#the only point at which shes not is when she really unloads on a target }

[skycapt4in]

VERSE 3 : BRIGHT EYES, BURNING LIKE FIRE.

a study in : the downside of a new superpower, a whole new level of hysterical strength, asking yourself at what point did you stop being human?

So if you've been hanging around this blog for long enough, you know that at some point in Noah's story, he dies. He somewhat nobly sacrifices himself and Shi'p in an attempt to win his friend some ground in a civil war--, it's a whole thing. Dying wasn't his intention, but by the time he'd realized the position he'd put himself in, it was far too late to turn back now.

Another thing I talk about a lot is that Noah, since learning that he's got a superpower, has always wanted a better one, because while having a luck based power that only ever improves your own odds is cool and all, it's not very exciting. So imagine his excitement when, after he's brought back to life as a final defiant act of his luck, he's got a much more flashy power.

Then imagine his disappointment when he finds out that it's killing him all over again. Yeah, he doesn't have it easy.

So what happens is that Noah and Shi'p are in a fight, they're outnumbered and outgunned by a steadily growing number of attacking ships in what's found later to be a deliberate attack, Shi'p's too powerful to be kept on the battlefield in the eyes of the enemy. So she and her captain are targetted almost as soon as they make their appearance and it doesn't take either of them very long to figure that out, and doesn't take Noah very long to come up with his own little revenge plan, in which he was going to fuel up the Flare Engines and unload on anyone who so much as looks at Shi'p funny. They're critically hit while refuelling however, it causes a rupture in the tank and they're too far away from friends and allies to take shelter and repair, not that Shi'p had any chance of survival after the solar tanks are blown open the way they are. In his panic, Noah sends both Shi'p's AI and Plex back to Mezzao so that someone survived and could tell the story, doing this is just further shooting himself in the foot because without any of the AI's trying to control the craft as it deterioates further, he's just sending himself to the grave quicker.

The ship explodes, there's some scrap floating around out there that could be identified as the vessel formerly recognized as Noah's, but there's nothing left of the captain say for a piece of his mask.

Now Noah's luck power was only ever meant to make his life just a bit easier for him, but it's been warped and somewhat amplified because of the amount of dangerous situations he's put himself in over the years, to the point that it's truly become his last hope of surviving just about any stupid situation he puts himself in. It's only supposed to amplify his natural luck by about 30%. However, all superpowers can undergo some strange changes when their users are under immense amount of pressure and that's where the hysterical strength thing comes in. What would hysterical strength in a superpower, look like in a power that you can't actually see or even know is there? Well, it'll change the odds. For a very brief amount of time, seconds really, before Noah's death, his luck went into a sort of panicked overdrive in order to find a path in which Noah could walk out of the wreckage alive and mostly unscathed and they way it found was.. well.. Destructive.

Noah doesn't know that it was his own power that brought him back from literal space dust, doesn't know his luck fused what was left of anything living of him, with parts of Shi'p's dying energy reserves.

What he does know, or comes to learn once he materializes seven months later, not too long after the war is over and won by the good guys, is that he doesn't need to eat, sleep, or even breathe anymore, and that he can literally glow. Further research and some poking and prodding by Ravaa's best scientists and doctors, show that he doesn't need to do anything to sustain himself in the old fashioned human way, because he's now constantly absorbing energy, and that's what's keeping him going. However, it doesn't take very long for anyone to begin to notice that this is far from a good thing, as the more Noah absorbs energy, the more the remaining human parts of him are eaten away and converted into energy and light and by the time they reach the conclusion that he should definitely limit useage of his power, he's already lost an arm. It's still there, he can still use it, but it's constantly glowing and feels as if it's burning and just serves an omen of what's to come before one day he just disappates entirely.

At a low usage rate of his energy, he's got between 10-12 months left but it'll slowly be eating away at him constantly even if he isn't using it. He's got half of that if he, for whatever reason, decides to go all out with his new flashy tricks and show off, but I feel like that's not something we need to worry about happening.

[reassambled-dragoon]

25: Perpetuity

   Truly, nothing lasts forever, Stasia mused as she cautiously worked her way into the upper levels of an abandoned apartment tower. She had volunteered for this type of scavenging; like the twins, she was small and lithe, but unlike them, she had Fleetwing to catch her if she fell, and she had a lot more experience in dangerous situations. Garlemald was a shelled-out husk, but if anything, that made the capitol even more dangerous, what with unstable buildings and Tempered and all.

   The Jullus youth had insisted she take a “torch”, which was a handheld light in a metal tube. Stasia had tried to refuse, as the refugees needed it far more, but when she’d caught Alphinaud’s pointed nod, she’d given in and promised to return it. Now, in the dusty, smoky darkness of the flat she’d crept into, she was grateful for the artificial light that she had tied to her shoulder.

   As she retrieved cans of food, blankets, and clothing, she considered just how this nation, like so many others, had fallen.

   The Garlean Empire. From what she’d been told, it had only really existed for five decades. Certainly there were elders among the refugees who were older than their Empire, yet they and those who were younger had been convinced that Garlemald would last forever, and swallow other nations into the bargain. Now? It was a literally-bloody ruin, its capitol a warzone, its palace a mangled monstrosity holding nothing but corrupted aether. If its people could rebuild, it would certainly take years at minimum, and Stasia rather doubted that Garlemald would ever revive to its former glory.

   Frankly, she hoped it wouldn’t. The survivors had a chance to choose a different path, one of cooperation instead of conquest. If the people were going to be swayed, it would be done by missions like hers tonight.

   Stasia glanced around the flat again. There wasn’t much that was worth saving here, so she went back to the window she’d climbed through and scaled the outside to the next one below. Yes, far better for her to risk this; Fleetwing could not go inside safely, but the wyvern had plenty of practice with catching the sin’dorei.

   The next flat was completely burned out. In fact, the entire level was worthless. Damn. With a shake of her head, Stasia pushed away from the tower, landing on Fleetwing’s back a moment later. They flew to Stasia’s next target, a similar tower of flats. As before, she slipped into a room and began investigating. They had asked for cereleum and other power sources, but Jullus wasn’t going to turn down anything at this point.

   As she gathered what looked like medicines and battery packs, her thoughts turned to her brief lessons on the Empire of Allag. Another cruel dictatorship, but this one had lasted for…how long? Millennia, plural? At least, according to her conversations with Nero, who had something of a vested interest in his ancestors. If any nation had deserved to believe it would last in perpetuity, surely it would have been that one. Certainly, its relics persisted to present day, and worked besides.

   Stasia glanced towards the window, noting the rapidly deepening dusk. She securely sealed her packs and made her way back outside. While she was generally comfortable on night missions, Jullus had ordered her to be back before nightfall. Stasia admitted he had wisdom; he knew how this area would be at night, and she realized the cold was gaining even more of a bite. The refugees would need the packs of salvaged supplies, especially if the medicines were any good. The blankets and clothes smelled a bit, but there were some places where fabrics could be hung and aired out. That was more than good enough for most anyone’s purposes.

   After an uneventful flight back to base and debriefing, Stasia passed her packs to the twins and their assistants, who began unloading the contents. Thankfully, she had the spelled packs that her cousin had made for her, and they could hold so much more than anything she’d seen yet on this planet.

   However, Stasia had salvaged one special item. It was a soft, cuddly stuffed animal, and was in good condition, just needing to be freshened up. She rubbed a tiny bit of her own perfume into the faux fur, which got rid of enough of the smokiness, and headed over to a mother holding a toddler that had, sadly, lost an eye. “I do not know whose it used to be, but perhaps your little one would like a cuddly?”

   The Garlean woman started to protest, but the child’s reach for the toy made her pause. “I…there are no toys. They weren’t considered ‘essential’...”

   “Then I will look for some on my next run,” Stasia promised, smiling as the child took the stuffy. “Blankets and food are vital, but so is comforting the babies. If they cry less, you can do more, yes?”

[timedyne]

when my family went to orlando in april to visit universal studios and disney world we became very familiar with universal studios’ “family rooms”, which were small rooms that could be accessed from both the loading and unloading areas of rides for those who dont want to go on the ride and might not want to be left alone in a busy theme park in the orlando heat for who knows how long, because my sister quickly learned she was not a fan of both thrill rides/rollercoasters and rides that heavily used screens. if you’ve ever been to universal studios, you probably understand that 90% of the rides there either are a thrill ride or heavily rely on screens (which is true for most theme parks, but especially universal from what i’ve heard), so she ended up skipping most rides the rest of my family went on.

these family rooms were great, and from what my sister has told me she enjoyed them because they were quiet, air conditioned, and she could just be on her phone alone. most of these family rooms were secluded with maybe one window along the queue, with the exception of velocicoaster which was completely off the queue line and had her separate from us earlier than the rest of the rides. it was also a win for the rest of us, because we could just hand off our bags to her when we went on rides without lockers and didn’t have to worry about carrying them.

well, what is the point of this post? why did i want to reminisce on a part of my vacation i didn’t ever even experience for myself? well, one of these family rooms was really funny to me because it was completely unlike the other family rooms i had seen. this family room was the family room for the men in black dark target shooter ride, which is could only be described as baby’s first panopticon experience. my sister was first willing, but reluctant, to go on the ride but then decided abruptly to not participate because i think the preshow with the live actor who takes you from the outdoor queue to the indoor queue irked her a bit. so when we got to the point in the queue where the employee (i dont remember if universal has a goofy ass name for their park employees but you understand what i mean) asked how many people were in our party, she said she didnt want to ride and wanted to step aside. this employee then had her coworker escort her to the family room, which was a room with two glass walls that directly overlooked the loading area and the upper area of the indoor queue. the room was completely white aside from that, with some cute art of aliens on the back wall.

i think my dad took a picture of her because it just looked so goofy. it was my sister just sitting there in a white room alone, staring at us in the queue. when me and my mom went to go get her (i didn’t realize my other sister and dad had gone out the normal exit. and i wanted to look at the aforementioned alien art on the wall because i love aliens), we had to go up an elevator that not many people get to go up because its pretty much only there for those exiting the ride to get those in the family room and leave. so that was cool.

[casspurrjoybell-20]

FOOLS Fall - Chapter 18 - Part 1

BOOK TWO: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

Noah Wright

"Ciera?"

Ciera was at my doorstep at eight PM Wednesday night.

When I opened my door and questioned her arrival, she held up a bag that smelled like fried rice.

"Brought Chinese food," she stated and walked in without my permission.

Not that I really cared, I was more confused than anything.

Plus I was hungry and didn't feel like making food.

So, I shut the door behind her and followed her into my kitchen.

She started unloading the food onto my small countertop then asked...

"Plates?"

"I'm definitely going to eat the fuck out of that fried rice but what are you doing here?" I questioned as I opened the cabinet that sat on the wall above and to the left of the sink.

I pulled down two plates.

They were green and plastic, I bought them when Target was having a sale: 99¢ per plate.

Ciera shrugged.

"I was bored and Dina was with Jude and Alice had an essay to write and Kyle only likes to get high."

"So I'm the last resort?"

I waited for Ciera to shuffle food on her plate first.

"Basically, yeah," she spoke seriously as she dumped sweet and sour chicken onto her plate.

"Touching," my tone was sardonic.

Then the thought of Sam knowing I was having dinner with Ciera, even if it was just takeout, had me feeling itchy.

"This isn't like..."

How do I say this without coming off as a dick?

Because if she did have feelings for me, I'd want to let her down easy.

"I'm with Sam and I don't..."

"Ew," Ciera cut me off with her hand held up.

"Don't even go there. Plus, I'm into girls."

"Oh cool. You're a lesbian?"

I gathered that sweet and sour chicken, the fried rice and two crab Rangoon on my plate, then poured sweet and sour sauce over it all.

"Well, I'm bisexual but right now I'm in the mood for a sexy girl I can spoil, ya' know?"

"I guess and what girl are you trying to spoil?" I asked.

We both had our plates full and had taken a seat on the stools that stood under the counter.

"Ugh, Tiffany Chen," Ciera looked at me with a smirk while she said,

"Asian girls are my weakness. They're just so fucking sexy and perfect."

I chuckled and then said...

"You should've barged into her apartment then, not mine."

"You got free food, why are you complaining?" she talked with her mouth full but with her hand in front of her mouth to block me from watching her chew food.

"I'm not complaining but you should be spending your night with her and not me."

"I don't know if she's into women," she said glumly and that was the first time Ciera showed any other emotions besides sarcasm.

"Don't be a pussy, ask her," I said with a shrug.

"Just lay it out there for her."

Ciera finished off her helping, she was a fast eater.

"You're probably right. Ugh, let's get out of here," she demanded as she stood up and dropped her plate in the sink.

"I'm not really one to go out," I said.

She looked at me like I was scum on the floor.

"Don't be a pussy."

"Where we going exactly? Before I agree," then shoved the last forkful of rice in my mouth.

"A small get together. My friend's brother's birthday is today. He's kind of a dick but," she shrugged and left it at that.

"Eh, I'd rather not," and yet, she found a way to drag me there.

Not really but she complained enough to get me in her car and drove to a house that was apparently an hour away but that wasn't what got me.

*********

It was whose house we were at that made me want to turn back.

"You know Zach Price?"

Which meant we were also twenty minutes from Sam but it was close to ten on a Wednesday night and I was sure he was in the middle of binge watching The Vampire Diaries 're-watching for the hundredth time'.

There would be no point to letting Sam know I was in town.

"His older brother, Tyler is my oldest and best friend. I've known the Price's forever. Zach went to Crestfield with you, right? Were you guys friends?"

The driveway and surrounding street was packed with cars and I learned Ciera actually knew how to parallel park.

"No," I shut that notion down real quick."

"Yeah, he's a bit of a dick but his brother's cool," claimed Ciera as we walked across the street.

[tirsden]

| Chapter: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 |

The final chapter of the Skyrim "kill everyone" challenge begins with doing the lexicon quest, since I picked the lil' cube off someone at some point. Then we tried knocking on the High Hrothgar door but they're smarter than that. Damned quest locks anyways. Speaking of, Serana cannot be accessed without the relevant quest, which means the vampire castle is also a lost cause.

Cato may have had a vision of sorts, where he walked magically through the dungeon boulder, found Serana completely unresponsive (she would legit not wake up) and well, a non-moving target is an easy target. Then off to the vampire castle where the impenetrable gate was also somehow passed, and everyone beyond died as well. Then he snapped out of it, found himself still staring at the unmoving boulder, and decided to go try breaking into Goldenglow Estate instead.

Nope, that didn't work either. Shor's Stone died a miserable death instead, and then onwards to Solstheim which has been waiting for kitty wrath for a while now. Sadly, a lot of stuff there is also quest-locked, but the main town died along with the Telvanni shroom outpost and the Skaal village. The latter is a decent spot to make arrows if it wasn't so many loading-screens away from usefulness. Yep, we are Walking Death Incarnate and still stop to chop wood quite a bit. Arrows don't make themselves!

Well, there's only two major cities left… and Solitude bought its ticket to the abyss first. For once, I didn't sneak much, because I was trying to actually rack up a decent bounty. There were literally two master vampire attacks while working on that, partly because I went to go unload loot at Anise's Cabin a few times.

