a park where they met their best friend -Alt fashion sense (mostly hand me down clothes so they had to get creative anyway) with a preference for button up shirts -Socks MUST match, down to the brand -Mall crawler, but rarely bought anything -Bead collection -Read so many sci fi books

Kinger -Dad bod -Could see fine but kept his reading glasses in the front pocket of his (usually hawaiian, sometimes plaid) shirt at all times -Was something of a chess and checkers legend at his local library, the "I bet you can't beat that guy" guy. Would let his opponent win if they seemed like they were really stressing about it though -Big nature guy, went hiking or camping once every couple weeks at least -Had a pottery kiln in his garage -Met his wife at a movie theater and movies were the go-to date night ever since

Ragatha -Average proportions, other than being slightly 'blessed in the chest' -Her least favorite season was summer, because she couldn't wear her sweaters then -Her parents loved her but were on the strict side -Most of her disposable income went to her porcelain doll collection, which she hid from friends and family because "it's creepy" -Didn't realize wanting to kiss girls wasn't a universal experience for the longest time -Had a busy social life, was rarely home because she always had someone to see and somewhere to be -Dated around a lot but never settled down with anybody -Was big into fantasy stuff, especially the renaissance faire

Jax -Average proportions, like imagine a Normal Guy (non-hollywood version) he looked like that -Dyed his hair an unnatural color like green or pink -Struggled with an eating disorder, less because he hated how he looked (though he might have) and more to assert control in a life where he had very little -Wore band shirts of bands he didn't listen to as a little private joke. His actual music taste leaned more classical but he wouldn't tell a soul about that -Quite friendly and social, but couldn't maintain more than a couple close friendships at a time -Loved baseball -Watched every horror movie he could get his hands on

[dogtoling]

Do Inklings drink water? Do they even need water? Besides touching water outside their body, can they drink water? Is rain dangerous to Inklings? Sorry for the boatload of questions; I too think about the logic of Splatoon too much. Thanks!

Okay so this is a whole lot of questions that are kinda up in the air...

Inklings absolutely DO drink water (REMOVE that one stage dialogue from your brain from splatoon 2 where marina says water is lethal to them. Thanks NOA!). There is 0 reason to believe they wouldnt be able to drink water given they drink other liquids, canonically, such as soda and literally all the drinks you can get in the game (which are like... 99% WATER).

The reason inklings Fucking Die (or lose their form) when they get soaked in a foreign liquid (usually ink or water) has to do with osmotic pressure which to my knowledge means that the ink in their body escapes into the larger amount of liquid. The reason the developers have given is that they have thin skin, but I prefer to think their skin is very porous to efficiently both let ink out of the body for camouflage and defense purposes, and draw ink back inside (ink is very resource-intensive and you wouldn't want to waste it, so it works as a way to absorb ink back in through the skin). Either way, it means that the Inkling body would usually absorb liquid, but on the flip side if there's way more liquid on the OUTSIDE, the liquid in their skin gets absorbed OUT instead (bad).

We don't really have any word on how inklings deal with rain? There's not been word for OR against whether inklings can shower, wash their hands, et cetera (or i dont remember), but i feel like if things like that were Lethal we would've gotten some kind of alternative by now. Ink Storm splatting you would imply that accumulating rain COULD be dangerous, but i'd assume it would have to be raining really damn hard... i would assume that water in smaller quantities would be whatever, because the skin just absorbs the water, but again if there's too much liquid it would go the wrong way around... Now. Do Inklings even need water? YES absolutely even besides the fact that pretty much every terrestrial animal needs water (and quite a lot too). Realistically inklings would need a shit ton of water... they generate frankly unrealistic amounts of ink (I'M SORRY, NO CREATURE COULD POSSIBLY GENERATE ENOUGH INK IN 7 SECONDS TO FILL AND EXPLODE A BALLER THAT IS LARGER THAN THEM IN VOLUME.)

Ignoring that, even assuming they just generated a Reasonable, Sensible amount of ink that would Actually Fit in their ink sac we see them have in the game, they would STILL need a LOT of water to generate that ink, especially if they routinely expel that out of their skin (it's bound to evaporate, dry and/or get smeared on things, so it needs to be replenished constantly). And inklings use their ink also for offensive attack purposes, marking their territory, super jumping, movement, camouflage... meaning that not only do they generate a massive amount of ink, but it is literally used All The Time, and a LOT of it is being used All The Time. So basically to compensate for the amount of ink they create and have on hand at all times, not to mention the entire rest of their bodies and basic bodily function needing hydration SEPARATELY from the ink, inklings would actually need a ton of water. For which it makes sense that they would need to drink a lot, and yes that includes water. Their porous skin would aid them in absorbing moisture from the environment, for example rain, their own already sprayed ink that's on the ground, and small amounts of enemy ink or water, or air moisture. The weakness to bigger amounts of water that comes with it is Stupid. But there's at least some plus side...

[marinsawakening]

It's fun seeing literature and media discussions on this site bc most posts are made in a fit of frustration and therefore do not actually reflect a nuanced stance. My posts are included from this. And so it ends up feeling like there's two opposite camps for all discussion points, when in reality both those camps are complimentary.

Like 'YA is a legitimate genre worthy of respect and if adults like it they shouldn't be shamed for reading it' and 'it's ridiculous to pretend a YA romance is on the same level of intellectual depth as classics like 100 Years of Solitude' are both true.

'Some people use art as a form of escapism and prefer simpler stories, and get their challenge elsewhere' and 'art does not exist to coddle you and being challenged and made uncomfortable by it is often not just good, but necessary' are both true.

