#sign on my back reads GONE FISHING

[dirtbra1n]

you’re at a crossroads: stay on the train and watch his back retreat from you until he vanishes into the crowd; look at the ring on his finger and think about someone else.

Or.

the doors nearly scruff sasaki as he slips out at the last second. hirano wouldn’t have noticed him, obviously, busy going his own way, but still sasaki trails a little uncertainly after him. he’s not eager to call out his name in a train station packed with people, not eager to call attention to… whatever he’s doing. so he doggedly follows in his path, going as fast as the crowd allows, and—sasaki, more than a little gracelessly, takes hold of hirano’s elbow, pulling him off-course. pulling him around a corner, down a strange corridor, around another corner. pulls him firmly into the shadows.

he finds himself at a crossroads.

[kamaluhkhan]

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message 

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!! 

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you. 

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION 

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock. 

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs. 

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap. 

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side. 

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.” 

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word. 

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo. 

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?” 

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure. 

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts: 

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you. 

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend. 

friend.

if you could still call him that. 

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.” 

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air. 

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling. 

“me too, kid.” 

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze. 

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood. 

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left. 

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him. 

“perce! hey!” 

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.” 

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood. 

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack. 

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium. 

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways. 

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed. 

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees. 

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing. 

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!  

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure. 

but, there were other things, too. 

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes. 

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving. 

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now 

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection. 

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of. 

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.” 

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed. 

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him. 

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then. 

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge. 

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house. 

something in luke softens, then. he sighs. 

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on. 

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke. 

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially. 

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too. 

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.” 

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.” 

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up. 

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.” 

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles. 

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this. 

about you. 

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were. 

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?” 

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy. 

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though. 

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you. 

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand. 

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own. 

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos. 

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways). 

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here. 

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean. 

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. 

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you. 

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

[marvelfanfics1]

Hey! How are you? Hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you can do a big brother rafe where the sister is like 3-4 and they went out to get ice cream and she gets lost and he’s freaking but she freaking out and she runs into JJ and he helps her find him. Whould love to see what Rafes reaction would be seeing JJ carry his little sister in his arms.

Mini Cameron Lost

Pairing: brother!rafe cameron x toddler!sister!reader, jj maybank x toddler!reader

Warnings: reader gets lost, rafe and jj not going at each other's throats for once

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST! You're reading my mind cause I've been thinking about something like that a few days ago 🥹 and I'm doing good thanks for asking 🫶🏻

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You have been asking Rafe for days to take you out for ice cream and he finally caved in after your constant whining and begging. Now you both stand in line of a nice ice cream shop.

You are holding onto one of his fingers, waiting patiently for your turn when the ringing of Rafe's phone can be heard and he pulls his hand from your grasp so he could fish it out from his pocket.

That few seconds of letting you go was his great mistake as a stray cat caught your attention from the corner of your eye, your feet taking you in its direction without a second thought.

As expected the cat starts walking away and around a street corner as you start to approach it. You pick up your speed as well, toddling after it. Soon the cat jumps over a fence and you frown, realizing your chance to pet it is gone.

You didn't notice that you had been following the stray for a while so as you turn around and can't see Rafe anywhere you start to panic.

"Rafey?" You call out, bottom lip wobbling when no answer comes.

While you were helplessly walking around in search of your brother Rafe was freaking out himself. The second he ended the call and looked down at his side his heart practically dropped when you weren't standing next to him.

He instantly starts looking for you, his hands in his hair and shouting your name. "Shit, shit, shit. Fuck!"

Meanwhile you were crying and still walking around aimlessly. Through your blurry vision you can't see someone approaching you, suddenly bumping into a set of legs and landing on your butt.

"Whoa, careful there." JJ chuckles but quickly stops at noticing how distraught you are, crouching down in front of you. "Hey...you good?"

You only sob in response, rubbing your eyes frustratedly. "Wan' Rafey..."

JJ's eyes widen, realizing who you are and looks around for any sign of the kook who he can't stand even if he tried and vice versa. He quickly snaps his attention back to you when your crying gets louder, instinctively reaching under your armpits to pick you up.

"Hey, shh. Guess you got lost, huh? Don't worry, imma help ya find him, yea?" He bounces you a few times to try and soothe you.

Rafe was losing his mind, he has been searching you now for 20 minutes and was freaking out. He is about to call his dad, still looking around frantically when his eyes caught something.

He visibly relaxes when he sees JJ approaching him with you held on his hip. "Think you lost this, man."

"Thank god..." Rafe mutters, quickly closing the distance and doesn't hesitate to take you from JJ when you reach out for him, sobbing all over again the second you're in his arms. "You scared me to death, kid."

He holds you tightly, afraid you're gone the second he lets go again. He only pulls back to look you over for any visible injuries. "You okay? Not hurt anywhere?"

You simply press your face into his neck, grabbing his shirt in your hands and sniffling quietly.

JJ coughs awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She was walking around near the cut. You're lucky I was the one who found her and not some junkie."

Rafe glances at him, rubbing your back subconsciously. "Thanks..."

"Ah, don't mention it." He waves it off.

"No, I'm serious. Thank you. I don't even want to think about what could have happened if you wouldn't have found her..." Rafe sighs, his hold on you tightening even more at the thought of something terrible happening to you because he didn't watch you for a second.

JJ simply nods, reaching up pat your head two times. "Better keep an eye on that one." He remarks before walking off.

Rafe just rolls his eyes, kissing the top of your head multiple times. "Never run off again. Can't believe you made me thank Maybank." He grumbles. "Now, let's go get you that damn ice cream."

"With spwinkles?" You ask quietly and he chuckles.

"You got it, with extra sprinkles."

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Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

[justaparsec94]

Reunion

Summary: After being sidelined for weeks by an injury in the field you're finally reunited with your favourite snarky sniper and the rest of your squad.

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 7,246

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors be gone, Explicit

Author's Note: I wrote this as second part to my one shot "Sniper" but I think it stands well enough on it's own if you haven't read that one!

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

Walking into 79’s was like walking into a wall of sound and heat. It was visceral and made you pause on the threshold, shucking off the jacket you had been wearing to keep the cool night air at bay. You definitely weren’t going to need it as a sudden clamminess, the byproduct of all of the bodies in the place, latched onto your skin.

It was more crowded than you could ever remember it being on any of your previous visits. Though considering you had watched the 501st and 212th arrive on Coruscant earlier you really shouldn’t have been that surprised at the crowded nature of the bar. A quick look around at all the white, blue, and gold armour in the place confirmed that thought.

You slowly began making your way through the throngs of people. The very first time you had come to the bar you had been surprised by the number of non-clones that seemed to frequent the place, and as time went on that number only seemed to grow. You supposed it was a good place to get cheap drinks and meet handsome men. Kriff, that was the reason you were there after all, except you were looking for 4 very specific handsome men, as usual. A quick sweep of the place didn’t reveal any signs of the distinctive squad which likely meant they hadn’t arrived yet. Generally, when The Bad Batch arrived somewhere, everyone knew about it. They didn’t really blend in, no matter how hard they tried to.

You paused as you finished your lap of the bar, fishing your comm out as you tried your best to move away from a particularly loud group of clones.

“Hunter!?” You called into your comm over the chaotic noise surrounding you. You pressed your comm up to your ear and covered the other to try and drown out the thumping music, “Where are you guys?”

The sergeant’s response was barely audible over the noise of the bar, “ETA 10 minutes.”

You groaned, “Any chance you can hustle and cut that time down?”

“Negative,” Hunter responded with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Crosshair is in a mood.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t new. What was new was the fact that you were currently alone at the bar. Usually, when you attended you were with the Batch or with your friends but tonight had you flying solo. You sighed knowing that even over the noise Hunter would be able to hear you, “Alright, I’ll try and find a table.”

You disconnected your comm, tucking it back into the form-fitting bodice of your dress. You tugged once on the hem somewhat self-consciously before you started picking your way through the crowd. Your dress wasn’t even anything overly fancy, a simple black strapless body con dress that ended just above your knees. In fact, compared to a lot of the outfits currently in the place it was quite tame but it was very different from the scrubs and clogs you usually rolled up to the bar in, and that made you fidget. But as you had been getting ready that night you had thought a special occasion called for a special outfit. And you may or may not have been thinking of a particular silver-haired clone when you had pulled the dress from your closet, but no one needed to know that.

A night out at 79’s with the Bad Batch was rare for several reasons. One: because they were stationed on Kamino and were rarely called to Coruscant and, two: because they often received temporary bans from the bar for inevitably ending up in fights every time they entered the place. But this trip in particular was special because you hadn’t seen your squad in ages. A horrible ankle injury on your last mission had left you sidelined for weeks. It had been a long and hard recovery after multiple surgeries. And even after all the rehab you’d had you still had only just managed to squeak out clearance to return to the field. You had missed your squad desperately during that time. They had checked up on you throughout your recovery, some of them more than once. Wrecker because he was kind and Tech because he was convinced you were not receiving proper medical treatment. But it just wasn’t the same as being with them nearly 24/7.

Even Crosshair had reached out to you, which you hadn’t really expected. He wasn’t the most sentimental type so when a message popped up from his frequency you had honestly been surprised. You might be harbouring the galaxy's largest crush on the snarky sniper but you were fairly certain your feelings were not returned. Though it truthfully was hard to tell considering his outwardly expressed emotional range was rather limited. You knew there was a lot more going on inside of him than he let people think but it was easy to miss if you didn’t look close enough.

A part of you had hoped that after your ordeal the two of you might have grown a little closer, it had been Crosshair after all who had tended to your injury before fully carrying you down a mountain. But the message you had received from him had been a typical Crosshair quip. Are you still alive?

You had been so high on pain medication that you couldn’t remember much about the incident but you did remember Crosshair. You remembered the concern on his face, not the exact words but the reassuring way he had spoken to you, the way he had held you, stayed with you, and comforted you on The Marauder. You knew you had said things to him but for the life of you couldn’t remember what. You just hoped it hadn’t been anything too embarrassing or anything that might have jeopardized the tenuous friendship you seemed to have with him. You ached every time you thought of how surprisingly gentle his touch had been but it seemed that it had simply been the action of one teammate looking out for the other.

You put aside the thoughts of anything that may or may not be happening between you and Crosshair as you continued your journey around the bar looking for a place to sit. You stopped every once and a while to say hello to familiar clones and non-clones alike but still did your best to stay focused on your mission.

“Hey beautiful, do you need a seat?” A large, handsome Devronian male called out to you from a nearby table, halting you in place.

You felt your face flush slightly as he smiled at you, there was no denying he was handsome, and if you hadn’t been completely smitten with a certain emotionally constipated sharpshooter you might have even considered his offer but as it was you simply shook your head politely and continued on your search for a table.

Two laps around the place had you abandoning that mission, every booth was full already and you knew you weren’t about to convince anyone to give up their spot for you. That was a job for the Batch, they could clear a room like no one else, a skill that often came in handy on your nights out.

“Doc!” A familiar voice called suddenly. Your head whipped around towards the source, smiling brightly at the sight of Wrecker towering over everyone else in the bar, waving enthusiastically at you as he muscled his way through the crowd.

You met him halfway, laughing as he scooped you up into his arms, squeezing the air out of you with one of his signature hugs, “We missed ya Doc!”

“I’ve missed you too,” You replied once he had set you down and you had managed to catch your breath once more. Your heart was brimming with happiness at the sight of him, and the sight of his brothers as they pulled up alongside him.

“Good to see you Doc,” Hunter said with a small smile as he reached out to grasp your forearm gently.

Tech shouldered past his brother, cutting off the words you had been about to speak, “Yes, though this reunion is rather premature. Your medical records indicate you are still suffering from the injury to your ankle and would benefit from more time off to fully…”

“Good to see you too Tech,” You replied drily, cutting off his rambling speech. You really shouldn’t have been surprised that he had been accessing your medical records.

Hunter laughed as he clapped a hand on Tech’s shoulder, “What he means to say is that excited to see you too.”

“That is not-“ Tech protested as he looked between you and Hunter, “Not that I am not excited, I am, Doc is an integral part of our team…”

Whatever else Tech was saying was lost to the hum of 79’s as the one person you had been waiting to see the most finally stepped into view.

Crosshair looked the same as he always did, arms crossed over his chest, toothpick in his mouth as he shot a dry look at his brothers before his attention focused on you. Your heart kicked up a notch as you looked at him, you hadn’t realized just how much you had truly missed him until this moment.

The slow sweep of his gaze traveling over you felt like a physical touch, his eyes lingered over your chest, the curve of your waist, and hips for the barest hint of a moment before moving on. It made you feel molten inside.

He paused once he reached your feet, one eyebrow canting up minutely as he met your eyes once more, the barest hint of a smirk gracing his face.

“Sensible,” He snarked, his eyes flicking from your eyes down to your shoes. You had chosen a very comfortable pair of leather and cork sandals and while they were not the most stylish they were comfortable. And after nearly snapping your foot right off comfort was key.

You laughed, shaking your head in mock annoyance, “Oh stuff it Cross. I need the arch support!”

“Ok, Grandma,” He teased as your eyes tracked the toothpick in his mouth as it swapped from one side to the other. His dark eyes were shining with amusement, “Do we need to have you home to bed by a certain time too?”

“This is already past my bedtime so you should consider yourself lucky that I’m even here,” you teased right back, smiling brightly up at him.

He took a step towards you, crowding into your space. He was suddenly so close that you had to tilt your head up to maintain his gaze. You felt like a live wire in his proximity, your pulse raced in your veins. You felt his breath whisper against your skin as he spoke, his eyes sweeping over you once more, “Hmm, lucky me indeed.”

His dark eyes were swimming with something that made your heart pound against your ribs. If he kept looking at you like that you honestly felt like you might melt into a puddle of lovestruck goo on the floor.

“Are you two done?” Wrecker asked in his typical booming voice, causing the two of you to jump apart in surprise, “I want a drink!”

“Then go get one,” Crosshair snapped, glaring at his brother. He hadn’t moved away from you though, if anything he had only gotten closer as though to shield you from his brother and everyone else in the bar. You felt overheated as his hand gently brushed against the small of your back.

“I’ll have a Fuzzy Tauntaun,” You replied, tipping your head back to look at Wrecker. The rest of the Batch took your lead and gave Wrecker their drink orders, much to his disappointment.

“Awe man,” He grumbled, “I hate carrying drinks.”

“I will assist you,” Tech supplied, “The others can find us a table since Doc was unsuccessful.”

“It’s busy!” You protested as the two brothers headed off towards the bar, calling after them, “I tried my best!”

“You’re just not intimidating enough,” Crosshair said lowly, still closer than what was likely considered professional for two members of a squad, but you didn’t care. Having him this close to you was something right out of one of your fantasies.

You looked back up at him, a smile growing on your face, “Yeah, that’s your job.”

He let out a soft bark of laughter before he finally moved away from you. You frowned at his sudden absence but did your best to mask your disappointment. With a soft sigh, you followed after him and Hunter in their search for a table.

They were able to accomplish what you hadn’t in under five minutes, scaring a batch of shinies out of a table near the back wall of the bar. They preferred places where the lights and sounds of the dance floor weren’t so overwhelming and the shadows gave Hunter more of the anonymity he preferred and the perfect vantage point of everything going on that Crosshair liked.

“How have you been feeling, Doc?” Hunter asked as you slid into the booth after him. Crosshair slid in beside you, leaving very little space between the two of you as he settled. He casually leaned against the back of the booth, his arms spreading out along the back of the seat on either side of him, toothpick hanging out of his mouth like usual as his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He wasn’t technically touching you but it almost felt as if he was. You did your best to ignore the feeling of his long and lean body beside you as you looked over at Hunter who had settled himself in the curve of the booth leaving the other side open for Tech and Wrecker.

“Better. I can’t say that was the most fun I’ve ever had but it definitely could have been much worse,” at this proximity you didn’t miss the way Crosshair tensed slightly at your words but he relaxed once more before you could even so much as sneak a look at him.

“Well, we’re just glad to have you back,” Hunter replied with a nod, “Tech’s bedside manner really leaves something to be desired.”

You laughed at that but any further response you might have had was interrupted by Wrecker and Tech returning with your drinks in hand.

“Drinks!” Wrecker exclaimed happily as he set his handful of glasses down on the table, the contents sloshing about before he clambered into the booth.

Drink in hand you relaxed back against the booth as the boys began regaling you with everything you had missed while you had been away. You smiled and laughed as you listened to them, your heart warming in your chest. Being there with them it suddenly felt as if no time had passed at all. A sense of home washed over you as you sat with them. You had truly missed them so much.

Time easily slipped away as you all fell into your usual pattern of reminiscing and people-watching. There was always something entertaining going on at 79s, but thankfully it seemed the batch was intent on avoiding shenanigans tonight. The combination of alcohol and mild pain meds you were still on for your ankle made you feel pleasantly bubbly inside, laughter and smiles slipping from you easier than usual as you enjoyed the time with your squad. Though the presence of Crosshair at your side, leaning over every once and a while to whisper in your ear as he pointed out whatever ridiculous thing he had spotted going on in the bar, his hands casually brushing against you each time, might have also had something to do with the slight giddiness you were feeling.

As the night wore on Hunter had been tempted away from the table by a beautiful Twi’lek and Tech and Wrecker had gone to grab the third round of drinks for the night leaving just you and Crosshair left in the booth.

Suddenly feeling bold, likely the result of the two drinks you had had, you looked up at Crosshair, leaning into him just ever so slightly. Your voice came out huskier than you had intended when you spoke, “Did you miss me, Cross?”

He tilted his head to look down at you, one eyebrow raised. The same something as before was swimming in his eyes again making your pulse race. He didn’t say anything though, only made a soft humming noise before picking up his drink and taking another sip.

You frowned, a sudden wave of embarrassment rushing through you at your brazen question. He probably thought you were an idiot for asking such a thing. The relaxed feeling you had been feeling before was completely gone, your body tensing as you berated yourself internally.

Thankfully, Tech and Wrecker returning to the table gave you something else to focus on. You grabbed the drink placed in front of you, downing nearly half of it in a single go in an attempt to chase away the feelings that had suddenly rushed up inside of you. You could feel Crosshair’s eyes on the side of your face, but you steadily ignored his gaze, focusing on the story Tech was currently telling instead.

Crosshair suddenly leaned towards you, his mouth a breath away from your ear, “What’s-” he started but was cut off by the sound of a new voice at their table.

“Hey there handsome,” All four heads at the table shot up to look towards the source of a voice. A beautiful young Pantoran woman had appeared at Crosshair’s side, her gaze focused entirely on him, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You were no stranger to witnessing this type of thing, the boys were handsome and they garnered a lot of attention everywhere they went. It wasn’t even the first time you had watched Crosshair pick up company for the evening but suddenly the thought of being present for this was unbearable.

“Excuse me,” You said shortly, moving before the words were even fully out of your mouth. You heard Crosshair hiss as you accidentally kneed him as you climbed over him to escape the booth. You looked at the woman who was suddenly looking at you with interest, “You can have my spot if you want.”

And with that you fled from the table, beelining towards the opposite side of the bar where the washrooms were. Thankfully one of the few single occupant washrooms was open and you rushed into it, leaning back against the door with a sigh as you locked the door. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You weren’t sure why you were so upset. Well no, that wasn’t entirely true. You were upset because it seemed that what you had thought was just a silly crush on Crosshair had become something much deeper than that and having to potentially watch him leave with someone else was literally cleaving your heart in two. You shook your head as your eyes stung, trying to get rid of the emotions bubbling inside you with the motion.

“Get it together,” You whispered to yourself as you pushed yourself away from the door. The washroom was tiny, nothing more than a small box with a toilet and sink but you were thankful for the privacy as you turned on the sink, splashing your face with cool water. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment trying your best to school your features into something more neutral before you left the confines of the washroom.

A sudden knock on the door startled you and you turned off the sink, “Just a minute!” You called as you grabbed a towel to dry off your hands.

You gave your head one more shake and took another deep breath before you pulled open the door only to be met with a completely unexpected sight.

“Crosshair what-?” You started but weren’t able to get anything else out before he crowded into you, pushing you back into the bathroom and closing the door quickly behind him. The sound of the door locking behind him echoed around the room.

“What are you doing?” Your voice came out as a squeak as you looked up at Crosshair with wide eyes.

