#200 words prompts

[creativepromptsforwriting]

May Writing Challenge

This May I want to get back into writing. I’m not at all consistent. I’m at a point where I don’t feel like I can work on bigger things, because I can’t guarantee myself to keep working on it in a week from now. So I will take this month as a training month to get back into the habit of writing. I will do this by writing (or trying to write) 200 words every day. Topic is irrelevant. How great my writing is that day is irrelevant. Just 200 words written down. A habit taking 21 days to form was debunked, it does take a lot longer, but 31 days are a start I would say. These are already 140 words, so 200 words every day are hopefully manageable. You're more than welcome to join me if you like 😊

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Microfic

December prompt: pine

Word count: 508

No warnings apply

Rated T

@steddiemicrofic

Steve has a problem.

It’s not a major problem, not really. It’s not Vecna again. Not even close.

It’s Eddie.

After the gates closed for the final time, Steve and Eddie had gotten along in a way that had far surpassed Dustin’s expectations, and then some.

For the past five months, Steve has been overjoyed to call Eddie his boyfriend.

A boyfriend who hasn’t stepped foot in Steve’s house since November changed into December and he broke the Christmas decorations out.

Steve had been over to Eddie’s multiple times, which isn’t a problem, per se, but, well…

Steve and Eddie are both healthy young men with certain needs that arise occasionally. And they can’t do anything half the time because Wayne’s home, and none of them want that.

And of course, Steve could always go home and do it himself, but it’s not the same. He’s not touched his boyfriend below the belt in over ten days and he thinks he’s going through withdrawal.

“You’re not going through withdrawal, you’re horny and pining,” Robin says flatly. Steve squawks at her.

He keeps trying to figure it out, is the thing. He wonders if Eddie is secretly a grinch, but no, his boyfriend loves Christmas more than he does.

Maybe it’s the rich-person decorations, but that’s never stopped Eddie from coming over before. And besides, Steve had explained that none of the decorations were his, but his parents’, and just what he had, and Eddie had seemed to understand. He’d come over no problem… before Steve put up the decorations.

It has to be something, he knows, so he goes home and looks around. Wreath on the front door, Christmas tree in the living room, garland on the stairs, lights in the kitchen… it’s nothing that Eddie doesn’t have too—besides the garland on the stairs—but he can’t see Eddie getting upset about that. Certainly not enough to where he’d refuse to come over.

Steve finally, reluctantly realizes Robin’s right. He needs to talk to Eddie, so he drives over before he has the chance to lose his nerve. “Eddie?”

“Stevie!” Eddie brightens almost comically and pulls him inside before kissing him. “Hey, baby.” He pulls back and must see something on Steve’s face because suddenly he looks worried. “What’s wrong?”

Steve worries his lip and blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Eddie’s face drops. “Sweetheart, no, what- what’s happening? What’re you thinking?” He leads Steve over to the couch and sits with him.

Steve shrugs miserably. “I’m being stupid,” he mutters.

“Honey,” Eddie says seriously, “you’re not stupid. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“You won’t come over.” Steve looks down at their intertwined hands. “Ever since I put up Christmas decorations. You came over once, cut it short, and haven’t come over again. So I must’ve done something.”

“Oh, babylove,” Eddie sighs. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you. I don’t know why I haven’t yet.” He looks down, then back up. “I’m allergic to pine, baby. And you have a real tree.”

[bonebrokebuddy]

A TROPE I WOULD LIKE TO SEE EXPLORED MORE: 

I’ve seen many fics where it hits the general story beats of: Danny gets approached by Gotham citizens. They talk to him like they know Danny but he has never seen these people before in his life. Eventually he finds out that people are mistaking him for a batkid. Eventually the look-alikes meet and they share stories of how they got confused for each other and wanted to meet the other to see who they kept getting confused for. 

I’ve seen authors do this mainly with Gotham citizens or a member of the batfamily mistaking Danny for a member of the batfamily. 

But I haven’t seen many examples of the reverse. An Amity Park citizen approaching a batkid thinking that they are Danny. 

Imagine the possibilities. The many hcs about creepy Amity Park would mesh perfectly with this. The batkids would be massively confused and be very concerned because like,

What the fuck is wrong with these weird people who keep approaching him and asking when his parent’s wrist rays are going to go back in stock because their old one broke? Who is this “Danny” guy and why do they look enough alike for them to be mistaken for the other multiple times in one day? What the fuck is wrong with the town these guys are coming from because when they are background checked they’ve all came from this small town in Illinois? And why do these people keep thinking he’s been possessed by ghost then pull weird sci-fi looking guns out of nowhere and fire at him with weird green goo when they say they’re not Danny? 

Ways this prompt could work in many different ways for different batkids with  the above scenario (but if you write something about Amity Park members mistaking a batkid for Danny, please tag me i would love to read it):

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

DAMIAN

Initially, the Amity Park citizen thought that Danny was doing his “spooky eye” thing but then after the kid said he wasn’t Danny, they realized it was a sign of possession. Damian isn’t possessed; he just has green eyes. 

ANOTHER ROUTE:

Damian thinks that one of his clones has escaped the league of assassins and now is living a normal life in Amity. Seeking to get rid of the weaker clone, Damian goes to Amity to kill Danny. They fight but Danny tries to talk it out and eventually, after nearly being murdered in his bed multiple nights in a row, consents to DNA testing. The best part? Because Danny canonically has fucked up dna due to that “his molecules got all rearranged” so, for this, it means that Danny’s DNA is so fucked up when trying to do any testing on it, that it’s essentially unreadable. So they are never able to actually finally disprove that Danny isn’t related to Damian (who is paranoid that the birth certificates and baby photos of Danny could be elaborately faked by the league of assassins because they cannot biologically disprove that they are not related but jokes on him, they’re not actually related. They just look alike).

——————

TIM

Tim notes the name Amity Park and once he gets back to the batcave, he begins his research. And is then immediately concerned at the blatant digital non-existence up of the entire town. There are some news reports, a town website, articles about places to visit and restaurants to eat at. But that's it. Just articles and official websites that are oddly blank. He can find no social media posts or blogs or any online activity at all from people inside Amity Park. No tweets with the location set to Amity, no youtube channels, no school email addresses, no nothing from people within Amity. 

Just complete digital silence. 

Whoever was responsible was doing a pretty shitty job at hiding that they were covering up something big. And all it took was a VPN with the location set in Amity with Justice League clearance and he was in.

Amateurs.

Tim sat back as the batcomputer began compiling and sorting the previously hidden information. Five minutes into the scan, a popup appeared with the first set of interesting things about Amity. The most notable was that the town has been being attacked by monsters they called “ghosts” for over 5 years now. The second was that there was an previously undocumented organization that claimed to be government funded but with further research, it wasn’t clear which government as a little digging revealed the money to be sourced from multiple of them. The third was the Dr.s Fenton research. Research seemed to have changed from the belief that ghosts were non-sentient forms of energy fueled by their last emotions alive to the current perception of ghosts not only being sentient but there being countless and very intriguing research papers on the history, governments, and cultures from a variety of ghost societies.

The fourth popup was the surface level information on Danny Fenton. As the batcomputer would need more time to find more information. And holy shit. The guy did look like him. Well, almost. In the most recent photo that Danny posted with his friends, Tim could clearly see that there were a few differences. Namely, his build. Fenton was visibly more muscular with broader shoulders and a few inches taller. But scrolling back through the images, he found one from before Danny got his apparent growth spurt and they looked nearly identical. Sure Tim had a slightly different jawline, different eye shape with the color a different shade of blue. But Danny looked like if someone tried to draw Tim from memory. It was uncanny. But there was much larger things to worry about as a new chime from the batcomputer brought his attention and to his shock, he already had access to the ghost investigation ward’s database. There is no way that the batcomputer's program automatic searching for firewall weakness actually worked on a government clearance server. But probing around in the server, it became quickly apparent that it wasn’t easily accessible false information to give to people so they  think they’ve achieved their goal. No, the automatic system actually worked and someone had left a convenient backdoor to the server that gave him access through an “Agent K’s” clearance.

There was so much data available that it quickly became clear to Tim that it would take a while to sort through it all. Glancing over the different files, Tim froze and clicked on a file labeled “Fenton-Lazarus-Agreement.pdf”. It took a while to read as the scanned contract was so compressed that it was nearly illegible. This “Ghost Investigation Ward” was planning on performing experiments combining Lazarus Water with a substance only referred to as “purified ectoplasm” to see how it affected ghosts, humans, and to see how it could be integrated into weapons that could equally affect both. Horrified, Tim began to comb through as much information as he could find. But while Agent K had clearance to know about the upcoming plans for these tests, they did not have access to any other communication about it. So, with no other easily exploitable trapdoor, Tim set to work sorting through encrypted and classified information. 

No shit whoever it was left the obvious backdoor, he would too after how damn long it took to unencrypt the damn messages, it was almost inhuman how difficult it was. He had to meet the guy who hacked into the organization first. Because whoever it was, had his undying respect and he just wished that the dude got access to the rest of the database because if they were hiding it this well, it must be something really bad.

