#If you want more send prompts

[greypetrel]

Ok because I'm falling down the Aisling x Fenris hole with you - could I ask for affection meme #29 - Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking?

You are all enabler!

(and I want to thank you. x°D Really I was so anxious at posting that fic, I’m so glad it got some appreciation)

(reminding you all that this is much an AU, don’t worry, we’re staying in Cullen territory in Canon. … She has a kink for Templars and bisexual disasters tho. You can mock her.)

Also it’s coming in more parts! Because why suffering twice when we can all suffer more.

Soundtrack!

And Part 1 if you missed it

If I Make it to the Morning

( Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking )

*Between Hasmal and the Tevinter border, 9:41, Firstfall.*

At first, the voices and tales of the Herald of Andraste didn’t caught Fenris’ attention. He just shrugged them off, not paying attention to the latest imposed saint and saviour there to solve everyone’s problems. He had spent his time in Kirkwall with the Hawkes, not enough to have him stay, but enough to learn that one person was but one person, and couldn’t be held responsible to solve the World.

He learnt about the Conclave, learnt that the Herald was an elf, and a Dalish one. But after a fleeting thought, wondering if he crossed their eyes at the Arlathven, all that time ago, he took his sword and was on the road again, after the next slavers.

He had no interest in joining the Inquisition, and if Varric needed him, he knew how to find him and contact him. It was none of his business, after all, three years with a clan and two days at an Arlathven didn’t make him a Dalish.

There were weird groups of mages, lately, crossing the border in the middle of the night and with no cages. It was clear, tho, that they weren’t exactly up to much good. The first group that Fenris ambushed didn’t look that assuming. He admittedly just saw Tevinters acting suspicious, followed them and attacked when it was clear that they were up to no good, interrogating their chief.

Venatori, he called their group. At the service of the Ancient One to restore Tevinter’s glory. Add the usual slurs and empty threats, Fenris just ended him and got on with his work, gathering documents and the informations he could. He didn’t fully understand what was going on, there definitely were some pieces of the puzzle he missed -first and foremost who this Ancient One was-, but the mentions to Red Lyrium were enough for him to catch on that Venatori meant, too, kill on sight. He sent word to Varric as soon as he got back to Hasmal and his informators, attached the document he found, and got on with his life.

*Close to the Tevinter border, 9:42, Wintermarch.*

It passed a month before another attack to another group of Venatori almost ended in disaster. He thought he had counted them all, tracking them down as they crossed the border and made their way out of the beaten path, hiding the way hahren Oshyn taught him, minding his steps not to make noise, blend in the environment. It was useful for spying as well, observing the enemy without being seen, and he was grateful for the effort the Lavellans put up with him. Except, this time he miscalculated.

He didn’t see that there was a second group, bigger, further back on the path, that descended on him as he was almost finishing the first. He cursed, thought back on his strategy. They were too many, and he was getting tired: his chance was falling back -dodge a fireball, parry another, jump back when there’s the crack of lightning, plant your sword in the ground and your hands away, shut your eyes and close your ears, the way she told him to- and retreating back in the trees, hoping he still remembered Oshyn’s teaching enough to lose them in the woods.

And then, an arrow struck a soldier. Another felled the next. Barriers were casted as a contingent of soldiers and scouts came out all around him, telling him brashly to just move.

They sported Inquisition insignia, a flaming black eye in white field, cut in half by a sword. He stared, not understanding what they did so far north. Far beyond the reaching of the Chantry. If they crossed the border and entered in arms in the Imperium, it would have caused a diplomatic disaster, and for what he knew, the Inquisition wasn’t so politically sound to withstand offending Tevinter, Herald of Andraste or not.

When the battle was over, he approached what looked like the Officer in command, and asked. They were kind, and treated him as equal. Mistook him for a Dalish, but it wasn’t the first time it happened, and he often took it as covering, not bothering to correct the mistake of seeing a tattooed elf and going for Dalish.

“We’re here on the Inquisitor’s personal orders, hunting slavers and Venatori. You shouldn’t engage neither on your own, particularly the Venatori: they’re dangerous and the prisoners are taken for experiments.”

“So close to Tevinter?”

“Yes, it’s a conjunct operation. The Inquisitor’s Tevinter advisor has contact in Minrathous. Magister Tilani joined forces with us for this operation.”

He frowned. A Tevinter advisor in contact with a Magister? He heard of Tilani, she wasn’t high on his list of targets, but still… Maybe he should have paid more attention to the Inquisition, after all, if its hand reached so far north and its leader had… Such sympathies. Weird.