“You’re upset.” He stated matter of factly, his gaze was dark as it racked over you. You had always felt that Crosshair had a way of just knowing what you were thinking and feeling and this time was no different. Sometimes it annoyed you how observant he was.

You shook your head, not willing to admit the truth, “No I’m not. I think I’ve just had too much to drink. Pain meds and alcohol don’t really mix…”

“Stop lying,” Crosshair hissed, pressing in even closer to you. You hadn’t even realized you had backed up until your back hit the sink counter behind you. He had you cornered, with nowhere else to go. You knew that Crosshair would never hurt you, if you told him to back off he would in an instant. But you realized with a flush it wasn’t fear that was suddenly pooling in your stomach, it was desire.

“I’m not…” You replied but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Crosshair’s sharp eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything. His eyes dipped down towards your lips momentarily before they met your gaze once more. That same look of something that had been pooling in his eyes all evening was back.

His voice ghosted across your skin, sending a shiver through your body as he spoke, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” You asked the heat pooling in you was growing by the moment. He was so close and you wanted nothing more than to pull him closer. The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable.

“What you said to me that day, what I said to you,” His voice was barely above a rumble in his chest. Suddenly it clicked, he was talking about the day you had been injured.

“Cross, I don’t…” You started, shaking your head as your pulse raced beneath your skin. You had tried desperately to remember that day but the pain meds had made everything fuzzy.

“Hm,” He mused as he closed the final gap between you, the entire long length of him pressed up against your front. Your body felt as if was on fire at his proximity. He moved his hands to rest on the counter on either side of you, fully caging you in as his head dipped down towards your face. His voice was a purr as he spoke once more, “I can remind you if you want.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod, you didn’t know where this was going but you desperately wanted to find out.

“You told me that I was your favourite,” He whispered as his hand came up to cup your jaw. A smirk bloomed on his face that made your heart pound even faster, “You told me I was sexy."

You felt your face flush slightly in embarrassment and a laugh escaped you before you could stop it, “How cringe of me,” You said before you bit your lip shyly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, “It is true though.”

Crosshair chuckled lowly as his hand slid down your neck, his thumb settled against your pulse point making you gasp softly at the touch. The two of you simply stared at one another for a long moment. You couldn’t quite believe that after months of longing, he was finally touching you. All of the nights you had spent imagining this very scenario didn’t even come close to the real thing.

Emboldened by his touch you tipped your head up, your noses nearly brushing together as you looked at him, “And what did you say to me?” You asked softly.

He moved impossibly closer, his knee parting your legs as his other hand moved to trace the curves of your body. Desire was throbbing through you with each touch.

“I said I would always stay with you,” He rumbled, “I meant it.”

You felt as though you were going to burst, every nerve ending lit up, oversensitive with every touch of his hand. You were completely lost beneath the weight of his words and his gaze. You had never felt a desire like this before.

His head tipped forward once more, his cheek grazing against your own, “Let me show you just how much I missed you, Sunshine,” He whispered, nipping lightly at your earlobe and sending shudders down your spine.

“Please, Cross,” You managed to squeak out. Your voice sounded desperate and needy but you found that you couldn’t care less as he pulled back slightly and his hand returned to your face once more. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze was liquid fire as it traced the lines of your face.

He was kissing you then and everything else around you faded away into nothing. There was only him. There had always only been him.

You were unable to stifle the soft groan that escaped you as his lips captured your own. He gently nipped at your lower lip before his tongue soothed over the spot. He only stayed there for a moment before his tongue was pressing through, tangling with your own. It was needy and demanding and everything you had ever dreamed of.

You separated with a breathy moan, your eyes still closed, head tipped back as he moved his mouth down the line of your neck. Kissing, licking, and nipping a trail down to your collarbone. Fire was racing up your spine as he ravished your skin. It was all at once too much and not enough.

“Crosshair,” You murmured as your hand reached up to his head, your fingers scraping through his short silver hair. You didn’t miss the way he shuddered at your touch. It filled you with a sense of power, to know he was just as affected by your touch as you were by his.

He placed one final kiss on your neck, sucking on your skin in a way you knew would leave a mark before he was moving again. His hands slid to the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter behind you with ease. You let out the tiniest squeak at the movement before he was settling in between your thighs. You could feel the way his codpiece was bulging against your core and you were desperate for more friction. You wrapped your legs around behind him, pulling him closer until there wasn’t any space left between you.

“This dress is dangerous, mesh'la,” He whispered as his hands once again trailed down your curves, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake, “Didn't you see how everyone was watching you? Most beautiful girl in the room.”

You moaned as he palmed your breast overtop of your dress, your breath coming out in ragged pants as you met his gaze, "I wore it just for you.”

He made a deep sound in his throat before he kissed you again, more urgent than before as your own hands bit into his shoulders. He didn’t stay there long though, your eyes widened as you watched him kneel on the ground in front of you. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he hooked his hands behind your knees, pulling you right to the edge of the counter.

“Crosshair,” You whispered again as his hands caressed your thighs, slowly making their way up and under the edge of your dress. He looked up at you, a smirk on his face, his dark eyes burning as his long, delicate fingers hooked around the edges of your panties. In one smooth motion, he had them off of you and in his hands. The look on his face was completely wicked as he stuffed them into one of the pouches on his utility belt.

“Cross,” You protested with a huff, that was one of your best pairs.

“What?” He asked before he bent his head to nip at the soft skin on the inside of your thigh, effectively rendering you speechless. His breath sent another shiver through you as he spoke again, “I want a souvenir.”

Any further reply you might have had was cut off as he reached up to hook one of your legs over his shoulder. The soft flesh of your thigh brushed against the sniper mount on his shoulder bell and you knew you were never going to be able to look at that thing the same way again. He kissed his way up the inside of your thigh, his mouth sending sparks up your spine. You were absolutely aching for him and you flushed slightly at the thought of him being able to see just how wet and ready you were for him.

You saw stars as his mouth pressed suddenly to your cunt, vision blackening around the edges as you were nearly overcome by the wave of sensation rushing through you. Tongue stroking your folds slowly, tortuously. You gasped, your white knuckle hold on the counter increasing as his tongue circled your clit, his hands biting into the flesh of your thighs as he pressed his face into you even further. You let out a soft cry, your head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as his tongue breached your entrance. He groaned against you, his hold on you tightening even more, the sensation of it sending waves of pleasure through you. You were hurtling towards a release, all of the tension coiling in your belly as your chest heaved.

You hadn’t even noticed that one of his hands had moved, so caught up as you were in the feelings of his mouth on you, that you let out a soft yelp as two of his fingers pressed suddenly against your core. He moved his mouth back to your clit, tongue circling it as he pushed his fingers inside of you. You let out a string of curses, your walls clenching around his fingers as they crooked and found that spot inside of you that had you turning into a whimpering mess as he massaged it. You were so achingly close, months of longing suddenly coming to a boiling point as your body completely melted beneath his touch.

“Cross..” You whimpered as his tongue pressed hard against your clit, his fingers finding a smooth rhythm.

He pulled away just slightly, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

You felt his voice against your skin more than you actually heard it, “Be a good girl. Cum for me.”

That’s all it took for the band inside of you to finally snap. You came with a shout, thighs squeezing around his head as you rode out the waves of your pleasure. It was better than anything you could have ever imagined. Your orgasm burned through you and every coherent thought left you as you drowned in the sensations coursing through your body.

You didn't even have a moment to catch your breath before he was moving again, the sound of armour clattering to the floor filled the room. You managed to focus your gaze on him once more, still flushed and overheated but your desire raged through you once more at the sight of him. He had removed his codpiece and you could see the outline of him straining against his blacks. You reached out for him, pulling him towards you again in a single motion with one hand while the other found the waistband of his blacks. He was hot and heavy against your hand as you finally freed him, his erection flushing prettily against his stomach as you stroked him once, twice. He let out a low growl in his throat, his entire body was taut, as though he was about to explode at any moment. Even as wound up as he was he still moved with the same lethal grace he always did, a snake waiting to strike. Before you could even comprehend it he had closed the distance between you. Your legs moved to wrap around him instinctually and you let out a soft cry at the feeling of the head of his cock pushing against your entrance.

“Stars, Cross,” You groaned as your hands clutched at his shoulders, your legs pinning his hips to you as he rubbed his erection through your soaking folds, “I want you so badly.”

He didn't require any further encouragement, the look on his face was completely ravenous as he entered you with a smooth thrust, stretching you and filling you so completely in a way you never had been before. You were completely unmoored, a whimpering mess in his arms as he gave you a moment to adjust to his size. Your gaze was hazy with desire as you met his own. He was all angles and sharp lines, brow furrowed in concentration but there was something soft lurking in his dark eyes that did more to you than anything else that night had. He kissed you then, swallowing your moan as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you.

You thought for a moment that you must have died, that it was all just a dream as his mouth moved down to your neck once more sucking on your skin as his hips picked up the pace. You could feel the bite of his armour against your skin with each thrust but if anything it only made you burn more. The pleasure was building inside you rapidly once more as he pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting back into you roughly, the tip of his cock hitting you in that perfect place each time.

“Oh gods, Crosshair,” You panted as his pace increased, his hips rubbing against your clit deliciously with each thrust. His hand came up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back just slightly to give him better access to your throat as he sucked against your skin. You knew you were going to be covered in marks later but you couldn't find it in yourself to care as the heat in your body continued to build.

Suddenly he let go of you completely, pulling all the way out of you. You whimpered at the loss but before you could even comprehend what was happening he reached out and pulled you down from the counter, spinning you around to face the sink, his back pressed up against you. One hand was on your hip, holding you close, while the other slunk up between your breasts to rest at the base of your throat. In one smooth motion, he thrust back into you causing you to cry out at the feeling of being filled once more.

It was almost too much, at this angle, he was filling you so completely, hitting that spot deep inside you with each thrust. Your head tipped forward as you were overcome with the feeling of him, just trying to focus on meeting his thrusts as you rapidly approached another high. The hand that was on your hip was suddenly moving, pulling the hem of your dress up even higher.

“Look at me,” He hissed in your ear and you were unable to ignore his order. Your gaze met his in the mirror over the sink and if you had thought it was too much before it was nothing compared to this. The sight of the two of you flushed, joined together as you both chased your highs. It was beautiful and almost enough to have you tipping over the edge once more as he continued to pound mercilessly into you.

“Look how good you take my cock,” Crosshair grunted, his eyes trailing down in the mirror. You followed his gaze to where you could see where the two of you were joined, could see the way he was thrusting in and out of you, filling you so completely, “Such a pretty little thing. Like you were made just for me.”

“Cross-“ You groaned, you were so close it was agony.

“You’re going to watch yourself cum on my cock,” He whispered, nipping at where your neck and shoulder met as his hand moved to your clit. You moaned, your eyes once again following his directions, unable to disobey a direct order. You couldn't look away from where he was pistoning in and out of you. It was lewd and so sexy that you feel like you might combust from the sight alone.

“Who else can make you feel like this? Make you feel as good as I can?” He hissed, mouth against your ear as he maintained his brutal pace.

“No one Cross,” You cried. Your eyes were burning, overwhelmed by the emotions and sensations rushing through you, "Only you.”

“That’s right. You’re mine,” He hummed, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear before he nipped your neck once more, “Only mine.”

His thumb circled your clit once, twice and that’s all it took for you to shatter completely for a second time. Crying out his name as you came on his cock. Your head tipped back against him, eyes finally shutting as you got swept away by the ecstasy of your release. You felt weightless, the sensation of your high overwhelming you completely as you sagged against him. His strong hands kept you upright, biting into your flesh enough for you to know for certain that there would be marks left in their place tomorrow.

He groaned as you squeezed around him, walls clenching and pulling him deeper into you with each wave of pleasure. His thrusts became erratic before he came with a grunt, holding himself as deep as he could as he spilled himself inside of you.

You were both motionless for a long moment, breathing ragged as you came down from your highs. You had literally never felt like this before in your life. You couldn't help but smile softly at the idea that he had ruined you forever, in the best way possible.

Once your breathing had finally evened out somewhat his hands wrapped around your waist and he pulled you close again, pressing gentle kisses along your neck and shoulders, his tongue soothing your flushed skin. He pressed a final kiss to your cheek before he pulled away, slipping out of you.

You turned, bracing yourself against the counter, flushing slightly at the feeling of his release running down the inside of your thighs. You moaned softly, tipping your head back to shake your sweaty hair out of your eyes. Your legs felt like jelly and you had no idea how you were going to make it out of the bathroom without wobbling.

You lifted a hand to run through your hair, trying to tame it into something that looked less like you’d just been ravaged, as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you. You watched as he quickly wiped himself off before tucking himself back into his blacks. His gaze met yours and the smirk on his face had fire licking in your belly once more. You chuckled softly, shaking your head as he stooped to grab his discarded codpiece, snapping it back into place with a practiced motion.

You were distracted by the thought of just how truly kriffed you were, both literally and figuratively, and missed him moving about the room. Suddenly he was kneeling before you, cloth in hand as he diligently cleaned between your thighs. His touch was achingly gentle and when he looked up at you from his position on the floor there was something completely new swimming in the depths of his eyes. A look so soft that it had your heart pounding in your chest for a completely different reason. Kriffed.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he stood, disposing of the towel before he tugged your dress back into place, delicate hands smoothing out the wrinkles as best as possible. His touch left goosebumps on your skin and you couldn't stop the shudder that ran through you.

His eyes were still soft as he raised a brow at you, “You good?” He asked as his hand slid around to the small of your back, pulling you into him once more.

“Mhmm” You nodded, “Great. Better than great actually.”

He smirked, amusement lighting up his eyes as he ducked his head to capture your lips with his own once more. Thankfully, he pulled away before you could get yourself too worked up again. You grumbled softly at the loss of contact but he didn’t go far, arms still caging you in as he looked down at you.

“I think it’s about time we get you home,” He purred, his eyes molten, “Considering it is past your bedtime after all.”

You laughed, pinching him in a gap between his armour teasingly before you sobered and looked up at him, “Alright, but I might need some help taking this dress off.”

His grin was almost feral before he leaned down to kiss you once more. His voice sent shivers down your spine as he pulled away, “I think I can manage that.”

He didn't give you another moment to respond before he laced his fingers in your own and started to pull you towards the door but you planted your feet, forcing him to turn back around to look at you.

His eyebrow was raised expectantly, eyes narrowed slightly as you spoke. Your heart was racing and you felt yourself flushing but you couldn’t let the moment pass without saying something.

“Crosshair, I really care about you. Like a lot,” it came out more awkward than you intended and you felt yourself flush further, “Just wanted to tell you when I’m not all doped up. Wanted to make sure you knew that you really are my favourite...”

He smirked but his eyes were swimming with emotion, his voice was rougher than you’d ever heard it before, “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

You laughed, brimming with happiness at his words. You were beginning to think you still might end up as that lovestruck pile of goo on the floor before the night was over, “I think I can live with that.”

He chuckled softly before he pulled you out the door, back into the loud chaos of 79’s. Neither of you bothered saying goodnight to the rest of the boys on your way out. A part of you had a feeling they knew where you'd gone off to anyway. Crosshair tossed a smirk back at you over his shoulder as he pulled you through the crowd, the look in his eyes though was so soft and warm that it had your heart pounding in your chest. You’d been privy to this part of him a few times before but nothing quite like this and you were suddenly smiling at the thrill that ran up your spine at the thought. This was only just the beginning. You couldn’t help but think, as the cool night air brushed against your skin as you exited the bar, that it had been a perfect reunion indeed.

[bloodwrittenballad]

Satisfaction Guaranteed | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader x Jake Seresin

Summary: Maybe tipsy, tmi confessions aren’t so bad after all

Warnings: Smut, threesome, oral, pnv, swearing, mentions of drinking, readers call-sign is maze, use of the pet name baby like a lot, not proofread. wrote this on a whim. a horny whim. 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS. Please, don’t be a silent reader. Feedback is highly appreciated, so are reblog. Let me know what you think! And if you would like to see more of these three! Enjoy, and happy reading ;)

You should really stop talking.

No, seriously, you need to stop talking. The more you say, the worse it gets. You’re a few drinks in and then bam! Suddenly you’ve decided to spill your guts out - not literally, thankfully - to your two best pals. Jake Seresin and Bradley Bradshaw. Two of the hottest and greatest men you knew had now heard every single thing they ever needed about your sex life. Or, well, lack there of. “Yeah and like, noooone of my exes ever wanted to go down on me. Not one! B-but I’m expected to give them head?! How unfair is that!” You hiccuped, as you dug yourself deeper into a hole.

But what was worse, was that they weren’t even stopping you. Maybe the alcohol was hindering their better judgment too? Either way, you were never going to come back from this. The shit eating smirks on their face and the looks they shared - the ones they thought you wouldn’t notice - only made you feel like more of an idiot as you finally began to rein in your pitiful rambling. “Oh, god, I totally just ruined the mood? Didn’t I?” You said in an embarrassed little squeak, face falling into your hands as you tried to hide from their piercing gaze. “Actually, Maze, I think you just heightened the mood.” Jake said, his voice low. You looked up, hands falling back down to your side as you caught Bradley’s eyes. Maybe it was the one too many drinks you consumed, or the sexual frustration that has been building up for months, but something in the way he was looking at you… fuck, it made you feel like a giddy teenager after a first date.

“Ya know, Maze, I think Hangman is right. I also think you’re right,” Rooster began. He noticed the way your eyes lingered on his face, more particularly, his lips… You gave him a look of confusion, nodding for him to continue. “It is unfair that no one’s repaid the favor of going down on you. Hell, it’s a downright shame.” Oh Christ almighty, you had to be imagining this. There was no way he was actually saying this right now. You could just die of embarrassment right now. “But I’m thinking that could change tonight, if you want it to.”

Okay what? This really, truly could not be happening. “I- Um- Huh?” You barely managed to get out, and Jake chuckled at your response. If now was the time for teasing, he’d say you looked like a fish out of water, with the way your eyes were wide and your mouth hung open as you tried to form words. But, Hangman was feeling nice, so he decided to help you out. “I think what Rooster here is trying to get at, is that he’d like to show you what you’ve been missin’ out on. I would too,” He said with a wink. Jesus fuck.

“Y-you b-both wanna…” you trailed of. “Fuck you? Yeah, darlin’. We do. Real bad, too.” As if Jake couldn’t get any cockier already, this was only feeding in to his attitude even more. “So, Maze, what do you say? How about you let Hangman and I show you how it’s done? Satisfaction guaranteed.” Rooster chimed in with a wink, and if you couldn’t feel your heart racing at a thousand miles per hour, you would’ve figured you died and gone to heaven.

“Okay,” you said. Maybe a little desperately, but hey, they offered.

And that’s how you found yourself in this moment now, with Bradley between your legs as Jake held you against his chest. His strong, tan arms around you for support as you rested your head against his shoulders and moaned out. “Fuck! Bradley, right there!” You cried out, feeling his mustache burning roughly on the soft skin of your inner thighs. It was glorious, like nothing you felt before. Well, really, it was nothing you felt before. But it definitely wasn’t like how you imagined it, or even read about. No, this was so much better. “You like that, baby? Does it feel so good, getting that pretty, needy little pussy taken care of after so long?” Jake hummed low in your ear.

“Yes! Fuck yes! So good!” Moaning out loudly, your thighs clenching around Bradley’s head. Bradley chuckled against your pussy, the sensation only bringing you closer to relief. “You gettin’ close, baby? You gonna come on my tongue?” Bradley asked, bringing his hot mouth away from your wet pussy for just a moment to ask, but still working you with his thick fingers. You nodded, the shine of the sweat on your forehead was like a beacon as he caught sight of your face and the pleasure that was painted on it.

“I’m s’close,” you managed to get out. The grip you had on Jake arms only tightened when Bradley’s mustache made contact with your clit. Dipping your head back in a moan, Jake attached himself to the skin of your neck. Licking, sucking, kissing any and every square inch he possibly could. “Come for me, baby. Come on my tongue, I know you want to.” Bradley encouraged you, his mouth still moving on you so quickly as you approached the heavenly gates of orgasmic bliss, before coming. And hard. “Fuck, shit, oh my God!” you moaned out, swears tumbling from your mouth as your body shook with your release. “That’s it, that’s our good little baby,” Jake spoke into your ear. His words of encouragement not stopping until you touched back down to earth again

And when you finally let out a heavy breath and opened your eyes, that’s when you noticed. Bradley, still sat on the edge of the bed and between your legs, was soaking wet. And the look on his face, was priceless. “Good God, baby, look at the mess you made,” Jake said in a laugh as he looked down at Bradley, who was still looking at you in complete awe. “Damn, baby,” said Rooster as he licked his lips. “I didn’t know you could do that,” you didn’t know either. You’ve never squirted before, but somehow Bradley managed to completely change your world in a matter of seconds. “I-I didn’t either,” you spoke. “That was-” you began, but the two men cut you off.

