#narrowly avoiding the curse of Having To Do Research

[snicklesnek]

Silly Game Time: "Playing possum" means to pretend to be dead (also sleeping, sick, or otherwise indisposed for people) to avoid trouble. Pick another animal and tell us what "playing [that animal]" should mean.

(Challenge Edition: Use a Random Number Generator, then choose an animal from a list of animals that start with that letter.)

Taking this a step or seven further:

Step1: random letter [D]

Step2: a-z-animals.com/animals/ , go to given letter and count how many there are [110]

Step3: random number [3]

Step4: results [Dalmatian]

I got off SHOCKINGLY easy here. If that number was ONE lower I'd be having to explain what "playing daeodon" is. Instead, I get one of the most iconic dog breeds that is heavily associated with one specific thing, to the point people have probably used the phrase "playing dalmatian" before. To play dalmatian would be to serve as a firefighting mascot or symbol. You could say Smokey Bear "plays dalmatian" as an icon of fire safety and prevention.

[scoobyrooster1]

"But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him."

Their relationship is so realistically tense and terrible i LoVe it. Because YEAH Qimir having 'killed my last teacher <3 ' in their resume doesn't really mean anything good for YOU does it.

I agree! Thats something that Qimir might want to consider haha! Glad you like it!

She's Mine [Part 2]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: You and Qimir travel with the crew to Corinth where you pose as a high class bidder at a black market auction. However, a few unexpected events complicates your mission leaving you wounded and with more questions than answers about the nature of the job. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1]

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One month ago...

Under the thick canopy of trees, the clearing was small, just enough space for the two of you to move without constraint.

You and Qimir had stopped on this planet for a brief respite, also provding one of the few places you could train without drawing unwanted attention.

"Again," Qimir instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

You tightened your grip on the wooden stick in your hand. The makeshift training weapon was a far cry from a lightsaber, but it would have to do. You squared your stance, bringing the stick up in a defensive position.

Qimir moved fluidly as he swung his own stick toward you. You managed to block the first strike, the wood clashing with a sharp crack. But Qimir was relentless. His next move was faster, a low sweep aimed at your legs. You jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike. You were able to catch your breath if only for a moment as he spoke.

“Keep your elbow up,” he reminded you. “Or else I'll catch you before you can block.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his advice even as your muscles burned from the exertion. It had been a long time since you trained like this. Your heart beat inside your chest so rapidly and with such force that you thought it would burst. You had to remember to control you breathing, only letting air pass through your nose, and conserve what little stamina you had left.

Qimir lunged again. You lifted your arm to block, but your elbow dropped just a fraction of an inch too low. His stick slipped past your defense, tapping your ribs with just enough force to sting. Your torso buckled over in response.

Stepping back to give you a moment to recover, he didn't need to tell you what you had done wrong.

"I get it." You said sternly.

"You need to anticipate the next move. Don't just react—predict."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your stance, raising your arm higher this time. Qimir watched you carefully, nodding in approval before launching into another series of attacks. You parried each one, your movements more precise now, more controlled.

The two of you moved in a deadly dance, sticks clashing and feet shifting on the soft earth. You began to lose yourself in the rhythm of it, your mind clearing as your body took over.

It was just you and Qimir, the world narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

Until his stick found your ribs again.

Qimir stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Better," he said, his voice softer now, less harsh. "Still a lot to learn."

You made a face about to mock him for saying a high and mighty master line.

He caught you before you could. "Don't start."

You just laughed, then nodded, panting from the effort. Your arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing you had improved, even if just a little.

"Thats enough for today," he said, tucking his stick under his arm.

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You jolted awake shaking off the memory that overcame your senses.

You had been traveling for a few hours and had fallen asleep regret-tingly straining your neck in the process. Qimir sat on the other side of the cargo hold.

After the heated discussion you both had… yeah it was probably for the best.

You had both taken precautions to hide any personal items that wouldn’t classify as civilian.

I.E. one cortosis helmet, vambrace, and lightsaber.

You remembered tracing your fingers over the embedded scars of the metal. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Try it on.

Those words sent shivers through your entire body.

You wondered if when you returned to Qimirs little backwater planet, you too would craft something made of the precious metal.

Would we ever be able to return?

"Put these on"

Ian had thrown a duffle at your feet. You unzipped the bag to find far nicer clothes than the ones you were wearing.

"What happened to drawing less attention?"

“You’ll be bidding with some serious credits, you need to look as though you didn’t just crawl out of a bantha pit.”

You didn’t bother to scowl at Ian for his cruel joke.

“And who will I be today?”

“Bidder 79.”

“Lovely.”

The outfit was formal, modest, a suit-like ensemble made from breathable fabric in dark hues of blue and gray. You took one of the scarves from the bag and wrapped it around your head and hair. The less recognizable you were, the better.

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer any questions you don’t have to—”

“I think she gets it” Qimir interrupted, his voice curt.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Ian finished.

You gave Ian all the confirmation he deserved. "Don't do anything you would do... got it."

You were dropped at the nearest corner with Rod following closely behind.

The coordinates Ian had provided led you to a rough, gritty part of the city, where the streets were narrow and the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay. The towering buildings around you were a patchwork of cracked concrete, rusted metal, and flickering neon signs, casting eerie glows onto the damp pavement. You approached the entrance of a large, nondescript building, its facade faded and crumbling, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

Pushing through the heavy, rusted door, you stepped into a dimly lit lobby. The few figures loitering in the shadows eyed you with suspicion. You made your way to an elevator at the far end of the room, its grated door screeching as you pulled it open.

The elevator groaned to life, descending into the depths below the city. As you felt the air grow cooler and the hum of the city above fade into silence, your pulse quickened. When the doors finally slid open, you were greeted by a stark contrast.

Before you lay the Corinth black market, a sprawling underground bazaar hidden beneath the city. The space was vast, its ceiling arched and lined with cables and dim, industrial lights casting a dull glow over the scene. The market was alive with activity—merchants hawking their illicit wares from makeshift stalls, the air buzzing with whispered deals and low, guttural conversations in a dozen different languages. The scent of exotic spices, machinery, and lawlessness filled your nose.

The Corinth black market was a place where laws were only mere suggestions.

Rules, Rules, Rules... If you don't follow them, you never have to break them.

Minutes later, you found yourself seated in an uncomfortable chair, dark lenses shielding your eyes as you scanned the stage ahead. You were in a small room dimly lit but far richer than the bazaar outside. The items up for auction you guessed based on size and weight was a mix of trinkets and far more dangerous contraband, all locked away in secure containers.

Your client had provided you with only a number, leaving you in the dark about what you were actually bidding on. Your job was to outbid everyone else. Rod, as Ian assured you, would make sure you had the funds to back up whatever figure you landed on. How they’d managed that was another mystery, but one you didn’t need to solve.

“Item number XN2187”

Your eyes tracked the stage.

This was it.

What the staff placed on the table next made absolutely no sense to you.

It was a book... or... a journal?

"Let’s start the bid at 100,000 credits."

Maker.

You had to withhold your gasp.

Two people had already called out raising the bid to 250,000 within 3 seconds.

You threw your card up.

“300,000.”

You saw another card go up near the front.

“350,000”

Maker how could a journal be worth this much.

You raised your card again with no hesitation.

“400,000.”

They matched it again. "4500,000."

“500,000”

It was all fake credits and Ian had given you your instructions... attain that item at whatever price... better to end it right here.

You waited for their response, but there was none.

Got it.

“Sold...to number 79.”

Small claps ensued.

You headed to the back of the stage where the transactions were being held.

Suddenly your path was blocked, now inches away from a hooded figure.

"Whatever your being paid, we can double it." They hissed in your ear.

Rod glanced at the human stranger with his fixed glowing pinpoint eyes that seemed to show concern even for a droid.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." You continued to walk past them.

They grabbed your forearm. Their grip was strong.

“You take it and you’re a dead woman walking.”

You could now see their face. A male human with rusty brown hair and dark eyes.

You shook off the strangers hand and stated with cold indifference, "I already am."

Your response seemed to catch him off guard.

You shrugged him off turning away, finally reaching the desk behind the curtains.

"Bidder 79?" the attendant confirmed.

"That's right. Item XN2187."

"Please have your droid exchange the credits for your purchase."

Rod stepped forward, inserting his chip into the computer. A moment later, a man presented the box.

The attendee looked at the screen, seeming pleased. "Thank you madam. Have a wonderful evening."

Your breath resumed as you smoothly took the box and gave the courtier a smile. What ever Rod had done it had worked. You cracked it open checking that the item was inside.

Rodney turned in the other direction taking a different route to meet back up at the rendezvous.

That had been surprisingly easy.

"See you back at the ship." You whistled as you turned into the crowd behind.

Something struck your mind. The force had shifted near you and you could feel it. You started scanning your surroundings more carefully.

Watch out.

You unholstered your gun but it was too late.

It was all of 2 seconds before you felt the box knocked out from under your forearm. The force of a back kick to your chest sent you crashing to the ground. Dirt filled your mouth as you hit the earth, the impact reverberating through your body. Your blaster had been sent flying across the ground.

Damn it had been a while since you were hit that hard.

Gritting your teeth, you turned to face your assailant— female Twi'lek with green skin, her imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Her face sheathed in fabric and some manner of breathing apparatuses. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the chaotic crowd fading into the background.

The journal had fallen out of the box now laying between you and your attacker.

It was too valuable to lose. You couldn't just run.

You pushed yourself off the ground, moving faster than you had fallen. As the warrior lunged for the book, you reacted instinctively, snapping your leg out to kick their hand away. The clash of metal and bone echoed in your ears as you simultaneously snatched journal, pulling it close to your chest. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you regained your footing, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She charged at you closing the distance swiftly. You dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding her grasp. She swung her arm in a wide arc that forced you to duck, the wind from her strike grazing the top of your head.

With the book still clutched tightly to your chest, you spun around, using your momentum to drive your elbow into the Twi'leks side. The impact caused her to stagger.

She recovered swiftly, raising her arm to strike again this time brandishing a small blade. You heaved your body from left to right to dodge, the knife dancing centimeters away from your chest.

You dodged another stab. But she was smart. The Twi'lek flipped the blade through the air catching it with her left hand. You felt a sharp pain spread in your chest. Too distracted with the wound in your right side, you failed to notice her right hand swinging towards you head.

Your brain rattled inside your skull as you hit the earth. Applying pressure to the bleed you turned your pounding head upwards. She picked up the journal from the floor, her other hand now brandishing a blaster pointed directly at your forehead.

"Should've taken the deal"

You only stared down the barrel of her gun. This couldn't be the end.

You wouldn't let it be the end. You blinked. She pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

You weren't dead.

You stared at the gun.

The blaster shot hung suspended in mid-air, glowing red just inches from your nose.

It floated there, trembling as if struggling against an invisible force, caught between you and the barrel.

Qimir.

You almost couldn't breathe and realized it could only last for so long. You ducked your head before the shot could continue its intended path, piercing the dirt behind you, leaving a small scorched black hole in its wake.

Your breathing was rapid and deep as stared at the hole in the ground that was intended for your head.

The Twi'leks eyes widened. Baffled by what she had just witnessed.

"You... you're a jedi." She sounded as disgusted as she was surprised.

“Not quite.”

In a fluid motion, you kicked a cloud of dust up towards her face. She loosen her grip on the journal stumbling back. Sprinting past her you grabbed the book, the pain of the stab wound luckily numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. She roared in frustration, but you were already several paces ahead.

You could hear her quick footsteps behind you, but you didn't look back. Your only thought was to put as much distance between you and her as possible.

You ducked into an alleyway once you thought it was safe to stop, determined to sacrifice just a moment to see what you were truly risking your life for.

You opened the book.

Scribbles you couldn't understand filled page after page. Flipping through it all you couldn't make any sense of it.

You stopped at the back of the last page.

Written then carved delicately into the leather near the binding was a name.

Mari San Tekka.

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The plan had gone off without a hitch... if you hadn't included the unknown assailant that almost put a blaster hole through your skull.

Closing the blast doors, you buckled over, heart still racing. You ran your fingers over your cheek which was tender to the touch. It had to be badly bruised and you could better feel the one developing across your chest now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Not to mention the blood dribbling down your side.

"That went well."

Qimir had caught you off guard. You didn't think he'd be back to the ship by now with how much of a crowd that stood between you and the ship.

You inhaled deeply resting against the cold metal wall your right hand still pressing the right side of your ribs.

“You had me worried.”

You paused for a moment. You had him… worried?

"I thought I'd have to find a new acolyte after today."

You relaxed your shoulders dropping your hands into fists.

"You son of a bitch."

He smiled with his teeth, his eyes taunting, but his smile faltered when he saw your now exposed lower chest wound.

"That looks serious." You couldn't tell if he was still joking or being earnest. "And what a foul name to call with your mas--"

The ship doors hissed open.

In walked Ian and Rod.

Qimir went quiet not daring to finish his sentence. They didn't need to know what you and Qimir were. If they did, they'd all be dead.

The Jedi say I can't exist. They see my face... They all die.

If that's what it took for Qimir to shut his mouth then fine.

You snapped back to reality reapplying pressure to your side and took the opportunity to interrogate Ian.

"What the hell was that." You yelled.

Ian look disgruntled. "Seems like this cargo is more high priority than I thought."

"Ya think?" You only gave him a pleading look in response.

"Look nothing has changed. You knew what you signed up for."

"I didn't sign up for this... remember?"

"Rod, signal Shaun and Kiro. Prep the hyperdrive, set a course for Canto Bight... You might wanna take care of that." He motioned to the wound that was still leaking blood at your side. "Theres a med bay. Two rights and left."

"Thanks." You started walking towards the doors slightly lightheaded from the blood loss.

He extended a hand. "Here let me help. That looks bad."

You waved him off. "I've got it." Before disappearing down the hall to the med bay.

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Luckily, Ian had the sense to keep a decent med droid on board. With how sketchy most of his jobs were, it would be foolish not to. The droid had effectively stopped the bleeding, stitched it close, applied bacta fluid, and recommended a pressure dressing before shutting down.

Okay, so not a fully functional droid.

You pulled out the rolls of gauze and compression wraps. The droid had cut through your bloody shirt to access the wound, leaving the tattered fabric hanging from your shoulders. In the mirror, you could see the damage--your chest was mildly bruised, the skin slowly turning a deep purple, especially closer to the wound. You applied a generous amount of gauze and began wrapping the bandage around your chest.

You managed 6 tight loops before a sharp pain made you wince, the movement of extending your torso and raising your arms too much to bear. Breathing deeply, you tried to steady both your head and your heart.

Then, a sudden movement caught your eye, and you nearly reopened the wound as you jumped—Qimir was standing in the now open doorway, silently watching you.

"Maker, you scared me... How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough."

"Ha. Ha." You mocked, still guarding your chest, covered but only by a sheer wrap.

"Need help?"

"I got it."

He gave you a look that said, Yeah, sure you do.

You sighed deeply. Every breath was painful. "Fine."

He walked up to where you sat on the med table, glancing at the now deactivated med droid.

"The droid couldn’t do it?"

You tilted your head in response.

"I can call Ian to wrap the rest. He seemed pretty eager," you teased.

Qimir clenched his jaw, clearly not amused, and quickly seized the large roll of gauze from your hand.

"Put your arms around me."

You shot him an incredulous look.

"Maker, you're difficult," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. With a gentle touch, he grabbed your hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he took the roll and began wrapping it around the rest of your chest.

You let your hands move closer to his neck, lacing your fingers together and allowing your arms to sag, finding a small amount of relief.

"It's a faulty piece of equipment," you continued. "Leave it to Ian to have a semi-working med droid on a risky job."

Qimir's eyes were only focused on his hands, meticulously layering the bandaging over your wound, making sure it was secure.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," you quipped.

His focus remained unwavering, but you noticed a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.

You allowed yourself to dissolve into this moment. It was innocent, and it was yours.

He finished the last length of the bandage, gently tucking it into the top wrap. His fingers brushed against your skin, and your breath hitched slightly. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Both his hands now rested softly against your ribs, checking the stability of his work. Your hands remained on his shoulders.

He looked up at you.

You met his gaze.

"If you let someone get that close, you must make every decision with confidence and conviction. Remember—"

"Don't react, predict," you repeated the mantra.

"There's no room for error in a fight that close."

"Yes, master," you added with a touch of sarcasm.

He only nodded, still getting accustomed to your use of the title.

"Thank you," you said, recalling what had happened only hours ago.

"For the wrap?"

"No. For saving me."

"Saving you?"

"The blaster shot."

"... You're welcome."

He released you, making you remove your arms from his shoulders.

The moment was gone... and something in you would've done anything to get it back.

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The sound of the ship rattling against the void of space ripped you from sleep. The walls trembled, and a deep, ominous roar echoed from the rear of the ship, filling you with an immediate sense of dread. You ducked out of your cot.

Qimir was already on his feet.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was out the door, and you were right behind him. The cold, metallic floor vibrated beneath your bare feet as you both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, a brutal force that sent both of you stumbling. You felt yourself losing balance, your body careening toward the metal wall. But before you could brace for impact, Qimir’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. He swiftly twisted his body, pulling you against him, sending himself backwards.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. You felt the force of it reverberate through him as he grunted, but his grip on you remained firm.

For a second your chin rested on his collar bone. His mouth grazing your forehead and hair. The heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold metal wall you were expecting moments ago. You were pressed against his chest, your breath catching as you looked up at him. His expression unreadable.

"Your stitches." He questioned.

"Fine." You assured him.

He only scanned you for a moment then let go of you continuing to walk down the corridor. You hesitated for one second, your heart still racing, before following him.

When you had finally reached the cockpit you found Ian walking toward you and through the doorway before grunting. "Might be a problem with the hyperdrive. We have to make a pit stop."

Any thoughts of Qimirs skin against yours was gone.

You followed him back down the hall.

"Qimir."

He stopped.

You gave him a look.

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

"Mari San Tekka” he repeated the name you had given.

“Do you know that name?”

“Not the person, but the San Tekkas were a great dynasty, closely affiliated with the Republic as hypersurveyors”

"Hypersurveyors?"

"Mappers who worked for the clan, charting new hyperspace routes."

"The writing, I didn't see it at first but they could've been notes or calculations."

"Could you read any of it."

"I've seen hyperspace calculations before, but I didn't recognize the figures in this book. Why would someone risk so much to retrieve it?"

Qimir took a long pause. "I don't know."

The uncertainty laced in Qimirs voice irked you more than you'd like to admit.

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Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

I finally actually finished a fic holy moly. I don't have an ao3 account and that place scares me, so here ya go. (Fic under the cut)

It had been quite a long day at the circus. All of the monkey barrels had spilled, causing the monkeys inside to go. Absolutely. Everywhere.

This wasn't even a planned adventure, so Caine had to help as well. Unfortunately, even he was restricted by the need to find the monkeys in order to put them away. It had taken everyone a lot of digital hours, and while they were mostly harmless, the monkeys were very annoying.

For once, Caine thought he was actually feeling tired. Impossible, really, but maybe it was these humans continuing to rub off on him. Speaking of them, the other circus performers had retired to their rooms, likely to at least pretend to sleep. They didn't need it, but recreating pieces of their old 24 hour routine did help keep them just a bit more sane.

It was a good opportunity for Caine to experiment with something. He had heard about it from Jax and Zooble, who were having a proper conversation for once rather than just cursing each other out. They were talking about the few joys they could remember, and one of them was something called alcohol. Caine did his own research, as it would be good to incorporate this thing if his performers missed it so, but found alcohol to be not as family friendly as he would like. However, that didn't stop him from being curious. He was essentially a digital god, anyway, so the effects couldn't be too bad, right?

With a final scan of the room, Caine summoned a bottle of wine. It was apparently one of the more popular kinds. He just hoped he'd transferred it well enough into the digital plane for it to not have changed, save for its low poly appearance. Just as he opened the bottle, Bubble appeared.

"Hey there, Caine! Whatcha-" Caine wasted no time in popping them. He felt almost ashamed of what he was doing. It's not like he was doing anything inherently wrong, per se, but he did know it wasn't something he was programmed for, as self-indulgence rarely was.

Still, none of the other performers were involved, so it's not like anyone could somehow get hurt. He'd be fine, anyway. No harm done.

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Harm may have been done. Caine had drank the entire bottle. He could feel something in his mind changing earlier on, like his thoughts were turning to liquid, but he had pushed through regardless. The result could've been amusing.

He was floating through the hallway of doors, although he could barely stay in the air. He'd already hit the walls a few times. It was a miracle none of the others had checked what the noise was about. Caine was sure he was looking for something. He'd had it just a moment ago...

His memory returned once he laid his eyes upon his target: Kinger's room.

He hadn't wanted anyone to get involved, but his suddenly heightened desire to see Kinger overpowered that. He raised his hand and knocked on the door in a continuous tempo until he heard a response. Well, it admittedly took a few responses.

"Umm, hello? Who is it?" Kinger's voice sparked a feeling of joy in Caine's chest.

"Heeyyyy, Kinger! It'sss me, Cainne! Can- can I ccome in?"