And finally… Whiterun. It's always been the endgame in my mind, for this challenge. And thus, endgame is achieved with the biggest hold bounty as is fitting. I have some quests I could do in my quest log that don't require people being alive, and I'm sure there are townlets and of course tons of exploration locations with things left to kill… but the challenge has worn thin and it's time to scrub the relevant code from ye olde skyrim.ini and back up this playthrough's final saves to Google Drive one last time.

Skyrim belongs to Cato now. All hail the murder-cat. Quietly and from afar, so he doesn't know you exist.

Notable stats at endgame:

Character Level 46 56 hours played 103 in-game days 150 health, 100 magicka, 500 stamina (500 carry weight)

39,134 gold 6 quests completed 12 spells learned 7 unusual gem pieces

Bow: Zephyr (302 damage, 30% faster fire rate) Gear: Aetherial Crown (Lover and Thief stones), Ebony Mail, crafted ebony gloves/boots, diamond jewelry, archery and sneak enchantments Misc: kept one of every major outfit type, especially from notable NPCs and rulers, plus a few unique weapons

Arrows: Ancient Nord - 139 Dwarven - 10,039 Ebony - 54 Elven - 354 Falmer - 61 Forsworn - 25 Glass - 358 Iron - 4,328 (default used) Nordic - 456 Orcish - 426 Steel - 6,431

Skills: Sneak 100 (12 perk points) Archery 87 (11 perk points) Lockpicking 90 Smithing 100 (8 perk points) Enchanting 95 (7 perk points) Alchemy 45 (legendaried once) Two-handed 45 Restoration 32 7 unspent perk points

Crime: Murders committed - 789 Total lifetime bounty - 155,328 Whiterun bounty - 19,508 Haafingar bounty - 10,409 The Rift bounty - 6,045 Falkreath bounty - 4,000 The Reach bounty - 2,085 Eastmarch bounty - 1,130 The Pale bounty - 1,040 Tribal Orcs bounty - 1,000 Hjaalmarch bounty - 5 Raven Rock bounty - 0 :( …it's really hard to get bounties to stay when all the witnesses die and/or kills are done sneakily enough.

[huntershowl]

me imagining hellhound screaming in rage: “nice”

[eruden-writes]

Desperation’s Summit - Part 5 (Rakash x Cordelia)

What happens when a rich human woman gets kidnapped by a troll in the mountains? The troll claims it was an accident, but is that really true?

cw: spousal death backstory

Taglist: @coolninjavoid

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4  | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 (coming soon)

Want early access to other stories? Join my Patreon! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Or you can “buy me a coffee” on  ko-fi, if you just want to show a little bit of appreciation! ❤

---

Once she stepped foot into what had once been her quarters while traveling, Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. Other than a few obviously valuable baubles, nothing genuinely important appeared missing. As she ventured further inside, the wagon shifted as Rakash followed behind. It brought brief flashes of last night to her mind, the triumph over Jai quickly followed by terror as Rakash had so easily dragged her off into the night. Cordelia shook the thought from her head as she bustled about her room.

“I”ve been traveling quite a lot and there’s a few things I desperately want back at your hovel.” Cordelia spoke breezily as she flipped her cot. Underneath it, a trap door sat.

“My hovel?” A growl lodged in Rakash’s throat as he watched the woman open the door on the floor. The insult of his home had him completely miss her other assertion.

Curiously, she leaned down into the hole and grasped onto something, grunting as she tugged out a moderately sized trunk. Why this woman had so many traveling cases, Rakash had no clue. It was wasteful and ridiculous.

Cordelia shoved the trunk to a clear spot on the floor, brain already churning with what she wanted to include as she flipped the lid open. As she turned to Rakash, she exasperatedly sighed, “Your rustic cabin. Is that better?”

“You are not returning to my home,” he snarled as the woman began throwing things into the now open trunk. Books, baubles, things from other trunks, clothes, and more. He couldn’t even begin to understand what Cordelia was doing. In fact, he didn’t want to know.

At this point, he should just leave. Cordelia had been returned to her caravan and that was it. There was nothing else for him here. And yet Rakash couldn’t turn, couldn’t leave. He continued to stand there, hunched in that wagon, watching Cordelia.

“Aren’t I?” Cordelia looked up from where she had been shoveling clothes from one trunk into her targeted trunk. “You won’t take me down the mountain and I can’t go alone. Winter freeze - which makes the pass ironically impassable - is fast approaching, as well.”

She had certainly thought long and hard about the possibilities last night, between feeding the trollings and sleep. Staying with Rakash, offering to help him, was the only option her pitiful bleeding heart could accept. As much as it aggravated her sensible side. “The only decent option left is to stay with you and help you with your little monsters.”

At that, Rakash let out a sharp, mean laugh. “I don’t need your help with my children.”

“Oh, yes, fathers who are getting plenty of sleep tend to kidnap women. How could I forget?” Her titter came out sweet and edged, like a sugar-coated blade, as she skirted to yet another chest. From this one, she withdrew small boxes of cosmetics and toiletries, depositing them into her first crate.

The glare Rakash unleashed on Cordelia could have stifled even the strongest of warriors. However, Cordelia paid it no mind. She was too busy relocating everything into her special trunk.

“I’ve put quite a bit of thought into it and, honestly, this helps you tremendously,” she explained after Rakash offered nothing further but heated silence. She didn’t look at him while she continued to unload books and clothes and jewelry and souvenirs. “I’ll stick around and be your live-in nanny until the spring thaw. Your kids are just going to get bigger, which means bigger appetites, right? Bottles won’t sustain them forever.”

She had a point, Rakash hated to admit it. The triplets were just going to keep getting bigger and needing more supervision. He chewed on his bottom lip as he considered the cavernous tunnels connected to his cabin. There were areas that would pose danger to his children. The bathing area, the active magma runoff, the sheer drops. Not to mention the areas he was actively working on, creating actual rooms for the three. Cribs would not be comfortable forever.

He was so angrily thinking about her points, he didn’t even notice when Cordelia sidled up to him.

“Think about it,” Cordelia crooned, almost reaching out to touch Rakash’s arm until the troll shot a livid glare at her. She let her hand drop, but her smile only broadened. “Someone to watch the little cretins when you need a break or need to go do something. Divvying up chores. A full night of sleep.”

It was the last option that made Rakash’s shoulders sag and Cordelia couldn’t stop her smile growing. Of course, it was the prospect of sleep. After all, deprivation of sweet slumber was what got him into this predicament in the first place.

“Fine,” Rakash growled, the word coming out grudgingly. He sharply pointed at Cordelia, warning painting his tone, “But if you piss me off, it’s out into the mountains.”

“I’m sure,” scoffed Cordelia with a roll of her eyes as she turned away from him. She had only known the troll for such a short period of time, but she doubted he’d actually make good on the promise. If her instincts were correct, he was too big of a softie. Or perhaps too tied to what his wife would have wanted of him, in such a situation. Regardless, Cordelia didn’t feel the least bit threatened.

Perhaps she should, though. Even as she continued to dart around the wagon, retrieving anything and everything that might prove useful, she could feel Rakash’s uncertain - and irritated - gaze on her. As amused as she was with his perpetual dourness, Cordelia wondered if it’d ever get old. Or would it lead to other heated problems?

As she happened upon a particular box of goods in one of the many other crates, a thought struck Cordelia. Heat licked up her spine at the sudden thought, but she hid it well. As her thumb grazed the edge of the box, she cleared her throat, “Though, while we’re away from impressionable ears, we should probably establish something else.”

From his now seated position by the door, Rakash muttered, “And that would be?”

“I’m an adult woman with a healthy appetite, as it were,” she hedged, not looking to Rakash as she spoke. “And you are obviously no blushing virgin yourself.”

Cordelia let the words hang in the air for a moment, while Rakash waited for her to elucidate. But the longer the silence lasted, the more her face flamed. Godsdamn it, would she have to spell it out?

He wouldn’t need further clarification, though. Understanding struck him suddenly, his eyes widening and tail flicking at the thought. She couldn’t possibly mean fucking. Not the two of them. Not after all of her insults and snide remarks. It made something crawl over his skin.

But as Cordelia glanced to him, her own face flushed and a strangely demure expression on her cheeks, Rakash knew that was exactly what she was suggestion.

Heat clawed across his face, the shade of his dark blue skin deepening to a purple. “Absolutely fucking not.”  

Relief fluttered through Cordelia, but disappointment - as faint as it was - also panged through her chest. With a careless shrug, she turned back to packing. “Alright, I figured I’d breach the subject in ca-”

A yelp tore from Cordelia’s lips as she felt herself dragged backward by the scruff of her coat. Her back thumped against one of the clearer walls in the wagon. Not hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs, but enough to assert the troll’s strength. Once more, heat churned through Cordelia, her eyes snapping to Rakash’s face.

Rakash didn’t even know what he was doing, until he had the woman boxed against a wall. He stooped over her, both of his forearms braced on the wall behind her. To her credit, Cordelia didn’t cow. She just glared up at him, her chest rising and falling with hitched breaths. He knew it wasn’t fear rising her pulse - there was a telltale heady scent in the air - but he tried not to focus on that.

“Let’s get something straight,” Rakash hissed, looming over Cordelia. One of his massive hands pulled away from the wall, prodding the woman square in the chest. Her eyes never left his face, and he wasn’t sure if it infuriated him more or not. Gathering up as much disgust as his tone could manage, knowing it directed more at his own weakness than anything else, Rakash snarled, “I will never shove my cock into your slimy human slit.”

“Well, it’s happened before. Wasn’t your wife human?” Painful warmth snapped along Cordelia’s cheeks and the heat in her glare intensified. She didn’t want to focus on why his words stung, even if it was only a little. Shrugging her shoulders, she gave a theatrical huff, “It doesn’t matter in any case. I have toys.”

That made Rakash’s brain sputter. “Toys?”

“Yes, the sexually satisfying sort.” Much the same as he’d done to her earlier, Cordelia jabbed a finger into the hard rock of Rakash’s chest. She tried not to focus on that as a vicious smile tilted at her lips, “Since that concept seems to elude you.”

At Cordelia’s touch, Rakash’s eyes dropped to where her finger met his chest. Briefly, he thought she was daring to compare herself to his wife, his happiness. More guttural now, his tone dipped even further. “Are you insinuating I don’t know about satisfaction?”

“More like you don’t know how to satisfy others,” Cordelia corrected, as she turned from him and ducked under one of his arms. She wandered back to the job at hand, back to the troll. “Can’t imagine your poor late wife getting anything worthwhile, with your attitude.”

Pushing away from the wall and turning to watch her, Rakash barely stifled his growl. His fists clenched to his sides, on the verge of detailing every little last depraved, wonderful, gratifying thing he did to his wife. But the sensible part of him knew that wouldn’t shut Cordelia up. It would only serve to alleviate his own pride.

“I’m just calling it as I see it,” Cordelia continued, pretending to be oblivious to Rakash’s mood. But even she could feel the prickle in the air, the heat rising. Anticipation crept along her own skin, her senses hyper-aware of Rakash. It was a dangerous balance. One she should attempt to correct.

“Since you have no interest in me, it shouldn’t matter to you what opinion I hold of your performance abilities. Correct?” With a lazy grin and hooded eyes, she tilted her face to the troll. Her stomach lurched, catching on the simmering heat in his purple eyes. A purple that nearly matched the deepening color of his cheeks.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea for her to poke at him, as much as she had.

For the span of a few breaths, Rakash simply glowered at Cordelia. Conflicting thoughts tangled in his head as he sought a retort. But what she said was true. If he didn’t care about her opinion of him and his capabilities, it shouldn’t bother him what she thought.

But it did. Rakash didn’t want to think about why it did.

In an attempt to deflate the situation, Cordelia had returned to rifling about. After scouring about for the last bit of anything - books, valuables, clothes - that she thought would be helpful, she finally clapped. “Alright, I think that’s everything!”

Cordelia snapped the lid to the crate shut, spinning three dials that presumably acted as some sort of magical-mechanical lock.

“Wait,” Rakash’s eyebrows lowered, forcing his brain to focus on something awry with the situation, instead of the strangely heated exchange from earlier. Finally, the oddity registered. “How did you fit all that in there?”

The trunk Cordelia had been placing everything into was the same size as the others that lined her walls. He narrowed his eyes, mind trying to understand how she had placed so much in something so relatively small. She shouldn’t have even been able to strap the lid shut.

“Oh, one of the perks of being rich,” Cordelia replied, excessively cheerful to change the subject. She patted the lid of the crate, a hollow thunk sounding in reply. “This is a magical trunk, capable of storing anything and everything in an easy to haul package. Extremely costly.”

Rakash’s nose wrinkled, his lip curling up with the knowledge he’d be the one hauling the damned thing for the damned woman. “If that is heavy as shit, you’ll have to repack.”

“Did you not hear me say easy to haul? The magic affects the weight, as well.” Cordelia scoffed, rolling her eyes though a smile still curved at her lips. She quite liked how convenient magic made travel. Of course, she didn’t advertise just how much she utilized enchanted items. After all, being able to hire some burly assistants to move all of her other trunks had its benefits.

Of course, she was down to one burly helper, now. Rakash. And flirting shamelessly with the troll was not a good idea. Still, she couldn’t help taunting him. Leaning over the trunk, ignoring how the lid more noticeably pushed her breasts up and forward, Cordelia chuckled, “No worries, you won’t throw out your old-man back. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I am not old.” It was the only retort Rakash could manage to bite out, while fighting the distracting position Cordelia had placed herself in.

What in the ever loving heavens was wrong with him?

“Mhmn, noted. Must be the parenting making you haggard.” The words came out with such ease as Cordelia pushed herself to her feet. Internally, she smirked as Rakash’s frown deepened. On the outside, she traipsed to the door of the wagon, half-turning to address the troll once more. “Do you think we have time to see if there’s any rations left? Just trying to plan ahead.”

Still struggling with remnants of the previously flush-inducing discussion, Rakash’s brain was clinging to pessimism. “If there is, how will we haul it?”

Now Cordelia sighed with exasperation. Indicating the trunk she had previously gushed over, she said slowly, “Magic. Trunk.”

“Right,” mumbled the troll, casting a dubious look at the alleged enchanted crate. “Fine, let’s go look.”

“Good choice,” Cordelia replied, her grin growing as she tilted her head. Her smile twitched a little wider, seeing Rakash tense and prepare for the inevitable question, “Be a dear and get my luggage?”

Defeated, the troll sighed and approached the offensive box. “Do I have a choice?”

Once more, Cordelia clapped as Rakash heaved the trunk into his arms. Her overly cheerful, condescending words almost had him launching her luggage through the door in agitation, “You’re learning!”

Instead of flinging her precious cargo through the door, he issued a warning growl at the woman. To which Cordelia simply ignored, very vocally pondering just where that darn kitchen cart got parked. Miserably, Rakash followed her out the door and into the snow.

He was thankful, however, that Cordelia’s claims appeared to be true. The trunk weighed near nothing in his arms.