“So hot,” they said. “Yeah,” you said in a breathy laugh. “You ready for more?” Jake asked, and that’s when you could feel it. His hard on, pressing right against your lower back. “Because I still haven’t gotten my turn, and if Bradshaw can get you to react like that, you can only imagine the things that I’ll do.”

And thus, is how found yourself, yet again, being completely and totally lost in the pleasurable thralls of your two fellow aviators fucking you. Jakes cock was buried deep in you, reaching places no one had before, as Bradley sucked on your neck and toyed with your tits and clit. The room was hot and heavy, filled with moans and skin slapping skin all around as you came once again that night. Yeah, it was safe to say that satisfied was definitely guaranteed.

[ms-scarletwings]

Aberrant Fish

!! Hi there, if you are reading this, know that this post is currently going through a sort of overhaul and revisit as of September. With the release of the Iron Rig DLC, and me finally getting around to finishing it, several updates to the hyperlinks below are in the works to fix some outdated numbering and account for the MANY additional aberrations that the latest expansion has added to existing regions.

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of such unfathomable things waiting beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the expansions, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84] [#104-109]

[#85-90] [#110-115]

[#91-96] [#116-122]

[#97-102] [#123-129]

[#103-108] [update still WIP]

[#109-114] [update still WIP]

[#115-120] [update still WIP]

[#121-126] [update still WIP]

[#127-132] [update still WIP]

[#133-138] [update still WIP]

[#139-144] [update still WIP]

[#145-150] [update still WIP]

[#151-156] [update still WIP]

[#157-162] [update still WIP]

[#163-168] [update still WIP]

[#169-174] [update still WIP]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

[imagineredwood]

hiii can u do HC for Miguel dealing with a bratty reader when he's just trying to work?

Wasn't sure if you wanted this to be SFW or NSFW so I did two 💗 They can be read separately or read consecutively if you want to read the NSFW one as well. The NSFW one could be read as like a part 2 of the first

SFW

He had told you to hang on

That as soon as he was finished signing these documents, you would have his undivided attention

But that hadn't worked for you

You had missed him all-day

All alone in the big mansion by yourself

Now he was finally home

And ignoring you :(

He'd been sympathetic at first

Telling you that he was sorry and he would make it up to you

But you had decided that being a brat would get you what you wanted

And that was exactly what you had done

Barging into his office to offer him a bite of your yogurt

He'd taken the spoonful you had offered him and then sent you out

Thinking that'd be the end

Foolishly

You'd returned merely 4 minutes later, asking him which shoes he thought you should order

He'd picked the cream ones and sent you on your way again

And once again you'd returned, asking him to peel and orange for you

And he'd told you to leave again

Yet here you were, once more, sitting on the side of his desk, eyes burning holes into him as you waited for him to acknowledge you

NSFW

He told you to wait

That he was busy with this paperwork and that as soon as he was done, he would give you attention

That if you were good, and patient, he would make it worth the wait

Yet here you were

Perched atop his desk

Legs swinging

Your bare foot coming up higher to press at his thigh sometimes

Pressing at his crotch others

Your hands resting on the desk on either side of you

Your pussy bare and begging for attention from under your skirt

He wasn't sure if you had discarded your panties somewhere along the way

Or if you had entered his office with them already gone

But he was ignoring you, or trying his best anyway

Eyes stuck on the papers in front of him

Ignoring you and your pouty mouth and lonely pussy

Ignoring the sporadic whines of "Miguelllllll" that left your mouth every few seconds

He remained stoic

Not wanting to encourage your brattiness

But you weren't giving up so easily

Hopping off his desk with a huff and then coming to stand beside him

Hand on his shoulder playing with the collar of his shirt

Nail 'accidentally' scratching lightly at the side of his neck with a falsly innocent "oops"

Your knee pushed and prodded against his, your voice whiny as you spoke

"Let me sit in your lap at least. I won't bother you. I swear."

That was bullshit

And you both knew it

But Miguel was going to make you regret pushing him

So he sat back slightly and let you climb into his lap, chuckling as he watched you settle into his chest, thinking you had won

His hand reached into the drawer to his right and fished out the vibrator

Your back straightening as you heard it switch on

He was nestling it between the two of you then, pressing it firmly against your bare cunt

Sucking his teeth at you as you whined

"You wanted to be a little fucking brat and get attention right? Now you have it. So you're going to shut up and sit there until I'm done."

General taglist

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[kayawolfhorse]

Feel the Petals Falling | Read on Ao3

This is my @mcyt-valentines piece, made for the lovely @mellioops! Happy Valentine’s Day, I hope you enjoy <3

— ☾ —

Grian wipes sweat from his brow as he places another trapdoor along the supporting beam that holds his platform. The process has been slow-going, and truthfully, Grian feels a little silly about not having a proper starter base yet, when so many other hermits do, but he likes what he has so far.

Maybe. Grian squints at the beams. He’s gone for an asymmetrical look, with trapdoors adorning the spruce on one side and signs cleverly wrapped around the other, and he can’t tell if he likes it or not.

Grian sighs, wringing his hands. He’s been staring at this for too long; he needs a break.

Trudging up the stairs he’d recently carved into the stony side of the mountain, Grian debates on what to do. Fishing is always an option, but he’d already been at the docks for hours earlier, with no real luck. What he’s really been itching to do, Grian realizes at the top of the stairs, is fly.

He usually refrains from using his wings until the others have elytra, just to make it fair, but he’s not using them for any useful reason, and for once, fishing doesn’t sound particularly appealing, and the wind would feel nice against his damp skin.

Toes against the edge of the platform, Grian tips forward, wings snapping open and catching the air rushing past him, climbing for the clear blue sky above.

Flapping his wings is a stretch Grian’s needed for far too long. He’d spent most of his time between seasons holed up in his cottage on a private world, coming up with plans for this one, and then gone a week here without any flying whatsoever. It’s a little against the rules, but Grian’s sure the hermits will understand.

Magic Mountain is beautiful from above. The leaves of the cherry trees are pink bunches of fluff, and the petals on the ground are vibrant splashes of color against the soft green grass. The bell, stolen by Scar on the first day, sits proudly at the center of a campsite they’d set up, and despite the promise of Doc’s wrath, Grian smiles at the memory.

Among the pink, Grian spots a hint of tan out of the corner of his eye, alone in the foliage. Swooping down for a closer look, Grian realizes his initial guess of a brown sheep is wrong—it’s Scar, in the zookeeper outfit and matching hat he’d acquired for the season.

Grian lands as softly as he can a few blocks behind Scar, tiptoeing closer until he’s just behind him. Peeking his head around Scar’s shoulder, Grian exclaims, “Hi Scar!”

Scar jumps about five blocks, whirling around with his hand pressed to his chest. “Grian! You gave me a heart attack.” Grian grins.

“Whatcha up to?” Grian asks, folding his wings against his back and brushing a stray petal from his jumper. Hanging out with Scar to procrastinate a build has, famously, not gone well in the past, but even Doc hasn’t had enough time in the season yet to set up a tunnel bore; Grian’s sure it’s fine.

Scar sweeps his arm wide around them, a grand gesture. “Thinking! Contemplating! I’m a very thoughtful man, you know.” Scar gives Grian a wink.

“Uh, huh,” Grian teases, one brow lifted, to Scar’s indignant fluff. “Contemplating the trees? I’m not sure the pink goes with your train.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would go just fine! I could work the flowers into the engine somehow,” Scar proclaims. “I’d have to trade out my hat for a flower crown to go with it, though, and I don’t think even I would be willing to pay that price.”

Peering at the flowers at his feet, Grian remarks, “I’ve never tried making flower crowns out of these, I’m not sure if the stems would be long enough.”

“You know how to make flower crowns?” Scar asks, surprised.

Grian scoffs. “Well, yeah, where’d you think I got all of them during my hippie era?”

Scar lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I kind of just assumed Ren made them, he seems like the type.”

“Nah, he collected them and I made ‘em.” Eager for an excuse to take a longer break from base building, Grian asks, “Hey, you wanna make some now? You don’t have to permanently get rid of the hat, but it could be fun.”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t know how,” Scar responds with a chuckle.

“I’ll teach you! Let’s see if these flowers are crown-able.” Grian plonks down at the base of the closest tree, settling against the trunk and carefully picking a few flowers. Scar follows Grian’s lead, sitting on crossed legs and resting his elbows on his knees, watching as Grian tries to twist the stems together, to no avail.

“Ah, it’s no use. The stems are too short.” Grian releases the blossoms from his hand, watching them fall.

“I have some lilacs on me, want those?” Scar summons a few of the purple flowers from his inventory, holding them out to Grian in a bundle. Scar’s emerald green eyes are at ease if not a bit excited, eager to help a friend. His hands are warm as Grian’s fingers brush against them to accept the offer.

“Wow, that’s super helpful actually, yeah!” Lilacs in hand, Grian begins to braid the stalks with practiced motions, explaining what he’s doing to Scar as he goes.

Once Scar’s got the idea down, Grian hands him the chain he’s been braiding, starting a new one for himself. Scar’s movements are careful, unsure, but he grows quicker as he gains confidence. It’s clear Scar’s worked with plants before, his grip the perfect gentleness as he manipulates the stems.

“And now,” Grian says once he’s got a fair bit of length, “here’s where we can start adding the cherry blossoms.” Picking up a few of the tiny flowers, Grian sticks them in the gaps between the lilacs, and shows it to Scar.

“Aww, they’re so cute!” Scar coos, adding a few of his own to his chain. “They’ll go spectacularly with my train,” he jokes, extending the syllables of “spectacularly” for far longer than necessary. Grian snorts.

They fall into a companionable silence as they work, the repeated actions comfortably tedious. After a while, Scar shifts from his cross-legged position to leaning his shoulder against Grian’s.

“There’s a perfectly good tree right there, you know,” Grian grumps, with no intention of shaking Scar off.

“Sure, but you’re much softer. And warmer. Fleshier,” Scar hums.

Grian makes a face. “Fleshier? Really?”

“Well, I’d be concerned if the tree was fleshy!” Scar defends.

“There’s bark,” Grian remarks, “surely that counts?”

Scar shudders. “I don’t even want to think about that, with how much I like stripped wood.”

“Did you really have to point that out?!” Grian lightly whacks Scar’s leg, dissolving into giggles that Scar’s quick to join.

The sky is brilliant shades of pink and purple, orange kissing the horizon over the setting sun, by the time Scar’s finished his flower crown.

“For you!” he declares, placing the ring of blossoms and lilacs on Grian. It’s a bit too small to fully encircle his head, so Scar adjusts it to rest upon Grian’s crown. “Like a halo,” Scar says, and his voice is as warm as Grian imagines a real halo would be.

The move is surprisingly sweet, and Scar’s proud grin is infectious. Grian smiles as he finishes his flower crown, carefully setting it upon Scar’s tousled brown hair, securing it where it lays over Scar’s brow. “You look very pretty,” he compliments.

“Why, thank you! We’re very on brand. We should make a rule that all Magic Mountaineers must have one,” Scar jokes.

“Hah! That’d take so long to make. But this was fun.” Leaning against Scar like Scar did to him earlier, Grian looks out over the view, where the sunset sparkles over the river and shines against Scar’s train.

Scar melts against him, and as the sky gives way to night, soft torchlight illuminating the grove around them, Grian and Scar stay like that, slumped against each other with flowers in their hair. The exhaustion of a busy day weighs down Grian’s eyelids, and he gives in to the tempting lull of sleep, the soft breathing of Scar beside him indicating he’s done the very same.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[cinnamondumbb]

𖦹 ˙₊ 𓇼 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄 —𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 & 𝐋𝐎'𝐀𝐊 : where lo'ak finds the courage to commune with neteyam at the spirit tree for the first time.

note: i haven't written anything in a really long time, i know i'm a little rusty and maybe this piece is absolute garbage, but i'm practicing to get better ! tysm for taking the time to read my work, it means a lot ❤︎ + wc 1.8k

Almost two years had gone by since his brother's death. Almost two years since Lo'ak could not save him.

The Sully boy shifted in his slumber, his thoughts too dark, his heart too heavy to allow him to rest. Giving up on the idea of sleeping altogether, Lo'ak got up before sunrise, sneaking out of his pod, being careful not to startle his family. It would be best to not be there when they all woke up, anyway. He could not stand to be there with them, that day of all days.

After calling for his ilu, Lo'ak dived in the water without making a sound, a skill he had mastered with his time amongst the Metkayina.

Diving always helped pacifying his troubled mind. It made him forget about everything above the surface, concentrating only on his breathing, his surroundings, the flow of energy in and out of him — just like Tsireya had taught him. The boy was able to find peace within, even if only for a short while.

Finding Payakan was a rather easy task. Crossing the reefs to meet his spirit brother had become part of Lo'ak's routine by now. He had grown so used to the path that he did not need to think about where he was going, his ilu would simply take him there.

Payakan rejoiced at the sight of his brother, picking him up with his fin and bringing him closer.

He knew what that day meant to Lo'ak.

"I See you, brother", Was all that Payakan said.

"I See you", Lo'ak signed in response.

Neither of them said anything else, being together in silence was enough. The boy laid down on the tulkun's back, gazing at the stars, his mind lost else where.

Lo'ak did not know how long it had been since he left the village, or for how long he had laid in the dark ocean with his thoughts, all he knew was that the sun was already in the sky when she arrived.

She moved so gracefully in the water towards him. The bottom half of her face was hidden in the water, but he could tell by her eyes that she was smiling. Lo'ak knew that she was insecure about her smile, it was 'too full of teeth', according to her. He disagreed, actually, he could not think of a smile he'd rather see.

However, her pretty smile faded as soon as she saw the grim expression plastered on the Sully boy's face. She rushed to them, greeting Payakan before the tulkun helped her up his back, while Lo'ak sat up straight.

Yet, the boy's gaze was still lost in someplace else.

Tsireya did not speak immediately. She was not sure of what was going on, what pained him so much on that morning. Gently, she reached for his face. He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into her touch.

"Happy Birthday, Lo'ak", Tsireya wished, brushing her thumb across the omaticayan's cheek. "What is wrong?"

Lo'ak could feel his throat tighten as well as his eyes start to burn. He did not wish cry, especially not in front of Tsireya. He reached for her other hand, holding it close to his chest, which was growing heavy as breathing became more and more difficult. All he could think was that he did not deserve this, he did not deserve her, he did not deserve anything.

"Breath." At last, he looked at Tsireya, his eyes full of the tears he refused to shed. "Just breath."

"How did you know I was going to be here?", Lo'ak voiced his curiosity once he had gotten his breathing under control.

"Well, it was not hard to guess", That made him smile, only a little "Your family was looking for you. I thought I'd come here and catch you."

"Catch? Don't you mean fetch?" Lo'ak never missed the opportunity to tease her, it did not matter how somber his mood was.

"Tsk, I can catch and fetch you like fish if I want to!" Now Lo'ak was laughing wholeheartedly as he looked at his enfuriated girlfriend playfully trying to hit him and struggling with it.

He held her arms as she wiggled and laughed, trying to get away from his grip. Payakan shifted suddenly under them, making Tsireya almost slip into the water, but Lo'ak took hold of her before she could fall, bringing her into his arms again, her back resting against his chest. He could feel a part of the tension leave his body. It felt good to be able to just laugh and be silly with his girl.

Her tone was serious when she spoke again, after they had caught their breaths and their laughs had faded, enjoying a comfortable silence for a little while.

"Lo'ak, what is wrong? Today is a happy day, you are fifteen! You begin training for iknimaya, you earn your place with the people."

"Yes, and I'll help you through everything!" Payakan added, in an attempt to cheer the boy up.

Of course Lo'ak knew all that. Theoretically, he was fully grown now, and ready to start the many coming-of-age rituals of the Metkayina.

"I know, I know, guys. I'll get to bond with a tsurak, earn my first tattoo--"

"Exactly! Are you not excited? Oh, are you scared? That's okay-"

"No, it's not that" Lo'ak scoffed "It's not the iknimaya that scares me" He felt choked up again. He was grateful neither Tsireya nor Payakan could see his face. He pulled Tsireya closer, placing his chin on top of her shoulder, building up the courage to finally voice what had been afflicting him. "I'm scared of what this means, I'm scared of becoming-" He could feel tears running down his cheeks as he tried his best to push them back. "-of becoming older than my older brother."

"Oh, Lo'ak..." Payakan hurt for his spirit brother.

Now, that the words were finally out there, Lo'ak felt an empty feeling settle inside of him.

Tsireya turned to face him, her eyes full with tears as well. She cupped the boy's cheeks with her hands, pulling him closer till their foreheads met. Lo'ak weeped quietly, his tears landing softly on Tsireya's cheeks.

They stood like that for a while, eyes closed, breaths intertwined. Lo'ak thought about his family. Would they really like to celebrate his birthday, or would they be plagued by the same thoughts that he was? That his older brother would never reach full maturity, that he was taken from them too soon, that Lo'ak should have been gone, not him.

Tsireya took a finger to his chin, lifting Lo'ak's face, locking eyes with him. All she said was:

"Come with me."

. . .

Payakan swam with them nearly all the way, only stopping at the entrance of the Cove of the Ancestors. Then, it was best to go by ilu.

It took more very little convincing from Tsireya to Lo'ak agree to it. Communing with him for the first since it happened. It had been almost two years and he was not able to talk about the occurred, or even to say his name.

Of course, it was not the first time Tsireya, or a member of his family, attempted to take him there. Lo'ak was the only one who refused to go. After the funeral, his parents would meet their eldest son in the Spirit Tree nearly every day. Now, the visits were held every month with the entire family. Except for Lo'ak.

But today was different. More than ever, Lo'ak felt the need of his older brother's guidance.

Tsireya was there with him, something he was very grateful for. She demonstrated how to do it, Lo'ak followed her lead, taking his queue and connecting it to one of the strange seaweed-like leaves of the Spirit Tree.

"Stay calm.", she signed to him underwater, and so he did.

He slowed his own heartbeat, calming himself down, before closing his eyes.

Lo'ak woke up in the forest that was once his home. Everything was so familiar to him still, the sound of the animals, of waterfalls, of footsteps-

His footsteps.

"Lo'ak! I'm back with the kit-"

Just like that, there he was, a younger version of him, but still his brother, nonetheless. Not in his mind tormenting his thoughts, nor in his nightmares, where Lo'ak witnessed his death over and over again, unable to save him.

He was right there.

Neteyam.

Neteyam kneeled beside his younger brother, who finally took a proper look at himself. He felt smaller, sitting on the grass floor of the forest, with his old clothes on. His face was wet with tears from a stinging pain on his leg. Lo'ak was slowly getting it. It was a memory.

"-I told you not to climb that damn tree without me, skxawng."

"I know, I'm sorry." Lo'ak could only giggle at Neteyam's lecturing. God, he had missed it. He remembered it now, climbing that tall tree after his brother cautioned him about it. He remembered falling, scraping his knee, Neteyam rushing to get a first aid kit without anyone noticing, not wanting for Lo'ak to get in trouble by getting their parents involved.

"It's okay, baby bro, I'm going to get you all patched up" Neteyam started gently cleaning his brother's knee with a gaze. He already acted with such responsibility for his early age, a true son of toruk makto. The son Lo'ak never was. "C'mon, bro, stop crying, it's just a scraped knee"

"Sorry, it just- it hurts so much, Neteyam" Lo'ak was not talking about his knee, but his brother did not know.

"I know, Lo'ak, but all wounds heal with time" He said without taking his eyes off of Lo'ak's knee, too concentrated in applying the medicine, then a cotton patch.

"All wounds?" Lo'ak's words were filled with hope as he looked up at his older brother. Hope for the reassurance he so desperately needed.

He just needed to hear from his big brother that everything was going to be alright. One last time.

"Of course! Sure, it hurts now and, shit, it's going to sting for a couple of days but, soon enough, the pain will go away."

