#Apparently Knuckles and Silver are partners in Forces?

[redwylde]

Forcing my two ultimate faves to interact by thinking about how Silver would definitely be interested in biology and the natural sciences because many original ecosystems wouldn't have been able to survive in a world dominated by fire.

In the future he was very interested in history and had to rely on books to learn about anything that came before, but whilst visiting the past he explores and follows field guides in his free time because now he can experience it all for real. Enter Knuckles, who is the most qualified person he knows to teach Silver all about the unique biomes of the world.

At first it just starts out as Silver visiting Angel Island every so often to ask questions and compare notes in his field guide with what Knuckles has seen, which Knuckles enjoys. An excuse to talk about his adventures with a genuinely interested party and they end up bonding really quickly over it. Until Knuckles gets tired of talking about books (and not all of them are correct) so he says fuck it, you can't learn everything from a book and starts taking Silver on forays into the world and shows him everything he dreams to see - ruins reclaimed by nature, entire ecosystems existing on a single type of tree, underwater worlds hidden by algae and sediment.

[yourbasicqueerie]

office hours (lilia calderu x reader)

• Summary: You've been distracted lately, and Professor Calderu noticed it. what will happen when she calls you into her office for a little "chat" about your....diversions?

• Notes: Wrote this based on the beautiful @jubshead 's experiences with having a crush on her teacher, go give her some love because she is one of my favorite people ever and a constant joy in my life, the cunnilingus bit is for my honorary grandma pia ( @chiefofmilfs). I don't have a playlist for 5is even tho I have had it sitting on my docs for a good 2 weeks now, but I did listen to a lot of "glory box" by Portishead while cranking at this. thank you to my angel in earth @angeliccss for helping me with the pictures!!!! hope you like it. ALSO PREACH ANKLE BRACELETS BECAUSE LILIA IS A FUKCIGN HIPPEY AND I CANJOT WITH ANYONE MAKING HER A FANCY COOL BROADWAY DIVA LET MY WEEDY CUNTY DUMPSTER DIVING GRANDMA RUN FREE INTO THE SUNSET WITH TWO DIFFERENT PAIRS OF STOLEN SUNGLASSES UNDER HER UNPADDED CROCHET BRALLETE • warnings: smut in this bitch and it’s fucking everywhere, like nasty nasty shit. probably the horse it’s most jerkable thing i’ve ever made so uhhh beware if you don’t want to read straight up filth coming from yours truly

——————————— ^ ————————————

The campus hums with late afternoon energy.

Someone’s blasting jazz from a dorm window three floors up, and the quad smells like cheap weed and cut grass. You dodge a flying frisbee, give a half-hearted wave to your anthropology partner, and keep walking—fast—toward the old humanities building. The one that looks like it’s about to either collapse or be declared a historic landmark.

Professor Calderu’s office is on the third floor. No elevator.

The stairs creak like they’re judging you.

You knock, knuckles tapping lightly on the frosted glass door that reads: Dr. Lilia Calderu, Department of History — Office Hours by Appointment Only

...which, for you, apparently means “4:30 on a Thursday because she said so and you didn’t dare argue.”

“Come in,” calls that unmistakable voice—smoky, precise, somehow both amused and exhausted.

You step in. And, as usual, her office looks like a wizard exploded in it. There are stacks of old books—some with titles in Latin, others just blank leather spines—everywhere. There’s incense curling from a holder shaped like a tiny gargoyle, a velvet throw draped dramatically over a chair she definitely doesn’t let students sit in, and a mug that says Hex the Patriarchy beside a bowl of hard candy you’ve never seen anyone take from.

Professor Lilia Calderu herself sits behind the desk, legs crossed, reading glasses perched low on her nose. She’s wearing a long, flowing blouse with swirling prints in crimson and indigo, sleeves that flutter when she turns a page. Her jewelry clinks softly as she moves—silver rings, chunky bangles, earrings that sparkle even in low light. Her lipstick’s a sharp berry-red, her gray hair is being worn so dramatically that you can't quite place whether it is a crown or a rebellion.

She doesn’t look up. Yet.

You hover awkwardly by the door, resisting the urge to shift your weight like a guilty middle schooler.

“You’re late,” she says.

“It’s 4:31.”

“Which is not 4:30.”

You could argue. You don’t. Finally, she looks up.

And her gaze pins you where you stand. There’s something vaguely feline about the way she watches you. Leisurely. Dissecting. As if she already knows every reason you’re here, but she wants to hear you say it. Badly.

“Well?” she says, folding her hands over your essay—the one she digitally returned last week with comments like “uninspired” and “beneath your abilities.” (Which hurt more than you’d like to admit, especially since she’s usually never so surgical with her praise.)

“I’m here to talk about my grade,” you say, forcing confidence into your voice.

She leans back. “Are you?”

“I—yes?”

Lilia lifts a brow.

“Interesting. Because your paper suggests you either didn’t read the material, or you were too distracted to care.”

That stings. “I read it,” you say defensively. “Twice.”

“Mmm. And yet, here you are.” She gestures lazily to the seat across from her. “Sit. Let’s get to the root of the problem.”

You sit. (Because of course you do.)

She watches you, silent for a beat too long. Then: “You’ve been distracted. In class. In your writing. Even now, you can barely keep still.”

You blink. “I’m just—tired. It’s midterms. Everyone’s tired.”

Lilia tuts. “Somehow, not everyone is turning in work that reads like a half-hearted blog post.”

You bristle. “It wasn’t that bad.” She smirks.

“Darling, if I wanted to be lied to, I’d go to a faculty meeting.”

(And there it is—that sharp, dry wit that makes your stomach flip in the worst/best way.)

Her eyes narrow slightly behind the glasses. “Tell me,” she says slowly, “what is it that’s keeping your mind so… preoccupied?”

She already knows. Of course she does. But she wants to hear you say it. Wants to drag it out of you like a confession.

You shift in your seat. The cushion creaks under you. “I don’t know.” Lilia hums, clearly not buying it. She rises from her chair in one fluid movement, shawl rippling behind her, and steps around the desk—slow, deliberate, dangerous. You don’t breathe.

“You don’t know?” she repeats, almost gently, coming to stand behind you. “That doesn’t sound like the clever little voice that won’t shut up in my class. The one who always has something to say—until now.”

You sit very still. She smells like smoke and sandalwood and something that doesn’t belong to this century.

Her fingers drift lightly over the back of your chair. Not touching you. Yet. “Is it stress?” she asks, low near your ear. “A bad grade? Boy troubles? Girl troubles? Hmm?” You start to speak, but her hand finally does touch—fingertips grazing the back of your neck, feather-light. You shiver. “Oh,” she purrs, and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

You tense. A heartbeat of silence.

“Say it,” she murmurs. You open your mouth.

“No, wait,” she says, stepping in front of you now, leaning on the desk again, arms crossed so the sleeves of her blouse pull tight across her chest. She looks down at you like she’s grading your soul. “Let me guess. You don’t want to admit it. You’re embarrassed.”

You flush. “I’m not—”

“Please,” she interrupts smoothly. “You stare. You squirm. You bite your lip like you’re in a bad paperback novel. If I made a drinking game out of your distractions, I’d be in rehab.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Your voice comes out too quiet. “It’s not my fault.”

Her head tilts. “Oh?”

“You walk into the room and everyone notices. You talk like you already know what people are going to say. You look at me like you see right through me. And—” You stop. Too late.

“And?” she asks, with exquisite cruelty. You bite the inside of your cheek.

Lilia steps closer, between your legs now, and you realize suddenly that she’s barefoot—silver rings on her toes, ankle bracelets that jingle softly. Her hand lifts and gently tilts your chin up. Her voice is a whisper, but sharp enough to cut glass. “And that makes it hard for you to concentrate?”

You nod. Once. Slowly.

“I see.” Her thumb drags over your lower lip. “And here I thought I’d lost my touch.”

You exhale—more like a tremble than a breath.

She doesn’t move. “I should report you,” she says. Not a threat. Just a thought spoken aloud. “You’re a distraction. A danger to decorum. But you know what, darling?” Her voice softens, grows silkier. “I think I like watching you struggle.”

You should be offended. You’re not.

“You come into my class pretending to be clever. But all it takes is a little pressure,” she presses her thumb a bit firmer against your lip, “and look how quickly you fall apart.”

You stare at her. You want to say something scathing. Something flirty. Something to take back an ounce of control. All that comes out is a whisper: “Lilia.”

Her eyes glint like obsidian catching firelight. She leans in, lips barely brushing your ear now, voice a dagger wrapped in velvet. “Do you need me to help you focus, darling?”

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[zanypainterglitter]

crossover of Soul Eater and Sonic The Hedgehog, with the latter having the atmosphere and story to a certain extent of the anime and manga. Chaos Academy, was made for people with the ability to turn into weapons and those who can carry these last ones, the students have as a mission to finish off the kishins, souls full of evil that by corruption become monsters. Led by Chaos god of destruction and protector of chaos.

Sonic, is Amy Rose's technician, he is arrogant and sociable but quite noble and brave, he likes making new friends, adventures and chilidogs.

Amy Rose, she can become a hammer and when she perfectly synchronizes her soul with Sonic's she becomes an axe, apparently she is in love with Sonic, but she does not show it directly, she is almost maternal and quite supportive.

Miles "Tails" Prower, former partner of Infinite, can become a hook but also a gun, when synchronizing his soul he becomes a cannon, he is shy but very intelligent, he is insecure but determined by his friends.

Shadow is Rouge's technician, he comes from a family of demons called "Black Doom" but he met Maria and thanks to her he was able to see a better future, he is cold, direct and violent but he considers Rouge his true friend just like Maria, he can be kind and have compassion sometimes.

Rouge can transform into a gun, when synchronized her soul becomes a machine gun, she is sweet and flirtatious even with her own technician she can flirt with him but she is independent and malicious, she loves gems and anything shiny.

Knuckles is Tikal's technician, he is a descendant of the Edquinas protectors of the Master Emerald, he is grumpy and easily gets angry being hostile at times but he is serious.

Tikal can turn into a gauntlet, she is Chaos's best friend and along with Knuckles a descendant of the Edquinas, she is quite kind and sweet with everyone around, but she is a fighter and brave in combat.

Infinite, formerly a technician for some classmates, is now just a mad scientist who is about to be our protagonists' teacher, although they don't like the idea, since he's crazy about the end of the world and they think he's edgy.

Eggman, he's a scientist who seeks to revive Mephiles and relocate him with Iblis so that he can be the new god of destruction.

Sage, Eggman's daughter and Metal Sonic's partner, his weapon, which is fused to her.

Starline, Eggman's fanatic, helps him with the revival of Mephiles.

Mephiles is the second part of the being called Solaris, his other part Iblis is a brute monster with great strength while Mephiles is intelligence, being a manipulative nihilist.

Blaze is Silver's technician, she is the princess of Mobius with the responsibility of protecting the flame from destruction and life force that could alter the body and reality itself, she is like a tsundere but loyal and protective

Silver is Blaze's weapon, being a sword when synchronized it forms a flamethrower, he is stoic, kind and helpful but somewhat naive and impulsive with a hero's spirit.

[theflashdriver]

A Measure of Trust

Knuckles' birthday is on the horizon, Rouge had schemed up a surprise costume party for him. Unfortunately, a certain blue blur has taken much too long in picking out what he's going to wear, and a pink hedgehog has taken notice. Written for Sonamy/Silvaze Week 2021, but for the pirates or the knights prompt? You'll have to read to find out!

---

Despite his usual arrogant antics, Sonic wasn’t without his share of weaknesses, that much he could freely admit. His cool demeanour tended to slip when it came to open bodies of water and he did like to the centre of attention more than he was willing to admit, but neither of those issues were plaguing him today. No, today’s grievances were derived from a two related yet contrasting sources; the need to plan and being forced to wait.

His issue with the latter was more obvious, his pseudonym was the blue blur for a reason after all. Sticking around in one place just wasn’t his style, he had to feel the beat of ever-changing terrain beneath his sole and watch his surrounding rush by so fast that he could scarcely make them out. No matter how much people watching he did, tapping his right foot all the while, hanging around outside the third costume shop they’d visited today wasn’t achieving the same purpose.

A sigh slipped through his lips as he readjusted his grip on the overlarge boxes stacked up to his chin, each of them a different colour and sealed with a bow. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for his present position… but if he was asked, he’d absolutely point fingers at Rouge, Knuckles and the girl he was presently waiting on. His claim for the echidna was admittedly the lousiest, as this was all happening without his knowledge, but he was the central cause. Having heard that the master emerald’s guardian had never had a birthday party, the bat had seen fit to organise one. The bat’s chosen party type of fancy dress was the hedgehog’s reason to blame the girl currently rummaging through boxes and coat-hangers somewhere behind him, trying to pick out matching costumes.

In truth, Sonic knew that his current circumstance was entirely his own fault. Rouge had passed out the invitations months ago and Tails had literally read the letter to him, just to be sure it wasn’t forgotten. The fox had also reminded him of all this last week but there being seven days till he had to act meant seven more days to put it off. It’d taken Amy’s intervention, a mere half day before the party was set to start, to get him on the right path.

To his credit, while running through station square, Sonic had made a mental note of a hat that seemed to be Knuckles’ style and would make for a good enough gift… but the hedgehog hadn’t given a single thought to his own costume. Apparently being fashionably late and undressed for a surprise costume party was too much of a faux pas. Well, he knew it was but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been destined to happen.

Amy had dragged him out to buy the hat on the spot before insisting that she would help him pick out an outfit. The serious yet excited look on her face had left him unable to come up with a quip or excuse. He supposed he could just have run, just as he could now, but he’d told himself if he showed up late after her offer she’d have a genuine excuse to be mad at him. That was what he’d told himself, but the truth was that his inability to refuse the pink hedgehog was third weakness of his, especially when she’d so plainly planned this out. She’d probably known this was how it’d all play out upon first reading her own invitation.

Her aid had come with a few catches, the first being his status as her luggage caddy for the day; that wasn’t so bad, though he couldn’t help feeling the boxes were meant to weigh him down. It was the other two that were filling his stomach with butterflies; he wasn’t allowed to pick out what he’d be wearing, and he had to stand outside while she picked out all the pieces. He’d stepped into the first costume shop and been overly thoroughly measured before being promptly kicked out. Every garb and accessory she’d brought out since was so thoroughly packaged that he had no chance of guessing what was in store.

He’d tried not to think too about it too much, but boredom had made him laps a handful of times. They were here for his costume, not hers, which implied Amy had already picked out what she was wearing. The moment she’d insisted on her plan he’d known they’d end up matching or contrasting in some way, and that’d only fed his potential embarrassment. The most savoury hypothetical that he’d managed to imagine was that he’d be the knight to her princess, at least the visor of his helmet would hide his embarrassment. With Amy at the reigns though, and all the time she’d had to plan, he really doubted it’d be so simple.

Sonic shut his eyes and leaned harder against the side of the building; just how much longer would she take? They’d been to three different costume shops, three! Whatever she had planned had to be elaborate; he would have picked up whatever was nearest the door and called it a day or wrapped himself in toilet roll and claim to be a mummy.

Amy plainly had a vision for what he was going to wear. Maybe she’d pull something specific from one of those corny romantic movies she liked to watch? Perhaps he’d end up more princely than knightly, dressed in some overly restrictive ensemble? That was what bugged him the most, not something he didn’t like but that it’d keep him from movi-

“I should have known I’d find you here, Big Blue,” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who’d said that; he fought to make his grimace a grin.

“Long time no see, Rouge,” Sonic said, keeping his eyes shut so as to avoid the smirk that was surely on her face, “I figured you’d have already picked out your outfit, given that you planned this whole shindig.”

“Oh I have, you don’t have to worry about that sugar,” The hedgehog couldn’t help but hear another set of footsteps come to a halt just in front of him, “Why don’t you go stand next to him, Shadow. You two are matching after all.”

At that, Sonic’s eyes snapped open. Rouge nigh perpetual flirtatious gaze was present, as expected, but just left of her was a figure more obscured by boxes than he was. If it wasn’t for the dark quills poking out from both sides of the tower, and the presence of some metal boots, identification would have been impossible. Without warning, the figure stepped directly toward him, clearly unable to tell where it was going. Sonic took a step to the left only for Shadow to fill where he’d been standing.

“I’m glad I left sorting Red’s outfit to Tails, Amy must have predicted I’d have my hands full,” That was a half-truth, Amy and Tails had talked the bat into handing over that job after hearing what she’d schemed for the guardian, “I’ll see you tonight then, assumedly on Amy’s arm?”

The bat slinked off laughing through the automatic doors, only half covering her mouth with her hand. As soon as she was out of view, the blue blur returned to his prior head raised and eyes closed position. That was just a taste of what was to come tonight… at least the birthday boy would get a laugh out of it.

He opened one eye, glancing to his partner in embarrassment. Though the black hedgehog was a natural scowler, but the look on his face was truly tremendous. He was staring into the box in front of his head as though he was willing it to explode. It looked like, at any second, he might just faint beneath his own exhaustion and frustration at this whole situation.

Seeing a silver lining to this dower situation, and an opportunity to distract himself, Sonic opened his mouth, “So, Shad-

“Not a word,” Shadow cut him off, “I’ll be dealing with your nonsense enough later, I’m sure.”

“Aww, come on, I want to guess what you’re going as. Rouge has a sense of humour; it’ll be something like a vampire, right? That way it won’t be hard for you to stay in character,” Sonic teased.

For a moment, icy silence hung in the air. The dark hedgehog’s eyes closed, “I don’t care what she’s picking out.”

“W-Wait, you trusted Rouge to pick your outfit?” After he asked that though, realisation struck him. Trust had nothing to do with it.

“I don’t care,” Shadow flatly insisted.

“That’s what your mouth says, but your face says you didn’t have a choice,” The blue blur smirked, “Amy stopped her from picking Knuckles’ costume for a reason you-

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open, and the footfalls derived from a familiar set of boots cut Sonic off. His blood ran cold as a long box was added as a new peak for the mountain he was carrying. He scarcely managed to see a set of pink ears line up in front of him.

“Alright my darling, that’ll do,” Amy Rose had returned, Amy Rose had finished her creation, “Let’s get you home and try it all on!”

“Alright, let’s do it,” He managed to grin as he poked his head around, locking eyes with the girl in red.

Immediately he was of two halves, the look on her face had split him in twain. She was beaming with excitement; the red on her cheeks, the smile on her muzzle and brightness in her eyes was overbearing. The hedgehog was so plainly happy with what she’d made, so overjoyed that all she’d planned had come together. That happiness struck him to his core and made the waiting worth it, but it also brought him certainty that this outfit would be his undoing.

She only managed to walk a couple of paces, her happiness unyieldingly blunt in her step, when she came to a sudden halt and looked to her left, “Shadow? Is that you?”

The set of legs beneath a mound of boxes gave no response, so Sonic spoke for it, “Rouge is picking his outfit for tonight.”

“Oh, Shadow…” The sympathy in Amy’s voice only lasted for a moment, being quickly replaced by a lecturing tone as she puffed up her cheeks, “Well, after tonight I’m sure you’ll have learned your lesson, just as I’m sure my darling Sonic will.”

Up until her last claim, seeing Amy talk down to the once named ultimate life form had been the highlight of the speedster’s day. Instead, it was just another source of conflicting joy and fear. Like two ships crossing in the night, without another word, Sonic walked past Shadow to catch up with Amy.

He wasn’t used to moving like this, walking slow to keep everything balanced. Usually, the only thing he could see was what was directly in front of him, now he was reliant on Amy to carve him a path through the people walking Station Square. Just looking at her from behind all these boxes, the sight of her red dress and boots, was conjuring more theories. He’d ended up a werehog due to one of Eggman’s schemes, would she make herself red riding hood? Maybe they’d visited so many places because she’d been looking to perfectly recreate that style?

Haphazardly poking his head out from behind the pile, seeing an opening, he rushed forward to walk next to her, “So…”

“So?” She cocked her head, plainly already aware of what he was going to ask but enjoying dragging it out.

“Now that you’ve picked everything out, I get to know what I’ll be dressed as. That was the deal,” He reminded her.

“The deal was that I get to pick out your outfit and you don’t get to know what it is,” She responded, rubbing her chin and pretending to be in deep thought, “I don’t remember saying I had to tell you what it was.”

“So, I can just open the boxes now?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” A sing song tone had entered her voice, “Besides, do you want to reveal my decision with all these eyes around?” That was a fair point, if he was set to be the nutcracker for an evening, he didn’t much want to pull the outfit out now, “My flat’s just a couple blocks away, after all this, I’m sure you can wait five more minutes.”

“Just five minutes till the embarrassment really starts,” He hummed, being forced in behind her by the passing of a group.

“Don’t you trust me, my darling?” She sounded from ahead.

“Ames, I trust you with my life,” Sonic honestly responded, but he wanted to match her teasing, “But I know not to trust you with the little things, you know you can take advantage of those.”

“Well, if my choice really embarrasses you, we can always swap. I’m sure I’ll look quite dashing in what I’ve picked you out, almost as handsome as you would,” She grinned back at him again and he had to duck behind the boxes, for whatever reason his face felt hot.

“Y-Yeah, well,” He muttered, biting his tongue. The only comebacks the came to mind played similarly to the half compliment she’d just given; he didn’t have the will for that sort of teasing right now.

As a result of his heavy tongue, the remaining walk back to her place was relatively quiet and left him with far too much time for speculation. The elevator trip up to her apartment was even more difficult, being side by side with her meant perpetually catching her excited grin and the dual mirrors in the metal box didn’t much help him avoid it. Amy Rose would never truly hurt him, physically or emotionally, he knew that for sure, but teasing was more than fair game. After all the times he’d jokingly run off and talked about dates, this did rather feel like karma.

He didn’t drag his feet though as they alighted the elevator and took the small walk to her door. The instant it was unlocked however, the scent of flowers just about knocked him from his feet. He’d been in Amy’s flat a handful of times, mostly just to escape the rain or crash for a night, and it never failed to perfectly reflect its inhabitant.

