#unless a witness comes forward it’s almost impossible

[pickingupmymercedes]

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

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[bones4thecats]

Hello, I have another idea for Aku x eldritch!reader.

Do you remember episode with Aku in disguise(Ikra)? So when he was traveling with Jack and Reader, he flirted with them every opportunity, but Reader was not impressed. And then, at some moment, Reader gave him a peck and whispered that he had a good disguise. And then they went back to Jack after that, as if nothing had happened.

You can write headcanons or scenario.

— 👹Anon

Aku As Ikra Flirting With Eldritch! Reader

Character: Aku Requester: 👹Anon A/N: Instead of doing Hastur, I changed it to be a different Lovecraftian 'God'. This time, the Reader is themed after Yig, the God of Serpents in the Lovecraftian Mythos. There's a link to his Google Search below! This may not be my best piece, but I hope it's at least a little good. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of murder (not explicit) ⚠️ Yig, God of Sperents - Lovecraftian Mythos ; Link Here Images I based the Reader off: One, Two, Three

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Aku ═════════════════════════════════╝

👹 He had tried multiple times to get that Samurai to pass on so he could continue his rule, but this was getting ridiculous!

👹 Despite the fact that the man wielded the only thing that could kill him, he now had a new weapon he could use against the demon; an Eldritch being that could punish everyone who dared kill one snake that was the descendant of one of the most anger-filled deities

👹 Aku just so happened to witness this 'awakening' of yours, and he saw how you would defend the Samurai with the biggest amount of loyalty he'd ever seen

👹 Over the past few days, he was beginning to lose his patience. While yes, the warrior who called himself Jack, did not use you all of the time while fighting, or rather you would come out and pretty much... y'know, rip someone apart...

👹 Instead of going in as Aku, the Shogun of Sorrow decided to disguise himself as a woman, though he needed to come up with a name sooner or later. He'll think of one while manipulating the two of you

👹 While he spent time going 'after Aku in order to free Ikra's father', he begun to see just how deadly, yet compassionate, you were. Every time you would witness Jack or Ikra being put through something a hair bit overwhelming, you would slither down from a building's roof and attack their enemy

👹 He also saw how you fluently spoke to any serpent-like being the group came across, ranging from full-blooded snakes to monsters that were like snakes, you just connected with them very well

👹 Before he knew it, you had been staring at him more and more. Did you find out who he was? Heavily doubtful, the Samurai's guard was always up unless he truly trusted someone with his presence. And if he didn't know, you certainly couldn't...

👹 But, why did he enjoy your looks. Why did he like it when you would lightly pat his, or rather Ikra's, hands in reassurance when he needed to act like she was thinking of her father

👹 Eventually, you three had come across a more jungle-appearing area. You sniffed the air and sighed, your serpent-signally hood flaring down in relaxation while your once slit-pupils molded to be the average circles

👹 Jack looked at you and smiled before pointing towards a snake's nest. Aku watched you kneel down and pet the mother snake's head while the two observed you hum a slow song to her as she relaxed and you used a small spell to cover the next with an invisibility spell

"Won't that make it almost impossible for the snake to find her next again?" The shapeshifter asked.

"Oh far from it. This spell only works on those who would risk the safety of the animal. Though, on this one, only the mother snake, her babies, and those such as I can find the nest. I cannot risk one of my children to be harmed like others have done so."

👹 Samurai Jack began to walk forward after observing you and motioned for you both to follow deeper into the fruitful land. Ikra looked at you as you stood and began to walk towards her

👹 What were you going to do-

👹 Leaning your head slightly down at the demon, you kissed their cheek, making him falter. He had been flirting with you for the entire journey, hell, when he first saw you, he had winked at you, which made you scrunch your nose slightly with distaste instead of doing it back to him

"W-what..."

"Congrats on the masterful disguise, Lord Aku~" You whispered to the male, making his face flush a bright red matching Ikra's lips.

👹 While the rest of his plan went right and he escaped from Jack and you, he was flushed as he arrived back at his home, brushing his sharp fingers against the area you kissed just a couple hours prior

"How bold of you, Ancestor of Serpents."

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Dark red sketch of Hardison and Eliot sitting at a table together. Hardison is leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed, looking over at Eliot. Eliot, who had a beer and a whisky in front of him, is sitting back in his chair and looking uneasily back at Hardison. end ID]

-

Not happy with how this turned out, but I wanted some art to accompany a prompt fill ficlet, and had little time to refine either. There, enough making excuses for myself 😂 Ficlet below the cut and on ao3. It's set just after The Big Bang Job before the crew heads back to Boston, but after all their bomb disarming etc. shenanigans are done for the day.

-

Eliot had his back to the wall.

Not right up against it.  Just close enough to make it impossible for anyone to sneak around or behind him, and positioned to give himself an unobstructed view of most of the hotel bar.  And, most importantly, clear sight lines to the elevator and door - the only two ways into the room, and to his crew.  Parker and Hardison were sitting close beside each other at the bar, Nate and Sophie were sitting opposite each other at a smaller table, all four people and the areas around them visible to him.  Damien Moreau might have fled to San Lorenzo, but that didn't mean they were out of danger.  He had reach far beyond what anyone, including Nate, appreciated, and he was far, far more dangerous than the others seemed to comprehend.

Right now, they were all unharmed, and seemed outwardly unaffected by the events of the past few days.

That could very easily not have been the case.

Eliot knew he should have taken his shot at Moreau before Nate got this close. Taken their target out before anyone was in danger.

He could have done it, too.

Today had proved to Eliot that he was still the man he had once been.  Still capable of killing swiftly and efficiently, and without a fraction of a second's hesitation.

The elevator doors opened. Eliot watched intently, ready to move if anything about the occupants seemed threatening.  But it was just a group of tourists, laughing together, pretty drunk already, and without the least hint of danger about them.

But Hardison had stood up almost at the same time. If he was going back up to his room, that would be a problem. Eliot would have to decide where to situate himself, make a calculation regarding the potential dangers. Isolated in a room versus in a public area with witnesses.  One location easier to access but harder to achieve an unseen execution, the other more difficult to reach, but private.

Eliot would wait for privacy or a packed, bustling, environment to carry out a single target hit.  This bar was neither of those things.  Unless you could get poison subtly into a drink, it was a poor choice of location to carry out a hit.  A professional hitter would choose the hotel room or an empty hallway or elevator en route to the room.

Which gave him the decision - if Hardison chose to go up to his room alone, Eliot would follow.  Protect the more likely point of attack.

But Hardison wasn't going back to his room.

He was walking over and taking a seat beside Eliot, and he hadn’t brought his drink with him, so he was coming over to say something specific, not just to sit and talk.

Which was good.

Eliot didn’t feel like talking.

He felt frayed.

The ache in his back, his hands, and his knees that his hasty cold shower on returning had done nothing to soothe.  The much worse pain from all the memories seeing Moreau brought back. Seeing his men, seeing the man who had taken his place as Moreau’s personal lapdog, and feeling an infuriating hostility because some part of his mind still felt that was his position.

Eliot sat back in his chair so he could see Hardison without losing his view of the rest of the room.

He tried to appear unconcerned, indifferent. Hardison didn’t know what he had done, and he wanted it to stay that way.  He didn’t need to know that Eliot could still feel the weight of the guns in his hands, and that he could still smell blood and smoke and fire.

The hacker didn’t say anything for a while. He had come over for a reason, but he was struggling to get to it.

Eliot didn’t push.

He was too tired for that.

“Why’d you take me with you?” Hardison asked at last, “To meet with Moreau. You coulda handled it yourself. Did handle it yourself. And you would’ve been able to keep lying to us about you knowing Moreau.”

That last was said with an anger that was justified and understandable, but that point was one thing Eliot had no apology for.

He didn’t regret not telling them about his connection to Moreau, not one bit. If he had said something to them, Nate would have used it. Would’ve found a way to exploit that connection, go at Moreau more directly, and he would have destroyed them.

But Hardison should be angry. Eliot had put him in danger, done exactly the opposite of his job.  And, worst of all, he had done it for selfish reasons.  For pathetic reasons.  Because he was too afraid to go alone.

“Eliot?”

Hardison’s voice had softened. He sounded concerned, and he was looking intently at Eliot, examining him.

Could he see the smoke still on his skin, gunshot residue on his hands even though he had washed them repeatedly since returning?

“Hey man, look-“

“I shouldn’t have taken you,” Eliot cut him off, “I put you in danger…”

The sentence dissipated, his mind a confusion of what he should say, what he wanted to say, and the truth.

He’d never have let Hardison drown. He’d been counting the seconds, knew how long he had before he would have to save him, but that didn't justify putting him in that situation in the first place.

“So why did you?”

The gentleness of Hardison’s voice was wrong. It would be easier if he was angry.  That was the least Eliot deserved for what he had done.

But even when Eliot failed to answer, his voice was just as trusting, willing to understand, “It would’ve been the same outcome whether or not I was there, so just tell me why.”

“It wouldn’t. Have been the same,” Eliot replied, “If you’d not come.”

Hardison waited, silently asking Eliot to continue.

The hitter looked up, just briefly, met Hardison's gaze, “I'd have killed ‘im.”

“Atherton?”  Hardison shook his head in disbelief or disagreement, but Eliot cut him off before he could conjure some argument that framed Eliot as anything other than the killer he was.

“Moreau.”

The two guards at the elevator first so they couldn't follow and take his back. Eliot had already mapped it out when he approached them that day. How he would snap one’s neck, using him as a shield until he had a chance to get to the other. It would only have taken a couple of seconds.

Then he’d have taken their guns, felt the familiar weight of a weapon he had dismissed so long ago, and gone down to the basement.

The gunfight would have been messy, but he would have the element of surprise and cover from the pillars near the door.

He could do it.  He knew he could.  He’d done it before.

He’d done worse.

But he would have killed Moreau’s men, killed Moreau himself, without any hesitation or conscious thought, acting on training and experience and the instinct to survive.

Maybe he would get shot a couple of times in the process. Maybe he would get killed.  But he would have killed Moreau so he could never get near to, could never hurt, the people he cared about.

“Then I’m glad I did come with you,” Hardison said at last, "Like Sophie said, that's not who you are anymore."

Eliot wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. The blood of fourteen men was still fresh on his hands, the scent of fire and iron still cling to his skin and hair.

He is that man. He always would be. There was no escaping that devil, and it terrified him more than any bad guy, any army, and torture or brutal execution ever could.

“Yeah, I am” Eliot said quietly, speaking into his beer as he raised it to his lips seconds after Hardison had left him, returned to Parker, and said something that had the thief looking briefly, but intently, over towards him.

Of all the crew, she probably already knew, even if she didn't know she knew. She probably saw what Eliot had done in some part of his expression, and she somehow understood that, no matter what the others said, Eliot was still a killer. He was always going to be a killer, and he needed to be that for them.

He had given into his fear of that part of himself, and Hardison had suffered for it.

It was a mistake he would never make again.

[sevendozencounts]

The Valentine's Day Monopole

There's a story that's sometimes passed around in physics circles, but isn't often heard elsewhere. It speaks to a sense of incompleteness, of missed opportunities, uncomfortable possibilities, and the ultimate limits of our methods of gathering knowledge. This is the true story of the Valentine's Day Monopole.

-----

The story begins over a century ago, when scientists were finally beginning to understand how electricity and magnetism worked. An annoying inconsistency emerged: there seemed to be lots of electric charges for electric fields, but there weren't any "magnetic charges" (formally called "magnetic monopoles") for magnetic fields.

The equations describing electricity and magnetism looked much more beautiful with magnetic monopoles added to them, as the electric and magnetic parts then behaved almost exactly the same.

But nobody could find any such thing in nature. The elegant symmetry we had hoped for was apparently broken.

Adding to the frustration, in 1931, a physicist by the name of Paul Dirac showed that if any magnetic monopoles existed, they would explain why electric charge comes in discrete units. Curiously, this argument only requires that one magnetic monopole exists somewhere in the universe.

This then begs the question:

What if there's exactly one in the entire universe?

-----

Fast-forward to a fateful Valentine's Day, 1982, in Stanford, California. An experimental group monitoring a magnetic monopole detector notices a signal that looks pretty much exactly like what they're looking for. It doesn't correspond with any kind of contamination or other background. And it has basically as much magnetic charge as Dirac predicted it would.

They never saw that signal again. And every other group searching for it since then has found nothing.

To this day, this is the only example of something that looks like a magnetic monopole in nature.

-----

So what do we make of this? The only thing we can really say for certain is that magnetic monopoles, if they exist, are really really rare. We can statistically say how rare they must be, based on the single possible detection and the many, many times we've found nothing.

But this isn't a very satisfying answer; it's not too far from where we started over a century ago. So there are two main opinions:

Magnetic monopoles don't exist, and that one signal is flawed in ways that we don't currently understand. Ultimately, nature isn't always as elegant as we'd like it to be, and future experiments will confirm this.

Magnetic monopoles exist, but they're just really rare for some reason. There's likely some mechanism we don't understand that makes them really rare. Future experiments will get a better handle on their rarity as we see more examples.

But there's another option, one that isn't as scientifically viable as the other two, but not impossible:

What if there's really only one magnetic monopole in the universe? What if, on Valentine's Day 1982, that single, unique object passed through a detector in California and continued on its lonely way, never to be seen again?

What if that was our only chance to complete our understanding of the universe? Any future experiments will see nothing, since the one and only monopole in the whole universe has already left our Solar System, never to return.

Ultimately, we don't know if this is true. Unless we see another possible monopole, we cannot know if this is true. As long as there are no other detections, the scientific method cannot distinguish between "there were never any monopoles" and "there is exactly one monopole and it's gone now."

-----

What do we do in these cases, where something that seems possible leads to results that are, by definition, un-repeatable? I genuinely don't know. We can say that "there is exactly one monopole" is an unscientific statement, since we can't verify it through repeated experiments. But it seems uncomfortable to entirely discard the possibility.

And so we're left with a cosmic cliffhanger, one which may endure for the rest of time.

[vilusblogthing]

31.10.2023. from a page with a drawing of an axe

I woke up today with a pounding chest and wandering eyes. Today was meant to be good. The definition of a good day, to me, is not necessarily doing things I enjoy, but to feel like I enjoy the most ordinary things. Things that each and every one of us do, but I tend to do them bigger. Doing small things in a big way feels like living in an intro to a Jane Austen novel. It feels like other people are missing out, like a better way of living. Until joy turns into desperation. When the things you love most turn sour instead of sweet, when pouring coffee makes you feel like the coffee itself is a necessity instead of warmth. When you see others enjoying their coffee almost as much as you, but in truth, you feel nothing again. You feel nothing again, until next morning comes, and then you can try to enjoy things better. Be better. "Perfectionist" is a word often thrown around in daily conversations. To the common ear, to be perfectionist is to do one's best. To me it is a curse upon the very condition of living itself. To always strive for that tiny millimeter of being somewhat better than last morning, has become, to me, a necessity instead of warmth. An addiction to always please and never to be pleased with your own pleasing. Not to mention receiving. Being better than others is not impossible. That spark, the hopefulness of this nearly meaningless statement is what drives this addiction forward into deeper depths of one's mind. But there are others who gnaw upon it's insides. Getting away from things as effortlessly as possible. Another common thing to think about in my doomed opinion. But how does that combine with the need to be always better? Simple, one merely strives to be perfectly effortless. To me this ordinary task means: "to blend in." But Jane Austen, in all her writing, most likely had a different thought in mind. My heart keeps pounding fast. A lingering anxiety exists in my chest on days like these. Am I afraid to be better still? Am I, the purest swan of the abyss, hunted by something other than time itself? Or am I only afraid to take the next steps further away from time? Am I the hunter? Or just a bug.

In my bewilderment, I locked eyes with my window. In a single night, the season has changed from comfort to white. Yet, I do not feel discouraged for it, even though Autumn didn't last long enough. It never does. I seek the squirrel that lives right next to me in a tree, but I do not find it. Perhaps I have begun to live in a real-life nightmare. The feeling in my chest is exactly the same, why not all else? Or am I a cosmic being of light, capable of living in a world created only to me? Have I done all this? Have I had any participation in anything? I must participate. I must have more control. I must write to please forevermore. It is not about myself anymore. It's about being better until my goals of utter magnificence have been reached. But time is catching up. I won't look good anymore. And if I do not look good while striving for perfection, who am I then? No-one. And what's even worse, there won't be anyone to perceive me. Nobody to bask in my work. Not a single soul on this earth to witness my journey towards godhood. Unless this only means godhood has been achieved already? No. I cannot be, as people are still involved within my life. They participate in it. And in return, I please them. This is my curse. And yet, the hunt continues.

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine Wanda stopping Pietro from attacking Bucky when he flirts with you

Everyone on the team knew you were off-limits being Wanda and Pietro's younger sibling. You weren't related to them by blood, but was the only other test subject to survive Hydra experiments. And when the Avengers attacked the base they found you huddling in your cage terrified. Neither had the heart to leave you behind so they took you with them, and from there on out. The bond between the three of you was unbreakable.

When the twins joined decided to join the team. You were right behind them even though the whole being a superhero thing scared you more than anything. You spent most of the Battle of Sokovia hiding until you finally gained the courage to use your powers to save a family from incoming debris. After that Steve put you on evacuation duty to keep you out of the fight. Wanda and and Pietro made it clear if you wanted to leave and pursue a different path instead. Like a semi-normal life then it was okay with them, and they would understand.

But you refused telling them that wherever they went you would go as well. Now here the three of you were six months later your training with Natasha was going well. She was assigned to be your combat teacher because not only did you need combat lessons, but also a huge confidence boost. Steve figured that Nat would be perfect for the job, and he was right.

Today she was on out on solo mission leaving a list of moves for you to practice, and a training course to run. You thought you were alone in the gym, but the twins were watching you train from a distance. In a dark corner of the room where no one would see them unless they were really looking.

