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notmyneighbor · 20 days

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 8

Word Count ~ 4.6k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, slight breeding kink, body horror, minor violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You always have to be extra careful when one of the Sverchzt sisters is asking to enter the building.

Twins, and both of them nearly identical, save for the location of the mole on the cheek: on the right for Selenne, the left for Elenois. Both employed as models, with the same hourglass figures, full, painted lips, long lashes, and breathy voices accented with something exotically European sounding. You always feel very plain and lacking around them; it was like being back in school again as the shy, unpopular girl, envying the pretty cheerleaders that seemed to have it all.

But you don’t feel inadequate today, still buoyed up from your feelings of being with Francis’ doppelgänger all weekend. You look over the identification card and entry request, finding everything in order. The elegant woman is on the day’s list of expected entrants, too. You’re nearly ready to hit the switch to grant her access into the apartments, still reminiscing about your fiancé, when something in you, some sixth sense kicking in, cautions you that you should probably call the apartment, just to be certain. There is nothing visually you can identify that is incorrect about the haughty woman on the opposite side of the glass, who is now folding her arms across her ample chest, the polished nail of an index finger tapping against the porcelain skin of one slender forearm. An impatient gesture you’ve seen Selenne make before, dozens of times. Nothing suspicious about the documents, either. But still, you feel it is better to be safe than sorry.

You already know all the residents’ phone numbers by heart now, the quick four digit extensions granting you rapid access.

“Hello. Elenois speaking. My sister and I are both at home today. We are not expecting any visitors.”

“Thank you.” You keep your expression calm, hurriedly flipping the plastic shield down and depressing the button to sound the alarm, catching one last glimpse of the doppelgänger, the crimson polished nails now scratching at the glass pane, the eyes with the lids shadowed in lavender streaked and bloodshot, the plush lips parting to expose yellow fangs dripping spittle before the shutters finish descending. You phone the disposal team, still maintaining your composure.

Close. That had been too close. You had to concentrate. Focus.

The day progresses and you find yourself getting back into the rhythm of things. Wondering how your pretender beau had decided which members of his squadron to sacrifice, sending them to the building to meet their doom to throw the DDD off the trail. What would happen when the numbers dwindled, when there were none left to send? Did the faded mark he’d left behind still shield you? Or did it only make you more desireable, like what had happened with the replicant who looked like Izaack Gauss?

You’re picking at the peeling varnish of the battered desk during the afternoon lull when someone walks into the building and your heart stops.

Francis.

Not the original, and not your doppel, either. This one is nearly a dead ringer, except for the nose that’s not quite right, the tip slightly larger, the nostrils a little more flared.

It had never occurred to you that there would still be other versions of the milkman walking around. Where has he been all this time?

“Mmm…hello.” The customary greeting the genuine version had always adopted. He slides an ID card through the slot.

“Entry request?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Here it is.” The smile breaks your heart. His smile. Only not.

You stare at the document for long moments. Everything looks correct: the document expiration date present and set for the future; the serial number identical to what you have on file; the logo of your organization in plain sight; the stated reason for the alleged milkman’s absence logical. All of the elements appear as they should, save for that slightly mismatched nose in the photograph and entry request.

“Is there a problem?”

Your eyes lift to meet his. Why are you drawing this out?

“Your appearance,” you answer distractedly.

“Yes? What about it? Doesn’t it match the picture?”

You shake your head, reaching for the alarm button. “I’m sorry.” It’s foolish, being this sentimental. No reason for it. You know the real Francis is gone. You know it’s not the invader you’ve fallen for.

Alarm blossoms on the fake milkman’s features. His hands clasp together. “Wait, please…I’ll leave. Just…I don’t want to die.”

You freeze. This was new. The doppels always reacted with anger when their cover was blown. You’ve never had one beg for their life before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Was it true? Were there others that were willing to coexist peacefully? Had you incorrectly assumed they all sought the same goal, replacing humans and ruling over the planet, the one remarkable exception being your lover?

Or was this just a new tactic that they’d adopted, evolving, learning, adapting better to human weaknesses?

You had no way of knowing which it was.

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry.” You slam your fist against the alarm switch before the replicant tries to escape, that same soft, pleading look haunting you as the shutter descends. The cleaners arrive and you cover your ears with your hands. You don’t want to listen to it. You can’t.

There are tears in your eyes when the figure in the yellow hazmat suit declares you are now able to return to your job.

***

The replicant milkman—yours, you note with relief—arrives later that afternoon, hastily adjusting the cap on his head, offering a brief glimpse of the perspiration from the heat outdoors lining his brow, his tousled brown locks damp, plastered against his forehead. He’s already smiling before he’s even reached the window, hurriedly thrusting his document and ID card through the slot, and something else, something that sounds metallic against the shallow stainless opening at the bottom of the window.

You reach for it, realizing what it is the second your fingers close over the object: your engagement ring.

The DDD had ceased its surveillance of the security booth, the resources and manpower needed elsewhere, apparently, so their is no longer the camera or the person watching it to worry about. You stare at the solitaire diamond, at the pretty filigree decorating the band on either side of it, and the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier come pouring out of you, a messy amalgamation of guilt and fear and relief releasing in that sudden cascade.

“Sweetheart, you like it that much? I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure…” His voice trails off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, absently hitting the buzzer to let him in, then hitting its partner to shut the door behind him.

The door to the security booth opens. “Oh, Francis.” You throw your arms around his neck, burrowing along his shirt collar while he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“What is it, love?”

“I’ve had such a terrible day. I almost let in a doppel by mistake this morning, and just a little while ago there was a doppel that looked like Francis.”

“Sweet girl.” His arms tighten around you.

“He begged for his life, Francis. I’ve never seen that before. It was so difficult to call the team. But I had to. I had to do it. I didn’t know if he really meant he wouldn’t harm anyone, or if he was lying. I couldn’t risk him hurting the residents inside.”

“Of course you did, love.”

“How many copies of him are there? Just roaming around the city?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t Francis and it wasn’t me. They were just trying to trick you, and you didn’t fall for it. You did the right thing. I know it was difficult for you. I know why, love. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

You remain in his arms, letting the comfort he’s offering seep into you. He does understand, better than anyone else ever could. After a time you draw back, sniffling. The ring is still clutched tightly in your fist. You relax your palm, spreading your fingers so you can admire the piece of jewelry again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. It’s lovely, Francis. Perfect.”

The imposter smoothes the last of the tears away and kneels down, gently plucking the ring from your right hand, then reaches for your left one, sliding the diamond band onto your ring finger and kissing the back of your hand.

The sound of a throat being cleared at the window interrupts the moment. You jump, startled. It’s the pilot.

“Dropping off more paperwork, doll?” Steven Rudboys grins, sliding his card and request form towards you.

You blush, aware of your fiancé rising to his feet beside you, frowning. Of course he doesn’t understand the reference, from that day when you’d visited the doppel so early on, when he’d slipped you the invitation to come to the apartment.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the man with the Mohawk says, his eyes lingering on the ring. “I always knew you two would end up together. Took you long enough, Mosses,” he adds, shooting the imposter milkman a sharp glance. “Don’t know what Afton and Stone are waiting for. I thought for sure they would’ve set a date by now. Bet you two don’t wait that long to tie the knot.”

Your cheeks are scarlet, your eyes focused on the documents, checking the day’s schedule. On the day’s list. A quick phone call just to confirm what you already know, allowing the man to enter the apartments once you’ve spoken to his father, heaving a sigh of relief when he’s finally gone from sight.

“I don’t like him,” the pretender says, his voice nearly a growl. “I don’t think Francis ever did, either. Too intrusive.” He turns his attention back to you. “Maybe not the best timing for the ring,” he observes ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I love it. Truly. It’s just been a very hectic, stressful day.”

“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be feeling that way. I think…I hope…I can help with that. Come see me as soon as you get off shift, okay? And be careful. If you need me, call.”

You nod, kissing him before he exits the booth and heads towards the elevator. You stretch your hand out, turning it slightly, watching how the light plays over the facets. It was official. You were engaged. You doubted it would take long for the rumor mill of the apartment building to circulate the news. Poor Francis. He’d be bombarded with well wishers and busybodies. Rudboys was probably going to keep at him mercilessly.

The rest of your shift passes by blessedly uneventfully. It is nearly time for your workday to end. Time to return to your lover waiting for you upstairs, the doppel you’re betrothed to.

***

You tap your knuckles on the door of apartment 3-02, greeted by the copy of the living space’s former owner.

He’s shed the troublesome cap, the ebony bow unknotted and draped around his neck, the first pair of buttons on his shirt undone. He smiles at you. “Hello, future Mrs. Mosses.”

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Do you have proper identification?”

“I seem to have forgotten it.”

He clucks his tongue. “Then I can’t let you in, I’m afraid.”

“Do you accept bribes?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.” The opening widens. “Come in here.”

You enter and the door closes behind you. “That was easy. I don’t think you’d make a good doorman,” you tease.

“No, but I make up for it elsewhere, don’t I?” He murmurs and you hum in agreement as he slides a hand around your waist, dragging you against him. “It’s torture being away from you. To go from having the weekend together to this long absence all day…” His lips touch yours, traveling to your neck.

“I know. I thought about you all day long.” Your hand rests on his chest. He covers it with his own, toying with the ring on your finger. A little room to move the band, but still secure around the digit. You didn’t wear jewelry often, but the size you’d told him had been the correct one. “I love it, Francis.”

“I’m glad.” Another kiss on your mouth. “I’m hungry for you, love.”

You feel it in his kisses. No longer gentle. Tongue stroking yours roughly. Teeth nipping. You cross the hallway to the bedroom with your fiancé. Unfastening clothing. Yours. His. Impatient to be naked. A button tears from your blouse. “I’ll mend it later,” you say distractedly.

Your back is tucked against his chest, the pair of you standing before the dresser mirror. Your breathing is loud, nearly as loud as his. You would have been mortified to be making so much noise even a month ago. But you have no reason to hide it now. You’re engaged. No one on this floor was going to pretend they didn’t know what goes on with young couples behind closed doors. You’ve heard Afton and Stone going at it before. Not nearly as often or as loud as you and your doppel, though.

You’re about to bend to slide your thigh high nylons off but the copycat halts you, his hand clasping yours above the scalloped lace edge that clings to your leg.

“Leave them on for me? I like them.” He snaps a garter belt playfully, dragging a hand over your lace panties. Something else that was new. You normally wore sensible undergarments beneath your work clothes. But now you had someone to admire what clung to your intimate places. He caresses the space between your legs through the delicate fabric, dragging his hand up to begin massaging your breasts encased in a matching brassiere. “Gorgeous. So beautiful, love.” His mouth worries along your shoulder.

“Are you going to mark me again?”

A pause, his hands and lips freezing. “Do you want me to?”

The low pitch of his voice drags across your core. You’re still frightened of it. But you want it, all the same. You want this creature to claim you. “Yes. Do you?”

The doppelgänger’s lips are by your ear. “Yes, love. But you shouldn’t watch…”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “I want to. I want to see you…”

“Sweetheart…” Hesitant. Perhaps more afraid than you are. To be seen. Exposed. To let the monster off the leash, as it were. Allowing the demon within out to play.

“I trust you.”

He moans softly against your hair. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I love you.”

A whimper. The thing inside anxious to be let out, scratching and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, that barrier of human flesh that had once belonged to Francis Mosses. Nails raking across your abdomen. Not enough to puncture the skin, still careful, the barest scrape of the unsheathed claws you can just see emerging now. Tearing at the fabric covering your sex, the material fraying, the embroidered threads coming loose. The crown of chocolate hair lifts and you see his eyes: the doppel’s eyes, peering at your from behind Francis’ sleepy dark ones. Red like blood, like the vessels that burst in surrender, like the lining of those shadowed lower lids. The white sclera of the orbs iridescent, shimmery, identical to the outline of the alien creature clutching you, an unsteady shift in the very particles and atoms that comprise him, things unseen, things not meant to be viewed by a mortal eye. The neat ivory teeth no longer tame incisors and molars, but transformed, sharp like the cuspids of a vampire, ravenous, the drool dripping from them onto your skin.

It is still not what he truly is; that monster well concealed, struggling to maintain control in this tenuous bridged state, not quite one or the other, partly human, partly doppel. What remains of your panties are shoved down, his leaking cock pressing against the curve of one cheek of your buttocks. He pushes against you and you grasp the edge of the dresser, the stained and varnished wood supporting you at a slight angle as he guides his erection inside of you.

Your body is already gushing arousal, welcoming him in. You catch sight of your heaving chest in the mirror, your lingerie encased breasts lifting and straining to burst free, much like the replicant thrusting into you.

He says your name, and it is not Francis’ voice at all. This a summons from deep within, heavy, full of gravel, dragging across your flesh like sandpaper. The wavering, mirage-like border of his pulsing frame feels hot, sticky. Your lashes flutter. The bottles of cologne lining the dresser’s surface tumble down. So deep. He’s so deep inside of you. Shoved in to the hilt each time. And still you want him even further. Impossible. But you crave it. That complete violation. Was this what it felt like to be taken over? You’d imagined it to be painful, terrifying. Instead it was sheer bliss. Your eyes link with his through the oval shaped looking glass once more.

“More, please, Francis…”

He jerks you away from the dresser, still impaled on his cock. Here is the pain you’d anticipated, that searing kiss of teeth piercing your shoulder, sucking the skin over the bone, a burst of stars in front of your eyes, fireworks ricocheting within you as you come undone, your insides splashed with something molten, soaked with your lover’s release. Wet skin, wet pussy, drenched prick, sweat and cum and that thin trail of blood seeping from the wound he’s created, laving rapturously at the taste of you, that very human taste in his very inhuman mouth.

His body shudders against yours. Aftershocks, not from orgasm but the shift back to how he appeared before, the glow dissipating, eyes cleared and gentling, the sharp hooks tipping each finger a replica of Francis’ blunt edged nails once more. Only a few red welts betray those nightmare claws’ existence, where he had become a little too lost in the passion, tattooing the soft flesh of your abdomen. The door to the invader’s cage is sealed shut once again. You hold him upright as much as he holds you steady, slipping free from your entrance, the hot spill of seed leaking down your thighs, seeping into the stockings. You can feel the tremors still spasming, your own nerves quivering with the remnants of pleasure, echoing against you as your lover’s body shares the same sensation. The panting breaths grow quieter. The sound of the Rudboys’ television next door disturbs the stillness. You’d completely missed the audio cue of the curfew horn.

“Sweet girl.” It’s all he can seem to manage, this whispered into your hair. It’s the milkman’s voice again, but it sounds raw, raspy. The vocal chords had been strained, never meant to produce the sounds they had earlier.

You rest your hand on the one clutching your abdomen, the glint of your engagement ring winking, a stubborn sparkle in the glow of the lamp, struggling against the growing darkness in the room as the day’s natural light fails beyond the curtained window.

***

The blackberry jam, pulled from the refrigerator several hours later, is perfect.

Perhaps one of the best batches you’ve ever tasted. You’ve snuck a sample from the unsealed mason jar, unable to wait. You’re already imagining how good that flavor will be when it’s smoothed over the biscuits you’re making with your doppelgänger, his fingers kneading the dough mixture you’ve just created. There is a stray bit of flour dusting his nose where he’d absently stroked an itch along the bridge and you wipe it clear, the touch becoming a lingering caress. He pauses, fingers still dug into the dough, looking at you with that same kind of wonder as he had earlier, after the incident in the bedroom.

As if he cannot believe what you’d asked for, accepted so willingly, eagerly; of the control over his true form he’d been able to maintain, keeping you safe.

Pats of butter melt quickly on the sliced biscuits pulled from the oven. You’re sweating. You need a shower after this for certain. You slather on a generous layer of the sweet fruit spread, offering a bite to your fiancé. He chews, nodding approvingly. There is a stray bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. You cannot resist lapping at it. Licking his mouth open. Tasting the sweetness there. Marveling at how quickly the desire is rekindled. Perhaps you would never be sated. Always this ache, this gnawing want in your center.

Drenched in the shower together. Back out again. Night sounds through the open window. The measured footsteps of a patrol. Soft chatter. A dog barking. You miss your farmhouse. The crickets and the scent of lilac blossoms and your lover in your bed, on cotton sheets that smell like the outdoors, hung on the line to dry in the clear air.

“Francis,” you murmur, your mouth tracing the outline of the crest of one hip, you hand curled around the other. Tasting the soap on his skin, the slight masculine musk as you wander along his groin, swiping your tongue across his cock.

Your shoulder throbs, pulsing in time with the neediness within. You want it again already. Not just the sex, but the other. A strange kind of addiction developing.

Your pussy aches to be filled again. You suck his erection and moan, hastily tucking your hair out of the way. Ravenous. An animalistic slobber. Lips loose. Shoving down as far as you can tolerate. Past it. Insistent, fucking your throat with his dick.

A little gasp of surprise from the doppel. “Easy, love. Don’t waste it. Want to…”

You release his spit soaked member, planting wet kisses back up his stomach, his chest. Crawling over his body until you reach his mouth. “What do you want, Francis?” Your voice a whisper, matching his.

“Oh love, you know what I want.” This huffed beside your cheek. You’re teasing kisses along his jaw, nipping at an ear lobe.

