#when i found out exactly what had happened to her i felt myself mourning for her all over again

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Semper Eadem (iii, ao3)

If there’s one thing any self-respecting Elizabethan looks forward to, it’s a jousting match. Be a shame if someone got hurt, wouldn’t it? (Presenting chapter three for @nessianweek day 4!)

(chapter one // chapter two)

Another letter waited when she woke.

Pushed beneath her door as she slept, it lay in the small patch of golden sunlight that filtered through her chamber windows, and Nesta knew before she plucked it from the ground that it was from Cassian. From the crisp, straight edges of the parchment, she knew that this wasn’t a letter that he’d carried with him from his ship. No— this was a new letter, and as she thought of the way she’d smiled deliberately at the Duke of Northumberland last night, she had a feeling she knew exactly when Cassian had penned this particular piece of correspondence. Exactly why he’d penned it, too. 

Her name had been written in that grand, sweeping cursive of his, but his pen had stumbled a little at the end, like his hand had quaked. It shouldn’t have been endearing. Shouldn’t have had her fighting a smile, but—

Damn him.

She weighed the letter in her palm, turning it in hand, and found Rhysand’s seal keeping the edges together. A mountain crowned with three stars was embossed in the dark red wax— some symbol of the Welsh peaks Rhysand’s ancestors hailed from. Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes, and did not mourn the way that seal cracked as she opened the letter— didn’t mind as the mountain cleaved in two. 

Dearest Nesta, his letter read.

The hour is late, and I know that you will be abed already, but I find myself longing more than anything to hear your voice. I confess, sweetheart, that you left me rather desolate tonight as you left the great hall, and I wish it were not so— that things were not so fraught between us. I wish, too, that I could speak these words aloud to you, but alas, I think the Queen would have my head if I came to find you at such an hour. I will merely have to settle for this— ink and paper and distance. It is a sorry substitute for your sharp tongue, but perhaps if I happen to give myself a paper cut I suppose the end result will be the same. 

I had half a mind to spout some poetry - my heart bleeds for you, et cetera, et cetera - but truly I am not very good at it. My tutors as a boy bemoaned it often, and always said that I was a pale shadow in comparison to Azriel who, irritatingly, is very good at spouting poetry. All I can offer instead is my most heartfelt truth— that I missed you during those days at sea more than anything in the world. Trust, sweetheart, that every word I wrote in my previous letters was the truth, and had I only the opportunity to send them to you, I would have. 

I regret no more now for lack of time, since it is surely not long now until dawn. Sleep well, dear heart, for I trust to see you at breakfast, where I live in hope that you will grant me your favour for the day’s joust.

Ever yours, C.

Nesta blinked, folding the edges of letter together again, brushing a thumb over that broken seal. Her heart fluttered, ever yours resounding in her head, clanging through her chest and ringing like a church bell. Something uncomfortable gathered in her stomach as she thought of the way she had taunted him, the way she had smiled at Eris as her eyes had passed over Cassian entirely. Letting out a bitter huff, she looked to the sun limning the windowpanes, knowing it was only a matter of time before the Queen called for her. She had wanted to make Cassian jealous, and clearly she had already had considerable success but—

Her resolve was cracking.

She had only wanted to give him a taste of what it had been like for her— a sample of the agony she’d felt with every day she’d waited for word from him, not knowing if he was dead or alive. She wanted him to ache the way she had ached for months, but— God’s wounds, did he have to make it so bloody difficult?

She huffed once more, tossing the letter onto the sideboard. Swiftly she dressed— in the finest gown she owned, no less. It was a pale blue and embroidered with silver thread, shining delicate in the morning light. It had been a gift from the Queen, the bolt of fabric so frightfully expensive that even Nesta had been shocked by the generosity. Her father was a duke, and so Nesta fell into the rather slim category of individuals who could wear the colour without breaking the Queen’s sumptuary laws, and it was lucky, because if Nesta knew one thing with certainty, it was that Cassian enjoyed the sight of her in blue.

The first time they had met she had been wearing a dress made of a pale grey, so pale it was almost blue in a certain light. He’d told her then that the colour brought out her eyes.

Perhaps that was what gave her pause before she left her chamber— the thought of him that very first day, glancing up at her with an easy grin and a boyish charm, an irreverence that had made her want to smile. Perhaps it was that memory that had her lingering by the sideboard, studying his letter anew, like it might give her whatever it was she’d been searching for. She couldn’t say, wasn’t certain, and she didn’t know why, but before Nesta left that chamber—

She took up that letter and tucked it inside her bodice.

***

Nesta loved a joust.

The brightly coloured pennants fluttered in the gentle breeze, and beneath the Queen’s canopy the golden tassels hanging from the royal standard gleamed a bright yellow, with three golden lions looking out over the tiltyard, mouths open in silent, embroidered roars. The standard hung above Elizabeth’s chair, taller than the rest, and like the lions on her crest the Queen seated cast her eyes over the yard too, humming in approval as the tournament inched closer.

A long wooden beam ran horizontal through the centre of the yard, and on either end men were preparing— donning armour, feeling the weight of a lance. The stands were already filled with spectators, and somewhere along the other end of the yard minstrels and musicians had taken up, the sound of a lute filtering through the morning air. Greensleeves— they were playing Greensleeves, but Nesta was only barely listening, scanning the yard instead for dark hair and a wicked smile. At the far end, she had glimpsed Rhysand ducking beneath the awning of a tent to ready himself, and a moment later she’d seen the spymaster enter too. Cassian was in there, she was certain of it, but since the Queen had spent so long that morning readying herself for the day, Nesta had missed him at breakfast and hadn’t caught sight of him, much as he’d hoped she would in his letter. 

She glanced down at the ribbons on the sleeve of her dress now. 

Cassian had asked for her favour, but had yet to come and claim it. Mildly, she blinked.

She was wondering why - wondering what had changed his mind - when she caught sight of him at last. He exited the tent Rhysand had entered, already wearing plate armour that had been polished to a high shine, gleaming in the sunlight and moulded perfectly to every swell of muscle, every powerful inch of his frame. A helmet was tucked beneath his arm, and from such a distance Nesta couldn’t hear the way his spurs clattered against his silver plate as he walked, but she could imagine it so vividly it was as though he were already right beside her. He caught her eye— from across the yard, even with so much yawning distance stretching between them, he found her and grinned, raising one hand in greeting as he handed his helm to a passing squire.

He was entirely devoid of jewellery now.

No rings shone on his fingers, no pearl dangled from his ear. His hair was tied back, not a single strand straying, unruly, into his face. He looked ready for battle, a warrior through and through, bedecked in a staggering expanse of shining steel, and Nesta felt her heart kick behind her ribs at the sight— the traitorous thing. Caught somewhere between a scowl and a sigh, she watched intently as her knight stepped forward, and she knew with certainty that he was going to approach her now, that he was going to ask for her favour.

And she’d give it.

God help her— she’d give it.

The damned letter had crumbled her resolve, and her eyes were fixed on him now, on that effortless smile that graced his face, on the way he looked so at home in steel. Her breath caught in her throat, her bottom lip finding a home between her teeth as he flexed his hands, pulling on his gauntlets.

It was its own kind of lunacy, how good he looked in armour. She dragged her eyes over the width of his shoulders, over the broad, hardened span of his chest, and down— all the way down to those shapely calves of his, brought into stark definition by lines of solid steel. She half felt as though the air had been drawn from the tiltyard with the way it refused to fill her lungs, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him, like he had suddenly become her world, that which her sun and moon and stars revolved. 

A great deal of the Queen’s ladies thought Azriel was the most attractive knight in the field, but as Cassian stalked slowly towards her from the other end of the yard…

Nesta couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

It was Cassian who held her attention— that imposing frame of his, lined head to toe with cold steel, had her heart fluttering inside her chest as he looked at her with purpose, like she was the only one in the world he saw. It was almost enough to make her dizzy, and—

“My lady,” a voice said, dragging her attention away from the corner of the yard, where Cassian had stilled. Nesta blinked. “I beg for your favour— a token of your affection so that I may compete in your honour.”

Looking down over the wooden railing of the stands, Nesta found the Duke of Northumberland staring up at her, a knowing smile curving his lips. 

She hesitated.

Eris was handsome, even she could not deny it. The sharp cut of his jaw was elegant and fine, and his hair was a richer red than even the Queen’s, much to Elizabeth’s chagrin. His dukedom stretched halfway along the Scottish border to the coast, a once-volatile territory more settled in recent decades than ever before, and with the size of his estates and coffers, he was hardly a disappointing match for a woman of her standing. Indeed, if her father went through with the betrothal, Nesta could hardly complain that her husband wasn’t attractive, nor could she find issue with the scale of his wealth. 

Elizabeth looked at her now, amusement glittering in her dark, unforgiving eyes— so much like her father’s, as sharp and as cutting as the eyes of ravens housed at the Tower. This was the Queen’s favourite game— this dance of chivalry and courtly love, and as Nesta looked down at her wrist, at the ribbons decorating her sleeve, her stomach sank like a stone dropped into a wishing well. She dared to glance beyond Eris— to Cassian, where he had halted at the end of the yard. Even with so much distance between them, Nesta could see how his face had darkened, the murderous tilt to his head and the way his fingers had curled into a fist. She might have laughed at the hardness that had settled over his features - after all, wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted when she’d smiled at Eris in the chapel? In the hall? - had there not been something inside her whispering that this was one step too far, the cut a little too deep. 

Because Cassian came no nearer, only watched from afar as Eris extended a hand, dipping into a smooth bow as he lifted his gaze to his monarch and his potential bride. 

If only you had come to me sooner, Nesta thought ruefully as she turned her attention back to Eris, still waiting for her to bestow her favour. Didn’t you learn that lesson from all those months away? That no matter how much I want to, I can’t spend my life waiting for you?

Because she couldn’t refuse. The rules of the game forbade it, and all of it - all of it - was a game. It was one the entire court played day in and day out, one of gentle flirtation and chivalric romance, where a courtier wooed his lady with pretty words and grand gestures, and Nesta was powerless against it. A knight had asked for her favour, and it would have been remiss of her not to grant it, especially when the knight in question was a man who might very well wind up being her husband.

No— as Nesta rose smoothly to her feet and untied a single ribbon, she knew she had no choice.

Eris bowed his head as she handed the ribbon over, taking it in hand and pressing it to his lips with a flourish, as if he were crafted from Arthurian legend. When he lifted his eyes, he gave her a winning smile, smooth and charming and effortless.

“For your honour,” he said grandly, holding that ribbon aloft, gripped between his thumb and forefinger. The Queen tilted her head in something akin to approval as Eris backed away slowly, retreating to his end of the tiltyard. Nesta nodded once at the man her father wished her to marry, but she couldn’t help but wish it had been another knight to take that ribbon, another that had lifted it to his mouth. But he was too late— once again, Cassian was too late.

“Well little dove,” the Queen said in a whisper as Nesta sank back into her seat. “You have snared a fox.”

Nesta let out a soft little laugh, but it was hollow through its falsity. She let her eyes dart back towards the corner of the tiltyard, finding Cassian’s attention still fixed on her. She tilted her head in something like a challenge, and briefly he glanced straight ahead, to where Eris was now preparing to mount his horse. Even from the stands she could see the feral glint in Cassian’s eyes, and the murderous smile as he folded his arms across his broad, silver-plated chest— issuing a challenge of his own.

***

“I want the duke,” Cassian demanded hotly, marching over to where the marshall of the joust stood behind a wooden table, parchment and ink laid out on its surface.

A middle-aged man, well versed in the rules of the joust and the tourney, he only blinked lazily at Cassian. “Sir, you are to run first against the earl of—”

“I want Northumberland,” Cassian cut in flatly, looking across the expanse of ground between them, watching Eris tie Nesta’s ribbon to the end of a lance. Cassian gritted his teeth and beside him, Rhys laughed. He had yet to finish donning his own armour, but was testing the weight of a lance in his hand— eight feet long and crowned with a dulled metal tip. It had Cassian suddenly wondering if he would have time to sharpen the tip of his own lance into a fucking spear. 

“Oh, let him have it,” Rhys said airily, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the lance. “I was supposed to be up against Northumberland first but I’m happy to exchange to give Cassian what he wants.” He rolled his eyes. “Terrible temper when he doesn’t get his own way, you know,” he added, almost conspiratorially, to the marshall.

Cassian scowled.

But the trumpets began to sound, and the marshall sighed at length before nodding, scoring out Rhys’ name on his list and writing Cassian’s beneath. Rhys’ coat of arms were rendered in elaborate colour there too, right across from Eris’, and the marshall only looked pointedly at Cassian before crossing that out too, a dark line of ink cutting right through the shield decorated with a Welsh mountain crowned with stars, a nod to Rhys’ ancestry. Rhys rolled his eyes, and the marshall gave a tight hmph before turning from them entirely, striding briskly towards the tiltyard entrance, where he found the herald to inform him of the change of plan.

“You’re welcome,” Rhys said blandly, clapping Cassian on the shoulder before setting down the lance he’d been balancing in his palm. It was Cassian’s turn to roll his eyes now, rolling his shoulders inside his armour and hearing the satisfying clink of metal plate as he shifted. Rhys snorted, turning away and beginning to head for the tent to continue readying for his own match.

“Do me a favour Cass,” he said wryly, turning his head as he lifted the tent flap. “Don’t kill him. You’ll start a civil war in the north if we have to find a new Duke of Northumberland.”

Cassian grinned wickedly. “He has a brother to replace him, does he not?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “A brother who is happily occupied by his post in Spain, if I recall correctly. Don’t forget that Nesta’s sister is his wife. Lady Elain won’t be happy if they’re dragged back to England because you put your lance through her brother-in-law’s neck, and if I’ve learned anything over the past few years, its that if there’s one way to piss off Nesta Archeron, it’s to make her sister unhappy.”

Cassian grumbled, and Rhys only gave him one last looked before ducking back inside the tent. Cassian might have marched back in there to argue the point further, but his squire rounded the corner with a horse in tow— the one Cassian had picked out that very morning when they’d marched down to the stables to choose their mounts.

She was arrayed in red and gold, and he’d known from the moment he’d seen her that she was the horse he wanted today. A deep brown destrier, she was named Minerva after the Roman goddess of war, and across her back she sported a black leather saddle and a ruby-red caparison edged with embroidered black roses. She was beautiful, and as Cassian approached and stroked a broad hand down her nose, she nudged the centre of his palm. He grinned. 

“I’ll fetch your lance,” the squire said, bowing his head as he handed the reins over. Cassian nodded, wrapping the leather around his fist as the horse whickered. 

“We’re going to win today, aren’t we girl?” he said softly. Minerva whinnied. “We’re going to win back the affection of Mistress Archeron and knock the Duke of Northumberland from his horse, aren’t we?”

He patted the horse on the nose, nodding to himself.

Oh, yes.

He was going to win today. Eris had already taken Nesta’s favour— he wasn’t about to take Cassian’s victory too. Cassian hadn’t even bothered asking any other lady for a favour. He didn’t want to tuck another’s glove into his breastplate, didn’t want to ask another lady for anything. All he wanted was one of those damned ribbons from Nesta’s sleeve, and yet she’d given it to fucking Eris.

Not that she’d had much choice.

Cassian knew the rules of this game as well as she, and it would have caused a stir if she’d turned Eris down.

Still, he thought as the squire returned with his lance, it didn’t make it any better. Cassian mounted his horse, still thinking of the way Nesta’s ribbon fluttered as Eris tied it to the end of his own lance.

Bastard.

With a snap, Cassian closed his visor.

He could see nothing but right ahead, the tiltyard and the long wooden beam. Eris waited at the other end, similarly visored and gripping the lance with Nesta’s fucking ribbon dancing in the breeze. The visor restricted his vision, but the one and only time he’d gone without it, he’d earned the scar cutting through his eyebrow.

He’d been jousting against Azriel, and his lance had split in three places. He’d worn his helmet but not closed his visor, preferring the wider field of vision, but a shard of his lance had been thrown backwards, cutting through his skin. He’d almost lost an eye, and even though he had no doubt that it would have made him even more dashing, he had no wish to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life— even though, at the time, Azriel had taken pains to remind him that not only had handsome Lucien Vanserra lost an eye in such an accident, but in the Queen’s father’s time, there had been a knight who lost an eye at a joust in Greenwich too, and the eyepatches of both attracted the ladies wonderfully. 

But Cassian didn’t want to attract the ladies, he thought darkly as he studied the tiltyard ahead. He wanted Nesta, and none other.

He gritted his teeth as the herald took up a place in the centre of the yard, his voice echoing through the steel of Cassian’s armour as he announced the beginnings of the tournament. The trumpets sounded a fanfare, and the rumble of the drums clapped through the air like thunder as the energy in the yard began to build, turning frenetic, frantic, as Cassian manoeuvred his horse into position, armoured thighs gripping her flanks tight as he brought her to the starting line. At the other end of the yard, Eris mirrored Cassian’s movements. 

A moment passed, then two, three—

Cassian’s heart hammered in his chest, anticipation thick on his tongue as he waited for the herald to call for the joust to begin, to say the words that would have him surging forwards—

“Laissez aller!”

It was a phrase from Old French, used to signal the beginning of a match. Rhys had told him once that it meant let them go, but Cassian hadn’t ever really cared for the intricacies of language or translation. All he cared for was how he lifted his lance higher now, spearing it towards the sky the moment the words left the herald’s lips. He kicked his heels in hard, setting Minerva lurching forth, racing along the tilt at a breakneck speed. 

Her hooves were thunderous, an unwavering and uncompromising beat as the world went by in a blur, and with each thud of her feet against the tiltyard ground, Cassian felt his armour reverberate— felt the rattle right the way down to his bones. With one hand gripping the reins and the other holding his lance aloft, the world beyond simply fell away, the cacophony of cheers and shouts and music drowned out, eclipsed, as Cassian’s horse neared the centre of the tiltyard.

A pleasance, the herald had declared that morning, before the festivities had begun.

It was a phrase used customarily at a joust, one that let them know this was a friendly match— done not for war, but for fun. But as Cassian raced towards that pale blue ribbon… 

He didn’t echo the sentiment. 

He lowered his lance, keeping his elbow tucked to his side and his grip tight as he extended his arm, holding the lance straight and sure and steady— aiming right for Eris’ heart. He didn’t just want to break his rival’s lance or knock him from his horse. He wanted to kill the bastard. At sea, there had been skirmishes. Drunken brawls in port towns that had turned nasty. Cassian had ended lives beneath his bare hands, and Eris hadn’t seen a day of battle in his life, the sheltered little nobleman that he was. He’d never had to fight a day in his life for anything. The Queen’s reign had been easy for her nobility. Unless they were sent to Ireland or the Netherlands, they had no knowledge of war, no experience with strife. Cassian snarled softly behind his visor. This was not the days of the Queen’s father, when war had raged with France. This was not even the days of her grandfather, when civil war had made a solider of every nobleman.

No— men like Eris had become complacent, and as Cassian seethed, his fingers tightened around the base of his lance. 

In the wind kicked up by Eris’ horse, Cassian saw that fucking ribbon flutter— taunting him, mocking him.

It should have been his. 

He’d asked for it first, had wanted her first, and now Eris thought he could ask for her favour, could wear her ribbon, just because there was talk of a match between he and her? A match that Cassian would let happen over his own dead body?

Once more he snarled inside his armour, keeping his arm straight as his horse barrelled forwards.

He was going to knock Eris off his fucking horse for even presuming to approach Nesta, for daring to ask for that fucking ribbon. He was going to land a blow so fucking fierce the Duke wouldn’t ever joust again—

The distance between them continued to shrink, and it all moved quickly - so quickly - that Cassian didn’t dare blink. Eris was a hundred paces away— fifty— twenty—

There was a deafening crack as his lance split, connecting right with the centre of Eris’ shield.

A perfect score.

The audience applauded, cheers rising from the stands, but Cassian didn’t turn his head. 

He only kept his pace, galloping to the end of the yard and extending a hand as a squire handed him a fresh lance. At the scoreboard, a large III had been written in chalk beside his name. The space beside Eris’ name remained blank. He hadn’t managed to hit Cassian at all, his lance missing him by an inch.

But Cassian didn’t smile, didn’t feel satisfaction burning through his veins— not yet. Eris remained atop his horse, entirely unharmed, and as Cassian reached the end of the yard and spun his horse, already he was preparing to go again, and go again harder. They would run three times against one another, with the highest scoring knight declared victor. Three points were awarded for a hit to the shield, two for a hit to the chest, one for a hit to the arm. Cassian had had the rules memorised since he was a boy, knew them inside and out, because he’d spent years training for this— spent years running against his brothers, rarely losing unless he was up against Azriel. He’d broken Rhys’ arm in this very yard once— shattered the bone beneath his brother’s elbow and sprained his wrist. 

And that was entirely by accident.

He smiled grimly now as he set his sights on Eris anew.

But God had damned him, it seemed, for in the moment his lance crossed the tilt, the sun shone vicious on Eris’ armour, the glare so blinding it forced Cassian to blink, to shield his eyes as his aim slipped. Instead of landing a hit to the shield attached to Eris’ armour at the shoulder, the tip of his lance connected only with Eris’ arm— earning him a single point. In contrast, Eris landed a hit to Cassian’s chest, the blow damn near knocking the breath from his lungs and scoring the duke two full points he didn’t fucking deserve. 

Cassian growled in frustration, a roar building in his chest like he was nothing but some feral creature, and when Eris reached the other end of the yard and flipped up his visor, shooting a dazzling smile to the stands where Cassian knew Nesta sat watching…

Well, his fury was stoked to an almost dangerous fervour, so lethal and so potent it had him practically trembling inside his armour, the breath stuck in his throat as it caved beneath his wrath.

He remembered again how he’d broken Rhys’ arm jousting when they were boys. How, once, he’d managed to make a dent in Azriel’s breastplate with the force of his hit. Eris might have been as learned as Cassian in the sport but Cassian knew he had the edge. Because he wasn’t afraid to spill blood, not too shy to break bones in order to prove to Eris and the Queen and every single one of them watching in the stands that Nesta was his lady, the woman he had once been so certain he would take to wife. 

He was still determined to put a ring on her finger someday.

So as Eris turned his horse, set his lance straight and aimed, Cassian took a breath— deep, filling his lungs as he felt the muscles of the horse shifting beneath his thighs. The herald called the final laissez aller, and Cassian wasted not a single second. Before the crowd could even begin their cheering, he set Minerva to a fierce gallop, even faster than before. The air whistled through his armour as he gained momentum, and still he pushed her further, faster— faster, faster. He held his arm steady, his grip tight as he clenched his jaw, knowing that this was the run that would decide the match, that would have him standing as either a proud victor or a sore, sore loser. 

He didn’t look to the stands. Didn’t search for her face amongst the crowd.

But it was for her— every pounding beat of his heart, every single piece of him that urged that horse forwards… 

For her.

Eris was close now— so, so close. The tip of his lance neared, and Cassian redoubled his grip on his own, fingers straining, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets.

And still he urged his destrier faster, determined to get as much brutal, crushing force behind this hit as possible— determined to make it a final, shattering blow that would make the duke think twice before daring to even look at Nesta ever again. 

Meters became feet became inches, and suddenly Cassian could see the whites of Eris’ eyes, the way they narrowed as Cassian checked his aim, braced himself for the impact—

And with an almighty clash, the tip of his lance shattered entirely as it made bruising contact with the centre of Eris’ shield.

The force of it knocked Eris sideways off his horse, sending him crashing to the tiltyard floor. His armour clattered, the pauldron at his shoulder cracking with the impact, and the lance Eris had been aiming at Cassian’s chest scored only a glancing blow on his shoulder before it, too, fell loudly to the floor. The Duke was winded, lying still on the ground, and for a moment Cassian thought he really had killed the bastard— but then Eris was rising slowly, pushing up on his elbows and removing his helmet. A thin ribbon of blood streamed from his nose, whilst another wound bled far more profusely at his temple, staining his auburn hair scarlet. And as the chips of Cassian’s own broken lance lay scattered in the dust, he smiled— a victors smile, vicious and cold and utterly without mercy.

