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stirthewaters · 8 months

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Too Sharp to Touch pt.4

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Slight language, brief descriptions of blood

Summary: Late to fighting practice, Wednesday tries to find you

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

You were late.

What kind of ignorant fool could somehow be late to a meeting that they themselves had worked so hard to arrange? Of course, you, of all people, would be that fool.

Wednesday somehow found herself unsurprised.

A glance at the clock mounted high above the door in the fencing hall would show that you were late. Half an hour late. Wednesday’s lips pulled into an irritated frown as she paced the wooden floors, her footsteps echoing loudly throughout the room as she did so. Wednesday, of course, was one who enjoyed silence, welcomed it even, always particular to the peaceful atmosphere of a wonderfully and eerily quiet room.

The ticking of the clock accompanied the echoes of her footsteps as she continued to pace, occasionally glancing at the door or the windows, waiting for your arrival. Not hoping. Waiting.

The fact that you were supposed to be here and you weren’t was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She hated the way that you could make her somehow unsatisfied with such a gloomy situation; what had you poisoned her with?

You had to have done something to her, surely. Consulted with Enid and Thing and injected her with a mind-altering fluid in her sleep. Slipped something into her coffee mug when she wasn’t looking. Cursed her with an ancient spell book discovered in the darkest reaches of the Nightshade library.

Wednesday was positive that you had done something to her, and she was not happy about it.

She continued to pace, frustration and, though she wouldn’t admit it, confusion. Where were you? Wasn’t this a priority to you? You had seemed so desperate to fight… you had offered her those flowers…

No. She was not going to think about the flowers right now.

The tip of her blade dropped slowly as she sighed, frustrated, and pulled the fencing helmet off of her head, tucking it under an arm as she fixed her messy bangs stuck to her forehead, a tinge of annoyance trickling through her as she arranged them once more.

If you had actually arrived on time like you’d said you would, she would’ve been able to follow through on her plans of terrifying you the second you stepped foot in the hall, scheming to jump you by the doorway with the tip of her blade pressed to your neck, to watch the thin line of blood she would be lucky enough to draw.

It would’ve been lovely to see some trace of fear in your eyes for once. Even a little. She would live for it. Especially if she could be the cause of it; she craved that moment.

But no, you just had to go and ruin her fun.

Neatly arranging her fencing gear back into her locker, that of which she closed and locked, Wednesday turned and promptly exited the dark and now empty fencing hall heading up the stairs and toward your dorm, boots clomping in the halls as the occasional group of students swerved to avoid her as she ducked into Dionysus hall, the one that you occupied.

The normally busy hallway was quieter than usual, most students already headed out for the weekend or in town for the evening, which was, admittedly, appreciated, but Wednesday was more focused on your whereabouts than the volume of the hall.

The raven didn’t even hesitate at your dorm door, opening it and storming inside as she looked around. On quick inspection she promptly discovered that you were nowhere to be found, surprisingly. She had expected you to be here, listening to music, drawing, or whatever you did in your free time, which she most definitely did not have memorized. Your bed, as usual, was messy. Empty. Your deskspace, equally messy and scattered with art supplies and assignments. Empty. The small space under the bed she’d discovered that you yet had to tell her about? Empty.

Where were you?

Sighing in annoyance, Wednesday whirled around and exited your dorm, closing the door carefully behind her as she set off for the quad, determined to find you. You were not getting away that easily.

The student population increased dramatically as the goth entered the quad, eyes scrunching slightly at the sudden lack of darkness.

The quad was lit well with string lights illuminating the space as a handful of students lingered around, chatting and laughing and mingling amongst one another - a nauseatingly cheerful scene. Wednesday scanned the small crowd carefully, eyeing each person with a precise eye. You were quite the social student, so she expected you to be here, laughing and goofing off as you typically did when you could be avoiding work.

But, as she observed the students, not seeing you with any of your friends, she realized that no, you were not here. Frowning, Wednesday approached Xavier, who was, as usual, buried in a sketchbook at one of the tables, scribbling away.

Stopping in front of him, she waited impatiently for the psychic to notice her. After a couple minutes, she realized he was too absorbed in his work and huffed, delivering a rough kick to his shin to make him look at her, arms crossing over her chest as she glared at him.

“Hello to you too, Wednesday,” Xavier groaned, rubbing his now-sore shin as he looked up at the raven, rolling his eyes. “What do you w-“

Wednesday didn’t even let him finish his sentence, cutting him off - “Y/N. Where is she?”

The psychic sighed and returned to sketching as he muttered, “she’s in the shed, last I saw her. She was working on some sort of art project I left her with. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She didn’t mention any plans that she had tonight?” Wednesday’s eyebrows furled.

“Oh, right, Y/N couldn’t stop talking about how you two were going to fight tonight. Sounded like a death wish to me,” the psychic chuckled, returning to sketching.

Sighing with irritation, Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest, sighing and turning away without thanking him, already on her way into the woods for the second time that week; you were really trying her patience, weren’t you?

The incessant sounds of the academy faded into the background as the sound of faint birdsong and the whistling of wind through the trees welcomed her, and Wednesday felt herself relax as she embarked.

The faint light of Xavier’s shed in the woods led her way as she stepped through the wooded area, easily reaching the doors at the pace she was going, completely unbothered by the sounds of the woods at night as she knocked on the door once. Twice. Three times. No response.

Frowning, Wednesday abruptly opened the door, inviting herself in as she looked around the shed; the lightbulb was illuminating the place as well as it usually did, coloring the shed a faint yellow as the paintings on the wall were suspended in shadow; the vibe overall was a more moody one that she found herself partial to.

She wouldn’t have minded it if she wasn’t so annoyed with you right now. She took a moment to look around; the shed wasn’t that big. You had to be in here somewhere. Passing by Xavier’s most recent canvas, she glanced at your usual spot; a paint splattered stool facing a large canvas, which, this time, was somewhat painted.

In the center of the canvas was a rough painting of a stag, head proudly raised, it's fine eyes peering out of the canvas as if observing for danger, scanning its surroundings. Wednesday took a moment to raise her hand to touch the dark paint strokes, running her fingers down the image as she took in the messy style you had adopted in the piece.

And atop it all, one broad, dark red stroke slashing across the face of the stag, dripping down to the bottom of the canvas, in what she thought to be blood

What you had done… she couldn’t help but find the darkness you had perfectly captured in the creature’s eyes…impressive. You did have some talent.

And, upon bringing herself closer, she could tell from the consistency of the dried blood that you had, in fact, used real blood; it looked like the blood she had used on you the week prior for her bloodstain analysis in the woods.

Dragging her eyes away from the painting, Wednesday noticed movement in the corner of her vision, slowly turning to see what it was as her eyes fell under one of the tables in the back

And there you were.

In the darkest corner of the room, partially hidden by large canvases and other tables full of art supplies, you were asleep on a couple of blankets piled on the floor, practically buried out of sight. Soft breaths escapes your mouth as you let out a small incoherent mumble.

Wednesday’s step faltered slightly.

Never once had she seen you asleep. Not that she wanted to, no. But you were always the type to be snarky, retorting her insults and cracking jokes of your own instead of genuinely vulnerable.

And now, here you were, curled up in a pile of blankets under a table in a shed, completely forgotten about what you had been so excited to do.

Wednesday watched you for a moment.

And then another.

Studying every inch of you. The way your chest barely rose and fell with every breath you took. The way your eyes fluttered as if you were dreaming. The way your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you dug yourself deeper into your nest of blankets, as if in a dream…

Wednesday considered it to be… almost… adorable.

What had you done to her? Here she was, staring at you like a nauseatingly obsessed teenager, thinking…affectionate thoughts toward you? Wednesday didn’t know what the demons of hell had found in her that was unworthy, but she was going to figure it out before she turned into some disgusting version of her mother.

To snap herself out of it the raven edged her way through the tables, stopping at you and crouching down on her knees to be at your level as her dark eyes flickered over you before she reached out and gave your ear a light flick. Nothing too hard, and not because she knew your ears were sensitive, merely because she didn’t want you to wake up in pain, although you were missing out - waking up in pain truly was a wonderful feeling.

You were awake almost instantly; Wednesday wasn’t surprised as you sat up straight and banged your head on the bottom of the table, groaning and hand lifting to rub the sore spot.

“What the hell…Wednesday?”

Wednesday huffed and straightened, folding her arms as she glared down at you, not giving you your answer as she waited for you to figure it out yourself.

You took a moment before realizing the situation, and Wednesday had to suppress a smirk at the look of surprise and frustration on your face as you shuffled out of the small space, straightening and stretching with what she thought to be a very childish pout.

“Goddamnit, Wednesday, I’m sorry for missing it, I was painting with Xavier and I fell asleep” - you glanced out the window at the dark sky - “look, I’ll make it up to y-“

You were cut off as Wednesday sighed and grabbed your wrist, yanking you backward and watching you stumble. As you fought for balance she firmly wedged her heel behind yours, causing you to trip and take a tumble to the floor, the shed rattling with the impact of you hitting the ground.

“What the hell?” You panted a little bit, pushing yourself up by the palms of your hands as you glared up at her. “What did I do?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest and glared right back at you as she deadpanned.

“You said you wanted to learn to fight. Get up.”

The raven watched as you stumbled to your feet and without hesitation she hooked her leg around yours and yanked, watching in satisfaction as you crashed to the ground again, a couple pencils hitting the floor along with you.

“I wasn’t ready,” you complain as you struggle back upright again, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you let out a small whine.

“The point isn’t being ready, Y/N,” Wednesday rolled her eyes as she studied you. “As a werewolf you have heightened senses. Put it to your advantage.”

Without warning, Wednesday stepped forward, taking the offensive as she kicked out toward your stomach. She felt a tinge of satisfaction when your hands caught her boot, pushing her away, but she wasn’t done yet.

She ducked your swing, stepping behind you and reaching up to your neck, touching it lightly and smirking when she saw you freeze. Her fingers lightly brushed the small patch of fur you had on the back of your neck, just under your head.

“If your opponent knows about your weak spot they will take advantage of it.” She released you, watching you relax. “Do not let anyone touch it.”

As you turned to face her she scoffed slightly and gestured for you to strike first, deciding to take assessment of your offensive skills, which surely would be abysmal at best, if you were lucky; maybe you were right to come to her.

It was almost comical, the look of concentration on your face, and Wednesday was caught slightly off guard when you struck out with your foot. The raven dodged, getting out of the way in time, but your shoe did manage to graze her side as she did so. A flicker of focus in her eyes, Wednesday stepped under your arm, pushing herself against your back, forcing you to stumble forward.

Now that you were off balance she decided to test what she had just told you, reaching for your neck. She felt another glimmer of satisfaction as you dodged away immediately, ramming yourself against her stomach so that your weight and momentum was to your advantage, causing her to stumble backward a little bit.

You were panting, definitely focused now as your eyes flickered up to meet hers, sparkling with pride at managing to unbalance her so quickly. Wednesday wasn’t too surprised, though. Sure, you were definitely a poor fighter, but you still had that werewolf fighting instinct, no matter how much you complained.

When you swiped again the raven merely stepped aside, smirking as your fist swung through the air. Before you could hit again she gave you one good shove, kicking the crook under your knee. You tumbled backward, hitting one of the canvas and tearing through it with a crash, art supplies flying through the air and adding to the new mess of the shed, a cloud of dust now rising into the air as you groaned.

As you sat up the mess of paintbrushes, acrylics, and torn canvas fell around you, and your jaw fell in shock before looking back up at Wednesday.

“Xavier’s gonna kill me.”

Wednesday smirked at your words, turning on her heel and shouldering her bag, already on her way out. She didn’t stop as she heard you exclaim from behind her, “you’re not gonna help me clean this up?”

Both of you knew she wouldn’t.

“Consider this your payback for being late. Next time I won’t be so generous,” Wednesday tossed you a glare before opening the door of the shed and disappearing outside. She could hear another crash from inside the shed, as you tried to follow her, but she knew that you’d have to stay and clean the mess, otherwise risking losing your shed privileges completely.

It was completely fair, and Wednesday was willing to sit through your complaints about the paint that you had most definitely gotten on your clothes, throughout the week.

She felt a prickle in the collar of her sweater and paused, brow furrowing in annoyance as she reached around to try and find the source of what had been bothering her, pulling out a few tufts of your fur. The raven rolled her eyes with a scoff, shoving it into her pocket and heading back toward the academy.

—————

pt.5 here!

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednsday addams #jenna ortega #tstt #werewolf #wednesday x werewolf reader #wednesday x werewolf

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pinkmirth · 1 year

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What do you think Reiner and his s/o would argue about in a relationship? I can't imagine it would last long

BACK TALK, reiner braun !

SYNOPSIS — just a fluffy lil drabble about reiner wanting to take care of you. he doesn’t want to argue, but you’re just so stubborn…

CONTAINS — 1k words of . . . fluff, fem!reader (black coded), “girly-girl” reader, reiner feeds you, lowercase intended, just sappy stuff with this caring gentleman <3 (kinda sorta self indulgent!)

this is a tough one, nonnie…. only because maturity is reiner’s best attribute! picking a problem with you is the last thing this man wants to do, and he’s very slow to anger. you’re right about any disputes not lasting long! even if he tried, reiner can’t stay mad at you.

the most that could happen between you and him are petty squabbles about preferences, something dumb like waffles over pancakes! the pair of you ultimately laugh it off and end up cuddling once all is said and done. It’s hard to envision a topic that could stir such a reaction from him to the point where he’s arguing with you. i think the only thing that would get him going back and forth in an “argument” is if he’s worried about you, but you decide to be stubborn with him.

for instance, you’re tired and have been studying all day, and he just wants you to allow yourself to relax. but! you’re persistent on finishing up your assignments. he’d probably grow upset and insist that you deserve a break . . . (veryyy self indulgent ‘cause i’ve been studying for a gajillion tests lately!)

dull thuds of reiner’s heavy footsteps upon carpet announce his entrance into your room. he strolls around your cozy little home-desk, the one he helped you build a couple months back when the school semester first began. it’s adorned in sanrio stickers galore and polaroid pictures of you and him, nostalgic square photos secured with baby-pink thumbtacks. reiner circles you with a brooding silence, flitting his eyes from the slideshow on your laptop screen to your scribbled notes. you feel him linger behind your chair, but opt on saying nothing.

“baby, c’mon…” reiner calls out, his tone borderline pleading, “you’ve been here for hours.” from behind your seat, he inches in until he’s close enough to rest his weighty hands on your stiffened shoulders. reiner’s warm palms rub along the junction of your neck. it’s helping— he can see it in the way your body slackens in your swivel chair.

“i gotta prep for tomorrow’s test,” his touch brings you to release a lax hum, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it for long. the fleeting moment of bliss he provides ends too soon, as you smooth out your oversized baby-pink tee-shirt and begin to refocus on your work.

“have you eaten?” he asks. the shake of your head brings about his frown. you could surely get your work done without depriving yourself of basic needs… all he wants is for you to be well taken care of. “no, not yet.” you spare him a glance before looking back over your laptop.

reiner’s hand shoots out, grabbing your chair and turning you halfway-round to face him. the closeness of his face to yours makes it seem like the perfect opportunity to press your lips to his and linger there for a while. instead, you remain still, choosing a safer route by stealing glances of his handsome attributes. your eyes run across his prominent collarbone peeking through his low-neck sweatshirt, the slight clench of his firm jaw, most especially the raw concern swimming in his honey-golden eyes. “why not?” reiner questions, with his brows drawn tight in worry. you whirl back around, for the sake of your own resolve.

“because i’m studying, reiner.”

“no, you’re cramming.” he corrects. reiner can read you like a damn storybook; it’s almost as though he knows you more than his very own self. “at least i’m drinking water,” you raise a bottle from your desk for emphasis. water sloshes in the cylindrical confines as you set it back down, “happy?”

reiner rolls his tongue and prods at his inner cheek. he decides to pay no mind to your little attitude. “water’s fine, but you need food.”

“a meal would be too heavy for me... i’d probably end up falling asleep.” you haphazardly shoo his suggestion, scribbling bullet points onto your notebook.

“so a snack would be better, then? your favorite fruit is in the fridge downstairs.” reiner turns on his heel, intent on coming back with a bowl of nicely-cut strawberries and mangoes. you reach out, clasping onto him forearm before he zips out of your room and descends the flight of stairs. “it’s okay, reiner.” you assure. the ends of your manicured nails ghost his wrist.

“is it really? ‘cause it’s hard to believe that you don’t want me to get anything at all.” he quirks up a thin brow as he says it. reiner knows just how much you need his support— you’re simply choosing to act like you don’t.

“i’ll get somethin’ to eat later, i promise.” with the twirl of your ballpoint-pen, you’re back to writing. this is his third time checking up on you, and you give him the same answer with every visit. all this stubbornness has gone on long enough.

“you may be busy, but you’re also tired.” he's quick to snatch the pen from your hands, right in the middle of you scrawling a sentence onto lined paper. “hey! reiner, give it—”

“nuh-uh. stop bein’ difficult about it.” he plants a large hand onto the back of your macbook and shuts it closed. you do an over-exaggerated huff, make a pout, throw in a bratty eye roll— he doesn’t care for it. what you need is to allow him take care of you. he can’t let his darling work herself to death, now can he? not in a literal sense, but he wouldn’t forgive himself for allowing this to continue.

“i’ll be right back, okay? and for the love of god, don’t open that goddamn laptop.” he makes his leave. you hear the faint hum of a microwave. it doesn’t take long for him to return, with a steaming plate of food in hand. reiner takes joy in replacing that stupid notebook of yours with the reheated dinner that he cooked up for you over an hour ago.

he pulls up a seat, scoots in close, and brings a hot forkful up to your mouth. “don’t argue. just eat, baby.”

this sly man knows that it’s your favorite food. you have no energy left to brush him off. finally, you give in. with a soft ‘ah’, you allow reiner to feed you. there’s a satisfied gleam in his eye as he stuffs your mouth with bite after bite.

“it’s good?” he softly asks. you cover your mouth while chewing, giving him a sheepish nod. “mm-hm.”