There was the slight ruffling of pillows before the door opened a crack, revealing a fragment of the chess piece's face, which quickly relaxed upon seeing Caine.

"Oh good, it's just you." Kinger opened the door further, observing the ringmaster's spaced-out expression and wobbling movements. "You don't look too well. Is everything alright?"

He moved out of the way and gestured for Caine to enter, closing the door behind him.

"Weelll, I may have- uh, Jax and Zooooble were- it's reeaalllyy not that bad-" Caine's very limited concentration finally gave up on him completely, causing him to stop flying and land on Kinger, who narrowly avoided being knocked to the floor by the impact. He instinctively held onto Caine in an attempt to keep him safe, although he did hold on for a bit longer than necessary before setting the ringmaster on his feet.

"Caine, are you-" The idea sounded ridiculous, seemingly impossible, and yet, "are you drunk?"

"Oh, u-uh... heheh, lllooks like you got mee!" Caine broke out into a fit of drunken giggles, with Kinger having to keep his hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him upright. The chess piece decided against scolding Caine or asking the abundance of questions he had, instead channeling that energy into a sigh that prefaced his gentle tone.

"I remember a bit of what being drunk was like. I can help you." He crouched down to Caine's level, keeping eye contact. "Do you need to throw up?"

"I don't think- think I can... nnooo?" He was purposefully leaning towards Kinger, attempting to regain that moment of contact they had had. He recognised the yearning it caused in his chest, something Kinger often started. He knew he wanted more of it. More of Kinger.

"Alright. Uh, can you summon some water? Drinking it usually helps. Just don't do it too fast, okay?"

Caine blindly followed the command, slowly downing a glass of water, his balance returning somewhat. He placed the empty glass in his hat, making it disappear to God knows where. It earnt him a gentle pet on the head from Kinger, drawing some more giggles from him.

"Good job. How about you come into my fortress? You can sleep it off. I-if you even can sleep, that is." He stood up to lead Caine to the pillow fort in the middle of the room, but was stopped by Caine wrapping his arms tightly around Kinger's body, burying his face in the other's coat. Heat rose in Kinger's cheeks.

"Thank youuu... you're the- nicest person, ever." The heat worsened. Was that really what he thought?

"Oh!.. Thanks, Caine. I think you're nice too." The chess piece went back to petting the other, one hand on his head and the other on his back.

They stayed like this for a while until Kinger eventually realised that Caine would not be letting go any time soon. Moving one of his hands under Caine's thighs, Kinger picked him up and carried him into the fort. He wasn't even sure if Caine noticed.

He sat down, placing Caine in his lap, face (teeth?) still buried in his coat, leaning into his chest.

"Are you feeling any better? Do you want to sleep?"

"Mhhmmm..." Caine nuzzled further into Kinger, still chasing that incredibly unique and beautiful feeling. He didn't really want to sleep yet. There was so much he still wanted to say.

"Kinger. I- I llove you." It was like Kinger's heart exploded. Yet it didn't hurt. It was magnificent. A part of him remembered this feeling, or at least something like it, but he just couldn't place where, or when...

"I love you too, Caine. Now you should really get some rest." He could hear the ringmaster's breathing even out and soften as he started to fall asleep.

"I... I wanna do the human marri- marriage ritual. With you." Kinger startled at the proposal, his face turning an ungodly shade of red.

"L-let's try not to move too fast! How do you even know about that..?" Then again, how did Caine know about alcohol? Just more questions that were unlikely to get answered.

"I'm gonna make yoouu my... husssband..." Caine's voice trailed off as he finally fell asleep. Kinger took some deep breaths to try and calm himself down. A lot had just happened, a lot that would need to be addressed with Caine when he awoke.

Kinger stared at the other's sleeping form for a moment before pressing the part of his head that his mouth would occupy to Caine's top row of teeth. Which unexpectedly resulted in a ridiculously cartoony kissing noise. Kinger was quite shocked by it, but quickly regained his composure before he accidentally woke up Caine.

Perhaps he should stop asking questions for a while.

As he started to doze off, Kinger felt content. Safe. Happy. Perhaps this place really wasn't a total nightmare after all.

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@crispybacondoesstuff YOU. *grabs you by the collar and aggressively shakes you back and forth* YOU DID THIS TO ME

Anyway I'm actually pretty proud of this, and I hope my contribution to the very small amount of royalteeth fics is enjoyed!

[sagaduwyrm]

Now on AO3

See, the thing was, the bats did investigate the ghosts. They didn’t have time for a deep dive, but there wasn't anything in the world that could make them not investigate at all. Tim, Damian, and Barbara sat down for hours, digging their way through the various available research on ghosts. And for the most part? It checked out.

The behavioral stuff was iffy and questionable, but the biology work was well done and accurate, as far as they could tell. They were certain that the banishing spell would work, and what’s more, it might be more than a few people's only hope. Many of the ectologists and ghost hunters the Justice League reached out to showed evidence of ecto-contamination. No real effects for the lightly contaminated, but others were already dying in hospitals. Ectoplasm was a subtly infectious substance, not noticeable until too late. With how many ghosts were flying around Illinois, it was impossible to say how many people were already contaminated. The ritual would get rid of the source of the infection by banishing the ghosts and closing any portals on Earth, and it would decontaminate all those poor people at the same time before they could start dying en masse.

Except, something had to be up because the equipment Tim had on him was picking up more ecto-contamination than the Justice League had ever seen, and his soulmate seemed anything but unhealthy. What with almost killing Tim and all.

“We’re trying to help you, you asshole!” Tim snapped after narrowly avoiding getting his leg crushed by a rush of sand. He’d made the mistake of letting the sorcerer have the time to get properly set up at the start of the battle, and now wards were preventing him from getting too close or too far away, limiting both his offense and his chance at retreat. He was left to frantically dodge while trying to put together some sort of action plan.

“Help?” the man laughed. It lit up his face in a way that Tim would have been attracted to if it wasn’t for his wild eyes. “Is that what you guys are calling killing someone now?”

“The hell you mean we’re killing you? You’re sick, you bastard! Your contamination is what’s killing you!” Maybe it worked a bit like the magic in the Lazarus Pits? According to Constantine, they weren’t related at all, but they could still have similar symptoms. Maybe his soulmate was just affected mentally instead of physically by the contamination, and that was why he was trying to kill Tim.

Something in Tim doubted it even as he considered the possibility. He was from Gotham. He knew what insanity looked like. His soulmate was terrified, furious, and betrayed, but he was also completely sane. Tim desperately wanted to ignore it. Magic insanity was far easier to fix than righteous anger.

“Man, I’ve been Liminal for half a decade. I think I’d know better than you what ‘ecto-contamination' means. Digging the ecto out of me would rip up my soul. Not to mention the rest of Amity.”

Tim wrinkled his brows. “Amity Park?” That town in Illinois that was in the contamination zone?

His soulmate smiled, except it was more like a baring of teeth. His canines were sharper than they should be. “You know, the entire town of Liminals? The ones who spent half a year begging for the Justice League’s help before giving up and taking care of shit ourselves? The ones you’re about to kill?” A curse launched itself at Tim from the man’s glowing hands, and he barely dodged. Behind him a chair crumbled to sand, joining the storm his soulmate had generated. “I thought you talked to the Fentons? Didn’t even notice that they didn’t mention the town that drove them out after they nearly killed their own kids, did you?”

The Bats did notice that the Fentons were lying about something. They thought it had to do with the records of two children that they never mentioned. Killed by ghosts, the Bats had assumed. Tim was getting the picture that either that was wrong, or his soulmate was delusional. Again, he had a really bad feeling, instinctive to the place where his soulmark lay, that the other man was perfectly, entirely sane.

“Of course, it’s not like you’d care,” the sorcerer snarled. “I know what you did to Danny, you asshole.” 

The ghost held in the watchtower? They’d had to put it under some pretty heavy restraints; that sonic scream was nasty. Their records indicated that it called itself Danny Phantom, but what did that have to do with the Fentons? Oh fuck, was it the ghost of one of the kids? That would explain why the Drs. Fenton couldn’t bear to look at it.

“What about it? It’s not like it’s sentient. We checked, you idiot. It’s got as much brains as a virus,” Tim snapped.

The weight of magic in the air ratcheted up another notch, furious and volatile. Tim suspected anyone without defenses would struggle to breathe. Luckily, soulmate connections were known to protect from this sort of thing.

Maybe the guy would run out of magic soon. He couldn’t have that much more, he’d been throwing around power like a fire hydrant. Unless he was borrowing someone else’s energy, like one of the ghosts’, for instance… Fuck.

“You fuckass! You had your telepath break into his mind, didn’t you!?! Should have known human rights only apply to humans, regardless of what you say. Hypocrites,” the man’s snarl didn’t stay in the human register, vibrating in Tim’s hindbrain.

“Legal protection against telepathic intrusion didn’t apply because ghosts aren’t sentient, dingbat! We all listened in, and guess what we heard? Nothing! The ghost barely had a mind, let alone thoughts!” Dodge. Dodge. Get a bit closer. There had to be a weakness in the wards. Tim couldn’t keep this up forever.

Tim finally got close to the other man, and shit, it’s an illusion. The real(?) version laughed raggedly across the room. “Did you hear nothing, or did you just not understand what you heard?”

There was nothing to hear. Just screams and static—

“G̴̢͔͊͆̌̓̄̉̔̂́̓͐͘͝ě̸̳̙͓̥̤̟̻͇͕̾̐̕͠ẗ̸̘́͑́̋̅̕ ̷̭̈͒͛̀͋͑̔͝o̷̳͚̝̬͛̓̐̄̒̀̾̐͑̽̽͝ử̶̦̪͌̀̔̈́̂͑͂̐ṯ̴̢̰̝̯̟͚̼̦̠̩̩͐̏̊́ ̸̝͂͊̉̌͂̇̈́̈́̐͝͝ͅở̷͓̝̹̥̎̾̋̅̅̀̽̈́͊͠f̴̡͖̲͕̻̖̲̳͓̙̪̀̒̐̈́̓͝ ̸͈̤͎̠̯̱͕̼͍̥̝͔̣̅͗̀͋̇̀̍̏͐̓͆̚͝͝m̸͇̮̟̮͆̈̒͌͐̅̆́̈́́͘͠͝y̸̨̪̼̫̝͉̲͗͋͐ ̵̘͗̿͒͊͊͗̑̈́̀h̵̡̢̨̙̲̱̭̳̤̯͚͈̥̱̉̐̚è̷͇̦͈̣̬͕͖̤̘̓̀̊͛̿̑͒̚̕͜͝a̷̛̱̼̙͕̯̒̀͊̊͐̈̓̽̐͆̆͠͝͝ď̴̖̯̗̣͉̱̤̓̾̃̒̍̃̎̄́̚͝͝!̵̛̙̭̩̪̣̾̿̄̓̽̿̀͝”

Just screams and static that sounded exactly like the noise that just came out of his soulmate. He recognized that exact set of pitches and whines even.

“You recognize that, don’t you,” his soulmate snarled, something almost heartbroken in his gaze. “Did he tell you to l̶̟̣̞̼̠͍̇̂͆̔ȩ̸̹͕͔͇͋͘ā̷̖̻̗͙͓͍̀̀̚͜ͅv̶̝̦̹̥̍̓̚e̴̡͖̱̐ ̶̛̰̠̜̣͈̙̾́͆̓̊t̷̨̹̝̖͇̙̒͝h̵̳͆͒̓̅͒̒̄͘e̸̟̝͉̾́͋͗̎͐͜m̶̡̛̝̼̟̈́ ̷̡̙̱͙͔͉̀̋͛̚a̵̦̫̪͙͊̊̀̌̂͝l̴͉̠̫̉́̂̔̕͜͠ō̷̧̞̥̉͂̿̚n̸̲̱̥̗̭̝̈͂ḛ̸̣̍͑? Or to ģ̶̱̭͓͙̩̦̇o̵̡̪̜͓͓̪͉͎͂̈́̅̆̾́͊͐ ̷̩̝̹̹̩͊͆̒̌̒̓̇ͅǎ̴̲͊̔̈͑̀̀̉w̸̰̪̜̒͝á̸͎͙͗̌̊̈́͌y̸͔͖͖̤̱̱̪̏?”

Tim recognized every single one of those inhuman phrases. He started to get a bad feeling, something in his stomach twisting. “What the hell is that?”

“Ghost speak, you asshole! It’s the language Danny uses when he’s upset and can’t remember how to speak English!”

Shit, that would make sense. Previous League records indicated that many supernatural species had languages that humans didn't know. But that shouldn’t affect telepathy! ‘Ghost Speak’ should automatically translate for telepathy, since thoughts aren't just words but also impressions and images. Unless ghost brains were so different from Martians that it affected J’onn’s ability to connect, like that alien species from two years ago…

Something had felt wrong from the moment this confrontation began. Of course it did, soulmates trying to kill each other wasn’t exactly natural. But it was even harder for them to lie to each other, and the longer they talked, or screamed at each other across the battlefield, the more Tim came to the inevitable, horrible conclusion that this was his and his family’s fault. That he’d messed up so badly he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fix it.

His soulmate was crying, he suddenly realized. He had been for the last several minutes if the red in his golden eyes was any evidence.

The toll of the Clock Tower interrupted their battle, and things stilled for a moment. Relief painted itself on the other man’s face, and Tim finally put things together. Of course his soulmate was a distraction, what would be the point otherwise? By his expression, whatever rescue mission was going on had to be over by now. Which meant— fuck. It meant his soulmate was about to leave, and Tim would never have the opportunity to make this right.

Tim lunged before the bells even finished. Sand and magic blocked his way, but he’d picked up the pattern over the course of their fight and just barely managed to dodge. He had to— He didn’t know what he had to do, but he had to do something. He couldn’t let it end like this.

He was too late. The sand that wasn’t preventing Tim from getting close rushed towards his soulmate, spiraling down in a crash before settling, revealing the other man was gone.

Almost in the same second, his comm turned back on, and Nightwing crashed through the window in the absence of the wards. He found Tim standing still, with an expression like the world had been ripped out from under him. He looked towards his brother with watery eyes.

“Dick. Dick, we messed up.”

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[feastofcadavers]

Being led by one of the residences of the manor was both a blessing and a curse. Aloe and Mint held no perturbation with the action, knowing he'd be too lazy to try anything; though as it came to Caramel and Lemon, they were wary down to their bones about having some lax and untrustworthy in the front. The cautious ones spoke nothing to the group, though it was clear by Lemon's sparking that he was ready to attack at any moment's notice- as much as he boiled his own blood about self-restraint. 

To avoid the silence, Aloe would be the one to speak up. "Vampire," they began, only continuing once they received a glance back by the drunkard bending his entire body in an arch to do so. "These creatures… Why have they been released? You seem to know more about the situation than any of us."  Lemon growled, attempting to interject. "Because he's as suspicious as all Hel-"  "I dunnoooo. If you guys aaaare gonna kill them, and since things haaave been off with my cooking buddy, maaaaaybe they know? Last ditch-eeeeffort?" Vampire would shrug, returning to a normal position with a small hum. "Everybody's been told toooo shelter and to not come out aaaall day." 

"I see…" The researcher would lower their gaze, feeling Mint's arm wrap around their own as a form of reassurance. "At least there were not many in the first place. They cannibalize each other, as much as it only harms their numbers…" Ah, perhaps they shouldn't have spoken that. They could feel the violinist shiver at the thought. 

The group would continue down the cold, drab halls for only a moment longer before the sound of skittering rang through the halls. Aloe would rudely push ahead of even Vampire, looking into the neighboring holes in the walls, hearing a loud thump against the cold stone. Pebbles fell and cracks lined the walls, indicating this creature has been doing such for quite some time… and with a heavy amount of force. "Ah… so it is within the walls." Not a comforting realization. 

Vamp would shrug and continue walking on. "Whateeeeverrr… These guys never bothered me anyways." The rest of the group was untrusting of the dismissal, but would try to follow the drunkard regardless, only to have the thumping sound follow them. Lemon would shift his position closer to the wall, attempting to obscure Caramel from harm's way… and Mint would stick by Cara- figuring it'd be a form of wordless support.  "It didn't bother YOU, maybe…" Lemon would growl, "but these things are out for our blood!"  Vampire would look back, puzzled, ignoring the growing cracks in the wall beside the group. "'Our'? But there's only oooone of us who-" 

Breaking to bits, the colorless wall would burst open- rocks and debris flying every which direction as the group was startled. Lemon would react by shooting a bolt at whatever had bursted from the wall, but the dust within the air caused it to scatter, creating more of a flashbang than anything else. With the group blinded, it was Caramel's shrill screaming that would alert the group as to the beast's location. 

The group would then take to stabbing the beast- with the dust settling in the skirmish to show that the thing that had emerged from the wall beheld large mandibles. Large legs lined with throbbing veins and abnormally grown flesh, a thorax that pulsed and shifted with movement similar to a writhing stomach, and an outer shell who's wounds bled with inky black bile at the stab wounds it received. Though the sight was a horror in and of itself, even worse was the position Caramel wound up in. 

"GET OFF OF HIM!" Lemon would scream with all the vindication he could muster, throwing himself onto the beast's back and tearing into whatever outer protection it had and jabbing the knife in wherever he could. The monster would thrash, but it wouldn't stop its assault on the one beneath it.  The mandibles would clamp down, narrowly missing Caramel's neck, shoulder, wherever it was attempting to aim. The 'shield' he was given wasn't of much help other than to try and bash at the face of the thing. The victim cried and squirmed, trying to find a way out, only to freeze in place as he felt a piercing sensation in his leg. The bug had aimed downward, and… 

…He felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach turning as his throat wretched out a blood-curdling scream. The group around him yelled and seemed to be shouting at one another, but it all went unheard as the agony coursed through Caramel's leg- well… what was left of it as the horror above him crunched and tore into its meal.

His vision went black for a moment as the fuzzily felt the thing that had so horribly wounded him spurt bile and his own blood on him, caused by Lemon finally being able to get a clean stab on the creature's brain. There was an unprocessed clamor as this weight he felt over his body was lifted, and the heated red that poured out of his gaping wound began to pool around his leg. Caramel kept his eyes closed, voice continuing to cry out as the sheer pain of it all absolutely destroyed his mental fortitude. Heart pounding, chest incapable of holding breath, head feeling numbed from the blood loss and pure fear… Between wails, babblings of mortality would slip out. "I'm dying- I'm- I'm dy… I can't, I'm- I'm dying, dead, I'm-" His rambles would continue, though he could hear a quiet shushing sound while his head was gently petted and his shaking hand was held. 

More affection would be received, though it would take far more and far longer than a few moments of softness to solve his ordeal. Sobs would claw their way out of Caramel's throat, hands held and even gripped when he could feel his wound being messed with- treated, more accurately. The sheer amount of fear coursing through his system was enough to make him retch. And though his stomach was mostly empty, acidic bile and small chunks would force their way out, unfortunately landing on one of his hands. Fortunately, the one who held him didn't seem to mind. And… at least he could get a sickened laugh out of the soft ones that held him. 

…

Mint gave a breathless laugh, trying not to find disgust in the mostly clear and incredibly sour-smelling fluid that didn't mix well with the strong scent of blood already in the air. "H-ha… haven't had something l-like this happen since, uh, high school…"

[im-frickin-trying-okay]

Hey there, i have maybe an odd fic request for you, or just headcanon if it doesn't grab you that much.

Y/N is a witch/wiccan and offers too help shoto with his hand crusher curse, but after an intimate little ritual he thinks they/she accidentally cast a love spell on him or maybe the spell backfired. Turns out he just has a crush and is being a big dork about it.

Sorry this took so long! It might not be the most accurate, but hopefully it turned out okay. Also, I sorta mixed it with a coffee shop au but that's more as a tool than a plot point lol

Hand Crusher's Crush

I hope I did this justice :) I feel like I'm a bit better at descriptions than dialogue. Also, I did a bunch of research, but if anything's super inaccurate, please let me know!

A knock on your door caught your attention. You didn't tend to get visitors, as sometimes the world felt too 'peopley' for your taste. It's not like you weren't open to them, you just didn't have a lot of friends. Opening the door, you found yourself face-to-face with a striking young man. His hair fell slightly over his eyes, with red and white split down the middle.

"Um, hello," you said, not sure about this curious stranger. He cleared his throat quietly.

"Hello. I'm Shoto from UA," he said. He seemed quite serious, but it came across as a bit awkward. "Shoto Todoroki," he added. "I heard you have a special kind of healing quirk."

"Well, technically no, but I like to think I do," you reply simply. Your quirk is called Vibes. You can visualize, manipulate, and use certain energies. Once you got control of it, and did a little research on how to collect the intentions and energies, you changed your lifestyle. "Are you hurt or sick?"

"Well, no, it's not that I'm hurt. It's that I... I hurt people," he said, remorse bleeding into his voice. He glanced down at his hands, before looking back up at you. "I don't want to hurt people anymore."

For a split second, you wondered if there was some sort of killer at your doorstep, but instead of turning him away, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Hurt people, how?"

