#I see them temper that impulse with hope and grace and reason

[beautifulpersonpeach]

so RM put his foot down on the Frank Ocean thing on livestream, ngl, wasn’t expecting him to even talk about it at all, but good for him

***

Good for him indeed.

Really, just by doing that, he's made my day. A lot of people have many ideas about the kind of person Namjoon is, and while we have very limited visibility into their real lives, much of what I've seen people say about him is nearly entirely negative to the point it appears almost cartoonish to a lay observer. And today he showed again, exactly the sort of person he is, and I respect him for it.

I've watched him for years, seen him make blunders, face criticism, and course correct. I often joke that he can be a bit dense (most Korean men are and I feel this way about every member in BTS to varying degrees), but he's so much more aware and measured than a lot of people think. One reason he's impressive to me is because I suspect (controversial opinion ahead), there's a very deep and latent rage in him. Because he's actually quite sensitive, I think. He's grown to temper it, soften his responses, think through his actions many times. But he sees and feels and what he decides to show is carefully curated for a reason. Still, with Namjoon, what you see is what you get. He's a bit simple in that sense. Not perfect, very human, and oh so lovable for the millions of people who see him as he'd love be seen.

A human, before he does some art.

#I'm not sure I've said this on this blog before #but one of the biggest things I relate to in my biases #Namjoon #Hoseok #Yoongi #is an undertone of rage in their disposition and perception of the world around them #I see them temper that impulse with hope and grace and reason #of course the millions of dollars help too lol #but that too isn't all that difficult for me to relate to loool #just saying #anyway #fuck an apology to appease the lunatics who call themselves k-pop stans #and it's just another Wednesday in this circus called k-pop #kim namjoon #bts #bts rm #rm

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter: 8 - Insecurities - Part 2

Part 2...oof. This was a doozy to write! But if ya’ll are still reading, we know this series is D.R.A.M.A.~! 

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know~!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000+

Summary: Unspoken expectations aside, when you hit ground zero of your most pernicious insecurities, can Javi stay in your grace while battling the horrors that threaten to splinter him apart?

Warnings: Javier Peña being devilishly sexy, graphic depictions of sex, adult situations, gratuitous smut, jealousy, angst, and a little toxic behavior, some hurt/comfort, vulnerable emotional states, mentions of trauma, PTSD, and violence. Detailed descriptions of salacious unprotected sex 🤭 Slight Dom/Sub play, Soft!Javi, and PowerBottomQueen!Reader is back. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Chapter 1: Nicknames | Chapter 2: Tempest | Chapter 3: Solterita | Chapter 4: Cagey | Chapter 5: Want - Part 1| Chapter 6: Want - Part 2 | Chapter 7: Insecurities - Part 1 |  Read at AO3

Taglist: @redsilentwolf28​ @just-here-for-the-moment​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @mandosmistress​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @omgreally​ @knittingqueen13​ @mamacitapascal​ @chronic-nosebleed​ @hnt-escape​ @eri16​ @gracie7209​ @casssiopeia​

Chapter 8: Insecurities - Part 2

Hindsight is 20/20, as the saying goes, and you find yourself feeling enlightened after your little tiff in the car. After all, while you both weren't shy, you clearly had trouble being frank and open about your feelings – about the things that bother you or stick with you until they snowball into insecurities you can't see around. Well, you were reluctant to disclose your feelings, anyway. Always have been, and no matter how much you love Javi, that's not going to change, so you hope he sticks with you and understands where you stand now after you practically browbeat him with it.

You think about it during the idle, stray lulls of your day. How you'd completely forgotten about how surly and celoso Javier had been, and you realize you've lightly fibbed, recalling Luke had sort of asked you out – in a somewhat roundabout way. Frowning, you think about whether you should amend it to Javier.

The furious way he'd snapped in the car is imprinted in your mind's eye, but not for the reason it should be. You daydream about it, how his dark eyes flashed with lightning, how his usually cool and cocky veneer had flinted away with the vehemence of his jealousy, jaw on edge as he reigned his anger back and scowled. His shoulders had been so broad from his chest puffing out with wound up impulse, and the way the tendon in his neck had defined as he'd sworn gruffly only added to the primordial allure of seeing him irate.

It was an unholy turn on. You'd gotten so exhilarated at how the energy charged off of him, feeding your own fury and the intoxicating attraction towards him being all alpha macho stud. You should be embarrassed at yourself, but you can't muster it. Javier Peña just does things to you, and not all of them have any commonsense explanation or logic, but you don't give a damn. However, you're not a reckless person, so the idea of encouraging his flaring temper is one you have to quell immediately. After all, it's like you told him: You have to be cordial and friendly. It's the nature of inter-departmental relations, and you don't have the luxury of being a flippant smartass like your lover does.

With a grunt, you shake your head and go back to concentrating on your work.

Javier is doing some ruminating of his own while Steve's on the phone with his wife. Sometimes, he envied his partner. Not at all for being married…but for having someone he could freely be devoted to without concern of it being used against him. He wishes he could waste glorious time flirting with you on the phone while Steve had to sit there and roll his eyes, or hell – that he could bring you over to his partner's place for a couple's dinner. Would you ever relent and be open to it? What would it take for you to let your guard completely down and take it public?

He'd told you his intentions, but part of him knew you took it with a grain of salt. After all, you'd basically just bellowed your reason for resisting defining things in the car this morning, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure whether he'd have to fucking go to the middle of the lobby downstairs and declare he would never flirt with another woman ever again in order for you to believe him. If it'd help, hell, he'd do it. He didn't give a shit what people thought of him anyway, but he can picture your hypothetically horrified, furious reaction, and while it shouldn't turn him on so much, he's objective enough to know you would not abide any kind of brash flaunting of your relationship. Especially once it got around to everyone, including the lunk-headed jackasses in Mil Group—

"—Javi, Connie's asking if you wanna come to dinner at our place tonight," Steve's grumble pulls Javier back from his brooding.

"Nah, no thanks. Already have plans," he answers smoothly, adding quickly and loud enough for the receiver to pick it up, "Thanks anyway, Connie."

"Hmph," Steve grunts and goes back to listening to his wife. "Hm? Yeah, I'm sure it's the mystery woman he's seeing—"

Javier blows a raspberry and sarcastically shakes his head. "Don't get your wife mixed up in your ridiculous conspiracies, man," he deadpans and reaches for his cigarettes. "Mystery woman? I don't have that kind of time."

"Uh-huh," Steve laconically drawls and quirks a derisive brow.

Javier lights his cigarette and scoffs, going back to his dossier building.

At the end of the day, you're already regretting agreeing to the non-happy-hour-thing, especially when Ellis tells you finally where you're going.

"What?! C'mon, what the hell—"

"It was Lou's idea! He has a buddy who runs the range, so he's letting us crack a couple of beers and shoot some paper targets," Ellis answers and literally steers you by your shoulders to the passenger seat of his car. "C'mon, Annie Oakley—"

"Ugh…did you tell them?" you grumble after you've climbed into the passenger seat and Ellis has hopped into the driver's side.

"Nope! Lou was joshing the fellas on having shitty target practice hours, so he figured it'd be fun to have us all get some shootin' out and make it a bonding thing. After all, with all the kidnapping craziness, you might need to start carrying a piece, for protection—" Ellis remarks as he drives you both out of the compound and down to the CNP Academy in the city.

"I'm not a wealthy to-do Colombian socialite, goofball," you snicker and sigh, resigned. "I'm not staying late, so if you do, I'll take a cab—"

"Hell no. I'll leave with you. Anita doesn't want me out late these days anyway," he chortles and frowns, and you can't help laugh. "Yeah…I'm whipped. You should find yourself a fella to whip too, girlie."

"Oh sure, I'm right on top of that, Rose," you deride, using his surname to punctuate your sardonic tone and smirking.

Once you've both met up with the others, you stroll into the indoor shooting range where Lou is smoking a cigar with the head CIA asset at a makeshift table they've set up. "Well now, nice to see you, little lady!" the colonel greets boisterously, and you grin and shake his hand, giving it the practiced, confident squeeze your father had taught you. "You know, I'm glad you came. It's always valuable to have a civilian asset who can shoot in a pinch, if needed," he jokes and banters lightly with you and the others while Luke and Nador set up the targets at the booths lined across from the table you're all at.

Before long, you're donning a pair of requisition-grade earmuffs while you watch Ellis take pointers from Samson before he raises his glock pistol and aims. When he fires, the bullet clips the middle edge of the paper target, to your buddy's chagrin. "Oh, that's a shit shot…"

"That's cuz you blinked at the last minute," Luke jokes and pats his shoulder as he glances over at you and gestures for you to come up to the stall and give it a try.

Ruefully, you do, feeling all the men watch you lope over on your spool heels to the stall next to Ellis and wait for Samson to come around with another pistol. When he hands it to you, you let him show you where the safety is, how to switch it off, then, he unloads the clip to show you it's fully loaded, and snaps it back in before placing the gun with the barrel facing the range beyond.

After he's set the paper target and hit the button to propel it out into the firing range, you position yourself in front of the stall and pick up the gun. Ellis leans over the stall to watch you, so you roll your eyes and admonishingly gesture with a tilt of your head for him to get back. Once he does, you focus. When you point the gun in a steady double grip to aim at the target, you concentrate on zeroing in on a specific mark on the target when you suddenly feel Luke put his fingertips at the back of your shoulder and the edge of his hand graze along the underside of your arm as he adjusts your aim.

You inhale a covertly tense breath and glance sidelong at him, training your features into a stoic regard as his hazel eyes connect with yours. "Widen your stance a bit more," he instructs, and the gravel of his tone is warm and encouraging, as he adds, "Not sure how easy it is to do in heels—"

With an exacting shrug of your shoulder blades, you flick your hair over your shoulders and punt his hand at your arm with the side of your elbow as you seamlessly lift your grip and fire a series of shots at the target. The barrel smokes from the rapid-fire trigger pulls and you glare ahead at the paper outline of a man, and when everyone balks and stares over at the target, they see you shot into the circle of what would be a sternum on a suspect, and that the last bullet went into the spot between the eyes, had it been a real person.

"Holy shit," you hear one of the guys gape, impressed.

With the flick of your wrist, you engage the safety, eject the magazine, and for good measure, cock the barrel to eject the last bullet that was chambered before you place the pistol down on the stall's counter and turn to raise a scathing brow at Luke.

"Excuse me," you crisply muse and breeze by him towards the table you left your purse at.

"Goddamn," Lou cheers before he whistles and claps at you. "Do all the women in the C.O. office know how to shoot like that?! Cuz if they do, I'm recruitin'. The rest of you can go listen to wiretaps!"

You smile, but shoot Ellis a glance over your shoulder that orders, 'I want to leave. Now.'

After some good-natured ribbing and easy praise, you say your goodbyes and don't give Luke a second look. Ellis, for his part, plays perfect buffer and you're both able to head to his car with minimal tension. Once he's driven a ways away, though, he can't bear the pregnant silence, so he blurts, "You looked real mad, kid."

"I was," you state curtly.

"I don't think he meant anything by it," Ellis pouts, and you cross your arms, annoyed. "I'm sure he'll apologize for being so presumptuous—"

"I don't care. Clearly I've encouraged him to think he could be so forward, so I've corrected that," you snap and press your lips together. "I'm sorry for cutting it short—"

"Nah. It's getting late. We should head home with all the shit that's going on anyways," he replies affably, easing your tension.

As soon as you're up the steps and through the apartment door, you toss your things onto the side table and stomp into the bathroom to take a shower, simmering with insolent annoyance. By the time 10pm rolls around, you're feeling less angry, especially once you dug around in your drawers for a very risqué garment you just remembered buying on a lark the last time Anita and you went to the mall. You consider saving it for tomorrow night, but decide it's the perfect ensemble for how you're feeling tonight.

When Javier knocks at your door a few minutes later, he's glancing around while he waits for you to answer. He remembers how he'd had to stand at the backstairs and wait for that asshole Samson to leave your door before he could stalk over and surprise you. That hot jealous sting sticks in his craw, but he shoves it away when he hears you undo the lock and open the door.

Javier turns and practically misses leaning his hand into the doorframe — his usual smug pose, and just ends up doing a wide-eyed double take before openly leering at you.

"Well?" you muse and raise a sultry brow. "Are you gonna come in?"

He cups his hand over his mouth and finally jolts at the realization that you're really standing there in a red-lace teddy and nothing else at your door, hair and lips full and luscious as you stare provocatively at him, so he swivels his startled stare around to make sure no one can see you before he rushes in and slams the door shut.

"Jesus fucking Christ, querida—" Javier begins to exclaim when he stops himself after you've given him a smoldering look and traced your tongue between your lips as you push him up against the door and snake your hands beyond his jacket to the back of his pants.

Without ceremony, you yank his service weapon and badge free to store them onto the side table against the wall before you reach your arms around him again and find the item you're looking for.

"Do you know what I've been thinking about all day?" you purr as you yank his handcuffs free from the leather clasp that fastens them into the back of his belt. When Javier just stares incandescently down at you, you brush up against him and whisper against his chin, "You, in handcuffs, for being a fucking atrevido with me this morning."

Javier has never been more turned on in his life. He went from relaxed to instantly hard in an instant, and his brain is trying to rationalize what's happening while his cock is just intently straining at your every move. It's only when you raise a challenging brow at him and press your breasts into his midriff that he snaps out of the enthralled haze to answer thickly, "I-I don't know if the punishment f-fits the crime—"

"Really? Being a puto mujeriego and yelling at me doesn't call for me to put these on and doing whatever the hell I want to you?" you pose in an alluring murmur, eyes gleaming up at him as you rattle the handcuffs while he shivers and groans appealingly. With an exacting smirk, you get on your tippy toes and ghost your lips against his parted ones and purr, "I think it does."

Javi's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows and wars with the dark, deviant urge that's twisting gleefully in his gut – pulse racing as he lets you pull him by the front of his belt away from the door to instead be lead down to your bedroom. He's so aroused by this that he doesn't trust his voice not to crack if he gripes any defying remark. And really, he doesn't want to defy you right now. He is lit up with desire and intrigue, simmering with excitement as you pull him to the foot of the bed and keep your hand gripped around the buckle of his belt.

"Take your clothes off," you order, tilting your head up at an angle so you can brush your nose along his chest. "Now."

Javier exhales a charged breath and is shrugging his jacket off in an instant before he can muster the outrage or umbrage at being ordered to do anything. Once his fingers hastily work the buttons of his shirt open, you let your hand at his belt drop to graze his tented crotch before taking a step back and leaning your weight onto a hip, seating your free hand there imperiously while you idly toy the handcuffs in your other hand. Javi's stripping stutters in speed from how distracted he gets by how insanely sexy you look, so you have to hum at him to keep going.

You graze your teeth along your bottom lip as you watch more and more golden skin emerge, and it takes all your vindictively devious control to not falter and just pounce on him when he tosses the last barrier away to stand in his naked glory before you. His cock is thick with arousal and straining to be touched, throbbing and looking utterly delectable. Javi's eyes are dark with lust, filled with fog while his broad, muscled body is coiled in erotic anticipation.

"Get on the bed."

Javi licks his lips and broadens his shoulders in a telltale show of defiance. "Rules first," he croaks hoarsely, and takes a cleansing breath, gathering his confidence. "You cannot leave me handcuffed," he rumbles in a graveled husk.

You raise a brow and let the handcuffs hang around the curve of your hooked fingers. "Do you let anyone set the terms of their punishment, agente?" you muse and feign like he's quite gullible to think he can negotiate as you prance closer and trail your fingertips along his arm as you circle him. "Let them tell you how things are gonna go?" you purr and drag your nails lightly down his back, causing him to gasp and his muscles to flex. "If that's so, then I'm not really interested—" you begin when Javier whirls and gruffly huffs down at you, eyes burning with daring. He's right on the edge of losing control and just ravishing you with surly dominance, so you lean into him and murmur, "Haz lo que te pido, amado."

The power of saying, 'Do as I ask you, beloved,' is beyond anything you could've imagined, but are delighted by when he shudders and goes to lie on your bed, aroused and breathing fast as he's titillated with anticipation and illicit longing.

He's never trusted anyone enough to let them handcuff him, but he finds that he trusts you implicitly, which feels so forbidden. You crawl over him and take your time kissing up his body, trailing the tip of your tongue along sinew and muscle while he groans in approval and keeps his hands on the pillow above his head. When he feels the cold metal of the handcuff start to bracelet his wrist, he exhales and realizes he'd closed his eyes in anxious excitement, so he opens them now to watch you.

He sees your loving look, how you're focused on putting the handcuffs on, mindful to keep them loose so as to not cut off his circulation. The clicking of the metal settling into a fixed grip and the chain linking the cuffs clanking has Javier trembling, and you can feel it, so you straddle him and affectionately curl your warm, lacy body against his overheated skin. You kiss him, finally, and are so tender, taking your time with the worship of his mouth as you slip your fingers into his hair and soothingly caress his scalp while you twirl your tongue against his.

Parting from the hungry kiss, you trail your mouth along his jaw and undulate your body over his, rubbing his pulsing cock against the swell of your ass as you suckle on that soft, sweet spot on his neck and earn a hoarse groan from Javier. Then, you suddenly rear up and grip your palms around the base of his forearms and press down, forcing his handcuffed hands into the plush pillow more and giving you purchase enough to press your cleavage against his face.

Javier moans and buries his face into your breasts, breathing in your scent and getting harder after you hum and murmur, "Do you know how turned on and hot you got me?"

"Mmph, t-tell me," he exhales gruffly after you ease back and stare seductively down at him.

"Enough to consider marching into your office and banishing your poor partner so I can have my fucking way with you," you charge, tightening your grip on his forearms when his arms jerk and he writhes under you. You can see he's picturing it, and from how his cock twitches against your ass, you know he's thought something similarly filthy. "Dime una cosa," you purr and finally undulate your hips so you can nestle Javi to grind flush against your wet, soft pussy. "¿Eres mío?"

Javier moans at the combination of your asking if he's yours and the sensation of you sinking onto his cock. His hands clench into fists from the sinful desperation of wanting to grab you and being unable to, so he groans and arches in frustration under you and hitches, "Y-Yes. Yes."

Pleased, you do a slow gyration of your pelvis and literally squeeze Javi's cock in your silken, rippling vice by clenching your floor muscles and rutting down on him. His eyes roll back into his head and he makes the neediest sound you've ever heard him make – hands on his forearms feeling how his tendons flex convulsively under the impulsive twitches of his hands trying to yank apart. His reaction has your clit throbbing and your core contracting hard around him, which earns a wordless exaltation from him. Your nipples are studding into the lace of your practically see-through teddy as you lean down and lick his lips.

"Tell me how bad you want me to ride your cock, Javier," you insist in a drawl against his mouth, breathing in his panting gasps as you clutch your walls around him.

"B-Bad—so bad, please, q-querida—" he stutters in a roughened baritone that rakes delight across your senses.

You answer by snatching your hands up to clasp his and yank so his arms have to bend at the elbow, and you lift from his lap only enough for his cock to heavily drag so close to slipping out of your heavenly heat before you slam yourself back onto it and cry out when you hit something exquisite inside yourself. Javi rumbles and bucks up to meet your hips as you repeat the brusque pivoting of your hips to drive yourself hard onto his pulsing cock. His fingers lace with yours as your pace only picks up, lips parted as you whimper from the sinfully divine effort of riding Javier at your own indulgence – albeit with rapturous undulations that have you able to control the vigor and intensity of the sensations with the sinewy and deftness of your supple muscles.

Your thighs flex from the effort of lifting and clenching lusciously around Javier, abs tense and lithe from your clutching and contracting of your core. Javi is writhing and desperate to meet your pace, but can't leverage more than bucking his hips up into you from how you have his hands and arms propped over his head, pulling his shoulders taut and leaving him at your mercy. Not that he's looking to end this ravenous game, especially when you surprise him by holding his hands down by pinning them with your palm pressing the chain linking the cuffs into the pillow while you reach your other hand behind yourself and cup his balls. The light, teasing pressure of your fingers around his aching spheres coupled with your molten sheath gripping wantonly around his cock has Javi braying a choked moan and tossing his head back as he stammers your name and has to bite his lip from babbling more filthy, unintelligent praise.

When you fist the chain and hunch into him as you finally buckle under the mounting pleasure sizzling through your muscles, you have to stifle a cry as you climax, not wanting to miss his reaction. Javier rewards you by shivering and straining inside you before you feel his cock swell and throb. His expression flushes and his moan is tight and wrecked when he comes, chest going broad and body reflexively tensing as his hips stutter under you to fuck over into bliss while you sink down to bury him as deep as he can go so he can fill your shuddering core.

The force of it has you alight and complete, and you can't help make a fierce little sound of content glee as you feel him pump you full of cum. With how tight your muscles are flexed, you can feel your womb quiver at the warm onslaught, and the way Javier looks up at you when you bow and moan your delight? It's an enthralling prize you'll covet forever.

His brows are arched ecstatically, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead while his usually etched features are supine with sated lust, eyes soft and dark with glossy bliss and mouth slack from his panting breathing. He looks gorgeous, and you only hope he likes what he sees too.

Javier is staring through hazed, pining eyes at you, completely fucked out and drunk on the high of having you dominate a mind-blowing orgasm out of him. He whines when he goes to reach and caress his hands through your hair and remembers he's cuffed. Your hand around the chain eases away so you can cuddle into him, and Javi mumbles appealing sounds. You sigh and kiss him at the spot under his jaw, nuzzling him and getting lost in his scent and warm skin.

"Tan bello," you find yourself sighing as you lean up to caress his cheek and stare alluringly into his molten gaze. When Javi smiles, that boyish dimple is on full display – teasing you – and you can't help mutter, "I think I could enjoy keeping you like this indefinitely—"

"Not in these fuckin' handcuffs, bravita," he grumbles, but his smile doesn't wane, especially when you huff and sit up so you can caress your palms possessively across his pecs. "C'mon," he lifts his cuffed wrists and shakes them, obvious gesture for you to free him.

You sigh dramatically and lightly drag your nails down his chest, earning a delighted hiss from him. "I don't know," you lilt. "They really suit you, guapito," you tease and watch him flush when you caress your thumbs over his nipples and cause them to harden. "And you seemed to really like being in them—"

"Keep it up, and I'll put you in 'em," he growls ruggedly and showily raises his arms to outstretch his wrists at you.

You pout, and surprise him by grabbing the chain linking the cuffs and tugging so he has to sit up, and you loop under them so you can be flush against his chest as you kiss him. Javier idly cups the back of your head as best he can and deepens the kiss before he suddenly pulls back when he feels you adjust in his lap. He hisses at the sensation of your heat receding from around him and being replaced with the comingled warmth of your desires spending out of your tight sheath. With the distraction of his riveted attention being on the sinful sight, you shrug seamlessly back, slipping out of the loop of his arms, and on shaky knees, pivot to straddle his lap facing the foot of the bed. You glance over your shoulder at him as you hike up the teddy and show him your dewed and dripping cunt from behind before bowing and presenting yourself to him.

Javier is floored with savage delight and suppresses a shiver when you hum appealingly and murmur, "Fuck me as hard as you can, and I'll let you out of those cuffs."

He's never been up for a challenge more in his life.

Even with the handcuffs, Javi is able to dominate you with aplomb in this position, and you both revel in it, enjoying being alphas that can share control. You are especially impressed when he pivots you onto your elbows and keeps you balanced to angle your pelvis up for him with just his handcuffed hands clasped at either side of your arched trapezius muscles, thumbs pressing in and anchoring you as he pounds your pulsing, silken pussy from behind. You whimper breathily and let Javier fuck you into hypersensitive bliss, feeling a shameless wreck as you climax and he presses his palms down into the middle of your lower back and ruts through your quaking sheath as every plunge forces his previous spend to leak out of you just to be replaced with hot cum he pumps into you after moaning your name and thrusting home before bottoming out in you.

You mewl rapaciously and crumble under your pleasure as Javier keeps undulating his hips and dragging his cock to rub flush against every inch of rippling heat inside you. Spent, Javi pulls your hips up and back to follow his own as he rears to sit and yanks you to do the same, but in his lap – with his cock still inside you. You're quaking and twitching in his arms after he looped his cuffed wrists over your head to bind you against his chest.

He listens to you catch your breath and gets lost in your sweet scent as he rests his head against yours.

After a fleeting eternity, you are yourself again and able to scrape your senses to retrieve his keys from his jacket pocket and release him from the handcuffs. You're about to put them aside on the nightstand when he snatches them from your grip and pulls you by your arm against him, making a big show as if he's contemplating clamping them on you before shrugging and tossing them away to land on your dresser with a clang. You snicker and internally exhale in relief, unsure you'd be able to withstand another romp while your hands were incapacitated.

Once you've both showered and are back on your refreshed sheets, lounging naked together, Javi languidly stretches out and lies on his side to admire you. "…Put it back on?" he husks tentatively.

You blow a raspberry. "That thing is a mess—"

"It's not. I like it, especially now," he rumbles, fingertips tracing your temple and following the contour of your cheekbone. "Please?"