“you feel better, don’t you?” reiner nudges your shoulder with his broader one. you don’t try to fight the smile overtaking your lips. “i do…” you relent, looping your arms around his neck. he firmly hugs you in one arm, and uses his unoccupied hand to hold onto the ceramic plate. over half of the food’s gone.

he hears your quiet, sincere ‘thank you’ murmured into his chest, feels your frame relax against his. “good.” reiner sighs into your hair. he wants you to put yourself first, every single time. “that’s good.”

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mydarlingdyke · 4 months

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knight!vi drabble series

I - to die beside you, the grandest honor

vi was not the type to cry.

at least not in front of you.

for she was your knight, your protector against all evil. no human, animal or monster would ever dare come near you, for they knew they'd meet the wrath of one of the strongest fighters in the kingdom.

she'd learn to take up a sword at the ripe age of thirteen, when she was left homeless and forgotten by her own kin; to protect her younger sister powder from the dangers threatening to pounce at them from every corner. and she grew up clever, ruthless, strong, for that is all she knew: how to protect. protect those she loved and what she held dear in this world.

so it didn't come as a surprise to her when, after witnessing fifteen winters in this cruel world, she found yet another precious thing to defend: you.

the only child of the king and queen. the rightful heir to the throne. it was no simple task growing up to rule the kingdom, an entire nation to be placed in your name when your father and mother passed on such duty. it was a lonely upbringing, the only people your age being either potential suitors or rivals in the matchmaking scene.

though it's not like you cared for all that. that was your parents' doing, insisting you should find a partner, someone to continue the royal bloodline with; someone to secure another generation of rulers and people of influence. in all honesty, you couldn't care less.

but when you met vi, you in fact did care even less.

taken under the wing of one of the strongest knights in the realm, sir vander, she lived in the knight's quarters and relished in her new life, full of peril and adventure. she was assigned as your personal knight soon after, and it made you inseparable.

she was the only friend you had during your last three years of blissful teenage life. your confidant, your helper, your protector— to only name a few of her epithets. she'd come to know your dreams, your fears, your interests and all the latest high-society gossip. you wouldn't be seen around without her stuck to your side. and of course, you were girls; even though your responsibilities didn't allow you to live that way, being with vi made you feel like just another kid in the world. not one with the weight of the nation on your shoulders, not one destined to die in a golden chamber at the age of forty-two.

and as the seasons changed, vi's love for you changed as well. it was more than being just a bit close to her highness, more than just swearing an oath to protect her against all odds. it became softer; a dull pain in her chest blossoming every time she saw you skipping around the courtyard, her following close behind in a steady stride. it became a shiver down her spine whenever she heard your voice, sweet as honey and soft as silk, when you called out her name. it turned into one, two— no, an entire migration of butterflies whirling up in her stomach that would torture her as she visited your chamber in those late nights. was it fear of getting caught? or was it the fact that she was no longer a child, that she knew what adults would do in the secrecy of those hours?

there was, unequivocally, tension in the air. for you too would find yourself focusing a little too hard on her figure, on her eyes and the way they were cold as ice— until they landed on you. that thick wall she built around herself would immediately melt under the warmth of your smile, the sweetness of your gaze, or even just the smallest glimpse of your silhouette nearby. she became infatuated with you the same way you were with her.

that's why her late night trips to your room became laced with something more than just yearning to be around you more often, more than just for the sake of your friendship— it was a burning need in her chest, an uncomfortable ache that grew every second you were apart. vi came to think it was all one sided, just a stupid and unimportant crush... until one of those nights the desperation in your eyes and the softness of your voice invited her in, and she realized she'd fallen a little too deep a little too late. she tasted heaven on your lips that night.

but how could she, a lowly knight, aspire to ever love someone as divine as you? a member of the royal family? the princess, nonetheless? you belonged to the kingdom, destined to rule and to someday wed...

oh, that thought made vi's chest burn with impotence. not only your union would have to be with a man, but with someone else. she sometimes wondered what would happen if she would've been born an aristocrat. would she be able to have you for life? would people overlook the fact that you were both women, just because of her status? on other days she'd wonder what would've happened if she'd been born a man. even as a knight, the odds of asking for your hand in marriage would be stacked in her favor. she'd have to become a war hero, and then she'd be bestowed a title worthy of high society and a plot of land to rule over...

she would literally risk being reborn as an entirely different person, if it meant having you.

the amount of times her own mind would pounce on her unsuspecting self, bringing forth plans and complicated plots for the both of you to elope, escape your current lives and leave all that behind. at this point she cared little for her safety, considering she might get caught and executed for "kidnapping" the princess. she believed she'd die a happy woman, nonetheless.

vi was not the type to cry.

at least not in front of you.

yet as she stood there, alongside her fellow knights and squires, watching you walk down the aisle in the most gorgeous dress and most delicate veil over your sad features, she couldn't help the way her eyes glossed over. you looked angelical. pure, beautiful, as the first snow that fell from the heavens on a winter's day. walking towards a man that she believed will never see you the same, will never know you the same, and will never love you the same as she did. and she knew you'd never give your heart to him the same way you gave it to her. even if it was just for a brief moment in your life, she had it.

she just wished she had it till the day she died.

she would've surely died a happy woman.

#vi arcane #arcane netflix #vi x reader #arcane #vi x you #arcane fanfic #wlw fanfic #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #vi x fem reader #⋆｡˚ knight!vi #mydarlingdyke #mydarlingdyke works

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texankat · 8 months

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A Unlikely Monster 🩸

warnings: none

A/N: Wrote this to make up to a close friends disappointment on how part III left off in ASB, hope you enjoyed this and makes up for it 🫶

Word count: 1.1k

F! Vampire r x Wednesday Addams

Wednesday walked down the long corridor, her eyes cold and unreadable as she continued to walk a particularly fast pace. Meanwhile you were in your dorm room, struggling a little bit on your newly assigned homework as you bit at your bottom lip with one of your fangs. You were usually able to finish your homework particularly quick but you were somehow unable to keep your focus on it so you were- of course getting frustrated.

Suddenly your dorm room door swung open causing a loud bang as you jumped , immediately whirling around to see who opened it. Wednesday stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and a frown visible on her face, you look at her with confusion raising a hand to rub the back of your neck.

“Geez, what did I do this time Addams? For your to make such a grand entrance-“ you huff as you turn back around to try and finish and finish your homework, though Wednesday walked over and grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face her, her eyes filled with a fire of anger and- confusion. “I know you took it.” She hissed through her teeth, her nails digging into your shoulder, causing a stinging pain. “Ow- what on earth are you talking about?!-“ you looked up to meet her cold gaze, her eyes narrowing. “My typewriter, I know you took it.” She muttered her voice unchanging from its threatening tone.

“You’ve got the wrong guy Addams!- I didn’t touch your damn typewriter!” You retorted trying to pry her hand off of your shoulder, managing to get her grip to loosen a bit as she pushed back against your attempts. “Liar, I KNOW you have it.” “What makes you so sure…?” You mutter back to her as you continued to slowly but surely get her hand off of your shoulder. “Enid told me you took it.” She finally admitted.

Just as she did so you were able to get the upper hand on her and you threw her down to the floor of your dorm, holding her down by her wrists as she wriggled under your grip. “What makes you believer her? Think about it, what has that mutt done this entire time since I got here?” You questioned her, your own eyes narrowing as Wednesday slowly realized what you were saying…

“I don’t know what your talking about.” She muttered at ypu in frustration, she absolutely despised being proven wrong or outwitted. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, why do you think she said

I stole your typewriter.”

“you stole my typewriter.”

You both spoke the same words as her cold gaze only slightly softened, before you let go of her wrists and stood up, Wednesday following your actions slowly afterwards. She brushed herself off as you watched her do so, your hands in your pockets, chewing at your bottom lip yet again before she looked at you.

Your gaze didn’t separate from her’s, you knew she was trying to scare you off but you didn’t budge, finally she glanced away herself with a huff of frustration turning to leave your dorm. “Hey, no “sorry for accusing you.” For me?” She turned her head to look at you as she was about to leave.

“I don’t do sorry’s.” She snapped as you slammed your door shut, leaving you to your homework- You chuckle softly to yourself

“What a shame….”

(Added on)

Wednesday slammed the door behind her as she leaned against your dorm room’s door for a moment or two- thinking to herself. How could someone who didn’t even seem to be a monster of any sort just throw her down like that? Usually she could just get out of their grasp but- you managed to keep her down. Why did you let her go? You managed to hold her down, giving you the perfect opportunity to get back at her for accusing you of stealing her prized typewriter. Yet- you didn’t, you just let her go like it was a normal thing to be accused of stealing or just being accused in general. God why was she thinking about so much? She shook her head to clear her thoughts a bit as she began walking by to her own dorm, the dorm she shared with- her friend Enid.

She walked through the door and closed it behind her as Enid perked up from her bed as Wednesday glanced around, sure enough there it was- her typewriter, put neatly back on her desk. Wednesday gave Enid a glare as she walked over to her “you lied.” She scolded Enid. “Did I? Oh I guess I did.” Enid shrugged followed by her stretching out. “Why?”

“Because something is possible there, I can tell.” Enid replied as she sat up on her bed “What do you mean?” Wednesday crossed her arms, giving a glare of sorts to Enid. Enid hopped off her bed and gently grabbed Wednesday’s shoulders “What I mean is, you can have a redo relationship!” Wednesday’s thoughts came to halt, a redo relationship? “What?” For the first time in awhile Enid had actually managed to shock Wednesday “I know things with Tyler didn’t work out- with the whole… He’s a monster thing- but this can be your actual first relationship that isn’t being used as a advantage!” Enid squealed, though something that Enid had said did seem to catch Wednesday‘a attention. She could use it to her advantage, to learn how in the world your were so strong- though she wasn’t wanting to put herself into an unwanted position of another possibly dangerous “relationship”…

“Enid I’m not going to…-“ Her fists clenched just thinking about what could happen if she were to let her guard down. “We don’t even know their nam-“ “It’s Y/N.” Enid protested. “Wednesday come on just trust me this once!” She whined “you’re always so miserable and boring- maybe this will loosen you up.” She smiled. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Wednesday replied. Enid whined in frustration “Wednesdayyyyyy come on!-“

“no.” Wednesday said sternly as she brushed Enid’s hands off her shoulders and walked back out of their dorm room, contemplating to herself.

Enid huffed crossing her arms and Thing crawled out curious about what was happening. “If you convince her to consider it I’ll give you a pedicure.” Enid muttered to Thing. Thing gave a few taps as Enid turned to Thing, “I did not flake out last time! Look I promise I’ll ACTUALLY give you a pedicure this time, Wednesday needs to realize the opportunity she has!-“ Thing tapped a a few more times “Color is my choice though.” Enid muttered as she stuck out her pinky, Thing doing the same. “Good, now go on and work your magic.” Enid instructed as Thing crawled out of the room in an instant.

“Man I’m just too good.” Enid snickered to herself.

#wednesday addams #wednesday adams x reader #f reader #Wednesday #vampire reader

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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

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a/n: if you've been here for awhile or read through my masterlist, you might remember this one. it became a fan favorite but it was written when i first entered the fandom and there have been things i wanted done differently. things i wanted to rewrite or write better. so i'm doing it. it'll be the same story you love, if you love it, just better, longer, more thought out. a lot will stay the same but alot will change. if yu're wondering what the fuck i'm talking about, a rough version of this story exits on my masterlist titled "all i ask of you." anyway. i hope you enjoy this.

rowaelin // 5.8k words // masterlist

Sweat trickled in little streams down his back, gluing the tan, standard-issue shirt he wore to every dip and curve of his torso. On most assignments, Rowan Whitethorn didn't mind his uniform. Generally speaking, the material was lightweight enough in most climates that they stayed comfortable. The boots were heavy, sure, but they were comfortable.

In the middle of the desert, he hated all of it. The best time of the day was when he took it off to duck under a cold shower, then crawled into bed in nothing but his undershorts. Unfortunately for him, that was a long way off. The sun scorched them to the bone, and the slight breeze did nothing but send sand whirling through the air.

When Rowan got out of the Red Desert, he never wanted to see a single grain of sand ever again.

He walked down the street to the two small houses they used as a base. If anything, they were more akin to rundown shacks in a shanty town, but it worked. One was used for communications, and all their tech was set up throughout various rooms. They took turns on night watch, monitoring the cameras and comms for anything that looked amiss.

The other house was where they ate, bathed, and slept. Nobody had a semblance of privacy here, save for the shitty little bathroom. All the men but Lorcan doubled up in the rooms and slept on glorified cots every night, often mumbling to their roommates to stop tossing and turning. Their beds tended to creak and groan with every subtle movement. On bad days, tension soared until they inevitably went outside to beat each other senseless in the form of hand-to-hand combat practice.

The houses were on the outskirts of an impoverished chunk of land that couldn't even be considered a village at this point, though once upon a time, it had been a well-populated township. Now there were just rundown buildings and dilapidated houses that people crammed into for shelter. Less than two thousand people remained living in the desolate stretch of desert. All of them were skin and bones, the malnourished ghosts of who they used to be.

Over their last few months of being abandoned in the Red Desert, they learned that the breadwinners of the family, usually men, pedaled bicycles to the surrounding towns for work. A few of them were forced to walk, which was a feat in itself– the closest town was ten miles away and would take them well over two hours to arrive. Rowan had also learned, mainly from the children, that the ones that walked stayed in cheap inns during the week if they could afford it. Everything else was funneled into food and any other necessities they required, including running water that they really only used to cook and bathe.

Most of the women homeschooled their children to the best of their ability. Generally, they could read, write, and perform basic math. Much else was lost due to the lack of accessible tools for anything beyond that. Rowan had an intense respect for the people that dwelled here and did their best with what they had.

On the other hand, he could kill every government official who continued to leave these people behind. There was no excuse for such an extreme display of poverty in this day and age. It was made worse by how kind the people were. They lived in the worst conditions they had ever seen, yet still found joy in the little things.

Case in point: a few of the kids that Rowan gave the candy from his MREs to were chasing a soccer ball around the makeshift pitch Fenrys had built for them. He and his twin brother, Connall, were playing with the gaggle of teenage boys and girls, their bright laughter chipping away at his frozen heart. It had been long since anything had threatened to thaw his frozen core, but those children whooping and hollering got to him.

Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, shaking his head but offering a tight smile when they shouted for him to join them. If Lorcan hadn't summoned him, he probably would have. They had done a fat lot of nothing today besides trying to stay out of the sun. Rowan had only left the communications house less than an hour ago to stretch his legs.

Once inside, he found Lorcan sitting at the desk in the room they considered their office. It wasn't much more than a couple of chairs and a folding table, but it got the job done. Rowan rapped his knuckles against the door frame as he entered and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest.

"You wanted to see me?" There was no point in bothering with formalities unless people outside the Cadre were around. They rarely pulled rank amongst themselves. Rowan was second in command, but they usually viewed it as a partnership more than anything else.

"Yep," Lorcan exhaled, putting his pen down and bracing his arms on the edge of the table. Every muscle in his face was tense, down to the feathering of his jaw as he eyed Rowan. This didn't bode well. Whatever he was about to say wasn't good. There was no light hiding in the shadows of his dark eyes. Lorcan had a shit poker face when it came to bad news. With a jerk of his chin, he added, "Sit down."

"What happened?" Rowan slid into one of the folding chairs across from him and braced his hands on his knees.

"We're going to be a team of six again, starting tomorrow morning." That was all? That didn't seem like the tragedy he looked ready to drop on Rowan's head.

They used to be a group of six until Gavriel retired last year, and they still weren't used to being down to five men. While each of them brought forth their strengths and balanced out their weaknesses, an even number of people made things easier on missions because everyone could be paired off into two teams. During their last few, they had all wished for that extra body. Having another person would be great, especially if he was skilled enough to keep up with the rest of them.

Though several special ops units existed in the Terrasen Navy, Rowan's was the most elite and the smallest. Every other team had at least a dozen men assigned to it, but it wasn't necessary with the Cadre, the name Rowan's ex bestowed upon them. All of them were over six feet tall and corded with muscle. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for in skill. There was a reason they didn't push to replace Gavriel when he retired. Nobody else was a match for them in any capacity and would have been in the way more than anything else.

"Why don't you look happy about it?" Rowan asked, relaxing a bit and leaning back in his chair. Lorcan looked like he was grinding his teeth to dust and savoring the pain that came with it.

"Because I'm not."

"You had to approve it. He must be good enough to hold his own with the rest of us." His commander wouldn't accept anyone unless he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could do his job with expert precision.

Lorcan scratched his jaw, nails scraping against the stubble he hadn't bothered to shave away that morning as he said, "It’s not a he.”

Rowan’s blood turned to ice in his veins so quickly that he shivered for the first time in several months. Every hair on his body stood at attention, skin pebbling down his arms, shaking his head in a single sharp movement as he ground out, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to know who she was. Her name had been whispered up and down the grapevine over the last few years as she quickly climbed the ranks. At this point, she was almost as decorated as he was, and he had been at it for three years longer. Thousands of women served in the various military branches, but only one had ever been good enough to break the glass ceiling and become a Ghost Leopard.

The Ghost Leopards were Terrasen’s most elite special operations unit. No other military group came close to the skill and drive they had. Most people didn’t even try to join— the physical, mental, and emotional strength demanded was too much for many to handle. Rowan’s unit was the best the Ghost Leopards had to offer.

Rowan knew she had been part of two different ops teams, but never in a million years did he think she would join his own. Not because she wasn’t good enough. There was no question in his mind that she didn’t belong. Lorcan disliked the woman on a good day, yet he had approved her joining the Cadre after putting personal bias aside.

No, she had definitely earned it; he could admit that much. Rowan had just doubted that she would ever want to share any amount of oxygen with him ever again. Her assignment to the Cadre likely hadn’t been her own idea. Whoever initiated it must well and truly detest Rowan, though. The gods were playing a cruel, sick joke on him.

Lorcan’s features were frozen with tension, lips curling at the corners in distaste as he said, “Aelin Galathynius arrives tomorrow.”