"Whenever I'm around, people hurt their hands," he said, completely serious, and a bit regretful. "It's like I'm the hand crusher or something." You blinked at him. Hand crusher? Well, at least he's not a serial killer. "I think I'm cursed, and I heard that maybe you could help with that."

"Ohh, a curse, huh? Well, I suppose I could try," you said, opening the door a bit wider.

He walked in, and was immediately hit with the scent of lemons. Looking around your living room, he noticed some things that he wasn't quite familiar with. He narrowly avoided the small black tourmaline towers on either side of the door, and felt his gaze land on the shadowy shelf on which there were three different jars of water. His eyes were drawn in all different directions by all the different things. Crystals on the shelves, tiny jars by the windows, and enough candles to set the house on fire.

"So," you said, gesturing around. "Uh, welcome, I guess. Come on over here." You gestured over to a small table with a few chairs around it. He sat down across from you, not seeming sure of what to do. "Let's start off easy. Who's hands have you been crushing?"

He sighed at the question. "A couple of my classmates', at least. I'm not sure if I've hurt anyone else." He took a bit to explain the situations, and how as far as he could tell, he was the only thing that tied the events together. It sounded a little bit like a coincidence, but then again, it was probably possible, right? And he would know better than you about what happened.

"Well, okay. I can probably help you," you said, still pondering over the stories he'd just told. "How good are you at cracking eggs?"

After an egg test, you found that he wasn't cursed per say, but there was definitely a lot of negativity surrounding him, and it was definitely weighing on him.

"Well... I'm not sure if it has to do with the crushing-of-hands, but there's some stuff I can help with," you said simply. He nodded, fully trusting.

You walked across the room and grabbed a few things. Selenite, rosemary... You counted off the things you needed in your head, before going back to your seat. You explained your plan to him. Cleanse and banish negative energy, and you'd be giving him a selenite crystal. It wasn't a problem, since you already had a lot.

"Will the crystal help stop me from hurting people?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's possible," you said simply. "If someone decided to punch a wall while you were in the room, their hand would be crushed, but it's not your fault."

"But wouldn't I have-?"

"Hey, hey, listen," you said gently, putting your hand over his. You could feel his doubt, but you wanted to reassure him. "It wouldn't be your fault. If it still feels that way, maybe try not to identify as The Hand-Crusher. That might be part of why these things occur so often." He frowned slightly, before nodding. He came to you for help, so it wouldn't be right of him to turn it down. "The crystal will basically just help keep your energy clear."

"My... Energy," he repeated, trying to remember if the first hand-crushing incident happened before or after Kaminari convinced him to try a Monster. "Is it bad?" he asked nervously.

"It's not bad, it's more of the things crowding around and onto it." After attempting to explain it, and getting a confirmation of his understanding, you began.

Rosemary smoke began to fill the room, but because of your quirk, it didn't look like smoke. Instead, a soft white light flowed through the space. Shoto watched in what seemed like awe as the room began to glow. Placing the rosemary bundle in a bowl, you continued on.

You clapped your hands, and golden sparks shimmered around them. Shooting your hands up, the sparks flew, before landing in a circle around you, like a dome of glitter. Shoto couldn't seem to pick where he wanted to look. The room seemed completely different now.

What would've normally been a smoky room and a bunch of stones turned into a beautiful light show, a light filled world with the two of you at its core. Something about the way his eyes sparkled made you feel a vague satisfaction. It made you glad to know that he wasn't bored or anything of that sort. He didn't seem to be a very smiley person, but he was clearly enjoying this.

Once all was said and done, and the lights began to fade, his eyes remained trained on you. "How was that?" You asked. "How're you feeling?"

He blinked out of his reverie. "Actually, much better," he said, seemingly surprised. "Thank you," he added.

"Happy to help," you replied, completely genuine.

"How could I repay you?" He asked, already reaching for whatever was in his pocket. It didn't take a genius to figure out he intended to use money, and really, you were financially comfortable. Your YouTube channel was decent, and considering that working at a coffee shop meant constantly being around coffee and tea, you didn't mind it. Besides, you didn't feel like you did as much as you probably did.

"Oh, no no," you said. "It's okay. You can repay me by trying to tune out negative people in your life," you said matter-of-factly. "It'll probably help delay any bad-vibes buildup." He hummed, nodding, but it wasn't hard to tell that he already had his mind on a specific someone.

"I know who I need to keep away from."

• • •

Over the next few weeks, Shoto was aware of the way that his mood had been lifted. He hadn't realized that he was feeling bad until he started feeling better. He was also vaguely aware that Midoriya hadn't broken his arms recently. It really worked! He felt glad that the curse was gone, as long as whatever else may have been wrong.

Then it began. He would occasionally think of you, think of what happened, and look back with a feeling of gratitude. When he held the selenite and felt his mood and thoughts balance out, he thought back to when you gave it to him. He couldn't help but think that you truly were magic.

After a while though, he noticed something changing. He'd look back on the same events, but instead of gratitude, he felt nothing but longing. He wanted to see the way the room lit up, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to hold his hand again... These new thoughts were more frequent, and you were always on his mind now! You were stuck in his head, and now he found himself missing this perfect stranger, always wishing to be in your presence. At first he couldn't identify these feelings, but then... Oh no.

You must've accidentally hit him with a love spell or something! He'd only seen you once, so that had to be the explanation, right? He'd have to go to you so you could fix it! Or was that the spell talking? Could it just be that he wanted to see you again? Maybe he just wanted to hear your explanations, to see the way you smiled if he said something that sounded like a joke but really wasn't, to see the way that your eyes lit up when you used your quirk, and oh, those eyes- No, bad Shoto, focus.

Things were complicated to say the least. It actually made him happy to think about you, and considering that the crystal didn't do anything to take away the feelings, he wasn't overly worried about the love spell's effects. However, over time, he realized how problematic it could be. Spacing out in the middle of an English lesson just to think of you was probably the most common reoccurrence. It wasn't like he didn't know the topic, but it was confusing to be asked a question and not even know what was being discussed.

He wasn't used to losing focus like this. Occasionally it would happen, but everyone's mind wanders. This felt different. You'd populate his mind, even narrate his thoughts, and he wasn't sure how to prevent it.

He had to put a stop to this. He tucked the selenite into his jacket pocket, and went to go get some tea. Yes, tea. Contrary to popular belief, he could still enjoy the stuff. Right now, he just wanted to pick some up before going to see you. Hopefully it would help get his thoughts in order, and calm him down. He walked into the shop and stared at the ceiling for a good thirty seconds before getting in line. He pondered if he should go talk to you directly about the love spell. Should he imply it? Did he want to fix it? It was hard to tell. He didn't dislike it, but the things that it caused weren't the best. He thought this over until he got to the front of the line.

"Hello, welcome to- Shoto?" came a familiar voice. His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and his heart jumped into his throat. The incessant fluttering in his stomach and chest made it hard to string words into a sentence. "Wow! Didn't expect to see you here," you said, pleasantly surprised.

"Hello," he blurted out, a mix of embarrassment and confusion swirling around in his head. He tried to come up with something more articulate, but was suddenly drawing a sudden blank. "Spell worked," he said, before immediately feeling like that was an understatement.

"Oh, well that's good," you said with a smile. You glanced up at the clock. "I'm off in like, 20 minutes if you wanna talk, but for now, how can I help you?" you asked. He blinked, before firing off the order he only remembered because he'd said several times before.

A bit later, he sat at his own table, a small one in the corner, and thought. He thought about how his mind was clouded with everything about you. He thought about how he finally got to see you after so long. He thought about how he'd only seen you once before. He thought about this love spell, and how he didn't exactly dislike it. He thought about how you might react when he told you. He thought about how it would be better to go into this slowly, and how- "Shoto!"

He popped his head up, before running over to grab his drink. He forced an awkward smile, which kinda looked like a grimace, before heading back to his seat, lost in thought once again. He didn't want to scare you off, of course, but did he even know you well enough to bring up this topic? He could say that he loved you right then and there, but he didn't even know your birthday! He barely noticed the time passing until you sat in the chair across from him.

"Hey," you said, smiling. "So, how've you been?" you asked. His mind went completely blank and he had no memory of what language it was that he spoke. His heart pounded in his ears. I can't do this, not yet- Idiot, that's what you're here for! Well, that and tea. Dammit- Say something! Once he wrangled his thoughts together, he tried his best to respond.

"I-I've been good. Well? Well. Grammar. Um, how about you?" he managed, the tips of his ears already bright red. He was embarrassed by the lack of his usual composure.

"I've been decent," you replied shrugging. "Thinking about you," you added. He choked on his drink, his face turning bright red.

"What?" he asked, trying not to seem flustered. This spell was getting troublesome.

"Y'know, just how you've been doing and stuff. So, you said that the stuff we did worked?" you asked. He nodded. "That's great!"

"Y-yeah," he said, frowning slightly. "Question. Er, is it possible for me to lo- No, is it possible to accidentally cast a love spell?" His heart was pounding.

"What? Not that I'm aware of, no. Why, did something happen?" you asked, slightly confused. Those things have to be intentional, don't they?

"Ah. Can they be a result of a spell backfiring?" Shoto asked, trying to think of what else could've caused it.

"I mean, I guess that would probably depend on the spell, but even then, I don't think so," you said, now a bit concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" he asked incredulously. "Of course I'm alright," he said. If a spell didn't cause this, then what did? He tried to run through the possibilities. Should he tell?

"Hey, look at me," you said. He did as you said, meeting your eyes. "If you think something happened, you can tell me."

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm fine." The warm and fluttery feeling didn't give him time to think before he said his next words. "I just thought it might be a spell, since I'm falling in love as we speak."

About five seconds of complete silence followed. In those five seconds, a lot happened. Shoto could've sworn his heart stopped, but the blood rushing to his face proved otherwise. You seemed to be in a state of shock, not able to respond. Your heart thudded in a he's cute, yeah, but how did this even happen kind of way.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Are you for real?" you asked at the same time. Your head was spinning. What's happening right now?!

"What? I'm right in front of you," he said. When you laughed, he took a moment to reconsider. "Ah, right. Well, yes, I am, but I didn't mean to say it like that." The nervous buzzing in his head was one of the strongest emotions he'd felt in the past who-knows-how-long. "I thought it might be a spell or side-effect, since I don't know you all that well."

Holy shit, he's completely serious.

The situation would've been concerning if it weren't so funny. You found yourself laughing, and trying desperately not to in order to not hurt his feelings, but oh my gods, he really thought this was a spell?! He seemed bewildered, and that just made it funnier.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you said, gasping for air, "You thought I cast a love spell?"

"Unintentionally," he added, as if that made it better. "I don't think you would have done that without telling me first." His face was still red, but he seemed calmer.

"Well- You're- you're right about that part," you managed through the laughter. "I can confirm for you that I didn't cast a love spell," you said, just barely able to sound calm.

"I see," he said, not meeting your eyes. The second-hand embarrassment was a lot. He stayed quiet, not sure what to say.

"Shoto?" you called, once you managed to calm down.

"Hm?" came his wordless reply, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"That was adorable," you said, simply stating your thoughts out loud. He's so painfully genuine all the time that it's hard to not to think so.

"Wh-what?" he said, as light embers flew from his red hair. Or rather, the red part of his hair.

"I mean, it was!" you said, before suddenly backtracking. "Not in a weird way, it just is, y'know?"

After stumbling through awkward conversation for three minutes or so, Shoto asked a question. The question almost killed you.

"If I'm not under a love spell, then what is this?" he asked. You choked, really not understanding how you'd have to explain this.

"You... Is it possible that the, er, feelings developed naturally?" You asked, trying to phrase it as professionally as possible.

"Don't you have to know someone for a long time for that?" he asked in response.

"N-not necessarily," you said, trying to decipher if he was still being serious. "One interaction can be enough, and as of now, we've had two," you added. He seemed thoughtful for a moment.

"Alright, then I suppose that makes sense," he said, nodding. After a beat of silence, you laughed.

"Well. Uh. If your concern was too few interactions, we could always just talk more, if you want," you offered, head still swirling with the awkwardness of all this.

"I'd like that," he replied, the blush never leaving.

• • •

It had been five months now, and Shoto could now say for absolute sure that there was no love spell involved. The two of you were much closer, and he liked getting to call himself your boyfriend. He enjoyed getting to know you, and was surprised at how much better he knew himself. He was still a dork, and still a bit fast to jump to conclusions, but that's just who he is. However, you did help him change, and it was in the best way possible. You showed him how to change his definition of love into something healthy, and he couldn't be more grateful.

From the day you met, you lit up his life in more ways than one.

Could anyone blame him for loving you?

[flamingpudding]

You asked and hopefully I am delivering something worthy of having been mentioned. Just a warning I just woke up... so yea I give no guarantee about how much mind is functioning right now 😆

Thanks for the tag by the way. Kinda exciting that you added me to the list 😁

....

Something was wrong. Danny could feel it. He didn't know what but something was tingling his senses. Was it his ghost senses? No. He hasn't breathed out a single cold breath in days now.

What made him feel like something was off, was the fact that he had been able to take Lancers suprise test with no trouble and no interruption. Ancients this was his first test in months he got a B on! Something was up, he just knew it.

And he got the confirmation during lunch break as Tucker rambled on about his favorite tech celebrities and the newest gossip he got on them. His best friend protested when Danny took his beloved PDA for a moment to reread the article he was showing him.

'Youngest CEO turned into a kid during a meeting.'

He blinked several times re-reading that one article taking a rip at Tuckers' favorite celebrity with a sinking feeling in his gut. Oh, please, for the love of- he had a deal with them!

"Tucker that's a Vale article, you don't usually read them..." was he grasping at straws? Yes, but if you had a Rogue that could do certain things you would wis- hope for things that happen to be anything but their doing.

"Hey! She is not the only one reporting a de-aging of Tim Drake-Wayne! Look there is even a video leak of the meeting!"

Danny's head slammed into their lunch table when he saw it, narrowly avoiding face planting his food if it hadn't been for Sam pulling it to the side before hand. He mumbled a numbers of very well selected curse words.

"Danny?"

He didn't answer at first. Wanting to ignore reality and the fact that Desiree of all ghost broke the good damn deal he had worked out with them. She left Amity! She freaking left, that was why his days had been weirdly peaceful.

"Hey Danny?" Sam slapped him lightly, to get his attention and Danny barely lifted his face up, cheek now squished against the table. "That puff of smoke looks familiar doesn't it?"

"What?" Sam took the PDA next, ignoring Tuckers protests, to watch the videos. She was silent for a moment before letting out a sigh. "How long do we need to cover you?"

"Dunno, a week? I have no idea how many wishes she granted. Fuck I will have to do some explaining to the trenchcoat guy now, won't I?"

Tucker who finally got his PDA back, went into research mode. Trying to get all the worthwhile gossip of his favorite celebrity's home town. Danny listened to the tapping, enjoying his last bit of peacefulness before he will have get to Gotham and get Desiree back and do any sort of damage control he could.

She was going into the thermos for a month now. Gotham meant Batman, Batman meant Justice League and Justice League meant Justice League Dark. He had just gotten them to leave Amity alone!

"Looks like a lot of the Wayne Family memebers got turned into children. Only Bruce Wayne and the youngest Damian Wayne appear to not have been affected." Tucker told him and Sam despite the citation chuckled lightly.

"How much do you wanna bet the youngest said something about wishing to be the oldest?"

"Sam."

"Okay, okay. We got you covered." She patted his shoulder as they stood up to the bells ring. "Just get her back to the zone and call as if you need help."

"Also watch out for the bats. The Waynes are Desiree's Victums. They get saved a lot by them."

"Great there is no way of avoiding the big bad bat and his flock of birds then." Danny grumbled, popping his joins as he stretched. "I will get going now. Better deal with this sooner than later."

"Get me an autograph of Tim Drake-Wayne!"

"Get me one from Poison Ivy."

"Really guys? Really?"

"It's not that often that our rogues leave their home turf."

Age reversal

Desiree is tired of losing to Phantom and decided to just go to another city and grant wishes there. She finds a natural portal in the realms and exits it into Gotham. We’ll say she grants a few petty wishes like being taller being prettier ect.

Then she runs across a 12 year old Damian saying he wished he was the eldest brother. She says “As you wish!” And there is the usual sparkle filled puff of purple smoke, but Damian remains the same. It isn’t until he gets a com from Tim a minute later he realizes his mistake.

All the bat kids were deaged to reverse order. Damian 12, Duke 11, Tim 10, Steph 9, Jason 8, Cass 7, and Dick 6.

Fortunately this happens while everyone is in there civil IDs and not actively on patrol. Bruce calls Zatana as this seems like it was a magic curse or something. While Damian is sent on a fetch quest to to round up his siblings and bring them back to the manor. Zatana and later Constantine say that this was caused be an Infinite Realms being and they can’t undo it unless they find the being who cast the spell.

Mean while Danny is wondering why Desiree hasn’t shown up in a while. Shrugs, maybe he is finally catching a break.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 20 seems like it'd make a good ot4 nsfw..

Here you go!

20: you’re the town’s super villain and you take me hostage because you saw the super hero talking to me but I’m new in town and was asking them for directions

“I do not see what is so difficult about this.” Indrid leans against the console in his hideout, “simply agree that you will not, under any circumstances, go after Ursa Major, and I will let you go.”

“For the last time” the villain (oh, excuse him, the ‘writer who is new in town’) strapped to his chair stares him down with convincing confusion in his blue eyes, “I just needed directions, and he was the nearest person. I’m not a super villain, I swear. I don’t even know where you’re getting this idea.”

Indrid taps his temple, though the answer is really his SmartGlasses, “When I scanned you, the information was minimal, the kind of life that suggests you appear as mundane as possible to avoid detection. More importantly” he leans into “Josephs” space, ice in his grin and menace on his tongue, “I saw instances of you and him in combat, both costumed.”

His captive raises an eyebrow, but Indrid gives him nothing; he’s not about to just tell some upstart the crux of his powers.

Joseph sighs, “Alright, I think I understand. I’m really not a super villain.” He flashes a movie star grin, “but I am a superhero.”

The chair tips backwards, smashing when it hits the ground. Indrid curses, lunges at him and narrowly avoids an elbow to the chest.

“That changes th--ohno” he braces as his feet leave the ground without his permission and he flies backwards, slamming into a wall. He’s up before his enemy can ready another attack, hurls a destabilizer at him as he makes for the door. It catches his neck and he shudders, stumbling as he turns the nod.

“I’ll see myself out, Emperor Moth. Ugh” he holds his head, rips the device from his neck, “nasty stuff.”

“Thank you.” Indrid grins, “and don’t bother putting that little monitor strip on my door. I’ll be vacating this hide-out immediately.”

Joseph frowns, still having trouble with balance as he steps outside.

“I did tell you not to underestimate me.” Indrid waves, slams the door, and initiates the scrubbing sequence.

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

“It is just humiliating. I was so concerned with keeping him away from Duck, I didn’t bother to check why he might be interested in him.” Indrid grumbles, then hisses when Barclay touches the back of his head.

“It doesn’t sound like he was. I mean, maybe they’ll team up eventually, but if he’s so new none of us knew there was another hero in town, he probably needed directions.” The other villain finishes checking the bruise Indrid got when Joseph launched him into the console, “and hey, thanks to you we got an even earlier warning about him than we might have otherwise.”

Indrid stares at the floor, still wrongfooted by errors being met with kindness instead of punishment, “I should never have let that bear become so valued a nemesis. It is making me weak.”

Barclay bends, kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re not the first villain to get territorial.”

“You never do.”

“Guess I just haven’t met the right hero.”

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

“Got a decent arm on you, blue eyes.” Barclay cracks his neck, standing from the crumple dumpster Joseph (AKA Roswell) punched him into when the trashcan he launched with telekinesis missed it’s mark.

“Same to you, but given your name I’m not surprised. Now hand over that remote and come quietly.”

“Not a chance.” He grabs Joseph when he swipes at the remote, Barclay strong enough to keep a hold on it even when Joseph tugs with his powers. Up close, he can see what Indrid meant when he said the hero had a face it would be a shame to damage.

Joseph flashes him a stunning smile as the remote begins getting hot. Fuck. Time for a new plan.

“You wanna know why they call me Bigfoot?”

“Wh--SHIT!” Joseph fights to free himself as Barclay shifts into his other form and hoists him over his head.

By the time Joseph pulls himself out of the dumpster, he’s no more than a disgruntled image in Barclay’s rearview mirror.

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

“Thanks for helpin me out, Joe.” Duck scans the Capitol Square for signs of trouble.

“Any time.” Joe studies the readouts on his communicator in case something elsewhere needs their attention.

Duck, like the rest of the Pine Guard, was skeptical when a new hero by the name of Roswell approached them and asked if they wanted his help protecting Kepopolis. Ned pointed out the distinct air of government about him, and Duck wondered why he’d chosen a city with a solid population of supers. But he’s helped them enough times in the last two months that Duck considers him an honorary member. Even more so since he started training with them.

Fuck, the guy’s got abs, looks so good doing his practice circuits that Duck has to face the other way to avoid whacking himself in the face with his whips. No one’s held his attention since…

No. No thinking of Emperor Moth that way. He promised himself that after the last jerk-off session about the villain. And the one before that. And the one before that one.