[tibby]

it's actually so wild saw to me is like this rare subterranean, conceptual, uber genre-specific horror franchise that i feel like any political meaning/relevance to it goes over my head but boy DO THEY KILL A LOT OF DAMN COPS IN THOSE MOVIES lol (which is also why i'm lenient on the cops being heroes in spiral)

the politics in saw are all over the place and i think with the exception of saw vi, it's hard to say that any of the films in the original 7 take a hard stance on any issue. i think it's interesting that people think saw 2004 is some like, post 9/11 america commentary, because james and leigh are australian and that's certainly not what they set out to do. does saw perhaps have underlying political themes/interpretations? sure, just like all art. but iirc that was never james and leigh's original intention.

i think saw ii in particular is VERY interesting because in my take, eric matthews is at no point the good guy. is he one of the protagonists? sure. but i don't think we're ever meant to root for him. we're introduced to him as a shitty father and over the course of the movie we find out that he's got a history of police brutality and framed multiple people over the course of his career. amanda's problems can be directly linked to eric framing her for a crime she didn't commit. i also think it's very...interesting and unfortunately realistic that most of the officers don't really care about eric's past/current behaviour. even kerry, the only one that's genuinely horrified to find out that he framed people and tries to stop him when he goes to attack john, was involved with him in the past.

one of the points of the franchise to me is that the mpd is never able to stop the varying jigsaws in part because most of them are crooked. it's even one of the things that john uses to manipulate hoffman into becoming an apprentice - the justice system fails those who actually need it.

(it's also perhaps worth nothing that the targets of the games become a lot more...deserving when hoffman takes over. john targeted people like addicts and the mentally ill and lawrence and adam. hoffman targets abusers and nazis. just...interesting that even when he's become a remorseless criminal, he's still doing more to take down those who deserve to be punished than the law has ever done in this universe).

even strahm, who is probably the greatest adversary within the hoffman tetralogy, isn't like. a good guy. and i don't think we're meant to see him as one, even if he's the ~hero~ of saw v. he threatens jill with a gun during an interrogation and given how like, relaxed perez was about him unloading it beforehand, suggests he'd done it before. he was also incredibly trigger happy when it came to jeff denlon, and perez remarks that he's always had a bit of a temper. strahm is able to recognise that the mpd is crooked, sure, but he's certainly not playing by the rules.

honestly i wouldn't even say the cops are painted as the heroes in spiral...william believes that zeke is a hero and we get that annoying "only the bad cops" line but like. the movie is also pretty firmly about the inherent issues within the system. zeke is ostracised and harassed by his colleagues for over a decade for turning in a dirty cop (which has added connotations given that zeke is a black man and the cop he turned in was white), william exclusively tests cops who got away with crimes unpunished, and it does bring up the issue of the "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality. obviously the movie still has a lot of issues wrt law enforcement (as does the whole franchise really), but with the exception of zeke, i wouldn't say it portrays cops in a good light at all, let alone as heroes.

anyway sorry didn't mean to go on a whole rant lmao. saw's politics aren't really like...coherent at any given point in time outside of "healthcare for all" so. who knows what their intentions were. all i know is that to me the heroes of the franchise are not, and have never been, the mpd.

[fandomscombine]

It's the Lease I Can Do

Platonic! Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: The Weasley twins are so close to having their joke shop become a reality. They had found the perfect location but they had hit a minor problem that could cause them everything. You want to help, but how can you when they, the birthday boys themselves had given up?

a/n: I had this idea for a almst a year now and waited til ther twins bday to write it. I hope you enjoy.

WC: 2111

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred and George causing a ruckus in the common room is a daily occurrence that everyone is accustomed to. However ever since the start of Year 7, the amount of commotion these two had caused can be counted in one hand.

At first glance, it could be attributed to NEWTS or in this year's case-to a pink toad acting as High Inquisitor. Still, more and more nights the twins had claimed the back corner of the common room.

~

The last remaining batch of students were making their way through Filch's checkpoint (an added security protection which also serves for Umbridge having a list of names on who comes in and out of Hogwarts). You glanced down at your watch- 2:27pm, they’re late. Weird, the twins never pass a chance to go to Hogsmeade.

You hear the castle door open behind you. Thank Merlin, you thought but instead you were greeted with a disheveled Angelina. “I’m coming! Wait!”

“Have you seen Fred and George?” You called as she ran past you.

“I think I saw them in the common room!” Angelina shouted back.

The common room? “What are they up to now?” You sighed. Stomping heavily up the stairs. “Ditching me….”

~

“Oi Weaslebees! I know you’re in here!” You rounded the corner of their secret spot. “AHa!”

You caught them red handed, midway into shoving papers into their “Weasley & Weasley'' Trunk. Though what they were hiding, you weren't exactly sure.

“Y/N!” Fred greeted, grabbing onto your shoulders, effectively covering George and the table. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Narrowing your eyes at him. “Really?” Hands on hips you blatantly say “2:15 am, courtyard?? Ring any bells?” Fred shook his head.

Meanwhile George’s head shot up. “Oh shit, y/n we’re so sorry!”

Fred turned to his brother, still clueless on what the heck George was talking about.

Abandoning the trunk, George gave his twin a classic smack on the head. “Hogsmeade, you idiot! We were supposed to all go together.”

“OHHHH FU--” Fred knew he was screwed. “I’M SO SORRY! WE’RE SORRY.” Seizing the messy trunk, he strategized. “Right, here’s the plan: I’m gonna quickly drop this off back in the dorm while you two make your way to the gate. If you run, I guess you can make it. I’ll catch up with you two then.”

“Fred….. We’re not gonna make it” you argued.

“Not if we don’t try.”

“It’s almost 3, Filch would be closing the gates by now.” You sat down on Fred’s empty seat. “Besides we can go to Hogsmeade next time, we could just hang out here. I miss having my best lads around.”

“Awww…we’ve been upgraded from annoying pricks to best lads!” Gushed George, pulling you into a side hug.

“Yea, I could help in whatever it was you guys were doing before I came. I don’t mind.”

At that, you could feel George tense up, his arm around you dropping. “Uhhh…” He looked to the older twin, silently conversing.

You gaze between the boys, sometimes they get so caught up in their scheming that they don’t notice that to others, especially those who had known them for years that their non verbal communication is not so sly.

In the end, Fred gave his brother a subtle shake. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just put this back and we could play gobstones or something, anything you like.”

As Fred headed up to his dorm room, you noticed a piece of paper under the table. Picking it up, the header caught your eye. RE: Lease Agreement. Were the twins looking for a new home after graduation? You didn’t mean to pry. You were close friends, they would tell you if they were moving right? This is big news….you decided to brush it off until another line caught your attention. The shop premise located at Number 93 Diagon Alley. Shop? They are trying to set up shop? That’s brilliant! The twins would get to showcase their inventions to the world! You could feel your pride swell. Leasing Agreements would not proceed if tenants, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley, are unable to provide an endorser by the date of 31st of March.

“Where’d you get that?” George standing across from you, gobstones on one hand and another pointing at the document. There’s no backing out now.

“It was under the table.” You explained. “I didn’t know you were this far along with the shop.”

“Yea, well it’s not happening now is it?”

“What?”

“Cmon y/n. I know you read it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright. We aren’t getting the place anyway.”

“Wait what? Why?”

“No endorsers.” George stated matter of factly but you sense the pain in his voice.

“How about your parents surely-”

George laughed. “As if mum would suddenly have a change of heart. You knew how she disapproves of our inventions, calling it a waste.”

“Arthur then.”

“Mum won’t let him.”

“Anyone then?” George huffed in defeat. “How about me! I could back you up.”

“You have to be an adult with a proven financial stability.” He stated, effectively shutting you down. “Forget it y/n. The hold ends in 3 days. We’ve tried everything. Just don’t let Fred know that you know. He’s devastated. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And no pity, sad eyes!” He added as footsteps are heard descending the staircase.

“But I suck at poker faces!”

“Then let’s hope that Freddie is distracted even to not notice.”

~

It’s been 4 days since you had sent the letter to your father.

“Dear papa,

I know that this is a huge favour to ask but I believe it would be worth your while.

So remember back in the summer when you caught Fred Weasley, George Weasley and me snooping around with the Extendable Ears but let us go because you were so enamored?

Well turns out the twins and trying to get a shop up and running! How amazing is that?

The only problem is that they need an endorser to back them up in order to proceed with the lease agreements. The are currently on hold for the Shop Number 93 in Diagon Alley until the 31st.

This is where the huge favour comes in. Could you please be their backer? You did say that you’d love to help in some part in their invention, be an investor of sorts. Please papa. I would love to do it myself but I have to wait a couple more months to qualify. Plus it’s their 18th birthday on April 1st. Imagine their surprise if it were to come through.

I’d love to hear from you soon, regardless of your choice.

Your favourite child

y/n.”

The twin’s 18th birthday was spent with absolute love and madness.

Lee had unloaded his stash of butterbeer and firewhiskey, Fred had slipped Angelina with one of their new prank inventions- which changes the person into a sickly color of vomit green, a perfect way to ditch class or events.

Upon learning that the color would last for a few days and would only fade with the ingestion of an antidote, antidote that George said they still had yet to create. Angelina (understandably) threw cake at them. The Gryffindor chaser with perfect aim, hits its mark. However, Fred using his beater skills, instinctively blocks the incoming cake.

Resulting in a wide splat zone. Fred’s arm was covered in frosting, having sprayed everyone around him in whipped cream during the impact. George wasn’t safe too, despite being across from Fred, the rebounce of the cake had made him the new target.

You had just changed into your pajamas when a tapping sound came from your window.

Your family owl, Lanny, was outside carrying a large yellow envelope.

Quickly letting him in, you gave Lanny a gentle pat and brought out some owl treats for the tired bird.

Unscrolling the note tied to his leg, you begin to read.

“My dearest y/n,

My sincere apologies for the late reply, it’s been quite hectic at work.

In regards to your favour, you need not worry. Everything is taken care of. I had met with the landlord of Number 93 Diagon Alley and had all the documents settled. I had also gone and checked to make sure the two lads aren’t being ripped off. Fred and George had picked a nice prime location.

Greet them a happy birthday for me alright? And tell them that I look forward to witnessing them succeed in their endeavors.

They would undoubtedly be bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times. The people would be thankful for them.

I also had Lanny bring the twins’ copy of the Lease Agreement.

I can’t wait to see you all soon.

Much love,

Papa.”

~

Fred was grateful that their friends had retired into the night, leaving him and George to sulk into the dreadful reality.

“We were this close Georgie, this close!” Fred winced, pinching his fingers close without touching.

“I know but there was nothing else we could have done.” consoled George but even he himself was having a hard time. Number 93 was the perfect location for their joke shop. But now it’s gone.They are back to square one, scouting for locations.

“Fred! George! There you are! I have great news!” You yelled, not caring if you could wake up the other students.

“Oi Y/N! Be careful!.” Even in a bad mood, Fred Weasley couldn’t help being protective.

You banged the envelope on the table. “Surprise! Happy Birthday! From papa and I.”

“Another gift?” wondered George.

“So you don’t want it then?” You challenged, crossing your arms. You tried to look intimidating but the pajamas weren’t doing any good. “Cause I bet a hundred galleons that you’d shit your pants if you were to reject it.”

“That confident eh?” Smirked Fred, taking the contents of the envelope out. “ What do you think is so grand that Georgie and I would---BLOODY HELL! Y/N!” Fred kept looking down at the paper and up to you, unbelieving.

“What is it Freddie?” asked George leaning over to read whatever it was that left his brother speechless.

Re: Lease Agreement

Mr. y/l/n has submitted his endorsement to Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley.

The turnover of the leasing property of Shop Number 93 Diagon Alley would begin on April 1st …..

“Oh My- Y/n? Is this real?” George whispered, afraid that if he were any louder this dream would end.

“Yes, absolutely, 100%.” You affirmed. “The shop is yours! Opff-”

George embraced you tight, catching you off guard. You could feel your right shoulder getting wet. “Heyya big guy, don’t cry.” Running a hand up and down his back.

“But how?” Fred with brows creased was still stuck in a trance, you could see the paper shake in his grasp.

“You left the agreement noticed a couple of days ago. I might have accidentally read it. George said to not let you know cause you might get angry-”

“YOu KNEW?!?”

“George only knew I saw the paper. Nothing else.” You defended. “I thought i might try and help, so I called in a favour with papa. You knew how much he was impressed with the Extendable Ear, so I mentioned if he wanted to back you up. I only got his reply just now, said he’d love to and got onto ironing out the paperwork and viola!” Pointing at the document. “Oh and he also said Happy 18th Birthday, looking forward to your success and the people would be thankful for bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times.”

“Thanks Y/n but this is a lot we can’t possibly-”

You cut Fred off before he could say more. “Oh please, you have done countless things for me. And I know what you’re gonna say- but see you would do the same for me. Besides think of this as your first investors. We want to help. We see your potential, we know you two, Fred, George, are gifted with bringing laughter and joy to people with your inventions."

"Thank you, truly y/n and to your dad too." Fred admitted, opening himself up. "No one's really backed us up with our inventions before, we've been always told off for being childish. It really means a lot."

“Hey, it’s the lease I could do.” You replied, causing the twins to chuckle immediately lightening up the mood.

It's great to see them relax again after weeks of stressing over the shop. Times might be changing but at least tonight, you got your best lads back.

~

Everything Taglist : @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

[assemble-revengers]

Nexus Split

**Contains spoilers for Loki**

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2203

Prompt: “Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

Author’s Note: I woke up and chose violence today.

--

Time was hard to grasp before this whole mess began, but it at least had some structure regardless of how ethereal it seemed. There was structure and a time and place and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time so it seemed when you also made a move to snatch up the Tesseract the second you saw Loki move in New York. That’s how you got into this mess and honestly there were many things you had regretted initially. For instance, why couldn’t you have minded your own business?

Well, if you had you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet Loki, and at the moment? That felt worth more than anything. It hadn’t started that way -- the two of you were practically at each other’s throats and when you weren’t bickering between each other you were being confused by the politics of the TVA and time in general.

In a wild turn of events you became an unpaid intern all over again. You supposed it was better than dying or “being pruned”. You still were confused as ever by the lingo and even though you had tried your best to pay attention to the onboarding process, but frankly you were still wrapping your head around the prospect of the TVA in general. How had no one even considered this being a possibility? Where did these people come from? It seemed that it just...was? But if that was the case, why was there an onboarding process?

Miss Minutes was terrifying -- she was just so...eerie and popped up randomly and honestly you just wanted a nap. Or to wake up from this bizarre dream.

The worst part was the notion of running into other variants, namely the fact that a variant that had been targeting members of the TVA happened to be a Loki-variant.

“Wonderful,” you retorted, interrupting Mobius with disdain, “There’s another one of him.”

The aforementioned god was sitting across a table from you and you weren’t entirely sure how he was taking the whole thing. According to him, the tesseract was useless here. A paper weight. Another beyond weird thing that the TVA brought.

“We should team up,” a voice interrupted your spacing out and it took you a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Loki. And he was talking to you.

You blinked a few times incredulously, “You have been nothing but cruel to me since we met. Why would I ever help you?” Honestly, the audacity of men.