Because no other man got to ask Nesta Archeron for her favour— not peasant nor knight nor king.

No. Other. Man.

Cassian hoped he’d broken a few of Eris’ bones at least. Hoped he’d shattered something vital, because Nesta was his— for fucks sake, she was his, and he wasn’t about to let some ridiculous betrothal stand in his way. And as he slowed Minerva from a gallop to a gentle trot, spectators rose in the stands, cheers and applause all. With his heart still still racing and adrenaline coursing through him like a torrent, he brought his horse to the end of the yard and dismounted, sliding from the saddle and pulling off his helmet in one smooth, practised gesture. 

He had won— and even though he looked to the stands and saw the Queen clapping enthusiastically, it wasn’t her approval he sought. Not her smile he looked for. 

It was stupid— reckless and unheard of, but Cassian found himself marching towards the covered stand where the Queen watched. He bowed deep when he stood before her, arms extending wide at either side, helmet hanging from his fingers. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, his muscles burning from the exertion, but he cared not— not as he lifted his gaze and caught sight of Nesta - his Nesta - with her lips parted, a flush touching her cheeks as one hand lifted, all smooth grace and easy elegance, to rest above her heart. 

Mother of God, she was beautiful. 

Her dress was a pale shade of blue, the kind that brought out her eyes, and the low neckline was cut square in the French fashion. The bodice was tight and threaded with silver, and as Cassian dragged his eyes over her middle, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was tight, clinging to her waist, and though he knew that she would be wearing a shift beneath, he wondered how, given how tightly the bodice hugged her frame. His fingers slackened, and he almost dropped his helmet.

Was there anything in the world more wondrous— more stunning?

He didn’t think so, and though he still didn’t say a word, he gave her a small nod, one he hoped would let her know that all of it was for her, every moment of that display. She met his eye, and he swore he saw some of her ice melt a little. The marshall of the joust began calling across the tiltyard for the next round to begin, but before Cassian could leave—

Nesta smiled.

Just a little, only a tentative curving of her lips, but suddenly Cassian felt like he was the one who had been knocked from his horse. It was the most beautiful thing in the world— and confirmation, he supposed, that all wasn’t lost between them.

That she hadn’t given herself over to marrying Eris completely. 

The marshall began shouting in earnest now, his irritation rising, and Cassian shot the Queen and Nesta both a daring grin, dipping his head in another bow that he hoped the Queen thought was charming rather than irreverent. 

He made his way back to the tent at the end of the tiltyard. Eris swore at him as he passed, spitting blood onto the ground as a squire checked his injuries, and even though the duke cursed Cassian’s name, his mood was so much more vastly improved by that small, infinitesimal smile Nesta had given him that he could do little more than grin.

Fuck Eris and his dukedom— fuck all the riches in the world. Cassian had the greatest treasure of them all.

He reached the tent and found Azriel waiting to clap him on the back as Rhys mounted his horse - a black destrier aptly named Erebus after the Greek god of darkness. He couldn’t see his brother’s face, hidden as it was beneath his intricately patterned visor, but Rhys nodded, tilting his brow forwards as he said a match well won, brother, in a voice that echoed, low and resonant, through his armour. Cassian merely patted Erebus’ flank as he passed, wishing his brother luck as Rhys made his way to the tilt, and as Cassian pulled at the ties on his greaves, letting them fall away from his calves, Azriel took a step forward and held out a hand to take the armour he began to shed.

A squire stepped forward to help, but Cassian stopped the boy with a hand on his shoulder. He could have been no older than fourteen, all gangly limbs, but he was eager, eyes alight as he reached for Cassian’s helm. Cassian shook his head, pulling away just enough to reach for the doublet he’d cast off earlier, draped across a bench beside the tent. He pulled out a leather purse from a pocket inside it, retrieving a single golden coin.

“I need you to do me a favour,” he said, holding up the coin. “Don’t worry about the armour— Azriel will help me remove it.” Az raised a brow, but didn’t contradict him. “I need you to go out there and find the end of Northumberland’s first broken lance. There was a ribbon tied around it. Bring it to me.”

If the boy seemed confused, he didn’t show it. He only nodded, taking the coin before scurrying away, heading to the yard to find the ribbon before Rhys’ match could begin.

Azriel shook his head, a wry laugh leaving him as he began to help undo the ties keeping Cassian’s armour together. The vambraces came off first, falling away from Cassian’s forearms. Then the pauldrons at his shoulders, the cuisses at his thighs. Finally Azriel loosened the ties on the breastplate and Cassian slid it over his head.

As they finished, with Cassian standing only in his tunic and breeches, the boy returned, sky-blue ribbon in his fingers. 

Cassian took it with another grin, the softness of it sliding against his skin as he tied it gently around his wrist for safekeeping. Az looked at him pointedly, both eyebrows raised so high they almost touched his hairline, but Cassian merely shrugged, tracing a finger across the ribbon now encircling his wrist as he looked at his brother, no small sense of satisfaction curving his lips into a smile.

“A memento of my victory,” he said simply. 

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn, @sunlightsage, @burningsnowleopard, @asnowfern

#nessianweek2023 #semper eadem #as always theres an authors note on ao3 filled with historical tidbits #featuring a brief lesson in Elizabethan conflicts and the rules of jousting #amongst other things

[thesmokingguns]

Peach Picking Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: Mentions of cheating and drinking

Peach POV

‘I hope you’re well, thinking of you and missing you. XX BB’

I saw the text from Ben, slipping my phone into my bag as I sighed, feeling the anxiety headache start to come up, leaving me with a dull thud throwing behind my temples and leaving me with the overwhelming feeling of needing to fix the mess I was getting myself into.

I had been ignoring him for two days, since I had found out something that had crippled me with anxiety.

I should text Sammie before she gets to the party and fill her into the shit show that I let happen in my life. A quick little heads up about how Nikki and I were not in a good place and, oh yeah, some English actor slid into my Dm’s and I have a crush on him like a fucking kid. And can’t stop thinking about him because he makes me feel like myself for the first time in ten years. That was exactly the text message my bestie wanted to get.

Groaning as I threw my head back I wanted to scream This was all too much and I wanted to crawl into bed and not think about the mess that I had made of my life.

“Peach, you ready…wow.” My eyes lifted to look at Nikki, of course not in costume despite heading to a Halloween party, looking at me, “You look great.” He was eating me up and I felt myself growing needy with attention. Loving the way his eyes were only on me as he came towards me, fingers rubbing over my rib cage and around my back, pulling me into him.

And just like that I was melting, eyes looking up at him expecting to see dark pools and an easy smile but instead I saw Nikki and leapt back, shocked at how my mind was wandering and I was putting off things that needed to be dealt with.

Especially since two days ago when Nikki had asked me to help him with something on Instagram, leaving me while he went to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t snooping, a message came in and I clicked on it, thinking I’d message a fan back but instead I found his DM filled with explicit pictures that he was sending and messages that made me shake and feel sick. I had air printed them as I waited for him to come back, hiding them and fixing his issue, locking the phone and tossing it away from me.

He had been cheating on me for months and I wanted to cry over it like a lost girl, tossed to the side but at the same time all I could think was that I was free. And knowing that had made me scared. It made me scared because as soon as I realized what Nikki was doing all I could think about was kissing Ben.

I made myself mourn, pouting around the house being a full brat as I thought several times Nikki was going to strangle me. But this was the end of being this and I wanted to act like I was his. It wasn’t endearing like it had been before and I could feel the exasperation in his tone. And his exhaustion with me was the verification I needed to know he didn’t love me like before.

“Peach, you've been weird lately.” Nikki commented as I sat beside him in the car. I looked at him wondering if he sensed our expiration date coming up or if he foolishly believed in the forever he had sold to me. I stared at him, watching Nikki’s confusion.

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” The air got hot and thick in the car, Nikki gripping the steering wheel as he cursed, shaking his head as I folded myself up in the seat, getting ready for his anger.

“Why do you say this shit? Why do you say shit just to get a fucking reaction?” he yelled, palm coming down hard against the wheel as I regretted opening my mouth. The fact we were already pulling up to the valet and couldn’t turn around to have this argument made it that much worse.

He would be mad at me all night, giving me the cold shoulder and making me beg for just a morsel of affection. Emotionally, I couldn’t handle that.

“Nikki-”

“You can be the worst type of brat, Peach. The worst.” he was getting out of the car as I scrambled beside him, rushing inside as I grabbed his arm, trying to cuddle into him as we stepped inside so that I could at least be attached to him and make him love me.

Maybe this was all my fault. Maybe it was me that made it hard to love. Maybe this was all just part of who I was and Nikki had to go to someone else because of my short comings.

“C’mon, Peach, you’re being too clingy.” Nikki shrugged me off as I stood there, eyes narrowing in fury.

I had been so upset before all of this, tears burning in my eyes as I felt my hands go to my sides, tight balls as Nikki calmed himself down and moved his belongings from his jacket to his pants so he could check his coat. My foot came down in a hard stomp as he turned to look at me, my arms crossing as I glared ready to have a full meltdown. Nikki recognized this, I could see in his eyes he knew what was going on.

“Peach…” He was using his kid glove voice with me but I was too furious. Tears too close to falling out as I thought about the last few days and how close to the edge I had been to breaking. Now it was happening. I was being pushed over and I couldn’t stop the fall.

“I hate you.” The words came out so easy. It felt like I was purging something, an emotional release as I took a breath for the first time and tasted the air around us. The salt of my tears stinging my face as I looked at Nikki who seemed confused by what I was saying, “Did you hear me? I hate you.” I wanted him to hurt like I did. I wanted him to know what it was like to be cast aside and unwanted. I wanted him to regret ever hurting me and to understand I was a person who needed love and he wasn’t giving that to me.

I just wanted him to hear me. Just please, Nikki. Hear me.

He rubbed his beard, looking around like there was an audience around us instead of just the two of us hashing out something I should have dealt with already. Nikki’s hand rubbed his beard, a sign he was uncomfortable, trying to assess the situation and figure out what to do.

I wanted to scream and yell, really give him the scene he thought I was doing.

I wanted to talk to Ben about all the things I had been trying not to tell him. To give him the truth about just how trapped I felt. The guilt. Everything,

“You don’t mean that, Peaches and cream. Come here. I’m sorry, Peach. Come to daddy.” I looked at him, hurt that he could think that I was going to come to him.

What delusion was he living in thinking this was going to be okay? This was so far from being okay that I couldn’t comprehend him being okay with thinking otherwise. I shook my head at him, watching line lines appear on his face as he frowned at me. Angry like I was the one who was causing all these problems for us. Like it was me that had done this.

The anger flowed back in.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate-“ Nikki pulled me to him like he had done a thousand times before. Trying to hold me through y tears as I let him hold me, to comfort me. His chest getting wet as I sobbed against him, thinking maybe he understood how mad I was. Maybe he could actually see I was hurting and he cared about that. Maybe he knew that I needed more than what he was doing and-

“You want me to spank you in front of all these people? Put you in your- FUCK!” My knee came up, right in his old man balls as I stepped back, thinking of cracking him in the skull with my fairy wand i was still holding.

Nikki would never change,

“I want you to fuck off.” I stepped away as he reached for me. He was angry now too. Good. I wanted him to be angry.

I had brought all the print outs, pulling them from my drawstring pouch and tossing them at Nikki who looked at them, at least having the sense to have shame across his features as he saw them.

“At least get creative with nicknames, Nikki. ‘My sour lemon girl’, ‘loved last night cherry girl’, and my favorite ‘see you soon, strawberries and cream’.” He was rubbing his face again. He wanted control of this situation, over me and he didn’t know how to get that. The fact he was seeking control over my comfort made me ache. “What is wrong with me, Nikki? What wasn’t I good enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?” He tried to garb me again, knowing that I was touch starved for affection and that I would break down so easy if given a chance. I had to be stronger than him. I had to,  “I just wanted you Nikki. Just you and now. It’s too late. We need…we are…it’s…over.” The sobs took over so I couldn’t speak, wiping at my eyes as I looked at him.

He had broken me. I hope he was happy. I hope he was happy with what he had pushed me to.

“No, you can’t. Peach, they were just flings but you’re my girl, peaches and cream. You’re mine.” Nikki sounded confused, like he had thought that he could treat me like trash and expected me to just stay and say thank you.

I wasn’t going to stand around and be hurt any longer. I couldn’t do that when I had hope of happiness.

I had been ignoring him. Jesus Christ. What was I doing here. I needed to tell Sammie. I needed to find him. I needed to go. I need to��face Nikki.

“Oh Nikki. No. I’m nobodies. And I’m not Peach.” I shook my head, mind thinking of the several things I had circling through my mind.

Did I just break up with Nikki? Did I just do that? What the actual fuck was going on?

And where was Ben?

Ben POV

I was late to the party, which wasn’t something that wasn’t my fault. I had foolishly been waiting for a text that wouldn’t ever come from Sasha, who had been giving me the cold shoulder for the past two days. Nothing had happened and I didn't understand her pulling away.

‘I hope you’re here tonight. I want to talk to you. I miss you.’

Was I laying it on thick? Maybe. But I wasn’t going to back down on her. There was something about her that made me crazy. I knew I wanted to be in her life as more than just her texting buddy and I think Sasha knew it too.

Maybe she was inside already and I could meet up with her. If she wasn’t inside I was going to leave. I would sed her voice memos, make her playlists, keep reaching out as she shut off from humanity.

With Sasha on my mind, I was sliding past the coat room when I saw her. She was dressed in a tight green dress, her blonde hair piled in a neat bun. She was dressed like Tinkerbell which seemed oddly fitting to my Captain Hook. Nikki wasn’t dressed up as he went to go check his coat. Sasha was holding his arm like she wanted a cuddle.

“C’mon, Peach, you’re being too clingy.”Nikki shrugged her off as I watched her, all green with envy in her tinkerbell costume, looking like she was about to dissolve in tears. Instead she did a stomp, glitter flying like magic as Nikki turned to her, watching her pouty face and crossed arms. “Peach…” he was talking to her like she was a child in trouble.

Lurking in the shadows I watched her tantrum, the tears there showing real hurt as she sniffled her nose. She was going to break down.

“I hate you.” Neither of us expected that. I watched Nikki step back like she had assaulted him, Peach doubling down on tears that were now falling. “Did you hear me? I hate you.” Nikki looked around, rubbing his dyed beard to make sure no one was watching this.

I stepped further into the shadows, heart hammering as I watched them. I wanted to coddle and kiss her pout away. Never wanting to see her cry or be upset like this.

“You don’t mean that, peaches and cream. Come here. I’m sorry, Peach. Come to daddy.” The way she looked at him, neglected and hurt as he tried to softly talk to her, will her back into his arms and forget that she had just told him, twice, that she hated him.

But she shook her head. Her disobedience made him scowl and I was afraid things were going to get out of hand. I thought of approaching, whisking her away to diffuse the situation but maybe this was the confrontation she needed. Maybe Sasha didn’t need to be saved but she just needed to use her voice.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate-“ Nikki pulled her to him, I watched her sobbing as he held her against his chest in a way that was so familiar, like he had it a thousand times before. My stomach churned with jealousy as I watched him get to touch and comfort her like I was yearning to do.. Her fairy wings were shaking as she tried to fight him off her.

“You want me to spank you in front of all these people? Put you in your- FUCK!” Her knee had come up and Nikki was bent over as she stood hands at her side, her fairy wand in a fist as she glared.

“I want you to fuck off.” Nikki’s eyes widened and he made a grab for her but she stepped aside, opening the purse she was carrying and going for what I thought was pixie dust but instead was paper. Nikki was covered with white fluttering pages, grabbing one and visibly paling as he read whatever was on the printouts..

She stood there, her eyes filled with tears as he looked at the papers and shook her head. She had been planning this, ready for a moment when she was feeling brace. And she was so brave.

“At least get creative with nicknames, Nikki. ‘My sour lemon girl’, ‘loved last night cherry girl’, and my favorite ‘see you soon, strawberries and cream’.” Nikki was rubbing his mouth collecting all the evidence of his infidelity that she was presenting him with. His expression was less of concern and more of a stoic damage control. No real emotion fluttering across his face. No regret seeping out.. “What is wrong with me, Nikki? What wasn’t I good enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?” He was reaching for her but she was stepping back, “I just wanted you Nikki. Just you and now. It’s too late. We need…we are…it’s…over.” Her words broke her as he looked horrified at what she was saying, not being able to believe it was true.

He was hurt, there was no faking that.

I shouldn’t have been celebrating this but hearing her break up with him was the best feeling in the world. I was watching her free herself and watching her fly.

“No, you can’t.” He sounded broken, confused by this all, “Peach they were just flings but you’re my girl peaches and cream. You’re mine.” But she shook her head, looking at him somber as she stared at him not wavering in her beliefs.

How beautiful it was watching her have her own voice.

“Oh Nikki. No. I’m nobodies. And I’m not Peach.” She turned, Walking away, leaving a trail of glitter in her wake as I watched and waited.

Oh bloody  Hell.

Nikki didn’t chase her or follow her. He should have done that but he was wrestling with something. Looking from where his girl had just gone to the papers in his hand. A grimace on his face as he bunched them up. He headed for the door and I found that strange. Was he so confident that she would come back to him? Seeing what I had just seen I wasn’t sure that she was going to be able to.

I moved through the crowd, looking at Sasha as she sat at a bar, her friend Sammie by her side as the barkeep pushed a sugar free Red Bull at her and three clear shots.

“You don’t drink through you shouldn’t-“ whatever her friend was trying to talk her out of she wasn’t listening. Instead she was throwing back shots. One. Two. Three. Sipping her drink as she grimaced.

It was going to be a very interesting night.

“Peach-”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” there was poison in her words as she looked at sammie, her eyes married for a second before she softened and I watched her face fall, “Please, just…not that.” She was sighing, confused and hurt.

I needed to fix this.

“Well, Tink, fancy meeting you here.” she looked up at me, eyes shining as she shook her head. But there was a smile in her eyes despite her sorrow, “Did you steal my Peter Pan costume theme?” I teased her as she blushed, shaking her head with a smile peeking out.

I had never met her friend before, just knew her from what she told me. Understood how close they were from Peach’s late night phone calls where she would tell me her life story in all the detail.

“So we meet again, Hook.” She was flirting with me. Both of us were very aware of it., “Are you going to offer to buy me a drink?” I looked at the shot glasses and saw Sammie’s eyes narrow, hand going towards the swords that were on her back that I had a feeling weren't props.

“I thought you would want to dance.” She looked at me, head tilting to the side as she smirked, not having expected that from me. But I turned and looked at Sammie, “I’m Ben.”

“Bin Bons.” Sasha snickered at me and Sammie looked at her, eyes narrowing as she looked around for someone, “Can I get another three shots?” The bartender began pouring as she looked at us, “We’re going to make a toast together so you all need to drink with me.” she handed out the glasses, her eyes on mine, “I broke up with Nikki.”

“To new beginnings then.” I tapped her glass, both of us taking a shot, “Now can I get that dance?” I was trying to get her to stop drinking and just away from everything. I wanted her to be able to breathe.

“Excuse fucking me, what the actual fuck is going on here? What the fuck did I miss in the last ten minutes?” Sammie was looking between us as she threw her hands up at Sasha who looked at her. Whatever passed between them in that second made Sammie exhale, “Okay, no more Daddy Sixx. That is…something. But what is Billy Russo doing here?” he motioned to me like I wasn’t there and I knew that this wasn’t the time to talk about it.

“I’m here dancing.” I wrapped my arm around Sasha, pulling her out to the dance floor.

I wanted to ask her  if she was alright, check to see if there was anything that I could do but she was spinning, pressing her ass against me as she danced against me, leaning back as the lights bathed us in neon colors and she sought to forgot whatever was going through her mind.

And I knew better than to question anything. I just needed to dance.

Sammie POV

What the actual fuck was going on? What universe was I living in?

I watched Sasha grind against Ben Barnes, Nikki apparently being broken up with and- I needed to text Izzy the tea about my friend having a messy breakup He didn;t know Peach was dating Sixx because that's all I needed, him to think I was just in it for the old rockstar dudes. I needed to text him and let him know that my best friend had broken up with her boyfriend and was dancing with some younger actor because this was insane but…of course there were ten missed calls from Sixx. Of course he could come to me to make sure his girl was okay.

Maybe I had a smidge of misplaced loyalty to the oaf. But I couldn’t just answer a call from him. Instead I sent him a quick text  to see what he would say. I knew NIkki well enough to know he was good at talking his way out of the bullshit he got himself into.

‘You and Peach broke up?’

‘No. Peach is mad and thinks I cheated on her. She’s been acting weird for a few months. Is she okay?’

I looked up to see Peach grinding on someone, laughing and looking pretty happy. Was she okay or was this just a mask of how she felt? I didn’t know what to say to Nikki so I just didn’t respond, tucking my phone away as I sipped my drink. Peach was infamous for suffering in silence and then eventually she would clue me in on everything with all the details she had been omitting for months. She liked to have her plan laid out and completed.

And Nikki cheating seemed like exactly the sort of things she wouldn’t want to talk about. But that didn’t mean I didn't want to strangle her for so many changes in a short period of time. But if it wasn’t chaos was it really Peach?

Who was this guy who she was dancing with? Who she was flirting with? When did he come into the picture? Was she projecting Nikki cheating with her actually  cheating on him? It didn’t seem like Peach to cheat. But maybe that’s why she broke up with NIkki. Maybe she needed to actually get to live some of her 20’s before they were over.

God, I hope she didn't ask me how to use Tinder. I turned to the bartender, motioning them over.

“I’m going to need something stronger.”

Ben had a very drunk Peach on his back as he walked her down the street, feeling her breath against the back of his neck. Her soft hums as they moved making him smirk as he felt her cuddling against him some more. But he was also very aware of Sammie walking with them looking at them unsure of what was going on but nonetheless not liking it.

“I don’t feel good.” Sasha said as they continued walking on to her condo, “Are we going to your house?” she asked Ben, resting her cheek against his back as she let out a little yawn.

It was almost 4AM and they would have called an Uber if it wasn’t for Sammie assuring them Sasha would puke in a moving vehicle, which she had done pretty consistently everytime that she drank when she was younger. So to avoid the $200 dollar cleaning fee they had spent the last ten minutes walking or in Sasha’s case getting a piggyback ride.

“We’re going to your place.” Ben answered, turning towards her building as she made a sound.Her lips brushing the back of his neck and making Ben shiver as he let out a sigh.

He felt like he wasn’t going to make it through this. Peach was so drunk and extra touchy tonight and he had watched her laugh and be loud and open for the first time. He was eating it up, this happiness and laughter looking so good on her. Plus, the way she had looked when he had offered to give her a piggyback she had been so excited, squeezing his bicep and leaning to close as she asked if he was serious

“How do you know about her condo?” Sammie asked. She didn’t fully understand how much influence this man had on her friend yet and Sasha laughed at this like it was obvious.

“He buys my groceries.” Ben laughed at this, some secret joke that Sammie wasn’t included in, “Joy, Ben’s  a good guy. The worst thing he is going to do is judge you for leaving your teabag in your cup.” She yawned, resting her head against his back, closing her eyes as she hummed to herself.

Sammie watched Ben take off, running as Sasha laughed, throwing her arms out as he spun around. She thought of Izzy and how he would throw out his back if he did that. It would take weeks and a chiropractor  to fix her old man. Maybe that’s  why Peach was so excited. She was getting this younger person. But Sammie also hadn’t heard her laugh like this since they were kids.

Ben was running up the stairs with Sasha squealing on his back. Sammie cursed them both as she thought about shopping at his achilles with one of her swords.

Sasha was grabbing Ben’s hand, pulling him towards her bedroom. Her eyes on his as Sammie looked at them, shaking her head as she saw them.