“Can you tell me more about the Inquisitor? With a Tevinter advisor?”

The scout laughed, shaking her head. He followed her around, helping how he could in searching bodies and retrieving documents, orders and everything useful.

“Forgive me the laughter… You’re not the first to have doubts. The Lady Inquisitor was the Herald of Andraste, and much like her patroness, she doesn’t look at provenience, if the intentions are good. Whoever wants to help defeating Corypheus has a place.”

A Dalish elf with sympathies for Tevinter. It could… No. No, it couldn’t be. She was one of many, and she wanted to stay in the clan. He shooed that thought from his head and made another question.

“Who’s this Corypheus?”

“The Ancient One, yes, the one that the Venatori follows.”

“So, a Magister.”

“So they say. Some rumours say he’s darkspawn too, tho… But he was the one who opened the Rifts and the sky, and destroyed Haven, Lady Lavellan tho closed the Breach and dueled him in Haven… She’s the best bet against him.”

“… Lavellan, you said?”

“Yes, didn’t you know her name? I thought the Dalish knew. Do you know her?”

“… she’s a mage.”

“Yes, but-”

He thanked the Scout, a little too brashly for politeness, and was out of the clearing before she could ask him who he was exactly. And thinking back, really, how many weird elves could he think of that would have welcomed a Tevinter noble as advisor? How many elves were so prone in getting caught always in the weirdest shit so gloriously?

He needed to get South.

*Exalted Plains, 9:42, Guardian.*

It took him way longer than he would have liked to reach her.

He had considered tracking the Lavellan, just to ask… Anything, really. Because the idea of facing the Keeper and the whole clan, after almost 8 years since he left without even a goodbye was still more appealing than facing her, after leaving with yes, a goodbye, and also a conversation that left her in pieces and took the light away from her eyes.

But he owed it to her, at least. He owed it to come personally, not go looking for voices and rumours from people who knew her, not write and ask Varric how she was faring and if he believed she needed help.

He hadn’t been thinking straight, but he felt his heart in his throat and a sense of dread. He had to go and check. Even if it meant having her tell him in his face that he went way past her stupidly wide boundaries and she hated him. Just a quick detour. Check if she was fine. Offer his sword if she needed it. He owed it to her. She has just saved his life. Yet again. He was free, now, and he was done running.

But, by the time he reached Skyhold, not difficult to find once he crossed to Ferelden and found forward camps and bases flying the flaming eye all around the Storm Coast and Crestwood, drinking anecdotes and informations he could find and hear, she wasn’t there.

It was, honestly, impressive to see what she had accomplished: the tall, imposing fortress bustling with life and activities, the camp in the valley. Oh, he knew she was highly intelligent, and would have been a good leader, once her time would have come… He never expected this. As he never expected to find back from Kirkwall Knight-Captain Rutherford – now Commander, and underlining heavily how he was no more Knight-Captain- to burst his cover of “Former Lavellan member”.

It took him too many explanations to let him, Sister Nightingale and Lady Montilyet to agree and tell him where the Inquisitor was. Varric barged in, fighting guards, to vouch for him, and yet fell surprised when Leliana asked him if it was true that he knew the Inquisitor. He couldn’t answer, because he never told him which clan he knew, never told them all more than “I hid three years among the Dalish”, when Merrill noticed some idiosyncrasies he picked up and she instantly recognised. Luckily, Cullen didn’t forget he was in the Gallows too, fighting against Meredith, and it was him, in the end, who convinced his colleagues. It calmed him to see she had people around that were protective of her. The actual her, not the Inquisitor mask.

He tagged along in the next supply caravan, headed to the Exalted Plains. It wasn’t a long trip, at least.

He was welcomed by destruction. Trenches in shambles, a countryside on fire, soldiers from both parties of the civil war gathering to burn corpses, Inquisition forces working hard to keep everyone supplied, the roads safe from bandits, clean up what they could.

They pointed him North, saying the Inquisitor hadn’t been back from a couple of days. That was busy, as the Inquisition’s forces repaired the bridge to Citadelle du Courbeau, helping a Dalish Clan that was camped in Halin’Sulahn. She was bound, tho, to be at Fort Revasan in three days time, to cross the river and go check the situation in the Citadelle. Voices ran of more zombies and demons.

He sighed, not surprised that they kept having such a bad timing amongst the civil war and her fulfilling her duties to the People. As the great First that she was. He headed north, leaving the beaten path, spotting traces he didn’t really like and felt familiar from the last three, aimless years.