"You promise?"

"Yes, brother! Now, c'mon, dad said he would take us hunting today!"

"I remember that!" Lo'ak chuckled between hiccups as the memory came back to him. Riding with his father and brother on ikran, hunting and camping together. At night, their father shared tales of his old life back on earth by a campfire. Lo'ak remembered thinking that was a perfect day.

The eldest Sully boy helped his brother up, making sure he could stand on his own before letting go of him.

Lo'ak's crying had fully ceased at that point, his heart felt as light as it did when he was a little kid, a heart that knew nothing of war, loss or guilt.

"You should go ahead, Neteyam, get our stuff ready. I'll be there soon."

"Alright, baby bro, I'll be waiting for you." Neteyam smiled back at him before disappearing into the forest.

"'Til I see you again, big brother."

cinnamondumbb © 2022 — please do not copy/repost/translate my work without my permission. (♡) + rb! :p

[icyowl]

You find out Vash is a plant

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x reader

Request: none

Synopsis: you find out Vash is a plant and suddenly all the heartache begins to make sense

A/N: There are a lot of transitions in this. Please let me know if its super confusing, but yeah, I had an idea that needed to stretch its legs.

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

“So. I guess this explains a lot, then.” You said. Like any perfectly sane, positively normal person, you did, in fact, expect the unconscious man laying on the cot in front of you to reply. Maybe he would? Who knew what he could or couldn't do, now that you knew he wasn't a human. An independent plant as the older lady — Luida — had called him. Now, with you left alone in the room with Vash to digest what had happened on the Humpback, it began to make sense. Lack of food or hunger, legendary marksmanship, sublime strength from such a nimble frame, the ability to seemingly dodge bullets. . . maybe it also explained the more complicated interactions between the two of you. The tension, the escapes, the excuses—

“But it doesn't.” You bit out. He had kissed you first all those weeks ago after nearly getting himself killed. Desire was hot in your blood when you collided bodily into him after finding the idiot unscathed apart from bruises and scrapes. It had been hours since he had disappeared with a throng of vigilantes on his hide to keep you safe; his heaving chest, the grime on the bridge of his nose, a too-casual comment about you being safe now — you wanted to dive under the coat until no one could tell you two apart. You didn't, though. You controlled the hormones for his sake and comfortability. He was the one to grabbed you by the chin as only some lusting lover would and hauled you over to his mouth.

“You kissed me, Vash, and then you go and say. . .”

“Wait.” He had spoken after you had just begun to sink into the moment and take his insufferable sunglasses off. His grip was sure, firm, when he stopped you. The pause where he held you pinned beneath his gaze made it seem like he didn't know what to say. Seconds passed. His eyes searched your features for an answer to your questions and confusion. Somewhere, he found it. “They might have followed me back. I should make another lap.”

Lap around what? The impatience he'd just had to get to you, touch you, be on you, had been swallowed back behind his eyes. Pitifully, you did what you could to protest: “Wait, your wounds—”

“I'll be back in an hour. It's late, get some sleep.”

So you figured he considered the kiss a mistake — a moment of ferocity after the tension of near-death — and you backed off. Shorter conversations, less time in the same room, some of your own sad excuses in an attempt to create space, quash the giddy crush already rooted deep behind your heart. You tried to be an adult and move on like a big girl.

“I come to the conclusion,” you said to the sleeping man on the cot, god, you still felt the adoration for him deep in your marrow, “that you're not interested, right? Because you said nothing when I pushed you away. You did nothing. Okay. Fine. Then when I had an infection from the bullet hole you fished out of my arm, and those raiders held the entire town hostage for two days until you stormed in, and they killed that mom's newborn baby right in front of me, and we got chased out and I still had the baby's blood on my face and the infection was getting worse and we didn't think I'd make it through the night.”

You breathed to get the overwhelming feelings in check. “You wiped my tears, you kissed my forehead, you rocked me to sleep, you told me you loved me. I guess that could be, like, a platonic love, but come on! You can't blame me for reading into it!”

Despite you increased volume there was no sign Vash had stirred. The connection he had made with the plant must have really taken a toll.

“So at this point, I'm thinking you're interested, right? We've held hands a few times at this point, gone on, like, what I consider dates and stuff. Great. You're done being wishy-washy and you've decided to try this thing out. We go slow, I figured you're just a little nervous, but we're making out, and I make sure to leave your sunglasses alone this time, and then. . .”

Your lips buzzed faintly at the memory. Who knew what led to the tension this time, you couldn't remember, but you'd never forget the gentle care he took with you. Something about messing with his sunglasses was a trigger, so you left them alone and figured you'd just work with the rims pushing against your cheeks. He was showing you a caressing kind of affection that worked you open from the inside out. You wanted to give him everything. Every fear, every trauma, every blemish. He, too, seemed to let himself give into the raw feelings quickly bubbling up. His grip on you got tighter and pulled you closer. The kisses grew faster and their strength forced you to lean back. You could feel his abdominals quiver where you fisted his shirt.

His warm, wet tongue reached out and moved along your bottom lip, causing the faintest sound to break from your throat. Just like that, the moment shattered. Vash grabbed your shoulders and held you at arms length. He kept his face obscured, ducked down and away, but you could hear the quiet gasping as he struggled to catch his breath. You called to him only to be interrupted: “Have to - feed the tomas.”

He had made for the door without sparing you a single glance and he shut it just as quickly. You waited, processed the moment and your thoughts, maybe yelled or cried or punched something. He didn't return until the next morning, breakfast in hand and fake smile plastered too-clearly on his lying face.

Shifting bedding caught your attention. Vash moved a little in bed, bringing you back to the present. You didn't realize your hands were clenched tightly into fists.

“So by this point, I'm like, really confused. You let the kiss last that long, you go for the tongue, then push me away. Like, fool me once, but fool me twice? At this point, as I hope you can understand, I'm pissed. If I were meaner, I'd punch you in the stomach right now and wake you up. Then, last week, you're all protective when you have no right to be. Why you got mad, I still have no idea.”

Frankly, he had every right to get mad. No good, low life, dirty pricks had cornered you on the way back to Vash and co. after an errand run. If their sleezy gazes and crude humor didn't get their intentions across, the invading hands and the guy who tripped you and got over top of you definitely made things clear. Your scream was blocked by a hand over your mouth and nose, the thrashing was futile, and when your fear began to lock up every joint and muscle you had, the tables began to drastically turn. Vash's stark golden hair and whipping crimson coat brought such a powerful sense of relief to you that you nearly fell limp. Until the real fun began.

Vash didn't speak, or shout, no, he growled. Roared even. He used his cybernetic hand to punch and throw and strangle. Gone was the gentle pacifist you'd grown familiar with, replaced instead with a creature so potent with rage he'd become unrecognizable. The perpetrator was lifted up by the front of his shirt and smashed unceremoniously into the concrete building. He gagged when the cool nickel of the a gun barrel was forced into his mouth without hesitation.

It took you and Wolfwood using every ounce of strength — pulling on his arm, shoulder, coat, anywhere you could reach — to wake him up. Even then, it was only when Vash descended from his savagery upon hearing your cries that he let the guy go. For his part, Vash did seem ashamed to have done it after the fact, but Wolfwood was still sure to give him a lashing.

“What would you have done if you'd actually killed him? Huh?! Answer me!” He'd said, cigarette dangerously close to falling from his teeth.

“I wasn't going to shoot—”

“With the look you had, I'm not so sure! Look, I don't care what you do or don't do to get some action, but the next time you get caught up in your emotions, I'll be putting a gun in your mouth.”

You tried to get Vash's eye after the exchange, but he opted for averted gazes and brooding silence. Wolfwood made you think: did Vash get like that because of you? Your first instinct was scoff, think back on all the times he rejected your advances or backpedaled his own, but you had to admit, he had a talent for reading people. There was also the incident just a few days ago, after you'd been unconscious for more than a day following a nasty run-in with bounty hunters. Getting thrown off a cliff would do that to you.

Vash was gone when you'd come to. Meryl had send him away to bathe and rest while she took watch over you. She tried to keep you, she really did, but the near-death experience put fire in your veins; you weren't going to risk dying anymore without getting answers from him.

His door was unlocked when you threw it open. All spice and vinegar, you exploded into his room, intent on unloading every ounce of angst and confusion he'd caused you, only to freeze solid.

You noticed the minefield of marks on his back just as you took note of the pristine muscles underneath them. They flexed and rolled when he turned to you, locked up when he saw who it was. He bounded for you just as you stepped towards him. You'd only intended to pull him close, assure him you didn't care how he looked, enjoy a moment in life spent with him, but again, he was the one touch his lips to yours. Mmmm, maybe touch was the wrong word.

His teeth clanged off yours with the force of his advance. You didn't mind. You didn't have much of a mind with the way he grabbed onto a hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

With difficulty, Vash contained himself enough to get a few words in. “You're okay - mhm - you're okay. Let me just - get a shirt, so you don't have to—”

“You thought I cared about scars, Vash? Oh god, I wanna see you, wanna feel you—”

At least, you figured his reaction meant his past rejections had been because he didn't want to show you his body. Foolish. One of your thumbs caressing an old knife wound on his abs and he began to put space between you. Like an idiot, you fought back. You called to him, pleaded, tried to fight the arms pushing you rapidly towards the door. What had you done wrong? What did you do to deserve this? Why was he doing this to you? You asked him all of it and got smokey replies in exchange.

“I just - I can't - not right now - just, you didn't do anything wrong. Please, I'm glad you're okay, but go—”

Wood slats and metal bolts slammed shut on you, knocking against your nose. It was like it shut out your emotions, too. All you could do was stare numbly, unmoving, at the wear marks and hatching staring you down when it should have been his eyes. A wave of desperation crested under your muscles. BAM. The door shook with the power of your fist. It stung now. It would throb later. You didn't bother to care.

“Coward!” You cried.

Vash's lonely sigh could be heard from the other side. You didn't move, knowing you'd sleep outside his room, ambush him whenever he decided to emerge, if it meant you could get him to answer for the thorns piercing your chest.

“I know I am.” He said, words warbled by the door but still distinguishable. “I am a coward. I'm hurting you and its the last thing I want.”

“Then. . . why?” You weeped.

“I'm not. . . I'm not what you need.”

“Is this because you think you're not good enough? Vash, you're the kindest, most compassionate person on the face of this planet. I want you. I want you.”

“You don't know that.” He cut in.

Your anger returned fearsomely. Didn't know? You didn't know what you wanted? This prick — this stupid, beautiful, arrogant prick, thought he could decide what as best for you after all the shit he caused. Intelligence: insulted. Feelings: disregarded. Autonomy: stripped. Trust: obliterated. He'd brought you in, pushed you out, then had the audacity to make it your fault for getting angry. Fuck, maybe he really was a walking calamity.

“You don't know me. Maybe you would have, but you don't. You won't, either.”

A quiet snore from the man sleeping in front of you broke through the memories. After what happened with the Humpback, Livio, the Bad Lads, and the plasma cannon, you didn't have the same coursing fury as you had just the other night. After seeing him with the plant, after seeing what he was, after learning so much. . . you were at a bit of a loss.

“I get it now.” You said to the empty air. “You don't want to be with me. Lust, hormones, they made you slip up, but you'll wake up, push me away, pretend it never happened, because I'm a human, right? Something like you would never want to be with something like me.”

The emotions took hold of your throat until it was hard to breathe and clawed at your eyes until they watered and you had to shut them tight to keep from having a complete meltdown. Near-death experience? Check. Unrequited love? Check. Felling the simultaneous crush of insecurity and self-loathing because you feel both inadequate for the man you're in love with and too stupid to have seen it sooner or looked out for your own emotional health before it was too late? Triple check.

Synthetic fingers pulled at your clenched fist to try and get your muscles to relax, to stop your fingernails from making painful divots in your beautiful skin. “I'll always want you.” Vash said.

You looked into his eyes taking you in with a soft affection you refused to acknowledge. No. Not again. He wouldn't lure you into a trap so easily this time. Seconds passed as you grew more mortified with the situation. Was he awake the entire time?

“How much of that. . .”

“I think I really started listening when you mentioned platonic love.”

Though it was a joke, the thumb casually brushing over your knuckles brought you back to the seriousness of the moment. You jerked you hand away hastily.

“You'll always want me? Stop kidding yourself. If you had an ounce of respect for me, you'd care about my opinions. You wouldn't push me away, string me along, put up this fake persona and act like everything's okay when you've hurt the person you say you care about.”

You stood to leave only for his flesh-hand to reach across to secure your wrist. “It's not because you're human, it's because I'm not.” When you turned back, surprised and mute, he continued. “I know I've been horrible to you, I know I don't deserve you or any second chance. . . but. . . I need to show you. If you'll let me.”

His words gave truth to what you had seen: he wasn't human. You were hesitant; not because of what he was, but because of what he did. But you knew, above all else, you felt safe. When he had grabbed you, not a single cell in your body recoiled or shied away. Vash had never once given you any reason to fear him.

This kiss was far gentler than before, but felt even more intense. He took his time, pushing back the lust in favor of something more real, more permanent. Vash pulled you open in a way that gave you the chance to end it whenever you wanted. The back of his knuckles caressed you cheek. This time, your heart clenched in an entirely different way. When you finally got the self-control to pull back. . . the sight was surreal.

Abstract glyphs began to glow and pulse from under his skin. Back and forth, a winding mosaic deeply embedded, on his chin, nose, and neck and in his eyes. Even the pupils were lit with a soft blue light. When he brought your hand to hold his cheek, the light show shined brighter and pulsed more excitedly where you skin touched. “I didn't want you to see this. Normally the markings only show when I'm-” he paused to swallow “-in contact with another plant. They've never shown up around a human before. And I can't control it this time — I tried, when we kissed before. I can't stop it, and I didn't want you to find out the truth.

“I told myself I could have you and you'd never find out what I was. Dumb, right? I believed it could work if I did it just right. That's why I ran away or pushed you out. I was trying to keep it under control, but I could feel it coming to the surface. With you, I think my body feels some kind of connection.”

You were a little too awestruck by the bioluminescent spectacle going on to fully take in his words at first. When your hands moved down to hold his jaw, you could feel the intensity of his pulse under the fingertips skimming his neck.

“At least I'm not the only one.” You finally said.

Perhaps it was the relief, maybe it was that last wall of his coming down for you, but he knocked his forehead into yours and sighed in a powerful rush that had his whole body slouching into you.

“You have no idea how much I wan—”

“Come on kids, don't be giving each other diseases.”

You pulled away from Vash so sharply you would've fallen back off the bed had he not yanked you back to him. “Wolfwood!”

“So? Guess you finally grew a spine and told her about this whole plant thing?”

“Wait,” you stopped, putting the pieces together, “when did you find out?”

“You really think he'd sleep this long? Dude's been awake for hours.”

“What?!”

Your now-lover's cheeks darkened. “You weren't supposed to tell her that!”

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 18/34 - ashes

[Read on AO3]

“I love what you've done with the place,” a voice speaks as soon as the apartment door closes behind her. She looks up at the darkened shadow in the corner, only partially illuminated by the dim light of Mulder's fish tank. His face lights up with an orange flash as he flicks his lighter on, bringing the flame to the tip of his cigarette. It reflects off the hard edges of his face, giving him the monstrous appearance of a gargoyle for the briefest of moments before fading into black once more.

“What do you want?” Scully asks, no patience for beating around the bush with this man. At least he appears to be incapable of harming anyone. The man looks like he already has one foot in the grave, and she'd love to give him that last little push he needs.

“I want you to stop looking,” he answers simply.

“You've wanted that since 1973, when you ordered an end to the search for Mulder's sister,” she says, unmoved. “Your initials are on the document, I've seen it.”

If he’s surprised that she’s figured that much out on her own, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, I signed that order because I knew then what I know now: No one's going to find her.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe she's dead.” The words deal a crushing blow, as does the cold, unfeeling way he speaks them. “No reason to believe otherwise,” he says offhandedly, gesturing vaguely with his cigarette.

“You're a liar,” Scully says softly, her hatred of the man simmering just below the surface. “If you knew that she was dead, why didn't you say something earlier? Why now?”

“There was so much to protect before,” he says with a shrug. “It's all gone now.” The Syndicate, reduced to ashes. Their leader obviously barely hanging on by a thread.

“So you just let Mulder believe that she was alive for all these years?” she asks, furious, if that’s the case. It makes her sick, the way he toys with Mulder like a puppet. 

“Out of kindness, Agent Scully,” he says. “Allow him his ignorance. It's what gives him hope.”

Scully rears back in disgust. How dare he talk about hope? How could he dangle the false promise of everything Mulder has ever wanted in front of him, and ask her to do the same?

Never.

“That isn't what gives him hope,” she says, glaring at the very embodiment of evil standing in her living room.

He gives a low chuckle, its sound chilling. 

“No, I suppose you're right. He has much better things to hope for now, doesn't he?” The insinuation that he knows what they’re up to terrifies her, but she won’t let it show. “I suppose I ought to thank you for that, Agent Scully,” he continues. “I never could have predicted how sending you to him would turn out, but you're good for him. Despite what you may think, it delights me to see my son so happy. And in the end, I succeeded in my purpose of sending him to you after all.”

“Which was what?” she spits.

“To distract him,” he says calmly. “To get him to quit.”

Well, tough luck, you black-lunged creep. “It didn't work out that way.”

“No, it didn't,” he concedes with a nod. “In fact, he became even more focused with you in the picture. A miscalculation, on my part. But I don't see how that's worth dwelling on now. Everything I built is gone.”

“I want you to leave us alone,” Scully demands. She wants nothing more than to get as far away from this man as possible, but she holds her ground. She won’t give him the satisfaction of spooking her.

“I will, so long as the two of you stay away from my business,” he says, taking another puff of his cigarette. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“You don’t know us at all, do you?”

He chuckles again. “Unfortunately, I do.” The shadows on his face shift as he takes a step in her direction. “In any case, I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your future together.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” she says coldly, not even giving him an inch as he moves past her to the doorway.

He drops his cigarette onto the hardwood floor and steps on it to put it out. Its stench burns at her nostrils, and she isn’t sure even her strongest cleaning chemicals will be enough to remove it. “Your snark is noted, Agent Scully,” he says with a sickening half-smile and a nod. 

He opens the door and steps into the hall, then looks back at her one final time.

“Best of luck in your endeavors,” he says.

By the time she goes to shut the door behind him, he’s gone.

-.-.-

Mulder’s ramblings about his sister are nearly incoherent the next time she speaks to him. That, combined with her own experiences since returning to Washington, means she’s booking another ticket back out to California, a move that will certainly have the Bureau accounting people staring her down for the next month or so.

But it proves to be the right decision, because Mulder has found something. The most significant something that’s come his way since all this began.

She doesn’t know what it means.

She’s with him when he finds Samantha’s diary. Drawn there by some otherworldly force, or so he says. She can’t argue with the results, though. Hidden in this house, on an abandoned military base, is the diary of a fourteen year old Samantha Mulder.

Her heart aches for the girl, and for her big brother who drinks in every word scrawled on the page in blue ink.

The diary leads them to a police report. Which leads them to a hospital. Which leads them to the home of a retired nurse.

Which leads to the truth.

Finally.

The nurse tells a tale of a nameless girl, strange injuries, the fear in her eyes. Mysterious men who came looking for her in a cloud of cigarette smoke, and how she vanished from a locked room before they could get to her.

It almost raises more questions than answers, but Scully hopes it’s enough. Enough to satisfy her dearest friend, so that he can truly begin to live.

He disappears off on his own in the short time she’s away, talking to the nurse on her doorstep of her home. But she feels something too, like he had when they first arrived here.

This is where it ends. This is where the rest of their life together truly begins.

-.-.-

He’s not sure what it is exactly that pulls him further into the woods. But, the second he catches sight of the little boy again, translucent in the moonlight, he knows with a sinking feeling what he will find.

It’s overwhelming.

With each step he takes, he becomes more and more certain. Like the puzzle pieces are all sliding into place, forming the picture of their own accord. The lack of effort required by him, after all this time, leaves him feeling hollow and empty.

He's letting go. He has no choice but to do so now, faced with the facts before him. The place inside him where the mystery of his lost sister festered for so long has become a gaping hole, and he feels lost without it already. Uncertain where to go next, now that his guiding force is gone.