It was as if he’d stepped into valentine’s day as he made his way through the door and into her combined kitchen-dining room; pink, red and white were absolutely everywhere, from the tablecloth to the walls to the painted wooden fixtures. Even in the middle of the table, perfectly pristine and unwilted, sat a large bouquet that contained half a dozen red roses and various pink flowers he couldn’t identify. Admittedly only this room was that overpowering, her living room was far more regular looking, but the space’s first impression was certainly strong.

Finally, Sonic managed to set down the ludicrous pile of boxes on the kitchen table. Quickly, he managed to separate out the round ribboned hatbox that contained his gift for Knuckles and set it aside. A cold sweat swept down his back as he looked upon the four other boxes, he’d been made to carry for so long. While only one of them truly had any heft, Amy had made sure to have them sealed as though they were presents. The serious of difficult to carry shapes this had resulted in were not only difficult to carry but truly gave zero clarity regarding their contents. If he had to guess, he’d say the heaviest box contained shoes, but he didn’t have to wait any longer!

As Sonic reached to undo the first bow however, a single finger came down to hold the knot in place, “Not yet, my darling.”

“Eh?” He looked up only to be met with the pink hedgehog’s bright green eyes, “What’s holding up the show?”

“What you said before hurt me so badly,” Amy pouted, “I need to prove that you can trust me with the silly little things.”

“What’re you getting at Ames?” His bit back a stutter, totally lost about what was on its way.

Bounce still in her step despite the theatrics, the pink hedgehog slipped around the table and into her kitchen. She quickly returned with a pink dishtowel in her hands and a cunning look in her eyes. Immediately Sonic understood her plan and an embarrassed, wiry, smile crept onto his lips.

“I said you don’t get to know what your costume is,” When it became apparent that he didn’t understand her plan, she smiled oh so sweetly, “If your blindfolded, you’ll have to trust me to put your costume on.”

“Really, Ames? I can’t even dress myself?” He snorted, trying to play off her suggestion as a joke.

“Well, considering your usual attire, I’m not sure you know how to,” She only half fought back her laugh, “Have you ever even worn a shirt?”

“I’ve…” His mind went blank as he thought back, “Worn jackets?”

“You never even button them up though. You just sling them over your shoulders and decide that’s good enough, regardless of the weather,” She correctly established, but, rather than cockiness or excitement, a certain sincerity crossed her face, “I want your first view of it to be the full picture, everything put together,” She seemed to be aware of just how foolish this was, but it seemed like she’d planned it too, “There’s not that much to it, just some accessories, it’ll barely take me five minutes.”

Sonic hesitated, feeling his face grow warmer. He’d said no to Amy in embarrassing situations like this countless times, she’d ask for a date and he’d run off and she’d follow, that was the way things worked. Sure, he’d let her catch up in the end and they’d hang out for a while, usually doing something close to what she had planned, but by that time he’d have cooled off and come up with quips. With how late he’d left all this, there was no time or space to run. Unless he truly said no to her, he’d just had to face whatever she’d schemed up. Though he said no to her a lot, it’d never been wholeheartedly.

“At this point, what’s five more minutes,” He sighed, running his hand through his quills, “If it’s really what you want, then fine,” It was just so embarrassing, he had to do something, “No pictures or anything until after I’ve seen it though, alright?”

By the time he’d dared look down her eyes were sparkling like emeralds, enthusiasm had claimed her, “Deal!” She pushed the tablecloth into his gut, practically bouncing, “Put it on and don’t peek, I’ll try to be quick.”

Swallowing his embarrassment, the hedgehog tied the cloth behind his head. For a moment there was silence between them, by the wind on his nose he could tell she was doing something to check he was truly blinded.

Suddenly, a set of hands were on his shoulders, “You’ll need to bend down just a little,” He acquiesced immediately, and her fingers left him, “Now, where to start…”

“The beginning probably,” His nerves had forced a quip loose, he really hoped his muzzle wasn’t as red as it felt.

Her snort, followed by the shifting of boxes, only made that heat worse. Something about her contact, so gentle when she knew she could be so strong, struck a chord deep in his gut. Amy rivalled Knuckles in terms of strength, Sonic had seen her swing her hammer hard enough to behead metallic titans. Having her take control away from him and then so gently ask him for something she could take was just so heart wrenching yet surreal.

Her next contact sent the same static up his spine; she took hold of his right hand, raising it to be more accessible. Her fingers went from loosely locked around his wrist to fiddling with the hem of his glove and soon that garment was fully removed. Soon after, equally gently, a glove made from a thicker material with a wider cuff made its way onto his hand.

Reflexively, Sonic raised his left for easy access only to hear, “Thank you,” Uttered in response.

Trying to guess an outfit from the internal feeling of a single glove was foolish at best but when he closed his fist, he didn’t feel pointed nails. Well, that probably ruled out him going as the werehog. Puzzlement crept into his mind again as she finished with the left hand; the gloves were matching, that was clear.

Before he could think any further, her voice caught his ears, “Turn around.”

He spun on his heel, trying to make the action look cooler than it had any right to be. The hedgehog felt anything but cool however when she stretched over his back, pressing a loose shirt to his back before pulling the sleeves along his arms. It took her a little bit of shifting to fit the holes in its back, likely custom cut in the shop to fit his spines. He managed to keep cool until she moved at his neck, plainly fiddling with the shirt’s collar, before reaching around to do up his buttons. Did there have to be so many of them? This was why he never closed his jackets, it felt so restrictive! He was getting hotter and hotter in the face.

Well, it was a fun excuse to think about. She seemed to hang on the top two sets of buttons for a moment, as if debating closing them, before opting not to. Now with two distinct articles of clothing on, Sonic had no idea what he was set to be, but he felt reasonably confident ruling out that they were going as a knight and a princess. The next garb served to confirm that theory, it was some sort of loose waistcoat that she’d slung over his shoulders like he would a regular jacket.

Things got more confusing with the addition of what felt to be a large belt that was tied around his waist. That wasn’t too bad but then he felt another’s buckle on his shoulder, soon followed by her hand slipping beneath the supposed waistcoat and around his back; for whatever reason, she’d opted to bring that second belt out through one of the spine holes in his back. It was so bizarre, was there something on the belt? He was getting the feeling that he was being dressed as some sort of handsome prince when she reached for his midriff again, looping something new across the belt on his gut.

“A-Are we about done?” His stutter caught him off guard and shut him up.

“Very almost,” She sounded so pleased with herself, but that sound was followed by the dragging of a chair across carpet followed by her hands again arriving on his shoulders, “Sit down, the chair’s just behind you.”

He followed her lead only to then feel her, left hand grazing across her shoulders, walk around to face his front. After a little bit more shuffling he felt her hands in his quills and was relatively confident a crown of some sort was coming. The end result was strange though, he felt something pass between his quills and then heard the familiar sound of fabric knotting. As if that wasn’t a strange enough addition, the touch of her hand on his ear was followed by something cool and metallic being left behind. If he was set to be a prince, it wasn’t like any he could visualise.

“Wait right there, don’t peek, I need to get one last thing!” The excitement had put a tremble into her voice, matched only by the sound of the skip in her step as she rushed past him and through a door.

They hadn’t been exceptionally talkative, but something about the still silence her absence brought perturbed him. Once again, he had been forced into a position of patience. There was a reason he was known as the blue blur and not the azure anchor, stillness like this, unless he was snoozing or distracting himself some other way, just wasn’t his style. Though his face felt cooler, his thoughts were lingering on the various sites she’d made contact across his body. Words like intimate weren’t commonly thought of, let alone used, by the hedgehog, but feeling her fasten button after button couldn’t have been described any other day.

She was just so bouncy and jubilant most of the time, capable of throwing herself at him without a care. Amy Rose wasn’t afraid to use her strength, in moments of need and casual excitement, but her potential for softness always hung beneath those efforts. He’d seen her gently look after Cream and handle flowers with such softness. She was an adventure in and of herself, capable of being so surprising. Maybe that was why, no longer how far or for how long he ran, he’d always let her catch him again, eventually.

Sonic heard the door reopen, but Amy’s pace was bizarrely slow. He could hear the rubbing of fabric and the pad of very slow footsteps. Was she wearing some sort of long dress? That would validate his prince and princess theory, but he really didn’t feel like what he understood of his outfit matched it. The fabric rubbing sounded like some sort of strange flapping, it was as if she was waddling in her rapid approach.

“Here’s the final part of your ensemble, just a little something for you to carry!” She shouted bringing his head to snap, eyes still blind.

“Ames, wha-

He was cut off by a sudden form jumping into his lap, a form that weighted the exact same as Amy Rose but was weirdly textured. Whatever she was wearing, it was covered the entirety of her lower half. Anticipation and contemplation built toward climax as he felt her hands on her shoulders again. The feeling of her wrists sliding beyond the sides of his head absolutely renewed the warmth on his muzzle.

While his vision had been very red, the blindfold had been thin enough that his eyes barely had to adjust. He was greeted by Amy’s green eyes and wide grin first, but his eyes were quickly drawn to her forehead and a seashell headdress. From there his gaze was brought down and came to collide with a loose-fitting red shirt. Its sleeves were long rippling, almost like there were waves in fabric. Just beneath her midriff, he identified the source of her slow movement; made of what looked to be a red plastic material, dotted with sequins, was a fish tail.

As he looked down at himself too, it all clicked. Brown mariners gloves for handling ropes, a loose white shirt, a blue overcoat, buckles and belts and sashes. Sonic reached up, feeling what she’d attached to his ear and put through his quills, he was wearing an earring and an orange bandana. She’d made him pirate and herself a mermaid.

“Do you trust me now?” Mermaid spoke with mocking befitting of his stupidity.

“With my life,” The pirate cheekily grinned back.

“What about with everything else?” She asked, putting on a joking pout.

“Well,” He stuck his tongue out, “I trust you with my outfit at least.”

“I suppose that’s a start,” Amy hummed, “I’ll be trusting you to carry me to Tails’ airship and back here tonight, I’m afraid that walking’s not my strong suit.”

“Well, swimming up to a flying island does sound difficult,” He mock rubbed his chin, in thought.

“And I’ve got just the thing to help you,” She reached across and knocked the top off the last, and heaviest, of the boxes. Hitched on two of her fingers, up came a set of brown, “I figured, unlike everything else, you could handle the shoes,” A grin, more teasing than any prior, claimed her muzzle, “You’re used to those after all.”

He took them from her, matching her expression, “Didn’t want to leave the gloves up to chance though, good call.”

“Well, it’s not every day you let me hold your hand,” She repositioned herself, sliding to rest her shoulder on his, “So, seems like I planned this all pretty well then.”

“I can’t deny it,” He shrugged, more than content. Sure it was all a little tight around the chest, but it could be worse and at least his legs were free.

“I’d love to bask in this more, but we should probably get going, the actual party still needs set up and it seems like Rouge could use the extra hands,” The pink hedgehog leaned up and reached for the table, gathering up the boxes that contained their respective gifts for Knuckles and the keys to her flat.

“Only one set of feet though, apparently,” Sonic joked, shifting to hold her before rising, only to be struck with a realisation, “With us decked out like this, Shadow’s gotta have drawn the short straw.”

“Try not to tease him too much, he’ll be embarrassed enough as it is,” Amy half insisted as she was walked toward the door.

Between her as the arms and him as the legs, they managed to make it out and close the door, “Yeah well, if he’s hit rock bottom then I can’t push him down any lower.”

Their back and forth over how much to tease Shadow didn’t get very far by the time they’d reached the bottom floor. The moment they arrived there though, the talk didn’t stand a chance of surviving; with Amy in his arms, Sonic shot off like a rocket. He tore across pavement, skidding and weaving around people and over roads as if they were nothing.

In a matter of moments they’d reached the city’s edge and then, a further three moments later, they’d ran across enough green grass to sight Tail’s workshop. Above, just visible from this distance, Angel Island was hanging. He couldn’t help thinking that Knucklehead would probably be surprised he’d shown up on time, let alone with a halfway decent gift and a good outfit. It’d be a surprise within the greater surprise.

The hedgehog duo slid into the open door of the massive workshop, finding the scent of oil quickly caught up with them. At the heart of the space stood the overlarge plane that Tails had modified to transport not only the party people but the party goods. The mechanic himself was to the back of the room and looked to have just finished putting on his own costume. It was jokingly low tech compared to his usual work, plainly made from carboard boxes with slap on buttons made from loose junk, but the youngster had made himself into a carboard robot. He’d scarcely be identifiable if it wasn’t for the outfit’s cut face and tail holes.

“Hey Tails,” Sonic called across, getting his attention, “Cool costume!”

“You look so cute!” Amy shouted from his arms.

“Thanks guys,” The youngster beamed before throwing a knowing look, “I see Amy caught up with you.”

“Well, I mean, it looks more like I caught her,” Once the words fell from his mouth, he realised he hadn’t played this whole situation off as well as he’d planned. Instead, he tried to change the subject, “What did you end up picking out for Knuckles?”

“Oh, I just put the finishing touches on it,” He picked up what looked to be a heavy-duty briefcase, flipping it open, “I figured he’d want something cool and practical, something that could double as a proper gift.”

Inside was a set of ornate hand axes, a metal breastplate, a pair of metal shoes and a traditional knight’s helm. The whole get up was admittedly giving Sonic some very strange flashbacks to events he was only half certain were dreamed, but he couldn’t deny that the metalwork looked superb. It was all exactly to Knuckles’ style and, if that perhaps dream was to be believed, it’d look great on-

The sound of fast moment coming to a sudden stop, punctuated by three quick footsteps, pulled the blue blur from his thoughts. That was a sound Sonic knew well and could only associate with one prickly fella. It was finally time to see what the bat had made of him.

“Hey Big Blue, fancy seeing you here on ti-

In an instant, the prior gloating confidence seemed to hitch in Rouge throat as Sonic turned and the two pairs came eye to eye. The blue blur found his counterpart dressed in red and brown, with knotted ropes punctuating leather shoes and gloves. A belt with a golden buckle, a red overcoat with shoulder flares, a tricorn hat and an eyepatch made for a dissimilar yet still much too familiar view. The familiarity was again shoved to the forefront with Rouge, the tail that’d come to replace her legs was black and she’d opted for a pale crop top with a matching shark tooth necklace, but the intent so blatantly matched Amy.

Somehow, just as they’d ended up at the same costume shop, both girls had settled on the same concept to share with their partners who’d waited far too long to pick out an outfit.

“Well,” Rouge blinked, for once entirely deadpan and serious, “Two of us need to change.”

[wickedmilo]

DO BETTER | MILO & VIC

PLACE: A bar TIMING: A couple of weeks before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo confronts a familiar face, and Vic is forced to reconsider her values WRITING PARTNER: @natusvincere CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug abuse, alcohol, mentions of drug manipulation

Milo was having a good night. The club he was in had a respectable reputation compared to the ones he was more liable to frequent, and he was enjoying the unexpected change of pace. The atmosphere was more controlled somehow, far less chaotic than a room filled with unpredictable people using unpredictable substances. He had even enjoyed a handful of cocktails which was very much not his speed, and now, relatively buzzed, was flitting about the establishment, making friends where he could, talking people into buying rounds when they began to enjoy his company. It was a routine that worked seemingly regardless of where he was, he only wished people counted utilising his charisma as a genuine skill. As far as he was concerned, it was the only thing he was good at. Leaning back against the bar, carefully scanning the vicinity for anybody he had yet to talk to, it didn’t take him long to spot a woman sitting alone at a table beside a window. He watched her for a few minutes, intrigued by her apparent misery. It wouldn’t take a genius to read her body language and realise she was brooding, hugging a drink, lost in thought, and all but dead to the world. He considered approaching her, maybe offering her some company, but then she turned her head, and the floor seemed to fall out from underneath him.  

He gripped at the counter, his knuckles turning white as he was thrust back into memories that made his chest tight with anxiety. Waking up alone, and undead, was unlike anything else he had been through. Even now he couldn’t find a way to handle the fear, and confusion that had accompanied his first day as a vampire. Which was why it was so difficult to stay focused, to stay in the present. He could see her in the alleyway at night, remember her face as she had pulled his victim out from under him. She had thrown down the body, berated him for being obvious. And when it became clear he didn’t know what was happening, this woman, the woman only a few yards away from him, had told him what he was. Maybe he should be grateful, although she had done nothing to ease his confusion, she had given him an explanation, attempted to save the person he had inevitably murdered. But she had been apathetic, and cold. Something that was equally as difficult for him to forget. Yes, this woman had offered him help, the absolute bare minimum, but she had also left him alone to watch somebody die. To watch somebody take their final breath knowing he was responsible. He had woken up to a world he wasn’t familiar with, one he hadn’t even known was anything more than fiction, and his lifeline had offered him next to nothing. 

Blinking tears from his eyes, willing himself to stay grounded, the alcohol in his system helped as he pulled himself back, as he attempted to ignore the almost painful storm of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t know what to do. He should leave, maybe he should leave. Did he really want anything to do with her? But a small part of him was curious. She might know about the vampire who had taken his life, she might be able to give him a name, or a description, and shit, he was desperate. Not only that, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, she had helped him. For better or for worse, she had thrown him a few crumbs when he needed them most. There had to be some good in her. Pushing away from the bar, ignoring his shaking hands, he crossed the space between them with the air of somebody about to conduct an interview. His head was spinning, but he fought to feign some composure. “Remember me?”  

Vic’s walk with Morgan had left a pit of self loathing in her stomach, and she’d been frequenting bars a lot more than normal ever since the endeavor.  Drinking, an activity she barely ever had the chance to enjoy before, numbed the pain in a sickeningly sweet way.  You could still remember what happened, you still knew you were a shitty person, but at least it didn’t feel like your insides were being ripped out because of it.  She counted the grains of salt she’d poured out at her table, moving them back and forth methodically.  Remember me?  The voice shouldn’t have been talking to her, but still, she looked up. 

She recognized him the moment she laid eyes on him, but the alcohol dulled the emotions that tried to sweep in.  Still, she remembered the event clear as day, especially since it was a night she looked back on often.  She was walking home after a shift at the silver bullet, only to be distracted by the sounds of someone being attacked in an alleyway.  And, much to her chagrin, the smell of blood.  Her stomach turned at the sight of what she saw when she arrived, and she practically threw the vampire off his victim.  He seemed confused, and she’d assumed, at first, that he was drunk- a viable explanation for his sloppiness.  When she was sure no one was around, she somehow convinced the man to stick around, assuring him that she’d help him home when really, she had already pinged their location to a hunter.  This should have been a simple payday for her, in all honesty.  But it wasn’t long before she realized the man’s confusion wasn’t due to drunkenness, but naivety, and for the first time in a while, she faltered.  It seemed someone had turned this man and then left him to his own devices, and now he was roaming the streets of White Crest even more dangerous than others of his kind. Their kind.  Somewhere in her explanation to him, a sense of empathy wiggled it’s way into her heart.  She knew what it was like to have your world ripped out from under you, how confusing and devastating it was to suddenly desire the blood that her new brain forced her to lust after.  And while she didn’t understand why, she sent another short text to the hunter before it was too late.  ‘False Alarm’. 

He would still be on his own, but at least now he knew what he was- if he developed the morality to avoid human blood, or even better, the wherewithal to leave town, then she mused she could avoid seeing him and facing the consequences of letting him go forever.  If not, a hunter was always a text away.  Devastatingly, his victim was too far gone to help.  Maybe it could serve as a lesson to him.  They were monsters, and the proof was right there in front of him.  “Learn to control yourself so you don’t do this again”, had been all she offered before she left.   

He should have left town.  Or left well enough alone.  But here he was again, approaching her as if they were old friends.  Despite the alcohol, guilt gnawed at her stomach when she thought about how many people might have already died as a result of her letting him go.  She needed to alert a hunter about him immediately, and fix her old mistakes.  More guilt came when she thought about the implications from Morgan, and the idea of innocent vampires and how many she might have hurt. “Can’t say that I do”, she said, offering him a false smile and a head tilt.  “But then, I don’t typically remember old fucks.  Remind me- did you live in the outskirts? Or was it closer to the common?”  Better get a location on him now, rather than have to search for it later.  This could be one and done, if she played her cards right. 

Ignoring the urge to join the woman in counting the salt grains on the table, Milo forced himself to hold her gaze. Of all the vampire related changes in his life, the desire to count had to be the most ridiculous. At first he had assumed Harsh was joking. That was until his roommate poured out a handful of rice and told him to look at it carefully. Alone in Harsh’s kitchen it hardly mattered, but he wasn’t about to let something as mundane as mathematics distract him now. So he laughed sharply, unable to quite process his company’s words. Did she honestly think he was a one night stand? Did she really have no recollection of finding him bloody, and terrified, curled up in an alleyway? She had to be lying, he needed her to be lying. The alternative was far too hurtful.  

If she didn’t remember him then his pain was insignificant. The one person who bore witness to his stress, and his trauma, didn’t care enough to recollect it. “Yeah, that really isn’t how we know each other.” He muttered, unable to hold back. He felt too on edge, too uncomfortable to lean into a casual demeanour. Not to mention the thought of him taking a woman home was literally laughable. “You can’t be serious.” He eyed her for any hint she might not be telling him the truth, watching her in the hope of her body language or her facial expressions giving her away. “You know me. You have to know me.”  

Vic went on pretending that she didn’t remember the man, and as a result, didn’t care about his presence next to her anymore than she would any other asshole in the bar trying to hit on her.  Her finger rested gently on a single grain of salt, and she spun it around nonchalantly.  Internally, a million thoughts were racing through her mind. She really knew 

nothing about him other than that first night when he was nothing more than a monstrous infant.  Perhaps a one and done would be wreckless- how could she take him down if she didn’t know the way to go about it?  And then there was the issue of her conversation with Morgan, and the idea that what she did was no better than the vampires themselves- it was a ridiculous thought.  As if there were innocent, peaceful vampires.  But still, the words were there, growing and eating at her almost every second her mind was active.  On top of all of that- there were plenty of reasons to feel guilty about the way she left him that night- for one, the amount of damage he must have done as an unsired vampire could have been insurmountable, and Vic herself was to blame for letting him live. But the next reason was much deeper, and one she shut away whenever it crept into her heart- what type of person was she to leave him alone to deal with it all on his own? Scared and confused and alone.  She hated her sire, but what would have become of her without the training she’d received from her?  What type of person would she have been if she helped a vampire? 