~*~

All five men stood in a straight line, feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind their backs. They had decided on the dressed-down version of their uniform, foregoing the over shirts with patches, ranks, and names on them. They each wore the same tan t-shirt tucked into pants in a multi camouflage pattern in shades of brown. It perfectly matched the sandy ocean they were trapped in.

Heavy black boots anchored Rowan to the ground while they watched the helicopter land a few hundred yards away, kicking up enough dust that they were all happy about the sunglasses and camouflage balaclavas they wore. Without them, the sand would be in every fucking orifice for days on end.

The newest member of their team finally hopped out, landing with feline grace. To anyone else, she would have been unrecognizable with her face and eyes covered. Not even her hair peeked out as she walked toward them, heaving her bags higher on her shoulder. Rowan would know her anywhere, though.

It wasn’t until the helicopter returned to the skies and the dust settled that she finally pulled her balaclava down around her neck to expose her face. The aviator-style sunglasses stayed perched on her nose, and though her hair was slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck, the golden strands still shimmered in the sun. The only difference in her uniform was that she wore her blouse with the sleeves rolled up and over her elbows. Seeing her like this made his vision cloudy at the edges, the memory of their first meeting creeping to the forefront of his mind. He forcefully shoved it away.

The sixty seconds it took her to be within ten feet of them seemed to happen too quickly and in slow motion all at the same time. No emotion flickered over her face, not even her mouth, which usually wore a smirk. Aelin Galathynius was all business.

Hearing her name multiple times in the last twenty-four hours had his mind twisted around itself in a tight knot he couldn’t unwind. Typically, everyone avoided bringing her up when they could, yet now he was seeing her in the flesh for the first time in years. With his heart trying to break his ribs, he was surprised that he heard Lorcan call her by her last name when she stopped before him.

It probably killed her to do it, but she saluted him the way she would any other commander. Lorcan gave her a nod in return, and her body relaxed. Aelin’s bags slid from her shoulders and landed with a thud on the ground at her feet. Rowan heard her sigh for the first time in ages as her hands dropped to her hips, and she gave them all a once-over.

Light and mischief danced in her fiery blue gaze until she looked at him. Any semblance of emotion flickered out like he’d extinguished the fire that burned within. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her eyes look so damn empty when turned on him. Her dead gaze yanked him two and half years in the past, holding him at gunpoint as he remembered the first time she had ever looked at him that way.

“I promise. Okay?” Rowan’s hands held Aelin’s cheeks like she was the most precious thing in the world to him because she was. It didn’t matter what he said or did, though. That heavy sadness wouldn’t dissipate, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Rowan, I told you–”

“Baby, it’s the last one, and then I’ll take a job in the city, and it won’t be like this anymore. It’s going to get better, and we’re going to be okay.” He only had minutes left with her, and he hated wasting it like this. It would have been better spent sharing kisses or with him exploring her body to prove how much he loved her. Instead, when they woke up, Aelin had retreated so deeply within herself that he didn’t feel like he could reach her.

“You’ve said twice now that it was going to be the last time. When is it actually going to be the last time, Rowan?” Gods, he really didn’t want to fight with her before he left.

“This is the last deployment I’m going to make,” he swore, and he meant it. He’d already told his commander, and as much as he had hated it, at the end of the day, Lorcan understood. “I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

“I wanted you to stay and pick me for once, so I guess neither of us is getting what we want, are we?” The look in her eyes wasn’t one he’d ever received from her. There was no warmth of love, just a distant chill that felt so tangible goosebumps crawled along his skin.

“Aelin,” he sighed, tugging her until he could wrap his arms around her even though she tried to resist. At complete odds with her expressions and words, her arms tightened around his waist, and she fisted his jacket in her hands. Like this was their hardest goodbye yet, she refused to let him go.

They stood like that for several minutes, Rowan’s lips pressed to the top of her head while he breathed in her scent one more time. Nothing ever came close to how much he missed her when he was gone. Every deployment, he took something of hers with him, falling asleep to the faint scent of jasmine until time washed away any sign of its owner.

“You’re going to be late,” she finally said, pulling back and wiping her face with the back of her wrist.

“This is the last time,” he swore for a final time, taking her face between his palms and wiping at her cheeks. Aelin nodded, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Okay.” The goodbyes were always hard, but this time was different. A warning bell was chiming in the back of his head, but he pushed it aside. They made it through everything else over the last five years, and they would pull through this, too.

“I love you.” Rowan kissed her, his heart shattering at the feel of her quivering mouth against his. A sob slipped out of her lips, her shoulders caving in. Aelin shook her head, letting it fall to read against his chest. “Hey. We’re okay.”

They were. It was an argument they’d had over and over for the last few years. While Aelin loved active duty, she had taken a desk job a few months ago when they had agreed that when Rowan got back from his last deployment, it was his last. Lorcan had begged him for one more tour because Gavriel was talking about retiring, and he didn’t want to lose them both at the same time. The day Rowan returned and told his girlfriend he was doing one last twelve month deployment, it immediately became a fight that wouldn’t end.

Aelin was twenty-six and genuinely loved her job, but she had wanted to start planning their future. Rowan was twenty-nine, and while he did want those things, he still wanted to keep building his legacy and rake in every ounce of glory while he still could. He wanted nothing more than Aelin, and he knew they could stick it out for one more year. They were strong enough to handle anything thrown at them. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

While the fighting had led to a lot of high tension in their house, they still loved each other at the end of the day. Even when it was hard, and they went months without hearing each other’s voices or seeing one another, they shared such a rare, blinding love that nothing could fracture it.

“I love you,” he said once more, kissing her trembling lips and wiping her tears away.

“I love you, too.” But her eyes didn’t meet his, and it was the image of her crying in the foyer that chased him into fitful sleep every night after.

~*~

“Aelin Galathynius,” Fenrys drawled, shaking his head as he took her in. Over the formalities of the situation, Aelin pulled off her sunglasses and dropped into a low bow with her arms spread wide. As soon as she pulled her eyes from Rowan and looked at their mutual best friend, she grinned.

“At your service,” she crooned with a wink. Down the line, Rowan snorted and turned on his heel, just about stomping the entire way back to the house. Aelin’s eyes rolled, and Fenrys held his arms open for a hug. With a squeal and a joyous giggle, she ran for him and leaped into his waiting arms.

“As soon as Salvaterre said we were getting a sixth again, I fucking knew it was you.” His voice was low in her ear as he spun them in a circle, finally putting her feet back on land so she could hug Connall and Vaughan. Aelin made no effort to further engage in conversation with Lorcan. They tolerated each other on a good day, and he was still watching Rowan as he disappeared into what she assumed was their living quarters.

“I missed you the most out of everyone,” she told Fen as he hefted her bags over one shoulder and threw his other arm around her to lead her toward the house.

“Even more than you missed Whitethorn?” It was a joke, one that wasn’t rewarded with laughter but by a swift jab to his ribs. He winced, lips pulling into a harsh frown. Aelin couldn’t help it. She smiled.

“Is he still being a bitter asshole?”

“Worse, if you can believe it,” Connall chimed in. A sigh was desperate to creep out of her lips, but she swallowed it down. She knew when she got the assignment that it wouldn’t be easy for her, Rowan, or anyone that had to be in close proximity to them. Aelin also knew that she could check the baggage at the door when it came down to doing their jobs. In their downtime, however… She was making no promises.

“We cleared out a room for you. Fenrys can show you which one,” Lorcan shot over his shoulder as he walked past them, headed toward the house next to the one Rowan had entered.

“I don’t need special treatment just because I’m a woman!” Lorcan merely waved dismissively over his shoulder and slammed the front door behind him.

“I promise there is no special treatment here in Hela’s fucking armpit,” Vaughan mumbled, nudging her with his shoulder as he brushed past. Indeed, it seemed their living quarters were a far cry from her house in Orynth. Not that the barracks or living situations on special missions were ever anything to write home about, but this was particularly shoddy.

Fenrys led her inside, gesturing to each fixture in the common areas and trying to sell them for far more than their worth. It wasn’t the worst place Aelin had ever lived in her decade-long career in the military, but his jokes had her in stitches by the time he led her to her ‘bedroom.’

Really, it was more of an oversized closet with a cot, a chair for a nightstand, and a single light operated by a cord that dangled from the ceiling. Someone had put a small fan on top of the chair that she turned on to test the airflow. Beneath the cot was just enough space for her to slide her bags, and the door shut almost all the way. It refused to latch, but you win some and lose some. It wasn’t the worst and definitely beat sleeping outside or sharing a room with any of the boys. Aelin had spent enough time with military men to know they smelled horrible.

Not that she smelled like jasmine at all hours of the day, but the women tended to try a little harder than the men did. It didn’t matter that she knew all of them personally. Maybe it was a little sexist, but she stood firm in the idea that women cared a little more about body odor than men.

After the grand tour was finished and she’d peeked into the guys' rooms, they walked back toward the kitchen. Aelin had arrived much later than planned, and Rowan was already preparing his MRE for dinner. The others quickly followed suit, and Fenrys knelt on the ground to dig through the box.

“Alright, we’ve got spaghetti with meat sauce, chili mac, a chicken stew, regular mac and cheese, and lemon pepper tuna.”

“Chili mac,” she said, firm in her decision. It was one of the best ones, and with their supplies looking a little low, she didn’t know how it was even an option.

Fenrys handed her the dinner, and she quickly removed all the contents. Along with the main entree, it held a few other snack items ranging from a beef jerky stick to a packet of Sour Patch Kids and a few things in between. She hummed contentedly at the fruit punch powder packet that she would most definitely add to her water.

Aelin was forced to sidle up next to Rowan to fill her pouch with water to activate the one-time-use heater that came with the meals. He said nothing as their shoulders brushed until she was finished, folding her pouch over to avoid spillage. Aelin handed her food off to Fenrys while she relocated everything else to the small table that would barely hold them all. By the time she retrieved it and took her seat, Rowan was already in his chair.

Because she simply couldn’t pass up on the opportunity, she sat next to him, not bothering to avoid their knees knocking or shoulders bumping as she settled. Again, he said nothing. Just stabbed at his own pouch of beef and barbecue and pretended she wasn’t there.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment?” Aelin nudged his elbow with hers, tilting her head to look at him. Rowan finally relented and gave her a sidelong glance.

The others, including Lorcan, were claiming their seats. To their credit, it seemed that they were trying not to eavesdrop, but that was impossible in this house. Lorcan, however, looked ready to jump between them and dispel a fight that would leave two of his incredible assets licking their wounds.

“I was thinking about it,” Rowan replied tersely, not looking up as he shoved a bite into his mouth. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the last few years?”

“Ah, so Connall was right then.” Bitter asshole to his very core, apparently. Fenrys snickered at her remark beside her while Rowan tensed. Aelin could have been sitting up against a concrete wall and wouldn’t have known the difference.

“What are you missing most about civilian life?” Fen asked, likely an attempt to prevent a verbal sparring match. He popped a skittle into his mouth and settled back in his rickety chair.

“I barely remember what it’s like at this point, to be honest.” It was the truth. Aelin had thrown herself so thoroughly into work that she was only home for a few days at a time. The longest she’d been home was for a month last summer. There were days when she didn’t know what to do with herself and days when her mattress felt too soft, or the food too indulgent. Aelin pondered, mouth twisting to the side. “Usually, I would say long, hot showers. But I don’t think I’ll be craving any sort of heat while we’re here. Probably my nightgowns. I can handle everything else, but sleeping in silk is wildly underrated.”

“Can you not share intimate details while we’re eating?” Rowan grumbled. Aelin whipped her head around to look at him, her brow furrowed.

“Intimate details, my ass. You’ve literally been inside me. I don’t think it gets more intimate than that.” Had she chosen nightgowns specifically to wiggle her way under Rowan’s skin? Maybe. But it didn’t make his reaction any less stupid. “How the hell is sleepwear an intimate detail?”

Rowan opened his mouth to respond, but Lorcan beat him to the punch, looking for all the world like he should have told them to put Aelin in someone else’s company as he said, “On the topic of civilian life–”

“Please tell me we’re leaving this godsforsaken place,” Fenrys cut in, eyes wide and pleading.

“I just flew halfway around the world, and we’re leaving?” Aelin felt as exasperated as she sounded. It was a long way to travel to just turn around and head right back. She wasn’t eager to be cooped back up on any sort of aircraft so soon.

“In three days,” Lorcan confirmed, shifting in his seat to pull a roll of paper from his back pocket that he dropped into the middle of the table. Six pairs of eyes peered down, scanning the words even though it was upside down for Fenrys, Aelin, and Rowan. “I didn’t find out until this morning, or we would have waited for you to join us then.”

“What’s going on?”

“Since we’ve been monitoring the border here for months and nothing is happening, we’re more useful elsewhere. Another unit will be stationed here while we go to Rifthold.”

“What’s happening in Rifthold?” Rowan asked, leaning back in his chair. Aelin did the same while taking a swig of fruit punch, eyeing the unused drink packet from Rowan’s meal kit. It was grape, and she knew he wouldn’t drink it because it was too sweet. Maybe she could steal it when he wasn’t paying attention.

“A threat on the Crown Prince of Adarlan’s life.” Lorcan’s tone lacked inflection. He could have been talking about the weather.

“I’m all for preventing an assassination, but we’re the Terrasen military. Why are we getting sent in for this?” Vaughan had a point. A good one, too. Not that any of them were really complaining. Going back to civilization would be a damn vacation for them, the boys more than Aelin. She hadn’t been hiding in a shack in the desert for the last four months.

“Because all signs point to it happening at the summer ball, and our President, along with a dozen high-ranking officials from our government, will be in attendance. Preventing the Prince’s assassination will save their lives, too.” Everyone murmured their agreement. “We don’t know where it came from, though. Our source is unclear on that, which will be the trickier part. All signs point to it being an inside job right now because things have been intense between the king and his oldest son.”

“Dorian has been speaking out against a lot of his father’s policies. The king can’t do damage control fast enough. It was all over the papers when I was in Orynth last month. As quickly as the king puts out one fire, Dorian starts another. ‘Inside sources,’” Aelin added air quotes with her fingers for emphasis, “Claim that the king is getting really fed up. It’s causing a lot of unrest and protests among the people. More of them seem to agree with the prince than the king. It would make sense for it to be his doing.”

“That,” Fenrys drawled, holding one finger, “Is fucked up.”

“It is,” Aelin agreed. “But things have always appeared to be rocky between them.”

“We’ll be going undercover for a while. Adarlan’s government isn’t asking for assistance on the issue, probably because they’re starting it to begin with. But we aren’t willing to risk their version of ‘taking care of things.’ And if it comes down to it, President Galathynius–” Lorcan’s eyes shot to Aelin when mentioning her uncle, “–would rather save the prince’s life and risk tension with Adarlan over it.”

“Considering the King of Adarlan is a sexist, racist piece of shit, I don’t blame him,” Connall mused, letting his hair out of the bun it had been in since Aelin arrived. She agreed with her uncle. Dorian did as much as he could as a prince, but as king… He would pave the way to a better world.

“Do we have covers yet?” Rowan leaned forward, reaching for the stack of papers Lorcan had presented to them. As he sifted through them, Aelin noticed the commander’s face getting tighter with every page Rowan skimmed. Her brow furrowed as she looked over her ex-boyfriend’s broad shoulder.

“You two…” Lorcan hesitated. Almost like he was dreading the news he was about to bestow upon them. “The four of us will be blending in with the commoners. Our base will be a large manor set far enough out that nobody will notice we all congregate together.”

Beside her, Rowan went utterly rigid. If she thought he was tense before, it was nothing compared to now. The tendons in his neck were ready to snap. She swore she could see his pulse pounding in his neck as a vein protruded in the center of his forehead.

“No,” Rowan said, shaking his head and throwing the papers on the table. Confused, Aelin snatched them up to read them herself. Fenrys leaned in to read along with her, one of his fingers tracing down the edge of the page.

“It wasn’t my call,” Lorcan said defensively, right as her eyes landed on the incriminating words that had Rowan’s body taut as a bowstring.

“This better be a fucking joke,” she spat, pushing out of her chair and rising to her feet. It had to be a joke, a prank, a hazing for joining their stupid little boyband. The harsh lines on her commander’s face said it was anything but. “Married? Out of all five of you to make me pretend to be married to, it’s Rowan that gets picked?”

“We don’t know how dangerous of a situation we’re walking into.” Lorcan tried to sound calm, but his eyes darted between the former couple like they might burn down the world out of spite. Aelin was considering it. “Rowan is the best of us at hand-to-hand combat should you ever need the defense–”

“I can fight for myself. I can protect myself. Fenrys could protect me just as well as Rowan if that were truly a concern.” It was risky to shout at her commander so much, especially on her first day, but Aelin was just past the point of caring. Every fuck she might be able to give was caught in a tornado of sand, plowing through the desert in the complete opposite direction.

“You know better than anyone that Rowan has skill sets that would work well while masquerading as a Duke, just like you do for being a Duchess. Fenrys is too loud-mouthed, and the other two lack the general composure to pretend to be royal. Rowan always has the quiet, dignified mask in his back pocket. He can talk his way out of–”

“I don’t care,” she hissed, taking several steps from the table.

“Ace…” Fenrys said quietly, leaning back in his chair to grab her hand. “Lorcan has a point.”

“I know he does.” Aelin’s voice was muffled while she rubbed at her face. Nobody objected or disagreed with Lorcan’s mild insults because it was the truth. Sometimes, Fen didn’t know when to shut up, and while Vaughan and Connall could easily look the part, they were missing something that Rowan just had naturally.

When he walked into a room, he carried himself like he was important. Unlike typical royals, it wasn’t because he was looking down his nose at anyone but because he almost commanded respect from everyone. Rowan, as a royal, wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Aelin knew that. She just wished she had more of a heads-up before getting thrown into something that hit a little too close to home where their former relationship was concerned.

“I’m sorry for yelling.” Her eyes met Lorcan’s, and he shrugged. Now was not the time for him to assume she couldn’t do her job because she was an emotional woman. It was sexist bullshit, to begin with, but her time in the military told her it’s what they all thought of the women. No matter how hard they trained or how many times they proved themselves, women were silly, emotional creatures that couldn’t handle anything.