He climbed to the top of a low hill, facing down to a flatter strip of land where a tall, dilapidated elven building still stood and he saw it: a small camp, lit by a couple of fires and tents with the Tevinter snakes painted on top. Very unwise, to make themselves so visible and recognisable. Particularly because they were so few, all but five people, two of whom lying asleep.

He unsheathed his greatsword and slowly walked down, laying low and hiding behind fallen rocks. The position wasn’t the best, just a turn of a head and he’d be spotted. Nonetheless, he trudged on hiding until he couldn’t anymore. He was spotted and then he ran. He faded through a tent, stabbing down to the sleeping mage there, right in the middle of his chest. One less.

He faded again through a fireball, charging one of the mages, the one that alarmed the others. It wasn’t difficult, he just had to pay attention and care for his surroundings, ducking and dodging and taking his time. He had energies to spare, the long journey left him eager of getting back to work. One Venatori less, throat sliced neatly.

The third had him retreat, casting a rain of icicles he had to jump back to dodge. Not a problem, he could circle him, maybe drag the assassin they had with them in the fire, or over one of the ice mines that were casted -as if he didn’t know what they were, the idiot didn’t even put some effort in making them inconspicuous to the warrior elf glowing blue with lyrium. Amateurs.

A snap of wood behind him signalled one of the rogues, he girated around, swinging his sword –

Swiiish.

The assassin screamed in pain, as an arrow struck him right in his eye. He heard a feminine laughter, very nasal, from behind him, but didn’t stop to look, slicing through the soft belly of the assassin and leaving her on the ground to die, turning again to parry another fireball thrown at him with the flat of his weapon.

“See? I got the bull’s eye, Bull! Got it? Ah ah!”

The same voice of the laughter cheered, followed by a booming one, a laughter hidden behind every syllable, from right on his left.

“Great job, Sera-baas! Move, broomstick!”

The ground trembled, as a Qunari run after him and sliced the mage he was aiming at as if it was butter. The mage jumped behind, wounded badly but apparently not down, more resistant than one would think, or with a better armour hidden in flowy robes. The Qunari yelled. “Crap!” as he jumped back, too close to fully avoid the fire that was thrown at him. He hissed, swinging his axe to get distance, ignoring the pain and the burn. Fenris didn’t lose time, jumping right at him, zig-zaging to avoid being targeted too easily. He killed that mage by stabbing him in his chest, deep, but it left him open to the last warrior, his sword stuck in the leather brigandine the mage was clad in.

“Boss!”

He heard the Qunari yell again, as he struggled -damn Tevinter clothes with their too many straps- to free his sword and himself.

He felt it, then.

The air crackling in static all around, buzzing with energy and the distinct smell of ozone. Noise of hoofs, a horse neighing. And then-

It thundered, loud and strong. It had been eight years, but Fenris’ body, apparently, remembered, closing his eyes and letting go of the hilt, staying impossibly still where he was as the air filled with light and thunder, the woosh of flames adding up and warming the air on his face was new, and then everything quieted again. He opened his eyes and the last Vint was lying on the ground, unconscious and burnt from the lightning that just hit him, twitching jerkily as the electricity ran through his nerves, his clothes on fire in more than one part, hair completely burnt down.

They were younger, in a carefree day, years ago. It was spring, the air was full of the smell of fresh grass and flowers. He was sitting against a tree with a book she had lent him to exercise, as she slowly padded her way in the underbush, staff held tight in her hand and steps overly measured, toes checking the ground for twigs before placing her weight on it. She wasn’t a hunter: she may be not so bad when she asked him to teach her to wield a sword, but… The tongue out of her lips, the overly concentrated expression betrayed her uneasiness, long hair splaying all around, leaves stuck in the locks. She launched a rock in the undergrowth, quickly falling into position and calling on her mana as three rabbits ran away, scared. He closed his eyes and averted his eyes, not moving one bit as she told him, as thunder fell from the sky, precise as an arrow, and shocked one of the running rodents dead. She turned with a big smile on her face, expression lit up by more than the speckles of the sun that filtered through the canopy, proud of herself and looking at him for recognition.

“What for?” He had asked, barely containing a smile. He was there from a couple of years, they were unlikely friends, and he found it was difficult to stay grumpy and angry when Aisling was looking at you with that level of enthusiasm.

“Dinner, silly!” She laughed.

She wasn’t catching dinner anymore, but the precision, dead-set and carefully gained through a lot of methodical exercise, was still unmistakably hers. And yet, she wasn’t laughing anymore. She wasn’t alight with enthusiasm, and her hair weren’t long and with leaves or flowers decorating them.