“Tell me. Tell me how you want to fill me up. With your cock. With your cum. Breed me, make a baby…”

You don’t know where the words come from. Another gasp. A growl. You want to impale yourself on him but it’s not the ideal position for getting pregnant. You allow him to shift, moving your body with his, pinning you beneath him.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” His hands press into the pillow beneath your head. There are a proper quartet of them now, piled plush cushions for you and your alien lover.

“Yes. Please, Francis…”

His knee parts your legs. Pressure. He’s inside you.

Your head lifts off the pillow and he captures your lips, pressing you back down. Working inside of you slow and steady, fucking you back open.

“There you go, love.” His mouth gentle on yours.

“I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

Your shoulder is on fire. “I want you to mark me again.”

“No, love. It’s too soon for that.” You feel him shake his head, the faint stir of air beside your cheek with the motion.

“It felt so good.”

“I know.”

“Put the light on, then? Let me see you. Let me see what’s inside…”

“No.” His voice loud now, his hips still against yours. “No, it’s too risky.”

“You can control it. I know you can. I trust you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he confesses against your neck. “You’ve no idea the strain. The desire to tear free. It would destroy Francis’ body. The urge to devour you…” He kisses your throat softly. “Let me love you like the man I appear to be.”

“I love you. You, what’s inside.” You touch his cheek.

“I know, love. And the way that makes me feel is indescribable. I don’t need to be out of this body to experience it. I adore you, sweet girl. Let me show you how much. Like this,” he says, his hips lifting and pressing, guiding his cock back into your hollow.

Your pelvis arches to receive him. It scares you how much you want him. Your body shakes with the intensity of that desire. Craving that violence, that feeling of teetering on the brink of destruction. His, yours. The human mouth on your shoulder. Sucking. Kneading with teeth that aren’t nearly sharp enough. But it stirs whatever he’s injected you with. A venom, a toxin, not poisonous, not lethal, but a chemical that you need more of. Bringing you closer to what you’re so desperate for. It doesn’t take you long to climax, the doppel’s own release close behind. He lifts your hips and legs, propping them against his chest, keeping his seed deep inside you, stroking along your stomach.

Willing there to be a spark of life there, the way all life has begun, according to the words in the holy book still sitting on the nightstand, a burst of light in the darkness.

***

Another day at the DDD security window.

The doppelgängers have been clumsy so far. Woefully inept at replication. You didn’t need specialized training to recognize the imposter for the shoemaker with a mustache as a fake, a single eye in the center of his forehead making Albertsky Peachman look like a cyclops. The clone of the mother of the student living on the second floor had correctly replicated the placement of the blue and green irises, but the phony Nacha Mikaelys’ jaw was strangely formed, the flesh pulpy and uneven, making it appear like oatmeal.

The best part of your workday arrives on schedule, slipping a new gift into the slot this time. “Tickets to the theater for this Sunday. I know it’s not the movie you mentioned, but…”

You grin. You can’t even remember the last time you’d gone to see a movie. And now you’d be seeing it with your fiancé. “Casablanca! Oh, it’s wonderful. I have something for you, too.” You exchange an open envelope with the doppelgänger.

He slides the contents free, unfolding the letter and scanning it quickly, a smile lighting his features. “They’ve invited us to see them.”

You nod, still beaming, watching the invader tuck the letter from your parents back into the envelope. “We’ll visit the following weekend.”

“I look forward to it. Still nervous, but looking forward to it. How was your day, love?”

“It went well. Yours?”

“Better now.” Another smile. “I’ve got another surprise, too. Left it in the truck because I was anxious to see you. I’m making dinner tonight. Well we’re probably making dinner. I’m not optimistic about Francis’ cooking skills,” he adds, lowering his voice.

You couldn’t blame him for doubting it. The man’s pantry and refrigerator had been nearly empty, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because he’d been overdue for a trip to get groceries.

Thinking of the solitary, simple life of the milkman rinses the joy from your features. No real family to speak of, either, according to the doppelgänger, save for a cousin that he’d had little to no contact with. He really had been alone in the world. Isolated. You could have done something about that. You should have. But it was too late now. And you had your doppelgänger instead. The being your heart was so full for.

“Love?” The replicant sees the change in your expression, frowning now.

“I’m okay. Yes, I’ll help you cook. It sounds fun.” You’re not relishing the thought of working over a hot stove in that stuffy third floor living space, longing for the upcoming change in the weather. But you like the idea of working beside your partner. Preparing a meal. And what would come after.

The bite on your shoulder throbs, reminding you.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor #the milkman

1K notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 7 months

Text

Prophesize Me

Summary: Everyone finds out you and Azriel are mates before the two of you do.

Author’s note: I really love this concept, and I hope you guys do too!! 💕

“I would ask you how my niece is doing, however I have an inkling that she’s doing quite well, and will be better soon.”

Rhysand hated whenever Helion got like this. With all of Helion’s knowledge, occasionally he would like to speak in riddles. After receiving confused looks from Feyre and Rhys, Helion handed them a piece of paper, with the words,

“6 becomes 8,

Shadows dance in his wake,

Cobalt light, night skies,

Golden string ties”

Rhysand and Feyre look at each other, both looking incredibly confused, when Helion chirps in.

“My sister was loved by the Mother and the cauldron. When she had all 7 of her babes, the cauldron blessed each of them with a mate.”

Their eyes go wide, searching for you in the crowd of partygoers, and Feyre’s surprise makes her blurt out, “she has a mate?”

Helion chuckles. “Yes, she and her brothers all do. But none of them know who their mate is. Just that they have one somewhere. They were each blessed with a prophecy denoting the identity of their mate.”

He looks pointedly at the paper in Rhys’s hands.

“I started having suspicions when I visited you in Night a few weeks ago, so I went back and reviewed their prophecies and I think we can take an educated guess as to the subject of hers.”

All three of them look at you and Azriel, the two of you engrossed in conversation with one of your brothers.

“Six becomes eight. Azriel has two brothers, me and Cassian. She has six brothers already.” Rhys says, shock all over his face at knowing his brother, who deserves this so much, is going to get his mate. He’s almost vibrating with happiness.

“Do they know?” Feyre asks Helion.

“No,” Helion sighs, “The curse of the prophecy is that the subjects can’t know. If you talk to them about it, it’ll just sound like you’re speaking nonsense.”

“Could we tell Azriel?”

“My assumption would be if he were her mate, if you tried, it would just sound like nonsense. It could be a way to test the theory.”

Feyre and Rhysand couldn’t stop smiling at each other, speaking mind to mind.

“This is incredible. She’s wonderful, she’s adorable! We’ve known her for a while, we all like her, she’s already part of the family.”

“And we know her family! She’s related to Helion - whom we love dearly.”

“How the hell are we going to keep Azriel’s mate a secret from him?”

“How the hell are we going to keep Azriel’s mate a secret from Cassian?”

Cassian wasn’t a spymaster, but he always had a sixth sense when it came to knowing things about his friends. One look at Feyre and Rhys and he’ll know that they know something.

“Do you know what the golden string ties?” Helion asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

Feyre and Rhys look at each other, trying to recall a golden string. Feyre’s eyes go wide as she remembers, “I saw a box In her room a few days before solstice with a gold ribbon around it, but I never saw it in the pile of gifts.”

Rhys turns to her, “I saw Azriel carrying a tiny box with gold string around it a week ago. He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Rhys thinks for a moment, “and I don’t recall seeing them exchange gifts.”

Helion is interested in this - you confided in your uncle about most things, but your love life was not one of them. Helion loved gossip, but when it came to you, it wasn’t just fun gossip. It was your life.

“Solstice was just yesterday - if the prophecy is directly mentioning something that happened on Solstice, then if they are mates, the bond should snap any day now.”

The three of them continue watching you, Azriel, and one of your brothers converse, when Azriel says something that makes you and your brother howl with laughter.

“It can be hard knowing how things will turn out - prophecies are a deep interest of mine,” Helion says, watching you with a smile on his face, “it’s nice that this one will have a happy ending.”

Feyre and Rhysand kept the secret from Cassian for twelve hours, a brand new record for them. They were all standing in the kitchen of the house of wind, telling him what they knew. They weren’t too concerned with you and Azriel finding them because the two of you stayed behind in the day court for a few extra days.

When they told him, they honestly thought they had short-circuited him. He just kept going “her… and him… and her…” until eventually the biggest grin spread across his face and he lunged and pulled Feyre into a bone-crushing hug.

“I have to get the feelings out and she’s not here for me to do this to so I’m pretending you’re her!” He says, while spinning Feyre around while she giggles.

Once Cassian is done spinning, he sets Feyre down and looks at them and goes, “okay, so what do we do now? Any schemes?”

“Why are we scheming?” Feyre asks, a little wobbly from the spinning.

“Well we could lock them in a room together,” Rhys says, not answering his mate.

“We could send them on a dangerous mission together, and they’ll be so shaken by how close they come to death, BOOM, the bond snaps,” Cassian says animatedly.

Feyre looks at him, assessing him, “Cass, are you reading romance books?”

He stutters a little, “sometimes Nesta reads out loud so I can fall asleep more quickly.”

“Aww reading really is so boring to you it puts you to sleep,” Rhys coos, reaching over to pinch Cassian’s cheeks, “she reads you bedtime stories.”

“Anyway,” Cassian draws out, trying to draw attention back to the matter at hand, “what are we going to do about our little shadowsinger and our little princess of day?”

Cassian was asked to keep his mouth shut and tell no one. So naturally by the time the sun rose the next day, the entire inner circle knew, as did Cassian’s favorite barista and Rita.

“He’s going to be pissed you’re telling all of Velaris his private information, especially before he even knows it,” Rhys tells Cassian, in their war council like meeting.

“He won’t be pissed in the slightest - it’s going to snap any day and we won’t see them for months. Besides, he already struts around town with her, no one was going to be surprised at this,” Cassian says, and Feyre’s shocked his face doesn’t hurt from how hard he’s been smiling since he heard the news.

Cassian did have a point - tons of Velaris citizens had come up to Feyre to ask if the you and the spymaster were together, most feeling disappointed when she said no, none being brave enough to ask the shadowsinger himself.

Mor was buzzing with excitement, her guilt from leading Azriel on has dissipated since you entered their lives, but now even moreso that you’re his mate. She’s especially happy that that means you’ll likely become a more permanent resident in the night court. The inner circle adored you, but they were always afraid you’d eventually just go back to your home in the day court to be with your brothers and Helion.

“I mean, they’re still in day, so maybe the bond did snap, and we just won’t see them again until the spring!” Mor laughs, true excitement coming from her. “Is there a way to know about the bond long distance?”

“I like Cassian’s idea of sending them on a mission, send them to winter so they’ll have to snuggle for warmth,” Lucien, who happened to be one of your oldest friends, speaks up. Elain hits him on the chest, rolling her eyes at her mate.

“Oh oh oh,” Mor pipes in, “we get a male to hit on her, oooh that would really piss off Azriel.”

“He’s already going to be super territorial once the bond snaps, if that happens he genuinely might try to hide her away for years,” Rhys replies, knowing how territorial Azriel already was over you.

“What if we all just disappear for a few days? Leave the two of them here in the townhouse?” Elain says, and Lucien rubs her thigh.

The group considers it - most of them do have their own homes in the city, leaving you and Azriel mostly by yourselves in the townhouse, but the inner circle usually drops by throughout the day. Cassian alone probably comes by five times a day - even more when Nesta’s upset with him.

“None of us visit, and we can’t allow them to come visit us.” Feyre says.

“Just want to point out this was essentially the first idea I had of locking them in a room together,” Rhys grins.

The group continues arguing, with Elain’s idea being the frontrunner.

You and Azriel stayed in the day court for an extra night. You got incredibly drunk at the late solstice party with your family, and you also wanted to show Azriel around the day court palace.

You two spent most of the day in some of your favorite libraries - just the sight of one taking Azriel’s breath away. You two spent hours walking around the libraries, telling him about growing up here. You also showed him around the museums - noting to him one of the paintings that was donated by Feyre. You had joked that of course it featured Helion on his pegasus.

Now you were back in your private chambers, showing him your much less impressive personal library.

“Do you miss living here?” Azriel asks, the question on his mind since you all came to the party, after seeing how happy you were with your family.

“Mm, yes and no. I like spending a few weeks here out of the year, I love coming for holidays or just to visit, but it feels like a distant home, like I’m 9 years old,” you say, turning to face him, “I’ve traveled a good bit around Prythian, and honestly I never felt as at home as I do in Velaris.”

The confession hangs in the air. The unspoken words sitting on your tongue, not being brave enough to utter them - “I never felt at home until you.”

He can’t help the grin on his face as he says, “if I may, night court black suits you very well.”

Your cheeks flame as you reply, “it suits you very well, too.”

The two of you somehow closer than you were, only about a foot apart, when a knock shatters the moment. Azriel swears he hears a tiny groan from you as he steps away from you, looking over the shelves of your books, when one title catches his eye. As your attention is focused on the fae who came in to let you know that dinner is ready, he slips the book into his coat pocket.

The two of you had winnowed back to the townhouse, directly into your private chambers.

“Can I ask you about something?” Azriel looks at you, curiosity all over his face.

“Anything,” you reply, neither of you moving from the tight hold you had on each other while winnowing.

“Why do you own this?” As he says it, he pulls out a book that you received for Solstice from Amren, one you were especially trying to keep hidden, which is exactly why you brought it with you to leave in your library in the day court.

“Ilyrians: Pleasing a Partner with Wings?” He asks, reading the title. Your mouth is wide open, looking like a fish without water.

“There’s an inscription,” you reply, and Azriel can barely hear it. He’s a little concerned his teasing has gone too far, when he opens the inscription to find Amren’s handwriting.

“Sun Girl,

make a move on the shadowboy. Here’s a guide on how.

Lukewarm regards,

Amren”

Azriel was shocked that Amren would get involved in any of their love lives, much less yours. He didn’t even know if Amren liked you, as much as Amren can like anyone.

“Amren gave you a solstice gift?” Azriel asks. You nod, still hiding behind your hands in embarrassment.

“And she wants you to fuck me?”

You choke on air at his bluntness, “well - uh- I mean - yes but maybe like not in a casual way?”

He looks at you, taking in how clearly embarrassed you are at this gift, at his discovery of it.

“So not in a casual way?” He asks, loving how cute you are in this moment.

You look at your hands, you look around your room, for anything, really, when you say, “not um in a casual way, yes.”

“So you would fuck me in a non-casual way?” He asks, clearly enjoying watching you squirm through this conversation.

You pause, and Azriel’s again afraid he’s gone too far, when he hears you say, “yes.”

“Do you.. have feelings… for me?” He asks, none of his own feelings showing on his face.

You look up at him. Now or never, you think.

“Yes,” you say, looking him in the eye, “yes.”

He continues looking at you as he responds, “good.”

“Good,” you say, not sure what he means, but not wanting to ask.

“Good,” he says, and before you can say the same, he pulls your face into his. Kissing him was an experience for your entire body- you could feel his hands on your face, his body pressed against you, when you felt something in your chest go pop!

You stopped kissing him to look at him in shock, when he’s already smiling at you. “You know!” you shout, “you knew!”

He laughs at your reaction, taking a moment before telling you, “it snapped when we exchanged gifts. I uh needed a few days to process it.”

You nod, Azriel was not someone who took change well, and this was a big one. You can understand him taking a few days to tell you.

“Needed time to process it, but do you uh regret it?” You ask, trepidation coating your voice.

“Not at all. I just… never thought I’d have this. I didn’t want to start things off by saying or doing the wrong thing.”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness, feeling the warmth of the bond in his chest.

Rhys was no fool - he knew you two were in day and could return at any minute, so he shielded the room so if either of you came you wouldn’t be able to hear the discussion. He didn’t account for the fact that maybe you were already upstairs, and if you walked by and saw all of your friends gathered not making a noise, it would terrify you.

Which is exactly what happened.

They all heard you scream and turn to see you in the open doorway, Azriel’s shirt hanging off your body. Rhys starts to pull the shield down, wanting to make a crack at you wearing his brother’s clothes, when they’re all hit by the smell. It was so incredibly strong, they all were practically suffocated by it. It smelled like the early morning, when the moon kisses the earth, allowing for night to meet the day.

It all happened so fast, your scream, the shield coming down, Azriel winnowing in a defensive position after hearing your scream from upstairs, all of your friends screaming at the scent of the bond.

Azriel’s in front of you, ready to defend you, only to find Cassian charging at the two of you. He engulfs both you and Azriel in a hug, picking you both up and spinning you. You, in Azriel’s shirt, and Azriel, in his undershorts.

“It’s been like six hours, I thought they wouldn’t know until at least tomorrow,” you muffle into Cassian’s chest at Azriel, who huffs in response.

After what feels like a lifetime of spinning, Cassian sets you down, and you have to brace yourself on your knees to keep from throwing up.

“What are you guys doing here? In a shielded room?” You ask, hands still on your knees, and no one wants to meet your gaze, until Amren speaks.

“They discovered your prophecy, girl.”

Azriel looks to you, confusion on his face. You had honestly forgotten all about the prophecy - you didn’t know the contents, so you didn’t ever let yourself think of it.

You turn to Azriel, “my brothers and I have prophecies about who our mates are, but we can’t hear our own prophecies until they’re fulfilled. I never knew what it stated, just that I had a mate somewhere.”

“And you all heard it?” Azriel asks, looking around the room like everyone was a threat. If the smell didn’t give the bond away, Azriel’s hyper focus on his family as threats certainly did.