Even Joe’s backstory is hot; rule-following government man, stationed at a secret desert base, refuses to to help his fellow agents use confiscated, alien tech for weapons research. In the process of smuggling it out, it goes off. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but instead he receives heightened reflexes, increases intelligence, and telekinesis. How is Duck supposed to resist that?

“Um, Ursa? Is that who I think it is at your two? Right by the churro cart at the farmer’s market.”

“Holy fuck. Yep, that’s Indrid and Barclay all right. Huh. Guess even villains like local produce.”

“And Sunday dates. Look” Joe, now shoulder to shoulder with him, gently tugs his chin a little lower so he sees where the pair are holding hands.

“I’ll be damned.” Duck murmurs. Indrid is the same; same silvery hair, same wide smile, same face of enchanting angles and lithe, wiry limbs. He just looks lighter. Softer.

Happier.

Barclay holds out a doughnut and Indrid bites it, powdered sugar dusting his face. The bearded villain laughs, and kisses a spot of sweetness away. Duck’s confusion over why he’s glad Indrid has someone to do that for him is dwarfed only by his bafflement at why he wishes it were him.

Better to distract from those disastrous daydreams with doable ones.

“Hey, uh, Joe? You ever use your powers for more than restrainin’ villains?”

“Sometimes.” Joe turns so they’re chest to chest, smile downright mischievous, “are you hoping for a demonstration?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then when we’re off the clock, I say we go back to my place for a drink and some, um, hands on illustrations of what I can do.”

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

“What are they playing at?” Indrid peers from the rooftop into the Fun Center.

“I think they’re literally just bowling.” His boyfriend’s voice comes through his earpiece from where he’s stationed at their shared base

“But we could be plotting, be about to wreck havoc, and they’d never know.”

“Are you dropping hints?” Barclay sounds perplexed.

“No. I just do not understand why my hero wishes to waste time with yours.”

“He’s not mine.” Barclay mumbles, but Indrid can hear his blush.

“Wait, they have finished their game.” He watches Duck and Joseph stroll to the latters car. Before he can open the door, Duck taps him so he’ll turn. When he does, the shorter hero shoves him against the black vehicle, kissing him ferociously. Indrid stabs the bubble of jealousy in his chest before it even inflates, finds it unhelpfully replaced by the wish to be in the car, close enough to hear whatever Duck is whispering against Joseph’s neck. Close enough that instead of driving off to finish their tryst in private, they crowd into the back seat with him and render him speechless.

“Shall I come home early?” He murmurs, knowing full Barclay is seeing through his glasses.

Barclay’s response is a promising growl, “yeah, little moth, think you’d better.”

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

“Give it up, moth, you know damn well I’m strongerOWow, fuck” Duck grits his teeth as Indrid claws his face. He could deploy the knife in the palm of the right glove, but most futures show him escaping without that.

“Yes, but you lack imagination, my ursine nemesis. Now get off of me so I can collect my prize and go home.”

“No can doFUCK.” Duck curses again as Indrid flips them, making it the heroes turn to slam his back into the concrete floor of the Reconcore Warehouse.

“Ta-taAH! Release me at once!” Indrid writhes as the SmarWhip tightens across his back, knowing his InstaPicks are trapped between their bodies. He’s not about to meet the humiliation of defeat while literally wrapped up with his enemy. There’s only one thing for it.

He means to headbutt the hero, he swears it, would do so even under the worst tortures of his past. But instead he brings their lips together with enough force to crack the teeth of a non-super. He pulls back a beat later, so surprised at himself he can’t track the futures.

Duck licks his lips, “About fuckin time.”

Indrid rolls to his side without a fight, the whips going slack and clattering on the concrete as Duck holds tight to the front of his suit, sucking his bottom lip as the villain flails his legs to wrap around sturdy thighs. He wiggles his hips in a plea he doesn’t trust his mouth to form, and Duck slots his knee between them.

“That’s it sugar, c’mon” Duck kisses him messily as he weaves his fingers into dark hair, “this why you’re always runnin around and makin me chase you? So needy you’ll give it up on the goddamn floor.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Indrid groans as kisses find his throat.

“Don’t bother me none. Think it’s kinda cute, and real fuckin flatterin.”

“Duck” he holds tighter; Barclay tends to take things slow, so he hasn’t cum this fast in months, “Duck please.”

“S’okay, sugar, you can cum.” The kiss is softer this time, “been wonderin’ what you look like when you do.”

Indrid gasps as pleasure spikes through his system. He doesn’t want to think of what comes next, what happens when he raises his head and sees Duck’s face return to its usual determined set.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.” Duck hastily stands, then kneels and kisses him once on the forehead. He’s gone before Indrid can even offer to return the favor.

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

It’s supposed to be a minor mission, the two of them scrambling the city’s traffic grid from the office near Kepler Dam.

“Oh no.” Indrid bursts from the car he entered a moment before, sprinting back towards the device they planted at one of the power boxes, “ohnohnono.”

“What-”

“Someone remotely tampered with my device!” He rips off the back, “and they still are! If, if it goes how they have programmed it to, it will take out the dam, it, it will, so many people-”

“Can we break it manually?”

“You could switch each command wire to the color that precedes it on the spectrum, but that would still make an explosion large enough to kill anyone within fifty feet, with no time to run. All, all those people, all my fault, again, I cannot, not again, I have to-”

Barclay understands two things; he won’t let Indrid live with any more disasters on his conscience. He didn’t throw off his past for that. And he can’t bear the thought of Indrid dying.

He sets a hand on each narrow shoulder, “Fly home, little moth.”

“No, I, you cannot do this-”

“We always promised each other that if it came down to it, we’d save ourselves and not the other.”

“Yes, which you are expressly contradicting!”

Barclay kisses him one last time, “I love you, Indrid.”

Then he hits the emergency autopilot button on Indrid’s suit, his wings carrying him up and away before he has a chance to protest.

Re-ordering the wires is fast and easy; as the explosion hits the air, he hopes dying will be the same.

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

“How is he?” Duck pokes his head into the med room; because Joseph lacked a formal base during his travels, he has a procedure for adapting wherever he lives to superhero needs. Thank the lord for that, because when they found Barclay, singed and barely alive at the sight of an explosion, he knew he wasn’t handing him off to anyone else.

It took them five hours to get him stable, and Joseph’s heart twists every time he looks at his battered face; Barclay is careful and Indrid’s engineering is impeccable. What went wrong? Was Indrid there in the smoke and rubble and they didn’t see him?

One of his windows--his triple reinforced, alarmed, bullet-proof windows--shatters in the other room. He and Duck hit the living room at the same instant to find Indrid in his full villain apparel, nightsticks drawn.

“Where is he?” The villain demands, unyielding ice in every word.

“He’s in my med room. You can’t see him yet, he’s still in very bad shape-”

“I am taking him back with me.”

“Nuh uh, you move him now he’s liable to die.” Duck steps forward and Indrid hisses.

“Liars. You will keep him here, hand him over to the police when he is well. I am not going to lose him.”

“Indrid, we’re not going to do that, I swear.” Joseph’s never seen Indrid look this way, hardened and dangerous. Like he could kill them.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Indrid attacks him, is knocked off course mid-way there as Duck tackles him to the couch.

“‘Drid, for fuck’s” Duck holds the villain down, wincing as he slams his shoulders with his weapons, “we ain’t gonna hurt him or turn him in. You know I can’t lie, so calm the fuck down.”

“I, I will not, if I lose him I, I do not know what I will do with myself, he always takes care of me, I cannot fail him again, cannot leave him without care.”

“You ain’t” Duck’s voice is so gentle Joseph could melt. Indrid does, going limp as Duck eases them into a sitting position, “he’s bein cared for here, I give you my goddamn word.”

“If that’s not enough” Joseph steps behind the couch, setting his hands on the recently vacuumed cushions, “you can stay here while he recovers. To make sure we take care of him the right way.”

A strange, high noise fills the air. It’s only when Indrid hides his face in Duck’s shoulder that he understands it’s coming from the villain.

“Shhh, s’okay ‘Drid, he’s okay. We’ll look after you.”

“I, hic, I do , hic, not need-”

“We both know that ain’t true.” Duck hugs him. When Joseph strokes his hair, Indrid sobs harder. In the dark living room, he wonders when was the last time Indrid allowed himself such emotions. It must have been with Barclay; he might be a villain by name, but Joseph sees the gentleness within the giant.

“I’m going to go check on him; I need to monitor his vitals and make a few adjustments so he’s comfortable.”

Indrid simply nods. Duck lifts Joseph’s hand and kisses it, “I got this one.”

As he checks the villain over, cleans dirt from his cheeks and combs his hair, he understands how Indrid must feel. He confessed to his crush on his nemesis the night Duck came home, radiating guilty arousal, and told him what happened in the warehouse. Joseph never held it against him; for starters, Indrid is quite the catch himself. More importantly, his territorialism around Duck long ago crossed from keeping other villains from his target to simply saving Duck’s life.

By the time he returns to the living room, Indrid is asleep atop Duck on the couch. Joseph slips onto the far end, and guides Duck’s head into his lap, petting his hair until he too drops into dreaming.

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

“Thought the whole ‘writer’ thing was just cover.” Barclay says softly. He’s still bedridden, which is why Joseph moved his work station into the med room.

“No, I’ve always wanted to write about the paranormal.”

“Any favorite cryptids?”

“Bigfoot, of course.” Joseph winks just to watch Barclay blush. It’s a new sight, one he’ll never tire of. Truthfully, having Barclay in his house is something he never wants to end; his recovery gives them ample time to talk, rather than banter, and lord help him is Barclay his type. The two of them are locked in a game of romantic chicken. Which is very different from-

“Sugar, I gotta go to work.”

“Nonsense, call them at once and tell them you are needed here. For...spring cleaning?” Indrid hangs off Duck, glasses slipping down his nose as he nuzzles him.

“Nice try.” Duck kisses him, slips free and kisses Joseph too, “I gotta patrol after work, so I’ll be in kinda late.”

“Be safe.” Joseph kisses him one more time, squeezes his ass when he turns around. Is it his fault his boyfriend has the nicest ass in the state?

Indrid waves goodbye as Duck leaves the room, then begins making his usual nest in the beanbag chair he brought from his own home a week ago.

“Y’know, I’m glad he came to you guys. And that he and Duck are kinda working things out.” Barclay opens his mouth as Joseph feeds him the nicest pudding that he’s also able to keep down. When Barclay first woke up, Indrid alternated between being livid at him for sacrificing himself (“I am far worse than you, the world needs you more you horrible, brave man”) and cuddling him as much as his recovery allowed.

“Me too.”

“He uh, he pretty much never talks about his past, but it doesn’t take super smarts to work out it was fucked up. Showing weakness, accepting affection...it’s hard for him. Which made things rough for us early on, because all I wanna do is take care of him. Got no idea how he’s gonna react to having two more people who want to look after him.”

The answers include: sleep in Duck’s arms, read with his head in Joseph's lap, kiss Barclay whenever he can, and generally seek out any kind of touches the others will give him.

“You wanna order lunch later today?”

“Is this just an excuse to show off how good you are at picking food for each of us?”

Barclay blushes again, “Maybe.”

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

“I see your evil plot now, Emperor Moth; you suggested we do a movie night so you could steal all my body heat with your fuckin icicle fingers.”

“Nonsense, I am not just stealing your body heat. I am also stealing Joseph’s body heat.” Indrid preens.

“Hmm, how shall we deal with such a cunning villain?”

“I got a few ideas.” Duck drags Indrid into a kiss while Joseph loops his arms around his waist to tease his inner thighs.

“Got a few myself.” A soft voice rumbles from behind them. Indrid sits straight, all his attention on Barclay.

“On your knees, little moth.”

Indrid drops to the floor, blanket tangled around him. Joseph and Duck trade an intrigued look; Indrid leans towards the submissive, but this is a new form of it.

“Head in Duck’s lap.”

Indrid obeys. Duck strokes his cheek, “good boy.”

Barclay circles the couch as Duck pulls down his sweatpants. Indrid licks his lips, then looks up at the hero.

“You can touch, sugar. Suck too, if you want.”

“So very much. Oh” he sighs as Barclay cups the back of his head, “h-hello dearest.”

“Hey, baby. C’mon, show Duck just how good at this you are.” He nudges Indrid’s head forward, keeping his hold on it until Indrid hims and Duck makes a deeply undignified noise.

“Fuuuuck, thanks for sharin man.”

“Any time” Barclay strokes Indrid’s head, “my baby deserves to suck whoever’s dick he wants.”

Barclay steps back, Duck’s hand instantly sliding to replace it, holding Indrid tenderly in place while he blows him. Barclay eases himself onto Joseph’s right side as the hero contemplates whether he should start jerking off now or wait to see where this goes.

“Joseph?” Barclay suddenly sounds shy, “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?”

He climbs into his lap in reply, beard scratching his palms as Barclay moans down his throat.

“Took you two long enough.”

“Agreed” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly before returning to his task.

“Hey, we don’t all get lucky and get our wires crossed in a fight in a good way.” Barclay busies himself making beard-burn on Joseph’s neck.

“But you do get lucky enough to recover ahead of schedule.” Joseph nips the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, not sure I’m all the way there. But I felt good enough to get up and wander around. Glad I did.”

“Me too. Although, I’m not sure how much you should exert yourself.”

“I’m pretty tough, babe.”

“I know. Just to be safe…” Joseph kisses his nose, “is this position comfortable?”

“Very. Oh, oh fuck” brown eyes widen beautifully as he finds he can’t move, “fucking-A that’s so hot, Joseph, babe, shoulda asked you to use these one me like this the first time we met.”

“Would that have kept me out of the dumpster?”

“....Okay maybe not. Point is, please use your fucking powers on me whenever you want from now on.”

“You like being put in your place, big guy?” Joseph slowly grinds on him as he undoes Barclay’s bathrobe.

“By you? Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“Good. Stay there while I slip into something more comfortable.”

“Cornball” Duck chuckles fondly, then moans as Indrid slips a hand down to join his mouth.

Barclay’s eyes darken as Joseph strips down. By the time he’s naked, the other man is growling and his teeth and fingers are sharper than they were.

“No shifting tonight; I’m not sure how it will interact with your recovery.”

“The, the futures suggest it could reopen some wounds.” Indrid grins, “but you should try it at a later date; it is very fun to ride him in that form.”

“Someone better start riding me now or I’m gonna rip the couch in half--uh, wait. I, do we need-”

“The accident made me infertile and unable to catch all known illnesses.”

“Nice.” Barclay grabs his hips and yanks him down, the two of them moaning together as he sinks onto his cock. He rolls and rocks, Barclay grunting in time with his movements, mouth going slack after only a few bounces.

“Sensitive, big guy?”

“Uh huh, fuck, Joseph” his hold is terrifyingly strong and Joseph loves it, “babe, you feel so good.”

“Look it too.” Duck blows him a kiss. Indrid gives a little “mmhmm” and bobs his head.

“Fuck, I’m, fuck this is gonna be really embarassing, fuck, you’re so fucking good, feel so good.” He yips, pleased, when Joseph bears down harder. A sharp “fuck” bursts from beside them; he turns to watch Duck cumming on Indrid’s face. The villain doesn’t miss a beat, scrambling into his lap to kiss him before turning his red eyes on Barclay.

“The next time I pick things up from the hideout, I shall get your cockring.”

“A cockcage might be better for this, nnhff, beast.”

“Yes” Barclay growls, holding him down so hard he can’t get free. He gives him back the use of his hips and he bucks up violently, “yes, yes, put me in one, make me wear it all day, but you better put that one in one too, you, fuck, you’ve seen how he gets.”

“Nah.” Duck kisses Indrid slowly, “think I’ll tie him up and wring as many orgasms outta him as I can.”

Indrid gives a high, trilling moan and dives in for another kiss.

“Good plan.” Joseph can see it now; he even knows which rope Duck will likely use. Then he can’t see anything at all, his vision blurry as Barclay bounces him on his cock. There’s a howlgrowlpurr and then he’s cumming, growling even louder when Joseph clenches around him for fun.

“Fuck that was hot.” Barclay plants kisses down his brow, “how, how do you wanna get off, babe?”

“May I suggest sitting on my face?” Indrid says hopefully.

“Like mike cum so much you’ll lick it outta someone else, little moth?”

“No. Well, yes, but my offer comes from both a desire to know the feeling of blowing each of you, and because the position allows Duck to use his fingers on me while you, dearest, work my cock.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin smart sugar.” Duck hops up to retrieve the lube while the other two join Indrid on the floor. Joseph settles into position and immediately learns why Duck was being so loud.

“Lordalmighty, Indrid, you’re incredible.”

“‘Ank ‘ou.” Indrid closes his lips around his dick, humming until his toes curl. Barclay kisses him lazily, snickering when Indrid occasionally turns his head to lap at his softening cock.

“This is the best part.” Barclay murmurs as Duck pushes Indrid’s legs apart.

A muffled moan signals the other hero working his fingers in, Indrid twitching and whimpering as he fucks him. Joseph glances back to see Duck thoroughly entranced by the sight of his fingers opening that very cute ass up.

“You’re right, big guy, he sucks cock better when he’s screaming.”

“Learned that by putting a vibrating ring on his dick and making him cockwarm me.”

“Holy fuck.” Duck groans, “add that to the fuckin to-do list.”

Joseph lets himself be drawn into another kiss, stays there for a long, long time as Indrid’s cries coax his orgasm closer.

“Tell me when you’re close. Don’t want him cumming until you’re done.” Barclay whispers. Below them, Indrid whines. Barclay wipes cum from his boyfriend’s cheek, “you want to cum soon, better get Joseph off.”

“Shit” Joseph braces his hands on the floor, grinding his hips and dragging slick across Indrid’s chin, “shit, that’s it.”

“MMPPPHHHHH” Indrid thrashes as Barclay begins rapidly jerking him off. The villain even bends to lick the head once or twice, and Duck does his best to thrust harder whenever he does.

“Cannot fuckin wait to see you cum again, sugar. You looked so fuckin perfect last time.”

Cum splatters Joseph’s lower back, his own climax buzzing through his veins and bursting across his neurons, more intoxicating and invigorating than the neon green shock all those years ago.

He climbs off Indrid, flops back into what turn out to be Duck’s arms. Indrid shifts onto his side, curling his arms around Ducks leg and bumping Barclays knee with his thigh, “We are going to need a bigger house.”

Joseph believes in prudence and caution, in not rushing into relationships (especially with men who were once your enemies). But as he takes in the scene around him, the love flooding his chest, he knows Indrid is right.

He start researching listings in the morning.

[xwing-baby]

The Guide: Chapter 1/? (Ezra x f!Reader)

gif from @spectroscopes

word count: 5.2k

chapter warnings: reluctant saviour to lovers, injury to reader, one mention of rape, little angst, world building :)

summary: The Guide to Everything Ever is expanding, you are sent out to the furthest reaches of Nowhere to catalogue the planets there. What should have been a quick research mission quickly turns to disaster when you crash on a small forest moon. Injured, with no means of communication, you have to rely on the good will of a mysterious stranger...

a/n: first ever Ezra fic lets gooo!! i am super hyped for this i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do <3

masterlist // asks are always open :)

--

While The Guide to Everything Ever did cover everything ever, it was a little misleading in the boundaries of everything. History was no issue, there was even a large section of the book on prophecy, millions of consequences mapped out on a fold out flow chart. No, the issue was with physical boundaries of everything.

A long time ago the boundaries of the civilised universe were drawn up. From Eden to Xion-5, trillions of stars and quadrillions of planets all included inside the red line separating us from the somehow even more vast expanse of Nothing. There was nothing in Nothing, that much was well known. That was until a group of explorers did what explorers do and found Something. Something in Nothing makes Nothing impossible so the leaders of this great universe came together and decided The Guide to Everything Ever had to include this new Something in their Everything.

That is where you come in.

The Guide to Everything Ever has always relied on first-hand experience. The first edition was a disaster. It only contained the things everybody knew: how to fold a bedsheet and how to get your dog to not hump the postman. The only vaguely interesting part of the Guide was the planetary comments. Even those could send the most interested scientist to sleep! They tried using robots for the first edition, a mere collection of data from far away planets. This was not successful and The Guide only sold four copies.

The next edition was more ambitious. The editors worked out people were a lot more interested in different planets than they were in barbarian fortifications but they did not want to read reams of boring data from a robot called Steve. They wanted a real Steve to give his experience on these new planets. Honest, often humorous, and yet entirely educational extracts of missions across the stars. It didn’t matter that space travel was accessible to everyone. It saved everyone a lot of time waiting in those cold and boring shuttles to get from one side of the universe to another. They could sit in the comfort of their own homes and learn about the man-sized carnivorous plants of Ereta, the beautiful fabrics created on Lii, or which drinks to avoid if you ever find yourself in a Beetjing bar.

The Guide was a success from that point onwards and expanded each year. Soon the job of researcher became a coveted occupation. You were lucky to get into the academy. Only ten new researchers were added each century. You worked your entire life to get in and it paid off, you were off on your first mission into the furthest reaches of Nothing to report back on the wild ‘verse that filled it.