'Being against reading classics and pretending they have no worth is anti-intellectual, and dismissing classics for not being up to modern standards of progressiveness ignores historical context' and 'many classics are intrinsicly bigoted, whether as a product of their time or because the author themselves was bigoted, and analysis that ignores this is incomplete and insensitive, and often ignores historical context' are both true.

And that's just the big lines, like. 'Characters who are jackasses and bad people are fun and interesting' and 'characters who are completely unlikeable are often difficult to get invested in and frankly annoying' are both true. The degree to which a character can be a jackass before they fundamentally stop working as a character depends on the type of narrative they're in and the level of tolerance towards this behaviour from the audience.

'Artists have a right to portray dark subjects and do not have to turn to the camera to condemn them' and 'artists have a responsibility to treat dark subjects with care and consider how their portrayal may impact the reader' are both true.

'Queer subtext in media has historical value, and even today keeping queerness subtextual rather than explicit is necessary in many places around the world or may simply benefit the narrative' and 'queer portrayal that is purely subtextual will not reach everyone and having explicit queer portrayals is good' are both true.

Etc etc etc

[zoomertheweimarwolf]

Aitheris | A Ninjago Au

Nothing much to say for this chapter other than the reason Vayu fears her powers being taken away so much is because she is a being made on these powers, their magic is why they exist, so if they don’t have it, what are they then? I don’t have any art that I can share this time sorry.

Chapter 5: Spy for a Spy

Vayu was one of the first to wake up, followed by Lloyd, who quickly changed her bandages as her would had not fully closed, in about a days time, it will have completely closed and her arm free of pain.

Vayu was honestly glad to have the Master of Form out of the tournament. While she would prefer to not have anyone go, she was surely glad to have a slight bit of revenge for the wound she gave her.

Vayu sat at the table, looking around at the others before seeing their breakfast, a lot of food she used to have at home, while not entirely the same it was still comforting. Most of the ninja and a few other competitors were grossed out by the variety of food, Vayu and Shade loved it, both of them digging in to their meals, delighted with each bite.

The group started talking about their alliance, Shade didn't seem too pleased about the idea of it, Vayu just wanted to do anything to keep her ability from being taken away, it was who she was, it was what she was born with, she was worried she may die if it was taken away.

fortune cookies were passed around to all of them as Chen began to speak, Vayu didn't want to give this man the light of day however she felt herself filled with fear as he spoke.

"I heard there were rumors floating about that I am stealing everyone's powers, I am," Chen smiled as the room filled with gasps, allowing the silence linger for a moment too long, "but it's all for this staff. The Staff of Elements. it holds the power of your fallen foes, and soon it will hold all but one! The last standing will win this prize and be the greatest fighter in the history of Ninjago!"

Vayu's fear was set in stone now, it took all of her might not to run up there and bite his head off, or prevent the air from leaving his lungs.

"You lie," Lloyd shouted from his seat, "What about the spell?"

"What spell?" Clouse questioned.

"Don't believe him," Lloyd begged, "it's just another trick, Neuro read Clouse's mind and saw it! Tell them what you saw Neuro!"

"frankly I don't remember," Neuro lied, "truly I'm more interested in that staff."

"Traitor!" Vayu shouted, "Do you have any idea of how that could affect a master!? any idea of the damage you could have caused!? Don't listen to this snake!"

"why should we be so fast to trust anything that you two say?" Griffen asked, "how could we possibly know you aren't just trying to get the staff for yourself?"

"because unlike you idiots, speedy boy, I know danger when I see it," Vayu hissed, her hands clenching into fists, "That staff is too much power to hold for anyone! Not even the great elder dragons could hold that without going insane."

the group began to bicker more, Skyler got up and came in her direction for a bit, only to pass by her and give something to Kai, before returning to her seat. Am I being too clingy for her? Vayu worried, Skyler keeps getting distant from me, is it my fault... or is Chen having some influence on her?

They all separated for a bit, Vayu turned into a dragon, sitting on one of the rooftops allowing the wind to ruffle her fur, until she was once again, interrupted.

"Vayu," Lloyd called out, Vayu turned to face him, "everyone is meeting in Kai's room, its important."

As the two made their way back, Vayu becoming a human once more, Lloyd filled her in on the minor details, but the main thing was this, there was a spy among the group. The two were the last to make it into the room, Lloyd explaining to everyone what was about to happen.

Garmadon watched the door, making sure no one escaped, each member pleaded their case before Garmadon intruded, "anyone who had ever worked for Chen had the Anacondrai tattoo on their back, find the tattoo, find the spy."

one by one each person showed their backs, no tattoos, all that was left was Vayu, Shade, and Skyler. Vayu revealed her back to them, she was quite nervous about it, on each of her shoulder blades were the same pattern that was on her legs in her dragon form, a diamond with a triangle underneath.

"right spot wrong tattoo," Garmadon said as she covered her back again.

"it's a marking of my people, not Chen," Vayu stated before quickly adding, "because I know some here who may think otherwise out of not finding any spy here."

Vayu went and sat in a corner, she watched as Skyler and Kai bickered for a bit before she left with a huff, Shade refused to show his back and the room erupted into chaos, others using their abilities to try and stop him, however they only caused a painting to fall on Jay's leg, spraining it as Shade ran.

"So much for our alliance," Lloyd sighed as everyone else left.

"what alliance," Jay whined.

"I'm still here," Vayu added, "I dont trust a thing Chen is proposing."

"Well we still have a bit of an alliance dont we then," Lloyd smiled.

. . .