"She's come so far Piet hasn't she?" Wanda said a proud loud on her face.

Pietro flinched as he witnessed you take the dummy's head with a telekinetic slash. "Yeah she has remind me not to prank her anymore."

Wanda let out a chuckle shaking her head. Usually when Pietro messed with you she would be your bodyguard and get him to stop. But the last few times you handled the situation yourself. Memories of walking into the kitchen and finding him covered in head to toe in a honey-like substance whining. Because he couldn't escape the cocoon no matter how hard he tried flooded through her mind.

"Hey who's that?" Pietro asked bringing her attention back to you. Wanda leaned forward to get a closer look at the person who just walked in the gym.

Bucky was on his way to his room to wash up after a long sparring session with Steve and Sam. When a whistling noise made him pause by one of the gyms. He wandered over to just take a quick peek in the window to see what was going on. It was you throwing out a series of telekinetic attacks taking out surrounding dummies. Your movements were light and quick it was almost as if you were dancing. Bucky fell into a trance watching you.

Steve and Sam finally managed to catch up to him after almost two years of searching. It took a lot but eventually they were able to convince him to return to the compound, and give the whole Avenger thing a chance. At first he was skeptical thinking the government would eventually swoop in to take him to jail. It was impossible for him to relax his first night staying. Bucky waited till it was late and everyone would either be sound asleep, or winding down with a movie. Then he snuck out of his room and went outside on the roof to just keep watch. Just in case a team of agents ascended on the compound.

Little did he know the roof was also your hiding spot. You were on the other side laying on a blanket counting the stars. When the sound of the door opening filled your ears making you sit up to see who your company was. Sometimes Wanda, Pietro or even Nat would come up here to check on you, and make sure you weren't skipping out on needed rest. You reassured them that wasn't the case, being outside under the night sky with fresh air helped calm your nerves. And sometimes it was easier to fall asleep here than in a nice cozy bed. Most of them Pietro would wait till you dozed off, and then would lift your body into his arms to take you inside.

Although it was neither one of them tonight instead it was the dark-haired stranger who came with Steve and Sam. You remember him joining the team for breakfast and not saying a single word the whole time. There was something about him that made you want to get close to him, but the twins didn't really trust him, so you kept your distance as well. But now here you were being drawn to him again as both of you seek comfort from the night sky.

"Hi" you spoke up taking a tentative steps towards him so that he wouldn't be startled by your presence. It didn't work though Bucky swung around pulling a gun out his jacket to point straight at your head.

A few months ago you would've screamed and took off running to one of the twins. But your training kicked in with a wave of your hand an invisible force knocked the gun from his grasp to the ground.

You held up your hands in surrender "hey relax I'm a friend or an ally at least you can trust me. I'm not going to hurt you, or snitch."

Bucky held a look of intensity on his face as he tried to figure out if you were telling the truth or not. When you took a seat on the edge of the roof letting your feet dangle in the air. He decided that maybe you really did mean no harm, and your demeanor did make him feel a bit more safer.

"I know what it's like to not be able to sleep any a place filled with people that are supposed to be make you feel secure. When I first got here I would crash with the twins all the time, but then Vision caught Wanda's eye, and she wanted her own room. Pietro is good at making me feel safe to but he's a restless soul himself. He likes to go off on late night runs leaving me to wake up alone and panic." You paused to look up at Bucky and patted the spot next to you.

He didn't know why you were sharing your story with him, but he was interested in the rest maybe it would help him find some solace tonight. Bucky walked over to sit down crossing his legs together.

You gave him a small smile and continued on with your story. "Eventually I find myself just wandering around the compound every night expecting to find an old enemy around every corner. I mean this place is nice and all but at night it's quiet and empty reminds me of the old bases. I use to kept in so I started to come up here to escape it all, and it helped because Hydra never let me go outside even at night. I found it easier to relax and fall asleep out here than in here. So if its hard for you to relax or get any peace you're always welcomed to join me on my blanket." You jerked your head in the direction of the other side of the roof.

Bucky gave you the tiniest of nods, and the two of just sat there for a little while longer. Enjoying each other's company with your presence making him feel more and more safe by the minute. Although he wouldn't admit it aloud a silver streak shot across the ground below so fast he almost missed it. Before he could freak out you laid a hand on his arm.

"Easy there buddy its just Pietro getting back from his night run. Listen I should go he's going to be looking for me, so I bid you a good night if you want help yourself to my blanket. I'll leave it since I'm pretty sure you won't be coming back in till the morning."

You left him on the roof alone that night convinced you'd tried and failed at helping him. But your story gave him hope that he could fit in here and make this work. Your blanket kept him warm and gave him the security he needed to stay.

The two of you hadn't talked to each other since that night. Heck you didn't even know his name because he was too nervous to approach you. When Sam saw your blanket in his room he made a joke that if one of the twins knew. He had been on the roof alone with you that night they would kill him. Bucky just ignored Sam's comments until he saw Wanda in action, and how protective she was over you. With the twins as your bodyguards mixed in with his introvert ways kept him away from you.

But now he was comfortable and a little bit of his old self was starting to show. You were alone in the gym not a twin or Nat anywhere to be seen. If he was going to make a move on you now would be a good time. Bucky pushed open the door and walked in. At the sound of the door opening you paused your movements to see who was interrupting. Your eyes lit up with joy and a blush even crept up on your cheeks. When you saw just exactly who it was.

"Hi I don't think I properly introduced myself last time I'm Bucky." He said stopping just a inches in front of you.

In the dark corner of the room Pietro frowned watching Bucky grin and hold out his hand for you to take. He let out a huff and moved to speed down there, and put a stop to whatever was going on. Wanda threw her arm blocking him before he could though.

"Pietro wait" she demanded

"Hey what gives? That guy is dangerous and never talks to anyone but Cap and the bird guy." He complained turning his glare back on Bucky.

Wanda didn't answer him right away her eyes focused on you smiling and laughing. In a way she never witnessed before she knew it wouldn't be fair to interfere. "Just let them be Pietro."

"But he's-" Pietro started again throwing his arms up.

Wanda cut him off "Look at her she's fine if that changes we're right here. Okay for now let them have this moment."

Pietro shut his mouth watching the two of you interact more closely. A few minutes went by before he spoke again "I guess he's okay."

When night fell you met Bucky on the roof where he was laying down on your blanket. The one you had been looking for since your first night on the roof with him. "You had it this whole time" you laughed sitting down beside him.

"It made me feel safe" he replied with a shrug lifting his arm up, so you could move in to cuddle up to him. His arm came back down to wrap around your waist.

"I was hoping it would" you murmured resting your head on his chest. The two of you fell asleep in each other's arms, and under the security of the night sky.

Tag List: @wandanatvoid @yelenabelovasgf @romanoffomixam @xxromanoffxx @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mellowladyangel @shayzulia @musicinourlips @natashasilverfox @be-missed @catswag22 @jokertgkk @lizlil

[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine #5.5 | Angel Reyes.

Series Masterlist | join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

title: For Better, or For Worse.

rating: 💙 💔

As long as you're feeling the same, I'll follow you into the flames

sum: angel fears once it's out, his secret will be the final push you need to leave. instead of confessing, he sticks out the couple's retreat to give himself a few more days with you. he makes himself a promise: he'll tell you once you two return to santo padre. but a ghost from his past pushes angel's agenda forward a few days.

words: the standard for this series....long af (that's why I break it into sections so you know where to come back to when you take a break...but seriously, please take breaks on these long ass chapters)

Ez Reyes is a smart man. There is no denying it. However, Ez never thought he would struggle to tie a tie.

He is currently outside of his father’s truck. Kneeling before his nephew, Ez concentrates as he works through the instructions he Youtube’d earlier. A usually chatty Jeyson has been silent. He slept the entire hour's drive to school. When his Uncle woke him, Jeyson shot Ez a glare that reminded him of you.

Jeyson was fine the entire weekend that you were gone, but the moment he woke up this Monday to find you had not returned his entire mood changed. He has fought Ez tooth and nail the entire morning.

Ez glances up from the tie to Jeyson. “Hey, you sure you wanna go to school today?”

“I have to go to school” Jeyson mumbles.

“Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take a break.” Ez offers Jeyson a smile. “If you’re not having a good day, it’s okay to stay home.”

“I don’t want to stay home with you.”

“That’s okay,” Ez chuckles. “What about Izzy?”

“I don’t want to stay home with her either.” Jeyson releases a huff before glancing down at his now fixed tie. He bends down to pick up his backpack. Slipping it onto his shoulder, Jeyson steps around his Uncle. “I want my mom to come home.”

Tommy’s gaze remains on the sleeve of his blue Stockton uniform. His fingers tug at the loose string resting against his wrist. He ignores the smirk on his older brother’s face. The passing of time has muddled the bruises on Tommy’s skin. The mixture of black and yellow stood out on the parts of him he's allowed to remain visible. No matter how he sits, the pain in his ribs is inescapable. Sleep has fallen to the way-side, the inability to get comfortable meaning he only gets it once he’s passed out from exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot. Now I know why you were sticking up for her the other day--”

“I didn’t notice. I’m more worried about her getting me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes roll as he watches his brother’s eyes pass over the crowded visiting center. “I’m just saying—”

“What’d you find?” Tommy’s fingers massage his temple, the irritation in his voice amplified by his brother’s antics. Lack of sleep and around-the-clock oversight and antics from Rogers has cut his fuse short. “If you didn’t find anything, you could've saved yourself a trip up here—and I could be asleep.”

“She’s not married—unless she has a habit of leaving her rings at home.”

“What? On the table?”

Leo shakes his head. “No. A jewelry box in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?” “He has to be about eight, or nine? Name’s Jeyson. You were right, he’s definitely Angel’s. Wish I could show you the picture. He couldn’t deny that kid if he tried.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods impatiently, motioning for him to continue. “What else?”

“Kid goes to some boujee ass prep school up north. Gilman something? Embroidered blazers, ties, the whole nine. His mom’s paying a pretty penny too, apparently, it's the best in the state. He’s into the typical shit kids are into. Star Wars, Spider-Man. Plays the piano, apparently, he’s actually really fucking good. Awards and all. His mom’s got him pretty busy. A lot of after-school activities. Looks like she and Angel rotate transportation...She must not be around right now tho.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Apart from the fact you’re still not transported to a new unit?” Leo scoffs. “The kid was with someone else when I was scouting. A girl and a kid with a prospect patch.”

“Mayans?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe his little brother...last I heard he was hemmed up here. Haven’t seen him around tho.”

“Maybe he got out?”

Tommy dismisses Leo’s suggestion. “Most cop killers don’t walk free. What else?”

“He’s not doing a good job of keeping his nephew safe. I talked to the kid.”

Tommy’s eyes open. “You did what?”

“He walked right off with me.” Leo quietly explains. He mistakes his brother’s silence as a cue to move forward with his story. “His uncle was so into his date he didn’t even notice the kid walk off with me--”

The sight of Tommy’s hand running down his face tapers the rest of Leo’s statement.

His voice comes out low, through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to touch the kid.”

“I didn’t touch the kid,” Leo’s eyes rolled. “I got him a funnel cake—” “I don’t give a fuck—” the slamming of Tommy’s fist against the table brings the room to a brief silence. The eyes that he has attracted linger on Tommy as his glare nearly burns a hole through his brother. Rogers shrugs off the wall nearby. He takes a step of warning in Tommy’s direction. “—what you did, Leo—it was stupid.”

“How else was I supposed to get him to talk to me?”

Tommy’s response comes out slowly. Each passing word increases his irritation.

“You didn’t need him to talk to you because I didn’t ask you to talk to him. Buying him a funnel cake, or whatever the fuck your grand plan was allowed the kid to see your face. He can open up his mouth and ID you—”

“ID me,” Leo snorts, dismissing Tommy’s claim. “Relax, Tommy. He’s not a state witness, he’s a kid—“

“Yeah, and according to you and his 'boujee ass prep school,' he’s a smart ass fucking kid, Leo.” Tommy lets out a long sigh. “The last thing I need is the kid opening his mouth to his mom about some random guy approaching him.”

“Don’t worry, I played it cool. Told him I was a friend of his dad. Maybe, if you had told me exactly why I went there I wouldn’t—”

It was something Tommy had explained to his brother during their last visit. The less you know, the better.

“I already told you,” Tommy rubs at his temple, the sudden throbbing causing his jaw to clench. “I needed to double-check something.”

“And that’s what I did.” Leo sighs. “What I want to know is, why the fuck you called me all the way down here to check pictures in some house.”

Tommy studies his brother for a moment. He shifts forward, his elbows settling against the table.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you? You don’t think, Leo. I ask you to do one thing—one fucking thing—and you almost fuck it up. If I wanted you to think I wouldn’t have told you exactly what to do.” Leo’s jaw tightens as his brother continues. “You trying to think leads to you doing dumb shit like kidnapping her fucking son—”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Leo mumbles.

Tommy’s fingers massage his clenched fist. “You’re lucky I can’t reach across this fucking table right now.”

Leo’s gaze drops from his brothers. The look that lies in Tommy’s eyes is one he’s seen before—at least not directed at him. It’s the look that accompanied the acts that earned Tommy his nickname. Leo’s gaze nervously shifts towards Rogers who is still watching Tommy from his post.

“What do you want with her? Thinking she’s gonna give you a shot? Criminal is her type, and she’s definitely yours.”

“It’s not her I need. It’s Angel.” Tommy starts, his jaw tightening as his gaze remains on Leo. “And if you want Angel, you need her.”

“If she’s as good as you say, what do you need Angel for? You’ve been talking about her like she might actually get you off.”

Leo steals a brave glance at his brother. He watches as Tommy looks up from his tattooed knuckles.

“No matter how hard you pray, people like me and you don't come out on the right side of the law. No matter how fucking good she is, she can't get me out of this. This shit is stacked too high against me." Tommy’s gaze shifts to the clock overhead. “Did you find the necklace?”

Leo nods as Tommy stands.

“Good, go ahead and do what I asked.” Tommy pauses, his voice lowering as his gaze meets his brothers. “Nothing else, Leonardo. The time I'm looking at right now, I’ll fucking kill you right here if you pull some shit like that again.”

At some point Monday night, Angel abandoned his spot on the sofa to crawl into bed with you. His intention may have been to take one side of the bed, but to no surprise, he has failed.

You came to this revelation at two o’clock in the morning when you tried to roll over but found it to be impossible. You have been stuck on your back ever since. You attempted to fall back asleep but have not been able to.

Cheek pressed against your chest, arm wrapped around your waist, Angel hasn’t moved. He doesn’t move when your alarm goes off at 7:30 or when the knock comes on the door at 8:00.

The sleep Angel lost, the past two days over Tommy seems to have piled onto him. He only wakes when your fingers brush through his hair, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cheek.

“You have to get up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Angel mumbles. The sunlight peeking through the curtains prompts him to burrow his face against your neck. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you smile softly. “But, I’m hungry, and I can’t get our food with you laying on top of me.”

Your words are met with a huff before Angel rolls over. Resting on his back, he watches the fan spin as you get out of bed.

His first instinct is to check his phone. He pushes himself up, his body protesting with the sudden movement, once he realizes his cellphone is not where he left it.

“Where’s my phone?”

His palms pressed against his eyes as he pushes away the enticing thought of laying back down for a few more hours of sleep.

“It kept going off,” you look up from the plate in your hand. “Ezekiel kept texting you.”

“What did he want?”

Angel watches you shrug. “I don’t know. I put it in the drawer. I tried to wake you up, but you were literally dead.”

Angel releases a sigh of relief before reaching over to open the bedside drawer. Facedown, his phone has several notifications. He ignores the rest, focusing on those from his younger brother.

2:30 a.m. 📲 : You still up?

2:35 a.m. 📲 : Talked to Bishop. Found out what the shipment was

3:00 a.m. 📲 : Pretty sure I found something else

3:02 a.m. 📲 : Don’t know if this is the guy. If it is we might have a problem

3:03 a.m. 📲: Found this in the paper

3:04 a.m. 📲 : Check it out and call me back.

The last incoming message was a photo, the front page of the Daily Imperial Gazette. Angel scans the article as you climb back into bed. A few phrases stick as he reads, “Man charged in Santo Padre murder…” “Thomas Flores, 30, has been charged…” “...obtained representation from Lorente & Rothman…” “...Friday, Flores was denied bond…”

“I have to tell you something.”

Angel instinctively hits the power button on his phone. Glancing up, he realizes you haven’t even bothered to look up at him. Your focus is on the half-eaten croissant in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you explain as you take another bite of your croissant. “The case Samuel gave me—the one Aiden is helping me with—it’s for this guy. His name’s Tommy Flores. He has some pretty...intense charges, so you’re probably going to hear people talking about it soon. We had court Friday, and the judge...he’s pretty tough. He denied any form of a bond, he didn’t even bother trying to set a ridiculously high one.”

You glance up to find Angel’s eyes on you. His unreadable expression causes your brow to furrow. You mistake the look in his eyes as uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t think it’s anything you have to worry about.” Offering him a smile, you lightly roll your eyes. “But I’m going to have to start working late when we get back, so I need to know that what happened Friday won’t happen again.”

You wait for Angel’s response, but it doesn’t come.

“If I take over morning drop-offs, can I count on you to pick Jeyson up after school?” You continue. “Or, do I have to ask Isabela to do it...Angel?”

Angel blinks as your fingers snap.

“Are you listening to me?” The irritation he finds as his focus shifts to you causes him to nod.

Angel nods a second time as he takes in the look of skepticism on your face.

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“So, you’re good with picking Jeyson up from school?” You clarify. “Every day of the week?”

Angel unlocks his phone, nodding for the third time. “Yeah. I’ll pick him up.”

“And if you can’t,” you reach forward. You catch Angel's chin forcing him to look at you. “You call and let me know the moment you find out?”