His first glimpse of her stills him, and even though deep down, he'd expected to find her, the actuality of it shakes him. It feels both unbelievable and startlingly real at the same time, and he doesn't know what to do. Does he cry? Close his eyes and reject the reality in front of him? Should he leave, satisfied with this conclusion to his life's mission despite it being not what he expected or hoped for?

In the end, he does none of those things. Her name drips from his lips, an answer to a question that has haunted him for decades. Simple, but unimaginably profound.

“Samantha...”

His feet carry him toward her in a trance. Her movement is not so restrained. Her beaming smile practically lights up the forest as she dashes to him, her dark waves bouncing over her shoulders.

She's taller than he's ever seen her, and yet, his own height makes her smaller by comparison. He enfolds her in his arms, not expecting much of anything, but he feels her.

There's no breath in her lungs, but she has a solid form. She's surprisingly warm, not like a living body would be, but—he supposes—like light. Electricity buzzes under the surface when her hand lands on his cheek, and though she's different, at heart she's the same.

He can practically hear her voice in his head as she grins happily up at him, her brother.

“Fox!” her eyes say, his name conveyed in the shine of recognition he sees there.

He swallows back the lump in his throat and crouches to his knees, inspecting the changes on her face with the gentle brush of his fingers.

This is what she'd looked like in the end. While he was off in England, beginning his studies at Oxford, this girl was still here, suffering at the hands of her captors, unable to recall anything more than his face.

He'd never forgotten her. Sometimes he'd hoped he might find her, to see her grown up and happy, freed from whoever it was that had abducted her.

Other times, he'd been certain he would never see her again. He convinced himself it would be a mercy if she'd been dead all this time.

Now, he supposes both were right. She was gone, granted the mercy of a peaceful exit from this life by the mysterious inner workings of the universe. But also…

He gets to see her. For what will be the last time, he knows.

And she is happy, he can tell. At peace. Really, that's all he can ask for.

“There's so much I wish I could tell you,” he says, blinking through tear filled eyes to keep her in his vision. 

He thinks of all that has happened to him since she disappeared. In some ways, he’s the same person he was all those years ago. In other ways, he is completely changed. He wants her to know him as he is. To know who her big brother has become.

“I'm going to be a father.”

The words leave his mouth unrestrained, but she seems to understand his need to say them. She smiles softly, tilting her head in what could either be a teasing or truly genuine response.

“I know,” he says with a chuckle. “You think I'll be any good?”

Her answer comes in the featherlight touch of her hand against his, and it feels sincere. He sees flashes of her memories of them together, playing games, walking together to her piano lessons after school, him setting out a TV dinner for her on the nights neither of their parents were home to feed them… He knows what she's trying to say, and it warms his heart, even if he can't hear her reassurance with his own ears.

Her fingers brush over the back of his hand, and he follows their path with his eyes until she lands on his bare ring finger. When he looks up at her, he finds an inquisitive look on her face that almost makes him laugh.

It's strange, to be with his baby sister as an adult. Marriage was the furthest thing from his mind when he'd last seen her. Back then, his only thought was what could happen on the next episode of Star Trek or whether he could convince his father to let him go to summer camp on the mainland that summer. But now, he's all grown up, and in a way, so is she.

“Yeah,” he says, responding to her unspoken question. Smiling quietly to himself, he pulls out the chain that holds his ring from beneath his shirt and dangles it out in front of her. Her eyes instantly light up, and she brings her forefinger up to his chest to touch the cool metal. Gently, like it might shock her.

“Dana,” he says boldly. He's not sure why, but he feels the need to tell her everything. She’s a ghost, or something very like it. The things of this world should no longer concern her. But she should know the name of her sister-in-law. That, at least, he can tell her. “Her name is Dana.”

Samantha looks happy. Relieved, even, which he thinks is strange. If anything, he's the one who should feel relieved, having found her after so long. But maybe she has cause for it, too. Maybe she's spent these years worried about him, just as he has worried for her.

Her small hand splays on his upper chest in a purposeful motion, near his collar bone on the left. He looks down at her hand and then back at her, trying to discern what question she may be asking now.

The scar there tingles, and for the first time, he feels a little guilty that he hasn't taken a little better care of himself. Standing in front of her now, he knows that's not what she would have wanted.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he says, chuckling softly. “She's the one who shot me. But I’m okay now.”

The corners of Samantha’s lips turn up in a small smile, but she shakes her head. No, that's not what she was wondering.

His brows furrow, and he's about to tell her that he doesn't understand when her fingers start to tap rhythmically against his chest.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

The question mark at the end of the sentence is written on her face, and he finally makes the connection.

‘Do you love her?’ she's asking.

He grabs her hand, cupping it between his own much larger ones, and stares deep into her eyes. He won't lie, not to her.

“More than anything.”

Samantha gives a satisfied nod, a content smile on her face. He knows they don't have much time left, but there's still so much more he wishes he could say.

“I'm sorry I couldn't protect you,” he speaks, finally releasing the apology he's had stored up for over twenty years. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”

‘It's okay. I'm okay, now,’ her peaceful expression says. He feels her forgiveness as if it had been spoken aloud, and it's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

‘You’ll be okay, too?’ she asks him next, the words voiced in the expectant tilt of her head.

He glances heavenward, willing the tears to subside for a few more minutes so he can get through this, but manages to smile and nod in response.

“Yeah. I think I'll be okay.”

-.-.-

She's just about to go looking for him when she sees his figure wandering back toward them. What he'd been doing in the woods, she can't begin to guess, but as he approaches, she levels him with a worried gaze.

His necklace is visible, resting atop his clothes instead of under them for once. It glints in the moonlight, and Scully briefly worries that someone will see, but there is no one here who would care.

“Mulder?” she asks. It takes all that is in her to resist the urge to touch him, to check him for physical injuries or other external signs of damage. He seems fine, but it's what goes on inside his head that really concerns her.

“It's over,” he answers in a calm voice. 

His response doesn't do much to reassure her. Calm on the outside certainly doesn't mean calm on the inside, as she well knows, and she still worries he'll shut her out.

He should know by now that his search for the truth is as much hers as it is his.

“Are you okay?” she asks, prodding deeper in hopes he won't shut down. 

He smiles at that, something about her words amusing him, and that offers her a little relief. The feeling only grows stronger as he pulls her into his arms, resting his head atop hers and swaying slightly on his feet.

“I'm okay,” he assures her, in a quiet voice meant only for her. “I'm free.” 

She feels his arms tighten around her, and his voice drops even further, hardly more than a breath into the still night air when he speaks again, insistent.

“We're free.”

-.-.-

She's laying half asleep on top of the scratchy motel room quilt when his voice penetrates the comfortable silence. Despite what she'd told Skinner, she's not keen on letting him out of her sight. Not after what he'd gone through. He lays beside her, curled up under the covers and facing the wall, only the hum of the clunky air conditioner perched in the window to fill the quiet.

“I told her about you,” he reveals.

She stills. He'd mentioned seeing Samantha in the forest, of course. Talked about ethereal children playing in the clearing, the echoing sounds of their laughter and squeals of delight the only sounds he could hear.

Whether she believes him or not, she's relieved that it brought him closure.

The idea that they'd talked about her, however, has her hoping and praying that it’s true. She wishes she could have been there with him. Could have seen her with her own eyes, this girl who has so completely shaped both Mulder's life and hers.

“What did you say?” she asks calmly, staring fixedly up at the ceiling. Her curiosity in this matter makes her feel vulnerable, and the ensuing silence does nothing to ease her nerves.

With the rustle of sheets, though, he turns over, his knees bumping against her legs under the covers. She fights the compulsion to look at him, knowing that if she did, she’d be faced with the full intensity of the stare she feels prickling the side of her face.

He inches closer, the movements jostling the springy mattress, and he maneuvers his head until it's practically on her pillow. She feels his breath on her neck, the spiky ends of his hair brushing against her cheek, commanding the totality of her attention.

“Someday I'll tell you, Scully,” he whispers, curling deeper into the bed. His forehead nuzzles against her shoulder and her eyes fall shut, lost entirely to the sensation of him beside her. “I promise.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[moonchildstyles]

fic announcement and sneak peek!

hiiiii besties!!!

I said a while back when I announced columba that I would be coming back with another series for both Tumblr and patreon this summer and that time has come :)))))))))))

for the last four years Ive had this idea in my head for a super special h that ive just let build a home in my heart that kept growing and growing and growing! now ive finally had a chance to write it all out and make him real with a fun story and lots of little details to make him who he is!

I don't want to spoil too much about him just because I want there to be a little mystery for him and theres so many fun details that I think will be really fun to put together when you dont' know what he's up to!

so, starting on June 30th, Rosemary will begin being posted with a new part every friday here on Tumblr! Patreon will be getting early access with the first part being posted on June 16th, and every friday after! an extended sneak peek is also up on my patreon rn!

If you are interested in reading the new story, please wait until June 1st to sign up so you only get charged once at the beginning of the month and theres a full 30 days before the next charge!

you can also check out the Pinterest board I made for the fic!

let me know if you guys have any questions about anything! im sooooo excited and cannot wait for you all to read!

under the cut is a sneak peek :)

—————

"Thank you, Harry!" 

The bow girl's chirping gratitude only had Harry looking at her stiffly with a grumbled Yeah falling from his lips. Just as she had done the last couple of months since she made herself a presence during his shifts, she only gave him a smile before bouncing away with her basket only containing a carton of banana milk and her favorite cookies. She was no longer perturbed by the standoffish responses he gave her. Harry couldn't decide if he liked that or not. 

It was like this at least a couple of times a week. She never did a big shop, only stopping by at the later times to pick up individual ingredients for a dinner she had chatted to him about, or little snacks she couldn't seem to go a day without. During at least one of her trips, she found an excuse to talk to Harry; she asked him about his day if she was close enough to feel comfortable starting a question (Harry never gave her a good answer, honestly), she told him about her own day and what she was shopping for if there was anything specific she had in mind. She almost always had a bow pinned her hair, fluttering behind her and matching whatever soft piece of clothing she had cinched around her form. Harry had even began fishing out a pack of her favorite cookies from his boxes if he was stocking that aisle, just to make it easy if she came in and asked him for assistance. It made the interactions quicker and less bothersome—at least that's what he told himself. 

He knew more about her and her routines than he had any of the hundreds of people he'd met in the last handful of years since he started moving around. Even if that did make him feel a bit guilty knowing that she didn't have a clue about who exactly she was sharing these parts of herself with; she didn't know the mess she was tiptoeing around every time she interacted with him. 

Tonight was no different, her leaving a rattling in Harry's bones that he wanted nothing more than to ignore like every other part of his life. If he was superstitious, he would think she could have cast some kind of spell on him with the way she and her little bows lingered in his brain long after she had checked out and gone on her way home. 

That rattling followed him as he made his way into the backroom, his empty box needing to be replaced. An exasperated sigh fought to leave his chest when he saw almost half of the overnight team huddled in the area, puttering about as they chattered and pretended to work. He didn't like being roped into their conversations, and that almost always happened when he ran into more than two of them at once. 

Harry didn't say a word as he broke down the cardboard box on his cart, pushing it off to the pile of the other flattened boxes before he reached for another. The conversations had quieted some when he walked in, but he could still hear what sounded like Brett and Fawn flirting in the back corner with a cart of refrigerated items that needed to go on the opposite end of the store, and Theo talking to two of the other guys that Harry didn't bother to remember their names. 

"Busy night, huh, Harry?" Theo started, dropping whatever topic he had been rambling his friends about just a moment before. 

"Yeah," Harry answered, voice stiff. It wasn't any more busy than any other night as far as he was concerned. Besides, he had other things he needed to worry about to be making conversation with a coworker he barely knew. There was still a pearl colored ribbon tying his stomach in tiny knots that he needed to fix. 

Soon enough, a silence fell through the backroom when the others made their way out. Only Harry and Theo were left, Harry doing his part to semi-organize his chosen box before heading out on the floor again. 

Maybe it was the rattling in his bones, or the vision of a peach colored bow that he saw every time he blinked, but something in Harry felt a little reckless when he peeked over at Theo focusing on his own box. 

"That girl," Harry rumbled, feeling odd in his skin as he spoke, "The one with the bows in her hair... She comes in a lot." 

Theo looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide with furrowed brows as he looked in Harry's direction. He even glanced over his shoulder as if there was anyone else there for the conversation to be aimed at. Harry had to keep from scoffing, dropping his gaze back to his working hands. 

Floundering over his words, Theo tried to catch up once he realized Harry was voluntarily talking. "Um, the one with bows in her hair?" 

Harry hummed in response. "She's in a couple of times a week." 

"Ohhh," Theo sounded, familiarity touching his tone, "You mean (Y/N)?" 

Harry swallowed at the sound of her name. He'd never asked for it himself. "If that's her name, yeah." 

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Theo nodding his head some. "She comes in a lot, yeah. She's not good at keeping a list and always forgets stuff if she tries to do big shops, so she just comes in when she wants something or runs out." 

Though he didn't want this information to mean something to him, Harry felt a part of himself slowing being fulfilled the more details he learned. She didn't tell him these kinds of things when she rambled about her dinner choice for the night. 

Keeping his gaze tacked to his hands, Harry kept his words measured and calculated. "Oh," he started, "Is she from here?" 

"She's lived here forever, yeah. Why?" 

A beat passed as Harry opted to ignore the second part of Theo's response. He didn't need to have any details as to why Harry was asking after someone after working together for five months with only a handful of interactions. Even if he did want to share that, Harry didn't have any answers to that why, anyway. 

"Does she... What does she do?" Harry asked, the phrasing of his words feeling awkward falling out of his mouth. He was lucky he was so used to shielding his emotions and staying stoic, otherwise he would have cringed where he stood. 

"Like for work?" Theo asked, his eyes warm on Harry's profile. 

Lifting his shoulders, Harry only shrugged in response. It was probably a good idea to keep his mouth shut. 

"She—uh—she works at the bakery. She and my sister work there together," Theo told him, acting as if Harry was supposed to know what bakery he was talking about and who his sister was. "(Y/N)'s pretty nice, though." 

"Right," was all Harry offered by the time he finished organizing his box. He didn't bother to give anything more in response or wait for Theo to say more before he was walking out on the floor again. Even when he could feel his eyes stuck to his back.

No doubt would this interaction make its way to the rest of the team before the end of the shift. 

It was harmless curiosity, Harry argued. He just had to believe the harmless part. 

—————

[butterflydm]

wot reread: a memory of light (chapter 37)

spoilers for the last book, a memory of light

I am going to do this enormous chapter a little differently than the previous chapters (basically so that I can refer to this post later and understand all the various threads and not get them mixed up with each other). Instead of going in chronological order by each event presented to me, I'm going to have different PoV sections and then have my thoughts under each of those.

Egwene & Gawyn (& Galad)

Gawyn is exhausted, despite the week that they all just took to prepare for this last push of the battle. That's not a good sign. Pretty sure that's the Bloodknife ring sapping his strength. Yeah, when he puts the ring on again "his strength returned". (From TGS: "One never committed Bloodknives unless one was very serious, for they did not return from their missions." "The incredible abilities came at a cost, however, for the rings leeched life from their hosts, killing them in a matter of days. Removing the ring would slow that process slightly but once activated - done by touching a drop of one's own blood to the stone ring while wearing it - the process was irreversible.") He's already dead. He's just still walking around. Oh, hon.

"[Egwene] hesitated for a moment, looking through the gateway to Mat's command post. Egwene met the eyes of the Seanchan woman across the table, where she sat imperiously on her throne. I have not finished with you, Egwene thought." A very mean thing for Sanderson to write here, considering.

From her sense in the bond, she believes that Gawyn has gone off "to join the Andoran army" and sends Bryne to fetch him. Then she assigns Siuan to go "join Mat and the Seanchan Empress and listen with ears accustomed to hearing what is not spoken". Siuan calls Egwene a legacy that will shape "what is to come".

"I'll help watch this Seanchan woman for you, maybe help poor Min crawl out of the fang-fish net she's found herself in." Good luck, Siuan!

Egwene realizes, too late, that she's sent Bryne off to the wrong place, as once she travels to her own new location, that Gawyn is actually "on the Heights themselves, where the Shadow held the strongest."

Honestly, using the Special Assassin Rings to try to commit a Special Assassination on the leader of the Shadowspawn forces sounds like... a good idea? Gawyn knows that the original Bloodknives were doing a very good job specifically murdering Aes Sedai, because that was the crime that he was investigating when he found them in the first place. I also wonder if a lot of people forgot or missed that this attempt to go kill Demandred is not when Gawyn first activated the ring and signed his own death warrant (I bet that I missed it during my first read too). That he first activated the ring back when he and Egwene were pinned down by the Sharans and death seemed right around the corner for both of them. Gawyn's death has been irreversible since chapter 23.

"Once, perhaps, he would have done this for the pride of the battle and the chance to pit himself against Demandred. That was not his heart now. His heart was the need. Someone had to fight this creature, someone had to kill him or they would lose this battle. They could all see it. Risking Egwene or Logain would be too great a gamble. Gawyn could be risked. No one would send him to do this -- no one would dare -- but it was necessary."

He isn't able to get the assassin's blow off on Demandred and it looks like a key element is because Demandred detected the 'weave' that the ter'angreal is using on him. He calls it Night's Shade and confirms that it "leaks your life away".

I wonder why Demandred's face seems "eerily familiar" to Gawyn? I can't think of why that might be. lol, why does Demandred call everyone "little"? "Little man." "Little queen". "Little swordsman". What is your obsessions with everyone's heights? (wait, is he the one that was SLIGHTLY shorter than LTT and pissed off about it? as opposed to Sammael, who was considerably shorter than LTT and pissed off about it?)

haha, Demandred is CONVINCED that Lews Therin is the one directing the battle on the other side, either using Mat's face as a Mask of Mirrors or by sending messages through Mat. He has a spy in Mat's camp, probably, but is convinced that Rand is there somewhere, hiding. I mean, I kinda wish he were, just so that Rand and Mat COULD HAVE A REAL SCENE TOGETHER, but Demandred and I will both have to be disappointed. But it's kinda funny that it feels like Gawyn was rejecting the idea that he is "following" Rand in, like, a philosophical way, but Demandred meant "Lews Therin is literally your battle commander".

Gawyn loses the duel. And I like Gawyn this time around, so I'm much more emotionally affected by it. That's so rude. 😭

Egwene fights to reach Gawyn, feeling how close to death he is. 😭😭

Galad is on the Heights, fighting against Sharan channelers on Mat's orders, wearing a copy of the foxhead medallion. Galad also keeps getting confronted with things about 'his' Children of Light that are making him go 'yikes'. He's killing the Sharan channelers because it makes sense for the battle and he was ordered to do it... but the Children are happy to have an excuse to kill channelers and have some... real strange beliefs that kinda make channelers akin to vampires (...burying the head separately or they will rise again?).

One of the Children finds Gawyn, near death, and brings Galad to him. As he dies, Gawyn is talking over his regrets, starting with regretting staying at the White Tower back in book 4. He tells Galad to tell Egwene that he loves her, and Galad reassures him that Egwene already knows. Galad gets very cold inside when he realizes that his brother is dying. "He had seen men die, he had lost friends. This hurt more. Light, but it did."

When he tries to tell Gawyn that he needs to leave, so that he doesn't leave Galad without a brother, Gawyn tells him about Rand. And he tells Galad not to hate Rand. "I always hated him but I stopped." And Gawyn dies. 😭😭😭

Egwene feels it when it happens. After sending out a burst of flames at the nearby enemies as the pain consumes her, she collapses for the moment (there is a group of Whitecloaks nearby so she was very very close to reaching Gawyn before he died. That is heartbreaking).

Egwene wakes up after having been removed from the battlefield. She feels empty and heartbroken but, especially after she overhears how badly the battle is going, she knows that she does not have the time for grief or mourning, not now. "Egwene al'Vere lost a man she loved, and she felt him die through a bond. The Amrylin has sympathy for Egwene al'Vere, as she would have sympathy for any Aes Sedai dealing with such loss. And then, in the face of the Last Battle, the Amrylin would expect that woman to pick herself up and return to the fight." It's interesting how (as Rand's foil), Egwene is both the same kind of hero that Rand is, but she's also the kind of hero that Rand expected himself to be but actually ends up not being. Rand's Last Battle is philosophical; Egwene's Last Battle is physical (which is to say, the show gets another point right in how they decided to distribute episode eight out to its protagonists -- with Rand's fight ultimately being in his head while Egwene's is out on the battlefield; that's what Rafe & co meant when they said they were doing a whole-series adaptation and not just adapting book-by-book. they looked at the actual endgame needs of the characters and put in the work up-front to make sure that those would vibe with the set-up).