Later that night Vayu found herself in the courtyard sitting on one of the rocks, listening to the calming breeze as it flew past her, it hit against her masked creating a smooth feeling that she could hardly describe with words.

Lloyd poked his head out into the courtyard, he could see Vayu perched up on a rock, the bandages on her arm gone as her wound had fully healed by now, that was surprisingly fast.

He walked over to join Vayu by the rock, he really didn't have plan or anything he just wanted to talk with someone.

"hey," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"hi," Vayu replied, "So what do you want?"

"oh uh I didn't really have a plan I just wanted to talk with someone," Lloyd admitted.

"why not talk to your father or any of your friends," Vayu asked.

"well its not the same you know," Lloyd sat next to her, "besides I wanted to get to know you better."

"how so?"

"well for starters, where are you from? not trying to find some way to get any revenge just curious."

"that's not something I am willing to share tonight ninja," Vayu thought for a moment, something about Lloyd and his father felt strangely familiar.

"oh ok," the ninja sighed, "well I guess that count out my second question."

"and what was that?"

"could I see your mask?"

Vayu could hardly believe she was about to let herself do this but here went nothing, "Sure, just dont break it or I will claw you to death."

she carefully handed the mask over to him, he looked over it, fingers tracing through the different markings before he placed it on his face, nothing happened.

Vayu felt the connection with Lloyd suddenly grow, he was defiantly connected to them in some way, but how?

"aright greenie that's enough," Vayu said, taking back the mask, but hesitated before putting it back on, she had been wearing it for so long, it was about time she got some fresh air. she set the mask down on her lap taking in the midnight air.

Lloyd looked at Vayu, she looked quite stunning, he was confused as to why she would hide her face, was she running from something? Stuck in hiding? it had the same markings as the ones on her back so maybe it was a family heirloom. After realizing he was staring he got up, "we should go to bed, the tournament continues tomorrow after all," he said trying to cover up sounding embarrassed.

Vayu nodded and the two headed back to their rooms, wishing each other a goodnight before entering. In the morning they all woke up early, being sent out onto a odd flying device that Vayu had never seen before. They all watched as they, and the sun raised into the sky, tensions were almost as high as they were, slightly bickered over silly little things, all conversation stopped however, when the sound of the intercom turned on.

[brokenjardaantech]

As the biggest Rene (i dont remember if its è or é and dont want to mistake) simp, I beg for more of him. Please. (Reminding you of my existence)

Anything you have, I'll take it but if you dont i could re ask and send you questions

Thank you

Yes, no worries, I remember you. Please believe me when I say your interest and excitement about my not-quite OC sparks so much joy. i don't have any concrete storylines for him right now but I do have a few pieces of information about him so I'll list them below.

René is not from Mexico and only immigrated there after his formative years. As a result:

His accent is often considered strange and is a source of suspicion from the very day he enrolled into the military academy. The fact that he is in the military should've been enough of a clue that his of Mexican nationality, but it doesn't stop the questions.

To escape scrutiny, he has a pretty good fake accent and he uses it extensively before he joined Los Vaqueros (LVQ), but he doesn't use it as much anymore these days. Regardless, the desire to fit in makes him a ridiculously good actor, and this is one of the reasons why he was selected to become a member of the Mexican Special Forces.

Specialises in covert and clandestine operations. He's a bit of a chameleon and only drops the act when he is certain that he is safe. Even when in front of other members of LVQ, sometimes he puts on his metaphorical mask out of sheer instinct. It makes him approachable and gives him an easier time commanding his men. It also makes him pretty lonely even when LVQ is a whole pack at this point.

Aledolfo are two of the rare people whom he has let his guard down in front of. By the time he was given the place of third-in-command, he has worked with aledolfo for long enough that he completely trusts them. In return, aledolfo also trusts him to carry their cowboys whenever both of them are unavailable, though those times are rare occurances. The usual job distribution is:

While aledolfo charge into battle together with their teams, René is usually the one they send to gather intel and infiltrate enemy facilities beforehand. René therefore doesn't see a lot of actual action, but frankly, this is what he prefers. Since they have such a good teacher, the people under his command are also trained to be the best infiltrators in the world. It isn't without its own consequences, however:

Command once wanted to make René's team their own thing and separate them from LVQ. Alejandro gave the decision to René because he knows René is experienced enough to determine his own future, and René chose to stay. There is no other unit that will be like LVQ, and without aledolfo, things wouldn't be the same. He also knew full well that his tendency to act instead of showing genuine emotions would eventually get in the way of his command, so having aledolfo above him to keep him in check is, in his mind, the better option for both himself and his men.

At the time of the fic, I would say he's around early to mid-30s, putting him at one of the older members of LVQ. As a result of this, he views aledolfo more like his older brothers than parents, but he also understands why the younger ones refer to aledolfo as their parents.

Despite being an alpha, his scent isn't strong and literally cannot go strong even when he experiences intense emotions, to the point that strangers mistake him for a beta. He isn't emasculated easily so he usually lets people assume whatever. It allows him to do his job very well without putting a lot of attention to concealing his scent. Used to feel guilty about this natural advantage, but under Alejandro's command, he has grown to let go of this guilt and instead embraces it.