She rolled her eyes, finally looking into his eyes reluctantly.  “Oh, right”, she said, blank faced and monotone.  She didn’t have the mental energy to put on the charm she usually did when gathering information about suspected vampires, especially not three drinks in.  “The guy from the alley?  I guess I didn’t recognize you without all the carnage.”  She blinked, shaking her head.  This was not the way to go about this, not if she wanted more information about him.  She sat up a bit straighter, clearing her throat.  “Why don’t you sit down-...I’d love to catch up.  I don’t think I even caught your name that night.” 

Not expecting the eye contact after his company had spent so long attempting to avoid it, Milo felt himself shrink under the woman’s gaze. His anger, and frustration at her supposedly being unable to remember him was quickly replaced by anxiety, and fear. She was a vampire. Not the one responsible for killing him, but a vampire all the same. For all he knew she was dangerous, and that terrified him. He was reminded of why he had been so nervous to approach her, but then she spoke again, deciding to admit she knew exactly who he was, and exactly how they had crossed paths with each other. Setting his jaw at the mention of carnage, it was becoming easier and easier to force down his guilt. He wasn’t the person to blame for what had taken place. His sire had turned him, left him alone. The blood wasn’t on his hands. He had been, and still was, the victim. If he kept reminding himself of that fact, maybe one day he might just believe it.  

“You- you want to catch up?” The words seemed to echo in his ears, they were ridiculous given the situation. Why was she talking to him like an old friend? Why was she talking to him like this wasn’t serious? Like if his heart was still beating it wouldn’t be pounding uncomfortably in his chest? “We wouldn’t need to catch up if you hadn’t left me.” He said, surprising himself with his bravery. Every instinct in him was telling him to keep his mouth shut, to be well behaved, and amicable. But he was being honest, she had to know it was the truth. He didn’t know her, he had no way of knowing why she hadn’t decided to stick around, and maybe a part of him understood he hadn’t been her responsibility. She had pulled him away from the person unlucky enough to approach him, he supposed in a vain attempt to save their life, and she had told him he was a vampire. Without that knowledge to process, without that information to contextualise his new life, how many more people might he have hurt? How was it possible she had done so little for him, and so much at the very same time? He carefully pulled out the stool opposite her, as though if he moved too quickly she might pounce on him, and hesitantly climbed up onto it. He felt far more awkward sitting down than he had standing up. “Kind of hard to catch somebody’s name when you’re busy telling them to do better.”  

Vic took a sip of her drink, never quite letting her eyes leave the vampire.  He had a lot of nerve, sitting here with an accusatory tone after she’d let him live.  She could have had a hunter there in mere moments, and the world would have been that much safer for it, too.  “What, did you want me to invite you over for tea?”, she asked, her voice biting and sarcastic.  It was a ridiculous thought.  She had done plenty, but it was typical of a vampire to not understand simple humanity and integrity.  She raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her.  She suppressed an eye roll as he awkwardly sat down, almost as if he suspected her to attack him.  As much as she would enjoy that, she would never- especially not in such a public venue.  Leave it to the hunters to deal with the likes of him.  “Well, I couldn’t exactly let you continue with that reckless behaviour, could I?” Her voice was nearly full charm at this point, and she was too distracted by alcohol and anger to notice how jarring the constant switch in her tone must have been.  “And here I thought you’d have been appreciative, friend.  Maybe you’re clouding what happened, in your mind.  You did seem distracted that night, after all.”  Vic shot the man a smirk, and then presented her hand for him to shake. “I’m Vic… Are you going to tell me your name?  Or am I going to have to guess?” 

Milo stayed quiet, not having an answer to the woman’s sarcastic, and obviously rhetorical question. As much as he wanted to bite back, he physically couldn’t, the words seemed to die in his throat. “It wasn’t reckless.” He countered finally, annoyed by the implication. “Reckless makes it sound like it was a choice. Somebody turned me against my will and left me to wake up alone.” Glaring at her, the sweet charismatic tone she had adopted only served to make him feel patronised, and small, but it took a surprisingly short amount of time for his demeanour to soften. She was almost right. To a degree he was grateful for the help she had offered him. “I’m not clouding anything. I know what happened.” He kept his voice firm, leaving no room for her to argue, or manipulate him into doubting himself. But his anger was gone. Suppressed, and carefully pushed to the back of his mind.  

“Anybody would be distracted.” He added, pointedly glancing down at her outstretched hand before ignoring it entirely. “My name is Milo.” He swallowed his emotion, knowing if he wasn’t careful he might burn this particular bridge. It clearly wasn’t very strong, but the woman sitting opposite him was a link to the person who had taken his life. She either knew his attacker, or she didn’t, so preserving their connection was important. Right now, given their current dynamic, he doubted she would be willing to divulge the information. Maybe one day that might change. “Look…” He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I had no fucking idea- about any of it. I was scared, and alone, and feeling so many things I had no way of explaining. You could have done more, obviously. But you didn’t have to stop… I get that. So… do you want to start this again? I don’t be a dick to you, and you don’t be a dick to me?” 

“But it was a choice for me to help you”, Vic bit back, losing her decorum for only a moment before she forced herself to maintain her more relaxed tone.  She didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but it made her anger fiery and flammable in an outward way that she wasn’t used to.  She’d been struggling to hold her anger in a lot more than she liked, recently. 

Her gaze followed his to her hand, pulling it back slowly when he refused to take it.  “Milo”.  Milo, White Male. Under 6 feet tall.  Not too chicken shit to approach someone in a bar. “Not a name you hear often- is it short for something?”  She licked her lips as he continued, hating how much she related to those feelings of isolation and confusion.  She wanted to tell him those feelings didn’t cease to exist just because you happened to catch a sire who wanted to parade you around like a prize instead of leaving you for dead. She wanted to tell him that knowing what kind of monster you were turned into from the start didn’t clear the clouds of self hatred that inched their way into your mind.  She could have done less, too, but she stopped herself from saying as much.   

Milo’s offer of civility was rather unexpected to Vic, and she felt herself sitting up straighter, analyzing his face for any sense of deception.  “While I can’t control your perception of what constitutes a di-... one of those, I would love to start over, Milo.”  What better way to learn more information about him, right?  The quicker she knew, the easier it’d be to get a hunter on his trail.  Morgan’s optimism about vampire’s civility be damned.  

Milo let out a huff of breath, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Honestly, he was so relieved his company wasn’t being overly aggressive, or unpredictable, that his anxiety was rapidly draining away. Leaving him feeling tired, and irritable, but also maybe offering him a new perspective. Without anger clouding his judgement, without having the energy to pay attention to the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, the woman sitting opposite him became… just a woman. Somebody who had done what she could in the moment to help him, who was likely also battling her own demons. Shooting Vic a quizzical look when she began to question him on his name, he couldn’t imagine why the information was important but he shook his head. “Nope… it’s Milo for Milo. No middle name either, I guess my parents were hoping for a boring child.” They definitely didn’t get one, he thought to himself. 

Watching Vic, an unexpected smile tugging at his lips as he realised she was carefully avoiding his choice of word, he was surprised when she accepted the suggestion. Their history was incredibly brief, but complicated, and undeniably tense. Maybe a fresh start would help him to understand her motivations, as well as bring him closer to the identity of his killer. And if not… maybe he would have another vampire in his life. Somebody like him. Somebody who could relate to what he was going through. “You don’t swear?” He asked, his eyes shining. “Or is this some kind of etiquette thing? Are you going to tell me you were an upper class 19th century Lady who still doesn’t put her elbows on the table, or like… ever show her ankles?”  

“Milo for Milo, just like Vic for Vic”, Vic responded, her mouth twitching at the lie. “Nothing wrong with being boring”, she noted, sharing her genuine feelings.  “Sometimes boring is safe- physically and emotionally.”  She suppressed an eye roll at his smirk, sitting back in her chair defensively.  “I swear plenty.  Just not about such… uncouth things.”  But then, at his assumption about her origin, a small smirk grew on her own lips, surprising herself by how amused she was with just how close he was, except for the century.  “Well I’m not an animal”, she responded.  So often her pristine posture had been met with strange eyes, especially as more and more time went by, but she would not stoop herself so low as to be like the ‘youth of today’ who chewed with their mouths open and leaned over tables like dogs. 

Though she never directly confirmed or denied his assumption, she pressed on. “That’s enough about me, though. I’d much rather learn about you… are you still in contact with your family now that things are different?  Were you close to them before?”  What she was really asking was, is there anyone that would miss you, or enact revenge when you eventually went missing? Some sort of pit grew in her stomach suddenly at the thought though, making the walls feel like they were closing in.  Milo hadn’t done anything wrong- he had been turned against his will like she was and then left alone.  Was his trying to learn about her a testament to his humanity?  Her next sentence came out much shakier than the last few had.  “Have you always lived around White Crest?” 

Milo raised his eyebrows at Vic, making it clear he didn’t believe her. But he chose not to pursue the topic, it didn’t exactly feel fair when she was under no obligation to talk to him. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away. “No shit boring is safe.” He agreed offering her a half-hearted shrug. If he had grown up to be the boring son his parents were hoping for, things would have turned out very differently. For him, as well as for them. A laugh escaping him when his company decided to insist she did swear on occasion, it didn’t take away from how amusing he found her hesitation. “Uncouth?” He grinned, unable to help himself. He almost hated the fact that he was beginning to enjoy her company. “A lot of things are uncouth, it doesn’t make them bad.” If her choice of language hadn’t been enough to give her away, her reaction to his teasing made him confident his assumption had been correct. “I didn’t say you were.” He countered, trying not to dwell on the things Dani had said to him implying all vampires were animals. Less than human, abominations. Surely this woman’s dedication to etiquette was proof of just how wrong Dani was.  

His smile faltering suddenly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts only to be hit by questions he really, really didn’t want to answer. A few beats of silence passed before he was able to find his voice, the motivation to respond to such a barrage. “Why?” He demanded, an edge to his tone as he fought the urge to storm away. What right did she have to ask something so personal? Something so painful? Especially when he wasn’t prepared to face the emotion that followed the subject being raised. “I- it doesn’t matter.” He bit out, knowing his words were incredibly vague. In fact, they probably only made it easier for Vic to continue on her chosen path. He needed to say something final, something that closed this particular line of communication. “I didn’t come here to talk about my family.” That had to be enough, right? He needed that to be enough. “Born, raised, and died.” He added, hoping to distract her. “I’m guessing you aren’t from around here?”  

“Some things should just not be spoken about in public”, Vic chided, further explaining her aversion to the word she’d refused to use earlier.  “Not that they’re bad, they’re just… rude”.  It wasn’t the right word to describe it, but it was the only one she could think of, so it was what she settled on.  No, he didn’t say she was an animal, but she still wasn’t sure if the same was true for him.  Varying opinions danced in her mind, and inwardly, all she wanted to do was to scold Morgan.  If the woman hadn’t been so persistent lately, Vic wouldn’t have to question her morals so often now- it was so much easier to get her job done before.   

At the break in his otherwise seemingly calm demeanor, Vic’s eyebrows raised, watching him with equal parts curiosity and expectancy.  This sharp edge- this is what she expected from vampires.  As brief as his flash of anger was, it was entirely interesting, and something she wanted to explore even more. In the very least, she now knew he had ties here- a whole lifetime of them.  His words held an air of finality that she couldn’t press on if she wanted to get on his good side.  Instead, she let the beats of silence continue between them, revelling in the discomfort they brought as she looked over him, judging.  Despite her better judgement, she couldn’t resist commenting.  “I’ve never met someone who tries to hide things that don’t matter”, she said matter of factly, her mouth growing into a small, playful grin.   She was both amused and intrigued, but she’d leave it there, at least for now.  He seemed intent on turning the conversation back to her, something that made her considerably uncomfortable when she was chatting with other vampires. “What gave it away?” she wondered.  Not even 400 some odd years of traversing around the world could erase her accent completely, although most people tended to assume she was British, not Swedish.  “I’ve lived in White Crest for about ten years, albeit as somewhat of a recluse”, she said honestly, possibly explaining why they had never met in such a small town.   

“Well, that’s no fun.” Milo pouted, trying to imagine censoring himself, especially when he had been drinking. He couldn’t see very much to gain, but he also hadn’t lived Vic’s experiences. If it really was an important part of her past then of course she was going to hold onto that. It wasn’t his place to tell her she shouldn’t. “Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in surrender, realising the anxiety and fear that had plagued him were actually beginning to fade away. “I’ll stop being rude.” He half teased, despite intending to make good on his promise. Settling into the silence as his company seemed to observe him from where she was sitting, he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but no longer worried. She didn’t seem like a threat, not right in this moment, at least. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether she hadn’t helped him for personal reasons, valid reasons she couldn’t bring herself to explain. For a long time he had seen her as callous, and cold. Somebody who had given him the bare minimum without any sign of empathy or consideration. Had he been wrong?  

A frown creasing his brow, his body tensed at her comment, and he tried to remind himself he wasn’t in danger. She was getting to know him, and she was being smart about it. That was all. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to imply, but he felt exposed, and vulnerable under her statement. He didn’t know how to combat the way she danced around his own statement. The one that was supposed to signal the end of the discussion. “I’m not hiding anything.” He said, his voice firm as he tried not to look as small as he felt. “Do you think I’m hiding something?” If he used her own questions against her, feigned a certain level of confidence, then maybe she would stop asking them. A smile tugging at his lips as she spoke again, he was grateful for the chance to move on. “I’ve never heard an accent like yours.” He admitted. He couldn’t place it even if he wanted to, and it made him curious to know where she had been born. Where she had been raised. “You’ve been here for ten years?” He asked, searching her expression, genuinely curious. “Why stay for so long?” 

Vic, feeling done with this particular conversation, took a swig of her drink, hoping it signified the end of it.  Thankfully, he seemed to concede, but she let out a small huff of annoyance despite herself.  The silence that surrounded them now made her uncomfortable.  It was too much of an opportunity for her mind to continue to swell with anxiety and guilt, and she shifted in her seat.  “Do you come here often?”, she asked, hoping to break the silence. 

Again, Milo’s response and body language sparked interest, and she tilted her head at his inquiry.  “I think you’re working very hard to make me think you’re not hiding something”, she said, an amused smirk still playing comfortably on her lips. She was willing to drop this, at least for now, but she was incredibly intrigued at whatever Milo was keeping locked away.  “Swedish”, she admitted honestly.  For some reason, she didn’t have as much anxiety telling him as she thought she would.  Either he was a monster like she thought and he’d die soon anyway, or he was harmless like Morgan implied, and her birthplace would serve no use to him.  “But that was a long time ago.”    If she were to answer his next question honestly, she would tell him that the intel had been so good here that she never had to leave. “Why leave so soon?”, she asked to counter him.  “This life is a long one.  Especially with our...affliction.  Ten years is nothing, not in the scheme of things.” 

Milo laughed, surprised by the question after a few beats of silence passed between them. It wasn’t a laugh reserved for his friends, but it was comfortable, and it came easy to him. “I go everywhere often.” He admitted. “I can’t remember the last time I ended the night sober.” Was that true? He realised the moment the words left his mouth that he was being entirely honest. For a brief moment he saw himself from the outside, the friend everybody watched, and worried about, but it didn’t take long to brush away his concern. He was fine. It would only be a problem if he felt like he couldn’t end the night sober, right? And at this moment in time not being sober was a choice. He was definitely choosing this life. His expression hardening as Vic tilted her head, everything about the way she was looking at him felt smug. She was either reading him like an open book, or she wanted him to believe she was capable of doing so. He couldn’t figure out which.  

“Forgive me for being wary of strangers, this town kind of taught me that when it tore out my fucking throat.” He muttered. He didn’t enjoy the idea of her prying, and trying to gain information on him that he just wasn’t willing to give. Especially when he still didn’t know her. “You don’t consider yourself Swedish anymore?” He asked, distracted by her answer to his question. Did you grow out of a nationality? If you spent enough time in one country did that really mean you were willing to let another country go? “I…” He trailed off, trying to imagine ten years in the context of a person who had hundreds of years at their disposal. He was one of those people, but at the age of twenty two it was so difficult to shift his perspective. He supposed that would happen as time passed, as the people around him began to age, and die. He swallowed his emotion, annoyed for allowing his thoughts to wander. One of the only things he pointedly avoided thinking about was his new, and elongated lifespan. It was too overwhelming. Too terrifying to truly dissect. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that…” He admitted. “Still… it isn’t the most exciting place. Sometimes it feels like the only thing to do here is run from supernatural creatures.”  

Vic hadn’t been ending many of her nights sober lately either.  She felt like a child, in a way.  Like the teenagers she read about in books who were too wrapped up in their feelings and hormones to care about what the rest of the world thought of them.  It was easy to understand where Milo was coming from with wanting to keep hidden.  She herself had only just started to let herself come out of the woodwork by allowing a genuine connection to be formed with Morgan, and it was pretty clearly a mistake by how that was turning out.  The worst parts of her thought that all that friendship brought were moral questions and heartache.  And it wasn’t often that the best parts of her shone through.  “I didn’t say that.  Just that I lived there a long time ago. I doubt I’d recognize the town I’m from if I were to venture back. Can you consider yourself a part of a place you no longer have any connection to?”  She never intended to be genuine with Milo, but something about his gratitude and the way she kept finding herself relating to him was starting to break her down.  She thought, momentarily, that this is the exact effect she always hoped to have on the people she was manipulating.  It was jarring.  For as much as she was attempting to appear equal parts charming and intimidating, there wasn’t much left inside besides vulnerability and a wish to connect to anyone on a humanistic level.  It must have been desperation, she assured herself, that this feeling was rearing its ugly head with the type of person who mauled strangers on the side of the road.  His comment made her smirk, though, and effectively shook her out of her thoughts.  “Do you not find running from supernatural creatures exciting, Milo?” 

“You implied.” Milo insisted. He tried to imagine White Crest in a few hundred years, what it might look like if he ever returned to it. Or maybe he would never leave, the idea was both comforting, and genuinely terrifying. Did he really want a permanent connection to the town that had taken his life? Then again, did he really want to navigate a world he wasn’t familiar with? White Crest could regrettably be a comfort. He wasn’t ready to let it go. “I don’t know…” He admitted in response to Vic’s question, offering her a shrug. “Maybe? I guess it depends on you…” It wasn’t the most decisive of answers, but if there was one thing he had learned through Harsh, Eilidh, and James, it was that every single person had an entirely different perspective. Different views on death, and murder, and the supernatural world, there really was no black and white. It was never going to be that simple.  

Shooting Vic a look of disbelief when she decided to smirk at the mention of White Crest’s many dangers, it was all he could do not to scoff. How could anybody possibly find it exciting? He couldn’t seem to walk home anymore without running into a werewolf, or crossing paths with the occasional mime. “No.” He deadpanned. “Obviously not.” When he had been human, indulging in alcohol, and substances came with very clear, and predetermined risks. He knew what might happen, understood the danger he was flirting with. Now that he saw White Crest for what it was, that level of inebriation came with a myriad of risks he couldn’t possibly be aware of. And how did you prepare for that? How were you supposed to feel comfortable with that? Every single time he left the house he was rolling the dice. And even though he was getting used to the feeling, it didn’t mean he enjoyed any part of it. “Do you?” 

Vic’s eyebrows raised once more, noting, with some unexpected pride, Milo’s raise in confidence from when they first started talking.  “You presumed implication”, she responded, surprised by how much she was growing to enjoy the back and forth of their conversation.  While he once seemed like an overzealous coward, something about his demeanor was growing on her, disturbingly so. Where at first she was desperate to sic a hunter on him, there was now a hesitation in the way her fingers danced through her contacts during the moments when her attention landed on her phone.  She told herself she should wait on it- study him more to really see if he was dangerous.  That was the only reason she was sparing him, right?   “I think one day you’ll see that too many years away from a place, even one you once called home, can make it feel cold and strange.  Home becomes a strange concept, in that way.  Some people claim home is with the ones you love or with the ones that love you, but what if there is no one that fills that quota?”  Though she held eye contact with Milo, her eyes had gotten distant for a moment, lost in the strangeness that the world had become for her.  It took a table near them being cleaned up by the barback to shake her out of her thoughts, and only then did her eyes seem to snap back to Milo’s. 

“Have you always known about the dangers here?”, she wondered.  It was an interesting phenomenon, even back when she was a child, that people could so easily deny the existence of creatures who lived among them.  Was it easier for them than facing the truth of the matter?  “I find it inconvenient, if I’m being totally honest.  On a good day, it’s something to pass the time.  On a bad one, it’s a time waster.  It’s incredibly frustrating to miss an appointment because a sentient tree decided to park itself on main street.”  She rolled her eyes at the thought, still relishing the job she lost because of the incident.  Another table was being cleaned beside them, and she let out a breath, noticing that they were just about the only two left in the bar.  “It seems we’ve cleaned the place out, Milo.”  She moved around the grains of salt on the table in front of them, effectively ruining her counting for good.

Narrowing his eyes, Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue. If he denied what Vic was saying, or tried to counter it, this particular disagreement might never end. There was no wrong answer because both of them were technically right. She had implied, but he had also presumed. “Home is where the heart is.” He surprised himself by echoing something he had heard his mother say many times over. He had never once in his life stopped to consider the meaning behind her words. Feeling a strange chill wash over him, he didn’t want to imagine White Crest without the people he loved in it. Without his parents, without his friends… without Rio. “I-” He broke off, unable to insist he would make new friends, and find new loved ones. That didn’t feel true, and the idea of replacing the people he cared about almost physically hurt him. “Anywhere can be home.” He said finally, opting to be vague, to avoid addressing what Vic was making very clear. One day he would be alone. One day he wouldn’t have anybody left. Watching Vic, observing the expression on her face that was remarkably open, all things considered, he felt a spark of sympathy accompany his fear. He could worry about it until it happened, but maybe for Vic she was already there. Who had she lost? Who did she miss?  