She sat on a pinto horse, staff in her hand, looking straight at him with a hard expression on her face he didn’t think she even had in her. Her hair was shorter, brushing her shoulders and left loose, parted on top of her head so some stray locks covered her brow and her Vallaslin. Which was weird per se. She was very proud of her tattoos, always had been, and most often she braided her hair back to show them. Her face had lost the last roundness of childhood, her mouth had a harsh turn to it. She still wore leg wraps even with clothes and a leather cloak that were unmistakably human in cuts and materials, toes free on the stirrups.

Their eyes met, they kept looking for a long time. He notice briefly the other elf on the saddle with her, an archer taller than her that was glaring suspiciously at him, the second Mage in flowy white robes and moustaches that Fenris remembered from another life, or the Qunari of before asking questions he didn’t hear.

There she was. Aisling Lavellan, looking at him in the eyes.

Eight years had passed, but it was just like it was yesterday that they spoke for the last time. There was something he couldn’t recognise, but he still believe he knew, roughly, how to read her. He had spent a lot of time learning it, after all, and put his effort into it. With suspect at first, because she was a mage and she was eager, striving to get better, curiosity later, because she was careful and loved what she was doing, and a youthly, foolish and thought unrequited first love, lastly. They were both older, now… But she was still her, and he was still him.

He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact, until the archer rose her bow, the Altus got his staff in position and he had the Qunari’s axe at his throat, forcing him to held his chin high.

“Bull.” She just said, assertive. Her Keeper’s tone.

“Are you sure, Boss? We don’t know-”

“I knew him.”

He didn’t lose how she clicked her tongue on her palate, making the horse move without any other movement, stopping him in front of the Tevinter. Protectively.

She didn’t have to ask him, he didn’t have to answer, they still communicated silently as well as the day he left, after all. There was old hurt, distrust, and incomprehension. And yet, something steely in her eyes, that was maybe not her, but the Lady Inquisitor. He contracted his eyebrows, knowing she was reading him as well.

She lowered her eyes, nodded.

And then he spoke, for the others more than for her.

“I came to offer my sword to the Inquisitor.”

And then, someone punched him, hard, right on his right cheekbone. He fell to the ground, hissing in pain and scrambling to the side, to face-

A very angry, seething with rage, Radha Lavellan. Sharper to the corners, hair considerably shorter, daggers sheathed and hands still clenched in punches. If looks could kill, he would be dead and buried right there and then.

“Radha.” Aisling called, a note of tiredness in her voice.

The Rogue stepped back, without saying a word, still casting angry glances at him. 

“Who is our new guest, darling?” A soft, low voice came, still from behind the horse.

“A person we once knew. He won’t hurt anyone, let him come.”

There was that, at least.

*Skyhold, 9:42, Spring and Summer.*

She wasn’t angry with him. She didn’t seem so. But, she wasn’t the bubbly, friendly person of before.

She accepted him in the Inquisition, leaving to Leliana and Cullen to decide how better to take advantage of his abilities after he explained that he had spent the last 4 years after Kirkwall to hunt slavers down, on his own.

He didn’t expect to find both Raina and Garrett Hawke there, greeting him with Varric as one would an old friend. Even if he was the one of their rag-tag group that fought alongside them for the shortest time. But, they at least were welcoming.

Aisling avoided him, polite when they needed to interact, with a coldness she never had, not getting closer. He tried to speak to her, but she wasn’t reachable anymore. She didn’t want his apologies, she told him that he could be free, she didn’t need his help and didn’t want for him to stay if he didn’t want to, or if he just felt like it was his duty. He professed his wish to… Make amend, somehow. She just refused him, saying there was no need, nothing to amend for. Things happened.

He disagreed, and he stayed. Not that she seemed to mind much in good or bad.

But, she assigned him to missions, never ordering but always asking, mindful even after all that time of not making him feel trapped or forced. Radha slowly stopped looking at him as she would have stabbed him in his back, if it wasn’t for Aisling. It was something.

They danced around the other, gravitating, as they had done when the Lavellan brought him in. He knew she was observing him, he could see her looking at him from time to time. He was doing the same, both looking and not approaching. Space was what they had, space was familiar and a good compromise, as Fenris did his best to show her he was there, and he was not running, not leaving her to face a weird darskpawn-Magister alone. He could do that for her, and it wasn’t all that unpleasant.