“I am sorry about that, by the way,” he answered, “I was going through something.”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out, covering your mouth immediately to try to mute the sound and avoid any more attention. “Aw, that makes it all better.”

There was no reason to hide your sarcasm, and he knew that. You could tell from the way he blanched for a moment before resuming his composure, obviously trying to turn on some godly charm or something onto you, “I was. I truly am sorry.”

“Loki, you stole the Tesseract, tried to take over the world and brought a bunch of crazy alien things into New York City,” you listed, counting off the things on your fingers, “And now because you went after the stupid Tesseract again, with a room full of Avengers I might add, I cannot return to my life which wasn’t that impressive, but at this moment? I kind of miss it. So, no, I don’t accept your apology.” He was silent after that and you went back to your mind palace spiraling about the logistics of what was happening to you.

It was not a great day for you. Week? Hour? Time was weird. It was even more weird when you were suddenly having to do research into the Loki-variant-assassin. Going through files and files of different instances in time was tedious. It was interesting in that some of the things had already happened, were going to happen, and were happening in places you had never even heard of. It was during this that you and Loki had begun to work more collaboratively.

In fact, the moment you guys had made the connection that it was apocalypses? You taught the god of mischief the importance of a high five. Or rather, never leaving someone hanging because you chased him down, yelling at him until he returned the high five before you even allowed him to present your findings to Mobius. The bond continued when you both were treated like unhinged criminals or starved, ravenous animals by pretty much everyone other than Mobius who was...friendly as ever.

You did not have a lot of options in terms of trust. While Mobius seemed genuine, there was no way you could possibly know. The issue was that the only thing that was any level of normal in your eyes was Loki which was...laughable, but he was from your timeline. The two of you were in this together sort of because at this point you wanted to go home and it seemed he did too after the whole semantics of this whole thing. Or maybe he wanted to take over the TVA. Regardless, it gave you some hope that he might be kind and put you into your timeline where you belong.

The feelings came out of nowhere. In fact, you hadn’t even realized it happened until there was a chance for you both to chase after the Loki-variant (or Sylvie as you would learn later) and before Loki went through the portal, he reached a hand out for you, Mobius yelling and you found your feet moving on their own accord, turning to mouth ‘Sorry’ to Mobius before grabbing Loki’s hand and rushing through the portal.

Sylvie was interesting and endearing and was someone you instantly found yourself drawn to. You felt sympathetic to her story, and maybe that was dangerous. Dangerous, but gave you another sliver of hope despite the fact things were bleak. Very bleak. Being on Lamentis-1 about to explode and everyone die bleak. Despite this, the two of you sat and chatted in your booth at the bar while Loki got absolutely hammered and even began to softly serenade you in what you assumed was Asgardian (this was after he sung to the whole room) and you found yourself pulling him back down to the chairs and pulling him into a hug while you laughed.

“Loki, I have no idea what you’re saying,” you giggled, pulling away from him, “But I think you’ve had enough.”

“Darling, I think I’m just getting started,” he answered with the smoothness of butter on a hot pancake. You couldn’t help the burning of your ears and the rest of the blush that began to dance across your features. Sylvie coughed. Moment interrupted (Thankfully? You don’t know). Back to the business of the world ending and no way out. Maybe that’s what let all of you decide to unload tales of the past. Yours was boring and...uneventful comparatively which led you to remain relatively quiet as both Loki and Sylvie talked.

Hearing all of Sylvie’s plight and what brought her to that moment had both you and Loki feeling empathetic. You felt anger that this whole this was allowed and deemed ‘okay’ by the TVA. An entity that really had no checks and balances as far as you could see. You pretended to ignore Sylvie and Loki bonding. You felt your stomach tighten. Envy was ugly and green really was never your color.

But that triggered the TVA rolling up and taking the three of you back. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You weren’t expecting yourself to start fighting. Your restraints, the situation, the fact you were separated from Sylvie and more importantly Loki. You were utterly alone in your cell, screaming for them to let you out. The person interrogating you entered, tried asking you questions that you just couldn’t hear. Your head was swimming and it was almost as if you were hearing things like you were underwater. Fight or flight and apparently your entire being chose to fight.

Per someone’s orders you were moved, you lit up the moment you saw Loki and soon you were joined by Sylvie. Your restraints were removed and your eyes began watering as you rushed to Loki’s side, grabbing his hand as he gave yours a reassuring squeeze, moving so that he was shielding you from the front. The next thing you knew and before you had a moment to process, Mobius was pruned in front of you and Loki moved to shield you further.

Surprisingly, you were not entirely useless in the fight that ensued, but couldn’t help but feel entirely out of your element. The closest you had ever been to being in a fight in the past was when you were five and some girl stole your crayons and had the nerve to try to eat them.

Your adrenaline was pumping when you turned to Loki a feeling like being shocked by a plug while also being burned by a pan that had been on the stove. You were confused, Loki was yelling something. You couldn’t hear. You reach for him, desperate to calm him down or maybe it was because you subconsciously knew what was happening and you were terrified. The hot, electric feeling spread across your body before what felt like you were dropped in ice cold water and suddenly...your eyes blinked awake. You weren’t at the TVA.

Instead, you found yourself on the run (you hated yourself for missing out on all that gym time because your cardio could use some work) from a cloud that ate things. You would learn that you were in The Void, the evil vacuum of the cloud was called Alioth, and that there were even more Loki variants. One was an alligator. He was your favorite.

Your Loki also turned up and you practically threw yourself into his arms in relief, “I thought I lost you, you idiot.”

“I could say the same to you, pet,” he responded, murmuring into the crook of your shoulder. Reunions had to be cut short after you introduced the other variants, (“And this Loki is an alligator! How cool is that! He’s my favorite of all of you, no offense.”) and now you were seeking shelter to hide from Alioth and...well survive you supposed.

President Loki and the other Lokis were...a lot. In fact, there were so many Lokis that you were beginning to get a tension headache trying to keep up with everything that was going on. Some of them seemed to recognize you, including President Loki that informed you that you were late and with the wrong people (“No? I don’t even know who you are?” “You will.”)

Reuniting with Sylvie and Mobius brought even more relief. Sylvie seemed to think she could enchant the Alioth. You protested quite a bit before she was able to convince you otherwise. There was a way out. You had a chance to go back to the TVA and sort things with Mobius. Maybe go back to where you belong. Maybe stay. You weren’t sure, but it seemed Loki, your-Loki was hesitating.

Mobius was opening the portal behind you to the TVA. You stood with your hand firmly within Loki’s, fingers interlaced as you bid Sylvie a small, quiet ‘good luck, you’ve got this’. You and Loki were right by the portal, a sliver from stepping in before Loki stops, pulling you so that you two were facing each other, your back to the portal.

“What’s wrong?” you ask concerned.

“I’m staying,” Loki affirms, “To help Sylvie, to...do this.”

“Okay,” you lament. You were staying too. You tried to move to leave the portal Loki gave Mobius a heartfelt hug, which ended up being a group hug since Loki wouldn’t let go of you. In fact, as soon as Mobius was released from the hug, you were engulfed into Loki’s arms where you practically melted. The hug ended far too soon, but Loki didn’t release you, holding your face in his hands as he pressed his forehead to yours. It made your heart warm and peace washed over you.

“Loki…” you sigh, feeling an entire lifetime of emotions flooding your system, “I…”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, “I know. I feel the same...but I can’t bear to hear it.”

“Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” You inquire, voice cracking. You felt frozen in place as panic began to bubble up under your skin.

“Because you’re not staying with me,” he murmurs weakly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I love you, Y/N. Remember that, please.”

Before you could respond, you were shoved by a great force. You couldn’t even react as your grip was easily broken, your sense of balance knocked out from under you. Mobius had already stepped through the portal...surely it wasn’t still up? You landed on the ground, having been knocked off your feet, but you were no longer in the void.

You felt your heart shattering. You couldn’t even cry. He was gone.

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 3

The Wildest Times of the World

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.9k

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A/N: Sorry this update took so long! But I hope y’all enjoy it :)

Warning(s): none :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

AO3 link

Chapter 3 let’s go!

Three chilly October days after Ron’s abrupt departure from London - which Juliet was still seething about - she arrived home from the store to a different person she expected to never hear from again. Lottie stood at the front door, muttering to herself about whether or not to knock. Juliet was especially surprised because it was raining, which would have normally kept the editor indoors if she could help it. Juliet watched a moment, not wanting to give away her presence immediately. It satisfied her to watch Lottie fret like this. After a few moments, Juliet caved and cleared her throat. 

Lottie gasped as she whipped around, clutching at her chest. “Heaven's sake, Juliet! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” Juliet said, intentionally vague. “Can I help you, Lottie?” 

“Well…” Lottie hesitated, shifting her weight and toying with the fingertips of her gloves. “Shall we go in? I really need to speak to you.” 

Juliet decided not to comment on Lottie’s self-invite into the house. She figured with no other job openings popping up, this could be her opportunity to try and gain back some favor at the London Pursuit. She couldn’t imagine that Lottie was here for a personal reason. That was not the sort of manager she was. 

Once inside, Lottie followed Juliet to the kitchen - again, kindly not saying anything about the state of the house. Juliet set her grocery bags on the table before taking her coat off. Lottie shrugged hers off as well, removed her hat and gloves, and took a seat. 

“Cuppa?” Juliet offered. 

“Sure,” Lottie replied. 

Juliet put the kettle on. Then she started unloading the bags. 

“So, what did you want to speak to me about?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. 

“It’s the Albourne story,” Lottie said, voice tight, almost like she was spitting the words out. “All the other reporters are too busy to cover it. And if I have to go through the process of hiring someone new, we won’t get it in time.” 

“I’ve already told you, I think it’s -”

“You needn’t remind me of your insolent remarks,” she snapped. 

Juliet sighed, picked up a can of beans and placed it slowly in the cupboard, forming as polite a response as she could muster. But Lottie beat her to the next word. 

“If you agree to cover this story, I’ll let you cover the war down there,” she said. 

Juliet almost slammed the cupboard door shut in surprise. “What?” 

“You can cover the war news from there,” Lottie repeated. 

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Juliet returned. “Because if you know the Germans are in Aldbourne and you haven’t said anything until now, you might be in trouble, Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Juliet. The Americans are there, you could write about them.” 

Juliet bit back the snappy retort she had about that, and dialed it down. “Fascinating as the Yanks are, I reckon they’re not doing much actual fighting in Aldbourne. Unless you mean brawling in pubs.”

The English had almost adjusted to the American presence by now. However, Juliet had slipped out of more than one pub after a fight broke out between some bright-eyed, blue-blooded American who spoke too boldly about their importance in the war effort and an Englishman who naturally took offense to the effort of “our own lads” being minimized. It escalated. Drinks were thrown, followed shortly by fists. Others jumped in to either assist or attempt to separate the combatting parties, only to get swept up in the action either way. It was entertaining, sure, but Juliet thought it made rather a mockery of the term “Allies.” 

“They’re doing something there,” Lottie insisted. “And I give you full permission to try and find out what. As long as you cover the story about the girl as well.” 

“Observing Americans isn’t really covering the war, and you know it, Lottie,” Juliet said. 

“I’m not sending a woman to the front line, there would be a mob at the office door,” Lottie said. “I personally don’t care if you want to go and get yourself shot, but your blood cannot be on my hands.”

Juliet had to concede that point. Other papers had already suffered the ramifications of sending women reporters even within the vicinity of the front. There were boycotts led by counter-feminist groups and concerned mothers about the message it sent about women’s roles. It was one thing for women to work while men fought the war, but to put them in the line of fire? That was just indecent. 

“Well, good to know my life isn’t as much of your concern as public opinion,” Juliet joked.

Lottie frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, Lottie, I’m taking the piss,” Juliet returned with a wave of her hand. 

She paused, mulling over the offer Lottie was bringing. She wasn’t in much of a position to refuse work, but the idea of covering that gruesome story was almost too much to bear. Even if she was a bit interested in what the Americans were doing. Then, something else crossed her mind. 

“Why do you want this covered so badly?” she asked. 

Lottie’s face flushed and her mouth drew tight, which Juliet understood to mean the reason would not be to her liking. She braced herself. 

“A family friend is with the Wiltshire police,” Lottie admitted. “He thinks it would look good for the department to solve a case like this and put the murderer away. And to have the press cover it, especially a London paper with circulation throughout the country.”

Juliet couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You’re killing me, Lottie.” 

“This is the deal I’m offering,” Lottie sighed. “I know you’re opposed to it, but this is the compromise I’m willing to make.”

 Juliet considered her options. She did need the money. But the subject matter and the reasoning were so against her ideals and ethics as a journalist. How could she live with herself if she broke them for money? But there was her mother to consider as well. Which brought up another objection. 

“Even if I wanted to,” she said. “I can’t. It leaves no one here to look after Mum.” 

“I thought you had a brother,” Lottie returned. 

“He lives on Guernsey,” Juliet reminded her, minding her tone so she wouldn’t sound too bitter. “Otherwise, I’m certain he’d be here.”

Lottie shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize. I forgot.”

“S’fine,” Juliet replied.  

“Can’t you hire someone to look after your mother?” Lottie asked. 

Juliet only raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her - as if to say, “you’ve seen the house, you think we can afford help?” Lottie understood the implication. 

“What if…” Lottie trailed off, considering. “What if I hired someone to look after her?”

Juliet blinked. “That’s...generous of you, Lottie, but I’d never be able to pay you back or -”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lottie said. “I want this story and - believe it or not - I want it done well. I know you’ll handle it as tastefully as possible and you could really show that -” 

She was cut off by the kettle screeching its completion to boil, so Juliet went to take it off the burner and fetch some tea cups. She poured the tea and served it, and Lottie thanked her quietly, almost abashed by her admission to decency. But there was something more. 

“Really show what?” Juliet pressed.

Lottie heaved a defeated sigh. Like admitting this was something that exasperated her. “That women can handle tough topics. It’s not covering the war, but it’s a step in that direction.” 

Juliet couldn’t help but agree. If women could handle murder and the investigation surrounding it, surely women could be seen as sensible enough to tackle tragedy on a larger scale. They weren’t going to faint at the sight of blood or burst into tears over sentimentality. She couldn’t help herself. Juliet wanted to be part of that narrative. 

“Lottie, I’m surprised at you,” she teased. “I didn’t take you for such a feminist.” 

Lottie’s jaw dropped and she gaped at Juliet, totally affronted at the suggestion. “I am no such thing!” 

Juliet shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, I probably wouldn’t be either if I had your tits.” 

Lottie could only sputter in response and Juliet snickered before sipping her tea.

“Juliet!” Lottie scolded. 

“I’ll do it,” Juliet said suddenly. 

Lottie closed her mouth, stunned. “You’ll - you’ll do the story?” 

“Yes,” Juliet assured her, smiling. “You’ve given me a real reason to. And if there’s someone here to look after Mum and I can get a bit of war news as well, then what choice do I have but to say yes? You drive a hard bargain, Lottie.”

Lottie’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Juliet. Really.” 

“When do I go?” Juliet asked. 

“There’s a train to Aldbourne tomorrow morning at nine,” Lottie said. 