You can't deny him when he asks like that. With faux annoyance, you retrieve the illicitly stained teddy and put it back on, wrinkling your nose at the damp spots before getting back into bed. He grunts in approval and pulls you to lie on top of him, letting his hands caress down your sides and knead your ass over the red lace.

"How was that thing?" he asks as he trails his nose against your jaw while you comb your fingers through his hair.

You give a dispassionate sneer. "I probably won't be bugged to go to another one of 'em for a while," is what you answer glibly before snickering at him grunting curiously as he starts to fondle your breast over the stretchy lace.

"Hm, care to elaborate?" he attempts, but is content with watching how your nipple studs against the lace from his teasing touch.

"Not really," you muse and finally slap his hand down. "So, tomorrow night. You picking me up here after work?" you change the subject smoothly and slink off of him so you and recline sidelong into the pillows and smile at him.

"Yeah. Around 8 work?" he remarks and lounges with his hands folded behind his head, sated and pleased when you cuddle close and nod in assent. "…You still up for the entire thing?" he poses in a soft tone, and you find yourself deciphering his meaning. "I promise to sneak you into my place where my nosy neighbors won't see—"

"Ah," you snicker and sit up to drape your arm around his broad chest and lean close to kiss his jaw. "Yes, I'm letting you dictate the terms, chavón," you purr and kiss his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."

He hums, appeased, and brushes a kiss to your cheek. "Good. It's a date," he drawls and smirks as he adjusts so he can loop an arm around you and hold you close.

You smile, all wistful as you reach over him to shut the light off and curl up against him.

The morning routine is blissful, and once you both kiss and part ways, you're content with counting down the hours until you can race home and get really dolled up. You have the dress you'll wear already in mind, and are debating what shoes to pair it with when lunch time rolls around and you go meet with Marisol and some of the other girls. When you come back to your desk, Ellis is nursing his 3rd cup of coffee of the day and shooting you coy glances. Rolling your eyes, you huff and swivel in your chair to face him.

"Out with it," you mutter, crossing your arms.

"Well, I'm trying to gauge whether you'll shoot the messenger," he quips, and when you raise a judgmental brow, he sighs. "I think Samson's gonna approach you today—"

"No."

"Wait, so he might come by at the end of the day—"

"No."

"—He's a nice guy and definitely doesn't want to end up on bad terms with you—"

"NO."

At the firmness of that, Ellis pouts. "You can only control you, kid, so I'm just forewarning you incase you feel compelled to verbally assassinate him. Best you don't and just tell him no hard feelings and remain civil."

You grumble and swivel back around, knowing he's right. "It's done after this though. No more matchmaking or cajoling. And he better not be talking about me—"

"The fellas were raggin' on him, but they have nothing disparaging to say about you. They think you're a badass, frankly," Ellis remarks and sips his coffee.

You stew on that, wondering if they're liable to talk about you to DEA, if Javi gets earfuls about you from them. He'd alluded to it, but never specified anything. While you wonder, Javier and Steve are walking into Mil Group for a surveillance briefing. The bullpen outside of Lou's office and adjacent to the conference room is relatively empty of personnel. Along the wall that would be used to pin up suspect boards was instead taken up with tacked paper targets, each riddled with varying bullet holes.

There's one with a blue ribbon attached to it, so when they go into the conference room, Steve can't help deride, "Your boys need gold star stickers for target practice?"

"Real funny," Lou deadpans and gestures with his coffee mug to the wall with the targets. "That's to motivate them to be less of a shit shot. After all, the best shot wasn't any one of 'em, so figured it'd be a good kick in the ass."

Javi chuckles and glances over at the target with the blue ribbon, seeing it has four bullet shots in the center and one in the middle of the head. "Who was the crack shot?" he drawls as he leans against the table and fans out his dossier.

"That ferocious little minx from C.O. Put all of 'em to shame with her shooting," the colonel muses and takes a long drink from his mug, watching as Javier's brows quirk and Steve grins with wily amusement. "I just might need to recruit her—"

"Maybe we will. Shit, if she's that good a shot," Steve jokes and swats Javi's arm in a sardonic show of camaraderie.

"Something tells me she wouldn't put up with either of you and your shit, boys," Lou jibes in a snarky drawl.

Javi spends most of the meeting picturing you in that red lace teddy, and in his fantasy he's put you in those 'fuck me' heels and has you aiming the barrel of a gun like some Bond girl, except you're his girl – his little solterita who seemingly everyone drools over. His pride in knowing he's the only one with the privileges bestowed to him by you has him hot and yearning the rest of the day.

You, on the other hand, are not looking forward to the end of the day now that Ellis has warned you about Samson wanting to make amends of some kind. You're tempted to just leave half hour early so you can beat rush hour and enjoy the ritual of getting ready for your date with Javi, but you also know this needs to happen. Truthfully, you feel like you have to do a bit of penance for having unintentionally fibbed to Javi, and maybe at least this way you'll cull any more advances, permanently.

That's the plan when you walk out of your department with Ellis and head off to your weekend. He's goofily fidgeting, as if he is the one that has to let Luke down gently, and by the time you both are exiting the lobby, you think he's going to volunteer to do it for you, but as soon as you're out the main doors and heading for the sprawling stairs down to the carport, Luke is waiting, and Ellis literally coughs uncomfortably and grimaces, "Do you want me to hang around? I'll be your alibi…but I'm not burying the body."

You jab a pressure point under his armpit and he winces. "Just go home, Rose," you snicker, needling him with his surname, to his chagrin. "I'll see you Monday."

Once Ellis gallops down the stairs and shoots Luke a hasty farewell, you march over and decide to get this over with. He looks tense, like he's been deliberating over this since last night, and you annoyance wanes a bit. "Hey…" he greets, tenor rumble halting. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Luke, it's fine," you cut in, brushing your hair behind your ear when a breeze tousles your tresses languidly from behind your shoulders. "I don't want to belabor anything. We're colleagues and I just want to keep things civil and professional, so if I've been untoward in my behavior, I'm sorry. You're a great guy, and I shouldn't have encouraged anything—"

"You didn't. That was me reading into things what I wanted," he states earnestly, adding with genuine affection, "Yes, I like you, but I'm a grown ass man. I am more than happy to keep things platonic. I just don't ever want to make you uncomfortable or cross your boundaries again."

Feeling like a complete jerk now, your shoulders sag and you adjust your purse strap as you sigh and muse, "I'm sorry I showed you up in front of the guys."

He laughs, a warm, gravelly sound as he puts his hands in his pockets and makes an 'aw, shucks' gesture with his shoulders. "You totally buried the lead! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?!" he asks, and you feel a bit better, glad to not have some brooding awkwardness between you two.

"My father," you answer, but don't elaborate. Instead, you remark, "We're going to get Mil Group's tech requisitions soon, so we'll have to come up with a schedule for you fellas to get trained up. In the meantime, do practice your shooting. I'd hate to hear Lou talk about recruiting newbies."

"Hah, you know he pinned up the targets? On Monday, you gotta come by and see," he chuckles.

You both chit chat a bit more, smoothening all terseness aside before you say your goodbyes and 'Have a nice weekend,' well wishes.

It's a short while later that you get home and go to rush to get ready for your date. You feel lighter after talking to Luke, and are free to look forward to having Javier Peña take you out to a night on the town – his side of town, on his terms. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit anxious at the prospect of being seen by possible coworkers out and about with the notorious-yet-debonair DEA agent, but you're more excited than anything.

By the time you look at the clock, you realize you have to rush to pick out your shoes before finishing with your makeup, which isn't your forte. Once you've put the lipstick down to reach for your favorite perfume and spritz lightly, Javier is knocking on your door.

He's just finished chewing one of his mints when you open the door. Whirling, he feels a sense of déjà vu – only instead of being dumbstruck by a lacy femme fatale standing in the threshold this time, he's floored to see you in a flirty-yet-classy off-the-shoulder blush-toned dress and strappy kitten heels. Your hair is half up in a delicate twist, fastened with rose-shaped hair clasp. The tresses that flow loose accentuate the soft lines of your sloping shoulders and neck, and when you adjust your purse strap onto your shoulder and look up at him, Javi has to struggle to not whisk you inside and worship you like the impulse beckons.

"You look gorgeous," he blurts, and you melt a little at the honeyed pitch of his tone.

Taking the chance to appraise him with an affectionate once over, you catalogue how ridiculously handsome he is in virtually everything he wears. It should be a crime. And now? Wearing a dark blue polo shirt and fitted black slacks, with a black leather belt and matching pair of loafers – with his hair combed with a brush? It's downright sinful. And his scent – it's mouthwatering, and all you want to do is press your face into his throat and do very filthy things to him.

"You combed your hair," you tease and pull him close by his belt buckle so you can lean up and kiss him on the lips. "Estás bien guapo, chulito," you purr and he grunts with dry affection at that. "Mmm, you smell good," you murmur and trail your nose along his jaw, which causes heat to coil in his gut and a tempted hum to warm up his chest.

"Keep it up, and I can't be held responsible for what I do," he grouses provocatively as he caresses a hand down the curve of your body to cheekily knead your ass. "You have everything?"

Smirking, you slink away and grab the overnight tote from the couch and hold it up, as if it's the Holy Grail, or at least from how Javier's brows are quirking in triumph, the irrevocable proof that you're all-in for his plans. He takes the tote so you can lock up and store your keys in your purse before taking his hand and letting him lead you down the steps and out to his jeep. It's a cool night, sky clear of clouds and the moon is full, so he's able to admire you from the corner of his eye and enjoy how lovely you look in the lowlight of the car as you joke and smile over at him while he drives.

"—How nosy are your neighbors? Like, look out the peephole at every sound of activity nosy?" you ask, raising your brows when he snorts at the thought.

"Steve and Connie are upstairs, so no worries there. You might hear him galloping around up there," he offers and shrugs. "The neighbor down the hall from me is some analyst that's always traveling," he pauses and deviously glances over at you as he purrs, "You don't have to do the walk of shame I do—"

"Oh please. Aside from giving las retiradas a nice treat to feast on from their garden patios, they are not going to blow up your spot like anyone on your block most definitely would," you snicker and grin when he grunts and squeezes your knee cheekily at that.

"…Well I guess it's a good thing you have suitors go to your place," he rumbles in a veiled tone, one you know is really him fishing to find out how many other men you've invited over.

If he'd asked at any other time, you probably would've been peeved, but considering you're trying to play on his terms, you figure it wouldn't hurt to divulge a bit. "Nope. You're the only one I've let come over," you muse pleasantly, and when he glances at you, seeming a bit surprised, you add, "How do you think I got so good at sneaking out without waking you?"

That makes him picture things he doesn't want to – namely you sneaking out of a man's bed with the stealth you employed with Javi after your first hookup, so he clears his throat and hums.

You purse your lips in amusement and lean over to plant a peck on his cheek. "No te pongas celoso," you tease.

"I can't help get jealous," he answers in a sulky tone, and you snicker. "But I suppose you have all night to make it up to me," he purrs and skates his palm from your knee to brush along your thigh.

You tingle at that, and smile, deciding you'll do just that.

He takes you to a very nice restaurant in the old town of the capital, and escorts you with your hand tucked into his forearm as you traverse the cobblestones. Your table is cozy and secluded, and the small votive candle at the center creates a soft glow that casts you both in a literal romantic light. You see his soulful eyes shine while you both talk over your meals and sip your drinks. The food is delicious, and so is your lover when he's licking his lips and smiling at you.

You affectionately nudge your foot along his ankle when the waiter comes by and suggests dessert, unspoken indication that you want him for dessert. Javier bites the inside of his lower lip and politely declines, and once the bill comes and he pays it, he's escorting you out and cupping his large, warm hand to your lower back as he nuzzles your temple and husks, "Such an atrevida."

"No idea what you're referring to," you playfully lilt and take his arm before giving him a flirty peck on the lips, batting your curled and full lashes at him. "Thanks for dinner."

"Hmph," he grunts wryly and encircles your waist as you fall into step and let him lead the way.

Before long, he's parking across from an avenue in a bustling nightlife hub of the city, and you're impressed by the hum and thrum of the music coming from the dance club he's escorting you to. It's a sprawling hall with a bar on one end, and bar-height tables flanking the large dance floor in front of the DJ booth in the corner and the live band's stage against the wall on the opposite end.

Easily finding a table, you set your purse on it and lean up to talk in his ear so you're not shouting over the music. "You better know how to dance merengue, chico," you tease and smile when he smirks and squeezes your waist.

"I'm more of a salsa guy, but I'll give it a try," he answers before gesturing to the bar. You nod and stay at the table while he goes to find an empty spot he can lean over and get a bartender to take his order.

You take the chance to people watch and bop to the music, noticing how most of the crowd is made up of groups, not really couples, but everyone seems merry. The lights above the dance floor strobe in warm and soft colored-lights while the cumbia song plays. It seems like there's a mix of people from across all social echelons, and everyone is out to have a good time, so you don't really notice anyone looking over at you. If anything, this ambiance is cool, feeling like a pleasant little bubble of music and good times, so you relax and let the beat settle into you.

Javier is back with your drinks, and once you both have downed enough of them, you are grabbing him and pulling him to dance, and he lets you but takes the lead, and you love it. His hand at your waist is warm, and how his fingertips press into you through your dress has you tingly and pliant. When the slower tempo song comes on, he pulls you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you both sway and get lost in the calm delight of being together in such a simple way.

He presses his nose to your hair and inhales, feeling soothed and warmed by your scent, hand trailing from yours to caress your back when you tip your face up and kiss his jaw. He nuzzles you before lowering to capture your lips, and the kiss is doting and chaste. It's like no one else is around, the moment is yours and you only share it with Javi.

When a merengue song finally comes on, you grin and pull him close, adjusting his hand placement and telling him, "It's all in the hips. Try and keep up, querido."

Javier scoffs, but soon realizes you're not kidding when everyone around you dances with a vigor he's not used to. He's relegated to letting you lead, which you can't help be wily and grin over while he tries to keep up. The only thing he's good at is spinning you and tugging you back against him before looping you back into step, but his footwork needs help and as soon as the song ends, he's winded, and you giggle as he leads you back to your table and frowns. "Jesus Christ," he grumbles and finishes his whiskey. "Is that a sped up version?" he asks and wipes the back of his palm across his brow.

"Oh honey, that is slow merengue compared to how we dance it back home," you drawl and caress your fingertips along his brow. "If you don't walk off the dance floor sweating buckets, then you didn't dance it right," you joke. "This is more traditional – the beat, anyway. There's a mambo callejero version of merengue that really gets the blood pumping," you remark before pressing flirtatiously close to him and purring, "I'll teach you."

Javi smirks, liking the sound of a 'street-style mambo,' when he knows mambo can get very sexy – almost borderline sexual, so he purrs, "We do plenty of horizontal mambo as it is."

You snicker and swat his chest. "Fresco," is your playful murmur as you let him encircle your waist so he can pull you close before kissing you. You loop your arms around his shoulders and deepen the kiss before he gropes his hands down to cup your ass. You gasp and break the kiss, "Javier—"

"Hmph, quit teasing me then," he grouses and gives you a quick peck before signaling he's going back to the bar.

You roll your eyes but are smirking, and when he strides off, you turn to take the chance to finish your drink before brushing your fingers through your hair and making sure there aren't any frazzled strands flaring wildly. While you're doing so and watching people dance, Javier is just finishing putting in his order when he glances across the bar and sees a familiar face.

A very familiar, smug and seductive face of a woman who's whispering over to her friends before using her chin to gesture in his direction, smiling and waving at him. Javier flints his stare away and internally swears, hoping she doesn't take it as an invitation to come over. He glances back at you and you're smiling as a woman from a group at a nearby table is complementing your hair clasp and asking where you got it.

Just as he starts to wonder if he should suggest checking out another dance hall, what he was dreading comes to fruition.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Javi," she comes onto him in Spanish, charmed and flirty as she sidles up close and sips her martini.

"Vanessa," he greets flatly and glances at her, swiveling his gaze covertly to the end of the bar where her friends are, and he recognizes some of them as girls from the high-end brothel they picked up Barry Seal months before.

When he doesn't say anything else, she haughtily purrs, "What? Can't make time for an old friend?" Javier gives her a sidelong stare and avoids looking in your direction, but she pivots the cant of her hips so she can showily shoot a glance over to where you're table is and zeros in on you just as you're placing your empty glass down and leaning your elbow on the table to face the bar. She deliberately locks eyes with you, as she inquires goadingly, "And her? She's your escort? She looks bonita, I suppose—"

"Goodnight, Vanessa," Javier curtly grits out and glares warningly at her when he realizes she's looking at you. He glances back and sees you stoically watching, and the acrimonious anxiety wells in his chest.

Vanessa scoffs and makes a show of patting his forearm as she muses, "I'll see you around then, papito," then struts off back to the gaggle at the end of the bar.

He clenches his jaw, terse when he pays for the drinks and takes them back to the table. The whole time you were watching the exchange, your jealousy was on a slow burn, the rational, reasonable side of you trying not to jump to conclusions or let your façade falter, but the natural questions were rambling over in your mind: Who is she? Do they know each other? Is she trying to pick him up? However, you defy your simmering jealousy to instead focus in on his demeanor to clue you in. When he comes back and places the drinks down, you expect him to say something to justify what you just saw, and when he doesn't and instead cups your cheek and brushes a kiss to your lips, you tangle with ambivalence.

You don't want to let it feed your insecurities, so you snuff it and take the drink, sipping it before you lean close and say in his ear, "Next time, I'll get the drinks, because if I see another descarada put a hand on you, I'm liable to catch a case."

Javier is shocked at the blasé smoothness of your threat and feels a scalding sense of pride, which he knows is wrong, but when you give him a cool, pointed look before brushing your lips against his, he can't help grope you close and murmur, "You're lucky I got friends in CNP, so I might be able to pull strings—"

"Ah-hah, ni joder," you snap, and shove him back, imperious look becoming flinty as you drain your drink before gesturing with a tilt of your head to the dance floor.

He hears you loud and clear.

Taking your hand, he leads you back to the dance floor and does everything he can to make it clear that he is there with you. His hands are caressing all over you, his lips nuzzling kisses into your neck as you pull him close and sway to the soft-tempo song. You let him herd you close, pressing your pelvis flush against him so you're undulating sensually to the romantic and sultry lambada song that comes on, and you ride his thigh as you sway your hips to the beat and let him pivot you about before spinning you and tucking you back against him. You arch into him and lusciously lull your head against his shoulder as he encircles your waist and keeps you both swaying languidly to the beat until the song ends and you reluctantly pull away.

His hand guides you back to press against him so he can capture your lips in a hungry kiss that curls your toes and overheats you. The alcohol is starting to hit you, warming your bloodstream and making you loose and provocative, so when he leads you back to your table, you're giving him an alluring look as you excuse yourself to the ladies room, taking your purse and giving him a devious little squeeze to his ass before you go. He laughs and bites his lip, watching you saunter off and fantasizing about how he's going to peel that dress off of you the minute he gets you to his place.

While he drinks his whiskey and keeps thinking raunchy things, you're waiting in the queue for an available stall. A few minutes later and you're pleasantly waltzing over to the sink to wash your hands. No one lined up behind you, so you're alone in the bathroom until the door opens and the loud music invades the tiled space as a group of women come in laughing and chatting in Spanish.

"—You sure? He didn't look happy to see her—"

"Ah, but he's like that—"

"Exactly, you know how he is. Always plays hard to get, but when you're one-on-one, he's a bárbaro and insatiable."

"Well, sure, but Javi hasn't come by since – what, when was that last time, Vanessa?"

You glance up in the mirror at their reflection as they queue up at the stalls while the woman – Vanessa – struts over to the long counter and parks herself at a sink basin a few spots over. She preens in the mirror before purposely glancing your way as she adjusts her bodycon dress. Unbothered – since, after all, you're no virgin to vindictive behavior, you reach in your purse and fish out your lipstick, taking your time with reapplying it to your plush lips as the woman you saw talking to Javier at the bar makes a show of fluffing her hair. She's taller and thinner than you, and endowed – but whether that's natural or bought for, you don't care, because you're tempted to straighten her ass out and wreck that smug face of hers.

"When was Barry there? A couple of months ago? That's the last time, but several times before that," Vanessa muses and sighs. "He liked going to his place though—"

Goadingly, her friend chimes, "We know. Hell, a few of us have taken a turn on that big leather couch of his. Javi does like to bend you over and take you wherever though—"

Once you've pressed your lips together and evened out the color of your lipstick, you cap it and drop it into your purse, turning and having to walk by Vanessa to get to the door.

"Chiquita, be sure to enjoy your turn. Javi doesn't keep the same escort for long."

You pause, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder and turning to confidently look at her like she's a puddle of dogshit before smiling. "Well, by the looks of the lot of you, I can see why he's moved on," you verbally napalm, getting a thrill at how her face pinches up with indignity. "Talk to me like that again, and they'll be scraping what's left of your lips off the mirror, puta pendeja."

Her friends stiffen but say nothing, and Vanessa can't hold your blazing gaze as you bore into her, silently daring her to say something else. When she doesn't, you strut off and exit the bathroom, and are boiling with rage as you slash a path through the dance floor and up to the table where Javi is finishing his whiskey. When he glances over, his smiling eyes widen at the contumely fierce look on your features.

"I'm leaving."

Your ground out hiss is barely audible over the music, and Javier is so confused by the shift that he grabs your waist to stop you. "Baby—" He pauses when you smack his hand away and storm off, furious strides carrying you through the crowded hall and towards the entrance. Shocked, Javi glares about and catches sight of Vanessa and her friends coming out of the ladies room. The violent fury that wells in him is blinding. She obviously had been looking to stir trouble up, and had he known she'd been watching you both from the minute you walked in? Javier would've U-turned you the hell out of there and gone somewhere else. By the look she shoots him across the way, he immediately knows what they did, and before he's registered it, he's chasing after you, shimmying through the crowded hall to try and catch up to you.

Heat is suffocating your chest from the knot of emotions roiling there, and you can feel your adrenalin pumping your furious temper and throbbing at your temples as you make it out into the cool night air and stalk down the sidewalk towards the avenue, eyes darting about in search for a cab.

You hear your name shouted behind you, and you ignore it as you pick up pace and stride as quickly as you can in your kitten heels across the street towards the corner where you think you see a cab parked. Javier gains on you easily and is cutting you off before you've made it to the corner. "Goddammit, would you wait—?!" he's shouting as he grabs your arm and pulls you over to the side of the street where his jeep is parked.

Irate now, you wring your arm out of his grip and grapple with your fury. "No me toques," you hiss and realize you're making a scene, so you rein yourself in and state in a cold tone. "I'm going home—"

"No, you're not! You're gonna come with me and you're gonna talk to me," he buffets the back of his hand into his palm, a pointed gesture to emphasize 'talk' and stands his ground when you refuse to budge. "I'm not letting you get a fucking cab. If you wanna scream at me here in the middle of the street, have at it—"

You scoff in a snit and storm past him towards his jeep, and he turns and stalks to follow you, shoulders squared and arms flexing from how hard he's clenching his fists. Once you're in the passenger seat, you slam the car door and furiously seethe while he lights a cigarette and paces the driver's side for a few seconds before steeling himself and opening the door. Once he's sitting in the driver's seat, he is glaring ahead, trying to swallow his resentment, telling himself you have the right to be angry, but a selfish part of him doesn't want to fall on his sword tonight.

Puffing his chest out, he inhales a long drag before exhaling the smoke and lowering his window to flick the cigarette out. Once he's rolled it back up, he finally looks over at you, and you're staring out the window, head turned away from him and shoulders bunched up from how furiously crossed your arms are over your chest. Just when he deliberates about reaching over and squeezing your shoulder to coax you to look at him, you let out a charged breath.

"I can't do this."

Javi bristles – anger and hurt coiling in his chest and making him feel like he's going to splinter apart. "Querida—"

"I can't do this. I feel fucking insane – like a fucking fool, and no matter how badly I want it to not matter, it does, and I can't abide it," you rush out, unwavering tone cracking as you turn and stare into his eyes and see the hurt there. They're crinkled with upset at the corners – brows drawn while he suppresses the frown that wants to twist his lips. You ache, and you're shaking with the cacophony of emotions. "That puta malparida was obviously trying to get back at you, but it doesn't change the fact I can't go anywhere without running into some woman you've been with—"

"They don't matter!" Javier barks now, upset and simmering with fury. "Whatever the fuck she said – why does it matter?! You know what I've done – have thrown it in my face plenty of times, so why the fuck does it matter when I just want to be with you?" he rails, eyes flashing with lightning as he jabs, "Why do you perpetually have to punish me for shit I did before I fucking met you?!"

"Because you've continued to do it and then tell me it doesn't fucking matter!" you bellow, boiling over now as you gesticulate in the direction of the dance club. "That skank Vanessa said you saw her a couple months ago, which means you were fucking her while you and I were together—"

"I didn't fuck her the last time I saw her or at all in a while!" he snaps and leans close, seething, "I only fucked up once, and you're not going to let me live it down. If you don't trust me and you don't want to be with me, just fucking say so—"

"That's what I'm saying, Javier!" you shout, anger winding your shoulders back as you glare at him while you scathe, "You've been angling to lay some fucking claim to me so you can what – boast about it?! Meanwhile I have to walk around with the snickering and burlas – looking like a fucking fool—"

"I don't give a fuck what people say or think! Why the fuck do you care—?!" he begins to snap.