The company was good, he got along with the Chargers -he knew the Iron Bull was familiar, after he named Seheron he knew. They never spoke about it, but they both knew. Varric… Was Varric, a knack for making you feel welcomed everywhere. He called her Lucky. It was, indeed, still Aisling Lavellan, the weirdo who thought people were good. She collected quite the rag-tag group, still making friends first and foremost with the most unlikely people around. Magisters and Altus -those were hard to accept, he stuck around as she and Dorian experimented, as Alexius joined them sometimes. He stuck around, a dagger at the ready, refusing to leave when she asked him, once, and even after she told him that Dorian had her utmost trust. Little by little, at least, he saw she was right, that the Altus really seemed to care, and the old Magister had no more bite to him. The Spirit, Cole, was the second on his list of curiosities that unsettled him: because of course she would have made friend with a Spirit in human form that read minds. And then Sera, whomever she was -he quite liked her, tho-. A Ben-Hassrath agent, and a good one, that acted like a mother cat and corrected her form with her spirit-blade. The ex Knight-Captain of Kirkwall lent her books, and they laughed together -he didn’t know Cullen was able to laugh. Apostates and Templars and Orlesian nobles charmed by her. She made it work, and he was admired.

Admired, and sad, because he knew her when she was young, and she never was that demure, and calm. Maybe it was just him and Radha that could see it, but he saw it: she was keeping her distances, keeping always three steps away from all her inner circle, save from Dorian.

She smiled more with him, as they spoke Tevene between them and experimented on magic. On that, she was still brilliant, as much as he was, and he had to admit, as much as she didn’t trust the man, they worked well together, filling each other gaps and spurring each other on. She has always been talented and elegant, thinking outside the box and, at the same time, controlled. But with him?

They made rain on the Keep. A real, true rain that filled the reserves of drinking water and saved people a long and hard trip to fetch it. And, as they travelled across Thedas, helped people as well.

As the months passed, as they found a comfortable rhythm around each other, they crossed eyes again, from time to time. Aisling started speaking to him again, unsurely and tentatively. She never touched anything much personal, always kept her distance. But, she asked about how he was. Asked him for his opinion on matters that weren’t work. Suggested him a book she thought he may like. He made a detour from the kitchen, when he passed and saw they had just taken out of the oven a tray of lemon cookies, and brought them straight to her in the library as a thank you, because he remembered she liked lemon sweets best.

One day, she told him she read about Danarius in the Tale of the Champion. That she was happy for him. And for once, her smile was sincere. As many, many times before, she tugged back the small, shy smile she had just for him. He smiled back, for old time’s sake. He hoped she saw that, in spite of everything, he was proud of her. And he regretted every single day he didn’t get back after Danarius found him and he put an end on the story, winning his freedom.

There was distance, still, a huge, gaping hole of eight year of absence, with not a word. They could work around it, falling into the most innocent of their old habits -like, he would sit in the library, reading, as Dorian taught her maths and to put magic in theory and they bickered, ten miles per hours in a mix of Tevene and Common following some weird line of thought.

He wanted more, he regretted many things. But if that was all that there could be, all that she had left to give him, he would have taken it. Work. Fixing problems together, on different sides of the same room. Exchanging glances and knowing, still, what the other was thinking. Avoiding to speak about the regret, the longing, that at least he started to feel again, after some months. That was left for sideway glances. She could concentrate on finding another person. One that wouldn’t have left.

*Adamant Fortress, 9:42, Kingsway.*

She didn’t want him in his party. It was predictable. She invented an excuse, but he really didn’t need one. He followed Raina, as he had done in Kirkwall, up the battlements.

They fought, they crossed path with Aisling, in her Keeper armour, making thunder rain from above in that way she and Dorian had to weave spells together, drawing together from the Fade to enhance each other’s power. She had Dorian and Solas with her, with the addition of the Iron Bull. As the Battlements were freed, she stopped them to assess the situation and instruct them further.

“We need to get to the inner courtyard and stop Erimond. We’ll head there, Raina and Stroud with us.” She instructed them, turning to him, Radha, Sera, Garrett and Varric. “You stay here, keep the battlements free for our soldiers, cover them as they climb. Garrett, you know what to do to call me if another Rift opens up here. Ok?”

No, it wasn’t ok. He frowned at her, and for the first time since he arrived, he spoke up to her.

“Let me come with you.”

He told her, looking at her in the eyes. He didn’t need to say why or explain, he knew she knew. He had experience with Magisters. He had known Erimond. He was the best suited, had personal grudge against the man and the category. She knew. She steeled her gaze, tho, furrowing and not budging. A challenge.

“No.”

She stepped back: Fenris didn’t realise he had stepped so close to her.

He sighed, nodding, understanding it was not a matter of ability. It was clear as day on her face.