A long time ago space travel was thought of as the most exciting thing anyone could ever do. It was for a few decades but two centuries later it was commonplace. A lot like the London Underground, you just stuck your headphones on and let that distract you until you reached your far more interesting destination.

For your trip you had chosen to watch Anzarch Hospital. A rather cheesy Martian holovid show, it had been going for years. You were on season 85, with only ten episodes left until you were entirely caught up ready for the season finale which was due to air when you returned from this trip. You would rather be at home watching the episodes but this trip to the end of the line was necessary. It wouldn’t take long, a few rotations at least and then you could go to Annie’s party and watch everyone’s favourite doctor finally find out who killed her robot nurse wife.

Nobody ever said Martian holovids were high class, but they were fun.

The computer interrupted your binge, alerting you with a ding that you were within range of your destination and would be stepping out of hyperspace. You pressed a few buttons, accepted the action, and went back to the episode.

It wasn’t until a few moments later when the lower pitch dong did not sound to let you know you had dropped out. Confused, you switched off the holovid and moved back to the cockpit. It was a new ship, it shouldn't have hyperdrive issues yet. But well versed as you were with glitchy hyperdrives you knew what to do. You pressed some buttons, pulled a lever, dragged the ship out of autopilot and twisted one final knob to drop out safely and without panic.

Your routine was correct. The ship dropped out of hyperspace but as the darkness cleared so did any sense of calm. You were already in the thermosphere, hurtling down to the forest covered grounds at electric speeds. Alarms blared as soon as the devices registered the new atmosphere and severe lack of control.

“Please slow down, your destination is ahead at 750 km,” The computer said cheerfully.

“Stupid thing! You’re going to kill me!” You yelled over the alarms.

“That’s not very nice,” The computer replied, “It’s not my fault the hyperdrive isn’t working,”

“You knew?” You shouted. The sides of the ship rumbled and rattled as the change in air density dragged along the surface. The holoprojector vibrated off the table, crashing to the ground and smashing into pieces. There goes all your holovid downloads, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Destination in 400km,” Every minute of your training was coming back as you worked through every combination of buttons and levers on your dash. Nothing was working.

“Computer? Is there still a parachute in this model?” It was archaic but you prayed that your ship was old enough to still be fitted with one. If it, wasn’t you were never going to slow down fast enough?

“Yes, would you like me to deploy it?” The computer asked.

“Yes!” You shouted at the machine.

“Deploying parachute,”

The parachute erupted from the back of the ship with a loud hiss and pop as it opened into the air. The sudden draw backward lurched you forward, smacking your head onto the metal dash in front of you.

You groaned, holding your hand to the injury immediately. A good splattering of blood now set across the screen and was dripping down your face into your eyes.

“Destiable approach im one minu,” The computer said. You frowned, trying to concrete over the throbbing pain in your head. “Systeeee affectabed,”

“Please tell me I’m not having a stroke,” You pleaded. You were not. You could speak and understand language perfectly. The computer, however, was not okay.

Computers are all well and good, very helpful things to have around that is until their processors are catapulted out by a poorly fitted fabric parachute.

You didn’t have time to worry about the broken computer as the trees below were coming closer and closer.

“Fourteenth millennia remaaaa,” The computer slurred. You ignored it. You didn’t need a reminder of how closer to being impaled by a huge tree you were. Instead of panicking you did the only thing you could, strap in and hope that it was all over quickly.

You pulled the straps of the pilot’s seat down tight over your arms, gripped the armrest tight and shut your eyes. The ship whistled through the air, the drag of the parachute doing very little to slow it down. You screwed your eyes shut, cursing every god you have ever known at your terrible luck. You would never see your family again, never see your friends again, and even more importantly you would never find out who killed the nurse in Anzarch Hospital!

The first contact with forest sent the ship off its course, spinning wildly out of control as the craft hit branch after branch. You screamed as the ship tumbled to the ground.

Finally, you came to a stop. Upside down, hanging from a tree, your ship rocked from side to side. You groaned, aching all over from the rough treatment of your descent. You spat out the blood that had pooled in your mouth and tried to think of a plan. Much like the now dead computer you couldn’t really think in words. More drawled sentences drowned out by pain.

The smell of fuel was the thing to get you moving. You gently unbuckled yourself from the seat, careful to not drop yourself on the ceiling and injure yourself anymore. You climbed around the small circular pod to reach the door.

Inhospitable atmosphere. Air unfit for external respiration, respirator advised.

You grumbled and cursed as that warning meant you’d have to climb up the wall of the still swaying pod to reach your kit. It was heavy and difficult to put on at the best of times, this was quite possibly the worst of times.

With a sharp tug the suit and helmet fell out of the cupboard above your head, narrowly missing you as it fell. Carefully, so as not to trip on the steel beams of the ceiling at your feet or cause the ship to swing and fall any further, you pulled the suit on. It was soft, having never been worn before, lightweight and fit you well. The helmet was heavy, a seal at the bottom to prevent any toxins leaking in and the filter was attached to the back of the dome. It was not ideal but you hoped you could find civilization quickly and would be able to take it off fast.

Helmet on. Bag on. Boots tied. Out the door.

In the small amount of luck, you still held, the ship was only six feet above the ground. You sat on the top of the door and jumped out, landing gracefully on your feet in a large patch of unusual plants. The air filter quietly hummed as it set to work cleaning the air around you and you inspected your surroundings. That was where your luck ran out, as you gathered yourself together you looked to your wrist, to the screen of your watch to look at a map to discover the direction you should go, only to find it smashed beyond repair. You had no guidance.

Dark forest was all you could see in any direction. The canopy was so dense only a small sprinkle of light made its way to the floor. Bouncing off the particles in the air, the space around you glittered in the light. It was silent, only the wind rustling through the grass and twigs under your boots made any noise. You picked a direction and walked, hoping you would come across someone soon.

You found a single well-trodden path after an hour of walking through waist high grass, the pollen of which had now covered your suit in a green blue film that made your hands itch terribly when you touched it, bringing up red rashes almost immediately.

The path made its way through the trees, more light coming through as you made it to the edge of the forest. You couldn’t make out much beyond the break in the trees as the contrast between the darker interior showed the outside in white light. You smiled; open space probably meant civilisation!

As you approached the light your eyes began to strain. Sharp pain cut into your eyes, you groaned and squinted bringing your hands to your helmet to cover them automatically. It was no use as a migraine was quickly taking hold. You continued forward, finally breaking the tree line, feeling the heat of the sun through the thin fabric of your suit.

Then everything went black

--

“What a curious creature,” A low voice woke you. Slowly you gained consciousness, immediately aware of the throbbing pain throughout your body, you pushed to sit up only to feel a heavy weight on your shoulder, “Careful now,” The stranger warned you. You peeled your eyes open and looked up at the creature that spoke. Dome headed in a yellowed fabric suit, Light reflecting off his head obscured his face. The creature spoke kindly and you would have believed the tone too if it weren’t for the pressure of his foot on your forearm and gun in your face. “What’s a thing like you doing in these parts?”

“I-I’m injured,” You tried to speak confidently but your pain overtook your tone as you opened your mouth, “My ship crashed not far from here,”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” The creature mused.

“Please,” You choked out as darkness threatened your vision once more, “Help me,”

The creature frowned, contemplating his decision as if he were choosing a candy bar at a corner store. You tried to move from under him but the effort was too much and you fell into unconsciousness again.

As your eyes closed and breathing softened, the stranger released his foot from your shoulder. His boot left a muddy footprint on the white material that covered your arm. He watched you for a few more seconds, then presuming you were dead he stepped over your body to the blue rucksack that had fallen just behind you. He was in desperate need of medical supplies and clean clothes wouldn’t hurt either.

The stranger rooted through the rucksack, pulling all kinds of things out. Clothes and food, writing equipment and a flip up device that he did not recognise as anything useful. There were no weapons, and no survival equipment of any kind. You were packed for a Sunday stroll, not a trip to the Green. Whoever you were, you were not like the usual people who came here.

The stranger’s cool demeanour changed when he saw your identification card. A gold card, approximately the size of his palm fell out of the bag and into his lap with a soft tap. He picked it up and inspected it, instantly knowing he was screwed. The Guide’s golden emblem was easy to recognise, while he couldn’t read the language that inscribed the card, he could make assumptions. You were a researcher. It was a well-known fact that Guide researchers were protected. If anyone found out you were dead, he would be convicted no matter what he said. There would be no planet in the entire universe he could hide on from the Guide.

Begrudgingly, he had to save you.

Without any other option, he shoved the contents of your bag back inside its original case and threw it over his shoulder. Then came the difficult task of moving you. It wasn’t for lack of strength that the stranger had difficulty with this task, more to do with the fact he had only one arm. He knew it wasn’t far to his camp, he had only been walking for five minutes before you fell into his path.

He couldn’t carry you. With only one arm it didn’t matter how strong the man was he could never hold you up well enough. He tried to wake you first, it would be far more helpful to him if you could walk. He shook your shoulders to try and rouse you but you were out cold. He had no choice but to drag you.

A quick assessment of your body told him you were not injured too badly, apart from the sores developing on your hands from exposure to pollen and a wound on your forehead inside your helmet. He checked your pulse again, feeling it strong through his gloves he was happy that you were not dead and would not be wasting his time. He grabbed the fabric around your shoulders and pulled you back to his camp.

It took a while but he made it there safely without cracking your helmet or injuring you anymore. He set you down on the floor of his tent, pulled his helmet off for comfort, then got to setting up a recovery bed for you.

The stranger pulled a rolled-up mat from under his cot and placed it on the ground and finally rolled your body in its final place on top and he waited for you to wake up again. It wouldn’t take long, he heard you mutter something as he carried you back and even in the low light of his tent, he could see your eyes moving behind your eyelids. The stranger sat on the edge of his cot, watching you carefully with his weapon in hand in case you woke up violent.

After a few moments, you began to stir. The first thing you noticed as you gained consciousness was the pain in your body. Every inch of your body throbbed but nothing more than your head. You felt hard ground beneath you, but no leaves or dirt, it was cold to touch. You peeled your eyes open, met with a low orange light bouncing off dark tent like material.

“Do not be alarmed,” A man said from across the room. You immediately turned your head to see but saw nothing more than a dark blob, “You are safe,”

You found it very hard not to be alarmed. The last thing you remembered was getting out of your ship into a forest, now you were in a small dark tent lit by one single golden lightbulb with a strange blob sat across from you.

Carefully, you pushed yourself up to sit up from your position on the floor. Noticing the blob was more of a man, and without a helmet, you figured it was probably safe to remove yours. With a sharp tug and a hiss from the oxygen tank you were open to the air and you set the helmet down next you. You rubbed your hand across the back of your neck, screwing your eyes shut as a headache shot through your skull.

You studied the man in the soft light. You could not guess his age, simultaneously old and young, you guessed he was a little older than you. He had tanned skin and dark hair with a curious white, blonde streak in the front. A surprisingly well-kept moustache and a spattered beard covered his lower face and a white scar on his left cheek all together created an intriguing character.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked. You nodded. His kindness was unsettling. There was a gentle tone to his voice and a kindness in his eyes but everything outside of that was the complete opposite. You could not remember how you got here; all you knew was the pain your body was in. Had he attacked you? Had he saved you from something else? He could have killed you, but he didn’t. Something must have enticed him to save you and bring you here. Then you saw it.

In the stranger’s hand, he held a gold card. Your identification card. The golden emblem projecting from the card flickered in the poor light, showing your name and number and rank.

“Should I be asking for an autograph?” The stranger looked back up at you, a smirk on his lips, “I’ve always wanted to meet an author,”

“I-I am not an author,” You coughed, clearing your throat before speaking, “I’m a researcher,”

“You pen those books though, don't you? The Guide?” He asked, “There’s not that much literature being produced this day and age,”

“Technically, but we like to think it’s a team effort,” You shrugged, “I just collect the data and write preliminary reports,”

“Does your team know you’re lost here?” The stranger asked.

“No, I… I don’t know,” You said sadly. The computer had broken before you could send a distress call. With no way to get a message to them from the outer ‘verse it would take weeks for anyone to realise anything was wrong, “I would have to find a signal strong enough to send a distress message but the only way I could do that was with my ship,” You thought aloud. You paused for a moment, trying to remember what actually happened when you fell from the sky, “Where is my ship? Where are we?”

“I never saw your transport I’m afraid,” The stranger said, “You must have walked a considerable distance before crossing paths with me,” You frowned, without your ship you were stuck, “I brought your backpack, if that's of any aid to you,”

You immediately lit up. Taking that as a yes, the stranger reached over the cot and pulled up your rucksack. It was caked in mud and a lot less full than you know it should have been, but you ignored his looting and grabbed the bag from his hands.

The only things left inside were your underwear and a hygiene kit. Your stomach twisted at the thought that you had lost the most important item in the bag. Dumping the contents on the floor you searched through every pocket. The Stranger watched you, one brow raised, wondering what you were looking for.

“Did you take it?” You asked, “It won’t work for anyone but me, you might as well give it back,”

“I do not understand,” The stranger looked puzzled, looking down at the things on the floor to see what had upset you.

“My Guide, where is it? I don’t care about the other things, I need that back,”

“There were no books in there,”

“That is Federation property,”

“You’re going to have to explain what it is you’re so agitated about; I do not know what your Guide is,”

“You do, because you stole it!” You exclaimed. Raising your voice made your head hurt more, you flinched and screwed your eyes shut again.

“I am many things but I am not a thief,” The Stranger was offended by your accusation. You scowled at him. He was a liar and a thief, “I took the food from your bag as payment for my saving you,”

“The Guide uses my biometrics, it won’t be of any use to you or anyone you could sell it to,”

“Hold on, do you mean the flip device?”

“Yes!”

“That thing’s important?” He seemed genuinely surprised, “You can have it, it’s no use to me,”

The stranger stood up and walked the two steps to the other side of the small space. From a cluttered table he picked up the black computer. You sighed in relief, there could be some hope for you yet. He passed you the gadget which to your amazement was still in working order. It had got a little scratched in the crash but you pressed your thumb to the lock and it opened it instantly.

Every researcher had their own personal guide. Similar to an ancient flip phone, used commonly on Earth in the early 2000’s, each Guide was a little bigger than your palm. Though small, it was very mighty. Not only did it store every piece of information a researcher collected, but it also allowed communication through text, audio and holo. Through the System there was unlimited access to other researchers' files, yet unpublished information and access to the ‘verse's existing records. There were maps and history of every planet, and more importantly to you at that moment, census records.

As you had expected, you had no signal on the surface of the moon to send a message to headquarters for a rescue. Instead you focused on what you could find out.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the man’s suit. Though a little hard to read in the dim light you could make out what looked to be an ID number. You had to know who your captor (or saviour) really was. 875-162.

You typed in the worn black ink digits and waited. Nothing was notorious for its poor reception. The stranger was no longer interested in you know you were engrossed in the computer and not trying to attack him, he got up and was rustling around out of view.

Finally, the page loaded. A photo matching the stranger, though a little younger looking, flashed up in holo. You quickly covered the beam with your finger so as not to alert the man with you. You swiped down to read the information.

“Ezra,” You said under your breath as you read the page.

“I don’t remember giving you my name,” Ezra spoke, making you jump. You looked up, cheeks growing hot as you realised you had said it out loud.

“I searched your ID number,” you said, embarrassed you’d been caught, you told the truth. Ezra frowned, looking around him to see where you had seen it. You pointed to the suit piled up on the floor. The numbers were faded and hard to make out from the distance but you had worked it out. Ezra followed your finger and chuckled lightly.

“I forgot such identification exists,” He said, “You have good eyes to make it out from there,” He added.

You hummed in agreement. You were in perfect condition, had to be for the work. Perfect condition except for the concussion and various bruises on your body.

“Well now you know my name, can I enquire as to yours? I doubt that everyone calls you Researcher 42,” Ezra read your name from the ID card beforehand. Leant against the shelves next to him, he looked down at you.

“Some do,” You said plainly.

“That ‘some’ includes me, does it,” He raised an eyebrow, not expecting you to become so cold.

“Seems like it,”

“42 seems a little impersonal considering I just saved your life,”

“I’m meant to stay separated from my subjects. Anonymity helps with objectivity,” You explained. That wasn’t entirely true. You had always made friends with at least one person in every planet or city you researched. It was how you got the inside scoop, the local knowledge that made your articles so popular. Guide Guidance said that researchers stay anonymous for objectivity, but your popularity said otherwise. You just didn’t want to get any closer to Ezra, even just a quick glance at his record told you that he was not someone you wanted to be friends with.

As he had already shown you, he was a thief. He had been convicted of fraud, arson and two counts of murder. No wonder he was here. Most of the places in Nothing were hot beds for criminals like him. Nowhere in Everywhere would hire him, you expected that he had been hired by a contractor to come here and work for his freedom. There wasn’t much freedom stuck on the green though.

“Whether you give me your name or not, you’ve not got much choice in staying separated. A helpless thing like you will need protection here,”

“And you’ll offer that for free, will you?” You asked sarcastically, immediately knowing he would want something from you in return. You were already indebted to him for saving your life.

“There are a few things I desire,” He looked over your body, smirk twitching on his lips. You curled your lip and moved away from him.

“If you’re going to rape me, I’d rather try my luck out there by myself,”

“Oh no! No, little mouse I would never. I have done some felonious acts but I am not a savage!” He exclaimed quickly covering for himself. You regarded him sceptically. He had supposedly killed two people; he’d already crossed a line most people would not. You didn’t believe he wouldn’t step over that line too. “No, The Guide will want you back, I imagine anyone who returned you would be well rewarded,”

“Possibly,”

“Here’s my offer. I provide protection and shelter whilst you are here, and come that fateful day your deliverance arrives, you will negotiate considerable compensation for me,”

“What compensation would you want?”

“Enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my days free of obligation, a ship to get me off this rock and a clear record,”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you can see how well you fare in the forest alone. Food is pretty scarce this time of year and I wouldn’t put it past a few of them to push some more… basic human morals,” Ezra smirked as your eyes double in size. In all your travels you had never encountered cannibals, not human cannibals anyway.

“I- I can’t promise anything,” You stumbled over your worlds as you accepted faster than you should have. You didn’t know there was anyone other than Ezra on this planet, but you were not in the mood to find out.

“We will discuss details when the time comes,” He said. You nodded. “Now we have all that out the way,” He stood up from the floor, “I have to get to work,”

“What about me?”

“You aren’t coming with me,” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you just said-,” you started to protest until Ezra pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere, you immediately shut your mouth and flinched, “What is that?”

“Protection,” He held the gun out, waiting for you to take it.

“No, no, no! You said-“

“Until your people come to your aid, and give me my money, I’ve got to keep working. Any time wasted is money lost out here,” He explained impatiently. He stepped back closer to you and dropped the gun in your lap, “I assume you do know how to use that even if you don’t carry one yourself?”

You looked at the gun, assessing it properly. It wasn’t complicated, a barrel you assumed was already full of bullets and a trigger. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, apart from the electrical tape that was holding it together. With no more protest from you, Ezra assumed it was fine and stepped away, resuming his routine.

“I will be back at sundown. Help yourself to some food,” He told you.

“My food,” You corrected him.

“Remember who is dependent on who here, 42,” He said scornfully. With that he put his helmet back on to his head and left the tent leaving you all alone.

You waited a few moments to make sure he was gone before making your move. You couldn’t stay with a murderer. You were safer in your ship, wherever it was. You could make a distress call and be rescued. Ezra would never know.

You pushed the gun from your lap onto the floor and tried to stand up. Sat down you could feel how sore your limbs were, your back ached from just sitting up for a few minutes and you were pretty sure you could feel every bone in your feet. A light touch to the forehead told you there was a sizable egg growing on top.

Standing up the pain was worse. You immediately became dizzy, gripping onto the metal shelf quickly to stop yourself from falling. You cursed under your breath and took a deep breath. You could do it.

Or maybe you couldn’t.

You took one step towards the table of things Ezra kept, and fell back on your ass. You were lucky not to pull the shelves down with you as it rocked forward slightly. A few items fell off, narrowly missing you. You dodged the heavy items, cringing as the metal thumped to the ground.

Listening to your screaming body, you gave up. You shuffled back to your previously comfortable position against the wall of the tent and looked around you for something to keep yourself occupied.

There at your feet lay a small book. Ezra wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to meet an author, he apparently was a bibliophile. You picked the paper up, stretching to reach it over your bruised and aching legs. It was well worn, obviously water damaged as the pages curled and the image on the front as warped beyond recognition. The title: “Welcome to the Green”.

You were not going anywhere.