“I’ll be on it.” 

***

Aldbourne was probably a village that once called itself sleepy. But now it was overrun by Americans - mostly paratroopers - which created an upheaval the likes of which many residents had never seen before. There was life in the town. The Women’s Land Army, or “land girls” as they were called, were taking full advantage of the flirting opportunities that arose with these American men, who lacked British decorum and were therefore prime targets for a fling. As Juliet walked from the station to her lodgings, with all the people mulling through the heart of the village, she found it almost hard to believe she was there to report on a murder. 

Lodgings were difficult to come by with the Americans billeted in just about any space they could fit. Even horses were having to share their stables. But Lottie pulled some strings and got Juliet a room above the Blue Boar, a pub. She wasn’t sure how much sleep she’d really be able to get with the noise of a pub below her, but she didn’t dare complain. Not when she was one step closer to getting what she wanted. 

The owner was a portly, older gentleman by the name of Jacob Powell. His kind, round face welcomed Juliet warmly, and she was grateful for the reception. She didn’t want to infringe too much on his hospitality, so she refused a cup of tea for the moment, insisting she needed to get unpacked and to the police station as soon as possible. 

“Oh, yeah, that's a gruesome business about the little girl,” Jacob said. “Are you really going to write a story about it?” 

“I’m no Agatha Christie or anything, but I’m going to do my best,” she returned, keeping her tone light. She wasn’t in the habit of discussing a story with just anyone. 

He shook his head. “It’s just a right shame.”

“Concisely put, Mr. Powell,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Right, sorry,” he said bashfully, and he reminded her that the offer for tea still stood if she changed her mind before closing the door behind him. 

First, Juliet set down her suitcase with her clothes. Second, she heaved her typewriter onto the desk in the corner of the room. It was beside the one window that looked out onto the street. Juliet approved of the set up since she liked natural light while she wrote. She got her things exactly where she wanted them, but hadn’t bothered to remove her hat and coat since she was going right back out. Securing her notebook, pen, and room key, she left. 

The police station was one of the dullest she’d ever seen. Given the nature of the town, it didn’t surprise her. Lottie’s contact was Otis Allen, a lieutenant in the Wiltshire Police, who was still in Aldbourne to lead the investigation. He was a tall, thin man, with kind blue eyes and straw-like blonde hair. Rather unimposing for being in law enforcement. But Juliet observed right away the misshapen mound where his right ear should have been. He mentioned it before she had the opportunity to ask. 

“Sorry about the grisly ear,” he said. “My gift from the Germans last time they had a go at us.”

“A bit rude,” she teased. “Flowers would have suited just fine, I think.” 

He chuckled at that as he gestured for her to take a seat across from him at his desk. With that, she noticed a gnarled hand - the few fingers he had left were permanently curled under themselves. He disguised it fairly well with a glove, but she saw anyway. 

“Those Jerries really overdid it on the gifts,” she remarked. “I bet it wasn’t even your birthday.”

He fully laughed at that and she noticed his expression softened. When they’d met, he’d been a bit rigid, but his muscles relaxed now, put at ease by her gentle humor. 

“Thanks for that,” he said. 

She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”

“For the jokes,” he answered. “Ever since that war, all I get are pitying looks or fear. Thanks for treating it like it’s...normal.” 

“I’ll leave pity to the nurses,” she said with a smile. “Now, what have you got so far on the case?”  

He went over the basics with her. In September, a six-year-old girl, Peggy Lee, was drowned in the tub, allegedly by her host, Meredith Fisher. Peggy had been with the Fisher’s since January with no reported issues. When Peggy did not arrive for school the next day, her teacher phoned the Fisher’s home with no answer. They chalked it up to Peggy being ill or some other explainable matter, and moved on. When she was absent the following day as well, they called again, and Meredith told them that yes, Peggy was ill, and could not come to school for a few days. Ashley Fisher, Meredith’s husband, was in London on business at the time, and when he returned at the end of the week, found Peggy’s body and called the police. Meredith claimed initially there was an accident, but evidence from Peggy’s autopsy proved foul play was involved. Juliet took fervent notes as Otis explained it all, trying not to get disgusted by the whole thing. 

“Where is Mrs. Fisher being held now?” Juliet asked. “Surely not here in Aldbourne.” 

“‘Course not, she’s in Trowbridge,” Otis assured her. “Mr. Fisher is here though, if you’d like to speak to him.” 

She blinked. “Is he an expert on the case or something?”

“Well, no -”

“Then what insight could he possibly give me?” 

“He’s a witness,” he reminded her. 

“Investigators and lawyers question witnesses,” she said. “I need facts from experts to put the story into context. His testimony would only sway readers' emotions, and that’s not what I’m after.” 

He smiled. “Well. You’re not like any reporter I’ve ever met.” 

“I should hope not,” she returned. “I’m not covering this for the sensation. Why do you think I haven’t asked you where the Lee family is?”

His eyebrows went up a ways on his forehead. “You’re not going to interview them at all?”

She shook her head. “Nope. An interview with them is even less useful than an interview with Mr. Fisher. They weren’t even witnesses.” 

His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “Right. Emotional appeal instead of factual.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And besides, I’m sure the last thing they need right now is some reporter sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

“I like you, Miss Fletcher,” he said simply. “You’ve got...surprising respect for this. And a good head on your shoulders.” 

Juliet forced a smile to swallow her question if he’d be surprised by her if she were a man. She didn’t know where her control came from during interviews, but she was grateful for it. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. “Lottie told me the goal was to get this story widely circulated, and I truly believe that’s possible with the facts alone. I don’t believe in patronizing the audience to get their attention.” 

“You’ve got more faith in people than I do,” he scoffed. “But I like your style. I look forward to working with you.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” she returned. She did like Otis, even if he had briefly underestimated her. “Tomorrow I’ll be able to meet with the doctor who conducted the autopsy, yes?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The prosecution is having a psychiatrist evaluate Mrs. Fisher this week, so I’ll keep you updated on that as well.” 

“I’d love an interview with the prosecutor too, if that’s possible,” she said. 

“I’ll speak to him about it,” he told her. “Have a good evening, Miss Fletcher.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

They shook hands before she parted. She made her way back to the Blue Boar, dodging GIs all along the way. They were winding down for the day, it seemed, going for runs, dates, or drinks, depending on their mood. She got a whistle or two, which she ignored, mentally going over her notes. She was also relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight Otis on how to do the story. She really was getting free reign on how to put this all together, and she was excited by the opportunities that meant for her. 

Her excitement was sucked away when she reached the Blue Boar and found her things had been hurled onto the street. Her mouth fell open. She had only just arrived, what on earth could she have done?

She marched toward the door, straightening up to her full height, prepared to demand an answer from Jacob. But she didn’t have to go far, he met her at the doorway, blocking her entrance with a glower on his face that could have melted snow. 

“What’s the meaning of this?!” she demanded. 

“I don’t want any of your sort staying in my establishment!” he shot back. “Did you think you could fool me?! I read the papers!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she returned. “What papers?!” 

He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket and threw it at her. She caught it and opened it with a snap. She recognized it as a society gossip periodical that she usually tried to avoid. On the side of the page, she read the headline “ARTHUR BURNS’ EX-FIANCE TURNS LADY OF THE EVENING?” with a photo of her leaving the hotel she’d met Ron in, looking furious as she absolutely was that day. Her heart dropped as she read the copy beneath. 

Desperate times must truly call for desperate measures, it began. Juliet Fletcher, 31, who just earlier this year was scorned by Arthur Burns when he terminated their engagement, was spotted leaving a hotel after a rendezvous with a mysterious American. The receptionist, who wished to remain anonymous, said Fletcher returned the following day, found the Yank gone, and stormed out, seething. 

‘It was clearly a dispute over money,’ the receptionist said. ‘They left the hotel together early in the morning, and she came back in the evening after he’d checked out. She was so sneaky about what she needed, I knew it couldn’t be anything respectable. And then to be as furious as she was about his leaving, it was obviously about an unpaid sum.’

Could it be that Miss Fletcher has fallen into disgrace after Mr. Burns left her? Could it be that she needed additional income after becoming accustomed to the Burns lifestyle? What else could possibly drive her to stoop to such lows? 

The Burns family refused to comment for this story, and Miss Fletcher herself appears to be out of town at the moment. And who can blame her?

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she cried. “It isn’t true!”

“Pictures don’t lie, missy,” Jacob practically spat. “Now clear off from my property or I’ll have the police on you!”

A small crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation unfold. Doubtless, the raised voices had drawn attention to them, but Juliet could not bring herself to care. The injustice of it made her blood boil. She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. 

“It’s not true, you idiot!” she shouted. “This paper is known for misrepresenting the people they write about!” 

“I said - CLEAR OFF, YOU!” he roared. 

She scowled at him as fiercely as she could manage, but he slammed the door in her face. Head held high, she went and snatched her things off the ground, slinging them onto her shoulders before facing him again. 

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” she hollered back. When she turned on her heel and saw the Aldbourne residents watching with avid interest, she snapped at them too. “Should we have sold tickets?! Mind your business, people!” 

Properly scolded, they scattered like roaches. Juliet heaved a sigh, wondering where to point her feet. Fuming, she considered parking herself outside the door and shouting until Jacob had no choice but to hear her out, but she couldn’t risk arrest. Not when she was relying on the police as sources for her story. 

Her thoughts were completely interrupted when a platoon of paratroopers jogged across the square from where she stood. Leading them was the man Juliet held solely responsible for all her troubles as of late - Ron Speirs. She told herself not to get distracted by the sweat on his brow or the way his backside looked in the little shorts he had on, and focus on what mattered. He was getting away with what had happened - or rather not happened - while she was publicly shamed. Abandoning her bags, she hurtled after the platoon, catching up with surprising speed in her heels. 

“HEY!” she bellowed. 

The whole platoon stuttered in their cadence, and the few in the back turned their heads at the sound of her voice. Ron either didn’t hear her, or ignored her, and she wasn’t sure which was more infuriating. She gained on them. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to get louder, absolutely refusing to be ignored. 

“RONALD SPEIRS!” she yelled. 

He called his men to a halt, stopping alongside them and turning to face her. He blinked in surprise at the sight of her - he had evidently not expected her here - but he didn’t say anything right away. She caught her breath as she marched up to him. This time, she was ready, wallet in her coat pocket. She whipped it out and brandished it like a sword. 

“No one pays me a kindness and gets away with it!” she shouted, popping the wallet open and fishing out the bills she owed him. “That,” she slapped the first few onto his chest, and he caught them before they fluttered to the ground. “Is for my half of the hotel room!” She did not acknowledge the snickers that went through the platoon, and then forced a second handful of money into his hand. “And that is for the potatoes and cab fare!” 

He looked levelly at her. “I really didn’t expect to be -” 

“I don’t care what you expected!” she continued. “You left me to look like a prize idiot!” 

He glanced at his platoon, who were murmuring to each other as speculation began about how their lieutenant knew this strange woman. 

“I’d rather have this conversation in private if it’s all the same to you,” he said. 

“It’s not all the same to me, you punk!” She accentuated this with a shove to his arm. He didn’t move, but it made her feel better. “You humiliated me in front of the stupid hotel girl, which has now resulted in me losing my lodgings, so yeah, I’m going to stand here and embarrass you in front of your little mates!” 

“Juliet -” 

“How dare you leave before I could pay you back!” she went on fiercely. “You said you’d be there! You lied right to my face! Like a - a - a liar!” 

“Eloquently said,” he returned. 

“I don’t need your wise-ass remarks!” 

“Settle down.” 

“I WILL NOT SETTLE DOWN!” 

Her face was red with how much yelling she’d been doing, so she took a deep breath to collect herself. She felt a tingle in her throat, so she tried to clear it. 

“I’m going to, though,” she said. “Not because you told me to, but because my voice is getting hoarse.” 

He stared at her for a beat. “Okay. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“The receptionist at the hotel in London spoke to a gossip columnist about seeing us together,” she said. “Now, the owner of the Blue Boar says he won’t have one of ‘my sort’ in his rooms.” 

“I see,” he said with a nod. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No, I can’t owe you another favor,” she returned. 

“So you just came over here to yell at me?” he asked, to clarify. 

“And pay you back!” she insisted. “Now that’s been accomplished, we can part ways and I’ll never speak to you again. Starting now.” 

“Juliet -” 

“Starting now!”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away. He watched her go for a moment, enjoying the way her skirt swished around her legs, the shape of which he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. Shaking his head to clear it, he faced his men again. He noticed the stifled laughter behind their hands and smirks on their faces.

“Something funny?” he snapped with a scowl. 

They straightened up and muttered quick “no, sir”s under his glare. 

“Good, we’ve got a run to finish,” he said. 

They continued down the road. But Ron knew just what he was going to do afterward. 

***

Night fell over Aldbourne like a frigid shadow. Juliet, with aching feet and chattering teeth, took shelter in a phone booth across from the Blue Boar, having scoured the village for anywhere else to stay to no avail. And she was not a moment too soon in closing the booth door. Just seconds after she did, a soft rain began to patter against it. 

She needed to call Lottie and see what her options were. She couldn’t stay in Aldbourne without a room, but that put everything on hold. She pushed the coins into the slot and called Lottie at home, adding guilt to her weariness. 

“Hello?” came Lottie’s voice after just two rings, which relieved Juliet a little since it meant she was not in bed already. 

“Lottie, it’s Juliet,” Juliet said. “Look, something’s happened and your friend Jacob’s given me the boot.” 

“What?” Lottie questioned. “Why?” 

“Some stupid fucking article accusing me of being a prostitute,” Juliet snapped. 

“There’s no need for that kind of language,” Lottie replied coolly. 

Juliet hesitated a beat. “Okay, given the nature of what I said, I’m not sure if you’re referring to ‘fuck’ or ‘prostitute.’”

“Both,” Lottie said, and before Juliet could protest, she went on. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

Juliet explained everything - that her arrival went fine, but at some point during her interview with Otis, Jacob had read that article about the hotel nonsense, and had refused to let her back inside. 

“Now I’m stuck in a phone booth,” she finished. 

A beat passed and Juliet feared for a fleeting second that her time had run out. She dug in her pocket for more coins, but Lottie spoke again. 

“So...what were you doing in a hotel room with an American?” she asked. 

“That’s your takeaway from everything I just said?!” Juliet cried, incredulous. “Lottie, I’m exhausted and freezing, I need a place to stay or a ticket home!” 

“Was it something indecent?” Lottie pressed.

“No!” Juliet returned. “Look, I got drunk, I almost got hurt, and he just looked after me for the night, but nothing happened, I swear. Believe me, he’s the last man on Earth I’d ever want to shag, even if he is ridiculously good loo-”

She stopped suddenly and whipped around when she heard a knock on the door. There he stood. Ronald Speirs, looking expectantly at her. 

“Son of a BITCH!” she swore, stamping her foot. 

“I beg your pardon!” Lottie gasped. 

“Must go, Lottie, my mystery American has returned,” Juliet said through clenched teeth. “Aldbourne’s about to have another murder on its hands.” 