A bitter smile tugging at his lips, he shook his head at her question, grateful for the change in subject. “I like to think if I had then I wouldn’t be sitting here.” He admitted. “I guess weird stuff used to happen, now that I’m more aware of it there’s no fucking way it wasn’t happening when I was human. I was just… oblivious, I guess. When you aren’t looking for things, sometimes you just don’t see them.” It made for some pretty decent protection, until it didn’t. Until it got him killed. A laugh escaping him, he was shocked to realise they were actually in agreement. “Yeah, no shit, it’s inconvenient.” He couldn’t seem to leave the house without running into a supernatural creature. Sometimes they needed help, sometimes they were just… there, and sometimes they wanted to kill him. There was no way to predict how an interaction might end, and how were you supposed to plan around that? Sitting up a little straighter, turning to scan the rest of the bar, Vic was right, and the quiet seemed to suddenly press in on him. He had been so lost in thought, so focused on their conversation, that he really hadn’t noticed the absence of a crowd. A familiar sense of anxiety creeping up on him now that they were alone together, he pushed himself off of his stool. Staring at the grains of salt as Vic ran her fingers through them, now that he was standing he hurried to awkwardly brush himself down. “It seems we have…” He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t nervous to be alone in her company, but no doubt she would realise what was happening. “I- I should probably go.”  

Vic didn’t easily back down from an argument.  She enjoyed arguing, in a way.  Perhaps because it provided some break up to an otherwise monotonous social life, or maybe it was just that having control over a situation with another person felt deliciously powerful.  It was only slightly disappointing that Milo eventually relented.  It was interesting to watch him process what she’d been forced to centuries ago- that life being ripped from you was only really a portion of the tragedies that came with being a blood sucker.  “Anywhere can be hell”, she countered, because it was important that he knew. 

“Fair enough” she responded, a small smirk growing to rest on her lips.  “I think most people are wilfully ignorant- yourself included, apparently.  It’s easier for them to ignore the truth because the alternative is too terrifying for most people to face.”  Still, it wasn’t her job to warn the average human about the dangers out there- just to protect them from the blood suckers when she could.  She had gone through a stint, early on after she’d killed her sire, where she tried desperately to warn humans of all the dangers they were missing- the ones that sat right in front of them, ready to attack.  It didn’t end well, and so she stopped trying rather abruptly.  She stayed in her chair, calm and cool as Milo anxiously stood up, fiddling side to side like a nervous teenager.  “You should”, she agreed, resting her chin on her hand.  “Stay out of trouble, Milo.” 

As she watched him scurry out of the bar, she genuinely hoped he would.  Because it became clear rather quickly that Morgan was right: getting to know people before turning them in definitely made sending them to their death a lot harder.

[xfandomwritingsx]

Hold Your Breath – Chapter Three: A Strong Brew - Draco Malfoy

-gif source unknown-

Description: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.

Warnings/Labels: Tension. Lots of tension.

Approx. Word Count: 3,400

A/N: Okay… I reference “a foot” as a measurement of length here. I’m sorry. I’m American. I know it’s wrong. But a meter was too long and saying 30cm just sounds so specific. Please don’t skewer me.

Story Masterpost

October 1998

You sit in Headmistress McGonagall’s office the next day, wringing your hands in your lap and feeling small. You had no intentions of leaving your room today and had intended on staying in bed wallowing in your sadness. A summons from McGonagall put a pin in that plan however. You must admit, even though walking through the halls had been daunting, it did make you feel better to at least put on fresh clothes and wash your face.

McGonagall rounds her desk after shutting her office door and stands next to her chair instead of sitting in it. You take a breath, strangely nervous, and look up to her. Her face is fairly expressionless, but her eyes are soft.

“You have Hogwarts’ and my personal apologies for what happened at the ball,” she tells you sincerely. “The behavior that boy displayed was unacceptable and there are quite serious repercussions in process.” You give a small appreciative smile, but lower your head down again. Honestly, you didn’t want such a fuss to be made. It makes disappearing quite difficult. “We want you to know you have the full support of the Hogwarts staff and your efforts in the war are not forgotten nor minimalized.” Her voice is stern, but compassionate and while you feel as though you don’t deserve the praise, it does give you a little bit of validation which takes a little bit of weight off of you.

“Thank you.” Your voice is sheepish, but you at least look up to meet her eyes as you speak.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” she asks kindly. You take a moment to think, eyes darting side to side for a moment, feeling like you should have some kind of an answer.

“I don’t think so,” you say finally. Before she can speak, a knock on her door interrupts.

“Come in,” she beckons. You hear the door open, but don’t look back, not particularly interested in seeing who has entered. That is, until she greets, “Ah, Mister Malfoy. Please step in.”

The look on his face when you turn around is something between irritation and forced complacency. You notice a bandage on his right hand, but he shifts it closer to his side and tries to keep it out of view. You turn back in your seat and focus on your hands again.

“Madam Pomfrey assured me your hand will heal by the end of the day.” She nods her chin towards him as he approaches her desk to stand at the empty chair next to you. “Mister Dolohov’s face, however, will unfortunately have remaining bruising for some time due to a sudden shortage of arnica.”

Wait a moment. Did Draco hit Dolohov? You glance to Draco just in time to see him look away from you and avoid your questioning eyes. You take another look at his hand, the bandage around the knuckles. He did, didn’t he? But why?

“You understand we do not condone violence of any kind, even for altruistic reasons.” Her tone is stern, but there’s something in it that lacks the powerful scolding nature the words demand. In fact, she sounds even a little bored with the lecture. She hadn’t sounded particularly remorseful about Dolohov’s bruising either. “Therefore, you will be given two detentions each week for four consecutive weeks which will be served out in the library under my supervision.” Draco sighs heavily and barely contains an eye roll.

“Yes ma’am,” he says arbitrarily.

“Now,” she snaps at him, clearly not amused with his lack of respect. “As you understand I am a busy woman with a school to run and may not always be able to attend your detentions in person.” There’s a sly undertone despite her stony expression. “I expect that at these times, you will behave properly and serve your detention out on your own.” Both you and Draco catch up to her at the same time. Detention without supervision? Clearly just a formality. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats in a much more respectful manner now that he realizes he’s not actually being scolded.

“Try not to punch anyone else if you can help it,” is her dismissal to him before she looks back to you. “Are you sure there’s nothing more we can do for you?” she asks in a much gentler tone. You simply shake your head, still trying to process the evening itself, let alone the apparent news of Draco punching the boy. “If anyone troubles you further, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

Draco leaves first with you trailing behind. You feel as though you should thank him or at least say something to acknowledge what he did. It was an act of chivalry, even if it was a violent one. It was a protective gesture. Could he possibly still care about you? Or did he just feel personal offense since he also bears your same mark?

“Draco,” you call to him before he’s able to hurry himself away.