18. In order to keep herself balanced on the battlefield, Egwene decides that she needs to bond a Warder, though she is far from emotionally ready, and she asked "Leilwin Shipless" if she will accept the duty, getting immediate agreement. And Egwene goes back out to fight again.

19. "Egwene led an assault the likes of which had not been seen in millennia." There's some intense fighting and then Egwene comes face-to-face with Taim, who calls himself M'Hael now. There is an intense battle scene. The battle involves a lot of balefire being tossed around by Taim and, in the back of her mind, Egwene ponders the notion of whether or not the weave really is impossible to counter. Egwene didn't need the help of anyone else's ancient memories in order to rediscover Traveling, after all. That was all her, figuring it out from basic principles.

20. Egwene and her Aes Sedai have been fighting on the Heights for hours. Taim reappears, pouring balefire into her line of Aes Sedai and killing dozens. Egwene thinks again about what Perrin said in TAR about balefire -- "it's only a weave" -- and considers how balefire is considered a one-of-a-kind sort of thing. But what if it isn't? What if it works like any other weave? With the One Power, there are always two halves. Logically, balefire should have an equal and opposite counterpart, just as saidar has saidin. "If a weave exists, so must its opposite". And when Taim strikes again with balefire, she counters with this idea of this weave that she has created, one that is the opposite of balefire. Something that will reinforce the Pattern instead of unraveling it.

She decides that it is called the Flame of Tar Valon, and she uses it to kill Taim.

21. Egwene realizes that she's reached the point of no return -- if she releases her grip on saidar, then she will burn out. There is too much inside her right now. More than she can hold. So she can let go and burn out and survive... or she can take that power and use it.

She tells Leilwin née Egeanin one last command -- find the seals and keep them until she sees 'the moment the light shines'. Then she wraps her up in Air and shoves her through a gateway, releasing their bond.

She closed her eyes and drew in the power. More than a woman should be able to, more than was right. Far beyond safety, far beyond wisdom. This sa'angreal had no buffer to prevent this.

Her body was spent. She offered it up and became a column of light, releasing the Flame of Tar Valon into the ground beneath her and high into the sky. The Power left her in a quiet, beautiful explosion, washing across the Sharans and sealing the cracks created by her fight with M'Hael.

Egwene's soul separated from her collapsing body and rested upon that wave, riding it into the Light.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Before I move on to the next set of plot-threads, I want to ponder a question: why on earth does Gawyn get blamed for Egwene deciding to go out in a blaze of glory? He died hours ago. She bonded a new Warder. She doesn't die out of rage over her Warder's death here. To quote Gawyn: [Her] heart was the need. Egwene looked at what the battle needed from her at that moment, and she made a choice.

Once upon a time, Lews Therin stood on a mountain after losing the love of his life, and his despair created destruction around him. Once upon a time, Egwene stood on a battlefield after losing the love of her life, and her sacrifice healed the destruction around her.

Last time around, Lews Therin was fighting the wrong battle -- and the wrong person was the one fighting in the battle.

re: Egwene dying at all. I actually do think that having one of the Emond's Field Five die was a good choice. Would I have picked Egwene as the one? Probably not. otoh, it kinda seems like the other four were all mentioned as still being alive in Jordan's epilogue, so Egwene was the only one who could die (since the epilogue was considered basically sacred). idk I'm a big softie who has a hard time killing off characters so I'm not really the person to talk to about that subject, lol.

Rand (& Nynaeve)

TDO's attack against Rand starts out as an attempt to break him down and shatter him, but Rand resists. "It was as if the Dark One was shredding him while at the same time trying to crush him entirely, coming at Rand from infinite directions, all at once, in a wave."

When that fails, TDO then 'weaves' a reality for Rand to see. A world 'remade' in TDO's image, where the taint overlays everything, the Blight is everywhere, and Rand has been forgotten in his failure. TDO makes him watch his father die, and then Dannil leads him back to Emond's Field, where a Turned Nynaeve is waiting with channelers and Fades to Turn Rand too. It's an attempt to make Rand feel despair and give up, but when Nynaeve & co begin the process of trying to Turn Rand to the Shadow, he pushes back, rejecting this reimagining of the world that TDO has created. Hmm, Rand finds threads here that are more varied than the five threads of the One Power, calls them "the fabric of creation" and uses them to channel a different reality.

We now get introduced to the world that Rand reimagines. "He passed from nothingness into majesty."

Gorgeous buildings. Wide roads but nothing driving on it, only people walking around, in vibrant clothing. Now, instead of the memory of Turned Chosen enslaving and tormenting the Two Rivers, Rand has willed into being memories of Ogier coming "to the Two Rivers to repay Rand for his sacrifice, intending to build a monument here, [but] the town's leaders had wisely requested help improving their city instead".

Rand doesn't quite imagine paradise entirely -- though he's integrated the Seanchan into his vision of peace here, he doesn't know enough about the Sharans to do the same, so there are still "campaigns" there. And there is a monument dedicated to the fallen of the Last Battle with "familiar" faces that Rand isn't quite willing to look at. Like TDO had done earlier, "He'd built this reality out of the threads of what could be, of mirrors of the world as it now played out".

The knowledge that other people are out there dying and sacrificing for a potential future shakes Rand -- he wanted so much for his sacrifice to be the only sacrifice, which was always going to be impossible. But when he lets that thought enter his mind, this vision of reality starts to get eaten up by TDO and Rand has to force it back into place.

It is the anniversary of the hundred years of peace that Rand had wanted in the Dragon's Peace that he had the nations sign before (and during, in the case of the Seanchan) the Last Battle. Lady Adora, Perrin's granddaughter, is the mayor of Emond's Field. Rand slips past her and into the school. A school for anyone to come and learn, no matter what their background. TDO taunts him again for believing that he can eliminate suffering entirely. So we're kinda doing a "the perfect is the enemy of the good" argument here. Is "better" enough when it isn't "perfect"? And is "perfect" only ever a lie? TDO attacks Rand again, and this world fades back into a faint mirror of possibility. The heart of the Last Battle is a philosophical argument about the nature of reality, and of human nature.

As he stands with the great shadow of TDO, Rand can see the armies outside fighting. TDO is mostly outside of time, except wherever it touches the Pattern. There it is bound to the linear nature of time. TDO tells Rand to watch as the people fighting in his name die, and spins another vision for him.

The new world-possibility that TDO spins for Rand looks very much like the regular world, with some minor differences like steam-drawn carriages driving around. He's in Caemlyn this time, and he can still see the hole in the wall from when Talmanes blew the hole to escape from the Shadowspawn, but there's a bustle and a life around.

He goes to a fruit seller, and she mentions her fresh peaches for sale. "Peaches," Rand said, aghast. Everyone knew those were poisonous. She tells him that they are safe now; the toxin has been removed. Hey, isn't it peach blossoms that Rand made bloom back in Ebou Dar? So that was actually meant as something of a subtle threat, though Tuon took as an Important Omen. As they're talking, a street urchin steals one of the fruits and starts to run off, and the fruit-seller pulls out a rod and does something that instantly kills him. When Rand reacts in horror, she acts puzzled, asking him if "it" belonged to him. Yikes! Yeah, definitely still a very Bad World, Rand. When she asks him what faction he belongs to, he takes that as his cue to leave, very quickly.

He searches Caemlyn to find the Queen's Blessing and, with relief, sees that Basel Gill is working inside. So this one is not a hundred years in the future like the last one. Gill says that they're in the Fourth Age and that the Last Battle was won. After Gill tells him that he'll get him a faction symbol, Rand notices a nothingness that signifies TDO's presence and questions it. This is a world where TDO has tricked people into believing that they won the Last Battle.

When Gill returns, it's with guards to rob Rand for his fancy coat. Rand realizes that TDO has taken everyone's consciences/compassion. This is a world without any spark of 'light' inside people's hearts, only Shadow. Rand tells TDO that seeing this only makes him want to fight harder and now he will show TDO a world "without Shadow".

In the cavern, Nynaeve works to save Alanna's life. All her Power is still wrapped up in the link with Rand, so she has to sew and use her herbs and all her know-how from being the Wisdom of Emond's Field.

As Rand tries to weave together the possibility of a world without the Shadow, he finds that the threads resist him and he wonders if that is because of how unlikely such a world is. iirc, Rand's upcoming dreamworld is a moment that the show has already given us great set-up for with the fantasy that Rand gets from Ishamael in episode 8 and is another illustration of how far ahead Rafe & co were thinking with all their choices in the first season.

He chooses to create Caemlyn, to wash the taste out of his mouth of having seen the horrible vision that TDO showed him last time. Trees are in full bloom, there isn't a cloud in the sky, and children don't recognize what a sword is. He asks to visit the queen and is directed towards the gardens, though he first travels through a hallway of magic mirrors, letting him see this paradise reflected in other lands: a peaceful meadow in the Mountains of Mists, the Stone a museum instead of a fortress, the rebuilt towers of Malkier, the Chora Fields of the Age of Legends surrounding the city of Rhuidean as he hears Aiel voices lifted in song. No locks on the doors. No more need for money -- "a nearly forgotten eccentricity". Channelers create food for everyone and Aes Sedai heal anyone who suffers injury.

His own grave in the Blasted Lands, where his body had been burned after the Last Battle, overgrown with leaves, grass, and flowers. Rand pauses at this window for a long moment before he moves onward into the gardens.

Elayne sits alone in the gardens, not too far from the garden wall where he once fallen in and met her for the first time. "Elayne was as beautiful as she'd been when they'd last parted. She was no longer pregnant, of course. A hundred years had passed since the Last Battle. She appeared not to have aged a day." When Elayne sees him, she greets him in surprise.

18. She wonders if her daughter is using the Mask of Mirrors to play a prank on her, but Rand sinks down to one knee before her and tells her that he's real. And, as he looks into her eyes and listens to her voice, he realizes that "something was wrong".

19. "That simpering tone, that vapid reaction... Elayne had never been like that." He gets more disturbed as she continues, talking about Aviendha spending her week off from singing to do "nursery duty". "Aviendha. Tending children and singing to chora trees. There was nothing wrong with that, really. Why shouldn't she enjoy such activities? But it was wrong, too. He thought Aviendha would be a wonderful mother, but to imagine her seeking to spend all day playing with other people's children..."

20. When he looks into Elayne's eyes, he sees the same kind of blankness that he's seen in those forcibly Turned to the Shadow. He accuses TDO of having done something to her. But TDO asks him, "Did you think that removing me from their lives would leave them unaltered?"

21. "She was not herself... because Rand had taken away her ability to be herself." Again! This resonates so well with what was set up in episode eight! Rafe is playing the long game!

22. I do have to... interject a side note: this scene really couldn't be done with Min because... this horror that Rand accidentally did to Elayne, stripping her of her autonomy in an attempt to create a world without Shadow... is basically what Min did to herself in LoC.

He’ll have to take me as I am, [Min] thought, twitching the reins irritably. I’m not changing for any man. Only, her clothes would have been as plain as any farmer’s not that long ago, her hair had not been in ringlets almost to her shoulders, and a small voice whispered, You’ll be whatever you think he wants you to be.

Honestly, that's a big part of why I dislike how prophecy is used in a couple of the romances (Min->Rand and Mat->Tuon) because it feels like it's been used to strip away their autonomy and yet this loss of their self doesn't get treated like a horror even though their 'choice' to chase Rand/marry Tuon was done because they believed they had no choice.

23. Rand weeps in despair at all the loss of life that is going on in the Last Battle outside of Shayol Ghul. "He should have been able to protect them. Why couldn't he? Against his will, the names began to replay in his mind. The names of those who had died for him, starting with only women, but now expanded to each and every person he should have been able to save - but hadn't." But he refuses to give in to TDO's offer to 'stop fighting and rest'. And TDO spins another possibility for him...

24. The next offer that TDO makes is 'nothing'. Aka oblivion for all of existence. He claims that it is the same as the 'peace of the void' that Rand seeks so often. Rand gives the offer due consideration, and then rejects it.

25. Rand feels Egwene's death and it shakes him hard. Egwene's name is added to the list in his mind, and despair claws at him as TDO gloats that the dead belong to him.

26. Rand is watching the whole battle play out -- he sees Elayne (captive and alone), he see Rhuarc (his mind forfeit), Mat (desperate, facing down horrible odds), and Lan (riding to his death).

Demandred's words dug at him. The Dark One's pressure continue to tear at him.

Rand had failed.

But in the back of his mind, a voice. Frail, almost forgotten.

Let go.

Elayne & Mat (& Fortuona & Min & Galad)

Elayne is heading into the main Seanchan camp to talk to Mat about why he appears to be changing the battle plans without letting her know. Along the way, they deal with some Draghkar and Elayne deliberately deafens her side so that they will be able to ignore their song. After this, she's approached by a sul'dam and damane pair and, reluctantly, allows the damane to heal her ears. Elayne is, btw, wearing sturdy boots.

Elayne has also been paying attention to how the Seanchan behave, and so she does not talk to any of the sul'dam herself, because she's noticed that they care a LOT about who talks to who. This sul'dam in particular is highborn, Elayne suspects from the shaven sides of her head, so she'll definitely feel insulted by Elayne not being willing to speak to her. <3

Elayne also notes here that the Seanchan highborn seem to dislike the idea of being healed with the Power ("Why any of you would want to be Healed by an animal is beyond me," the sul'dam says). But she also points out that there's a gap between what the Seanchan claim is true and what they actually seem to do -- they say they disapprove of healing but are having their damane learn the weaves.

Mat and Elayne's relationship seems to be fairly healthy here which honestly is fascinating given... you know. Tuon and the whole Seanchan defection. Elayne insults Mat when she greets him, but he finds it amusing, just as she suspected that he would. He's made up a throne for her in Andoran red-and-gold, extra cushioned, and with a still-steaming cup of tea waiting for her! Husband behavior! Not the kind of ~husband behavior~ that Mat derided all throughout TGS but actual "I care about your comfort" behavior.

She notes that his clothing "smelled of some kind of compromise" -- Tuon agreed to let Mat wear clothing in the style that he preferred as long as it was silk? Elayne also notes that he's wearing a pink ribbon around his hat. And that is also fascinating because Mat had two very specific memories about Tylin's (pink) ribbons in his second chapter in this book (right before he saw Tuon again), and they were both extremely negative. The first time was when his scarf around his neck reminded him of "a ribbon that felt like a chain" and the second was his flashback to the pink ribbons when he saw Tylin's headboard/bed. So for Mat to put a pink ribbon around his hat is... interesting. A reminder of the chains that he's still wearing? We're not in his PoV, so we don't get his reasoning, and I don't think he ever thinks about it in his own PoV.

"All in all, Elayne was impressed by how easily the scout mixed his obeisance and his report. She was also sickened. No ruler should demand such of her subjects. A nation's strength came from the strength of its people; break them, and you were breaking your own back."

I am also really really curious by what (silent) Fortuona might be thinking of the casual & intimate way that Mat and Elayne are talking to each other here, given how jealous she's gotten in the past. Elayne noted when she entered the tent that Fortuona was present ("dressed in enough green silk to supply a shop in Caemlyn for two weeks" and with Min standing silently at her side) but has not engaged with her at all.

"You spent this whole week planning with us, and you knew the entire time you'd throw [the plans] out with the dishwater." Anyway, Mat says that he didn't know the entire time, but that he needs to keep the plans in his head if they want them to be safe from the Forsaken. Also, Elayne, in contrast to most of the people who have interacted with Mat recently, is able to figure out what he's thinking just from a couple of micro-expressions.

But it's interesting/frustrating the implied changes that have happened over the course of this week of off-screen planning -- aka Tuon compromising with Mat. Because it happens off-screen, we don't actually find out why Tuon was willing to compromise - is it because, with all his friends around, she's realized that it would be impossible to control him with the methods she would use if they were alone, because he could just... walk fifty feet away and hang out with his powerful friends instead of being stuck with her if she pushes him too far (as he did in the previous chapter when she was trying to force him to sit in judgement)? Has she actually had off-screen character development (if so, stop having important emotional moments happen off-screen!)? We just don't know.

Mat is also still calling Fortuona "Tuon". And that scene ended with Elayne never, at any point, engaging with Tuon and she also never thinks of Fortuona as "Mat's wife", only as "the Seanchan Empress". Surely she has to know by this point that they're married but she Does Not Think About It. I genuinely have so many questions -- one of the primary ones being: where has Mat been sleeping this last week? Does the fact that Mat was saying "Tuon's tent" in the previous chapter mean that he has his own tent separate from hers? Tuon positioned "having sex" as a reward-type situation back when Mat first showed up in Ebou Dar, so is that time in the gardens the only time that they've had sex? Given that Tuon seems to want Min by her side constantly, if she did decide to have sex with Mat again, would she insist on Min staying in the tent with them to keep an eye out for sex-related omens? (we already know that Selucia and at least one or two other guard-slaves would likely be present) Has Mat been avoiding having sex with her or sleeping in the same tent as her so that she doesn't get another chance to steal his medallion? So many questions, absolutely nothing in the narration that gives me any hints at answers.

Okay, our first Mat PoV in this chapter is fascinating because Mat has basically the exact same thought here about Galad that he had about Tuon in an earlier chapter. Compare "[Galad] could have been a statue, with that pretty face and unchanging expression. No, statues had more life." vs "Mat shivered. He didn’t like it when Tuon got like this. That stare of hers... it seemed like the stare of another person. A person without compassion. A statue had more life to it." The Whitecloaks = Seanchan comparison is alive and well (or the Seanchan are what the Whitecloaks would be if they had the kind of continent-wide coercive power).

Min is spending all her time in the command tent whispering to Tuon. It sure feels like she swapped super-easily from being Rand's prophecy girl to being Tuon's prophecy girl (okay, okay, I'll cut her some slack since Rand did ask her to watch Fortuona). When Elayne's voice sounds "cold" here, Mat compares her to an Aes Sedai, unlike their earlier encounters. Also... it doesn't sound like Selucia is around? Did she get demoted again? Elayne also... sorta speaks to Tuon here? But then quickly swaps back to talking to Mat only lol.

Mat realizes that there's a spy either inside or just around the command tent, because of how quickly Demandred is responding to his changes.

Mat is amused by the fact that Elayne has managed to "shift" her throne around so that it's either the same height or slightly higher than Tuon's, so he hasn't ~embraced Tuon's dignity as his own~ or however the Seanchan might put it.

15. Hmm, we also have confirmation here that Mat has been... flirting (????? sexually harassing???? who knows with New Mat but probably harassing, sadly) with other Seanchan Bloods, if not in front of Tuon, then in front of people who would report to Tuon, which is another interesting piece of data to put into the puzzle. It really does seem like Mat has managed to (off the page) force a certain level of compromise into his marriage.

16. And, here, Mat slips away with just Elayne and Birgitte so that he can reassure Elayne about his plans in private, even though Tuon questions him walking away (and he doesn't even look back at her because "those eyes could drill through solid steel"). It genuinely seems like some fascinating stuff happened in that week of planning that we didn't get to see! Mat seems a lot less scared of doing things that will upset Tuon. But again, we don't know if that's actually due to a change in Mat and Tuon's relationship or if it's Mat's physical proximity to people who would unquestioningly take his side against hers that gives him new boldness.

17. He tells Elayne that he has a plan to deal with the spy that he believes is listening in at the command tent, and he goes through his entire thought process for her here, which is an astonishingly unprecedented amount of communication from Mat. So Elayne is in on his plan -- and away from the command post so that if things go wrong, she can pick another general to lead them; and he sent a message to Talmanes about his plan as well (that Talmanes signaled that he received), so the only remaining question mark for Mat is whether or not he can "coax" Tuon into doing what needs to be done.

I am going to say that I find it very interesting that when Mat is certain that there's a spy in the command tent and that their security is compromised, he finds a reason to get Elayne away from the command tent. The reason makes tactical sense, of course, but it's interesting.