“I expected it. I know it won’t be easy for either of you.” Aelin couldn’t hide the surprise on her face. Not the raised brows or the way her mouth parted at his words. Maybe she undersold him. Just a little. “Rowan?”

“Yeah.” The word was flat. Seeing his face wasn’t necessary to know his eyes were probably as vacant as he sounded.

“Can you handle it?”

“Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

No, they didn’t have a choice, but if it would save multiple lives, they would manage. Their tumultuous past would stay where it belonged when they were in public and doing their jobs. Maybe they would even find a way to be civil by the end of it. There was also the possibility of everything going up in flames, one violent explosion at a time until everything was burned and nobody was marked safe from the fallout.

Aelin really wasn’t sure which one it would be.

@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294 @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @bellasbookboyfriends @icantfindmychashma

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spidey-bie · 6 months

Text

Techpunk Royalty AU Idea

Hobie had been by Ansi's side for as long as he could remember. He remembered the day that he was first assigned as his personal knight.

The prince was only a young boy but had such a cold and stoic demeanor. The Knight had seen a number of corpses in his lifetime but he had never seen such lifeless eyes. Daily the boy had to endure rigid lessons and training in order to ready himself for the throne. His mother taught each lesson with an iron fist, never failing to spare the rod if she felt that his efforts weren't up to her expectations.

Though the young Knight knew there wasn't much he could do to change the situation he made it his goal to make the prince happy.

It was hard at first but the day he first heard the prince laugh was when he realized his efforts were worth it.

It wasn't long before they grew to be inseparable.

However, things changed once the Queen died. Too many people felt that Hobie had gotten too close to the prince. Soon after the funeral he was sent away under the guise of a special mission.

The prince was left alone completely surrounded by those who wished to use him for the crown. The corrupted nobility began to enact out their twisted games in order to gain more power.

Ansi tired and longing for his beloved slowly becomes that unfeeling and stoic person from his youth. It wasn't long before he put an end to his vassals blatant disrespect and greed. He made them an example and displays their severed heads along the gates of the palace.

So began his reign of tyranny.

Hobie on the other hand has been fighting off assassination attempts, sand storms, wild beasts, and illness all to make it back to his beloved and yet when he finally arrives back at the palace to find that nothing is the same as it was before

The garden where they snuck away to hide from their instructor has been turned into an armory.

The kind servants who he had grown alongside him with had all been replaced.

Even the castle itself seemed different. The halls seem more somber and dreary.

He couldn't understand how things turned out this way until he saw the King.

This wasn't the man who he had devoted his life too. His beloved prince had become the very thing that they were hoping to destroy.

"My Knight I know that it's taken quite a long journey for you to make it back to me."

He smiles but it's only for show. His eyes held an indiscernible emotion that Hobie couldn't place.

"I wish to reward you for your valiant efforts but first," He says as he walks towards the knight. "I must ask something of you."

He dismisses everyone from the room. The King reaches out to rest his hand against his beloved face but the knight jerks away with a look of disgust.

The King chuckles sadly.

"You were never able to hide your true emotions from me."

"Get on with your favor so I can get going."

"I can't let you leave, beloved."

"Don't call me that."

For a moment Hobie thought he saw a pained look in Ansi's eyes but it was gone as fast as it came. The King cleared his throat and continued.

"I know you. I can already see the cogs of a revolution whirling around in your mind."

"So what, you're gonna kill me?"

Ansi chuckled.

"And waste such valuable talent? I think not."

"Instead I offer you two choices. Join my side or," He pulled his sword out of its sheath. "kill me and take the throne for yourself."

"And let the kingdom label be a traitor and execute me immediately after?" Hobie scoffed. "You're insane."

"I thought so too but my mind is the only thing that's remained intact over the years."

The Knight didn't give a reply he only looked at the sword in the King's hand.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to take over the throne with ease. I can call in a vassal to confirm if you so wish."

"No." He grabbed the sword from the King's hand. "I think this is the only truthful thing you've said in a while."

"It seems you've made up your mind then." The Knight glanced remorsefully at the King.

"Surely there's another way?"

The King sighed and looked down. His knight had always been a merciful person.

"You once told me that those who've spilled blood can only pay for their sins with blood. Don't tell me you've turned soft now?"

"Any last words?"

The King thought for a moment before looking up at the Knight again. "No."

He smiles sadly at the Knight.

"Do you?"

The Knight often thought of what he'd say to his Prince once he returned.

Those words were meaningless now.

"No."

@hobiebrownismygod @i-like-moths-and-men @ponfarrtimeatthevulcannightclub @chessbox @pinkpinkspidey

#did i get lazy at certain parts?#yes yes i did #but you still read it so hah #hobie x oc #my spidersona #au idea #Ansi and her Bie #atsv angst #angst #cory writes #jay and the spiders

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pascalmode · 1 year

Text

In The Stars (8 - The Light and The Shadows)

Hiiii!! This chapter is my way of apologizing for the lack of Azriel in the last one. I hope you enjoy!!! (From this point forward things are going to move along veeeery quickly (i hope)). Please let me know what you think! (Also, if anyone wants to draw any scenes from this chapter or any other, i would nooooot be opposed;))

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 6.1K

Warnings; None, I think. Just Asteria being obsessed with Az. Elain is there at some point. idk

Despite taking three baths, each filled with luxuriously scented oils and soaps, Asteria can’t seem to shake the bitter, coppery scent of blood that clings to her.

She’d scrubbed harshly at her skin, only to be twice as rigorous when washing her hair, attempting to free the long, delicate silver strands of the scent to no avail.

It lingers.

Halfway through dinner that night, the entire inner circle and Feyre’s sister Elain gathered around a table filled with beautifully smoked and seasoned meats, steamed vegetables slathered in spices, and roasted potatoes with garlic and butter, Azriel reappeared.

It only took him a couple of seconds to sniff the air and lock a hard, unreadable gaze on Asteria while everyone else peppered him with greetings. One shadow subtly split away from the rest, darting underneath the table and skittering over her entire form, as though attempting to discover the source of the coppery scent.

Having found nothing, the shadow whirls around the length of Asteria’s still-damp braid before it returned to its master.

Azriel had taken the vacant seat across from the silver haired female, hazel eyes flashing with a concern that Asteria picked up on immediately. Beneath the table, Asteria nudged his foot with her own, their gazes met, and she allowed herself to offer him a small smile, enough to tell him; I’m okay.

His shoulders relaxed, and when Cassian sent him a brotherly taunt, the Shadowsinger didn’t miss a beat when he tossed out a smart retort, the entire table chuckled at the interaction.

Except for Elain Archeron. Whose stare remained on Asteria, a slight frown seemingly glued to her lips.

After the meal, the group moved to the living room, lounging on the couches and sharing several bottles of wine.

Azriel, hovering towards a door that would lead out to the yard, catches Asteria’s eye, discreetly nodding towards the dusk-lit lawn that had become their nightly meeting place, a thick blanket in hand.

With everyone’s attention focused on Mor and Rhysand as they delve into a charming story from their childhood, Asteria follows the Shadowsinger outside to the area beyond the training ring.

As soon as they sit down, the cold causes a damp-haired Asteria to shiver.

A blanket drapes around her shoulders, warm hands lingering for an extra moment before Azriel settles beside her.

“Thank you,” Asteria mutters, her hands, which are wearing a new pair of gloves that Feyre had bought for her before they left Velaris, close the thick fabric of the blanket around her, thankful that the spymaster beside her made a habit of bringing one out each night, though it often went unused, “Are you cold?”

“Illyrian,” Azriel states, as through it’s an answer. Asteria arches a brow, as though silently reminding the male that she isn’t from this world, and he didn’t explain as thoroughly as she needs. The Shadowsinger lets out a deep chuckle, lips quirked in a small smile, “I was raised in the mountains. Cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Asteria chimes, jealous although cold doesn’t usually get to her so easily. She moves past the weather around her, feeling content that her friend had returned from his assignment, like his presence had removed a weight that the female unknowingly had been holding onto her chest, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“You missed me, Asteria?”

Asteria huffs, unable to hold back her smile when she sees a glint of mischief glinting in the Shadowsinger’s eyes. She nudges him with her elbow, “I never said that.”

“It felt implied.”

“Your feelings may be deceiving you.”

Azriel’s mouth twists, as though holding back a grin, before it settles into an easy smirk, “I don’t think they are.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Azriel says, his smirk fading as his eyes direct themselves to the darkening sky, the first of the stars beginning to peer brilliantly into the night, “Because I can admit that you smell like blood, and that scares me.”

“It scares you?”

“What happened?”

“They attempted a surprise attack,” Asteria admits, shadows surrounding them growing darker, thicker, “It didn’t work out for them.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“Did they survive?”

“No.”

“Do you know what they were after?”

Asteria tries to draw up the memories she’d seen when she plunged into the mind of one of her assailants, trying to recall the orders and succeeding, “I don’t know who sent them, but they had clear orders to kill me.”

Azriel’s brow furrows, and his face is suddenly stone.

Keeping her eyes on the male, she lifts a hand from the confines of the blanket and removes one of her gloves with her teeth, once again revealing the scarred flesh beneath. Pulling a pearl of magic up from her well of power, letting it rest between her fingers and offering it to Azriel.

The Shadowsinger eyes it with interest, the faint light from it illuminating the angles of his face enough that he appears so achingly beautiful that Asteria has to remind herself to take a full breath.

He opens his palm, holding it out to Asteria with silent permission.

Asteria lays the pearl into the center of Azriel’s skin, watching as the light glows beneath the surface, her palm pressing into his.

What had occurred earlier in the day plays out in both of their mind’s eye, and Asteria lets Azriel see it all. She lets him feel the joy of the pianoforte interrupted by the sudden shock of an arrow bursting through the window of Murry’s music shop, and the clear, determined rage that had followed her over the wall of Velaris and led to the death of ten strange males.

She lets him see each and every memory she’d pulled from one of the assailants. She shows him the life she’d wandered through before his neck snapped, and that same life ended. Every detail.

When it’s over, Azriel’s own scarred fingers had wrapped around Asteria’s, the warmth of him blooming all the way up her arm to the center of her chest.

She meets his eyes, expecting to find nothing but horror from the bloodbath. Repulsion after seeing the things she’d done. The lack of mercy.

Instead, he’d softened yet again. Fond eyes searching hers for an answer to a question he had yet to ask.

Swallowing, and trying to slow her own heart, Asteria gingerly pulls her hand back to the warmth of the blanket wrapped around her, though she feels colder than ever, “That’s everything I know.”

Azriel nods, expression unchanging, “It’s useful. I can call in some favours.”

“From your spies?” Asteria is unable from blurting.

“Maybe,” Azriel murmurs, “Maybe not.”

“Very secretive of you.”

“Spymaster, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget?”

Azriel lets out another chuckle, and Asteria lifts her head, eyes taking in the expansive beauty of the darkening night sky, bright white stars gleaming above them. A sight she truly believes she’ll never tire of.

A beat of comfortable silence, quickly broken.

Azriel speaks so softly that she almost doesn’t hear him, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I feel more than alright,” Asteria breathes, smiling as she thinks of how the ivory keys of the pianoforte felt under her fingers.

As though he could tell exactly where her mind wandered, Azriel nudges the female softly with his elbow, “You played that pianoforte.”

The memory makes her beam, an uncontrollable grin breaking across her face, and when she turns to Azriel, her careful eyes pick out the way he marks it, whatever tension remaining in his shoulders melting away, “I did. I played the crap out of that pianoforte.”

“I wish I could have heard it.”

“I can show you, if you want,” Asteria offers, the eager magic inside her already stirring.

The Illyrian beside her smiles, the mischief from before returning into his burning hazel gaze, “I like that idea.”

Asteria is about to offer him another bead of magic, but before she can, Azriel stands.

She looks up at his tall, lean form in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Standing. I thought that was obvious,” Azriel deadpans, “Perhaps you should ask me what I’m thinking about.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Please, humor me.”

Suspicious, yet tremendously curious, Asteria does, “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that we fly down to that music store, and you play the pianoforte for me,” The Shadowsinger explains, his wings twitching in anticipation.

“The music store?” Asteria echoes, “The same one I was just attacked in?”

“You’ll be kept safe.”

“You seem sure of yourself,” Asteria says, “What if they send another attack?”

Azriel holds out his hand, offering it to the silver-haired female, “We deal with it.”

“This is a bad idea,” Asteria mutters as she takes Azriel’s hand, actions betraying her words as he pulls her to her feet, the blanket wrapped around her billowing in a chilled winter breeze.

“Probably,” Azriel nods, “Though I can’t bring myself to care.”

Turning her gaze to where the property ends, a drop off of sudden darkness illuminated only by the stars above and the city lights below.

Flying with Rhysand in broad daylight had been one thing, the High Lord taking half an hour to assure the female that it would be fine, but this– this is something else entirely.

Asteria remembers what it felt like to fall through this sky, and through the skies of whatever distant realms she’d passed on the way here. She recalls how the dagger felt hilt-deep in her chest, and the frigid, icy fear that came with anticipating that her death would arrive sooner rather than later.

The memory sends a shiver down her spine, and not realizing it, the female had taken up a death grip on the Shadowsinger’s hand.

“Don’t drop me,” Asteria meekly get out.

“I won’t.”

“No, seriously, I fell from the stars once already, and I have no intention of doing it again.”

“Asteria, look at me,” Azriel softly utters, waiting for the female’s green eyes to connect with his hazel ones. The moment they do, Azriel’s hand squeezes hers, and the building dread in her chest lessens itself, “Do you trust me?”

“Am I going to regret answering you?”

“Definitely.”

Asteria gulps, “Yes. I trust you.”

“Then I suggest you hang on.”

“What do you mea– AZRIEL!”

In an instant the Shadowsinger sweeps her up, blanket and all, his arms hooking beneath her legs and under her back, holding her tightly to his chest while powerful wings launch them straight up into the air, Asteria’s startled yelp drowned out by the wind rushing past her ears.

Locking her arms as tightly she can muster around his neck, Asteria’s heart drops beneath the pit of her stomach when her eyes lock onto the earth hundreds of feet below them.

And when Azriel suddenly tucks in his wings and dives, her heart plummets even further.

“Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods,” The silver-haired female fearfully squeaks out, instinctually squeezing her eyes closed and hiding her face in Azriel’s neck as they pick up speed, far too panicked for his calming night-chilled mist and cedar scent to slow her racing heart.

Then, wings shooting out, they hit an updraft, the plummeting decent halting completely. The sound of wings flapping steadily fills the open air, and Azriel easily glides through the chilled night sky.

“You okay?” The Shadowsinger asks, a slight chuckle catching Asteria’s attention.

She lifts her face from his skin, catching the way his cobalt siphons gleam brightly enough that she can see his face and the amused expression he wears. Asteria curses him in her mind, unable to bring herself to speak this high up.

Chuckling once again, Azriel lets them drift closer to the ever-welcoming ground, “If you think this is bad, then never fly with Cassian.”

Asteria nods, unable to keep herself from hiding her face in Azriel’s neck once more, feeling how the arms that are holding her seem to tighten in response, a silent and unrelenting reassurance that the male would not allow her to fall away from him.

When they finally reach the street, Azriel lands on the cobblestones with confident, practiced ease that seems as natural as the breathes that leave his chest.

Her feet on the ground, Asteria heaves in a relieved breath, allowing herself to release the iron clasp grip she’d had around Azriel’s neck.

The Shadowsinger keeps a hand on the female’s back, the warmth of it reassuring, strong, and steady as some of his shadows flood into the cracks of a now boarded up window. The same window that had completely shattered when an arrow meant for Asteria sprung through it earlier that day.

By impulse, Asteria’s gaze flicks up to the wall the archer had been poised atop of. She can hear the thwang! Of the bowstring releasing, the roar of the arrow soaring towards her. She can feel the centuries old killing calm flood over her, the calm beating of her heart over roaring adrenaline. A death blow. At least, it would have been if she hadn’t snatched it out of midair.

Now, in the dim light of night there’s nothing visible to her. No one besides the Shadowsinger.

It’s safe, the Realm around her nothing but silent.

A silence that’s laid to rest when Azriel uses his dagger, an elegant blade he’s revealed to her as Truth-Teller, to aid him in prying off a the boards covering the window.

As soon as they’re loose, the dark haired male rips the boards loose, gently setting them aside before stepping into the shop with a light-footed ease that must have come with his centuries-long career as the Spymaster of the Night Court.

“This feels criminal,” Asteria whispers with a playful smile, taking Azriel’s hand when he offers it to her, helping her past a remnants of broken glass as he clears it away with his boots. She doesn’t need the help, she’s proven that much, but it’s the kind of gesture that makes her heart pound a bit harder in her chest. A gentleness she’d forgotten a long time ago.

“That’s because it is.”

“Oh, good,” Asteria snorts, “I was starting to think breaking and entering was strictly an Erilean crime.”

Azriel looks at her over his shoulder wearing an amused smile so brightly delightful that it warms the entirety of Asteria’s being.

The Shadowsinger was often unreadable, but when he smiled…

To say the sight is devastating would be the understatement of the century.

Asteria can’t help the breath that leaves her, not even able to comprehend what he’d said to her, and in order to recover and hopefully avoid Azriel taking notice of the effect he has on her, she clears her throat and sets her focus on the very thing they’d come here for.

The pianoforte.

Settling onto the bench, Asteria smiles to herself, removing her gloves and running her hands over the smooth, polished wood that covers the ivory keys beneath. The greedy side of her wants to lift it and play until the joints in her fingers ache and she can’t sit up straight. But the rational part of her, the one that had been screaming for her to be cautious since she fell from the sky, speaks up.

“What if Murry hears?” Asteria finds herself asking, a nervous feeling suddenly gnawing at the pit of her gut.

Azriel’s brow quirks up, and he moves to sit on the bench beside the silver-haired female, his massive form more apparent than ever on the small seat, “He won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“He lives in an apartment across town, and he doesn’t have any security wards in place. He has no way of knowing we’re here,” Azriel explains, “We’re fine, Ria.”