To everyone's surprise, he has a mate. Has the mating bite to confirm it, but no one has ever seen them and he rarely talks about them. And by rarely, I mean 'can be counted on one hand throughout his decade under Alejandro's command', which is pretty unusual in LVQ because people usually at least share a few details and keep updating their friends on them. The only three known aspects of René's mate are that they're an omega, they aren't Mexican or from Mexico, and is 'quite a few years' younger than René, and no one can confirm whether they are true or not. Other than that, everything else is speculation on the grapevine. On that note,

Some people once tried to get René to break his secrecy by making up the most outrageous things about he and his mate, but René ignored all those and Rodolfo rained hell on the perpetuators. Rumours still exist among LVQ about René's mate, but they're relatively mild and lighthearted compared to what caused the stir. It is now more interesting to figure out why René managed to woo an omega as a workaholic career military man.

The only people who know a tad bit more about René's mate is, naturally, aledolfo, and only because they need to make sure that René's mate won't be a liability or a foothold their enemies can grab onto. After a brief explanation, they all agree that secrecy is the best course of action with the grapevine encouraged in order to muddy the waters.

And that's what I can think of about René right now. If these spark some specific questions, feel free to send them my way. Once more, I'm glad that you like my not-quite OC.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Do you think Merula was even being honest about wanting to leave R? After what happened in these last chapters I’m starting to doubt it. She was still lying even then because she claimed that R approached her after the final vault but that can’t be true because of several reasons.

About that? Yes.

I don't think Merula is even remotely happy inside R. I think she's realized just how dangerous it is to be part of The Cabal, and how utterly devoid of love they are for each other. She was led to believe that R could be her "true family." But it's clear now that they don't give a damn about her, and unless she delivers results, she's a dead witch walking. But leaving might not be so easy for her, even if MC's hand is still outstretched to her. (Which it may not be, for a lot of players.) The Cabal seems to be like the Mob, and the Death Eaters. "You don't just hand in your resignation note to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service, or death." Not to mention that, depending on when they actually approached Merula in the first place, this may have been her reality for most of her formative years. I still think it's most likely that R made her into the mole all the way back in Year 1, possibly before she even arrived at school. Especially now that we know her aunt and guardian is a member. I don't think Merula feels like she has any means of escape from R, no matter how much she might want to leave.

Now that said, does that mean we can trust her? Hell no. It breaks my heart to say as much, but Merula has lied to MC's face too many times, and shown a lack of willingness to commit to their side, for them to ever be able to safely trust her. I don't hold it against her, what she's done and said, I genuinely feel like this is a Draco Malfoy case, where she's trapped and no matter what she does, she betrays someone she's supposed to be loyal to or care about. That's why Rakepick said that she's playing both sides. Because Merula doesn't want to fully commit to R, she doesn't have the stomach for it...but she also doesn't have the nerve to fully commit to MC. She's afraid of R, and they're basically all she knows, all she has. More than ever, I want to talk to her parents, but even if that doesn't happen...Merula has lied about too much for her to ever be a reliable and trusted ally. That doesn't mean we should stop trying to flip her, just that MC needs to be prepared to take everything she says with a grain of salt, and have a contingency plan in case Merula lies or betrays them again. Frankly, it may be smarter to just give up on Merula, and I'm sure a lot of players would prefer it that way. But I don't think the game will even let us do it - sorry, Merula Antis...she's just too important to the story.

One final note...whether or not Merula is ever honest with MC, I think we can infer that her claim to be fighting for them wasn't wholly a lie. It's worth noting that she must have known about Peregrine and his relationship to MC for a while now. Rakepick said that Merula had met the Leader, and for her to know about it, then it must have happened no later than Year 6. Earlier in Year 7, Merula also claimed that there were things MC didn't want to know. As silly as it might sound, I think Merula was able to guess just how much finding out the identity of the Leader would break them...or even worse, that it might make MC reconsider joining R. On one hand, R doesn't yet want MC to know the Leader's identity at this point, so Merula can justify it to herself and her superiors that she's simply keeping MC in the dark because she's supposed to.

But I also think she's trying to spare MC the pain that she's endured. The lack of autonomy she feels. Because to Merula, to have family in R is to be chained to them. That's what she would have been raised to think. So in her mind, if MC finds out who the Leader is, they no longer have a choice about joining R. Does that make sense? But in general, I think Merula is also very conflicted. Part of her probably does want MC to join. If only because that's literally her entire assignment - to bring them into the fold. But I also feel like, whatever she might say or do, she does feel something for MC. Not even getting into shipping right now, but purely in terms of the story, I think she's more fond of them (platonically or otherwise) than she cares to admit, even to herself.

[captainderyn]

🖊 each for Raenor, Wulfryn, and Ryn Shepard

Thank you for the ask <3

--

Raenor:

Raenor's lute is considered an antique by most human standards, though I'm sure the elves have some special materials they lose so they don't have to remake their stuff every other week with how time passes for them. He got that lute when he returned to Rivendell after the events of Edhelion (or sometime around then). That means that the lute is a few centuries old.

After Wulfwryn learns this she refuses to handle it with anything other than upmost care for fear that she'll do something to break it. Raenor himself barely allows anyone else to handle it as it is so dear to him. It represents his choice to stay in Middle-Earth after one of the greatest tragedies of his life and maintaining that lute is a form of maintaining that hope. He regularly repaints the designs he'd hand painted all those years ago, adding new things the more adventures he's had. There's a tree of Gondor hidden among all the other imagery.

Further on, when Faewryn starts to learn music from her father, Raenor gifts her her first instrument and they paint it together.

Wulfwryn:

Wulfwryn actually never wanted to be involved with any of what is going on in LOTRO. Her winding up in the position she's in is total happenstance. She was just following leads trying to find Aragorn as her last ditch "my homeland (Gondor) feels like it's falling down around me and there's this One Myth about this One Dude" and when she gets thrown into the brigand's jail near Archet the last thing she expects is to be saved by the very man she was hunting for (though she doesn't learn that til later).