Nodding, Angel drops his eyes the second your gaze meets his. “I gotta call Ez.”

Despite his admission, your hand doesn’t drop preventing him from getting up. For a moment, Angel thinks you’ll let it go. For once, you will ignore the feeling you get each time you notice a change in him. It is something no one else in his life can seem to do. It is something you’ve been able to do your entire life. It is something Angel wishes you couldn’t do.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel shakes his head as you release him. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate in your lap avoiding your gaze as your touch brushes through his hair. It's a habit. Angel knows the moment he meets your gaze he’ll tell you whatever is on his mind. It’s impossible not to do when he knows you can read him best that way. He picks up what’s left of your croissant and takes a bite.

You sit your plate aside before closing the distance between the two of you. Angel’s eyes lift to meet yours as you settle on his lap. The warmth of your palms finds his cheeks as you take his face in your hands.

“I’ve known you nearly my entire life, Angel. I know you don’t believe it, but I can tell when you’re lying to me. Just like I can tell when you’re upset and anxious. And when you’re going to annoy me.” The soft smile on your lips brings a weak one to his. “There’s no point in trying to act like I don’t. What’s wrong?”

“You were right about Friday night. I wasn’t with Samuel. I wasn’t even in Santo Padre.” Angel lets out a deep breath. His voice low as your fingers toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ez and I were in Mexico. I left when you were in court. I knew we weren’t going to make it back in time, but I didn’t want to have to tell you because I knew you’d be pissed.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He watches you lift it. Your finger traces the bandage.

“Cut it on a shovel.”

Your gaze lifts to find his focus on the path your finger traces.

“...okay.”

Angel shook his head. “It’s not okay—I fucked up. Forreal this time—“

"What? On Friday?” You let out a deep breath. “Angel, I know I freaked out. Missing the recital—yeah, it was fucked up—but it is not the worse thing you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.” Your eyes watch him release a tired laugh, his gaze down. "You defend me, even when you shouldn’t.”

It is true. Defending Angel has been second nature your entire life. Often you do it in response to others. But also in response to him. When you were teenagers, you learned a valuable lesson about him. Angel is his worst critic. He’ll talk himself down harsher than anyone, even those who hate him.

“It’s because I love you.” Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him into a hug. “Just because we fight and say stupid things to each other doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Angel. If I haven’t been able to stop doing that our entire time together, I don’t know why you think a fight in a therapy session is going to be the final straw. Me not talking to you is just the easiest way for me not to say something I’ll regret later.”

Angel’s grip tightens around you as your lips press against his skin.

“At this point, there isn’t anything you can do or say that’s going to make me stop loving you.” The reassurance in your voice lifts his gaze to yours. “Okay?”

Your lips press against his in a soft kiss. You leave a second against his forehead before getting up.

“I have to take a shower,” you announce as Angel’s arm wraps around your waist guiding your body back towards his. Your fingers drift into his hair as his head rests against you. “There’s more food you should eat before we go out.”

The two of you stay that way for nearly a minute. Angel releases you as the sound of your ringing phone fills the air.

Silence from Angel Reyes is a bad sign. Such a rarity, it wrings your stomach into knots. It has been hours since you woke to find him sleeping against you. Angel has said just as little as he did in the morning. When you stepped out of the shower, you found him fully dressed and brushing his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder to find he’s standing where you last left him. Arms crossed over his chest Angel rests against the wall as far from the line as possible. With his sunglasses on, you can’t tell where he’s looking. The corner of his lips turns up into a small smile as you come to a stop before him.

“Who knew smoothies took forever to make,” he sighs as your arms wrap around his waist.

Resting your cheek against Angel's chest, you tighten your grip. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heart as his lips press against your hair.

“I want you to come somewhere with me tonight.”

“No,” Angel chuckles. You tip your head back, pouting as his gaze drops to yours.

He shakes his head as your weight shifts to your toes.

“Please,” you ask, your lips pressing a kiss against his.

“Last time I did that, you ripped me to shreds,” he laughs. “I haven’t even had time to recover from that.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. The second kiss you leave morphs Angel's smile into a grin. You leave a third, this one against his cheek. “I promise.”

Angel releases a long breath as you take a step back, a grin on your face.

“It better be,” he shakes his head as you quickly press a final kiss against his lips before turning to retrieve your order.

As you reach the corner, your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You don’t bother checking who it is. Aiden has called you three times. You had sent him a text message in response to his first three calls. Telling him to ask Isabela for help on whatever he needed.

The moment the call goes to voicemail, the vibration picks back up.

You force yourself to take a breath as Angel leads you outside.

“Hi, Aiden--”

“I know this week is supposed to be for you and Angel,” Aiden's voice comes out in a rushed whisper. “But, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” You ask as you take a sip of your smoothie. “And, why are you whispering?”

“I’m at the courthouse,” Aiden sighs. “I’ve been here all morning, and they’re giving me the run-around.”

“About what?”

“The Warden called the office this morning. You weren’t there, so I answered your desk phone. He didn’t give me many details, just that Flores was detained last night. They couldn't get him to say anything—to no surprise—but one of the guards said he was involved in an altercation with another inmate. Apparently, Tommy messed him up pretty bad—like...transported to the local hospital bad.”

Angel glances over at you as you slip out of his grip. You take a seat at the table he stops alongside.

In the short time, you’ve worked with Aiden, you’ve learned one thing. The moment he thinks there is something to panic about, Aiden will panic. So, if you sound stressed it kicks off his panicking.

Resting your face in your hand, you speak quietly. “So, he wasn't transferred on Friday as I'd requested? If he was he couldn't have gotten in a fight.”

“I know. Apparently this isn't the first one he's been in. The Warden said he looks like he’s been roughed up in the past few days. I’ve been here since first thing this morning—”

“Let me guess.” You rest back against your seat. “They told you there’s nothing they can do, with the prison being at full capacity they don’t have a cell for him?”

A brief silence falls over the receiver. Aiden’s brow furrows.

“Yeah—how'd you know?”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Judge Miller was hoping you’d leave and not press the issue.”

“Shit,” Aiden mumbles. “Shit, should I call Samuel—”

“God no. Aiden, I’ll tell you what to do, and say, just relax.”

“I lied to you.”

Angel glances down at you as your lips press against his knuckles. “About what?”

“About wanting to wait to get married.”

Your admission leaves Angel quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, but it closes as you place a second kiss against his skin.

You tilt your head back to find his eyes focused on the water.

“I was talking to Izzy the other day—not about getting married—but about you and...I mean...we’re trying to have another kid.” You backtrack as his gaze drifts to you. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t want to spend another seven years playing house with you, Angel. I have tried so hard to find reasons why we should just leave each other in the past, but it’s impossible. I can’t help thinking that we’ve wasted so much time trying to fight it we should just get married.”

If he is excited by your words, Angel doesn’t show it. If he’s anxious by your words Angel doesn’t show it. The only response he gives is the furrowing of his brow as his pace slows before coming to a complete stop.

“I thought you’d be...a little happier,” you admit. The butterflies in your stomach seem to double in size as Angel's gaze focuses on your interlaced fingers.

“Right now?” Angel gently squeezes your hand, the smile slowly spreading across his lips causing you to shake your head. “A fancy place like this I’m pretty sure we could find someone to do it tonight.”

“Preferably with your son there,” you giggle as his lips press against your forehead.

“Just so you know,” Angel mumbles as he leaves a kiss against your lips. “You can’t take it back.”

“It’d be pointless,” you admit, your eyes focused on the incoming tide. “Regardless of what I say, you’re impossible to escape.”

“Like you said, it must be fate,” he teases as you step back towards the security of the shore.

“I didn’t say fate. I said I was tired of trying to outrun you.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “Okay.”

Pushing against his chest, you cause him to stumble backward making it impossible for him to avoid the incoming tide.

“Fuck—”

Angel’s scream is drowned out by the sound of your laughter. He tries to escape the chilled water but realizes it’s pointless as a second wave rolls through.

“Is it cold?” You ask the grin on your face prompting him to take a step in your direction. “Because it looked like it was cold.” The look on his face causes your laughter to return.

“You’re about to find out how cold it is.” The promise in his voice causes you to take a step back.

You catch sight of Angel’s smile before you take off running.

Between the giggles that leave you breathless and the sand between your feet, you don’t get very far before Angel’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry, okay. Let me go, please?” Angel’s grip loosens as you turn to face him. “I really am sorry.”

A gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. Blood rushes to your head as Angel tosses you over your shoulder. It only takes a second for you to realize he’s turned and is carrying you back towards the water.

“Angel Ignacio Reyes put me down now!”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby girl,” Angel chuckles as he carries you into the water.

It doesn’t matter that you’re both fully clothed Angel carries you out until the water is waist-deep. He comes to a stop. Shifting you in his arms, he grins as your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

“You think this is far enough?” He asks as you take in your surroundings.

“I hate you,” you giggle as you meet his playful gaze.

“I could go further out,” he takes a step forward.

“Just do it.”

Judging by the mischievous grin on his lips, you expect him to drop you in. For whatever reason, Angel spares you a dunking. Instead, he carefully lowers you to your feet.

The chill of the water causes your grip to tighten around him. He waits until you’re standing to let go of you.

You can’t suppress the smile that finds your lips as he kisses you.

“You’re lucky you buttered me up beforehand,” he chuckles as you step around him.

He follows you back to shore watching as you glance down the beach, back towards the lights of the hotel. Your pace slows as you start in the direction of the hotel.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the nod of reassurance, you force yourself to take another breath. You shake your head slightly, a tiny smile finding your lips. It takes a third breath for the feeling to pass. “I just—got lightheaded for a second.”

“Uh-huh. Funny how you get ‘lightheaded’ the second I take my shirt off. I don’t know why you still try and play this game at this point.”

Your eyes open in time to allow you the moment you need to react. Catching the shirt tossed your way, you watch Angel unzip his jeans.

"Angel put your shirt back on–I’m serious.” The warning in your voice stretches the smile on Angel’s lips. Your eyes leave him, long enough to drift back to the glow of the hotel’s lanterns still visible. The laughter and music cause you to step in his direction. “You are not getting naked on the beach! Are you trying to get us kicked out of here—”

“I wasn’t planning on going in naked,” Angel laughs. It is an admission of truth, but the sight of your panicked gaze causes a mischievous grin to take over his features. “But, I’m down to if you are—“

“No—"

“You know what?” Angel nods as he tugs his foot out of his jeans. “Your plan is better.”

“Angel—“

There’s no point throwing in a protest. Angel has fully stripped down to his briefs.

You step forward as he moves to push them down.

“I am serious, Angel. Do not do it.”

He rolls his neck before letting out a loud, and exaggerated, “fine.”

“But the only way that’s coming back on,” he nods towards the shirt in your hands before taking a step back. “You gotta join me.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Angel shoots you a look of skepticism as he takes another step towards the water.

“You’re already wet,” he chuckles. “Might as well get in.”

You remain where you are as Angel turns and makes his way into the water.

He waits until he’s waist-deep to start swimming out. He disappears out of sight as you drop his shirt to the ground. Stepping out of your flip-flops, you roll your eyes as you watch him resurface under the moonlight.

“Hurry up!” Even with the distance between the two of you, you can see Angel’s grin in your mind perfectly.

Despite your initial protest, you stay in the water for nearly an hour. Angel stands alongside you. His right-hand rests against your spine, his left interlaced with yours as your float. He watches you, his eyes admiring the moonlight against your skin as you focus on the stars above.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at these,” you admit.

He smiles as your eyes drift shut. “Mom used to freak every time she caught us sneaking onto the roof to look at them.”

“That’s because you fell off one time. Nearly gave her a heart attack.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

You bite back a smile as Angel’s lips lightly brush against yours. They drift to the bridge of your nose as you release a soft giggle.

“Speaking of mom’s, yours came by last week.” Angel watches as the smile on your face slowly fades. “You were at work. I was taking Jeyson to school. She said she’s been calling you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “She’s blocked.”

“I was thinking...since we’re heading back a day early, we should stop by your mom’s on the way back–”

“No.”

Angel releases a deep breath. He wasn’t naive to think you would jump at the idea. But, since seeing her, Angel couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

“I know ya’ll don’t get along, but my mom’s not here to see Jeyson grow up. I think he should be able to know the grandparents he has left.”

“I get that, but I’m not doing it.”

Your eyes remain closed as you concentrate on the waves gently pushing against your skin.

Angel doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He knows your response will stay the same. It has for the past nine years. He also doesn’t say anything else because he knows he’s the reason you won’t budge.

The hatred your mother has for Angel may be misplaced, but she is too stubborn to admit it. She has always blamed Angel for many of your actions, starting when you were kids. Anytime you didn’t go through with what she had planned for you, Angel was to blame. You missed curfew in high school Angel was to blame. You skipped school on your birthday Angel was to blame. You didn’t attend the college she spent her entire life preparing you for Angel was to blame. You got pregnant out of wedlock Angel was to blame.

It had all came to a head at your baby shower. Angel wasn’t there, but it was the first time he’d ever seen his mother truly angry. Sure, Marisol had gotten mad at Angel countless times. But seeing how mad Marisol was as she recounted the fight she had witnessed between you and your mother, Angel was shocked.

He never asked what words were exchanged, and he didn’t have to. All he knew was that from that moment forward, everyone avoided the subject of your mother.

“I get what you’re saying, Angel,” you sigh. “But, if my mom truly wanted to get to know Jeyson she would apologize. I can’t bring our son around someone that has said the things she’s said about you. If she can say them about you, she can say them about him because Jeyson is your son.”

“Shit, I really look as bad as I feel?”

The smile on Tommy’s face grows as you look up. The heat covering your skin seems to rise as you start to speak.

“No—” You wince. “I’m sorry for staring—it’s rude.”

“It’s all good,” Tommy chuckles as he watches your eyes leave his.

He watches as you bite your lip. Whatever is on your mind, you don’t share it. Instead, your eyes linger on the bruise beneath his right eye. You’ve seen enough damage on Angel to know how bad it must have looked a few days prior.

“Hey, relax.” Tommy shifts forward in his seat, the sound of his shackles dragging across the table causing your attention to refocus. He meets your gaze. “The Doc cleared me—gave me my two Advil and sent me back to my cell. I think it’s safe to say I’m not gonna die.”

Despite the smile on his face, your head still shakes.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that it happened. I was supposed to double-check the clearance of your paperwork.”

“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Tommy chuckles. He watches your eyes drop to his freshly bruised knuckles. “It’s mine. The funny thing about this place is, you always run into people from your past. My mom used to said I never knew when to stop talking. I might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

You watch as Tommy’s eyes briefly drift over your shoulder to where Rogers sits in the corner. His smile returns as his gaze drifts back to you.

“So, I take it you had fun.” He notes your raised brow before backtracking. “The Warden said he called your office and your boyfriend answered, said you were out of town.”

Your eyes roll. “Hey, go easy on my boyfriend. He’s the one who went to the courthouse. From what I hear, he slammed Judge Miller hard because your paperwork has been approved.”

You take in Tommy’s skepticism. You slide the signed form across the table, allowing him a better view.

“Signed by the Warden as well,” you point out. “Thanks to Aiden as soon as we’re done here, you’re being moved out of the unit.”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles. He nods in approval as he scans the form. “I’ll be sure to thank Aiden when I see him. Guess you were right. He’s got some balls after all...Look, I know I’m not the easiest client….so um….Thanks for pushing for this. Making sure everything was straight. Most people would’ve just left me where I was.”

“Yeah, well I can’t have you die before I get fully paid.”

The laugh Tommy releases brings a smile to your lips. He settles back against his chair as you pick up your pen.

"I need you to understand that this new assignment may not be your favorite," you explain. "You're being moved to a new unit, but I can't get you moved again. That means, you can't do anything else, Tommy. Do you understand me?"

Tommy nods. He looks up as your hand finds his.

"This," your lift his hand forcing him to take in his swollen knuckles. "The shit you pulled. You're lucky they didn't throw you in AdSeg. That's 23 hours in your cell. No phone calls, no visits. Nothing. The only reason they didn't throw you in there is because they messed up, and didn't want Aiden to draw a motion against the judge. I don't care what you have to do, but you better learn to walk away from a fight. Now."

"I know." Tommy sighs as you let him go.

“Then do it. My job is already hard enough as it is. I can't have you trying to kill someone while you're already here for murder. Plus, the judge is pissed because of the paperwork Aiden had to file. That's not good for either of us. So, that means I need your help.”

His brow raises, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking for help.”

“True, but help is a two-way street.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. His eyes drop to his knuckles as he lets off a light shrug.

“What do you need?”

“For you to tell me why you were meeting with Alexander Maddox the night you were arrested.”

Tommy’s smile fades quicker than it came. His jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

You sit forward resting your elbows on the table.

“Tommy, if it’s about the MC.” Tommy’s eyes lift for a brief second. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the shock in his eyes. You lower your voice. “I know you’re with the Horsemen—”

Tommy shakes his head. “Look—I get you got a job to do, but—there’s just shit with the MC I can’t talk about—”

“I know how this stuff works—”

“Got a lot of personal experience with an MC?” Tommy asks.

His question causes you to release a deep breath.

“If you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. But when it comes down to it, Tommy. People will cut you off to save themselves.” The irritation in your voice lifts his gaze. “That shipment you were carrying, was not a dime bag. Your brothers will let you go down for this. Hard. They will let you rot in here for the rest of your fucking life if it means avoiding a R.I.C.O. case.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “What’s a R.I.C.O.?”

His question throws you off. The pure confusion on his face causes you to backtrack.

“You seriously don’t know what that is?”

“I mean—I’ve heard of it...how do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you pay me for,” you remind him.

“Then I guess I’m paying you to explain it to me.”

The moment you step outside of the elevator, you come face to face with a wide-eyed Isabela.

“Is your phone dead?” She asks the irritation in her voice causing your brow to arch.