“Are we all sleeping in the same bed?” Sammie asked. Ben looked up from where he was holding Sasha, his eyes on the blonde who was now dancing away towards the kitchen. She was barefoot and beautiful and Sammie stepped forward now that Sasha couldn’t hear, “She’s been with Nikki a decade.” She warned but ben shrugged his shoulders.

“And she could be with me for a lifetime.” he stepped away as Sammie shook her head, pulling out her phone and seeing all the missed texts and voicemails from Nikki. She couldn’t even imagine what Sasha’s phone looked like.

What a fucking shit show.

Peach’s POV

“Ben, am I going to be hungover in the morning?” I asked, looking over the edge of the bed where he was sleeping on the floor Sammie had made  a big point out of the fact we couldn’t sleep in the same bed, which I understood her point.

He looked at me, those dark eyes pulling me closer as he rolled onto his side, giving me a soft smirk. He had spent the last hour drinking water with me, sitting me on my bathroom vanity and washing off my makeup, talking so close to me than I thought our lips would brush if we pronounced a word with too much lip emphasis.I swirled around him, hungry for him as I floated, my drunk shifting to a buzz.

“I’ll take care of you.” The sunlight was stealing the darkness of the room, morning coming quicker than I had expected. It was the golden hour and as I looked down at Ben I was reaching, his fingers and mine, dancing around each other as we smirked, easy flirtation passing between us like nothing that I had ever experienced before. “Do you want me to sing you to sleep?” he asked as I let our pinkies tangle, holding hands.

“Do you think you could just come into bed with me and we’ll tell Sammie that it happened after we woke up?” He chuckled at me, the creased next to his eyes deepening as I watched him.

“If you want me in your bed when you wake up I’ll get in bed with you. Is that a deal?” I sighed, nodding at him, “Close your eyes, Sasha. Just try to get some sleep, darling girl.” His voice soothed me and I closed my eyes, ready to sleep now.

Nikki POV

The sun was up and Peach wasn’t home.

Had she been serious about breaking up with me? Was she really done?

I called her phone, wanting to slam down my phone when it went right to voice message. It was past her just not answering and now she was somewhere and I wasn’t sure where she was.  I was afraid for her, wanting to keep my girl safe.

I should have gone after her, Peach loves a scene like that. Loves to feel loved. But I had been so horrified being confronted with the evidence of my cheating.I felt sick to my stomach. I got a little attention and made the wrong decision again and again. Peach was my everything, put on this Earth to be my other half. She was the person who I’d wake up at 2AM and listen to me play the bass or hear about whatever project that I wanted to work on. She’d forget about how tired she was and tell me what she thought, giving me feedback and ask me how she could support me.

Peach was great at finding people who wanted to work with me. During the pandemic she had been the one who had talked with publishers and my manager, setting up Zoom interviews and updating my wardrobe so I was ready to face things.

She wasn’t just a needy brat, though I did love that side of her. Loved seeing her big pouts and feeling her crawl against me trying to find comfort in my arms. But she was smart in new ways and some things she would say things or have ideas that made me forget who she was, scared her big ideas weren’t going to have me in them.

And maybe her dreams had gotten too big. Maybe her dreams had stopped including me and she was just looking for an excuse to leave. Maybe it was less about me cheating and just that she was done and it's easier to have a big reason.

Could she have just been having a tantrum or could there be someone else.

“God, Peach, just come home.” I said, sighing as I stepped away from the window and moved towards the bedroom.

Each always came back to me. I would just need to wait.

#Nikki sixx x peach #nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfic #nikki sixx fan fiction #nikki sixx fa fic #Nikki Sixx fan fic #ben barnes #Ben Barnes fan fic #Ben Barnes imagine #Nikki Sixx imagine

[byebyler]

SO I’m absolutely eating up everyone’s Byler posts and loving the unbridled optimism everyone is exhibiting towards our ship becoming canon

but

I just can’t get on board like some people. Because a lot of their reasoning hinges on “if the Duffers were smart, they’d...” and that is reason enough to say oh, no, then it’s not going to happen. Bc the Duffers aren’t smart. How can they be dropping all these hints and crafting a narrative so subtly, masterfully poignant when they literally forgot Will’s birthday this season. At this point, any stroke of genius found in the narrative seems to me to be a complete accidental coincidence 

Which is why I’m bracing myself for the absolute Worst Case Scenario when it comes to Will being gay, coming out, Byler, etc etc. And the WCS for me would be...

Will dies at the end of the season

It turns into another “bury your gays” trope and we’re all let down

My personal opinion on this season being split up is that there’s something completely and totally status quo breaking at the end. They want to give everyone a chance to sit with part one, digest it, and start all the crazy theorizing so everyone is primed for part two. And there’s something in part two that’s going to have everyone shocked and freaking out. I think the death of a main character would fit that bill

The hints for Byler are all there. The aversion to girls, the painting, El saying she thinks he’s interested in someone, all the awkwardness between him and Mike, the heart to hearts, [tender music playing], the whisperings of a love triangle in reviews, etc etc. It’s there, so I think it’s safe enough to say that yes, Will is gay. Yes, he’s into Mike. And honestly yes I do also think Mike is having a sexuality crisis, or at least a relationship crisis with El, so who really knows how that will go?? Whether the crush is requited or not, it would still hurt like hell if Will died as a conclusion to that story

My main reasoning for this WCS is the harness pic. That tells us Will gets snatched at some point, and the most obvious answer is that he gets picked up by Vecna. Same as Chrissy, same as Fred, same as Patrick, plus Max and Nancy

Now Max already had a daring escape, and Nancy has to be freed as well because there are still shots of her in the trailer that weren’t in part one, so they must be in part two. Plus we’ve yet to see the shot of Eddie playing guitar on top of his trailer in the upside down. What else could that be, if it’s not to play Nancy’s favorite song and save her?

So are we really going to have three close calls with no real deaths? Is Will going to be another fake out who gets snatched but eventually freed via the power of love and music and friendship? Is Vecna really only going to be 3 for 6?? I don’t know, I just can’t see them pulling the same fake out stunt three times in a row with main characters like that. Especially when it seems like they’re all resolved in similar ways (as far as we can guess, at least). So I don’t know, it just seems like lazy writing if they pull the same stunt three times. But then again... who knows?

And of course all the actors’ hints towards Will’s journey this season, saying there’s romance but also that it’s sad/emotional? I can’t remember their phrasing exactly but it was something like that. And of course any coming out scene would be emotional for us, but having it end in death would be unambiguously sad for everyone watching 

And then Will’s painting would be used much like Hopper’s letter at the end of the last season. Mike is mourning Will’s death on his own, spots the painting, unrolls it to see something even more emotional and something that spells out how Will always felt about him. But by now, it’s too late

But of course, that could all be bullshit. I sincerely hope it’s bullshit. Like I said, this is the Worst Case Scenario that I can think of. And why I think it COULD be a possibility

But I could be (and hope I’m) wrong about all of this. I think Steve is another big possibility for a main character that might die. And if he dies, I don’t think they’d kill two main characters like that. Will might not even be getting lifted up by Vecna. There’s a whole host of bullshit that could happen to him tbh. Or maybe the writers are lazy and will do the same fake out just to scare people three separate times. I just don’t know

My main reasoning AGAINST the “Will dies” theory would just be that the cast has been very coy and giggly whenever dancing around the subject of Will’s love life. And if Will died, and Finn and David were still acting like that in interviews... Well, they’d kind of be assholes, wouldn’t they? So that’s why I think this theory isn’t true

But like I said, I’m just lowering my expectations as much as I possibly can. Will dying would be the worst case scenario for me, both as a Byler shipper and just a big stan of Will in general. And I know if I let myself get too sucked into the positive theories then I’ll just end up being disappointed in the end. Most likely. Here’s hoping I’m super stupid and wrong. I’ll check back in in ~a month and we’ll see if I was right or wrong! xx

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #my thoughts #season 4 #stranger things season 4

[fkinavocado]

Okay my darling. It took me forever to gather my thoughts so this is going to be all over the place. But just know that i woke up this mornimg to thebupdate and LOVED the chapter and i read it 3 times back to back.

First, he tried to feel her heart beat every which way. My poor little heart 💕. And the fact that he mourned her, and he was crying as much as her and he was angry and it kept coming out in bursts but he still loves her so much 🥺🥺

And the fact that he's so so good with her. He wanted to talk so badly but clearly thats not her way of communicating so he gives in to physical expression. But Dreea, you are a magician storyteller. Its so clear that he's become softer with her since he found out her past. Like even here, she asked to be hate fucked and punished, and he talked the talk, but still treated her kindly. And when he says he fucked other women and they liked it "but you don't deserve to." I can see why she must have thought he meant she didn't deserve to feel good or orgasm, but actually meant he was going tp show her love instead of anger anyway and that she couldn't run from it this time. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

And the smut!!! Excuse me, ma'm. I need to fan myself 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 he's so rough and then gentle and the switch had me salivating!!!! But he knoooooows herrrrrr. He knows that feeling like she's loved is something she will have to "endure" because she runs from it but he was going to make her face facts "nowhere to run". Like, yessss, condition my baby to feel good about being loved. She's not going to feel anger from him because thats a thing of her past. And i love that, for the moment, he can set his anger aside and tap into what he actually feels for her because she needs to see it.

And even his anger the next day is valid because he contained it. He communicated in that letter but he also showed her exactly what it felt like. Because our girl is not a verbal person but she is an empathetic one and I'm so glad that it ended on a hopeful note for them. Even though you're great at keeping things realistic because clearly 🧐🧐 they need to work on him trusting her again as he kept saying so sadly because its clear that from the beginning he's being underplaying how much he feels for her, from trying not to come off too strongly the first time they got together to now being so careful in giving her what she wants and expressing himself the way she needs so she's wouldn't run again but this trust aspect is something she needs to do for him just like she fought for him before.

But Dreea, i need to know what happened with Emily and the court case. I'm so sad this story is over 😭😭😭😭 And you stiffed me on the balcony sex 😠😠😠😠. But i forgive you because you're brilliant. 😘😘😘😘 and i have loved loved loved reading and responding to this story and i adore you so much for taking the trouble to reply

PS. I better be seeing my DI babies again and they better be doing great in the fluff and smut areas and building a proper life together, Dreea 👀👀🔪

PPS. Do we get Hard Candy next?? After you get some rest of course. 😘 it is appropriate for my emoji after all 🤪

-🍭

AS ALWAYS I WANNA PUT YOUR FEEDBACK SOMEWHERE UP IN A HALL OF FAME ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ everyone should read your thoughts on it because you got it all 100000% right as usual!!!! 💕💕💕 ugh i'm so emotional!!!! thank you so much for all your delicious feedback along the way i've been looking forward to it with every update 💋💋

and yes!!! hard candy is next along with another fic i've been dying to start writing on👀 so stay tuned!

ps: that's what extras/sequels are for- balcony sex. i don't make the rules 🤷‍♀️

#ask #🍭 anon

[blam-marie]

A Metaphor's Guide to Rewriting Destiny

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In the morning, Compassion left to join the scholars wherever it was that they worked. He told me that he wanted to get a clearer idea of the situation in the city, especially now that I had escaped. But I couldn’t come with, for fairly obvious reasons.

I hated staying behind. Inaction had never suited me. I spent all morning pacing in the staff’s common room until finally Jeanne took pity on me and showed me upstairs to the guests’ bathroom. I didn’t feel like I needed another bath so soon, but clearly she felt otherwise. She left me there while she went back to work, and warned me sternly to not wander around.

I had no intention to simply stay put and wait for her return. I had done far too much of that in the early days of this manifestation, back when the holy fire of my essence still struggled to settle in this new form. I would never let myself feel this vulnerable again — until the next time I was forced to by the cycle of death and rebirth, that is.

The hotel was an old and beautiful building, but it exhibited signs of being slightly past its prime. The gilded furniture was just out of date, the elaborate paintings on the ceiling could have done with being retouched, the carpets showed wear. It hovered at the edge of what could be a steady decline or a spectacular renewal, should it receive the proper care. I found a window at the end of a corridor and stood watching life pass me by on the other side of the panes. The streets were crowded, but none of the crowd lingered. People were moving with that very specific nervousness that I knew meant they were afraid of behaving in any manner that could be seen as suspicious. A small group of teenagers kept gravitating to eachother to exchange a handful of words then flitting away like starlings, glancing at their surroundings with no subtlety at all.

I sighed. This city was a powderkeg. I didn’t want to be here.

As I turned away from the window, I almost bumped into a man coming the other way. He swerved with a muttered apology, then froze in his tracks. He turned back to me. I tensed, all of my muscles singing in anticipation of a fight.

“Mrs. Wright?”

The name was so unexpected that I felt my entire body lock in place. No one had called me that in quite a long time. “Come again?”

The man was staring at me with wide astonished eyes, taking in not just my face, but also my entire body. “It is you,” he murmured. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. You have my condolences.”

I blinked. Then I remembered the window’s dress and veil. Sour bile flooded the back of my throat.

The man was still talking. “What happened? If that is not too personal a thing to ask?”

“Who are you?” I blurted out.

“Oh, do forgive me. I am Guillaume Lavoile. I was friends with your late husband. We met at a reception at Felicitate manor… oh, a very long time ago, now.” He patted his stomach and laughed, although it lacked any humour. “I was much younger and thinner, then.”

The name unearthed a memory in my brain.

“The french novelist. You exchanged letters. We were supposed to visit you, four years ago.”

“Yes! Exactly! But you never arrived…”

“No. We had an accident. He died.”

His eyes widened again. “Four years ago? But…” He stared at my clothing again, which were those of deep mourning. “Well, I suppose that four years is so very little time, in the grand scheme of things…”

“It was nice meeting you,” I said, then turned to leave.

He touched my shoulder, but fortunately for him did not grab it.

“Wait!”

I waited.

“My dear Mrs. Wright, would you like to sit down with me? I’m here to meet with a writing group, but I am certain they can make do without me for the afternoon…”

I have no idea what possessed me to agree, but soon enough I found myself sitting in a beautiful common room with Mr. Lavoile, on a plush settee in front of a fireplace, with a glass of wine in hand. Perhaps it was because the man kept calling me Mrs. Wright. It had been my husband’s last name, not mine. Hearing it applied to me should have chafed — it certainly did, back when he was still alive. But today, somehow, it felt bittersweet.

I eyed the man as he took place next to me. He had a round jovial face, with flushed skin that could have been explained away, had the texture of his curly hair not given him away. He should have shaved it; it was painting a target on his back. The Theosians could not possibly be kind to him. Unlike Compassion who had made an effort to be forgettable, Lavoile was dressed in the latest fashion. An elegant cane with a silver handle was passed from hand to hand with insousiance as he sat; clearly an accessory rather than a necessity.

I had no recollection of meeting him face to face, but if it had happened at Felicitate manor, then I was not surprised that the memory would have slipped my mind. I had not been at my best back then. I did remember his penmanship; Ambrose used to read his correspondance out loud at the dinner table, and there had been quite a lot of it.

As his name brushed my mind, I had to close my eyes and collect myself.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Wright.

The late Ambrose Wright. Of which I was now the widow. Around me, the world kept turning, with no regard for how things had broken apart for me.

“Are you not concerned?” I was compelled to ask.

“What about?”

“I am Rage.”

“Yes…? And why would that be concerning?”

“Your city is not exactly… stable, right now.”

He scoffed. “If it was not well known that Rage is Wallen I could call you Theosian. There has always been much of what you represent in this city. I would not call that a bad thing. Besides, you are more than this. I would not insult you by reducing you only to a purpose that you have been assigned.”

An assigned purpose. I had never heard it put this way. Much was always made of the shape of our natures, but never about whether or not we had chosen these natures. I did not respond for long enough that my companion felt some need to clarify his meaning.

“Your husband always wrote so beautifully of you,” he said softly. “Always, he spoke of the woman within the Exemplar.”

This did not comfort me. I had warned Ambrose many times against using me as his muse. There was three thousand years of me that he did not understand, compared to the scant decade that we had known each other.

“He was a poet,” I dismissed. “A born liar. His craft was to make things more interesting than they really are.”

Lavoile looked amused. “Ah, but all the best lies have a grain of truth in them. And nothing can inspire such verses that is not interesting. You are a story, my dear. Stories that are predictable do not get told. They need heart to be alive. Truly, you will not convince me that you are made of rage alone, and nothing else.”

“Wish that was not the case,” I muttered.

Lavoile watched me in silence for a few minutes, then asked the question that I had been dreading.

“Where were you, these last few years? What happened?”

I tried to find a succinct way of explaining my situation that would not lead to too many follow-up questions.

“My presence in Theos has been deemed dangerous. Not everyone shares your belief that I am anything other than a carrier of anger and strife. I have been made a guest of the Lighthouse.”

His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “That is outrageous! Without a trial?! How did I not know about this?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you truly so high in politics that you would expect to be told these things?”

He could have been. I had missed rather a lot these last few years. But last I remembered, Guillaume Lavoile was a novelist and what’s more, an editorialist, which I understood to be as mortal enemies to politicians. Not the sort of person that the king would rush to inform about my presence in Theos.

“Yes, yes I am!” he said. “I am a citizen of this country, am I not? No one should be detained — especially not in the Lighthouse, and especially not an Exemplar — without it being publicly available information!”

I stared at him with bemusement and a little awe. “You are peddling dreams! In what kingdom would that ever possibly be the case?”

“Dreams are what civilisations are built on, my friend. The future and the past need not be the same.” He shook his head. “I will write a bulletin at once and decry the injustice of your imprisonment. The people need to know.”

“No!” I snapped. “You will do no such thing. Unless you want my daughter’s blood on your hands.”

“Your daughter? How do you mean?”

“She was taken,” I informed him flatly. “To ensure my compliance. Now that I am loose, I need to get her back as quickly as possible, before the king decides to punish her in my stead.”

Lavoile’s face coloured in anger. “How dare he!” he boomed. “She is but a child!”

I flicked a glance at the entrance to the common room. We were alone for now, but if he kept exclaiming this loudly then we would not be for long. The man seemed to realize this as well. He dropped back to his seat and leant towards me.

“How long ago have you escaped?”

“Yesterday.”

Realization crossed his face. “The banquet. I wondered why it had not been posponed. Mind, I didn’t want it to be. It’s important to hold on to our stances, even despite the king’s tiranny. But now I wonder… was it meant as a distraction? To cover your rescue?”

I nodded. He gasped.

“Brilliant! On, that is well done. It will make a very good story someday, if you would honour me with the telling of it. In the meantime, I am assuming your daughter is held somewhere close to the king?”

“In the palace itself, if I am not mistaken.”

“Good,” he said. “I mean, not that it is a good thing,” he clarified when he saw me tense, “but good in the sense that I think I may be able to find you a way in. A friend of mine, you see, if the art teacher of the Duchess of Camerise, the king’s daughter-in-law. I can ask him whether he knows anything that could help.”

I hissed in a breath. “You would do that?”

“Of course. What has happened to you is revolting. Such a thing should not have happened in Theos. Whatever it takes to fix it, know that I am on your side. I will help you see it through.”

My heart was doing something strange in my chest. Compassion offering help to me made sense. But this… It was entirely unexpected.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He waved a hand as if to wave my words aside. “You do not have to say anything, aside from perhaps this: where can I find you again once I have news to share?”

“I am staying in the basement here, with the staff.”

Something dark crossed his face.

“Of course. That is always where they want to put people like us. But we will not stay down. We will always come back up and force them to look at us.”

I did not agree with that ’we’ of his. I would have been perfectly content if no one looked at me again for the rest of my immortal life. I was not Spite, I didn’t burn to prove myself. I wanted it to be socially acceptable to stab people who looked at me wrong, that was all.

“Come and stay with me,” he continued. “I have a small appartment here in Lutèce. It will be my honour to host you and you will be much more comfortable.”

“Thank you, but no. The basement will do. And besides, I am not here alone.”

“Is Peace with you?” he asked.

I startled. The question was so unexpected that I almost asked him to repeat himself, certain that I had heard him incorrectly. I tried to control my reaction, but could not quite prevent myself from sounding strangled when I replied. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I am sorry for assuming. But, well, there are rumours that she was seen in Theos. Four years ago I believe, right around the time you dissapeared. I simply wondered if…”

“We crossed paths,” I interrupted brusquely. “Four years ago, yes. But I am not with her now.”

He nodded. “Then may I ask who…?”

“Compassion.”

His eyes brightened. “Ah! A decent ally to have in these troubled times.”

I growled. “Only in theory, I assure you. In practice he is most irritating.”

“Yes, I imagine you and he would be as fire and water,” he laughed.

We lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Then, seemingly coming to a decision, Lavoile picked up his cane and held it out to me.

“I want you to have this.”

I held his gaze as I placed a hand slowly on the silver pommel. I pushed on it, then twisted the cap. I felt him chuckle as I pulled out the long metallic lenght of a blade. I inclined it this way and that, examining the craftmanship. Then I sheathed it back inside of its ebony tube before taking it from his hand.

“Thank you.”

My new friend nodded. He stood up once more.

“I should leave, now. I will return once I have news. But before I go….” He held a hand out between us, brushing the edge of my veil. “May I?”

I held still. Gently, Lavoile folded up the crepe fabric and bent over to drop a single kiss on my brow.

“When you find those who have hurt you,” he murmured, “Strike true.”

#a metaphor's guide to rewriting destiny #writer #writing #writing is hard #gosh I wish my tag game was better

[cophene]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐓 | vento aureo; twenty-six.

☆ ⁺ « TELEPORT US OUT OF HERE

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them  a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and a pretty-faced crew. notes : sci fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.2k+

★˚⋆ IT FELT LIKE YOU HAD been searching for him for ages. 

Finding him felt like a splash of nepenthe. A daydream you had never let yourself linger in.

He felt like finally coming home.

He met your embrace eagerly, swinging you up off your feet and leaving you breathless. You laughed as he set you down, his eyes the scattering of the sun on water.

“I found you,” you couldn’t help saying. “I can’t believe I found you.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. He pulled you down onto the swing beside him, pushing off the ground to set it rocking.

“There’s so much to tell you. I don’t know where to start.” You drank in his face like a person parched. He looked exactly as you remembered. His eyes and his mouth and the way his dark hair gently framed his face. It was incredible how little he had changed.

He brought your hand up to his cheek. A ring glinted dully on one of your fingers. Only then did you realize.

“Where’s your mask?”

“I didn’t want you to see me in it,” he said quietly.

Inexplicably, thunder roiled overhead. He looked naked without his mask, now that you thought about it. That teardrop jewel that hung beneath his eye was a part of him now.

“You’re taking too long,” he said, kissing your knuckles. Kissing the ring. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“I’m doing my best.”

He gave you a mournful look. “I told you not to get involved with me. Now you’re paying the price.”

He worked the ring from around your finger and then threw it over his shoulder. You cried out but he ignored you.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he said again.

You woke at the sensation of a cool hand on your forehead. Trish smiled wanly at you, her skin pale and her hair limp.

“Sleep well, Captain?”

You were in a healing pod, the foam around you still cool. You squeezed your eyes shut, then mustered all of your strength to sit up. Various little wires were hooked up to you. A monitor beeped nearby. “What happened?” you asked hoarsely. Trish passed you a cup of water before answering.

“Fugo said it was gas poisoning. Your helmet wasn’t screwed on properly, so when the pod door opened, some of the gases from outside mingled with your oxygen. You finished your transfusion a while ago. Any longer out there and you probably would have gone loopy for good.”

“How long was I out?”

“Twelve hours, give or take.”

You leaned back against the pod. “Did everyone make it alright?”

“Mhm. JoJo’s resting. Mista, Fugo and Narancia are working on cracking the hard drive we got from Polpo. We should be getting a ping from them any minute.”

Trish checked over your vital signs on the monitor, then released the wires from your body and shut off the monitor. The med bay went suddenly quiet.

“Trish,” you said. “Do you think . . . do you think I’m not myself?”

Trish stilled. “What do you mean by that?”

You didn’t really know yourself. “Do I seem different? Ever since we accepted this job from Zero?”

“You still care about us, Captain. You’re still as reckless and as daring as ever.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I think we’ll all be better off once this job is done.”