“What?” he snaps bitterly as he spins on his toes back to you, face full of irritation and impatience. The gratitude sputters and dies on your tongue and you feel yourself draw back with pause.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Nevermind.” There’s a small shake of his head and an angry eye roll before he twists back around and whisks himself away.

~~~

November 1998

The chatter and fascination with what happened at the ball calms down a lot faster than you expected. Dolohov was put on a strict probation and not allowed to use magic unless supervised by a professor. The opinion of his punishment was split amongst the students. Many thought it was too harsh for such a small prank. You were surprised to hear how many people had agreed it was fitting, however. Granted, they weren’t necessarily concerned about you as a person, but agreed that bullying in general was intolerable and severe punishment was warranted.

Jane, the girl from the dance who has become increasingly friendly towards you, walks you to potions this morning. She doesn’t loop her arm with yours like Ginny normally does, but she stands close enough and talks directly to you, making it very obvious that she is with you. You appreciate it. The halls are much easier to walk with a friend.

She leaves you with a wave and a smile and a little bit of hope that today will be a good day. That hope is broken when Slughorn announces the assignment for today; a partner project. You know what’s coming next because whatever God existed out there clearly has it in for you. There’s exactly zero surprise in you when he pairs you with Draco, only dread and defeat.

Everyone stands from their seats to shift around and sit next to their partners. It’s obvious Draco has no intention of moving from his original seat, so you gather your things and approach him. The bastard doesn’t even look at you. You give a huff and noisily sit down to his left, scraping your chair deliberately along the floor as you scoot in. He still doesn’t look over to you.

Two potions, one grade. That is the assignment. You can either work together to ensure a good grade or you can work alone, one on each potion, and just hope the other doesn’t mess theirs up. Judging by the way Draco slides the recipe for the Calming Draught across the table to you, you assume you’re going with the second option.

The rest of the classroom is filled with reasonable chatter as the other pairs discuss their assigned potions and how to handle them. It makes the silence coming from Draco all the more noticeable, but you push through it.

It’s about halfway through the lesson when your potion turns a dull grey and has a sickly smell permeating from it. You’ve clearly done something wrong. You rifle through your notes, the recipe, your potions book, trying desperately to figure out what went wrong.

“Merlin’s beard! Stop stirring it!” Draco hisses besides you. You look to your cauldron dumbly, not even having realized you’d forgotten to end the enchantment on your wooden spoon so it continues to spin round and round. You grab the spoon and snatch it out of the cauldron, embarrassed by the mistake. “You always were rubbish with potions,” he comments snidely.

“Rubbish at potions, dreadful at charms,” you say mostly to yourself, staring at the ruined potion with disdain. “Is there anything I’m not terrible at?” He gives an annoyed sigh at your side and then quickly stands to leave. You glance at his potion while he’s gone and of course, it has that indicative silver vapor floating up from his perfectly brewed Draught of Peace.

Your shoulders slouch and you put your face in your hands. Perhaps you could find some satisfaction from taking Draco’s grade down with you. Serves him right for being a prat.

There’s a clatter on the table in front of you and when you remove your hands from your face, you see ingredients splayed out on the table. You look at Draco quizzically as he starts to open the bottle containing lavender.

“I don’t fancy a failing grade today,” he tells you sharply. “Make yourself useful and measure out the peppermint.” He pushes another bottle to you before coming back around the table to sit in his chair. You expect him to pull the cauldron towards him in order to take over, but instead he moves his chair closer to you in order to reach it. You try not to look at him or pay attention to how close he is as he uses his wand to clear the contents. “Let’s not use a stirring enchantment like a first year this time.”

“Are you going to mock me the whole time?” you snap at him as you do your part and carefully put the peppermint sprigs on the scale.

“Only when you deserve it.” His reply makes your skin prickle and an anger bubble in you, but it fades rather quickly when he briefly looks at you from the side of his eye and his lips just barely turn upwards from his scowl. It’s a phrase you’ve said to him many times over the years, sometimes seriously and sometimes friendly or flirtatiously. And he’s repeating it back to you, making a callback to your friendship. You have no words for him.

You’d imagined saying that sentence in a completely different manner before. You’d had fantasies of him beneath you, begging for release and you kissing along his skin teasingly. Only when you deserve it. You never had a chance to attempt making that fantasy anything more than that, having only been with him the one time, but that didn’t stop your mind from conjuring the image up periodically. It has been quite some time since it resurfaced, but now that it’s there again, it’s hard to shake.

When you don’t offer him a reply, Draco returns to the potion, taking the peppermint from you and crushing it with the mortar. You feel as though you should have said something, should have acknowledged that his reference was not unwanted, but you can’t bring yourself to find anything appropriate to say.

“Measure these again,” he instructs, handing the mortar with the peppermint back to you. “After they’re crushed, you typically lose a little bit of weight. Usually not enough to make a difference, but every bit counts when the potion brewer is incompetent.” It’s said much more sharply than his last jab and you straighten your back, trying not to let it hurt you.

“Seeing as how you’re the one doing all the work so far, I am assuming you’re referring to your own incompetence,” you quip back at him. He leans back in his chair comfortably and fans his hand over the table.

“If you want to do it yourself, by all means, give it a try.” Bristling at his challenge, you huff and face the table fully with determination. You will not let him be so satisfied.

You dump the peppermint into the cauldron and pick up the jar of pre-mixed base liquids. You struggle momentarily with the lid, but manage to get it off without making a fool of yourself or spilling the contents everywhere. Chin held high, you begin to pour the jar on top of the peppermint. Draco’s hand is suddenly covering yours, holding onto you and titling the jar back up. The contact startles you, your body giving a small jolt as he puts a hand on the back of your chair and leans in near you.

“Slower,” he commands, his voice almost a whisper this close to you. “It’s a Calming Draught. If you rush it, it doesn’t work.” He guides your hand, directing the liquid to flow languidly from the jar. “Better.” You can feel his breath just barely reach your neck. His arm is outstretched, nearly outlining your own and his chest bumps into your shoulder. He’s practically cradling you into him and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it.

The warmth of his body is familiar. Your body remembers what it feels like to have his arms wrap around you, to hold you tight and give you comfort or pleasure. Your arm tingles at the memory of his fingertips gliding down your skin, intertwining his fingers with yours. You remember it, feel it, all too easily.

But there’s still that anger, the resentment that fights the warm, good feelings. It puts a block up and prevents the threat of euphoria rushing in. It’s the thing stopping you from turning your head to look at him which you’re fairly certain ran a high risk of ending up with his lips on yours. Instead, you focus on your breathing, on calming your racing heart.

When the jar is empty, Draco releases your hand and the jar, pulling away and leaving the space beside you with an empty chill. He crosses steps off of the recipe with a quill before tipping the feather towards the cauldron.

“Stir it five times. That’s all,” he instructs, seemingly oblivious to what his presence had done to you.

“Slowly?” you confirm, somewhat surprised your voice didn’t quake. He hums and nods approvingly, but keeps his focus on the recipe.

He continues to direct you on what ingredients to add when and how many times to stir the concoction. He’s firm in his instructions, but the jabs have ceased at least. He’s also keeping his distance and remaining in his chair, away from your personal space. And that… makes you anxious somehow.

You find yourself wondering if he’ll come back and when. Any movement he makes, you feel yourself tense up with anticipation, but he doesn’t come any closer than he already is. What’s more is that you recognize the tension is not unpleasant. You aren’t dreading his warmth. You’re craving it.

You glance down. There’s absolutely no more than a foot of space between your chairs. Almost unconsciously, you uncross your legs and shift your right one to shorten the empty space. It’s not enough to touch him and you take a moment to contemplate if you even want to. If he’s allowed to touch you, to get into your space, shouldn’t you be allowed the same?

You twist your hips towards him, planting your foot firmly in the space between the chairs’ front legs. You put your weight on it and lift up from your chair, reaching across the table in front of him to pick up a piece of parchment with notes on it that you don’t particularly need nor want. Your knee bumps into his and your sudden arrival into his personal bubble seems to shock him ever so slightly as he looks up in confusion. You sit back down quickly, but place yourself on the right most part of the chair which allows you to keep your knee pressed to his.

You give him a shy smile as a show of thanks for letting you steal his notes and pretend to read them. Your eyes gloss over the words, but you can’t comprehend a single one with Draco making no move to shift away from your touch. He doesn’t push back either though. He focuses back on the recipe and lets you just stay there.

That is until his hand is on your knee. It pushes you away and doesn’t linger and for a moment, dread drops down into your stomach like a stone, heavy with rejection. His push is gentle though and it has a purpose when he stands up next to you in the space your leg had occupied and leans over the cauldron to peer inside. He’s close again now, this time his hip is the part of him almost pressing into your shoulder as he hinges his waist and puts his hands flat on the table.

“Come here,” he tells you. You follow his lead, hands on table and leaning over the cauldron. “What do you smell?” You take a moment to refocus on the potion and inhale deeply.

“Lavender,” you tell him. “It’s faint though.”

“Exactly.” His palm shifts on the table and the side of his hand molds to yours. “That means it needs more. You shouldn’t have to think about it. It should be potent.” He leans away from you to grab the bowl with the extra lavender. In doing so, she shifts his hand again, the heel of his palm drifting away from you, but his little finger making up for lost contact by slipping casually over your own.

“I thought we used what the recipe called for?” It’s hard to focus on the potion, but you do your best even with air trapped in your chest and the urge to slip your entire hand under his.

“The heat was a little too high,” he explains. “It reduced too quickly. We can fix that by adding a pinch or two more.” He lifts the bowl up towards you, encouraging you to do the honors. His expression is even and unbothered by the two of you touching. He waits patiently, watching you carefully until you make the decision to use your left hand to pinch the lavender with and deliberately leave your right one with him.

His expression remains unchanged as his little finger reaches and strokes the knuckle of your ring finger a single time before resting back down over your pinky. Why was such a small touch so invigorating? How did he keep such a straight face? He must know you’re not unaffected by this.

“More?” you ask quietly after dropping a single pinch into the cauldron. He takes a moment, contemplating and curling his little finger to wrap under yours.

“Can you handle more?” The flirtatious tease comes to his voice just as quick as it comes to his eyes. It’s a challenge, but it’s at least recognition that you hadn’t been imagining everything he’s been doing. You keep your eyes on him as you add another pinch to the potion. “Good,” he praises. “Now stir.”

He pulls away slowly, letting his touch and his warmth drag along you as he sits back in his seat. You let out a breath you’ve apparently been holding and give the potion a delicate, calculated stir. Draco settles back in his chair and crosses his left ankle over his knee, causing his left knee to protrude into the space between your chairs. You have no doubts that the motion is made with intent.

You oblige his silent invitation. Sitting back down yourself, you lean over the table to take notes and shift your right knee out towards him again. It slips beneath his and he pushes down just enough to encourage you to stay there. You don’t dare to look at him, but you can’t keep the smallest smile off your lips as you wait for Slughorn to come by and grade you.

It’s only when he comes by do you break apart and you become acutely aware that you’ve been in a classroom full of people this entire time. Had anyone noticed anything? Surely, they hadn’t. The interactions had been so miniscule and everyone was focused on their own potions, yes?

Slughorn presents you a solid E grade which pleases you greatly. Draco, ever the perfectionist with his grades, had been holding out hope for an O, but it didn’t come to pass. This causes you to be unsure if you owed him a thanks or an apology and end up giving him neither as you clean up.

“Astronomy,” Draco says as he’s putting books into his bag. You look at him, utterly confused.

“Excuse me?” He doesn’t look at you.

“You asked what you’re not terrible at,” he explains as though it was obvious. “You’re quite brilliant in astronomy.”

“Oh.” A compliment. A real, no backhand compliment. “Thank you.” He gives a small nod in response before slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave.

“Practice your potions more,” he advises and then turns to leave without another word.

You watch him go, still a little confused and excited by the whole lesson. What in the world did any of it mean? What did you want it to mean?

Best not to think about it too much.

---

Thanks for reading darling! If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you like, comment, reblog, or if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley 

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[tomminowrites]

Winter Solider MacGyver AU

He's fast, whoever he is. 

It takes some real effort to separate Jack from his handgun… and yet this guy managed it barely thirty seconds into the fight. 

One minute Jack was kicking in the apartment door, pistol raised to greet whoever was on the other side, and the next there was a dishtowel coiled around his wrists. Pivot, tighten, yank - and the gun is torn from Jack’s numb fingers to slide across the kitchen tiles. What kind of assassin fights with laundry items??

His attacker doesn’t spare the weapon another glance, focused only on engaging his target. Jack jerks back as a glinting metal fist swings past his face. The dodge gives him just enough time to throw up an arm and grab at the vicious jab that follows. Jack swivels them both, slamming the soldier into the brick wall with a thud. Pots and pans clatter around them.

The blond grunts, kohl-smudged eyes tightening in annoyance above the black muzzle that covers half his face. He tries to push Jack away, but can’t get leverage with his robotic arm pinned like this. A crack splinters through the brickwork as the machinery revs. Jack presses forward with a snarl - trying to subdue, not maim. Something about this guy seems familiar. Better to bring him in and see what he knows about the Phoenix.

“Alright terminator,” Jack grumbles through clenched teeth, pushing his bicep into the other man’s throat. “Naptime.”

But the soldier twists unexpectedly and slides below Jack’s attempt at a chokehold. An uppercut catches Jack in the kidney, sharp elbow slamming into his ribs a second later. Jack grabs a saucepan to block the metal clang of a fist that would have broken his jaw.

Jack plants a boot in the man’s chest and sends him stumbling back into a countertop. Sharp blue eyes sweep over their surroundings, and then he’s reaching for something by the coffeemaker. Jack lunges forward. A whistling spray of steam flares up from the soldier’s hands, forcing Jack to turn his face away. How annoyingly resourceful. Kind of like-

The masked man darts past him, snatching up a paring knife to twirl between nimble fingers. Jack arcs backward to avoid the slicing hiss of the blade - ducking left as the soldier immediately sweeps the knife upward, then sideways again with a silver flash. Fast, he’s so damn fast.

The blade rolls over his knuckles into a new grip, and the soldier stabs downward at Jack. He barely catches the man’s wrist in time, knife quivering a few inches away from Jack’s throat. Blue eyes narrow, and the soldier pushes forward with his metal arm. A sudden whirr of mechanics has Jack sliding backward to collide with the fridge. He jerks his head to the side just as the knife plunges into the metal with a screech.

Jack doesn’t let go as the soldier slices sideways, steel unzipping beside his ear as the knife tears a gouge through the fridge door. Jack steps backward just as the blade catches on the frame of the metal. It sticks, so the assassin abandons the weapon to throw another punch.

Jack’s fingers find the freezer latch, and he swings the door open to smash into the side of the masked man’s head. The force of it sends him sprawling, mask clattering to the floor as the soldier tumbles.

His roll comes to a stop right beside Jack’s abandoned gun. Shit.

A pale hand reaches out, but falters over the weapon. Jack can see his flesh hand shaking… as if fighting the impulse to pick up the gun. The hunched blond figure sends a shiver of memory crawling up the back of Jack’s neck. 

But the soldier rattles his head with a shake, apparently dislodging any trace of resistance. He scoops up the pistol without hesitation. The now-unmasked man rises smoothly, swiveling to level the gun point blank at Jack. 

Jack freezes, but it has nothing to do with fear.

The soldier’s aim is steady, golden hair tumbling to frame blue eyes that Jack should have recognized by now. Eyes that he should have known the moment he saw them. But Jack has failed his partner yet again, too slow to see the man beneath the blood and metal and haunted expression. A man whose grave had no body.

Jack can barely summon enough breath to form the question of a name.

“........Mac?”

The soldier flinches, motion small enough to miss if Jack weren’t so familiar with the face staring back at him in turbulent confusion. The gun wavers, and the soldier takes an unconscious step backward. Desperate. Defensive. 

His voice is rough from disuse.

“Who the hell is Mac?” Angus MacGyver asks.

edit by @anguishmacgyver​​, who has a FULL WinterMacAU tag right here if you want to read and see more :O

[mermaid-of-the-valley]

Wedding Bands and Earthly Bonds

Special thanks to @ironwoman359 for her thoughts on the idea I anonymously sent and @theeternalspace for helping me flesh out some of the scenes.

Summary: Two rings, two bodies, four people. A ghost story of misunderstandings and finding ways to live together.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton and Logan

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, and potentially LAMP

Part 1: Fluff and Waking Up

The rings were from one of those consignment shops. Virgil’s idea, because he didn’t want anything expensive or to deal with a pushy salesperson in a jewelry store. Roman, bless him, was understanding and even a little excited to find the unique pair of wedding bands in the display of second hand sparklies.

More than a little actually, they’d been home for only a minute before the man was on one knee with the blue topaz studded, silver ring. He extended it to Virgil with his best (dazzling) smile! Virgil pressed his hand away, eyes aside with a similar twist appearing on his lips. “That’s for engagement rings, you dork.”

Roman caught his wrist and gently tugged him to the floor. “We never got the chance to do this properly, my Sulking Siren. Surely you can indulge me the script just this once?”

Which, yeah it was true, they were too jumpy to save for a traditional wedding when the courthouse was right down the street... and with how shaky the current climate was.

Virgil fished around in the shopping bag with his free hand for the other ring, a gold band with a navy sapphire and created diamonds on either side. He slipped it on Roman’s left ring finger while his husband did the same with his. Roman pulled him onto his lap, rocking and laughing at the simple joy. “I knew you couldn’t deny my charms!”

Virgil let slip a high pitched laugh of his own at Roman’s antics and the sight of the stones on their hands. Roman hummed behind him, then reached forward to swipe a thumb across his cheek. A bit of wetness flicked away. Virgil sniffed. “Hey there, Eventide. It’s okay.”

Roman was just gazing at him with a look of pure adoration while he fell apart from nothing. He coughed to cover wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Sorry, don’t know where that came form.”

Roman held up his now decorated hand and intertwined their fingers. He pecked Virgil’s forehead and let him lean into his arms. “That’s alright, Virge. I think I do.”

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

Once they had the rings, they never stopped wearing them. Roman likened them to a reward for a year well weathered. He always felt a surge of warmth to see Virgil spin his ring as a comfort or absentmindedly rub its opposite when relaxing with Roman on the couch.

They were doing as such with a movie when he was hit with a hyper-focus on the music in a romantic scene. Specifically the timing of it. He started tapping on the arm of the sofa what he imagined must be the beats of the song.

Virgil chuckled softly, catching his attention. “You good there, Maestro?”

“Hmm?”

“I may have switched to bass a while ago, but I know piano scales when I see them.”

Roman looked down at his slowing fingers. “Oh.” He smiled at his partner. “Must have gotten it from watching you so often, my Corpse Bride.”

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It was a few days out from their anniversary when Roman came home to a heavenly smell in the kitchen that made his mouth water. Bits of flour and egg shells peppered the counter while Virgil stared intently at the oven. “Well, this is new!”

Virgil sprung from his crouch, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. “God, Roman!” He huffed, patting his chest. “Warn a guy!”

“Apologies, my Cornish Pixie Stick. I’ve just never seen you making sweets before! What is that anyway?” He made to crack the over door only for Virgil to rap his knuckles with the spoon.

“No naughty nibbling!”

And like that, the slight sting was immediately overshadowed by the sheer hilarity of the words, knocking a deep, rumbling laughter out of him.

Virgil blinked and slapped a hand across his face, which was turning a spectacular shade of red. He sank back down into his earlier squat, and Roman joined him with quite a bit more mirth.

“I’m going to need you to kill me. The fumes have clearly gone to my brain.”

“I love you.” It was such an easy statement that Virgil peeked out. “You never fail to surprise me, mi Nube de Tormenta.” He said, still grinning.

Virgil sighed, gesturing at the oven. “I hope it’s a pineapple upside-down cake. I kinda spaced out halfway through, but I know you wanted one from the store last week.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It certainly smelled good. “Can I get the first piece?”

“I’ll think about it.”

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

T’was the night before their anniversary and all through the house, Roman heard Virgil grousing, curled up on the couch.

He hadn’t felt right all day, haunted by a vague unease and presumably an oncoming flu. Roman finally had to steal his phone to get him off of Web M.D.

“I almost certainly have cancer.” He spoke into the couch cushions.

“Doubtful, Love. But I’ll call the 24 hour nurse line if you start feeling worse.” Roman said, carrying in a large pot and humming something under his breath.

“Really, Princey? Even Stevens?”

Roman’s lips quirked. “You’ve got some soup. Delicious chicken soup.~”

“Stoooop!” Virgil chortled.

Roman obligingly set the pot on the coffee table and spooned the soup into two bowls without further comment. After nudging Virgil up against him, the emo was more accepting of his offering, even leaning on his shoulder when he was full. “Artist, actor and chef.” He said.

“Triple threat.”

“What are the odds you’d get stuck with me?”

Roman picked at the collar of his shirt. “Well, assuming soulmates are determined at birth, they are in your age group and love at first sight is real? 1 in 10,000 or .010 percent.” He blinked out of his thoughts when Virgil leaned back, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head.

“What was that? I thought you hated math?”

“Well, that was mostly statistics, but...” Roman ruffled his hair sharply. “Yes, I do hate math!”

“You’re brother-in-law is getting to you isn’t he?”

Roman flopped his head into his palms. “Probably.” He sighed.

Virgil yawned. “Long depression nap?”

“No, how about some beauty rest?”

“Nah, how ‘bout we just go to sleep?”

Roman scooped him up. “Deal.”

Virgil started squirming. “Wait, hey! C’mon at least get the dishes!”

Roman continued up the stairs. “I’ll come back down once you’re ready for bed.”

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

It was a confusing sensation. Like pushing upwards from the deep end of a pool, a tight urgency settled in the chest and an equal force pulling against you even while you are propelled to the air. A break in surface tension and a sudden assault of stimuli.

All at once he was hyper-aware of his own breathing, a heartbeat that ticked up slightly with consciousness, muscles tensing under skin.

His back was uncovered and colder than his front. His arms curled around something- someone much warmer. He could feel them breathing little puffs of air against his chest in the way only the deepest sleepers did.

And at last he takes hold of the ability to open his eyes. The blur of sleep only lasts a short time and the clarity that settles in its place shocks him. As does the person he’s apparently holding.

Brown hair with purple tips, a pale face and concerning shadows stamping the skin beneath their eyes. That’s not...

He’s flying backwards off the bed before his brain even registers the movement and hitting his head on the nightstand. He hisses at the pain holding a hand to his head. He hears the mattress creak as his bedfellow peers over the edge.

“Lo?”

The familiar voice from an unfamiliar face makes him freeze. “Patton?!”

The rings on their fingers shift in color and downstairs the dishes sit undone in the sink.

[talinexa]

Unfinished Challenge (Our World/High School!AU)

The Shower: a truly wondrous place for coming up with random ideas like this. This takes place in a pretty much identical universe to Sparring Partner. You’ll have to pry the “Hayner and Axel are related” headcanon out of my cold, dead hands.

Pok!

The pencil eraser struck me in the temple and clattered to the ground.

“What the heck, Roxas?” I demanded, whirling to see the boy who threw the pencil at me.

He laughed. “Hey nerd. You and me. Dojo of Departure after school. Prepare to get wrecked,” he teased.

I picked up the pencil and held it backhand. “You’re gonna be sorry, ya punk delinquent.” I took a swing at him with the backwards pencil. He deflected by smacking my wrist, avoiding the pencil sticking out from my pinky-side.

“Oh we’ll see,” Roxas joked.

“You are so on, Roxy.”

“Don’t call me that!” He glared at me.

I smirked. “Deal with it.” I threw the pencil at him. He snatched it from the air.

“You’re goin’ down, nerd.”

“We’ll see about that, jock,” I retorted.

He smirked and moved to go catch up with Hayner, Pence, and Olette. “Bring your blade!”

“No I was planning on bare-knuckle boxing, ya dingus!”

Roxas rolled his eyes and left the cafeteria.

I went back to finishing my lunch. Ventus strolled over and plopped down next to me. “I get the feeling that you and Roxas don’t get along,” he remarked, scooping a French Fry into his mouth. I snorted.

“We get along fine,” I said. “We just banter.”

“Really? I always got the feeling that they’re both mean to each other because they like each other and don’t know how to handle it,” Riku teased, taking a seat on Ventus’ other side.

I threw a Cheeto at him. It glanced off his white hair and fell onto the table. “I don’t have a crush on Roxas,” I snapped.

Riku snorted. “Whatever you say.”

*****

“There’s no way this is fair,” Axel remarked.

“What do you mean?” I asked, tying off my wrap shirt and stretching.

“You know Roxas dual-wields. And you use a reverse grip. You’re at a disadvantage when it comes to defense.”

I shrugged. “Thanks for being worried about me. But I’ll be okay. Roxas and I have sparred before.”

“Really?”

I spun my blade into its backhand grip and then back into the forward grip most everyone else (except me and Ventus) used before setting it down and continuing to stretch. “Everyone seems convinced that Roxas and I hate each other. We don’t. We just annoy each other out of mutual consent because that’s how our friendship developed. We’re not rivals either. We’re just... weird.”

Axel made a face. “Okay...”

“Look, Axel, I know Roxas is your friend or nephew or something---”

“Nephew’s best friend.”

“Oh right. You’re Hayner’s uncle. Sorry. Anyway. I know you and Roxas have a good friendship but I don’t expect you to understand the way he and I understand each other. It’s weird and it’s kinda unique and it’s just... how we are. I can’t explain it.”

“I know. Just be careful. I don’t think two blades against one that’s backhand is a fair fight.”

“If I thought it wasn’t I wouldn’t consider myself on-par with his skills. And I do consider Roxas and I equals. I can beat his butt in the ring and then help him with his math homework.”