Several hours later, the lights of the batcave have long since automatically shut off. The light from the batcomputer being the only source of illumination still on, casting harsh dramatic shadows across the billions of dollars worth of equipment and trophies around him. While Tim knew he shouldn’t be down here this late because the light will disturb the natural sleep cycle of the bats within it, right now he did not care. But Tim’s attention wasn’t focused on the familiarly creepy atmosphere of the cave or the sound of the unnaturally active bats. His eyes, now red and dry from straining for hours looking at the bright light were focused on the records of communications between the Al Ghul’s glaring down at him from the screen. The unencrypted emails detailed an agreement for the exchange of “Fenton Works weapons and gadgets” in return for Lazarus water. Tim reread the emails again and again. Fenton Works. He knew that something was up. From what he recalled from the guy who shot green goo at him earlier that day, they mentioned something about “wrist rays” available for purchase by the Fentons. Guess his doppelganger was more involved in Tim’s life than he previously thought. .

After spending many days researching and compiling information, Tim was able to send a full, cohesive report to Bruce first, then the Justice League as further investigation of goings-on in the Ghost Investigation Ward and Amity Park revealed that there was much more being covered up than just the ghosts and the connection to the League of Assassins in the little midwestern town. 

Tim was able to convince Bruce to let him be apart of the scouting and information gathering team when the League was cleared to investigate Amity Park. He really wanted to find the guy who was able to hack into the Ghost Investigation Ward’s security, get some Fenton Works tech incase ghost attacks ever occurred in Gotham, and to maybe meet this Danny guy and see if he can ask him if there is a way to get ectoplasm out of clothing because the last Amity Park guy who thought he was processed got a shot in and the ectoplasm stain wont come out of his favorite shirt.

--------

Jason

This wasn’t Jason’s first encounter with an Amity citizen, but this was the first time they landed a shot in and it hurt. The middle aged black man stood in front of Jason with his gun still raised. The man wore a light blue work polo with tan pants. The shirt was embroidered with a company logo of an “Axion Labs” in white followed by the attacker’s name, Damon Gray, embroidered in black.  

Barely having any time to recover from the shot, the Gray continued his barrage of fire and yelled, “GET OUT OF DANNY YOU GHOST!” Jason narrowly dodged the rays coming at him of the weird toxic green energy that was so bright it almost flickered out of human perception. So Jason did the reasonable thing and ran. He needed to escape the barrage of bullets and couldn’t fight back in his civilian gear. Dodging into a nearby alleyway to escape the blasts, Jason jumped up in the nearby fire escape and hastily began to climb. Pain erupted from his shoulder as he looked down and saw Gray with surprising amounts of dexterity and mobility for a man around 50, easily hop up on the fire escape and continued to fire. And so the chase continued. The guy was a surprisingly good shot, as evident from the stinging pain in his back and shoulder and it was a relief when finally Jason was able to loose the attacker. But by the time he donned his red hood gear, the asshole was gone. 

Unbeknownst to Jason, Damon Grey had hurriedly changed course as he realized that if he missed the meeting he flew over 800 miles to get to, his boss would kill him regardless if it was to stop a possession or not. On the train, he opened up his Amity Alert App and reported the possession and location to let the rest of the town to keep a lookout for Danny and excuse any actions he may make until the ghost is removed.

800 miles away, three alerts rung off from three phones, one with a galaxy case, one in a purple case, and one in an absolute brick of a case that looked like it would survive a nuclear blast before it let the phone inside break. Tucker looked up from his computer and went to turn the alert off before he paused. Looked back the notification then over his shoulder where Danny sat at assembling a Fenton Works device (Danny seriously regrets letting Tucker set up that online shop because now his days are mostly filled with helping keep up with the backlog of orders. His parents’ age are gaining on them and they don’t have the ability to constantly be making inventions like they used to. So, Danny does his best to help out.) with Sam working on a different order next to him. Both of them haven already turned their respective phone’s alerts off.  

“Hey Danny”, Tucker called out, making Danny pause from his current task of assembling a Fenton Lipstick Blaster and turn his head to look at Tucker,

“Yeah dude?” 

Holding his phone close to his face and clearly enunciating to emphasize the message, Tucker began to read, “Are you aware that at 12:43pm today you were spotted being processed in Gotham by Valerie’s Dad?” Tucker lowered his phone and looked back up at Danny who had fully put down his tools and reached for his own phone.

“Didn’t you say that El was visiting Spain right now?”

“Yeah, she sent me a photo of a seagull stealing someone’s hat from there, like, two hours ago.” Tucker could see Danny tapping around on his phone, presumably opening his conversation with Dani.

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed and he paused looking at his screen. “No, she definitely wouldn’t have been able to travel back to the US by now unless she found a natural portal or called Wulf. But I’m going to text her again really quick just to make sure.” 

Tucker got up and walked over to where the ghost boy and Sam sat at the workbench. Then they waited. A few moments later, the typing indicator’s dots popped up and a new message appeared.

It read, “Nope! I’m still in Spain? I saw the alert, are you okay?”

After typing a response, Danny laid his phone down on the cluttered workbench rubbed his face in his hands and turned to face Sam and Tucker.

“What the fuck do we do now?”

[pagsys-writings]

28. Letters

For years after Arthur passed, Merlin wrote letters to him. He filled their contents with all the words he should have said when he had the chance. His first one was filled with apologies. His second held all the hurt Merlin felt at the loss of Arthur and his other friends. Regret dripped from the words of his third letter for all he didn’t do for Camelot, for Arthur, and even Morgana. But as the letters continued, they changed. As Merlin came to terms with all his emotions, the one that remained constant was love. Soon he found himself surrounded by piles of love letters as he waited for Arthur’s return, and he wondered if Arthur would ever get to read them. 

[abhainnwhump]

"If there are any gods out there, then they all collectively hate me."

[kiwiana-writes]

for the au + trope + prompt game:

roommates + exes + “alexa, play wonderwall.”

(prompt courtesy of Noah singing wonderwall, the gift I didn't know I needed)

Rae, roommates + exes is awful; why would you do this to me them?

roommates!au + exes + “alexa, play wonderwall.”

What no one tells you about dating your college roommate is that sometimes it doesn't work out. Sometimes you go on four dates before he breaks up with you because: "I'm sorry, Henry, I just need someone I can be stupid with, you know? That crazy, embarrassing yourself kind of fun. It's nothing you've done wrong, at all. Just a mismatch. I want to stay friends, though."

The worst part was, Alex wasn't even wrong. Henry used to be that kind of fun—would don a feather boa and do karaoke with Pez, butchering the classics and not caring who saw him—but then his dad died and he retreated into himself. Alex had been the first real piercing of that veil of grief, but… well. If it wasn't meant to be, then that's that.

Henry focuses on school, on therapy, on healing. Being roommates with Alex is awkward for a while, but they find their way back to friendship.

And Henry finds his way back to himself. To the fun, carefree guy he was. He digs out the boa one night, says "Alexa, play Wonderwall," and dramatically serenades Alex until Alex is crying with laughter. Until Alex kisses him.

[au + trope + prompt game]

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Jyn/Cassian, 35

35. love me like I’m brand new (from this prompt list) Note: completely independent of Zainab's prompt fill from this week expanding her sambucky teachers AU, I was busy writing her a teachers AU for this prompt! Same hat, as usual! I meant to get it finished and published by our friendiversary (this past tuesday) but that didn't quite work out. Still, within a week ain't bad. Cross posted to AO3, if that's more your jam.

“Okay, I’m proposing a new drinking game,” Jyn’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. “Drink every time the DJ plays a song Cassian doesn’t know.”

Cassian whips his head around, looking for her but doesn’t see her anywhere in the crowded room. It is dark, though. And full of high schoolers who are mostly taller than her. She could be anywhere.

“Where are you?” he asks, into his own walkie-talkie. “I don’t even see you.”

“I am the night,” she replies, in her best Batman impression, which is not very good, honestly.

“We can’t play that drinking game,” Bodhi interjects. “We’ll be dead in under an hour.”

“Hey!”

“No drinking at prom,” Baze replies, bored.

“Wait, when did we make that rule?” Jyn asks.

“You better be joking.”

“I am, don’t worry. I take the safety and security of this event very seriously,” she says. “And I can’t think of anything worse than being drunk around high schoolers.”

“Drunk in front of your parents?” Bodhi suggests.

“That’s me every Christmas, baby!”

“Is this what we’re supposed to be using the walkie-talkies for?” Cassian asks.

“Wow, did you just tattle on me?”

“Chirrut, we’re gonna need a ruling,” Bodhi interjects.

“Ten-four,” Chirrut replies. “Definitely tattling.”

Jyn blows a raspberry directly into her walkie, and Cassian sighs. “I think he meant about the proper use of the radios, Chirrut.”

“Oh, then yes, this is exactly how I envisioned us using them,” he says.

“Best prom ever,” Bodhi says, dryly.

“Speaking of which, who’s in the lead in the flask count?”

“That would be my beloved, with a grand total of 12 so far,” Chirrut says, and Baze makes a point of groaning into the radio because he hates when Chirrut calls him pet names at work. “Followed by Cassian, with 8, and Jyn with 5. Bodhi and I are tied for last with 2 apiece.”

“Actually, Kay is in last place, with negative four thousand because he’s a little bitch who called out sick from chaperone duty at the last minute,” Jyn replies.