18. Birgitte tells Elayne that all her older memories are gone now. Her first memories are of waking up to Nynaeve and Elayne in this world. Elayne wants to go after Birgitte, to try to comfort her, but Galad arrives. Galad isn't entirely certain why he's been sent here but he's got time to scold Elayne for being on the battlefield "in your condition". Elayne (accurately) points out that if they lose, it's gonna be a lot worse for the kids. So Elayne and Galad can talk about the kids together but Elayne and Tam can't?

19. Elayne knows Mat so well, even as she claims to despair over understanding him. "I'm convinced that Mat only acts simple so that people will let him get away with more."

20. A letter arrives for Galad from Mat, and Sanderson makes fun of himself when he has Elayne note that Mat's spelling and handwriting is much better in this letter than the one he sent her in ToM. Anyway, he's sent the copy he had of the medallion (Elayne does verify here that it's a copy and not the original) to Galad and told him to go kill as many Sharan channelers as he's capable of killing. Because he feels like "a Whitecloak" will have the stomach to go kill a bunch of channelers. When Galad agrees with Elayne that he shouldn't have a problem with "killing women" and explains that women are just as capable of evil as men are, Elayne tells him "You actually said something that doesn't make me want to strangle you." lol, ilu Elayne. Galad thinks she's joking but, no, of course not.

Characterization note: Mat never gave the medallion copy to Tuon. That was the whole reason that he'd originally held onto it after ToM, with plans to give it to Tuon to protect her. ...and then she stole his medallion and it sounds like he had to do some fast-talking to get it back. And then he never mentions or brings up the copy until this moment when he sends it to Galad.

Did Tuon's betrayal of Mat earlier in AMoL mean that he no longer trusted her with a medallion?

Did Tuon's own paranoia and mistrust screw her out of getting that extra level of protection and trust openly given from Mat, and so Mat held onto it to find another purpose for the copy instead?

21. Min apparently is still spending all her time here quietly whispering to Tuon. She's gotta be someone's little whisper, I guess. She's gotten used to it over the last few books. Anyway, Logain is here because he wants to go fight at Shayol Ghul instead of here at the "battle for the little lives of men". Or he wants to be sent against Demandred, as the "dragon's replacement". Mat finally just gives Logain permission to go fight Demandred if he wants to do it so badly.

22. Ah, here is where Mat has another willful delusion (number five? six? not sure): "What he would give to be done with all of these high heads. Mat might be one of them now, but that could be fixed. All he had to do was convince Tuon to forsake her throne and run off with him. That would not be easy, but bloody ashes, he was fighting the Last Battle. Compared to the challenge he now faced, Tuon seemed an easy knot to untie."

Made up a girl in his head, one that Fortuona will never be. Good luck with that, and all.

This does also show that Mat continues to have no interest in being part of the Seanchan hierarchy (and this is something that is backed up by his actions, like refusing to legitimize himself as the Prince of Ravens by refusing to sit in judgement of soldiers throwing themselves on the Empress's mercy). Though Mat shows signs of protectiveness and sometimes affection towards 'Tuon', he shows no signs of wanting to be involved with 'The Seanchan Empress Fortuona'. It does feel a bit like we're continuing the thread where Sanderson actually gave Mat a reason for his bizarre turnaround in CoT/KoD by having him mentally compare the fear that Tuon/the sul'dam have over channeling with the fear that Rand/male channelers have over channeling -- this is an echo of the 'Rand-friend vs Dragon Reborn-scary' battle that Mat has been having in his brain, off-and-on, ever since he first learned that Rand could channel. I wish that Sanderson had leaned into it more, but even this subtext here is more of an explanation for Mat's change in characterization in CoT than we ever got from Jordan.

I have to admit, the way that it's done does kinda remind me of BBC's Merlin -- in S1, Arthur and Merlin go through this entire character arc of Arthur looking past his prejudices about servants as he becomes Merlin's friend. And then the show aired and large parts of the audience went, "huh, kinda seems like they're in love with each other"; and so the show did a hard reset in S2 and Arthur basically went through that exact same arc with Gwen, who was always meant to be his canon love interest, and went back to being more of a jerk towards Merlin. And in WoT, Mat's struggle between caring about a person vs being put off by/scared of that person's public mask was first grounded in his friendship with Rand, but now it's basically been transferred over to Tuon instead. Basically "oh shit, this character arc makes this character look queer; better shift it over to his canon het love interest STAT".

(but imo this thread works so much better with Rand because the READERS know the real person behind the public mask; and I feel like we never really get that with Tuon -- there are hints that a real person exists but even in her own PoVs, it feels like Tuon is still mostly just The Mask)

23. Tuon signals that it's time for her and Mat to stage their fake fight about the Seanchan pulling out of the battle, picking "I can protect myself" as the issue she wants to fight over, which Mat thinks is kinda silly but whatever. "His plan with Tuon was to take a cue from what Rand had once done with Perrin". ...how did Mat find out about that? I guess from Min? Perrin was asleep and Rand was gone, so I guess it must have been from Min. I'm... pretty sure she knew the Rand & Perrin fight was fake? Or maybe Perrin told him about it during the dinner where Perrin laughed and laughed over how droll it was that Mat had married a slaver. Because Perrin and Mat got to have a reunion dinner.

24. A Gray Man attacks. I'm sorry... are we supposed to believe that this is the same Gray Man from Ebou Dar that escaped back in Mat's second chapter? Because I thought Shadowspawn (including Gray Men?) couldn't go through Gateways? Maybe this Gray Man also has Mat's non-channeling teleportation skills. Anyway, this time the Gray Man is attacking Mat just as channelers invade the command tent (so... literally proving the point that Mat had just made about how the tent was no longer secure) so Min... throws herself at Tuon to protect her? Why is Min's first instinct "protect the head slaver"? Why is Min in the tank for the Seanchan so quickly?

Min also manages to knock over Tuon's ten-foot tall throne, so it sounds like it's actually made of pretty flimsy materials. That kinda feels like an unintentional metaphor -- looks imposing but is basically paper mache. lol.

25. Anyway, this is the first time Tuon shows any shred of an actual... like... positive emotion towards Mat? (I don't count "laughing at him because she views him as a brainless sex toy" as a positive emotion) So I guess we should celebrate that. Because when everyone gets attacked, Tuon runs over to try to help Mat with the Gray Man, "growling softly in an almost feral way". Once again, I am deeply curious about the mysterious changes that happened in their relationship during that skipped over week of planning, that resulted in Tuon compromising with Mat and now appearing to actually give a shit that he might die (... or she might just be possessive and not want to lose her new favorite toy? But I will choose to extend the benefit of the doubt).

26. And, once again, Min's entire priority list seems to be Tuon. ?????? Why are you so obsessed with her? Since we're in your PoV right now, could you explain to the readers why you're so deep in the tank for the Seanchan and Fortuona? Would love a reason. Anyway, she can't reach her new-found love, Fortuona, so she slips out of the tent to see if she can help any other way, and runs into Siuan.

27. When Min tells her that she needs to go find Bryne because that's the only way she'll survive, Siuan says that she can't leave because "Cauthon is in danger." Hey, you were willing to call him 'Mat' back in book three. But anyway, she says, "If Cauthon falls, this battle is lost! I don't care if we both die from this. We must help. Move!" So. Siuan. The tent is on fire. Would you say that you were there to help Mat "when the flames are high?" Just asking.

28. Okay, there's a whole group of Gray Men attacking Mat, so we're not supposed to think it was the one from Ebou Dar. But that's a gun that never went off, now that I think about it.

29. MIN! Yelling at the terrified damane to help when her sul'dam is dead is pointless if you don't FREE HER from the collar. She isn't capable of channeling without her sul'dam's permission. You should know this. YOU WERE IN FALME WITH EGWENE! Egwene explained all of this to you! (also, I think Min left the poor nameless damane to die in the burning tent, since she would also be incapable of running away on her own if she's still leashed? Slave-masters always get rescued before slaves, after all, and Min has yet to actually voice any objections to slavery since she has joined up with the Seanchan)

30. Anyway, Min successfully throws a knife at the remaining Gray Man and Mat hauls an unconscious Tuon up over his shoulder, and we have sadly saved the head slaver's life yet again. "Never had [Min] been so happy to see a knife fly true." ????? I mean, I guess the idea is that saving Tuon means that Mat is willing to leave the burning tent but still... didn't she once save Rand's life during some event or other? Or maybe I imagined that and this is the first time Min's knife skills have ever been useful, idk.

31. Oh, and Siuan is dead. Happened when Min wasn't looking. So we traded Siuan's life for Tuon's. Not worth it. Min gets a break from being the Distressed Damsel because Rand isn't around and so Tuon gets assigned the role. I feel like... maybe the narrative should have focused on whatever it was that Siuan was doing to help there, instead of what Min did? Also, it seems somewhat convenient that Siuan died before she got a good look at Tuon, because Siuan has a Talent for seeing ta'veren.

32. I wish... I really wish that Sanderson had given us the compromise conversation between Tuon and Mat. I wish that we'd actually gotten that conversation on the page, instead of just implying that something has changed because Elayne notices the effects. Because then maybe I would also give a shit about Tuon instead of just kinda wishing that someone would let one of these assassins take her out.

33. Okay, our first ~Fortuona~ PoV since the week of planning that appeared to have led to compromises in her marriage with Mat. Let's see how things stand with little miss slaver. She refuses to be healed by damane herself, though she seems vaguely tolerant of the idea of other people being healed by them.

34. I have to roll my eyes over Fortuona thinking about how her slave-guard's 'honor' depends on her fatally punishing them for their failures. It's like how she pretended that she was the one who most regretted having had Selucia beaten a time or two back in her initial intro PoV, rather than the actual person who got their ass whipped. It's just toxic brain-vomit that speaks of how deeply conditioned Fortuona is by her culture. If she actually cared about any of them as people (she doesn't, of course; she cares about them as property that she owns) then she would care about trying to dismantle the part of their brainwashing culture that says that their lives should be forfeit if they have failed her.

Anyway, she assigns them to go off to be suicide troops in the battle. Oh, and Selucia is here now, in the aftermath, with an injury. So I guess she in the tent that whole time, it's just that no one mentioned her. Poor Selucia. She really has gone back to being nothing but Tuon's Voice.

35. Fortuona raises "Darbinda" aka Min to the Blood for saving her and Mat's life, and Min isn't impressed enough for her liking (I'm also not ever going to be using that name for Min again). "How like [Mat] she was. Stubbornly humble, these mainlanders. They were actually proud - proud - of their low-born heritage. Baffling." Have you- have you considered having an actual conversation with one of them about why? And about the name thing too -- both Min and Mat are people who actively choose to go by shortened versions of their names. Maybe ask them why they don't consider forcible re-naming to be an honor (and Fortuona should know that Mat feels that way, since she glared at him and willed him not to argue when she re-named him).

Though, of course, given that Fortuona Must Always Have Slaves Around Her at all times, having a conversation like that with Mat or Min becomes a bit trickier, because if they give good answers to her questions about why they don't care about being part of the Blood, Fortuona's slaves will hear those answers. That's a major downside to the whole "nothing is private (when you have slaves)" lifestyle that Fortuona is rocking. She probably doesn't even really understand what having privacy would be like (once again, I have to say what a huge mistake it was for Jordan to have Selucia along on the circus journey, because it meant that Tuon was still wallowing in her toxic slave-owner culture during that entire time period, because she always had a slave on tap to make sure that she kept The Mask up at all times). Because though Tuon doesn't see her slaves as people, she does always need to be The Owner when they are around (which is always).

36. Mat looks over to her and gives her a nod, to let her know that they should have their fake break-up fight now. Alas that it isn't a real break-up fight. So they fight over how Mat should have warned them all sooner that the tent wasn't safe. Interesting note: though many of the Seanchan look at Mat with "accusing" eyes after she lays her charge, Galgan frowns and Fortuona notes that he doesn't seem to agree with her accusation. "Impressive, that [Mat] had converted Galgan so quickly." Anyway, after a super-quick fight where Mat is just like "okay, fine, storm off in a tizzy if you want, see if I care"; Fortuona turns around and does just that.

37. Interesting that their fake fight actually got Mat's genuine temper up. And he wonders if Tuon was genuinely angry as well and if she will genuinely abandon the fight rather than come back as planned. Interestingly enough, Fortuona didn't have a single spark of genuine anger in her PoV. It was all her following the plan. So it sounds like the fight involved a lot more of Mat's genuine frustrations than it did Tuon's. "I've had it with you. You and your bloody Seanchan rules just keep getting in the way," does feel like a pretty accurate representation of how Mat has been feeling in a lot of the Seanchan-related scenes that he's been forcing himself to endure, yeah. But Fortuona assumed, in her PoV, that Mat was entirely acting and that none of his reactions were genuine -- "he was good at this". Mat and Tuon are still looking at each other and seeing someone completely different than the person who is really there.

38. What Mat says to Min here is also genuinely fascinating. I don't particularly like Mat & Tuon, even now, but I am finding them much more interesting (in a 'watching a bug through a glass' sort of way) than I ever found them in the Jordan books. Because Mat tells Min to "keep an eye on" Tuon and then clarifies that he doesn't mean in a "protection" way but in a "watch her" way. "She worries me, Min."

...I do kinda have to giggle at Mat saying that Tuon doesn't need protection and is a "strong one" when Mat literally just had to haul her unconscious ass out of a burning tent because she basically failed immediately when she went to go help him with the Gray Men. But, hey, I appreciate that Mat didn't let the narrative shoehorn Tuon into the role of his Personal Distressed Damsel even when it was clearly trying its hardest to force her into that position.

39. Oh, so Mat and MIN get a hug when they say goodbye. *eternal grumbles at how the ONLY PERSON who didn't get an emotionally appropriate reunion with Mat was his fucking best friend*

40. Ugh, is this where Mat starts calling her "Fortuona"? Because he's decided to take Karede's suicide troops into battle with him and Karede refuses to go with him if Mat won't call her "Fortuona"? I guess I'll wait and see if the way that he addresses her actually changes.

Anyway, Mat tells Karede to keep Mat alive "for Tuon" because he's "almost certain that she's fond of" him.

*gazes off into the distance, thinking about how everyone else that Tuon is 'fond' of is a slave that she owns and is fully willing to beat or order to their death if they fail her*

41. Bryne dying off-screen affects me a lot less than Siuan somehow managing to die off-screen in a scene that she was actively in. Elayne figures that Bryne's fit of rage that sent him running towards Trollocs and got him killed means that Siuan is dead.

Siuan and Moiraine never got to see each other again. 😭

(fingers crossed for her getting to take Thom's place as the watcher outside the cave in the show version, if we get to the ending)

42. Yeah, from what we've seen in every other PoV and perspective, Perrin is the only person who thinks that Elayne isn't good at tactics. So we can safely discount his opinion as just him being an asshole who thinks that the only woman worth listening to is his wife.

43. "The Shadow pushed with all its might. Humankind did not have days remaining, but hours."

44. A bolt of balefire attacks their camp, and Demandred loudly taunts "Lews Therin" that he is hunting "a woman you love". Of course, Rand can't respond to any of that, no matter how loudly Demandred echoes it across the battlefield with the Power. Birgitte grabs Elayne so that they can get somewhere secret and safe to regroup from, since Elayne herself is the main target now.

45. Of course, Galad can hear the threats and knows that Demandred is actively hunting his sister, so now he has twice the reason to try to kill the man -- killing his brother and trying to kill his sister. In order to get Demandred to fight him directly, Galad loudly proclaims his relationship to Rand. "[The Dragon Reborn] is not here, but his brother is!" And now Galad and Demandred will duel.

46. Mat finds out from Bashere that no one has heard from Faile. He wonders how he can possible finish off this battle without help from the Horn of Valere. ...maybe you shouldn't have deserted from the Last Battle at the start of the book, Mat? Just a thought. Mat yells at Bashere, which makes him grin and his wife give Mat a fond look -- hey, Mat, bet they'd be willing to let you be a third, especially if you yell at Bashere some more. Still healthier than your marriage with Tuon! Give it some consideration!

47. "He needed an army. And a gateway. He needed a bloody gateway. Fool, he thought. He had sent the damane away. Could he not at least have kept one? Though they did make his skin crawl as if it were covered in spiders." God, this is the first time since Winter's Heart that the narrative has let Mat openly think about how fucking creeped-out he is by damane and what the Seanchan do with them! Mat was so incredibly disturbed by the damane kennels in WH and then in CoT & KoD, he acted like it was the sul'dam who had the raw end of the deal. So, yeah, Mat's first chapter in AMoL had brain-breaking teleportation and he forgot half of his characterization until he was finally allowed out of fucking Ebou Dar (RIP any hopes of an emotionally-resonant Cauthor reunion), but we have seen, over the course of the last few chapters, the slow return of how incredibly disturbed and creeped-out Mat was over the damane system. This was the thing that Jordan essentially made Mat forget in order to get him to be willing to suck face with Tuon at the end of KoD, so it's really nice to see it coming back to life. Finally.

Maybe Min will also remember at some point how fucking awful the damane system is.

48. Oh, Mat gets to reunite with Loial now? *insert annoyed grumbles about how Mat & Rand is pretty much the only important relationship that got completely cheated by how Sanderson decided to do the plotting of AMoL*

Since I mention Rand:

Those dice kept ratting in his head. He also felt a pull from the north, a tugging, as if some threads around his chest were yanking on him.

Now now, Rand, he thought. I'm bloody busy.

No colors formed, only blackness. Dark as a Myrddraal's heart. The tugging grew stronger.

Mat dismissed the vision. Not. Now.

I feel so cheated that this ends up giving me nothing that I wanted, thanks! Why did we bother! I am vibing with so much of Mat's PoV in this book now that we're out of Light-forsaken Altara but I'm so frustrated by how much Sanderson is teasing something that I already know I will not actually get.

49. Mat gets to reunite with Teslyn here. Not that I am not thrilled to have Mat reunite with Teslyn because I am, but it does... frustrate me all over again, how shallow and limp the Cauthor reunion ended up being, all happening in the shadow of the slaver ball-and-chain. Every time Mat gets a better reunion with someone else, I feel cheated about his reunion with Rand all over again. Anyway, Mat is so happy to see Teslyn that he could kiss her. (he does not)

Teslyn is going to take Mat, Loial, & co up to the Heights. My brain wants to find something symbolic in the fact that after Mat sends away Tuon & the damane, the first channeler that he runs into is Teslyn and she is the one who is enabling all his battleground hopping as he sends out order after order.

Something, something, wrong road vs right road.

Tylin... Tuon... Teslyn. Women that Mat met in Ebou Dar who have similarly rhythmic 'T' names. Tuon was jealous of Joline but it was Teslyn who started the ball rolling on Mat helping the Aes Sedai escape Ebou Dar.

idk. Maiden, mother, crone vibes, but the maiden & the mother are both abusive?

50. Demandred and Galad duel; Demandred tries to taunt Galad about Gawyn's death in order to break his focus. Galad realizes that the main purpose of what he's doing here is keeping Demandred's focus off of the armies and off of Elayne. It's in Galad's best interests to last as long against Demandred as he can. Some more fighting happens but then Galad's arm gets cut off, and he too, has lost his duel against Demandred.

51. I've seen objections to Mat personally leading the fight at this point but -- the situation is pretty dire and his command tent was blown up. Maintaining a mobile unit and darting in and out of the battle seems like the best of the bad options at this point?

52. For the moment, Elayne and Birgitte are out of the direct line of the fight. Elayne is not currently flying her banner, but she's sent messages to her commanders to let them know she still lives. Then a fake band of refugees arrives, hiding Mellar, who still has his copy of the medallion and who is here because he is still obsessed with Elayne. She thinks here that he's "the one many people still assumed fathered her children". So Elayne sent out the "Rand is the baby-daddy" press release but some people actively chose to continue to believe that slimy Mellar was the daddy? Gross. He has, apparently, been trying to track Elayne down this entire time.

53. He kills Birgitte and the loss of the bond -- and the loss of her friend -- tears at Elayne. They also have another corpse -- a woman dressed to look like Elayne, with her hair color -- that they plan to parade around to pretend to everyone that Elayne is dead. His next plan is to cut her babies out of Elayne -- ah, this must be why we jumped her pregnancy so far ahead, so that it wouldn't be quite so ridiculous that her babies could be kept alive after this -- and TDO gets the kids while Mellar gets to keep Elayne.

54. Mat has requested that the Seanchan make their return to the battlefield but instead of doing that, Fortuona is taking some time to listen to her captains debate over the subject of returning. While people suffer and die on the battlefield.