Trish hadn’t answered the question. You opened your mouth, but was cut off by your holopad going off. You took it from the nearby table, scanning the message.

“Summons from Fugo the bridge,” you told Trish. She nodded, and less than five minutes later, you had joined your crew on the bridge. Mista and Narancia were clustered around Fugo by his console, Coco sitting on one of the screens. JoJo stood off to the side, looking a little overwhelmed but interested nonetheless.

“Cap, you’re up already? Are you sure you shouldn’t be resting more?” Narancia looked up at you, wide-eyed. You were glad to see that neither of his eyes looked worse. Actually, he looked hell of a lot better than everyone else did.

“I’ll be fine. This is a lot more important than rest.” 

You found a spot between Mista and Narancia behind Fugo. Put simply, your engineer looked like flack. He probably hadn’t slept at all since you’d gotten back on the ship. He tapped one last line of code across his screen before it dissipated, leaving behind a crisp new screen with only a few lines of information.

“We did it!” Mista shouted, high-fiving Narancia. “We cracked the drive!”

“You didn’t do anything,” Fugo grumbled. He rubbed his eyes. “All you did was get in my way and drop Coco Jumbo. Five times.”

“Eh, call it moral support. What have you got for us?”

Fugo looked ready to collapse. “The drive was a set of complicated commands to input into Coco Jumbo. It effectively put it into a lockdown state and paused all of its other processes. From there, I had to work with the bare bones of its computer to produce this set of coordinates and this message.”

He projected his screen into the air. A line of numbers, and beneath that, simply:

Congratulations. I eagerly await your arrival. JPP.

“The code is constantly shifting,” Fugo said. “That set of coordinates was recently updated. As of now, it’s Polnareff’s most current location.”

“And where is that?” Trish asked.

[ I CAN HELP WITH THAT. ]

Coco overlaid Polnareff’s image with a holograph of its own, focusing on a planet a few star systems away from where you were presently. 

[ PLANET 857, JUST A FEW CLICKS AWAY FROM BEND GATE III. VIRTUALLY UNINHABITABLE. VERY HOSTILE. HOME TO A FEW RESEARCH BASES AND NOW POLNAREFF. ]

Mista frowned at the hologram. “Never heard of it.”

[PROBABLY NOT. IT’S A VERY DESOLATE PLANET, ONLY OF INTEREST BECAUSE OF ITS EXPANSIVE OCEAN AND UNDERWATER SYSTEMS. AND IT’S EXTREMELY FAR AWAY, BESIDES. IT’LL TAKE AT LEAST THREE DAYS TO GET THERE. ]

The crew began chattering among themselves. You stayed quiet, a bad feeling settling in your stomach. 

“Does this planet have a name, Coco?”

[ YOU CAN CALL IT MINOS IF PLANET SO857 IS TOO MUCH OF A MOUTHFUL. ]

You didn’t outwardly react to this information. But inside, you felt something tear.

Minos. Of all the planets, why did it have to be that one?

You didn’t let yourself think about it. You couldn’t. If you thought about it, someone would notice it playing across your face and start asking questions.

All you had to do was find Polnareff and get the Stand Arrow. That was all you had to do.

A ping went off at the comms station. Trish went to answer it, her forehead wrinkling. 

“Who could be pinging us all the way out here?”

As it turned out, the last person you could have expected.

“Captain, I hope you’re aware that you’re currently flying into one of the most dangerous zones in the galaxy known to man?”

It had been a while since you’d heard Zero’s voice. It was lower, rougher than you remembered. He enunciated every damn syllable.

“Damn, nice to see you too,” Mista muttered.

A hologram of Zero displayed itself over your ship’s main screen. Zero was dressed as he always was, in his mask and dark robes. Only the prickle of irritation in his voice was new.

“Do you plan on killing yourselves before the final stretch? Are you that tired?”

Fugo clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but we’re not doing anything like that.”

“No? Then kindly tell me what you’re doing in the Black Zone, Passione.” 

The temperature on the bridge lowered by ten degrees. Your breath got caught somewhere in your throat.

Fugo hastily brought up a map of the ship. You saw him zoom out on the ship’s location, take in its surroundings, pause on the yawning pit of black off the port bow.

That was stupid. There was no way.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Trish said, her voice pinched. “We couldn’t be in the Black Zone.”

“And yet you are,” Zero replied. Every word was tightly controlled. He was trying not to lose his composure. “I am just as confused as you are, Passione. Which is why I ask again: do you plan on killing yourselves?”

“Hey, you gotta help us out of this,” Narancia said. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Get out of there.” 

Mista yelled, “But how could this even happen? We weren’t anywhere close to the Black Zone.”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do for you in this situation,” Zero said. In an uncharacteristic move, he put a hand over his mouth, sighing angrily. “I’d threaten you with death but it seems like that will happen anyway. I don’t know what to tell you except that you’re being a bunch of imbeciles.”

You didn’t know what to say. Narancia was at the pilot’s console, probably trying to turn the ship around. Not that would help much.

“I hired you for a job. I expect it to be completed. Because once it is, everything will be different. Absolutely everything. I will not beg, but I will implore you to rethink your priorities, Passione. You’ve closer than any other thieving crew I’ve employed thus far. It’d be a waste to throw that all away.” 

Zero shifted, the teardrop jewel at his cheek twinkling. “There’s a Bend Gate beyond the Black Zone, if you can get to it. I’d wager that’s your best chance at survival. I hope this doesn’t end up being the last time we see each other.” His voice was strangely soft. He opened his mouth, but whatever it was he wanted to say next, he decided not to and ended the call.

You sat down in the captain’s chair, numb. Your ship. In the Black Zone. It was unthinkable. Impossible.

No one was really sure how the Black Zone had come about. An imbalance of energy and matter or some kind of freak collision of two stars. At any rate, it had left a yawning pit of space behind, one that made tech faulty, and the laws of gravity and physics all weird. People likened it to the Bermuda Triangle of the Old World. Ships, no matter their make or model, vanished here without a trace. There had been various attempts to better research this area, but those had all been scrapped when the vessels invariably failed and disappeared. The best approach had been to leave it alone and avoid the Black Zone at all costs.

How had your crew flown to the very edge of it?

“I can’t believe you,” Fugo snarled from his chair. “What kind of a pilot flies face first into the flacking Black Zone?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Narancia snapped back. “I was distracted. I left the ship on auto-pilot. You’d think the engineer would have mapped a better course.”

“I’ve been awake for the past thirteen hours working on the hard drive. Do you think I had time to map anything?”

“I didn’t do this on purpose! I’m turning us around right now.”

“And what would that do? We’re going to lose at least another three days turning around. We’re already running out of time as it is.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? Teleport us out of here?”

“Might as well, with the shit flying you’ve been doing!”

“That’s enough,” you said, cutting the two short. “We need to stay calm and think about this.” Narancia and Fugo fell silent, glowering at their respective screens.

“If turning back will take too long, what can we do?” Trish said quietly.

The answer seemed to be obvious. JoJo surprised you by saying it for you.

“We go through,” he stated plainly. “Zero said there’s a Bend Gate on the other side of the Black Zone. Seems like it’s the only shot we’ve got.”

It sounded way worse out loud. “Coco,” you said, “what are our chances of success if we go through the Black Zone?”

The turtle didn’t answer right away. That was enough to put you on edge.

“Coco?”

[ YOU’RE DEFINITELY GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON’T GO, THAT’S FOR SURE. ]

You looked at Fugo. It pained you to admit just how helpless you felt in this situation. If anyone could figure this out, it would be him.

Fugo pursed his lips. He looked at his console, then swiped it to the left.

“Tell me how that looks, Coco.”

The bridge was deathly quiet while you all waited. Finally, Coco said, [ IT’S ROUGH, BUT IT SHOULD WORK. I MADE A FEW ADJUSTMENTS, BUT FOR THE MOST PART, IT’S WHAT I WOULD’VE COME UP WITH TOO. ]

Fugo read over the notes. He looked over at you, presumably for permission, and at your nod, he stood up.

“Alright, everyone, here’s what we’re going to do.” Fugo projected his screen onto the ship’s main display. A detailed map of the Black Zone came into view, a blinking red dot denoting the ship’s current location.

“Going from partial monitoring and simulations, scientists were able to figure out that the Black Zone has a kind of current. Because of the nature of its energy, it naturally flows toward the Bend Gate.” At this, a green dot showed Bend Gate XIV’s location.

“All of the ship’s power and propulsion will shut down when we reach the Black Zone. We can’t risk further damage to the ship’s internal engines than necessary, so we’ll shut it off manually. Then we’ll ride out the currents. At best, it’ll take us less than five hours to reach the Gate. At worst . . .” Fugo didn’t finish the sentence. “What we’re banking on is a burst of power here, right at the mouth of the Black Zone. That’s what will propel us out of the Zone and the current.” He tapped the spot decisively.

“Ships like this don’t allow manual shut-downs,” Narancia said. He scratched at his eyelid. “There always has to be some level of power running through it.”

“Coco and I will be bypassing that,” said Fugo.

“The ship will treat that like an internal failure then,” said Narancia. “The only way to restore power . . . would be a switch outside of the ship.”

You were starting to understand now. “You’re going to need someone to activate that switch.”

Fugo nodded. “It’s unlocked by an iris scan, no less. No bot we send out there could do it.”

It seemed like a no-brainer to you. “I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not,” Fugo said immediately. “We just need a human iris scan. You don’t need to be risking your life.”

“I’m just going to be here sitting on my ass anyways. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t send your general out into battle. You’re staying here.”

You scoffed. “I’m not doing shit, Fugo. You’ve already done all of the heavy lifting. I’ll activate the switch, no sweat.”

“It’ll be like a flare storm out there, Captain,” JoJo said. You’d almost forgotten he was there. “The most powerful one you’ve ever seen. The chances of you getting thrown from the ship—”

“—are exponentially high,” finished Fugo flatly.

“Look, I’m not arguing about this, okay? The Captain has to pull their weight. I’m activating the switch, end of discussion.”

“Someone should go with you then,” said Trish.

“I’ll do it,” Mista said before Trish had even finished. He grinned at you. “We went through training together. It’ll be just like the sims.”

Aside from the occasional rumble and bit of turbulence, you could hardly tell you were in the Black Zone. The ship had been cut off completely, filled with a silence and darkness you’d never truly experienced before. Use of your holopads was extremely limited; all they were good for was the signal from Fugo to activate the power switch.

You and Mista waited in the bay of the ship, fully suited up to brave the outside. You weren’t sure how long it had been. Strangely, you didn’t feel much, only a dull ache settling in your stomach. You were too nervous to feel anything else.

 A firm tether would hold both of you against the ship, and should one of you fly away, the other would be able to grab them.

Was what you hoped anyway.

“You nervous, Cap?” Mista asked. It was too dark to make out his face.

“A little. Are you?”

“Nah. I know we’ll get this done fine.”

You weren’t the religious type. If you were, you might have prayed.

“Mista, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“If something happens to me, swear you’ll continue the job. Swear you’ll get everyone to Minos and get the Stand Arrow. You deserve those credits. You’ll get them for me, right?”

“Woah, calm down. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“Swear it, Mista.”

“ . . . I don’t wanna jinx anything.”

“Swear it.”

Mista exhaled, a lonely sound in the darkness. “I swear, Captain.”

“Good.”

Mista found your hand. He ran his fingers over your forearm, where your scar would be.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Grab a drink with me when all of this is over.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah. When we’re filthy rich. Would that be so bad?”

“No. I’d like that, actually.”

Your holopad went off then. Fugo’s voice was terse when he said, “Let’s go, Captain.”

You went through it all in a daze. You got up. Secured your helmet and tether. Properly this time. Mista pulled the small maintenance door to the outside open and it all went silent. 

There were no stars in this vacuum. No light. You could barely see in front of you. You had to feel your way along the ship, gripping the railing outside like it was your lifeline.

Because it was.

Was this what flare storms felt like? It could almost be peaceful. Only the mad whipping of the tether against your space suit let you know otherwise.

You thought you felt Mista’s hand against your back. He was still there. Good.

You found the switch. Your heart leapt. You lifted the cover, smooshed your helmet up against the slit and wondered if it would be able to scan anything, let alone your eyeball. You drew back. Waited.

Green.

“We’re good. Get back inside,” said Fugo over your helmet speaker.

You and Mista rushed back along the railing. That hadn’t been too bad. Almost easy.

Mista paused. He was pulling at something.

“Why is the door closed?” you asked. Did anyone hear you? Didn’t it lock from the inside?

“What’s wrong?” Fugo.

“Open the flacking door!” Mista.

You were thrown against the side of the ship. Slammed, really. You crumpled to the railing, barely hanging on to the tether.

Stars, that hurt.

“I’ll be right there.” Fugo.

“Hurry!” Mista.

You tried to get up. Mista reached for you. The ship lurched, and the railing beneath you switched itself for empty air.

Empty space?

Your speakers had broken in the earlier collision. You couldn’t hear anything. You saw Mista reach for you. He was all of a sudden too far away.

You reached for the tether. Where was it? That white cord that was supposed to save your life?

Maybe you screamed. You couldn’t hear it. Maybe Mista screamed. Impossibly, you thought you heard it, echoing in the vast space around you.

Not “Captain!” but your name. 

When was the last time anyone had used your name?

Swear it. 

Swear it.

The vacuum picked you up. Not gently. It didn’t want you with the ship, with your crew anymore. It flung you off to the side.

Something snapped.

And for a while, you soared.

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#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au

[jojobellelondon]

Losing my sister.

Where do I even begin? It has been seven weeks since my sister Esther died. It was just over a year ago when she found out she had bowel cancer. Since her shock diagnosis, it has been an emotionally intense year of watching and supporting her through the brutal demands of battling stage 4 cancer. I’ll never forget the night when she rang to tell me her news; it’s impact so visceral it changed how I looked at life and my relationship with her. I couldn’t help but think this kind of news can change the course of a families life and it was at that point I resolved to treasure and make the most of whatever time I was gifted with her. 

As I pen these words I weep; the grief is raw and deep and the recent memories painful. However, I want to write, I need to write. I have had essays cooped up inside of me all year, pushed down deep, mindful of not wanting to insert myself into a story not my own. For in many ways it was her story, her journey, her battle. I was just her sister; a close friend. I journeyed alongside, listening and encouraging her when the path of suffering was hard and scary, but it was not happening to me personally. What was and is personal to me is how I felt and feel as a woman, who has been in a supporting role and who has now lost her sister and friend.

Even now, I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that she is no longer here… no longer on planet earth. She, who had been an integral part of my life for 40 years is no longer a phone call away. Everyday my phone shows me photo memories, and her face is present in so many. We shared so much life together and it hurts to think of life moving forward without her in the memories to come. It would usually be right about now that we would be planning for family Christmas gatherings. A sister date would be in order and we would be discussing family dynamics, menu ideas, gifts and all the complexities of this time of year. This Christmas is hard. The usual glow and wonder is dimmed. All of life at the moment feels like it’s lost its colour, blurred and muted through a tear filled lens.  

Everything about this experience has challenged and changed my thinking. The things I took for granted, the unspoken, subconscious thoughts I imagined about the future. The things I worried about and gave so much of my emotional energy and time to. The things I thought about God, about his purposes and his promises; how I read and understood the bible. Esther was a woman of Christian faith, and she had a special and particular journey of going deeper with God. I too am a woman of faith, and I too have been on a journey, wrestling long and hard with the confronting reality that we live in a temporary and broken world full of suffering and hardship. Yet we have a loving God who cares for us deeply, whose plans and ways are good, merciful and kind, and who can be trusted for our future. 

I take great comfort in the fact that Esther is now in the loving arms of Jesus. Eternal life with God; completely healed and free from suffering and pain. My brother said to me, “Our saddest day, was her greatest day.” I believe that to be true. It says in Psalm 139, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made, your works are wonderful I know that full well… all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts God. How vast the sum of them. ” 

Her story in this life is over. God knew exactly how long her life story would be. He was the author and he was lovingly in control. Her death was not a surprise to him. While I don’t understand fully his ways, I trust God completely, for his ways and thoughts are higher than my own. While I mourn her passing, and hate how painful this is, my story is not yet over, and so I want to continue sharing the things that God has been teaching me throughout this past year, and the things he is yet to teach me as I continue to do life here and now.

#losing a loved one #christian living #cancer

[twentytanya]

Until Your History's No Mystery To Me | Self Para

Date: Mid October 2023 Featuring: Sonam Warnings: Lots of talk about death, dying, grief, and mourning. Explicit conversations about ghosts moving on. Feel free to reach out for a TLDR if you'd prefer not to read about it!

Tanya has a conversation with her sister, twenty-five years overdue. Or maybe exactly at the right time.

Tanya had once thought that she and Sonam would someday be the kind of sisters who could always pick up where they had left off. She knew they wouldn’t live under the same roof forever, and that would be a good thing. She knew her sister would probably leave Leeds sooner or later, see the world the way she had always wanted to. 

Now, that was a little more complicated. 

They were alone now, having thanked Snow and settled into the dining room, and Tanya had no idea what to say. Sonam didn’t seem to know what to say either, and this was tricky, because on one hand, Sonam was the eldest, and it had always been her job to steer these sorts of situations. But on the other hand, it was Tanya who had invited her. And she had invited her for a reason, but now she had no idea what to say.

The sisters stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then they both tried to speak at the same time.

“You can go,” Tanya said quickly.

Sonam shook her head. “No, you go.”

“No, it’s okay, you can.”

“Tanya-” Sonam sighed, and it wasn’t so different from the familiar frustrated exhale of when Tanya used to slam her door or lie about where she was going with her friends. There was a heaviness in her gaze Tanya didn’t remember, though. Something maybe that only came with mourning your sister for twenty-five years and suddenly seeing her again. It made Tanya feel exposed, and vulnerable, and maybe a little bit sad. Like Sonam saw something that Tanya didn’t want anybody to see, that Tanya herself didn’t even want to see. “Tanya, what happened?”

Tanya’s face crumpled. Of course, she knew she should have seen this coming. And it wasn’t even the first time she’d had to tell this story. But it was different when it was Sonam. It just was.

She owed her an explanation, though. More than most people. Tanya took a deep breath. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” she started off. “It just kind of… happened.”

And so Tanya told the whole story. Of realizing she was a ghost, of fleeing Leeds before anyone else had to see her this way. Of bouncing around different cities, those hazy years that blurred together that Tanya barely remembered, that Tanya didn’t really want to remember. She couldn’t go too far down that particular alley of memory, so she didn’t. The important part was that she’d gotten into the habit of haunting schools, and then she’d wound up in Swynlake.

“And that’s when I found you,” Sonam confirmed. Tanya nodded. “But I could never find you again after that.”

“I, um, sort of did a cloaking spell. Snow helped me,” Tanya admitted. Sonam looked hurt, and Tanya understood why— but she knew she had to explain. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just… I dunno, I didn’t want you to remember me like this. I’m not the same person I was when I was alive, Sonam. I’m… I’m a memory. An echo. And I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t totally hate that about myself, Snow kind of helped me figure that out, but… I dunno, I just didn’t want to put you through that.”

Sonam looked, understandably, alarmed at the mention of the cloaking spell, but just as quickly her expression softened. “Okay, but you’re still my sister,” Sonam said gently. “And if you needed me…”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Tanya didn’t say that very often, in her afterlife. But right now was one of those moments when Tanya felt more alive than usual. And it wasn’t just because of the potion she’d finished this morning before Sonam’s arrival.

Sonam just nodded and they hugged, clutching one another just like they had twenty-five years ago.

When they broke apart, though, Sonam had more questions. “Why now, though? Did something happen?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Well, no, I’m kind of dead,” Tanya joked, and Sonam looked a little bit hesitant to laugh, but once she realized it was okay, she laughed loudly. They both did, their laughter building as they let off the steam that had been building up the whole conversation. “Sorry. Bad joke. Um, yeah, I’m alright— but I guess something kind of happened. It’s stupid, it’s just… it brought up a lot of stuff for me, and I wanted to talk to you about it. Um… basically, I sort of… fell for someone.”

It was another long, sordid story, and yet this was a little easier to talk about than the first. At least it was a language Sonam spoke. The language of first heartbreak and crushes and disappointment and lies and secrets. The older woman nodded as Tanya spoke, listening carefully and occasionally interrupting to express shock or confusion at the whole crazy ordeal. Because it was kind of crazy.

 “The thing is,” Tanya said at the end of it. “I was telling my friend Mim about it, and I realized I don’t think I’m even that upset that she lied to me. I’m upset that… well, I’m upset that she lied to me, but I also feel like a hypocrite, considering I’m lying to her. And it’s not like we would have been anything anyway, I’m a ghost and she’s a real person and I’d have to leave at some point anyway…”

“Is that what you’re mourning?” Sonam asked carefully. “What could have been? Not just if she’d been the person she said she was, but also if you’d been… um, alive?”

Sonam put it so simply that Tanya wondered that she’d never thought of it that way in the first place. But that was it. That was exactly it. It was every time she'd whined to Snow that she hated being dead. It was every time she'd watched jealously as the people around her celebrated birthdays and grew and changed and lived.

She was quiet for a long time, and then very slowly, she nodded. 

“Can I ask you something, Sonam?” Tanya asked in an odd, low voice. “Do you, um, believe in reincarnation like Dad does?” He’d always been the more religious person in the family. Everyone else kind of went along with it to make him happy, but he was the one who actually believed in those things. 

The question seemed to catch Sonam off-guard. “Uh, wow,” she said, blinking. “Sorry. I don’t know. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. Sometimes…” She took a deep breath. “Sometimes I would look for you. Back when I thought you’d moved on. I thought maybe you’d come back in another way. I never really felt that I’d found you though, which made me think, like, maybe it’s all bullshit, or maybe we did it wrong…” Her voice cracked, and Sonam blinked back tears. “But now I don’t know. I don’t know what happens next. I think that’s kind of part of it— Tanya, are you thinking…”

“I don’t know,” Tanya said quickly, and now her voice was thick with tears too. “I just… when you said that, I was thinking, you’re right. That’s what I’ve been angry about this whole fucking time. It’s not about Penny, or about anyone, it’s about everything. It’s about the fact that I can’t eat pizza, or get drunk, or get a tattoo, or have kids, or fucking grow up… or any of it. I’m stuck, and I’m never going to live if I don’t…” Tanya cleared her throat. “It’s just never going to be the same. And I’ve been so fucking scared of these things I don’t know, but the world that I do know… it’s good, it’s really good, but I can’t be fully a part of it and I can’t be until I just take that leap, you know? Like… I don’t know. Maybe it’s time.”

Sonam’s mouth hung open slightly, understanding dawning on her. “Tanya,” she said seriously. “Did you invite me here to say goodbye?”

“No!” Tanya said, maybe a little too loudly, and the man in the corner looked up for the first time. “Sorry. No.” She lowered her voice again, and the man went back to his reading. “But… I don’t know, Sonam. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just think… well, I think you have a point. We don’t know what’s gonna happen next, and maybe that’s a part of it. And maybe I’ve been thinking that for a while, but I just needed to hear it from you.” She paused. “If I do go, when I do go— I’m going to tell you, okay?” Tanya promised. “This isn’t goodbye.”

Sonam looked like she wanted to say something. Like maybe there were twenty-five years of hurt and grief held in her quivering bottom lip, in her furrowed eyebrows. But instead, she just nodded. “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I believe you.” She was silent again, and then she put a hand on Tanya’s shoulder. “But it’s okay, Tanya, when it is time. Don’t worry about me.”

And that was the terrible part, wasn’t it? The list kept getting longer. The list of people Tanya would leave behind when it was her time to move on. Sonam was part of it now. 

She didn’t say that, though. She was sure Sonam already understood. All Tanya could do was lean forward and pull her into a hug. “Love you,” she mumbled.

“Love you too.”

They stayed that way for a long time, and by the time they broke apart again, the apple pie was cold. An awkwardness seemed to have descended once again. “Um, want me to show you around the rest of the place?” Tanya suggested, figuring they should get out of this room. “The garden’s really nice, even in the autumn. And the sunroom’s just been renovated.”