“Well,” Cassian interjects, “Helion told Feyre and Rhys, who told the rest of us.”

Nests hits his arm, “they told Cassian and he told the rest of us, big blabbermouth.”

“We just found out last night, and we were meeting to see if there was anything we could do about helping it snap, but it seems like that was a bit pointless.”

You look at Azriel, everything is so new, you have no idea how he would feel about being a pawn in your prophecy, much less about his family knowing something so important with you two being the last ones to know.

The room is still loud, Mor and Cassian found wine bottles and are popping them open. Everyone’s celebrating, while Azriel leans down and whispers to you.

“So, the mother made you for me,” he quirks his mouth into a grin.

“Actually, I’m three days older than you, so I think the mother made you for me,” you retort.

“Oh no, however will I go on? Being made for such a thing of beauty and brains?” He asks. Then he pauses, insecurity taking hold of him for a moment, “are you disappointed? I mean surely growing up knowing you had a mate, you dreamt up imaginary males whisking you away. How do I compare?”

You really take a look at him, a rare moment of vulnerability from him, as you consider a reply. “The males always whisked me away, off to foreign lands.” You look ahead at the chaos of the sheer joy your shared family is experiencing at the news. “You have brought me home.”

You grab his hand, rubbing your thumb across the back of it, hoping that that answer was enough for now. You have centuries to show that the imaginary males are nothing to the real thing.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff

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weadapt · 11 months

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I think it’s interesting storytelling how in the beginning of the game Cal says the Sixth Sister’s name, Masana Tide, and reminds her of who she used to be—and it visibly distresses her because it hurts what was done to her and Cal isn’t wrong in what he’s saying. The shocking thing for me was the moment when Cal said “It’s time to set you free”. It was such a surreal feeling hearing Cal say that, those kinds of words, to know he decided it was time to strike her down; it’s understandable because she killed his entire crew, but for Cal to be the executioner in that way was scary to see coming after only experiencing the young kid he was in Fallen Order. Now you really get the feeling Cal has been through a lot, he’s grown as a man since Fallen Order and he’s calloused, not entirely in a bad way given he’d have to be to survive but still in a depressing way, as a result. I know overall and gameplay wise, Cal has killed a lot of people, it’s nothing new, but storytelling wise it’s a serious moment for Cal. It’s a moment you know is going to follow him the rest of the game for character development. After he kills her, it’s made clear by the music and by Cal’s body language that this isn’t a good thing coming from him. It isn’t a triumph. Even BD-1 knows and worries for Cal with his little “Boop…?” and Cal is only able to respond rather shakily, “Yeah… I’m okay”.

When he meets up with Bode and Bravo and they ask him what happened to the Inquisitor, he gives a simple, no emotion, “Dead”. The long pause of Bravo not saying anything in response to me says a lot; it feels like he isn’t used to Cal having a reaction like that.

Then we have Rayvis. Cal defeats him in battle and asks him to join in the fight against Dagan. He doesn’t want to kill Rayvis—“You don’t have to do this”. The oddly tragic part to me is that Rayvis has dreams of seeing Tanalorr again. If Dagan succeeds his dream will be realized, but he’s given up on the dream and wants a warrior’s death now. He wants to die, and in his mind, honorably, by Cal’s hands, and he’s going to force Cal to do it. But for Cal it’s another execution on his part. He pauses before he lifts his saber and kills Rayvis. It isn’t a triumph. Again we’re given a sudden swell of music to tell us the emotion behind the action of killing Rayvis. You can see it’s affected Cal badly. BD-1 seems to ask Cal the same question as before, “Boop…?” but this time Cal doesn’t acknowledge the question and just replies, “We should go”.

Killing Dagan hurts for Cal too. Dagan is a Jedi, someone who held onto the Order, who tied his entire identity to it and all of his goals are focused on restoring the Order and fighting to change the universe. Just like Cal in a way. Dagan is single-mindedly focused on the mission, so obsessively, he lost himself and the one he loved as a result. Cal understands and see the parallel of that kind of drive in his own mission against the Empire and it terrifies him. Dagan could’ve helped him fight the Empire but it became another tragic moment of having to kill a once fellow Jedi. This is another tragedy. Bode doesn’t care about Dagan being dead on the floor but Cal does. Cal has enough respect to place Dagan’s lightsaber on his chest. Cal pauses to reflect but Bode immediately gets back to getting the compass.

We have this interesting arch of reactions to killing his opponents. They were each killed for the mission. It was necessary. They each started the fight against him. No matter the reason though, it’s still very painful for Cal.

Cal is being pushed into this direction of forcing him to question his beliefs and who he is. His whole identity at this point has been tied to the Order, of being a Jedi, and it’s very clear by his conversations in Fallen Order that it really matters to who he is. By the end of Survivor, we have three fallen Jedi: Masana Tide, Dagan Gera, and Bode Akuna. So who is Cal Kestis? What will he become? Is he doomed to fall like they did? That’s what troubles him—“Let’s just say I don’t wanna end up like him [Dagan]”.

He’s afraid he’s going to lose himself.

The fear is almost realized when he’s about to kill another opponent. The one behind the murders of his friends and mentors. Cal’s been killing each of his main opponents up to the point at Nova Garon—this one will be no different. Except killing the man who sent Bode on the mission to infiltrate his team is different. Cal is on the edge of losing himself to the Dark Side. In Fallen Order he pleaded for Cere not to use the Dark Side because “She’s stronger than that”, “[she] still had a choice”. But Cal is failing to remember any of that for himself. He wants to kill because he’s angry, grieving, and in immense pain. Merrin has to bring him back—“This is not you!” There’s a question of whether or not Cal would’ve been able to stop himself if Merrin hadn’t been there though.

When we get to the final battle, Merrin is warning Cal of what’s likely going to happen but he ignores her for a while which prompts her to say, “Well? Say something!” He doesn’t want to acknowledge that Merrin is right and they’re likely going to have to kill Bode, and with that, taking Kata’s father away—a loss of family Cal and Merrin know too much about. So they both try and give Bode every chance to stop and turn away from what he’s done, despite how much Bode had hurt them. Sadly, Cal once again is forced into using the Dark Side to prevent Bode from killing Merrin. It was worth it. It was worth using it to save Merrin. He couldn’t let her be killed. He couldn’t see that happen before his eyes like he had with all of his friends and mentors.

After everything is over, there’s this sickly feeling left behind. Not simply because of Bode’s death, but because of the impact on Merrin realizing Kata has lost family just like she and Cal had, but also because of the impact the death of Bode has on Cal. And after Cal carries away Bode’s body, the music changes to an eerie, ominous, high pitch, minor key when we see Cal board the Mantis. The kind of change in music which lets the audience know there’s something seriously wrong. Things are different now. Cal’s different. And he knows it.

He’s lost in time watching the pyre, reflecting on everything that had happened but also on how grateful he is to Cere, but he knows the impact of her loss will continue to be with him for the rest of his life. Just like Jaro Tapal. Another guiding force in his life is gone. With Cere and Cordova gone, there is no longer any Jedi wisdom to seek out. He’s now alone in that way as a Jedi.

“I’m scared… I almost lost myself… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Cal and the audience are left with the dreadful realization—

“I don’t know if I’m ready for what comes next”.

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aroacettorney · 1 month

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there are many reasons why id love ludgercasey to be canon, but truly the only thing that matters to me is the variety of exaggerated breaking headlines such as [the godfather of crimes, james moriarty, is still alive and also getting married to detective casey selmore????] and other guaranteed hilariously chaotic scenarios they bring upon the world when combined with the possibility of all ludgers identities being publicly revealed in the international court:

marias sideeyeing caseys love life choices yet again: "really sister, friends to enemies to lovers? what is this, a romance novel??"

terinna alternating between being smug about her sixth sense clocking caseys feelings for ludger cherish with supernatural accuracy and seething that her best friend has been knowingly crushing on her archnemesis, arsene lupin, after all this time.

ludgers gonna avoid seeing facius forever if he can help it. he will hear no "i told you so" or "i knew it" from his cheeky and smartass junior.

betty gets "enlightenment" on caseys actual reason for chasing after ludger for 3 years "ah, so thats what it was all about" to which casey insists "its not!!!" — true, but since they've already come to this, no one is gonna believe her now.

alex (ft. owens) externally @ ludger & enya (ft. erendir) internally @ casey & basically everyone on the continent @ them:

#academy's undercover professor #academy's undercover professor spoilers #aro ludgercasey propaganda #selmore's undercover husband #yeah yeah the aromanticism the chemistry the theme the parallelism the angst are great & all but have you considered: the crack & chaos /hj

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agendabymooner · 9 months

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cinema ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc) — mdni

“it’s you. don’t know why but it feels so right for me.”

summary: a breakup can lead to a loss of a part of one’s identity, and sylvie and max were alright with that. (1)(2)(3)(4)

content warning: use of explicit language, mention of mental health issues and lack of sleeping, light smut/suggestive content (i can’t write for shit), mentions of loss of virginity, mention of past!ofc x the weeknd (toxic breakup, cheating storyline), chatfic + fic, mature content under the cut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

note: yo girl is going to the 2024 canadian gp 😩 there will also be a charles leclerc piece otw but i just need to put out my cracked out thoughts into it. also, i can’t write smut so there will not be any extremely graphic details in this chapter. this doesn't mean that i am encouraging people to read it at their own risk so MINORS DNI :)

masterlist

september 2016

Everyone in the Red Bull area knew the reason why Sylvie was often found crying in Daniel Ricciardo’s drivers room during her breaks. Well, everyone but Sylvie. She lived to blame herself for the downfall of what she thought was a great relationship.

They were reaching the sixth month and if it hadn’t been for Abel’s cheating, then maybe— MAYBE Sylvie would continue to pursue what she had with him.

Everyone thought Abel was a fool. Sylvie hadn’t done anything but be a good person, a loyal girlfriend. Why did he let another woman warm the bed that they shared?

Because she spent more time with Max than she had with him. That’s what he said. When she found him in his flat and asked what the hell was going on, Abel yelled at her for not going home. He screamed that she was doing it first with her “fucking best friend.” He didn’t even know the rough past between the two; he only knew Max’s name and had seen their childhood photos. So much for someone who had been dating her for five months.

Instead of fighting back, she cried. Her feet stood there as her sobs became a plea to let her inside once he kicked her out. She looked so pathetic.

It didn’t stop her from working, though, and Christian Horner couldn’t be more wrong when he previously said that she wasn’t emotionally prepared for work.

Her work kept her mind occupied throughout the Hungary race. From sending emails back and forth with her model agency to attending sponsor dinners, her mind never stopped running until she was able to get some sleep.

Because truthfully, she really wasn’t able to sleep. She only relied on chamomile tea then pretended that she was refreshed from the night before.

Her family had tried to get some word out of her about the break up, but she refused to say anymore. Toto did say that Abel had a bad aura within him, yet Sylvie knew that her in-law wasn’t about to tell her that “I told you so.” Stevie definitely called Abel out on his bullshit one night when she came across him at a bar in LA. Tilly merely comforted her without a word. Other than that, Sylvie never said anything about it— her eyes were focused on the racing team and the drivers.

The night before the race, she found Max standing in front of her hotel room. Her bloodshot eyes were evidence of her sadness and exhaustion, but it wasn’t as if she could easily close the door on him to hide it away. He was persistent and would most likely bring Lando here if it means that he would be able to get in.

The Dutchman stood there with a tray of macarons and another tray with cups of tea. “Chamomile,” it said on both tea bags. His accent was laced with concern as he spoke, “I know you haven’t had the greatest weekend yet. I had to beg my PR manager to find me a pastry shop for these.”

And so they sat on the love seat quietly, Easy A playing on the television while they both munched on the last two strawberry macaroons and sipped on their tea.

“He blamed me, you know?” Sylvie chuckled bitterly, her eyes still trained on Emma Stone’s makeover scene as the character continued ripping fabrics off in rage. I should do that, she told herself. She could see in her peripheral vision that Max looked at her, leaving her to say, “Said I spent too much time with you. That I slept with you first.”

“Blue—“ Max tried to speak, but she continued regardless.

“Which is kind of rich of him,” Sylvie shook her head, reaching out on the tray to eat the matcha flavoured macaron next. She bit on it and said, “Considering that I never had slept with anyone I spend my time with. Let alone sleep with anyone.”

“I don’t recall sleeping with anyone, too,” Max made things lighter as he joked, “I would have remembered otherwise.”

“Man,” Sylvie sighed and slumped against the loveseat, “had I known that men would be like that, then I would’ve ditched him immediately.”

Sylvie knew that whatever she did with Max the moment he came inside the hotel room made her realize her worth. What was it about her childhood friend that made her think the other way?

Everyone did say they were connected one way or another. She didn’t know how and he didn’t know either; but everyone insisted they were soulmates. One soul in two different bodies. She knew him as much as he knew her. She always had similar thoughts and feelings shared with him, and not once did he ever go against that idea. He pushed her, in fact.

“Not men,” Max laughed quietly, “boys. Men learn. Boys are still in the process of doing so.”

“Didn’t you just hit puberty two months ago?” She joked.

“Didn’t you?” He bit back with a smile.

She laughed along, shaking her head once more. They fell silent as Sylvie stared at his eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it up close. But god, they sure looked prettier than they did before Abel had broken up with her.

“Would it be,” she stammered, leaving the man next to him scowling as he goaded her into speaking. She cleared her throat and sighed. “Would it be okay to ask… if I can… ah, shit. Never mind. It sounds bollocks if I continue on.”

“We don’t hide things anymore, Mustang,” he teased her, “remember? We agreed on it.”

“So if I were to ask if you want to… do… it…”

Now he was rendered silent. She wanted the world to swallow her the moment she found him staring at her. He was frozen, and she felt her body burning in embarrassment as she wished to leave the place. This was her bloody room, she couldn’t get out of here.

“I- I-“ he stuttered, his cheeks heating up as he asked, “You want to do it?”

“I’ve always wondered what it's like,” she murmured quietly. “I tried imagining doing it with him but… he never seemed to have that kind of intention to… I don’t know… pay attention to my wants.”

“Pretty foolish of that dickhead,” Max scoffed. “If he only wants to use you, then it’s a great thing that you knew better than that.”

“But seriously—“ he continued, “Sylvie, look at me in the eyes and tell me you want me to do it with you.”

“I do,” she admitted meekly, staring at him while she said so before she turned away. “I don’t think I can do it with someone else. If they’re the same as him then I don’t know… and you’re not him or anyone. So…”

“Okay,” he nodded understandingly. He backed away for a second before catching his breath and murmured, “Okay… I’ll make sure you and I aren’t hurt. And- and, I’ll make sure you have the best time.”

And the best time, it was. It was the first time Sylvie slept in a few days. It was also the first time she shared an intimate moment with someone. Someone being Max Emilian Verstappen.

Anyone experienced with two eyes would point out that everything that happened was done rather clumsily. It probably didn’t help that Max had to trip and knock on Dan’s door to ask for a condom, but it was better to be embarrassed than sorry, he supposed.

Sylvie could remember herself wiping the smudged mascara off her face and removing her top to put on the black corset top that she had on her suitcase, keeping her black wide legged sweatpants on while he went out to “say hi to Dan for a minute.” She didn’t need to put on a makeup. It wasn’t really that special, was it? No. It certainly was, she just didn’t want to spook Max especially when his eyes widened just as he walked in on her putting on a lip balm with nothing but her bra and sweatpants on.

He couldn’t deny anything that night, especially to himself. The moment his tongue swiped over her lips, he nearly groaned in satisfaction at the minty flavour of her chapstick. A hint of strawberry came with it, finding himself caging her against the marble sink as she desperately held him… by the arms and his mouth.

Both of them were clueless, not knowing how to maneuver around one another the moment Max settled her down to her (upgraded) king-sized bed. For a moment, he wondered how she had managed to get herself a large room — knowing that the hotel room booked for him and Danny were smaller than hers — but her wandering hands sent his thoughts away when her palm landed on his sweatpants, eliciting a sigh from him.

Too many questions of, “Is this okay” and “are you alright” were exchanged— both of them unsure if either of them were comfortable or smart enough to be doing this. But one thing that they knew for sure was they wouldn’t be able to forget that night. It wasn’t the just pleasure that made it too memorable— but rather their experience with one another that made it too… good to forget. Sylvie and Max could care less about reaching the highs and lows when all they could think about was that they’ve done it with one another.

She could remember waking up to him kissing her forehead as he spoke in Dutch, telling her that they would talk sometime during the day before he left the room. She pretended to be asleep, but the whisper of his voice made her heart beat faster as if he hadn’t just called her love.

For someone who “hated” Max, Sylvie trusted him for taking a part of her and allowed him to ruin other men for her. She was sure that Max was her standard now. She couldn’t imagine doing the most intimate things with someone who didn’t have the same values and personality as him.

God, Max ruined her. But it wasn’t as if Sylvie was complaining about it. She embraced that idea, in fact.

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zuko-always-lies · 9 days

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Every time Katara Comforts Sokka

"The Spirit World":

Katara: Sokka! [She runs to him and embraces him, while other villagers embrace their loved ones.] Sokka: What happened? Katara: You were trapped in the Spirit World for 24 hours! How are you feeling?

"The Storm":

Katara: [Pressing a wet rag onto Sokka's forehead.] This should bring your fever down. Sokka: You know what I love about Appa the most? His sense of humor. Katara: That's nice. I'll tell him.