“Off—I had a client meeting with Tommy. I thought I told you—”

Isabela ignores your response, her eyes focused in the direction of your office. “Yeah, whatever. I’ve been calling you for the last freaking hour—”

“Sorry—ow.” You wince as Isabela catches your arm. She pulls you to a stop. “What?”

She releases her grip, but she sidesteps. Blocking your path, Isabela places both hands on your shoulders. She ignores the look of confusion on your face, her gaze studying yours.

“How are you?”

Her question causes you to hesitate. “...Fine...why?”

Isabela takes another moment to study your eyes as if she doesn’t fully believe you before nodding.

“Just so you know,” she sighs as she takes a step back. “I did not let her in. Aiden did. He didn’t know any better—bless his heart—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother.” Isabela winces at the look on your face. “She’s in your office. Promise me you won’t make a scene.”

“It’s never me you have to worry about,” you mumble.

When you enter your office, you find your mother is not where Aiden asked her to sit and wait for you.

She is standing behind your desk studying a photo that she holds in her hands.

“Put it back.”

She jumps at the sound of your voice, her body turning so that she faces you.

“Put it back, please.”

Her eyes return to the photo of Angel seated on his bike. A grinning Jeyson is seated in front of him, clinging to the handlebars.

“He looks so much like his father.”

You cross the room. Taking the photo, you place it back in its original resting place before dropping your purse onto your desk.

“What do you want?” You ask as you watch step around your desk.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

“According to the last time we spoke, I don’t have one.” You recollect as you take a seat. “It’s been...nearly nine years, so my memory might be a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me.” Your brow furrows as she moves to take the seat across from you. “There’s no need for you to sit. This conversation won’t last long. I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?”

Your mother’s jaw tightens as she remains standing. Her eyes roll as she speaks. “I take it he didn’t pass along my message.”

“He did pass along your message, actually,” you admit. “Believe it or not, Angel said I should call you and listen to what you had to say. I just chose to do what I’ve done for the past nine years—ignore it. If you’re not going to answer my question, mom, then you can leave.”

“Your father and I want to see our grandson—”

“No.”

She expects more, but your attention has already moved on to the papers you’ve dropped onto your desk.

“See, I told you the conversation wouldn’t last long.”

“Y/N,” your mother objects. “It’s been nearly nine years.”

Your fingers interlaced as you force yourself to take a deep breath. You surprise even yourself as your voice comes out quiet and calm.

“I told you before. I do not want you near my son, and I meant it. I don’t care what excuse you’ve come here to give today. I’m not changing my mind. Your only hope is to speak with his father, and hope he’s more forgiving than I am.”

Aiden stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he reads the room. He takes a step back but pauses as you give him a warm smile.

“Hi, Aiden! Please tell me you haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” Aiden clears his throat. His eyes briefly pass to your mother whose gaze remains on you. “I haven’t.”

“Good. Can you order two of whatever you’re having? I’ll pay. We have to go ahead and look over this case.”

Aiden nods as you add, “great. Can you also escort my mother downstairs? She’s ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your retreat.”

Aiden’s apology breaks your concentration.

Seated on the floor of your office, Aiden has his back pressed against your desk. His usually polished appearance is disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tie and jacket are discarded on the back of your chair.

His apology is one he has been working himself up to share for the last three hours. Each time he thought of sharing it, he’s backed out. At this point, he’s run out of pointless conversation and has reached the bottom of your takeout container that he took over.

“What are you talking about?”

Aiden’s eyes remain on the chopsticks in his hand.

“Isabela told me not to call you about Tommy,” he clears his throat. He steals a glance in your direction. “She said it should wait until you got back—but as usual—I panicked and called you. Now you’re back early--”

“Aiden, you didn’t ruin my retreat,” you sigh. Your palms rub against your tired eyes. “It was rocky was to begin with.”

The admission silences the office. Aiden nods before opening his mouth.

“So,” you smile as you lightly bump his shoulder with yours. “Please, don’t worry about it. Angel was probably happy you called so he could leave.”

Your gaze returns to the slow-paced printer. Upon learning you were coming home early, Aiden had sent you a text message.

📲: I have some stuff to show you about Tommy.

And by “some stuff” Aiden meant a board. He had stolen one of Samuel’s whiteboards from the conference room. The entire surface is covered in your notes and information from Tommy’s files.

“I can’t believe you did all this while I was gone,” you stare at the board. “Your girlfriend might think you’re spending too much time on me.”

Aiden’s smile is sheepish. “If I had one, I wouldn’t have had time to do this.”

“Well, remind me to find you one because this is amazing.” The tease causes Aiden’s smile to grow. “I’m serious, Aiden. I can’t believe you thought you couldn’t be any help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he shrugs, his gaze focused on the paper in his hand. “They’re all your notes, I just organized them.”

His eyes widen, a grin finding his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Call it whatever you want,” you smile. “But I still get to say thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rubs the back of his neck before glancing over at you. “We’re a team….speaking of...I found this.”

The picture he lifts is not new. It is one you’ve seen before. Your brow furrows as you take in the pregnant woman on display.

“I already know who that is,” you admit. “It’s the girlfriend of—”

“Alexander Maddox.” Aiden nods. “Right. I kept going back to your notes. You had one question. Why was Tommy meeting with Maddox in the first place?”

Your head shakes the confusion on your face prompting the rolling of Aiden’s eyes.

“How is this the answer?”

“You were asking the wrong question.” A mischievous grin slides onto his face as Aiden realizes you’re still not following his train of thought. “I can’t believe I figured something out before you—”

“Oh my goodness, Aiden—”

“When he was arrested, Tommy was carrying a shipment--”

“Yeah, something he shouldn’t have been doing by himself.”

Aiden’s brow arches. “You got a history of drug trafficking I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised what you pick up on this job.”

Aiden shakes his head as you motion for him to continue.

“While I was working, I kept thinking back to our conversation at the courthouse,” Aiden continues. “You said Tommy’s smart—"

“He uses people to get what he wants.”

“Exactly,” Aiden grins. He lifts the picture in his hand. “Why would Maddox meet up with someone from a rival club, in the middle of the night, with his pregnant girlfriend in tow if he was threatened by them?”

Aiden doesn’t bother answering the question. Instead, he waits for you to make the connection. The smile on his face remains as your eyes widen.

“Because he was there to make a deal.”

“Exactly!” Despite the smile on your face, Aiden’s face dampens. “...but that’s as far as I got. I don’t really know what made Tommy kill him—”

“Of course you do, Aiden.” Despite your reassurance and the confidence in your voice, Aiden’s expression hasn’t changed. “Your brain just needs a second to catch up. Maddox didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He probably tried to screw Tommy over. Not realizing that Tommy would kill him, girlfriend in tow.”

"Well, now we know why Tommy's been tight-lipped about that night. Probably doesn't want it to get out that he was skimming from the club's business."

The hug you give him brings the same response as before.

“I should help you out more often.” Aiden chuckles as you give him a squeeze.

“Careful,” you tease. “Angel’s not too fond of sharing.”

“Speaking of Angel…” Aiden’s gaze meets yours. “I know you asked me not to say anything to him about Samuel—”

“It’s okay.”

Aiden nods, but he continues. His rambling brings a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, but I just...I didn’t want you to think I was okay with what Samuel did.” His words come out quietly as he shakes his head. “The way he talked to you...it wasn’t right. You work harder than anyone here—including him—and for Samuel to do that was fucked up. I didn’t say anything in the meeting, and I should have. So, I just...I told Angel when he asked about it.”

“He would have found out eventually,” you laugh softly. “Besides, now Angel likes you.”

“For real?” The smile on Aiden’s face stretches into a grin as you nod.

A silence falls over the office as Aiden’s head rests against the desk. His brow furrows as your eyes fall to your hands. There is a final question on his mind. One he’s tried to find a way to raise since he started flipping through your notes on Saturday morning.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question lifts your gaze.

Aiden reaches into the pocket of his shirt. Your eyes widen as you take in the white card he produces. It is a card you spent the entire morning trying to find. The scheduled appointment one you have yet to share with Angel.

“It was in the notebook you turned over for me and Samuel to review,” Aiden explains as he passes the card over. “Don’t worry. I saw it before he did...I figured he was the last person you wanted to know.”

Your eyes focus on the date. A week and a half away. The initial scheduling may have been premature, but you couldn’t shake the feeling Angel was right.

“Uh...no—I mean, it’s too early to tell.” You turn the card over before looking up. “I should know by this date, so can you not tell anyone about this? I haven’t even told Izzy...or Angel for that matter. I don’t want to say anything until I’m a hundred percent sure.”

Aiden nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You allow your head to rest back against the desk. “I don’t want to get Angel’s hopes up too early.”

It was the only thought you’ve had from the moment you woke up alongside Angel that moment. But as you glance back at the card in your hand, you know the truth has nothing to do with Angel. It’s not his hopes that you’re afraid of letting down.

You place the card aside, pulling your knees to your chest. Your gaze drifts to the board before you. The two of you sit in silence, eyes focused on your work. Silently willing your brains to come up with one more revelation before packing it up for the night.

"Alright," Aiden huffs. "I think we've gotten as far as we can get tonight."

HIs brow furrows, a chuckle filling the air as he fingers brush against your arm.

"Didn't take you for a tattoo person."

You glance over at him, following his gaze to the ink on your arm.

"Yeah, well, you've never been dragged to a tattoo parlor with Angel," you laugh. "Now, I try to avoid them at all cost."

"It's pretty cool," he grins, his eyes lingering on the design. "He has one too? Matching?"

"Yep," your eyes roll lightly. "Please don't tease me about teenage decisions."

"I won't," he chuckles. Aiden sits forward, lightly patting your leg before moving to collect the trash.

“Aiden?”

“Huh?” He glances up from the takeout containers in his hands.

“How long was he in Chino?”

“Tommy...uh, hold on.” Balancing the containers in his left, Aiden quickly rifles through the stacks of papers spread across the floor before him. “Says here...he was in Chino for....30 months.”

“Any way we can figure out where he was housed?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits as his eyes scan the wrap sheet. “His charges were nothing compared to now. Petty crime, so he wasn’t housed at maximum. Why?”

Once his question is met with silence, Aiden glances over his shoulder at you.

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes slowly morphs to fear as he takes in your expression. “Did I miss something?”

“No, I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he can pose the question, you’re already pushing yourself to your feet.

“Go home, okay? It’s getting late—don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

Although you’ve managed to mask your expression, the trembling of your hands causes Aiden’s brow to furrow.

“You sure?” He objects. He quickly stands, stopping you from grabbing your keys from your desk. “I can send an email about his placement in Chino—”

“No.” Your response comes out more panicked than you want. You quickly backtrack. The reassuring smile you give Aiden not holding the weight it’s meant to. “I’ll do it in the morning. I have to go see Angel.”

“Okay.” Aiden nods. He passes over the sheet watching as you excuse yourself.

Jeyson Reyes sits at the table in the center of the clubhouse, his math homework abandoned. His attention is devoted to the bowl of skittles in front of him. He has spent that past minute carefully picking out his least favorite skittles—the yellow.

“Word on the street is you got a birthday coming up,” Angel accepts another yellow skittle before popping it in his mouth. Jeyson’s eyes widen as he briefly pauses the task at hand. Angel’s brow furrows as his eyes study his son’s face. “How old are you turning again? Five—”

“Nine!”

“Nine? Nah--that can’t be right.” Angel shakes his head as he takes in Jeyson’s broad grin. “I don’t believe you—”

“Uh-huh,” Jeyson nods, dropping another skittle into his father’s palm. “I turn nine in seventeen days.”

“Shit—”

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” Jeyson reminds him as he passes Angel another skittle.

“I know,” Angel chuckles. He rests back against his seat, his eyes lingering on your son as he quietly admits. “I can’t believe you’re that old.”

Jeyson’s nose scrunches. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, you are,” Angel laughs, his hand brushing against Jeyson’s hair. “You’re almost an adult.”

“I’m still a kid,” Jeyson giggles as his eyes lift to meet his father’s. “You’re old—”

“Hey—I am not old,” Angel retorts, the feigned look of offense causing your son’s giggles to increase.

Jeyson reaches over pointing towards the beard Angel’s hand passes over. “You have gray hair—lots of it.”

His father’s gaze narrows as Jeyson’s grin stretches as far as his cheeks will allow. As if to soften the blow, Jeyson drops two more skittles into Angel’s palm before eating one of his own.

Angel’s smile remains as he watches Jeyson redirect his attention back to the bowl of skittles on the table.

“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?"

Jeyson shrugs. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Angel’s brow raises. “You’re counting down to your birthday, but you don’t know what you want?”

Jeyson lets off a second shrug, his concentration on the skittles causing Angel’s brow to furrow.

“You know we’re gonna end up getting whatever it is you want,” Angel smiles as he ruffles Jeyson’s hair. “You’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to in school.”

Despite Angel’s words, Jeyson’s gaze remains down. He chews on the inside of his cheek. The action causes his father to slide the bowl of skittles aside.

“What’s up? You don't think you can get what you want?”

Nearly a minute passes before Jeyson answers Angel’s question. His voice comes out quietly.

“I want you to stay at home.”

Angel’s brow furrows. The response is not what he’s anticipating. “I am staying at home.”

“My home, not yours.” Jeyson clarifies. “Where mom and I live.”

“That is where I’m staying.”

“You didn’t Friday. Is it because you don’t like living with us?” He asks quietly

Angel’s eyes drift shut, the tightening of his throat causing him to shake his head.

“Your mom and I—” Angel’s voice trails off as Jeyson looks up from the table to meet his gaze.

It is a conversation neither of them has breached before. One Jeyson has found himself thinking about more and more. One Angel knew he would eventually have with his son, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be now. He had also hoped you would be around to help him.

“You having two homes has nothing to do with me not wanting to live with you—or your mom. You don’t remember it, you were too little, but your mom and I...we used to fight a lot.” Angel continues. “I wasn’t nice to her, and I made her cry a lot. So I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you or her, but I also didn’t want to hurt you or your mom. It took me a while to learn how not to do that. Friday...I couldn’t come home because I didn’t want to fight with your mom.”

“You still made her cry.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Leaning over, Angel brushes his hand against Jeyson’s hair. His touch forces Jeyson’s eyes to meet his. “You know how you and your friends get mad at each other? Sometimes we get mad at the people we love because we don’t see things the same way. But your mom being mad at me has nothing to do with you. Okay? Just because your mom and I might fight, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

The soft smile Angel offers him prompts Jeyson to give him one in return.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m staying with you and your mom or at my house. I love you. That’s not ever gonna change. Never has, never will. Got it?”

Jeyson nods, his smile growing as Angel places a kiss against his skin.

As Jeyson's attention returns to the bowl of skittles, Angel reaches into his kutte. He pulls out the white envelope that he found in the mailbox upon your return home.

He studies the unfamiliar handwriting. Printed in block letters are his name and your address. His gaze passes over the generic American Flag stamp and date pressed into the right corner. The lack of a return address causes him to flip the envelope over.

Angel waits until he comes to a stop outside of the clubhouse to give the envelope a second glance. Tearing the side, he reaches inside pulling out a single index card. The handwriting matches that printed on the envelope.

An anniversary gift for the Old Lady.

Angel tips the envelope. His stomach tightens as the chill of a silver chain hits his palm. The buzzing of his phone in his kutte pocket goes ignored. He doesn’t need to unravel the chain to know who the necklace belongs to. He has looked at the necklace nearly every day since he was eighteen.

The continued vibration of his phone forces an irritated “fuck” from Angel’s lip before he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“What?”

“This is a prepaid call from Thomas Flores, an inmate at the state correctional facility. All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline the call, please press nine. To accept the call and all charges that will be incurred, please press one.”

Angel doesn’t remember committing the act of acceptance. A moment later, Tommy’s voice echoes through his receiver. For a man locked inside the walls of Stockton, his voice is calm and lighthearted.

“Damn, it’s been a minute since I’ve heard your voice, Reyes. Can you believe I missed it?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Angel growls, his grip tightening around his phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Come on, Reyes--give me some credit. I got it the same way I got your address,” Tommy chuckles. “I had to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary. It just passed, right? What is it six—no—seven years? Hopefully, the two of you are doing better these days—”

“Why are you calling?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Tommy sighs, the smile on his face stretches into a grin. “See, I was in my cell a few weeks back, thinking to myself—got a lot of time for that nowadays—and naturally, that led to me thinking of you. And how I missed my old cellmate. Then I remembered...you owe me a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t owe you shit--”

“That’s not how this shit works. I think the person who’s owed a debt gets to decide when it’s paid in full.” Tommy pauses, the silence from Angel’s end allowing him to continue. “Funny thing, I wouldn’t have even thought to call on you for this, but you made a simple mistake all those years ago, Angel. You talked too much...If you don’t want someone to use your Achilles, you don’t share it.” Angel’s brow furrows as Tommy’s words slowly begin to sink in. “Now, you know I’m not a religious man, but I bet you can imagine how good I felt when I realized that God, himself, dropped Y/N into my lap. What are the odds that she and I got brought together? Huh? It’d be a shame to let this God-given opportunity go to waste, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Tommy?”

“A lot of things,” Tommy admits. “A turn with your pretty wife for starters. The way you put it, she’d do just about anything for you--”

“She’s not doing anything for you--”

“That’s okay,” Tommy chuckles. “You’ve always had my back when it came down to the wire.”

Angel’s head shakes. “No—Fuck this—I’m hanging up. I told you that night. One and done—”

“I take it you got my gift,” Tommy ignores Angel’s declaration. “And...judging by the unnecessary hostility I’m sensing in your voice, you took a trip down South recently.”

“I want what you took—”

“And you can get it back—scout’s honor.” The sincerity in Tommy’s voice would fool a stranger, but not Angel. “After you help me out one last time. For old times sake.”