Axel chuckled. “Stay safe. Both of you.”

“I’ll let him know you’re worried.” I scooped up my Keyblade and gave him a sarcastic two-fingered salute as I left the warm-up room. The warm-up room always had the heater on because apparently a warm atmosphere helped muscles loosen up even if it meant being sweaty before even beginning a workout or a sparring session.

I glanced around the open dojo floor. Friends and classmates were training against practice dummies, some kids were swinging light wooden practice Keyblades at each other, causing almost no damage.

On the other end of the dojo I saw two familiar Keyblades. 

“‘Ey, Roxy!” I called.

The blond hair turned to reveal the exasperated face of a friend. “Stop calling me that!”

I wove over the floor and flashed my Keyblade at him. “Make me,” I teased.

He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his Keyblades. “You are so going down,” he growled.

I laughed and twirled my Keyblade. “We’ll see.”

He closed the distance between the two of us, dragging his dual Keyblades across the dojo’s mats. Not digging them in hard enough to tear them, but resting them enough to make noise.

Thing about sparring against Roxas besides his double weapons was the fact that since I wielded my blade backhanded, my blade was shorter and that made it pretty difficult to defend against two coming at me at the same time from the same person.

I’d learned how to defend against Aqua and Sora at the same time but Roxas with two blades? That was remarkably harder.

CLANG! Our blades rang together. I heard Ventus go, “Ooooooh! We got a fight guys!”

A small crowd of friends gathered to watch. Sora, Ven, Riku, Terra, Aqua, Axel.

Eraqus—the master of the dojo.

I caught him folding his arms out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t tell if he was displeased or just curious about how this would turn out. Normally sparring sessions were reserved for the classrooms rather than the open dojo floor—but Roxas and I hadn’t bothered to clear off the open floor.

Still. He didn’t order us away. That was something.

Roxas and I sparred, blades ringing against each other. I fought more like Ventus—he and I were the only ones who preferred to keep our blades reverse-gripped—and tended toward speed. Roxas fought like no one else. No one else dual-wielded like him. It was difficult enough learning one blade, let alone two. But Roxas was stubborn.

He fought like a menace. He was incredibly strong for being as small and skinny as he was. He, Sora, and Ventus were all about the same size and build but Roxas was probably the physically strongest of the three.

I spent most of the sparring session on the defensive, deflecting and parrying attacks I wasn’t strong enough to block directly.

Until I saw an opening. I took a slash with my Keyblade toward his abdomen. I heard the sh-sh-shing! of the blade brushing against the zipper of his jacket and smirked.

Roxas launched himself backward, away from me. I laughed. “Fight me, coward,” I teased.

Roxas laughed. “Okay I will.”

This time it was my turn to charge.

I went on the offensive, borrowing a couple of Ventus’ faster moves. Ven was faster than I was but I was still slightly faster than Roxas. I didn’t spin as much as Ventus but I knew the way I fought—it was reckless and slightly chaotic. That was how everyone described the way I fought.

Including Master Eraqus. He’d given me a lot of lectures about being less reckless. But I’d never figured out how to fight any other way. Fighting fair only happened in training. No one was going to hand me a victory.

Least of all Roxas.

He slashed at me with his right Keyblade—the dark one—and barely managed to avoid cutting my hair off. I deflected and kicked him in the gut, sending him stumbling back into a training dummy. I pressed my arm and the edge of my blade to his chest.

“I win,” I said.

“Not yet,” he growled, shoving me in the gut with his knee. It was enough force to knock me backward.

Roxas swung his Keyblades down at me—

CLANG!

Both of his blades were blocked by one broad, sleek, silver one. “Alright, guys. That’s enough,” a familiar voice said.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Rikuuu,” I complained.

“Riku is right,” Master Eraqus said. “The beginner’s class will be arriving shortly. It’s best to not have any ongoing sparring sessions on the main floor when a bunch of extremely young children are inside.”

Roxas lowered his blades. “Alright,” he said, turning to go back over to Xion.

I poked him in the back with the end of my Keyblade. “I still win.”

He snorted and just kept walking, not disputing but not agreeing either. I assumed that meant he thought the challenge wasn’t over and he’d get me back later.

Well, fine then. I’d be ready for him.

*****

“I still think you two butt heads so often because you like each other and don’t know how to handle it,” Riku said while we waited for my car to air out all the hot air that had built up inside.

I levelled my Keyblade at his chest over the roof of my low car. “Shut up,” I retorted.

He just chuckled and climbed in the car. “Just invite me to your wedding.”

I climbed in too. “I hate you.”

“I know you do.” He was smirking as I turned the engine over and twisted the A/C to full-blast.

I pulled out of the dojo’s parking lot and we headed home. Riku, Sora, and I grew up on the same street. Kairi was just around the corner. Roxas too but in the other direction. That was the thing about relatively small towns—everyone lived pretty close to each other.

We were heading down the main road of town when I caught sight of a familiar blond head in the bike lane.

“Is he skateboarding home?” Riku asked incredulously. “In this heat?”

“It’s only June,” I said. “it’s gonna get a lot hotter.”

I pulled in front of Roxas—because it mostly definitely wasn’t Ventus despite their similar appearances—and then pulled over, rolling down my window. The skateboarder with the Keyblade bags over his shoulders slowed down.

“Get in, dingus,” I said, unlocking the doors.

He braked his skateboard completely. “What for?”

“Because y’ain’t outta my way and it’s blistering hot. And I can see your sweat. So get in.”

Roxas sighed but got in the car, bringing his board and setting it on the floor. “Thanks,” he muttered, semi-reluctantly.

I shrugged and pulled back onto the road. “It’s no problem.”

“I like skating though.”

“I know.” I rolled up the windows and cranked the A/C to blast even more, angling one of the vents to blow into the backseat. My car was old and didn’t have vents in the backseat. “But if you get heat exhaustion someone’s somehow gonna find a way to blame me for it.”

Roxas chuckled. “Hey, Axel mentioned to me that he was worried about your defense,” he remarked, leaning forward to pat my shoulder.

I snorted. “Axel means well but he doesn’t know that I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

Roxas chuckled. So did Riku. I turned a corner and we were three streets away from our street. “Well, tomorrow we’ll finish the challenge. I’m gonna win,” Roxas said.

I laughed. “HA! Puh-lease, Roxas. I’m gonna totally whoop your butt.”

Riku snickered at both of us. “You two are hilarious.”

“Hey, just because you have your Mark of Mastery doesn’t mean you can tease those of us who don’t have it yet,” I snapped. Riku laughed harder as I turned onto our street.

“I’m not teasing you because I have my Mark and you two don’t. I’m teasing you two because you’re both hilarious.”

I snorted. “Thanks.” I pulled up to Riku’s house. “Now get out of my car, ya dingus.”

Riku laughed and opened the door. “Don’t make out in Roxas’ driveway.”

“RIKU!” I shouted as the door slammed shut and Riku ran into his house. In the rearview mirror, Roxas had bent forward out of my sight, but I could see the bright pink edge of his forehead. “He’s so going down.”

“I propose a team-up,” Roxas muttered into his hands. “You and me take him down.”

“He’ll just use that to add fuel to the fire. I’ll take him on alone,” I said.

“If you think you can.”

“Well I’ll have to for my Mark exam anyway.”

“True. Eraqus likes to test new Masters against Riku and Aqua.”

“And Terra soon too.”

“Yeah.”

“Let me take you home.”

“Thanks.”

[fangirlingpuggle]

Random RWBY Roleswap scenes- warning angst

Hi so here are some random scenes from the roleswap AU some notes at the end, warning these are all angst filled

Oscar sprang up the tower jumping between the blades Penny had landed in the tower for him, his long green coat and hood flying behind him as he ran up hand clenched white knuckled around his spear. He had to get there Cinder was fighting, when Emerald had called she’d sounded terrified near hysterical and…heartbroken, something bad was happening and he had to get up there he had to, he was so close just a little bit more.

He launched himself up using a burst of speed from his semblance to make it to the top landing down spear ready to… was ready to.

  He felt the spear slip from his numb fingers as he watched.

Cinder was on her knees eyes wide and a spear of coal and fire impaled through her chest her eyes wide and her bow shattered and broken by her side Phyrra stood in front of her smiling with a hand on her cheek as…she faded away Cinders body glowed and fell to the ground like ashes.

Oscar stared the image in front of him not processing in his mind right away not believing it not understanding it…until he did

And he screamed

He heard other cries and his vision faded to white his head burned, his eyes burned everything was burning and bright.

And then everything was black.

  Mercury manoeuvred into the kitchen with a curse his hair falling over his face he’d brush it way but both his arms were wrapped tightly around his crutches…he closed his eyes and tried not to think about it don’t think about it he leaned against the counter top looking out the window trying not to think about the phantom pain and unbalanced weight and

A shadow flickered past the window

Shadows, so fast Belladonna had, to fast to fast she’d been there no it had been a clone an illusion shadow and then pain blood screams his scream Adam’s scream and painpainpianpain to much so much blood he could still smell it he could taste it he could hear Adam sobs and whispers “I’m sorry I’m sorry” again and again and he could feel the Blade as the shadow had.

Mercury didn’t realise he’s fallen to the floor until he was looking up into uncle Hazel’s face his uncle’s eyes were soft and he was talking but Mercury couldn’t hear he was still trying to breath and everything was wet and oh…he was crying.

Why was he so weak?why?why? why couldn’t do anything?

…was that why everyone left?

His dad left him when he was born maybe he could he tell even then, his mum probably did the same he knew nothing about her well other than that she clearly didn’t want him, Auntie Gretchen the closet thing he had ever actually had to mum was dead and buried and gone, Uncle Tyrian wasn’t here he was watching over Oscar apparently…because even Oscar had left his baby brother, even though they shared no blood and Oscar was luckily to not have his useless  stupid blood in his veins, his baby brother  was gone, Penny was gone back in Atlas though he knew it wasn’t of her own will but still she like Auntie were gone and Adam…Adam.

Adam his partner, his friend the person who knew more about his father than anyone else because Mercury had told him…he never even told Oscar, they were partners , he’d seen the scar Adam ha told him about the white fang and the past they trusted each other so why? Why? He’d been there he’d dragged him away from Belladonna he remembers and remembers him apologising but…then he’d left why? Why him? why did he leave? Why?

“it’s not you Mercury” he heard uncle Hazel say firmly he was hugging him and oh…had he been talking out loud “it is not you” he repeated firmly he sounded so sure so convinced it wasn’t him

For a short moment Mercury let himself try and believe that.

  Penny stood awkwardly outside the door of her father’s office curled into herself, she hated being here so much, she missed her team, she missed everything that wasn’t this cage of a house.

She heard loud voices and the door opened revealing Doctor Watts who was glaring at her father his expression soften when he saw her “ Miss Polendina”

“Doctor” she nodded walking in to the room hesitantly as the doctor left she looked down at her hands looking up when she heard him begin talking again

“I would like to let you know that Atlas academy has a spot open foe you if you so choose” he said before letting himself smile “and even if you choose not to attend you are always welcome to visit both the academy and the science institute I believe Vernal would be happy to see you”

For the first time since she had been dragged back here Penny felt like smiling

“NO!” a sharp voice cut through her response she turned to see her father’s voice contorted in pure anger “My daughter will not be attending your academy, she will not be indulging in anymore of this huntress nonsense she has learnt her lesson and she will not be interacting with any of your sorrowful excuse of scientists” Watts looked ready to scream at her father pure outrage on his face “ now I believe you know the way out good day doctor” he said with a fake smile on his face as he slammed the door in his face before turning on his heel and walking to his desk

Penny wanted to argue and scream, ‘you’re so much stronger than you think you are’ her team had said that she was strong she was not going to let this happen she

“Honestly the nerve of that man you almost died!” her father began “you understand the risks now you can understand what I’m doing can’t you Penny?” he looked at her and Penny flinched back, it wasn’t a question he wanted her to answer Penny knew this it was so familiar “your my daughter my only child you are the most important thing in the world to me and he wants me to throw you into another huntress school. It could end up like Beacon they clearly aren’t prepared they can’t protect you and I need to know tour safe Penny you understand that don’t you?” she looked down at her feet “and having you interact with his pawns it’ll put you in danger again he wants you at the academy and he’ll manipulate you use his pawns to do it because you’re so important penny your my heir my only daughter  he knows that I’d bend the Polendina company he wants you there for that nothing more, I’m doing this for your own good Penny I’m not the bad guy here Penny your my daughter and I love you  this is what needs to happen for you to be safe” she fought back tears “you understand that don’t you Penny?” the tone indicated this was where she should answer

Penny blinked back tears ‘I’m sorry guys’ she thought ‘I’m not strong’

“yes father”

  “WOW! That’s where your mom lives?” Adam glanced back at Illia who was staring at everything in awe flashing multiple exited colours and he rolled his eyes  awkwardly fiddling with his eye patch and stopping as he remembered his bandana was gone now, he’d gotten so used to it.

“you look good without it” Illia said with a smile he glanced back at her  she smiled warmly at him and he weakly smiled back, he was less awkward after the conversation they had on the ship

(“you don’t…you don’t like me right I mean that’s not why you followed me right?” he asked awkwardly and Illia had started at him blankly before losing it in hysterical laughter “no no way oh don’t worry you are in no way my type…besides I think I have good idea of what you type and it seems a lot more sliv” “THIS CONVERSATION IS OVER!”)

Adam’s smile dropped as he saw the sly smile spread over her face and his eye narrowed “if you make the joke I think you’re going to make I swear to dust” he heard her burst out laughing behind him as he marched on up the stairs trying to ignore the fear churning in his gut but her tried to push it back no more running, no more, he wasn’t running again.

He ignores the part of his mind that screams that he is running, he’s running from Blake still running and hiding, he also ignores the part that pints out that he’s running from Mercury.

He flinches and tries to shove those thoughts away, he tries to shove away the thoughts of grey eyes silver hair a big smirk, of a dance and laughing confessions in an empty classroom the two them hanging back as Penny and Oscar excitedly run ahead… the blood and scream and a leg and ‘I will destroy everything you love…starting with him’

When he looks up he’s at the door and the knot in his stomach get’s tighter and the lump in his throat thicker, his arms are shaking, he can’t lift a hand to knock he can’t do anything…he wants to run, he wants to leave he can’t do this he left and she’ll hate him (he left and Mercury will hate him to) he can’t do this he can’t he.

“hey” a soft hand of his shoulder almost makes hi  bolt but he glances down to see Illia smile though her eyes are worried “…you ok?”

Adam doesn’t even begin to try and explain the torrent of thoughts in his head he can only chock out the simple “ I…I haven’t …not since I left with the Belladonna’s I never…I didn’t call or write she…she won’t want to see me she won’t I should”

“breath” Illia remind him softly and just stood there hand on his back while he breathed and tried not to think or remember or anything but breath

He had to do this, he had to…even if she hated him…at least now she’d know he wasn’t dead.

He made himself knock on the door before he could change his mind.

As soon as he’d knocked he felt the overwhelming urge to run to get away but.

The door was open Sienna stood there

Her eyes wide “A…Adam” she whispered staring at him with wide disbelieving eyes.

Swallowing thickly he nodded “hi mom” he choked out he tried to force out more words to apologise to say something to explain to try to explain to

The next thing he knew her arms were wrapped around him and she was hugging him close he shook weakly and then broke sobbing into her shoulder as soon as her heard her say “welcome home”

Sorry for the angst, here's some quick notes

Oscars weapon is a cross between a spear and a rifle (the spear can disconnect like Kyoko’s from Madoka Magica) it also kind of resembles a scorpion tail.

Penny’s father uses far more emotional manipulation (think mother Gothel)

Adam was adopted by Sienna as a young child after the indicate that caused his injury

If anyone wants to know more on this roleswap let me know

Thanks for reading =)

[tarralin]

IkesenNW Golden Week!! 10/25/18

Hey guys!

I had the pleasure of participating in @ikesennw October Golden Week. My prompt was "Scary Stories". Don't forget to follow the page, if you haven't already, so you don't miss out on the amazing art and fics of the creators.

Check the link above to see all of the amazing talent coming up this week!

I tried really hard to keep this as a one-shot but life hit like a freight train this month and so there will be a second installment at a later date.

Thank you @ikesenhell for beta reading and helpful advice!

As always, you can find all other works here.

Enjoy!

💀🍁👻🕸🕷🕸👻🍁💀

Diabolicus

~ All Hallows Eve, 1717 ~

Damn that angel!

The one called Mitsunari had spoiled yet another of Kennyo's potential contracts. As a Crossroad Demon, his job had been simple enough over the centuries; get summoned by a mortal, negotiate a deal by out talking whatever Crossroad Angel appeared, seal the deal, and deliver to the Keeper of Contracts. And Kennyo had been one of best negotiators…

Until he started showing up.

Kennyo knew his crossroad had been specifically assigned to Ishida in attempt to combat his own near perfect success rate of demon contracts. Ishida had been sighted at all of the top demon crossroads and they’ve each felt the decline in successful negotiations. With the seemingly sweet and sincere smile of his angelic calibre, who could blame the Earthlings for their second thoughts?

I can, damn it!

But… what is this? Not far to the east, Kennyo could still feel the angelic signature of his nemesis as if he'd never left. Ishida usually disappears without another thought after persuading the Earthlings from the contracts. What’s he still doing on this realm?

~*~

Never in all his years, would he have ever thought a converted nephilim be a match for a demon, or several demons…

Or so carelessly leave a sister on Earth unattended.

How… useful.

He almost couldn’t believe the stroke of luck while he gazed upon the sight. The angel Ishida had glamoured an appearance similar to the other festival goers who mingled about the All Hallows Eve celebration. Almost immediately, he'd been embraced by a woman of astounding resemblance. Same hair the color of moonlight that was partially tied back in dual braids and then left to flow freely with her movement. The lavender eyes of her brother fell dull and flat while hers seemed to glow and sparkle in the town fire’s light. The duo even shared that speck under the left eye.

A twin sister no doubt… Very useful indeed.

Ishida remained among the festivities only long enough to share a single dance with her before he returned to Heaven's realm. Kennyo couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely grinned but here he was, boasting a truly wicked visage as he pushed from the shadow covered wall while a plan snapped into place in his head. To break the angel, he'd have to break the sister and he'd do so through her dreams. To do that, however, he needed a hair of hers. But how to get the hair when demons couldn’t touch without permission?

His answer came with her smile as a new tune swelled from the musicians. Many of the villagers partnered off and danced lively to the beat given by the drum but she remained in her place against the wall, shoulders softly swaying to the music. A quick snap of the fingers had a mask glamoured in place so he'd easily be mistaken for one of the townsfolk.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” he started as he sidled up to the remaining free space of the wall at her side. “Or have the cretins truly left one as lovely as you to her own means?”

A grin blossomed across her features as she met his gaze through the mask. “Your eyes see true, traveler, but I am often left to my own means.”

“Well then, might I help alleviate that burden?” He questioned with a hand raised toward her and what he hoped was a pleasant smile, but he was so unused to portraying proper facial expressions he couldn’t be sure. He must have succeeded for she willingly accepted his hand and pulled him to the dance ring with a strength he would never thought possible from her.

The steps weren’t too complicated but, regardless of the routine, she may as well have been a professional dancer compared to the rest of the townsfolk around him. Her natural born elegance had her practically floating in his arms as if she truly were grace and holiness incarnate.

“Please forgive my boldness, but what are you?”

The question froze him mid-step, forcing disgruntled villagers to change course in hopes of avoiding a collision. “Pardon?”

Her eyes never left his and, for a moment, he wondered what she saw. Could she see the demon beneath the glamour? The plan in his mind? It was rumored Nephilim could contain a number of abilities even before converting into a full angel and only now he worried for his lack of knowledge on the being in front of him.

“You’re not mortal, I can feel that much,” her eyes and smile remained gentle and he put the worry behind him.

Ah, an Empath then. Kennyo mentally slapped himself. Of course she doesn’t have the Sight. If she did, she would have ran away shrieking by now at first glance of my true self.

“What do you think I am?”

Her lips turned down into a pout at that. “Well, I know what you're not. I’ve met Fae, Wraiths, and several other beings… but never one like you.”

“Never?” He grinned down at her in hopes of further distracting her as he continued with his original objective. He could feel her silver tresses teasing his knuckles on her back but they continued to evade his grasp.

She shook her head in response. “The few I met have been either all dark or all light but you have an odd mixture of both.”

Both? The darkness he understood, he was a demon after all. How much blood coated his hands? How many souls had he ferried into the darkness? Too much and too many for any mortal to fathom even if they had ten lifetimes to contemplate it.

How could there be any light in him?

They were moving again and she smiled up to his eyes as if she hadn’t just rendered him speechless. He was grateful his lungs had no need of air as she would have surely claimed his very breath for her own. What had this Lady Nephilim done to him?

Whatever magic she worked, it was dangerous. He'd lost count of the number of music changes before he realized he still hadn't achieved what he'd set out to do.

“Do you need a moment to rest?” he questioned once the music ended again. She simply nodded in response, causing one of her braids to tumble apart—another stroke of luck! He caught the falling curtain easily and smoothed it in place behind her ear; allowing his fingers to comb through the flowing silk as they traced the back of her arm until they finally found her own and he placed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Princess!” A young girl suddenly pounced between the pair and stole the Nephilim's hand from him. “The others are ready for stories.”

“O-okay,” startled, her lavender eyes shifted between he and the girl. “I promised the children a few scary stories once they were ready.”

Kennyo nodded with an amused grin. “Then, I leave you to your evening.”

“Thank you for the dances,” she called over her shoulder as the little girl dragged her away.

Oh, no, he thought as he swirled a strand of spun silver around his fingers. Thank you.

~*~

Kennyo glared upon the small hut she had the nerve to call a ‘shop’. The growing chill in the air apparently meant good business for her as a local healer. The sun had not even rose to midday before she had already tended to several visitors requesting treatments of different sorts. Rather it be sniffles, coughs, or burns from stoking a fire too high, the Lady Nephilim seemed to have a salve or broth for it all. She barely even stopped to eat as villager after villager came calling for aid, never turning anyone away and serving them as quickly as she could.

And she did it all with that insufferably bright smile.

In the weeks since All Hallows Eve, he had fashioned new nightmares each night and yet she still greeted the dawn with an impossible giddiness. What was it that kept her distress at bay? Was she immune to his powers? Was there some kind of angel magic at play?

It was time he investigate it himself.

No more games, Lady Nephilim.

💀🍁👻🕸🕷🕸👻🍁💀

Next Chapter

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Flames of Desire

Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Dad!Loki Laufeyson x OFC, Astrid Laufeyson  |  Word Count: 4735 Warnings: fluff, smexy, angst

If there was one thing Loki was good at, it was patience. He had eons of time to live and learn and study, so rushing to judgment was not something he did.

In that way, he sat back and watched Alexa. He watched her with his daughter. He watched her with the team. He even watched her when she was unaware he was watching.

She settled in, grew close with Stark and Banner. She intrigued the Captain and Barnes for she was completely different from any woman they'd ever known. Lang spoke her language when it came to engineering, and Wilson hit on her without mercy only to be denied. Alexa called him Birdboy, amusing Barnes to no end.

She was friendly with Wanda and Natasha, but apparently more comfortable with the men. Vision was taken with her, her talented mind fascinating to him, and though he wasn't around as often as he used to be, Clint had discovered Alexa was proficient with a bow. Something another of her relatives had taught her.

But it was Peter and Astrid she bonded with, and Loki whom she teased.

He enjoyed the nights she had them over and was almost convinced she truly meant no harm when small incidents began happening.

Nothing malicious, just… interesting.

In February when everyone began making doe eyes at each other and preparing for the love fest the humans called Valentine's Day, Alexa retreated. She became reclusive, avoiding movie and game night, and spent much time alone. Her clothing grew progressively heavier. The sweatshirts and hoodies getting thicker and baggier until they hid her frame completely. She wore sunglasses on even the cloudiest of days claiming headaches and migraines plagued her and avoided physical contact with people.

But it wasn't until the day Daniel and Maria, both from research and development, two of the people making the biggest and most disgusting display of affection toward each other, got into a full-blown screaming match that the strangest thing happened.

Alexa knew them well having worked with them for weeks and was drawn to the fight no different than the others who had turned into spectators as the couple shouted at each other. After a moment’s contemplation, she walked between them and placed her hand on each chest.

“Petty disagreements mean nothing if you love each other. You do love each other, don't you?” Alexa asked, peering at first one and then the other over the top of her glasses.

Loki was certain he was the only one who noticed when the azure of her eyes glowed pink, for within moments Daniel and Maria were clinging to each other, apologies falling from their lips as Alexa pulled her hood farther forward and slumped away.

Then, a day before Valentine's, she retreated to her room and refused to come out. She was ill, she said. A fever and chest cold. She didn't want anyone else getting sick, so she locked the door and denied everyone access.

Loki didn't believe it for a moment, especially as he’d watched her rebuke three male callers and one female when they'd expressed interest in a Valentine's date only the day before by telling them she already had plans.

That night he waited until Astrid slept before cloaking himself and shifting himself to Alexa’s room. Being of two minds, suspicious and concerned, he used the excuse of checking on her welfare as his reason for invading her privacy should he, somehow, be caught in the act.

At first, he found nothing amiss until he inhaled and the scent of wildflowers nearly knocked him to his knees. It was heady, heavenly. Sweet and rich and intoxicating. It was like a drug and filled him with desire.

But then, the quiet sound of distress hit him, and he turned toward her bedroom. He'd sworn he wouldn't invade her inner chamber, that was going too far, but hearing her cry did strange things to his heart.

What he saw through the open door did strange things to the rest of him. Alexa was changed before his eyes. He could not see her face, but the tumble of flame-bright hair which usually flowed down her spine had become the pale pink of a maiden’s first blush and the silver of a full moon’s beam. A pure white shift had replaced the black of her clothing, and she lay curled away from him on her bed, sniffling and sobbing.