"Avatar Day":

Sokka: [Sadly.] I feel like I've lost part of my identity. [He jumps up and moves Aang's hat slightly so that he can point at Aang's arrow.] Imagine if you lost your arrow, or Katara lost her … [Makes a hair loopies gesture with a somewhat bored look.] hair loopies. He slowly saunters over to the stall, where Katara gives him a loving hug in order to comfort him before she holding her hands in front of herself while smiling lovely at Sokka.

"The Earth King":

Sokka: Someone has to stay here with the Earth King and help him plan for the invasion. [Stands up.] I guess that's me. Katara: No, Sokka. I know how badly you wanna help Dad. You go to Chameleon Bay. I'll stay here with the king.

[This last one is a little dubious as "comforting," although obviously Katara is being very nice.

"Sokka's Master":

Sokka: It's just, all you guys can do this awesome bending stuff like putting out forest fires, and flying around and [Side-view of Toph, Aang and Katara.] making other stuff fly around. I can't fly around, okay? [View of Sokka from behind.] I can't do anything. Side-view of the group. Katara: That's not true. No one can read a map like you.

"DoBS Part 1":

Hakoda: Ah, a little, better. I need, to get back to the troops. [Attempts to stand but is too weak to.] Ahh! Katara: You're hurt, badly. You can't fight anymore. Hakoda: Everyone's counting on me to lead this mission Katara, I won't let them down. [Attempts to stand again but can't.] Ahh! Sokka: Can't you heal him any faster? Katara: I'm doing everything I can. Sokka: [Looks around before looking confidant.] I'll do it. Katara: No offense Sokka, but you're not exactly Mr. Healing Hands. Sokka: No. [Stands confidently.] I'll lead the invasion force. Katara: Don't be crazy Sokka. Sokka: Maybe I am a little crazy, but the eclipse is about to start and we need to be up that volcano by the time it does. Hakoda: You can do this. [Cuts to a close-up of him.] I'm proud of you son. Katara: I still think you're crazy, but I'm proud of you too.

Katara and Sokka were very close as siblings, and Katara was parentifed to the point that Sokka saw here as his "replacement mother." Despite that, we only see Katara comfort Sokka 6 times in the entire series, despite them appearing together in significant roles in nearly every episode in the series.

By contrast, "evil, heartless" Mai comforts Zuko 5 times, despite barely appearing on screen with him. "Evil, heartless, terrible sister" Azula tries to comfort Zuko 6 times, despite only being on a semi-decent terms with him for a sixth of the series.

#Katara #katara meta #Sokka #She's not Sokka's emotional caretaker #Zuko #Mai #Azula

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cinnamonnangel · 1 year

Text

ASTRO 101 - THE HOUSES (PART I)

FIRST HOUSE - I AM

(The First House is ruled by Aries and Mars.)

The first moment you open your eyes to the world, first breath, first sight, first intention and first experience

General appearance, form and shape, physical body, general health, vitality and energy, action

Character, identity, self image, personality, mask, self interest, how others perceive you, self expression, independence, behavior, name, attitude, fame

How you see the world, how the world sees you

Spirit, life, ego, soul body

First impressions, beginnings

Head, face, eyes, blood, brain, muscular system

The moment of birth and people around you, place of birth and atmosphere, birth experiences, mother’s health and experiences during childbirth

SECOND HOUSE - I HAVE

(The Second House is ruled by Taurus and Venus.)

Material and non-material resources, attitude toward possessions,

How you make money or meet obligations, self worth

Personal finances, money matters, sense of value, stocks and share, trade, jewelry, documents, cash money, valuables, wealth, possessions, trade, material possessions, luxuries, banking activities, loans, economic situation, wares, rank, guarantee, financial security, artworks

Talents, comfort zone, security, self esteem, valuables, sense of values, resourcefulness, nutrition

Face, neck, throat, vocal cords, thyroid, metabolic system, voice and vocal talents

Economy, sovereign debt, colonies, fees, trade, banks, internal debts, artistic approaches of a country

THIRD HOUSE - I THINK

(The Third House is ruled by Gemini and Mercury.)

Conscious mind, memory, mental confusion, communication, intellect, mentation, thinking

Skillfulness, study, ability, writing, speaking, researching, learning, reading, perceiving, adaptability, ability to learn foreign languages

Depthless thoughts and informations, smattering

Elementary and primary education, puberty

Siblings, brothers, sisters, cousins, close relatives and neighbors

Short trips, tour, daily travel, neighborhood, public transports, vehicles, motorbike, cars, train, bus, boats, urban roads

TV, radio, telephone, computer, mails, messages, text, communication network and channels, short correspondence on social media, weather forecast

Shoulders, collar bone, arms, hands, fingers, lungs, nerves, the nervous system

Bookstore, library, school, post office, educational institution, streets, telephone kiosk

FOURTH HOUSE - I FEEL

(The Fourth House is ruled by Cancer and Moon.)

The place where we live with the family, home atmosphere, home life, house, mother, family, lineage, family matters, ancestry, custom, femininity

Subconscious, things we hide about ourselves, emotional problems, early childhood, depression, personal commitment, the deepest and the darkest point of the chart

Old age, the end of the life, diseases, grave

Land, realty, genetic heritage, underground sources

Chest, breaths, stomach, uterus, diaphragm, upper alimentary system

Agricultural enterprise, historical values, mining site, real estate, refuge facilities, farmers, cemeteries

FIFTH HOUSE - I WILL

(The Fifth House is ruled by Leo and Sun.)

Actions and activities we do for ourselves, things we like to do, hobbies, how do we spend our free time, creativity, activities we enjoy, pleasure, self expression, risk taking, leisure time, artistic talents,

Love, romance, dating, courtship, love affairs, the way we flirt

Children, birthing and creation, the character of our children

Acting, drama, dance, music, sports, artists, celebrities, stage

Games, cards, puzzles, fun, amusement, games of chance, gambling, speculative investment

Chest, upper back, heart, spine, cardiac system

Hotels, entertainment centers, casino, beauty shops, coiffeur, resort, amusement park, cinema, theatre, sports center, park, art exhibition

SIXTH HOUSE - I ANALYZE

(The Sixth House is ruled by Virgo and Mercury.)

What we do to survive, daily work, everyday routine, details, skills

Work routines, where we specialize our skills, workers, competition, employment, workmates

House of sickness, exhaustion, disease, allergies, health, physical body, physical condition

Issues that tire us and weaken us, drugs and addictions

Pets and animals

Abdomen, intestines, lower liver, alimentary canal, spleen, digestive nerves

Hospitals, health care providers, employees, service sector, trade unions, state employees, restaurants, food and beverage services, enemies, soldiers, police, military, army, security guard, navy, animal clinic

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shieldkeeper · 6 months

Text

Happy half patch! I took it into my hands to write down and record all of the lore entries in game for the new Aloalo variant dungeon. You’ll find all the information below the cut:

A Not-quite Deserted Island

“Someone else was at Aloalo Island, and they commanded a wooden figure to attack us! It looked like a guhasaya, and its fangs were just as deadly. Thank the Sisters WoL was there!”

When Matsya told me of this encounter, my first thought was of the golems of the Far East, said to be driven by intricate wooden mechanisms. However, as Kalika so eagerly explained to us, the people of Aloalo were artisans of a different sort. They created arcane wooden familiars known as “quaqua” to serve as both protectors and companions, of which the creature that assailed them was but one. Nor were their constructs limited to the quaqua alone– Kalika warned against recklessly laying hands upon any of the figures dotting the island, lest they be roused from their slumber to defend their home.

Practitioners of the art of arcanima, which itself originated in the southern seas, employ gemstones to act as an intermediary between the corporeal and incorporeal when summoning familiars such as Carbuncles. The properties of wood, however, make it suitable for the selfsame purpose, and there is now evidence to suggest that early arcanists relief on wooden rather than gemstone cores. The “tiresome lout” of whom Matsya spoke must have possessed intimate knowledge of arcanima to successfully adopt these methods and call upon the quaqua.

The First Settlers of Aloalo Island

“Aloalo is breathtaking, and its fish are plentiful. How could it have been left abandoned for so long?”

While neither Aloalo’s natural beauty nor its various inhabitants’ resourcefulness is in question, it is but a small island amidst volatile seas, prone to experiencing the full force of nature’s fury. Thus is its history one of prolonged settlement punctuated by abrupt abandonment.

According to stories told to Kalika by the island’s former caretakers, the earliest known settlers arrived during the waning years of the Fourth Astral Era. However, at the onset of the Fifth Calamity, otherwise known as the Age of Endless Frost, these settlers vanished, leaving behind the great shrine which housed the statue of the Speaker. Dubbed the “forgotten people” by those who came after, their mark upon Aloalo would endure, but their identity remains shrouded in mystery.

During the Fifth Astral Era, Aloalo was home to another people who became skilled at navigating the open sea. Some subsequently migrated to Vylbrand and would go on to found the city-state of Nym. However, when the Sixth Calamity brought destruction to Nym’s gates, those who could returned to the birthplace of their forebears.

Later, in the Sixth Astral Era, some of Aloalo’s residents again crossed the sea to Vylbrand, and their knowledge of arcanima would become the foundation of what is practiced today.

Alas, history would repeat itself when the island was abandoned for the third time a century ago in response to the eruption of an underwater volcano. Now Aloalo sits quietly, awaiting any who might start the cycle anew.

God of Heaven and Sea

“The whale we encountered was as colorful as Thavnairian weave, but as vicious as a kumbhira!”

Legends abound in the south sea isles of whales which soar through the skies, and Shockmaw may be but one of these majestic creatures. According to Kalika, another flying whale known as “Ketuduke” was worshiped by Aloalo’s people as a messenger of the gods, and the countless figures carved in his image are an expression of their devotion. It is therefore within the realm of possibility that the creature which attacked was in truth this Ketuduke.

When faced with this revelation, Matsya wrung his hands and wondered if he had brought ill fortune upon them for angering a divine messenger. Kalika reassured him that any potential calamities could be averted by making the proper obeisance, and he instructed me to write down the ritual for posterity.

First, one must trek to where the three carven deities of Aloalo await their subjects, and there stand before the whale and chant, “O messenger from beyond the horizon, hear me.” Next, they must twice circumnavigate this isle of gods: first passing before the sparrow and then the turtle before returning to the whale’s auspice, then retracing the steps of their journey in the opposite direction. Lastly, the faithful must perform a dance, thus ending the ritual and securing Ketuduke’s blessing.

When Kalika described this rite to me, I was struck by its similarity to certain Thavnairian practices. Although the particulars differ, both religious traditions recognize and honor the divine nature of beasts.

A Noxious Gift

“I’d never felt a fish pull with such strength. At that moment, I swore on my pride as a fisher that I would not let this prize escape!”

Due to its tendency to absorb and accumulate toxins from its prey, the draco barracuda that Matsya returned with is not safe for consumption. To be clear, the fish’s flesh is not inherently toxic, so a brave soul could perhaps eat one and live–and I am certain more than a few have done just that. I know several fellow alchemists who would sample a barracuda just to experience its potency for themselves, in fact. Fortunately, I found it listed within a compendium kept at the Great WOrk, so I knew there was nothing to be gained from such questionable endeavors.

The toxin of the draco barracuda can be used as an alchemical agent, much like the venom of the hamsa. The island’s lush environment likely afforded this particular specimen plenty of prey to feast upon, and as a consequence I suspect it is highly toxic.

Kalika informed me that draco barracuda were revered by Aloalo’s people because they kept harmful seaweed and poisonous smaller fish in check. If one was accidentally caught, it was given back to the sea as a gesture of gratitude. I cannot help but wonder whether Matsya should have done the same.

The Roots of Arcanima

“We were walking through a place filled with such lush greenery that every flower was as a shining ruby in the brush. I was so entranced with my surroundings that I scarcely noticed the strange wooden doll until we were nearly upon it!”

A century ago, an undersea volcano erupted near Aloalo. Violent waves followed, and the sky filled with ash so thick that the island’s inhabitants were unsure they would ever see the sun again. Their fortunes had changed overnight, and they were forced to make the difficult decision to leave their home. The evacuation was fraught with peril, for what boats survived the turbulent waters had to navigate floating lumps of cooling magma.

Prior to this disaster, Aloalo was a repository of mathematical records, grimoires, and marvels of arcanima. Those who fled could only take with them a fraction of these treasures, leaving behind their other creations–including the sculpted guardian known only as “the lala,” later encountered by Matsya and WoL.

Alas, while the lala managed to survive the long years, much of the archive and its tomes have been reclaimed by nature, along with what secrets they contained.

Under the Boughs of the Great Tree

“Thavnair has its share of magnificent trees, but this one puts them all to shame. That jewel is truly a wonder.”

The great tree which towers over Aloalo had already grown into its full majesty when Kalika was born. In its shelter gathered those who worked to unravel the mysteries of the world through numbers and equations, and over time their modest encampment transformed into a full-fledged community. Night and day they would pore over their arithmetic, that they might shed light upon the jewel held by the statue of the Speaker, which seemed to imbue Aloalo itself with unflagging vitality. In the course of their research, they carved numerous arcane geometries into the tree’s bark, one of which would extract the aether from slain animals and redirect its flow to the surrounding flora. Just four sacrifices would be enough to make the branches of the tree grow, thus opening–or closing–paths through the area.

If these early arcanists were so fascinated with the Speaker’s jewel, why did they not live within the shrine which housed it?

This I asked Kalika, who answered that the shrine was enshrouded by an impenetrable mist–likely the result of magicks woven by its forgotten builders. And so the proto-arcanists settled at the great tree while they labored to create a tool which would win them safe passage, only to remain there even after their work was complete. I presume the comforts and benefits of a familiar place won out in the end.

A Dear Friend

“When the branches were thickest, I wondered if I might spy a bird like Kalika perched upon them. I kept looking up, but I spied no sparrows flitting throughout the canopy.”

When Kalika heard this story from Matsya, he proudly exclaimed that he was unlike any other sparrow in the world. Although his less-talkative brethren are a common sight in Thavnair, they were revered by the inhabitants of Aloalo. Seeking to deepen my bond with the loquacious bird, I asked Kalika if there were any rituals performed or prayers offered in his kind’s honor. While Kalika was uncharacteristically reluctant to teach me, he acquiesced after some prodding. I have recorded his instructions so as not to forget.

Where Aloalo’s deities lie in wait, one must stand before the figure of the sparrow and chant, “O dancer of the skies, hear me.” Then they must prove their sincerity by blowing it a kiss. After that, the faithful should circle its perch, passing both the turtle and the whale ere returning to the sagely sparrow and performing for it a sprightly dance, thus securing the sparrow’s favor.

After learning this, I blew a kiss to Kalika. In response, he sighed deeply and turned his back to me. My heart sank, and it was then I realized just how much I had come to care about him. I want only for Kalika to be comfortable and safe. Perhaps I should put more effort in the meals I prepare? Or would blowing him more kisses win his favor? Or perhaps… (The following musings content no pertinent information for those who would brave Aloalo.)

Fish for the Mind

“To think the great tree was home to fish as well. I usually cast my rod in the sea, but it’s exciting to ply my trade in a new environment!”

Kalika informed us that the fish Matsya returned with is a “wholokailo”. Its hard scales were dried, polished, and repurposed as components in a calculating device. The meat was also favored for its succulent flavor and supposed ability to enhance intelligence. As an alchemist, I was eager to put this claim to the proof. Could the meat actually sharpen one’s mind, or was it merely superstition born from the wholokailo’s association with arcanima?

I investigated the fish’s properties as soon as I heard Kalika’s story, but regrettably found nothing extraordinary concerning its nutritional benefits. That said, the scales do appear to have value as alchemical agents if they are properly stripped from the body and dried. I then thought perhaps grilling the fish and eating it whole might produce the desired enhancing effect… but I found the scales to be much too hard to chew and displeasing to the tongue besides.

To use the fish to its full alchemical potential, I believe the best method would be to grind the scales into powder, then knead them into a shape that can be easily swallowed. Whether or not the resulting product would measurably improve one’s intelligence remains to be seen, though.

A Familiar History

“That faerie almost spoiled the whole experience. I hope we’ve seen the last of her…”

The faerie that tormented Matsya was a forgotten familiar by the name of Statice. Kalika was no stranger to her antics, and he recounted the stories of Statice wielding bizarre tools in her many attempts to capture him. She seems to have no purpose but to engage in mischief, and her traps litter Aloalo.

Given that scholars from the city-state of Nym settled upon Aloalo after the Sixth Calamity, the presence of a faerie is hardly surprising. They were favored as familiars by Nym’s mages, but such minions disappear upon the death of their master, when the supply of aether sustaining them is cut off. The fact that Statice has endured for so long suggests that she draws upon a potent source of aether–perhaps the selfsame jewel which is responsible for the remarkable vitality of Aloalo.

As an aside, the techniques used to control these faeries would later be refined by modern arcanists who command Carbuncles.

Tracing the evolution of the art further back, we can see a connection to the wooden familiars left behind by the forgotten original settlers of Aloalo. The tapestry of history is vast and intricate, and these expeditions have done much to add new threads to the cloth.

The Remnants of Faith

“We arrived at a place that looked long abandoned but retained an unmistakable air of divinity. Whatever gods watched over Aloalo, this was surely their home.”