Frankly, half of what she does for the events of LOTRO are because of her sworn loyalty to her Future King, not out of a selfless need to save everything that's going wrong. Yes, she wants to help those in need, yes she cares deeply about the people she wishes to help, but her main driving force at least to begin with was not altruism. If Aragorn had not been wrapped up in what was happening, she probably wouldn't be either.

(Neither would Raenor, for that matter, he's there because he needs to settle 600 y/o trauma related to Skorgrim returning. After that he's there because of Wulfwryn and the fact that he can't turn a blind eye to the world's suffering. He's the more altruistic of the two).

Ryn:

Ryn prefers to be up close and personal when fighting. She's most comfortable using her biotics and her shotgun, though she's proficient enough at using other weapons tights to survive in a punch (She sucks at using sniper rifles--there was nothing "letting Garrus win" about their date on the Citadel in ME3. No matter how much she's practiced it just is not her specialty).

She mostly uses biotic flare (hehe boom), charge, and nova on top of her shotgun/spicy biotic melee. She's a very powerful biotic and she's honed herself to where it feels natural as breathing to do this, but it does take a toll on her. In long, drawn out fights, or particularly long fights it may overdraw her and she ends up with headaches/nosebleeds, ect. With great power comes consequences and all that. Does it stop her? No. Especially come ME3 where she's in her full all-or-nothing-even-if-that-means-herself mindset.

Unrelated Garrus Headcanon (because I've been brainstorming a Garrus one shot and can't help it):

After the beginning of ME2, when Garrus believes Ryn is dead and he's going on to become Archangel, he two things with him always. The first is a picture of her--one of the few they have with each other from the ME1 times (they're best friends in ME1, maybe have some fledgling feels, no one can stop me) and they aren't in uniform. It's of them--more specifically Ryn--doing something stupid. No one tends to know who she is in that picture, and Garrus prefers not to explain. It's their little moment he has. He's lucky he had it on him when they escaped the first Normandy.

The second is a replica of a stupid little key chain that Ryn got him on the Citadel. It's this dumb little charm with a joke on it that Garrus definitely doesn't get because it's some human thing. But she cracked up when she gave it to him and saw his confusion. This was destroyed with the original Normandy, but he went back to the Citadel and hunted all over for another one. It now hangs as a charm on his sniper rifle (kind like what you can do in Halo: Infinite).

[bandofchimeras]

shame

read the joan didion self-respect essay. yeah. owning fuckups, life, w grace.

i think church could have taught that, but instead it taught paranoia, fear, one-upping, image maintenance.

family, too, failed this lesson. then leftism. at the end of the day, all institutions and groupthink will fail because self-respect must be taught by elder, by example, or learned alone and hard won. what have i learned from every space is that truth holds up a mirror to what no one wants to see. and if you grab the mirror of truth and hold it up, then you will become the mirror to others and people will treat you as the thing you show, ceasing to see you. and i've not been mentally strong enough to handle that. to insist, there is someone beneath the mirror. an aliveness with its own power to create, not only reflect. today i also watched a video on self-compassion and shame.

this man saying, shame is the desire to be loved, upside down. whew. lately my greatest fear has been to love myself.

knowing my moments and qualities of arrogance, ignorance, weakness, my desire to go with the crowd or throw everything away for approval. to love a pathetic and snivelling self, out of a lineage with many aspects I am frankly not proud of. what i misunderstood, is that love is not approval. love, that broad deep river, that plain stretching out endless into the sky, the same as a preference, a like, or a nod. approval and witholding, have nothing to do with love. and so by witholding love from self, from the shameful side of that self, until the superego approves of it all....love will never arrive that way.

morality isn't life. everything you hate about someone contains the kernel of what you like, the good and the bad can't be pulled apart to create perfection and undiluted evil, but rather what is fed changes the shape of what one considers good, or evil. if you feed delusion and ego, you see monsters of evil where perfectly average human beings stand, and good in gluttony, rage, theft. life isn't reducible to what you like and dislike. life, strange, horrible, bending, twisting everything you thought would happen, surprising or dulling the senses, life is some wild thing beyond control.

the only response that allows freedom is presence, attention, decision, action. in the essay (which really loses palatability for the bit about the "Indians"), Didion quotes that "people with courage can live without reputation."

I have been so sickeningly worried about people disliking me, getting cancelled or ignored or written off or treated wrong, as a result of early learning to break myself down to fit the will of a caretaker. to be the good kid, the oldest, an example. learning even my emotions could not be safe in private journals, that no matter where i turn there is a world of misery and control. i must find someone to approve of me, and shape me, and tell me what is real - trusting my inner compass, becomes a horrible dangerous sin. growing up in high-control groups, when that control is removed, you are likely to mishandle your freedom, then revile and reject your mishandling, blame yourself, and seek escape or maybe some new form of control. addiction cycles, dependency.

of course to be human, is something else entirely than to be correct and stay in the lines drawn for you that separate you from the other warm and curious bodies, portal minds, the being of other humans and the deeply living environment. to be alive is something no one understands. magic, mystery, horror, delight. making and creating reflections of art is the most natural response to this. so its healing - to get in touch with one's personhood, agency. to create is as natural as to feel, desire, hunger. "i'm not good enough" misplaces the purpose of life and art as being good & impressive when being impressive is in fact an occasional byproduct of presence + discipline, while being fawned over can reflect that or the bias and preference of your peers. good old Taoist parable - to create the highest form of art one must forget praise and blame. the point of living isn't to be "good" at it, its to do something you respect, something interesting. - Toni Morrison, Aiyana Goodfellow, Ismatu Gwendolyn. what a shift in headspace. i hope it sticks this time.