“Yes, let the record show Kay is in last place forever,” Chirrut says.

“Amen,” Cassian replies. “What are you doing with all these flasks, anyway?”

“Jyn, don’t you dare say Jungle Juice,” Bodhi says, immediately.

“JUNGLE J—hey!”

“Jungle Juice is never the solution to any problem!”

“You’re right about that,” she says. “Jungle juice is, at best, always just a neat way to go from having one problem to two problems.”

“To actually answer Cassian’s question, we generally just give them over to the central office,” Baze says. “With our report for the night. The administrative team decides what to do with that information afterwards.”

“We’re not really going to nerf these kids for getting rowdy at prom, are we?” Jyn asks. “We’re not even on school grounds.”

“I didn’t realize you were so tender-hearted, Erso.”

“Bite me, Andor! Just for that, I’m taking your second place spot in the Flask Olympics.”

“Flask-Off,” Chirrut replies.

“The Flasked Singer,” Bodhi suggests.

“Flask and you shall receive,” Jyn adds.

“Everyone shut the flask up and get off the walkies,” Baze interrupts. “You’re all giving me a migraine.”

Cassian tucks the radio back in his pocket and returns to his actual job of chaperoning. The students are all dancing to a song that he absolutely does not recognize, though it would require advanced forms of torture to get him to ever admit that to Jyn now. In the middle of the crowd, he spots Rey and Finn, still wearing their cheap plastic crowns from the prom court ceremony and doing some dance that involves windmilling their arms a lot. He shakes his head, and continues his sweep of the room, spotting Bodhi in a far corner and giving him a salute, which Bodhi returns.

“Flask-athalon,” Jyn says, at his elbow and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he asks, not sure how she managed to sneak up on him.

“Bathroom,” she says. “Did you hear my flask joke? I thought of it on the way over, but I don’t want to get on Baze’s bad side.”

“So you chose to instead inflict it on me? What did I ever do?”

“Mean,” she says. “You’re so mean. And now you’re on my bad side. Was it worth it?”

“I’m not scared of your bad side,” he says, and it comes out all stupid and tender by accident. There was meant to be some bravado in there somewhere but he forgot, or he misplaced it, or something.

“They all say that,” Jyn replies, crossing her arms. Hers comes out tender too, probably also by accident. There’s a not-so-hidden but they don’t really mean it at the center of it. He means it, though.

“Everything alright?” he asks, and she frowns, confused. “On your patrol,” he clarifies.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just had to comfort Rose Tico in the ladies’ room.”

“Poor Rose,” Cassian says. She had been in his office a handful of times last semester. Her sister is away at college this year, and she was having trouble adjusting. It seemed like she’d been doing better lately, though. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Well, Finn asked her to prom ages ago, as friends, but now he and Rey are kind of an item, but he still honored his promise to go with her and then he and Rey got voted prom king and queen and Rose had a meltdown that he only went with her as his date out of pity and that he’d rather be here with Rey and…it was a whole thing. Then, Jannah and Kaydel showed up to check on her and I gave them some space to work it all out.”

As if on cue, Rose re-enters the room at that moment, with Jannah grasping one hand and Kaydel holding the other. Cassian watches as they rejoin everyone on the dance floor and as Rey shrieks in delight at seeing them and throws her arms around Rose’s neck. Rose returns the hug, letting go of the other girls, and they sway like that, fully out of time with the music, for a good thirty seconds. Over their shoulders, Jannah and Finn are doing the robot while Kaydel pretends not to know any of them.

“Looks like they smoothed things over,” Cassian says, and Jyn nods, looking pleased.

“Every day. Every single day, I am so glad to not be a teenager anymore,” she says, while surveying the room.

“You’re preaching to the choir,” he replies. “I was such a pain in the ass back then.”

“You’re still a pain in the ass.”

Cassian laughs. “I was a different kind of pain in the ass, then. The worst kind.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says, softly.

“Good,” he says, smiling. “That means I grew up into the sort of man my mother wanted me to be.”

Jyn doesn’t say anything to that, just watches the crowd of students with an inscrutable expression on her face. It was probably a weird thing to say, here, at prom, but it had just jumped out. She has that effect on him, strangely enough. He has this very stupid urge to be honest with her all the time, to just spit out whatever he’s thinking and feeling and pray that she finds it interesting or at least that it doesn’t scare her away. He’s still not sure what to do with that instinct.

Before he can decide, Bodhi’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkies, in stereo, since Jyn and Cassian are standing next to one another. “‘Look on my works, ye mighty and despair,’ suckers,” he says. “Chirrut, please bring my flask count up to four!”

“Four?” Jyn replies, unbelievably quick on the draw with her radio. “You got two off of one kid?!”

“I’m coming for your spot, baby!”

“Oh, it’s on now,” Jyn says, exclusively to Cassian. “I cannot let this kind of insult stand.”

Cassian pulls out his walkie-talkie. “Chirrut, does he get extra points for quoting Percy Shelley while confiscating flasks? Because I feel like maybe he should.”

“Traitor,” Jyn whispers, and then, into her radio, adds, “That’s not in the rules!”

“Agreed. This is purely a numbers game,” Baze replies.

“And Percy Shelley sucks!” Jyn says.

“Hey! Don’t make me come over there!”

“Bodhi doesn’t get extra points for style,” Chirrut interjects, over the radio, “but I am contemplating adding a ‘Best in Show’ category, with this in mind.”

“Wow,” Cassian says, mildly, to Jyn. “Now you can lose twice!”

“That invitation to bite me still stands, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

Jyn stretches her arms out wide. “I should be on the move. I’m never going to take Baze’s spot if I stand here fucking around with you.”

“You’ll have to take mine first.”

“Oh, honey,” she says, patronizingly. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Y’all,” Bodhi’s voice crackles over the radio again, “I swear these kids are just drinking paint thinner.”

“Ew, did you try the flask?” Jyn asks into her walkie immediately. “If Bodhi gets to drink, we all do.”

“No, you absolute child, I just sniffed it.”

“And?”

“And I think it’s the last thing I’ll ever smell.”

Jyn sticks her tongue out at Cassian in disgust, making him laugh. “Easily half of mine have just been Fireball Whiskey,” he says, to the group.

“Ah, to be young,” Baze says, wistfully.

“You couldn’t pay me to drink that now,” Jyn says, just to him. “Actually, who am I kidding? I’m a public school teacher with student loans. You could pay me to do just about anything.”

“That is good to know,” Cassian says, raising an eyebrow at her suggestively, and she smacks his arm. “What? I have this fence at my place that needs painting and I–”

“First, Percy Shelley and now Mark Twain? Can’t I get a goddamn break around here?”

That is, of course, the moment two students choose to approach them and, naturally, they’re both on his caseload. They laugh nervously at hearing one of the teachers swear, but ultimately just ask Cassian if it’s okay for them to take a photo with him.

“Of course,” he says, straightening his jacket a little awkwardly. 

“I’ll take it, if you like,” Jyn offers, holding out a hand. “I can work wonders with an iPhone.”

The two girls hand over their phones, and Jyn diligently takes a few shots with each of them. After a moment, she says, “Last chance to give Mr. Andor devil horns or bunny ears. Going once…”

“Okay, I think we’re good,” he says, stepping back to let the girls collect their phones from Jyn.

“Thanks, Mr. Andor,” one of them, Leida, says, brightly. “And you, Ms. Erso.”

“No problem,” Jyn says, looking amused.

“I really like your dress, by the way,” the other girl, Maia, adds.

“Oh, thank you,” Jyn replies, looking down at it self-consciously, as they head off. She returns her gaze to Cassian, looking ready to pounce. “What’s it like to have such ardent admirers?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes, even though he can feel his face warming up at her teasing. “Both of them are going off to ivy league schools with my help. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with how handsome you are.”

“You think I’m handsome?” he asks, delighted. “Jyn, I had no idea!”

“Then you’re as blind as Chirrut,” she grumbles, holding her radio up to her mouth. Before he can ask any follow-up questions, she presses the button and asks the group, “Are we tracking how many photos with students we take? Because I hate to admit this, but Cassian might be in the lead.”

“No way,” Bodhi responds. “I’ve taken so many!”

“Were we counting those?” Baze asks. “Chirrut, as master of ceremonies…”

“They’re going to have to start paying me extra to keep track of all these different competitions!” 

“I was kidding!” Jyn exclaims. “Your students have seriously been asking for photos all night?” 

There’s overlapping sounds of agreement from everyone, making Jyn frown. 

“Those bastards,” she grumbles. “I let them eat lunch in my classroom so they don’t get bullied and they don’t even want a photo with me?”

“You see, this is where being a guidance counselor pays off,” Cassian says. “Sure, you need an advanced degree and you don’t make any more money, and you mostly deal with kids having breakdowns about FAFSA in your office all day, but sometimes, at prom, students will ask for a photo with you. That’s why Baze and I are crushing it.”

Jyn snorts. “Yeah, because I never deal with kids crying in the art room,” she says. “And besides, Bodhi is a teacher, just like me, and everyone likes him!”

“He’s an English teacher,” Cassian points out. “He pulls that Dead Poets Society crap with them and lets them recite poems while standing on their desks, or whatever. Of course they like him.”

“And I just teach them how to express themselves through art! Boring!”