Matsya’s description called to mind Thavnair’s Purusa, and Kalika confirmed that it was indeed a sacred site for the people of Aloalo. It contained a ritual chamber where figures of the gods awaited to dispense their blessings, among them that of a sea turtle. As a fisher, Matsya is bonded to the sea, and Kalika suggested that he perform the proper rites before the turtle upon his next voyage. For Matsya’s sake, I shall record the instructions here.

First, standing before the turtle, one must chant, “O wayfarer of land and sea, hear me.” Then the supplicant must journey around the isle of gods twice, each time passing the sparrow then the whale before returning to the turtle. Bow before the wise traveler to earn its blessing.

Figures of the divinities could also be found throughout the ruins of old settlements, and I wonder whether their arrangement held special meaning. Regardless, it is plain that religion was of great importance to the people of Aloalo, much like it is to the Hannish.

A Lalafell or a Fish?

“I’ve never seen such a fish! It almost resembles you, Pasasun–quite adorable, if I say so myself.”

I respect Matsya and his opinions, but I must strenuously beg to differ. To simply look at the fish he brought back from Aloalo sends a chill down my spine. Birds like Kalika could be described as “adorable,” but a fish with the face of a man… well, we shall have to agree to disagree, and consider this a minor hitch in an otherwise harmonious friendship.

When I asked Kalika about this odd specimen, he said it was called a “lalaulusu” by Aloalo’s inhabitants. They had a legend of an unlucky lalafell who was cast into the ocean during a storm, whereupon they found themselves transformed into a fish.

Parents told this story to their children to discourage them from wandering near the shore during rough weather. While it was likely no more than a cautionary tale, I cannot help but hesitate to render the laulusu into alchemical materials.

Wellspring of Golden Memories

“I caught a fish with striking golds scales–it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in Thavnair. This may be the most precious treasure of Aloalo Island!”

“Long ago, a fever raged among Aloalo’s infants. In a desperate bid to save their young, the islanders made soup with fish from the waters of the great shrine. The infants’ fevers broke, and all who partook of the soup grew into hale and hearty adults who were never again touched by sickness. Thenceforth it became custom to feed all newborns soup made from the golden coelacanth. Whatever inherent nutritional benefits the meat possesses seem to be enhanced by the fish’s proximity to the statue of the Speaker and the jewel it protects. Needless to say, the golden coelacanth holds high value as an alchemical specimen.

Although Matsya and I have known each other since childhood, the separate paths we took in life have afforded us scant opportunity to work together. Since the day he found Kalika washed up on the beach, however, we have never been closer– and the adorable bird has been a welcome addition to our fellowship. What is more, I have been able to advance my study of alchemy thanks to the rare fish Matsya has brought back.

I began this conservation record in the hopes that Matsya and any who would follow in his footsteps might benefit from it, but it has become a journal of sorts for this most joyous time in mylife. I am forever grateful to Matsya and Kalika both for setting these events in motion, and to WoL for keeping my dear friend safe from harm in his journeys.

EXTRA!

The Speaker

Kalika: I can tell you only of legends passed down through generations. Of biting frost that turned seas to ice, which drove the Speaker’s makers to go forth in search of a haven where light shone bright.

Those who came long after found Aloalo, where life had weathered the ancient rime. At the island’s heart was the Speaker, its jewel flawless and radiant. ‘Twas a wellspring of vitality, they believed, and all who settled upon Aloalo came to revere the ancient builders and their enduring legacy.

Under the Speaker’s auspices, the people of Aloalo lived in peace for thousands of years, until the day flame and ash rose from the water and forced them to flee.

#ffxiv #variant dungeon #ffxiv lore #Nym #Southern Seas #arcanist #lalafell #plainsfolk

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oh-three · 2 years

Note

✘ ▼ △ ✂ ☣ ☢ ☠ ¿♥ ϟ for any of the depressed horses, you can pick which (and feel free to add the Sixth Sister into the mix too)

✘ Have they ever committed a murder?

They're all insane, but none of Unit Arrel would go that far. Not while loyal to the Light Side of the Force...

▼ What is their greatest fear?

Rak- maybe not his greatest fear, but meeting with his Jedi Master again would be a nightmare come true. Getting tortured by Vader is another big one.

Vori- losing Rakesh, probably. There's never any romance between them (as I've already said, they're more of a brother-sister best friends type thing) but if Rak were to die...? That's the end of the world for her.

Brakan- of the war potentially reaching Coruscant. Of course, it does, and other things go down right around then, and he's not the only one among them far from happy.

Trohr- of the war. Of being called back out to fight in it, of it reaching Coruscant...The war plagues his nightmares. Poor kid.

Tindri- I'm not sure if she's really afraid of anything, but she definitely tries not to think about the fact that Jurr is getting up in his years and could pass at any time. She may pick on him, but he really is a father to even her.

Linaleh- of losing any of those in Unit Arrel. Especially of losing Trohr, Vori, or Brak. She's like a mother duck (is that how the saying goes?), herding them all around and watching over them.

Loktof- of the Republic falling. He hates the politics of it all, but he prefers the current system over its more tyrannical counterparts. The clone army is an unnerving thing to him.

Jurr- the fall of the Jedi Order, the fall of any of those within Unit Arrel. They're his life, and he's proud of how they've all changed and evolved since Cin tossed them into the chaos that is the Guard alongside him.

△ Name one thing from their past that they regret.

Rak- the fact that he got one of the worst masters possible. He regrets that he was never able to properly stand up for himself, that he was never strong enough to defeat his master.

Vori- losing touch with Rakesh (he also regrets it, but not as much as the stuff with his master).

Brakan- the whole thing about Maul killing Qui-Gon and the affects it had upon him for being the same species (even if he's Iridonian and not Dathomirian).

Trohr- watching his master's clone commander die in his place. It inflicted a lot of trauma upon him, having someone sacrifice themselves for him like that.

Tindri- ?????????? I feel like she'd have a lot of regrets.

Linaleh- whatever had happened in her past that made her so protective of the children of Arrel. I mean, it has to be caused by something.

Loktof- probably one of the times he accidentally injured Rak. Or their rivalry, how it most likely had started out as resentment for one another, how they never fully let go of it.

Jurr- he's an old man, he regrets a great many things.

✂ If they had to choose one weapon to carry forever, what would it be?

Lightsaber? Lightsaber. Though Jurr wouldn't mind discarding it to forever rely upon the Force for protection.

☣ Would they kill someone close to them if they had to?

Rak- this is a complicated one. Possibly. It would certainly depend on the circumstances and what's at stake, what era of his life he's in. He struggles to trust, to get close to people. If anyone were to betray that, oh, they'd be goners.

Vori- Never.

Brak- Couldn't hurt a fly.

Trohr- not on purpose, though I could see him doing it by accident in a major panic attack or such. An then he'd have even more trauma.

Tindri- would definitely joke about it, would never do it.

Linaleh- if she did, it'd be either Rak or Loktof. Their more blunt personalities annoy her when directed at the children.

Loktof- absolutely.

Jurr- only in self defense, and only if he had no other choice. He'd never act on malice himself.

☢ Would they survive an apocalyptic situation?

Rak- 100%

Vori- only if she stuck by Rak and got lucky.

Brak- probably not. If he did, he'd never be the same.

Trohr- he definitely has the ability to. His experience on the field in the Clone Wars gives him an advantage.

Tindri- Maybe. Someone might kill her for her sarcasm, though.

Linaleh- Nope. She'd be the one to sacrifice herself so the others could get away.

Loktof- would probably get himself killed with his aggression toward others.

Jurr- since when did the mentor figure ever survive? Obi-Wan in the OT, Doc Brown in BTTF before Marty changed the timeline, Wu when the Great Devourer swallowed him early on in LEGO Ninjago (though he technically didn't die)...

☠ Do they fear death?

Rak- Take a guess? 😅

Vori- Nope. She'd be too optimistic about surviving to be afraid.

Brak- has a similar mindset to Rak in there being things more frightening than death, but he still fears it nonetheless.

Trohr- same as Brak.

Tindri- Not really. She genuinely doesn't care all that much about it.

Linaleh- not for herself, but for others.

Loktof- Nope.

Jurr- same as Linaleh. Though he has a bit more self-respect than she does for herself.

¿ Are they easily frightened?

Rak- Nope.

Vori- Depends. Jumpscares? Definitely.

Brak- Yes.

Trohr- Also yes.

Tindri- I swear she's fearless. 😂

Linaleh- she's like a mother watching her five-ish year old fall over.

Loktof- also pretty fearless.

Jurr- not easily frightened, but is capable of being frightened far more than Rak, Tindri, Linaleh, and Loktof.

♥ Have they ever acting out of heartlessness?

Rak- not as a Jedi.

Vori- could never.

Brak- literally incapable of it.

Trohr- Nope.

Tindri- yes, but only in pranks. When she's particularly pissed, she's meaner with them.

Linaleh- hasn't but totally would.

Loktof- every time he looses control when he and Rak spar.

Jurr- when he was younger, maybe. But not in a very long time.

ϟ Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others pain?

Rak- But of course!

Vori- Nope.

Brak- he'd be sick to his stomach if he did.

Trohr- he certainly would have turned out that way had Unit Arrel not saved him from the war.

Tindri- with her pranks, definitely. It's part of why she does them, boredom and humor aside.

Linaleh- if they hurt the kids, then yep.

Loktof- always.

Jurr- Never.

#laughs in the Sixth Sister's real identity #good luck figuring out who she is though because I'm definitely not telling #thanks for the ask!

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one-eyed-dragons-queen · 2 years

Text

to covet and crown prologue/_? aemond targaryen x twin sister!ofc

WARNING THIS IS A TWINCEST FIC

'Dragons were covetous creatures, and Daemon knew how hotly dragon blood burned when someone attempted to keep a dragon from what it believed was rightfully theirs. And if Aemond Targaryen had decided that his sweet sister Valarra was his and his alone, neither Alicent, nor Viserys, nor all the Lords of Westeros or the Seven themselves could keep her from him.'

PROLOGUE:

110 AC

On the sixth day of the seventh moon, one-hundred-and-ten years after Aegon’s Conquest, Queen Alicent began the labors of her third pregnancy. All through the night she screamed and bellowed, the servants say, sounding more dragon than woman – though she herself was a Hightower.

Her third labor was far worse than the labors she endured to bring young Prince Aegon and sweet Princess Helaena into the world, and thrice the maesters fled her chamber under the guise of questioning King Viserys on what ought to be done to ease his Queen. In truth the sight had been terrible to behold, and one that all present had been eager to escape; the screaming, the blood, it had overwhelmed at least two handmaidens and left more than one maester with shaking hands and stammering words. For surely such torment could only be endured for so long, and as the hour of the dragon passed, the babe had yet to end its mother’s suffering.

Yet soon as the sky lit with the dawn, a blaze of oranges and pinks and reds of the rising sun on the horizon, Queen Alicent brought into the world two dragons of her own. The second child was small, unexpected, and for all the pious present, a gift from the Seven, for it was the seventh day of the seventh month. At the time the Queen had wanted to scoff at their holy reverence as she lay naked up to her waist and covered in blood, still panting and sweating like an animal as the blazing dawn cast its heat throughout the stifling chamber. Unfamiliar faces of witless handmaidens and prying maesters swarmed her vision as she looked around frantically for the babes she had just given life to. Her mind raced – they were gone, someone took them, someone took her babes, someone-

“A Prince and a Princess, Your Grace,” a faceless maester spoke from somewhere at her side, “hale and beautiful.”

She vaguely felt the two bundles wrapped in fine silk being arranged in her arms as another handmaiden she did not recognize - through tears she hadn’t realized were welling – gently wiped her brow with a cool cloth. Immediately she looked down at the two babes in her arms, desperate to see what so much pain and agony had bought her. In the instant she looked upon them, all of the space held in her heart for Aegon and Helaena was shoved aside only to be filled to the brim by her newborn twins. Their skin was softer than any silk she’d felt in her life, the most perfect shade of the palest pink – unmarred and perfect. Identical, as far as she could tell, and only a year later would she learn that they were not. But in that moment, her little Prince and her little Princess both had the faintest wisps of silver-blond hair, and violet eyes that only opened enough to allow her a small peek.

Two dragons, she mused, not Hightowers.

She knew it was folly to hope for a child bearing the dark locks and emerald eyes of her own lineage.

‘The blood of the dragon is strong,’ Viserys had said when she voiced her innermost desire for a child of her own likeness – even just one, ‘there is no blood in any living man that can overcome it.’

Long moments of studying her babes pass before Viserys is entering the bedchamber, his smile wider than it had ever been with the birth of Aegon or Helaena. He’d undoubtedly been informed of the omens and good fortune that the birth of their twins brought forth. Congratulations was heartily offered to Visery from all of those in the room as Alicent remained silent, looking down upon the silver-dusted heads of her twins. She tried to ignore the feeling of the stiff and drying blood beneath her thighs, and the salt of the sweat that dripped into seam of her closed lips. Her chestnut hair clung dryly to her forehead and neck. She was suffering the aftermath of her childbirth as the fire of the sky’s horizon blazed through the open window, turning the blood on the sheets sticky against her skin.

“How fare the children, my Queen?” Viserys asked from his sudden place beside her, looking down over her shoulder at the bundles in red silk.

I am suffering.

Alicent remembers her courtesies, remembers there is an entire court present in her bedchamber as she schools her expression into one of Queenly contentment.

“The maester assures me they are healthy, Your Grace.”

I just wanted a babe who looked like me.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Viserys practically shouts, causing the babes to startle and cry.

Perhaps he will allow me to name my daughter in honor of my mother…

But before the thought even passes her mind, Viserys has turned from her. “Grand Maester, see to it that word is spread quickly, and that the bells of Baelor are rung for the remainder of the day. Have ravens sent to every Lord in Westeros that the Queen has given birth to Prince Aemond and Princess Valarra.”

Alicent’s second hope died in her chest. Her babes were given names not of her choosing – names of long-dead Targaryens that had never much mattered to her. But with Viserys grinning from ear to ear at his proclamation, she mustered what little effort she had left in her to give, and she smiled. She smiled at her husband as he stole yet another desire from her, even if it was a theft unintended. His blood would always overpower hers and her children would always be a reminder of that. Her lineage would die with her – another broodmare to further the Targaryen line, though for a gentler stallion she could not have dared to hope. Viserys was kind to her, if a bit absentminded and blissfully unaware at times. He would make a good father to – he was a good father. But what would her children say of their Hightower mother in the years to come, when her vibrant green faded into the background of red and black? Would they see her as she saw herself most days? A lesser vessel to further a greater line?

No, she resolved vehemently, they would not.

Targaryen they would be in blood and appearance, such was true. But Aemond and Valarra would be hers. She would raise them as her own mother had raised her – to be kind and gentle, to conduct themselves with the utmost courtesy and dignity, and to find appreciation in things besides dragons, and war, and a dead Kingdom on the other side of the world. Her twins would be taught justice, and humility, and propriety. She would cast out as much of the Targaryen ways as she could when it came to her twins. They would not marry their cousins, or aunt, or uncle, or nephew, or niece. She would not allow it. The Hightower bloodline did not flow through such foul ties, and neither would the blood of the babes in her arms. Viserys had already made plain his desire to wed Aegon and Helaena, and she knew there would be no swaying him when he began saying things such as ‘the Valyrian way’ and ‘blood purity’.

Her stomach still churned at the thought of her son and daughter together; wedding, bedding, begetting heirs.

It was unnatural.

It was sinful.

It was an abomination against the Gods.

Yes, she would raise them as Hightowers. Targaryen they may be, and dragons they may ride, but their mother’s blood would flow just as strongly. And for once she would silence Viserys’ words, and show him that Hightower blood was not so easily subdued. She would make sure of it. She would dress them in green and silver if she had to. She would breath her own fire and set aflame all expectation that simply because their hair was silver and their eyes were the color of amethysts that they were any less descendants of their mother’s blood. Viserys would not take this opportunity from her. Not again. She would right all of the wrongs in the Targaryen bloodline until she brought forth something new, far less black than green.

But suddenly, as if all of the spirits of every dead Targaryen had heard her treacherous thoughts, the babes in her arms screamed. And as she quickly looked down, she saw her twins bathed in the red of the sun’s rising, wrapped in the red silks of her Dragonlord’s house, and could not deny that they looked to be truly made of fire and blood.

#also posted on ao3 #Aemond Targaryen x oc #Aemond Targaryen x twin sister ofc #aemond targaryen

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ignitedminds27 · 8 months

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Warrior season 3, Young Jun won my heart. That man showed immense strength when he had to kill the most precious person to him, his father, the legendary Father Jun.

His loyalty and respect for Ah Sahm is unquestionable. The fact that he said Ah Sahm to not come along with them and "no one should have to kill their own family", it showed how he cared for the bitch who went on his back and snitched.

Young Jun never blamed Ah Sahm for his father's death when it was his savior complex which cost Father Jun's life. After Mai Ling revealed his identity Young Jun never abandoned him and his trust in Ah Sahm never faltered even though his sixth sense was constantly telling him he might betray. Young Jun was the one who vouched for Ah Sahm when Father Jun and whole of Hop Wei was against him. Young Jun gave him his undying loyalty and took him under his wing when his own sister refused to take him, but what did Ah Sahm do the minute he got an opportunity to payback with loyalty, he fucking backstabbed him. That hurt Young Jun more than his father's death.