[limey-self-inserts]

Howdy Limey!! Please pass on my warm regards to Sirius, I really loved his reply to my ask; I hope you and all your loved ones are doing well!

I wanted to also come and say I saw your WIP- it looks AWESOME so far; please tell me more about Obitus?? I'd be happy if you introduced me and explained where you found this character/your inspiration when you have the energy 🥺!

Tex @tex-treasures

heya Tex! I may have purposefully timed answering this for right after I posted Obitus' finished reference sheet, just so I can follow that up with a wonderful ramble about him~

for Obitus' source, that was actually an art meme where the goal was to take one's favourite characters and combine them in 'the ultimate favourite'

I took some that my faves I found the most aesthetically pleasing at the time (including one of my friends' FFXIV characters), rolled them together, and made the beginning of Obitus.

I did want to make Obitus more than just 'hot blended fave' though. the Magia universe (aka 'make many OCs to fling together or draw looking pretty') was a good option, but then it was a question of how they fit in there. we have fae, demons, vampires, humans, but Obitus didn't really have the feeling of a demon. I was briefly stumped.

then I turned around, looked at his starry freckles, and went "they're a space dragon".

Obitus

"I'm sure I can pick up from here. Space dragons, like myself, tend to deviate from the usual image of dragons in that while we are mildly reptilian, we aren't very bestial. We also don't change our form, remaining only as we do now. However space dragons do change one thing: size. At just over a hundred years old, I stand at around 9'2" compared to Ailbe's comparatively petite 5'7". Once I reach my second century, I shall be pushing into 11 feet, perhaps 12 feet. I have heard, and met, truly ancient space dragons that stand at nearly twenty feet tall. Maybe we can get taller. It would be interesting to see.

"Something we do share in common with earthly dragons is the desire to hoard. We will collect any item with a great rarity, and the more rare then the more action one of us might take to obtain it. Often some of us may collect a certain type of item - I know of one who has a planet-sized menagerie for technically extinct creatures. I have a preference for jewels and gemstones. Money isn't an interest, it is not worth or price that catches attention, although it tends to mingle with how rare something is. Because of that, most space dragons don't pay. We barter. We have skills that we offer to those who will 'pay' us in what we seek. I hunt and kill people very well, so I offer that as a skill.

"However not every job is as smooth as it may be. Something gets messy once in a while, and in truly rare occasions, someone interferes. I was on a job when this unruly shadow magi came blundering into my path, obstructing me from my target and even daring to cling on when I attempted to escape. And then the entire damn realm was enclosed due to an alarm response from my attempted attack. So I was stuck with them. And they were stuck with me. At an impasse, we agreed to work together to return to civilisation....and then they roped me into a rebellion and yadda, yadda, anyway I consider them the surprise little obsidian pearl of my hoard. Such a delicate thing, despite the power. I am consistently intrigued, and most certainly welcoming of their presence whenever they visit my bubble realm.

"It is an absolutely pleasure to meet you myself, Tex. Please feel free to drop by at any time if you have further questions. I might be a lethal assassin with the loveliest hoard of gemstones known to the universe, but frankly a good conversation makes my day."

[beneaththesoftcloud]

I haven’t been on here much recently but I have a story I wanna share because maybe it would be helpful to someone? I don’t really know how to summarize; it’s mainly just my thoughts on an interaction I had and mental health.

I recently went with my mom to visit my grandma out of town and everything was going really well until there was a sudden conflict between me and my mom that sent me for 0 to 60 in less than a second and I snapped. Both of them converged on me and I was so upset and I knew that they were going to be mad at me and scold me and that they wouldn’t stop to listen to anything I had to say because that’s just what I’m used to. I’ve lived with my mom and her boyfriend since the end of 2019 for financial reasons and he doesn’t want me there so pretty much everything I do annoys him and causes conflict in the household. I have several sources of stress but that’s been hard to deal with because I can’t really do anything right in that situation. There’s no way to win (by “win,” I mean “find harmony”) if the only acceptable solution for the other party is “get out of my life asap.” But with the job market being what it is, covid, and the crazy housing prices in my city rising even higher, I live there because I have no other option. I know a lot of people are in the same boat as I am and I cope with my issues the best that I can but obviously the stress is always there and it fuels a lot of anxiety. Sometimes it comes to a head like it did when I was visiting my grandma, especially because my mom has this habit of poking people’s sore spots and then brushing off their reactions and it dirves me crazy.

But instead of coming at me from a disciplinary point of view like I was expecting (despite my age, despite the fact that I was able to live independently for several years before the shit hit the fan, this is the angle my family comes at me with because they see me as a child if I live under their roof), my grandma took an uncharacteristic step back. “This isn’t you, you aren’t an angry person like this, your bucket must be really full for you to be acting this way,” she said and she wrapped her arms around me and it made me realize how very long I’d gone without a hug or similar affection. Moreso, for her to stop and consider the reason why I might be acting so upset after such a short exchange rather than writing me off as a bad kid or trying to punish the reaction was mindblowing to me. 