“So boring,” he says, even though he sometimes thinks Jyn has the hardest teaching job in the whole school. She’s a photographer by training, but she has to teach every artistic discipline that the school can afford the supplies for. He’s been to her classroom when she’s doing her Senior Project Seminar, which functions like an independent study for the students to choose what they want to make for the semester, and she’ll be critiquing photos with one student, while helping another with a sculpture, and ordering supplies for the kids drawing with charcoal and pastels or painting with oils and watercolors. It makes his head spin just to watch.

“It’s not the dress, is it?” she suddenly asks, anxiously. “I know Maia said it was cute, but she wasn’t being sarcastic, right?”

“No, she—the dress is fine. You look nice.”

Jyn blinks at him, a little surprised, and really, it’s not like he never compliments her. Of course, caught wrong-footed like that, he immediately tries to backtrack. “I mean, it’s a little 90s, but that’s in again, apparently, so you’re good.”

“90s?” she asks, looking slightly insulted. “How is it 90s?”

“I don’t know, it’s just…black and plain. The neckline is kind of…you know…”

“I clearly do not! Didn’t you just say it was fine?”

“It is! There’s nothing wrong with the 90s! It’s not your actual prom dress, is it?”

Jyn gives him a withering look. “No, Cassian, it is not. I didn’t go to prom in the 90s, for one thing. I was in high school in the 2000s.”

“Close enough.”

“And I didn’t go to prom at all for what it’s worth.”

“You didn’t go to prom?”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t look at him. “Does that really surprise you?”

“Did no one ask you?”

She turns on him then. “Why is that your first thought?!”

“Because you said—I meant, because that would surprise me!”

“Sure!”

“I’m serious. I would be shocked, if that was the reason.”

“The reason was I thought dances were stupid and my uncle would have told me it was stupid and my boyfriend was older, so—”

“Ah, makes sense.”

“Don’t—it wasn’t like that.”

“Sounds like it was exactly like that.”

“It wasn’t—he was a nice guy. He would have gone, if I’d asked.”

“But you wanted to smoke weed and pretend to like the movie Fight Club in his basement instead.”

Jyn rolls her eyes again, but he can see she’s also fighting off a smile. “Something like that. Anyway, that was junior year and then…well, I dropped out, so I obviously couldn’t go to my senior prom.”

“I didn’t know that,” Cassian says. “You got your GED instead?”

“Yeah, after a year or two of fucking around and doing nothing with my life, I decided having a high school diploma and maybe a college education might be useful.”

“And boy were you wrong.”

She laughs. “Don’t tell the kids.”

“It’s part of my oath as their guidance counselor, don’t worry.”

“What about you? Did you do the whole prom thing when you were in school?”

Cassian shifts uncomfortably, checking to make sure none of their students are in earshot. “Uh, yeah, you could say that,” he says, once he’s satisfied they won’t be overheard. “I had kind of the typical prom experience, I guess.”

“I genuinely have no idea what that means.”

“It means, I was eighteen when I went to my prom, so I did the whole ‘rent a hotel room afterwards and get laid’ thing with my…girlfriend.”

Jyn covers her mouth with her hands, clearly hiding a laugh. “You did not!”

“I did,” he replies, cringing. “I’m not proud.”

“Is that where the healthy pause before ‘girlfriend’ came from? Shame?”

“It’s…we…” Cassian laughs. It’s been almost twenty years and he still doesn’t know how to explain his relationship with Bix to other people. It would almost be easier if they weren’t still friends, because then he could call her an ex and be done with it. He’s glad they’re still friends, for what it’s worth, it’s just so much more complicated to explain. “She wasn’t exactly my girlfriend.”

“Oh, no…”

“She was my best friend. She still is—one of them, at least.”

“Oh.”

“We went to prom together because, well, no one else asked either of us. And we decided to get a hotel room after because we were eighteen and no one could stop us and we wanted to…”

“Yeah, uh, I know what you wanted to do,” Jyn says, amused.

“It was one of those ‘let’s just get it over with, together’ kind of deals,” he says, feeling hot with embarrassment over his younger self’s antics. Everything feels so urgent and intense when you’re young, but that somehow fades with age. And he admits that even as an adult who’s still frequently urgent and intense. “It seemed like the best way to handle it, at the time.”

“So, you’re telling me that this was…your first time?”

Cassian nods.

“At prom?!”

“After prom! It’s not as bad!”

“By a very slim margin,” Jyn says, clearly taking pity on him. After a moment, she adds, “You said you and this girl are still close?”

“Yeah, we’re still friends. We tried to date afterwards, because it turned out we liked hooking up, but it wasn’t—we worked better as friends, ultimately. We’re still friends. I went to her wedding last year. I mean, I was in it, but that’s because I know her husband too.”

“Wait, Brasso’s wedding?” Jyn asks. He’d shown her and some of the staff pictures after he came back, he’s just now remembering. “You dated Brasso’s wife in high school?!”

“It was obviously before they knew each other. I mean, I introduced them, so…”

“That’s so weird.”

“It’s not that weird.”

“I just don’t have any exes I’m close with still,” she says, shaking her head. “Not close enough to be in their wedding. I mean, goddamn.”

“Bix is barely an ex-girlfriend, at this point. She’s like family.”

“Wow.”

“I’m guessing things didn’t end well with Fight Club guy?” Cassian asks.

“Technically, I think I was the Fight Club guy in that relationship,” she says, with a laugh. “And no, things didn’t end well.”

“Not something you like talking about, I gather.”

“Not really,” she says, looking far-off and sad. It’s possible there are tears in her eyes, or maybe it’s just a trick of the strobing lights coming from the DJ’s booth. “Not at prom, at least,” she adds, with a weak smile.

He smiles back. “Well, I’d offer to dance with you, to help give you the prom experience you never had, but all of these kids have cell phones and a video of us would for sure end up on the internet, which we should probably avoid.”

“Scared of going viral on TikTok with me?” she asks.

“Deeply, deeply scared, yes,” he says, putting his hand on his heart. “My worst nightmare is ending up on Good Morning America being interviewed about a heartwarming video of me that I didn’t know was being taken.”

“But maybe if we got famous, random people would buy supplies for our classrooms,” Jyn says, her enthusiasm clearly faked if the devilish glint in her eye is any indication.

“I’m a guidance counselor,” he says. “I don’t need supplies. I need someone to burn the College Board to the ground.”

“With enough followers on TikTok, we could probably make that happen.”

“Sounds like someone really wants to dance with me,” he quips.

“Well, it might be my last chance.”

The song changes then, to a chorus of coos from a group of students at the edge of the dance floor nearby, and Jyn laughs. Cassian, meanwhile, is sweating. He suspected that a few people knew he was interviewing at another school, but he didn’t want to bring it up to anyone until he was sure of his plans, one way or another. But, apparently, Jyn knows.

“Tell me you at least know who this is,” she says, pointing up to indicate she means the song that’s playing.

“I’ve never heard this song in my life,” he admits, a little breathlessly.

“But you recognize the singer?” she asks. Cassian shakes his head, and she laughs again. “How do you work in a high school and not know who Taylor Swift is?”

“I know who she is,” he objects. “I just don’t recognize her singing voice immediately, I guess.”

“I forgot. You sit in your windowless office and listen to Creed all day.”

“You caught me listening to Creed one time! It is not a habit.”

“Well,” Jyn starts to say, before pausing abruptly as two students pass in front of them. “Hold on, was that—?”

“Hey, guys,” Cassian calls, immediately, and the two boys stop in their tracks. “You’re not allowed to have that here. Hand it over.”

The students clearly take a moment to debate the merits of complying with this order, before one of them reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a flask. He hands it to Cassian with a mumbled apology, which he accepts with a nod and waves them back to the dance. Cassian flips the top open, and tips it in Jyn’s direction.

She sniffs it. “Peach schnapps,” she says. “Classic.”

Cassian retrieves his walkie-talkie. “Got another flask for the count,” he says. “Not sure if it goes to me or Jyn, though.”

“A group effort?” Bodhi asks. “Unheard of.”

“Half a point each?” Jyn suggests.

“I’ll give you each a full point for it,” Chirrut replies. “But please know your spirit of bipartisanship disgusts me to my core.”

“Noted,” Jyn says into her radio. To him, she says, “We should probably spread out. For actual security reasons, but mostly because I refuse to share a medal with you at the end of this thing.”

“Firstly, it’s a secondhand karate trophy for the top prize—”

“Okay, well, now I want it even more, so…”

“Secondly, you’re never going to tie me, let alone beat me—”

“Your confidence will be your downfall, Andor.”

“And lastly, who, uh…who told you I was interviewing for another job?”

She pauses at that, and looks him over. “Mon let it slip,” she says, after much consideration. “It was an accident, she didn’t mean to—”

Cassian waves away her explanation. “I’m sure,” he says. “I’m not upset.”

“She was ranting to me and Bodhi about something to do with the school board and—”

“So, you and Bodhi both know?”

Jyn winces. “Uh, yeah.”

“And Baze knows because I thought it was only fair that I told him I was looking for other jobs…”

“Which means Chirrut knows,” she says, and he laughs. “And I’m sure you told Kay.”

“Yeah, so that….is a lot of people,” Cassian says, weakly.