"Why don't you care?!" you exclaim and smack your hand down on the glove compartment. "Puñeta, why don't you have the same level of self-respect and pride you do for fucking around than for your goddamned reputation?! You think I should walk around having people talk shit about me being just the latest dumb slut you're messing around with—?!"

"First off, I'd fucking deck any motherfucker who'd talk about you like that," he cuts in, pissed off beyond belief now. "Second, if I spent as much time worrying about that kind of shit as you do, I wouldn't be able to do a goddamned thing. I'm here to get a job done, and how I have to get it done most times is not something I have the luxury of being a fucking choir boy about. I will not give a fuck about anyone else's judgment," he rumbles crisply and holds your gaze. "If I'm not good enough for you—"

"¡Carajo! Why the fuck do you say something so stupid and infuriating?!" you sneer and glower at him before scoffing in frustration and snapping, "Oh my god, I am so sick of fighting in this puto car with you! I'm done. Take me home—"

"No, we're going to my place, and if you wanna spend the whole night berating me—"

"If you think I'm going there now after I had to hear how every ramera in the city has been fucked by you on your big leather couch, you are out of your fucking mind and I will get the fuck out of this puto car right now and walk home—"

"Fuck! Fine!" he bellows and slams his hands into the steering wheel with enough force to roil a shudder through the paneling. Shoving the key into the ignition, he revs the engine and peels out onto the street, and you yelp, aghast.

"Jesus Christ, Javier!" you exclaim and gape at him. "Slow down and put your seatbelt on—"

"If you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going to lose my fucking cool—" he grounds out tightly and you scoff and jerk in your seat to yank at his seatbelt and lasso it around his torso haughtily before snapping it into the buckle. The look in your eyes diffuses some of his rage, so he grunts and tugs his arm around the belt while you huff and put your own seatbelt on.

You both go swiftly silent, tension crackling like the atmosphere in the middle of a turbulent storm. He drives and keeps his glare fixed ahead, simmering and winding up with frustration while you boil with fury and clench your jaw to keep from saying anything else and grip the handrail in the door's panel, white knuckling from how hard your hand is wrapped around it. You are trembling from how livid you are, and keep replaying how he's putting this on you and your insecurities when it should be commonsense reasonableness to not want to hear prostitutes talk about your boyfriend in a fucking club.

When he stops at a light, Javier finally glances over at you, and sees how you are mad – so mad that you are vibrating from keeping yourself restrained from lashing out. He snickers, and it comes out as a morose grunt more than anything.

"Just say it. Go ahead and say it all before you combust, malcriada," he deadpans, antagonizing and glib. Your body coils, eyes narrowing rancorously and plush lips pressing together with vehemence. You are not going to take the bait. So, when you turn to glare out the passenger window, Javier sets his jaw and flippantly croons, "Oh, that's right. You're done."

Your shoulders straighten, and the line of your spine defines through the fabric of your dress, and he can feel the drop in pressure from your temper about to hit critical mass. But the light turns green, so he starts to drive when police sirens and a fleet of cop cars careen down the main avenue and cut across him. You both jolt at him slamming the brakes and watch the cars go, bemused. Javier automatically stretched his arm out to bracket you from snapping forward, and your hand flew out to grab his thigh. Both were just instinctual – hardwired inside you both, and neither of you acknowledge it after you've caught your breaths. Once he's sure he has the right of way again, he drives the main route towards your side of town, and you both go silent again, the shock seeming to cool your tempers substantially.

After he's pulled up to the curb in front of your complex, he parks and turns the ignition off as you're snapping your seatbelt off. You go to open your door and just rush out, but he grabs your forearm in a firm grip and stops you.

With a cleansing exhale, he resolves to just say it, deciding he has nothing to lose.

"I love you."

You stiffen and absorb that, but your heart has no time to wrestle free of your anger before your mind has you blurting, "That's not enough."

You feel his fingers twitch, but can't bring yourself to look at him, so you pull your arm from his grip and exit the car, slamming the door behind you and striding away with as much dignity as you can while you feel your eyes begin to burn with the welling of tears.

Javier is stunned and watches you go, completely numb and realizing this was not a tiff. He dimly registers going on autopilot and driving back to his side of town. After he's driven into his parking space below his apartment building, he sits there and replays every single way he fucked up tonight. He should've taken you somewhere else the moment he saw Vanessa – should've been honest with himself about his chances at convincing you he was worthy of your grace.

He should've realized how much it hurts you to be confronted with his callousness.

Angry, Javi storms out of his jeep and slams the door, but before he stalks off, he notices your tote in the backseat. Swearing, he opens the door, reaches in and yanks it over, scowling when he realizes he's going to have to return it to you somehow.

He can't help be curious. Unzipping it, he opens the tote and rifles through to see what you'd packed.

Inside there are several changes of clothes – not just one ensemble, like he'd expected. Next, he finds a little pouch with some travel toiletries, a hairbrush, a scrunchie, and when his fingers brush silk, he pulls out the nighty with the slit at the thigh. Heavily, Javier leans his forehead against the back of the driver's headrest as he swears. Raising the delicate garment to his nose, it smells crisp and laundered, but he can decipher the delicate edge of your scent on it, and he closes his eyes. "Fuck me," he mutters to himself before begrudgingly returning the nighty to the tote and zipping it back up.

He stows it in the trunk, away from possible prying eyes, and heads up to his apartment. He's tempted to call you, but after what you'd said, he doesn't know what he could possibly tell you that would repair things. It was like you both had gone too far – had passed the point of no return, and realized it had you going in separate directions. Unbidden, his masochistic recall snaps him back to the last fight you had in the car, when he'd railed about you going on a lunch date with Samson. Something that he'd absorbed but hadn't catalogued closely blares in his mind now.

You'd told him you didn't want to define things because you never knew where you stand – that he has women everywhere and he could change on a dime. Compounded with another recollection of you telling him that you often wonder if he'll find someone else – someone who isn't as much work or require the amount of effort you do? Javi realizes how what happened tonight hit ground zero of your insecurities, and he feels absolutely furious with himself.

If he knew you'd rushed into your apartment and immediately tossed your things down so you could sit on the cold tiled floor and dissolve into fitful tears, Javier would've cursed himself and done any kind of penance for hurting you so.

But you're not mad at him now. You're furious with yourself for pushing him away – for sabotaging your feelings over the resolute, unwavering need to be in control and untouchable. You keep seeing how hurt he looked when you snapped at him in the car, and the maddening feeling of being so in love with him that you can't let yourself be weak makes you sick with roiling self-loathing. You've ruined things – all because you're so insecure about being seen as a fool – about being just another notch on his bedpost, when really, if you really admit it, you didn't care, because you loved him and wanted – deep down – to be on a pedestal as Javier Peña's one and only beloved. To go from his solterita to the woman he loved outright.

Your heart hurts, and you only muster the strength to pick yourself off the floor, shower, and lay in your bed in the dark when you think about how you can possibly fix the damage. He didn't deserve to be berated, or for you to take out all your insecurities on him.

But then, the reproachful voice tells you: It was only a matter of time before you became too much effort to put up with…

You decide you don't deserve him. All he's done is try to win your affections, to prove himself to you – that he was worthy of your love, and you told him it wasn't enough.

Grabbing the pillow and using it to muffle your shout of frustration, you smother your tears with it before succumbing to your racking sobs and crying yourself to sleep.

You're so depressed that you spend the weekend cooped up in your apartment, in the dark. You only admonish yourself and force yourself into productivity on Sunday when you can no longer ignore the ridiculous pile of laundry. By the end of the day, you've laundered and folded everything, and mechanically set out the ironing board to work on the linen that requires steaming and pressing.

When you fish out Javier's dress shirt from the basket, you feel a pang tug at your heart. You iron it, and grumble at yourself.

"…Such a bitch…yelling at him…fucking stupid…why are you even mad…he doesn't owe you anything…"

By the time Monday rolls around, you are lethargic with your moroseness, and debate whether you could get away with calling out, but then you remember the meetings you have, and can't justify saddling Ellis with all the work. You heave yourself through your morning routine and arrive earlier than usual, and as you hone your stoic façade for a day you're not at all prepared for, you make it up to your department and walk to your desk. Ellis hasn't gotten in yet, to your surprise, seeing as he's the morning person between the two of you.

It isn't the only surprise waiting for you.

When you approach your desk, you see your travel tote left on your desk chair, mostly tucked out of sight. Your heart wrenches in your chest and drops into your stomach. You wilt, and feel your gaze tremble, the prickle of tears burning at the corners of your eyes as you snatch it up and shove it under your desk before whirling around and peering backwards, as if you'll catch a glimpse of Javi absconding away.

Your face is burning with shame, and you find yourself stalking to the ladies room down the hall and going into a stall, where you sit and sob for a few minutes before you pull yourself together. Once you've collected your wits and feel that eerie calm that comes over you after you've cried your guts out, you grab some paper towels from the receptacle and dab at your eyes, huffing at the blotchy redness and trying to rein in your emotions.

After a few minutes, you return to your desk and find Ellis at his, looking flustered. "Hey, have a nice weekend?" you attempt and quickly sit at your desk so you can turn away and not have him notice your red-rimmed eyes.

"It was, then I had to spend an ungodly amount of time in traffic thanks to a detour," he grumbles and pivots his chair to offer you a wry huff. "Yours?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a lazy shrug. "Just did laundry…" you lamely muse and fire up your laptop, wanting to focus your gaze on something else rather than the internal turmoil of replaying Javi's distraught look over and over.

"Did you hear about the latest kidnapping?"

"Hm? No, I didn't watch TV. Who this time?" you distractedly ask, typing away.

"Diana Turbay," he answers as he rifles through some documents, and you gasp and whirl around. "Seems they ambushed her and her news team on Friday night. Killed everyone – including her security, and snatched her up."

Your mind flashes to the police caravan that cut you and Javi off, and the color drains from your face. It shakes you up, and you are once again reminded of the real shit Javier has to deal with, and having you spazzing out on him is the last thing he would need to put up with – especially when he could easily spend his time with the gaggle of women who clearly would be at his every beck and call if given the chance.

You're positively miserable the rest of the day. It's a struggle to keep your aloof veneer up, and when you walk out of your last meeting, you are anxious to go home and just wallow in your sadness. Passing the hall outside of Mil Group, you remember Luke mentioning the paper targets, and decide that you'll have to bring a peace offering to the fellas at some point. As you head down to your department to grab your things, you pass someone who's running to the break room. After the siege, you get that ominous feeling, and follow. The room is filled with stragglers who haven't loped off for the day, and they're watching a news interview. It's Diana Turbay giving the terms of the negotiations for Escobar to work with the government, and you are dumbfounded by the boldness of it.

Ellis comes in and gapes. "What she saying?" he whispers to you.

"She's imploring Gaviria to negotiate with Escobar," you explain. "That he'll release a hostage as a show of good faith."

"Holy shit, the balls on that guy," he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief.

You are on autopilot now, the horrors playing out on the news bulletin numbing you to your personal drama. By the time you get home, you dispassionately toss your tote to the dresser and strip out of your work clothes. You crawl into bed and feel like a shell, empty and unfeeling.

The phone never rings, and you are mad at yourself for wishing it would. You have no right to expect Javi to call you after how you behaved. Sitting up, you force yourself to march down the hallway and pick up the phone.

You're going to call Javier and apologize to him.

That, and nothing else. Just say you're sorry, and then…go to bed.

You dial his apartment's phone number. It rings for several chimes, but no answer comes. Frowning, you remember he'd said he was going to be on assignment in Medellín this week, and you swear and hang up, realizing you'll have to call his satellite phone. However, you stand there and deliberate. He's working, after all, and it would be so presumptuous and asinine of you to call him and bother him with your stupid trifles. With a dejected sigh, you turn and go to your room, crawling under the covers and curling into a ball.

Javier spends most of the week tagging along with Search Bloc on tactical traffic stops, only to come up empty. It's easy to mask his surly, broody mood as frustration with the job, so he's spared any of Steve's prodding and is instead replaced with a reluctant concern for his partner getting twisted up himself. The sicarios had ditched the SUV's and went to ground, so just when he was losing patience and becoming increasingly worried about Steve's level of unhinged zeal, they get the call that Gaviria was allowing their aerial surveillance to go back online – in an official capacity. Keeping his mind on work is the only thing that centers him – that quells his need to call you and hear your voice. And now, with the green light to go after Escobar and nail him before the government can make good on any agreements with the bastard, he's got the temerity to keep on target.

He didn't expect to end his afternoon chasing Sureshot across an entire fucking comuna, or that he'd lose him after a fucking kid pointed a gun at him. When he retraces his steps and reunites with Steve, they hobble over to the house the sicarios had fired on them from. Seeing the baby, sitting in the middle of that carnage, was a soul-crushing moment. It winded him, shaking him to sit and war with the fury and despair so at home within him, only now it's caused by an external antagonist instead of his own personal demons.

Once they're back in Bogotá, he drives Steve back to their apartment block, pulling up to the curb and parking while his partner collects himself to walk up to his wife and hand her the orphaned little girl they'd brought back with them. She was proof of their abject failure, but her big, innocent eyes and reaching hands endeared her instantly to Steve, so at the very least she provided a whole new motivation for them both.

"You coming up?" Steve asks in a monotone once he's out of the car, little girl tucked in his arms and duffle slung over a shoulder.

Javi can't muster the effort to answer, so instead he shakes his head, and mercifully, Steve nods, understanding some implicit confidence being shared nonverbally with him and wanders up to the entryway steps. Once he's keyed into the building, Javier drives off, with no route in mind, but the horrors of the day won't leave him, and before he realizes it, he's parking and wandering across a courtyard and up steps.

You start when the knocks echo down the hall and into your bedroom. You're dazed, having been asleep for a couple of hours, according to the readout of your alarm clock, so you cautiously pad down to the front door. When you open it a crack, you're shocked to see Javier, so you undo the chain lock and open the door fully.

"Javi—?" you murmur, but stop your forming question when you register how upset he looks, and you furrow your brows as you reach for him. "Hey—"

When you touch his cheek, he shudders and practically dissolves – expression shuttering in and eyes clenching shut, so you pull him in and close the door before he pulls you into a desperate hug. You're disarmed and stunned, senses jolting at the coiled, wound up grief vibrating through him. You let him embrace you, and you gently murmur, "Are you ok?" to him as you rub his back soothingly.

"Mi amor…I'm sorry," he grouses in a low, cracking tone, and you feel wrought with concern and empathic despair, not understanding why he's so upset, let alone why he's apologizing.

You pull back and cup his face, staring openly into his sad, dark eyes and seeing the haunted look etching in his expression. With no effort, you take him to your room and sit him down before crawling next to him on the bed and pulling him into your arms. His shirt smells of musk, smoke and sweat, the hints of his cologne and masculine essence tartly warring for dominance in his scent. You caress your hand down the nape of his neck, and he crumbles when you encircle his shoulders and whisper, "It's ok…you're with me now."

He chokes on a reedy sound and embraces you so tight, burying his face in your neck and breathing through his overwhelmed, visceral reaction to the traumatic anxiety that's hitting him now, and you anchor him – pushing the volatility away and grounding him to the relief of being with you.

You hold him, kissing his sideburn and murmuring, "You want to lay with me?"

Javier nods, not trusting his voice, so you gently go to work easing him backwards into bed after you take his agent paraphernalia off and set it aside on the dresser before removing his boots. You expect him to just lie back in his clothes, but when you turn back from setting his boots aside, he's yanking his orange button shirt off his head and tossing it aside, so you help him unfasten his belt and ease out of his jeans and socks.

Once he's in his underwear, he pulls you close and starts hiking your oversized band t-shirt up, so you let him take it off and nuzzle you as he encircles your waist and holds you close. He revels in your warm skin, brushing kisses into your clavicle while you bury your fingers in his hair and soothingly comb through the dense tufts.

He lets you nudge him back onto the bed, but when you go to lie next to him, he pulls you down to rest on top of him. You adjust your arms so you can frame them around his shoulders as you gaze down at him. In the penumbra of your room, you both can still easily make out each other's features – see the light coming from the moon filtering through the window slats catch in your eyes. Javier looks so distraught, and it creates a knot of sadness in your chest.

You lean down and brush your lips against his, loving and soft as you caress his cheek.

Javier melts, breath stuttering in his chest as he wraps his arms around you possessively and kisses you with longing. You're both half-naked, with only your underwear separating you from each other's warmth and desperate desires, so when you feel him caress his hand along your backside, you sigh into his mouth and pull back, pressing your forehead to his and murmuring, "Make love to me, Javi."

He burns with something primal, sadness snapping away to instead allow his expression to etch with want. Javi rolls you onto your back and yanks your panties off, and you sit up to tug his underwear down his hips while he rushes to shuck them off and press his weight down on you, groaning when you pull him close and kiss his neck as he settles between you thighs and starts touching you.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth as he glides his thick fingers through your dampening folds, earning a jolt and needy sound from you. You grab his bicep and rut against him when he recedes his fingers from your dewy petals to replace them with the head of his cock beginning to breach your tight, dimpled entrance while his thumb trails down the soft curls of your mound before he presses over the hood of your clitoris and grinds the pad over it. Your expression lights up with pleasure as you moan and arch up against him, and Javi is so sick with yearning that he just watches you react to him thrusting through your rippling sheath, savoring your cries and how your legs clamp around his waist.

"Javi," you moan, hands gripping his shoulders and beseeching him to lean down so you can kiss him, but he suddenly bows his head and exhales a shaky breath. You feel him begin to tremble, and you realize whatever horrors he faced today are not going quiet, so with little effort, you rear up and manhandle him onto his back so you can straddle him. The surprise flashes across his expression, so you capitalize on it and sink down to the hilt on him, and he grips your thighs, moaning when your silken heaven squeezes around him. "Stay with me, Javi," you murmur incandescently to him as you press your palms to his chest and undulate your hips while clenching your floor muscles, squeezing him lusciously.

He moans your name, expression blossoming into carnal want and nothing else as you make love to him, burying pleasure in his gut like a tether that you expertly strum and pluck at with every pulse of your cunt over his throbbing cock. Javi gets caught up and lost in the desire, hands clutching at your waist as he fucks up into you when you quicken the pace of your bucking rhythm, core already coiling with desperate yearning as you watch his molten eyes fixate on you when you start coming close to climax.

Your breasts are quaking with the force of your bucking hips as you whimper prettily and bite your lip from the effort of driving yourself to slam Javi as deep as he can go in you, seeing stars burst in the backs of your eyes when you hit that devastatingly exquisite pleasure point inside yourself and begin to come.

Javier watches with devoted awe as you ride his cock until your sheath floods over and coats his throbbing length with your essence before you shake with the effort of riding him through your orgasm to coax his, moaning, "I love you, Javi. P-Please, forgive me—!"

Javier tenses and chokes on his charged exhale, overwhelmed by your petition and feeling seared to the bone by how you're making him feel. He fucks up into you with blistering need now, groaning your name over and over before slamming up into you and climaxing with a hoarse, guttural sound of completion, and you gasp as you feel him shoot his load deep, rooting his cock into you with bruising force as he pants and tosses his head back to swear, "Oh fuck!" before he feels you clench hard, humming scintillatingly from the feral sensation.

Completely spent, you hunch over him and sigh raggedly. Javier encircles you and pulls you flush against him, breasts pressing into his pectorals while he nuzzles you and exhales.

"…You didn't have to," he husks gruffly between panted breaths, hand burying in the back of your hair when you drunkenly tilt your mouth to suckle kisses into his neck.

"Oh my god, Javier. Just…listen to what I said. Please," you press before softening when you adjust to glance at him and see how conflicted he looks. "I had no right to berate you like I did. I—I was taking out my insecurities on you. You didn't deserve it. I had no right—"

"You didn't have to say it."

Shocked, Javi sees emotion crack your usually resolute façade, and when your eyes tremble, he feels bowled over, utterly overwhelmed.

"It's the truth. I love you," you confide on a shaky whisper, and when he sees you bite back the urge to cry, he can't take it anymore. He wraps his arms around you and kisses you, humming when you kiss him back with longing.

After kissing you breathless, Javi rolls you onto your back and makes love to you like a man besotted and devoted to you, yearning to make you feel a modicum of the passion he does as he drives you into an exquisite orgasm by murmuring how much he loves you – how he never wants you to hurt – how he'll always want only you.

By the time you're both drifting off in spent, sated exhaustion, you're uncaring that he might've seen the tears roll down your cheeks before you could swipe them away. Feeling him relaxed and calm in your arms, breathing soft against your neck and heartbeat synchronizing with yours, it gives you a sense of peace – free of regret. You want to give him peace, want to tug whatever horrors plaguing him away and snuff them out for him. It's what you think about when you finally doze off—

Only to have the docile tranquility shattered hours later, in the shuttering darkness when Javier is twitching and jerking in his sleep, grumbling inarticulate things when you sit up drowsily and realize you must've ended up spooning him. He's clutching his pillow, features twitching as he breathes hard, becoming suddenly fitful when his arm jerks away from where it was tucked at his waist to reach for something before he violently rears back.

You realize this is a nightmare that's ensnared him when you try to nudge him gently and murmur soothingly, only to cause him to recoil and jerk away as if he's being confronted.

"N-No! No te quiero matar—No!" he first begins to chatter before he vehemently grits the rest and shouts the latter as he jolts awake and desperately jerks up, panting shallowly, muscles bunched up and eyes wild with fear when you come to his aid, hands firmly shaking his shoulders until his wide gaze focuses in on you and he shakily exhales.

You susurrate, "It's ok. Javi, you're ok. You're with me…"

His expression crumbles at that and he buries his face into your shoulder before a reedy sob catches in his chest and he grips his arms around you desperately. Helplessly, you pull him close and hold him as he chokes back sobs, feeling his frame quake, wracked from the sheer will he's exerting to not completely splinter apart. The knot forms in the back of your throat, and you desperately shower him with kisses while you tighten your embrace around him and bury your upset to tend to his.

"Come back to me, mi amor," you murmur into his hair and feel him dissolve, becoming a heavy weight in your arms while he buries his face in your neck and just concentrates on collecting himself. You feel him take deep calming breaths, and his hands clutch around you possessively when you tightly utter, "Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo."

Javier is flooded over, overcome and vibrating with emotions. You let him come back to himself while you continue to soothingly hold him and brush kisses into his temple, the top of his head – everywhere your lips can press your love into him like a brand into his scalding skin. He doesn't know what to do, what to say when he pulls away and sits at the side of the bed, turning his back to you so he can pull himself together, dragging his forearm across his face in obvious terse mortification.

You're patient though, and you rest a hand on his shoulder, letting him know it's nothing you're going to shy away from. After a tense silence, he finally regains his complete composure and huffs at himself before glancing meekly over his shoulder.

"…I almost shot a kid today."

Your brows shift upwards, but your lips press together as you tuck your chin against your chest and your hand squeezes his shoulder. "Almost, meaning you didn't."

He blinks at you, disarmed, so you sidle closer and firmly grip his chin so he can't turn away from your earnest, resolute gaze.

"We do not have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm going to tell you this once: You are not going to get to beat yourself up in front of me. I will not abide it, Javier," you declare, eyes blazing as you see his dark-brewed depths tremble. "I love you, and I will not allow you to not love yourself – or think you don't deserve it. You do."

He can't hold your gaze, so he snakes his arm around you and tugs you close so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

It's then that he tells you what happened.

His head rests on your shoulder as he confides in a guarded baritone, divulging everything while you listen and caress your hands along his back. You are buzzing with dismay, but you swallow it down, knowing if that's how you feel, he must feel thousands of times worse. The more he tells you, the more you feel him relax in your arms, and when you say nothing after he's finished, he squeezes his arms around you.

"I shouldn't have come over—" he begins, and you hush him, adjusting to snuggle into his lap and forcefully push him onto his back.

"Nada de eso," you grumble and kiss his chest. "Just...let me make you feel good."

He doesn't say anything else, allowing you to kiss and suckle on his skin until his need is worked into a tizzy and he gathers you up and pivots to take you down into the pillows, rocking into you and moaning as his spend leaks from his ramrod cock thrusting brusquely into your aching sheath, causing you to shiver and whimper.

This coupling session is base – all about the urge, and you're content when he easily plucks a hearty orgasm from you before he barrels his into you soon after, anxiety quelled by the serotonin of reaching bliss together. Javier kisses you with gusto, enjoying how you keep chasing his lips whenever he pulls back. Once you're melted into a pliant bundle of sated desire, he cuddles you, and you fall asleep to the beat of his heart, head on his chest and arm pinning you to sidle against him.

When your alarm goes off the following morning, it's a disorienting, jarring sound after such a fitful night of rest, so you don't immediately realize something is off until after you've drowsily reached over to cease the ringing and roll over.

You reach to drape your arm around Javi's waist, and come up empty. Bemused, you shake your head clear of the exhausted fog and look around while you strain your hearing. It's when you look at your dresser and see his things are gone that you realize it:

Javier's left.