#young jun #warrior max #warrior series #warrior season 3 #warrior s3 #warrior #andrew koji #ah sahm #ah toy #mr chow #mai ling #li yong #jason tobin #father jun

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nifolution · 1 year

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You Loved Me Once

Pairing: Jake Jensen & Plus-size Reader

Summary: It couldn't be gone. Somewhere deep inside him, he remembered their love. He had to.

Warnings: fluff, angst, feels, humor, mentions of naughty times with food, injuries, car accident due to explosion, mention of guns and being shot and stabbed, concussion, memory loss, fat shaming, heartbreak, breakup, enemies to lovers to strangers

A/N: Takes place roughly 5 years after the movie. This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 3rd person. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Main Masterlist

Jake Jensen tiptoed behind his niece, holding a finger to his lips to keep her friends mum about his presence. Carefully dropping a card into the hood of her zombie sweatshirt, he scampered away. The birthday girl would notice soon enough. And if not, her friends would point it out. The eighth graders well onto the sneaky uncle’s game.

Hannah was old enough that she preferred picking out her own things, but Jake hated the idea of just handing her a gift card. So he bought several for her favorite places; the ice cream parlor, the sporting goods store so she could get new cleats, the movies and so on. Throughout the party, Jake would stick a gift card in his niece's hoodie without her knowledge. The first was placed when he hugged her and wished her a happy birthday. Once discovered, he would find an opportunity to put in another.

Groaning, Stephanie plopped herself down, joining the table of chit-chatting adults. “You're a great uncle, but why did you have to convince her to have a zombie birthday?” She pointed an accusing finger at Jake, “Do you know how difficult it was to make a brain cake that oozes fake blood?”

“What? Christmas in July, zombies in June, not to mention 13 is an evil-evil number, made perfect sense to me.” He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hannah found the gift card, pursing her lips in mock annoyance as she pocketed it. “Besides, Angel here deserves half the credit.”

Y/N scoffed, “Don’t throw me under the bus. Your sister knows this was all you.”

In reality they both had an obsession with the genre. The couple loved watching monster movies together. Gotten into more than one heated debate over who could defeat whom. Each of them had their favorite creature army and strategies. And although dead and undead things didn't technically qualify, it fell under a similar umbrella.

“Party’s almost over. Any exciting plans after this?”

“Hannah is spending the night at her best friend’s house. So I plan to finish a bottle of wine, and the rest of that cake, while I watch my show and pass out. Then tomorrow, she has to be back by noon, to start her project on ‘armadillos and their impact on the environment.’ Don’t forget, Jake, you promised to help her research for the report and make a diorama.”

“Ooh, I can help too. I know lots of armadillo facts. They’re insectivores… they love to swim… give birth to identical quadruplets, and their armor is tougher than a 9mm.”

Jake threw his arm around his girlfriend, “My Angel is so helpful.” As he spoke, his niece walked by with her overnight bag. He quickly placed another card into her hood without missing a beat. “I can’t wait to get you home, watch Godzilla kick some Ghidorah butt. Maybe have my favorite snack, a little taste of the rainbow,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Stephanie cringed at the suggestive tone, “Eww, I don't even want to know.”

Hannah began to put on her shoes to leave, finding another gift card inside the left one. “UNCLE J!”

Looking as smug as ever, Jake grabbed Y/N’s hand, announcing that was their cue to leave.

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

The day Clay introduced Y/N to the team, Jake didn’t take too kindly to her. Giving any reason he could think of as to why The Losers didn’t need a sixth member. Determined to prove her untrustworthy and unnecessary, he drilled her about the drones she makes and her qualifications, trying to catch her in a lie.

He didn't find one, and Clay insisted that she would be an asset. While the rest of the unit was in the field, Y/N would be at home, providing remote support. So Jensen could focus on staying alive instead of his computer. It didn't stop him from feeling like he was being replaced. He was the tech guy, why did they need her?

"Just so we're clear, Y/N, if that is your real name, I am hacker A and you are hacker B. I was here first and I'm not going anywhere."

After the first operation she more than proved her usefulness. Research, logistics, hacking, navigation, and drone assistance. Her drones gave them a bird's eye view, cameras, surveillance, real time topography, thermal imaging, warning systems, an extra set of guns and more.

It was impossible to deny she knew what she was doing. They only walked away in one piece because of her. But it wasn’t until Jake was making his usual attempt at humor mentioned battling kaiju, that the most beautiful sound graced his earpiece. Y/N was laughing, she understood the joke. She then told him a real kaiju would stomp him into monster toe jam, giving Jake a fit of clamorous snorting and wheezing.

“Careful there, Jakey, I don’t want to have to call the paramedics because you passed out.”

He heard the smile in her voice, he couldn’t get enough. “I changed my mind. You are now hacker A. A for Angel.”

Everything changed after that day. Jake flirted with her constantly on comms, much to his teammates' chagrin. His nonsensical banter was now mostly aimed to amuse her. He loved hearing her heavenly voice in his ear. Willing to do whatever it took to make her laugh. The more time he spent speaking with her, the harder he fell. There was an undeniable connection between them.

"So my beautiful Angel, keeping an eye on us from high above, when will you grace me with a date?" Jake had asked before and she had let him down gently. He had to try one more time, even if it led to another rejection.

"I told you, I don't date coworkers. Not even reeeaaally cute ones," she whined. Once again regretting the no.

"I know, but we're more like… long distance coworkers." He smiled to himself, lowering his voice to what he considered a sexy tone, "We work oceans apart so we can be skin to supple naked skin at home… and occasionally other locations. So it's not really breaking your rule."

Y/N giggled, "How can I say no when you put it like that."

"Soooo that's a yes?"

She couldn't help but give in to his dorky charm. "Yes, you can take me out when you're stateside. We'll see where this goes."

"Oh it's going. It's going so far you won't know where the hell we are. Just me and you, lost with nothing but a flashlight and our body heat to keep us warm."

There it was again, his favorite sound.

Four years later Jake still makes inappropriate comments over comms. Their relationship remained strong. Their love and devotion never wavering. Y/N didn't know Jake had been hunting for the perfect ring and planning a big proposal. He wanted to get it just right, his Angel deserved no less.

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

“Let's get it oooonnnn.

Let's love, baby.

Let's get it oooonnnn, suGAR.

Let's get it oooonnnn, woo hooooooooo.”

An hour and a half outside one of Sri Lanka’s capitals, the roar of a large truck speeding down a dirt road, was accompanied by very offkey, shrill singing.

Pooch gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his head briefly to yell at the offending teammate, “Shut up Jensen. You sound like a cat being skinned alive.”

The criticism didn’t bother Jake at all. “Don't be a party pooper, Linwood, I’m serenading my love.”

Y/N shook her head, smiling to herself. “You can sing to me later Jakey. Give the guys ears a break.”

“My gorgeous sexy Angel, when I return, I want to run a hot bubble bath for us. I need to feel those pretty nails scratch down my back. Then I’ll order sushi so you eat it off my naked body. This may or may not be followed by an equally sexy shower.”

"Clay, if I have to listen to this much longer, I'm gonna stab him." Aisha had enough. His lovesick screeching needed to be stopped.

Jake grinned ear to ear, placing his hands behind his head, "What can I say, she loves the angle of my dangle.”

“Okay, The Pooch does not need to hear about the weird Klingon sex or whatever you two are having.”

“Ooh Angel, HIja' bangwI' Ha'.”

"That’s enough,” Clay snapped. “Stop giving them new kinks and focus. The compound is eight klicks ahead. So unless you want to die today, zip it."

“You got it boss. Playtime’s over.” Jake’s voice became gruff and ominous, “Their evil lair looms in the distance. We must prepare our shields and sharpen our silver swords.”

“They aren’t werewolves... I don’t think.” Checking that her drones were in place and out of sight, Y/N cleared her throat, “Alright, it looks like the first set of guards are stationed in an armored vehicle outside the northwest entrance. All clear beyond that gate as of now.”

Clay nodded, “Copy that.”

“Come home to me safe Jakey.”

“Always my Angel. Love you.”

“Love you.”

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

All targets were eliminated, the team was on their way back to the hotel, the coast should have been clear. The explosion shocked everyone when an IED detonated under their truck. Four crawled out of the wreckage. The fifth was trapped inside, unconscious and unresponsive.

To say Y/N was drowning in guilt would be an understatement. She blamed herself for the accident. For logging off when she did. She wasn't watching out for them when they needed her. She should have monitored the vehicle better. It could have been prevented had she been more diligent. This was her fault. She would never forgive herself.

Clay knew the call would be a disaster. Weeping women made him uneasy. “I am the one that declared the mission complete. If you’re going to blame someone, blame me... No, do not fly out here. It could raise too many red flags and make the situation dangerous for us. Aisha already had to slip out of the country to avoid detection. Sit tight. I will call you when he wakes up… Jensen’s a fighter, Y/N, he will pull through.”

It would be three days of crying and worrying herself sick before she would hear from her team again. Clay called with good news; Jensen was awake.

“He’s okay. Like the rest of us, he has some superficial cuts and deep bruising. He has a concussion, so they want to keep him a couple more days for observation. Then we're heading home.”

Y/N could breathe again. “Please, let me talk to him.”

“That wouldn't be a good idea right now. Jensen is too agitated and confused due to um…” Clay exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face, “Well, the concussion seems to have caused post-traumatic amnesia.”

“Amnesia? You mean he can’t remember anything?”

“He remembers everything before 2010 without any problem, but everything after is a blur. He doesn't remember… you.”

“He doesn't know me anymore? I…That doesn’t… If this is a joke, it's not funny, Clay.” As mad as she would be, she prayed this was a bad prank of Jake’s. Hopelessly looking around, expecting him to be sneaking up on her to grab her.

“I wish it was. The doctors assure us it is temporary, but its duration is undetermined. Could be hours to months. Until then he needs to avoid stress and stimulation, let his head heal. We can calmly tell him things he forgot, but not try to force him to remember. It will come back on its own.”

Clay grimaced, “And it kills me to ask this, Y/N, but can you pack up some of his things? It would be better if Jensen stays with his sister, just until he’s more acquainted with you. He would undoubtedly be more comfortable somewhere familiar with someone he’s known his whole life.”

There was no response. If it weren't for her breathing, Clay would have thought the line disconnected. “Y/N?” he tried again. “I know it’s a lot, hun, but you guys will get through this. Jensen will be better in no time. I’ll keep you updated.”

Y/N’s voice cracked as she softly answered, “O-okay.”

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

Jake had a killer migraine. The more he tried to think, the worse it got. Waking up in a different year will do that to a person. He wished it was because of something cool, like time travel or being kidnapped by aliens that zapped his brain, but no, it was just a car accident. An occupational hazard that caused him to lose the last five years of his life.

It felt like being trapped in the twilight zone. Everything was different. His team did their best to fill him in on what he was missing. He had to be told of their set up and life as fugitives. Of Roque's betrayal and death. How they were cleared and given honorable discharges, but let the ties remain cut. They were their own unit now, with Clay still leading. It made Jake happy that hadn't changed, they still kicked ass together. He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

The part that intrigued him the most was being told he had a long time girlfriend, Y/N. Whom he called Angel. The group did the best they could telling him about the love of his life. His phone was damaged in the accident, so he couldn’t see a photo. The rest of the team weren’t picture taking people, with the exception of Pooch, who had a million of his son. Crazy, that his friend was now a father.

He learned how they met, about their home, and things they liked to do together, like mini golf and road trips to comic cons. That he loved everything about her, often claiming he secretly made her in a lab, because she couldn't be more perfect for him. And Y/N felt the same about him. He’d give her the honor of wearing his pirate hat when he was away. The one he claimed can only be worn with undies. The Losers hated that they knew that detail, but Jensen liked to overshare. How he still begged her to create a drone that can grab him and carry him through the air like Superman.

Jake listened intently and was excited to meet the awesome mystery woman they spoke about.

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

He had been back for less than twenty four hours and his head was killing him. He hadn’t recognized his own niece, she had grown so. Hannah jumped into his arms when he walked in the door, and he didn’t know her. Jake saw the heartbreak on her and his sister’s faces when she told him who she was. He felt like shit. The years he misplaced, this damn brain injury, was hurting the people he loved most.

Someone decided to throw Jensen a welcome home dinner at Clay’s. It certainly wasn’t Clay. All of the Losers would be there, including Y/N. They hoped this night would trigger his memories, or at least make him comfortable enough to move back home with her. They convinced themselves that seeing his girlfriend again would make everything click back into place.

Jake anxiously awaited her arrival. Practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. Clay had told him more than once to sit his ass down and relax, but he found it impossible.

Having gotten a babysitter for the night, Pooch arrived with his wife Jolene, a few cases of beer and bottles of wine.

Cougar was the next to arrive, he thought it better to not bring a date for once, Jensen didn't need actual strangers around to confuse him further.

Aisha walked in shortly after. Jake’s face lit up as he ran over, “Holy smokes, you guys weren't kidding. She is definitely mine.” He attempted to put his arm around her waist, but she was faster, catching and twisting the limb until it nearly broke.

Clay walked over to separate them. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time he had to rescue Jensen from her for doing something stupid. “Not yours, mine.” At Aisha’s glare he clarified, “When she wants to be that is. Jensen, this is Aisha. Hands to yourself or she is likely to shoot you again.”

“AGAIN?!”

“Did we not tell you that?”

Shit, she was late. Y/N had stopped to pick up dinner and it took longer than expected. This was not the way she wanted to see her Jakey again. She wore the superheroes vs supervillains jacket he bought for her. Each side ran up a sleeve and collided in battle in the back. Hoping that the sight of her in it will jog his memory. Nervously bouncing her legs, she checked her appearance in the car mirror. Not everyday the love of your life meets you for a second time.

Y/N quietly entered the apartment, her eyes instantly locked onto Jake. He was having a conversation with Pooch and Cougar, laughing and carefree. She noticed the cuts and bruises on his face and arms, knowing there were more under his clothes. It took all her strength not to run over and kiss each one.

She stood awkwardly by the door with the bags of food in her hands, waiting. Jake turned his head and looked right at her. Holding her breath, Y/N searched for any spark of recognition in his eyes. He watched her quizzically, but gave no other reaction. Maybe she should have worn the droids shirt she had on when they first met.

Jake, seeing no one else moving to help, rose from his chair to assist. Giving an apologetic smile as he took the bags from her, “Sorry about that. Do we owe you anything?”

She blinked at him, “Huh?”

“I'm not sure who paid for the dinner,” he lifted the bags in question closer to eye level.

“Oh, I did. It was my turn.”

Jake stared blankly at her, before tilting his head, “So we know you?”

“Yes, I’m part of the team. I'm - I’m Y/N, your girlfriend.”

He threw his head back, “Ha! Very funny. Which one of them put you up to this?” Jake looked around the room for the culprit.

It felt like a snake winding around her heart. Why didn't he believe her? She looked at the group with worried eyes. This was getting uncomfortable for everyone. “No, it's not a joke. We’re together. We just had our fourth anniversary two months ago.”

“Oh,” Jake's eyebrows furrowed. He looked Y/N up and down, frowning. “Um, nice to meet ya. I guess.” Turning his back to her, he walked the food to the table. His splitting headache returned, thoughts swirling and unable to stick. He hated this.

Y/N didn't miss the pity in everyone’s eyes as she silently followed. She sniffed, trying to prevent the tears from falling. Her second first impression was turning out worse than the original.

During the meal, Jake sat in the chair next to her. His body tense, his smiles tight lipped and forced, unlike before. He avoided her gaze, scowling whenever Y/N tried to start a conversation. She made the mistake of touching his arm, and he recoiled. Her stomach was in knots, not understanding why he was reacting so harshly to her.

After everyone ate, Jake and the guys set up the poker table. He watched the women talking, growing bitter. As they brought over more drinks, he turned back to his friends, “This sucks. I deserve a hot babe like Aisha or Jolene. How'd I get stuck with the boring fat chick? Love of my life,” he scoffed, “I don't think so. Waste of my life maybe.”

Y/N froze in shock, her lip trembled. He couldn't have meant what he just said.

Pooch jumped to her defense, “Jensen what the hell, man? How could you say something like that? Amnesia or not, you’re never this rude and disrespectful. You may not remember right now, but Y/N is everything to you.”

“If you like her so much, why don't you date her,” he sneered.

”I have,” Clay retorted. “That’s how she came to work with us. Aisha and I were on a break and we dated. So I have first hand knowledge of how amazing she is.”

Jake’s voice filled with disdain, “Then why aren't you together? Perhaps it's because my first instincts about her were right. She can't be trusted and shouldn't be on this team.”

“Listen jackass, it’s because I decided to hire her. And you know I prefer my women a bit batshit crazy. She’s too sweet for me, but she’s perfect for you. You both have been smitten with each other from day one.”

Briefly turning to Y/N before refocusing on Clay, Jake shrugged, “I don't feel a damn thing when I look at her. Now that Aisha, she’s got parts of me stirring. Maybe I should steal her from you instead. Or have a different girl each night, like my man Cougar. Now that's the way to play it. Why tie myself to one woman, especially that one.”

There was an uproar from the group as Y/N sprinted to the bathroom, sobbing. Everyone began yelling at Jensen for his behavior. He fought back until his migraine got too severe. His vision blurred and he felt sick. Remembering his condition, the team felt guilty for the distress they caused. Cougar drove him back to his sister’s, while the women checked on Y/N.