“I’m not helping you do shit.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighs. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“And you’re gonna leave her alone. Come up with an excuse, I don’t care. You’re finding a new attorney—”

“No can do, Reyes. See, I don’t benefit by losing her.” Tommy explains. “Unless you wanna consider my proposal. Last time I’m offering. I think you’ll find my way is the easiest—for everybody involved.”

A silence falls over the line. The trembling of his hands tightening Angel’s grip on his cellphone.

“Alright, well, my time is almost up,” Tommy yawns. His eyes pass to the clock overhead. “Plus, I know it was a lot to dump on you, so I'll give you the night to mull it over. Tell your lady I said thanks for visiting me today.”

Angel’s continued silence brings a grin to Tommy’s face. His chuckle fills this receiver.

“You haven’t told her yet….Tell me, what do you think she’s gonna say when your secret gets out? Do you think she’s gonna stick around this time? If that shit gets out, you’ll be facing more than some 18-month stint in Chino, Reyes. You’ll be facing some real-time. Ask your baby brother how that shit sits with you. All it’ll take is some rumors about the location of a missing state’s witness to start swirling...evidence anonymously getting dropped into the hands of the right people...then you and I just might be sharing a cell again.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that shit to happen.”

“Maybe...maybe not...only time will tell.” Tommy sighs. The calmness of his voice is the opposite of the feeling causing Angel to force out an unsteady breath. “Do me a favor, check with your old lady on how to get on my visitation list. I think you owe me a visit, make the shit quick, Reyes. Maybe she can get them to expedite the paperwork. You got a job to do, and your clock is ticking, homie.”

There is no need for additional words to be exchanged. Tommy hangs up, leaving Angel standing at the end of the driveway. No matter how hard Angel tried to resist—or tried to appear that he was—Tommy knew the hook was set the moment the call began.

When you pull into the clubhouse lot, you find Angel standing at the base of the clubhouse steps.

His eyes meet yours as you park, but he makes no move to meet you. The question is out before you can step around the front of your car.

“Do you know Tommy Flores?”

Angel’s eyes may be on you, but his mind is somewhere else.

“What?”

“Thomas Flores. He was serving time in Chino. Longer than you—thirty months—but you were there the exact same time. Did you hear about him while you were there?” Your question is met with silence. Angel blinks. His brow furrows as he watches you cross the lot. “I know it’s a random question, but Angel it’s really important. Okay?”

It’s common for people to cross paths. Chino is not a prison. It’s smaller than Stockton. Inmates flood in and out like clockwork. That's what your mind can produce in the time it takes you to come to a stop before him.

But it’s the look in Angel’s eyes that tightens your stomach.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once in your life.

Nearly two years ago. A night you hadn't revisited in quite some time.

When Angel had shown up unannounced at your house. This was nothing new.

Only this time, the pounding on your front door had woken you, Jeyson, and nearly half the neighborhood.

Your initial assumption was that he was drunk—it wouldn’t have been the first time Angel had shown up after a few beers and a shitty hookup only to find his way back to you. Begging you to let him stay the night, swearing to plead his drunken case, only to pass out against you the moment you were seated on the sofa.

Only this time—the moment you’d gotten the door open you were crushed by his weight. Angel's grip had been tight. The pressure caused you to wince as his face burrowed against your skin.

For once, you couldn't detect alcohol--just sweat and dirt. His grip had tightened as you tried to move back and take a better look at him.

You didn't get much out of him that night. The most you could get him to do was shower. Which was for the best because, by the time you'd helped him dry off, Angel's adrenaline crashed. He’d passed out in your bed a minute later.

In the morning, he didn’t produce much of an explanation.

"Sorry if I scared you last night," he'd mumbled as he headed to the door. "I know you asked me not to show up—unannounced like that but—I just wanted to see you."

“Yeah,” Angel nods. “I knew him.”

You wait for elaboration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Angel takes a step back. He finds a seat on the steps, his left hand reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, I knew him? What the hell does that mean? You knew of him, or you kn—”

“No, I knew—I know him.” Angel releases a sigh, his fist crumpling the envelope he holds. “He was my cellmate.”

“No, he wasn't.” The response is automatic. The laugh you release echoes across the parking lot. The meaning behind Angel’s silence doesn’t fully register. Your brain is still reeling, trying to find a rational explanation to deny his statement and what it means. You shake your head. “No, he wasn’t. That is not fucking possible—“

“Cellblock D. That’s where they house all gang-affiliated inmates. They don’t give a shit if you’re an MC or not. It’s all the same.” Angel quietly explains, his eyes watching the realization begin to sink into your features. “They put you together with guys from other places, knowing you might not have a brother to watch your back if you need protection. Tommy’s cellmate had recently been discharged. So, after intake, I took the open space—“

“Angel, stop. I can’t have you telling me this,” you cut him off. The sight of your widened eyes not deferring Angel’s train of thought. “Do you know what this means for my case? Why couldn’t you just lie to me—”

“Because what I need to tell you is worse.”

series taglist: @angelreyesgirl89 @holl2712 @relaxing-najee @thedeviltohisangel @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @amorestevens @witching-hour @seize-the-droid @rosieposie0624 @sesamepancakes @est1887 @queenbeered @ticosas @blessedboo @helli4nthus @katjusja @melanicia @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @moneteguiza

mayans taglist: @lilacyennefer @pedropcl @holl2712 @rae-gar-targaryen @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @henrycavill19 @silverstarsandsuns @chellybear98 @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​​ @noz4a2​​ @wiccanmetallicrose​​ @crxssourbones​​ @kimljn​​ @starrynite7114​​ @richonne4life​​  @themarkblues​​ @mariaxliliana​​ @thelovelyleo23​​ @hail-horror-queen​​ @gemini0410​​ @binooo98​​ @the-jer-bear​​ @abbiesthings​​ @losolvidad0s​​ @helli4nthus​​ @babaohhhriley​​ @futureleo1678​​ @whatupitshuff​​ @trhett21​​ @trulysuccubus​​ @minnicelli​​ @sillygoose6969​​ @capnsaveahoe​​ @leahnicole1219​​ @crashbarbie​​ @cyka1312​​ @zoovent​​ @lakamaa12​​ @keithseabrook27​​ @vir-tually​​ @awkwardtayler​​ @rawrlittlepanda-95​​ @irenne-stans​​ @pearlkitten33​​ @ezs-baby-angels-whore​​ @sesamepancakes​ @toni9​ @vannabanana1995​ @queenbeered​ @shawty-fenty​ @kaystacks17​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @anactualcaseofthetruth​ @star017​ @cant-decide-at-this-moment​ @cocotheclown​ @watsonwise​ @ilovebey2018​ @oscars-wifeyyy​ @rosieposie0624​ @jennisdirtyimagines​  @ughdontbeboring​ @jjwriter23​ @briskywalker​ @peoniarose​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @partypoison00​ @making-starsdance​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​ @myakai13

[thought-42]

I want to hear about Document22 (for the WIP ask game). Please and thank you 😁

*hysterical laughter* Ohhhh-kay. Okay. Ok. This is the time travel fic of self-indulgence and complete wild ridiculousness. Spoilers for Exu Calamity ahead, but the entire premise is: the four who died wind up in the future (around the time between C2 and C3) and have a series of existential crisies in a theme restaurant. Excerpt, unedited:

She remembers thinking the city meaningless in the face of a world tearing itself apart, but now with the reality of its absence stretching out before her she cannot recognize the self that existed in those frantic moments. That self had already come to terms with her poeticly ephemral position against the backdrop of apocalypse. That self did her best. That self was the smell of burning hair and blackening skin-- "You're giving Loquatius more anxiety," Nydas says, standing a few feet from her, all his colour rendered monochrome in the dark. He stands with one hand pressed to the small of his back. "I couldn't," she says, a treatise in those two words pried raw and bloody from the back of her throat. "We all figured. You had a rough day." She stares at him. "...Sure. Yeah. <i>I</i> had a rough day." "I mean comparatively," he says. "You were going to change the world. The person you love the most died in front of you. Twice, arguably, I'm not sure. At least the rest of us got what family we had left out." "For whatever that's worth," she says. She and Quay have always been in the enviable position of not having anyone outside of the Ring of brass to really worry about. "I mean. They got away." "And then gods tore the world a sunder," she says. "I don't think it counted for much." "We don't know that." "He ran forward," she snaps. "And fucking look around. It's all-- they've had 800 years and-- it's just this." Nydas sucks in a breath, and she realizes starkly that not everyone can follow Quay's obfuscating turns of phrase as easily as she can. Nydas wears his heart on his sleeve, but he is nothing if not fashionable, so she doesn't have to witness him having the realization in realtime. "That's impossible," he says. "Unless this is some kind of... historical reenactment village. I've heard of those. Like you said, maybe Wildemount is just like this." Another part of Laerryn's mind, quiet up to this point, rudely offers up the shear level of devistation that would lead to this level of techmnological and cultural development almost a millennia later. She's still not particularly interested in having any strong feelings about anything ever again, so she sets that aside. "We need to find a library," she says. "If we ask actual people about any of this they'll either think we're crazy or, worse, they won't. And we'll probably be exicuted for the parts we played." "Not everyone has an elven memory," he says. "We'd be curiosities by this point to most people." "And we need to know why they were saying Gor Dranas in there," she says. "Maybe they won," says Nydas, and Laerryn blacks out for a few seconds.

[rosesastrology]

THE MOON SIGNS

In astrology, your moon sign represents your emotional nature, habits, reactions, wants and needs. The way your moon sign manifests will differ because of the house it's in and any applying aspects to the moon. If you don't relate to the description, that can be why. The whole chart should be taken into account, nonetheless if listed things I’ve seen commonly represented by these Moon signs!

Click here for part 2 (Libra - Pisces)

— By @rosesastrology on Tumblr.

Aries Moon

Very emotional, but may choose to show another exterior (Sun/rising).

Usually grows more mature as time passes, but keeps their intense emotions and occasional childlike energy. They often want to do things on their own, without help. Even when they're growing up, they're quite independent.

Anger is explosive but often short-lived, although they can be the type to want revenge and hold a grudge- the actual anger doesn't last long. It comes up in waves. They can be quite nasty during that short time though, often saying things they don't actually mean just because they're in the heat of the moment.

They have waves of sudden inspiration and deep passion, but also of nostalgia and deep sadness. Their mood can change quite quickly.

Often, these people will be inclined to do some sort of physical activity because they want to see the best version of themselves and vent those intense emotions. This can also manifest in a fast-paced, busy lifestyle or just a brisk walking pace.

Their careers are often a form of self-expression.

They tend to go with whatever feels right in the moment, which can make them quite impulsive.

Their humour is quite childlike. They also tend to get embarrassed quickly (but they'll say embarrassing things all the same).

Tend to start working at a young age, or do something else that you’d usually expect from an older person.

They have a big sense of pride and ego, which can make it almost impossible for them to ask for help. The way to comfort them is often just by listening to them. Talking is not needed, unless you're reflecting back what they said. They enjoy feeling heard. They don't want you to make it better, they want to be heard.

They want to be recognized and acknowledged. They enjoy helping, even if it's just for them to feel better. They stand up for themselves, they will defend their emotions. They refuse to get crushed. In the same sense, this will make them help the underdogs.

Often, they have a sense of empathy but only if the mood is apparent. They can become very ticked off or confused by things like passive aggression. It can be difficult for them to put themselves in someone else's shoes, unless the other person reminds them of it. Then they will be more than glad to help. Direct communication and reflection books the most results with them.

They have a tendency to only help if you ask them directly.

They're quick to jump into things and tend to have strong opinions (feelings) even if they don't show them outwardly. Most do show them outwardly and can seem temperamental.

They tend not to have a filter and can seem quite savage, often immediately saying what's on their mind (whether good or bad). This is not to say that they can't control themselves, though.

Tend to feel impatient.

Are actually very undiplomatic.

They go through fire for those they're close to, and won't hesitate to sacrifice themselves. They tend to want to be someone's saviour or hero. This can come forward in their career, too.

They always want to keep moving. They want to make progress and continue. This is why letting go is often not the easiest for them, especially if they have a prevalence of air and earth in their natal chart.

Later in their life, they can be very autonomous and great leaders.

They can almost seem to be drunk on their own self and pride but in reality they’re just confident.

Thoughts tend to be superficial, thinking about practicalities or beauty unless other topics are stimulated.

Can be insecure, especially early in life.

Good at performing. Often their talents lie here.

They don’t necessarily struggle with letting go, but with loss itself.

They’re do-ers.

Persistent to reach goals. Very motivated.

Taurus Moon

Often, these people are artistic or at least have an appreciation for the arts.

They often enjoy cooking, if not they will enjoy eating. They have a very peculiar taste and opinion about how food should be. Often it's not too complex, and they tend to order the same thing at restaurants. They enjoy those types of routines, even if they like variety in their daily life.

They can come across as soft-spoken, sheltered people who enjoy staying in.

They tend to fixate on the past, or at least do a lot of reflection. Reflecting is their source of motivation.

Sacrifice breaks them apart. It's one of the things that will truly, truly touch them.

They just have a general sense of maturity and kindness, even if they have a childlike humour (depending on their placements), they will always have a sense of reliability and resilience.

They always strive for greater heights and can be hard on their past self, often linking their worth to their skill.

It's hard for them to shake off their emotions.

Not as materialistic as everyone makes them seem. Most Taurus Moons I know are actually the crash and burn type of people and have no attachment to their materials. Comfort goes above anything for them, they don't need much- they just need the right things. They tend to have strong opinions about that.

They always seek to understand their partners, even if it's in a situation where they didn't do anything wrong.

Can seem distant or hard to reach.

They're very sentimental and nostalgic.

Tend to have a pleasant voice.

They can have a very hard time letting things, people or experiences go.

They're very hard to convince.

They have a lot of emotional strength and resilience. They're always growth-orientated.

Escapism can be an issue because of their emotional need for comfort. However, this tends to lessen eventually.

They have a great love for nature. Animals, plants, space, people- they love all these things. They are fascinated by things that are bigger than them, the whole picture. That's why nature and space fit so well with them.

They tend to be mature and laid-back in relationships- some will find this boring but it actually gives a sense of home and comfort that you won't find anywhere else. Compromise is key.

They tend to believe that humanity as a whole can improve. They want to make the world a better place in a tangible way. This is why they're the type to donate to direct charities- they're generous and love seeing a form of tangible improvement. Tangible good.

Extremely loyal.

Direct in communication, often they talk about their past. Past experiences and nostalgia stand central in their emotions. They focus on growth.

If someone says they can’t do something, they will go out of their way to do it just to prove the other person wrong.

Self-sufficient. Good at handling criticism.

They can actually be quite moody.

They often talk about their past.

Grounded but they tend to want to know reasons. This includes reasons for their feelings.

Gemini Moon

Emotions and actions are rationalized.

They think before they talk (although they can snap).

They can be more unruly with their emotion when they're young, as well as when they're very stressed or feel as though their conclusions contradict one another.

Their intelligence is admiring, even when it's not traditional.

Tend to be apolitical because they see it as a promotion show rather than an exchange of ideas.

They find education/their work very important and prioritize this above their health.

They often follow traditions when it comes to the educational path, but tend to be more extravagant when it comes to creativity and self-expression.

They often enjoy reading one way or another, whether it's literature, poetry or manga or visual novels doesn't matter.

Very communication-orientated.

They tend to know a lot of psychological facts and tricks, which they use for self-betterment but also on others.

Confidence comes and goes as it pleases.

Doesn't do well with contradictions, especially if it's a contradiction about their own issues. They need reasons and conclusions to fix the issue, even if it's about emotions. This is both a blessing- they are focused on fixing the issue to grow, and a curse- they rarely ever go with the flow or go with what they truly desire.

Strong opinions that they love to discuss. They're not necessarily the type to start the discussion, but they will engage.

They’re extremely curious about a wide variety of topics.

Everything is based on their logic, so if it's faulty they feel like a failure.

Tend to be uncomfortable with risks and change, although they enjoy variety.

They're planners, they're generally not spontaneous.

They have a lot of different sides that they show to different people, it's like their personality has archetypes- but it's still all them.

They tend to know a lot of random facts.

Often enjoy mental stimuli in the form of media, movies, videos, video games, reading, studying, etc.

Quick-witted yet scatter-brained, they tend to confuse themselves.

Not the most organized people, even though they're planners, it doesn't directly correlate to their surroundings.

If they can't find a viable solution they can end up feeling as though they're crazy.

Inventive although they'd never call themselves that.

Can be the tough love type of people, which doesn't work well with everyone.

Because they're so good at analysing and articulating their emotions, they give good advice.

Flighty.

Will close themselves off if they're hurt.

Has a need to find comfort within their daily commute, whether that's through family, friends or a cafe doesn't matter.

They are connected to the sky- the intelligent yet structured patterns of life give them their smarts. Their intelligence is practical and physical, whereas Sagittarius' intelligence is surrounded around the higher conscience, Gemini revolves around earthly concepts.

The house where the Moon resides often shows what the individual struggles with but will eventually grow immensely through.

They tend to understand themselves better if they write down, or say their conclusions- even if they are very obvious.

They don't want to be controlled by their emotions, but it doesn't mean they don't honour them.

They tend to analyse everyone and enjoy being able to openly talk to someone about that. There is an inherent need to understand everything.

Sensitivity for the abstract.

Defensive over their opinions.

It's hard for them to just feel emotions and be in the moment or go with the flow.

Cancer Moon

Actually very secretive about their emotions, especially towards strangers and people they're not close with.

Changes their personality to fit with the people around them, even if that mans compensating low confidence for seemingly high confidence. Although they do this, they don’t see those friends as true friends, they know it’s fake and see through that.

Will act nice if they want something from you, like buying something for you or straight-up begging.

Family-orientated even if they don’t seem like it. Family means a lot to them. If their home is unstable they’ll be more likely to stay away from their homes, trying to find love and company elsewhere. Nonetheless, the situations hurt them deeply on the inside.