If I get upset, I usually handle it by mentally making a tally of all the tough shit I’m facing right now and I realize, oh, of course I’m stressed, there’s so much on my plate. I take the time to articulate it to myself, even if it’s something small: “No, it’s not the end of the world that mom’s boyfriend tracked grease all over the floor you just mopped. Yes, it feels disrespectful (and sexist) that he always makes messes that you are somehow expected to clean up. These particular footprints will only take a minute or two to clean up, but it makes me feel like he doesn’t value my time or effort. It feels frustrating to feel this lack of respect now when I’m the same person they used to look up to when I taught at a university. I don’t think my job or the dollar amount I bring home should determine the respect I recieve from my family but it seems to impact them a lot; than angers and stresses me.” I can handle emotions and keep them from negativiely impacting others without having to repress things or use the bad coping mechanisms from my childhood by thinking things out this way. But you can’t just think your way out of every problem. If you have a conflict with another person, you have to communicate with them or else there’s no way to fix it. This brings me back around to the main issue: he doesn’t want harmony, he wants to force me out. My mom feels he has more right to be in the house than I do, so she is also a communiticave dead end in this arena more often than not. Her response is to get upset at me for “not getting along.”

Hence, my proverbial bucket is full. It only takes a few drops and then I’m overflowing with all of the pain, indignance, rage, helplessness, etc. and the knowledge that I’m better than this situation I’m stuck in. I see the progress I’ve made toward my goals and I hold onto that to keep me sane. I think, yes, this is a terrible situation and I can’t manicure my emotions and behavior to perfection because that’s impossible, but I want to be the person I want me to be and I’ll try and handle each given situation as that person I want to be. I’m not used to recieving any sympathy for my situation. When my grandma started dishing sympathy out despite my flawed behavior, I didn’t really know what to do. I sort of deflated and tears were falling before I really registered what was going on.

“Here,” she said and she stood right by my side and took my hand, “When you stand like this and you hold someone’s hand, it feels like you’re facing the problem together. If you stand like this,” she moved in front of me and crossed her arms, “this is confrontational. Even sitting across from one another it’s too easy to pit each other against yourselves. But when you’re side by side,” she moved again to my side and took my hand, “you can work things out like this.” She started interviewing me more or less and she didn’t critique anything I felt. She validated my personal struggle, the struggle of my generation, the effort I expend, the disposition I maintain. She didn’t crtique my mom to do any of this and my mom didn’t really jump in for good or bad, she just sort of sat and watched it unfold. There wasn’t really any news; she knew what my problems were and knew it gave me a lot of stress. But she didn’t leave the room, sje sat and listened. And since that trip, she’s tried to initiate a positive interaction with me almost every day over the past week.

And I guess a few things have been hanging around with me. My brother once said to me that you have different people in your life for different reasons when my mom asked him if it was an issue for him that his (kind, sweet) girlfriend has no sense of humor. He said he has me for that, he has friends for that, too, she doesn’t have to be everything for him to love her. Between that interaction and last weekend and just various other things, I just feel that I’ve been given this push along the last few years to allow more people into my life so that I can have different people for different reasons. I’ve always been so isolated and felt I have to do everything on my own. I do think it’s important to have a sense of responsibility for myself, but I think a lot of people feel very pressured to put on thier best face for everyone and only confide in maybe one or two people. If they share things with anyone else, it’s under the pretense of superficial conversation or the guise of a trendy topic. I know I personally tend to avoid sharing vulnerability too openly, too much openess makes it impossible to function day to day. But I also have been very closed off to the point that it doesn’t occur to me to confide even to relatively close family members. 

I think there’s so much talk about how self-reliance is the only important thing for happiness in our society that we don’t even realize how prevelant the message is (you don’t need a significant other to be happy, you just need self love! It doesn’t matter if you come from an abusive family, all you need to do to recover is believe in your own strength). And I think there’s comfort in that message when it’s directly opposed from a “family is everything/ blood is most important/ you’re nothing without your roots” type of a message because so many people do have such difficult family situations and it’s important to know your worth outside of that context. But I think, at least for me, I do need affection from people to feel better. Just little bits in different ways from different people, but it can’t all come from myself and have the same healing effect. The same goes for validation, attention, understanding, play, exchange of ideas, etc. And it’s important to have more than one person because otherwise it becomes easy to fall into the trap of expecting too much from one person or causing someone to feel pressured to always ease your mind, and that’s no good. 

I’m not really sure where I’m going with all of this but I guess I just feel better. My situation hasn’t changed, it still needs to change before I can really get to a truly healthy and relaxed state, but I feel massively better and I feel like I know how to continue on that path. Forming new relationships is so different in your late twenties than in your late teens and it feels like a weird landscape to navigate, but it’s like a wall that was seperating me from it all has come down. And I feel free instead of naked without that wall.

[messers-moony]

Someday | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Wife!Reader

Summary: The Handler kidnaps Five’s wife in hopes of him coming for her, yet he never does.

Request: Well I'd like to order a FiveXWifeReader but I'm afraid you're full of orders and I don't want to get in the way🤧

She sighed, “ This is bloody exhausting, ya’ know? “ 

“ Well, maybe if you hadn’t abandoned the commission, this wouldn’t be happening, Mrs.Hargreeves. “ The older woman spoke. 

The eighteen-year-old girl was tied to a chair. It had been approximately five years since her and Five’s last run-in with the commission after doomsday in 1963. Why they had decided to get them back on their side is unknown.  

“ So Y/n, how does it feel? “ The adult woman taunted, “ Your taunting doesn’t work on me. “ Y/n retorted with boredom. 

Nonetheless, the adult woman held a glass of whiskey, “ Whiskey? You have absolutely no taste. “ Y/n commented, and the woman rose her eyebrow, “ Really now? What would you prefer? Rum? Perhaps moonshine? “ 

“ Vodka, straight. “ Y/n snapped, “ What a tough cookie you are. “ The Handler cooed. 