Shocked, you sit up in bed and stare about, as if not wanting to believe it, but sure enough, his clothes are gone from the floor and you don't hear any movement in the apartment. Drawing your knees up and tucking them against your chest, your muscles protest from the ache and strain, feeling sore and prickly now that your outrage begins to simmer in your chest.

You laid yourself bare to Javier in every conceivable way, divulged your love and devotion, and he…left.

The hurt wells in you fiercely, and you sit in your bed and become hollowed out by the withering pain. You don't know how long it takes, but you become numb and detached while the weight of the callous realization presses down on you.

How can you recover from being singed apart by the man you love? Was Javi rejecting you? Or…was the self-fulfilling prophecy just coming to fruition?

______________________

Read Chapter 9: Passion

Spanish-English Glossary:

Celoso = Jealous man

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Puto mujeriego = Fucking womanizer

Haz lo que te pido, amado = Do as I ask of you, beloved

Dime una cosa = Tell me something

¿Eres mío? = Are you mine?

Tan bello = So beautiful

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Solterita = Single gal; bachelorette

Estás bien guapo, chulito = You're looking real handsome, cutie

Las retiradas = the lady retirees

No te pongas celoso = Don't get jealous

Chico = Guy

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Bonita = Pretty

Papito = Daddy (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Descarada = shameless woman

Ah-hah, ni joder = Uh-huh, [I'm] not even fucking around

Bárbaro = barbarian; wild man

Chiquita = Little girl

Puta pendeja = Dumbass slut/whore

No me toques = Don't touch me

Puta malparida = Slut bitch

Burlas = Taunts

Puñeta = Puerto Rican swear word, akin to saying "Shit" or "Fuck"

¡Carajo! = Goddammit/Hell

Ramera = Prostitute

Malcriada/malcriado = brat/spoiled

sicarios = hitmen

Mi amor = My love

No te quiero matar = I don't want to kill you

Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo = You're mine. I'm not going to leave you alone

Nada de so = None of that

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

#Heat - Narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javi Peña #Javi Peña #Narcos #Narcos fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal simp in da house #pedro pascal characters #Javi Peña x Latina OFC

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

#my ocs #holy cow that took a while #how do i tag this #jilly #ciggy #kilaine #mike #thurwen #dag and thagna #caz #reila #valkya #espira #riley #herren #felria #AND THIS IS IGNORING A GOOD TEN OTHERS TOO GGSDFSDF #i have. a proble #too many!!!! #FEEl free 2 ask for more info on any :) i kno this is a lot

[ravioxhilda]

Happy Four Year Anniversary!

Wow, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is four years old already! Who would’ve thought March of 2017 was already that long ago? While I didn’t play Breath of the Wild until January of 2020, I will always be grateful for the fun times the game has given me, before and during quarantine. I have written a prompt with Mipha having amnesia and Revali helping her with it, which was meant to be short, but ended being around 4,000 words, though I hope you enjoy nevertheless!

“What has happened to my daughter?!”

Revali winced at the booming voice of King of the Zora, who was quite obviously distraught about his daughter.

Muzu, the King’s attendant, stood by his leader in the Throne Room of Zora’s Domain, the tranquil splashing of the waterfalls outside a polar opposite to the tense atmosphere within the room.

“The enemy had somehow infiltrated her mind and blocked off all of her memories with magic. We don’t...exactly know how he managed to do it, but I will help her get her memory back, whatever it takes.” He declared, glancing behind him towards the square.

Mipha was standing around looking utterly perplexed and in awe of her surroundings, which was painful for him to see as this was her beloved home she loved to sing praises for, now foreign and strange to her eyes.

King Dorephan followed his gaze towards the square and smiled sadly at the sight. How his Mipha would have loved to see Revali looking at her like that.

“Master Revali, I know you hold my daughter in high regard, but will you be able to carry through on your promise to restore her memories, if you cannot even determine what exactly has caused it?” He asked, causing Revali to snap his attention back to the problem at hand, nodding in affirmation.

“I care about her very much, I will do everything I can to bring her memory back. That is a promise.” He said, and Muzu snorted derisively.

“If anyone were to get our Lady Mipha’s memory back, it would be a Zora, not a Rito of all things.” He said, and both Revali and Dorephan glared at him, though Revali was more than willing to launch Muzu outside the Throne Room.

However, a warning look from Dorephan calmed his temper slightly, but Muzu smirked as he could see he had succeeded in riling him up.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get so flippant with our guest, Muzu. I have the utmost faith that Master Revali will restore Mipha’s memory, and we must assist in any way. Is that understood?” The King said firmly, and Muzu huffed but nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

Muzu then walked to Revali and held out his hand to him with his palm closed.

“This item here is an heirloom that has long been treasured by our kind, used as an engagement ring for the Zora Princess to her beloved in times past. Lady Mipha has been tinkering with it for quite a long while, so while it may not restore her memory fully, it may bring back a small portion.” He said, opening his palm to allow Revali to take the item.

Revali examined it closely, the heirloom turning out to be a gemstone, or three, as there were three pentagon-shaped sapphires connected by gold, the sunlight reflecting off the gems much like the sun reflects off the surface of the water.

He felt a soothing sensation emanating from the object as though he was being wrapped in a comforting hug, which made him desperately wish that he could hug Mipha right at that moment.

“Do you know what Mipha was doing with this?” Revali asked, and Dorephan shook his head sadly.

“I do not. She has had it for months after she disassembled the Zora Armor, though I know not why she has been focused on it. Perhaps she will tell you one day if she ever regains her memory.” He said sadly, Revali nodding as he pocketed the Zora Sapphire and bowed.

“I won’t let you down, Your Majesty.”

He then left the Throne Room, allowing Muzu the chance to huff as he walked out.

“Are you sure it is wise to allow a Rito of all people to help our dear Princess? She would be in better hands of a fellow Zora than an outsider.” Muzu said though Dorephan waved him off.

“My daughter loves that Rito with all her heart, regardless of whether or not she is ready to admit it. He may be the person she needs in her life to finally give her what she deserves, and will support any choice she makes. It is for the good of our people, Muzu.”

Revali soon arrived at the square where Mipha was waiting, Princess Zelda and Link beside her to make sure she didn’t wander off.

They both perked up when Revali arrived, though Mipha simply stared at him blankly with no recognition in her gaze, which sent a cold needle through Revali’s heart.

“What did the King say?” Zelda asked, and Revali sighed as he pulled out the Zora Sapphire from his pocket.

“He had me promise to restore Mipha’s memory, and his attendant gave me this,” Revali said, holding out the stone for Link and Zelda to examine.

“I cannot say for sure where I have seen this, but the shape is oddly familiar. Did they tell you anything about it?” She asked, holding the Sapphire to the sun as if the radiant light shining down upon them would give them the answers they needed.

“Only that it used to be what the Zora Princesses in the distant past used to propose and that Mipha has been messing with it in some way. Do you believe any of that information is relevant?” He asked as Zelda handed him back the Sapphire, though her thoughts seemed to be running rapidly in her mind.

“I do believe that information may have some relevancy, but I wouldn’t show it to her now. It is clear that she must have some sort of strong emotional attachment to this artifact, and we cannot risk stressing her brain when it is under the effect of such potent magic. Purah and Robbie are working on technology to restore her memory, though it may take quite a while.”

Revali sighed dejectedly as he pocketed the stone, turning instead to face Mipha, the one he cared so much for not even able to recognize his face anymore.

“Mipha?”

She turned to look blankly at him, though her face held no recognition.

She felt as though this place she was in was...familiar, though she couldn’t quite place why, and the people around her seemed familiar as well, especially the blue-feathered one that stood before her.

The Zora supposed that Mipha was her name, but no recollection of any of the other’s names came to mind, not even with the overwhelming feeling of familiarity towards them all.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” She asked politely, and Revali could have smiled at the fact that even though she may not have her memories, her sweet graceful nature was still present.

“No, nothing is wrong, but do you recognize this place at all? Do you recognize any of us?” He asked, and Mipha shook her head sadly as a feeling of guilt began to form, weighing down her heart.

“This place does seem...familiar, but I know not why, and I know that I feel very strongly about this place and you three, but the reasoning escapes me. I apologize for not knowing more.” She said, Zelda and Revali looking at each worriedly before Zelda placed a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring expression upon her face.

“It is alright if you cannot remember, it is not your fault. We’ll be here to help you, I swear.”

Zelda then turned to speak with Revali, holding out the Sheikah Slate to him.

“Link and I must return to Hyrule Castle to speak with Robbie and Purah and see if they have made any progress with restoring Mipha’s memory. Will you be alright in taking care of Mipha until we return?” Zelda asked worriedly, Revali waving a wing to brush off any concern.

“Princess, I know Zora’s Domain as well as my own home, and Mipha even better. I’ll do my best to show her any places that may jog her memory and that she doesn’t get killed in the process by the monsters around here.” He said reassuringly, though it did little to ease Zelda’s worries but she nodded nevertheless.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can. Take her to any places you think may displace the magic infecting her brain and restore her memories.”

Zelda then reached out to tap away at the Sheikah Slate, and within the blink of an eye, Zelda and Link were gone, transported away by the stone tablet’s mysterious technology.

Revali was relieved he didn’t have to travel by Sheikah Slate at that moment. While Zelda had sworn up and down that utilizing the ancient tech was the best way to keep the enemy on their toes, Revali much preferred to travel by his own two wings.

He turned to see Mipha staring placidly at him, causing him to sigh as he hooked the Sheikah Slate onto his waist. There was no doubt in his mind that restoring her memories would take some time and serious effort, so he decided it would be best to start right away.

“Mipha, I’m going to show you around Zora’s Domain, and you can meet everyone here and see the sights. How does that sound?” He asked, causing her to raise her hand to her chin as a show of thought, which Revali had always found so endearing, happy to see that particular mannerism hadn’t faded.

“That sounds...interesting. Where did you want to take me first?” She asked, and Revali thought for a moment, before pointing towards the Throne Room.

“It is customary for any guests to Zora’s Domain to meet with King Dorephan. Perhaps we should start there?”

Mipha nodded with a small smile on her face as she held out her hand to Revali, an impulse that she hadn’t even thought about, but it felt...right.

“Shall we go then?” She felt herself asking, Revali staring at her with a moment of shock. She hadn’t reached out to him since losing her memories, but here she was, smiling at him with her hand outstretched.

He returned the smile and gently took ahold of her hand, the both of them feeling a bit more at ease once they touched.