Can be quite moody.

They have a very nurturing and caring side but they won’t show it if they don’t have a connection, in fact they can seem very detached to strangers.

This supposed detachment is solely because they seek to protect themselves.

If they’re not convinced about your intentions or can’t gauge you, they’ll put up a front or wall. This can lead them to ignore people, even if they actually like them. Another reason is because they don’t want to disrupt someone’s life with.. their presence or the depth of their emotions.

They can play push and pull, like how the moon pulls on the ocean.

They go with the flow and the moment which is one of their best skills.

They believe what they believe, they trust their feelings and intuition. This makes it easier for them to understand things on a deeper level, rather than a superficial one. They can persevere very well through hardships because of this too.

They have great memory.

Tend to be very

They apologise for everything.

Tendency towards introversion, they actually prefer quieter places but when they’re younger this is not always apparent because they want to fit in.

Criticism tends to hurt them because they feel like they know best, criticism seems to devalue them in their eyes.

They don’t have a lot of true friends often. Even those who are very popular only see few of their friends as true friends they can count on.

They get antsy when they have to open up because they feel so deeply, they’re often misunderstood.

They’re very responsive to their environment.

Very proctective and defensive (on guard) about their emotions. You may notice they’re upset but they won’t vent. They’re emotionally quite mysterious (outwardly).

If they don’t like you or something you said, you will notice it.

Deep down they’re very emotional.

They often become more family-orientated after having children themselves.

They’re not weak, whatsoever. Mentally, they’re some of the strongest people I know.

They use their emotional resilience to their advantage.

Need a lot of validation and reassurance to truly feel self-sufficient.

Their anger is like a wave and it lasts longer than you’d expect it to. It takes a lot to push them past their limit, but watch out if you do.

Sensitive to outward stimuli such as bright lights or bright noises.

Often attracted to water or the sea in some way.

Can become very selfish when they’re in a bad mental space.

In time, they find their true emotions to be deep and more human than most, in a way. They can deal with these emotions, which is what makes them so resilient.

Can actually accept and feel their feelings without having to understand them which is very admirable. They can just be and feel.

They feel everything on a deeper level, which is why they can also manifest deep happiness into their life.

Leo Moon

They’re very creative and tend to be talented at many things.

Often, they’re good at acting or doing impressions.

Performing is one of their vocal points, whether it’s through music, acting, sports, or their individual talent doesn’t matter.

They can be very insecure and feel as though they don’t matter, aren’t good enough, aren’t pretty enough, etc. In fact, superficial (physical) inscecurity is a real issue with them.

They’ll only be outward (performing, being in the spotlight) when they’re confident. If they’re insecure, it’ll be quite the opposite. They’ll still enjoy attention, but in lesser doses and often with less people.

They’re very empathetic.

They’re generous, giving to others makes them feel better as well (whereas Taurus moons do it to leave something good behind that’s tangible).

Enjoy sharing their forms of self-expression with others.

They can be extremely motivated and persistent to achieve their goals. “Someone has to do it, so why not you?” because of this attitude, they can achieve great things.

Very endearing because they’re so childlike, they’re just so lovable yet bratty.

Validation makes them thrive harder and insults tend to wear them down. They often expect validation, and forget to give it back at times but not out of malicious intent- just out of cluelessness.

Can be a bit dramatic and vain.

They’ll throw a tantrum and then pout and honestly you can’t deny their apologies.

Have an aura of warmth and genuineness. Their warmth just spreads happiness and it’s magical.

Bad at handling criticism, even if it’s constructive it still tends to hurt their feelings. It makes them feel like they’re failures, often because they take things very personally.

Sensitive.

Can be passive-aggressive but won’t admit it.

Can be arrogant but in a way it’s endearing because they’re so forgiving and generous.

Enjoys looking nice physically.

Often, they’re hopeless romantics.

Hard to stay mad at because they’re very charming.

Can be very cruel when they’re angry.

They feel very powerful a lot, you’ll hear them say “How dare you?!” quite a bit.

Doesn’t and cannot hold back if something pisses them off. Very feisty.

Often they have a lot of friends despite their insecurities.

Very energetic and passionate.

They’re like an adult child. They carry all that childlike charm and wit with them. They’re so endearing and kind, yet just as sensitive. This is not to mean that they can’t be mature and serious, because they can and if you treat them like a child then they’ll likely say you’re infantializing them.

The unfortunate sides of the ego can take over when they’re upset. They tend to be straightforward, yet they want to people-please as well. When their ego takes over, they can be annoyed very easily.

They’re impatient for results, better things, people, etc. Practicing patience can help calm their ego.

Rich imagination.

They tend to get annoyed easily, but with the right people they’re annoyed very rarely.

They get especially angry if they feel the action was personal and purposeful.

Virgo Moon

High standards, especially when it comes to themselves.

Extremely sceptical of everything and everyone. They can have big trust issues.

Sensitive to outward stimuli such as people’s energies.

Destructive perfectionism and anxiety is common here.

They’re not emotionless but it’s very difficult for them to express emotions outwardly because they can’t understand them. Since they can’t understand it, it’s difficult for them to articulate those emotions without getting stuck. As such, they tend to repress their true emotions and sometimes motives.

Pets and kids tend to love them.

They’re extremely attentive to every flaw, regardless of if it’s truly a flaw or not.

A big pro of Virgo Moons is their power to pick up on any flaw or difficulty and change it or themselves. As such, they can work on themselves more easily. They’re always changing, growing and striving for the best version of themselves. That’s the true power of Virgo Moons.

They’re very critical, and judge themselves a lot.

Because they’re so analytical, they can pick up on cues, signs and little things other people won’t notice. This serves them greatly in their quest to be useful.

They want to serve or at least help others in one way or another because it makes them feel useful and fulfilled. Even if they’re leaders or performers, in their head they’re working for the purpose or future of someone else. If they’re bosses, they’ll still feel as though they’re working for their employees or family. Performers with this placement tend to feel as though they work for their fans.

They’re intelligent and seek intellectual stimulation through material things like fitness, health and work.

They live from day-to-day, hence why it’s important for them to feel useful in their work.

They naturally give of a reclusive energy. This is partly because they have a tendency to feel that they are better than someone else because they did something better or in a neater matter.

They’re generally mature at a young age and were forced to go and grow through many difficulties.

They feel like they have to control their emotions, or at least something or someone. Whether it’s health, a relationship, education or something else.

It’s hard for them to let loose completely, unless they have a fire sun sign.

Extremely dependable in crises.

They have a very dry, sarcastic and dark sense of humour that doesn’t work with everyone. They can overcompensate humour to feel more liked.

They’re always focused on their health and weight.

Actually very neat and generally organised.

Can be very on guard about their emotions.

Rather than rational, I’d describe them as reasonable. There’s a reason behind all their actions, and they seek reason behind actions of others.

They make boundaries for themselves, but at the same time they have a tendency to limit themselves.

They seek to always be useful and needed; to be auto-sufficient.

They seek for functionality and practical efficiency.

Methodical.

Have very soft skin.

They follow routines and systems as well as having a tendency to follow routine, they tend not to believe or follow the “impossible”.

They let their skill and work do the talking, whereas Gemini Moons tend to talk a lot about their skills and intellect.

Incredibly self-aware.

They don’t want to make their internal struggle seem apparent on the outside. They express their emotions in private, and seek to control them for the sake of their image.

They don’t want to repress their emotions but at the same time they don’t want to make it a big deal. They want remain “strong” and “under control” because otherwise they feel vulnerable, which makes them uncomfortable.

They spend a lot of time analysing other people’s emotions.

They often spiral into self-criticism because they find their emotions irrational.

Sensitive to scents and outward stimuli.

They make to-do lists when they’re stressed.

They often feel as though their emotions are a burden to others.

They feel distressed and lost when they can’t find the words to express themselves or their emotions.

Even though they put on a smile, they often seem like an open book aside from their anxieties or sadness.

It takes long for them to open up and they feel stressed when pushed, it works best to wait for them instead.

They crave emotional stability from others.

They always feel the need to be productive and learn new information.

Quite conservative in how they come across.

They often just think about their emotions.

[sehunniepotwrites]

AS YOU WISH | J.JH | TWO

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process.

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan, lee taeyong, johnny suh WORD COUNT. 2k

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling, a lifetime of pain

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT

You had all the magic in the world at the tips of your fingers but what was the point of it all? None of your spells or incantations as a genie would bring Yuno back to you. Even a genie had their limitations— there were rules and regulations to follow and Rowena made sure you understood them perfectly. 

As a genie, you were bound to your lamp unless your master called for you or wished for your freedom. The only other way for you to escape the curse was if Yuno was able to find you, become your last master, and set you free with a lover’s kiss. The situation itself sounded impossible but one could still hope in the good of people. You never wanted to lose hope in the hearts of humans but as time went on, your own heart hardened by witnessing the complete selfishness of others. 

The rules you had to relay to your masters were simple. They were given two choices: to have one wish granted with endless possibilities until the end of their lives or have three restrictive wishes granted. As much as you wanted someone to wish you free, they never did, too blinded by their own wants.

Every master who had found you throughout your years picked the option of having one wish granted. With each desire fulfilled, you lost faith in the human race and were completely disgusted at their actions. 

You were not able to kill, bring anyone back from the dead, or force anyone to fall in love with another person and yet, your masters found ways to come close to having these wishes granted. Those were the people you remembered most. 

One of those masters was named Taeyong. He was a young man, his lithe body filled with ambition. He strived for fame and fortune and refused any other light but the spotlight. He found you in his grandfather’s belongings after his kin passed and kept you to satisfy his selfish needs.

His one wish was to remain the richest bachelor in the world and to never run out of money. Taeyong spent frivolously with you by his side, your powers robbing those with higher numbers then him.

Taeyong remained on top of the world but at the cost of stealing what really belonged to others.

Another master you had met along the way was the handsome Youngho, a businessman who had no time for socializing. He was always nose deep into his work, calling you out at random times to keep him company. He never wished for anything; he just wanted to have someone with him.

Youngho said he liked having you around and he was glad he found you. He described you as a guiding light that kept him on the path and you almost fell for his charms. Your hardening heart softened and you found yourself falling for the lonely businessman with the sharp eyes and kind smile.

“Thank you,” Youngho said one day as you sat beside him, his head curled on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“For what?” you asked.

“For being there for me when no one else was,” he replied and you felt the flutters in your stomach. It had been centuries since you had last seen your prince but the Yuno-sized hole in your heart was slowly being filled with Youngho.

But just as you let your guard down and your heart grew soft, something happened. Youngho fell in love with another— someone who wasn’t you. The pain you felt was excruciating and you had to grin and bear it as he asked you for an endless supply of the most powerful love potion in the universe.

You had no choice but to give it to Youngho and watch him as he poured the substance into another’s cup every time they started to slip from the man’s grasp. The potion itself did not mimic the feeling of love itself, it simply gave the consumer a case of strong infatuation aimed towards the giver. 

It was then you decided to hate humans and their extreme selfishness. The only people you refused to hate were Yuno and Minhyung— but they, much like the love in your heart, were long gone.

Reincarnations, you quickly discovered, were real. You could not count how many times one of your former masters found you in their new lifetime. Seeing Youngho reincarnated did not shock you one bit. He was named Johnny in this life and no matter how many smiles he flashed your way, you refused to reciprocate the action.

All humans are selfish, you repeated the mantra in your head. Do not trust anyone. 

You could not fall for his dazzling smile again. You refused to. The only person that belonged in your heart was Prince Yuno.

Similar to his last life, Johnny was a workaholic. He was a businessman with almost no time on his hands but the male still made time for his friends. You heard the voices of his closest colleagues often as Johnny brought you everywhere, your lamp tucked into his bag. He kept you hidden, a secret for only him to enjoy for the rest of his days.

Some of the voices were oddly similar to ones you had heard before and how you wanted to laugh. You heard Taeyong’s voice once; how funny was it that all your former masters met in this life? With a roll of your eyes, you remembered a saying Yuno would often iterate: “You attract what you are.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. That’s what all humans were. 

There was a day Johnny had his other colleagues over for a late night drink. He hid your lamp in plain sight, the object acting as a paperweight on his coffee table as his friends gathered around the living room.

“If you could have one wish granted, what would it be?” Johnny posed the question, taking a sip of his drink. He reiterated the rules you gave him and you scoffed; the man couldn’t decide on what to wish for so he turned to his friends for ideas.

“Fame, naturally,” Taeyong’s reincarnation replied and you chuckled bitterly from inside your cage. He never changed. “I want people to remember my name.”

“Of course you would ask for that, you narcissist,” Johnny laughed, the others chiming in as well. They took turns around the room and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at each request.

Johnny posed the idea of forever staying on top, no matter the means. 

“So, let’s say someone takes the number one spot, would you do whatever it takes to snatch it away from them?” A new voice muttered. It sounded awfully familiar and it made your heart lurch forward. 

“Yeah,” you heard Johnny reply nonchalantly.

“Even if it led to hurting them?” the deep voice asked again. Tears welled up in your eyes and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Since killing them isn’t an option, hurting them until they’re on the brink of being ruined, why the hell not?” Johnny pushed. His other friends agreed with him but that one achingly familiar voice openly opposed his companion’s choice.

“Isn’t that a bit harsh? Some people spend years working their way up to the top and I think they deserve to stay up there,” he retaliated. 

“Jeffery, isn’t that a bit naive to say in the business world?” Johnny asked, a bit of edge in his voice. “It’s a dog eat dog world out there. You can’t rely on goodness and hard work to get you through everything.”

“But doing that, stepping on the underdog— it isn’t right,” the man named Jeffery said. “They’ll suffer. I don’t know, I just feel like it’s always been my duty to assist those below us and help them thrive.”

Why did Jeffery’s words sound like something you had heard before? 

As the men continued their discussion, a memory from long ago came to mind. Yuno’s face during your second meeting came to mind, his handsome features wrinkled as he expressed his disappointment in Rowena’s actions: “What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right. They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.” 

Bless the stars, you had found him. 

Yuno. Your Yuno

The tears began to fall as you sobbed. He was right there with you, in the same room. You closed your eyes and listened for his voice again and placed your hand on the wall of your lamp. You were facing the direction Yuno’s voice was coming from and a smile broke out on your lips. The action of smiling felt weird to experience, seeing as how long it had been since you last grinned this widely. 

After how many years of not having him by your side, your prince was finally there with you. If only you could let yourself out of your lamp.

“Hey, what is that?” Jeffery asked.

“What’s what?” Johnny replied, a bit confused.

The conversation shifted as your hand remained on the wall. They were no longer talking about wishes; instead, they were talking about you, or rather, your lamp.

“I’ve never seen that before, John; is it new?” Jeffery pushed. You felt a warmth radiating against the golden walls, a warmth similar to Yuno’s loving touch. This was it, you thought. The reunion you had been waiting for.

It grew hotter and hotter, your heart was about to burst. Electricity was flooding through your veins and a dizzying spell reached your head.

Just a little bit more, my prince. A little bit more, you said to yourself, your hand clasping against your lips as sobs of joy began to escape.

“No!” Johnny shouted. “Don’t touch that!” 

Just as quickly that warmth surrounded you, it was snatched away with the same amount of speed. It disappeared, the walls now cold as your lamp shook. The sudden action jolted you across your space, causing you to hit your head on a surface. 

“Sorry, John!” Jeffery said, “I was just curious.”

The mood in the room shifted and so did the mood inside your lamp. 

“I think you all should go.”

“Wait, just because I tried to touch your thing?” Jeffery fought back. “It can’t be that serious, can it?”

Not liking the sudden shift, the other colleagues obeyed Johnny’s request. 

“It is that serious and I think you should leave.”

“No!” you screamed from your cage, now banging on the walls. Johnny felt your actions, the lamp shaking as you continued to hit the surface. “No, no, no, no, no! Please!” 

Please, you begged miserably. Using a bit of your magic that would surely cost you a bit of your health, you willed yourself to peek through spout and there he was, still as beautiful as ever.

His name might have been Jeffery in that life but he was still your Yuno. He stood there, looking just as princely as he did in the past. His blazer was draped over his shoulder with a tie loosened around his neck and white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown hid the dimples you loved so much. 

Oh, how much you wanted to escape and turn that frown upside down. To kiss the downward curl away like you had back in the days when you were together.

“Go, Jeff,” Johnny’s voice hardened, almost challenging the younger. Jeffery took one more glance at the lamp behind his hand and you caught his eye.

You watched as he did a double take with a look of confusion before a flash of pain took over his face. That expression of discomfort went away as the man shook his head. He dragged a hand over his immaculate face, stealing your one last glance at his beauty from you, as he unwillingly put on his shoes.

“Fuck, fine,” Jeffery said before taking his leave, his back turned from you. You bit on your lip as another sob escaped you. 

Don’t go.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me alone again.

He promised to always find you. Why couldn’t he find you this time around? 

Yuno was so close yet so far. 

How much more of this pain could a genie like you take? 

Why was the universe set on keeping you apart?

Why couldn’t you finally have the only thing you wanted?

Why couldn’t your wish come true?

author’s note. hello, my genie lovers! this is the second part of three or four. i’m still working on the last part-- it’s a really slow process but i’m getting there! be patient with me, please! i would love to hear feedback from everyone! any thoughts on the rules she has to follow? her masters? her unwavering love for Yuno? uwu

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee @johtenrecs​

[winchesterxxi]

My Favorite Ghost (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Rating: T (Teen and Up Audiences)

Type: Angst

Summary:  What happens when a Resistance fighter gets trapped on Republican grounds and the man in charge of her torture is none other than her ex-husband Poe Dameron, former Leia Organa’s protegée turned First Order Admiral?

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Force-sensitive reader, torture, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, injuries, swearing, death.