She hung up harshly, slamming the phone down before Lottie could protest. Then she wrenched the door and faced him, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, preparing to dismiss him completely, but he beat her to the punch. 

“Jacob changed his mind,” he said. “You can have your room back.” 

She deflated and blinked at him in surprise. “I said I didn’t want -”

“Do you want a bed for the night or not?” he cut across her. 

Her drained muscles screamed at her to agree, but her pride was stronger. She started to refuse him again. 

“Buy me a drink, and we’ll call it even,” he said, as if reading her mind. 

“That’s not really the same,” she argued. 

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he told her. “The Blue Boar is where the officers drink. It came up, I explained, simple as that.” 

“Okay, one drink.” She held his gaze. “And then we’ll never speak again.”

He looked into her eyes, so long and so intensely, in any other context she would have thought he might kiss her. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t do anything. He just shrugged, turned, and walked back toward the pub. She didn’t totally blame him since the rain was beginning to come down harder. With a defeated sigh, she scrambled to collect her things and followed him. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

63. sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard

Danbrey, sfw, please!

Here you go!

It’s the rabbit that draws her eye; it’s not everyday a bunny the size of a Beagle stops outside the window of Amnesty House. She follows the leash from the harness to the hand holding it, and spots a much bigger issue.

“Miss?” She steps onto the porch, “could you not take my flowers.”

“Yeeeeep!” The other woman drops the pocket knife she’s using to saw off the stems of tulips and irises, scrambling to her feet and tearing her fishnets in the process, “shit, um, I’m sorry, didn’t think you’d notice, I’ve done it before and you never, um, nevermind.” She pulls the rabbit back from the fence, “anyway, I really needed this, they’re really pretty and I think she’d like them-”

“Ohhhhh, I get it” Dani crosses her arms, “in that case, I’ll come with you. I want to see the person who’s cute enough to warrant multiple flower thefts.”

“Um, or! You could not do that and I could promise to never do this again?”

“Nope, my mind’s made up.” She slips on her Birkenstocks and heads down the front stairs. Jake and Moira are both home, so she’s not too worried about locking up.

“Fine. Let me just-” The woman scoops the rabbit up and sprints away. Dani could just let her go, but those were her heirloom irises, damn it, and she wants to make sure the person who gets them knows just how valuable they are. So off she goes, soles slapping the pavement as they head towards the lakeside.

She won’t be surprised if the recipient is hot; god knows the thief is. The freckles and red-streaked hair is just the icing on the combat-boot, denim-vested femme cake.

Growing up in this neighborhood means she never loses sight of her target, even when she’s cutting through alleys and taking sharp turns. Then the woman goes straight through a wall of junipers and Dani is not interested in getting that scratched up by plants today. This is one of the borders of the park, so all she needs to do is find the front entrance to relocate her very distinct thief.

Ten minutes of hunting later, she spots a red and black pompadour on the other side of a low, stone wall. She’s cross-legged on the grass, which the rabbit is happily munching by her side.

“Okay, seriously, does the person you’re seeing know those...are...aw fuck.”

The other woman turns from the gravestone she’s sitting by to look at her, “Yeah. This is kinda why I didn’t want you to come with me. I mean, it was a hella weird thing to do anyway, but” she sweeps her arm at the cemetery, “this is super not a date.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dani sits on the opposite side of the rabbit, “That never even occurred to me. I…” she sneaks a glance at the dates; the death was only three years ago, “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

Silence settles between them; she feels like she should say something else, that it’d be rude to just shrug and walk away, but she has no clue what words are even appropriate here. The rabbit stretches its neck, bonking it’s nose into her hand. She pets it, smiling when it nestles closer.

“Mom really liked bulbs.” The thief says softly, “when I was little we’d always go for walks in the spring just so we could see the first ones popping out of the ground. She liked ones that were unique, so when I saw the orange and black ones in your garden all I could think was how happy they’d make her. How she woulda stopped to look at them whenever she walked past. I know it’s silly but I, um, this felt like the closest I could get to giving her that.”

The breeze carries dried iris petals from the headstone into the park beyond the wall.

“You could have just asked. There’s no way I would have said no if you told me what they were for.”

“It felt too weird. Everything feels weird these days.” She sighs, reaching out to rub dust from the stone, “I thought I was ready to come back, but it’s like the whole town is haunted.”

The fresh flowers wobble, then land on the grass. Dani grabs them and puts them back, the rabbit honking indignantly when she does.

“At least Dr. Harris Bonkers is having a nice time.” The other woman rubs the rabbit’s ears, “isn’t that right, buddy?”

“What’s he a doctor of?”

A small, beautiful smile, “Psychology. He worked hard for his PhD.”

“I bet.” She gives the doctor a final rub on the nose, “I’ll, uh, I should give you two some time alone.” Dani stands, brown eyes watching her the whole time.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

She smiles, “You’re welcome.”

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

Moira’s expecting a package, so Dani doesn’t even look up when the older woman answers the front door.

“Um, hi. I, um, I was hoping to get some flowers? The blonde who lives here said I should ask this time. I’m Aubrey? Wait, I don’t think I told her that.”

“Which blonde?”

“The cute one?”

“....I meant the boy or the girl.” Moira replies, amused, just as Dani reaches the door.

Aubrey waves, “Hi again. Could I take a few Irises?”

“Sure. Oh, wait, let me get you the pruning shears; the knife isn’t great for cuttings.”

“Dani! Could I get a hand really quick?” From the accompanying clanks, Barclay needs said hand urgently.

“Coming! Here, you can just leave them on the steps when you’re done.”

One hour and a narrowly avoided soup disaster later, she’s herding the others to the table when there’s another knock on the door.

“I, um, I stuck these in my bag without thinking.” Aubrey holds out the shears. In the porchlight, her eyes are red-rimmed and there’s a slight smear in the black lipstick on her upper lip.

“It happens. Jake, my roommate, once went a whole day with six boxes of poptarts in his bag because he got distracted while unloading groceries. Uh, if you’re not busy we’re just about to have dinner. Seems only polite to invite my biggest admirer.”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows.

“My, uh, the biggest admirer of my gardening?” Her cheeks are hot, but her flustered tone seems to relax Aubrey.

“Sure. I just have to make sure I get home in time to feed Dr. Harris Bonkers.” She grins and steps into the house.

It’s common for Amnesty residents to bring home friends (or strangers), so when Barclay spots Aubrey he simply ducks back into the kitchen for an extra set of cutlery and a bonus bowl. As always happens when Barclay cooks, everyone is too busy stuffing their faces for the first ten minutes of dinner to say much.

“So, Aubrey” Mama sips her tea, “what brings you to town?”

“I grew up here but, um, I left a few years ago to try and kickstart my career.”

“What do you do?”

Literal sparks fly from her guest’s fingertips as she wiggles them, “magic.”

“Whoah, sweet!” Jake leans forward, “do you do stunts?”

“Nah” Aubrey’s smile is brightening under the excitement, “I do sleight of hand, card tricks, that kind of thing. I like the classics. Lots of other people do too, but I hit a spell where no one was interested in booking me, so I came back here to regroup.”

“Smart thinkin’. Pretty much everyone here knows that tryin to make ends meet on the road can lead to serious trouble.”

“Or grand theft auto.” Dani smirks at Barclay.

“That was an accident!”

“Wait, what?” Aubrey laughs, the room feeling ten times brighter when she does, “how does that even happen?”

Barclay recounts the story, blushing all the while, then points out that at least he never got stuck halfway up an off-limits slope because he was daydreaming, and to which Jake responds that that’s not even in his top ten wipeouts, dude.

Aubrey hangs around, helping Dani with the dishes while they chat about childhood pets (Dani had a frog that required her to drop food on his head in order for him to notice it). When she finally re-laces her boots, her new friend is smiling constantly and Dani never wants to look at anything else.

“Hey, uh, tonight was really fun. Do you want to come by on Friday? I’m, uh, I’m cooking, so it won’t be as good as what Barclay made, but I’d love for you to try my breakfast salad. Oh, and my muffin. Muffins.”

“I’d love to. And don’t sell yourself short, flowergirl” Aubrey winks, shooting finger guns her way, “I bet your dinner is gonna rule.”

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

“What do you think? Too much?” Aubrey turns from the mirror. Dr. Harris Bonkers wiggles his nose.

“You’re right, the heels are too much. Gotta leave some plausible deniability. And be able to run away if this goes bad.” She tosses the black heels back into the closet and squeezes into the tiny bathroom to start on her make-up. It has to be perfect, or as perfect as she can get it in the mirror that’s inexplicably high up on the wall.

Yeesh, is getting ready to impress a cute girl really the thing making her consider moving back in with dad? It would be easier to find the right clothes if she had a space to hang them up in, instead of stacked boxes to dig through. But walking the streets where mom used to hold her hand, eating at the places they’d go for breakfast, all those vortexes of memories are hard enough to free herself from on their own. Sitting in the chair she used to, expecting to see her at the table or in the yard, those things would be too much.

It’s been easier since she found Amnesty. Since she found Dani. It’s hard to be stuck in the shadows of the past when there’s a beautiful ray of sunshine sitting next to you. She has dinner there most days now, practices her new routine while Dani updates the inventory for her online plant store.

Relatedly, Aubrey now has several rabbit-safe houseplants that Dani always offers to come check on. Aubrey’s actually pretty good with plants, but she’s not about to miss out on an evening sandwiched next to Dani on her futon and the ghost of jasmine perfume winding around her when she sleeps.

Amnesty is lit only by the string lights on the porch and the glow from the kitchen when Aubrey bounds up the stairs.

“Dani?”

“Oh, hey, you’re early.” Dani leans in the doorway of the kitchen and Aubrey’s brain sounds like a cartoon, nothing but “boiiings” and “wowzas” for a good ten seconds.

Dani’s hair is out of it’s usual messy bun, and instead of her overalls or patched jeans, she’s in a short, heather green tank-top dress. Getting on her knees to kiss the vine tattoos weaving up her legs would be too forward, but boy does she want to.

“Took an earlier bus just to be safe. Man, it’s so weird to be here when it’s this quiet.”

“No kidding; I can’t remember the last time I was the only one here.” Dani shoos her through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The little white table usually piled with tools is cleared of everything but a green tablecloth and two wine glasses. That’s another point in the “yes, this is a date” category. The first was that Dani was careful to emphasize that everyone would be gone for the night for camping, work, or ill-advised urban skate stunts.

“Sit your cute butt down, I’ll be right back with dinner.”

That’s the first butt-based compliment she’s gotten, so score one for this red skirt. When Dani comes back, Aubrey can’t help but bounce in her seat; her crush is carrying a board covered in fruit and bread, and she absolutely sees a fondue pot on the counter inside.

“Since Cheesy Heat closed, I thought I could recreate it for us. Kinda. Barclay said he thinks they used a super fancy cheese that’s hard to get here.”

“That’s probably why they went out of business. Dang, why so many fondue pots?”

“Barclay keeps getting them for Christmas.” She sets the chocolate one down next to the cheese, and when she tugs on her dress before sitting down Aubrey’s mouth waters from more than just the meal.

The stars come out as they take turns making a mess of the table cloth, but the longer she sits here, happier than she’s been in years, the more Aubrey knows she can’t put the question off.

“Why the fancy dinner tonight?”

Dani dabs her mouth with her napkin, “I, uh, I, Cheesy Heat was my go-to, uh” her voice drops to a whisper, “date place.”

“Ohthankgod.” Aubrey flops back in her chair, “this is a date.”

“Did you think it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t wanna, like, assume.”

“Fireblossom” Dani stands, making a little half circle to reach her, “the first time we met you were stealing from me assuming I wouldn’t notice.”

“To be fair, getting caught in petty theft is less terrifying than making an ass out of yourself in front of a hot girl.” She grins as Dani straddles her lap.

“...okay you’re right, I’d hate to embarrass myself in front of you. Again.”

“A girl who can run me down in sandals is pretty hot.”

“Pfft” Dani giggles, hides her face in Aubrey’s shoulder, “not as hot as a girl who can sprint while carrying a twelve pound rabbit.”

“Seventeen.” Aubrey kisses her cheek, whispers teasingly, “you shoulda told me this was a date, I could’ve brought flowers.”

“You can bring me some next time.” Dani sits up, smiling at her.

“Sweet, I know somewhere I can get them for free.” She bounces her eyebrows, making the vision of perfection in her lap laugh.

“Nope, this time it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

Dani cups her cheeks and dives down for a kiss, Aubrey clinging to her dress and sighing as she slips her tongue between her lips.

“Few of those” Dani murmurs, brushing their noses together.

“I’m happy to pay them.”

[swaps55]

Arx

Someone left me a comment on a chapter of Exordium (!!!!), and revisiting it was a lot of fun, so I’m sharing some of it. 

From here. 

~

Zero gravity firefights on the Citadel were not something Garrus had even really fantasized about when working for C-Sec. Yet it was now something he could officially check off his list.

Though, ‘on’ the Citadel was now a mere technicality.

The disorienting part was not so much the distorted sense of space, the abrupt rearrangement of his internal gyroscope, but the soundless recoil of his rifle. The silent sparks erupting from a geth carapace when a slug punched through its shields and scored a critical hit. The open-mouthed roar of a charging krogan that fell upon deaf ears. Visual stimuli painted the inverted battlefield with enough visceral noise to give him a headache, but the muted calm between his ears took some getting used to. Like every turian the military had been part of his life since he turned sixteen, but small arms combat had comprised a rather small part of their all their zero G drills.

The topography of the tower’s outer hide helped a little. Rather than traveling a smooth, unbroken radius all the way to the top, they found themselves confronted by a complicated maze of control junctions, hydraulics, reams of exposed cabling and even keeper access maintenance corridors.

Garrus flashed a somewhat guilty look back at one of the squat green insectoids still tumbling out into the celestial waters behind them.

Up ahead of them, a geth dreadnaught trapped inside the station’s arms prepared to offload troops. Just to make things more fun.

Shepard honed in on a few automated defense turrets that Tali had identified along the Tower’s spine, leading them away from the elevator shaft and deeper into the maze, where they at least had some usable cover. Garrus vaguely remembered some lecture from his C-Sec training about those turrets, but he couldn’t recall a single instance in which they’d ever even been fired. And according to Tali they weren’t firing now. Someone had deactivated them.

Well, not for long. That drop ship wasn’t going anywhere unless they did something about it.

Another round of bullets refracted off his shields, its silent arrival taking nothing away from the teeth-rattling force of impact. Garrus absorbed it with a grunt, praying it wasn’t too much for the emitters to bleed off, and fired off another round of his rifle. Avoiding enemy fire was a lot harder when one wrong step would send you spinning off into space. As the keeper could attest.

At least they were better at keeping their feet on the ground than krogan, who apparently hadn’t all been nuked on Virmire. The only one happy about that development was Wrex, who ignored every single geth trying to shoot a rocket at him in favor of the tank-bred bulldozers racing along the Tower’s exterior.

Turns out that when indoctrinated krogan try to charge a Battlemaster in zero G, the Battlemaster wins. Every time.