“Of course, My Lady.”

~~~

The entire day at Zora’s Domain had been spent with Revali showing Mipha around, her eyes taking in all the wonder of a home she did not remember.

If one did not know better, it may have seemed that the Zora Princess and the Rito Champions were merely sightseeing all around Lanayru, in the way they carried a conversation with seemingly little effort, even with Mipha’s memories gone.

Mipha looked around their surroundings, the area so achingly familiar but yet the reasoning why was out of reach, how she so wanted to know why she knew this place.

However, she couldn’t complain about holding the strange blue-feathered one’s wing, the feathers plush against her palm as he led around, acting as a sort of guide for her, which she was grateful for.

The two had soon descended the pathway from Zora’s Domain and were met by a pack of pesky Lizalfos roasting fish over a fire by the river.

Revali had dispatched of them easily with his bow, displaying marksmanship that Mipha had never seen before, and while she wanted to congratulate him on his obvious skill, she still could not quite figure out his name and did not want to ask him, lest she make things awkward between them.

The two Hylians that had spoken with her a few hours before were friendly towards her, though both of them seemed quite awkward for a reason she could not quite pinpoint, and the others the feathered one had mentioned had yet to show themselves.

Revali looked back at Mipha to see her staring at him with awe, a look he would never get tired of seeing from anyone, but was slightly relieved to see it from her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, Mipha nodding, her face starting to grow warm as he looked at her with that smile. She had a feeling she had felt this way before about him, but when?

“I-I’m fine. Thank you...for defending me.” She mumbled, causing Revali to smirk as he placed his bow back on his back. Her personality from before was shining through, he could tell.

“I was glad to be of assistance, My Lady. Shall we be on our way?” He asked though something had caught Mipha’s eye, passing by Revali as she reached out towards it.

One of the fallen Lizalfos had been brandishing a Zora Spear as its weapon, and though Mipha did not know why, she felt a connection to the weapon, as though she and it were one and the same.

She picked it up from the ground, marveling at the spear’s beauty and elegance as she ran her hand up the long metal pole that made up the majority of the weapon.

“What is this?” She asked, and Revali grinned as he saw her examining the weapon closely. It seemed that even with a wiped memory, her love for spear fighting could never be erased.

“That is a Zora Spear, a weapon typically used by those in the Zora Guard, albeit low-ranking soldiers. What do you think of it?”

She turned away from the spear and smiled at Revali once more, clutching tightly onto the weapon in her hand, as if she was afraid that if she let go of the weapon, it would just disappear.

“It is magnificent. I believe I’ll hold onto it, at least for now. Who knows what other monsters we may encounter?” She said and though it was a sound argument, Revali wondered if she remembered how to use the spear from years of fighting with her trident, or if she did indeed just think it was pretty.

“That is a good idea. Here, I know of one last place I can take you, it has the most widespread view of Lanayru that you will ever see.” He said, kneeling onto the ground, though Mipha was slightly confused.

“What would you like me to do?” She asked, and Revali sighed as he held out his wing to her.

“I’m going to fly us there. Is that alright, My Lady?”

Mipha nodded hesitantly, placing the spear in a holster on her back and took his wing, allowing him to pull her closer though he let go as he instructed her on how to position herself and where to hold onto him. She did it with ease as if she had gone through this process so many times.

“Are you ready?” Revali asked as he looked behind him to see Mipha still shifting around on his back before settling into place and nodding.

“I am. Let’s go.”

Revali nodded in affirmation, pressing his wings firmly into the ground to activate his Gale, before pushing off and launching the both of them in the air.

He felt Mipha scream as she held tightly onto him, and he felt as if he was having a flashback to the first time he had taken her flying.

Mipha was terrified out of her mind from the sudden jump into the mid-air, the only comfort being to bury her face in the Rito’s neck, the feathers providing her a slight escape from the high drop beneath her.

Revali supposed that it would make sense that amnesiac Mipha would be more scared than the Mipha he had known, she had trusted him to not drop her but that was formed over time, which he and the Mipha now did not have anymore.

She wasn’t panicking though, which Revali was appreciative for. A flailing passenger was the last thing he needed, but her silence worried him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and Mipha nod against his neck as she cautiously lifted her head from where she was hiding, suddenly in awe of the view.

“I’m...fine. This region is so beautiful, how did you know it was here?” She asked, and Revali looked away, a sad look upon his face.

“I knew it because...you invited us all here before, me, Daruk, Urbosa, Zelda, Link, to help defend it against Calamity Ganon. I was in awe of how beautiful it was, and I thought...even though you don’t have your memories, you’d still like to see what your home looks like.”

Mipha looked at him worriedly as she buried her face again into his neck.

The two soon arrived at the top of the highest point in Lanayru: Ploymus Mountain.

Revali softly landed on the ground, allowing Mipha to change clamber off his back, though she seemed to hesitate as she did. Something was wrong with this place, but she did not yet know why.

Revali sensed something was off as well, causing him to pull out his bow from its holster into his hands, just in case something amiss did occur.

“Here, the edge of the mountain is just a little ways away. I didn’t want to get too close to the edge so we landed here instead.” He said, and Mipha nodded.

“Of course, that is sensible. Could you...lead the way? I have a feeling I’ve been here before, but something feels wrong. Perhaps I’m just imagining things?” She said nervously, pulling out her spear and holding onto the handle tightly, afraid that someone would attack.

“Alright then. Follow me.” Revali said as he began walking towards the main part of the mountain, Mipha trailing behind him.

Shock arrows were lodged in trees, rocks, even the ground, small sparks of electricity crackling around the magical tip of the arrow.

Suddenly, Mipha felt a memory slip in between the cracks, and she suddenly realized why the place felt wrong.

“Look out!” She yelled, and Revali turned to see a Lynel aiming an arrow directly at his chest. He cursed to himself for being so careless, how could he have forgotten there was a Lynel?

“Mipha, get away from here! This thing has shock arrows!” Revali yelled, nocking an arrow in his bow and launching it at the Lynel.

The Lynel stumbled back as it howled in pain as the arrow landed in its head, causing it to drop the Shock Arrow it was about to shoot at Revali, though it immediately readied another arrow.

Mipha could only stare in shock as Revali launched himself into the air, shooting flurries of arrows at the beast, somehow managing to dodge each arrow that went arcing through the air straight at him.

Every cell in her body was telling her to run, to get away from the electricity-wielding monster because she knew that one shot from it would prove to be fatal.

But she couldn’t just leave him. He meant something to her, but she didn’t know why. She so desperately wished she knew why.

A name came to her suddenly, with a kind smile and those green eyes looking back at her so endearingly. Those feathered wings holding her close as she felt tears run down her face, him whispering to her that everything would be alright, that he would always be there for her.

“Revali!”

Revali froze, turning to see Mipha reaching out her hand towards him, but he could still hear her voice calling his name in his head, reverberating and bouncing around. He was shocked.

“You...you remember my name?” He asked, and Mipha nodded hesitantly, the way he was looking at her making her feel all warm inside.

However, the Lynel saw Revali’s distraction as an opening and charged forward at full force, its sword ready to strike.

Revali heard the triumphant howl of the Lynel and could only watch in horror as it ran towards him, its sword aimed at his head.

“No!”

As if it was slow motion, Mipha ran past him with her spear raised, holding the pole between her and the beast, leaving Revali in shock.

Revali saw something shining in his pocket, pulling it out to reveal the Zora Sapphire, and he could see that Mipha was slightly glowing.

However, the Lynel was still barreling at them so he pocketed the stone once again, though he made a note to ask Mipha about it later.

“Mipha, what are you doing? This thing could kill you in five seconds just by shooting you with a Shock Arrow. It’s too dangerous!” Revali demanded as the Lynel slammed down on the pole, its curved sword trapped around the thin pole.

Mipha used the moment of weakness and pushed all her strength into pushing the spear towards the Lynel, causing it to stumble backward as it lost balance from being shoved so suddenly.

“If you think that I would abandon you while we’re facing a Lynel, then you would be terribly wrong. I’m not leaving you behind.” Mipha said, twirling her spear until the pointed tip of the weapon was aimed at the Lynel.

Revali smiled as he readied three arrows and nocked them in his bow as the Lynel regained its balance, quite angry that its target was taken from it by a tiny Zora.

“Did you regain your ability to fight, because your spear-wielding skills would be quite nice right about now?” Revali asked, and Mipha grinned and nodded.

“I never lost the ability to fight, my mind may have taken all my memories away but it could never take my spear fighting away. You cover me while I try and find its weak point and not get shot by Shock Arrows. Keep it distracted.” Mipha ordered, and Revali grinned as he knelt to ready his Gale.

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” He said with a smirk, waiting for Mipha’s signal.

She made eye contact with him and nodded before speeding towards the Lynel, Revali already up in the air and circling above her.

Revali had already begun raining down arrows upon the Lynel, though allowing enough time for Mipha to zip in between them and end up underneath the belly of the beast, a very dangerous place to be while fighting a Lynel.

The Lynel itself was not happy about being shot at with arrows and readied its own bow to shoot at Revali. However, Mipha aimed her spear upwards and thrust the weapon into its stomach, causing it to howl in pain once again as it dropped its bow.

Mipha pulled the spear from the Lynel’s body and ran out from underneath its body before she could get stomped by its hooves, though it allowed Revali the perfect time to aim his bow and shoot a bomb arrow at its head.

The arrow exploded as soon it landed in the Lynel’s head and when the smoke cleared, the beast had already begun dissolving into a pool of Malice, a defeated look upon its face before it disappeared completely.

Mipha could only stare in shock at what she had done as Revali cautiously landed beside her, though it wasn’t because of the now-dead Lynel.

“Mipha?”

She turned to see Revali standing beside her, though he seemed a little nervous.

“Revali, is something wrong?” She asked, and he nodded hurriedly, though she could see tears welling up in his eyes before he quickly wiped them away.

“Did you...did you regain your other memories?” He asked, and Mipha thought for a moment before sadly shaking her head.

“I have not regained memories about anything else, but I remember some things about you.” She said softly, reaching her hand out to him as he pulled her towards him, as though this was something that came naturally to them. Perhaps it was.

“What do you remember about me?” He whispered, and Mipha giggled as she placed her arms around his neck as he held her up closer to him.

“I remember that you are the greatest archer in this entire kingdom, even better than Link, and that you would always take any chance to show it. I remember you care so deeply about your home and our fellow Champions, even though you never showed it or expressed it directly. I remember that I have been working to imbue my healing power within a Zora treasure from ages past to help you in times of need. But I also remember one more thing.”

Revali shuddered as he could feel her breath tickling his skin even through his feathers, her voice giving him butterflies.

“And what is that?” He asked, and Mipha smiled as she moved back enough to look him into the eyes, placing both her hands on both sides of his face, wiping away the tears from his face.

“I remember that I love you, with all my heart and everything in my being.” She said, leaning upwards to kiss the tip of his beak, though Revali was shocked.

He had never expected to hear those words from anyone in his life, but here Mipha was, saying what he had always desperately wanted to hear.

“I love you, too.”

#miphvali #mipha #revali #revamiph #mipha x revali #revali x mipha #happy anniversary #happy breath of the wild anniversary

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 110: The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

After all the general crashing, smashing, and cursing wore off, it was nice to find themselves in a normal part of the castle such as the staff room. A game of chess had been interrupted by Frank, and all the pieces were yelling at him for it, cloaks were hung over the back of a few chairs, a stack of books anyone would peg to be McGonagall's had been overturned, and Professor Sprout had apparently been in the middle of grading a few assignments upon their entrance. Someone had even been reading the paper, Frank noticed as Alice picked up the copy with today's date. He shooed away a pawn that was still berating him and went over to see it had been covering the book, but as he picked it up he looked sharply at her instead as she gasped loud enough to drown out everybody else's mutterings.

Without prompting she read out Umbridge's new position as Hogwarts High Inquisitor, and just what exactly that was. By the end all of them had a nasty pit in their stomach, and Frank was gripping the book like it had toad slime covering it. She'd only been there one week and already had equal power to the Headmaster? What madness was this?

Sirius watched in disgust as Longbottom read the chapter title as repeat of that stupid self-imposed ruling from the toad, but announced the article was read by Harry himself and was forced to reread it, as they all knew the book wouldn't let them skip. It sounded no better the second time, like a worm digging in one ear and down the throat, but sadly gave Sirius's mind a chance to wander and go back to watching Regulus with deep contemplation.

He was chasing the lost chess pieces around, and finally came up with all the white ones, offering Peter a game, who instantly agreed. He watched the two walk away, that pit in his stomach growing.

Some instinct still wanted to go over there and stop this before it went any farther. Logic told him that these two had ended up being Death Eaters without the others' influence, wouldn't them hanging out just fast forward that process?

Then he watched Regulus laugh again, and Peter actually smiled with a kind of pride Sirius couldn't claim to have ever seen.

This whole experience had gone from weird, to kind of cool, to horrifying, to traumatizing, to now just kind of, common place. The last time he'd thought about dealing with Regulus in any capacity had been ages ago now, the Marauders' own business being blown up and finally settling into an uneasy agreement had pushed his brother far from his mind, but now watching the two, he was kicking himself more than ever for it all.

Even being forced into his company Sirius had never properly reached a hand out to Regulus, as Peter himself had once so eloquently put it. He'd begun thinking of his dorm mates as his brothers by the end of second year, and third year had all but confirmed it by the time Regulus walked into school. Peter had even sort of absently replaced Regulus in his mind, the kid brother he could give shit to but nobody else in the world could. James was his equal now, the first to turn to when he had a problem and always had a good solution. Remus even had Regulus' biting sarcasm that he wouldn't let anyone see but his real friends, otherwise he was the face of cool and calm. He'd finally admit to himself watching them now he could have two baby brothers, right?

"Padfoot?" James hopped up on the table beside him where he'd landed and never moved, watching his line of sight. He tried to hide his unease Sirius was scrutinizing the pair again. If Sirius went off again about trying to get them to stay apart, James had no idea how he could step in and stop any of it. He still found it weird himself, but neither was doing any real harm. If anything, James would have to admit the two always seemed in a better mood hanging out with each other.

"It's not too late for us, right James?" He asked quietly, eyes on Moony now as he went over to the cupboard and rubbed his hand thoughtfully along it. Harry and Ron had once hid inside it and listened to the devastating news of Ginny's death and had saved her life in impossible odds.

"No," James said instantly, even if he still wasn't entirely sure what Sirius was getting at. He, as usual, was watching Evans, sitting by Longbottom's feet with Alice and the two whispering suspiciously as Harry's lessons went through without Umbridge, yet, in History of Magic and Potions, though the later of which was still a miserable experience for all.

She hadn't defended Snivellus in some time now, he'd very pleasantly noted, and in fact as talk turned to OWL grades she hadn't even glanced up at the book through the whole class. Maybe she was finally starting to see the git he was?

Then, as the twins arrived, her eyes flickered to him and away so fast, he'd swear his eyes were playing tricks on him. She still thought he was like them, only a troublemaker and nothing more.

He didn't want to open up his own prank shop though. While a worthy cause he'd invest in, he had other goals and aspirations for his life. He'd walked away from his career advice even nurturing the idea of being an Auror. Surely she'd see that as a good thing?

"We've always made our own future," James said practically, now grinning at Moony who was hovering as close to the three as he dared, clearly very invested in this whole teacher grading outcome. None of them acknowledged him, which in itself was a kindness to the fear-filled looks he was probably expecting. "I say we keep doing that."

"Yeah?" Sirius sounded a bit hopeful now. James grinned as he shook his shoulder for emphasis.

"Yeah. You're a bloody impulsive idiot, and I'd never change that, but maybe next time you lay into them, just, think about how bad you felt last time?" He felt stupid putting it as a question, but it was more than obvious Sirius felt bad for something regarding those two in particular. The list of reasons that could be wasn't exactly short, but when James tore his eyes back away to see Sirius honestly considering his words and eyes back on Regulus and Peter, he put it together with Sirius's reaction to Percy's letter.

Sirius wanted to make amends to the two, and he didn't want it to get ripped up in his face.

He tore his eyes away from their game, Peter was winning, and grinned at him. "And you Prongs? Going to put all that practice of annoying Evans finally sink in and try something else?"

"I might," he said honestly, going in vivid detail in his mind over all the times he'd interacted with her, specifically the ones where she hadn't started calling him an arrogant birk. The ones that stuck out were when he'd stopped trying to make her laugh, oddly enough, but had just talked to her. How strange. "Worth a shot."

The two were interrupted by the book, as Umbridge entered Trelawney's class.

"Bet you a galleon someone's going to walk away from this dead," James said uneasily.

Sirius wasn't taking that bet, this was definitely going to be a horror show. It started out memorable enough for sure, Harry giving Ron the task to analyze his dream about drowning Snape gave everyone a grim laugh, even if Lily would deny any such thing. Then Umbridge started asking some routine questions that quickly devolved into Trelawney's shriek of insolence that she could not See upon command. The spectacle finally ended with Trelawney's dour announcement that Harry was to die, again, and honestly it hadn't been as bad as they thought.

"Can I still get that galleon?" Sirius asked.

"No," James huffed.

Umbridge's own lesson in fact ended up being worse, as it ended with Harry in another detention! James snarled in disgust, his hand itching to go for his wand and suspend this woman up by her ankle and leave her there for eternity if she kept doing this to his kid! Sirius was so outraged he stood up on the desk and began shouting several expletives, while Lily let her face fall into her hands. She couldn't stop herself hearing this, but she couldn't keep watching.

"I can't help but be rather impressed with him," Peter said quietly to Regulus as he watched Sirius's face start turning colors. "A lesser man would have backed down after what Harry went through, this kid's still pushing her."

"Being an idiot about it though," Regulus corrected, also frowning in concern at his brother. "You really think getting detentions would change anything but make her happier? Harry would be better off finding some other way to fight back than bowing down." He preferred the idea of getting in her good graces and destabilizing her from the inside.

"It's not as if the Order is exactly sharing how to do that," Peter disagreed, but he could definitely see Regulus's point. Both of them were very aware that if Umbridge were here now, it would be Sirius and James in those detentions and not them.

"Hopefully someone will come up with a better answer for Harry then," Regulus muttered, or the people listening to this were probably going to break the sound barrier first.

Their game forgotten, the two cringed into their seats until Remus finally came over and convinced Sirius to stop threatening for a few breaths or they'd never hear the end of it. Harry's new Quidditch captain and even McGonagall adding insult to injury was improving no one's mood though.

Still, it was nice to see Sirius's temper lash out at someone else for a change, Peter and Regulus even found themselves smiling a bit as the three's not so quiet mutters of what kind of pranks they'd be doing to that Umbridge filtered in the room.

Lily found herself listening grimly to the lot rather than Umbridge and McGonagall's back and forth. It deeply bothered her she found no ill will for listening in detail to their horrible pranking, but was she any better when she'd just been imagining slipping in a slow-acting poison into her next meal?

At least she'd only been imagining it...right? She warred with herself just how far she'd go to put a stop to this, if her own hand was being cut open, if some little first-year's was. The idea of having children was still above her, but she wouldn't deny she felt protective of Harry enough she wasn't going to stop the Marauders if they got the chance of meeting her any time when they got back.

It didn't make their vile ways of doing these kinds of things to anyone that annoyed them any better, especially Sev, but this was also not the first time she understood why they did it. It scared her just as much as her own wavering answer she realized she was actually starting to understand those idiots.

Frank found that things only continued to get worse as Umbridge followed Harry to his next class, Care of Magical Creatures. When Harry was given yet another detention for defending Hagrid from Malfoy's past stupid mistake, he had to fight the urge to join in with Lily this time as she cursed vividly, though not as loudly as Black started doing all over again.

This was beyond disgusting, his Mum would never stand for this happening in Hogwarts! Then Frank looked miserably at Lily, and glanced sadly at the godfather, and reminded himself Harry didn't have anyone to really go to this with.

When Hermione brought up the subject of them just learning Defense Against the Dark Arts straight from Harry, he and Alice exchanged another terrified look. It was such a singular moment to them, they didn't even register anyone else's reaction, this was their own bubble of worry.

Neither had spoken of it because the book itself hadn't, but what if Neville started getting these detentions as well? Was Harry the only one here? Doing this to him was bad enough they already wished someone would step in, but it seemed a disaster waiting to happen if Neville, Ron, Hermione, those twins, and a host of other students were to join Harry.

Frank still remembered Luna Lovegood and Ernie Macmillan declaring themselves publicly believing Harry, and he fidgeted with unease if Harry would still think he was in the right if those around him started suffering his same punishment.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #OotP #Wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Marauders #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Frank Longbottom #alice Smith #Lily Evans

[rengonemad]

5 Scars, 1 Decision to Heal

This is a gift for Dami over at the KakaGai Hell Discord! I hope you enjoy! >.<  Rating: General Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Maito Gai (can be read platonic or as the prelude to romance) Warnings: None, Read More is just for length Word Count: 2k

5 Times Gai made Kakashi consider Scars, and 1 Time Kakashi Understood

1. 

The first time Kakashi heard hushed respect in his father’s voice, they were in the presence of Sarutobi Hiruzen. That made sense, Kakashi thought: he was a man famed as the Sandaime, the Professor, the strongest shinobi in Konoha, and the student of both the First and Second Hokages. If there was anyone that the legendary White Fang would respect, it would be Sarutobi Hiruzen. 

The second time Kakashi heard hushed respect in his father’s voice, it was quite different. He was about to start at the Academy and a bruised and scarred kid in a green bodysuit was thanking Kakashi for an insult. 

“At this rate, this kid could become even stronger than you.” Sakumo said quietly, his palm a heavy weight on Kakashi’s head. 

Kakashi didn’t understand. The kid was weak. Not only had he been rejected from the Academy even though he looked a little older than Kakashi, but he was covered in dirt and abrasions. That meant he was weak enough to get hurt, and stupid enough not to hide it.

Kakashi asked for the kid’s name anyway. If his father respected these people, then Kakashi could do that much. 

It didn’t make sense, but Kakashi trusted his father. 

He trusted his father when he suggested Kakashi make Gai his rival. He trusted his father when he said that Sarutobi Hiruzen was a great man. He trusted his father when he said that Kakashi shouldn’t worry about him—that Sakumo was fine, even if it looked like he hadn’t left his bed since Kakashi left for his mission five days earlier. Even if the dishes were molding and Kakashi heard whispers about the White Fang, about his fall from grace—

Kakashi trusted his father. 

He did, until there was no more father to trust. 

Maito Dai and Maito Gai were the only people who attended Hatake Sakumo’s funeral. 

They cried more than Kakashi did.

Two weeks later, Kakashi moved out of Hatake Estate and into a chūnin barrack. It was a cramped, one-room affair, but that meant it was easier to clean. 

Most importantly, it didn’t have blood-stained tatami. 

It didn’t have any scars.

2.

The first time Kakashi got a scar that couldn’t be hidden by clothes, he got a sharingan and ninety-eight pounds of guilt to go with it. 

They were all signs of his weakness. Signs of his failures. 

But that didn’t mean he was willing to get rid of them. 

The Uchiha petitioned for the removal of Kakashi’s sharingan. There was no proof it had been given willingly, Fugaku said. (Disregarding the fact that not only was Rin a witness, but that the Yamanakas could have proven it from both of their memories if necessary.) It was sacrilege for a kekkei genkai to be wielded by someone outside of the clan. (The entire notion of shinobi having honor was questionable, in Kakashi’s humble opinion.) Keeping a kekkei genkai without a matching bloodline would kill the host by chakra drain—

—that part actually had some validity. Kakashi nearly died of chakra drains three times in that first year, before he finally figured out exactly how far he could push himself, how to recognize the warning signs when the sharingan began to consume more than Kakashi had to give. Effectively losing an eye meant an imbalance in depth perception and narrowed field of vision, both of which were easily deadly for a shinobi. Reading gave him a skull-splitting headache for the first two months, and his handwriting suddenly went from precise to nearly illegible and always slanted at an angle no matter how he turned his head. 

Rin looked at him differently, too. Even with one eye, Kakashi could tell. Her smiles were brittle. They shattered the moment she looked away. 

She often looked away. 

The scar was a sign of his weakness. The sharingan, a mark of his greatest mistake. 

It was a mark he deserved to bear. 

3.

Gai wouldn’t leave Kakashi alone.

Part of that was probably Kakashi’s fault; Maito Dai didn’t leave a body behind, but Gai held a private funeral for him anyway. Kakashi was the only one to attend. 

Over the next few years, Gai kept accumulating scars—some of them drawn by Kakashi’s own hand. They never tried to seriously injure each other—if weapons were involved, they fought until one part was disarmed or forced to concede. If taijutsu was the arena, then a successful pin for five seconds constituted a win. Kakashi never used fatal ninjutsu techniques. 

But accidents happened. Sometimes Gai didn’t dodge as quickly as Kakashi thought he would. Not hurting Gai in those instances became part of Kakashi’s practice, although not one he ever told his “Eternal Rival”. Gai’s ego wasn’t as untarnishable as he claimed it to be.

Gai’s scars steadily grew in number, overtaking his body with rough lines and calloused flesh. Kakashi’s own scars were fewer in number, but they, too, accumulated as the years passed. 

Their scars were different. Gai’s were a show of his dedication, the effort he put into perfecting something that no one thought possible of him. 

Kakashi’s laced his skin with memories that couldn’t be shut out. 

4.

When they were seventeen, Gai got rejected. He had brought her dozens of bouquets, composed entire sonnets, exclaimed about her to Kakashi every rare chance he got. Apparently, she said he was too much for her. Kakashi could see her point, but Gai really didn’t deserve the daffodils thrown back in his face. 

Gai only mourned for one day before he got up again, the same as at the end of any fight, and poured his sweat and tears into taijutsu. He used that motivation to master the fifth gate. 

Two months later, he was interested in another girl. He courted her with exactly the same amount of gusto as he had the first time around. This girl accepted. When she broke up with him politely two months later, Gai was still certain that true love existed, and absolutely willing to have his heart broken a million times over in order to find it.

Kakashi pretended to read while listening to his rants. He pretended to read while Gai sobbed in passion or mourning. He pretended to read while watching how the accumulating scars on tanned skin never reached Gai’s humongous, tender heart. 

Kakashi pretended that he didn’t think Gai was just as cool as he was ridiculous. 

5.

The first time Kakashi saw Gai truly affected by a scar, it wasn’t his own. 

Rock Lee was probably the first person in the world (other than Hatakes) who truly respected Gai. Unfortunately, while Lee and Gai’s ostentatious personalities, bullheaded stubbornness, large hearts, and bushy eyebrows all gave them obvious similarities, there were important points in which the two differed.

Those points led to Lee’s self-destruction.

While Lee had grown up in peacetime, with romantic dreams of shinobi and what it meant to be one, Gai had been faced with the stark reality of it from the earliest time he could remember. 

Gai understood consequences, and he understood how to judge an acceptable loss—at least, most of the time. Gai had known death firsthand before even leaving the Academy, and had seen his own father make the ultimate sacrifice of the eighth gate. He understood risks, and he had the ability to weigh them, whether most people realized that or not. 

Yet, Gai gave such tremendous power as the gates to a child who was full of more idealism than reason, more impulse than temperance. He gave that power to a boy who certainly would one day become a fine shinobi, but who had never seen death or destruction or the scars shinobi so often didn’t survive. Gai gave that power to a child who had never had anything more precious on the line than his own pride—and Lee suffered a powerful price for it. 

Kakashi couldn’t be beside Gai for those early days after Lee’s injury, because Gai wasn’t the only one who had make a mistake. Instead, Kakashi spent weeks sleeping for mere minutes at a time on a sheer rock face, training himself and his own childish student—one who had seen far more than many full-grown shinobi ever did—in the vain hope that they would both survive whatever Orochimaru would bring them next.

He thought that Sasuke’s past would teach him how to use his power well. Naively, Kakashi thought he had chosen better than Gai, that Sasuke wouldn’t suffer the same consequences.

He was wrong.

Kakashi and Gai had both failed their students—but Gai’s was an error of judgement, one in which he had placed his own history and capabilities onto a kid that wasn’t quite ready.

It took less than two months for Kakashi to realize his own error had been far worse. His own error had been one of the heart: specifically, of neglecting Sasuke’s. 

By then, it was too late.

The most painful scars, Kakashi knew by that point, were the ones he could only see, and do nothing to heal.

+1

Four years later, scars mottled the Earth itself. Konoha carried more than her share of them. Even months after Pein’s attack, rubble stood in half the districts and gouges were still being filled in with dirt and cement. Tenzō had long since erected temporary and permanent structures for the village’s basic needs, but post-war, there were too many necessities and not enough resources to allocate to them. One of the only projects completed during the first few months of the Rokudaime’s tenure was an additional ward to the hospital, designated for rehabilitating physically debilitated shinobi. 

No one had come out of the Fourth Shinobi War without a scar. Some of them were simply more noticeable than others.

“Doesn’t the Hokage—” Gai wheezed as he struggled to pull himself into an upright position in the hospital bed. Kakashi remained by the window, listening to the sound of hammers banging in the distance. He knew better than to offer help for something Gai could do himself—no matter how much time, and pain, it could cost him. “Have better things to waste his time on than—visiting an old rival?”