A/N: Poe Dameron angst??? oof

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

The mission couldn’t’ve gone more astray.

It was a simple and easy task for a single person to carry out. Fly below the cruiser, get in, get their coordinates for their next targets and get out. Hand the coordinates over to Holdo, and prevent the StarDestroyer from blazing those planets.

Simple. Until it wasn’t.

It all went astray when a face scanner crossed your path. The blueprints didn’t mention any face scanner on that door. You panicked, trying to get your face to scan and let you in, resorting to fiddling with the wires on the side of the device looking left and right to make sure no one would catch you. Except they did.

4 stormtroopers rounded the corner and, hands full with a small screwdriver and needle-nose pliers, you couldn’t have moved fast enough to reach your blaster before they had pinned you against a wall, face against the cold metal.

Next thing you knew, a dark sac is being put over your head and right after your body is pulled away from the wall, a hard object hits the back of your head and you are knocked out cold.

You don’t know how long it had passed before you regained your senses, eyes struggling to open due to the immense brightness that was aimed at you from a light above.

You scanned around the room as much as your body allowed you to, for you soon enough came to find everything below your neck strapped to a metal platform that stood upright in the middle of the room you were in.

You could spot a few cameras pointed at you, and you could also hear steps and muffled voices outside as well as a distant and low rumble of the ship’s engines – you should be close to the cockpit. Most torture rooms tended to be. That way, the commanders and soldiers don’t need to walk far to deliver information obtained from those captured.

The thoughts in your head didn’t have much more time to run wild as the big double doors in front of you opened and gave way to a silhouette to step into the room before they closed again behind them.

For as much as you forced your eyes to read them, it was practically impossible because of the light pointed directly at your face, coming from above. All you could see was the bottom of their uniform – knee-high dark leather boots and black pants, either a general or an admiral, and the clenched fists in shiny leather gloves - as they stood in front of you, hidden from the light.

“Are we getting this over with anytime soon?” you question bitterly while resting your head back and closing your eyes. You’d be damned if you were going to show any fear to anyone within this ship.

“Although I won’t blame you for just standing there, I know I’m pretty pleasant to look at.” Confidence, fake it until you make it. Or until you piss someone off, which is a better description of what you were aiming at.

“Can’t argue with that.”

Your blood runs cold.

Head snapping back down, facing forward, your jaw tightens and your whole body tenses at the reverberation of those words against the metal walls. And that is when the person you dreaded the most to run into again, in your whole life, steps into your sight.

His eyes meet yours and for a moment you think your mind is deceiving you.

This isn’t him.

Those eyes do not belong to the face in front of you. They aren’t his eyes. His eyes had a constant sparkle in them with the life that bubbled inside of him; they were big, brown, kind and caring.

These are hard, dark and cold. Lifeless.

“Poe.”

Despite his name leaving your lips in something little above a whisper, you know that name no longer refers to him. Not in the way it was engraved in your mind. Poe was your husband, the lively and witty resistance pilot that Leia Organa had assured you were meant for you. And maybe he was. But this isn’t Poe. This is someone – something else.

“It’s Admiral Dameron.”

You grith your teeth together and have to muster all the strength in you to not let your bottom lip quiver at the coldness and lack of emotion in his voice, so distant from that you were used to in the sweet nothings that would reach your ears in the mornings you’d wake up in his arms.

“What do you want?” you ask him, voice tainted with both pain and disgust.

“I could ask you the same thing. You were the one caught in our ground, trying to break a facial recognition system. What exactly were you looking to get?”

“It was outside the navigation system room. Take a wild guess.” Your anger-powered wit met a halt, as a sharp pain ran through your whole body with great intensity.

A pained screamed was let out of your mouth, muscles tensing and thrusting your body forward against the metal boundaries that enveloped your ankles, thighs, wrists, middle and upper torso.

Once the sting stopped, you threw your body back, chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch your breath, as Poe circled where you stood.

“Being a smartass won’t get you anywhere.” He taunts from behind you.

“Because being honest and cooperative will get me a congratulatory snack after this, right?” you weren’t about to give in, and apparently neither was he as another violent ache ran across your body, this time for a few more seconds longer.

“You really don’t listen to people’s warnings, do you?” he snaps his intimidating eyes at you while coming back around to stand in front of you.

“I had a good teacher.” You manage to jeer through gritted teeth. That gets a reaction out of it. One that would be imperceptible to the common person, unless they had been married and in love with them, so much so that they picked up on every little quirk.

“You do realize you’re not getting out of here alive.” It wasn’t even a question, more so of a statement as his lowered head allowed his eyes to look up at you through his lashes, and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach at the realization, and you have to blink away the tears that threatened to make an appearance.

“You would do that? Kill me?”

“It’s protocol. Resistance scum dies, either if they deliver a confession or not.”

“You won’t even say my name, but you’re okay with having your hands being the ones that put an end to my life?” he doesn’t answer, breaking the wall he had put up for a fraction of a second when his eyes wander around, away from yours. “And Resistance scum? Wow, your ego really is something.”

“Shut up.”

“The only scum I see here is the one standing in front of me, who betrayed friends and family to save his own ass”

“I SAID SHUT UP.” His left-hand slams against the metal behind you, just a few inches away from your face and you flinch, eyes closing at the sudden movement, the fleeting possibility that he could hit you crossing your mind.

When you open your eyes you see his face just inches away from yours, heavy breathing fanning against your face, his hand still rested next to you.

Your eyes are distant, looking somewhere above his other shoulder as you shift your right hand, as much as the restraints allowed, palm facing upward and fingers spread. Between your faces surges a ring, attached to a silver chain that surrounded your neck.

You bite the inside of your cheek and a single tear spills out of your right eye, his attention remaining on the object floating in front of him.

That is his mother’s wedding ring, or rather, it was, until the day he gently put it around your neck, the day that was now so far behind in time that, together with the present circumstances almost felt like a fever dream. He had insisted that you both didn’t need wedding rings as the simple act of you wearing his necklace, the one everyone knew was destined to rest against the sternum of whoever he’d end up deciding on spending the rest of his life with, was enough.

And you never took it off. Not after he started to seem more distanced. Not when he’d started to snap at you. Not when the fights started. Not when you started to sleep in separate rooms. Not when he turned on you mid-mission and started to shoot at your X-Wing. Not when, moments after that, he turned his X-Wing around, killing a few other Resistance pilots. And not when he flew away, following the First Order fleet.

You never took it off.

Closing your eyes, you relax your hand and let the ring fall back against your chest and Poe pushes his hand off the metal, taking a few steps back. He looked… ill at ease.

“What happened, Poe?” you whisper, voice begging for an answer, his name sounding on your lips for the second time today, the most it’s had in little over a year. And, surprisingly, he doesn’t correct the way you address him.

“There was never a chance of us winning. We were outnumbered, our technology wasn’t as advanced… It was either surrender or joining them.” Something tightens inside of you at the way he used us and them to reference the Resistance and the First Order. He was referring to himself as Resistance. Probably unconscious. You decide against pointing it out or correcting him.

“And you chose to join them.” You slowly nod “Was it all so meaningless to you that you could just turn your back on us?”

“The Resistance will forever be doomed.” He utters bitterly.

“You wanna talk about forever?” you question, eyes red and glazed with how wet they were, and he stares at you.

“THIS –“ you raise your voice and look down, motioning to the ring resting against your flight suit, before looking back up to meet his gaze “WAS FOREVER.”

Your words and the silence that followed hung between the two of you almost as making the air in the room thicker by the second.

“Do you ever even think about me anymore? Or does your every thought revolve around these people?” tears sting your eyes once more and you take a shaky breath in “Every morning when I wake up I still expect to have my cheek resting against your chest, but there’s only a pillow. When I go to Leia I expect you to be standing next to her, planning some sort of strategy. When I fly in my X-Wing I still expect the commlink to crackle with your voice. When I see BB rolling my way, I still look up in hopes of seeing you walk up behind him. I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you with every fibre of my being. But I also love you in equal measure.”

Poe remains immobile, standing a few feet ahead of you, the device that controls the electric shocks tightly fisted in his left hand and he is looking at you, straight ahead. At this point, you are panting with the effort of mustering out all of those words and feelings through the tears and sobs that rattle your whole body.

“Somehow, after all the shit you’ve done, I still love-”

You don’t manage to finish those words, the second time you’d be uttering them in over a year as they die on your lips and are replaced by a glass-shattering scream of pain, as the sharp burst of electricity travels your body once more during a much more excruciatingly long time. All your muscles tense as much as they can and you forget what breathing feels like.

Once Poe’s thumb slides of the control button, your whole body jerks forward, panting, tears falling to the ground beneath your hovering feet, head down. Despite the rational choice being to shut up you need to say this. You know that he is still there, somewhere, below all that darkness that took hold of him. He is still there. And you need to get him out.

“I still lo-“

Poe’s thumb slides over the button once again, inflicting another piercing wave of torture to your already spent body. Something is, indeed, still in him as this time around he can’t bring himself to look at you and at the way the electricity is slowly but surely bringing you closer to a point of no return. And despite the tears blurring your vision, this fact doesn’t go unnoticed.

After he relieves the pressure on the button, your body no longer jolts forward but instead goes limp against the metal board, the back of your head resting against it, mouth starting to taste like blood, which peeks through the corner of your mouth.

“You won’t even look.” You struggle to get the words out, voice coming out raspy and hurting as it passes through your throat.

“If you’re going to kill me, at least be man enough to look at me when you do it.”

Your whole body is pulsing with aftershocks of pain and you are struggling to keep your eyes open, feeling your eyelids grow heavier. Just when you are about to close your eyes, just to rest them, you told yourself, you hear Poe’s voice for the first time since he told you the Resistance was doomed.

“After all this, do you still love me?” Your brain can’t quite comprehend if by this he means the torture or all the events that you crying about earlier, the ones that led him to join the First Order.

Either way, the answer would be the same.

“Yes.”

Jaw tensing, Poe pushes the button in his fist one more time, watching your body light up with the blue electric jolts that ran your full height up and down, side to side, travelling through each of your limbs eating away at the remaining life in your body. His lips were trembling just the slightest and his eyes, lit with the image in front of him, started to be glazed by tears.

He didn’t let the button go for much longer than he previously had, being completely lost inside his mind and out of it at the realisation that even after all the shit he put you through and the hurt he caused you, you still loved him.

It wasn’t until he stopped seeing you squirm that his finger release the button and your body fell completely limp against the metal, head falling down, the metal loops preventing you from falling forwards completely. He hesitated in stepping closer to you, scared of you moving or rather not, he wasn’t sure.

But his heart gave in to the breaking of itself when the latter possibility turned out to be the truth.

You weren’t moving.

You weren’t breathing.

There was blood dripping from your mouth onto the floor.

You were gone.

And he did it.

A trembling hand of his came up to push your head back against the platform holding you.

That’s when he took a good look at your lifeless face, and a shaky exhale left his lungs.

Oh, how he still loved you.

He wanted to cradle your face in his hands a lay a kiss against your forehead, run his knuckles against your cheek and wipe the blood away from your soft lips.

But they were watching him. The cameras were pointed at him and the microphones were on, preventing him from freely displaying any kind of affection towards you.

Blinking away the tears and trying to keep his body language as much stoic as possible, his gloved hand reaches up for the ring that hung from the chain draped around your neck and he pulled it down, breaking the silver link as it released the hold it had on you.

He slid the ring into the chest pocket of his uniform before walking away, towards the door, and out. Leaving the lifeless body of the only person who could ever allow him redemption behind, limp and broken.

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[melonlthawne]

“A Day At The Park” Fic Preview

Fandom: The Flash, DC Comics Characters: Meloni Thawne, Bart Allen, Don Allen, Thaddeus Thawne, Jenni Ognats, Dawn Allen, etc. 

Status: Unfinished Read it on Archive Of Our Own HERE

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

Meloni could handle this.

She could totally handle this. 

She was practically Super Woman! Well, no, not even close, but in spirit perhaps? She could at least strive for those levels of confidence and efficiency. Taking care of two rowdy boys was rough for any mom, she wouldn’t dismiss that, but two kids with super-speed, disproportionately high energy levels, and a liking for trouble? She had her hands full. Literally. 

So maybe someone suggested child leashes. When Bart and Thad were much younger, she thought those types of things were ridiculous. Leashes were for animals! Who would even want to associate their kid with an item like a leash? Would parents with leash-kids feed their kids from bowls on the floor, too? But as the boys got older, she soon realized the thought of having leashes for them wasn’t so crazy. She wasn’t entirely sold on them but occasions like this kept her from dismissing the idea completely. 

Don’s sister wanted the kids to meet up for a playdate. Sounded easy enough, right? And maybe it would’ve been in a much more mundane, ordinary family. But as the extended family of The Flash, it was a little hard to assume any normal outing would go as planned or as smoothly as it would for a normal family. Donny was busy with….something today. Meloni felt queasy when he told her at the last minute. It was already difficult to handle the boys with four hands on board, but down to her own wits and adrenaline it would be IMPOSSIBLE to keep everything sailing smoothly. 

And everything proved to go exactly as her worrying entailed. Even from the moment they woke up. 

Meloni hadn’t set any alarms. That was error number one. But, luckily (if you could call it that!), she was awoken by some sort of wailing noise originating from Bart and Thad’s room. Shared room. Cute idea in retrospect, not so much otherwise. Meloni sat up so fast she almost slammed backwards into the headboard of her bed, but she managed to stop herself before it happened. Fearing the worst, she threw the covers off of herself and ran towards their room, biting her tongue so hard she could taste the bitterness of a bit of blood. 

“Bart? Thad?” Meloni’s voice rang through the halls and as she turned the corner, hands scrambling to find the doorknob and open the door, her calling got louder and more desperate “Did something happen?! Are you two okay?!”

She pulled the door open so far, so fast, it could’ve decapitated a man if given the chance. Meloni’s shoulders dropped in relief when she was met with the answer.

“He took my bunny!” Bart immediately yelped. Meloni’s look softened. Bart’s finger pointed towards Thad in accusation. His face was red and wet from tears. 

“I didn’t!” Thad argued back, shoulders arched and hands curled into tight fists. “Bunnies are stupid, they’re a weak animal! I woulda’ had a cooler plush anyway ....” The blonde’s voice simmered, and he crossed his arms over his chest in fierce denial. 

“You did!” Bart’s voice was much weaker this time and he sniffled back more tears, rubbing at his face. “I woke up this mornin’ an’ he was gone. No one else could’ve taken it.” 

Meloni frowned. 

“Honey, you shouldn’t assume your brother took your toy.” Meloni began, coming forward and putting a hand on the brunet’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s in here somewhere. How about we look for it?” 

“No! He’s gotta have taken it. Where else would it be? I sleep with’em every night an’ Thad likes to stay up to read…” Bart shoots a look at Thad. Thad gasps, before scrunching his brows and sticking his tongue out at the other boy. Bart looks back up to Meloni, still upset. 

“Thad, have you seen Bart’s rabbit?” Meloni asks, still in that soft tone of voice, not wanting to incite anything. She can’t let either know if she felt one way or another. Being a parent of multiple kids meant you had to see all sides of the story, be unbiased, even if it was hard. But truthfully, she doubted Thad would’ve taken his brother’s toy. It wasn’t like him. Even if they bickered, Thad wouldn’t do that to his brother. Meloni knew she raised him right so far, and he wouldn’t do things like that unless he was around that type of behavior. 

“I swear, I haven’t.” Thad answers, voice somewhat quiet. His arms are still over his chest, but he too seems to have calmed down a bit. “I went to sleep after I finished the book Dad got me. Bart was hugging the bunny like normal. So I just put the book away and went to sleep.”

“See?” Meloni turned to Bart, giving him a reassuring smile. 

The boy snorted air out of his nose, still unsatisfied. 

Meloni knelt down to get a better look. She carefully wiped at Bart’s damp face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks. Bart wiggled away, but soon settled in, wanting the comfort. Meloni then got up, surveying the two boys before putting her hands on her hips.

“I promise when we get home later we can look around for the bunny, okay?” She said to Bart, only to turn back to see them both. “

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Three

Plumes of thick smoke billowed above the guard tower, blotting out the dusk sky with an ugly, brown smog. Burning red embers danced and flickered in the air, a single stray spark singeing Sasha’s right cheek.

Two girls stood, a dirt clod’s throw apart from each other. They stared each other down. The squeaky toy and Grime were already engaging in a battle of their own, leaving the two former friends alone on that tower. It did little to make the tension any less palpable.

Anne held her sword firmly in both hands, and the rage-filled scowl etched on her face made it clear she was itching for an excuse to ream the blade through her ex bestie’s chest cavity. The sheer hatred boiling inside her veins could not be overstated. Sasha, however, was a different story. She remained cool and kept both open palms raised, a sign of her peaceful intentions. Already a hard sell considering less than an hour ago, she’d ordered her flunkies to lock her and her family up in the dungeon after using and backstabbing her for the fifteen thousandth time.

She knew perfectly well what was at stake here. She knew the consequences not for them, but for this entire world if she failed. Convincing Anne to believe her now was going to be an uphill battle and the rematch she’d spent months prior fantasising about now seemed inevitable.

The irony surrounding both those things was not lost on her.

“Anne, I need you to listen to me!” she shouted over the hot gusts of wind whipping her face. “There’s something wrong with this Andrias guy! We should—”

Anne was having absolutely none of it. “You expect me to believe you?!” she asked her incredulously. “After all the lying and manipulating you’ve done?!” Sliding the sword back into its sheath, she turned her back on her in disgust. “Sorry, Sasha, but you’re out of chances.”

Why didn’t she take a photo? This would’ve been so much easier if she’d just thought to take a stupid photo! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Or maybe if she’d given Anne any reason to trust her.

The gates were now drawing close to slamming completely shut as Anne resumed pushing the lever. If Sasha squandered any more precious time, their fast-approaching army would be locked outside the city. She felt her twin swords weigh heavily on her hips; the tips of fingers twitched.