“It’s not like we’re going to judge you if you don’t get it.”

“I—why would you assume I won’t get the job?”

She blinks, caught off guard. “I don’t! That’s not what I meant. You probably will, but on the off chance you don’t.”

“They made me an offer,” he admits, and watches her deflate.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, then, congratulations?”

“I haven’t accepted yet,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tic. “They’re going to call me on Monday, so I have until then to decide.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Not yet. I’m still…thinking.”

“That’s not like you,” she says, crossing her arms. “You usually have your mind made up on stuff right away. You’re not a ‘last minute’ kind of guy.”

“Well, I’m glad you know what kind of guy I am,” he replies, feeling oddly adversarial. She doesn’t mean anything by it, but still. He doesn’t like hearing himself described as though he’s so predictable.

“Okay,” Jyn says, putting her hands up in surrender. “You don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t know me like that.”

She blinks for a moment at that before she schools her expression into something more neutral. “You’re right,” she says. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re going to do, and you probably won’t even tell me once you decide. You’ll let Mon, or Baze, or whoever, do that, instead.”

“That’s not—!”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she says. “I’m just your co-worker, not your friend, I guess.”

“Jyn…”

“We need to split up, cover more ground.”

He thinks about trying to stop her, but then it would just be a big scene involving two chaperones at prom, which the students would find endlessly intriguing. He doesn’t want to draw that kind of attention, so he nods, solemnly, like this is all very important, and lets her go. Still, he can’t help it that he spends the rest of the night trying to spot her in the crowd as much as he does any actual chaperoning.

*

“The winner of the 3rd Annual Yavin High Senior Prom Flask-athalon–”

“I knew that would catch on,” Jyn interrupts, smugly.

“It’s the only choice,” Bodhi says, grinning.

“Please shut up so we can all go home,” Baze grumbles.

“Yes, listen to your undefeated flask hunting champion, Baze Malbus!” Chirrut announces, with great flair, as he hands over the trophy, which, even in the dim lighting of the parking lot, Cassian can clearly read that the inscription says 'Under 12 Judo Champion'. “Congratulations, my dear!”

“Thank you so much,” Baze says, drily, as he accepts his prize unenthusiastically.

“This is so rigged,” Jyn puts in from the other side of the group. “Baze wins every year.”

“Baze is good at catching teens drinking illegally, I don’t know what to tell you!”

“It’s true,” Baze adds. “It’s on my resume.”

“You know, that would be so weird for any other job,” Bodhi replies. 

“Well, I wish I could give you all trophies for your hard work this evening, but then you wouldn’t learn any important lessons about teamwork or whatever it is that conservatives get mad about when the topic of participation trophies comes up,” Chirrut says, mildly.

“Kids these days,” Jyn says, mockingly shaking her fist. “Not enough of them hate themselves!”

“It’s important to experience as much crushing disappointment and embarrassment as possible before you get out into the real world,” Cassian agrees.

“And experience even more disappointment and embarrassment!” Bodhi adds. “While also paying taxes!”

“Also, there are only so many leftover trophies I can steal from the dojo before they’d notice and fire me,” Chirrut says. 

“On that bright note,” Baze interjects, “let’s all go home. It’s been a long night and absolutely none of us are getting paid any extra to spend more time together.”

“Beautiful sentiment as always, Baze,” Jyn says.

“Thank you again for all your hard work!” Chirrut says, even as Baze grabs him by the elbow and starts gently towing him away in the direction of their car. “Our students are very lucky to have such dedicated teachers and counselors!”

“Thank you, Chirrut!” Bodhi calls after them.

“Drive safe, everybody!” Baze calls over his shoulder once Chirrut stops fighting him and laces their fingers together instead for the short walk.

“Night, guys,” Bodhi says to Jyn and Cassian before he starts to head off towards his own car. 

“Goodnight, Bodhi,” Jyn replies, while Cassian waves him off.

The parking lot is empty except for their cars at this hour. They’d all met at the school and made the ride to the venue together, that way no one could call out of chaperone duty with car trouble or anything last minute like that. Probably there was some team-building aspect, too, but Cassian suspects the former was the primary motivation. Now, it’s creeping up to midnight and all the students have moved on to their afterparties and bonfires and whatever else, while the venue staff has streamers to clean up and tables to clear, and the chaperones are all heading home after a very long day. 

It had rained briefly while the prom was going on, though it had thankfully waited until everyone was already at the venue to do so, which means no one’s photos or hair was likely ruined by it. The hazy humidity that had hung around all day was now replaced by a damp chill and a light breeze. The condensation glitters like jewels on the few cars in the lot and their dewy windows glow green as the streetlights reflect off of them. The wet ground blares with streaks of red light as Baze’s car starts up and his brake lights come on. 

“Where’d you park?” Cassian asks Jyn, who’s still standing there, rooting around in her bag for her car keys.

“Oh,” she says, as if she wasn’t expecting him to address her. “Over there, by the auditorium.”

“Me too,” he says, nodding. “I’ll walk you.”

Having successfully retrieved her keys, Jyn brushes this off. “You don’t have to.”

“It’ll give me a chance to apologize.”

“It’s not that long of a walk.”

“I’ll talk fast,” Cassian replies, and holds out his arm as if to say, after you.

Jyn takes the hint and starts walking, allowing him to fall into step next to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said before, about you not knowing me very well. I didn’t mean to imply we aren’t friends, or that I don’t value your opinions, or anything like that,” he says, letting it all go like an exhale, because otherwise he won’t get the words out at all. “The problem is that I think you know me a little too well sometimes, and it honestly freaks me out. And tonight, you said the exact thing I was already worried about out loud, so I just panicked and tried to push you away.”

“The thing I said about waiting until the last minute really upset you that much?” Jyn asks, arms crossed over her chest. It takes him a second to realize it’s probably because she’s cold, and not because she’s mad at him. He starts to take off his suit jacket, but she stops him with a glare. “God, don’t.”

“You look cold.”

“I am cold, but my car is twenty yards away. I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Answer my question.”

Cassian stuffs his hands in his pockets just to have something to do with them. “Yes, it did upset me to hear that. I’ve been annoyed with myself about the same thing and I hated that it was obvious to you too.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m sorry too,” she says, earnestly. “I wasn’t judging you or anything, and I wasn’t trying to make you upset.”

“I know that. And thank you. I just—I can’t make up my mind what I want to do, and it’s very frustrating.”

“Do you think talking about it would help?”

“I’m not sure. The logical part of my brain is telling me to go, to take the new job. It’s more money, I’d be the head of the department in a better funded school. And while I love it here, unless Baze retires—”

“Which he won’t. At least, not for a long time.”

“Exactly, but still, that’s the only way I can move up and make more money. Unless I go to another school.”

“I get it,” Jyn says, and it sounds like she means it. “Those are valid considerations.”

“But I really do love it here,” Cassian objects. “I love the students, and I love the staff. I love working with all of you.”

“Yeah, and I bet all the teachers at that new school fucking suck,” she adds, with a malicious glint in her eye.

“I mean, what are the chances they do a yearly Flask-athalon at their prom?”

“It’s extremely unlikely,” Jyn says, somber now, “and if they do, they owe me and Chirrut royalties.”

“So, you see my dilemma?”

“I do. And I accept your apology, for what it’s worth. I didn’t know I’d be bringing up such a fraught subject for you. I would have been more careful, if I’d known.”

They arrive at Jyn’s car then and Cassian has to laugh at finding it parked one spot away from his own. The parking lot had been full when he got here, with a lot of underclassmen still around for extracurriculars and team practices and faculty staying late to do work, so he just picked the first spot he found. He hadn’t even noticed her car there, because someone had been parked between them. Now there’s just an empty space, where they stop to finish their conversation.

“It’s really fine,” he says, as he looks over at her. “I overreacted.”

Jyn shrugs one shoulder up to her ear, still looking cold in a way he finds provoking. He really wishes she’d just take his jacket. “It’s a big decision.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know you won’t get rid of us just by going to another school, right?”

“Yes, but we’ll all see each other a lot less,” he says. “And you know how these things go. We’ll promise to stay in touch, or to get drinks, or just to see each other regularly, but we won’t. We’ll drift apart, sooner or later.”

“So, don’t take the job,” Jyn says, watching him carefully.

“What about all that other stuff–the money and the promotion and everything?”

“Who cares?” she says and he laughs, hopelessly. “I’m serious! If you were actually that motivated by money, you wouldn’t work in a public school. You wouldn’t have even gone to school for counseling, for that matter. So, turn it down.”

“But doesn’t that make me…kind of…?”

“Kind of what?”

“I don’t know! Ridiculous? Sentimental? Turning down more money to stay with my friends?”

“Again, I ask you: who cares?”

“Well, I fancy myself a very cool, detached person.”

Jyn snorts. “You?”

He frowns at her. “Yes, me! You don’t think I’m cool and detached?”

“No,” she says, “not at all. Are you crazy? You’re the least cool person I know!”

“Wow, thank you.”

“I mean, not that you’re not cool like—I’m saying you’re not too cool for anything, you know? Like, you care so much about everything! Even dumb bullshit that no one else can be bothered to even pay attention to, you care about it! I don’t know how you do it. I’m an art teacher, I’m supposed to be all passionate all the time, and I still feel like a robot compared to you. It must be exhausting to care so much.”