Jolene rubbed Y/N’s back, trying to console her devastated friend. “You know his mouth is faster than his brain. He…”

“Talks out of his ass,” Aisha finished.

Jolene gave her a pointed look before continuing. “You two are amazing together. Just be patient, things will be better soon. This will all be like a bad dream before you know it.”

It was getting harder to breathe, the snake wound tighter and tighter. Y/N tried believing, but doubts and insecurities screamed in her head. And somehow the loudest was the one whispering, ‘You lost him and he's never coming back.’

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

Stephanie kept the team updated on Jake’s progress, or lack thereof. He spent the next two weeks hiding in her guestroom, sleeping or on his laptop, refusing to talk about what happened. In fact, he wasn’t speaking much to her or Hannah at all. Her brother’s silence was deeply concerning. To her memory, he’s never been quiet for more than ten minutes at a time. Hell, the man even talks in his sleep sometimes.

No one could imagine how hard this was for Y/N. They encouraged her to hold on just a little longer and her Jakey would be back to normal.

He doesn't mean it. You guys didn't hit it off the first time either. Keep trying.

You two need to spend more time together. You know he is crazy about you.

Sometimes brain injuries can lead to personality changes. This is temporary. The man loves you.

He will remember and come crawling to you with his tail between legs, begging for forgiveness.

He's not himself right now. He hasn't even been following how Hannah's soccer team is doing.

Give him another chance.

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

It was Tuesday night so the Losers went to their favorite hangout, Bar None, for half price drinks. Everyone was surprised when Jensen showed up in an Uber. Y/N did her best to greet him with warmth and a bright smile. For the next hour she tried talking with him, mentioning things from their life together and unsuccessfully keeping his eyes and attention on her.

Regrettably, he didn't give her the chance that she was trying to give him. Jake only looked at her with hatred in his eyes, making snide remarks. Her Jakey didn't have a mean bone in his body. He would get a bit aggravated with others when presented with something he forgot, but he was acting so cruelly toward Y/N. As if his subconscious was telling him she was his worst memory and protecting himself from her. It broke her heart more to think that may be true. She tried to hold her ground, but he was winning and his eyes were wandering.

Right now Jake was busy flirting with some redhead by the bar. The new him was surprisingly smooth. The woman responded to whatever he was saying with giggles and soft touches to his arm. After getting the chick’s number, he walked back to the booth like he won a trophy. He was met with a sea of disappointed and angry faces.

“What's wrong cougar, ya pissed I'm taking all your tail? The handsome cool laconic stranger act only goes so far pal. I'm on a roll tonight.”

Aisha’s fingers twitched, aching to grab her gun and shoot Jensen in the leg. “You’re pathetic. You are going to hate yourself when your memories are back. You’re royally fucking up here. The real Jake only has eyes for Y/N.”

Jake was sick of everyone telling him what he should feel. “Well, I'm not that Jake, I'm this Jake and this Jake doesn't want to go home with the ugly fat ass.” He looked at Y/N with disgust. Then raised his bottle in the redhead's direction, “I prefer to sample the riper fruit.”

The snake sunk its fangs in. Swallowing her hurt and humiliation, Y/N grabbed her purse and jacket, apologized to her teammates and headed out of the bar. Jake smiled at her retreat. ‘Good,’ he thought. His head felt better already.

Clay followed after his recruit, grabbing her arm before she got outside, “Don't go.”

“What's the point? Y/N screamed, her eyes watering. “You heard how he truly feels about me. We're clearly over.”

“He just doesn't remember.”

“And he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to know me. He wants nothing to do with me. What we had must have been some huge cosmic fluke. I have no other explanation for how he could stand to be with me.” She shook her head, arms falling limp at her sides.

“Y/N.” Clay clasped her shoulder, unable to find the words to comfort her.

“Don't Worry, I'll get my own fat ass home.”

Cougar was furious. Jensen was directing his confusion and ire toward the person he needed the most. Y/N did not deserve this. As his friend got up to get another beer, Cougar stood in his way.

Jake sidestepped, only to be blocked again. “What’s your problem, Cougar?” he snapped.

“How dare you… You haven't shut up about that woman since you met. She gets you. Does all that geeky nerd shit with you. I’ve never seen two people so sickeningly in love. If you let her go, you are the dumbest fucking asshole on this planet.”

Jake laughed, “Wow! Tell me how you really feel.”

Cougar’s teeth clenched, "Go. After. Her."

Sparing a glance as Y/N slipped out the door, his lip curled. “I can do better.”

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

Clay was hesitant to allow Jensen on the new assignment in Corpus Christi. Jake begged, stating boredom and that his sister was treating him like a child. “I know I've been grouchy, but I'm fine, really. It's not like we’re even leaving the country.”

The Losers were already down a member, Aisha having business elsewhere that took precedence. Even with Y/N’s drones, three men on the ground wasn’t enough. Clay acquiesced on the condition that Jensen would alert the team if he got dizzy, his headache worsened or things became too much.

Jake was acting like his typical talkative self, but the topic was one Y/N couldn’t bear to hear. She did her best to be professional and not to let her team hear her cry.

“What a night boys. What... a… night. I’m surprised I can still move. Yasmin, that redhead from the bar, more like yaaas ma’am. I was gladly on my knees for that insatiable little sex kitten. And get this, we stopped to grab some beer and I saw a bag of skittles. Light bulb! I had the brilliant idea to trail the wet candy on her skin and lick off flavors and she was dowwwnnn for it. She…”

Y/N ripped out her earpiece, clutching her stomach. She was going to throw up. That was their secret thing. Jake loved saying he wanted to ‘taste the rainbow’ in public and it meaning something kinky.

The snake consumed her heart whole. Their love was gone. The shared laughs, the kisses, the cuddles, the sex, the conversations were gone. Their precious and too little time together now only memories. He wasn't her Jakey anymore.

Her Jake made her feel special and beautiful. He showed her everyday that he loved her dearly. He would never do this to her, never treat her like this. He’d kick anyone's ass that made her feel less than. He never let her doubt herself, always knew how to make her laugh. Her sweet motormouthed goofball was gone. She didn’t recognize the man that took his place.

What were you supposed to do when your whole world shattered in front of you?

Y/N could not continue working with them. It was too hard. Staying would surely kill her. Angrily wiping at her eyes to clear her blurred vision, she took a series of deep breaths. The monitors needed to be watched properly. She could at least do that. She could keep the Losers safe one last time.

Putting her comm back in, she knowingly subjected herself to hearing Jensen spill more details about his wild night with that woman. Y/N stayed online until they were back inside the safehouse.

Getting out of the van, Jensen tried to convince the team to go out. “We’ll grab a little surf and turf. Then find a nightclub to drink, dance and mingle. Come on guys, let’s get this party started.”

Everyone adamantly refused.

“Then let's stay for another day and go swimming at the beach. I'm sure there’s an army of bikini clad hotties just waiting to be wooed by us manly men.” His friends looked at him with disapproval. “What, I'm horny.”

Clay knew she was still there, he stayed on as long as she did. Not saying a word until, “I'm so sorry, Y/N.”

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

Another Tuesday, another night at Bar None, only this time Y/N met the Losers to resign. She wanted to have a goodbye drink with her friends.

Pooch embraced her, “Don’t leave us. Don't leave him.” He was unaware that over his shoulder, she could see Jensen with his tongue down a brunette’s throat.

“I can't. I'm sorry, I can't.” She couldn’t stay and watch this again.

Aisha shook her head, she wasn’t a hugger and found the loss of her friend not something to celebrate.

“If you need a glowing recommendation, you know who to call.” Clay smiled, understanding she had to do what was best for her.

Y/N returned the gesture, “I already landed another job. I’ll be leaving the country in a few days.” She handed a business card to her former boss. “This is the real estate agent willing to sell the house. If you could give that to Jensen, or he can keep it. I don’t care.” She refused to cry again.

Cougar took Y/N’s hand, glaring at Jensen who was walking their way with his new conquest. He placed a lingering kiss on her hand, slipping her a small piece of paper in the process.

“I’m going to miss you Losers.” Y/N finished her beer and walked out of their lives.

Clay’s fists clenched, “Jensen, consider yourself suspended. Effective immediately.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, “Tsk, why? Because we lost a ton of dead weight. You should be thanking me.”

“Because you have proven the ‘new you’ cannot be trusted. You can return to duty when you're back to your old self… I need a team I can depend on and right now you are the farthest from that.”

“You’re serious?” Jensen dragged the brunette with him to find another booth. “Whatever, I don't need this shit.”

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

(3 weeks later)

Jake groaned, sleepily scooching closer to cuddle the warm body beside him. “Mmmm, my Angel.”

“Ooh baby, you ready for another round?”

Jumping at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Jake scrambled out of the bed. He grabbed his gun and aimed it at the unknown woman. “Who the fuck are you? What did you do to my Angel?”

Her eyes grew as big as saucers, “I don't know who you're talking about, you goddamn psycho. We came here alone.”

Gun in hand, Jake began tearing through the apartment, searching for any evidence of Y/N.

“I'm calling the cops. Get out of my goddamn house,” she screamed, throwing his clothing at him.

Picking up his belongings, Jake yelled back, “I'm going, stop screaming.”

“Go fuck yourself, you fucking freak!”

Jake ran out holding his clothes, managing to get his boxers on as he fumbled down the stairs. Fishing his phone out of his pants, he dialed Y/N. Instead of his girlfriend’s voice, he heard ‘We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service.’ ‘That can't be right.’

Once outside, he put his glasses on and looked around, not recognizing a thing. ‘Where the hell am I?’ He redialed. “Come on Angel, please.” He received the same message.

A dark cloud of understanding enveloped him. ‘Oh God. What the fuck did I do?’ “You fucking idiot, what did you do?”

Jake trembled, “This can't be real. It's a nightmare. That's all it is.” He squeezed his eyes shut and began slapping his face. “Wake up you loser. Come on, wake up. WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

The sound of sirens approaching, and the sting of his cheeks proved a consciousness that he couldn’t accept. His eyes remained closed, “Please.”

The End

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has read this version or the original. I appreciate you all. I’d love to know your thoughts.

* Bad klingon: HIja' = yes, bangwI'= my love, Ha' = let’s go

Sequel: Love Me Again

#jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x y/n #jake jensen x you #jake jensen angst #jake jensen fluff #plus size reader

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kiwiana-writes · 3 months

Note

for the au fun fact game! a leverage style heist au with alex, henry, and the rest of the super six? i'm surprised there aren't more rwrb leverage aus given how the super six is basically a pre-made heist team but yeah! i'm curious to see what you'll say 👀

Like the accidental marriage AU earlier, this is one that does already exist in my WIP folder! I'm hoping to tackle it in the first half of 2024; it takes a LOT more planning than I'm used to hahaha. So let's go.

ONE: The first time Alex comes across the famous Henry Fox, he's convinced it's a fakeout. There's no way someone that genteel, that pretty, is the sort of hitter that even the most hardened criminals whisper about with a mixture of fear and respect in their voices.

(The second time he comes across the famous Henry Fox is the day the team comes together, and if he wasn't in the room, he'd be convinced Nora doctored the footage—Henry takes out eight mooks without breaking a sweat, the lock of hair falling across his face and one scrape on his knuckle where one idiot opened their mouth right before Henry punched him in it the only evidence Henry had anything to do with the bodies lying at his feet in varying degrees of pain. Alex is impressed, grateful, and more than a little turned on.)

TWO: Nora is a terrible grifter. Absolutely atrocious. After a few disastrous attempts, they all agree that if the choices are between Nora grifting, and abandoning the con... well, you can't win 'em all.

THREE: Pez brings them together as a team, but June is their glue. She's the one who finds clients, and who keeps them... well, not honest, but on the right path.

FOUR: Henry worries, when he and Alex get together, when Nora and June and Pez are doing whatever it is they're doing, that Bea will feel like some sort of sixth wheel. He needn't have been concerned—Bea and Alex are a terrifyingly chaotic duo, Bea and June combine their big sister energy when needed, Bea and Nora occasionally disappear for a side job the rest of them know better than to ask about, and Bea and Pez gang up on Henry at any given opportunity. Some days it feels like she's the star they're all orbiting.

FIVE: Nora doesn't tell the rest of them—not even June and Pez—but she has contingency plans on top of contingency plans for when any or all of them get burned. There are fake identities living whole lives, at least according to their digital footprint, that any of them will be able to jump into at a moment's notice. The crew is her family, and she'll keep them safe.

[Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.]

#au five fun facts game #ask meme response #biconicfinn #wip: leverage au #i've avoided creating a wip tag so far but it might be time lol

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spartanguard · 9 months

Text

sons of love and death, 5/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: Little later in the day than my usual posting for this @cssns story, but hope no one minds too much! (This one is worth a bit of wait, IMO ;) ) (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 4.5k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Regina probably could have installed a more modern security system in her vault; she’d had plenty of time to do it. But honestly, anyone who didn’t know what they were getting into would likely be hurt far worse by whatever they found—those Agrabah vipers were still down there, after all—and it would be useless against anyone who did know what they were after.

However, she did have a sixth sense for when her shit was being messed with, and transported herself inside the vault once she was done helping Gold get his shop straightened out. A hooded figure was poking around her potion supplies, though a far more contemporary hood than had often been down here—that of a sweatshirt instead of a cloak. Must be one of the Lost Boys, getting into trouble.

She silently strode up behind them. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And then she yanked the hood down and turned the boy around.

Only she wasn’t looking up into the face of a pubescent youth. It was—not Hook, no; there was an edge of desperation around this guy that the pirate hadn’t had in years. “Ah, so it’s the twin,” she realized.

“I have my own name, your Majesty,” he snarled back. “And I know what I’m after, so I’ll kindly ask you to leave me to it.”

He turned back around and studied the shelf, glancing between that and a book open in his hand. She didn’t recognize the tome at first, and tried reading it over his shoulder, mainly out of curiosity before she reprimanded him.

But then she read the page, and wasn’t quite sure how to react, other than to let him know, “It won’t work.”

“You say that now,” he tossed back, looking over his shoulder at her. “Bet people said that about the Dark Curse, too, and yet—here we are.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no reason to lie to you. You can’t resurrect the powers of the Dark One.” The book in his hand was one of her oldest and hardest-won—but also contained some of the darkest magical theories ever published.

“This seems to suggest otherwise.” So both the sass and the stubbornness were genetic, as well as the one-track mind. “And you were so kind as to leave it out for me. ‘Guide to resurrection,’” he read. “How perfect.”

Well. She had been reading it. Ever since Henry left on his realm-hopping adventure, she’d been feeling rather lonely, and helping her sister raise little Robyn had just made it all the more clear how much she missed her own Robin. It had been a moment of desperation after last Valentine’s Day that she’d dug it out.

But she pretty quickly deduced that it wouldn’t work—not with the way he died. And even if he’d died a more normal way, it would be cruel to drag a soul at rest back to the chaotic world of the living.

Bringing back magic, though? She could easily tell him why this wouldn’t work, but professional curiosity demanded she get in his mind. “Just how do you plan on resurrecting magic without a tether?” Especially magic that had relied on one for so long, Gold’s interrupted experiment with the Sorcerer’s hat notwithstanding.

“By creating a new one,” he answered simply, and flipped to another page in the ancient book, bearing an illustration of an ornate dagger. “Looks simple enough; just needs something touched by all past users of the magic to forge a new weapon. And what luck—I have a couple options at my disposal.”

“You really think you can just walk up to Hook or Rumple in the street and, what, pick their pockets? And while her magic is still fairly unrefined, Ms. Swan-Jones would blast you into tomorrow if you tried to even touch her or her pirate.”

“You don’t seem to be her biggest fan,” Dorian noticed quickly.

“We have a…complicated history,” Regina replied, as succinctly as she could manage. “But we’ve at least come to an understanding.” Then she laughed. “Actually, she’s the reason I’m not on your list of former Dark Ones.”

“Gotta love those hero types,” he said, though it came out more as a complaint. “Perhaps you can help me, then? Maybe we could share.” He stepped into her space and bit his bottom lip, raising his eyebrow in question.

It hadn’t worked when Hook tried it, years ago, and it wasn’t working now. “I’m good. Maiming isn’t so much my thing; call me when you need a heart.”

He glanced back at the book and flipped between pages—a little too quickly for the ancient book, in her opinion. “Huh; neither of these spells seem to require one. That’s odd; most like this do.” She was surprised; he knew his stuff—and he noticed her shock. “Oh, I’m not the only one here who had to crush the heart of the thing they loved most.”

She had to look away at that. “For someone who’s done their research, you still don’t seem to understand that you’re on a fool’s errand.”

“If there’s anything left of the Darkness in this realm, then I can bring it together and restore it to what it once was. We both know that magic never fully dies.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she had to concede. “But this isn’t a normal situation; this had divine intervention. Hades didn’t just die—he was destroyed.” She swallowed down her rising emotions at the memory of that night. “He was killed with the Olympian Crystal; completely obliterated—both him and any magic he held.”

“Then why can I still feel it?” Dorian practically whined. “You all keep telling me it’s gone, but no one can explain that one detail to me.”

“Maybe no one wants to,” she snapped back.

Dorian glared and the light even seemed to flicker as his rage threatened to boil over. But her stare back was just as fiery, she knew.

But then his look softened, and weirdly, he even smiled a bit. “If no one wants to, then that must mean it’s sensitive information. Perhaps the kind that could be life-threatening.”