Whelp, in for a penny, in for a pound. She took a deep breath.

“I think Marcy’s in on it.”

“Yeah yeah!” scoffed Anne. “Blah blah bla—what?”

It was a hail mary that paid off. Anne froze in place and glared back at Sasha as if she’d caught her in the act of stomping on Domino’s tail.

“What... what did you say?” she asked, her voice fittingly ice-cold.

“Anne, look... I get it, okay?” Sasha gutsily stepped forward, closing the gap between them. They still had a glimmer of hope in ending this without a fight, so she knew she had to cobble her thoughts together and choose her next words carefully. “You don’t trust me a-and I don’t blame you, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. Grime and I found these—these weird pictures hidden in the throne room. They... one of them was showing the king with the music box. Th-then there was also something about Marcy’s family, I... I don’t know exactly what it all means...”

Amazing how they’d spent the past months going on wild adventures, escaping dozens of near-death experiences with the many monsters infesting the place, yet this was the one thing she struggled to make sound plausible. Of all the times for that natural charisma and confidence to falter. The way Anne was looking at her like she’d sprouted a third arm out her forehead told her it was going about as well as expected.

“All I know is we shouldn’t be giving either of them the Box. Not right now.” She finally lowered her hands back to her sides, adding, “Just come back to the throne room with me and I promise I’ll show you everything.”

A silence fell over the guard tower, punctuated only by the th-thunk of hundreds of armoured boots rising in the distance.

Now the ball was back in Anne’s court. She’d been rendered speechless by everything she’d been told. All she could do was stare the other girl square in the eyes. Dumbstruck.

Relief washed over Sasha as the tension appeared to simmer down, to the point she felt confident enough to move in closer, stopping when they were only feet apart. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed her fingers against her friend’s knuckles.

“Anne. Please.”

This snapped Anne out of her stupor. Reacting as if she’d been touched by something filthy, she broke her hand away from hers. Her expression turned on a dime from bewilderment to one of unadulterated hatred.

“... how dare you.”

Instead of withdrawing herself, Anne shoved Sasha away so violently it nearly sent her off her feet.

“I cannot believe I almost fell for that again! I mean, wow! Seriously, Sasha?! You’re gonna try and save your skin by throwing Marcy under the bus?! HOW DARE YOU!!”

Another jab to the breastplate silenced Sasha before she could respond. Anne was advancing on her dangerously, every step she took forcing her to back up. The only other instance she’d legit felt intimidated by her was back when she’d stood up to her at Toad Tower and even then, a secret part of Sasha was also impressed.

Now she’d touched upon what was already a frayed, raw nerve and it was scary.

“Let me tell ya something, Sash!” yelled Anne. A third strike nearly caught Sasha in the throat. “Marcy’s been more of a friend to me than you ever have! Marcy hasn’t lied to me! She hasn’t pushed me around! And she definitely hasn’t tried to kill my family! Unlike YOU!” She gripped the hilt of her sword, the menace in her eyes daring her to give her a reason. “She’s not only a real friend, she’s my best friend! And so help me, if you ever talk about her like that again, I will personally stick this thing right in your—”

The sounds of stomping boots and clattering armour had grown so loud they became impossible to ignore. Anne looked to her left to witness the sea of helmeted toads congregating outside the city walls.

How could she have let herself get distracted? They were coming. They were practically here.

“You were right; I am better off without you.” She hissed at her with so much venom it practically poured over her lips. “We both are.”

With that parting diss, Anne sprinted back to the lever. She had a job to do and she’d wasted way too much time and oxygen on this cretin already.

Sasha was left standing there stricken, feet glued to the floor. Anne might as well have slapped her across the face to achieve the same effect.

A determined scowl of her own soon spread across her features. You can’t say she hadn’t tried.

She drew the twin swords from her belt and assumed her dueling position.

“Anne, I can’t let you close that gate!”

“Oh yeah...?”

Anne roared, leaping through the air, sword unsheathed and aimed at Sasha’s head.

“JUST TRY TO STOP ME!”

Any swordsman worth their salt should know better than to leave themselves exposed like Anne just did. Sasha had a clear open to cut her in two instead of blocking her strike with both swords if she had so chosen.

To Anne’s credit, she wasn’t nearly as foolhardy as she had been when she first arrived in Amphibia. Right now, however, as they flew around the tower and did battle with the ferocity of dueling birds of prey, Sasha could plainly see it was Anne’s anger guiding her sword.

Anne was hostile, her moves unpredictable. Toad Tower didn’t have nothin’ on this. She wasn’t an exceptionally skilled fighter, neither of them realistically could be when you consider they’d both only first taken up the sword months ago. Still, there was underlying talent between them, and in Anne’s case, hers was currently being amplified by a seemingly bottomless well of passionate fury, which encouraged every last nerve to screw her courage to the sticking place.

She was actively going for the kill.

Narrowly dodging a plunge from her sword and, holding both her own in one hand, Sasha reached the other between Anne’s arms to grip her by the shoulder.

“Anne, stop this!” she begged through gritted teeth. “Marcy—”

“SHUT YOUR LYING MOUTH!!”

Anne freed herself by kicking Sasha in the chest with her socked foot. The collision of her unprotected sole against the metal breastplate hurt like all get out, but she wasn’t going to allow a trivial thing like pain stop her from taking a fatal swing at her opponent’s golden head.

Cat-like reflexes were what saved Sasha from getting scalped. If there was any hope in her mind that Anne couldn still be reasoned with, it was surely dashed now.

None of the paths leading out of this graceful dance of death were great. Simply keeping up her defenses and waging a war of attrition until Anne’s wild attacks inevitably tired her out wasn’t going to work. Whatever it was fueling Anne’s rampage, she didn’t look to be running out of it any time soon. Every parry, thrust and dodge drained a little bit more of Sasha’s stamina. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Frog knows she couldn’t rely on those toads to drag their warty butts through the stinking gate already!

Unless she was able to disarm Anne and fast, the only other option was to meet her viciousness in kind with expectedly grime results. Her training with Grime had taught her that every sword fight was already a potential life or death situation, regardless if you lacked the intent to harm, but however much they’d literally been at each other’s throats, Sasha was not prepared to have Anne’s blood on her hands.

An idea hit just as she arched her back away from a swing that easily could’ve taken her head off. Muscle tissue developed over years of cheerleader practice kicked into gear and in those vital seconds, Sasha flawlessly pulled off a handstand and kicked the sword out of Anne’s hand. The blade plummeted to the city streets below.

That should have been the end of it. With her opponent disarmed, Sasha felt the adrenaline rush sustaining her crash. Her lungs were on fire. Pink and Green suddenly felt ten times heavier in her damp palms. She truly couldn’t have gone on a moment longer.

Unfortunately, Anne was nowhere near spent. In an act of near superman-levels of varsity athleticism, slid behind Sasha, grabbed the hem of her cape and jumped over her head.

Before Sasha was able to register what in the ever-lovin’ Frog just happened, Anne had already tied the cape over her eyes. She barely even had a chance to flail like a dizzy ballerina when Anne’s fist smashed her in the face!

It was a blow powerful enough to send her spinning across the tower. She landed flat on her face, not an ounce of strength left in her muscles to pick herself back up. It was miraculous she didn’t black out then and there.

All that happened around her next was a mad din of noise. She made out the slam of what must have been Anne finally closing the gate. Then someone somewhere sounded a horn, followed by a voice she dreaded to hear more than anything else.

“Royal Newt Guard! Assemble!”

Oh Frog! They’d already freed the king! Anne must’ve sent the rest of her frog family or worse, Marcy to free him from his cell. She’d been so focused on stopping Anne, she didn’t even factor in what the others were doing.

Anne’s smug tone reached her ears, “End of the line, Sash.”

Sasha crawled up to the ledge on her belly. She tore the cape off her head, scattering it to the wind.

What she saw only confirmed her worst fears. Sprig standing atop a knocked out Grime on the roof below. Newt guards were rounding up her soldiers left and right; the tadpole’s giant robot was holding a bunch of them in its mechanical arms.

Then she saw her, a perky smile plastered on her face, shooting a ‘mission accomplished’ thumbs up at Anne.

“Oh no.”

[peachyteabuck]

bitter to the taste

summary: after a long mission, natasha and steve return to find you’ve broken their number one rule. 

pairing: natasha romanoff x steve rogers x reader

words: 2,045

trigger warnings: brat taming, degradation, punishment (spanking), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm control

notes: this is my birthday present to @domromanoff! not only a wonderful writer, they’re a fantastic friend and the owner to a simply adorable kitten. enjoy!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You cling to Steve’s pants leg, expertly manicured nails gripping into the fabric as you tuck your face behind his calf. The man sighs as he feels you sniffle against the expensive fabric, doing your best to hide from the wrath of the woman standing just in front of the sitting man.

“You know how I feel about rule-breaking, Steve,” Natasha sighs, looking between her husband and your trembling form below him. “If we don’t punish her, she’s just going to break more rules.”

Steve tsks, leaning down so he can pet at your hair. “Oh, baby, our little girl wouldn’t do such a thing,” he turns to you, sticking his bottom lip out to mimic your pout. “No, you love following directions from Daddy, don’t you baby girl?”

You grin up at him, playing with the hem of his pants in an attempt to look extra cute. “Yes, Daddy!”

Natasha scowls, shaking her head. “That’s bullshit and we fucking know it, Steve. You saw how wet her panties were when we came home. It’s obvious she touched herself without permission!”

The man just rolls his eyes, continuing to rub his thumb into your temple. “Babe, when we set that rule at least one of us always been there whenever her desperate little cunt needed us. Even if she broke it, we’ve been gone so often we can’t really blame her, can we?”

Your core heats at his words – speaking about you as if you weren’t digging your perfectly manicured nails into his muscular calf and could hear everything they were both saying. You love it when he does that, when he gives you no choice in whatever he chooses to do, when he makes you feel all small and dumb as his cock fucks in and out of you without mercy.

Natasha rolls her eyes, heeled foot still tapping against the hardwood floor at a tempo that makes your head spin and your whole body clutch at Steve’s leg even harder than before. You’re not sure why becoming something akin to a needy koala would protect you from the wrath of the redhead, but it’s still your only hope for avoiding your ass spanked raw – even if its chance of working is slim to none.

“Steve, we absolutely can,” she bites back – stomping closer towards you as you bury your face into Steve’s calf. At the least second she crouches down, her body awash with a faux caring demeanor. “Do you want me to be mean baby?” she coos, pouting her bottom lip. “You want me to tie you down so you can’t move, can’t squirm or writhe when it gets too much? Is that it? Do you want me to edge you all night, edge you until it hurts and then ruin every single orgasm I let you have until you cry so pretty for me?”

You shake your head, tentatively moving so that you can look at her with your own large, round eyes that silently plead for mercy. For a moment you have hope that it’ll work, that she’ll go easy on you or even give you what you want. But it’s only a second later that you realize you were wrong – very wrong.

Steve exhales deeply as Natasha reaches out to grab you by the hair – his actions relaxed as you yelp in reaction to the sharp pain spreading from your scalp to the base of your spine. She drags you through the large house, ignoring your whines as Steve follows close behind. His stride is casual, almost bored – he’s witnessed this back and forth before, seen the fire in Natasha’s eyes and fat, watery tears from fall from yours as they beg Steve for mercy, pity, anything. It’s unwavering – the look you give him – even as Natasha sits on the edge of their shared king-sized bed with her feet flat on the floor, bending you over her knee as she pins both your hands behind your back with one hand wrapped around where she’s crossed them on top of each other.

Steve sits next to his wife so that your head is resting in his lap, gazing down at you an unfortunate, disgraceful painting his face. There’s nothing there for you to pull at, nothing you can manipulate to get you out of the compromising position you’ve found yourself in, even as Natasha begins one of her famous punishments.

She doesn’t both undressing you before she begins, flipping your white tennis skirt up over your ass and tucking it under your hands before pulling your matching cotton panties as far as they’ll go to reveal your bare ass. Her spanks are hard and succinct, never stopping to coo over your tears or rub at the heated parts of your ass. You keep position, though, keep your arms behind your back as your wide, tear-filled eyes beg Steve for intervention, for praise, for something. At this point you’d even accept him degrading you – a job normally left to Natasha.

Unfortunately, it’s become obvious that tonight is different than the others – Natasha and Steve particularly stressed from the bullshit Tony handed down to them since the billionaire is unable to manage is own emotions weaning their capacities for your bullshit down to near nothingness. You consider sending the man a strongly worded email as the spanks enter the double digits, the pain causing you to weep openly into the fabric of the pants you once clutched for support. You count to twenty-four before she’s rubbing a rough hand into the heated skin and commanding you to thank her.

When it comes out more mumbled, more hushes than she would like, Natasha immediately grabs your hair to yank your head straight back.

“Say it again,” she hisses through grit teeth, ignoring your cries of pain as her other hand comes down to leave a quick smack! to your face. “I don’t care if it hurts - I want to hear you.”

Your voice is high-pitched and desperate “Thank you, Mommy!”

“Aw, so our little slut can follow directions,” Natasha coos, her voice tinged with laughter that should make you feel much more ashamed than it does horny. “Too bad she has to be beaten into it.”

She punctuates her words with a final harsh SLAP! against your dripping pussy, eliciting another high-pitched scream that only dies when Steve begins to pet over your face and hair to calm you down.

“Nat, do you always have to be so harsh?” he sighs, wiping a few tears that stain your cheeks.

The woman in question just grins, ghosting her fingers over your abused skin and nearly laughing as you twitch under touch. “Is there any other way to be?”

Steve rolls his eyes at his wife’s dramatics, but still manhandles you into his lap at her direction – pressing your back to his chest as your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths. He knows what Natasha wants, positioning his legs over yours to keep them open while one of his hands holds your skirt up so reveal your now-soaked panties, the cool air hitting nearly-transparent fabric and sending a feeling down your spine that makes you moan.

Natasha’s eyes zero in on your trembling cunt, smirking as she looks up to see your face heating up while you try to hide behind your hands. “You’re so needy, aren’t you? And all it took was some discipline and now you’re a little crying mess, all small and obedient for Daddy and Mommy…”

She gives Steve a small nod, giving him the cue to push your panties to the side, her grin getting impossibly wider as you melt against him.

“You’re our pretty little toy, aren’t you?” Natasha murmurs, watching as his fingers rub circles around your clit. “Our cute little toy with cute little whines and whimpers…”

Steve grins as well as your wanton moans fill the bedroom, leaving kisses on your temple as your pussy tightens around Natasha’s fingers. His voice is sweet, filled with love – and it makes his words all that much filthier. “Such a pathetic little toy for us, aren’t you baby? Just our dumb little toy…” Your fervent nodding, your mindless agreement with his degradation of you – it makes his cock strain even harder in his pants. “Don’t need to think at all…just be soft and pretty and do what we say, don’t you baby?”

You cry out as Natasha begins fucking her fingers in and out of you even harder – your face scrunching up as your legs twitch where they’re held in place. “Y-yes Daddy! I’m your dumb little baby!”

Your cries get even more pathetic, though, when Natasha pulls her fingers out of you to use that hand to slap you once more – leaving a trail of your own slick against your cheek. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” she snaps, ignoring your cries as her fingers slip back inside of you. “It’s a shame you’re stupid…at least you’re pretty.”

Her words shouldn’t make your head swim like it does – shouldn’t make heat pool between your legs as she fits one more finger inside of you, working in tandem with Steve to illicit humiliating wet sounds from your cunt.

“You want me to fill this wet little pussy don’t you?” Natasha murmurs, more speaking to herself than to you. “You want Steve and I to fill your filthy little cunt? Want to feel both of us inside of your tight little hole?”

Your eyes are wide and pleading, desperate for something – anything.

But then Natasha sighs, and that’s always a bad sign. “It’s too bad you’re a bad little slut.”

Yup. There it is.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” you immediately moan in anticipation but it’s almost immediately cut off with a yelp as another SLAP is landed on your pussy with Natasha’s free hand. “And then you’re on no-touch for a week. You’ll be Daddy and I’s adorable little fleshlight until we say otherwise.”

You gasp and shoot forward, the reality of your future crashing down on you at once. “N-no Mommy! Please! Please I’ll do anything please don’t put me on no touch Mom-!”

You’re cut off by one of Steve’s large hands covering your mouth, pulling you against his chest and holding you in place.

Natasha smiles up at him, eyes knowing as you get tighter and tighter around her fingers. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it babe?”

Steve just rolls his eyes as she speaks down to you, her sweet voice an incredibly hot juxtaposition to her words “It’s so easy to make you beg, isn’t it? So easy to make you into a desperate little whore? All you little brats are all the same, you act out and do whatever you want and the second someone threatens a modicum of structure or punishment and you fall apart…”

Her words trail off as she realizes how close you are, as she sees each muscle in your body tense while your hands tangle in the sheets and your jaw goes slack and your brow furrows and

“Do it,” she leans forward to whisper into your temple, your head tucked under Steve’s chin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon – you can do it, you can come on from Mommy and Daddy’s fingers all over your pretty little pussy…”

You finally – finally reach your peak with a moan that sounds more animal than human, Steve holding your trembling body as you shake near-violently, your cunt gushing onto the sheets below as your already soaked panties and the seat of your skirt become drenched with your slick and sweat. It’s disgusting but so hot, and makes you pant even harder as your lungs claw at your throat for air.

Steve moves his legs so that you can curl into his lap, whole body folding into itself as Natasha moves closer to hold your face with both of her soaked hands. “Go to sleep baby,” she murmurs between kisses. “We’ll discuss your full punishment tomorrow.”

As unconsciousness overwhelms your senses, a sense of relief floods your veins as the pleasure subsides. Natasha only negotiates when she knows she’s lost…especially when it comes to you and Steve.