“That’s your impression of me?” Cassian asks, a little bowled over.

“I meant all of that as a compliment,” Jyn says, looking nervous. “And I didn’t mean to go on and on about it, I just—you assume everyone is like you, that they’re as good as you and they care as much, and I sometimes think you don’t see that you’re special. It’s the best thing about you, how much you care.”

“And I thought the best thing about me was my eyes,” he responds, weakly.

“Well, you do have nice eyes, that’s true,” she says, looking down at her shoes.

“I do have another reason—a selfish one—for thinking of accepting the new job.”

“What’s that?”

“I think that if there was someone here—someone on the faculty here, I mean—that I maybe wanted to date, it would possibly be less weird for us if I worked at a different school,” he answers, with his heart in his throat.

“Oh,” Jyn says, still not meeting his eye. Her foot scuffs back and forth on the pavement anxiously. “I guess, in that case, you would probably want to be sure that this person is actually interested in you before you make any huge life decisions with her—I mean, them—in mind.”

“I’m pretty sure she is interested in me too.”

“How do you know?”

“She just told me I have nice eyes,” he says. 

Jyn looks at him then, her gaze lifting to his face suddenly as she narrows her eyes. “Seriously? How long have you—?”

It doesn’t take much effort—two steps, really—to get close enough to draw her into his arms and kiss her like he’s been wanting to basically since the day she started at the school. She makes a surprised noise that’s immediately muffled by their mouths coming together and then it’s just them kissing. Finally. And it’s every bit as good as he imagined it would be, with her kissing back with as much intensity as he’d expect from the person who loves to give him hell on a daily basis. Her arms come to wrap around his neck, dragging him down to her level, and his clasp around her lower back, desperately trying to afford them some stability in this position.

“The others are gone, right?” she asks, more or less against his mouth. 

“Uh…” He turns his head, peering across the parking lot, which gives Jyn access to his jaw and his neck and he’s not mad about it, though it does make thinking straight more difficult than usual. He doesn’t see any other cars left. “I think it’s just us.”

“Good,” Jyn says, and pulls him with her by his shirt until her back hits the side of her car. Once settled there, she leans up for another kiss, and he has to brace himself against the door to stay standing. The condensation from the window wets his palm and makes him shiver, which makes Jyn laugh. He doesn’t bother explaining, since he’s not sure he could convince her that it has nothing to do with kissing her.

They make out like idiots, in the parking lot of the school they work at, where anyone could see them, for an inadvisably long time. By the time they come up for air, he has thoroughly ruined Jyn’s hair, the straps of her dress are hanging loosely off her shoulders, and anyone who looked at her would know she’d been doing some very serious kissing. Cassian is sure he’s looking equally disarrayed. Despite them being pressed closely together, he can feel the goosebumps rising on her skin and chafes her arms with his hands to warm them.

“How long?” she asks, softly, wearing an amused smile that might be at his attempt at gallantry or something else entirely. When he gives her a questioning look in response, she adds. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cassian pretends to think about it. “How long have you worked here?”

“Two years.”

“There’s your answer.”

“Really?” Jyn asks, astonished somehow. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

“You made me nervous,” he says, still caressing her arms. “You still make me nervous.”

She loops her arms around his middle now, pressing them together in a way that feels very dangerous in a school parking lot. He clears his throat in the most obvious fashion imaginable and she gives him a knowing smile.

“That’s not the only thing you make me, for what it’s worth,” he points out.

“I gathered as much,” she says, pleased with herself. 

He raises a hand to cup her cheek, drawing his thumb gently over the corner of her mouth. “You know, a nice person would say something about how I make them feel, at this point in the conversation.”

“You already got a whole speech about how passionate and sexy you are,” she objects. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I don’t think the word ‘sexy’ came up in that little speech of yours, actually. Could you maybe elaborate on that?”

Jyn shakes her head before she leans in to kiss him again, this time trading their earlier desperation for a slower pace. “Not here,” she says, once she’s drawn him in again. “Not to be corny, but my place or yours?”

“Whichever’s closer,” he says, immediately.

She laughs and bites her lip to try to hide it, which is very distracting. “Good answer. I think that’s me, then.”

“I’ll follow you,” Cassian replies, with a nod towards his own car.

“You don’t want to just ride over with me?”

“I don’t want to park here overnight, and I do not trust myself in a car alone with you right now.”

“It’s a five minute drive,” she says, unimpressed.

“I could get into a lot of trouble in five minutes.”

“Okay, then,” she says, with a gusty sigh. “You might have to put your money where your mouth is on that one.”

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to put my mouth lots of places.”

“Idiot,” she laughs, swatting his arm. “Let’s go, then. I’m freezing and I’m wet.”

“You’re—well, that’s—oh, from the car! And the condensation…from the rain.”

“Wow,” Jyn says. “That was so smooth.”

Cassian laughs, and hangs his head. “In my defense, I—”

“Yes?”

He looks down at her, looking a little flushed and mussed up and still utterly defiant and perfect. “I just can’t believe it took me this long to get here,” he admits, even though it’s a stupid and besotted thing to say. 

Jyn gives him an endearingly sweet smile. “And I can’t believe I’m going to hook up with you after prom. I mean, what a cliché!”

“I did offer to give you the prom experience you never had,” he says, with a laugh. “Besides, some things are cliché for a reason.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, gazing up at him. “Why’s that?”

He thinks about all the stories he’s heard about love at first sight. He thinks about all the couples he’s heard say they’re in love with their best friend. He thinks about everyone who’s said that, when you’re with The One, you just know. He thinks about every piece of dating advice that told him to find someone who makes him laugh. And he thinks about happily ever after.

“Because they seem stupid until they happen to you,” he says, simply.

Jyn doesn’t bother saying she agrees. She just pulls him in for another kiss.

[aliendater-moved]

🛸word-based self ship prompt list

a set of fic prompts for self-shippers. send me an ask with one of these (and a ship if you want!) and i'll write something based on it!

(99% of these were probably on various other prompt posts i've seen over the years lol. sorry.)

prosh!p dni.

1. Intenerate; to make soft or tender; soften. 

2. Phantasmagoric; having a fantastic appearance, as something in a dream created by the imagination.

3. Duple; having two parts; double; twofold.

4. Nostomania; intense homesickness; an irresistible compulsion to return home.

5. Incunabula; The earliest stages or first traces of anything. 

6. Basorexia; An overwhelming desire to kiss.

7. Aeon; An immeasurably long period of time; age.

8. Aeipathy; A deep and utterly consuming passion.

9. Inocciduous; a star that never sets.

10. Fabrefaction; to develop something as a work of art.

11. Desarcinate; to be unburdened.

12. Cosmogyral; whirling around the universe.

13. Sospital; keep safe from harm.

14. Anacampserote; something that can bring back a lost love.

15. Biune; combining two entities into one.

16. Amaranthus; flower that does not fade.

17. Agonistes; a person engaged in inner struggle.

18. Baisemain; a kiss on the hand.

19. Gymnophoria; The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

[aswaki]

hanbin and matthew together give “i brought my friend energy” like fwb matthew and he brings hanbin along to ur hookup but then gets so jealous seeing the way you fold for hanbin and has to compete with him and you end up wrecked <33333 (hope this isn’t weird, pls ignore if so, just had sum thoughts)

LISTEN anon i really like your thoughts so i birthed a 3.1k words of matthew x reader x hanbin smut 🙏🏼🙏🏼 i was thinking of what to write for a while since i didn't want to reply half-assed since i!!! liked!!! this one!!! then april fool's came along and whoops, i opened my laptop, blacked out, and bam, here's the fruit of our thoughts.

matthew would be a little immature in dealing with his jealousy making it a competition and seeing how far he can take you compared to hanbin. hanbin is dear to him, sure, but he is kind of possessive even when he tries so hard not to be (poor baby) (he just likes you a lot). everything hanbin does, he would follow after just to get your attention. in the bedroom, if hanbin would be eating you out, he would replace him asap as soon as hanbin's done (see— he was still polite. he could wait!) to the point of overstimulating you just so you can have a point of comparison between them— “can he do this?”. you'd have to tap out, touching his hair and patting his shoulder— “matthew, you did well, baby, but please stop”. your legs would be shaking and all. matthew would be seeing that and go 😮🥺😏.

though, i do think he would never out right admit to this jealousy— he just doesn't want you see him like that. he's a very loving & mature partner ok !—and also i do think it would only ever come out regarding certain people (aka hanbin).

[reiverreturns]

19 + phoenix

honestly this prompt got pretty far away from me but i'm hoping a little dose of mavnix atones for my sins. under the cut for M tones. thank you for the prompts my darling and i'm sorry it's taken 3 bloody months to finish them ❤️ Send me a prompt and some characters/ships for a ficlet or drabble

Phoenix + Raw

Maverick comes apart when the world around him stills. This, Phoenix knows, is a near certainty. 

She understands why. Neither of them are built to stagnate, and in the desert, movement canters around them in a messy tangle of cranks, pulls, rocks, and groans. He pulls her into the Airstream when the sun’s at its hottest and laughs when her jeans stick to her thighs. She disrupts the peace he finds in between his early morning coffee and the sheets of a newspaper until he’s twitching and slack, nervous to pull his bare skin from the leather upholstery. She pours the cold coffee down the drain, makes them a new pot, and knows that it too will be forgotten. 