She didn’t trust him at his side, after all.

He let her go, did what she asked. He wondered if she knew his heart went with her nevertheless.

---

When the dragon came flying, tho, he said fuck it to the plan.

“Broody!”

He heard Varric shouting behind him, as he left his flank open – but he saw Radha running his way, and he trusted that the elf would have covered for the dwarf. She was good and protective, the person you’d want covering your back. And yet, she had no experience with Magisters either, and he did. And Aisling was against a crazy Magister -he saw him, buzzing with power- on his pet Archdemon, and his feet took flight. He ignored Radha yelling at him to stop.

He opened his way, one demon after the other, heart in his throat, as the dragon destroyed old walls with his tails, his roars almost covering the thunder that rained on the Keep.

He turned and ran, ignored his lungs begging for air, muscles twitching.

A flash of green, and the Archdemon in front of him retreated, hissing in pain. Whatever the Anchor was on her hand, it was, apparently useful. Except that it made the dragon even angrier. He jumped, stabbed the reptile’s hind leg deep in the muscle. The dragon kicked, and he was too tired to duck in time. He rolled, coming to a stop against a wall, cursing how the sword was tossed in another direction.

He was about to run after his weapon, when the dragon stomped, hard, making the bridge they were standing on tremble. A loud crack, and the stones began to fall.

As the dragon flew away, Fenris was left with a choice. His weapon, on the right. Aisling, on the left, running on falling debris. She was quick on her feet, but not enough. It wasn’t really a choice.

He didn’t think and jump after her, grabbing her tight and rolling them around, not caring for much else than giving her a chance more. He heard her cursing, arm circling his chest and holding tight, instinctively.

Another flash of green, brighter than any of her lightnings. Brighter than her smile right after he kissed her back. He didn’t think it was even possible.

---

She brought them in the Fade and she got them out.

She had to leave Stroud there. Fenris offered to stay, because that’s what he could do. It wasn’t enough, not after reading on her gravestone, in the realm of the demon, that her deepest fear was Abandonment. He knew he hurt her, deeply. He had hoped he hadn’t fully break her. And then, seeing it written, a full certainty…

She refused, her quiet, mistrusting distances instantly ablaze with anger. She yelled at him not to say anything of the sort to her ever, ever again. He never saw her angry before. Once, she would have cried. Now, she didn’t. She said to Stroud to get out, she would have stayed. She couldn’t ask him to do something she wasn’t ready to do.

In the end, the last one to get out from the Fade Rift was, indeed, Aisling, stumbling on her feet and almost losing balance. Fenris didn’t know if the Warden pushed her or managed to convince her. What he did know was that in her eyes, as she rose up and crossed his eyes, looked for him, and especially him, there was anger. Hate. The same hate he felt and told her about, that night at the Arlathven. Hate masking desperation.

It wasn’t him who did this to her. But he understood.

He nodded to her, gravely.

She turned against Erimond and extended her fingers, casting lightning without her staff. Hit the Magister right on the mouth of his stomach, snaking in the tightening nets of his barrier right before he closed it. The man fell on his back, three meters away, unconscious, body twitching.

The battle was over.

And yet, it was not.

---

He found her again early in the morning, as the battlefield was cleared and soldiers moved to the infirmary. Radha thanked him for helping her sister, which was as much as a peace offering he would have gotten from her.

He found Aisling outside the infirmary, bent on herself, hands stained green, trembling like a leaf even if the sun was quickly fending the chill of the night away.

His heart broke.

“You can go, if you need to. I’ll remember you, tho. I remember everyone that leaves.”

She told him, bent on her thighs, hugging her legs with her face hidden between both knees. She was trembling like a leaf, as the night slowly left place to the dawn, vulnerable as ever and still naked under what had been his sheets, the sinewy lines of her Vallaslin he had traced with kisses and caresses few hours prior in full view, hair still tousled from their activities spraying all around.

He had no words to give her, except that it was too much for him to bear. The memories, the intimacy… No. He had been stupid, he hadn’t been as scared in his own life as he was in that moment, terror crippling him. It was too much. He couldn’t stay. He told her all the wrong words, with anger she didn’t deserve and that wasn’t even directed at her. Not really.

She hadn’t cried, she hadn’t said a word more, or even looked at him.

He had been stupid, he had been a coward, and he had gone.

She wasn’t crying, she was still clothed and her hair still neatly plaited behind her head from the battle. And yet, as stoney and sure-footed she had proved to be as the Inquisitor in the last six months, she was crumbling on herself, façade cracking, closed in a protective bubble, hugging her thighs.