He hated it. Hated whatever pain had caused her to fall into this state and was but moments away from going to her when he remembered he was not supposed to be there at all.

Instead, he sent the smallest trickle of magic toward her to her to push her tumultuous mind into dreams, then left as swiftly as he’d arrived.

He did not see her sit up and whip around to scan her room with fear now darkening her azure eyes.

***

Once Valentine's day passed, everything returned to normal. Or as normal as could be expected in a compound full of superheroes. Alexa burst forth from her room, her hair the vibrant fireball of before, her smile wide, and band shirts back on display.

She said nothing about her “cold”, but Loki could not forget. He could not forget the sound of her anguish, nor the scent of her, nor the color of her hair. Not when he’d gone back to his suite and was forced to take himself in hand and relieve the ache in his loins like a youth of a thousand years.

He chalked it up to having been without a sexual partner since before Astrid became his life and not the sudden deep-seated desire he was feeling for the fire wench.

No. Not fire wench.

For Alexa. He could no longer hold disdain for her because of her abilities with fire. He was far too intrigued by her instead. But still, he had to be sure of her motives before he let these emotions get the best of him.

A few weeks later, he was presented with his opening. It was near the end of March when he found himself tasked with an assignment. Infiltrate a suspected Hydra fundraiser, upload a virus to the second-floor laptop, and get out without getting caught.

Child’s play.

But…

He turned to face Stark and Rogers. “I wish Alexa to accompany me.”

“Pardon?” Steve blinked at him.

“Captain, you know how I hate repeating myself,” Loki huffed.

“Why?” Steve asked instead.

Loki decided to be deliberately obtuse. “I find it aggravating when people do not listen the first time.”

“No. Why do you want a partner?”

He held back his smirk. “Because I do.”

“But Natasha usually goes when you need back up. Why Alexa?”

“She is unknown in the field and will not require a Halo, so there is less chance of discovery. What little tweaking her disguise might need, I can provide.”

“You hate having a partner,” Stark muttered.

Loki rolled his eyes. “You are asking me to walk into a black tie event without an escort. It will seem suspicious if I go alone, and I cannot be worried about maintaining an illusion when I am busy elsewhere, holding my own glamor, and dealing with your confounded technology.” He no longer had an issue understanding Midgardian technology, but he refused to allow anyone to know it. Complaining was part and partial to the fun of his job.

Stark looked at the Captain and shrugged. “She’s been itching to get out of the lab. Might be a good trial run. We know Laufeyson won’t let anything happen to Astrid’s new favorite person.”

Loki huffed a snort and walked away. “I would never allow harm to come to my partner. Even if that person were you, Stark,” he quipped.

“Ha! We all know you like me,” Stark called out.

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “I will inform Alexa of her involvement.”

“I can do that,” Steve offered.

“It will be simpler if I do it. We can discuss her role in the event.” Loki walked away without further comment, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart.

As the fundraiser was in Paris, they would need to leave early and be away for a few days. He would make arrangements for Astrid to stay with Natasha while he was away. But first… Alexa.

Loki made his way through the compound outside to the shop Stark had built to house the forge Alexa had talked him into building. The woman could do amazing things with metal and flames, but Tony had gotten tired of the fire alarms going off every time she heated something to red hot. This way, she could work, Stark got his hands on the fruit of her labors, and Alexa was happily playing with fire in her forge.

At the door, Loki paused and pressed the buzzer. She tended to send fire winging through the air, and he had no desire to get burned by walking in at the wrong moment. It took a few seconds before she arrived to pull the door open. Heat billowed out past her causing Loki to flinch and cool himself substantially.

“Loki. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, leaning against the door jam and crossing her arms.

As she was in the smallest tank top he’d ever seen, the action lifted her lush breasts to swell above the collar. Her azure eyes were bright, the pleasure she took in her work evident. Sweat made her skin glisten, her tattoos colorful as always. Soot and ash darkened the flesh of her arms and that of her legs, bare below the hem of the tiny shorts she had on.

He’d once questioned the sanity of that action, wearing such little clothing to work in the heat and flames. Of course, it only amounted to amusement on her part when she’d rolled a flame over her knuckles without comment.

“I am going on assignment.”

“Ah,” she hummed and walked back into her shop. “Do you want me to watch Astrid while you’re gone?”

“That would be impossible as you will be accompanying me.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I’m sorry, what?”

Distracted by her legs, he hummed softly before finding her watching him, her brow arched in amusement. Had he been anyone else, he would have blushed for getting caught, but Loki was not so easily rattled. “The mission requires an escort. I need, hm… what is the term Lang uses? Ah, arm candy.”

This time both brows lifted as she gaped at him in shock, and apparently, some insult. “I beg your pardon?”

Loki flicked his wrist to cool the room as he made his way closer. “Did you or did you not wish to… stretch your Avenger wings?”

“Well, yeah. But arm candy? Loki, come on!” she huffed, pulling metal hair sticks from the knot which held her wild mane off her neck and sent it tumbling down her back.

“You may be playing the part, Alexa, but it is still a SHIELD-sanctioned operation. I need assistance, and I am asking for yours.”

She blinked at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across her face. She took a step his way and shook out her hair so it swirled around in waves and curls. “So you want me to be your arm candy?”

When she stood but inches from him, Loki shrugged, reached out, and lifted a handful of her hair. “I will have to do something about this, though. It is rather,” he slowly shifted his gaze to her eyes, “memorable.”

Alexa tsked softly. “Really, frosty? You think I can’t change my own hair?” She rolled her eyes and ran hands full of flames through it. “Better?”

Dark burgundy, nearly blood red in places. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t what he was used to. Nor was it the pale blush and silver of Valentine’s day. Again he took a handful and rubbed it between his fingers. “This will do.”

She grinned and spun away, her hair returning to the flames and fire of before. “So, where are we going? What are we doing? Who are we taking out?”

“We are going to Paris.”

Her face paled. “Why?”

She seemed terrified. Loki followed her and took her by the hand, disliking the look on her face intensely. “Alexa? What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Bad memories.”

They were more than merely bad. Loki could practically feel the fear pour from her. “I can ask Natasha if you prefer to sit this one out?”

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped. “It’s fine. It’s only a city. I will be fine.”

“Alexa.” Loki tugged at her hand and pulled her toward him. “Is there something I should know before going to Paris?”

“Nothing important.”

The lie rolled smoothly off her tongue, but she didn't fool him.

“I trust you will have my back on this assignment.”

“Of course, Loki. After all, I’m just there to look pretty,” she quipped and smiled, but it was sharp, and the scent of her fire and brimstone smoldered in his nose.

Again she pulled at him like she had that fateful Valentine's night. Before he could consider his actions, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. “I would not ask for you if I did not think you capable.” She stared up at him with her mouth slightly open. “Your brief is in your room. Learn it. I will see to the rest. Be prepared to be gone for a minimum of three days.”

Loki released her face and turned away, wondering if choosing her for this was a mistake. He’d only taken three steps when he was enveloped from behind by her arms, followed swiftly by the contact of her body against his back.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she breathed against his spine.

He closed his hands over hers, a pang of emotions he couldn’t decipher aching in his chest. “Trust is earned, Alexa,” Loki said softly before pulling her hands away and striding out the door.

She had to stop lying to him to earn it fully.

***

Alexa started out the window at the view of Paris and the Eiffel Tower in all its splendor as Loki, looking nothing like himself, tipped the bellhop and sent him on his way.

It had been a whirlwind moment since late last night when they’d quietly boarded a private plane to jet their way to France for their mission. Once on board, they’d sat to go over the plan a final time.

They would be posing as a couple, Thomas Byron and Virginia Collins. Thomas was, apparently, an alias Loki had been cultivating for years, one of old money. He did his fair share of spending and philanthropy, at least on paper, and was known as generous but reclusive. Though raised in London to an early age, he’d moved with his family to America at ten where the family had been struck by tragedy, leaving Thomas an orphan, albeit a wealthy one. He’d grown up under the tutelage of nannies and bordering schools, finishing at Eaton where he developed his love for English literature. He collected books of rare quality, paintings of eclectic tastes, and traveled extensively around the world, working with not for profit organizations in every field from medical care to clean water.

As Loki had put it, Thomas was a good man but a bit of a bore.

When he did attend an event, gala or fundraiser of this nature, it was almost always solo, or the woman on his arm - usually Natasha in disguise - had a different name and face each time. This time, however, he wanted her along, and though she still wasn’t sure just why that was, Alexa wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. She’d wanted out of the lab, and now she was.

The event they were infiltrating was one raising funds for clean water programs in Africa, but really was a front for Hydra financing. The big wigs and mucky mucks could donate large sums, and no one looked too hard at their ‘charitable donation’.

However, it appeared someone had been digging into Thomas’s background with a bit too much vigor, for now, Loki was under scrutiny in his guise. Too many of these fundraisers had come with SHIELD investigations attached when he’d attended previously.

Initially, Loki had gone in as Thomas, transferred his donation electronically, and SHIELD had followed the path the money took from there. This time, with suspicion already on Thomas, they were going to go in through a backdoor on Philippe D’Amour’s server. He was the money man for Hydra as far as they could tell, but he was too slippery to have ever done anything to have him detained. The best they could hope for was a surgical strike directly at the heart of Hydra’s funds.

If they happened to find other damnable evidence against D’Amour at the same time, so much the better.

Alexa would be playing the part of current fling to the wealthy English bachelor. Virginia Collins and Thomas had met when he’d arrived at her Doctor’s Without Borders camp in Uzbekistan, and he’d followed her home to America when she’d firmly rebuffed his advances while abroad.

Once back on familiar soil, she’d finally given in and agreed to a date with the charming rake. Thomas had swept her off her feet, and at the time she’d still been on sabbatical for a few more months after her experiences abroad, he’d convinced her to travel the world with him until she grew bored. Six months later, they were still together and flying into Paris to attend this fundraiser in support of clean water for all.

Still a little shocked at the depth of their backstory, Alexa had been flicking through her new social media profile created by Friday when Loki stood and excused himself. She’d been staring in awe at the life she wasn’t living when Loki, no longer himself, returned from the back of the jet.

He’d damn near given her a heart attack for she’d thought someone else had appeared on board. A somewhat tricky feat at thirty thousand feet above the Earth and somewhere over the Atlantic.

A short crop hair of messy gold curls had replaced his long dark locks. His skin had taken on a distinctly darker tan, and the eyes of green she found so appealing had become a stunning crystal clear blue, enhanced by the blue suit and crisp white shirt he now wore.

His quip of, “Close your mouth, darling,” had her teeth clicking together.

He looked hot. Scratch that for he always looked hot, but where before he’d been dark and broodingly sexy, Astrid’s incredibly good looking papa, now he was movie star - let me sweep you off your feet and make you moan my name while I screw you in my trailer between takes - hot!

Then he’d smiled, and it was the same as always, dispelling a little of the illusion and allowing her to breathe again.

“So, should I call you Thomas or Tom?” she’d asked, getting up to take a closer look.

“Either is acceptable, though if you wish to add to the mystique of our, hmm, relationship, you could always say you save Thomas for the bedroom,” he purred.

She’d refused to acknowledge the sizzle of heat in her belly. “I may just do that… Thomas.”

“You’re new clothes await beyond. Best get used to them now.”

He’d waved her off with a chuckle, and thus she found herself in cream-colored dress pants and a cashmere sweater in eggplant purple, wearing a pair of heels so tall she’d gained three inches, bringing her forehead about even with his chin.

When the plane had landed, they’d been shown to a waiting car which had brought them to the posh Hotel Plaza Athénée on the prestigious avenue Montaigne. Thomas, ever the gentleman, had assisted her from the car, tucked her possessively into his side, and escorted her through the doors of the Hotel with such confidence, Alexa would have thought they really were a couple.

There had been no waiting in line in the lobby. The manager had welcomed Loki as if he saw the God of Mischief every day, and escorted them without preamble up to their suite.

The Royal Suite.

It was an apartment with four bedrooms and four bathrooms each equipped with a Jacuzzi and a steam room. She’d counted. The wardrobe and two separate dressing rooms were bigger than her apartment back at the compound. There was a kitchen, dining room, and two living rooms, as well as the balconies which seemed to surround the entire suite, giving them stunning views of the tree-lined street and the Eiffel Tower.

It was beautiful but ridiculous for just the two of them to occupy for what should only be three days.

She tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Loki tell Marcel, the day manager of the hotel, they would require the Signature Eiffel Suite’s terrace for a private dinner that night, with pre-drinks in Le Cave, also to remain private.

Marcel flinched before nodding. “Time, Monsieur Byron?”

“Seven for drinks, Eight for dinner. You know the menu I prefer.” Loki dismissed him with a waved hand.

“When we heard you would be arriving so early, we took the liberty of setting out breakfast for you and the lovely mademoiselle on the terrace as soon as your car arrived.” Marcel motioned toward the doors closest to Alexa who peered out onto the balcony.

“How nice,” she said softly, smiling for both the manager and Loki. “I could use a coffee.”

“Merci, Marcel. That will be all for now,” Loki said graciously.

“Monsieur.” He gave a short bow and left swiftly.

Alexa stepped out of her shoes with a heavy sigh. “I thought he’d never leave.”

“Indeed,” Loki hummed.

She reached for the handle of the terrace door only to find herself pressed bodily against the window panes, Loki wedged up against her in a rather suggestive embrace.

“Are you really so thirsty for your coffee, my little yank, or could I interest you in a tumble before breakfast,” he breathed against her cheek. “I’ve been dying to have you again since the plane… Virginia.”

Alexa was halfway between seriously turned on and flipping confused when the false name registered. “Here, Thomas? What if someone sees?”

“Come now. Did I not have you on the balcony at the Peninsula in Chicago? No one noticed then.”

His voice was sinful, wicked and sexy in her ear, doing things to her body she hadn’t know possible. Alexa wasn’t one to get lost in the drug of desire, but right now, she could feel it pulse through her body like a lick of fire.

“It was dark then, Thomas. And my dress hid much when I sat on your lap.” If he wanted to play with fire, she’d gladly singe him a little. “Maybe you should take me to the bedroom.”

He growled, and the shiver it sent through her body was not contrived. “But which one, sweet Virginia? Or should we test them all?”

His hands were running up and down her sides now, snaking beneath her sweater and climbing dangerously close to her breasts. She whimpered and sucked in a breath. “All, definitely all!” she moaned and shoved away from the doors to turn and face him.

Hot hands went to her bottom and lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around Loki's waist and arms around his neck. His blue eyes were slowly turning green, and Alexa knew it wasn’t all an act on his part. He wanted her, really wanted her.

She buried her hands in his crop of golden curls and tugged, baring his throat for her teeth which she attacked with vigor.

He snarled a sharp, “Fuck!” and slammed her back into the closest wall where he dragged her hands from his hair and pinned them above her head. Then, he ravaged her mouth. There were no other words for the vicious attack of his tongue and lips and teeth, taking and drinking and stealing the air from her lungs.

He tasted like winter. Like frost and the snowflakes she'd caught on her tongue as a child. He even smelled of it, crisp, cold air. But beneath it, around it, through it, she could smell her own smoldering desire in hot flames and the crackle of wood fire. It made her think of winter cabins, snowed in with the fire blazing, while he had her on the bearskin rug before the flames.

“Oh, god!” she cried when he broke his assault to let her breathe.

“I got them,” he panted, resting his forehead on hers.

Alexa could only blink in confusion. “What?”

“The cameras and recorders. I got them all. Sorry, it took so long.”

“Oh… oh, right.” She felt like an idiot as she released him from the tight grip of his thighs and he let go of her hands. Her feet thunked to the ground when he stepped back. "All an act."

"The cameras are now under my control, and they will see only what I want them to see, but they are likely watching the hotel as well."

"I see." Her knees wobbled but held as she brushed past him on her way toward the master suite.

“Alexa?” he called softly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.” But she didn’t dare turn around to show him the intense red of her cheeks or the tears which threatened. “I’m going to have a bath seeing as how we're supposed to be occupied for the next hour or so. Do a girl a favor and magic her some coffee to go with her bubbles, won’t you?” Especially as he was leaving her high and dry, clearly not inclined to finish what he’d started.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Take an hour. Then we’ll go out.”

“Out?” she called, striding into the suite the hotel considered the ‘master’.

“Shopping. It’s Paris, and we are staying in the center of the French fashion district. It is expected. Besides, Stark is paying. So we will see and be seen, and play tourist as I show my lovely guest a good time.”

“Well,” Alexa forced a smile, “if Tony’s buying, how could I say no?” She shut the door to the bathroom and leaned heavily against it.

She was so screwed. Three days with the object of her affection playing the attentive boyfriend was going to kill her. Especially knowing just what kind of dynamite resided inside that sexy as hell suit.

“Shades of Olympus… kill me now,” she whimpered and went to run a bath.

***

Loki waited only until the door shut before turning on his heels to march into another bedroom and closed the door to his own bath. He divested himself of his clothing with a thought and stepped beneath the icy spray of the shower, but it was of no avail.

Once again she’d left him hard and so fucking aroused it took no more than a dozen strokes of his hand and the scent of her fire and wildflowers burning in his nose to have him spilling his seed against the stone wall.

“Norns take me,” he hissed softly. “She will be my death.”

He wanted her with every fiber of his being, but until he figured out what it was she was hiding, what lies she kept protecting, he didn’t dare give in. He couldn’t take it if he trusted her to that extent only to find out she’d played him. He wouldn’t survive the betrayal intact, and he must be intact to comfort his daughter should Alexa prove herself a traitor.

But Flames of Valhalla he wanted her.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get the taste of her out of his mouth. Spicy heat and soothing warmth.

She tasted like love felt.

How was that even possible?

Closing his eyes, Loki let the spray wash over him and prayed it would return the ice around his heart Alexa had begun melting months ago.

Next Chapter

[zoadgo]

Kinktober Day Fifteen | Uniforms | my heart’s the only thing i’m hearing; beatin in and out of rhythm | Shaw x Raven | The 100

Words: 3634

Tags: Uniforms, Modern AU, Bathroom sex, Wall sex

Note that this is a kinktober prompt fill. It will be explicit smut, and quite likely, kinky. Mind the tags.

This isn’t really that focused on the uniforms aspect tbh, sorry!

ao3

“Clarke Griffin,” Raven takes Clarke’s hands in hers and looks deep into her eyes, with total heartfelt sincerity, “I love you.”

“Is that a thank you?” Clarke asks, smiling and shaking her head slightly at Raven’s antics.

“Look around, Clarke, you made me your plus one to literal heaven,” Raven releases Clarke’s hands to sling her arm around the blonde’s shoulders, walking them into the ballroom. “Yes, that’s a thank you.”

The ballroom in question is full of people in gorgeous evening wear, moving about the way that only the very politically powerful do, with a sort of lazy air. They only make up half the population, however, the other fifty percent being soldiers. Decorated military men and women, in their oh so shiny formal uniforms, standing a bit more stiff than the rest. That’s the real reason why Raven had shimmied her way into a bright red dress tonight; ogling people in uniform is a hobby of hers.

“You never would have forgiven me if I hadn’t invited you,” Clarke points out, and Raven laughs.

“Correct.”

“You want me to introduce you to anyone?” Clarke offers.

Raven looks around the room before shaking her head, “No, I’m happy observing from afar for now. But you go do your thing, girl.”

Clarke rolls her eyes with a little smile, but takes her leave at that. She’ll be gone for a while, Raven knows. It’s not the first time she’s been a plus one, she’s used to the drill of Clarke going off to make her rounds of the well-to-do at these events. Clarke’s mom, the current mayor of their town, thinks Clarke is doing her duty as poster child of the campaign, but Raven knows better; Clarke’s already maneuvering for her mom’s seat, and has been for years.

Raven makes her way around the edge of the room slowly, simply feasting her eyes on the beauty arrayed about her. Everyone is physically flawless, of course, and the muscular men and women in uniform are so impossibly good looking that Raven would happily cut her own arm off if they asked her. Well, maybe not happily, but she certainly wouldn’t hesitate. She’s always had a thing for uniforms, but who doesn’t really? The power they imply, the crisp lines and attention to detail in maintaining them, it’s alluring.

Raven smiles at a few people as she meets their eye, but she doesn’t approach anyone. Later in the night, after everyone has got their major agendas out of the way and Clarke rejoins her, she’ll make small talk. Right now, she knows very well she’d only be taking up valuable political time from people far more important than her. Well, maybe not more important, but certainly… shinier.

Raven eyes a few officers, deciding who she might snag a dance with once the greetings give way to more general festivities and the drinks begin to flow. There are a few non-officers as well, in more subdued outfits, but they fail to catch Raven’s eye simply because there’s too much else going on for her to notice anyone not bedecked in gold, silver, and bronze. Raven smiles to herself, imagining being swept up in the arms of a stern, dark haired woman with biceps of steel hidden beneath her starched tunic.

Raven knows from past experience that galas are good fun once the enormously boring people have left, usually retiring quite early in the evening. Clarke, of course, needs to talk with those boring people, which means they got there super early and Raven has to pass the time in some way. And as fun as people watching is, the ballroom is a little too crowded for comfort. Raven finds herself trying to use her hand as a fan, and figures that she might as well wait out the meet and greets outside.

Luckily for her, there are several doors around the ballroom that lead to a large, stone balcony, overlooking what she imagines is a lovely garden in the daytime. As Raven steps outside, immediately blessed by a refreshing breeze, the rows of bushes and flowers are only vague shapes illuminated by the moon and the lights of the party within.

Raven walks over to the stone balustrade and leans her forearms on it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. The wind carries the scent of manicured flowers to her, a very carefully pleasant smell. It’s soothing, and Raven can’t help but smile, letting herself get lost in the calm, cool of the night.

“Tired of the party already?” A voice breaks through Raven’s reverie, and she opens her eyes, turning her head to look at the man standing next to her.

He’s a soldier too, but he doesn’t look as polished as those inside. His uniform is more functional; still clean and pressed, but not glittering with medals. Raven is glad for the cool night air, because his uniform makes him seem much more attainable than the high and mighty inside, and she’s hate to be blushing and panting over him like some fool. Well, actually, she might not hate it that much, as he smiles at her. He has an exceptional smile, a small quirk of the lips but it makes Raven’s heart flutter.

“Just getting some fresh air. You?” Raven is proud that she manages to stay composed, smiling back at him and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Not exactly my scene.” He shrugs and leans on the railing next to Raven, reaching a hand over and holding it out to her, “I’m Shaw, by the way.”

“Raven.” Raven takes his hand, which is warm and dry. The simple contact sends a light electric current through her, a lovely tingle. “Well tell me this, Shaw. If it’s not your scene, why are you here?”

“Orders. Apparently it just wouldn’t do for me to stay back on base, all ‘distinguished personnel’ were required to attend.” Shaw marks the quotes in the air with quirked fingers. “Sometimes it’s enough to make me wish I were lazier.”

He sighs so dramatically that Raven can’t help but laugh. Oh, she knows the feeling all too well; being so good at doing your own work that you get assigned to help others, too. Congratulations on doing a good job, now do some more.

“Distinguished personnel, huh?” Raven turns around, propping her elbows up on the railing and leaning her back against it. She curves a brow with a smile, “Is that supposed to impress me?”

Shaw chuckles, dropping his head towards his hands for a moment before looking up at her with a gaze that makes her heart melt and her pulse race, “Maybe I was hoping it would.”

“Let’s see, what response would you want? Something like ‘Oh, handsome soldier man, tell me all the stories of your victories! Better than that, take me now!’” Raven puts on a ludicrous voice and fans herself with a hand. She could have just smiled and played it safe, and probably gotten a date, but that would break rule number one of being Raven Reyes; never sleep with anyone who doesn’t get your humour, no matter how attractive they are.

Shaw laughs again, which is a definite point in his favour. Not that he really needs more points, but still, it serves to make him even more interesting.

“You think I’m handsome?” Shaw asks with false innocence, and Raven lightly smacks his shoulder.

“Like you don’t know exactly how hot you are.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling the whole time, because it’s hard not to when someone’s looking at her the way Shaw is right now.

“And if I said I didn’t, would you tell me?” Shaw turns to face Raven, leaning on one elbow. She has to look away, just for a moment as her heart skips a beat and she feels heat flood her cheeks. He’s playing her game, and he’s winning.

“Now why should I do that? I don’t even know you, sir.” Raven plays at being offended.

“You’re right,” Shaw nods solemnly, but when Raven meets his eyes again, he has another little smile curving his lips, “Maybe you’d like it better if I told you how beautiful you are?”

Raven chokes on the breath she’d been taking, and yeah, she’s definitely blushing now. It’s not her fault, not at all, this guy is good. Damn good.

“This your play with all the girls?” She asks, because of course someone as handsome as him and as good with words has to be a player. Aren’t most military men, just by something in their nature? Not that Raven has an issue with that, mind you. She enjoys new partners frequently enough that she’d have to be a huge hypocrite to complain.

“Nah, normally I get them with the ‘distinguished’ line, remember?” Shaw jokes, but then he becomes serious in a heartbeat, “Honestly, though, playing girls isn’t my thing. I just saw you and…”

He trails off, dropping Raven’s gaze and scratching the back of his neck. It’s awkward and so incredibly adorable, Raven melts. If this is his game, he’s an absolute legend. Raven buys every word of it, and she’s pretty good at smelling bullshit most of the time.

“And?” She prompts, unreasonably eager to hear the next part of that sentence.

“You’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I’d let you get away without at least introducing myself,” Shaw says, voice entirely sincere. Raven’s heart flutters, and that is just not fair. It’s not right for him to say things like that, looking the way that he does.