55. ...Min thinks here, with no commentary, that a Captain Yulan "had been the one to lead the strike on Tar Valon". Do you... have any opinions on that, Min? No? No opinions. Okay, noted. Her only worry is that she's started to think of her viewings as 'omens'. She really does lose herself in other people so easily. For literally the first time ever, Min uses her viewings to try to suss out a spy. Wow, Rand would have found this extremely useful, Min! She notices that one of the random so'jihn (those are slaves, Min, btw, in case you've forgotten about the existence of slavery) has a bunch of images over her head the way that normally only Aes Sedai, Warders or ta'veren do.

56. Part of her wants to just try to stab the woman, but instead she goes to confront Fortuona, asking her to please define what a Truthspeaker is. Fortuona... reluctantly... allows that it's her job to call Fortuona out in public if she screws up. So Min turns to the Blood and says, "[Tuon] has abandoned the armies of humankind, and she withholds her strength in a time of need. Her pride will cause the destruction of all people, everywhere."

She calls out the member of the Blood that the spy has compelled while throwing a dagger at the spy -- which is caught mid-air using the Power. After Moghedien (I'm assuming) escapes, Min says that this shows that the Shadow is trying to keep them from the battle. "With that in mind, will you still pursue this course of indecision?"

57. Tuon does claim here that following this mandate that Min has pressed upon her is "follow[ing] what my heart would choose". Is that true? Who knows? At least she's going back. Tuon also seems to regret slightly that she's now placed someone into the position of Truthspeaker who doesn't have the kind of trained-in deference that Selucia had. Grass is always greener.

Question: does Tuon's 'heart' matter if she still actively chooses evil unless her feet are held to the fire? That is the sort of... moral question that I feel like should have been at play way earlier in the Mat & Tuon relationship. Sanderson is actually using the basic foundations of Mat & Tuon to much greater emotional complexity than we saw at work in CoT & KoD but because it's happened after we already saw that stagnant Tuon in those two books... it's hard for this to feel earned by the narrative. It works a lot better if I close my eyes and try to imagine that we had a better lead-up in the earlier books, lol.

58. Mat learns that Egwene has died (Blood and bloody ashes, Mat thought. Egwene. Not Egwene too? It hit him like a punch to the face.) and half the Aes Sedai have exhausted themselves too much to keep channeling but all the Sharan channelers have been taken out of the picture. Then we also witness Mat's coping mechanism in action -- when his mind wanders back to Egwene, he abruptly cuts the thought off. "No thinking of that right now". Instead, he forces his mind back to business and asks if they've gotten any new troops from Mayene, healed up and ready to fight again. Lan says that he'll check.

59. Then Mat digs in his saddlebags, pulling out Rand's banner, "the one of the ancient Aes Sedai" and he tells them, "Somebody hoist this thing up. We're fighting in Rand's bloody name. Let's show the Shadow we're proud of it."

So many things that could be said here. Frustrating how late this happens? I guess that's my main feeling here, which is a shame. I wish that it could feel more triumphant for me, but this is essentially where Mat already was before he had his weird teleportation to Ebou Dar at the start of AMoL, so it's mostly just me being frustrated that none of this was allowed to exist when Rand was actually here for Mat to interact with him. Mat's friendship with Rand disappeared from the narrative just long enough to avoid us actually getting any kind of emotionally-resonant scene between them and that just... will probably always be something that I will find deeply regretful about the choices Sanderson made in this book.

But I don't want to hold onto my frustration forever, I guess. Mat really has gotten a lot better over the last few chapters. I will choose to be glad that Mat has gotten to a better place again with Rand, even if it's still bizarre that he suddenly backtracked on him at the start of this book.

60. Mat is hoping that his luck will come through when another messager brings news. The Queen of Andor is reported dead. (Bloody ashes! Not Elayne! Mat felt a lurch inside. Rand... I'm sorry.) Just like with Egwene, though, he doesn't let any of that emotion show through to the soldiers, only asking the messenger who is now in charge of the battlefield.

61. He wonders if he might not be able to win even if the Seanchan do return. If it might not be better to let the Seanchan/Fortuona hunker down in Ebou Dar and... die anyway in a few weeks or months? lol, that's not a mercy for them, Mat. But he did just hear that two people he cares about deeply are dead, so I'll give him a little slack for momentarily wishing that he didn't have to call Tuon back to her potential death too, even if he's still never given me anything he actually likes about her besides "hot enough to have sex with".

...oh, and he then learns here that Lan disobeyed his orders and went off to head towards Demandred on his own.

But Mat moves forward with his plan anyway, even though he's fairly sure it won't be enough.

Horn of Valere Team (Faile; Olver)

Faile & co run across a camp in the Blasted Lands that is being used as a supply station for the Shadow's army.

Aravine betrays the group and is a Darkfriend. I am... struggling to remember who she is. brb, will check the wiki. ahhh, she's one of the people that Faile met while she was a captive of the Shaido; a fellow captive. Anyway, Darkfriend, and she finds the Horn in Faile's bag at this point and says that she will deliver it to "Lord Demandred". Olver gets free and stabs the woman who is keeping Faile captive.

Faile grabs a horse (miraculously, it is Bela) and gives chase after Aravine, soon joined by Harnan and Vanin. She accuses them of trying to steal the Horn but they protest that they were only trying to steal the tabac that they thought she was carrying, because Mat owes them money, and seeing the Horn in there came as a huge shock to them (which is why they dropped it and didn't take it with them when they ran).

She throws a knife at Aravine's back and recovers the Horn. She finds Olver again, but they are being hunted by the Shadow's forces, who now know they have the Horn. She gives the Horn to Olver and tells him to get it to Mat. Then she gets back on a different horse (not Bela), making sure that the sack she carries is obvious, and heads off on distraction duty.

So Olver has the Horn. He's pretty stressed because now he's all alone again, as the Darkfriends and Trollocs chase after Faile. "How brave he had thought himself. Now, here he was, finally at the battle. He could barely keep his hands from trembling. He wanted to hide, dig deep into the earth."

A Trolloc discovers him and Olver sees Bela still there and runs for her, wishing he had a horse that looked faster. He races towards where he can see Mat's banners on the horizon, but more Trollocs keep appearing. And Bela gets shot by a Trolloc arrow and goes down. He tries racing up the mountain to reach Mat's banners but they're so far away. He finds a crevasse and wedges himself into it, trying to push deep enough that he's out of the reach of the Trollocs. Poor kid. This is all incredibly traumatizing for him.

He couldn't stop shaking. He also couldn't make himself move. He trembled, terrified, as the beasts pried at him with filthy fingers, digging closer and closer.

Other Misc PoVs

We get a Tam PoV that continues to have zero acknowledgement of the whole "Tam knows he's going to be a grandfather" thing. It's just weird at this point.

Okay, what Uno thinks about Mat ("He still didn't understand why anyone would put Cauthon in charge of anything. He remembered that boy, always snapping at people, eyes sunken in his head. Half-dead, half-spoiled.") should also have been what Min remembered about Mat. The last time they both saw him was around that same time period of Falme, when Mat was deep in the grip of the dagger-sickness. This is the Mat that Min would have met!

Perrin wakes up and is told that they were able to heal him so that he wouldn't die and will recover but that's all they can do for him. Healing needs to be saved for other people too, so "your participation in the Last Battle is over". And then he goes back to sleep, but regular sleep this time.

Graendal collects Rhuarc as one of her pets. 😭

...why am I supposed to care that Demandred has feelings for women (or, I guess, A Woman)? I really have absolutely no reason to care about Demandred's love life. Why am I being told any of this? Was someone worried that readers would think Demandred was gay for obsessing so much over Lews Therin, so a "Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?" moment was thrown in to avoid that? It does seem put in to deliberately contrast for his, uh, "burning passion that was his hatred for Lews Therin".

Another possibility is that this is a relationship meant to foil/reflect Mat and Tuon's? Shendla sounds just as willfully delusional about her future with ~her Wyld~ as Mat always sounds when he's thinking about his Fictional Tuon Girl. "Oh, just because you do evil things and control an evil army of literal horrors doesn't make you evil, darling! Just because you own slaves command Shadowspawn doesn't make you bad, sweetheart! The evil things that you do don't define you! You can do evil things and be a super-great person! I believe in you!"

We get another Tam PoV where he doesn't think at all about his impending post-Last Battle grandfatherhood.

Our third Tam PoV. No acknowledgement of Elayne's pregnancy and how Rand has been announced to be the father. We have time for Tam to run into Lan and for Lan to be all "ah, the blademaster who gave Rand his sword earned the title" but no time to think about Tam's actual upcoming grandkids. It's so weird how disconnected Elayne's pregnancy manages to be from Rand's plotline even after Rand and her entire army all know about the pregnancy and that Rand is the father! Somehow, this plotline is still only considered relevant to Elayne herself and not relevant to Rand or Tam at all????

Androl pickpockets Taim for the true seals, I think? I feel like maybe Sanderson should have leaned into the pickpocketing thing for Androl. tbh, this plotline has felt pretty pointless, lol. The Asha'man could have just been part of the army in the other plotlines and nothing of value really would have been lost.

Okay so... why are the Sharan channelers such experts in war, anyway? Because it doesn't sound like they've constantly been having civil wars, the way that the Seanchan have, so where have they been getting their experience in fighting? You can't become an expert fighter in a vacuum.

The Band has been secretly hidden in caverns deep underground so that they can work on repairing the dragons (with Aludra's expertise guiding the way, of course), waiting on Mat's order (with Asha'man and gateways to get them out again) for them to attack once more.

The Tuatha'an work as battlefield triage, going through the bodies trying to find those who are only wounded and might be saved. "The Way of the Leaf was an easy master at times, providing a life of joy and peace. But a leaf fell in calm winds and in the tempest; dedication demanded that one accept the latter as well as the former."

Raen asks Ila what they would have asked these people to do, in the face of Trollocs. Ila says that they could have run. That there was no need for them to fight here, right at the cusp of the Blight. Raen says that the Trollocs would have followed. "We have accepted many masters. The Shadow might treat us poorly, but would it really be worse than we have been treated at the hands of others?" Ila asks, but Raen disagrees. "It would have been worse. I am not going to abandon the Way, Ila. It is my path and it is right for me. Perhaps... perhaps I will not think quite so poorly of those who follow another path." Ah. They're talking about/mourning Aram. Ila says, "I shouldn't have turned my back on him. I should have tried to help him return to us, not cast him out." She had always felt as if she knew the answers in life. Today, most of those had slipped from her. Saving a person's life though... that she could cling to. She headed back among the bodies, searching for the living among the dead.

Galad ends up in the Mayane hospital. I wonder if he still has his copy of the medallion. I assume he does. Not sure when he'd have had a chance to give it back.

Ah, asked and answered. Berelain finds the medallion around Galad's neck as he whispers "back to Cauthon", so she takes the medallion and heads off at a brisk pace.

Loial and Erith take a moment to rest together before the final charge of the Last Battle. Loial has managed to take notes here and there, for a story that he'd like to pretend that he'll still get to write. "There was no harm to such a little lie."

The night grows darker as Lan charges towards Demandred and we pass our final Tam PoV of this chapter... still no mention of the fact that he knows he's going to have grandkids. (or the news going through the army that Elayne is reported dead? or anything like that?)

18. Ah, Lan was the one who received the note from Berelain with the medallion - I do not know how Galad ended up with this, but I believe he wished me to send it to Cauthon. I wish that Lan had cleared this plan with Mat tbh! But anyway, Lan does have three things here as he faces off with Demandred: one that Gawyn had (he's a Warder, with that boost in endurance) and one that Galad had (a medallion to protect him from weaves) plus he also has twenty years of experience fighting at the side of an Aes Sedai in a quest to locate the Dragon Reborn. It sounds very much like his reasoning is the same as Gawyn and Galad as well -- this is a necessary job, and I'm a person who is already here and can be risked to do that job.

19. "Lan held nothing back." He knows that he can't afford to give Demandred time to think, so he just goes for a relentless assault. Demandred does pretty quickly figure out the 'just channel things at him' trick, so Lan is dealing with dodging rocks as well. Demandred is just so certain that anyone who can hold their own against him is Lews Therin! It's honestly been kinda the comic relief of this chapter.

20. Then he uses one of the lessons that he taught Rand (that Rand used in his battle against Ishamael in Falme) -- he deliberately lets Demandred stab him so that he can get close enough to stab his own sword through Demandred's throat.

The world grew dark as Lan slipped backward off the sword. He felt Nynaeve's fear and pain as he did, and he sent his love to her.

[sourpatchys]

May I request France era Daryl? Reader sees how stressed he is and, though she is feeling the same way, she wants to take his mind off things. Cue some sexy times.

Title: The Theory of Touch

Rating: NSFW❤️‍🔥 18+

Word count: 1.6k

Time: Daryl Dixon ep 1

Summary: Daryl and Reader haven’t met eye to eye since they were in America, with Daryl’s guilt over the situation, reader can’t seem to get through to him— until finally, they do. FEMALE reader!

A/N— please ignore the fact that the reader didn’t have a bra or shoes on. Just pretend she took them off to dry or something idk. Also! I haven’t written smut in over a year so I do apologize if it’s not up to par with my other works!

France. You hated France.

You couldn’t read any of the signs, you couldn’t understand any of the labels, you didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know how to get home.

You were lost, in a vacuum of uncertainty.

Daryl wasn’t really helping. Once you’d washed to shore, it was as if a switch flipped and he turned into a shell of the man you knew. He wasn’t speaking to you— he couldn’t even look at you.

You knew— he felt guilty. He was the one who started the fight that got you here. He wouldn’t talk to you in the cell either, apart from a grunt or a nod— he even shrugged you off when you tried to hold his hand.

You missed the man you’d married. He’d had his moments in the past— but they’d never lasted this unbearably long— not with you— never with you.

Finding that little abandoned boat was probably the best thing that’s happened to either of you in weeks. Not only was the past owner English speaking, but he had laid out a map, and unknowingly gave you the strength to keep going.

Even so, the issue with Daryl persisted long into the night. His spark was gone.

“Daryl.” You called, scooting over to him on the creaky floorboards. His back was turned to you as he stared up towards the cloudless sky, picking at the bones from the fish you had shared earlier in the day.

Of course, he didn’t answer.

“Daryl talk to me.” You borderline begged, reaching your hand up to grasp at his shoulder, begging to whatever god may be listening that he wouldn’t shrug you off again.

He didn’t, though he didn’t seem to be paying you any mind either. His coastal blue eyes still staring up, a newfound gleam settling itself over them. He was fighting back the urge to cry.

“I love you.” He finally cracked out, his head falling as his body shook.

He just didn’t know what to do. He had promised you so many years ago, that he’d protect you, that he would keep you safe no matter the cost. All he’s managed to do is cause trouble. He didn’t deserve your kind words. He didn’t deserve your love.

But his love was all he had to give. Not salvation, not protection, not even a roof over your pretty little head.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held him close, peppering small kisses along his tear stained cheek.

“I know you do, I know you do— I love you too.” You repeated over and over again, begging him to see you, to see that you were okay, to see that you loved him just as much as you did yesterday, just as much as the day you’d met him. He was your life, your reason for living.

The kisses continued, soothing their way up and down his neck, behind his ear and along his hairline. You needed his touch— and he needed yours.

After what felt like hours, he finally turned your way, his calloused hand making its way up to cradle your soft cheek as he leaned in, his lips finally encapsulating your own.

This kiss— it felt just like the first kiss you had ever shared, the absolute desperation in your body’s screaming to be satisfied. You couldn’t live without each other’s touch.

You quickly became breathless as his body pushed into yours, his teeth dragging along your lower lip as he begged you for permission to deepen the kiss— you of course, complied.

His tongue felt like fire against yours as his hands ripped their way under your clothes, his cold fingers tracing the indentation under your breasts, warming themselves up before engulfing them whole, squeezing and twisting your malleable skin.

Soon you felt your own hands doing much the same, sneaking their way to the hem of his shirt, begging for him to rip it off.

The cold air of the night long gone between the friction of your bodies.

Soon both of your shirts were long gone as he pushed you to the floor, the freezing feeling of the damp wood bringing you down from your high as Daryl crawled his way between your parted legs, his head darling straight for your neck as his hands once more moved to cup your breasts.

His mouth traced every vein and artery you had, sucking in perfectly round bruises as he skillfully made you lose your sanity.

The ache between your legs unable to be soothed as his hips were angled just perfectly to make it impossible to create friction.

“Baby please—“ you begged, silently groaning with half lidded eyes as you clawed your fingers down his spine, unable to take the sweet torture after weeks without it.

He didn’t listen to your begging however, he only moved his body downwards, making sure your legs had no chance of coming together. He wasn’t a sadist, but he did love to see you beg— to see you completely undone.

His tongue darted down your chest, leaving bitter kisses down its path, avoiding your nipples all together— he had a different craving that day.

He traced all the way down to the hem of your pants, tracing his fingers across the seams, sucking away at the spot right above where you needed him most.

You were almost in tears, feeling the hot building pressure begging for release. You dared not beg as you thrashed your body around, you needed him now, you couldn’t handle it any longer.

Ripping your hands from above your head, you threaded them into the archers hair, pushing his face where you needed it, almost growing as you did so.

He chuckled, his first real laugh in heaven knows how long, as he slowly undid your button and zipper, ripping down the rest of your clothing before sliding his hands under your thighs, pushing them up, refusing to give you the power you so desperately wanted.

With your body open to him fully, he took a glance at your beautiful wet folds, how they quivered in the newly chilly environment, as he brought his head down to you once more.

The first dart of his tongue was nothing but that— a tease to rile you up, purposefully missing all of the parts that needed attention.

“Daryl— Daryl please I can’t handle this— please!”

This time, he did listen to you, his tongue darting out once more, immediately circling your clit in a way that had you arching your body in utter relief.

His skillful tongue flicked and prodded, finding all of your weak spots using nothing but muscle memory, the hot boiling feeling building in the best way possible as you came closer and closer to your sweet release.

Soon his lips closed around your sensitive bud as he started sucking and lapping, his hand releasing your thigh as he slowly slid a finger into you, his calloused fingertip immediately finding the soft spot that drew you mad.

Your moan was quiet as you finally got your release, it came like hot boiling lava. You were positive you’d never had an orgasm so unbelievably blissful.

He rode you out throughout your high, slowing down his motions as your body began to twitch, your thighs quivering uncontrollably.

Soon his mouth and hand were removed, his eyes glancing into your own, both pairs half lidded.

A small laugh filled the space between the two of you, you were finally becoming yourselves again.

Daryl had planned on giving you time to recover, you were still heaving, your eyes completely glossed over— though you had other plans as you shoved your heel into his side, urging for him to continue.

You still needed his touch— you weren’t satisfied.

You watched as his beautifully crafted hands popped open his jeans, sliding them down to his knees.

He never was a guy who enjoyed underwear— and today was no different.

His cock sat firm between his legs, the tip already glistening with precum as he stroked himself, preparing his body for your warmth.

“I love you Daryl.” You whispered, looking him in the eyes as he began to trace the tip of his cock between your folds.

Instead of replying, he once again smashed your lips together as he slid himself inside you, the stretch once again igniting that soft burn between your legs.

The first few thrusts were deep and slow, his body colliding with yours over and over again as he began to create a blissful rhythm.

Your lips stayed connected as you once more fought for dominance, your tongues dancing with the melody of your body’s.

Daryl’s hands were gripping your hips so hard with every thrust, you knew you’d be sore, but just knowing he was touching you, that he was feeling you— it was worth it.

Every thrust lit a fire under your skin, constantly hitting that soft bundle inside of you— your head felt like static, all you could feel was him— his body— his breath. You were in heaven.

The build up of his vigorous hips happened much faster than before, your body was already beyond sensitive, as you felt the elastic band inside you snap, you once again spilled your high squeezing yourself around his cock as your warmth overtook him.

“Gnh—!” He growled, snapping his hips a few more times before ripping himself out of you and spilling all over your breathless, heaving body.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, catching your breath, listening for any change of sound around you. As quiet as you both tried to be, any noise is still noise.

Once the coast was deemed clear and the two of you had calmed down and gotten dressed, it seemed your relationship had been put back into place.

Lying on the floor, your head cradled into Daryl’s chest, you spoke one final time for that night,

“We can get through this, I know we can.”