Fenris shouldn’t be the one to do that. He knew she didn’t trust him anymore and she had all the reasons. But, he had come full circle now, and as many flaws as he had… He liked to think he could learn.

He knew she hated to crumble before others. She knew she spoke her affection in touches. Or at least, with others. She never touched him without his consent ever since he told her he didn’t like it, and she hadn’t even asked him why. Just accepted the thing, acted accordingly.

This time, he wasn’t a coward, and he didn’t turn his back at her. Instead, he got closer, slipped his hands under her knees and held her back as he hauled her up, holding her close. She started to wiggle immediately, trying to push him away. Hissing and pushing and making the hair crackle with static. It was like holding a wild cat, but he didn’t let go, knowing perfectly she wouldn’t have hurt him. He brought her to a small passage between two buildings, narrow and hidden and left free of rubble, miraculously. They would have been alone there.

He let her go, letting her scrumble away on the ground, heaving and panting. She looked around her, eyes spirited, full of panic, ending up on his. He nodded, knowing what she was thinking, and turned his back, sitting close but not looking at her, shielding from the outside. After a minute, she started to cry, breath ragged, sobbing out like a wounded animal.

He knew her, tho, and knew that… Maybe…

He turned to look at her, legs crossed below her, arms hugging her and swinging back and forth as she cried, breathing heavily through her mouth, still trembling.

She hadn’t moved back, tho, hadn’t sought more distance. So, he tentatively turned back to her and moved closer. Closer. She let him approach. She let him circle her shoulder with both his arms and drag her on his lap, close to his chest, holding her as she cried. She smelled of ash, and of elfroot. She always smelled of elfroot.

“G-go now if you don’t mean to stay. Please, I- I could’t take it one more time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told her, squeezing her tighter. “I should have got back years ago. I’m here, now.”

He didn’t move, waiting for her to stop crying. She didn’t, slowly and tentatively shifting her head to slip in the crook of his neck. She didn’t seem to care much if he still had his armour on, and clutched to the border of his breastplate with a hand, holding close.

“Why did you get back?”

“What do you mean?”

“I… You were right. You were right all along.” She sobbed. “About magic. About… About me. I left a person in the- I- I wanted to make Erimond suffer. Slowly. I still do. I… I did blood magic.”

It made her cry more, and he didn’t lie. It was a stab.

“What happened?”

“Vyrina. Two months after you left. The baby… The baby was with his feet down. She would have died, they both would... I- I moved him. It was…”

He had found it weird that she didn’t heal with magic anymore in these months, and all that praising the 1000 qualities of Elfroot. She never did it before, she was learning Spirit Healing, and the Keeper said she was good at it. With those reasons, tho, he really couldn’t say much. It was her and she still didn’t have one bad bones in her body. She wasn’t possessed, that much was clear.

“I was wrong. About magic. It wasn’t about you, it never was… I was a fool, and I was scared. I thought it better if you hated me, I deserved no less. I projected things you didn’t deserve. I didn’t mean you. I never meant you. When you fell, this night, I…”

“I am a killer.”

“Aren’t we all.” He snorted, mirthlessly.

“Then, why…” She sobbed, folding again onto herself, voice pitching. “… Why did you leave, Fenris?”

He sighed, heavily. Six months it took her to ask. He owed her an answer. Particularly because she still, somehow, cared.

“… I thought about the answer a thousand times.”. He started, tentatively. He felt her moving, but it was his turn to just… hold her a little closer, placing a hand on her head. His gauntlet caught on her hair, he untangled it as delicately as he could. But she got the message that he didn’t want her to look, and stayed where she was. “The pain, the memories it brought up… It was too much. I was a coward. And I hurt you, more deeply than you would admit.”

She sniffed, shifted a little to get more comfortable against his armour. He settled them better as she took her time to reply. She had stopped trembling, at least, as well as sobbing. He turned his head to look at her, and what was left of the messy braid she tied her hair before the battle, locks spreading all over.

“Why returning now? After all these years?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I was hoping you could forgive me. And to tell you…” He swallowed. “… And to tell you that if you could, and you somehow felt as before, that if I have to be a future nothing could be worse than the thought of living it without you.”

It was as close as he could trudge. She stopped, perfectly still. It was out, he was on the clear.

“Why are you telling me this, now?”

“Because I thought you would have died, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing. You still have battles to fight. You need to know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I understand.”

She was back to cold mode. He slumped, fear rising back again, as well as regret. Gone was the giggling, gone were the embarrassment. She didn’t move from where she was, tho, hot breath fanning over his neck. He didn’t want her to go, ever, but… He felt her move, and let her slip away. He knew better.