“Is that all you want, then? To introduce yourself?” Raven asks, turning and mirroring his pose with a wicked smile, “Or is there something else?”

She puts her hand on his forearm, caressing the deep blue tunic. Air force blue. Raven always figured if she ever enlisted, that’s where she would end up, too. Except for her heart condition meant she’d never be a fighter pilot, and she couldn’t join up if that was off the table. She wonders, vaguely, what Shaw’s role is, but she figures that might be a bit impolite to ask.

Shaw raises his hand and brushes a knuckle against her jaw, tracing the line of it. “There might be one other thing I want.”

“Just one?” Raven prompts. Oh, she can think of about a million things she wants right now, and she feels herself growing wet with desire.

“One or two.” Shaw smiles, and it’s like looking at the night sky. Impossible, incredible, everything Raven wants to touch. But this isn’t out of her reach, this is right here, on Earth.

It’s hard to tell who moves first, her or Shaw, but they meet halfway in a kiss that’s so tender it hurts. Raven can tell by the way he touches her that he wasn’t lying. There’s nothing possessive about the kiss, or flashy; it’s a slow drag of their lips together, his hand so gently cradling the back of her neck, their breath mingling as one. It’s reverant, an act of worship or deep, heartfelt appreciation.

When they pull apart after a few long, delicious moments, both of them breathe heavier. Shaw smiles, and Raven is helpless but to return the gesture, warmth glowing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this much, not this fast, but something about him is incredible. She’s drawn to it, to him, and she doesn’t even mind.

Shaw drops his hand from her neck to take her own in his grasp. He raises it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the back of her knuckles, and that has to be illegal. Raven has done some crazy things with some fantastic people, and none of it has shaken her near as much as that cheesy as hell gesture does. She thinks she might die happy, right there, but the ache between her thighs encourages her to live at least a little bit longer.

“Do you,” Shaw clears his throat and licks his lips, which is distracting as all hell, “want to dance?”

“Not particularly,” Raven replies honestly. Shaw looks mildly hurt for a moment, but she grabs the lapels of his tunic, pulling him closer to her. “I’ve got a little something else in mind.”

She pulls him to her for a far less gentle kiss, catching his lower lip between her teeth. She doesn’t bite it hard, just drags her teeth over the sensitive flesh until she hears Shaw’s breath hitch. His hands go to her hips, still careful, but definitely interested, and Raven arches into him. Thank god he’s not a prude, she’s not sure what she would have done if he’d respectfully told her to fuck off with her impure intentions.

Raven breaks away from his lips, much as it pains her to do so, reminding herself that they’re just on a balcony and anyone could come out at any point. Not that she cares about being caught like horny teenagers, but if she does anything too embarrassing, it might end up hurting Clarke’s position, and she won’t risk that. So Raven rests her forehead against Shaw’s, breathing heavily in the scant air between them.

“So what do you think?” She asks, and Shaw simply nods slightly in response, wordless assent. Raven licks her lips, desire coursing through her, and grabs his hand.

It only takes Raven a few minutes to find what she’s looking for, trailing Shaw behind her through the vast, primarily empty venue. The organizers of this fete had rented out the whole building, but most of the partygoers are in the central ballroom and surrounding area, which works perfectly for what Raven wants. She manages to find the furthest restroom from the gala possible, and all without pushing Shaw against a wall and mounting him in a hallway, too. Really, her self-restraint is incredible.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Raven locks it, and then she finds herself crowded against a wall by Shaw. A thrill runs through her at his action, as he kisses her again, deep and thorough. His hands go back to her hips, but this time they slide around to her back, pulling her tight to him. Raven moans lightly into the kiss, and Shaw breaks away from her lips to trail kisses along her jaw.

Raven runs her hands up his chest, over the singular medal on his chest for whatever distinguished things he had done. They ought to have given it to him for kissing, Raven thinks, as he captures her lips once more. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, feeling lightheaded as Shaw slides his hands over her ass and further down, caressing the sides of her thighs.

“Shit,” Raven breaks away, panting slightly as Shaw’s finger tease under the hem of her cocktail length dress. It sends delightful flames racing through her, and a new flood of arousal between her thighs, but Raven bites her lip, feeling incredibly stupid, “I don’t have a condom.”

“Left pocket,” Shaw responds, and Raven’s brow furrows as she reaches into the pocket he’d indicated. She feels a familiar foil wrapping, and pulls out a condom with a wry grin.

“Not a player, huh?” Raven wags it at him in mock admonishment.

“No, it’s- the guys, they-” Shaw flounders, and Raven laughs lightly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips once more.

“It’s all good, I’m only teasing. Honestly, I’d be devastated if you didn’t have one,” she admits.

“Really?” Shaw asks, and Raven grins, hitching a leg up over his hip, using her ankle to pull his hips flush with hers. Her eyes flutter at the feeling of his hardness, separated from where she wants him so badly by only a few layers of fabric.

“God yes. There’s no way I could walk away from this, not now.”

Shaw’s hand goes to the underside of her thigh, holding her in place, and he rolls his hips against her, hard friction that draws another moan from Raven. She bites her lip again, only to have Shaw pull it from between her teeth with his thumb.

“You sound incredible,” he almost whispers, brushing her lip, and Raven can’t help the heat that rushes to her cheeks. The feeling of him holding her, of his erection pressing against her, of her own wetness, that’s all perfectly lovely. But that pure tenderness? Raven is entirely unprepared for that.

Raven whimpers as he drops that hand back to her hip and slides it around in order to squeeze at her rear. She rocks against him, against that hardness she craves with a deep, all abiding hunger. She wants to get her hands on his skin, but she also is really liking the sight of him in full uniform rutting against her.

Shaw kisses her neck, and Raven melts in his grasp, sighing happily. A part of her wants to stay like this forever, but she needs more. Raven sneaks her hands between them, fumbling with Shaw’s belt.

“Shit, Raven,” Shaw mutters the expletive under his breath as she conquers the belt and makes short work of his fly, freeing his erection. She strokes him a few times, sizing him up and satisfying that urge to get more skin on skin contact. He feels incredible in her grasp, thick and heavy, and the way his breath stutters is like the finest melody Raven’s ever heard.

“Shaw, I need you,” Raven leans in to whisper her demand in his ear, and Shaw races to oblige. He tears open the condom pack as soon as Raven hands it to him, sheathing himself in latex.

As he does so, Raven hikes her dress up just a bit further, and pulls her panties to the side. She doesn’t want to uncurl her leg from around his waist long enough to remove them entirely, and Shaw doesn’t seem to mind. He lines himself up at her entrance, where Raven aches, throbbing in time with the beating of her heart.

“You’re sure?” Shaw asks. So sweet, so considerate, and so incredibly silly.

Raven answers by way of kissing him and pulling him into her with her heel locked behind his thigh. Shaw groans against her lips as her sinks into her, and Raven’s breath catches. He stretches her with just a touch of burning, and it’s exactly what she needed. She breaks away from his lips to gasp desperately as he bottoms out within her, filling her completely.

“God, Raven, you feel so fucking good,” Shaw mutters, kissing the delicate skin just behind her ear.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Raven retorts breathily.

Shaw chuckles, kissing her neck once again before he begins to move. And if him filling her had felt good, him thrusting feels goddamn heavenly. Raven isn’t ashamed of the noises she makes in the slightest, needy as he rocks through her. The small room fills with the sounds of their sex; slick slide of flesh, her desperate moans, and Shaw’s wrecked grunts and groans.

Pleasure courses through Raven, and Shaw hitches her leg higher on his hip, thrusting in even deeper. She can barely support her weight on the one leg, but Shaw’s grip is incredibly strong, and the new angle feels so fucking good. With each thrust, sparks fly from her cunt to her gut, adding fuel to the fire there. Raven gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders as she holds on for dear life.

“So gorgeous,” Shaw whispers in a tone that seems entirely involuntary. It destroys Raven in the most exceptional way, the unabashed praise as he pounds into her again and again, hard enough to jolt her body each time.

“Please,” Raven begs, pleasure building, end just out of reach, “Just a little more.”

She doesn’t care about the pathetic tone of her whimpers, because Shaw nods, breathing heavy, and he obliges. He hikes up Raven’s other leg, bodily lifting her and holding her up in a devastating display of strength. It’s only his hands on her thighs and her back against the wall keeping her up, and it makes Raven clench around him involuntarily. The tension in her body combined with the deep angle is phenomenal, and Raven feels her orgasm cresting in record time.

“Oh god, Shaw!” Raven calls his name as she climaxes, clenching even harder around him as waves of pleasure crash over her. It’s one of the most intense orgasms of her life, and Raven’s pretty sure she forgets how to breathe about halfway through.

Shaw continues to fuck her through it, but he only last a few more thrusts after she comes down from her high. His hips stutter against her and he moans, hot and heavy against her neck. His fingers flex on the meat of her thighs, and Raven is definitely going to remember the sound of him cumming when she looks at those bruises tomorrow.

Shaw gently lowers Raven’s legs as he pulls out of her, leaving her feeling far too empty. But she’s quickly distracted from the empty ache by her knees nearly buckling under her. Shaw catches her before she can fall, and Raven drops her head against his chest, laughing breathlessly.

“So, uh, it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Raven jokes as she figures out how to stand again. Shaw gives her a moment to steady her legs before releasing her to dispose of the condom, laughing with her.

“Yeah, pleasure’s definitely the right word. Maybe we could meet again, sometime?” Shaw asks, looking so incredibly sweet and hopeful as he does his pants and belt up again. Raven pulls her panties and dress back in order, then presses a light kiss to his lips.

“Anytime,” Raven promises.

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(For my dearest Shadi over on Twitter, because of the most amazing idea of melee-fighter Noctis. Specifically, one who uses that infamous Versus XIII murder-thighs move. Woof.)

(BGM: Caravan Palace, “Lone Digger” -- one hour)

Quick Fic Pick 93: what’s a place like you doing in a boy like this?

He could almost hate it, he thinks, he could almost swallow his own tongue with the way he does the thing, hypervigilant and much much much too alert for three hours of sleep and not enough coffee (there is never enough coffee, he’s picked up a damned bad habit from the others -- but what’s another bad habit to add to the fucking overflowing ledger?) -- but it’s on, he’s on, focused as soon as his hand touches the door to the bar and the splintered wood yields with no more than a breath of a push.

Assess: neon-stained fug and the stale old stinks of ground-down cigarettes, the leavings of drugs that he doesn’t even want to think about, the slosh of sour beer, the slop of soap-scum on the chipped clunker glasses lined up in ragged rows over the bar. Indifferent makeup at best and far-beyond-caring at worst, on the worn face of the bartender in the leather top: silver hair in finger-thin braids, sweat running down contoured cheeks. 

Count: the people scattered at the shadowed tables. Some of the tattoos he can see are almost depressingly familiar, in the sense of -- he’s probably laid unkind hands on those marks before. Maybe not on the people themselves but on similar lines of ink, and maybe some people just spend their lives shambling through jail cells and emergency rooms and the indifferent eyes of first responders, police officers on their put-upon nights.

And watch: even when he slides into a seat at the empty bar, even when he’s making a show of looking over his shoulder, constantly scanning his own six, constantly alert, he doesn’t let himself relax. 

He winces, as the first mouthful of beer goes down like brambles and thorns and he hides his cough in the back of his hand -- but the bartender rolls their eyes at him anyway. 

Jukebox music, screech and honk and inappropriate clatter, and he downs another beer, another, another -- and feels exactly none of it. He maybe hates his steady hands, maybe hates his brain that chooses now to be wide awake and sober beyond any kind of help -- what was that book again that his friend was telling him about, with the cop who needed a few drinks in him to actually be alive? The name escapes him and he doesn’t want to linger over the idea anyway.

He’s just about to make up his mind to -- move on, score something and hole up in his rooms and disappear into oblivion when there’s a crash, a cry, and a curse -- two voices, he thinks, immediately, as he catches the sudden flight of glass-facets and he ducks, just in time, because in the very next instant a beer mug slams into the wall over the bar and doesn’t shatter, just drops to the floor and hits with a disconsolate squelch.

And he turns, casually, and assesses them, too: the woman in white, leather skirt and lace gloves already stained in darkening red, clashing horribly with her lipstick and the leather dog-collar she’s wearing loosely at her throat. She’s tossing a set of brass knuckles from hand to hand, and she’s smirking like she’s looking to start the fight.

Next to her, tank top and latex-sheened trousers, glitter dusted in the corners of his eyes. The wide mesh he’s wearing shows off the freckles like dark stars in his light-stained skin -- and the wiry muscles of his arms and shoulders. The sickly yellows and greens of other bruises dotting his fists. 

“This one’s yours, right?” the woman says, in the moment after all the music and all the noise in the bar crashes into silence.

“Yup,” the man says. “Go.”

“’Kay,” the woman says.

Noctis watches her slip past the bartender -- doesn’t miss the slip of paper she leaves in that beer-soaked hand -- 

But then he looks at the man in the tank top again -- who grins, and steps forward into the knot of pissed-off drunks -- apparently because he needs the space to swing. Not his hands, which possibly makes sense given the extensive bruising -- the side of his boot collides with someone’s nose, horrible crunch, and with another far-too-graceful pivot the man gets back into position for another kick --

“Care if I cut in?” he asks, finally unable to help himself -- and anyway one of the drunks is already edging belligerently into his space and he swats the drunk away with a too-fast punch, too much backhand, not enough elegance in the movement but the drunk hits one of the bar stools on the way down anyway, so there’s no chance of their getting back into the fight.

“Dunno what you’re doing, but -- how the hell can I trust you not to shiv me in the back?”

Noctis almost laughs. “You don’t. But I don’t have any weapons on me.”

Which is when he shrugs off his jacket and, of course, he’s still only wearing the torso wraps underneath, and the leathers he’d been wearing straight from the underground club and onto his bike, only to wind up here in more blood, in more broken teeth, and -- not a trace of padding or armor or gloves here, so every time he punches he feels the brittle snap of bones in his targets, the flight of blood and snot and -- probably -- tears. There’s no point in speculating.

And he becomes the anchor around which the man in the tank top dances, kick and weave and bob, red stains collecting on the latex, on the mud-crusted soles of the boots -- it’s almost like they’re partnering each other, Noctis thinks, as the man lets him have his own space to jab and whirl and slap, bone fragments collecting under his fingernails -- 

Roar, filtering in through the rage, through the bloodlust, and there’s a huge shadow bearing down on the man in the tank top and Noctis thinks, lightning-fast in that moment and he’s already on the move, already yelling: “DUCK!”

How does the man in the tank top trust him? How does he know to kick out at the drunks that might have brought Noctis crashing down to the filthy floor? How does he know to offer the space between his shoulder-blades as a jumping-off point? 

Noctis lands on him, lightly, and springs off again and it’s more than enough to clear the huge shadow -- he wraps his legs around that bullish neck and grips, seizes, rolls himself back down and -- momentum, angles, more than enough pressure on that fleshy throat and the huge shadow chokes, noisily, as Noctis vice-twists around him some more and pulls him already limp and gagging and breathless, down down and CRASH.

“Don’t move,” and the man in the tank top doesn’t scream as he did, but the words are low and forceful and Noctis goes absolutely still -- and a good thing, too, because the man in the tank top takes out the last drunk with a precisely placed kick to the left eye, his ankle coming to a stop no more than a breath away from the tip of Noctis’s nose.

The long graceful line of him, braced in the follow-through of the kick, and now Noctis sees the slight point of his foot, the exquisite tension of the muscles bunching beneath the latex.

He might be staring, when the man in the tank top finally straightens and comes back down to rest on his own two feet and -- grins, feral and satisfied and a strange sort of sweet.

The type with subtle, subtle sharp edges on the canines.

So he offers his battered bloody hand in an aftermath of a handshake. “You’re good.”

“And you fight even dirtier than she does,” the man with the tank top says, grasping his hand. Warm, warm, strong fierce grip. “I like that in a guy.”

“I can do more than that.”

“I imagine!” He closes in and Noctis breathes deeply of him. Breathes the words in, sultry rich rasp right against his mouth: “Show me?”

He doesn’t need to say yes -- only yields, and he wasn’t even winded by the fight but this kiss knocks him clear off his feet, smell of bad bar and cheap beer and blood -- and the head-rush of latex and freckles and a bloodthirsty smile.

[rachelbethhines]

The Antoine and Bunnie Retrospective - 163

“What's Old, Is New Again” Mobius: 30 Years Later III - Sonic Universe #7

This is our first foray into the Sonic Universe title, and outside of a few brief mentions, this is also our first time touching upon the Mobius XX Years Later plot. As such here’s a quick run down of the story thus far. 

25 years into the future Knuckles’ and Julie-Su’s daughter, Lara-Su, wants to become a guardian. Knuckles eventually agrees to train her but things soon go haywire when King Sonic and Queen Sally come to visit. Rotor and his partner, a member of the Dark Legion, discover a space time anomaly that threatens to destroy all of reality. It’s agreed that Sonic must travel back in time to advert the disaster. Unbeknownst to all of the adults however Lara-Su sneaks along. 

Sonic does go back in time and prevents the universe from ending but alters the timeline; erasing himself from existence. Now only those who were near Sonic when he went back in time remembers the original reality, including Lara-Su, Rotor, his partner, Knuckles, Tails, and Lien-da the leader of the Dark Legion. 

Since then Shadow has become dictator of the whole world after defeating Eggman himself. Sally married him to try and regain peace. Sonic and those who remember, fight to over throw Shadow and convinces Sally that Sonic was someone she really once knew and loved. 

Flash forward another 5 years and Sally and Sonic are married with kids, Lara-Su has become a guardian, and Lien-da is trying to assassinate the royal family and place Shadow back upon the throne. 

One such assassination is thwarted by Silver who is still trying to prevent his timeline from becoming a reality. However Lien-da uses subterfuge to kidnap Tails and his wife Mina, sending Sally, Silver, and the kids into hiding, and forcing Sonic to flee with Lara-Su and recruit help from a bunch of former Freedom Fighter’s children. 

Got all that? 

No? Well never fear as next to none of it is really relevant to what I’ll be discussing today.  

Which is Bunnie’s and Antoine’s kids!

What about them? 

Well they...uh... exist...

Yeah, there’s not much to them as individual characters. Outside of both having cybernetics and briefly flirting with other members, they get next to nothing to do and zero panel time to establish or develop their personalities. 

(Well that, and we now know for sure that Ant is still alive in this timeline.)

In fact the most interesting thing about them is a coloring error. 

In the above panel they’re colored the same as Bunnie and Ant, but in the next issue and reprints their color palettes switch. 

In fact here is the same picture above from the trade that I own for comparison. 

Yeah my phone is crap. So here’s a recolored version I personally did because the inconstancy bugs me. 

Oh and while I was at it, I gave Melody black hair cause I think it looks better and helps to distinguish her from her mother. 

So outside of wasting hours of recoloring digital copies so I can make AMVs, what else is there to talk about? 

Well, Jacques does manage to save Melody when Chaos attacks. Which leads into the next issue.

Oh sorry “Tikhaos” because apparently Ian ran out of interesting villains. 

Look, I actually enjoy the various XXYL arcs, warts and all, but even I’ll admit that King Shadow is perhaps the dumbest idea Flynn ever had. 

For starters making Shadow the big bad of the story undermines all of the character development he’s gone through both within the comic and in the games. Unless this is an outright alternate universe where Shadow’s story didn’t happen then none of his actions make sense. 

Now add in the fact that instead of a multidimensional anti-villain, with complex moral ambiguity, he’s written as any other generic would-be conquering asshole.   

In fact he kills off the actual interesting and multifaceted anti-villain of the Years Later series, Lien-Da. 

Once done with that he releases a fusion of Tikal and Chaos, (who behaves just like Perfect Chaos anyways so what was even the point) only to fuck off afterwards without doing anything himself.

 Ok I admit it, I like the XXYL arc more for it’s potential rather then its execution. 

Which is exactly what we’ll cover in two weeks, after popping back into the main book first. So get ready for head-cannons and fan theories galore. 

[thegiddyowl]

Birthday Drabble 1: “Don’t Sweat It”

Two hours had passed since Poe and Rey abandoned their broken down speeder in the middle of the red sands of the Er’Kit desert and trudged towards their transport, but the sun had not moved a finger. Thankfully the massive boulder that threw shade over their transport looked to be within another ten minutes of walking, and they’d soon leave with the information they acquired for what little remained of the Resistance. Rey hated leaving the speeder behind, but they’d both die if they didn’t get to shelter soon. 

Poe stumbled into her again and mumbled an apology. She gripped him by the wrist to steady him. Even though his shirt was absolutely soaked, his reddening skin was dry as dust. She held out her nearly empty water carrier to him.

“Drink it,” she told him. 

He stopped and leaned his head back to drain the last of her water, but lost his balance and fell backwards, taking her down with him. He breathed in short, hard breaths, his heart drumming fast against his ribs. She pushed up off of him and patted his cheeks as his head lolled to one side.

“Poe! C’mon, we’re almost there, you just need to walk a little farther.”

He didn’t answer, but his breaths softened when he passed out. Rey hooked her arms under his and dragged him for the longest ten minutes in the baking sun. A small headache she had managed to ignore during their hike exploded, stabbing her temple with every few steps she took. Damn, she should have taken the last few drops for herself, but there was more water in the transport. She just had to get there first.

BB-8, who had been guarding inside the ship while Poe and Rey were on their mission, opened the ramp the moment just as she reach the thin rim of shade. It shrieked at her, demanding how she could have let him get so sun sick, but she barked back, “Get the medkit and activate the cold compresses or he’s going to die!”

Rey let out a sigh of relief as the artificially cooler air kissed her the back of her damp neck before circulating around her trembling body. Just having airflow was better than the dry, stagnant air outside. Rey laid Poe on the metal floor before fumbling for the water jug she had placed by the ramp entrance in case of emergencies like this one. She drank until the murderous headache weakened, she drank until her hands stopped shaking, she drank until the fog she hadn’t noticed forming in her mind until she started gulping down fistfuls of water lifted before attending to Poe.

BB-8 had returned with the medkit and used two of its delicate silver appendages to gently lay a glowing blue cold compress on Poe’s forehead. 

“Good, but he’s going to need more than that to get his temperature down,” Rey said as she fumbled with unbuttoning with his shirt. “Hand me the scissors so I can get his clothes off faster.”

Rey had expected a fight, but to her surprise the little droid whipped out a pair of thin shears from inside one of its tool-bay disks and sliced up his clothing. Rey pulled off his boots and removed his necklace: a silver ring on a leather cord. After the clothing was removed, Rey and BB-8 place cold compresses on his chest, his legs, and his arms. Rey poured some water from the jug in her hand and spread it around his chest to evaporate and help him cool down faster. With a damp, clean cloth she wiped away the crust of blood and spit on his cracked lips, then wetted her fingers and dabbed beads of water on them. She watched the water slowly absorb into his skin, hoping he would wake soon so she could give him water to drink and not risk him choking on it.

She hadn’t known Poe for very long, but she enjoyed spending what little time they had together on this mission. His vibrant energy and passion for the cause was both infectious and intoxicating. Once they were far and away from Crait, he had praised her skill as a gunner and her courage for striking Snoke down. Though he was apparently famous for not wanting a partner other than his droid for special missions, he had asked that Rey join him for this adventure. At first she wanted to say no, as she was still secretly licking her wounds from her encounters with Kylo Ren, but the spark in his eye and the ease of his smile persuaded her to say yes.

He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? BB-8 beeped mournfully. 

Rey dripped a few more droplets of water on his lips and combed back his dark locks that curled at her fingertips. Their mission was to infiltrate a small town, get their information, and leave within the week. They had spent that time sharing a room in the only inn of the town, swapping stories as they ate rations they brought from the ship. He had so many wonderful things to say about his parents, especially his mother who inspired him to be a pilot, that she felt embarrassed to talk about her own.

“They sold me and before I was old enough to know them very well,” she murmured as she scraped up the last of her mash. “I waited for years for them to come and buy me back, even though I knew I wasn’t worth keeping around.”

She swallowed hard, surprised at her own frankness. Poe reached out and squeezed her hand, the skin of her palm tingling from his strong, firm touch.  

“Their loss,” he said, his smile gone. “You’re one of the best people we’ve had fighting for the Resistance. Hell, you flew in and saved us when no one else dared to.”

“I could only do it because I can use the Force.”

“There’s more to you than the Force, Rey.”

“Like what?”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or the room suddenly feeling warmer, but she was pretty sure she saw the captain blush. 

“Last I checked, tenacity isn’t a Force power.”

In that moment, she wanted to kiss him but was terrified about what would happen if she did. Now she felt the urge to kiss the lips she dotted water over. Instead, she leaned down and kissed his temple. His eyes fluttered open as he inhaled a long, deep breath.

“Rey,” he muttered.

“Drink,” Rey told him as she help lift his head up with one hand and dribbled a capful water into his mouth with the other.

He closed his eyes as he drank two, three capfuls of water. He opened them again and smiled at the squealing BB-8.

“Sorry I worried you, buddy,” he croaked.

Just don’t scare me like that again! BB-8 chided.

“It was my fault, BB. I should have brought the cold packs with me,” Rey said as she poured another capful of water.

“Hey,” Poe said and lifted his arm to drag a knuckle along her jaw. “It was my fault. I said we had to travel light, and that I was used to being in the heat. Or, I thought I was.”

Rey set down the water and took his hand, now considerably cooler than it was a few minutes ago. He gazed up at her, his mouth parted as if he had one more thing to say. She leaned down and kissed his lips before he could say another word. He fastened his fingers along the back of her neck, giving back in his kiss with what little strength he had regained. His hand slid up to cup her cheek when they broke apart for a breath, his smile and his touch chasing away whatever fear she may have had about starting something with this man she barely knew but wanted to know more, so much more.

Their brief, whirlwind moment of romance, however, was put on hold when Poe looked down at himself and asked, “Ok, why am I naked?”