Sonam nodded, smiling wetly. “Yes, that sounds good,” she said. “This place is nice. You chose a good place to freeload off of.”

“Rude!” Tanya gasped. “I am not a freeloader, I work here!”

“And you pay rent.”

“Nooo,” Tanya admitted. “Whatever. I know management here. I can kick you out.”

“I, unlike you, am a paying customer,” Sonam smirked. She stood up and offered Tanya her hand. “Come on, let’s see this place.” 

Tanya smiled despite herself, taking her sister’s hand. It wasn’t exactly the way it used to be at all. It was a little weird. But things had changed, and Tanya was realizing she couldn’t stop them from doing that. All she could do was take afterlife moment at a time. Find the beauty in it. And listen. And maybe in those whispers, she’d find the answers.

#self para #tw death #tw grief

[maximoffslilwitchintraining]

Secret spies and drunken nights.

Part 4

Read: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

A/N: Thanks to anon for suggesting I write about reader getting drunk before their birthday early. I enjoyed writing this quite a bit. Also when I am not intentionally sticking to certain pronouns, they tend to just mix. I myself use all pronouns and so that just naturally happens whilst I write too.

I really want to proof read, but my eyes have given up on me. I literally can’t focus them. 😔

Summary: You go out celebrating your birthday early, getting super drunk and you know Wanda won’t be happy when she finds out.

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: alcohol, sexual suggestions, it gets really fluffy.

The two women had told you they’d be out of town for a couple days. You knew the reason for their absence, but having not seen them in 3 days you were now driving yourself mad with thoughts of, what if they didn’t actually mean what they said, what if they just wanted sex, what if they are actually spies and out on a secret mission. The last thought spiraled into you imagining one of them getting hurt on said mission or them never coming back, which made you cry. Yes you were getting a bit out of hand with your theories. You cried and cried over this fake scenario you had created in your head, until you had no tears left. Then you just laid there for longer than you’d like to admit. Finally after several hours spent in a state that can only be described as catatonic, you felt something, frustration, anger. First at Natasha and Wanda for being secret spies who by now in your mind already left the country, without saying a word. Then you got angry at yourself for how easily you lost it, letting your mind play all kinds of tricks on you and for a second letting yourself get mad at the two people who had done nothing wrong. By the end of it you weren’t sure what exactly made you the saddest, missing Nat and Wanda or just how far you let yourself spiral. All you knew was that you needed a distraction and as if on queue the phone rang.

“Hi.” You spoke, with an apathetic tone, not really trying.

“Wow, well aren’t you chipper. Almost thought I got your voicemail for a sec.” The voice spoke mockingly on the other end of the line.

“Yelena? Why are you calling at this time of day.” You said almost grumpily, having forgotten about how you wanted a distraction and now just annoyed that she interrupted your wallowing.

“Um exactly, what time do you think it is y/n?” Yelena said laughing, but with slight concern creeping up.

“I have no idea actually?” Almost shocked yourself at how it may as-well be the next day and you would have no clue, how much time you had spent crying and staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, dear, I called at the perfect time, I see. Put on something cute and I’ll pick you up in five. We are going out and getting waisted. Half celebration and half mourning whatever’s been going on with you.” Yelena spoke confidently before hanging up. She never gave you time for saying yes or no to plans and she never gave you a chance because she usually knew your answer, but thought hers was better. You pulled yourself up feeling dizzy once on your feet. You didn’t check the time not wanting to know how long you had been in bed for. In your hazy state you struggled choosing good clothes, but eventually settled on the same outfit you had worn to your date. The outfit Wanda helped you pick, the clothes Natasha paid for. You felt comfort putting them on, feeling closer to them. God you had been on one date with them and you were already falling, this was unlike you in so many ways. Thank god neither of them knew what went through your mind or they would have already fled, unless that’s what they had done? Oh, no, no, stop it no more of that tonight. You were going out with Yelena to have fun, or at least forget.

As promised she showed up 5 minutes later, flask in hand as she often did.

By the time you had found a bar, you had already finished her bottle of liquor and she was now quite annoyed.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my birthday! You can’t hit me.” You spoke, with a smug smile, knowing she definitely would have on another day.

“Fine, I ‘ll hit you tomorrow.” She said, the look on her face indicating she was looking forward to it. You rolled your eyes at her, walking up to the bar.

“Two shots of tequila. Please.” You smiled. The bartender was really cute. You shook your head, that was not the reason you were here. You were forgetting the mess, that was the goal, not making it messier. Regardless of how good you were at that.

“She meant four.” Yelena said to the bartender, giving them a wink.

“Oh boy, this night is not gonna end well is it?” You giggle nervously at Yelena’s smirk.

“Oh! I’ll make sure of it.” She said, as the shots were lined up in front of you. You emptied them swiftly and Yelena did the same. As you did you remembered what Wanda had said about drinking. Technically you were still too young, but the bars here rarely checked id. A shiver went down your spine, imagining Wanda’s disappointed face.

“We’ll have a second round.” You ordered, eager to get rid of that thought.

“Wow, and to think I thought I’d have to force you to even have a beer?” Yelena laughed at you, as you emptied yet another shot glass. You gave a way a small fake chuckle, completely focused on the task.

“So, what is up with you? I know you always enjoy a drink, but you seem like you’re trying to drown yourself?” She raised an eyebrow. You pushed her glass towards her, avoiding the question completely.

“The bartender is cute.” You whisper to Yelena, head ducked as if to make yourself invisible. God damn, you sure didn’t last long before bringing that up, huh? The alcohol was quickly rushing to your head, having not counted for the missed meals of the day, due to your wallowing.

“Yeah?” She raised her eyebrow, not pushing you to talk, since you clearly weren’t in the mood. “Why don’t you go for it.”

“Uhm, no.” You said ducking your head. The memory of the two women coming back. You closed your eyes tightly, the room spinning now.

“Why not?!” She exclaimed.

“I am.. seeing some… one? Seeing… peop.. two wom… uhmm. I think?” You struggled to find the right words.

“Oh! You’re dating someone?” Yelena leaned in, with intrigue sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, two actually.” You said shyly looking at your hands. “The couple that moved in down the street.” Almost whispering now.

“No fucking way!! Omg, good for you! Who are they? Tell me more?!” She laughed, shaking your arm with excitement.

“Well, we’ll see.” You smiled now thinking about Natasha and Wanda. “They are pretty great, but it’s new. So don’t go telling anyone!” You were still smiling at the thought, though desperately trying to keep a warning tone.

“Of course, I am the best at secrets, I love them!” She said with a grin leaning in towards you. Rolling your eyes at the statement you nodded.

“But now you have to tell me everything.” Yelena spoke, eagerly. And you did. You spent the rest of the night drunkenly babbling on and on about Natasha and Wanda. And no longer were you feeling sad.

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

Yelena was being picked up by a friend and so you were left to walk home alone. It was maybe not the best idea, but it was thankfully not far. So on you went slowly making your way home, stumbling over your feet every few steps. You had started humming some song, completely out of tune, a smile on your face nonetheless, as you head was clouded with intoxication. Your humming came to a stop as you reached Wanda and Nat’s house, the two women standing outside by their car, apparently home from their trip. Your mind told you to run the opposite direction, knowing this was a horrible time for them to get home, but your legs were jelly.

“Y/N, sweetheart.”Wanda waved, with a big smile. You started walking towards them, trying to look sober, but failing miserably.

“H-hi.” You smiled, half lifting your hand for a wave. Trying to focus your eyes on Wanda’s, but struggling.

“You’re drunk.” Wanda said, her smile fading, as she eyed you suspiciously.

“J-ust… little.” Having real trouble making coherent sentences now. “Birthday celebra… celeb-celebrate.” You smiled content with that. “Early.” You followed up, at the sight of Wanda’s frown. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Dumb, baby.” She chuckled, earning her an elbow in the side from Wanda. Wanda turned motioning towards the house. You just looked at her blinking.

“Can you walk on your own?” Natasha asked with slight amusement. You shifted one leg forward, not quite feeling the ground like you should.

“Oh, shit.” Was the only words formed before you went falling head first into a snow drift.

“декта!” Wanda exclaimed with wide eyes of shock, covering her mouth with both hands, before rushing to your side.

“God, котенок you keep falling for us.” Natasha took your other arm. They helped you inside, guiding you to the couch.

Wanda’s eyes were filled with disappointment and concern. That look on her face, sunk in your chest and you felt like crying. You never wanted to see her like that again.

“Im.. s-sorry.” Your voice shaked and tears started coming down your face. You wanted to say more, but the guilt had traveled up your throat, pain locking your jaw shut. Wanda hugged you close.

“I just care about you, декта.” She whispered.

“I missed you.” You whimpered against Wanda’s shoulder.

“We missed you too.” Natasha spoke, running her hand along your back, as you squeezed Wanda tighter.

“You need sleep, baby.” Wanda moved away cupping your face, wiping away your tears. She went on running her thumbs soothingly over your cheeks. You kept your eyes closed focusing on the touch, scared to see her face again.

“Open your eyes.” She spoke sweetly and so you did. Her eyes now calm, as they looked into yours and her features soft once more.

“I’m not mad honey. We do need to do something about your problem with listening, but that will have to be taken care of tomorrow.” She spoke softly but something shifted in her demeanor as she glanced at Nat, who simply smirked. You swallowed hard, unsure whether you should feel excitement or fear, but you didn’t feel any fear. You never did with them, in-fact you felt safer than you had ever felt before. You smiled at that thought. The two women giggled at you curiously. Wanda tilting her head, seemingly attempting to peer into your mind.

“Okay.” Nat interrupted with a chuckle. “Let’s go to bed.” She grabbed you away from Wandas gaze.

“Together?” You spoke curiously, getting sleepy just by the thought of being cuddled up between the two.

“Yes, kitten. Were you planning to sleep on the couch?” Natasha laughed, her grip on your waist tightening, helping you up the stairs. Wanda follows close behind her.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Requests are open 😘🧡

#maximoffslilwitchintraining #wandanat #wandanat x reader #fluff #drunk reader #natasha romanoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x natasha #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha x wanda #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n

[babeyvenus]

A Little Chunk of Hope

"So, Spiderman, huh?", he asks. You deadpanned. "Don't start."

Andrew!Peter x black!Reader

If you did not watch NWH, don’t read this.

Tw: Language, blood and gore, mentions of death

Ch. 1: We need to talk.

You’ve known Peter since he stood up to Flash for picking on an innocent guy; something no one really had the guts to do. You’ve done it once and of course, Peter was there by your side to support you. You two easily became friends after that.

After being friends with him, you felt as if your feelings for him were changing and even tried your best to avoid that change.

You saw how he looked at Gwen. There was no way he would have felt the same way. Not by a long shot. Despite how happy and secure he made you feel, you wanted more. You wanted to see sides that Gwen most likely has seen. The only time he really opened up is when he went to see you about his uncle.

After that, it was just the usual. A hi and bye or geeking about certain things you’re interested in. You enjoyed those. Of course, you did. It was comforting.

It was harder trying to communicate with him after Dr. Kurt Connors was put into custody after trying to turn people into lizards. He looked a little worse for wear after that. He claimed he got mugged but it threw you off.

One day, you heard about your uncle Max and his sudden death. It hurt you deeply. He never hurt anyone… He was so sweet. Awkward at times, sure but he never bothered anyone.

However… you noticed something different about him when you heard about Gwen’s death. He didn’t even have the energy to comfort you and you couldn’t blame him, He was still mourning Gwen.

That’s when you found out about him being Spiderman. Being happy that they weren’t together would’ve been too harsh and not only that, it just felt wrong.

Peter wasn’t happy. If anything, he looked distraught. Empty and especially distant. Nothing was worth seeing him so cold and distant. He tried his best to fake his true feelings and pressing him about it only made him run away.

After years of your distant friendship, you decide to surprise him with a call and takeout after his “shift”, if you can even call it that.

“The number you are trying to reach is out of range. Please hang up and try again.” You looked at your phone in confusion. “Out of range…? When was he going on a trip?”, you muttered. You tried again and were given the same message. “C’mon, Pete…”

In a school lab, glancing at the younger couple with a bittersweet expression, his mind wanders to Gwen. He thinks about what he could’ve and should’ve said to her. Then his mind wanders to you. Knowing your uncle is alive… came back to life simply because of magic.

Magic of all things.

How could he even explain that to you? How can he even tell you that magic actually exists and that he met his other counterparts???

“You thinking about her?”, Peter 2 asks, making him snap out of his thoughts to look at his older version.

He shook his head with a smile. “Nah… someone else. My friend. She-”, he sighed. “One of the guys we have to take care of is actually her uncle… she never knew what exactly happened to him. I don’t know how I could even explain to her…”, he says, solemnly.

The eldest Peter quirked his lips, “Maybe just explain it to her. She can’t be that hard to talk to, right?”

“That’s the thing… we haven’t exactly talked to each other in a while… I kept myself distant. Didn’t have the time to just be Peter.”, he shrugs. Little did he know, Ned was listening to them the whole time. Ned squeezes his eyes shut and raises his hand to create a portal, mumbling to himself. Sounds of sparkling caught everyone’s attention.

“Ned, what’re you doing?”, Peter 1 asks, worriedly, walking over to him. The portal shows a figure’s backside throwing on a jacket, fully dressed, and setting her phone in her pocket. The older Peters stand warily of the sight before them.

The figure turns around, looking at the teens in shock. “Uh… Hi?”, she says, stepping away from the portal. Her eyes scan the teens and widen as they’re directed towards Peter’s suit and his beaten-up face. “You’re not Peter…”

She looks up to see a familiar face, recognizable eyes glossed over, messy chestnut hair half slicked to his face. He wore a lab coat but his red and blue suit was easy to spot. “Peter…?”

He lets out a teary chuckle, taking her in his arms. “Hi, Y/N…”

She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him. “You-” She turns around as she sees the portal dissipate in thin air. Her eyes land back on the youngest Peter and back to her Peter. “I’m so confused.”

The girl next to the younger Peter walks up to her. “So…I’m MJ… this is your Peter.”, she points at the Peter beside her. “And this is ours.”

She pointed to the eldest Peter. “He’s also from another universe.” Y/N awkwardly waves at the 2nd Peter before holding out her hands in realization and pulling away from hers. “Hold on. Universe? As in going to a different world?”

The teens nod. Ned wiggles his fingers, “I’m magic.” She nods, turning to her Peter. “I think I’m going insane.”

He shook his head. "No. We're in some trouble." The shorter Peter walked up to her. "I made a huge crisis. So bad guys from your world came here because I messed up a spell so we're trying to cure them before sending them back."

She turns back to her Peter. "The lizard's back??" He nods, gaping his mouth open and closed as if he had something else to say. "What?", she asks.

His eyes become misty as his lips slightly tremble. "I've got something to tell you...", he says, pulling her aside.

The rest of the group went about their ways. Peter stood in front of Y/N, taking a deep breath. "So, yeah, Connor's back. Haven't seen him yet but I'm making a cure for him, again. Harry's not back but..." His jaw flexes.

"But what? What happened?", she asks. He looks at her, blinking back tears, trying his best to push his last memories of that night away. You place a hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch a little. "Pete..."

He swallows. "Max is back too."

He watches her eyes widen a little and her eyebrows furrow. "What're you talking about? Why would Max be here? He's dead. What-"

His eyes gloss over again as she takes her hand off his shoulder and takes a step back, shaking her head. "You didn't… You knew who he was? You know how he died…? What, is he one of the bad guys we have to take back?"

He slowly nods, not saying a word. She looked down. "Was he there? The night Gwen died…? He caused that blackout…?"

He took a step toward her. "Y/N… I'm sorry." Y/N looked up at him, hot tears pooling in her own eyes. "What do you want me to do? What can I do to stop this? I wanna help."

He hugged her again, shocking her with the sudden affection. "I don't wanna put you through this. Just in case it goes sideways. If it does, I want you to hide. You're stuck here until we go back, if we can't get back, you need to hide."

She pulled away to see his face. "Peter, I think I can handle my uncle."

He scoffed. "You're not even listening. It's not just your uncle. There's bad guys from other worlds too. If things go wrong, you hide. It doesn't matter what it is."

She frowned. "Fine." He looks at her eyes. "I mean it, Y/N. I can't handle you being in danger. You being here now just makes me on edge that something bad might happen."

"Peter. I'm not helpless. I'm not fragile. I understand your worries, but you gotta understand, you're not dealing with this alone. Sometimes you gotta take all the help you can get even if it does go left.", she says, making him sigh and pull away.

"Okay. Okay.", he nods, stepping away to look at her. He huffs softly before giving a sad smile. "It's really good to see you again."

She returns it. "You too. I was actually trying to call you to see if you wanted to hang out but...", she looks around.

"Yeah, maybe after this? After everything's done. We can talk, eat and do whatever.", he rambled. She nods, "I'd like that."

#andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #andrew!peter x black!reader #andrew garfield #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #nwh #spiderman nwh #spiderman #spiderman 2012 x reader #x black reader #black reader #max dillon #jamie foxx

[soulmate-game]

Harley's Plea for Help ch. 6

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6-- you are here

Yet another night of barely any sleep, but this time Marinette didn’t have the coffee-angel Red Robin at her rescue. No, instead she had to go completely uncaffeinated until she and her class got to Wayne Enterprises. Madame Mendelieve could only sigh as she watched Marinette scamper off to the café as soon as they made it past the initial security of the building. A couple of her classmates chuckled or snorted at her familiar behavior.

It was the same barista at the register as before, but this time Marinette felt too tired to properly order or be adventurous in looking for new flavors.

“I feel like death. I don’t care if it tastes like pure bean oil today. Flavors will take away from the amount of coffee you can shove in one cup, right?”

The poor barista blinked, eyeing the deep bags forming under the poor girl’s eyes. She sighed. “I had hope yesterday that you were just a normal caffeine addict. Now I see we actually have a second Mister Drake,” she said it as if she was mourning at Marinette’s grave before poking a few buttons on her touchscreen order station and turning her head. “One Insomniac CEO, but not for the boss!” She called out. The barista making the drinks paused for a second with wide eyes.

“We have another one?!” He asked, shocked. “Piece of advice?” He turned to Marinette. “Get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead,” Marinette deadpanned back. “I got stuff I need to do today.”

The guy just shook his head and sighed, making the drink as Marinette paid and left a good tip. The drink came out fairly quickly, and everyone behind the counter stopped for a moment to stare as she gulped down the hot drink with no concern for her tongue or throat. A satisfied sound left her as she finally pulled away from the cup.

“This is really good!” She complimented, turning to the Baristas with a still-tired smile. It would take a minute or two for the coffee to have full effect, but she already felt better. “A little too bitter for my usual tastes, but perfect for days like today. Thanks!” She waved at them before turning around and seeing that her class was already gone again. Before she could fully process that though, a hand slapped down onto her head and ruffled her hair.

Surprised (really, not a lot of people could sneak up on her anymore. Just how tired was she?) she let out a high pitched squeal.

“You’re a good kid,” the soft, slightly scratchy voice that said that made Marinette’s shoulders drop and eyes widen. Tilting her head back she was greeted with the widely-grinning face of Jason Todd. He was once again in the uniform of a security guard.

“Wha— Uh,” Marinette couldn’t quite find the right words right away. She was too stunned. Jason just chuckled, jerking his head to indicate the same door her class had gone through the day before and leading the way over there. Marinette scrambled to catch up.

Once they were far away enough from prying eyes and ears, Marinette cleared her throat.

“Um,” she started. “Did… I mean, do you..?”

“Yeah, our mutual friends had a chat with me last night,” he confirmed casually. He sent her a meaningful look even though his grin never left his face. “Like I said; you’re a good kid. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re not responsible for the things your parents have done, you know.”

The girl at his side hummed noncommittally, not fully convinced but also not wanting to argue.

“You’re not,” he repeated firmly, stopping in the middle of the side-hallway. They could see her class at the other end getting checked in, but didn’t make a move to join them yet. “I mean it. The stuff that happened to me, none of that was you. Hell, you were a little kid back then. And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it, either. I’m not gonna hold anything against you just because you’re his child. You didn’t ask to be,” he shrugged. “Besides, I get it. Biological relation doesn’t equal family. Trust me,” his grin was gone and a tired one replaced it. “I know that better than most people.”

The pigtailed girl could only gulp, taking a deep breath as she forced down the tears that wanted to bubble up. She had had this conversation with Adrien a few times, but even then she had been convinced that he just didn’t understand. He was just being nice. But this— Jason’s words were more valuable than gold to her. He had no reason to be nice, so it had to be at least partially sincere.

“Thanks,” she whispered once she was positive she wasn’t going to break. She lifted her cup up and took a long sip of her coffee. The slight burn against her tongue helped ground her. “That means more than you know.”

Jason chuckled. “Nah. The fact that you stood up for me to the Bat,” his grin returned to his face full blast, making dimples appear on his cheeks. “Now that, you have no idea how much that means to me. You must have some serious guts to lecture that guy, too. Is it too late to adopt you for myself?”

That tore a quick laugh out of her, making her classmate’s head whip over to the opposite end of the hallway where she and Jason were. She quickly quieted herself, but her eyes danced with amusement as she looked up at Jason. “You’re too young to be my parent anyway, but I wouldn’t say no to a brother,” she joked. Jason’s eyes sparkled.

“Good, exactly what I was aiming for!” He slipped a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my number. Call me if you ever need anything, got it?” He turned to resume leading her back to her class and she quickly slipped the paper into her pocket before anyone saw and got the wrong idea. “And I mean anything.”

Marinette just smiled and nodded. By then, they were close enough for Alya to smirk and ask; “What took ya so long, girl?”

“Oh,” Marinette shuffled a little on her feet before an observation gave her a last minute idea and she straightened up with a wide smile. “We just got distracted talking about motorcycles!”

Jason’s eyebrows raised for a quick second before he settled his expression again and played along. He had figured that not many people knew about her biological family. That part made sense. But she had been a total mess just the day before when she had tried to lie about Paris’ little villain problem in front of Bruce. How was she able to actually come up with a good lie this time around, when she had been just as much put on the spot? He wondered to himself about what was different about this situation to allow her to lie more easily. Maybe Bruce not being there was part of it— she seemed easily flustered by famous people.

Think of the devil, because no sooner had that thought finished developing in Jason’s mind before Bruce Wayne walked into the hallway with a paparazzi-ready smile. Jason rolled his eyes and sunk to the back of the group silently, sinking back into his job and keeping an eye on their surroundings. He listened as Alya laughed softly and elbowed Marinette even as the group turned their attention to Bruce.

“You and your bikes,” Alya teased. “If someone knew enough about motorcycles, I bet you’d marry them on the spot.”

“Nah,” Marinette whispered back. “If they gave me a really nice one though? That’s marriage potential for sure.”

The two girls laughed for a second before focusing back on the tour. Adrien wasted no time making his way to Marinette’s side, silent questions in his eyes. Jason watched with interest as the two seemed to silently communicate with one another. It was obvious that Adrien was calling her lie, and Marinette was essentially silently telling him that she would explain later. It was so seamless and subtle that if Jason hadn’t been extremely familiar with that kind of communication already, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Once again his eyebrows rose a tick on his forehead, and he made a mental note of the interaction. That kind of silent conversation wasn’t an easy thing to do with people. It was most commonly seen in married or otherwise long-term couples, childhood friends, family, or hero partners. The childhood friends and family sections were already ruled out from their background check on her and Harley herself had mentioned that even though Marinette had once crushed on Adrien, she had unofficially adopted the boy as her brother since then. Though, their time as close friends was only documented as having lasted about a year. That wasn’t quite enough time for that sort of effortless silent communication to be possible.

Of course, Jason had his suspicions already. But there was no rush, either. The Clown was on the move and more important to focus on for now. He could focus on the puzzle that was Marinette and Adrien later.