“I’m hiding,” Kakashi shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder to see Gai’s expression. “Maa, no need to look so disapproving. It’s only until I make a decision.” He held a palm up in pacification. “I promise I’m not shirking my duties.”

“Ah.” Gai nodded wisely, but his voice was breathy, hoarse despite the water bottle he had already half-drained. “I have—every faith you’ll make the best choice!”

With entirely burnt chakra pathways, Kakashi could only imagine the pain and fatigue Gai was going through—at least a dozen-fold what Kakashi himself had ever experienced with the sharingan. It was a miracle he was talking at all. 

Well—not a miracle. Gai’s strength wasn’t the gift of any God. 

It was something he had formed himself.

“You still have faith, Gai?” Kakashi murmured. “Even after all this?”

Gai’s bushy brows descended towards the center, the corners of his lips tugging down as well to form a frown. He was always sharper than people knew.

Tanned and scarred fingers clenched around his bottle of water. Plastic crinkled beneath the grip that had lost decades of strength in a single, life-changing moment.

With Gai, Kakashi knew: it was strength that could be gained again.

“In you, Kakashi, I always have faith.”

Kakashi turned back to face the window. His fingernails dug into the meat of his palm, hidden within his pocket. The other hand rose. He brushed fingerprints against the scar that bisected where the sharingan had once sat—a constant reminder still of Kakashi’s biggest failures. 

But that scar no longer stole Kakashi’s sight.

That scar no longer stole Kakashi’s chakra.

That scar no longer blinded Kakashi to the changes he could make in the world, and in those around him. 

It had taken over twenty-five years for Kakashi to understand why Gai could be who he was—why he could accumulate scars that were only surface-deep, why he could take even worse ones in stride and use them to drive himself forward: 

Gai didn’t define himself by his scars.

Perhaps it was time that Kakashi learned how to do that, too.

(I, uh, also made this edit. xD I dunno why.)

#fanfiction #Kakagai #hatake kakashi #Might Guy #rengonemad #oneshot #edit

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Shigaraki Tomura Fluff Alphabet

(mentions of nsfw)

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Tomura enjoys activities where it’s just him and you. It can be at home or somewhere out as long as you are lost in your own little world together. There are frequent dates to the best arcades, of course. He loves making things into a competition with you, if only so that you’ll get riled up and make wagers with him. He will always bet on a kiss (or more), and he always wins. Shopping trips are insufferable but he will tolerate them to make you happy. He really enjoys going on long walks with you, too. He will either keep his hands stuffed in his pockets and you’ll loop your arm though his while you walk, or he will occasionally have his arm around you. Physical contact is a must.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

To no one’s surprise, Tomura is obsessed with your entire body. You are beautiful and perfect to him and he will kill anyone who says otherwise. But above all else, he really loves your smile. There’s just something about the way your face lights up and your eyes sparkle that makes his heart stop. He always stares at you when you smile. You used to think it was because he had a problem with you, until you started noticing the pink tint on his cheeks.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He is not always great at advice. Sometimes he’s too blunt for his own good, so Tomura has learned to let his actions speak louder than his words. He will pull you into his chest and hold you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he lets you calm down. He wants to be your support, and he hopes that you will feel the strength and care he is trying to convey through his hugs.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

This is really complicated. Tomura’s goals were cut and dry before he had fallen for you — kill All Might, topple society’s dependence on heroism, and die an early death. But ever since you came into his life and uprooted his entire being, he doesn’t know what to do. There are moments when he’s looking at you and imagining an entire future with you. Decades of long-lasting love, children, dying together from old age. And there are moments when he envisions you dying together soon, a dramatic proclamation of your love for each other as he finally sees his plan come to fruition. He doesn’t know which outcome hurts him the most. The former is simply unattainable, and the latter … he doesn’t want you to die. He wants to spend forever with you. This is his biggest source of anxiety. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Tomura is dominant, but he values you as an equal partner. He is protective and possessive, and he expects you to feel the same towards him. There are certain issues he will be passive on or he will at least ask you for your opinion, and there are things that set him off so severely that he will not budge on his demands. That being said, he doesn’t mind a partner who is completely submissive to him. Tomura really likes to feel like he is in charge, and this will only fuel his confidence. He loves having you depend on him.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Tomura forgives … but he doesn’t forget, and he makes you work for it. He will throw a huge fit, give you the silent treatment, and say harsh things to make you cry, but at the end of the day he is going to forgive you no matter what. If you do something extreme like betray him, that might not even be enough to get him to break up with you. He will be absolutely furious, but you are his. He’s decided it. You will be taught a harsh lesson in hurting him like that, and he will make you beg for forgiveness. He might even get some sick satisfaction from seeing you try to get back into his good graces. And if you refuse? Doesn’t matter, he will keep you at his side and ignore your anger. It’ll hurt him inside, but he’d rather have you pissed at him than not have you at all.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He doesn’t usually show his gratitude but he is so aware of how much you do for him, and he loves you so much for it. He shows his gratitude in a roundabout way by being kinder to you. Everything you do for him puts him in a better mood. Maybe he’ll even bring all of his dirty dishes to the kitchen for once. Maybe he’ll kiss you out of the blue before going off to do his own thing. Tomura is a mystery.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Pretty damn honest and doesn’t like keeping secrets. He doesn’t have anything to hide. Even the most disturbing thoughts will be said out loud. He doesn’t have the patience for keeping secrets because he wants you to know everything about him. In a way, that’s a good thing. You’ll always know what he’s about, so you have no excuses if you still stick around after everything. Perhaps the one thing he will be reluctant to voice out loud is how much he truly loves you and depends on you.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You made him calmer, and in doing so, he is now able to take a step back and think things through rationally instead of devolving into temper tantrums. He is more reasonable and laid back with you around, and more open to socializing. In turn, he has brought out your darker side. You are unrestrained and more inclined to let your impulses take control of your actions. Regarding trauma, your presence has soothed him to the point that he slowly reduces his neck scratching.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Literally the definition of jealousy. Tomura is super jealous and doesn’t hide it. When he senses something is off, he makes it everyone else’s problem. His mood is explosive and unpredictable. He can kill if truly prompted to do so, but if he’s jealous of someone who is vital to his cause, then he will threaten them as a warning to lay off. And he is going to fuck you hard to teach you a lesson.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Tomura is a messy, passionate kisser. He doesn’t have a technique and he’s not trying to sweep you off your feet. His goal is to shove his tongue into your mouth and explore you for as long as he wants while he gropes you everywhere. It can feel a little overwhelming sometimes, but you don’t have time to dwell on it when he’s ravishing you so thoroughly. But this only happens once he’s become comfortable with you. His first kiss was shy and stilted. He didn’t know what to do with himself because his brain shut down. All he could do was follow your lead, memorizing the feeling of your soft lips and the sensation of your tongue tangling with his. The first kiss was not too long. Once he regained his senses, he dove back in for seconds and kept at it for a damn long time, this time far more confident and eager to learn.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

As brashly and confident as he usually is. Tomura will spend weeks to months of skulking around before finally driving himself insane with desire for you. This culminates in a very honest, very sexually charged confession. He thinks with his dick when it comes to you. There won’t be any dramatic proclamations of love. He’s going to tell you that you drive him insane, that you’re his and that he’s wanted to fuck you for forever.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He does not want to get married and doesn’t feel like there’s any need for it. You’re pretty much married after that first kiss anyway. You’re his and that’s just that. Eternity spent with rat man. Your honeymoon after the first kiss is to go to 7-11 for gatorade to build up those electrolytes so you can get back to fucking.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Not too big on nicknames, but he’ll bust out that ‘player two’ trope sometimes.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He is feral baby. Avoids you in the beginning and stares at you a lot. It honestly feels like he hates you, but in reality, he just doesn’t know how to approach you or how to deal with his growing feelings. He watches you from afar and learns everything about you that way, notices all the little details about you, the quirks and habits you have, etc. But despite his standoffishness, he is usually more amicable when you’re there. Frustrated sexually, but amicable. He’ll get noticeably agitated if you’re talking to someone he is jealous of. His infatuation with you is very obvious to everyone and it is pure suffering for them to witness his awkwardness.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Tomura will do whatever he wants regardless of who is around. If he wants to make out with you in front of the whole liberation front, he’ll do it. There isn’t a shy bone in his body. He also has a massive kink for exhibitionism, so there will be times when he’ll fuck you up against a window to show you to the whole damn world, or he’ll have sex with you in places where you are at constant risk of being walked in on.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He’s got a mean lookin resting bitch face, so whenever you’re out with him and perusing marketplaces and something catches your eye, Tomura is looming behind you with his death glare while you try to barter with the seller. You always somehow manage to get the best bargains.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

His idea of romance is dicking you down so good that you’ll cling to him in post-coital bliss after. He isn’t big on grand gestures of love. At best, he will take you out to see a movie or go for walks. But it’s not too hard to convince him to do typical couple stuff. He enjoys going out anyway. Just don’t expect him to go out of his way to make the suggestions. You’ll have to drag him to a cat cafe all on your own. In terms of gift giving, it’s usually a hit or miss. Either he knows exactly what you want and he’ll spend as much money as he feels like, or he doesn’t have a clue and is too lazy to ask around for suggestions so you’ll end up with some nonsense.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Tomura expects your goals to be his goals. You can have your little side quests, as he calls them, but ultimately he expects you to support him. As long as your goals don’t hinder his, he is more than willing to help you. He even takes them into account and plans long-term, scheming up different scenarios that will help you somehow.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He likes routine when it’s outside of the bedroom. And by routine, I mean fucking shit up with him on missions and coming home to take a shower and eat a hearty home cooked meal together. You’ve conditioned him to expect this sort of domesticity. But when it comes to sex, you better be prepared to try anything and everything. Tomura has a million ideas for what he wants to do to you, and it is difficult to anticipate what he’ll think of. He also very much appreciates your spontaneity. Stick a finger up his bootyhole while you’re blowing him. He may or may not like it, but either way he appreciates how freaky you can be.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Tomura knows you very well, to the point of boasting that he knows you better than you know yourself. You don’t even need to tell him when you are upset. He will know, and he will wordlessly pull you into his hold and try to distract you. He’s not the type to be outwardly sympathetic. You are far more likely to either receive factual advice or silence. He has this ability to let his sincerity shine through everything he says, and that grounds you and comforts you. And let’s not forget his favorite way of making you feel better, which is through sex.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

He can’t decide if your relationship is more important to him than his bloodthirsty need for vengeance and annihilation of hero society. Sometimes he feels like you are the only thing in the whole world that matters, and when he remembers All Might, a part of him hates himself for being unable to devote himself entirely to you. He is just filled with so much hate and rage that he feels like he can never move past it at this point. He thinks you deserve better.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

You once spent an evening at the bar with Tomura. The goal was to drink until you both felt ready to pounce on each other and desecrate Kurogiri’s safe space. What ended up happening was you both sitting on the floor behind the counter, surrounded by bottles and talking about everything and nothing. This was the most open Tomura had ever been with you. And he had this vulnerable look in his eyes whenever you caught him staring at you as you talked. But because you’re both degenerates, the night was concluded with him doing body shots off of you and attempting to jam his whiskey dick into your pussy. He was super pissed that he couldn’t get hard, but he was also not feeling too well by then. You ended up back in his room and passing out with him on his bed in a pile of tangled limbs.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

You know what, yes he fuckin is. Tomura is very affectionate and he’s not afraid to show it. As soon as you are in a relationship, he will seek you out for whatever he wants. He might be more comfortable with dirty, raw, off-the-walls fucking at first, because he is not used to intimacy. But he is touch starved and your affectionate gestures are absolutely addicting to him. As long as you let him come to you on his terms and you give him the freedom to stop the touches at any time, he will demand aaaaall the kisses. God forbid you forget to give him a kiss at the start of the day or right before bed. He is needy and obsessed with everything you have to offer him, and he really enjoys cuddling with you.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

An absolute sulky brat. Talks less, concentrates less on conversations, and just wants to be alone. He’s mellow and withdrawn, and everyone can see his displeasure written all over his face. He will dart his eyes over to the place you usually sit in at the bar and find you gone. His anxiety will resurface and he will find comfort in scratching his neck. And you can bet he’s going to be blowing up your phone. He is an absolutely awful texter, but whenever you are away, he will light up your phone with a million calls and hastily written texts. He will be in your room a lot, and when he’s done desecrating your bed after rolling around in your sheets and masturbating all over your stuff, he will steal your pillow and use it as your replacement until you finally come back to him. Don’t expect that pillow to be clean.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Absolutely. Tomura is all or nothing. You are his whole world, and he will do anything for you, so long as your desires fit in with his plans. He will risk his life for you, buy you whatever you want, and is always ready to reaffirm his love for you in whatever way he is comfortable expressing it.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #headcanons #imagines #smut #spicy #this took so fucking long

[halfblood-fiend]

Star Trek Bingo 2020: Vertical Prompt 2

SHAPESHIFTERS/CHANGELINGS

Show: Deep Space Nine

Words: 1,483

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): none

Don’t Skip the Bill

Three Ensigns rumormonger on their first night aboard the Federation Station: Deep Space Nine.

Read it on AO3.

Quark’s bar on the Promenade of the station Deep Space Nine was more hopping than Amethyst Berns had ever imagined it was going to be. At first, when she and her friend and old Academy roommate, the Kelpian, Jelep, had received their orders to deploy all the way out here, she’d been upset. She thought it wouldn’t get any action…boring station duty instead of a starship. But from the moment they boarded their last transport crammed with all kinds of colorful people, that had proven not to be the case. After dumping their bags in their assigned quarters as soon as they could, they settled into the infectious liveliness at the most notorious joint this side of the Wormhole. People of all sorts seated themselves at the counter and gathered around Dabo tables, shouting with excitement each time the wheel spun.

Berns, Jelep, and the hanger-on that they’d caught en route, Antony Higgs, had ordered their drinks and picked an out of the way table to observe it all.

“So Berns…” the lean boy with a freckled face and mousey hair said in a hushed voice, “What makes you the most nervous about being stationed here?”

Berns scoffed and took another sip of her Risan mai-tai. This was easy. At first it had been being bored to death, but now her next biggest worry was… “Only thing I’m scared of, Antony, is the horror stories I’ve heard about running this place.”

“You mean, Chief O’Brian?” asked Jelep in a small voice. They had ordered a Sea Mule from the Ferengi bartender after their fellow ensigns had decided, but the Kelpian still hadn’t touched it, opting instead to examine their folded hands in their lap while Berns and Antony talked. Their behavior was starting to make Berns worried. She hadn’t had time to ask them how they felt about the assignment, really, between packing and preparing and then Antony who was proving to be the type of person who just never shut up.

“A little of him, but more like—” Berns started to agree when she was cut off.

“Heard he’s got a nasty temper! He’ll go off on anyone!” Antony said excitedly, leaning forward until he received a face full of Berns’ wet napkin.

“¡Chismoso!”

That elicited a small smile out of Jelep as their translator kicked in and Berns’ chest swelled.

“No, I mean literally running this place. All this Cardassian tech?” Berns clicked her tongue. “In a word? Sucks.”

Antony rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be a little put out. Maybe that would keep him quiet.

Jelep ran their long fingers up and down their tall glass, collecting condensation. “I’m also not looking forward to the Cardassian technology.”

“Why?”

They shrugged and blinked their large blue eyes at Berns. “Feels a lot like the Ba’Ul’s… All this dark and metal… That’s what I am least looking forward to. Living here with that.”

Berns’ heart went out to them and she wanted to reach out and put her hand on Jelep’s arm but…thought better of it. She’d grown really close to the Kelpian during their time at the Academy but hadn’t wanted to make living together weird with…complications. She didn’t know where they stood now, but the tall and graceful alien had always mystified Berns. Stuck her heart in her throat. Gave her butterflies. All that.

Antony took a long drink of his ale and regained his composure. “Well, I’m worried about…” He leaned in close over the table, “the shapeshifter.”

Jelep and Berns had the same reaction. They blinked at him. Berns had half a mind to tell her new acquaintance that nobody had asked him what he was nervous about in the first place, but that felt mean.

“Shapeshifter?” Jelep echoed dully after a heartbeat. They shrugged. “Now I know you’re making stuff up.”

“They really have one here!”

“So soon after the war?”

Antony leaned in conspiratorially. “He was here before the war. Maybe he was a spy the whole time. No one really knew…”

Jelep coughed. “I find that extremely hard to believe. If he was here, and he was a spy, why would he still be here? You can’t believe everything you hear, crewman.”

Antony waved their words away as Berns tipped back the rest of her mai-tai.

“Why would a shapeshifter make you nervous anyway?” she asked. “Why does he have anything to do with you?”

Antony tugged on his yellow security shirt and looked up at her, appalled. Apparently, it was supposed to have been obvious. She cocked an eyebrow and shook her head at him.

Rolling his eyes, Antony said, “He’s the head of security on the station.”

“Ohhh… so you are just afraid of your senior officer,” Jelep replied.

Antony choked on his drink. “No! I am not!” Berns met Jelep’s eyes and they both smiled and looked away. “I’m…I’m just concerned for my own privacy here.”

Berns shook her head and gave Antony a steady look. “I dunno…that sounds kind of hateful…”

Jelep came to her aid, nodding. “Sounds like you are letting your preconceived notions color your perception of the Chief of Security,” they said reasonably, blinking large eyes at him.

“It’s not about that,” Antony insisted. “It’s about how he gets to just do whatever he wants to keep order around here. He’s not Starfleet, so he doesn’t have to conform to our rules! That doesn’t seem suspect to you?”

When neither one of them answered, he sighed. “Ugh, gotta explain everything. Look! He has the run of the entire station! But he’s a shapeshifter!”

Jelep collected more condensation off of their glass and wiped it gently on the napkin in front of them. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that he can shift shapes—I mean, come on! He could be anything! He can blend into the wall! He could be anywhere any time! He could be that glass!!” Antony pointed wildly at Jelep’s untouched drink.

Momentarily stricken, Jelep released their glass and looked down at it fearfully as though worried it would change at any minute. Berns laughed at him.

“He could be listening to everything we are saying at any time. You don’t see that as a privacy issue??”

Berns looked at him doubtfully.

Antony threw his hands in the air and tried again. “He could be that chair you’re sitting in, Amethyst!”

A shadow fell over their table.

“Or,” came a gravelly voice, “He could be right behind you.”

With a squeak, Antony fell out of his chair and onto the floor. Berns might have laughed, if she wasn’t trying not to stare at the Head of Security Shapeshifter in question who glowered down at them from under smooth, deep set brows. She gulped.

“More new Starfleet recruits. I do hope none of you were planning on causing any trouble on my station,” he said slowly, looking at all three of them in turn.

“N-No, sir!” Antony said in a small voice. Berns was surprised he could still talk at all.

“Good,” the shapeshifter replied slowly. “Because I’ll be keeping an eye on you…”

Odo glowered once more at each shrinking Ensign and felt his annoyance ebb from him only to be replaced by a twinge of regret.

There were some days in which he was sick of the staring and the speculating about himself, his origins, and his loyalties. On these days he felt the impulse to do something about it. It could have easily been a day where he could ignore the talk but cleaning up Quark’s latest mess for the last several hours had Odo’s head pounding. Evidently that had now become the Ensigns’ problem. He only felt a little sorry.

He harrumphed once and turned to walk back to where Quark leaned over the bar with a bemused expression, his head tilted. Odo knew he had heard the whole thing.

“Hope you didn’t just scare my customers out of paying. Again,” the Ferengi said, his eyes slipping back towards the ensigns’ table. “That’ll teach me. Should have known better than to warn you. See if I ever share juicy gossip with you ever again.”

Odo slipped onto a barstool and grunted as reply.

Quark drummed his fingers on the bar and gave Odo a searching look. One he pointedly ignored.

“Did you really have to be so harsh with them? You and I both know you can’t transform anymore.”

Something of a smile slipped onto Odo’s face. “Maybe not… but they don’t know that.”

His own smile crossed Quark’s lips for a moment and then disappeared again, all business. “I’ll have you know, that if they skip their tab, I’m sending you the bill.”

Odo rolled his eyes.

“And don’t even think about trying to trick me out of it this time. I know exactly where you sleep! The left side.”

“Don’t remind me.”

#trekbingo2020 #Star Trek #Deep Space Nine #DS9 #Odo #Quark #implied Quodo #original characters #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #Fiend writes

[goblin-alchemist]

Do you have any tips for getting a hang of characterizations? You always do so amazingly, especially with Gabriel!

Thank you!

I have talked about this with a few friends prior, so I'll see if I can put it into words again.  This might be redundant to those who remember discussing this with me before, but here we go.  I'll focus upon Gabriel since he seems to be the trickiest for people to write.  I'll also reference some of my stories to give examples.

Gabriel's primary motivation, in my mind, is Emilie.  I default everything back to Emilie.  If Gabriel gets absorbed in something and forgets his grief/goals, etc, I have him suddenly think “Man, if Emilie were here we would be able to watch Adrien experience these milestones together” or “I wish I could hold Emilie's hand like Adrien is doing with Marinette”.  And then he gets sad again.  It's an instant grounding focus for him, and thus leads to renewed determination.  “I am doing this because the ends justify the means.  I just want Emilie back.”  I kind of play with the sunk-cost fallacy with Gabriel, too.  At this point, he's put in so much to being Hawkmoth that he can't back out now.  (Until I slam something in his face that gets him to stop abruptly, like him discovering the heroes' identities).

So that's his primary motivation.  But now to address a lot of the rest of his personality.

The fandom likes to emphasize that Adrien is the face of the company and he has to put on a mask, and only when he's Chat Noir does that mask slip and he's allowed to be his “true self”.  I feel Gabriel is also in the same boat.  He's the head of his company.  He's expected to maintain certain social graces just like his son (if not more so).  He's quiet and reserved and polite, but he's not very forthcoming because of fears of industrial sabotage, or revealing a weakness to competitors that can be used against him, or getting taken advantage of (all of which as an adult, he should have experienced at one point in his life).  His stoic poker face was developed as a result of his life experiences.

However, we're shown he's not really reserved and in control.  Just like Chat Noir, we have canon evidence that Gabriel is as ham-fisted, emotional, and pun-filled as Chat Noir.  We see it in every single Hawkmoth monologue, in every time Hawkmoth transforms and gets giddy with excitement that he might win, and with every anger-fueled declaration of vengeance.  (The argument of 'are those Gabriel's legit emotions or does the butterfly miraculous emphasize those emotions from his victims?' is a nice angle to play with in fiction as well).

But as Gabriel, he's not excessively impulsive (Miraculous-stealing opportunities aside).  He lets people speak their case before forming judgment (more on this in a moment), but once the judgment is formed, it's hard to get him to change his mind.  He's stubborn.

So if I'm writing the story or scene from a third-person-perspective, like Marinette, I can't delve into his thoughts on paper.  I have to show the audience what he's thinking through other cues.  Since he's a man of little words, I'll have him silently scan a room before speaking.  He allows people to speak and give them the opportunity to screw up in his presence before he says a word as to his opinion.  Once that opinion is formed, however, good luck getting him to change his mind.  I have to show this using his glowers, frowns, squared shoulders, and clenched hands.

If something pops up that's great dramatic irony (when he was secretly overjoyed that Marinette designed a Hawkmoth-themed dress, for example), I'll show it as flashes of amusement in his eyes, twitching of lips, the relaxing of his posture, and the crinkling of his eyes.  The key here is to show subtle ways of expressing emotions without outright stating that's what's happening, because Gabriel schools himself and his emotions in front of others.

But when I write directly from his POV, that's where the fun begins.  There, I can describe his internal monologue, which is inspired by his actions as Hawkmoth.  I can have Gabriel sit silent, glowering at anyone who approaches while he observes and dryly comments on everything around him.  He won't say his sarcastic thoughts aloud, but he'll be thinking them, and here's my opportunity to channel the exasperation.  Somethings things will just slip out because honestly, is everyone around him an idiot?!  He'll recover and glower away any funny looks aimed at him, because his intimidation is as much a weapon as his silence is.

Frustrated exasperation is what I usually write Gabriel as a lot of times.  As Hawkmoth, he releases that frustration.  As Gabriel, it has to be kept bottled up inside and it only comes out in internal sarcastic remarks.

If I feel Gabriel strays too much into the OOC/cracky territory (which happens a lot in my stories, I admit) when I channel a bit too much Hawkmoth through his civilian form, I stick Nathalie in there as his straight man. She displays even less emotion than Gabriel and ends up being a really nice balance when I go a bit overboard on Gabriel's emotional outbursts.  A few pointed phrases or deadpan replies that juuuuuust touch upon inappropriate for an assistant to talk to her powerful boss, but she helps ground Gabriel into more of his realistic canon personality instead of complete OOC crack.

He's a man of few words as Gabriel, and he's used to being in a position of power, surrounded by yes-men (Nathalie and the Gorilla).  He isn't used to having anyone challenge him.  So, he doesn't need to explain his reasons to people.  When Marinette was rambling on about why he of all people was bidding on her dress design, he halted her mid-ramble and merely said “I like it.”  The end.  He keeps his cards close to his chest, and the only time I've actually seen him let down his guard is oddly, to Nooroo.  I'm certain this is just a narrative device for us, the viewer, but the fact is Gabriel is weirdly forthcoming to Nooroo and pretty much lays out his thoughts, plans, and analysis on the situation at hand.  I use that to my advantage in my stories when writing the Nooroo/Gabriel relationship, and how subconsciously, Gabriel might view Nooroo as a mentor (even if he disregards all of the advice Nooroo freely gives).

He's the head of his multi-million euro company.  He didn't get there by being lax and lazy.  He has super high standards, and isn't afraid to verbally rip apart his peers if it's warranted.  However, he's not entirely unfair, I don't think.  He allowed Marinette to defend her hat design in Mr. Pigeon before coming to a judgment on it.  He allowed Nino to propose his last-minute plan in Bubbler to throw Adrien a birthday party before he denied it (and then interrupted Nino and got angry with him only after the boy continued to push the point).  He allowed Marinette to explain how she stumbled across his Miraculous book before saying anything to her.

To me, the fact he actually went and met with these people in the first place shows a lot about his character.  He's willing to hear people out, but he makes fast judgments and doesn't budge from them. People have to get into his good graces right away or it's hard to change his mind later.  He has flashes of anger, but its not sustained, because he's already moving onto finding a solution to the problem (like in Volpina when he got that phone call about an issue with his designs).  Sometimes, I wonder how much of his anger and irritation is a result of his real thoughts and emotions, or just him seeing an opportunity to akumatize someone by riling them up further.

In this manner, he's calculating, very calculating, and if something reflects him in a poor light its probably for a reason (staging his 'temper tantrum' in Collector).  I ignore the canonical inconsistencies toward his waffling degrees of intelligence and treat Gabriel as very smart, but oblivious and arrogant.

I see him actually as very much like Marinette, only bitter and jaded.  She's clever and creative, and so is he.  The only difference between the two is that life has struck him down with angst.  He's lost his soulmate.  He's experienced the lows of being a starving artist.  He's encountered failure. Marinette has yet to go through any of that.

I could probably go on further and delve into different aspects of different scenarios (his wish, etc) but I think I've rambled on long enough and seems like I've jumped erratically between a bunch of different points  :)  Let me know if you have any additional questions and I hope this has helped at little at least.

#miraculous ladybug #gabriel agreste #characterization #writing #tips #writing tips #hawkmoth #character analysis

[imagethat]

Spar | Vergil x Reader

Reader gets trapped with Dante and Vergil in hell at the end of DMC5, plot twist. They're actually a highly trained assassin from a coven Dante had dismantled. Most people were brainwashed beyond saving but he aaw something within the reader and took them under his wing. More drabble esc writing^^