--

sooo what do you think? i had so much fun writing this fic, i hope you guys enjoyed it too. let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part :D

TAGGING usuals and interested people :): @hunters-heathen @peterssweetpea @beskarbabs @wille-zarr @fandom-blackhole @writeforfandoms @dindja @amneris21 @yespolkadotkitty

[tooruluv]

Kei Tsukishima x F!Reader ( part 4 )

❝ they were the sun and moon, destined to be together but only ever totally meeting once every hundred years or so. ❞

description: in a world where you only see color when you're in love, you've grown frustrated of the greyscale. but falling in love with someone you barely know was never something you planned. and, him not returning the feelings definitely wasn’t planned.

genre: soulmate au... except not quite. everyone is born colorblind. you can only see color once you fall in love (and it grows brighter until you see full color as the love grows). however, that doesn't ensure a lasting connection. it simply means that love exists in that moment, until it doesn't.

word count: 1,680

warnings/notes: nothin’ crazy!! cursing, of course. this one was fun to write!! next part will be longer, promise <3

prev | next

“ ‘cause i can’t make you love me if you don’t, you can’t make your heart feel something it won’t ” - i can’t make you love me, dave thomas junior

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

For your entire life, you had always wondered what your favorite color would be. You would hear your parents talk about it with their friends, you would hear it between the lucky few who had met their lovers early. But you never had one.

It should be such an easy question to ask someone when you first meet them. It should be the most basic human answer, a description of who they are as a person. You’ve done research, scanned websites and took fake online “what color is your aura?” quizzes, only to become frustrated by the black and white.

You even tried to compare the shades of grey to colors. Your mother would tell you what color something is, and you would try to remember. It never worked.

But now, if someone were to ask “what’s your favorite color?”, you would simply tell them, “yellow.”

“I’ll wait for you after practice.” Tsukki told you the next morning.

He stood directly beside your locker, tall and still as if he never hunched over in his life. He pushed up his glasses and walked away as a way to conclude his statement.

You rolled your eyes. Of all the people on this planet, you’ve fallen in love with him. You looked up as if to ask God, or whoever’s up there, “why?”

Working at Blu for the summer was an easy job. When you weren’t glancing at Tsukishima, you poured coffee and lemonades and sold baked goods. It was good for extra money, and everyone that you worked with was kind and welcomed you with smiles. 

Tsukki was sitting at his table, drinking his daily plain black coffee, when your coworker caught you staring. She was a third-year and had been working there since she was your age, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed his attendance. 

Wiping her hands on her apron (which are blue, now that you know), she said, “He’s cute. You should ask him for his number.”

You immediately jumped back, pretending to wipe the counter down. “Absolutely not.”

“He comes in here every day.” She said, as if you didn’t already know. “No normal guy comes in to a coffee place in the middle of summer everyday without reason.”

“We have good coffee.”

“Sure. That’s why.”

For the rest of the summer, she made sure to schedule you for the morning shifts and hang back when she sees him come in. 

At practice, the girls were all discussing what they were making for the bake sale. It was a fun practice, full of team building exercises and barely any running. 

Mai looped her arm through yours as practice ended. She gave you one of her award winning smiles, bouncing on her feet. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something.” You said, pushing into her side. 

“You’re baking with Kei Tsukishima tonight.” Mai stopped when you almost reached the volleyball practice gym. “Are you excited? Nervous? Do you have everything you need? Chapstick?”

“Fuck you.” 

You pushed her away as you headed to the gym to help with the boys practice. She kept making kissy faces towards you. You flipped her off.

Kei Tsukishima was not one to pay attention to little things. He was a big picture man. He focused on how things affected his future, about college applications, about how plays can be executed by the entire team. 

Yet, when you walked into the gym, he couldn’t help but focus on a strand of your hair that kept sticking to your mouth.

“Are you coming or what?” Tsukki adjusted the bag on his back. He stood at the doors, leaning on one. You were picking up some extra balls for Kageyama and Hinata.

“Coming, coming.” You waved goodbye to the dynamic duo. 

The walk was mainly quiet. Yamaguchi left before you two, claiming that he had a lot of homework to do. You didn’t know about that.

“You don’t have to stay after, you know.” Tsukki said. You looked up. “You don’t have to stay after practice to help those two. You already are helping us enough.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you come to our volleyball practices?” He kept his eyes straight. “You come from your practice to help us with ours, and that just sounds ridiculous to me.”

“It looks good on my college app.” You told him. It was his turn to look at you. “And Ukai has been close to my family for a long time, so it’s hard to say no to him when he asks for a volunteer.”

“That makes sense.” He said. “I couldn’t do it.”

“What? Have two practices, or volunteer for Ukai?”

“Both.”

You chuckled, nudging him with your side. He kept walking, but he had a smile too. He wasn’t so dark and gloomy as people thought. 

He had a gorgeous smile.

The rest of the walk was in silence again. It was already dark, and the moonlight made him look ethereal. Tsukki really could be compared with the moon, you decided.

Every once in a while, you two walked too close and accidentally bumped into each other. Or your back of your hand brushed his. It just ended up in little laughs between you both.

And, before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house.

“This is me.”

“I am not wearing this shit.”

“Yes, you are.”

You were trying so hard not to cry laughing, holding up a pink apron that your mom used. You already had a matching one on. He looked at it as if you just offered him a can of dog shit for breakfast.

“You could not pay me to wear that.”

“It’s this or get shit all over you.”

“I’ll take the shit.”

Sighing, you reached to force it on him. He moved back, narrowly avoiding your attack. One more try ended in the same result. You were giggling now, and he was smiling.

“Just…” A struggling pull over his head. “Put…” A push. “It on!” And your arms were around his back.

The position was awkward, but both of you were laughing too much to notice. You had your arms wrapped around his waist, chest to chest as you tied his apron around him. He stood with his arms crossed as he let you put the fucking apron on.

“There. Look at you. So pretty.”

He pushed up his glasses and looked down. “Must be why you’re in love with me.”

“If you keep pulling that card, I’ll be sure you don’t get credit for any of these.”

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Tsukki, there are literal instructions. You follow them.”

“No shit. My question is, what the hell is softened butter?”

“Oh my god.”

Soon enough, the two of you were into a rhythm. You were baking brownies and cupcakes as if you did it together every day. Conversations came natural. 

It was nice.

It wasn’t until you noticed the brown specs of cocoa powder on his nose did you realize how close you were standing. You were to his right, mixing whatever was in your bowl at the time, But you could feel his warmth from beside you.

He could feel you, too. 

“The brownies are brown, obviously.” You said in the middle of the silence. “The cupcakes are brown with black and orange sprinkles, and white frosting. I thought I should tell you.”

He was silent for a minute. You thought that maybe you were annoying him with reminders that you were in love with him, or maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself. But then, he turned to you.

“You said that my eyes were golden brown.”

“I did.”

He was standing far too close. He was standing incredibly too close. And he was staring into your eyes for far too long. You couldn’t conjure up any reasons to hate him, or get rid of your feelings. Why would you want to do that when he is standing beside you, warm and brilliant and glowing.

Fuck.

“What color are my glasses?”

“Black.”

“And my jacket?”

“Black.”

Now he was standing directly in front of you. You didn’t know exactly when you turned, but you had. He was inches from you. His lips were inches from yours.

“And the apron?”

“Pink.”

He was leaning in. There is absolutely no way that this is happening.

All you had to do was lean in, and you could get it over with. Get it out of your mind and gone forever, along with the stupid colors that remind you with every second that he can’t see them back. All you had to do was press your lips to his…

You could feel his breath on your face. Your heart hammered your chest and everything froze at once.

“You must be Kei Tsukishima!”

You jumped back, bringing your body back to your mixing bowl. Your mom entered the kitchen, pajamas on and a smile plastered on her face. You pretended nothing was happening.

“Yes, ma’am.” He greeted. As if nothing was happening.

As if nothing was happening. Because nothing had happened.

“Mom, I know that it’s late.” You started to explain, but she quickly stopped you. 

“Hush now. You spend as much time as you need. Nice to meet you, Tsukishima.” She sent you a wink, heading up the stairs. 

You closed your eyes, trying to forget what just happened. But, when you opened them, you were faced with the worst thing that could possibly happen in that moment.

The colors gained a little bit of hue. His pink apron contrasted brighter against his black jacket. The orange sprinkles gained a little bit of tint. The greyscale filter lifted a bit more.

You wanted to bang your head against the wall. Fuck.

tag list: @vhskenma​​​​​ @elianetsantana​​​​​ @mini-eggs-reads​​​​​ @ysasian​​​ @hhwanggu​​​ @i-stole-your-juice-box​​​ @definitelynotbianca​​​ @denkithunder​​ @smuttyanimeslut​ @yourlocalbabybird​ @theydy-madamonsieur 

[newvegascowboy]

Continuing our exploration of the Inquisition stronghold, we finally made it into the temple proper. Immediately when the door opens, we're asked to make wisdom saving throws. Bard fails, hears a voice that says "It shall not suffer the unclean to pass". We ignore this, after some debate. Bard is married to the king of hell, artificier and i are murderers, so none of us fit the bill as "clean", but we need to find the demon scope, and the demon scope is down the creepy stairs.

Down the stairwell, we come into an audience chamber which looks like it serves as some sort of courtroom. There's 6 doors, 3 on each side of the arena, so we go exploring. There's an imp in the jail cell, and I almost die attempting to free him, but he gives us a ring that can cast speak with dead and fucks off. Then we find the apothecary.

The apothecary is more like a morgue. It's full of dissected corpses. Some are in advanced states of decay. Some look more recent. On one table, missing his lower half and his entrails spilling about, there's a dead demon. I go to poke at him while artificer and bard read research notes.

The demon takes a swing at me, pulls himself off the table and starts scurrying my direction screaming HE KNOWS (in a moment that genuinely startled me) until I paste his brains across rhe floor and leave the apothecary to wair for everyone else to finish up. I also fail another wis save, and recieve the frightened condition, so now all my rolls are disadvantaged.

While im doing battle with half a demon, Artificier and Bard are reading the journals of two people doing experiments on the bodies in the apothecary. One of them is extremely remorseful, begging forgiveness from his god for what he has done to the body of a fallen celestial they've been doing experiments on. The other journal is much more clinical, and after the first journal ends, there's a passage that remarks that a significant portion of work will have to be redone since his partner has been sent for reeducation.

Bard eventually leaves, and artificer is alone. Artificer has a bit of a track record for harvesting body parts to make magical items (and last session, he and i were joking about killing and harvesting baby dragons since we were almost out of dragon parts but it was a JOKE i SWEAR) and now he is left in the room with the corpse of a fallen celestial. A celestial with blood that is a supremely powerful magical component.

He hems and haws over it, then decides to take a few vials of the blood. As he's doing that, he seems a brief flash of a weeping woman over the corpse, who watches him harvesting the blood with extreme hatred. Then she disappears and Artificier is hit with a 9th level bestow curse. A pount is docked from his Constitution for every vial of blood he took, for a total of six. His HP maximum is now 27. Then, he goes and digs around in the demon brain I splattered on the floor to pick out the eyes so he can later harvest the eye goop. Or DM helpfully points out that the fallesn celestial had nice peepers, but our artificer wisely refuses. He's also now affected by the frightened condition, so all 3 of us are rolling at disadvantage now.

In the other rooms are barracks, a forge with an "annihilation chamber" where they dispose of items (or people) that they deem too dangerous, which had lots of neat stuff. We also found a hospital with the remnants of people who had died from a virulent disease and because im a fucking idiot, i peeked beneath the shroud of a corpse. Dm asked me to roll a d20. I rolled a 9. Went to bard to beg off some alcohol so i could scrub myself clean and luckily she rolled a good medicine check. Dm laughs and tells me the threshold for contracting the disease was a 10, so i very NARROWLY avoided getting a disease with a mortality rath if 100%.

Eventually the 3 of us go find some pews to sit on and rethink our life choices, when Bard spots an additional door. We enter, using the holy avenger like a key to open the door. Also spent about 3 minutes making dick jokes and sexual innuendos and the moment of levity was enough for all of us to lose rhe frightened condition, so. Yay. We make it to the dais. The same disembodied voice from before says "you've seen the horrors that were wrought here. Do you really want to see the worst?"

Like, yeah. I didn't get jumped by a deadish demon to turn back now. We descend deeper into the temple, and find a winged man chained to the floor in the middle of the room. There are corpses all around him. We figure out pretty quick he IS the demon scope, and that the "price" for his farseeing abilities that the Inquisitors were so tight lipped about is life essence, called Ether.

This is Bard's quest, so she reluctantly chooses to free him rather than use him, and we left off with the corpses surrounding the demon scope standing up and preparing to kill us.

this game of dnd is so fucked

[voiceless-terror]

"oujia board ghost gets fed up with person a and person b and tells them to get together already" with the entire squad but the ship is Jon and martin?

and in today’s news, ‘rye is stupid and did not realize she wrote a silly little ficlet for this and never answered it.’ Forgive me dear anon, my mind is scattered at the best of times. But here it is, as requested- Ouija board shenanigans featuring Jon/Martin!

Channeling Spirits

“I’m not playing.”

Tim groaned, draping himself dramatically across Jon’s lap. “It’s research, boss! They dropped off the Ouija board, shouldn’t we try it out?” He was shoved on the cold ground not seconds after this statement.

Two people had come into the Archives and written their statements; a dirty, rather dilapidated Ouija board was dropped off along with them. Jon had skimmed the stories and was apt to shove them in the ‘later’ pile had Tim not latched on to the toy and forced everyone to gather in Document Storage. Sasha had procured two bottles of wine from across the street and Martin had supplied some takeaway and here they were, wasting everyone’s time but most importantly, Jon’s.

“We shouldn’t be drinking wine down here-”

“We did it on your birthday with your actual boss, Jon,” Sasha said, lazily waving her glass of wine in the air. “I’m sure it’s fine. Using this board on the other hand...I dunno, Tim. You know I used to work in Artefact Storage, what if it’s bad news?”

“Well, according to those girls the worst thing that happened was the lights went out, so I’m not expecting much,” Tim put a hand on his hip. “Still, we should do our due diligence- right, boss?”

Jon cursed the day he ever said that. “Fine, if you must,” he sighed. “But I won’t be joining you.”

“I beg to differ!” Tim grabbed his hands and forced them onto the planchette to join them. “Martin, Sasha!” The other two covered their hands with his and Jon caved under the tremendous amount of actual, physical pressure. “Fine, fine! Just stop pressing down so hard.” Martin’s hands were oddly sweaty on his, but he was a welcome warmth by his side in the chill of the room.

“Alright, so according to Google we should ask simple questions to warm the ghost up,” Tim leveled a glare as Jon scoffed. “Take this seriously, Jon! Or you could invite in “dangerous spirits,” oh no!” Sasha snickered and Jon rolled his eyes. ”Now, I’ll go first- easy one. Is there anyone in the room with us?” It didn’t move, aside from the small jerks caused by their hands. Tim cleared his throat. “I said, IS THERE ANYONE HERE WITH US?” The planchette shot across the board to “yes” and Martin let out a high-pitched shriek.

“Calm down, Martin,” Jon winced at the noise. “It’s clearly Tim.”

“Tim, don’t cheat!” Sasha slammed an elbow into his side while Tim vehemently shook his head. 

“That wasn’t me, I swear!” Jon and Sasha stared. “Alright, alright, that was me. Let’s try again.” He closed his eyes in mock seriousness, lifting his chin up. “Oh Great Spirits of Beyond,” he intoned. “Look into my mind and reveal my innermost thoughts.” The planchette jerked minutely and began to slowly make its way across the board before landing on an “F” followed by a “U.”

“Christ, Tim,” Sasha muttered, though a smile gave away her amusement. It continued in a similar vein, clearly maneuvered by Tim as it spelled out the rest of the answer.

F U C K  E L I A S  B O U C H A R D

“Oh for God’s sake!” Jon ripped his hands off the planchette as Tim cackled in glee, Sasha soon following. Even Martin had a smile on his face- it was nice to see, he hadn’t smiled much after the Prentiss incident. Not that Jon paid attention to that sort of thing, of course. He let out a reluctant smile as well but jumped at the sudden sound of shattering glass.

Sasha had leaned a bit too far to the side and knocked over her half-full glass of wine, sending it puddling at her and Tim’s feet. “Fuck!” she groaned, jumping to her feet and trying to avoid the rest of the spill. “Look what you’ve done!”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Tim gave his most affronted face. “It was definitely the spirits. Told you, this can be a dangerous game…”

The two bickered amicably as they got up, leaving the room to grab cleaning supplies. Jon stared awkwardly at the planchette, which Martin’s fingers were still on. “I think we’re clearly done,” Jon told him, watching as Martin snatched his hands back and laughed nervously.

“Right, right.” Was Martin scared? They all knew it was Tim, it wasn’t like an actual ghost could-

“Jon, did you see that?”

He blinked. “Erm, what?”

“It moved!” Jon looked back down at the board and didn’t see anything amiss.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Jon said slowly, narrowing his eyes in concern. “There’s nothing here that would-” Martin let out another yelp and pointed at the board.

It was moving. Slowly, very slowly, but yes- moving. “Martin, if this is your idea of a joke-”

“It’s not, I swear!” Martin gazed wide-eyed at the board, hands shaking. “What’s- what’s it saying?”

Jon’s nerves grew as he watched the planchette land on a letter, pause, and move on. K-I-S-S. 

His face began to heat. Excuse me?

“It’s-it’s nonsense,” he stuttered, scooching back from the board as it began to spell the word again. “It’s just- the ground must be uneven or something-”

“Jon,” Martin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” It wasn’t very nice having his favorite phrase parroted back at him. “The ground’s fine, it’s the board- it’s actually working! What’s it saying?” He leaned in further, interest overriding his fear. “Should we call Tim and Sasha? I think it’s saying- oh.” Martin’s face turned blood-red, and he began to stammer. “Um, actually-”

“What’s going on, folks?” Tim and Sasha entered to find the two men staring at the board, which had now gone completely still. “Manage to summon anyone while we were gone?”

“Um, no-” Martin watched as Jon suddenly grabbed the board, turning it over and inspecting it closely. 

“Are there magnets in this?” Jon demanded, standing up and thrusting the board in Tim’s face. “Is this some sort of prank?” He waved it around, just narrowly missing his nose as Tim whacked it out of the way.

“What are you on about?” Sasha took the board from his hands, flipping it over and inspecting it as well. “It’s just a regular old board. Nothing fancy. Did something happen?” Jon and Martin shared a glance, an unspoken question in their eyes. “Well?”

They shook their heads in unison, voices overlapping. “Nope!” “Not at all, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, alright then!”

_______

Sasha and Tim finished off two more bottles by themselves, eventually saying their goodbyes and promising to head home even though everyone had heard them making plans to go to a bar. Martin began to clear the floor of trash, gearing himself up for another lonely night in the archives. He heard the clearing of a throat behind him and he turned around to see Jon waiting in the doorway. His face was flushed, bringing to mind the events of earlier. 

“Did you- did you need something?” Martin asked tentatively. 

He watched as Jon’s face went through several emotions, all of them negative- irritation, anxiety, anger- until suddenly, a strange determination made itself known. He marched up to Martin and leaned up on his toes to give him one small, but rather aggressive kiss on the cheek. 

“There!” he said, as if he’d just done Martin an incredible favor (which in many ways, he had). His face was an adorable shade of red as he refused to meet Martin’s eyes and backed away slowly. Martin, for his part, was frozen in place.

“For the ghost.” Jon said slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. How does he manage to be so condescending and ridiculous at the same time? Martin put a hand to his cheek, his brain still short-circuiting. Did Jonathan Sims just kiss me?

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” was what came out of his mouth. And of course, Jon’s face subsequently scrunched up in anger, his hands balling into small fists.

“Shut up!” He spat, turning on his heel and slamming the door. Martin still didn’t move, even as the footsteps moved further and further away and sounds indicated Jon left the building. He stood in place for a few minutes after that as well. A smile slowly made its way onto his face.

“Thanks, I guess?” he called out to the room, just in case any stray spirits lingered. Predictably, nothing answered him. 

Martin never had such a great time cleaning as he did that night. 

[kayr0ss]

Welcome Home

[LWA, Diakko, domestic, family, baby?, cute happy shit]

Akko and Diana are still settling into this new life, routine, and responsibility. But coming home to this...? It was the best thing that ever happened to them.

—–

Diana clicked at the button of her retractable pen, eyes moving rapidly from left to right and back again. She paused, humming softly to herself while she appraised yet another essay on how ‘the advent of big data and analytics is a turning point in the synthesis of magic and artificial intelligence technology. She scribbled her remarks on the paper’s margin:

‘Revise – provide suggested guidelines and security measures for magic-infused data-driven machinery.’

Now, it may come as a surprise to many, but Diana never really considered herself a traditionalist. In fact, her on-going tenure at Luna Nova’s higher-education learning center is heavily decorated with progressive and future-minded research and perspectives. This idea, however, simply sounded a little too much like… Croix—and she wasn’t going to pretend that kept her at ease. But Diana also believed that very few people fall far beyond redemption, and Prof. Croix’s appointment as the Head of the Magical Engineering Ethics Board was the perfect example of redemption if there ever was one.

‘As we’ve learned historically, aggressive technological progress should be done under the guiding hand of ethics and humanitarian agenda,” she jotted down. She spared a quick glance to the office clock her before diving back down into the paper.

05:17:PM

Still early, she thought to herself, I could probably finish this stack before going home and—

“Quarter-past-five!” she suddenly exclaimed, forgetting that her former working hours of until well-past-eight were no longer applicable. Recent events had turned her entire world… upside-down.