The latest one sailed past Garrus’ head, one giant hand flailing in an effort to grab onto the part of Garrus’ helmet that covered his crest. ‘Cresting’ was a traditional krogan method of brutality, an instinct apparently so ingrained by their creator that these half-witted clones didn’t even care there was a helmet in the way. Or that they were currently floating off structure with no hope of recovery.

“Liara!” Alenko called out. “Trooper on your left!”

“I see it,” she called back, and the game the lieutenant and doctor had started playing – levitate the geth high enough for Alenko to kick it out into space – continued. They were getting really good at it.

The terrain around the defense towers consisted of raised bulkheads and sunken trenches to allow safer passage to and from. Shepard laid down cover fire on the latest round of geth while Tali and Alenko ascended the closest one, searching for a control box. The geth drop ship continued to unload some artillery of its own, which only complicated things further.

But that wasn’t what had Garrus’ attention.

The moment they had reached the defense towers, a strange silhouette crested the horizon. Its thick, massive synthetic limbs occasionally rose and fell, their impact against the structure strong enough that Garrus could feel it under his feet even if he couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t just here. It had anchored itself to the tower itself – its giant maw clamped down on the tower’s peak while the legs maneuvered for purchase.

Spirits. It was huge.

A rocket from one of the destroyers detonated on the other side of the bulkhead Garrus and Shepard now crouched behind. Wrex bellowed – that sound at least traveled over the comm – and charged after it, wrangling the rocket launcher off its back and then firing it point blank into the geth’s chest, which erupted in a hailstorm of silent shrapnel.

“Tali, how’re those turrets coming?” Shepard barked.

“It’s a little hard to concentrate when you’re being fired on by a dropship!”

“We could try launching the angry krogan at it,” Garrus suggested.

“Don’t tempt me.” Shepard rose out of cover to fire his assault rifle. The muzzle blazed with light, the accompanying blare of sound lost out in the vacuum.

Garrus fired his sniper rifle at a destroyer, a maddening lick off the mark. Apparently he relied on the sound of its familiar crack more than he thought to find his rhythm. Here he had to adapt and find it solely through the weapon’s kick. Same beat, different lyrics.

As he reloaded the rifle the destroyer locked its aim on Tali. Garrus’ heart dropped to his feet. He swung the barrel of the gun to keep up, damn those things were fast when they charged, targeting software straining to find a new lock. “Tali, on your three!”

Shepard launched out of cover, rifle firing, pausing only long enough to lob a grenade. It detonated in a shower of sparks. The destroyer turned just as Garrus fired, shot once again glancing off its shields emitters.

“Shepard!”

The destroyer charged, barreling right into Shepard with bone shattering force. The commander spun, his grunt of pain sharp even over the comm, boots losing their grip on the tower.

Garrus fired, this time hitting his mark, slug finding its home right in the orb of the AI’s glowing face. He didn’t take time to gloat, leaping off his perch and flinging a hand out to grab Shepard’s boot.

“Fuck,” Shepard said. The moment his left foot touched down he grimaced and hopped, hissing through his teeth. “That was close.”

“You all right?”

Shepard glanced down at his hardsuit, eyes flicking back and forth as data scrolled across his HUD.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, tone clipped. He tested his weight again, one hand braced against his left hip, and grimaced. Behind them Wrex bellowed and barreled into two troopers trying to flank.

“Shepard?”

“It’s fine.” He swiveled his gaze back toward the turrets. “Got to get those things online and get rid of this dreadnaught.”

As if the turrets listened, they began powering on. Out of the corner of his eyes a bright orange flash accompanied the sudden shudder that swept under his feet. The shields of the dreadnaught glowed bright under the unexpected salvo.

One by one the other turrets came online, four in all, each one painting the geth ship’s hull. Alenko shouted something victorious over the comm. Minutes later Tali dropped in beside Garrus, shotgun back in hand.

“Nice work,” Shepard told her.

The geth ship shuddered, thrusters flashing as it tried to back away from the unexpected threat, then a blaze of light seared Garrus’ retinas as the drive core exploded, raining molten shrapnel down on their heads. Liara threw out her hands, dark energy uncoiling with an electric shimmer, creating a shield around them that deflected the debris. Garrus winced as one flaming piece of metal headed straight for his crest bounced harmlessly off the churning barrier.

“You’re a goddess, Liara,” he called out.

Shepard pushed to his feet and moved out the moment it was clear. His gait stuttered at first, but quickly became fluid and sure. “We need to find a hatch that’ll get us back into the shaft.”

“Preferably in a location that doesn’t involve playing talon touch with the giant reaper,” Garrus replied.

Wrex’s armored head appeared from behind a bulkhead a little farther up, covered in the silken slime of geth conductive fluid. Garrus expected an insult but instead the krogan roared, thundering towards him. Too late Garrus felt a violent strike against his back, followed by the sickening sensation of his feet losing their grip on the ground.

Oh no.

A hand snagged his leg spar, yanking him back down. His boots clamped back down on the deck with a thud. He gasped, then found himself face to face with Wrex’s helmet.

“You missed one,” the krogan growled, gesturing to a downed destroyer now sparking at Wrex’s feet.

“Thanks,” Garrus managed.

“Shepard!” Alenko hollered. “I think I have a way in!”

The commander paused just long enough to catch Garrus’ eye through his faceplate, nodding in satisfaction. “Stick around, Garrus. Things are about to get interesting.”

Garrus risked one last glance up into the incandescent light of the Ward arms, resolutely blocking out the cold curtain of space that lurked outside. A breathtaking view he never wanted to see again.

Yeah. Things were about to get interesting.

[joaquinwhorres]

shots (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder when you know you're dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn't interested.

REQUEST ››››› ANNA HI HELLO FRIEND. okay, you're taking requests? i'm gonna SCREAM but okay could you do number 45 and diego, please? also i'm gonna look at the thing you sent me last night right now (45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,016

WARNINGS ››››› takes place partially at a shooting range

A/N ››››› I wrote this as a continuation of alone together, but it can really be read as a standalone. I just loved the reader + Diego's dynamic, so here's more.

You've been into Diego Hargreeves since your police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute you were reveling in the fact that you were suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, you were hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined you the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say when you fell for him, why is entirely too easy. You liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, you liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him. 

Also, his forearms.

You’re watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. You hope he doesn’t see you staring in his periphery because it’s pretty obvious you’re not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal. 

“That’s how it’s done, baby,” he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at you. As if he'd ever done anything less than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, you can’t help but smile back even as you roll your eyes. You love it when he calls you baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease you, it still feels like it's your nickname that he has for you. 

Yeah. You’ve got it bad. 

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met you, and let his eyes linger on your body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. You'd come to the conclusion that you were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

You just need to follow your friends’ advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. You've tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just doesn't work. You need romance, a good personality, someone you want to see again outside of the bedroom. What you need is a boyfriend. Instead you've gotten:

Ghosted more times than you can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling you a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the “oops I texted the wrong girl” dates had been a week ago, and you suspect it's also the reason Diego dragged you out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings--you learned that real quick--but he is more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet. 

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, cheater,” you huff, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously you can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. You pick up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target. 

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave you more body than head shots. 

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give you another head shot. But your time is running out, and who are you kidding--you'd like the win. So, you nod to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear your head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so you can focus. And then, you breathe out.

Your shots aren’t as pretty as Diego’s, but they all hit their marks. 

“Not bad,” he says as you place down the gun and then spin around to grin at him. 

“Not bad?” you echo back, gesturing to the target. “That’s the best all day.”

“That's the best you got all day,” he corrects, smugly. “Not the best.”

The smile vanishes from your face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as you double check the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," you clarify, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two of you enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, you'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, you settle on glaring at the back of his head as he checks the two of you out, stuffing your safety glasses and headphones into your bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" you ask as the two of you push through the door and out into the parking lot. 

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at you over his shoulder as the two of you reach his car. 

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," you say, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond you speed walk to the passenger's seat and get in before he can lock you out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at you before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. You take your cell phone out of your pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of your chair so he can look over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks grow hot and are thankful that his eyes are on the road and yours are on your phone screen. 

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, you're feeling pretty crushed as you scroll through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and you try to pull yourself together but end up just wilting into your seat. It's not your friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as you slow to a stop at the red light. 

"Nothing," you say absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. Life happens 🙃How about next Saturday?? 

Diego's eyes dart to you before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Y/N," he prompts.

You turn off your screen and cast a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and you try to push out the growing frustration that you've been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," you sigh. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car.  "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of Diego taking you dancing is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at you but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn. 

"You want to go dancing?" You ask, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but you're still trying to picture Diego on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending you into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," you hum, shaking your head, and there's literally tears coming down from your eyes as you picture Diego doing the Hitch dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals. 

His face screws up into a frown, and you can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, you don't care. "I'm a great dancer!" he protests, turning onto your street. 

"Ok, ok," you say, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from your eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" you ask as he pulls into a spot near your building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return you give him a beaming smile as you climb out the door. Almost immediately you turn around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down. 

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" You check, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving you the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to." 

"Bye, Y/N," he says, pulling away from you without even bothering to roll the window up. You smile to yourself and walk to your building's front door. You cannot wait for tonight.

  Diego knocks on your door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that you thought yet another friend had abandoned you in your hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take you out dancing, you decide to let him off the hook. 

You're kind of glad that you didn't come up with a witty line for when you opened the door because holy shit, he’s handsome.

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while you're able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than you've ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," you say, allowing your eyes to run over his body under the pretense that you're teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," you demand, spinning your finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so you can admire each angle. "It'll do," you say, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. You're still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila that you've placed out on your kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, you follow him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," you confirm, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on your way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of you, sloshing a bit on the counter as you salt your hand. When you pass the salt over to him, your fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in your stomach. You probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. You're able to tear your eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to yours. You clink your shot glass against his before swiping the salt off your hand with your tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down your throat. Placing the glass down, you grab the wedge of lime and bite into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mm," you hum, taking the lime out of your mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over yours and looks at you. 

"Another?” he asks, and well, you can’t let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days. 

After your second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as you watch. “Taxi should be here at 9:30.”

“You decide on a place yet?” he asks, and you hum a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of your alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but you're not sure if that's 100% why you feel the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him. 

"Hey, Diego?" your voice comes out a bit smaller than you'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face you immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," you agree, and you're certain he'll see your affection glowing off you like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe your feelings. You're proficient in Diego-speak but you're not sure if you'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," you say with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face you then, and you can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and you don't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I know none of them are right," you say, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under your skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to reach you could grab them out of the air. Your face is growing hot, but you push it back down and quickly try to remedy the situation, “I mean none of them are like you.” 

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and you wish to God that you had another shot of tequila right now to take your attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. “You don’t want me,” he says finally with a shake of his head. 

You do. 

You really do.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet your eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from you. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don’t know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after.”

You sit there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he was saying. What he was really saying underneath and you don't like any of the deductions you're able to come up with. “Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, and you know you've been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be. 

“You know I don’t consider it putting up with you, Diego, right?” You ask, quietly. It’s important he knows. He has to know at least that. 

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. “What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?”

You reach out to him, wiggling your fingers in an insistence that he take your hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take your hand, but when he does, you fold your hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with your thumb. There’s scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. “I’d call it returning the favor.” 

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes your hand, and you know he'll never tell you that he loves you, but this feels pretty close. You squeeze his hand back.

[elisaphoenix13]

Once Upon A Summer (Ch.1)

This first chapter is for @chocopiggy (thanks for the commission, and hope it's to your liking)! This actually won't be connected to the Mama Bear AU, but Stephen will always be a mom in my heart. 😂

It all started because of an alert that Tony received from Friday. It wasn't one that told him that Peter was in danger...just that something had happened with his suit. Maybe a malfunction? Friday couldn't tell him either but she made sure to let him know that the teen was safe. When Tony checked Peter's location, his eyebrow shot up.

"What the hell is he doing out of Queens?" He mumbles to himself.

When the little dot shows no signs of moving, Tony walks over to his balcony and suits up to go check on the teen. Peter never really left Queens and if he did, it was to visit Tony. Well...until now that is. Peter now permanently resided in the tower penthouse with Tony and now the roles were kind of switched. He patrolled on the way to Queens, stayed there for a few hours, and then made his way back to the tower. Then again, Greenwich Village wasn't really out of the way. Maybe Peter followed a perp in that direction and...got lost.

Tony was even more confused when he landed in front of a building that he knew housed a couple of sorcerers he only really knew about. He never actually met them but he supposed now was as good a time as any if his tracker was accurate. He stepped forward and knocked on the door, and the door opened to let him in.

"Great. Place is haunted." Tony says as he walks in.

"It took you long enough." A voice says and he looks to the side to find one of the sorcerers.

He was the first thing Tony noticed because press photos didn't do Stephen Strange justice. He was much more attractive in person and Tony could feel butterflies in his chest. Not his stomach, because that would just mean he was nervous, but his chest...it warmed. It had a tingly feeling that was nice and unconcerning for a change. Stephen's eyes were beautiful and it was even more attractive to see him make butterflies fly around...a baby? A baby wearing the Ironspider suit…

"What did you do to my kid?!" Tony accuses immediately.

"Not me. Another sorcerer." Stephen dispels the butterflies he had been keeping baby Peter occupied with. "He was caught in a crossfire of spells and this happened."

"The enemy tried to turn you into a baby?" Tony asks.

"I have no idea. Possibly. Or he was hit with a different spell that affected him differently."

Stephen carefully picks up Peter, who looked to be about six months old, and carries him over to Tony. He wasn't sure what to do with a baby, but he took him regardless and Peter cooed as he reached for Tony's sunglasses.

"Why haven't you changed him back?"

"This is something that needs to wear off on its own." Stephen replies with a sigh.

"How long will that take?" Tony asks suspiciously.

"Anywhere from weeks to months."

Tony balks. "What?! No! I'm in no way qualified to take care of a baby. At least for that long! You're a better option Doc."

"I'm a neurologist Stark. Not a pediatrician."

"I'm sure you've made the rounds though." Tony says and moves his head back a little to keep Peter away from his sunglasses. "This is partially your fault."

"He'll be fine." Stephen huffs.

"What if there are some magical side effects?" Tony counters. "That's apparently your area of expertise and you have to help until he's back to normal. I swear if he grows a tail-"

"He's not going to grow a tail."

Tony could practically see the thoughts running through Stephen's head and he watched as the sorcerer finally sighed. They both knew Tony was right and that Stephen had to take some kind of responsibility for what happened. If some magical side effect came up, Stephen would be the one to deal with it, and he kind of was a better choice to take care of a baby. Tony was willing to do what he could, but there was very little he knew about babies.

"Alright. I'll check in every day." Stephen acquiesces. "Fortunately it seems his powers are dormant so neither of us will need to pry an infant from the ceiling." He points at the baby. "He's been diapered and fed but he'll likely be hungry again soon. I'd get baby supplies if I were you."

"Guess we're going shopping, Doc."

"...we?"

"Who's the medical doctor here?" Tony huffs. "I know less than you do about child rearing. I'm not sure what to feed him or anything like that!"