You couldn't believe you had so foolishly gotten yourself trapped in hell with these two. Sat away from their sparring ring with your eyes closed, you listened to their annoying banter. Dante you had known for a great deal of time, he was your boss after all. While his twin, Vergil, was new to you. You didn't know what to make of him yet. He was quiet and tactical, both qualities you appreciated greatly when compared to his brothers dull witted humor. "Where did you learn to count?" Vergil demanded of his brother as Dante laughed and fell to the ground. "Same place as you brother. I need a break though." He sighed out, clearly out of breath. Vergil was still on his feet and you could hear him turn to you. "Up." He demanded, a command which you did not heed. You simply opened your eyes and looked in his direction. Vergil in turn pointed his blade at you and made a soft up motion. His gaze piercing you. "Do you truly wish to be beaten a third time?" You mused. Unbeknownst to Vergil, you had defeated him as Urizen but he had fled before you could seal the deal. And then again as V when you had hunted him down wanting answers. "She has a point." Dante added, sprawled out on the ground like a starfish. "I do not recall these battles, and I am curious of your skills. Please do refresh my memory." Vergil said. You finally rose from your spot, even your most basic of movements graceful and swift. "I don't bother with sparring matches. It's against my code of conduct." You replied and Dante let out a groan. "You never sparred for practice?" Vergil questioned simply because it was clear you learned from somewhere. Which he was right partially, but the coven that which raised you was ruthless. Training only the most cunning of soldiers. Losing a spar meant losing your life. And it was by that code of conduct you still lived by. Only partaking in battles you would finish. Ashamed you had so clumsily failed to kill Urizen and V. Part of you, a part you hated, was glad you failed both times though. "You do not want this fight." You breathed out as a warning. You did not know if you could control your impulses. You could feel the way your muscles twitched and how your mind already raced through every possibility of how this battle could happen. You wouldn't allow yourself to fail again much less you dishonor your own lifeblood. Vergil wasn't one to back down though, both of you carrying the same needlessly prominent pride on your shoulders. He simply got into his battle stance. It was all the invite you needed. Your movements were balanced, incisions precise, and senses heightened in the battle. Vergil was impressed with your keen ability to map out his attacks. He could tell you watched him as he fought with Dante and familiarized yourself with his battle tactics. Dante sat on the sidelines still, making petty comments whenever one of you would get a hit off on each other. It annoyed both of you greatly, adding fuel to the already massively burning fire. But your temper was controlled and had been tested through many years spent in that coven. This battle showed no signs of letting up. "Told you Y/N was one of my finest." Dante whistled. A well timed parry from you was enough to finish the battle as Vergil was forced down onto one knee. You became ensnared with the temptation to finish the battle, and as you raised your sword up your eyes bore into Vergils. Something in you hesitated despite the heat in your heart. The tempered mentality the coven had forced onto your shoulders becoming fuzzy. Dante had well enough been able to tell where the battle was heading and drew a pistol before you could swing the sword down. He fired at your blade twice causing it to knock out of your hands. You surprisingly didn't lose your balance though and stood there in shook while your chest heavily rose and fell. You staggered back and placed a hand on your head, muttering sorry softly before falling to the ground. Your past was stronger than you could fight but somehow you can't bring yourself to cut down your foe… It was possible you already thought of him as a friend in the way you did Dante. That thought irked you, reminding you of how soft you had become since joining Devil May Cry. It made you feel weak. Part of you suddenly got swept into the past, fear setting in that you'd be punished for such an inexcusable failure to win the battle. Dante could tell you needed a moment and went to go grab your blade. He knelt down beside you and placed a hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" He questioned, a small amount of concern written on his face. Your mind snapped back to reality and you nodded gently. After that he handed you your blade back softly, hand lingering on yours for a moment. Trying to remind you that you were no longer leading the life you once were. Vergil was already on his feet again and seemed unbothered outwardly by what had just occurred. "Zero to one." He acknowledged, much to your surprise. Vergil, being bountifully overconfident was unaware of your strength. But even more unaware of your ability to adapt and predict. Internally he brushed this spar off, pretending the loss was simply because he underestimated you. Despite that, he found it in himself to admire your tenacity. Before Vergil could question you on where you were trained sludge rose in packs around you. Demons crawling forth from the ground. Dante motioned for you to wait. "We'll take care of this." He reaffirmed, leaving you to recover from your spinning thoughts as the two Sons of Sparda took care of the demons. After the demons had been dealt with, the three of you made a makeshift fire. You internally scoffed at your boss and the fact that he was tired. Attributing his somewhat low stamina, at least compared to yours and Vergils, to his poor choice of time management before the Quipoth had broken Red Grave. He never left the house unless he had to, fed himself poorly, and didn't train. But you wouldn't be so bashful of him out loud since you knew such judgmental thoughts came from a place of insecurity deep within yourself. After Dante was asleep you decided to apologize to Vergil. "I…" You hesitated for a moment, feeling as though an apology might be taken as weakness or not cared for from the stern man who sat beside you. "I'm sorry about earlier. I get caught up in fighting to easily… I understand if you don't want to spar with me again." You admitted. Vergil chuckled and completely took you off guard. "I should have not underestimated you. I applaud you for your dexterity." He said before giving you somewhat of a smirky smile. "I look forward to sparring with you again." He added. You took this as him being genuine albeit a bit awkward since both of you didn't know how to communicate well. Letting out a sigh of relief as you nodded in agreement. "As do I, though I admit I had an upperhand." You said. It was true you were at a slight advantage. After all, Vergil couldn't recall ever fighting you, but you knew how he battled from both his human and demon side. You got to watch him spare Dante as well. "All the more reason to spar again." He replied, seeing you as a challenge. A way to test and further strengthen his power. You nodded in agreement, thinking the same of him. "I do hope you allow me to prove I'm more than just an opponent." He admitted honestly and you had to take a moment to process it. Vergil would never be the type to be incredibly forward with his emotions. So you took this to heart. "Possibly." Was all you could respond with, still having walls of your own built. He seemed satisfied with that answer though. The two of you spent the next few hours resting before Dante woke up. "Think pizza could be delivered down here?" He teased and you rolled your eyes while muttering stupid. Before he could make some stupid quip back like 'didn't catch that' though, you were on your feet. "Rise." You instructed and he laughed. "Oh ho ho, someone's serious. You and Vergil make a little pact while I was out?" He asked, obliging to your somewhat demanding attitude. "No more a pact than it is an obligation to hold a higher score than Vergil." You commented, sorely behind since Vergil and Dante had been sparring for so long. If you were honest though, you just wanted to give Vergil a chance to also learn your attack patterns so next time you sparred you'd both start on an even playing field. It would make the victory sweeter knowing your win didn't come from one sides lack of knowledge. Your brain so trained to improve upon itself that you couldn't even acknowledge the fact that beating Vergil was an achievement. Through your next matches with Dante, Vergil's eyes followed you. But Dante could tell they lingered on you sometimes for too long. At one point he noticed how intense Vergil's stare was and gave his brother a shit eating grin. It cost him a good kick to the stomach, but it was worth it in Dante's eyes. He'd never let his brother live that kind of look down. 

#dmc #dmcv #dmc v #dmc5 #dmc 5 #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #dmc vergil #dmc dante #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry dante #vergil sparda #dante sparda #vergil son of sparda #dante son of sparda #sparda twins #vergil x reader #gender neutral reader #devil may cry

[lgcseojin]

DAY 236849: Han Insoo is still a fool and bromance is alive & well. ㅡ @lgcinsoo​

it was relatively late for insoo.

he was tired of work, tired of.. everything. it was one of those days rare days when all he wanted was some corner of peace; a quiet, small place for himself to curl up and sleep until he couldn’t feel anymore all that worry weighing him down. sometimes, it was in the shape of company that he could only find in the arms of his friends. but others, and insoo rarely felt this way, it could not be alleviated by just anyone. there was an exception to that rule, and that was his childhood friend, Seojin. it helped that they had moved to the same building nowadays. he hadn’t had the chance to congratulate him or for both of them to celebrate their new band direction. it was late night, and insoo was not a planner by any means, so as he passed the streets and found himself encountering an open flower shop, it occurred to him to buy a ridiculous amount. “purple roses,” the lady had said with bright eyes, as if the heaviness of the night and the bustling city hadn’t worn her down at all, “they represent love at first sight.”

insoo had known, then and there; the moment he’d crossed paths with that rowdy kid in middle school whose mouth ran too long, fists too high and temper ready to blow up at any second unaware; when he bumped into him with a careless joke, a strange, keen intrigue to his sharp eyes and even blunter bite for words; as he got on his nerves and pushed and tugged, and kicked and hurt him right where it was needed, and sometimes harder than either of them could take…

they would be friends forever.

“I want a hundred of them,” insoo blurted out, and he took a few trips back and forth with his bicycle from the streets to under his apartment window. But finally, at some ungodly hour, he managed to carry them all and with a helpless sigh, insoo cleared his throat under the moon light like a mournful lover, heart thumping against his chest. he took out his bluetooth speakers, old and beaten up but good enough for what he wanted, and blasted a sappy, stupid love song as he threw rocks against Seojin’s apartment window. he knew it was his window because he’d been there when they moved, and though he wasn’t discrete by any means, he was hoping he wouldn’t get caught (and yet the idea of it thrilled him to the bone regardless.) Like a fool, insoo waited, and then sent through several texts a video he recorded at the flower shop where he (perfectly sober, and he would still be no matter the circumstances; his love for his friend ran deep) wished him happy birthday for all the days and times he’d missed, and to be with him today.

as insoo holds his speakers up high, he changes to an even cheesier song and starts at first embarrassingly uneven. “L is for the way you look at me...” he says in broken English, and then more confidently he continues.

“O is for the only one i see-“ he inhales, half singing and then half screaming at this point. It’s all or nothing, he thinks, and if seojin believes it a prank so be it. But he genuinely, fully, platonically, brotherly, absolutely wholesomely and nothing but passionately loves his childhood friend. so, he raises his hands like an idiot, and sings with his whole two lungs and whatever is left of the oxygen in the atmosphere. “V, is very very, extraordinary——“ he breaks the momentum then at this part, laughing at his own self. But here goes: “E, is even more than anyone that you adore—“

he is literally giggling, and he hates himself for it, because he’s a man damn it he does not giggle- and yet he feels like his high off something and maybe just maybe, it really is- “Can love is all that I can give to you—“ he sings, looking up with a big smile as he gathers a bunch of roses. “Love, love, love is more than just a game for two~” Insoo makes a show of smelling them, chuckling to himself. “Two~ in love can make it—“

he grabs a few into a bouquet, and pushes them up as he sings as loud as he can. “Take my heart but please don't break it~” says Insoo with a pout, breaking into another smile as he continues the song. “'Cause love—“ he lowers the bouquet. “was made for me” he moves his lips this time, not quite singing as he realizes maybe it’s not pleasant to the ear anymore. “And you~” he makes a pose and ends the song here, trying his best to speak evenly after all of that. “I love you very much, Seojin.”

For reasons he felt could be justified, Seojin was still wide awake at an ungodly hour of the morning. It happened on occasion ㅡ finding himself unable to fall asleep when his mind still buzzed with activity. It knew if he didn’t release whatever creative dishes flowing inside, rest would be utterly impossible. So, there he was, slouched over on his small desk with his head in his hands. He made a conscious effort to keep as quiet as possible. There was no use in bothering his roommate or the manager in the room next door.

He kept his headphones on and fiddled around with his laptop, writing up lines of lyrics he could use in the future and mixing together sounds in an attempt to create something palatable to the ears. Fortunately, he recorded the melodies on his mind well before midnight.

Though, as he worked, a strange noise buzzed through the air. It was possibly so loud and grating that it penetrated the thick foam of his headphones. With furrowed brows, he slid them around his neck, quietly peering in the living room to make sure it wasn’t the television. His next course of action was to open the window. There was always the possibility of having a few rowdy neighbors or seeing some drunkard roaming the street.

Then, he looked down.

What he saw mimicked a scene from that old American movie. What was it? Say Anything? Where the boy, madly in love and desperate for the girl’s attention, blasts out a song from a boombox. He couldn’t recall the actual song. Something about in your eyes. The speakers were not playing that song, nor did the person down below look anything like John Cusack and Seojin was in no way some kind of Juliet. Instead, it was Han Insoo singing along ㅡ badly ㅡ to some old fashioned song about love. Not only that, but he had the audacity to throw rocks at his window. Seojin plucked a few of the small ones that caught on his sill, tempted to throw them back.

“Seriously... this guy...” He looked around his room, making sure that no one else would stir from their sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder: was this the purpose of the strange video Insoo sent him earlier in the day? It was out of the blue, but that wasn’t unlike Insoo. Both of them were the same in their spontaneous natures. Seojin thought he could understand when his good friend sprung up with what looked like a hundred roses and his heart on his sleeve. Insoo could have just knocked loudly on his door, burst in uninvited, or chased him in the hall at the company. He could have. No. He wouldn’t have Insoo any other way than he was right at that moment.

A wide smile worked its way onto Seojin’s face. He couldn’t help it. Even if he tried to suppress the expression, there was no use. “Hey, Han Insoo! Lovesick idiot. If we’re gonna be friends forever, I think you need to go to more singing lessons!” Seojin shouted down at him, words heavy with satoori. At that point, he didn’t particularly mind if anyone else heard them. Insoo already woke the whole neighborhood, so to speak. He felt it was only fair to return the favor. Not out of obligation ㅡ out of genuine affection for the friend he knew nearly his entire life. The friend who, perhaps, understood him and his past better than anyone else.

Fortunately for Seojin, he was still several floors above the other. Had Insoo stood any closer to the building, he would have been graced with several drops of “rain” atop his head. He was lucky. Too lucky these past couple months. He would not squander what he had on an impulse. Not again. He had to make up for all that lost time.

“So, are you coming up or not, Romeo? Or do I need to help you carry all those flowers up?” 

#╰ KEEPSAKES ( ♡ ) #lgcinsoo #i literally cannot believe both of you. #that second para got me fucked up though #dont look at us. we have a friendship to sail #submission

[vegetacide]

The Birds...Part II

Veg●notable: Just a little drabble I needed to explore more as I wasn’t quite finished with it.   Went in an introspective direction and I got dragged along for a ride. It hints again to past events for a couple characters and is a dynamic I wanted to poke at as it fascinates me for some reason. Might revisit it again some day with a different set of circumstances… ::shrugs:: who knows.  

Hope you enjoy my spewage of words.

Universe: TaG

Characters:  Virg/Kayo,  Scott

Continuation from HERE

o0o

Kayo sighed as she made her way across the slowly warming taupe granite flooring of the kitchen and took in the scene before her. The familiar blue of soiled flight gear and the heavy treads of soot covered boots greeted her critical eye. Strewn about haphazardly over the pool deck and patio furniture.  Tossed off carelessly as if in a hurry to be rid of nasal reminder of acrid smoke that burning materials, both natural and synthetic left behind.  

The pair empty whiskey bottles gave her the briefest of pauses as picked her way through the debris field of gear.  One stood rigid and tall with the barest dregs of amber at its base while the other keeled and dripping onto the clear acrylic topped table.  Silent sentinels to the sleeping pair of defeated pilots, used and empty.   

She’d been warned rather cryptically by John what to expect when she got home though truth be told,  she had expected as much. 

She had been party to last rescue,  was well acquainted with what the two sprawled first responders had borne witness to on the mainland and she didn’t blame them one bit for wanting to unload.  The manner of which may not have been her cup of tea but she understood the logic behind it.  The want to drown out a day full of bad experiences and file down its sharp edges of acute  remembrance to something much more manageable.

She had used the tactic herself a time or two until more recently when she found another outlet in a pair of strong open arms.   Had she been on the island she knew that the man she looked at now; prone as he was on the deck surrounding the pool, would have turned to her for such relief but duty had held their reunion at bay and so he had sought comfort in another way with company of a brotherly sort.  His cohort in all things. Scott.

Her keen gaze shifted from tousled black to rumpled chestnut and her brows furrowed at the lines of stress and the shadows of sleep deprivation that marred his visage.  Sleeping as he was she could almost see the carefree man of her youth though the touch of grey flecking through his hair quickly brought her back to the present.  

Oh, how their lives had changed. 

Resting a hand on one broad shoulder, she gave a slight squeeze and she waited a moment for blurry azure to open and blink up at her. Squinting as the early morning sunlight scorched his irises,  his brows sunk low and a gruff inquiry scratched it way out of his parched throat. 

“Kay?” 

“Go to bed, Scott.”  Her voice soft and admonishing.    

A bob of a head and she stood back as his long limbs untangled and pushed with little coordination up to vertical.   He teetered and she steady him, catching his elbow in one hand and grabbing a fist full of his grey arming tunic in the other before he could topple over.  

His muscles tensed like iron beneath her hands and his breath hitched as it passed warm over her cheek.  The oaken barley infused scent of it briefly cancelling out the smell of sweat and smoke. 

She caught a whiff of underlying cologne, noting its musky nuances and for a second her mind drifted back in time to a moment of adolescence and exploration. Passing glances and a few stolen moments between two individuals who were little more than children.  A short lived period in her life when she was still aching for understanding and acceptance despite her already welcomed presence with the people she would later call her family.  

They had all grown, drifted, went off on their journeys in life and things had changed.  She had grown, found herself, trained hard to be someone that she could be proud of and in the passage of time, that tiny spark had cooled and sputtered out.  Grown into a familial bond and friendship.  

Stiffening , she looked up.  Meet his vibrant blue stare and felt her pulse stuttered once. Her brows knitted in confusion at his unrelenting focus and she mentally shook her head at her own response,  stepping  back when she was sure he was rooted once more on stable feet.  

Her arms crossed over her chest and she looked away to his brother snoring softly just feet from them.   “Go to bed, Scott.” She repeated, turning and moving to kneel by the sleeping man, her fingers reaching out to sweep through bedraggled raven black hair. 

She listened a moment to the shuffle of laden foot steps as they retreated to the house, her expression thoughtful as she tried to decipher and understand that flicker of something that she’d seen.   

Peeking back over her shoulder, she watched Scott’s stooped frame start the ascent up the kitchen stairs. It was all best left in the past where it belonged,  Her heart and body belonged to another now and the feelings associated with it far surpassed anything she’d ever felt for anyone before.   Why something from childhood would come up now, something she had thought was truly dead and buried, she had no idea.  

Maybe she’d misread things. In her quest to become more than what she was, maybe she’d just closed herself off and stopped seeing what was there. Could she have done that?   

No, that wasn’t right.  She had changed and grown.   She hadn’t  closed off and suppressed. She was sure of that.  And after the metamorphosis she come out stronger and steady then she even had been as a child.  And found something she hadn’t expected in someone who she hadn’t thought she’d  been looking for.  Slowly, inexplicably he had become her whole life.

Giving up, she packed it away for later introspection and bent down to brush her lips over the cusp of an ear, a curl of flesh she knew well.  She spoke gently, knowing that rousing the man after the events of the rescue would be tantamount to waking a bear from hibernation.   Difficult, to put it lightly and even if successful, one was still liable to get bitten if not done correctly.  

She was well versed in the task,  well used to navigating his often surely moods when dragged out of the sleep his body needed so she did it gently,  lovingly and with care.  

A smile graced her lips as she looked down at him, arms tucked up under his head. Heavy shoulder raising and lowering in the slow, steady pace of deep sleep but she couldn’t leave him here.   Knowing the physical strain a rescue put on one’s body on a good day she highly doubted sleeping on the hard, unforgiving concrete slab would aid in his muscles’ recovery.   As it was,  he was going to regret the overindulgence of high octane liquor, his body really didn’t need the added abuse. 

Her lips passed quietly over his brow, lingered a moment on the scar the marred the tanned flesh just above his closed eyes and whispered softly to him.   He mumbled in returned. A garbled string of syllables that had warmth blossoming in her chest.  Her name tumbling from his lips on a sigh and he snuggled further into the pilfered patio cushion. 

“Come on, love.” She coaxed, her fingers playing down the line of his strong, stubbled jaw.  “You can’t sleep here.”   

Eyes the colour of dark honeyed oak rimmed with long, dark lashes fluttered open and the  immediate annoyance at the intrusive light was evident as his eyes squeezed shut again followed by a grumble of displeasure that had Kayo chuckling. 

“Don't bother growling at me, Big Guy.  She scolded though there was no censure in her tone. “I’m immune to your rather impressive bear impressions.”

He rolled then, catching an arm around her trim waist and Kayo tumbled off balanced onto his expanse of his chest.   His lips took on a decidedly smug curl as she yelped though the warm brown of his gaze stayed shuttered behind his lids. 

“You’re home.” His voice was a sensual low tenor,  gravelly from sleep. The sound of it rumbling under her hands where they rested on his thick muscles. 

He was rumpled and fuzzy and oh so sexy in the soft, dewy morning light cast by the sun. The rays of sunshine across the planes of his face, the bridge of his nose, emphasizing his high cheekbones and the dip in his chin that she loved.  It tangled in his hair and highlighted the mess in temperate hues of ebony that brushed down over his brow and blew softly in the light breeze.  

Smiling down at him, she swept the hair back from his forehead with her fingertips and traced a trail down the angle of his  nose, over the curve of his lips before she dropped a kiss on the dent found just below.  “I am and you’re sleeping on the patio.”

His hand spread wide over her back, slid up and came to a rest at the nap of her neck.  “It was a good place at the time…”

“And now?” She questioned watching his brows twitch in thought.  She could almost see the sluggish,  intoxicate wheels turning over in his mind as he assess his current location. 

It took him a moment to compile a response so Kayo got comfortable,  throwing a leg over his hips and settling into his strong embrace.  When he answered, she wasn’t surprised in the slightest.  

“Hindsight is 20/20 so….” He shrugged a shoulder and she enjoyed the play of muscle as it moved under his smooth flesh.  His flight jacket had been ditched somewhere and the white of his sleeveless, form fitting undershirt was a stark contrast to all that sun-kissed bronze. Hard to resist at the best of times, but pliant and close it was completely irresistible and one of her greatest  weaknesses.  

On impulse, she nipped the corded intersection and she saw the flash of pleasure shoot through his newly opened eyes.  Instead of fueling that spark of carnal need,  she nimbly gained her feet and held a hand out to him.  “Shower, now. You stink.”

Virgil pouted, took hold of her hand and grunted all the way up until he found his own.  He thanked her quietly when she swung under his arm to hold him steady. Taking advantage of the proximity, he pulled her in closer and nuzzled her neck. 

“Wash my back?”   

She could feel the smile on his lips as they grazed over her pulse point and a shiver raced down her spine as heat bloomed in the pit of her belly.  

“I don’t have much of a choice,  you can barely stand.”  Her point was emphasized as he teetered and Kayo umphed under the added weight of his 6 foot, 1 inch solidness. Virgil snorted a laugh.  

“You may ‘ave a point. Who’s rock’in the boat?”  His words, though clear were slurred.  

“That would be your feet and the whiskey.”   

“Oh ya...I forgot about the whiskey.”  He pulled away from her, reached out for the bottle on the table, missed it at least 3 times before curling his fingers around the neck of one of the empty soldiers. 

He peered inside, changed the angles and looked down the opening at the top.  Gave it a shake and frowned.  “It’s all gone. Who drank it?”

Kayo rolled her eyes,  took it from his slackening fingers before it could crash to the ground and slipped back under his arm again. “You so do not need more of that.” And lead him towards the house, a shower and his bed. 

“Hey, Kay… did you know the birds are watching us…?”  

“What?”

o0o 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbird fanfic #Virgil Tracy #virgil/kayo #Scott Tracy #too much to drink #no idea where this is going #writing for the sake of writing

[rogerthat-taylor]

Numbers on Flyers Part 2

(Roger Taylor x Reader x Ben Hardy One Shot)

Part 1

Summary: While helping Roger give out his flyers for the upcoming gig, Ben stumbled into you. Roger wasn’t enjoying the attention you were giving Ben and the lack of it that he was getting so he decided to be cheeky which only seemed to make the matters worse.

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of smoking (just a tad bit)

Words: 2.3K+

A/N: I’m sorry this took way too long to write but I was literally so stuck with this and couldn’t settle with a proper ending or a continuation so I have at least 3 different versions of part 2. I think at this point there’s going to be at least 4 parts to this so yeah. Anyway, I just really wanna take the time to thank everyone who have been nothing but supportive of this. It really warms my heart and i’m so grateful for y’all. Also, I realised how Roger is actually hella angsty in this series but I promise, he’ll soften up! 

-

"They'll be playing tonight as well," you said, handing out the flyer to a passer-by who smiled upon seeing the flyer, "Same place and same time tonight."

"Really?" grumbled Roger to a distant girl around your age, "You had to throw it in front of me? You couldn't have tried the next bin?"

"Roger," you called out in an attempt to calm him down.

It was a sunny noon graced with just enough clouds in the sky to make the weather pleasant and enjoyable enough to give out flyers for Queen's gig next week and promote the upcoming gig that same night.

"I spent hours on those-"

Your gaze shifted when you noticed a tall, buff figure from behind Roger walking towards you. It was Ben and he had a cigarette stuck between his lips which he shortly flicked away upon seeing you.

"Y/N!" He greeted, opening his arms to invite you into a hug, "What are you doing here?"

The scent of cigarettes and burnt bergamot greeted you as your head laid flat on his hard chest. It was intoxicating; his luring scent, his muscular frame but oh so gentle hug.

"I'm helping Queen give out flyers for their upcoming gig next week!" you explained, pulling away, "They've got one tonight as well."

"Fantastic!" Ben exclaimed, "My friends and I have been to their gigs and they play solid music. I'm a fan."

Roger was at a slight distance from all this, barely visible thanks to Ben's intimidating figure but nevertheless visible and there but it didn't seem like it to you anymore and he hated that. His heart wrenched with spite as his jaw clenched tighter before stepping in uninvited.

"Roger!" You greeted as your eyes shifted to Ben, "This is Ben, we take the same class for Linguistics."

Ben. Roger knew bloody well who Ben was. Ben was the twat whose number was written on his precious flyer, the git who had the audacity to call in looking for you and the idiot who was expecting to go on a date with you.

You turn to Roger who seemed to have a stiff smile plastered on his face and continued, "...and this is-"

"Roger Taylor," Roger huffed smugly before wrapping his arm around your shoulder, "Her boyfriend."

Your eyes widened as you feel your body tensed under Roger's firm arm embrace. Ben must have felt the same tension as you see his eyes squint in confusion and his brows drawn in some sort of frustration.

"I-I didn't know you had a boyfriend," he said, covering up his previous demeanour seamlessly with a gentle smile.

"Neither did I," you mumbled still at a loss for words.

"I best be off to class then," Ben coughed out and then turning to Roger, "Love your music by the way. I'm sorry if i've crossed any lines."

"Hardly," Roger chuckled, "We have another gig tonight if you'd like to come."

You watched with your mouth slightly agape as Ben walked away, reaching for his pack and then pulling out a cigarette to light up. Roger still had his arm around you and as seconds went by, the tension from whatever had happened was creeping in more and more into you.

"What the hell was that?" you yelled, breaking away from him, "You don't get to pull strings like that, Rog. That was out of line."

"He's not good for you-"

"You barely even know him," you argued back, making quite the commotion in public.

"He smokes," Roger pointed out sheepishly as he internally scolded himself for his weak rebuttal.

"And you dont?"

"I never said I wanted to be with you, did I?" he gushed out.

Roger often yelled out hurtful things out of anger and impulse but never had he wished to swallow them back in to let it rot in his organs just so he could turn back the time to just a few seconds back to right before he said it out. Never until that moment. Hurt was written in your eyes and he has seen the very same glassy look in your eyes before. Only then, he wasn't the reason behind them so they were much more bearable to look into. He knew that you'd come home to him and resort to his comfort and consoling but not this time - no. He was the reason behind the hurt and it killed him.

"Fuck you, Roger!" you yelled, stomping away from him, "Fuck you! Good luck making popcorn and juice on your own tonight."

Roger was notorious for his temper but you were never the victim of his spiteful impulse. Anger boiled inside you as you ran off to Ben. The thing was, whatever Roger had said shouldn't have affected you as much as it was affecting you and you hated that - your resentment became a clear sign that a part of you wanted to be with him.

"Ben!" you called out.

Ben turned swiftly, "Y/N?"

"I don't know what Roger was on about," you panted, "We're just-"

You paused, finding immense difficulty to continue the sentiment of your words, "We're just friends."

"Is that so?" he clarified, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "He seems awfully jealous for just friends, love."

"Yes," you said with all the confidence you could muster, "We've been friends since we were young, I guess he was just protective?"

"Sure," he said, "I just don't want to be crossing any lines. I don't quite see myself getting banned from Queen's future gigs."

"You're not, trust me," you said, not wanting to trust your own words, "What about we go for that dinner we've been planning for? Turns out my Wednesday night is free after all."

-

Roger growled as yet another orange squirted its pulps into his eyes. He had been bent over squeezing oranges and popping popcorn for the last hour or so and the amount of times he had orange juice squirted in his eyes were far too innumerable that it was beginning to get into his nerves.

The front door creaked open and Roger froze. His mouth fell and his eyes widened in hopes that he would see you walk in.

"Where's Y/N?" Brian asked walking in, "Wasn't this her idea?"

The heavy weight impending down on him once again; it was his guilt, "Out with some hunky twat on a date."

"Oh," Brian shrugged, walking past Roger, "Good for her-"

A pulped out orange flew above the table and landed with a heavy thud on Brian's head in courtesy of Roger and his temper.

"She's suppose to be here," Roger yelled, "With me! Not with some Ben guy she just met."

"So hunky twat does have a name," Brian stated simply, rubbing the back of his head where he had been hit, "I smell popcorn."

"Could you help me pour in the new batch to their containers?" Roger requested still in his quest to pulp out the few remaining oranges.