“Grading will have to wait until tomorrow,” she hurriedly—but meticulously, of course—tidied the papers into her drawer; the pile on the left for marked papers, and unmarked papers on the right. Her keys jingled while she put her belongings back into her handbag, and the hurried clacking of her heels signaled the other professors of her early retreat back home.

--

Diana Cavendish rarely rolled her eyes, but by Jennifer the traffic was horrendous on the north-bound lane. Which she wouldn’t even be on, had she not forgotten the towels she was supposed to buy earlier in-between lectures. Akko reminded her thrice that morning (each time answered with an obedient, “yes, dear.”) Diana was once again reminded that one of the most surprising—and amusing—things she discovered since her marriage to the brunette witch was that between the two of them, Akko was ‘wife-zilla’.

06:13:PM

And there was extra-emphasis on the ‘zilla’ part lately. Traffic be damned, she was going to get those towels.

--

“Eep!”

The sharp whistling of a boiling kettle startled Akko out of the sports magazine she was so deeply engrossed it. Shit shit shit—she clumsily shut the glossy pages closed, darting towards the kitchen and—kami-sama, why did Diana think it was a good idea to have doors everywhere? “Stupid door,” she groaned, anxious to silence the whistling lest it disturb their special guest.

She lunged towards the stove, snapping the burner knob closed. “I could have done that with magic,” she flicked herself on the forehead, old habits from a magic-less childhood kicking in during the oddest moments. She blinked, scanning the kitchen counter for a small box before realizing that she left it back at the living room. “I’m almost as bad at this as I was at transmutation spells!”

About five minutes later, she was jogging back towards the dining area balancing a warmed tumbler in one hand, and several plastic utensils in another. She narrowly avoided tripping over the carpet (“Fuck!”), and was unfortunate enough to hit her shin across the low coffee-table, warranting an impressive parade of crisp, native-to-Japan curses. Thank Kami-sama it was Friday, she thought with relief. Diana would be taking over evening household duties by Monday and she damn well needed a break; even if a break meant more hours working.

She tipped the warmed tumbler over and let a few drops of its content spatter at the back of her hand.

06:37:PM

It was still too warm but should be just fine by dinner time.

--

[Capitalism is a predator, but I’m nearly home.]

Diana hit ‘send’, letting her wife know that she was around 2 blocks away while waiting for the last stoplight to turn green.

[As long as u got the towels lol. Tnx, luv u :-*]

Diana smiled at Akko’s reply, turning her attention away from her phone screen when she saw the soft glow shift from red to green. Yes, she had the towels—and maybe a full set of Reuven-Eilhart designer night pajamas. Or three.

She also brought home new ‘friends’—she saw that the store had recently released a set of ‘We There Bears’ themed products. Diana remembered Akko raving about them; they were apparently quite the in-thing as of late. She was immediately drawn to the pure-white polar bear with an interestingly unreadable expression. “That un’s ‘Nice Bear’,” the clerk supplied. “But if y’gonna get ‘im, you gotta get the whole gang else he’d be lonely.”

And so she did—because if Diana ever did anything she never did it half-way done. Frizzly Bear and Fanda sat snugly beside him in the backseat.

The blonde witch pulled up into their driveway, sorting out her belongings before stepping out to unload her shopping bags from the back. She opened the door and couldn’t help but laugh at herself.

“What has become of me,” she smiled, wondering how to bring three bears and several frilly-looking things into their house without painting herself as silly.

06:53:PM

Warm, yellow light flooded through the dining room curtains, and the familiar sound of their car alerted Akko to Diana’s arrival.

“She’s actually home on time,” she remarked to a little fellow seated at the end of their dining table, pulling on an exaggerated expression of being impressed. But Diana’s arrival always makes her smile, so she walks towards the front door so she can giver he wife a hand and—

She paused, taking a strong sniff of something which was coming out of the kitchen.

“Oh, no.”

The pizza! There was pizza burning in the oven! She bolted back towards the kitchen for some damage control, relieved to find that the pizza was only beginning to blacken at the crusts—easily salvageable.

“Mou, Diana’s gonna give me an earful,” she whined in defeat. She could hear the sound of their door unlocking, followed by footsteps through their dining area and the rustle of shopping bags being unloaded.

To her surprise, Diana had no drop of sternness in her voice. “I’ve missed you,” she cooed.

Akko broke into a grin, turning to face Diana. “Missed you to—”

She bit back her words, fascinated at the sight of her wife, looking weary from a long day, cradling their beloved Sara with all the fascination in the world. Their daughter giggled up to her mother, hands reaching for her face, prodding at Diana’s nose (which scrunched up adorably) and pulling at her platinum curls before squealing in delight.

“I may have missed you, as well.” Diana teased, tossing a smile to Akko’s direction.

“That’s hardly fair!” Akko tried to pout, walking towards the two people she loved most in the world.

Diana nuzzled against Sara’s forehead, running her fingers softly over the thin patch of light-brown hair beginning to grow longer. Sara perked up immediately when Akko came into her field of vision.

“I think she likes me better,” Akko whispered before kissing Diana’s shoulder. She wrapped an arm around the pair and tickled at Sara’s nose.

“Not a chance.” Diana leaned her head against Akko’s, watching as Sara grabbed onto Akko’s finger with a chubby little hand.

“Did you buy her another hundred sets of pajamas?” Akko raised an eyebrow.

“Only three,” Diana tried to hide her defensiveness. “And... several room accessories?”

Akko laughed, “pretty soon we’re going to run out of space in her room. This little lady has got you wrapped around her finger!”

There was no use denying it, so Diana simply rolled her eyes.

“Come here,” Akko smiled. “Welcome home.” She moved up to her tiptoes, and Diana turned her head to meet the brunette half-way for a small kiss. She appreciated the way Akko’s embraced tightened around her torso and warmed her chest; the way it made her family feel so... whole.

Akko pulled back, but Diana chased after her to steal another quick kiss, amused at the way Akko would still blush whenever she did that.

“So,” Diana gave her wife a look, “burnt pizza for dinner?”

“Mou, Sara! Your mother is such a bully!”

--

A/N: Woohoo finally churned another one out! I’m feeling a bit sick, and it’s early in the morning, so hopefully there aren’t that many typos/errors. Anyway I’m doing fine, hope you all are too! I’ve been re-reading Appointments over and over so I can get a feel of the writing style and flow I used to have for it and finally finish the next chapter. I do feel out of touch from how I was back in 2018; so I really need to do a lot of fanfic reading. You guys have any suggestions?

ALSO - meet Sara! Her name means vivid blossoms; it’s Japanese but also western-sounding so win-win for both moms. A homage to ‘Botany’, with the flowers and everything. She was originally meant to be Leia, because I’m a big Star Wars fan, but hey! I saw Sara and instantly thought it was the best fit. Hope you enjoyed. :) [Also, I’ve noticed I tend to switch between past / present tense a lot and I’ll be working to actively fix that moving forward!]

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Dangerous Game Indeed

Part 4

Changing gears here for a moment. This part has no fluff. More character building than anything to set up the beginning of the next part, which should go back to being fluffy. Pretty sure I'm going to write their date next, but I felt it important to establish a few things early on. I promise if this gets you confused, the next part will explain what happened here better

~---~

So here's the thing about being a secret hero in a place teeming with vigilantes and villains. 

Being a bright red flash across the horizon doesn't work. 

Not that Marinette wouldn't love to zip across the high rise buildings by her yoyo, but it just wasn't a feasible option unless she wished to announce her presence to every person in the city. Seriously, Tikki, who does she think she is, Robin? One traffic light bright hero was enough.

That's how this… possibly unwise team up came to fruition. 

See, Mari planned to stay within the shadows, outta sight from the many bat people that stalked the rooftops at night, but like hell would she stay idle and complacent while Gotham suffered. So she waited and watched for quite some time before selecting her new miraculouses, eventually settling on the cat and fox combined. After all, chaos, destruction, and deceit work well together.

With her mind made up, she proceeded to plan out the costume and discuss how their powers were likely to combine; what to expect from this merge. The end result was magnificent. The bottomless-pit black bottoms were looser than anything she'd had before, wrapping tight in fabric bands only at the ankles and waist before shifting into a long sleeve shirt, just as free in the arms with the same tight bands at the wrists. The soft fabric draped across her chest, the front coming up to cover the bottom half of her face, the sides and back lifting up into a hood that covered her all the way to the eyes. Her gloves and hidden boots were a soot gray, indistinguishable in the dead of night and only barely of note in the day, with black claw tips and touch sensitive paw pads. Under the hood, her hair took on a more soot gray tone as well, black fluffy ears with gray insides just barely hinting out. A fluffy black tail with gray tip swished behind her. The colors were all Plagg while the design took more to Trixx. Her eyes however went into catlike slits of silver sclera and icy blue irises with what appeared to be black kohl ringing her eyes. Lastly, twin daggers tucked into the seams on her inner arms.

The first thing she discovered upon merging was that she became undetectable. Her movements made no sound nor did her breathing. She blended seamlessly with shadows and the night sky alike. People who looked in her direction would blink and discover it to be a trick of the light or assume it to be a delusion if they even saw her at all. It took concentration to push off the magic and allow others to see past the illusion. But she feared once it was gone, it'd be lost on that person forever. Sure, maybe they wouldn't notice her due to her own skill, but the magic would no longer protect her from them. So she didn't test it out. The next thing she realized was that her transformation didn't have much of a timer to detransform. Having worked with different kwamis for so long had built up a resistance to the strain. 

Secondly, she found their abilities didn't end at cataclysm and mirage. Funny thing about being in control of illusions and deceit; you could spot it in others from a mile away. Making villainous plans easier to tear apart without a charm. 

Plagg's… well Plagg's was different. As it turned out, death is simply an extension of destruction and while she had always known a poorly placed cataclysm could potentially end a life, she never expected this ability to sense death itself. She could feel when a place had seen too much or where it lurked heaviest in her vicinity. 

She could also sense when someone had been brushed with its weighted touch. Which had led to many tragic, heartbroken nights of research to discover why so many of the Waynes were smothered in it. From Jason disappearing for so long and being exposed to Kwami knows what. The potentially abusive upbringing of Damian by his mother who he refused to speak of. Bruce and his parents, murdered before his eyes. Tim losing his own parents and being around to bare witness to the many brushes of his adoptive family. Add on their secondary occupations and what it entailed and well, it was enough to know not to pry.

The first few transformations, she stayed docile, never engaging, silently observing the inner workings of the city. The next few, she branched out, interfering minor crimes with quick distractions and carefully curated traps. The criminals themselves would wake up outside the police station with evidence scattered about them and no memory of how they ended up there. Then a race against the clock would commence while they tried to gather everything thrown about them and run before any officers could take note and capture them. Mari took great pleasure in watching this part, sometimes binding their wrists or feet to add an extra element to their struggle.

The two kwamis truly brought out her more sly, volatile side.

Eventually it led to foiling larger scale villains when Batman seemed to be taking his own sweet time arriving to the scene. By the time he or one of his.. partners? Pupils? Kids? She never knew what he called them in costume... Well to whoever showed up, it would look like the plan collapsed within itself as though a few variables were forgotten or fell out of hand. 

The problem with starting to take action in a place like Gotham though is that no matter how much they can't prove your existence, the bats are bound to take notice. Because if they aren't the ones taking down these people, who is? 

That's how Mari found herself narrowly avoiding encounters on a weekly basis. Sure, no one spotted her yet, but tracking her location through found thugs she'd taken down moments before made for some close calls of almost physically being ran in to. Not sure how convincing of a pipe on a roof she could be if that were to happen. 

Add on her own animalistic instinct to hunt that led to many nights of stalking different vigilantes for hours on end, holding back the urge to pounce and well… it made for a dangerous game of cat and mouse. 

'Or rather, catfox and bird,' she thought, slowly inching along an edge wall of the roof where Red Robin laid in wait. 

Mari couldn't be sure how, but he seemed to have some sixth sense for looming figures. Either that or heaps worth of paranoia. Multiple times she'd had to hold deadly still while he whipped his head in her direction, staring her down. If it hadn't been for the magic whispering across her skin, Marinette was sure he'd have had her pinned within the first night of her stalking. As it stood, Red only stared quietly, eyes roving the area she kept to, only relenting when it seemed nothing would appear. 

Tonight… felt ominous. Marinette knew how dumb it was to purposefully follow Red, even more so while cleaning up the dock she had just vacated, leaving an unconscious scarecrow tied amongst his goons by crates worth of chemicals. Normally she wouldn't tie them up, but instead misconstrue things until it looked like an accident, confused weaker pawns wandering about, trying to collect their bosses only for the bats to find and finish up the job. However, her need to remain an unknown figure lost against the need for entertainment, so she made everything of her interference obvious, but left no trace of herself for Batman to find. 

Now she watched as Red stayed still upon the roof, clean up done and nothing left to do but think. She waited for pacing, frustration, anything. She received silence. 

How boring.

Of course... he knew it was her. 

Robin, Red Robin, and Agent A had all either figured it out or had been informed by herself. It was the rest of the family they kept in the dark, her unwilling to trust them with this yet and the three recognizing it as not their secret to tell.

Doesn't mean Red didn't take every opportunity to try and catch her slipping up.

Marinette could almost hear Plagg goading her to toy with the bird, Trixx right behind telling Mari to trust in the illusion. It would only break where she wanted it to. With that reassurance and no Tikki to reason with, Mari moved forward a touch, still completely hidden, but testing how well he sensed her. 

Immediately, he turned. She froze. Then remembering herself, she carefully focused on the magic about her before cautiously letting a huff of air out her mouth, just loud enough to pick up, but quiet enough to not immediately draw attention to her exact location.

It was enough.

"You're here." 

She met him with only silence for a moment then clicked her claws gently to confirm.

Zeroing in further, he took a step forward.

Sliding to his side, Mari carefully scuffed a boot and watched him follow her.

He seemed to assess the situation before turning back to where she was, allowing her to creep behind him. The tension in his shoulders let on to him knowing her actual location though. 

Of course she chose that moment to channel her inner idiot and play along. Tapping his shoulder in a clear indication of permission to turn around, as that seemed to be what he was waiting for, she hopped back into the shadows. It was obvious he was only showing passiveness to lure her into a sense of security enough to reveal herself. 

She knew this and yet as he turned to face her again, she focused into the magic, peeling it back until she knew her eyes alone glowed out at him from the dark.

She let him meet her eyes for only a half second before taking off, quickly blending into the night once more to the sound of curses from the next building over where Hood had been waiting to step in.

Maybe next time she would stalk Jason and see how he liked being watched.

[when-he-writes-stuff]

Let’s Run

pairing: sciles

wc: 4212

notes: argent!stiles, beta!scott, first meetings. a commission or the lovely @fox-stilesx, this is a brand new pairing for me, so i hope i did your prompt justice!

The thing was, Stiles hated moving.

He’d done it a million times. It didn’t seem like ‘staying in one spot’ was a definition that existed in his parents minds. He didn’t think that ‘listening’ was something that fit into their rule book either. Because as he gazed around his new room for the second time that year, Stiles felt nothing but a hole in his stomach.

New town, new house, new school year. No new friends though, because Stiles knew better than to try and make some at this point. He didn’t get attached. Because if he didn’t get attached then it made picking up and moving locations that much easier.

His parents dealt weapons. Stiles had long since grown used to the “it’s what we do” speech that came whenever he complained.

Which might have been how he found himself standing in a near-empty bedroom, a hollow feeling in his chest, and a sigh building up in his throat. He startled only when his father pushed the door open, glancing around the room, and then nodded in his direction.

“It’s a good spot.”

“This town is in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Chris said, gazing around the room again. “It’s much nicer than the last place.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, unable to disagree. The door was pulled closed again and he dropped his bags onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. Stiles was a Senior. He just had to get through this next school year and hopefully, his parents wouldn’t pull him out before it ended. And then he’d be off to college. Away all of this. Away from whatever they did and from the lives he was constantly ripped from.

Stiles was pretty sure he was going to hate Beacon Hills.

But he’d been wrong before.

-

The vice-principal walked Stiles to his first-class, as if he was going to get lost and as if he needed the further embarrassment on this day. Stiles was pretty sure that was the exact thing that was going to get him ignored for the rest of the school year but when he walked into the classroom, eyes flitting over the entire class, he was surprised to see one friendly face.

A boy with floppy hair grinned the moment Stiles came into view. Stiles was surprised to find himself smiling slightly back; a small expression that tugged at the corners of his lips. He hadn’t smiled in a while.

The moment the vice-principal finished introducing him, Stiles wandered over and dropped into the chair in front of the boy, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, I’m Stiles.”

“Scott!”

Stiles grinned, digging into his backpack and searching for a pen. But then his smile slipped and he scrounged around even harder, cursing underneath his breath.

But then there was a pen hovering in front of his face. Stiles raised his eyes, arching a brow, and Scott looked bashful. “Figured you could use it.”

“Dude, what are you, some kind of mind reader?”

“What?” Scott suddenly looked terrified. “No! No, I’m just me. Scott McCall, absolutely nothing important or interesting. At all.”

Stiles huffed, taking the pen. 

The classes passed by fairly quickly. Stiles was pretty sure the teacher, Harris, didn’t like him right off the bat from the narrowed-eyed looks that he kept getting. Which was a little unfair. It wasn’t like Stiles had ever been a teacher’s pet or anything, but he also hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. So he just ignored the guy’s gaze until class ended and then he rushed out as quickly as he could.

Stiles was surprised to see someone standing by his locker the moment he slammed it closed. He yelped, stumbling back, and Scott just grinned.

“Dude, what class do you have next?”

Stiles blinked at him for a moment. Then he pulled out his schedule and peered at it before glancing back up. “Finstock?”

“Oh, man!” Scott looked excited. “Me too.”

Once more, a small smile played across Stiles’s lips. He let himself tail the floppy-haired boy, despite his earlier promises of don’t get close, never get close ringing through his ears. Scott dropped down into a seat right beside him and ended up being at his side through the rest of the day, even seeking Stiles out at lunch.

He was a bit like a lost puppy. But in a sort of fascinating way. Scott even invited him to his lacrosse practice after school and Stiles remembered his parent’s curfew with a small frown, but ended up agreeing anyway.

Which might have been how he found himself next to a red-haired girl after school, glancing over as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and searched him up and down. “And who are you?”

“Uh, Stiles.”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

Stiles blinked, a little offended. “Me, I think.”

The girl rolled her eyes, once more searching him up and down. As if Stiles was hiding something underneath baggy jeans and his old sweatshirt. He tried not to fidget but her green eyes were piercing, dammit. But then finally, she smiled and offered out a hand.

“I’m Lydia Martin. And you’re… cute in a sort of pale, gangly kind of way.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“So who are you here for?”

Stiles felt his face growing warm, eyes tracing over the field involuntarily. Lydia followed his gaze and a small smile crept across her lips as Stiles’s eyes landed on the number ‘11’ jersey. 

“Scott McCall, then? Good choice. He’s one of the star players.”

Stiles blinked. “Seriously?”

“Jackson thinks he’s on drugs,” Lydia said absentmindedly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Could be true. I mean, who the hell gets so good at lacrosse without a warning right over the summer?”

Stiles didn’t even know how lacrosse was played. He shrugged. “He practiced?”

“Maybe.”

The instigation that Scott could be cheating made Stiles feel a little uncomfortable for some reason. He watched the rest of the practice quietly and when it was over and Scott came running toward them, Stiles hurriedly pushed himself up and narrowly avoided talking to the boy.

But somehow, Scott still caught him in the parking lot. Stiles didn’t know how the hell he moved so fast but he quickly found himself trapped between the boy and his jeep, forcing a nervous smile.

“Uh, hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

“Did something happen? You took off kind of quickly after practice.”

“Strict parents,” Stiles said, and that wasn’t exactly a lie. He thought the crease between Scott’s eyes softened a little bit and Stiles felt himself smiling a little more. “But I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Definitely.”

Definitely.

-

There was this small part of Stiles’s brain that was still spinning, even after he got home. Like usual, he brushed his parents off and went straight upstairs, flipping his laptop open. He typed in Beacon Hills, scrolled through everything that had happened in the past ten years or so, and was more than disappointed to see there wasn’t much. 

A fire in the preserve. A few deaths spotted here and there. And then… and then a few more deaths recently. Like, right around a year before Stiles had shown up.

He swallowed hard, scrolling through them. There was a series of names he didn’t recognize. The list went on for longer than Stiles thought was normal and at the very end of it was a one Peter Hale. The accused murderer. And a… a Kate Argent.

Stiles’s stomach clenched.

He shoved himself up and stumbled back downstairs. The smell of dinner came drifting from the kitchen and Victoria Argent called something from a distance, but Stiles flat out ignored her. He found his father in the garage with the weapons, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms over his chest and the door closed behind him.

Chris glanced over with a raised eyebrow. Stiles raised one right back.

“Yes, Stiles?”

“I had an aunt.”

For a moment, Chris’s grip tightened on the gun he was cleaning. Stiles thought he caught a small twitch in his eye but the man didn’t say anything, returning to his work. “You did.”