All the questions, all the caution in Asteria’s mind quiets. Any thought wondering how he knew where Murry lived after a single encounter dancing in the square, how she’s supposed to play for him without alerting anybody, or when Azriel had even checked for wards slips from her mind.

Maybe it’s the nickname, or how he looks down her with a gaze so soft that she could cry, but Asteria realizes two things at once. Two things that are so simple, but also so world shattering that for the second time in only a few moments, the female loses her breath once again.

The first; She trusts Azriel, wholly and completely.

And the second; for the first time in a long time, Asteria has found something, someone, who makes her happy.

It’s the trading of secrets beneath a glorious night sky, and seeking him out in every room she walks into. It’s early morning training and a mischievous glint in hazel eyes before taking off in flight. It’s splitting a bottle of wine and shadows calming building panic. It’s freedom. It’s rediscovering music, and dancing in a square with strangers. It’s sneaking off into the dark to play a piano.

It’s her reality. She could be happy here. In Prythian. She could be happy with Azriel in her life. With the court she’d fallen into.

Her thoughts pulsing in her mind, Asteria doesn’t even realize she’d opened the piano’s cover until the fingers of one of her hands are pressing down on ivory, the chords she unconsciously chooses filling the air with a joyous sound. Bright and warm, like being bathed in sunlight.

Catching herself, Asteria pauses, unable to keep from smiling, blinking away the happy tears that had snuck up on her.

Unfortunately, Azriel notices.

His arm curls around her back, and the silver-haired female allows herself to lean into the Shadowsinger, releasing a breathy chuckle when a shadow swirls around her fingertips.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Asteria says, beaming up at him and quickly wiping at her eyes, “Absolutely nothing. Anything you want to hear?”

The concern doesn’t leave Azriel’s gleaming Hazel eyes, but he does give her another mischievous smirk, “Do you know anything from this Realm?”

“No,” Asteria grins.

“Then play me something from yours.”

Humming in agreement, Asteria thinks for a second. It had been so long since she’d played that she doubts she’d even remember any of the pieces she’d written.

But then, a memory slinks forward.

It had been the day she’d showed up at Aelin’s warehouse apartment, much to Rowan and Aedion’s discontent, but Aelin didn’t mind. She’d been welcoming. She wanted Asteria’s raw, unrestrained power on their side.

More than that, Aelin recognized Asteria’s name.

Not as a part of the Cadre, not as a warrior, but as a composer.

Asteria had dreamed up a composition that Aelin had been obsessed with, and the Heir of Terrasen wanted the piece written down.

Asteria had obliged, and promised to one day play it for the blonde female, but she never got the chance before Maeve cast her out on that damned beach.

So, straightening her spine, Asteria closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and she starts to play.

Last time, earlier that day, Asteria had been tentative, almost scared to press her fingers down onto the ivory.

But here, now, whatever had held her back had been killed and left behind in the dust.

The silver haired female plays with vigor, attacking the keys the same way she strikes with a sword; with the precision that only came with decades upon decades of practice and training.

The melody thunders through the instrument, the music rising and swelling only to fade when Asteria commands it to, the highs and lows that make this piece so complex.

It’s something she’d written so long ago, a gift to the male she once believed to be her mate, and for a while it was only his. That is, until he’d encouraged her to turn it into a symphony.

Then, the piece had been played all over the continent, and then beyond. And Asteria’s name became associated with something other than Maeve, other than violence.

Asteria Relridaar’s first act of defiance against the Queen she served.

Focused, Asteria lets the passion pour from her, directly from her soul. Her entire body alight from the music in her mind, soul, and heart. Each press of the keys encourages the next, beckoning to her through the centuries of blood and pain and guiding her to a different path. To a new reality.

The one she lives now. Free. Happy.

Her soul, the deepest, most loveliest part of her, the one where her music comes from, shines.

The piece comes to an eventual end, and when it does, Asteria slowly opens her eyes, lashes fluttering as she eases out of the trance the music had put her in, finding herself surrounded by light.

All around her, small beads of magic, each one glowing like a small sun, hang in the air in every direction, some in front of her, some up high near the ceiling.

In the soft glow that surrounds them, Asteria looks over to Azriel, finding his hazel eyes gleaming, seemingly glowing in the light of the magic, and a small crease between his brows, his mouth parted.

“You…” He trails off, voice a bit more hoarse than the last time she’d heard it, “You are magnificent.”

Heart thudding against her sternum, Asteria tries to catch her breath, his words igniting something deep within her soul that had been cold for so long that she’d forgotten about it completely.

She opens her mouth to speak, Azriel’s dark, mysterious beauty now completely overwhelming.

So overwhelming, that when his gaze briefly darts to her lips, Asteria’s toes curl in her boots, and she finds her mind completely consumed by nothing but the scent of mist and cedar.

Asteria lets herself shift closer to him, feeling Azriel’s hand that hadn’t left her back shift down to her hip, tugging her closer.

He slowly inches down, hazel eyes carefully watching Asteria, as if expecting her to startle, or to bolt away faster than he’d be able to follow.

But she can’t. She doesn’t even know how it would be possible for her to do anything else than melt into the solid male beside her.

Azriel’s forehead rests against hers, warm breath fanning against her face while the knuckles of his other hand slowly graze the edge of her jaw, stirring up a warm, frenzied feeling in her stomach, like a swarm of butterflies taking flight for the first time in a century.

Feeling her own hands trembling, Asteria peels them from the piano, tentatively running her hands up Azriel’s chest and feeling the way he sharply inhales at the touch.

She leans up, letting her eyes flutter shut as their lips brush, just slightly, just enough for every nerve in Asteria’s body to ignite.

A pleasant burn that only blazes hotter when Azriel’s hand slides into her hair, gently tilting her head back to a better angle, one that he needs.

Asteria knows she has no right to touch him, to crave him like the very air she breathes, and yet she finds herself doing both. And when he puts his mouth on hers, kissing her as though she’s something to treasure, she recognizes the taste of him, like he’d been made just for her.

Azriel’s lips are soft, and he tastes like mint and sugar; A taste that Asteria already knows she’ll never get enough of. An addiction that will never be fully satiated.

Barely in control of her own body, her self-control long abandoned, Asteria’s hands travel upwards, her fingers sinking into Azriel’s thick, dark hair, the strands soft against her hands.

Azriel lets out a low noise from the back of her throat, sending a tingle up Asteria’s spine.

Slowly, as though it takes everything in him, Azriel eases away. A new flush of colour tinting his cheeks and the tops of his ears pink, and Asteria is absolutely certain her face mirrors his.

Asteria tries to find something to say, only to find herself so giddy, so in disbelief over what they’d just done, that she can only manage a grin before she’s hiding her face against Azriel’s shoulder, hearing his low chuckle rumble through her bones.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Asteria asks after a long beat, her voice rasping in her throat.

“Please.”

“Earlier, when you asked if I missed you while you were away…” Asteria says, pulling away from Azriel so she’s able to look at his face, “I-I did. Miss you, I mean.”

His eyes shine with something Asteria can’t place in the soft light around them, “I owe you a secret in return.”

“I guess you do.”

“I missed you too, Asteria.”

Asteria feels heat burn her cheeks, a result of their kiss, or his molten gaze threatening to make her melt right where she sits, she isn’t sure.

Just then, there’s movement in her peripheral vision, and with reflexes like an asp, Asteria whips her head towards it, only to find a wisp of shadow curled around one of the smaller beads of magic that surround them. The shadow doesn’t balk, or cower from the light, and the light doesn’t dissipate, or shred through the darkness.

The shadow whips around it curiously, harmlessly.

Like a dance.

The sight makes both Azriel and Asteria chuckle, the sound drawing the shadows attention, making it dart to the female and excitedly whirl around her long silver braid, were it stays, seemingly unable to leave her.

“We should probably go,” Asteria says, mentally trying to find any excuse to stay in the small music shop for a few moments longer.

Azriel looks down at her, a brow quirked, “We can’t.”

“We can’t?”

“No,” The Shadowsinger says, his wondrous smile gracing his lips yet again, “Not until you teach me that piece.”

Asteria can’t help but match the male’s expression, “We may be in for a long night then.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

—-

The Shadowsinger and the Realm Reader return to the house of wind after hours pressed shoulder to shoulder on a piano bench, Asteria teaching Azriel the music of her heart, and him picking up on it immediately.

She had been completely surprised by the Illyrian male’s talent. His long fingers struck the ivory keys of the pianoforte with a deft familiarity that pleased Asteria to no end, and made her soul sing a long forgotten hymn.

They’d been surrounded by music, beams of light and whisps of shadow, while they stole moment after moment in what felt like their own reality. A space, a place in time that belongs only to them. To a few more stolen kisses in empty music shops.

It’s all Asteria thinks about when Azriel lands in their late night meeting spot, her entire body tingling with anticipation and two simple questions;

Will he kiss her again? And will he take her to bed?

Feet meeting the earth, Asteria’s hands linger around Azriel’s neck, his warm palms coming to rest at her waist.

But before anything can be said, a throat clears.

The sound jolts both Asteria and Azriel, the pair of them stepping away from each other in an instant, turning to face the one that had alarmed them.

Elain Archeron.

“Asteria,” The doe-eyed female greets, a kind smile on her lips, “I’ve been waiting to speak to you.”

Suspicion seeps into Asteria’s most primal instinct, and she can’t keep her brow from raising, “About?”

“Az, if you could give us a moment,” Elain kindly requests. The female is in her dress from earlier in the evening, long sleeved and soft pink, a few floral embellishments along the skirt covered by a warm looking jacket, like she had actually been waiting outside for quite some time awaiting the other female’s return.

The Shadowsinger nods, warm gaze connecting with Asteria’s for a long beat, a soft smile on his lips when he reaches for her hand, giving it a warm squeeze before he heads towards the house, nodding to Elain when he moves past her and inside.

As soon as the door snicks shut behind him, Elain’s smile doesn’t drop, but something in her gaze becomes more serious– more severe.

Asteria marks the shift, and crosses her arms across her chest, preparing herself for whatever the middle Archeron has to say.

“Rhysand bought a piece of land by the River,” Elain begins, “A solstice gift for Feyre. A place for her to build them a home of her own design. It’s all quite lovely, really.”

Asteria’s eyes narrow, “I’m sure it is.”

“My sister, the High Lady, asked me if I’d like to plan out the estate’s garden.”

“That’s quite the honor.”

Elain’s head tilts thoughtfully, “It is, isn’t it? There is, however, an unfortunate issue.”

“Which would be?”

“I can’t bring myself to plan a garden for a land that’s rotting away.”

The warmth that had been alight within Asteria disappears completely, instead, dread runs up Asteria’s spine. She inhales deeply, fists clenching.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Elain continues, “I don’t know much about you, just what Feyre has told me, which is that you are the only person with the magic capable of healing the realm. I’d hate to watch the land my sister’s Mate bought for her wither away because of a strange female’s irresponsibility.”

Asteria’s words are ice-cold when she speaks, “Believe me when I tell you, I take the well-being of your realm very seriously.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“If you did, I believe that your every free moment should be spent preventing the destruction of-”

“Stop talking,” Asteria suddenly grits out, Elain halting completely from the venom filled voice of the Realm Reader, “From what I understand, your immortality is new to you. Mine is not. I have spent three of your lifetimes learning the rules and laws of nature and magic in my own realm. I did not choose to be here, but I am. I do not have claim to any power, or magic, or trust from this realm. It’s complicated, but I’m trying. I’m learning. I’m doing what I can, so I do apologize if this magic that you don’t understand isn’t moving at a place that you’d like.”

Elain’s once kind smile deepens into a frown, large brown eyes boring at Asteria as the silver haired female takes a couple steps towards her, continuing, “This is beyond you, Elain. It may even be beyond me, but I swear to you that I’m trying.”

Standing within arms length, Asteria watches as Elain’s spine straightens, and she lifts her chin, a look Asteria recognizes immediately; It’s Elain drawing up her courage. Something Asteria can pick out so clearly, because she’s done it a million times herself.

“What about Azriel?” Elain asks.

Asteria’s brows furrow, “What about him?”

“He’s had a difficult life.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sure you think you do,” Elain snaps, something Asteria suspects is a rare thing for her, “He’s been through a lot, far too much to explain, and now, after the war, I think we can agree he’s deserving of something… Gentle.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re a jagged edge,” Elain states, “And not what he needs.”

A jagged edge.

The words hit Asteria like a punch to the gut, but she doesn’t show it. She refuses to. She doesn’t get fire back, because if she does, it would be hard to stop.

She can’t imagine the Court would be so accepting of her if she slaughtered the High Lady’s sister exactly where she stands.

Roping in her anger, and the rage slowly starting to burn inside her gut, Asteria takes a deep breath and starts tunneling rapidly into her well of power.

“Hm,” Asteria hums, feeling her eye twitch before she meets Elain’s gaze. The Archeron female flinches at her stare, which Asteria takes as her own small victory, “Plan your garden, Elain.”

“What?”

“Plan your garden,” Asteria sneers, knowing exactly what she’s about to do while moving past the female and into the House of Wind, hearing the greetings of the inner circle, but not stopping to return them.

Asteria moves through the house until she finds the staircase.

When she’d first woken up after her fall from the nigh sky, Rhysand had given her a tour of the house she’d be staying in, explaining that the two ways out of the estate were either by flight, or by ten thousand stairs.

With the rage building inside of her, and her focus spinning deeper and deeper into her own magic, ten thousand seems small.

As she descends, Asteria mutters angrily to herself; harsh curse words and the middle Archeron sister’s name spilling out in the fleury of vexed rambling as she heads down, down, down.

By the time she reaches the ground, Asteria’s legs burn like they did when she first started training as a child in Doranelle, her stomach flips uncomfortably, but she doesn’t care. Not when she hits the bottom of her well of power.

Gritting her teeth, Asteria stalks towards the woods, pushing hard against the barrier of her own magic, trying to find what had been there before Prythian and finding nothing.

She doesn’t stop trying, though. Walking deeper into the treeline she slams again and again into the bottom of the pit, trying to crack the ground, dive through it– anything. But coming up with nothing.

Still, Asteria doesn’ falter.

Finding herself surrounded by trees, the only sound around her being the clicks from insects and the occasional rustle of tree branches in the winter wind, Asteria sinks to her knees.

Ripping her gloves off of her hands, the female sinks them into the earth.

Then, the Realm Reader rips her magic up from the bottom of the pit. She latches onto it with an iron grip, tearing it upwards and through her before plunging it into the Realm.

Elain had been wrong, Asteria isn’t a just a jagged edge, she’s bloody knuckles and layers of scars. She’s more than that– She’s a blade.

A blade that had been forged in fire, beaten again and again, and honed to perfection over the centuries. A fighter. A blademaster. The most powerful fae in all of Erilea.

She knows it. It’s time this Realm learns it too.

When the Realm’s voice comes through, no doubt to dismiss the female, Asteria silences it.

She brings her magic down fiercely, and without mercy, feeling it spread out beneath her. The light burns, singing her hands as the Realm tries to reject it, but Asteria doesn’t care. She grits her teeth, pushing harder, faster– Relentless.

Feeling the surge of energy, Asteria shouts, feeling herself already beginning to tire, to burn out completely.

So she keeps going.

The light floods from her, deeper and deeper into the core of the Realm before whatever had been keeping her at bay, whatever had been resisting her, snaps completely.

Screaming, Asteria watches a web of light beneath her dart out in every direction, disappearing further than she can see before a single beam of light shoots up from the earth and into her chest.

Asteria is silenced by the bone shattering pain that explodes into her chest, the ache flowing upwards into her skull and past her mental shields as though they were made of a single thread.

Her memories, the most painful ones, play out in her mind’s eye. She sees herself swearing her life to Maeve, to the bloodshed she’d carried out in the Queen’s name. She sees the moment she was handed over to Cairn in front of the entire court.

It’s this moment, this excruciating sting, that Asteria knows what’s happening.

Someone is in her head, walking through her life, just as she’s done to so many others.

“No,” Asteria manages to grit out, reaching into her well of power for more magic, just a drop more, enough to stop this as reels of her own torture play out before her, “No!”

With a cry, Asteria whips out the last bead of her magic, the light making itself a blade and plunging into her own chest, severing the connection with a final burst of light that echoes out beyond the forest, shaking trees in its wake.

Gasping, Asteria falls face down into the singed grass, her ears ringing and limbs feeling like they’ve been filled with lead. Her heart beats erratically, and she’s barely able to draw breath into her lungs.

At the edge of consciousness and something unfamiliar, Asteria thinks of her home. She thinks of Erilea. Of the forests and caverns she’d explored and the friends she’d once made. All the things she’d lost.

Before she fades, there’s a voice in her head that she doesn’t recognize.

I understand now, it says, Where no High Lord or Lady would ever return, I will be waiting. With the silence that follows, Asteria plunges into icy darkness.

-----

Taglist; let me know if you'd like to be added!:)

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake @warzaines @brekkershadowsinger

Let me know what you think, and if you have any predictions about what happens next!:)

#acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #tog!oc #tog oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar oc #acomaf #acowar #inner circle x oc #in the stars #elain archeron #azriel fanfiction #inner circle #sjm books #bookfic

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solrika · 6 months

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Miri and Kallus have a conversation.

The capital city of Lasana had been established long enough that it featured more permanent structures than tree houses. This was especially obvious at the Palace–though full of greenery, the only tree big enough to hold a building sat in the center of a fortress of carved stone. Three levels had been constructed in its branches and molded into its trunk, but the tree stretched far above, free for anyone brave enough to climb it.

Some long-ago lasat had carved a little niche far above the main buildings, just big enough to fit an occupant and some blankets. It had been Miri’s favorite place since her mother had first brought her up as a kit.

So it was a bit of a surprise to reach the last viewing platform before the climb, only to find Garazeb and Illeah leaning against the trunk. Slowing, she asked suspiciously, “Where’s your charge?”

“Where’s your Guard?” Garazeb retorted.

Illeah, ignoring him, answered, “He’s up there.”