“ I’m not thirteen anymore. “ The young girl replied, “ It appears so. “ The Handler stated. 

Y/n scoffed quietly, “ What’s the plan here? Why have you kidnapped me instead of one of your pawns? “ 

“ Well, hun, you know more than anyone that this task isn’t easy. It’s easiest for me to get this job done myself. “ The commission superior answered, “ In case you’ve forgotten, I willingly did this. “ Y/n informed. 

“ I know. You did it to protect your precious Five and your sibling in-laws. What brilliant timing of mine. “ She boasted inconspicuously, “ Ah, so that was your plan. Get me at a moment where I’d willingly let you have me. So smart. “ Y/n rolled her eyes as the sarcastic comment rolled off her tongue. 

The Handler winked at her, causing her to scoff again. Getting kidnapped wasn’t necessarily on her to-do list, but Five needed time, and she couldn’t let his siblings get hurt. Truthfully, getting kidnapped by the Handler wasn’t torture. It was just irritating with the constant belittling comments. 

It was a tedious thing to go through. Five wasn’t around when she did it. Otherwise, the Handler would’ve been shot dead by now. How she managed to come back after the barn incident, she knew not. What she did know was she was threatening her husband's siblings. 

The Handler paced with her cup of whiskey, “ What's it like? “ 

“ Pardon? “

“ What’s it like being married to him? “ The commission superior queried, “ That’s none of your concern. “ Y/n snapped. 

“ Does drinking make you sentimental? “ The Hargreeves girl narrowed her eyes, “ And for what’s it’s worth, Five and I are just fine. “ 

The Handler pondered, “ So where is he? “ 

“ Hell, if I know. I’m only here because I wasn’t letting you take Claire. “ Y/n replied, “ What is the little girl to you? “

“ Five’s niece. “ She answered, “ His pride and joy. “ 

“ Do I hear bitterness? “ The Handler teased, “ No, you don’t, you blithering idiot. “ Y/n retorted, annoyed. 

Hours went by of annoying banter that, frankly, Y/n didn’t have time for. It would only be a matter of time before Five noticed her disappearance. The last thing he needed on his mind at the moment was the reappearance of the Handler. So when the commission superior left, Y/n began her escape. 

The girl flicked a knife from her back pocket, “ You’d think for a commission superior she’d be a tad bit smarter. “ Y/n rolled her eyes as she cut off her restraints. 

Even the assassins who had kidnapped her beforehand took her knife off her. Maybe they just knew her better. Since the apocalypse, Y/n always had a knife or some form of sharp object in her back left pocket. It was something she nicked from Diego in the apocalypse. She never told Five where it came from. 

So when Diego was almost hit with one of his knives while fighting her after arriving in 2019, he was astonished. Her aim was impeccable and seamless. Possibly better than Diego’s. Nevertheless, a sharp object was always on her person. 

Running out of the motel and towards the academy was easy. All that walking she did really came in handy when needing to stay in shape. Despite being a master at her power– telekinesis, she still trained countless days. Five and her would spar. An activity that kept them together. 

Knocking on the wooden door to the academy, a nine-year-old girl opened the door, “ Auntie Y/n! “ She yelled, hugging her aunt tightly, “ Hey sweet. “ Y/n replied. 

“ So, where have you been? “ A male voice queried, making her look up, and Claire let go, “ We can talk about it later, I promise. “ Y/n replied, not wanting to talk about it in front of Claire. 

He sighed, “ Fine. “ 

“ Thanks, love. “ Y/n smiled gratefully, “ Yeah, whatever. Claire, you should go see the cookies Grace made. “ Five smiled softly at the little girl. 

“ Okay. “ Claire responded, walking away. 

Once she was out of eyesight, Five embraced his wife closely, “ I was worried. “ His voice held so much concern and love it made her heart melt, “ I tried to be fast. “ She answered. 

“ What happened? “ 

And so she explained everything. From top to bottom, she informed him on everything she learned, which wasn’t too much but enough to know for now. But when she brought up the fact she went willingly, the look in his eye was not one any person would want to cross. 

“ She threatened to take Claire. Or one of your siblings. So I went willingly. I watched her tie my hands and tie me to a chair. “ Y/n informed, “ You voluntarily decided to get kidnapped to save my family? “ Five questioned, not meeting her eyes any longer. 

She shrugged, “ Perhaps. “ 

“ You choose the right woman. “ Diego announced from the steps, and Five had a prideful smile present, “ Don’t get too full of yourself, Hargreeves. “ Y/n replied, playfully walking away towards the kitchen. 

“ What's it like? “ Diego questioned his brother, “ Excuse me? “ Five responded. 

Diego turned to look at Y/n and Claire in the kitchen, “ What’s it like being married to her? “ 

“ Well, it’s- “ Five couldn’t find the right words, “ It’s like coffee. “ 

“ The meaning is? “ Number two inquired, “ Well, some days it’s like hot and cold others it could be warm. It depends on the day and how the person feels. “ Five answered. 

It was silent for a minute as Five watched Y/n happily talk with Claire about something. She looked absolutely stunning. Her eyes shined as Claire spoke passionately about the topic. Maybe that’s why she liked Y/n so much, because she listened to her no matter the subject. 

Diego swallowed, “ Do you want kids? “

The question took Five a long moment to ponder. He wasn’t expecting that question in the slightest. Sometimes he forgets that he’s already lived his life and is still mentally sixty-three. Sometimes he prefers to act like an actual eighteen-year-old. 

“ Someday. “