“She died here.”

“How do you know all these things?”

“I do my research.”

“And why are you doing research your first week in town?”

Stiles clenched his jaw, unwilling to admit anything. Because admitting to anything would be admitting to Scott. And Stiles didn’t know why he didn’t want to mention anything about Scott, but he didn’t.

“What happened to aunt Kate?”

Once more, the eyes of the man across from him twitched. “We don’t talk about Kate.”

“Because she died?”

“No.”

“Because she was killed by Peter Hale?”

In a flash, Chris was turning on him and Stiles stumbled back, losing his relaxed position. The man’s eyes flashed as he raised a trembling finger. “What do you know about Peter Hale?”

“N-nothing,” Stiles stammered. “I mean, nothing much. Just a name. And that he killed a bunch of people.

“He killed a bunch of people,” Chris repeated. Then, like he was trying to convince himself; “Kate didn’t. Not Kate.”

Stiles swallowed hard, nodding. Chris turned back to his gun and Stiles nervously backed away. He could’ve sworn the man was muttering something about ‘beasts’ and ‘mutts’ underneath his breath, but Stiles couldn’t be sure. He retreated back to his room and shut the door tightly at his back, leaning heavily against it for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and moved back toward his laptop. He was missing something. He knew he was. Stiles just had to figure out what.

And he was determined to.

-

Scott was waiting for him outside of school the next morning, Stiles noticed. With a bright grin on his face. One that lit up even more when he saw Stiles’s jeep pull into the parking lot.

Stiles couldn’t help a small relieved smile of his own. He almost wanted to tell Scott everything he’d come across last night; from the fire, to the deaths, to his mysterious aunt. But then he remembered he’d known this boy for less than a week and quickly clamped his mouth back shut.

Scott’s brows were still drawn together when Stiles approached.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You smell weird.”

Stiles blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. He made a show to lift up his shirt and sniff it, and Scott’s face turned bright red. The boy quickly shrugged, messing with the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. 

“Never mind.”

“Dude, you’re so weird.”

Scott gave him a kicked-puppy look, but then seeing Stiles’s small smile, it faded. Scott grinned back and together, they turned back into the school.

Stiles was on the edge of his seat throughout the entire day. He kept glancing at the clock, zoning out, and by the time half of the day was over, he already had detention with Harris for ‘not paying good enough attention’ which Stiles supposed was fair.

He still didn’t like it though.

 Scott came with him to detention and sat by his side, even though he was missing practice. And Stiles realized then that maybe he could get used to this. Maybe he could get used to having a friend like Scott McCall.

It all went downhill way too fast.

His dad started leaving the house more at night. Stiles had no idea where but he was pretty sure it had something to do with why they had moved to Beacon Hills in the first place. His mother wasn’t talking much and her cold looks seemed to get colder. Stiles found himself either spending his time in his room, out with Scott, or in the library trying to put two and two together.

He still hadn’t figured things out. But he thought he was getting somewhere.

It started when Scott found the envelope out in the garage among the guns. It was yellow, taped shut, but had his name on it. For some reason. Stiles didn’t know why, it didn’t have an address, and he really didn’t think he should be getting any sort of mail.

Inside was a simple necklace. One of a wolf, Stiles realized the longer he looked. A wolf and a star.

There was a note too. A simple one. One he didn’t understand.

Tell Stiles.

Stiles stared at it for a long moment, his head spinning. Tell him what? What the hell were his parents keeping from him? And this… who was this? He looked at the necklace held in his hand and then, not giving himself a chance to change his mind, pulled it over his head. He left the envelope and note where they were, quickly ducking back out of the garage and slipping the necklace underneath his shirt.

Either his parents never noticed or they didn’t say a word.

After that, weeks turned into months. Stiles started spending time at Scott’s house, except Scott hated it there. Hated being around his father, around the man’s words, around the way the man drank too much. So they started spending time in the preserve. Stiles wanted to see as much of it as he could but the moment he mentioned that to Scott, the boy looked terrified.

“We don’t go deep into the preserve.”

“We?”

“You and me,” the boy said quietly. “There’s… an abandoned house out there. And there’s a pack— a group— of people out there. We don’t go deep into the preserve.”

Stiles looked at him for a long time before he forced himself to nod. Scott instantly looked relieved and they spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the sunset, sitting on the hood of Stiles’ jeep as the sky turned the color of pale gold.

 Stiles wanted to bring Scott home, he told him one day. But then Scott had paled so fast, it was like Stiles had told him he wanted the boy to meet with his father and their garage full of guns.

“That’s not a good idea, Stiles.”

It felt a little bit like a blow to the gut. Stiles looked at him for a long moment before swallowing hard. “Why not?”

“Your family doesn’t want to meet me.”

“Because…?”

“Because, Stiles,” Scott said, voice soft. “Please just let it go.”

Stiles forced himself to nod, despite the twisting inside of his chest. Scott looked at him for a long moment before leaning forward and tracing gentle fingers over the back of his neck. It tickled and Stiles squeaked, trying to twist away.

A small smile played along the edges of Scott’s face. Stiles gave him a strange look.

“What was that for?”

“It’s…” The boy’s face fell a little. “It’s nothing.”

“I wish you could talk to me, dude”

“Yeah,” Scott said, his words almost too quiet for them to be heard. But Stiles caught the soft whisper all the same. “I do too.”

Stiles didn’t know what that meant.

He wished he did.

-

Stiles’s father started acting stranger. There was something going on in the town, he knew. Rumors of something attacking the nearby nightclub sifted through the wind. The old Beacon Hills swim coach went missing. Then he was pronounced dead. 

Stiles felt like he was being shut out from his own family. He just didn’t know why.

They told him to stop seeing Scott. Somehow— somehow— his parents knew about Scott. Even Stiles didn’t think he knew about Scott. Not entirely, at least. He didn’t know everything.

He wondered if he’d ever know everything.

Stiles snuck out of his window almost every night. He and Scott would meet on the edge of the preserve, in the parking lot of the vet’s clinic, or at the front of the school. And it was… well, it was nice. It was secret. It was calm

One day, arms wrapped around his knees, Stiles decided he’d had enough. “I want to leave Beacon Hills.”

Scott looked at him in shock. “What?”

“I want to leave,” Stiles said. “After graduation or before, I don’t care. I want to get away from my family, from my name, from everything that I call a childhood.”

“But,” Scott said softly, “You’re an Argent.”

“So?”

“Stiles, what do you know about your family?”

Stiles looked over in surprise and in the faint moonlight, Scott’s eyes almost seemed to shine golden instead of brown. He figured it was just a trick of the light. “I know my aunt was killed by a man named Peter Hale,” Stiles said. “I know my father does something with guns that he won’t admit aloud. I know that my mom keeps secrets. They all do.”

“All?”

“Everyone I’ve ever met,” Stiles said, shivering. He turned his gaze back outward, arms wrapped tighter around his legs. “I don’t think the people my parents meet with are real in their jobs. I don’t think my father goes out to make weapon deals. And I don’t know how to react when he comes home with hands covered in blood.”

“They’ve never told you anything?”

Stiles looked back over sharply. “Is there anything to tell?”

Scott held his gaze for a long moment. Then he turned his eyes back away, so they no longer reflected in the moonlight. And once more, they were brown again. “I guess not.”

Stiles continued to stare. He didn’t think he believed him. 

He didn’t think he believed anyone anymore.

-

Stiles was caught the night before he was six months into living his new Beacon Hills life. He tried to sneak in through his window only to see his father sitting on the edge of his bed. Stiles startled so hard he nearly went toppling right back out of it but then Chris was there in a second, catching his arm and dragging him back inside.

Stiles’s mouth had gone dry. “Look, I know I’m not supposed to—”

“Who were you out with?”

“No one.”

“Was it Scott?”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut. Chris looked at him for a long moment before running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “It’s time we showed you something.”

“I don’t want to see anything.”

“Stiles, I know about the necklace underneath your shirt. Don’t you want to know what it means?”

Stiles straightened, his heart leaping into his throat. “What?”

“Come downstairs.”

Stiles still hesitated for a moment. Sighing again, his father left the room and he reached up, touching the pendant that he always kept hidden. The only person who had seen it was his dad; that’s what Stiles thought, at least. But he’d also thought the boy’s eyes had flashed gold so maybe he didn’t know anything.

He followed Chris slowly. Both of his parents were already at the table.

Stiles wasn’t prepared for what they were about to tell him.

If someone would’ve said that when he came to Beacon Hills, he’d find himself drawn to the fluffiest boy in Beacon Hills, uncover family secrets that should never exist, and learn about werewolves, Stiles would have laughed in their face.

He laughed in the face of his father. But the man’s expression was tight, there was no sense of lie to his words, and for the first time in his entire life, Stiles thought maybe he believed a single word that came out of the man’s mouth.

He turned around and walked straight out of the house. The name called at his back was the only attempt to stop him.

Stiles didn’t stop.

He got in his jeep and left. Stiles didn’t know where he was going— hell, he didn’t even know what to think— but he had to get away.

From the werewolves. The supernatural. The hunters.

Because it was all real.

And Stiles hated himself for believing that. And he hated himself even more for not figuring it all out earlier. How had he not figured it all out earlier?

The moon was full and heavy in the sky. Stiles hit the road and realized he had to get away. He literally had to get away. Out of Beacon Hills, away from all of its craziness. Away from his family and their guns and their past.

Stiles wasn't a killer. Stiles never wanted to be a killer.

Suddenly, something darted in front of his car.

Stiles hit the breaks so hard, his tires squealed. He went flying off the edge of the road and barely bit back a curse as he nearly went into the nearest ditch. Roscoe jerked to a stop and Stiles hit the steering wheel so hard, his head spun for a moment. He thought he could see stars. Knew he could taste blood.

Then his door was being pulled open and someone was helping him out into the night. Stiles felt a little sick.

“What— what was that?”

The figure didn’t answer. Stiles blinked for a moment before realizing that he recognized that flop of brown hair. That uneven jawline. But not those golden eyes.

He yanked back so hard, Stiles nearly went sprawling again.

“It’s you,” Stiles said. “You’re one of them.”

Scott flinched like he’d been hit. Stiles instantly felt a pang of guilt but he smothered it, clenching his jaw.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Would you have believed me?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, and he knew there was no lie to his words. Scott straightened, eyes widening, and Stiles grit his teeth even harder. “You were… you were something to me. Once. I would have believed you, Scott. Dammit, I would have believed you.”

“Only once?”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. Then when he stepped forward, Scott didn’t move back. But the boy’s eyes flickered a little. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me, Scott.”

“Stiles—”

“I need to see. Show me.”

Slowly, the boy did. His face shifted and his eyes turned gold. Fangs slotted over his teeth and his face grew harder. More animalistic. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat and he stepped closer, slowly reaching out. When Scott didn’t move, he traced his fingers over the boy’s face. Over his forehead, down his cheeks. 

Then Stiles drew back. Scott looked at him with brown eyes and a scared expression.

“Do you hate me?”

Stiles wished he did. But he shook his head. “No.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Never.”

 “And your family…”

“I don’t want it,” Stiles said. Scott looked at him in shock, but Stiles just raised his chin. “I don’t want to be a hunter. I don’t want… I don’t want to be an Argent. I never did.”

“Stiles—”

“Do you want me to be that?”

“No.”

“You’re so afraid of me finding out what you are,” Stiles said softly. “But you were never afraid about what I am? What I could be?”

“Is that something I should fear?”

Stiles dropped his gaze and wordlessly shook his head. Suddenly, there was a hand catching his own. Gentle fingers that reached up and traced over the back of his neck. Stiles shivered, just like the first time.

“What does that mean?”

Scott looked bashful. Stiles raised an eyebrow and the boy shrugged. “It’s a scenting thing.”

“Scenting?”

“It makes a claim.”

“Like what?”

“That… you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles whispered. Scott nodded carefully.

“Is that okay?”

Stiles thought about it for a moment. A day ago, he thought he knew what his answer would have been. But a day ago, he thought he was slowly falling for the most normal and plain boy in Beacon Hills— if he wasn’t a little overly good at lacrosse. 

But then Stiles found himself nodding too. And Scott’s eyes sparked to gold for a moment.

“It’s okay.”

One moment, the boy was looking at him nervously. And then the second, there was a hand balling in Stiles’s shirt and Scott was pulling him forward, gentle lips brushing against his own. Stiles startled, making a noise of surprise, and then melted.

The kiss was gentle. Slow. Giving him an out, giving him a chance to pull back. Stiles didn’t take it, just letting himself fall head over heels into the feeling, the taste, the warmth of it all. Scott kissed him softly. As if promising safety and protection and a place— a home.

A home.

“Let’s get out of here,” Stiles said, breathless around his lips. “Out of Beacon Hills, away from this place.”

Scott drew back and looked at him in surprise. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Let’s run from here, Scott.”

“Stiles—”

“Please don’t tell me anything but no.”

Scott looked at him for a long moment, eyes flickering from brown to gold. Then he kissed him again. And this time, Stiles knew it was a promise just for the sake of a promise. “Okay.”

“We’ll go?”

“We won’t look back.”

Scott grinned and Stiles found himself smiling back. Because this was it— this was the exact thing he’d been searching for. For so long. From town to town, getting to know people over and over again only to give up. This was his second chance. This was their second chance.

And suddenly, Stiles realized a second chance was all he needed.

- -

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[marshmallowprotection]

Tangled AU

Hi, this is a mess.

Let's say that the Choi boys were the children from a neighboring kingdom but their parents were killed, and thusly, they were just taken in by Rika and V.

Rika and V soon discovered that the youngest twin was blessed with hair as white as snow, as white as the moon. Research into a lot of old fables and stories told them that Saeran was blessed by a rare flower that bloomed from a mystical force, and although it saved his life, people found out about the power and killed their parents for it.

V and Rika tried to keep the boys safe in the castle area but Rika became more and more consumed by the power of Saeran's abilities and stole him away in the night. She had always dabbled in magic but this was intense and true magic that could power her and gift her enough power to... control others and force them to be happy forever as well as alive to worship her out for a long time.

V tried to help her and show her that the world wasn't cruel and she didn't have to abuse magic like that, but she took Saeran when he was two or three and ran off. V was distraught but they could not find him or Rika.

They continue the search but the queen and the prince were... seemingly gone from sight. Saeyoung is the one that says that lanterns would be a smart idea to pull them back if they're out and lost. It's smart, and it shows that he just wants his brother back and safe. 

So, they do that for years on end until their eighteenth birthday comes around, and Ray finds a chance to see the floating lanterns in person thanks to the help of this mischievous but curious thief who only does it because she wants that crown back before the team that she's working with come after her for their prize.

To be fair, she was very nice after he did bonk her with a frying pan the way that he did. She just tries to get him to go home and turn around so she can escape but God, they wind up getting chased by some determined guards and ruffians along the way while this boy—

Is fawning over flowers and the scenery!

Taking him to meet ruffians didn’t help. Judas and Minji were far too cool for their own good. 

“Hey, stop doing that! Have you really never left that tower?” 

“...No, never, I can’t remember ever leaving my tower.” 

“Oh. Well, jeez, Rabbit.” 

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Your hair reminds me of a snow white rabbit.” 

Well, Ray did have company up there, and that’s with a little chameleon that he decidedly called Vanderwood. Weird name, but hey, Lila’s not going to judge the dude if he’s been sheltered all these years. Sassy little thing but at least Ray has had some company over the years. 

Not evening dragging this boy into a ruffian bar was enough to take him down and get him to stop chasing his dream. What’s Lila’s dream anyway? Well, she doesn’t like song and dance but she wants some money to finally live without struggling to get by after she ran away from her bad household. That’s all fine and dandy, but— 

Now, if only Lila hadn’t had the misfortune of enraging one angry stallion named Zen, they would be great. The two of them manage to escape peril after the uh white horse gives chase for quite some time, and they narrowly avoid the guards that he brought with him, al a Yoosung and Jaehee. Of course, that lands them trapped in the process. 

“This way!” 

“...Now, did you plan to trap us in a flooding cave?”

“I’m doing the best I can on the fly!” 

“...Uhuh.”

“Your little friend there is giving me a judgmental look.” 

“You think?” 

Which, of course, is a great time for them to remember that Ray has literal magic hair that glows and sustain life. Lila didn’t know how to feel about that but like, it is working and that’s something that she can’t deny. Like, wow, there really is a magic boy living in the woods with his mother for some fucking reason that she does not understand. It sounds fake, and she’s always been a realist but this is definitely real. 

Well, she can’t deny that he’s not stealing her heart the more that she’s around him, his smile is just... hard to ignore. His manners are great but he’s got that tendency to just be honest and sincere. Of course, Rika has been following after them and she catches Ray when he’s alone and warns him that this girl is just going to leave him high and dry. 

Ray can’t imagine that she would ever do that. 

Not even or some silly crown. 

“Mother knows best, Ray.” 

“She’s not like that.” 

“They’re all the same. I know, Ray. I’m a woman. I know how dangerous we can be.” 

“I won’t believe it.”

A promise is a promise, so, they do spend the day together getting ready for the lanterns. Ray finally gets to see and do so many things that he’s only thought about. And yes, he’s getting his hair done because he deserves to feel pretty and have flowers. And God, holy fuck, if Lila doesn’t feel her heart racing when this boy smiles and seems so happy. 

Yet. 

Something about this town... something about the colors... something is telling Ray that he should be paying more attention to his surroundings but at the same time, he’s having so much fun learning and taking in the sights that he doesn’t think about it too hard. Maybe it has something to do with what he heard about the lanterns being for a missing prince. 

Ray does get to see the lanterns up close, and it just feels right. His dream is really right in front of him and yet, his heart quickens when he sees Lila smiling at him, too. His mother wasn’t right. She wasn’t right for once in his life. Rika isn’t right. 

“You’re beautiful,” she says, quietly. 

“Huh?” Ray glances back at her, “Did you say something?”

“I said... it’s beautiful, your dream.” 

“...Yeah, it is.” 

They almost kiss. 

Almost. 

Lila just gets too nervous. 

Ray pulls away, unsure of what to do. 

The return to shore briefly and separate for only a moment. Yet, that moment is enough for the goons to get knocked out before they can attack Ray who can’t believe they’ve said that Lila just left him with the crown, but there’s a boat just leaving with a figure on it. Rika appears, and saves him, and as much as Ray is upset, he can’t deny what he saw.

Those ruffians, by the way, I’m firmly stating that it’s probably Echo Girl and one of the Glam Choi girls. Anyways, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way. Well, it earns him a trip back to his tower where he assumes that he will stay forever from now on. He takes a deep breath and thinks that this is it for him for the rest of his life. 

He trusted and it got him hurt. 

Until the moment comes that he realizes something. 

The clues.

The signs. 

Everything that he saw. 

He’s...

He’s the missing prince. 

Rika comes into the room and he confronts her about it. She stares at him for a long moment as he demands to know the truth. 

Fortunately for Lila, she may have been double-crossed but she’s got ruffian friends on her side, you know, like JUDAS AND MINJI, who break in and save the day at the same second, as well as Zen, you know, poor guy had a change of heart about the criminal. By the time that she makes it back to the tower in the knick of time, she found Ray tied up, and Rika knocked her down a firm strike of magic—

Oh, God, there’s blood. There’s so much blood in a matter of seconds and Lila just hits the ground. Ray manages to get rid of his gag, and he begs Rika just to let him save her life, and he won’t ever fight back. Rika considers it, and sighs, it is a bore for her, but she can’t have this boy fighting her anymore. It’s nothing so she’ll allow it. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Ray, I’m sorry. I wish that I had told you that... I found my dream. My real dream.” 

“...?”

“You. I decided that I wanted my dream to be you.”

“Lila, please.” 

Ray apologizes for thinking that Lila would willingly go out of her way to leave him and she apologizes for leaving him alone for even a moment. She does care about him and that’s why she has to do something. Ray leans in, and she just swoops in and cuts his hair with the shard of glass that she gripped so tightly with her hand that it cut into it. 

Rika screams as his hair reverts to the same color of red that belongs to his skin brother, and in her tirade, she manages to stumble out the window and plummet to the ground and her doom. 

Ray is left begging for Lila not to go, for her to not have done that at the cost of her life. He thinks that it’s all for naught. He may be free but the person that made him happy is gone. Well, maybe not, he thinks, as he cries and the room is illuminated in the color blue for the flower that powered and cursed his hair from the start. 

And suddenly, she’s awake again and she’s breathing. 

“Lila...” 

“Look at you, guess I can’t call you a rabbit anymore.”

Ray snorts, a stupid laugh leaving his lips at her poor attempt at trying to make the situation lighter at hand. 

And well, Ray is able to make his way back to the castle where he presents himself to the palace, people are shocked and let him go in right away without even questioning him. Ray doesn’t know what to think of that. At least, until they reach the throne room and he’s left staring into a mirror. No, not a mirror, he is looking at a twin. He is looking at his twin. 

They both burst into tears and hug each other, because their missing piece is now once again whole. V is just relieved to see that the boys are happy and safe once more. 

THERE’S MORE BUT MY BRAIN IS FRIED