They work on Maverick’s litany of machines and talk about hops and horror stories and the long roads that got them here. It’s easy. Comfortable. 

But night affords them less. It’s then, in a darkness that is cool and quiet, Maverick murmurs against Phoenix’s hair: “I’m meeting Rooster for dinner next Friday.” 

Phoenix hums a reply and doesn’t move from Maverick’s chest. She already knows. The date’s been on Mav’s calendar for weeks, written in light-handed lettering bearing little resemblance to the crowd of bold capitals and red sharpie around it. A hesitant hand. A hopeful one. 

(They don’t talk about Bradley.) 

Phoenix shifts from Maverick’s side to draw a leg over his waist, settling down until she’s on top and flush against him. Maverick’s eyes are boring holes into the ceiling like he’s trying to see the stars and all their fissures through layers of metal. It’s an old look, nothing new or wondrous in it, and it makes Phoenix’s ribs ache. 

(He looks like a wayfarer, she thinks. Like a man asking the sky to guide him home.) 

She pushes her palms against the sides of his neck, tries to rub away the anxious tic in his jaw with the pad of her thumb. “It’ll be fine Mav,” Phoenix reassures, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty to worry about.” Maverick smiles but Phoenix can see no humour in it. Warm hands find her back and fold over one another in long, slow crosses, holding her to him. “It’s been over a decade. That’s a lot of time to bridge. A lot of apologise for.” 

It is, but it's not all on Maverick, and it takes everything Phoenix has to bite down on her tongue and stop the scold telling him so. It’s not her place. Whatever needs to run its course between Maverick and Rooster will do so without her intervention, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t struggle with being on the sidelines. 

(They’d talked about this the first time Maverick kissed Phoenix and set her ablaze. Phoenix had been so keen to cut the fuel line at a moment’s notice, so awkward was the fit of her trepidation, but when Maverick gasped her given name against her skin - Natasha - the sound was almost reverent.) 

She cants her hips forward and watches his face. Maverick grunts softly, and his eyes flicker towards her. Still intense, still searching, but no longer aimed towards the motionless dark. 

“Well, the easiest way to Rooster’s heart is usually through his stomach,” Phoenix tells him, hands dancing up Maverick’s sides, splaying onto his chest to feel at his heart as she pushes herself upright to straddle him. “Take him to a steak place. That’s his favourite.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. He orders his steaks so rare they’re practically raw. It’s kind of gross.” 

Her words are a concession Phoenix rarely makes. She searches her gut for the immediate pain, a cost to her meddling, but comes up short. And when Maverick sits up to kiss her, smiling in a way that pools his happiness in the creases around his eyes, the thank you in his touch might just be worth it. 

They move together in their cramped bed and chase the night's stillness away. Soft at first, a slow hum of contentment pushing and pulling between them like brushing waves at low tide, but they are not quiet people, and sure enough, when Phoenix throws out a spark, she finds fuel. 

She rolls her hips and is rewarded by delicious, hard friction. Maverick’s hands map their way to her flanks and she sighs, winding her arms around his neck, trusting him at the controls. 

“And where am I taking you Friday after next?” Maverick whispers into her ear. Beneath the rough edge of her own breathing, Phoenix hears the grin of it. His hand slips between them, the cocky bastard, and she laughs. 

“Anywhere you want,” she replies, turning her head to catch his mouth with hers.

Anywhere, but first, you better take me to the stars.

[insanereddragon]

For the prompts, how about 'ruska' for Aloy? :3

ruska: the phenomenon of leaves turning various shades of red, yellow, purple and brown during the autumn season

--

Kotallo stops and turns when he realizes that Aloy is no longer walking beside him. He sees her paused along the path, looking up into the dense foliage above. She's not reaching for her weapon so he knows there's no threat, but she has a curious look on her face.

"See something interesting, Commander?"

He steps back towards her and she looks at him with a bashful smile.

"I thought I saw a yellow leaf. It reminded me that this is the time of year the trees in the Embrace are changing color. The entire valley is a sea of red, yellow, and purples. It's been years since I've seen it."

Kotallo stands by her side and looks up too. The light is dappled as it comes through the green leaves to the jungle floor.

"The Bulwark only sees a few patches of color. It's a quick slide from green to brown before the first snow fall."

Turning his head to look at Aloy, he gives her a soft smile.

"Would you go back east to see the colors again?"

Aloy looks at him and her cheeks go hot with flush.

"Maybe, if I could show it to you too."

Send a word and get a 100 word drabble.

[wtfuckevenknows]

I’d love to see #45 and #4 for the kisses prompt please! For #4, I’d really love if it was T.K. kissing Carlos somewhere where it hurts, a little injured Carlos and sweet, loving T.K. 🥰

Hiii :) Thanks for the prompts! I've done 4 already, you can find it here. Had a hard time coming up with an angry kiss, thanks @paperstorm & @noxsoulmate for brainstorming with me!!!

45: a kiss out of anger

The firetruck was pulling into the bay and Mateo saw Carlos first, announcing his being there with a whooping “Ay, Carlos.” They all looked over to where Carlos was leaning against a support beam, arms crossed and it was Judd who whistled, saying he looked angry and Paul commenting, “Looks like you’re in the dog house, TK.”

They all jumped out of the firetruck once it was parked, TK letting everyone go before him, not ready to face Carlos. He’d never seen Carlos angry before, and he didn't know what Carlos would do or say.

When Alex used to be angry, TK didn't want to be anywhere near him.

The others had quickly made their way up the stairs to head into the showers but TK was slowly stepping closer to Carlos, greeting him with a meekly, “Hi babe,” to butter him up. He didn’t get a reply.

Once he was close enough, Carlos pulled him closer by the belt loops before wrapping one hand around his neck and pulling him in for a hard and passionate kiss. Definitely not the reaction TK was expecting. 

“You looked angry. I thought you’d read me the riot act, not kiss me like that.” 

“Oh, believe me, I am angry. How can you be so reckless and put your life on the line like that?! But I’m also really fucking turned on by how competent my dual certified boyfriend is.” 

Carlos gave him another angry kiss, before letting him go. “Come to my place after your shift.” It didn't sound like a request, rather like a command. TK gulped, replying with a soft “okay” before watching Carlos walk out of the fire house.

You can find the other prompt fills here or on ao3.

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

[pagsys-writings]

15. Innocent

There were no innocent people in war. Thrawn knew that without a doubt. Hard decisions always had to be made. Sometimes the “good” side was required to work with… less than savory people. And in war, it was easy to lose yourself — your ideals, your morals. Thrawn wondered when he had lost his — lost himself — and his thoughts wandered, as they were wont to do, to Eli. Had he committed Eli to the same fate as him? Thrawn knew Eli was not innocent per se, not many in the Empire were free of its dark stain, but he was the closest Thrawn had seen. There had been a spark in Eli — something similar to childish excitement or pride — especially when he managed to find a pattern in the data or solve a problem. The thought of Eli losing that spark — himself — to war broke something further inside Thrawn and for the moment, he let guilt overcome him.

[merlinemrys]

magic reveal but like. mundane. like Arthur saw merlin create a flower kinda thing

TWO BUTTERFLIES

Summary: Instead of an all-powerful magical reveal, Arthur witnesses a small miracle.

══════════════════

Arthur has a slew of words to describe Merlin. To everyone else, he’ll say, He’s an idiot, the clumsiest manservant Camelot has ever seen. To very, very few people, he’ll say, He’s wise beyond his years and the bravest man I’ve ever known—he’s my best friend.

But this? Watching Merlin sneak out of Camelot under dim moonlight clearly hiding something as he cleverly distracts the guards and flees into the night? Suspicious is not a word Arthur attributes to Merlin. Yet Merlin embodies the word so completely.

READ THE REST ON AO3

[hekateinhell]

Vamptember, Day 1

Armand/Daniel | Prompt: Road Trip | Rated: T | Word Count: 1170

“You’re hungry.” 

Armand’s deadpan voice cuts through the fog in his head as he slides a packet of ham slices and a bag of peanuts across the dingy check-out counter at the rest stop. Adds a pack of Jelly Beans for good measure. 

He’s getting better at picking out food. 

“I’m not hungry.” On cue, Daniel’s stomach betrayed him, rumbling loud enough that Armand wouldn’t need his vampiric senses to hear it. Reminding him he hasn’t eaten since that cold slice of pizza at 7:04 AM as he’d watched the sun come up through the motel window. 

All it had taken was the influence of a movie, followed by an advertisement. Armand decided he wanted to see “real America” by virtue of a road trip. Never mind the sheer impracticality of being able to drive less than half the day. He had nothing but time, and Daniel had anything but a choice.

— 

“You should be wearing a jacket,” Daniel mutters, shoving the gas pump into the car. 

Armand stares at him in that weird, unblinking way he does, and when he smiles, it's almost sweet. "I don't get cold," he says. For some reason, he'd followed Daniel out of the car, even though they're not really stopping here.