She scoffed. “Only if you know how to harvest a soul.”

That cocky eyebrow arched again, and she immediately regretted her rash statement. “I’m sure I can find a way. See you ‘round, sweetheart.” Then he and his dimpled smirk disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke edged with a lick of flames.

Dammit. She was pretty sure his quest was a dead end, but she’d inadvertently put a target on the backs of her friends.

Quickly, she took a mental stock of what he’d taken: the book, as well as a few rare and potent herbs. Not enough to cast any sort of spell, but enough to get him started—or at least get him high.

She ran out of the vault and up the stairs, magically sliding the stone cover over the entry. Then she locked the door to the mausoleum and put a blood lock on it to make sure Dorian couldn’t get back in; unlike when she was trying to keep Zelena out of her spaces, she was positive she wasn’t related to the Jones men.

And then Regina headed back into town, using the walk there to figure out how to tell Emma that her husband’s evil twin probably wanted to kill them.

The whole situation had “mess” written all over it, but at least it was some excitement; she certainly could use some of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Though Killian was beginning to feel at ease for the first time in over a day, he still had a lot of questions regarding his twin and the powers they apparently shared. They hadn’t flared at all since his chat with Emma, and the tea seemed to be calming him even more. Though most assuring was the fact that Dorian was no longer in town, and that his life might continue in peace.

But still—his academic nature demanded he learn more. Were the legends he’d just been told about Cailleach Mountain real or fiction?

Good thing he was working at the library today, and therefore spending time with the one person who’d be sure to get him the answers he needed.

“Morning, love,” he called out when he entered the library—but was surprised to hear baby Gideon squealing in reply rather than his mother.

Behind the counter, Belle was struggling to get the boy to go down in his—what was it called? Play pen? But he was having none of it; instead, he was reaching for his favorite uncle.

“Oh, Belle,” he said, rushing over to grab the little lad. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing him today; I’d have grabbed you some tea.”

Gideon almost immediately wrapped himself around Killian’s neck and nestled into him. He was always a bit in awe of the steady trust this tiny person put in him, and he dared not take it for granted.

“I did tell you,” Belle answered, setting her diaper bag on the circulation desk. “Texted you as soon as I left Ashley’s; Alexandra was running a fever so she had to cancel today.”

“Damn; my apologies for missing that. I’ve had…a long day already.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off, and headed to the back room (most likely to make some tea). “It was obvious you’ve had a lot on your mind, and after yesterday, I don’t blame you.”

He swayed in his spot with Gideon, slightly taken aback by Belle’s assessment of his mental state; she knew him well, but wasn’t aware it was that well. “How could you tell?”

“I mean, anyone could guess,” she called out over the sound of the microwave. “But you had that look on your face.”

“What look?”

She poked her head out of the room. “The one that says we’re doing some research today,” she answered with a teasing smile.

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Gideon still refused to be put down, even though he’d settled against Killian and was content to play with his necklace charms. But the quiet at least let Killian give Belle the run-down on what he’d been told so far; he was getting fairly good at summarizing everything by now.

“Cailleach…I know I’ve heard of it, but the name is ringing a bell for another reason. I think it translates to something. Maybe it’ll come to me once we get started.”

They spent the rest of the morning in the reference sections, save for attending to the few patrons that trickled in. Gideon did eventually let them set him down in his playpen (once they moved it to the reference area), which meant they could dig into research even harder.

The books they were consulting were among the oldest in the collection—ones that had somehow come over with the second curse. Killian had found several mentions of the inherent magic in the area around Cailleach, but nothing more specific.

There was a growing stack on the table next to him of books he’d already looked at, and the ones he’d yet to read were dwindling. He sometimes wished it was as easy to search through these as it was to find information on the computer box, but it was worth it to be surrounded by the smell of old parchment; it reminded him of the library at the naval academy.

On her side of the table, Belle had a few translation dictionaries on one side of her as well as a similar set of stacks, all being carefully handled. She was still the expert when it came to these books, so he fully expected her to find the answer before he did. And he was right.

“Oh, I think that's it!” she exclaimed, looking up from her book and reaching for one of the dictionaries. She muttered to herself in a different tongue, but one he seemed to recognize, as she flipped through the pages of the other book, all while keeping the first one open with a carefully placed elbow.

“What’ve you got?”

“I knew the legend sounded familiar, but couldn’t place the name to it. It is a different language: it’s Gaelic—or whatever it’s called in our land; the same one your name comes from, actually.” She found the page she wanted and skimmed it with her finger. “Yeah; it means ‘witch’—and what you were describing sounds like the story of Witch Mountain.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s one that sort of spilled into this realm; I think we actually might have the book in the YA section, though, like most things, this realm probably got it wrong.” She went back to the first book. “It’s right here: ‘Though it happens rarely,’” she read, “‘All twins born in the area around Witch Mountain are inherently blessed with gods-given magic, in balance of each other.’”

He was both surprised at that, but also not, based on what Regina had told him. But it confirmed that whatever these powers were, they were definitely his—and had always been. That was going to take some getting used to.

Although, he was left curious about the phrasing of what Belle had read. “In balance?”

“Probably from an elemental standpoint; this is a book on natural sources of magic. Did you notice his powers manifesting a certain way?”

“No; his magic has been blocked both times I talked to him. But we’ve both seen evidence of his ability to melt through metal.”

“So it’s either the ability to manipulate metal, or heat-based magic. Which means yours would probably be connected to either wood or water.”

He immediately thought of his inherent connection with the Jolly Roger, which suggested either one, and he told her as much.

“Oh, let’s test it! Try to do something in my tea.” Her mug had long since cooled, despite being half full, so she pushed it toward him.

“You think I have any idea how to control it?” he tossed back.

“Well, not with that attitude.” (Truly, she was the sister he’d never had.)

“Perhaps not, but if he’s not around anymore, then it’s a non-issue. Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.”

Belle pouted a bit, but then turned her attention back to the book and read ahead. “It also says here that twins’ powers will develop as they grow together; the fact that it makes a point to say ‘together’ suggests that’s why yours haven’t manifested until now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, then.”

He was content with that answer, though she did insist on comparing that story to the novelization and temporarily took that one out of circulation. He put the books away while she sought about giving Gideon his afternoon snack, and realized he was finally feeling at peace about this whole situation.

And, with any luck, that would be the end of it.

But, Storybrooke being Storybrooke, he should have known it wouldn’t be.

“Hook? You here?” Regina’s voice called out even before the doorbell could finish ringing.

“Aye, back here,” he replied, as loud as he dared to shout within the confines of the library.

“We’ve got a problem,” she stated, sounding annoyed, as the clacking of her heels on the tile floor grew closer. “Your twin is out for blood.”

“What?” He’d still been putting books on the shelf, but whirled around and nearly dropped them; he caught them at the last second, though, lest he face Belle’s wrath. “I thought Emma sent him out of town; are you sure?” (And then he carefully placed the books on the table, just to be safe.)

“Well, he must have found a way back in, because I caught him in my vault not 10 minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t he wearing the cuff?” Belle had just laid Gideon down for his nap and joined the conversation. “He shouldn’t have been able to get past the barrier without his magic.”

“Then he got it off somehow, because he definitely had his powers. Nearly set the vault on fire.”

Belle gave Killian a knowing look, but he ignored it. “What was he doing?”

“What he’s been doing—trying to become the Dark One. But now that he knows the powers are gone, he’s going about it a different way—and a bit more gruesome.”

“How so?” Belle asked.

“He wants to recreate the dagger and manifest the powers from that last bit of Darkness left in you, Emma, and Rumpelstiltskin.”

Killian was confused. “The part you said was attached to our souls?”

“The very same.”

“How the hell can he do that?”

“By detaching your soul from your body. And there’s only one way to do that.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; Regina didn’t need to explain it—he knew she meant murder. His stomach turned at the idea of not just him, but Emma being a target for his brother’s deranged plot.

On the table, Belle’s half-empty mug cracked, water flying everywhere. He glanced down, and his palm was glowing again; shit. (At least it had somehow avoided the books.)

“That answers that question,” Belle muttered. “But—his name is Dorian Gray, right? Like the book?”

“Yeah,” Killian confirmed.

She gave a cautious smirk. “I think we might actually have something we can use against him.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Above the library but behind the clock tower was a little-used, mostly empty storage area. At least, it had been empty, until recently. Now it was filled with boxes, sheet-draped furniture, and large frames—some covered, some not.

“This is all stuff that came over from the Land of Untold Stories,” Belle explained as she led Killian and Regina through the maze that had taken over the room. “Anything of value, at least; they obviously didn’t want it exposed to the elements, but I made sure to intervene before it ended up in my husband’s shop, never to be seen again.” She loved her husband, but she did have to admit he had a tricky relationship with the concept of ownership, and the black hole that was the back of his shop. Inventory always took forever.

In her down time, she’d been trying to catalog all of this stuff for their new residents, and either get it back to who it belonged to or perhaps start a museum with some of it. (Assuming she could get Rumple to donate some items, too—but she was pretty sure she could convince him.)

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Regina asked from behind her, clearly perturbed by the amount of dust up here; Belle hadn’t had a chance to clean it up before everything moved in, but it was at least dry and fairly climate-controlled.

“We’re not looking; I know exactly where it is.” Killian was bringing up the rear, Gideon in his arms once more. She swore that was her son’s favorite spot to sleep. Their friendship was probably odd and unexpected on paper, but despite their vastly different lives and rocky history, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more.

Which was why she’d be damned if his maniac evil twin did anything to hurt him; he’d been through enough for more than one lifetime.

In the far corner of the storage room was a gathering of smaller paintings, filed together in an old armoire and covered with a sheet. “It’s over here,” she called back.

She wasted no time in yanking the sheet off, but it made them all cough from the ensuing dust. “Sorry,” she choked.

“‘S alright, love,” Killian replied, but his voice was raspy.

She didn’t waste any more time in digging through the stash of ancient portraits. “It stood out to me because—well, obviously everyone’s heard of it; I just had no idea it was real,” she explained. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” she conceded as she found the frame she was looking for.

She carefully pulled it out and looked it over as she turned to face the others. “Gosh; and now that I know, I should have seen it—even if it’s not pretty.”

“Seen what?” Killian asked, but his tone was more concerned than curious.

Her answer was to simply flip the painting around. “The Picture of Dorian Gray. In the flesh, so to speak.”

The novel had gotten the details of the painting correct: the man on the canvas could only be described as ugly and twisted, a nearly skeletal, aged face with grayed, wild hair and a hunched frame.

But one thing that stood out were the piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and slightly pointed ears—the same ones she was looking at on her best friend.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.

“Gods, I think that looks even worse than the guy Emma met in the Wish Realm,” Regina added.

“So, in the book, Dorian died when he tried to murder the portrait,” Belle went on. “Obviously, that didn’t actually happen, but I’m wondering if it’s not far from the truth—although I don’t know exactly what kind of spell this is.”

“It’s a curse,” Killian replied. “He told me.” He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the details of the painting. “He crushed the heart of the woman he loved to cast it.”

Oh—that was indeed morbid, and Belle shifted to a more careful hold on the frame. “Well, bare minimum, it probably gives us leverage over him; or…it gives us a way to potentially stop him.”

She didn’t miss the way Killian was studying the floor and clenching his jaw at that; it wasn’t an idea she was thrilled with, either. “Last resort,” she added.

Regina shuddered, no doubt having some of her own bad memories stirred. But then she jumped again and looked up. “I think there’s a leak in here,” she said.

“Odd, there shouldn’t be,” Belle replied. “The dwarves redid the roof last summer.”

And yet—as she looked up, a drop of water hit her square on the nose. Another few fell around them, and one landed on Killian’s shoulder, but he barely noticed.

“Snap out of it, pirate,” Regina commanded, and Killian jumped. “That’s you, with the waterworks.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, but sounded somewhat bewildered. Belle did notice a blue glow coming from his clenched fist, though.

“Looks like magic lessons just got added to the calendar,” Regina commented dryly, while brushing the wet spot on the shoulder of her jacket.

Screaming then came from outside, and the general hum of commotion. The group ran to the nearest window, boarded-up as it was, and peered out into the street.

Cruella’s long-abandoned De Ville had finally met its end, and was now engulfed in flames. Near it, a figure was disappearing into a cloud of fiery smoke.

“I suppose they did,” Killian sighed.

Belle didn’t like to see the conflict written on his face—gods knew he spent enough time brooding—but she had to admit: she was curious to see how this went.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian certainly didn’t regret coming back into town, but he was rather frustrated at the lack of negative reception. He’d fully anticipated coming to blows with the Evil Queen—honestly, half the reason he’d gone to her vault was in hopes of running into her. (Perhaps doing more, if she’d been interested, but she had the stink of heartbreak around her.)

(Actually, Rumpelstiltskin’s lass was the one who’d really caught his eye, but for very different reasons—nostalgic ones. The resemblance to Sybil was more than passing, though Sybil’s hair was in ringlets, and her irises more violet. But the potential of both he and his twin having taken both of Rumple’s wives was a tempting one…if she’d go for it.)

So he assumed it would cause an uproar when he set fire to that auto, and perhaps draw the heroes he sought out of the woodwork, particularly the sheriff. But after a brief stir, the onlookers merely went about their business, and the elderly woman from the diner anticlimactically put it out with a fire extinguisher while he watched from an alley.

For someone who was fond of having a dramatic flair, it was disappointing. Doubly so when he realized just how big this town was and how he really could have used that car to get around; it just screamed supervillain. (Not that he knew how to operate such a vehicle…but that was everyone else’s problem.)

Instead, there wasn’t much he could do but putter about, trying to figure out the best way to enact his plan. He’d gotten the information he needed from Regina’s vault, but had to assume he’d not easily be able to get in again. Perhaps the town had a blacksmith shop? It’d be a lot easier to forge a dagger and later imbue it with the Darkness than create one from scratch. Obviously, he could melt metal on his own, but shaping it was a whole other skill.

Alas, the town center came up empty, and the only directory he could find was a phone book dated from 1983 that fell apart nearly as soon as he touched it. Bollocks.

Maybe it was time he invested in one of those smart telephone things; he’d long since broken the burner flip phone he got on one of his previous trips to this realm.

As evening approached, another issue arose: where he was supposed to sleep. He’d been with Tisbe the first night and the hospitality of the sheriff department the next. While he was no stranger to camping, he’d rather not if he didn’t have to. He was at least able to salvage enough of the old phone book to determine there was exactly one inn in town, conveniently attached to the diner he’d tried to eat at yesterday.

Perhaps the second time would be the charm? The fact that he was far more sober now would surely help. That said, he still tried to blend in when he entered and calmly took a seat at the counter.

“What’ll it be tonight, hon?” the elderly proprietress asked him quickly. He started to enquire about a room, but was promptly cut off. “Oh, it’s you. Out.”

He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, sonny. Out. This is a private establishment and I can choose who I serve, and I ain’t servin’ you.”

“On what grounds?” He could feel the flames of indignation rising within.

“We don’t need you causing any more trouble around here,” she told him sternly. “Hook’s been through enough without you stirring the pot. So out with ya.”

He could burn this place to the ground in a minute, but that would only play into the accusations she was already leveling at him.

“Fine. I’m on my way,” he said, as calmly as he could, and hopped off the stool and slid out.

Perhaps the reception at the drinking hole would be less discerning. He ignored the glares he received on the way there and merely wondered how slow he’d have to nurse his drinks until he found a suitable partner to head home with.

The bartender didn’t appear to judge him when he sloughed down at the counter, but everyone else seemed to keep their distance, even as the hours wore on and the crowd grew larger and seedier.

This was frustrating; he wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not with a face like his. He could typically get any man or woman he wanted, yet every time he made eye contact with someone from across the bar, they quickly avoided his gaze.

What the hell?

He finally took his drink and started to make his way to the small dance floor, hoping for some kind of connection. But the crowd seemed to part around him. Bloody fuck.

Even Tisbe from the other night appeared to be dodging him. He sidled up to her while she was at the jukebox, greeting her with a tried and true, “Hello, beautiful; fancy seeing you here again.”

She looked over at him, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. “No thanks.”

“That’s not what you were saying the other night,” he murmured, trying to seductively get in her space, but she backed away.

“Yeah, because I thought you were actually Hook,” she tossed back. “And I wanted to piss off the sheriff after she screwed my family over.”

He drew back in disbelief. “Did the fact that I have two hands not escape your notice?” he asked, holding both of them upright in emphasis.

She just shrugged and walked away.

Fine then. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He headed for the door, summoning a bottle of top-shelf whiskey to his hands as he exited, and headed back out into the night.

Briefly, he considered breaking into a car and crashing in the back seat, but apparently the town was on high alert when it came to him. And if he was going to go through with his plan, he should probably stay out of sight long enough to get it done. (Not something he was used to, but he could give it a shot—this was important enough.)

He eventually found a bench near the docks that looked comfortable enough, and cast a protection spell around it that would keep him hidden from all passers-by. Then he dug out the herbs he’d pilfered from the Evil Queen’s hideout, rolled them together in a paper he’d had in his pocket, lit the end of the roll, and took a long drag; the effects hit him quickly and a hazy bliss settled over him.

When the joint was spent, he drank the whiskey until he passed out.

The last thing he was aware of was the twinkle of the stars and the gentle lap of the waves against the pier; at least he had picked a relaxing place to crash.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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