Bruce took over the tour as he had the day before, and the class was instantly riveted once again. If the fact that they were being led through the building by the very man who owned it wasn’t awesome enough to get everyone’s full attention, the man’s personality was. He came off a little carefree and very kind, but there was an obvious undercurrent of just how much he loved his company that showed that he did take it and his job seriously. Just, not too seriously either. And he interjected everywhere he could with personal stories and anecdotes and little bits of his family history that the normal tour guides might not have known. It was not long after he announced that he was going to take them to a lower lab set aside specifically for their class’ tour, so that they could do their first interactive activity, that jason found the opportunity to sidle up next to Marinette on the opposite side from where Adrien walked alongside her.

“So,” he said casually. “How’d you know I ride a motorcycle?” he smirked to show he wasn’t upset as he looked down at her curiously. Marinette blinked, taking her attention away from Bruce to look over at Jason. Once his words registered, she smiled widely and pointed to one of his pockets. The corners of his bike gloves flopped over the edge.

“I noticed those. I figured you’d have a negative reaction that might give us away if my lie was too off the mark, and I do have a habit of saying stupid things if I don’t have a clue or something to play off of. I also had to make it believable for the class, and they all know that my Nonna has played a huge part in my love for motorcycles. I plan on getting a license to drive one when I turn sixteen later this year,” she told him softly. “I tend to gush whenever I see a cool bike, so I knew they wouldn’t question it.”

Jason huffed a little bit of laughter under his breath. It was like the trope of a character looking at random items in the room to come up with a fake name, but somehow it had actually worked for her. She was quick-witted and clever, he had to admit. And observant.

“I was running late, so I must have left them in my pocket when I was changing,” he admitted, unbothered. “Ah, here we are,” he nodded to return the two teen’s (he had noticed Adrien paying close attention as he and Marinette had their conversation) attention back to the tour. Bruce opened the door for the class with a flourish, gesturing for everyone to go in.

“Since these first few days are going to be tours and lessons about working in general, your first activity of your trip is to solve various problems we’ve given you based on real situations that WE employees have been in before. Split up into groups, and choose a table. Each table has a different problem covering a different industry. Reporting, Science— specifically research and development, business management, and entertainment…”

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s straight,” Adrien assured her, trying to keep himself from laughing as Marinette straightened his tie for the millionth time. “I promise. And you look fantastic.”

Marinette stepped back, nodding at Adrien’s appearance in approval. “I know. We both look great, but…” she fidgeted and then stepped forward to go right back to over-straightening his tie. Adrien snorted, grabbing her hands before she could touch the poor thing again and lowering her arms to her sides.

“Calm down. Like you said, we both look great. You don’t have a single hair out of place, the outfits you made us look amazing, and my tie is at a perfect ninety degree angle to my collar. Take the model’s word for it,” he teased with a lopsided grin. “We look ready for the front cover of a magazine. So just take a deep breath, because we should get down to the lobby soon to wait for the ride he’s sending for us.”

“Right,” Marinette nodded. She followed his advice and took a deep breath. Once she was suitably calmed, she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Adrien smiled and held out his arm, making Marinette snort as she took hold of it gently and let him lead her to the elevator.

Bruce had not specified whether the dinner was going to be casual or formal, but with the fact that his kids were going to be present and it was at his own house, Marinette had a feeling it was going to be more of a casual thing than if they had went out to a fancy restaurant with a black tie dress code. At the same time, this was the Wayne manor they were talking about. She didn’t want to be underdressed, either. Not to mention that it was her design skills that had played a huge part in her winning the contest in the first place, so she felt like she had to show her work again to prove that they had chosen the right person.

A playful wolf whistle greeted the two of them when they got down to the lobby. Alya was, to no one’s surprise, the perpetrator. She stood in the lobby with Alix, Nino, and Max, who all had known about the dinner and agreed to be there to see the two of them off and put Marinette’s worries to rest. The four of them jogged over, Alix smiling and adding her own soft whistle of appreciation.

“You guys look great,” the short skater assured them, taking the time to skate slow circles around them to make sure that nothing was wrong with their outfits. “I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mari! Very cool.”

Alya nodded eagerly, bouncing in place with a wide, beaming smile on her face. “Ah! The both of you look ready to kick ass and woo rich people!” she added. Max pushed his glasses up on his nose with a small grin.

“There is a ninety-five percent chance of your work impressing all of the Waynes,” he said in his own version of encouragement.

“You guys got this!” Nino shot them a thumbs up. “They beat me to all the stuff I wanted to say.”

Marinette beamed, laughing along with her friends as she allowed herself to relax a little. Adrien’s outfit was of her own making, a subtle way for him to rebel since his father had sent him with his own Gabriel brand suit should an appropriate opportunity to wear it come up. Adrien had no plans of ever putting his father’s suit on his body. In an effort to spice up formal men’s wear a bit without making the whole thing white and silver like Gabriel wanted, Marinette had made him a classic silk shirt in black, with short sleeves that fell at that perfect halfway point between his elbow and shoulder. The sleeves had thick cuffs in a dark forest green, with decorative straight stitches on the seams in a bright magenta pink thread. On top of that was a corset-style sleeveless vest with a deep V. The majority of the vest was the same black as the shirt, but with dark green hand-stitched swirls that were just barely bright enough to be contrasted against the black. It created a very subtle pattern that would be hard to see in the wrong lighting, but would make it look that much more expensive and elaborate in the right lighting. The lapel of the vest was in the same dark forest green as the cuffs of his shirt, with a few decorative swirls embroidered on the very corners. The piping of the corset-vest made three curved lines on either side of his waist, curling from mid-rib cage to his waist. It gave him a slightly more feminine twist to his outfit, making his waist look smaller even though it wasn’t actually pulled very tight on him— it was mostly the illusion made by the piping rather than the actual tightness of the garment. The two outside piping lines were done in a magenta pink, while the middle piping line was once again in dark forest green. Unlike most corset-style vests, this one had no buttons or zipper on the front at all. Instead, it was closed only by corset lacing in the back, the laces done in such a dark shade of green that it was almost black, while the eyelets that the laces were threaded through were that same magenta pink as the piping and decorative stitches elsewhere on the outfit. The tie that Marinette had spent so long making sure was straight was almost entirely soft lace, but it was layered in such a way with layers of sheer green and pink lace that it looked like it was a constant swirl of the two colors. If someone got close enough to see the pattern of the lace tie, they would notice that it was a pattern of cats chasing a butterfly.

Underneath the artistic top of the outfit were black dress pants, once again with thick forest-green cuffs on the bottoms. But instead of the decorative stitching, the pant legs flared a bit at the ankles for just a little extra drama. Magenta-pink Oxfords peeked out of the wide cuffs. The green detailing made Adrien’s eyes pop, while the pink accents gave his boyish charm a little more of a feminine touch that almost seemed to highlight his naturally sensitive and charming nature.

In contrast, Marinette wore a sleeveless pink pantsuit. It was the same shade as the pink accents in Adrien’s outfit, and had a built-in corset as well that went only around her natural waist. The corset boning on Marinette was a solid black, while the rest was just the same base pink as the majority of the suit. The black of the boning seemed to flow downwards, changing from boning into thick hand-embroidery in thread of the exact same black. The embroidery flowed down the sides of both legs, in the shape of tree branches and apple blossoms. Pale green accents in the form of swirls at her high neckline and a pale green lace capelet that was the only thing covering her shoulders helped tie her outfit in with Adrien’s. She also wore pale green low kitten heels and her black hair up in a braided bun. With how her pant legs were form-hugging until they flared out slightly at the heel, and the lack of sleeves exposed her toned arms and shoulders and emphasized her strength there without making her look unbalanced or too masculine for the rest of the outfit’s style, she looked ready to rock the business world. Her bright blue eyes clashed with the green details of the outfit just enough to bring attention to them, assuring that people who met her eyes would not be able to easily look away.

The quick snap of a phone’s flash went off, drawing everyone’s attention to Madame Bustier. She was beaming at all of them, and had just taken a picture of her two students all dressed up. She waved her phone happily. “I’m sending this picture to the both of you. I’m so proud of you guys!” she gushed.

Marinette and Adrien both blushed deep red, shifting in their spots. They were confident in their looks, and Adrien was just as proud of his pseudo-sister, but neither of them was very good at handling so much positive attention aimed only at them. Especially not from their extremely sincere friends and teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” An older gentleman with a British accent turned everyone’s attention to him. The first thing Marinette thought was that he had kind eyes. He also had soft wisps of white hair on his head, carefully trimmed and slicked back. Of course, Marinette and Adrien also couldn’t miss the high quality and perfect press of his carefully maintained suit. Once he had shown all the proper credentials to Madame Bustier, he introduced himself to the two well-dressed teens with a shallow bow. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for Wayne Manor. I am to escort the both of you there for supper tonight.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur Pennyworth,” Marinette said, walking up and shaking his hand. Adrien was right by her side the whole time, matching her smile watt for watt and shaking Alfred’s hand with just as much enthusiasm.

“Yeah, thank you for having us over. I know it was technically Bruce who invited Marinette, but you’re probably the one that has to do all the work. So, thank you. We really appreciate it,” he told the man sincerely. Alfred’s answering smile was soft, almost fond.

“Yes, I admit I am in charge of most of the work for tonight. But you shouldn’t worry, it’s no different from any other day at the manor,” he said lightheartedly, a little bit of good natured snark shining through his otherwise proper behavior— “Every last one of the Waynes would die in less than a week without me to keep everything in order,” he joked. “Allow me to lead you to the car.”

Marinette and Adrien followed behind Alfred. She didn’t know if it was the calming aura he put off, or if it was the gentle way his eyes sparkled that made her want to look after him. But whatever it was, she found herself wanting to protect this kind old man already. Which is why her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Before climbing inside the luxurious town car he had brought for them, she couldn’t help but turn to Alfred and ask;

“I hope you aren’t overworked. I don’t want to overstep, Monsieur, but isn’t the Wayne family rather large for one person to look after on their own?”

Alfred laughed gently at that, his eyes once again softening. “Do not worry about me, Miss Dupain-Cheng. They are family to me. And though, yes, you are correct in assuming they are a handful, they are also wonderful people. They help me where they can, but taking care of themselves is not their forte. Being able to do that for them is my greatest joy.”

The wrinkles in Marinette’s brow smoothed out and she smiled. “That’s so sweet. You’re making me want to meet them all even more.”

Something about that twinkle in Alfred’s eye made her feel like he was laughing at some joke she didn’t hear. “I’m sure all of you will get along swimmingly.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“I FOUND HER FIRST!”

Alfred had barely opened the manor’s doors to let Marinette and Adrien inside before the chaos started. Or rather, before they were let in on it— it seemed as if the chaos had already been going on for a while.

Jason skidded across the floor in a mad dash, having to grasp the doorframe he was running out of so that he could turn the corner sharply and veer towards them.

“Tell them, Marinette! I found you first, you’re my sister now, don’t fall for any of their Jedi mind tricks!”

Marinette just blinked, a little caught off guard. It hadn’t exactly sunk into her head until right that moment that ‘Wayne Family dinner’ would include Jason. Her mind was still catching up to the fact that she was seeing him out of his security guard uniform for the first time. He wasn’t dressed up at all, in a well-loved brown leather jacket over a white shirt and dark wash jeans. He still had his motorcycle gloves on. Marinette looked down at first herself, then Adrien.

“Are we overdressed?” She asked with a grimace. Jason huffed.

“Of course not, you guys look amazing! But seriously, tell them that I claimed you as my sister first and none of them are half as cool as me.”

Marinette and Adrien traded glances before laughing together.

“If we’re being technical here,” Adrien drawled mischievously as he straightened out his vest. “I met Marinette first, and she adopted me as her brother long before we met any of you,” he pointed out with a sharp grin.

“Ha!” a younger man laughed pointedly, following after Jason. The newcomer was dressed more formally, in a dress shirt under a very luxurious looking burgundy designer sweater. Under that, he wore black perfectly-pressed slacks and nondescript oxfords. His collar showed signs of housing a tie earlier, but he had clearly taken it off sometime earlier. His hair hung slightly long, framing his face with two long locks while the back of his hair slightly stuck up in all directions in natural tufted curls. Like Jason, his hair was jet black and he had bright blue eyes. He was also about half Jason’s size, much shorter and leaner than his adoptive brother. “He’s got you there, idiot,” he snarked smugly at Jason before turning to the two guests. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, Mister Agreste. I’m Tim Drake-Wayne, it’s nice to finally meet both of you,” he introduced himself as he walked over to shake their hands. “And your outfits are amazing! Did you make them, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Marinette,” she corrected with a lopsided grin. “My last name is a mouthful, and I prefer to just go by Marinette anyway. And yes, I made both of these outfits before we left Paris,” she admitted, trying her best to seem professional. She had already ruined her chances of that with Bruce and Jason, but this time she was prepared!

“They are just as impressive as the rest of your work that I’ve seen. And call me Tim, it’s only fair,” and then he smiled.

Damn his boyish grin. He wasn’t someone Marinette had a crush on— he wasn’t her type— but damn he was unfairly charismatic and charming. His smile temporarily short circuited her brain. That was exactly the kind of boyish smile that had started her crush on Adrien, and that she was unfairly weak for. Now she felt a deep-seated urge to protect this boy and his smile or so help her, someone would be sent to the ER if he was hurt and it wasn’t gonna be her. And she didn’t try to dissuade herself from that strong protective urge, her mother had already assured her that all the Waynes were trustworthy and that Tim in particular shared a lot of her bad habits. She could allow this little bit of vulnerability. Hopefully.

“... I’ve only known you for two minutes, but if anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” she breathed. Adrien elbowed her hard, making her yelp.

“You said that out loud Mari,” he deadpanned. A deep flush immediately came over her face, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry— but you— just forget I said anything. Please!”

Tim was visibly shocked, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Jason snorted, overcoming his own brief moment of shock pretty easily.

“Careful there,” Jason chided good-heartedly. His gaze met Marinette’s with a slight weight in it though. “You barely know the guy. He’ll annoy you out of your mind soon enough.”

Marinette caught the hint, wincing and changing the subject. Jason could see that she had done exactly as her mother had warned— she had gotten attached to Tim almost immediately. And while he wanted to believe Marinette when she said that the same wouldn’t happen with Joker, that she was not going to repeat her mother’s mistakes…

He couldn’t help but worry. Joker was a slippery bastard, and good at getting past people’s defenses.

Tim eventually led them all to the dining room, where several people were already sat waiting for them.

“We decided it would be best if we didn’t all swarm you at the door,” Tim explained, grinning at her kindly. “Take a seat wherever you want, Alfred is probably going to be done with dinner soon.”

Marinette and Adrien both nodded, going to sit by each other’s side. Adrien put his hand on her knee when they sat down, and traded a meaningful look with her.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’re not in Paris. And if you slip, I’ll catch you. Promise.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed a little. Yeah, she could trust Adrien to make sure she didn’t slip up too much. Get too careless. He’d watch her back like she did for him. She’d be okay. They’d both be okay.

“Thanks, Adrien. I needed that.”

—*—*—*—*—*

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[delicioussshame]

Terrible Crime AU AU is what I’m doing with my rare free time. Sorry.

We’ll see if I can manage another part before tomorrow. These are short, so maybe.

"Explain yourself."

Luo Binghe has rarely been confronted with his shizun's cold anger. It suits him. "What is Shizun talking about?"

"Binghe, I'm not in the mood. Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Like he's giving up this easily. "Please forgive your Binghe. He has no idea what he did wrong, but he's willing to do anything to make things right. Shizun only has to ask."

"You dislocated Shen Jiu's shoulder. What were you thinking!?"

"He attacked me first! I was only defending myself.”

Shen Yuan’s expression doesn’t change. “Did you honestly think you could get Mobei-Jun in Shen Jiu’s quarters without anyone noticing? I’ll admit it, it was a good effort, but you were spotted. My people just decided not to interfere. The situation is already very delicate; they didn’t want to risk complicating things even further.” Shen Yuan shakes his head, visibly disappointed. “I honestly thought I’d taught you better than this. Yes, Shen Jiu hates you, but he has never done anything to you to deserve this level of retaliation! On top of it all, you know how proud he is! He’ll never live this down!”

Luo Binghe hoped they would never have a conversation on this topic. He doesn’t blame Shen Yuan for what must be Shen Jiu’s doing. Shizun would never contemplate something so crass. But for putting Shen Yuan through such an ordeal, he deserves every single thing Luo Binghe did to him and more. “Has Shizun forgotten who killed my mother?”

It’s a low blow. He doesn’t have to see Shen Yuan flinch to know it. His shizun only took him on because he felt responsible. His mother, an old caretaker, was never supposed to die that night. Shen Jiu just found her too much of a risk. That’s how he first met them. Shen Jiu, his mother’s blood on his hands, whispering furiously at Shen Yuan, visibly angry at what he considered an unnecessary death. All of his mother’s blood pooling under her through her slit throat.

He isn’t sure what happened after that, but he’d ended up in Shen Yuan’s care.

He’s still grateful Shen Yuan was patient enough to stick with him through his adaptation period. To say he was a brat would be an understatement, but at the end of the day, his mother had been his only family, so it was Shen Yuan or social services, who would give the child of a woman who worked for a well-known criminal no chance to make something of himself.

Luo Binghe still mourns his mother and he always will, but he will also always be grateful that Shen Yuan was who he got in exchange.

“I understand that Shen Jiu will never be someone you care about. I respect that. But he is my brother and will lead the family. You both need to act polite around each other at least. I’ll try to smooth this over myself, but you really did not make our lives easier.” He sighs. “At least our parents will never hear about it. Shen Jiu will definitely do anything he can to keep this quiet.”

Like hell is Luo Binghe letting Shen Yuan “smooth this over.” “This isn’t Shizun’s issue to solve. Shen Jiu and I will hash it out.”

“You want us to get married! You can’t be sending assassins at each other.”

"It's better for our marriage than Shizun going to his brother."

Shen Yuan glares. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Shizun shouldn't ask questions he doesn't want answers to."

"I don't want to hear this, do I? I think I do. What could be so bad about meeting Shen Jiu? We'll both be heads of the family. Even if our responsibilities are different, we'll see each other all the time."

Here he goes. "When I was younger, I accepted that I would have to share Shizun if I wanted a chance to be with him, but things have taken another shape. I expect my marriage to be exclusive. I consider it my right to make sure it remains so using whatever means I deem necessary. I would never hurt Shizun, obviously, but his partner, I would have no mercy for."

Shen Yuan visibly blanches.

"I trust Shizun understands my meaning?"

It takes a while before Shen Yuan nods slowly.

"Good. As long as Shizun keeps this in mind, all will be well."

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #Shencest #Crime AU #Tumblr only

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E5; Chapter Five, The Flea and The Acrobat - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

"Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you."

'I can't believe I'm at Will's funeral.'

"Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." The pastor continued.

I spared a glance at the people around me.

I looked to Jonathan, his head bowed, and poor Joyce who was sitting nearby.

I can't imagine what they must be going through.

Joyce was like a second mother to me, and she has always treated as if I was one of her own. I'll always be grateful for that. I lay a hand on her shoulder.

She looks up to me confused like I had pulled her deep out of her thought, upon seeing it was me she smiles thankfully. She put her hand over mine and gave it a few gentle pats and then a small stroke with her thumb to say thank you.

I smiled solemnly at her and let go, listening to the rest of the service.

"It's times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent... could God take us from someone so young, so innocent?"

I looked down at my feet.

"It would be easy to turn away from God... but we must remember that nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love."

I felt a nudge on my shoulder and turned to look at Dustin. He wore a sly smirk as he looked to his right, past me and Mike.

Frowning in confusion, I turned my head to see what he was smirking about.

"Just wait till we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral." Dustin said cheekily.

I scoffed under my breath, rolling my eyes.

"Since when has she cared about Will? She couldn't even get his name right, remember that week she called him Bill?" I huffed, crossing my arms in distaste.

The boys smirked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Somebody jealous?" Lucas smirked.

"No-! Not ev- Shut up!" I scowl.

The boys giggle earning more than a few concerned and offended glances making me smile to myself. Mrs. Wheeler leaned down and shushed the boys making me smirk more.

'Serves them right.'

Soon enough, the casket had been lowered into the growd and roses had been thrown on top. I made my way to the very side of the grave, looking down.

"I know you're not dead. But I swear to God, if you don't come back I'm gonna kill you." I muttered to the casket in the ground.

As people began to filter out, we watched as Mike's mom said her condolences to Will's parents.

"I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, thank you so much for coming." Will's dad said.

I never liked him.

Joyce was just standing by herself quietly, her arms crossed looking down at the grave.

"Yeah, if there's anything we can do..." Mr. Wheeler offered, shaking the man's hand.

"I appreciate it. Thank you so much."

I said goodbye to Lucas who had to follow his parents out, even though we would be seeing him later at the wake. I did the same with Mike, and soon enough Mom was waiting for us so we could get to the car.

"Mom, will you give me a minute?"

"Of course, Pumpkin," She smiled at me with sympathy.

I turned around wove through the crowd that had separated me from Joyce. I tapped her on the shoulder, seeming to jostle her from her thoughts a second time.

Upon seeing it was me, she smiled.

"Hi, Ms. Byers."

"Oh, hi Y/n. Thank you, for coming, sweetheart," She smiled.

I captured her in a bear hug and she gladly reciprocated, giving my several comforting strokes.

"Of course. I'm so, so sorry for your loss." I said, letting her go.

"Oh, thank you, honey. T-Tell me, how have you been holding up?" She asked gently.

My eyes welled up.

"I'm not gonna lie, it's- it's been really hard. I just, I just miss him so much. Your son was such a good person. Always a gentleman." I knew what I was saying.

Even if he is alive for sure, everything I said was true. He always has been nothing but kind to me.

Not to mention, I owe him for so much.

She seemed extremely thankful for hearing that and I was glad I could make her genuinely smile on this sad day.

"Really? Oh sweetie, thank you. That means, just so much to me."

I look back to my mom and brother waiting for me by the car, and I return my gaze back to Ms. Byers.

"Um, I better go. My mom is waiting for me. I guess I'll be seeing you at the wake. Goodbye, Ms. Byers."

"Thank you again, Y/n. I'll see you later, okay?" Her face slightly fell and she smiled at me.

I nod and begin walking backward sending a small wave her way before turning around a breaking out into a small jog to catch up to my mom.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Being at the funeral of your best friend is daunting and quite surreal.

Being at the funeral of your best friend who is quite possibly alive in another dimension and you and only four other people know this is a completely different ballpark.

We had all met up at the wake and regrouped.

The plan was to ask Mr. Clarke if there was anything he could tell us about the theories regarding alternate dimensions. I'm just praying that we don't arouse suspicion given the setting.

"Mr. Clarke?" The tall man turned his attention away from the buffet to look at us.

Mr. Clarke smiled sympathetically. "Oh, hey, there."

The somber look came easily to my face as I looked to Mr. Clarke, Mike, and Lucas on either side of me while Dustin was digging into the buffet.

"How are you kids holding up?"

Lucas speaks up for us, slightly distracted by Dustin's blatant chewing. "We're... in... mourning."

"Man, these aren't real Nilla Wafers," Dustin sighed, shaking his head.

My eyes widen softly, and I look to Mr. Clarke trying to cover for him.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, Mr. Clarke, he's-" I stop midsentence to see him happily munching on more snacks, and look back to Mr. Clarke. "well, he mourns in his own... special way."

"We were wondering if you had time to talk?" Mike asked, wanting to move things along as quickly as possible.

"We have some questions," Lucas added.

I shook my head in agreement. "A lot of questions, actually,"

Mr. Clarke complied and the four of us found ourselves at the nearest table, asking our teacher about other dimensions at our "dead" friends' wake. Not something I ever could have imagined doing.

"So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Segan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?"

"Yeah, sure. Theoretically." Mr. Clarke replies, noticeably confused at the subject of our questions.

"Right, theoretically,"

"So, theoretically, how do we travel there?" Lucas asked.

"You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett's Many-World's Interpretation, haven't you?" A ghost of a smile on our teacher's face.