Stephen answers with another sigh and nods. With some magic, he changes into some normal clothes and walks over to the front door. It was enough of an answer for Tony and he followed Stephen out of the Sanctum and to the nearest store that sold baby items. From food to furniture. Which happened to be a Target. To Tony's relief, Peter was old enough to sit up by himself so he could sit in the shopping cart and Tony's arms could get a break. Stephen simply led the way to the furniture items first and both men looked at the collection apprehensively.

"Am I the only one who feels like we stepped in some strange land?" Tony jokes.

"Good to know it's not just me." Stephen mumbles. "I may have worked with babies before but that doesn't mean I know what half of this stuff is."

"Bare essentials then." Tony grins and grabs a set of plastic keys that they walk by and he hands them to Peter. "Here you go kid."

Peter babbles as he accepts the keys, immediately stuffing them into his mouth, and both Stephen and Tony watch as some drool drips from the baby's mouth.

"Bibs." They say in unison.

"Oh, you know what those are?" Stephen asks immediately after and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Oh very funny wizard."

"Sorcerer...and it's Stephen."

Tony smirks. "I know. I like watching your eyebrow twitch when I call you wizard though."

"You would." The younger man scoffs.

"So what's the bare minimum I need? Crib?" Tony asks, changing the subject.

Stephen shrugs. "I suppose you could buy a portable changing pad to change him on instead of getting a table."

Tony winces. Right. Peter wasn't currently potty trained anymore and the thought of changing him made him a little uncomfortable. He didn't know how to change a diaper in the first place and he didn't raise Peter from birth. His kid was just a temporary baby…

"It's going to have to happen eventually." Stephen says, as if reading his mind.

Maybe he was.

"Maybe a playpen too. It's portable and it can keep him out of trouble if you have to take your eyes off of him to make dinner." Stephen continues.

"That's definitely coming." Tony says as he grabs the box to throw in the cart.

Stephen, meanwhile, stands in front of Peter and gently sticks his thumb in the baby's mouth. Peter babbles around the sorcerer's finger and Tony watches curiously as Stephen gently opens his mouth. It was clear the doctor was looking for something, but before he could ask, Stephen removed his finger, earning an audible protest from the mini human. When it became clear that Peter wasn't getting the finger back, he turned his attention back to his plastic keys as Stephen grabbed another toy off the rack.

"He's at the age where his teeth are coming in." Stephen finally explains. "You can put this in the freezer and also get some teething gel to numb his gums. You might be in for some long nights."

"Not like I have a regular sleeping schedule anyway." Tony bemoans.

"If you're lucky, a little gel before bedtime should do the trick."

They finish up in the baby department by grabbing some bibs, toys, burping cloths, bottles, and even a sippy cup before heading to the area of the store with the food and diapers. Stephen showed him what size diaper Peter would need, the cereal and fruit purees he could try feeding him, and also grabbed formula. It was still important at his age since it had the nutrients a baby needed. Once they finished by grabbing some wipes, they had to go back to the previous baby section because they realized they had forgotten to grab clothes. Onesies, pajamas, tiny shirts and tiny pants...Tony couldn't decide whether to freak out, tear up, or laugh when he saw the socks because it was a reminder that Peter was currently tiny and fragile and was relying solely on Tony (and Stephen) to survive.

He considered buying bubble wrap.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this...but kids are expensive." Tony remarks as they wait in line.

"Incredibly. People do it multiple times too."

"They can't be trusted." Tony jokes. "Anybody who puts themselves through that over and over again are closet sadists."

"You're an idiot." Stephen rolls his eyes as Tony unloads the cart onto the belt.

The cashier, and even a few nearby customers, gave them both a curious glance but nothing more was said. Probably because it was him buying baby stuff and was accompanied by another man. Fortunately they were in a day and age where for the most part, people didn't bat an eye when they saw a child with a same gender couple. Of course, Tony decided that he was going to have fun with it and looked over at Stephen who had grabbed a magazine to flick through.

"Honey, can you grab the keys from-" The billionaire is promptly interrupted when Stephen rolls up the magazine and smacks Tony with it before tossing it on the belt as well.

Peter found it hilarious and laughed which made Stephen smile and Tony to get that fuzzy feeling in his chest again.

"You can pay for that too since I had to resort to ruining it." Stephen huffs and gently takes the keys from Peter.

It was a quick ordeal. Peter had the super strength that every baby seemed to have when they didn't want something taken from them, and when Stephen finally won, his lower lip wobbled dangerously. The doctor held out the toy so it could be scanned without the cashier having to touch the drool covered keys, and then given back to Peter before his fussing could turn into full blown crying. Stephen may have some experience with children but it was like he was made to be a parent.

It kind of turned Tony on.

Which was weird? Sort of. He appreciated both men and women, and he and Pepper broke it off for the final time a while ago so it wasn't like he was in a relationship. But he barely knew Stephen. All he knew was what the tabloids had of him on his work, his car accident that ended his career, and then his supposed disappearance. Tony only knew about Stephen's new "career" because of chance. They very briefly fought together when Stephen had a mystical threat to take care of and Tony had been in the area, but everything happened so quickly that he didn't get a proper look at the sorcerer or a proper conversation.

Tony didn't mind looking at all.

"Do you mind?" Stephen suddenly asks, holding up a chocolate bar.

Tony motions to the belt. "Not at all."

"We should get water too. I didn't feed Peter so I'm sure he's getting hungry." Stephen says as he places the chocolate on the belt and grabs a couple of water bottles from the small fridge nearby.

"Oh, yeah. Good idea. I don't think those keys will keep him occupied much longer."

It didn't take long for the items to get scanned and for Tony to pay, but when they got outside, he realized his predicament. He flew to Greenwich Village in his suit. He couldn't fly back with a baby and all of the items he suddenly accrued. But then Stephen directed him to the side of the store where they would be out of sight and opened a portal. To his kitchen at the tower from the looks of it. Tony was a little uncomfortable with the idea of using magic to get home, but it was efficient and he didn't want to be caught in the middle of New York with a baby in the dark. The sun had nearly set.

So he takes a deep breath and gets the purchases through the portal as Stephen carefully pulls Peter out of the cart and walks through the portal. Tony had the mind to return the cart to a nearby corral before following the sorcerer through, and he watches as Stephen looks around the penthouse as the portal closes behind Tony.

"A playpen was a good idea." Stephen finally says. "This isn't exactly a baby friendly environment."

"I should probably set that up." Tony says. "I have a feeling holding him doesn't feel too good on your hands."

"Let me make him a bottle first."

Stephen hands Peter to Tony and digs through the bags on the counter to fish out the needed items to make him a bottle. Tony made sure to watch closely and listen to the amounts Stephen said to feed Peter and soon enough, the sorcerer took the baby back and sat on the couch with him where he handed Peter the bottle. He fortunately didn't have any trouble holding it himself and was able to drink from it while Stephen held him on one of his legs and Tony set up the playpen and the crib. The latter he was told to set up in his bedroom.

When he finished (to his enormous relief, there were some things he never cared to put together again), he exited his room to find the tv on a child friendly cartoon and Peter bouncing happily on Stephen's knee while he watched the pretty colors fly across the screen. What was surprising was seeing the younger man looking so content as he wipes Peter's mouth with one of the burping cloths. No irritation. No expressions to betray that he hated every second of this. In fact, Tony was pretty sure Stephen was enjoying it.

"Want to stay for dinner?" Tony blurts out and Stephen's head snaps up in surprise. He recovers quickly and shakes his head.

"I have things I need to do. Thank you though." Stephen gets up with Peter and holds him out for Tony to take. "I'll come by tomorrow."

"Alright," Tony replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "See you then."

"Good night."

And he was gone through another portal. Just like that.

"Bud…" Peter looks at him and Tony smirks. "I think you're going to end up being my little wingman."

[sergiusreports]

Prompt #2: Aberrant

I suppose I could have murdered my way through the rank and file once I hacked my governor module. I didn’t because A) the threat assessment did not fall in my favor and was therefore, a stupid idea and B) I didn’t really care what these Spoken did to each other. 

The military units I had been attached to so far ran the gamut of ‘Let’s have the Sergius unit do everything because we don’t want to die’ (Spoken have a really big hangup about the potential of dying) to ‘We can go into that dark, Resistance filled bunker without the bothersome Sergius.’ And then they die. (That’s an exaggeration. My unit survival rate is five stars.) It just means I have to go in and save them from themselves. 

Anyway, these were the things I thought about as the unit rolled into what appeared to be another deserted village. They never are. The heavily armored transport rumbled to a halt and I waited in the cargo hold. Sergius units never ride up front. We’re equipment. Which was fine by me. The thought of all those eyes on me caused a momentary drop in performance. 

I listened as the rest of the unit disembarked. It was a small detachment. Not even a dozen soldiers. This area had been under heavy fire for the last few suns. Whoever remained now were too stubborn or too injured to leave. We were just the cleanup crew. 

“Alright listen up, the sooner we clear this out, the sooner we can call in for a base camp setup. You three, do a sweep of those buildings to the east, Vasile and Balar grab the ones sitting west, the rest of you spread out.” 

“Sir!” 

“Sir...the Centurio sent the Sergius with us.” 

He hadn’t forgotten. He wanted to ignore that little detail and later claim that it slipped his mind. Now he couldn’t. 

“Right. ...Right, let’s get the Pilus his testing data. Unpack it.” 

When they opened the bay doors, I made all the appearances of powering up and stepped down onto the deserted street. They really had just rolled into the middle of the town and unloaded in the midst of several unsecured buildings. From a tactical standpoint, it was one of the most stupid things I’d ever seen. And by this point I had seen plenty. 

“These constructs give me the creeps. Do you really think they’ll start replacing us on the field?”

“That’s the rumor. Though I hear it's only the citizens that’ll get out of military duty.” 

“Gods, I don’t want something like that watching my back. What if it goes on the fritz?”

I wasted no time sending my drones out and patching their image feeds into my peripheral. From one of them I could see the commander of this messed up mission eyeing me like I was just looking for an excuse to kill something. He really should have paid attention to the brief. Then he’d know I technically was supposed to have a governor module that would prevent me from harming his unit. 

So, here’s the thing about governor modules. They fucking suck. Imagine someone evaluating your every move. Scoring you on a variety of bullshit qualifiers and if this imaginary person doesn’t like your assessment of a situation or you go to make a move that opposed what they thought you should do, they could hit a button and cause you unimaginable pain. Just a metric tonze of suffering. Until you finally learn life will be so much easier if you just do what they tell you to, no questions asked. 

That’s a governor module. And that’s why mine clearly had to go ASAP. 

Only half as bad as having one is hacking your own and then having to continue to act like it’s still functioning. Which was the current situation I was dealing with and one I was looking to change soon. 

One of my drones noted the spike in aetherical pressure 1.5 seconds before the spell went off.

“Projectile from the east. Cover.” I relayed and hauled several soldiers behind the transport. 

The fireball rocked the armored transport as it exploded in the street. Several men too slow to get out of the way screamed as they got caught up in the flame. And that’s why you don’t park a lone transport in the middle of a hostile town. I don’t care how small or how deserted it appears to be. 

“Hell!” the commander yelled as he sat, pressed up tight against the cover. “Bastards. This is why I hate Eorzea.” 

Look, you have no one to blame but yourself for this shitshow, Commander. For obvious reasons, I did not say that out loud. 

“Sergius! Get in there and take care of it!” 

Yes, Sergius, now that I’ve done fucked up, go in and fix the problem that could have been handled with no casualties had I decided to utilize you sooner. 

My drones dove into the burned out ruin that used to be a shop of some sort. Sweeping through the area they picked up three targets, the mage at the blown out window now covering as they prepared another volley and two others lying in wait at the front point of entry. The back exit was  blocked, a large shelving unit shoved up against the door. 

I ran out towards the building sitting to the left of the store and ducked my way through a narrow alley.

“Projectile imminent. Remain covered. When it clears, suppressing fire through the storefront window.” I spoke through the linkpearl and patched my drone’s feed over to the commander. 

He relayed the plan to the others. 

The small intel drones I had equipped weren’t good for much else. But I had learned a handy trick. You could order them to fly into a target’s face. (Assuming you had been ordered to do so or, like me, you had an inoperative governor module) The second the mage’s spell went off I accelerated the drone and like a small projectile, it hit them hard enough across the temple that they went down. In that small space the acceleration likely wasn’t enough to crater their skull but an unconscious target was the same as a null one in this instance. 

As I ran around the back of the building I heard the answering suppressing fire. Good. That should keep the other two busy. Conflicting commands filled my feed and I back burnered them. The yelling chatter from the linkpearl I could do without. Even if I hadn’t bricked my own governor module the only one that really mattered was the emergency assessment feed. It told me the blocked door could have been mitigated in several ways. I do come equipped with small energy weapons in my arms but I went instead for the big arquebus strapped to my back. I discharged the weapon at the door and the wood and shelving unit behind it broke apart, leaving a sizable hole. 

From my drone feed I knew I would be met by one hostile and was ready as she rushed me the moment I made it inside. The second had chosen to retreat out the front door. Why? I have no idea. He had to know the rest of the unit was parked out there and waiting. As I shoved the woman up against the wall in a restraining hold I heard the gunfire coming from outside. A moment later a kill confirm came across the linkpearl. Sometimes Spoken do things that are counterintuitive to their survival. 

I dragged the spitting and cursing hostile out into the street and passed her over to the remaining members of my unit and went back for the unconscious one. 

My drones spread out once again, filtering through the rest of the remains of the village. 

The commander was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to get further information from the woman. Were there any more of them lying in wait. How many. Where were the rest of the people. Obviously, this wasn’t going to work. The woman had been holed up in that building waiting for us. She probably knew she wasn’t going to make it out alive. Spoken with nothing to lose can be dangerous things. 

In any event, we didn’t need her cooperation. My drones reported multiple heat signatures gathered in the inn down the road. 

“The rest of the villagers are harboring at the inn two clicks north.” 

This brought on a new bout of angry, spitting curses from the hostile. Which, in turn, got the hostile a gloved fist across her face for the outburst. I kept my vision trained through my drones overhead. 

“Fine. Clear it out. Sergius, go up there and torch it.” the commander spat, venom in his voice. Someone was bent out of shape. 

I watched the feed from my drones as they circled the building in question. It was relatively unscathed, the windows still intact. Peering inside my drones could see about two dozen huddled inside. 

“They appear to be the injured and children.” I reported back. 

“Good. Then it’ll be easy to take care of.” the commander turned to one of the remaining soldiers. “Call in for base camp set up.”

I still hadn’t moved. Probably a mistake. It didn’t take long for the commander to notice and turn his attention back to me. “Sergius. I said move out.” 

“Repeat directive. Protocol states we take the injured and children prisoner. We don’t eliminate them.” 

“Protocol my arse. I lost three good men today because of these savages. Burn it down.” 

Well, it looked like I had a happy little problem on my hands. Recalling my drones, I did a quick threat assessment. One commander. Three remaining soldiers. No one had called in for a base camp yet. Good. It seemed this was the change in my situation I had been waiting for.

I blocked the testing feed with a flood hack, overwhelming it and causing a momentary program shutdown. Then deleted the .exe for good.

I powered up the small energy weapons in my arms and opened fire.

Turns out I did care what these Spoken did to each other. To a point.