Miri wrinkled her nose, curious in spite of herself. “He can climb?”

Illeah wiggled her hand in a so-so motion, and Garazeb grumped, “Apparently.”

“Huh.” Miri squinted up into the branches. She could just make out a flash of white–was that the only color he owned? How depressing–between the leaves. For a moment she considered turning back, already wondering where else she could hole up to be alone. Her rooms, of course, but these days they felt too big and echoing…

No, she decided, flicking her ears back. That was her spot. No human was going to take it from her. Making sure her hair was securely tied, she announced, “I’m going up. You can tell Gorn when he arrives.”

“I’m going to assign him so many laps,” Garazeb grumbled. “Karabast. Outrun by a teenager.” Jerking his head up at the little white flicker, he added, “Don’t push him off.”

“As if,” Miri retorted, though she had been entertaining the thought. Before Garazeb could respond, she set her claws into the bark and began to climb.

As always, the time it took to actually arrive at her spot quieted some of her whirling thoughts. The tree seemed to whisper songs with every breeze. Once above the palace walls she could see the entire city spread out below, and it settled something in her chest to see it moving in familiar rhythms. Things weren’t normal–too many craters in the street for that–but her people were living their lives anyway.

Some of her peace fled at the first whiff of human, but she gritted her teeth and resolved to at least try being civil. And part of that involved letting him know she was there, instead of startling him right off the tree. “Prince,” she called, “coming up.”

His head popped out over the edge of a branch. At least, she consoled herself, he was nowhere near her little niche. “Miriana,” he called back. “Do you need assistance?”

Miri had to close her eyes and breathe carefully for a moment. Not an insult. Not an insult. “No, I’ve got it.” Opening her eyes again, she pulled herself up to perch on a craggy bit of bark a few feet from his branch. There was a pause, as they both surveyed the other. Kallus was, as usual, in white, though his outfit was far less ornate than what he usually wore around the Palace. Instead, it was a short-sleeved jumpsuit, much closer to what Miri herself wore. Turned out his little spots went all the way down his arms. More surprising, though, were his bare feet.

“You don’t have shoes on,” Miri said, stupidly.

“Ah. Yes.” Kallus looked down at his feet–they were so small, and clawless, and weird–and absently wiggled his toes. “It’s much easier to climb this way.”

“Of course it is,” Miri replied, and held out one of her own feet, showing off its dexterous toes. “I don’t know why you wear shoes in the first place. Useless things.”

“My feet aren’t as tough as yours, Miriana. Alas.” Kallus looked like he was holding in a laugh. Why, she didn’t know, but at least it didn’t seem mean. His eyes didn’t have that nasty glint she’d seen whenever he wanted to make someone feel small.

Said eyes glanced down at the ground, squinting to make out the shapes of Garazeb and Illeah far below. “Were you sent to fetch me?”

“No.” Miri leant back against the tree, watching the city. “I just wanted some air.”

“Mm. It seems, for once, we are in accord.”

She didn’t want to be in accord with him. Didn’t want to think about whatever might have made fleeing up a tree more inviting than his ground-bound rooms. To distract herself, she pointed at the straps around his hips. “What’s that?”

“Climbing harness.” He lifted a rope–it led from the harness to a little piton she hadn’t noticed before. “I don’t have a tail, so…”

“Huh.” She wouldn’t have been able to push him after all. Maybe Garazeb hadn’t known what the harness was for, either. Resolving to hold that over his head–he liked acting like he knew everything just because he was older, and she was sick of it–Miri asked, “Where did it come from?”

Kallus fiddled with the straps. “I, ah, requisitioned it from the Imperial forces.”

“Oh.” She looked at it again, tail twitching in distaste. For a moment, she considered having another made for him, with proper decorations, so she wouldn’t have to see the ugly Imperial thing. But–maybe that would feel even worse, to know she’d given him a gift when he’d already stolen so much.

They sat in silence for a little, Miri watching the city, Kallus the little birds that called the tree their home.

When he spoke, it startled her enough to make her ears perk (not enough to make her fall, of course, because she was a lasat with a tail and claws, not a silly human). “Miriana,” he said, “you love your people.”

Flattening her ears back, she snapped, “Of course I do!”

Kallus held up a hand. “I’m not doubting your devotion. I simply…” He frowned, looking back out at the city. Slowly, as if he was chewing over the words, he said, “I want to understand it.”

Narrowing her eyes, Miri asked, “You want to know why I love them?”

“Yes.”

Miri scrutinized him a little longer, but–he didn’t smell angry, or scared, and his eyes were still soft. “Well,” and she sat back against the tree, “How long do you have?”

Kallus huffed a laugh. “Until Garazeb loses patience.” There, a tiny wisp of fear, but that wasn’t Miri’s problem.

“He’ll have to climb up himself,” she snorted. “Well. They always say you need to begin with the beginning—so, we should start with Lira San and the Ashla, the Bendu, and the Bogan…”

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars fanfics #prince au #miri

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thanksjro · 2 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #40 — Ratchet Runs Off After a Man

This is the issue where Ratchet gets Kaiju-ed and everyone has to adjust to their new normal of living with a giant doctor. Very touching story, love the part where he reenacts the King Kong Empire State scene with Cyclonus.

Also, I very much hope you all know that this is clearly a lie I’m telling, because lying is funny.

We get a quick montage of Ratchet’s life, as he had what was the last moment together with a few people who were very important to him, or at least as he knew them. Roller had come to his clinic before he and Orion Pax and the college kids left Rodion, to ask him to join them. Ratchet couldn’t, due to all the patients in the Dead End who depended on him. He looks as if he wants to say something, but instead just thanks Roller for dropping by. This would be the last time he saw Roller, as Roller disappeared during the events of that hot spot incident we saw during the ‘Elegant Chaos’ arc.

Later, he informed Pharma that he was leaving for Earth later that day, which I’ll go ahead and say, was a bit of a dick move to not say something sooner. Ratchet leaves in the middle of the conversation, not catching Pharma asking if he should take the assignment to Delphi that Prowl offered him. We, of course, know how that turned out for Pharma.

Later still, Ratchet drops off Hunter O’Nion off at his home, then quickly leaves, saying that he doesn’t want to keep him from settling in. Hunter is disappointed by the suddenness of his departure, but at least nothing bad will ever happen to this young man again.

Yep. Nothing bad happened to Hunter O’Nion.

He’s perfectly fine, and also alive.

Anyway, each of these scenes are labeled as being unsuccessful, though in what exactly we don’t know yet. In the present, we see the Lost Light parked on the planet of Scarvix, still recharging its quantum engines from that whole thing with Brainstorm’s time adventure. Inside, Tailgate is being a menace, having apparently stolen the Back to the Future hoverboard and riding it down the halls while also wielding a fishing pole. Swerve is busy inside Swerve’s, making a drinking glass tower while he abuses his employee. Ratchet watches this injustice happen and doesn’t say a goddamned thing.

Tailgate whips into the bar and hits the less obvious of the two targets in the room.

Ratchet was the only patron of the bar today, and it’s not just because of there being shore leave, or it being No-Fun-Allowed week. See, Swerve never planned for there to be any real competition to his bar, and now Mirage, who is likely much cooler and well-liked than Swerve, has opened his own establishment, and everybody loves it, especially after the whole “Brainstorm poisoned everyone” thing.

Swerve is extra touchy as a result, and threatens to ban Tailgate from the bar forever for the grave sin of thinking that Mirage’s “Visages” might be a good time. Tailgate ignores this, asking for a six-pack of space beer for his fishing date with Getaway. Tailgate then explains the game they’re going to be playing, which involves some inconsiderate handling of Legislator corpses, right in front of Ten.

Ten is banished to work the front door, for the grave sin of having sat down for a second. Walking to his post reveals that someone has graffitied his back.

Love how Tailgate still refuses to use Whirl’s name. And I don’t think pointing out how Dominus Ambus could have done more for Cybertronian society to make up for being such a nasty little creep to his own subordinates is a bad thing, Swerve.

Apparently Swerve isn’t the only bitch on this ship in a foul mood, as Ultra Magnus has apparently been interrogating folks about a missing datapad and demanding that Swerve treat Ten with basic decency. I would personally like for Union Magnus to put Swerve in the brig for his shitty boss crimes, but we don’t have time for that right now, because Ratchet just realized he’s late for something.

It’s the goddamned court case for Brainstorm’s time crimes.

Yes, for once we’re actually using due process, as the “Lost Light Internal Legal Affairs Committee”— L.L.I.L.A.C., like the room’s paint job— consists of Xaaron, who I’m sure is thrilled to finally be able to do something, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, and Megatron, who has apparently decided he’s not going to attend. What he could possibly be doing instead is beyond me, it’s not like he’s got any sort of social life on this fucking ship. There’s also a public gallery, made up of folks who were involved in some way in the events of the time travel nonsense. Chromedome is acting as Brainstorm’s defense, I guess because no one else wanted to.

Brainstorm immediately makes things difficult for himself, asking why Rewind wasn’t also put in prison to await trial, seeing as he’s the one who actually shot Babytron. Ultra Magnus reminds him that Rewind had a whole thing with the DJD the day before all the time travel, and that the little man was traumatized to the point where they could excuse him shooting an infant, especially since Whirl fixed that oopsie pretty quick.

Rodimus cuts in here, bringing up Brainstorm’s face plate— that’s right, the man’s basically naked for his trial— and after a little futzing around, manages to get it to show off the hidden Decepticon badge on the inside. Brainstorm is pretty cavalier about it, which seems to piss Nautica the hell off, as she storms out, leaving the wrench she squeezed out of shape behind. I’m not sure why exactly she’s so upset about this, seeing as she wasn’t even around for the war. Brainstorm then goes on to explain why exactly he’s a Decepticon.

Of course, L.L.I.L.A.C. has their doubts, considering what happened on the quantum duplicate Lost Light was caused by that Brainstorm deciding he wanted them to come get Overlord. The current Brainstorm, however, has a theory on why exactly that happened, making a bad joke as he explains that he’s actually a horrendous double agent, and needed to show the DJD that he was on the up and up, by giving them one of their most elusive List members.

Ultar Mgsuna— Rodimus has been fidgeting with the name plates this whole time— asks for any final statements. Brainstorm, deciding that shutting up isn’t on his schedule for today, decides to let everyone know that he very much doesn’t appreciate being bullied into taking the blame for something that he didn’t even personally do, quantum duplication bullshit be damned. Plus, it’s not like the DJD were exactly faultless, considering they were the ones who did the actual murder.

Perceptor, this isn’t how courtrooms work, sit down.

Magnus, after taking a moment to marvel at how out of order this court is, informs Brainstorm that a committee decision has been reached; Brainstorm can’t be held responsible for the deaths on the alternate Lost Light, for reasons Brainstorm already stated, and the fact that he’s a Decepticon can’t really be charged, as merely being a part of the faction isn’t actually a crime, and it would also mean that Ravage would have to be put in jail, and also that Megatron’s deal would have to be opened back up, which nobody really wants to deal with. However, attempted murder is still a crime, and as punishment, Brainstorm’s time machine will be destroyed, and he’ll be chaperoned in his lab at all times, as well as be forced to cease all communication with his Decepticon handler.

Brainstorm is very surprised that his actions haven’t earned him a booting off the ship, but states that the Lost Light is his home, and he’s glad to be able to stay. This moment gives Ratchet pause, as he’s taken back to the last time something like this happened, and the results of that decision.

After the trial, Magnus goes a-banging on Megatron’s door, to question him about the datapad from earlier, and also the whole “not being at the trial” thing, but that feels like more of an afterthought. Megatron says that he’s been busy, but we don’t get any resolution on what exactly he’s been up to, because it’s time to go get shitfaced.

In “Visages”, we see Getaway and Tailgate having a drink, as Tailgate regales him with his time travel escapades. Getaway decides that now would be a good time to practice his negging, as he not-so-subtly implies that Cyclonus has been talking shit behind Tailgate’s back, even telling folks about Tailgate being a crybaby bitch while he was dying of cybercrosis. Tailgate is very hurt by this, having thought he could trust Cyclonus with that sort of vulnerability. So hurt, in fact, he forgets that Cyclonus just straight up doesn’t talk to people without provocation, unless it’s Tailgate himself. Why exactly Getaway is acting like such a shitbird will be better understood later, but for now, it looks like he’s doing this to have Tailgate all to himself.

Tailgate complains of a headache as Getaway pours him another drink and swears him to secrecy on what he’s told Tailgate about Cyclonus. Ratchet walks by, not having caught this conversation, asking to borrow Tailgate’s hoverboard.

Smash cut to said hoverboard having been put in a quarantine tube, as Ratchet goes down the list of all the folks he needs to check for the super-scraplets that have apparently infested it. Though it seems like there’s a hidden motive to these checkups, as he’s only invited his friends to them. He chews Rodimus out for being inconsistent with his punishments, saying he was too hard on Drift. He reminds Nautica that Brainstorm is an M.T.O., and would have been destroyed if his plan had worked, making it a selfless act to try to make the galaxy better. He tells Rung to do his fucking job and check on Hoist, after his fucking roommate got super-murdered by an office chair, and also tells him to talk to someone himself. He tells Skids to go check on Rung. He tells Swerve to invite Megatron out, in an attempt to get some business back at his bar. He checks in on Magnus, who reveals that he doesn’t feel respected, showing off the tiny figure of Minimus Ambus he found outside his office. He’s taken it as an insulting comment on his true self.

Later, First Aid calls Ratchet out on being a weirdo who can’t talk to people without having to build up an entire false scenario first. Ratchet doesn’t really acknowledge it, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have had time to do it before Tailgate comes flying in.

Tailgate apparently got himself a new board, courtesy of Ten, who even went so far as to put a sick decal on it, of Tailgate opening a Matrix. Ratchet recognizes the art style, and decides he’s got someone else to talk to before the day is done.

Ratchet finds himself down in the boiler rooms, knocking on a vent door labeled 10. Inside is— you guessed it— Ten, who invites him to come down the vent and enter his home, which he’s decorated all by himself.

Notice how Swerve is nowhere to be fucking found on this mural.

Ten also builds models from scratch— he’d have to, I doubt Flame Toys ships to outer space— and he’s made several members of the crew by this point.

Shane McCarthy slipped Roberts a twenty to set up this slowburn between his OC and Ratchet all the way back in MTMTE #4, I’m fucking telling you.

Ratchet stops thinking about his crush long enough to realize he completely missed the Magnus-centric display off to the side. It’s got Ultra Magnus, his office, his alt mode, Minimus Ambus and his alt, and the irreducible Minimus, though no alt counterpart is present for that one. That would be spoilers~ Ten’s model of himself is over there as well. When asked if Ten likes Ultra Magnus, he acts like a giddy schoolgirl.

Ratchet also notices the missing datapad that had Magnus so angry. Turns out Ten was trying to do a little trade, having left the figure of Minimus in exchange for the datapad. Ratchet violates Magnus’s privacy by reading the contents of the datapad, finding some personal writing. Ratchet, not wanting Magnus’s frustration over having his personal effects messed with to hurt Ten, writes a little note on the datapad before he has Ten hand it back over to the rightful owner.

Later on, it would seem that Minimus is feeling more at ease, having left his Magnus armor at home as he enters Swerve’s, with Ten by his side. In the background, Skids marvels at a model of the Lost Light Rung’s put together. When they go to sit at the bar, Swerve tries to make a scene, furious that Ten would try to act like a person. When Minimus threatens to move their hangout to “Visages”, Swerve reveals that he invited Megatron to “Visages” earlier, and the poetry reading he did there emptied it out real quick. Minimus says something that implies that his datapad contains his attempts at poetry, and in turn, self-understanding.

We get a full reading of Ratchet’s message to Magnus, as scenes of reconciliation, relationships built on lies, stagnation, destruction of a life’s work, and theft for unknown purposes play out.

Well that’s not ominous at all.

When First Aid enters Ratchet’s room, he finds only a phone, to be used if the new CMO should need him. Ratchet, having finally decided that he needs to be the one to finally right the wrongs of the past, has left the Lost Light, setting out with his custom model of Drift, to find the real deal and bring him home.

Shane McCarthy just keeps fucking winning.

#transformers #MTMTE #issue 40 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #text post #long post #comic script writing

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alexblakeisgay · 8 months

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Between the Blues and the Pinks (Ch. 3)

Ship: Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss

Summary: The Baby Blues: The temporary feelings of sadness following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Depression. The Baby Pinks: The mild mania experienced following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Euphoria.

Warnings: Mental health issues, postpartum mood disorders.

Word Count: 1044

"I'd like you to try something for me," Tara said towards the end of their session that week.

Alex did her best not to pull a face, knowing that Tara's homework assignments were never something she actually wanted to do...though she always did them regardless.

If Tara noted the momentary flicker of annoyance, she didn't comment on it, for which Alex was thankful. "There's a support group that meets weekly for parents of Down's Syndrome children. I'd like for you and Emily to attend a session. You can meet some of the children and speak with their parents. I think it will help you to see just how normal life with a special needs child can be."

Alex was visibly unconvinced – even outright alarmed – by this suggestion.

"I know it sounds, perhaps, premature," Tara assured her, "But I truly believe that this will help lessen your tendency to catastrophize the situation. Or, conversely, maybe you'll make some connections that will help you should the worst case scenario come to pass."

Of all the things Tara had suggested, this was the one that Alex wanted to do the least. But she also trusted her as a therapist and knew that she truly wanted to see her get past her fears and enjoy having a new baby. So, she'd reluctantly do it, in spite of her hesitations.

________

"I'm proud of you, Alex," Emily murmured, offering her a soft smile as they pulled up outside the community centre. She knew Alex hated those words, but she also needed her to know just how much she admired her strength and courage, especially of late.

Alex gave her a tight smile back, but couldn't seem to muster any words. Whether because she was too anxious to say anything or simply didn't know what to say, neither of them could've said.

Emily turned off the engine, then simply sat there, waiting for Alex to make the first move to exit the car. Only, she didn't. For a few moments, it seemed like maybe she couldn't. Finally, Emily whispered, "We don't have to do this..."