"Is this all necessary?" Brian grumbled but nevertheless complied heading to the kitchen to tend to the popcorn.

"Good for her," Roger mimicked Brian with malice, "Good for her?"

"What is it, Roger? Come on then, spit it out."

"Spit what out," Roger yelled back from the dining table.

"What are you on about?" Brian asked, "Why can't Y/N be on a date tonight, hmm?"

"Because we have a gig tonight and-"

"She saw us play two nights ago, surely she isn't missing out much if she misses tonight," Brian cut through his lies, "What is it, Roger?"

"I love her!"

Those three words errupted out of Roger like it had been hot magma boiling within him waiting for its release. Something about verbally saying it out loud made whatever it was that he was feeling for you concrete. It almost felt like he couldn't take it back, that this was it. He truly was in love with you.

"Then tell me this," Brian said, reappearing from the kitchen with popcorn in hand, "Why is it that she's out on a date with Ben and not ... you?"

"Because Ben is this hunky hot stuff and I'm a lanky-"

"You bloody well know that it's not that, Rog," Brian insisted, his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," Roger grunted, "I might have said that I didn't want to be with her?"

"God," Brian sighed, his head dropping low in disappointment.

"And she might have walked out on me yelling, 'fuck you'," Roger added, "A couple of times actually."

Brian took the seat opposite to him, "You know, for a relatively straight-A's student you can be quite daft sometimes."

Roger looked up with a firm glare, "You don't get it, Bri. There's too much at stakes here. We've been friends well before I even knew how to tie my shoe laces. We made sure to steer clear of ever dating each other, we even made a blood pact about all this when we were nine."

The thing was, you've dated before and evidently so has Roger but never had he felt any sort of resentment towards the idea of you out with a different guy so why now? What was so different now?

"How do you know it's love?" Brian asked.

"It's written in her eyes," Roger admitted, a smile creeping up on his lips, "I look into them and I feel limitless... powerful even, I always have. It's like as long as I've got her in my life then I've got everything. I never ever wanted to cross the line and actually try asking her out."

A stiff blanket of silence wrapped around them, Brian's eyes attentively at Roger's while Roger's was gazing hard on the table.

"Besides," Roger sighed, "I'm not good for her a-and whatever I don't want to ruin whatever we already have."

"Well it's not like your friendship is in a splendid state either is it?" Brian shrugged, "I don't know, Rog. Either be her friend and support her and who he chooses to date or if you're not happy with that then let her know how you feel - who knows maybe she feels the same way."

"I hardly think so."

"Not with the way you've been treating her lately," Brian remarked and poured himself a glass of Roger's orange juice, "Too much pulp."

-

On the other side of the city was a rundown diner, surrounded with neon lights that would flicker out every hour or so and squeaking bar stools. It was charming enough with their ever so kind staff that it covered up the evident need for a renovation. This diner was home to nightly dinners with Brian and Roger when the three of you had just moved into the apartment but those were good days, back when you were all less pre-occupied and not to mention more loaded.

"American or not, Arthur Miller is brilliant," Ben acclaimed proudly and then taking a sip from his milkshake.

"I never claimed to disagree. All I'm saying is, how can one be in complete awe of a playwright whose play he hasn't even seen?" You pressed on with a challenging smirk, crossing your arms.

"Ah, see that's the added factor to what makes a celebratory playwright. A good playwright delivers award-winning plays while an exceptional playwright could do the very same but would also be celebrated for his the script on its own," he explains thoroughly, "Miller is so good in what he does that I wouldn't need to see the play - everything's in the book, my love."

My love. You gush at his words, breaking away from his entrancing eyes and staring at his copy of "Death of a Salesman" which was chucked with pieces of papers in almost every other page showing just how passionate he was for Arthur Miller. It was way past twilight and the sky has transitioned into an inky blue, glittered with stars. Your evening with Ben had been nothing but delightful, just as you had imagined it would be but occasionally when there would be momentary silence, Roger's voice echoes in your head prevalently, "I never said I wanted to be with you, did I?"

"Should we take off?" Ben asked, interrupting you from your thoughts of Roger, "We don't want to be late for your friend's gig, do we?"

"Gig?" You clarified right before it processed in your head, "Shit! Queen! Tonight!"

Your mind has been so preoccupied with Ben and your resentment towards Roger that you have forgotten about helping Roger with the confectionery for tonight's gig which, to add on, you two were already late for. You jumped up and rushed off with Ben back to the campus where their gig was going to be at.

-

"Liar, liar, they never ever let you win."

Queen echoed through the walls of the hall and it almost felt like your heart was thumping to the song. You were nervous to enter and perhaps you were over thinking it but you had never been late for any of their gigs and you knew just how much this would bother Roger.

"You okay, Y/N?" Ben asked, looking deep into your eyes and reaching for your hand.

"Yeah," you lied, swallowing hard, "Let's go?"

His thumb brushed the back of your hand and you could feel it calming your nerves, "Don't want to miss any more songs, do we?"

You nodded and he took his cue, opening the doors to the hall. The music roared louder and you could feel it getting into you, almost connecting to your soul. Perhaps it was you being bias but you really did love Queen's music. You could feel your worries slipping away to the music but that was before you looked up and found Roger's burning stare pouring into yours behind his drum set. He was angry. His glare never left yours and even though his lips were pouted as they normally were you could feel his jaw clenched as he drummed aggressively.

Roger was furious and he made sure you knew that.

-

Taglist: @justmesadgirl & @silvver-rose (I didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged so if you didn't, I’m sorry! But thank you so so so much for the support, it means the world to me, you don’t understand how much it made me smile when you guys commented heh)

#thanks for reading! #I appreciate you! #idK but tHe next part miGHt just be sMut iDk #roger taylor #ben hardy #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy x reader #roger taylor x ben hardy #roger taylor one shot #ben hardy one shot #roger taylor angst #ben hardy fluff #roger taylor imagine #ben hardy imagine #bohemian rhapsody #queen #brian may #queen imagine #queen one shot #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody one shot #ben hardy gifs #roger taylor gifs #faith r writes

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

A Dragon’s Trust (Rhaenys Targaryen x Aegon I The Conqueror

Well, it’s been a long time coming, but I’ve finally come around to writing this. People have been asking for it, and I wanted to keep it sweet and short of the synopsis; based on the rumours whether Aenys was really the legitimate heir to Aegon I.

It has been interesting, but hopefully, I’ve got something for it. Enjoy!

He had heard it all around court: an occurrence he knew from time after time. Their rumours, like flies, flew around his head, and the more he swatted, the more annoying they got.

Aegon may of been a solitary man, but he wasn’t blinded from the speculating stories. He knew his sisters well enough and the reasons for marrying them: Visenya was who he married for duty of his house, but Rhaenys?… Rhaenys was a sweet and spoilt as summer wine; twisting him around her little finger.

He had married her for more than desire, and as much as he had to love his wives equally, there was no denying King Aegon of the house Targaryen, loved his youngest sister more.

He had heard of such little stories in the rare occasions: when her ladies-in-waiting had gossip to giggle about, or from drunken lords at evening feasts. He had ignored them all with a supposed blind eye, only for it to grow beneath him wilder and more untamed.

Court is where it came about quickest, and he had known Rhaenys to of been the more impulsive out of the three, quick to place herself in the middle of high lords and their young squires. 

He had even watched it all go down, all men surrounding his youngest sister like witnessing a blooming flower in the first days of spring. They surrounded her, praising her beauty and wit, and she sat there, eating it all up with gracious smiles and flitty comebacks.

There had not been a time when Aegon thought of himself as jealous: and as King, he could’ve always pleased himself with many mistresses to share his bed. He was king after all. But he had no eyes for another, only his impulsive Rhaenys.

I am the blood of old Valyria, a king to this land. I will not feel so weak. He told himself, watching with silent eyes over what was taking place before him. He wasn’t going to show the lords and ladies of Westeros that these rumours could affect him.

Sometimes, he knew she was aware of what he was doing to him, sometimes taking a glance back his way, or even coming over to him, taking the very steps up to the iron throne and taking the seat on his lap.

“If I was aware, I would say you were most jealous.” She told him one night in his chambers. She had come to his chambers after a council meeting late in the evening, and when she stood before him in the candlelight, it illuminated across her beautiful fair skin; violet eyes bright and clear.

“I wasn’t really aware, and if I had been, do you really think I would’ve kept so quiet about it?” He had kept it blunt to her, scribbling notes and letters at his desk whilst he worked.

Aegon felt her move behind him, running her fingers first through his silver-gold hair, then down along his broad chest. “You want to admit it though.” She nipped at his ear playfully. “If it makes you so jealous, why don’t you teach me a lesson.”

As much as he tried to deny it, he didn’t want to put this aside and continue to be oblivious to it. She had to know. “Rhaenys…”

“My King, my beautiful husband. They don’t matter in this world. I can tell you that. It is only you and I.” She whispered truthfully. He suddenly stood from his chair, at his full height, he still towered over her, and he silently looked over her slender frame and long silver-gold locks.

“I must go speak with Visenya, speak over plans for the campaign of Dorne.” He stepped away from her, but when her voice caught him, he was mentally fumbling. “Yes, your duties with Visenya, and not I? Go on then Your Grace, you do your kingly duties.”

A fumbling and toss of metal behind him caught him off guard as he turned, and Rhaenys was already tugging effortlessly at her chainmail, tugging it away from her body until she was left completely bare to him like a naked babe.

He took in her bare flesh, soft and supple and so beautiful, he found himself remembering the times before touching, kissing and holding her, listening to her beg for him.

“You want Visenya, but not me? I thought I was your favourite?” She cooed, stepping out of the pooling clothes around her ankles, staring up at him innocently. “You can have her another night, let me show you what a loyal wife and queen I am to you and the realm.”

But what if it’s not? He thought, feeling her lips against his as she tried fumbling him out of his own clothes. The singers sing their songs of her beauty, but what if they have songs of their pleasures with her too?

He had stopped her instantly, and the heat from her cooled like tempered steel when met with ice, and an uneasy settling fell across the room. “Not tonight.”

“When then?” She pulled back pouting. “It’s been a week since I was last in your bed.” “I’m busy.” He bluntly spoke, turning away from her as he went to leave. “Leave. I want you gone when I have returned.”

He had thought she wouldn’t of replied, but when he had turned back to meet her, he expected confusion in her eyes; or even hatred. But what she saw was a playfulness clear as day shown. “As you wish Your Grace.”

When he had left his chambers, he was hot and sweaty all over, a chill that ran down his spine when he thought he was clear no-one could see how unsure he was feeling. It won’t matter if she has me in her bed tonight. He thought in knowing. As she could have me or a fat old singer pleasuring her in her bed.

The years passed and with the rumours of Rhaenys’ infidelity growing stronger, Aegon found it more difficult trying to seem oblivious to it all. He was still having her come to her chambers as much as he could; to make sure it was only him that she thought of and no-one else, but when in their moments of pleasure and making love, he could only think to her being pleasured, moaning the name of a bastard boy or squire to some low lord.

The years seemed more difficult when it had been for the three Targaryen siblings, and with the conquest for Dorne seemingly going well to worse with each time they reigned fire and blood on the salty Dornish, Aegon could only ever be disappointed.

It had been in 10 AC when Rhaenys had been shot out from the sky, a bolt through the eye of her dragon Meraxes sending the two falling. Only then did he really feel the wrath of a dragon escape through him, and he had never believed he would send a city burning to the ground.

He mourned with Visenya over their sister’s death, and yet, still her infidelity came back to him like a ghost. He had only their legacy left.

He was lucky he and Rhaenys had finally been able to produce an heir to the iron throne. A boy coming into the world in 7AC before her death; he could never of been more happier. But when he heard of the boy’s sickly and poor health, Aegon didn’t want to believe it had been from someone else.

My son, my strong boy. He looked over his first baby boy Aenys in his crib, a boy with silver locks yet so sickly and small. He could be the blood of the dragon, or the seed of a singer Rhaenys had bedded.

It was only when Aenys had been born when the rumours spread faster across the land of Westeros, speaking of Aegon having no trueborn heir but a bastard boy. He had been certain the lords knew of his wroth that day and the more to come.

It was only after Rhaenys’ death when he had had enough of the rumours, the lies and gossip, that he gave a dragon egg to his son to bond with. And when the dragon had hatched; a beautiful creature that Aenys had called Silverwing, the two had bonded instantly.

They will not have to worry now. He thought smiling. He will become a great King. I’ll make sure of it.

-

-

-

Hope you enjoyed! Wrote this for a couple of hours and took a while to think it through! Thank you!!

#aegon i targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #Rhaenys targaryen x aegon i conqueror #the conquest of westeros #ASoIaF #fire and blood #house targaryen #visenya targaryen #aenys targaryen #asoiaf au #preasoiaf #aegon x rhaenys fic #rhaenys x aegon i

[batgirl-87]

MC Character Challenge

Tagged and Created by @cptaincarswell 

(If there is another one like this I was never tagging in so…) Thank you so much for tagging me! Honestly this is a lot harder than my Jacob’s one! I hope I did a good job explaining my MC…

Rules: Choose five characters (movie or tv show) that represent your MC/ MC’s different layers.

1. Sirius Black - Harry Potter

Let’s just get the obvious out of the way =p 

Where to start…

Dramatic entrances

Just dramatic tendencies

Good hair (even after 12 years in Azkaban, the rest may be a mess but the hair is looking fabulous! =p)

Love Remus Lupin

Okay, a bit more siriusly now 😉

Unwavering loyalty and fiercely protective nature (that may be taken too far…)

Witty and sarcastic (“run along and play with your chemistry set” - classic! =p)

Charming and charismatic (she can probably convince almost anyone to do anything… maybe a bit manipulative too…)

Rebellious and mischievous

Flirtatious and seemingly confident

Secretly really insecure

Dark vengeful side, can be vicious towards those he hates

Sure, we have magic, but you know what’s satisfying? Punching someone in the face!

2. Emma Swan - Once Upon A Time

Forced into be the Savior seems fitting, right? Fine, if she has to do this, she will, because no one else will =p Plus she’s probably the best at it anyway 😉 It may be stressful and a weight on her shoulders but she’ll handle it herself and appear cool and collected while doing it.

A natural leader and hero even though she may not want to be (Have to deal with the Cursed-Vaults and R/Cabal even though this is definitely not what she signed up for)

Strong and independent (but also lonely)

Practical and realistic

Strong sense of justice

Will do anything to protect and save those she cares about

Self-sacrificing (which is easy to do if you don’t care really if you live or not)

Dark Side

Distances herself from others to protect them

Trust issues

Abandonment issues

Very guarded with her feelings (particularly when it comes to love)

Feels like she has to appear strong and keep things together despite how stressed and overwhelmed she is with great responsibility thrust onto her shoulders - probably also feels like she has to handle it all by herself/on her own

Gets Captain Hottie Hook =p

3. Kate Beckett - Castle

I think Kate shows how determined and even obsessed Keira is with finding her brother. She’ll push herself to her limits and doesn’t care about placing herself in dangerous situations, even engaging in reckless behaviors that could severely harm or even kill her to find her brother. And she’ll try to do it all herself. (Also I love Stana Katic!)

Strong sense of justice (even if it’s her own set of morals/ethics)

Strong and independent

Her own savior/hero

Doesn’t like when someone tries to control her or even protect her - she demands respect and wants a partner, not a protector (Keira just doesn’t do well with being told what to do/authority figures - she wants to do what she wants when she wants!)

Determined and hard working 

Determined almost to the point of obsession and recklessness - doesn’t care about what happens to her as long as she succeeds and will cross lines to do so

Can be secretive

On a one-woman mission

Speaks multiple languages

Likes to keep her past and personal life/feelings private (Keira doesn’t really talk about herself much to her friends - her mom, life in Canada, etc.)

The loss of her mom drives her - serves as her motivation to become a detective (while Keira lost her mom as well, the loss of Jacob is a strong motivator for her influencing even her career choice as well)

However, wants to be defined more than just by her mother’s death (Keira wants to be defined more than her brother and the Cursed-Vaults)

Struggle to love herself and accept someone else’s love

Survives getting shot to the chest (it’s very difficult getting rid of Keira =p)

4. Mazikeen “Maze” - Lucifer

(Kind of looks like a batarang right?! =D )

She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face (and then stab you and rip your throat out). Keira enjoys a good fight but also has a darker side that primarily gets unleashed when people she cares about are threatened or harmed. She can and will cross the line and do what’s necessary especially in difficult and stressful times. And those clothes!

Quick to anger and acting out violently (prefers getting mad than showing she’s actually sad)

Gets a thrill and pleasure from fighting (Duelling is fun and all but Keira does really enjoy physical fighting. May also have a taste/skill for knives - related to Bellatrix afterall 😜)

Confident in her fighting abilities

Sarcastic

Can come off as cold and uncaring

May sometimes act impulsively especially when angered (Keira has a classic fiery Irish temper)

Struggles with showing vulnerability and opening up

Secretly lonely and insecure about her friendships - like she cares more/does more for them and they don’t really care for her - worried about betrayal 

Fiercely loyal and protective - so much she easily becomes a sadistic vengeful killer if anyone harms those she cares about (well Maze is a demon =p - Keira definitely has a dark side that hasn’t really needed to come out much but after this Rakepick stuff…. Anyway she’d have no problem torturing or inflicting pain and destroying someone’s life if they hurt those she cares about)

Keira would definitely wear a lot of Maze’s clothing actually - leather, duh =p badass and a little sexy 😜

(Bonus - since you included Eve in yours 😉) 

5. Jamie Moriarty - Elementary 

Besides the fact that I just love Natalie Dormer, I also want to highlight Keira’s intelligence and manipulative capabilities, as well as her not really being good or evil but as more of a neutral. (If she wanted to run a criminal empire she could =p Who knows what the future will hold? =p) Also could possibly show what she could become if she didn’t have her friends. (More reasons she needs Bill as a partner).

Diabolical mastermind

Clever and cunning

Manipulative - uses people to do her dirty work or distract them from interfering

Likes a challenge/mind games

Likes to feel smarter than others  

Likes to be in control/have the upper hand/be one step ahead

Confident (possibly overconfident) in her skills, intellect, and abilities

Gives credit where it’s due and respects other intelligent, manipulative, and clever people

Can view situations as a game (but she’s pretty sure she’ll - and determined to - win)

Focus on benefitting herself and doesn’t care who she has to take down in order to get what she wants

Curious

Will stop at nothing to protect those she cares about (i.e. her daughter)

Doesn’t like to appear/show her vulnerability (aka her daughter)

More dramatic reveals?! Yes please =p Love a good plot twist!

Honorable Mentions: The Witch - Into the Woods; Blair Waldorf - Gossip Girl; Veronica Lodge (or maybe even Cheryl Blossom) - Riverdale; Loki - Marvel; Wolverine - X-men; Selene - Underworld

Summary: (This got long - don’t have to read! You can probably see the running themes here)

Keira comes across as a strong, confident, sarcastic person who actually hides a lot of insecurities, trust issues, and overwhelming stress. While charming and charismatic she actually is quite guarded and doesn’t like to open up or be vulnerable but that also leaves her feeling alone. While appearing even flirtatious at times she is particularly guarded and insecure about the whole ‘love’ thing and struggles with believing anyone would actually accept her for her, flaws and all. Takes awhile for her to feel comfortable around others and a long time for her to feel safe opening up and even then she rarely shows her vulnerability to those close to her. Likes being independent and handling things on her own even if that means struggling and being overwhelmingly stressed - doesn’t like to admit she needs helps or can’t handle things on her own (even though she needs support she prides herself on her independence). Normally pretty cool and calm but definitely has a fiery temper than can easily be set off causing her to lash out angrily and even violently. Also has a flair for the dramatics and can be quite rebellious and mischievous. 

Is an incredibly determined and resilient individual, particularly when it comes to finding her brother, but in general when she wants something it’s hard for her to let it go and she’ll cross lines to get it and even push herself to extremes and engage in dangerous and reckless behaviors - doesn’t matter what happens to her as long as she succeeds. Normally likes to take things into her own hands without involving others, in a way to protect them, but also keeps her at a distance from them so maybe also in a way to protect herself from her fear of being betrayed by people she has opened up to and trusted - again leaving her feeling alone, especially when she truly does need support. But she also just doesn’t like being told what to do =p 

She has a strong sense of justice, and has a hard time keeping her mouth shut when she sees an injustice, and is fiercely loyal and protective towards those she cares about; however, is a true neutral, living more in a grey area, so her code of ethics may be different than others (she’s not a Death Eater but she totally understands killing Dumbledore, would have done it herself if they asked! And she’ll fight Harry about it! =p). She doesn’t normally get involved in things (such as the second wizarding war) unless necessary and rewarding from her own perspective. She enjoys a good fight and is probably the first to sign up for some dangerous mission (as long as she feels she’ll get something out of it even if it’s just the thrill and adrenaline rush). While she may have insecurities when it comes to her relationships with others, she’s confident, maybe too much so, in her skills, intellect, and capabilities (and therefore does not handle defeat well and does not like being the one be to used and manipulated when she likes to have the upper hand and be one step ahead). 

She definitely has a dark side, particularly when anyone she cares about is threatened or harmed or when she feels it’s called for in difficult situations. She can be vicious and has no issues torturing, inflicting pain, and completely destroying someone’s life - quite literally will cut a bitch =p (and if she needs to be a bitch she can be a bitch =p) She can be very manipulative and vengeful, no problems using others has her puppets, although again normally only does so to protect or avenge those she cares about (i.e. doesn’t do so for her own personal amusement). Also I think she’s good at compartmentalizing. Honestly feels like her friends need her because, let’s face it, they’re too “nice” and “good” and they need a friend willing to do the dirty work and cross that line into the darkness… even if they don’t know about her doing that…because she does try to keep that darkness in her hidden from her friends. (But her friends and that support truly keep her from snapping and acting out more violently and diving into that darkness as easily as she would alone).

Think that’s it =p Hope I explained her well, I don’t know…

Tagging: @wilhelminafujita @bluerosesburnblue @arnyan @callmederok @jadeowl19 @missnight0wl @changeling-fae @sly-vixen-up2nogood @gryffinpuffthunderbird @unforgivablecurse-breaker and anyone else who wants to!I’m sure I’m forgetting people - I’m sorry, it’s not personal I swear! Just please do it and tag me! =)

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #my mc #jacob's sibling #adelyn-keira black #tag game #thanks for tagging me

[a-woman-apart]

Reimagining Weakness

I often thought that weakness had to do with a lack of self-control. Not being able to resist the second brownie, motivate myself to exercise, or to stop procrastinating on homework felt like character flaws to me. I was convinced that I could overcome my weaknesses by sheer power of will. I thought that by beating myself into shape, I would become a happier and more productive person. I thought, “No one’s perfect, except me”, even though I would never admit to myself or anyone else that that was what I thought. The self-help books that I was reading helped reinforce the belief that if I could just beat out the undesirable characteristics of my personality, then I would be successful and full of joy.

Despite what I thought, holding myself to strict and unrealistic standards did nothing but bring me frustration and unhappiness. Even when I did achieve things through Working Really Hard and gritting my teeth, I felt empty and unfulfilled. I was always working towards the next hard-won success in an effort to make myself happy. I was essentially running on a treadmill; outwardly, I was getting into shape, but I still wasn’t going anywhere. I was still miserable and dissatisfied.

In Mark Manson’s 2019 book, “Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope”, he speculated that our understanding of the human psyche may be flawed. He proposed that we have a rational, tempered Thinking Brain, and a passionate, impulsive Feeling Brain. His theory was that even though most of us think that the Thinking Brain is driving the car, it is really our Feeling Brain who is behind the wheel. He believes that we are not just influenced by our emotions, we are ruled by them—although some people may be more dominantly controlled by their feelings than others are.

This is why so many of us cheat on our diets, our partners, or are dishonest in other parts of our lives. Anyone who knows anything about humans knows that we often forgo long-term rewards for short-term pleasures. If we were truly logical, the negative consequences of some of our actions would be enough to deter us from pursuing them. Instead, we often do things simply because we want to, consequences be damned. It is the reason why we often throw caution to the wind in the name of love, will punch a stranger at a sports’ game because they cheer for “the wrong team”, and are at the mercy of Netflix’s autoplay function.

According to Mark Manson, the Thinking Brain cannot overcome the Feeling Brain through sheer force of will. We have to negotiate with ourselves. We tell the Feeling Brain that if it does something it does not want to do right now then we will reward it with something it likes a little later on. This reward can be anything that we want, but it has to be something immediate enough that the Feeling Brain is likely to accept the offer. We might say, “Hey, if you do your homework now, you will have the whole evening free to watch ‘Thor: Ragnarök’ with your boyfriend” or “If you work out now, then you can go to the sauna afterwards, and imagine how wonderful that will feel” or “If you stay late at the office, you will have extra money for tickets to the baseball game.”

This internal bargaining can still be classified as intrinsic motivation, even though external rewards are a part of the motivational process. Extrinsic motivation, though, is really underestimated. Dr. Henry Cloud, in his famous book, “Boundaries”, expresses that boundaries cannot be built in a vacuum. It does not matter if these are the boundaries that we make for ourselves or the ones we have between ourselves and others. We need the help of others and/or outside forces to establish working boundaries. There is a reason why alcoholics and addicts might go to Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous; putting themselves in communion with others in their situation helps them to reinforce the new standards they are forming for themselves.

“You can’t pursue success for someone else; you have to want success for yourself” is a popular statement here in the West. We live in a highly individualistic society that prizes personal freedom and initiative above everything else. Statements like, “You’ve got to love yourself before you can love anyone else” or “No one will respect you if you don’t respect yourself”, are highly popularized and the validity of these statements is seldom questioned. However, it is true that often others see things in us that we cannot see in ourselves. Others often see our potential before we do. If we could insulate ourselves in bubbles where nothing touched us, it would be unnecessary to remove ourselves from so-called “toxic people” because their effect on us would be negligible.

I am not saying that more collectivist societies—where the needs of the group are elevated above those of the individual—are without their flaws. While collectivism encourages greater group participation and helps to foster stronger social movements, individual needs may be minimized by the pressure of the individual to conform to rigid societal standards. Still, those of us in the West might benefit by stepping outside of our isolation and self-centered pursuit of achievement and learning to negotiate with and support others.

You are not weak for needing help. If your significant other begging you to change your life, because you are killing yourself with drugs, alcohol, or overeating, is the push that you need to change, you are not weak. Be grateful that you have someone in your corner who cares enough about you to tell you the truth. You still have to take the action yourself, but having an outward inspiration giving you the courage to make the first step does not make you weak. Setting up real-world consequences for procrastination or neglect may also help you to make better choices. YouTuber Thomas Frank once set up a system whereby if he failed to wake up by 6am he would be charged $5. This not an effective method for everyone, but sometimes utilizing an external system of rewards and/or punishment can help you to move towards your goals.

Currently, the First World is experiencing a very specific kind of crisis; it is a crisis of loneliness and isolation. As economic instability and disillusionment grow, people are increasingly moving towards radical ideological movements to find identity, purpose, and community. Anti-intellectualism, political extremism, and distrust of science and modern medicine threaten to negate years of societal progress. Bonds of friendship and family dissolve due to personal and generational conflict, and the disaffected parties individually sooth themselves by overindulging in mindless entertainment.

You are not weak for feeling lost and alone in an environment like this one. Depression isn’t always just neurons misfiring in your brain—sometimes it has tangible, real-world causes. Finding support can be a matter of life and death. If you are in a dangerous situation, a list of hotlines where a supportive person can connect you with resources are only a Google Search away (see a list of worldwide crisis lines here). In North America, the Crisis text-line is 741 741, and this is an option you can utilize if it is unsafe for you to speak out loud on the phone or if family members and roommates are around and you are embarrassed by having them hear you.

Withdrawing from society and trying to do everything alone may feel safer, but it will only prove detrimental over time. We are a social, interdependent species and we need each other. We help encourage each other, challenge each other’s bad ideas, work together towards individual and group goals, and we provide for each other’s physical and emotional needs.

Finally, as my therapist said, “Give yourself a little more grace.” Treat yourself as you would a trusted friend. Forgive yourself for occasionally sleeping in, for small indulgences, and even for blowing up or showing up late. Billions of people around the world are all guilty of the same thing. Maybe if we share a bit of the burden of the unfortunate truth—that we are not perfect and never will be­­­— we will all feel less alone. We do not have to be perfect to deserve love. We can be weak but still be able to gather amazing strength. We do not have to be perfect to participate in society.

We just have to be open enough to try.

#boundaries #self-control #self-improvement #self-help #weakness as strength #you are not weak for needing help #learning to depend on others #individualism #collectivism #living with a mental illness #hope #isolation #loneliness #finding meaning #building connections #suicide help #Henry Cloud #Everything is Fucked Book #Mark Manson