"Yeah," I chuckled, nodding my head in response.

The boys looked at me, wondering why I had said that.

I gave them a look that said, 'I don't know, just go with it.'

"Well, basically, there are parallel universes. Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there's a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened," I found myself nodding along, not for the sake of being believable, but actually lost in the idea.

"Yeah, that's not what we're talking about," Lucas sighed, leaning back.

"Oh."

"We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows. You know the Vale of Shadows?" Dustin asked, taking another loud bite of his off brand Nilla Wafers.

Not thinking that our science teacher would know anything about Dungeons and Dragons, I was completely taken aback by his next words.

"An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic–"

"Yeah, exactly." Mike said cutting him off.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"If that did exist - a place like the Vale of Shadows - how would we travel there?"

"Theoretically, of course." I add.

"Well..."

Mr. Clarke grabbed an empty paper plate and pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket. He then drew a straight line across the paper plate as he spoke, creating a visual for us.

"Picture... an acrobat..." He drew a small stick figure on top of the lines. "standing on a tightrope. Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules."

He began drawing arrows on either side of the acrobat.

"You can move forwards, or backwards. But, what if..." He drew a very small creature under one of the arrows. "right next to our acrobat, there is a flea? Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?"

"Right." We all agreed.

"Here's where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way... along the side of the rope." He drew arrows indicating the flea's direction around and under the rope, causing me to furrow my brows. "He can even go underneath the rope."

The boys and I all shared the same look before returning our gaze to Mr. Clarke. "Upside Down."

"Exactly."

Mike spoke up. "But we're not the flea, we're the acrobat."

"In this metaphor, yes, we're the acrobat."

"So we can't go upside down?" Lucas asked warily.

"No."

"Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?"

"Well," Our teacher furrowed his brows, a thoughtful look coming upon his face. "you'd have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then..."

He folded the paper plate in half, creasing it shut before shoving his pen directly through both sides of the paper plate. "you create a doorway."

"Like a gate?" My brother asked eagerly.

"Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–"

"Theoretical." I smile, nodding my head.

"But... but what if this gate already existed?" Mike asked, timidly.

"Well, if it did, I... I think we'd know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole."

Mike seems to gauge our reactions, and I'm the only one who met his eye with an equally uncertain gaze.

"Science is neat." Mr. Clarke continued. "But I'm afraid it's not very forgiving."

We all lean back, digesting the information.

#you'll float queue #stranger things #will byers x reader #reader insert #will byers #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #y/n henderson #eleven #el hopper #mr. clarke #joyce byers #lonnie byers #jonathan byers #claudia henderson #cosmic #st #st 1x05 #1x05 #the flea and the acrobat #stranger things x reader #x male reader #male reader #x m!reader #x reader #m!cosmic

[redrobin-detective]

Delayed Mourning

Going Angst Day 5: Death

_________________________________________

It was 3pm when there was a knock on Maddie Fenton’s door. She huffed and set down the meal she’d been working on. Of course the one day she had time to pre-plan a nice meal from her family was the day she’d get interrupted. 

“Yes? May I help you?” Maddie asked, opening the door. She had expected a salesman. Possibly even a neighbor coming to complain, again, about the noise or the smells that came from Fentonworks. Instead she found a small woman who couldn’t have been much taller than 5 ft with dark brown hair tied up in a tight bun. She was wearing a sharp white shirt and suit jacket with a matching white skirt.

“Mrs. Fenton, hello,” the woman gave a polite little head nod. “I’m from the the Government Institute of Interdimensional Warfare though I hear the locals like to call us the Guys in White.” She said with a knowing smiling, “of course, as you know, it’s not only the guys who are interested in ghosts. May I come in?”

“Oh yes, hello,” Maddie blinked, opening the door to let the agent in. The petite woman stepped inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Her small frame, her oversized glasses and soft nature seemed so at odds with the meatheads Maddie usually found in the GIW. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Perhaps,” the agent demurred. “It’s more there was something I wanted to inform you of. If you’re not too busy, may we sit down and talk? Your husband and children are not home.” Maddie thought that last statement was a bit odd, framed as a statement of fact rather than an inquiry but moved on. 

“Yes, Jack’s out of town visiting a relative and my kids won’t be back for a little while,” Maddie said. “Let me just finish putting this roast together, I’m almost done. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” The woman said quietly. “And please, continue while you’re doing. Let me give you a little bit of background.” The agent adjusted her large glasses with her tiny hands. “Let me introduce myself, you may call me Agent S. I work primarily out of Washington for the Institute but sometimes I am deployed on site for... special cases. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, your town is very special.”

“Now, as you may have noticed, I am not particularly built like the normal Institute agents you have probably come across. That is because I do not work in the field but behind the scene in Investigations. My job is study the history and happenings of hauntings and spectral entities.”

“Oh that sounds fascinating,” Maddie beamed as she finished with her final preps and put the roast in the over. She looked over her shoulder at Agent S while she washed her hands. “Jack and I dabble a bit in history and folklore but we’re more versed in the hard sciences of ghosts.”

“Yes, I’ve read some of your papers, you and your husband truly are the frontrunners in the field,” Agent S nodded. Maddie preened at the praise and sat down, delighted to have a sophisticated conversation with someone in her field who she wasn’t married to. If more of those GIW agents were like Agent S then Maddie would get along a lot better with them. “So, Maddie, may I call you Maddie? What date and time did your portal start working?”

“It was August 28th,” Maddie said proudly. “It didn’t work at first when we first plugged it in. I’m afraid I don’t have an exact time it started up as we weren’t here. Jack was convinced one of the electrical conduction pieces wasn’t fully connected and was preventing ectoplasmic distribution. We ended up driving 4 hours to Springfield and back for some specialty parts only to find the portal working when we returned.”

“I can help you there,” Agent S said with a soft smile reaching into her white briefcase and pulling out several thick folders. She laid them out gently on the table and Maddie was unnerved by some of the information: schematics of Fentonworks, past and present financial records, transcripts of public statements. Her shoulders tensed when she saw Jazz and Danny’s names on some of the files. “Toll camera captured your vehicle on the Jane Addams Memorial Tollway at exactly 1:26pm on August 28th. We can confirm you and your husband’s vehicle traveled to Springfield and back via video feeds and credit card statements at 10:45pm that same day and were therefore out of the city all day.”

Maddie suddenly felt very trapped by the woman’s sharp grey eyes as she plucked a piece of paper and pressed it towards Maddie. 

“At 3:18pm, the majority of the residential power in town went out for a period of 2 and a half hours. The cause was determined to be from a massive power surge that blew out the transformer. You may recall being blamed for this outage given your history with previous outages but the news that you were out of town settled that argument. However, I was not convinced.” She pulled out another piece of paper and Maddie bristled to see it was a Casper High attendance sheet.

“Your daughter, Jasmine was at her final summer cram session which ran from 2pm until 5pm. I spoke to her tutors and she never left the whole time and, in fact, stayed late to help a fellow student work through her study materials. But what about your son?” Agent S asked with with a curious smile but her eyes belied the fact that she had her own answers. 

“How dare you spy on my family, on my children,” Maddie hissed, crumpling one of the papers in her fist. “Get out of my house, I will sue the pants off of your organization for this invasion of privacy! Get out!”

“Now Maddie, don’t you want to know how your son started up your Portal?” Agent S asked coyly, that drew Maddie up short. Danny? No, he couldn’t have possibly. He had no interest in their work, in fact, now that she thought about it, Danny had been sick that day. Agent S pulled out a set of blueprints for the Fenton Portal. Some small component inside the Portal was circled.

“You left at approximately 1pm and your daughter presumably left not long after. Phone records indicate Daniel called both Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson. Your neighbor, Mrs. Benson, saw them coming into your house not long after but before the 3pm power outage which I was able to triangulate did in fact originate from your home.” Agent S tapped the circled part of the inner portal mechanisms. “Now did you happen to push the on button in the Portal before plugging it in?”

“On button?” Maddie asked with a dry mouth, overwhelmed by the amount of information being thrown her way. All she could think about was how Danny hadn’t seemed sick when they’d left that afternoon but had looked awful when they returned. Would he have really gone downstairs and messed with the Portal? Had he gotten hurt? Been contaminated down there? Images of Vlad’s sickly visage after his accident flowed through her head. She should have paid more attention but she’d been so excited about the Portal working...

“It’s right here in the blueprints you submitted to the patent office, buried under dozens of other hardware bits. Its small, such a little thing compared to all the moving parts required to open up a dimensional portal. Daniel was a bright boy, his middle school records prove it. A bright mind, friends to impress, no parents around to chastise him... I think you can see where I’m going with this.”

“No, no,” Maddie said, burying her hands in her hair. “No, I’m not. You’re saying -what? - that my teenage son turned on the Portal when we were gone? No, my Danny wouldn’t lie to me about that... Why wouldn’t he say anything?”

“I don’t blame him for not mentioned in because, if my hunch is correct, he was inside the Portal when it turned on, killing him instantly,” Agent S said with a carefully neutral face. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I’m afraid this haunting has gone on long enough.”

“My child is alive!” Maddie screeched, standing up in her chair. “Danny is alive and healthy and he is not a ghost!”

“I will admit the evidence of how he died is circumstantial but the fact that Danny Fenton is deceased is not.” Maddie fell back into her chair as he legs gave out underneath her. 

She watched the agent put paper after paper in front of her and detailed all sorts of data about her son that Maddie, who lived in the same house as him, had missed. Unusually high ectosignatures picked up by GIW (and their own) detectors, Danny being spotted in some form before most ghost attacks, faked signatures of hers getting him out of nurses’ visits. Maddie barely felt alive herself as she stared at a red light camera photo of her baby sitting atop a light post late, late at night. His eyes were a toxic green color.

“I know this must be distressing as a mother but your child never left that basement, never attended high school and will never achieve his dream of working for NASA.” Agent S said with carefully measured sympathy as she gathered up her papers and put them back in her case. “But you are a brilliant scientist, unlike your husband, you should be able to look past your emotions and see that your child is gone and the ghost he left behind is dangerous.”

“My husband?” Maddie asked blankly, running a finger down Danny’s unnatural photograph.

“I approached Jack two days ago, mistakenly believing he would be the most understanding of you both. He refused to believe the evidence and was, in fact, going to warn your son’s ghost that we planned on taking him. He is safe but he presently being held at one of our facilities until the capture is complete.” Maddie should feel outraged at her husband’s kidnapping but all she could think about was the fact that her son was dead, dead, dead, killed by her own invention over a year ago and she never noticed. How could she not have noticed?

“Daniel’s ghost is extraordinary, not only able to pass as human so accurately for so long but immensely powerful. We need to make sure he doesn’t harm anyone else. Think of his friends who are probably being forced to aid him and keep his death quiet. Think of your husband, your daughter, living in the same house as a dangerous ghost.” Agent S dropped some of her professionalism and plucked the photo of Danny out of Maddie’s hands and replaced it with her own tiny hand. 

“I know this is impossible thing to ask but I must do it anyway, will you help me capture what remains of Danny? There is a chance with his charade exposed, he will be able to move on and so will you. You have been wronged, Maddie. You have been denied the right to process and grieve your child by his own ghost. But a delayed mourning is better than none. Danny’s death is a tragedy but please don’t let it become someone else’s.”

“Maybe he’s not-” Maddie’s breath hitched, “he’s never shown any signs of aggression. Jasmine spoke of benevolent spirits... maybe-” Agent S sighed roughly and retracted her hand to grab another photo from her case. Maddie was surprised when she held up a picture of Phantom. 

“Ignore the glow,” Agent S instructed. “Change his white hair to black, his green eyes to blue. Think of how often Phantom is spotted in your neighborhood, around Casper High. Remember how he always has his hands on your technology,” the agent frowned. “Think of how he grins when he sees you, like he knows something you don’t. Like it all just a big joke you’re not a part of.” Maddie felt like she’d been slapped.

“Your son is dead,” Agent S said more forcefully, throwing the picture of Phantom next to the spooky one of Danny. “And his ghost has taken his place, taunting you, stealing energy from your family, from the portal that killed him. Phantom’s power is increasing too rapidly and soon we won’t be able to contain him. It’s why I was brought in to identify his haunt so that he could be stopped before anyone else died.”

“I will state this plainly, I am giving you the chance to participate in putting your child to rest but you are not required for this operation. If you refuse, you will be confined with your husband until Phantom is taken down. Do not let this monster with your son’s face trick you any more. So I ask again, Maddie Fenton, will you help us stop Phantom from making a mockery of your son’s memory?”

XxX

“Mom! Jazz! I’m home!” Danny announced, kicking off his shoes and grabbing a paper out of his backpack as he walked into the kitchen with a grin. “And I have a present! Jazz’s tutoring paid off, look at this A I got on my history test! Well A- but a solid A-!” 

“Oh... that’s great,” Mom muttered quietly. She was sitting at the kitchen table, not cooking or tinkering with some gadget. Just sitting there quietly, twiddling her thumbs and not looking at him.

“Is everyone okay?” Danny asked, dropping his bag on the floor and walking over to his mother. “I saw Jazz at school but is Dad okay?”

“No, everything is not okay,” she said turning and looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “Someone died, someone I love dearly and I’m not ready to let them go,” she sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “But they've been gone for a long time, even if I’m just hearing about it now. I’m upset but it’s better to know and be grieve than to go on in ignorance, living a lie.”

Danny was about to ask who had died when something was jammed into his neck and he was shocked within an inch of his half life. His body spasmed to escape but his mother was gripping his arm to hold him in place. He transformed unconsciously but that only made it worse. He fell to the floor, ectoplasm leaking off his form as he could barely hold himself together.

“Mom,” he croaked, reaching for her despite everything. She stomped on his hand which was practically goo from such a vicious, destabilizing ectoplasmic shock.

“Don’t you ever call me that,” she hissed through angry tears. “I didn’t want to believe it but the proof is right in front of me you horrible, selfish ghost.” She kicked him in the side and half of him ended up on her boot. “How dare you, how dare you impersonate my son! How dare you string me along all this time, make me look like a fool who had to told that her own child was dead! I bet you just laughed and laughed at our stupid, human ignorance of what your were!”

“‘lease,” he begged through the ectoplasm in his mouth. “I’m still your....”

“My son is dead and he has been for a while,” Mom said, throwing the ecto-taser away from her. Danny vaguely heard the door being kicked in and in his rapidly diminishing vision, he saw black boots and white suits. “With you gone, I can finally come to terms with it and not be tormented by an inadequate replacement.” She turned her back to him. “Get that filth out of my house, I never want to see it again.”

“Of course,” a quiet feminine voice said as his goopy arms were restrained with ghost proof cuffs. “I know this is hard, Maddie but you made the right choice for your family and Danny’s memory. Jack will returned to you within the hour. I spoke to my superiors, for your cooperation, the Institute will take care of declaring Danny dead as well as covering costs for your boy to be laid to rest, the first step in moving on.”

“No, the first step will be removing that duplicitous monster from my home. It’s stolen enough of my baby’s life. Now please leave, I have - I have a funeral to plan.”

#going angst week 2021 #*jazz hands* I uh finally contributed #this is another interesting thing that just sorta happened #I was actually rereading and writing more for Side Effects when I realized that someone could follow the paper trail of the accident #which led me to a tiny lil GIW Investigator who blew Dannys secret wide open #which *then* led me to the tragedy of Maddie learning of her child's 'death' second hand but over a year after a fact #there's something about delayed tragedy... thinking everythings ok only to learn it hasn't been for a while #Love Mads but btw her an Jack shes the one who seems the more likely to take offense to her son's ghost haunting his own life #to keep playing along and pretending to be alive #him secretly being Phantom was the final straw #Both pretending to be Danny then *teasing* her when he saw her as a ghost #(obviously thats not the case but Maddie believes was Made To Believe it was) #Oh I wanted to strange Agent S this whole time typing #the blatant.... manipulation #Maddie may feel free to grieve now but her child's torment was only beginning #haha good times see ya

[ohnopoe]

The Long Road Home | Frankie Morales

Ship: Frankie Morales x Reader Summary: After a one night stand with your best friend, it feels like everything’s going to hell... maybe you just need an escape Word Count: 5.6k+ Warnings: Angst. I looked at this doc and went ‘I haven’t hurt myself with pain for a while yet’, and just put a months worth of angst into one fic. I am sorry. Author’s Note: Oh look! It’s another super late entry to something! This time it’s for the FABULOUS @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and her writer Wednesday... as I post this at 3.30am on a Monday... yikes. I’m so sorry this is so late, thank you for being so kind about it! And yes, I did give up very quickly on making this gif look good. I’m too mentally done to try harder 🤣

The car was filled with a stilted silence, heavy and thick in the air-conditioned air. Never before had the awkwardness sat so oppressively, least of all with the one and only Frankie Morales at your side.

For years now, your life had been filled with laughter and smiles, of warm hugs and secret looks that hinted at inside jokes that no one had a chance of guessing. For years, your life had been plentiful with the simple fact that Frankie Morales, the kindest man you had ever known, was your best friend. Was it enough? Maybe not. But it was better than the alternative, and you knew that clearly now.

One night. It had only taken one night, to destroy the very foundations of your friendship, to send your comfortable little bubble crashing down into a cacophony of pain and agony.

Oh, the night itself was anything but agony. No, that was filled with euphoria and the sounds of absolute bliss. His taste scarred into your memory, his touch forever melted into your skin. Sleeping with your best friend might just have been the best damn thing you’d ever done, were it not for what came the morning after.

Perhaps you had been naive, waking up in his sheets, craving the warmth that had surrounded you as you both blissfully drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. Perhaps you ought to have realised the moment you found his spot cold to the touch, but your mind was still too filled with the fuzzy drunkenness of the best damn fuck of your life.

Perhaps you should have come to realise when you slipped out into his living room, seeing him already fully dressed, sitting silently on the couch with his head in his hands, his emotions on display so clearly that it would have broken your heart right there and then, if only you’d been awake enough to see them.

But no, it wasn’t until you were forcing a reassuring smile onto your lips as you desperately begged your features not to give away the heartache you felt that your world truly came crashing down around you.

It was a mistake.

A mistake.

Of all the words he could have used, somehow that hurt the most. He didn’t claim he didn’t enjoy it, didn’t blame you for the way your lips had sought out his when he’d been looking so damn beautiful with the warmth of the fireplace dancing across his features. No, he regretted it, and that, that hurt deeper than you had expected it too.

But you had put on a brave face, reassuring him that nothing would change, that you were still his best friend, if that’s what he wanted, and you pushed the heartache away until you were safely secured in your apartment, where the tears could fall until they ran out, until there was nothing but your empty sobs to fill the echoing apartment, as the man you loved seemed further away than ever before.

A week passed, then another, but nothing got easier. Your interactions seemed awkward now, the overwhelming reminder of what you had done hanging over the two of you like a thick blanket, threatening to suffocate you both.

It was impossible to move forwards, to think of anything but him.

The anguish you felt only grew as your friends seemed to pick up on the fact that something was wrong between you. It was Will who came to you, a silent support when your world was still crashing down around you, but you never dared whisper so much as a word of what had happened.

How could you ever guess it would get worse?

How could the all consuming pain you felt ever grow to something more when you already found yourself mourning the ease of your friendship every night when you sat alone at home?

Your answer came in the form of a beautiful stranger.

She was kind, gentle, beautiful… everything Frankie deserved, and what’s worse, she seemed to truly like him.

You hadn’t meant to spy, hell, you hadn’t even known he was going to be there. You were just at the cafe to pick up some lunch when you saw them, laughing and smiling, hand in hand at a small booth in the corner.

He didn’t even notice you as you entered your favourite cafe, the same cafe that you had spent countless afternoons in with the man who was still your everything, even now, even as he sat there with another.

Strength was becoming a part of you. You could hold off the tears, hold off the wails of anguish until you were safely at home, until you were alone once more.

But your strength was waning. How long could you continue on like this, mourning your friendship with the man you had secretly loved for years? How long would it be until he introduced this beautiful stranger to the boys? How long would it be until you had to force a smile as he fell in love, as he found himself marrying her?

There was only so long you could be strong when the object of your pain sat so close, yet so far.

Perhaps it wasn’t your most thought out plan. Perhaps you ought to have put a little more care into your actions, but you needed to get away, needed to be free from the anguish that had plagued you for over a month now.

Working freelance was a wonderful thing when it meant you could quite literally pack up and work anywhere. However, it was not the best when it came to stopping you from making a rash decision.

Clothes and essentials packed up in your car, you didn’t give yourself a moment to think as you fled the town you had called home for so long.

Was it a permanent answer to your problems? Hell no. Did it, realistically, cause more issues than it would solve? Sure. But this wasn’t the time for critical thinking, this was the time for an escape.

It had all been going so well.

For hours, you drove.

The chaos of the city fell behind you, the long open road ahead. Your phone filled your car with music, allowing you to fill your mind with anything but thoughts of home, and the thought that you might just find freedom from your agony seemed tangible.

With the windows down, the fresh air licked at your skin, cool and refreshing, filled with promises of renewal.

With each passing hour the crowds thinned and the light fell low.

A quick pull into a gas station had you filled up with fuel, snacks, and the motivation to continue on, moving ever forwards, even though no destination was set in your mind.

Perhaps you should have found a hotel for the night, somewhere safe to stay until morning came, but you were determined; the need to get away spurring you ever onwards in your pursuit of something you could not name.

Night fell, and even the houses spilled away into nothing, your only companions the rich sand that surrounded you, and the road that continued on into the horizon.

Yes, this was what you needed.

It was all going so well, until it wasn’t.

The headlights began to flicker, that was your first clue that something was amiss. Then it was the clock, staggering between minutes.

You weren’t particularly mechanically minded, there wasn’t exactly a need for it when your best friend was always there to fix whatever hiccups your car decided to adopt, but even you knew it was time to pull over.

The air was cold, colder than you ever would have expected in the depths of the desert, but then, with the sun slipping past the horizon, you could hardly be surprised to find the temperature dipping too. Opening the bonnet gave no answers, only a steady slew of steam that drifted upwards at the sudden release, only furthering your fears.

Well, that certainly didn’t seem good.

Perhaps you could find a mechanic or a garage, surely there was another gas station somewhere along the long and dusty road. But the moment you hit the ignition, the car stalled. Another attempt, another stall. The engine refused to budge.

This was not how things were meant to be going.

Your hand hit the steering wheel with fervour, doing more to hurt you than to dissipate your growing anger.

This was meant to be your escape, your freedom from everything that was weighing you down, but now even your car seemed to be working against you.

The sun was now fully eclipsed by the horizon, and there you were, stuck on the side of an empty highway, alone and crying your frustrations into your steering wheel as, once more, your emotions got the better of you.

Someone would come, they had to. It wasn’t as if the stretch of road was forgotten and beyond repair, it was still a popular stretch… for some.

Locked in your car, with no engine to run your heater, you went for your phone, hoping you could call for help. Picking you up hours away from home wasn’t exactly the kind of favour you could put on anyone, but the boys were never ones to say no to a person in need, least of all one of their best friends. Perhaps you could call Will, see if he could pick you up or help you get a tow.

The black screen of death was the last thing you needed. Plugged into the car’s power, it seemed even it wasn’t immune to whatever had eaten away at your car’s battery.

So there you were, stuck on the side of the road, alone, desolate, and now without any means of communication.

Perfect.

Hours passed, or at least, you assumed they did, with nothing but silence as your companion, and suddenly, all those thoughts and memories you had been pushing away filled your mind with an aching determination.

Memories of nights curled up in Frankie’s side as you laughed at the stupidity of couples in films, as you hid your face in his neck as he laughed at yet another horror film he insisted wasn’t that bad.

Memories of nights when the world felt like it was crashing down around you as yet another relationship failed, and you found solace in the warm hugs of your best friend and the sweet taste of ice-cream with whatever alcohol was in the house.

So much of your life had revolved around your best friend, and here you were, weeks without so much as a word shared between you, desperately searching for something to fill the void within you.