"No," she insisted, "I do. I want to. I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. She still didn't have the words. She did, however, find her courage, shaking hand reaching for the door handle.

They made it as far as the door to the community centre before said courage seemed to fail her and she stalled on the steps, face going white. Emily reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder comfortingly, offering a soft smile.

Before either of them could say anything, a voice spoke up from behind them, asking, "First timers?" They both whirled around, startled, to find a young couple with a young boy toddling alongside them. The husband offered them a reassuring smile.

Emily glanced at Alex and quickly realized that she wasn't going to be able to respond. "Oh, umm...yeah," she stammered. "It's a long story."

The man nodded with understanding, even though she'd explained nothing. "I'm Matt, this is Kristy. And this little monkey is Luca." The toddler wandered away from his parents towards Alex, proceeding to make grabbing motions in a request to be picked up.

"He's very social," Matt explained, "He doesn't really understand the concept of stranger danger yet – we're working on that."

Alex smiled down at the child and asked him, "Can I pick you up?" Matt seemed about to tell her something, but was saved having to when Alex signed to the boy, "Up?"

He nodded eagerly.

"Wow..." Matt said, sharing a knowing look with Kristy.

________

Matt and Emily stood on the edge of the room, sipping coffee and watching Kristy and Alex play with Luca. "She's a natural," he remarked.

Emily nodded, soft smile on her lips. "I've always known she would be – she's the only one who doesn't see it."

"Sometimes we're our own worst critics," Matt agreed. "Kristy was the same way when we found out about Luca's diagnosis. But once he was here, she figured it out right away."

"I don't think the problem is so much whether she'll figure out how to be a mother to a special needs baby, but whether she'll be able to forgive herself if it happens." She sighed heavily. "She's already having such a hard time."

Matt made a sympathetic noise. "It does get easier," he vowed. "You never understand why, but you stop asking the question."

She nodded slowly, gaze vacant. "She already struggles so much, I fear that a diagnosis would just be too much for her to handle."

"When something like this happens, you find strength you didn't know you had," Matt assured her.

________

Luca babbled to himself as he drove a toy car up and down Alex's arm. He'd spent the last twenty minutes sitting in her lap and chatting happily, as if Alex were his new best friend.

"He really seems taken with you," Kristy remarked. "He's normally very chatty, but he prefers to play by himself."

"Is that normal?" Alex asked, smiling down at the boy, mussing his hair tenderly.

Kristy smiled as she watched the two interact. "'Normal' isn't really a helpful word with Down's Syndrome, but a lot of Down's children are very sociable early on." She watched Alex for a moment, then asked, "Do you know for sure yet?"

She shook her head. "We're still waiting on the amnio results."

"Do you want my advice?" Kristy asked. When Alex nodded, she continued, "At the end of the day, that baby will always be your child. Regardless of any diagnosis it may or may not have, you'll still love that baby."

Alex nodded slowly, obviously struggling internally.

"The blame you feel for yourself will go away with time," she added.

Alex didn't seem convinced.

Kristy clearly understood that. "Listen...if you ever want to talk about this – or anything – you can call me, okay?" She offered an encouraging smile. "You'll need a friend, regardless of what that test says."

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #alex blake #fanfiction #mine #alex blake/emily prentiss

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kinglyisms-archived · 1 year

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𝙏𝙊𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙍𝙊 𝙆𝙊𝘽𝘼𝙔𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙄 𝘼𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙋𝘼𝘾𝙆 𝘼𝙇𝙋𝙃𝘼 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝙑𝙊𝙄𝘾𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝙊𝙊𝘿𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎

origin: Abarith gender: Male age: 20 height: 5′8 Birthday: December 25th Sexuality: Believes in true mates Eye color: Green Hair color: Black with silver highlights Scars: Several on his arms and legs with a few on his chest from fighting with the other wolves. Gift: Born Werewolf

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

Toshiro always likes to have an impact on his immediate surroundings – and the best way to spot him at a party is to look for the whirling of people flitting about him as he moves from group to group. Laughing and entertaining with a blunt and earthy humor, he loves to be the center of attention. He’s incredibly cheerful and tends to draw people to him from his outgoingness, and loves to try and push people to do new things.

He's a very practical thinker, believing in action above all else. He'll throw himself headfirst at a problem before thinking it through however, a trait of a Werewolf. Toshiro keeps conversation energetic, with a good dose of intelligence, but he likes to talk about what he can do – or better yet, just go out and do it so long as it benefits his pack. Toshiro leaps before he looks, fixing his mistakes as he goes, rather than sitting idle and worrying about them as they are.

ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Toshiro was born from the last Alpha of the pack and an unknown woman, the older people in the pack have told him his mother was a passing omega woman who had an affair with his father before leaving after he was born. He doesn’t let it bother him to much, preferring to focus on the family he does have and grew up with who cherished and guided him. Including his father who taught him how to hunt and lead the pack through the forest that was florishing because of the new King. The forest, as he was taught, was a treasure that needed to be protected from both hunters and wood thieves.

Before the forest preservation treaty was created by Hiroki, the Werewolves were scattered across the entire city, the pack torn and separated by their lack of ability to be near each other. With so much pent up energy and no room to turn and run, wolves tended to walk the streets causing accidents and hurting the people who didn’t know any better.

When Hiroki became King and did finally make the forest treaty and the Werewolves got the permission to settle out there once more, Toshiro was thirteen years old. The Wolves were given the responsibility of protecting the forest, in exchange for living out there, to guard it from those who wished to cause it harm. It was a nature preserve that Hiroki didn’t want hurt because it was the only source of green the Abarith Kingdom had, which the Wolves were quick to agree with.

When Toshiro turned Eighteen his father passed away from a disease and the control of the Wolves turned to him. Like his father he resigned the contract to protect the forest and took new measures to guard and guide the entire pack from those who would harm them in order to get to the forest. He assigned a few of the older Wolves to patrol the border of the forest and put the younger Wolves on a tighter schedule for hunting training.

Toshiro had to fight to earn respect from the pack. Having taken the reigns so young he was often looked down upon by the older pack members. Those that tried to take the title of Alpha from him came quickly after his father's death and he put each one in their place. Toshiro is young, but he's strong and he's determined to prove that he can be the Alpha, regardless of how he appears.

Toshiro isn’t the best leader, he is well aware of that and the fact that he needs to grow. He is trying his best and though the pack is very understanding a few of them still do give him hard times. Despite the work he's put in the pack doesn’t completely respect him like they did his father and while it hurts—when he does need to be in control everyone turns to him for answers. It’s a learning experience.

Toshiro put’s his pack first before everything else.

#♚ — resident; toshiro kobayashi.#♚ — ﹝ꜰᴀᴄᴛꜱ﹞; toshiro.

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mayhemandtrouble · 1 year

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Not Giving Up - A Reylo fic

(This chapter is SFW. More chapters, including NSFW on Ao3 w/more in depth tags) When the door to the Falcon shut, they’d thought it was over. Snoke was dead, and the connection he’d forced between them ended with him. It was lies, all of it. And in the chaos after the battle there was no time to mourn what could have been.

Kylo Ren - self appointed Supreme Leader of the First Order - had his troops to gather. Wounds to lick at his failure to destroy so small a force. Rey had introductions to make. Meeting Poe for the first time. Meeting most of the Resistance for the first time! She’d offered the ship to Leia again of course. It was hers by all rights now but once more Leia simply smiled and spoke with quiet wisdom gained through years of pain.

“He’d want someone like you to have it.” In truth, he’d have wanted Ben to have it. But the son they’d known was dead. Even Leia Organa Solo could not hold out hope forever. Without Ben, the Falcon would fly best with Rey and Chewie in the cockpit.

And thus it was in the master “suite”, if the term could be applied, that Rey laid down that night. She’d had more than a few drinks with the Resistance, both celebrating and mourning all at once. The hum of the engines acting as a lullaby like no other and outside she could hear carousing. The Millennium Falcon was more active tonight than it had been in years, decades perhaps.

Friends. No. Better - Family.

Kicking off her boots, her body stretched out in a perfect arch, breasts pointing up towards the ceiling. Then letting herself fall back on the mattress. It needed to be replaced but considering what she was used to, it was quite comfortable. Green eyes closed, a little smile on her face to hear a drunken shout outside. The loss of Ben was a bitter defeat but she’d saved the Resistance. There was something to be said for that.

Aboard the command ship, Kylo was furious. He’d lost in every regard that seemed important. The Resistance was alive. Escaping on a ship that symbolized everything he hated. Rey had turned from him. Disgusted by his darkness. Just like his Uncle. Like his parents. Hux stared at him, with that contemptuous sneer - snide remarks held in check only by the threat of the Force closing around his neck.

“Clear out my chambers.” He snarled to Hux, who started to protest being assigned such a menial command as removing Snoke’s effects from the rooms. Thinking better of it as he saw Kylo’s hand start to twitch. Besides, he could pawn the task off quickly.

It was rage that motivated him. The dark haired heir of darkness issuing furious commands. He could not track the Falcon and the First Order had already lost the Resistance. How. How had he failed. Even seeing his throne, freshly warmed by the death of his Master, brought no consolation. The prize he wanted was beyond his reach.

A howl of rage, he used the Force to send a guard flying across the room. The woman was protected by her armor and quickly stumbled back into place. Kylo only stalked towards his new bedroom once informed by Hux things were finally ready.

“Took you long enough.”

“We wanted to ensure it met your specifications, Supreme Leader Ren.” And though his words were deferential, Kylo could hear the insults in them.

“Don’t speak to me like a child.” Kylo whirled, his black robes swirling around his frame.

“My mistake, Supreme Leader.” Hux bowed his head slightly but there was still that tone of superiority. Kylo wanted to throw the man out into space, watch as frost covered his face and his eyes opened in panic.

“Go.”

If it was possible to slam the automatic door, he would have. Instead hitting the button that locked it as hard as possible. Stripping in fury, each article of clothing hitting the ground like a blow against the day. When Rey had appeared he’d been so sure. So confident that she would be by his side now. Someone to share in his pain, to understand. The sight of the large bed, made with fresh black silken sheets only drove home the point that he would be in it alone. Every connection he’d shared with her had been a lie. Engineered by Snoke to twist his heart. Well, Snoke succeeded and now he was dead. There was no regret on that count.

Each boot hurled against the wall with a snarl. Falling back against the bed, his brown eyes closing in. Laying there, just his black leather pants and only in that moment letting himself feel the pain. Tears pricked at his eyes as his fingers slid through his dark hair. This was why he had to cling to darkness, forget the love the light could bring. It was a love and comfort he was not destined to have.

Stray moisture slipped down his cheek. Hating himself for it. Sucking in a ragged breath and rubbing his left hand over his features to wipe the mess away. He had to find the Falcon, try to predict where Mother would lead them next. Why had he taken his hand off the trigger? More importantly, why hadn’t he told the others she was still alive?

It was in the midst of his self doubt that he became aware of the sound of breathing next to him. Soft and regular. Gentle. A little snore. And that soothing presence. He knew it without having to look.

How.

It was Ben Solo that turned his head. The sight that greeted him both broke his heart and sent it soaring. Rey. Asleep, surely on the Falcon truly, but appearing as though in his own bed for the moment. Her head buried into the pillow and still fully dressed, save missing her boots. Tired and bruised from the fight with Snoke, the guards and then him. Her hair a mess. She was beautiful. He rose slightly, reaching his hand out to brush some of her brown hair off her face.

It was the sensation of unexpected touch that woke her. A scavenger who had to be ready to wake at the slightest threat, she rarely slept deeply. Though Ben’s touch had been featherlight, her eyes still snapped open. Despite being in the Falcon, she could see him beside her. Barely dressed. Laying beside her as a lover, his hand over her cheek. Eyes wide and Ben could see what was about to happen without using the Force.

“Don’t-” Trying to stop her but…

She screamed, her voice cutting through the cabin. Flailing backwards, falling out of the bed and onto her back. Her hand outstretched and a blaster flew into her hand. A bolt hissing out and into the side of the bedroom, passing through Ben harmlessly.

“I’m not really there, Rey. You can’t hurt me.” A smirk in his voice, amused.

“Rey! Rey!” Sudden slams of fists against the door from the outside, Finn’s voice. Then Poe’s.

“Hey! You all right in there? We heard a blaster. Rey, open up!”

“I’m fine… Just…. A bad dream.” She called back, slowly lowering the blaster. Drawing herself upwards. Fussing at Ben and shaking her head as though she could clear herself of drink and the vision of Ben. “You… stay there.”

“Rey!” Finn was insistent, demanding to know that she was all right with his own eyes. A soft sigh and she moved to the door. Opening it just enough to show her face while shaking her hair loose and attempting to pretend all was well. “We heard a blaster.”

“Finn, I’m fine. Really. I had a bad dream and reached for the blaster too fast.” Smiling in spite of herself at the sight of the two friends. They’d both had a bit too much to drink and were leaning onto each other. Closer than needed. They were adorable, but she had enough on her hands for the moment.

“Just needed to make sure.” Poe smiled a bit, his warm eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I appreciate it but I’m going to go back to bed now.”

Poe started to move towards the door, perhaps hoping to flirt a little but she quickly closed and locked the door. Exhaling slowly before turning around and hoping that Ben would be gone.

No such luck.

“This isn’t possible. Snoke said-”

“Snoke was lying. We know that now.” Ben cut her off, watching how Rey stalked across the room. How her brown hair shifted about her shoulders, wondering how it would feel to touch. “This is something else.”

“So what is it?” Seeing him now, knowing how he’d turned away from her… She wanted to scream. To hurl whatever was at hand at him. How could he. He had everything within his grasp. A family who loved him. Who still loved him. She’d… she’d… cared. And he… He’d turned his back on all of it.

“I don’t know. Come back to bed.”

“You’re joking.” Upper lip lifting in a quiet snarl, Rey turned her back to him. A tactical error on her part for soon the man had slipped across the room and was standing behind her. He wasn’t there yet she swore she could feel his breath stirring her hair and against the back of her neck.

“Never.”

When she turned, full of rage… he was gone.

How had the connection been severed? How had it been created? Too many questions, not enough answers and her mind was swimming. Tossing the blaster onto the bed before landing beside it.

“I’ll kill him.” Muttering crossly.

Across the galaxy, Ben ran his hand through his hair again. Cursing himself for waking her yet she’d been too irresistible. He’d been desperate to touch, just the faintest caress. He didn’t even know how touch truly worked in this unknown territory. Stripping down to smallclothes, he eased back into the bed. There was an odd comfort in knowing that the connection still existed.

“I’ve been on that ship. I know it’s hardly comfortable.”

The voice behind her was irritatingly familiar. The connections seemed to have no rhyme or reason behind their timing, save that it happened every few days. And it had been a week. Thankfully usually when they were alone. Whatever was connecting them seemed to prefer when it was only the two, perhaps easier to bridge the gap that way.

“I’ve slept in wrecked ships in the desert. This is a paradise.” Her snapped response, green eyes intent on her image in the mirror as she ran the brush through her brown strands. Rey couldn’t see him in the mirror but she didn’t need to. His intense eyes were burned into her soul.

“I could give you so much more.”

He was temptation incarnate. The Falcon was full of warm faces but his was the one who worked into her dreams. Her nostrils flared.

“I’m worthless, remember?” Spitting out the words and Ben cringed mentally. To say that he wasn’t good with women was an understatement. Father was probably laughing at him in the grave.

“Not to me.” He spoke, reminding her of what had followed. “Never to me.”

Slamming the brush down, she whirled around. Looking up at him, her features had to tilt up to meet his gaze.

“I wanted you to come with me, Ben.”

“I can’t do that. We’ve already discussed this. I’m a monster, remember?” His tone venom at the end, brown eyes flashing and it was her turn for regret.

“You don’t have to be. Neither of us have to be what we were.” It was Rey’s tone that softened and Ben turned his face away. His lips pursed for a moment.

“Maybe.” But when he looked back she was gone and he was alone in his quarters. Had she heard him? Probably for the best that she hadn’t. Every day, the First Order continued the search for the Resistance. If anyone knew that he was in regular contact with Rey, they would demand to know why he wasn’t interrogating her. Well, as much as one dares to demand things from Supreme Leader Ren.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo smut

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capo-cedes · 1 year

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Strike

Involved: Mercedes D’onofrio, Nicholas D’onofrio, and Freddie D’Angelo Location: -; New York City, New York Time Frame:- Notes: After Freddie probe Mercedes for her secret plan, he goes to see Nicholas to enlighten him on it.

Freddie walked into the dimly lit room and he took a look around. It was pitiful to see what she’d reduced herself to. She once lived in what other people would call a palace but now, she wallowed in a hide out that wasn’t really fit for a queen at all. It was like she was inflicting torture on herself. “I hear you are on a hunger strike…” he breathed, moving to position himself with his back against the wall.

Mercedes looked up at Freddie for a moment before she looked back out the window.

“You know that isn’t really good in your state” he said reasonably. “They say you haven’t eaten since Friday…” he sighed to himself.

“My state” Mercedes repeated a chuckle leaving her. She blinked slowly shifting against the bench beneath her. He mentioned pregnancy as if it were some disease or a curse, though as she thought about it. That is what it was starting to feel like. Another attachment to the individual she wanted to detach from. It was ironic to say the least. “I am not on strike” she told him.

“Well good, because I asked them to make you something good. And I’m going to watch you eat it..” Freddie said. The last couple days had been uneasy ones to navigate through. Some days he thought he knew what was whirling in her head the others he had no clue. He knew she was scheming up something awful in the wake of Michael’s absence but he hadn’t been able to discover it yet.

Mercedes would tell him she wouldn’t eat but it was no use in fighting Freddie. She didn’t care to, care to fight or talk. She simply wanted to be left alone.

“Al is persistent in locating you. He has summoned me twice. Don’t make me go back a third time, He might turn the gun on me then” Freddie added, filling the void of silence in the room.