"I'm aware," Daniel rolls his eyes as he leans against the Mustang; not the fanciest car Armand has ever shown up with. "It's a December night in New Mexico, and you're wearing a skimpy crop top and those god-awful pants. People will think you're crazy."

“God-awful, Daniel? Are you certain?” Armand laughs, and the sound makes Daniel relax in spite of himself. 

"I have these too," Armand says after a moment, matter-of-fact, reaching to touch the red, heart-shaped sunglasses nestling on the crown of his head, placed so as not to disturb the curls currently trying to obscure his face with every gust of the dry desert wind.

Two stops ago, Daniel had left Armand alone long enough to go take a piss in peace. Hadn't realized the rest stop sold cheap clothes and nick-knacks; his mistake. Tried to tell Armand those were women's clothes, the cut and dip on the top were obviously meant to emphasize breasts. "It doesn't concern me," Armand had shrugged, sliding a $5 over the counter, adding the sunglasses. "I saw these in a film."

A perfect explanation and then some. 

“Hey, sweet tits!”

A trucker's walking by, close enough to get an eyeful of Armand, far enough that he’s missing all the little flashing neon warning signs Daniel thinks are quite pronounced under the stark white-grey lighting. He makes an obscene gesture with his fingers and tongue, and a wave of revulsion rolls through Daniel's stomach when it occurs to him the image Armand presents to this misguided, perverted excuse of a man.

From ten feet away, with his mid-drift exposed in the cold air, those ridiculous, red-rimmed sunglasses, the dark auburn curls dusting over his pale shoulders—Armand looks for all the world a young, blatantly under-developed teenage girl.

The predator hasn’t realized he’s singling himself out as potential prey, but really, who would? There's a stagger in his step, too; he's under the influence of something. Not close enough to perceive the absence of a single pore or wrinkle on that smooth, white skin; the dark brown eyes that are simultaneously too evocative, drowned out, and haunted to ever, even on a purely subconscious level, be mistaken for a human’s.

Armand follows him with his gaze, otherwise rigid as a marble statute, as the man swaggers past them into the convenience store.

“What a treat. He envisions fucking me and killing me,” he murmurs, his accent underscoring the vulgarity of fuck and kill. “In which order, I cannot be sure.”

With a subtle startle and a thrill, Daniel realizes there haven’t been too many opportunities for Armand to feed since they started their little misadventure.

“I’m old enough that I don’t have to feed every night,” he’d said when Daniel was scrambling for reasons to dig his heels and not find himself trapped along Route 66 for endless nights with Armand in a manic mood.

“Isn’t it wonderful, beloved?”

Rest assured, Armand takes little drinks from him each night when he creeps in at dusk, curling his body over Daniel’s still sleeping form on the cheap polyester duvet. Armand’s evening greeting the gentlest press of his fangs in an open-mouthed kiss to Daniel’s throat.

Can’t possibly be sustainable; neither would leaving dead housekeeping and gas station workers everywhere they go. Can you imagine the headlines? Daniel could—it’d been his name on the bylines once upon a time.

“Start the car, Daniel,” Armand grins suddenly, breathtakingly sinister in its childish delight when Daniel understands the implication. The sunglasses come down to cover half his face as he strides towards the promising glow that had enveloped his midnight meal.

—

“Switch,” Armand commands when he returns, running a hand to smooth down his hair and adjust his mussed top.

He’s getting used to the “modern vernacular,” as it were.

Daniel smells the blood, the saltiness, on him, inside him. His cheeks are flushed, the curves of his lips colored in, to a degree Daniel can’t hope to match with his meager offerings.

Armand turns his head, those shiny, heart-shaped lenses reflecting Daniel’s own confused, annoyed, guilty, lustful expression back at him. A not uncommon muddle of desire, jealousy, awe, and exhilaration makes his heart pound in his chest, his throat dry.

To take life like that, to be the ultimate arbitrator, to play God…

“Armand, the road,” Daniel manages.

He doesn’t move, and neither does his mouth, stamped into its youthful pout. “Look around, beloved. There's no one here.”

“You’re going 95!”

“Is that too fast?” His voice laced with an edge that had gone undetected when it was rattling around Daniel’s skull.

“Yeah, knock it off!” The car wasn’t designed to be abused like this, and its disapproval is loud and clear.

Armand ignores them both, the speed gauge inching to 100, 109, 117, 120.

God is not a game I play, Daniel. You are the only one of us truly still living by any virtue of the word, and you will it all away.

Do you know what I would give to be in your place, to see the sunrise one last time? Do you not see how fast a worthy lifetime passes?

Just like this.

“Armand!”

143 now, only one hand slack on the wheel.

Daniel sees the crash play out in his mind, Armand walking away from the pile of metal and gore without so much as a backward glance.

The copper scent hangs more potent in the air for a moment, suffocating in the enclosed space. Armand turns away, the needle slowly, mercifully creeping back down.

Daniel's catching his breath, amazed he hadn't shit himself, biting back the scathing retort he doesn't yet have when Armand drops something in his lap.

The $0.50 sunglasses in two pieces, broken at the bridge.

[ddagent]

BALLOONS

BALLOONS: John and Delenn are secretly married It’s my Birthday! Prompt me things.

Commander John Sheridan entered the ballroom, enjoying the clink of his wedding band against the champagne flute. His father, beside him, did not. He frowned at the silver band encircling John’s finger. “Your mother’s still not happy.”

You’re not happy, you mean. Every time John had come home in the last ten years, he had been invited to dinner with yet another potential partner. Lizzie’s friends had been circulated several times, as had the daughters of eminent generals and politicians and diplomats. It was only his mother who had resisted the urge to matchmake. Sure, she had been upset that John had, once again, eloped – this time during the war with a xeno-historian he had met during a brief layover. His father had been furious. It could be worse, Dad. I could be married to a Minbari Satai.

A hushed whisper overtook the ballroom as the Minbari delegation entered. John could not keep his eyes from his wife. Her robes were silver, embroidered in navy blue. The cerulean patches on her skin shone in the light from the chandeliers; her green eyes drew in every one who stared at her. And more than a few people were staring at her. John found his gaze fixed upon his wife as she was guided through introductions, pleasantries. He clenched his fist; the silver wedding band digging into his skin. He wanted to feel the cold metal linger on his wife’s body; wanted to feel the bite of her own ring in her touch as she drew him closer, further, harder.

“Satai, this is Ambassador Sheridan,” General Lefcourt introduced before turning to John, almost embarrassed at presenting Sheridan the Starkiller to a Minbari. “And this is his son.”

“Commander Sheridan and I have already met,” Delenn announced, her voice doing nothing to simmer John’s libido. In the three months that they’d been apart, he had almost forgotten the hold she had on him. “During our initial negotiations.”

John grinned. Hide a truth within a lie; easier to swallow. “Yes, the Satai had the courtesy to not have me executed.”   

Two generals, his diplomatic father, and a nearby member of the waitstaff all froze. But then Delenn laughed, drawing shock from the assembled. They can laugh. They can weep. They can love and she loves me. “I would not call it a courtesy, Commander Sheridan. Merely the opportunity to make the correct decision.” The words for once were left unsaid. But John heard them. Still, both moved on. Delenn turned her attention to the elder Sheridan, her father-in-law. “Will you be joining us for the deliberations tomorrow?”

“I will.”

David Sheridan didn’t offer up more than that and Delenn was quickly taken on to the next introduction, the next pleasantry. When they were out of earshot, David shook his head at his son. “Dammit, John, you can’t go around saying things like that. We have to focus on making peace with the Minbari. Not war.”

“Maybe I should marry her, Dad.”

Another half-truth. David Sheridan did not find it funny. John didn’t find it funny that he had seemingly been cast as the arrogant, war-mongering jarhead – just as he didn’t find it funny that his father had tried to interfere with his career before the war. Either way, both Sheridan men were at loggerheads. David Sheridan took off to talk to Senator Flynn, accompanied by his daughter, most recently in the diplomatic service. John took off in the other direction, towards the bar. Anything to get through this night. One Jovian Sunspot. He rested his hand upon the wooden countertop, admiring the silver band in the light.

“It is a beautiful ring.”

The bartender had gone. It was just him and Delenn. “I have one, for you. It’s upstairs. I know you can’t—” John exhaled. “—but I want you to have it. Wear it when we’re together. Wear it when you think of me.”

Delenn’s finger brushed the band of metal around his finger. There were swirls of silver and blue on her own fingers, signalling her new marriage to her people. She pulled away as a sergeant came to the bar on an errand for ice. John busied himself with his drink. Delenn sipped water. The sergeant quickly disappeared. “Your father appears to hate me.”

“It’s not just you; he’s pissed at me.” Delenn wrinkled her nose. John grinned. “Angry. He’s angry with me. Angry that I got married; angry that they can’t meet my wife.” He took a drink. Well, Dad, you’ve met her now. Turning to Delenn, his wife, John realised that he didn’t want to spend another second thinking about his father. Not with her here, so close. “I’d like to see you tonight.”

If they could only see you smile like that. They’d understand how quickly I fell in love with you. “Are you not seeing me now?”

“I meant in a different light. The light of your quarters?” John bowed his head, leaning in for a single second, before moving away and back into the party. “I miss you.”

The words, alien to any Human in the vicinity bar him, lifted John’s heart as he returned to the party. I miss you too.