In the dark of the night, you could admit this wasn’t your smartest plan. With the cold air struggling to make its way into the insulation of your car, even you knew you should have at least told someone you were going. Will wouldn’t have judged you, at least, not outwardly. Benny would have come with you, given the chance. Santi, well, Santi would have read far too much into it and probably figured out exactly what was breaking you down…

And then there was Frankie. Frankie who would have listened, who would have held you as you cried, who would have whispered sweet words of comfort and reassurance until you no longer felt the need to escape at all. At least, the old Frankie, your Frankie, would have.

Now, everything was so different. What would he have said if he knew you were leaving so suddenly? Would he have realised it was because of him? Would he even care?

The darkness of the night seemed to match your darkened mood, allowing the heartache to consume you, to plague your mind until a restless sleep fell over you.

Dreams and nightmares melded into one another, happy memories turning sour with rejection, those four words haunting you with every attempt at happiness.

This was a mistake.

How could a voice you loved so dearly bring words of such pain? How could he be everything good and everything horrible, all at once?

A bright light, and a deep, loud sound shook you from your slumbers. A truck was passing, a truck!

Perhaps they could help, perhaps they could- your sleep filled mind suddenly plagued you with images of your body chopped up into tiny pieces, lost to the desert and never seen again…

Ok, maybe wariness was the way to go.

But it was slowing down, past you by some hundred meters, but slowing to a stop nonetheless.

With the taser Santi had bought you years ago held tightly in your grip for protection, you watched as a smaller light came towards you, footsteps echoing behind it on the empty road.

You could do this, you said to yourself, unable to fool even yourself with your attempt at optimism.

The man seemed alright, from what you could tell. A sympathetic smile, and a safe distance away so as not to scare you, he seemed as non-threatening a stranger as you could hope for. But you couldn’t shake the warnings the boys had given you over the years.

“Never, and I mean never get in a car with a stranger,” Santi had invaded your space as he drunkenly forced his advice upon you.

“What if I don’t want them to be a stranger?” you had replied coyly, loving the way the group of men, who had taken it upon themselves to act rather like older brothers had squirmed uncomfortably in their seats at your response.

“If they’re a stranger, they’re not good enough for you,” Santi had replied, his gaze flittering around the group as if struggling to leave his sentence there. “If you don’t know them, keep it that way. You’re safety is more important than your- than your-”

“Than your sex life,” Will finished with a roll of his eyes, never ceasing to be amused by the way Pope struggled at the idea of you having sex.​

You didn’t dare open your door, and with the engine out of commission, opening the window was an impossibility, and so it was a conversation of yelling in the dark empty desert.

“You alright there?” his cheery tone put you at ease more than it ought, but the man was clearly aware you were alone, and equally aware that his large frame could easily be construed as intimidating.

Half of you was ready to nod in response, to claim you were just fine and not give anything away. But, well, even the threat of being murdered seemed a little less impactful when you knew, realistically, you needed help.

“Broken down,” you yelled from behind the safety of your locked door.

“You called someone to get ya yet?” he actually looked concerned at that, but then a thought seemed to flit through his mind, so loud that it was shown across his features as he second guessed his words. His southern twang resonated loudly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, hand barely missing the full grey beard that looked oddly reminiscent of Santa Claus. “Or ya need a lift or somethin’?”

“Actually,” the trepidation was clear even as your voice echoed in the car. What you needed wasn’t exactly easy, and, while he certainly didn’t seem dangerous, Santi’s words still rung clear in your mind. “You wouldn’t have a phone I could use, would you?”

His smile was reassuring, easing your worries more than it ought to do. Broken with missing teeth and crows feet that showed the man clearly smiled just as often as he could, it was almost tempting to take him up on his offer. But he was nodding before you could second guess yourself.

“You wait just here, I’ll go get it.”

The moment he was gone, relief flooded you, easing your wound up shoulders, and giving you a final glimpse at hope. Now all you had to do was call someone you trusted, someone who wouldn’t mind a call at the ass-break of dawn.

Will still felt like the safest option, even if he did mind, he’d never say it, and you could always make it up to him with a carton of beer.

Your hand reached for your phone, ready to bring up his number, when realisation struck you. Dead. It was dead. That was the whole damn reason you needed another’s phone in the first place.

A groan escaped you as you realised, once again, just how badly your escape was going.

A knock on the door woke you from your pity party, an empathetic look mixing with bemusement as the truck driver watched you jump in shock.

“Here, I’ll pop this on your hood. I’ll just be over there,” he paused to point back towards his truck, “you just holler when you’re done, ok darlin’?”

And then he was gone, his phone large and clunky on the hood of your car as his flashlight bounced light off the road with every uneven step he took.

Getting out quickly, you grabbed the phone before returning to the safety of the locked car. Ok, so you needed someone who’s number was memorised, someone who would answer, someone… fuck.

“You can drop me off here,” your voice was soft and uncertain, barely breaking past a whisper, and yet echoing in the silence of the car. The first words spoken in an hour, hanging so heavily between you that you almost wished you could suffocate once more in the overwhelming silence from before.

His hand crashed against the top of the steering wheel; anger, raw and unrestrained, shining through as he clenched his jaw to swallow words he might regret.

“I’m not leaving you at some shitty garage,” the words were grit out, harsher than you had ever heard him before. His emotions, once bottled up and held deep within, were now clear for all to see, even as he refused to so much as glance in your direction. “I’m taking you home.”

“Frankie, I-” you cut your words off at the sudden glare that was thrown your way, gulping down the fight you had been willing to make in order to make your point. You had never seen him like this, even on his darkest days, he had never spewed forth an anger so heated and vile that it had you almost scared to speak.

And so you fell back into silence once more, letting the empty road fill your gaze with its monotonous landscape, desperately pleading with it to help clear your mind of the whirlwind of emotions that brewed within.

Perhaps you ought to have wished it upon Frankie instead.

Just as you thought the silence had begun to settle, some ten minutes later, he exploded once more, passionately angry in a way that had no right to pierce your heart as it did.

“The hell were you thinking, running off like that?” he practically spat the words out, wondering aloud rather than directing the question at you. But still, it had you fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His anger was new, but somehow that didn’t hurt half as much as the disappointment you heard now as he rolled his fists over the steering wheel.

You could practically see the way his mind whirled with thoughts, his gaze flittering over the road as he did his best to stay in control.

“Pull over,” your words were barely a whisper louder than the last time you had spoken, but there was a determination in them now.

Frankie merely scoffed in response, shaking his head as if the thought was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“I’m not- I’m not going to rush off, just- please Frankie,” and if your tone sounded more desperate than it ever had before, well, so be it.

A glance was thrown in your direction, filled with suspicion, as if he were trying to see whether you were telling the truth, whether you were simply looking for another chance to flee from his life. But you met his gaze, soft determination filling your own as you silently pleaded for him to do as you say, before he ended up causing a crash.

With a sigh, and the most unnecessary use of a turn signal you had ever witnessed, Frankie eased the car to the side of the road, making a show of turning off the ignition before he turned to you, watching you so intently that his very gaze seemed to melt into your skin.

“I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Thinking, you asked- I- I wasn’t thinking. I just-” you sighed. Unable to meet his searching gaze, your focus fell to your fingers, fiddling anxiously in your lap in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pent up energy that was brewing within you. “I needed to get away from everything.”

I needed to get away from you.

“And you didn’t think to let someone know?” his anger was radiating throughout the car, hot and fevered, and it almost made you feel guilty, almost. “Do you have any idea how it felt to hear your voice on a stranger’s phone? To know you were trapped, alone, hours away- You should have told me.”

“Told you?” you couldn’t help the scoff that fell from your lips at that. Perhaps you should have told someone, but of all the people in the world you could have informed of your sudden trip, he was hardly an option. “Frankie, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“What are you-”

“Ever since that night, you’ve been distant,” you interrupted, refusing to accept his attempt at ignorance. After years of practically living in each other’s pockets, there was no way he could simply not notice the time that had passed since you last spoke. “Hell, it’s like I don’t even exist anymore! We haven’t spoken in weeks. Weeks, Frankie!”

“Well I-” he tried once more, but even he stumbled for a response to that. It was true, and there was no denying it, no matter how much he wished he could.

But the dam was broken now, emotions and words flooding out, filling the car where once silence lay.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like? To lose your best friend all because of a mistake,” the word was spat with more aggression than you had intended, but it stung to think about it. The very word was tainted now, filled with the memory of his forlorn face as he had uttered it into the morning light.

You didn’t notice the way he gulped at your words, as he desperately tried to alleviate the way his throat suddenly felt drier than the desert that surrounded you.

“I am trying my hardest to keep it together,” you continued, your voice steely now as you spoke resolutely, staring out at the long road ahead, refusing to acknowledge the steady stream of tears that made their way down your face.

“I am trying so fucking hard to not break every second of every day, and the moment I do something for myself, the moment I try and accept that I need to move on from my best friend, the world just screams ‘no’. I don’t get to just move on like nothing ever happened, I don’t get to go on dates with beautiful women who hold my hand and look at me like I’m the world. I get to suffocate under the knowledge that I’m in love with a man who thinks I’m a mistake. So, forgive me if I needed to get away from it all. Forgive me if I needed an escape from the never ending circle of pain that it is to simply survive.”

Each word seemed to burn your tongue as it escaped you, a fiery, fierce explosion filled with all the things you had kept secret for too long. It was so damn much, too much, perhaps, but then… it was a relief. After years of keeping your feelings to yourself, they were finally free, out in the atmosphere and untethered from the confines of your mind.

Was it the best way to let them out? Probably not. But after holding them down for so long, it was liberating to let go, even if you knew no good would come from it.

The silence that followed was, surprisingly, not the worst reaction you could have expected from your spiel. In fact, in respect to the alternatives that raced through your mind, it didn’t seem bad at all.

Perhaps you could continue like this. Perhaps you could make it home in silence, with your secret no longer a secret anymore.

Perhaps you could face tomorrow, even if it meant you could never face him again.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, not now that the words were out there, that he was aware of just how long you had harboured feelings for him. You couldn’t dare see the disappointment or disgust in his features as he struggled to find a way to let you down easy.

“You’re not a mistake,” the words were so soft that they took a moment to register in your mind.

But you knew that tone, it was the same tone you heard when Frankie’s world was crashing down around him. It was the same tone that crept out of him after hours of silence the night he came home from Columbia, turning up on your doorstep disheveled and broken and oh so silent that it had hurt to witness.

You wanted to scoff at the words, an easy attempt at placating you after you had practically offered your heart on a platter, baring your very soul to him, but for that tone.

There was no room for doubt or fear when he spoke like that, no room for anything but sheer acceptance. He believed what he was saying with his entire being, and you wished you didn’t know him well enough to tell.

It would be so easy to be angry, to ignore those words as he had ignored your admission, to doubt him and call him out on it, to ask the question your heart begged for the answer to… then why say it in the first place?

Wiping a tear from your cheek in a hurried movement, appalled at just how wet your skin felt, and the fact that your emotions had betrayed you so easily, you merely shook your head, still not daring to look his way.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, forcing your attention out the passenger window to the seemingly never ending sea of sand. “Next time I’ll tell someone, ok?” your voice was small, insecure, each word focused on entirely the wrong thing. “And I’ll get my stupid car fixed too.”

Was it a poor attempt at humour? Yes. But you were desperate. You needed to end this conversation, needed to get back to the comfort of your bed where you could allow the tears that seemed to haunt you to fall once more as you accepted the heartache that only grew with his silence.

“Next time,” the words seemed to die on his tongue, voice shaky as his hand reached out for your own, pulling your attention towards him as he grasped it tightly on your lap.

There was a desperation in his gaze now, a determination that you hear him, that you take each word he offered to heart.

“Next time, we both go.”

A scoff of laughter fell from your lips, your head shaking even as an incredulous smile dared to show itself in the corners of your lips.

“Frankie,” you sighed his name, gaze falling to your joint hands, to the way his thumb ran over your knuckles, even as he held your hand so tightly. “You’re missing the point of me getting away entirely.”

And then, for the first time since he had pulled up next to your broken down car, he smiled.

“I’m not,” the lilt of his voice almost tempted you to glance towards him, amusement dancing in the corners of his tone as he sought you out.

“Frankie,” you started once more, although you weren’t quite sure what you planned to say. How could you begin to explain your need for freedom from him?

“I was wrong,” he shook his head, more to himself than anything, as he spoke softly. “I made two mistakes that night-”

Would this man ever cease to shatter your heart? Surely it was already in pieces smaller than the grains of sand that sat outside your door.

“I should never have said it was a mistake, and I should have told you the truth.”

“The truth…” it came out more as a statement than a question, as if you were testing the very words on your tongue. Even with your focus flittering between his intense gaze, locked onto his very being you could still hear the suspicion in your tone. What truth would you learn if he continued? Would it hurt you further, or heal the shattered remains of your heart? Could you even risk considering the latter?

Your sights fell, focused on the warmth of his hand in yours, on the comfort he was trying to bring you, even if this was the moment your world came crashing down around you. Perhaps, with his hand in yours, you could bear it this time. After all the times your world felt as if it were imploding within you, perhaps you could face it if he just kept holding your hand.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you.”

“Frankie, please don’t-” you could see what he was doing, softening the blow, reminding you how much you meant to him. You were his best friend, and he loved you, just as he loved Santi or Will or Benny… minus the whole one night stand issue.

Your hand was stock still in his, unable to clench onto the one thing that could keep you together and break you apart all at once. It was still despite the way his thumb still ran over your knuckles, desperate to soothe and reassure as he had done time and time again. And it was the only thing you could focus on.

The sound of him shifting in his seat was both deafening and oddly muted as you trained your focus on your joined hands that sat in your lap.

His other hand reached over, his touch so light as it traced against your wet cheek that it had you closing your eyes without a thought.

“Hey,” his voice was broken now, rough and raw with emotion that you didn’t dare let yourself focus on. The touch of his hand felt stronger now as it dipped to your chin, silently begging at you to look his way. Silence sat between you as he waited, with a patience only Frankie knew, for you to give in to his plea.

Even here, stuck in the middle of the desert with tears flowing freely down your cheeks, you could never truly deny Frankie anything.

Your eyes opened slowly, painfully so, but the sight that greeted you was somehow worse than the unknowing blackness you had before.

He looked worse than he sounded, an echo of his worst days, his face haunted with a mirage of emotions that you never wished him to experience. And for a moment you wished you could take it all back. The relief you felt at finally telling him how you felt, the way your heart screamed at no longer having to suffer in silence… none of that was worth it if it was causing this pain to the man you adored.

His smile was small as it crept onto his lips. You could see the uncertainty in the way his eyes flickered over your features. But his hand that still sat in your lap held your hand with a determination that was meant to reassure, although you couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to reassure you or him.

“I have loved you since the moment we met,” he repeated, pausing as he took a deep breath. “And I have been in love with you for almost as long.”

Your eyes met his without a thought, needing to see whether there was truth in his words, needing to see whether he meant what he was saying, or if he was simply doing what he could to keep you safe and by his side.

But there was no lie in his eyes, no fear that you could see past his words into a hollow land of half truths. No, the only fear that sat there was trepidation, anxiety… timidity.

What if you didn’t believe him? What if, after all you had both said, after all that had happened you didn’t want him?

But how could you not?

Frankie, the man who had been at your side through thick and thin, the man who had driven for hours to pick you up when your car had decided it no longer wanted to work… he was still your everything, he was your Frankie.

Hours of exhaustion and desperation, filled with tears of heartbreak and frustration, slipped aside, replaced with the smallest of smiles.

“You love me, huh?” the teasing lilt to your tone surprised even you, but the way his entire being lit up at the words was addictive. Your features seemed to mirror his, smile growing until it was all you knew, until the happiness you felt seemed to chase away the anguish you had felt for so long.

His hand tightened in yours, and finally, you moved with it, squeezing reassuringly as you watched emotions dance over his features.

“Honey,” he stopped, pulling your joint hands to his lips as he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your palm, never letting his gaze drop from yours for so much as a moment. “I’m crazy about you.”

#writer wednesday #Frankie Morales #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fic #Triple Frontier #My fic

[hrtiu]

Written for a prompt from @flybynite19. It’s not as fluffy as I initially intended, but I hope you like it!

“So she ran out this way?” Riyo asked, pointing down the imposing entrance to the RCMO.

Commander Fox nodded. “Yes, ma’am. She climbed onto that statue, then ran along the top of the monument.”

“The monument?”

Commander Fox pointed to the long slab of bronze-colored stone running the length of the promenade. “The First Battle Memorial, commemorating the soldiers lost during the Battle of Geonosis.”

“Ah,” Riyo said. She vaguely recalled when the monument had been constructed. It had been mostly intended to increase morale among the soldiers, and very few senators had found the time to attend the dedication ceremony. Riyo herself had been busy in a budget meeting that day, if she recalled correctly.

She paced down the long walkway, looking the scene of the crime up and down. She took notes on her datapad, not sure exactly what Chancellor Palpatine was looking for but determined to present a thorough report.

“And security along this walkway, what was it like that night?” Riyo asked.

“There’s a 24-hour watch along the main entrance, but we sent out extra forces as soon as Tano’s escape was discovered,” Fox said.

“I see.”

Riyo continued on down the promenade, her eyes lingering on the blaster marks that marred the brand-new memorial. She reached the pillars that marked the end of the walkway and jotted down a few notes on the large canons flanking the exit. Palpatine wanted to know how their security forces had failed to contain their Jedi prisoner and what measures might be taken to prevent this sort of thing happening again. It was a difficult problem, considering how invincible the Jedi seemed at times. What was the Republic to do if they ever found themselves at odds with their Generals?

She turned back to the Commander. “And these canons, are they-” She cut herself off, seeing that he was all the way back at the monument. He stood, hands behind his back, helmet tilted up at the imposing slab of rock.

Riyo jogged her way back to him. “...Commander?”

Fox started, the first time she’d seen him anything but composed and immovable. “Senator Chuchi, my apologies. How can I help you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Would you mind telling me some more about this memorial?”

“It’s Geonosian stone, installed only a month ago. It gave the convict more cover to make her escape-”

“No, I mean, what does the memorial mean to you?” Riyo asked.

“Oh! Well…” he hesitated, then took a step towards the monument, resting his hand against the smooth stone. “It lists the designations of the fallen.”

“Designations?” Riyo moved a few steps closer to the Commander.

“Yes. My designation is CC-1010. We receive our designations before our names.” His finger glided along one of the names—designations, she mentally corrected—carved into the ruddy stone.

CC-1011, it read.

“Was he a friend of yours?” Riyo asked, her voice going soft.

“He was my twin.”

Riyo allowed herself a small chuckle. “Aren’t you all twins, in a way?”

She couldn’t see his expression behind his helmet, but she imagined a modest smile creeping up his face. “In a way, but 1011 was my tubemate. Like identical twins, we started out as one, then became two.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, though of course she couldn’t. Not really. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“That’s war, ma’am. Better that we be sacrificed than an innocent civilian.”

Riyo resisted the urge to grimace, an acrid taste filling her mouth. “Don’t say that,” she said, though wasn’t that exactly what the Senate believed?

“It’s a soldier’s job to live by the truth, even if it is difficult to accept.”

“Can’t it be our job to change things, if the truth is… isn’t right?”

Fox turned his head to her, his helmet tilted slightly to the side. “That might be a senator’s job, ma’am, but it’s not mine.”

A strained silence filled the space between them, and the weight of her office sat heavy on Riyo’s shoulders. He was right. Not everyone was in a position to change things, but she was. She needed to make the most of that.

Her chin dipped towards her chest, and she twisted with the gold bangle that hung around her wrist. “I swear I will do my best to make things right, Commander.”

“And I will do my best to protect the Republic, ma’am.” He nodded sharply to her and turned from the monument, apparently ready to move on. Riyo’s hand blocked his path, stopping him before he could pass her by.

“Forgive me, Commander, but would you mind telling me more about your twin? CC-1011?” she said. She worried that she was crossing some boundary of politeness, but the columns of nondescript numbers lining the stone monument in front of her begged for recognition, cried out for some kind of illumination.

Fox hesitated a moment, then turned slowly back towards the slab. “Certainly, ma’am.” His helmet tilted down towards his feet, and his hands met behind his back. He often rested with his hands behind his back in a loose parade rest, but Riyo noticed that this time his gloved fingers fidgeted with a nervous energy.

“CC-1011’s name was Fox,” the Commander said at length.

“But… isn’t that your name?” Riyo asked, wondering if there was some quirk of clone culture she was missing.

“It is now, but when I was a cadet I went by Jackal. 

Riyo wrinkled her nose. Jackal sounded like the name of a brash, boundary-pushing firebrand, not someone with the poise and control of Fox.

“I know what you’re thinking, but back then the name fit. Then after Geonosis, I lost him. I took his name, in his honor, and tried to… Tried to be more like him. Tried to get over myself and my di’kut attitude.”

Fox looked back up at the monument, his hands falling to his sides. His helmet tipped far back, revealing a narrow sliver of skin just above the black bodysuit that covered most of his body. Riyo thought about CC-1011, the first Fox, and wondered where his body was now. Probably abandoned somewhere on that wretched planet. And yet here Fox stood, genetically identical and determined to carry on his brother’s legacy. If he took off his helmet, she’d see the departed Fox’s face.

It was a stupid idea, but Riyo had built her career on doing what she felt was right, prudence be damned. She took a step towards him and reached a delicate hand out, her fingers clasping loosely around his gloved hand.

He flinched. “Senator Chuchi-”

“Please allow me this small gesture of comfort, Commander. It is the duty of all sentient life to care for each other in our grief.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, just looked down at their joined hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

His fingers slowly tightened around hers, and she smiled, squeezing lightly back.

“I never had the pleasure of meeting CC-1011, but from what I know of you, there is no doubt in my mind he would be proud that you carry his name,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, his voice barely loud enough for his helmet to pick up.

They stood there for several minutes, the silence solemn but accompanied by a deep sense of peace. Riyo took the time to read each designation, noting the ones in sequential order and wondering if they’d been friends—wondering if they’d died together. She made sure to repeat each designation in her mind, to send a prayer of gratitude and mourning up to the heavens in their honor.

“Commander?” The faint sound of radio chatter coming from Fox’s helmet interrupted their vigil.

“Fox here,” Fox said, his fingers sliding from Riyo’s as he stepped back from the monument.

Riyo turned towards the end of the promenade, her hand feeling oddly light and bereft. A warm flush rose to her cheeks, though she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if whoever had commed the Commander had even seen them together.

Fox walked back to Riyo. “Apologies, Senator. The Chancellor needs me for a briefing. If you’d like to continue your inspection Commander Stone can relieve-”

“There’s no need,” Riyo said. “I’ve seen quite enough, thank you.”

“Very well. I’ll accompany you back to your transport.”

“Thank you.”

They walked together back to the docking bay where her driver waited for her, and Riyo felt strangely awkward walking alongside the Commander, unsure of what to say.

“I’m grateful for your help today, Commander Fox,” she settled on eventually, though the words felt thick and strange on her tongue.

“I’m not sure I did much to assist, but you’re welcome, ma’am.”

“No it was… illuminating.”

He nodded in response.

Riyo twisted the bangle around her wrist again. She opened her mouth, then shut it, then gave the bangle another good rotation. “I should have come here earlier.”

“I made the earliest time available to you, senator, but if there’s anything else I could have done-”

“No, I mean, I should have gone to the monument’s dedication. I should have seen this earlier.”

“Oh.” Fox said, silent for a long moment as they walked. “Well, you’re here now, ma’am. That means a lot.”

They arrived at the docking bay, and Riyo’s driver hopped out of the speeder to open the door for her. Fox held a hand out to her to help her into her seat, the gesture unnecessary but appreciated. She sat down in the speeder and looked up at him, imagining for a moment that she could see his piercing eyes through the opaque black of his visor. “I won’t make that mistake again, Commander. I promise.”

He nodded to her, and she knew his eyes were locked on hers. “I know, ma’am.”

#foxiyo #fanfic #commander fox #riyo chuchi #tcw #star wars