Mercedes watched the rain drops fall against the glass. New York had been so dreary the last couple of days. “Freddie, leave me alone..” she told him. She didn’t care about anyone, except for Michael of course. “If it’s not about Michael I don’t care to hear it…”

“Michael is in safe hands Tiny” Freddie said, trying to both sympathize with her and rationalize with her his thoughts on the current issue.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she asked him her head whipping in his direction. “I’m the safest place for him to fucking be” she snapped, eyes gazing into his. “It’s so amazing to see you become best friends with a man you told me I didn’t need to be with,” Mercedes said bitterly. “All of a sudden your loyalty lies with the enemy…” she said, rising from her seated position. “I should fucking kill you.”

“My loyalty lies with you and no one else. It has for years” Freddie told her, his body still resting against the wall. The mention of his death left him unmoved, if there was anything he knew was that one day he’d die by her hands or die defending her honor there was no inbetween. Licking his lips he countered “I care about you just as much as Nicholas does, he loves you. Maybe I was wrong to judge, but I am at your beckon call…”

Mercedes chuckled again, “if there is one thing I know for sure it’s that you nor anyone else around me gives a fuck about me” she told him.

Freddie cleared his throat and he pushed off the wall. “Tell me how I can help you then,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing” Mercedes said as she crossed the room and sat down on a couch.

“I don’t believe that Tiny, tell me the truth…” Freddie inquired. “What are your plans…” he said. It had gotten back to him some time ago that she was maneuvering behind his back. Assigning people to tasks that he’d normally handle.

“I don’t have one…” she said gazing at him with a straight face from across the room.

“I don’t believe that either. I know you, I know how you operate” Freddie said back to her.

Mercedes turned her head, her hand rubbing her tired eyes. “Then you should already know what my plan is…”

_____________________

Freddie sat outside of the building hesitantly. He feared Nicholas just as much as he feared Al and Mercedes. He didn’t know what the man would think about him showing up, what if Nicholas thought this was an ambush and killed him. What would you have gone through all this trouble for, to accomplish what? The better question is why did he care? He sighed to himself, he guessed he’d gotten attached to his work, something he vowed never to do. He was just supposed to protect Mercedes, but he guessed in a way protecting her was also protecting the family. “Hey give me 30 minutes and if you hear anything pop off don’t leave me here to die man” he said before he climbed out of the car. He made his way to the entrance and he alerted everyone inside of his presence with a single press of a button.

Nicholas' frosted stare held the two men sitting across the desk from him firmly in place. “You know Bernice isn’t going to leave. No matter the danger, but listen… We are doing our best.” His brother said, licking his lips slowly. “I didn’t ask you to tell me shit I already know-” Nicholas quieted and looked towards the camera feed, just over the men’s heads. His face stoned over even further. “What's wrong?” His brother asked, marking the change. “You're dismissed.” Nicholas said, scanning the other camera feeds. “Go out the back way and do a search of the block. If you find anything out of the ordinary you know what to do.” He rose from his seat as the doorbell alerted the staff. “Go” He said sternly, pushing the call button on the phone, “Bring Freddie directly to me.” He ordered as the two men scampered from the room.

Freddie held his breath as he waited, he was practically a sitting duck. He knew Nicholas didn’t really care for him on top of everything else he’d been exposed to. He took a deep breath before the door flew open and before he could speak he was told Nicholas was waiting for him. He nodded his head and hesitated to move before he stepped inside. Gun on his hip he zipped his jacket up hiding it from plain sight. He was escorted to the man and when he was presented with Nicholas he lifted his hands up defensively. “This is a personal visit!” he exclaimed immediately “I wasn’t sent here by anyone, and I’d really appreciate it if you kept this between us, please” he begged sincerely, concern written across his face.

Nicholas eased himself back into his chair and instinctively, placed his hand on the trigger of the sawed off under his desk. It was beyond Red to send Freddie here to end him. A sad but very true reality. He raised an eyebrow as the man entered the office. “Hand over your guns. And if I like what you say, I’ll let you leave.” That was most likely a lie. But he owed Freddie a show of good faith. He liked the man after all.

Freddie dropped his hands at his sides, he unzipped his jacket and pulled the gun off his hip handing it over to Nicholas. “That’s all that I have” he told him, being completely honest. At the mama words Freddie had to swallow down his pride, he was here to help him and he was threatening to kill him? He was starting to remember exactly why he never got in the middle of her affairs. He was starting to hate himself for even coming to him in the first place. “I came here to try to be a help.”

Nicholas removed his hand from the trigger of the shotgun and relaxed leaning back in his chair.. What game was Red playing? He nodded towards the chair across his desk, letting a bit of his weariness show on his face. Another person who wanted to help, Bernice, Rebecca and now Freddie. He was tired of people trying to tell him what to do. He knew his wife didn’t care about him. At least his head knew that. Unfortunately, he was have a hell of a time convincing his fucking heart it was true. “Is that so? And Tiny doesn’t know you here… I find that hard to believe Freddie.”

Freddie dropped down in the chair when he was commanded to do so. Once there in the chair he dropped his head down into his hands gathering his thoughts before he spoke. He shook his head and leaned up “I am a dead man walking but this is bigger than me, it’s bigger than some divorce papers too” he said to him seriously. He chuckled slightly looking past Nicholas before he dropped his head again. “I used to be able to offer her sensible advice,” he told him, eyes fixed on the man's desk. “I’ve known Tiny for a long time, a very long time…” he trailed off. “I ain’t never seen her like this Nicholas” he said looking back up at him. “This shit is serious… in her fucked up mind” he said pointing to his head. “You have waged war with her.”

As Nicholas watched Freddie, his instinct told him the man wasn’t pretending. Or if he was pretending he was one hell of an actor. He leaned forward, hanging on the morsel the man was dowling out. Nicholas shook his head, “That is crazy. Red has been calling all the shots. How the hell am I waging war on her? She wants me to give her Michael, right?”

“You denied her Michael Nicholas” Freddie said looking at the man confused, you had to have common sense enough to know what that would cause. “That doesn’t matter anymore Nicholas, that is what I am trying to tell you” he stressed “it’s beyond that” he breathed. “She put a bounty out on you, she doesn’t know that I know, but the streets came to me” he told him. “I can’t get her to talk, she hasn’t told me one thing since we left here without Michael, but I know her mind is turning” he said gesturing the action with his finger. “And you have to know it’s not just you, everyone you know we lay at her feet or she is going to die trying. She won’t talk, she won’t eat, she won’t do anything - she isn’t going to until Michael is in her hands but I don’t think it’s going to stop then” he spoke. “Tiny…” he pinched the bridge of his nose debating telling the man this next part. “You” he started again, “here” he said, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat and sitting on his desk. “She will be at this location, on this day, at this time” he said pointing to the piece of paper. He couldn’t tell the man she was pregnant, but he could help him intercept a doctor’s appointment, that’s if he went who would know. “You could get her off the ledge, despite…”

He had known… Or rather he had suspected. The plain truth of it was sort of a relief. He let out a sad chuckle, at least this was something he was prepared for. “Predictability is a thing where Tiny is concerned. I was trying to protect her and my son. And once that failed, I had to protect the one who couldn’t protect himself. Fuck.” He cursed, rising to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest, he wanted to kill someone. He frowned down at the slip of paper, a time and address scribbled across it. He lifted the paper from the desk and looked at the man. “When you met me, you would have preferred me dead. What changed?”

Freddie rubbed his hands together nervously, his elbows resting on his knees. Red was going to kill him for this shit, he just hoped it was worth it in the end. “She is going to fucking kill me” he breathed tiredly. “Because” he started his confession “I am always with her right?” he asked. “Which means I witnessed the tears when she felt abandoned, when you didn’t show up, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of Michael, or not good enough for you, not pretty enough…. She loves you Nicholas. She’s cried an ocean of tears over you, I didn’t even know she could feel until she met you” he said shaking his head slowly. “She’s bitter…. But killing you would be like killing half of herself.”

Nicholas stared into the man’s eyes. He nodded at Freddie’s question. The man wouldn’t leave Red’s side. Not even when he had asked him to. He was completely loyal to the woman. Nicholas couldn’t help but avert his eyes as Freddie laid out his supposed crimes. After Michael's birth he’d felt guilty for not being there in the beginning, but he’d tried to make up for it by not missing a moment with his son now. The rest of Frieddy’s statements were, however, untrue. Nevertheless, the word drained Nicholas of everything. He crushed the paper in his flist, and took a piece of paper from his desk. Writing an address on the paper, he slid it over to Freddie. Falling back into the chair, as if all his bones had melted away, he looked down at this lap for a long moment before he spoke. “That is a safe house for your family. It was for my mother but I’ll never get Bernice to leave New York. You’re a good man Freddy. Better than any of us deserve. I don’t believe Red would ever kill you. But just in case…” He sighed, “I wish I knew how the hell to love Red. I’ll think about going. Thank you.”

He watched the man crush that paper up silently, when he slid him one he looked down at it. “Thanks” Freddie said sadly after the man spoke “I don’t know” he said speaking on his possible death. He could have commented on his statement but he chose not to, it wouldn’t matter in the end because he wasn’t Red. He couldn’t speak for what she wanted but he had a good idea of it. Rather he went or not, his days were numbered “at least with my dying breath I could say I tried” he chuckled mournfully. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner, I thought I could handle it on my own-” he paused feeling his phone buzz and he pulled it out of his pocket and looked down at it. “I gotta go” he said hurriedly, he hopped up from his seat and grabbed the piece of paper. “She’s leaving the safehouse, I gotta go” he said, having added a track device on the vehicle she’d been driving around in lately. “Fuck” he said as he quickly left the man’s office, he rushed to the front door and out of it without a second glance. Freddie ran towards the truck he climbed out of and yanked the door open “drive, go” he said man, you floored it just as Freddie hopped in and shut the door.

#thread.#thread: strike #samcedes rp

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mom-dont-like-it · 1 year

Text

A Friend. Happy Valentine's Day!

"Boring," Mina sighed sadly. She stretched her legs. The girls were sitting in Yaoyorozu's room. They had come to finish their group work. "And hot."

It had been one of those very hot days. The students were studying hard because there wasn't much time before the exams. Jiro, Yayorozu, Mina and Midoriya decided to get together to finish their assignment. But they didn't think that in this hot weather, the last thing they wanted to think about was studying.

"If you have nothing better to do, we can continue our work," Izuku said. She did not take a break from her notebook. She had received a message about three minutes ago. She was writing something.

"Boring!" Mina had a look at her friend. "Hey Midoriya, what kind of writing is that? I thought you'd decided to rest."

"We didn't, you did." Jirou corrected and came into the room. "I've got something to drink."

"Finally!" Mina breathed out as she took a bottle of cold soda. "Ah, it feels good."

"This fan is useless," Midoriya grumbled. She wiped her hands so as not to spoil her notebook.

A strong gust of wind picked up the light curtains. It sent them flying across the room. Jirou jumped up to them and held them in place so that they would no longer be in the way. Yaoyorozu came out of the bathroom at the same time. She was holding some colourful fans.

"I thought it might help us," Momo smiled. The girls squealed with delight. They grabbed the fans that were meant for them.

"How sweet you are, Yaomomo!" cried Ashido, throwing herself into her friend's arms. "How sweet..., so cute. You don't mind if I keep it. Do you?"

"Of course you do." Momo replied with a smile. "I have made it especially for you."

"Thank you, Yaoyorozu-san." Midoriya thanked her and took the fan from her hands. "These are beautiful. "

"Oh, come on." Yaoyorozu mumbled shyly. "Thanks a lot."

"Still, what are you writing there?" asked Mina, taking a sip. She bent over and had a look at the notebook. "It's that notebook you always carry with you. Isn't it?"

Midoriya smiled warmly. She flicked through the slightly rough pages, which were completely scribbled in her own handwriting. Small sketches of heroic costumes and even the occasional quirk could be traced here and there. The notebook was only half filled, though it had been kept for several years.

Midoriya looked at the outstretched hand in curiosity. She handed the notebook to Mina. The girl leafed through the pages. Only at the end did she find something interesting.

"Oh, what's that?" Mina asked, pointing to the small inscription at the very end of the book. The handwriting was familiar to her. She smiled mischievously and waited for an answer. "Letter to love?"

"What do you mean?" Midoriya asked as she picked up the notebook. To her surprise, she actually noticed a short sentence that had been written in a hurry. "That's the first time I've seen it. "

"What is it?" Yayorozu asked, sitting closer. Jiro followed behind her as well. "Sorry?"

"Do you have any idea who might have been the writer? "Mina asked with the same slyness in her voice. She couldn't hold back a smile.

"But it can't be him." Midoriya muttered. "It can't be him, right?"

Memories whirled through Izuku's mind. Cruel words spoken in the heat of the moment, burned pages and looks of guilt. Were they spoken back then? Especially those which were so desirable.

***

Back in high school, it happened on the 14th of February. Mitsuki decided to invite Midoriya's family for dinner.

"While she was cooking in the kitchen, Bakugou called out, "Hey, Katsuki! "Get over here right away!"

There was a knock on the door from the first floor. Loud footsteps could be heard.

"Stop stomping! It's getting on my nerves!"

"What do you want?" Bakugou asked reluctantly.

"Inko is going to be here soon. Did you get the chocolate ready for Izuku?"

"Why?" muttered Katsuki and picked up a knife. He stood next to her and helped his mother cut the food.

"What do you mean, why?" shouted Mitsuki, waving her arms in the air. She had a moment's thought and then another: "Okay, you won't have time to cook. They'll be here any minute. Then go and run to the nearest shop and get yourself some chocolate as a present for them."

Since Bakugou resisted and Mitsuki was adamant, he went out the door to the nearest shop that might have what he needed. After passing a few counters, Katsuki heard a familiar voice.

"Have you decided, dear?"

"Not yet, Mum. Please wait a little more."

Bakugou came closer. He stopped a few centimetres away from the girl. Choosing between several boxes, Midoriya crouched down. Bakugou looked around the shelves. When he had chosen a suitable one, he tapped Midoriya's head lightly with the box.

"That's better," he said. He chuckled inwardly when Midoriya jumped in surprise.

"Kacchan?" Midoriya called out as she got to her feet. "You are here! Oh, I had a mind to... Never mind.

"Do you need anything? Just let me know before I change my mind. "

"Midoriya mumbled, "Ah, you don't have to.

Bakugou mumbled something reluctantly. He picked up one of the boxes Izuku was looking at.

"Oh, Katsuki?", Inko exclaimed at the sight of her friend's son in the shop. - I didn't think: We'll see you here. Well, then we'll have a walk together.

Surprisingly, this day had begun quietly, despite the fact that the relationship between Midoriya and Bakugou had remained strained lately. However, this remained the case until a certain point.

"Speaking of studying: Izuku, have you decided where you're going next?"

There was a moment of silence at the table. Midoriya looked away. Inko looked nervously at her daughter. She wanted to change the subject, but Izuku spoke first.

"Me," Midoriya started, but Katsuki's gaze was a source of hesitation. "I don't have my mind made up yet."

"I know it's complicated enough, but don't prolong it. Otherwise, it might be too late later."

After they had finished eating, Mitsuki suggested that Izuku go upstairs to Bakugou and talk while they stayed in the Dining Room.

"I told you to forget it," Katsuki said. She looked him in the eyes. "It's just stupid."

Midoriya clutched the notebook to her chest and muttered under her breath: "This is my dream, stupid or not. I have to have a go at it anyway."

Bakugou exhaled angrily, barely holding himself back, but when he saw Midoriya's brave look, he couldn't stand it any longer. The katsuki grabbed the notebook and blew it up.

"This is not your future," Bakugou roared. He went over to the window and held out a hand with the notebook.

"Wait!"

"Do you want to die?" shouted Katsuki and with a single movement, she threw the notebook out of the window.

"No!" Izuku cried pitifully. She ran up and looked outside. "Why?"

She scrambled out of the room, telling her mother in her last words that she'd be the first to come home, and rushed outside. It was not long before she was in search of the notebook. It was lying on the floor right under the window of the room. Looking up, Midoriya stumbled upon the curtained window. The light was out.

A month passed in silence. Nearly all the records were hopelessly corrupted, but Midoriya's memory was good enough to start restoring them. Time passed without her noticing. The beginning of spring had not been felt by Izuku at all.

The 14th of March fell on a day off. So Midoriya sat in her room and finished her homework. She hadn't planned to go out, so she wasn't expecting anyone. A knock at the door seemed odd. Inko was in the shop and wouldn't be back for an hour or so. Izuku went to the door to see who might have come to see them.

As he approached the door, Midoriya opened it slightly. But when she noticed the familiar clothes, she opened it in surprise.

"Kacchan? What are you doing in here?"

Instead of answering, the boy held out a small package. Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the stairs leading downstairs. Midoriya followed him until he was completely out of sight. Then she closed the door. Izuku hadn't expected a gift in return, even though it was a white day. Only then did the girl dare to open the package after she had gone to her room. The small rectangular object was wrapped in bright paper. In spite of the simple wrapping, it was obvious that it was a very elaborate package. Izuku unfolded the pleasantly crispy wrapping and pulled out a bulky notebook. It looked similar to the one Katsuki had ruined a month ago. Would you call that apologising?

Midoriya knew that it was really an apology only now, after all this time. For some reason, Katsuki had chosen to write the short word "sorry" at the very end, so Midoriya didn't see it right away.

With a sharp movement, Izuku jumped up and startled her friends. She ran out of the room and made her way a little bit further down the corridor towards herself. It took a couple of minutes and she found a box of spicy chocolates in her cupboard, a little bit wrinkled. Today was the 14th of February and Midoriya had bought a package for Bakugou out of habit, but had changed her mind. But now she was sure that the present had to be given, when she saw the inscription with the apology.

Approaching her friend's room, Midoriya went downstairs to the boys' wing.

"It's for you!" when the door opened, an embarrassment that came out of nowhere made Midoriya blush and she held the box in front of the boy. Noticing Bakugou's perplexed expression, she looked up shyly. "I... the writing... isn't it?"

Izuku couldn't string a few words together. So she just handed over the box silently and walked away.

"Yeah," Bakugou said and accepted the box.

"It's a friendly chocolate, don't you think."

"Yeah."

#bnha au #fanfic #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x midoriya #bnha #bakudeku #katsudeku

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