“Thank you. For coming back. And for jumping after me. But…”

“It is too late.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew her. He didn’t need to even look at her to guess. She closed her fingers, slowly, over his, squeezing.

“I am sorry, Fen. But…” She was, tone of voice sweet, under hurt, old pain resurfacing. “… I don’t know. I think… I think it is.”

She kept her hand on his, not letting go. He moved and held her hand back, not saying anything else. He understood. He had stayed away so long convincing himself that she hated him and didn’t want to see him. He didn’t expect her to swallow everything or forget. They stayed there, silently mourning what was lost to bad timing, and trauma clashing badly together.

“I’d… I’d be glad if you stayed. If you want to. I… I am glad to have you around, even if…”

“You don’t trust me.”

She sighed, deeply, shaking her head in denial.

“I trust you with my life, Fen. I wouldn’t want to have anyone beside me in battle but you, Radha and Dorian, Bull and Sera.”

That much was true, she didn’t hesitate.

“I can’t trust you with my heart, tho.”

She moved forward, tentatively as she already did, but less nervous. She asked him to look at her, when she was close enough.

“One for the road?” She asked, smiling. She was crying.

“One for the road.” He smiled back, nodding.

She pecked a last kiss on his lips, no teeth this time. It was bittersweet, and she tasted like salt and ashes, and some lingering elfroot from the last healing potion she dranked. She dragged it on, and then interrupted it, moving back and letting go of his hand.

“Thank you.”

She said. It encompassed everything. Fond memories they had, young people learning to find common ground, growing together, him learning about peace and quiet, she peeking her nose in a bigger, wider world. A bigger, wider world that suited her and she was shaping.

“No. Thank you, weirdo.”

It could have been.

But, the timing was wrong.

[emacrow]

Jazz always wanted a little brother.

Her best friend's mommy having a baby brother in her tummy, but right now they were at gotham, mom was meeting with some important people while she stay safe in the car with dad sleeping in the front passenger seat.

When she asked her mom and dad for a baby brother earlier that same week, mom had to explained that her tummy was broken after she had her because she was a very special miracle baby because they tried so hard to have her.

Jazz understood but at the same time, she wanted- no she need a baby brother, maybe one with dad's hair and mom's eyes, or maybe one with hair like hair and dad's eyes.

And she was determined, as she snuck out of the fentomobile car, sneaking inside beside the scary ninjas guards that were temporarily distracted.

She was very good at sneaking around thanks to mom training her to stay quiet and hide better then a ghost.

There was pools of ectoplasmic but much dirtier and less cleaner then the stuff mom and dad work with. Container and chambers full of them.

She saw doctor walking out of one room and snuck in before the the door close on her. There was another ectoplasmic container that had babies in them..

One sleeping upside down and the other upside up. The one of the bottom was sleeping but the older has his eyes open, revealing pretty blue eyes like dad's eyes.

She chewed on her bottom lip a bit and weigh her short limited choices as nodding.

She close her eyes, focusing as she quickly started to float a bit wobbly, sticking her small hands onto the glass ectoplasmic ball using her secret powers that she had learned without mom and dad noticing.

Her invisible hand grabbed the baby slowly, making it invisible as she pulled it out of the ectoplasmic ball.

The baby was very small and light then a feather while covered in wet ectoplasm goop.. the baby cough a bit, dripping ectoplasm out his mouth, squirming a bit as he was about to male a fuzz but quiet down as she held him close into her warm fuzzy jacket.

She snuck back out of the room and quickly out of the place all the way back into fentonmobile..

Covering the baby with her Einstein beat designed blanket, cleaning the baby up like she would with her baby dolls, and she open the empty toy baby bottle and open her mini almond milk jug, then pour the milk in and close it, after remembering to cut a little open hole on the tip of the hard plastic nibble part.

Scooting over to the baby, and carefully picking him up and helding him close onto her lap like she seen the mommy do on TV as she press the toy baby bottle again the baby's mouth.

It would be 1 hour later before mom came back looking excited then 2 hours later after they left gotham before a soft baby wail woke her dad from the backseat of the fenton car where jazz was.

Jazz was pink in the face as she was trying to hide the baby but she couldn't stop him from crying.

It would 20 minutes of jazz lying straight to her parents's faces on where she found the baby, and it would forever be her only best lie she ever told that convinced them to adopt the baby boy that was now named danny..

Meanwhile back at league of Assassin headquarters. The head scientist has noticed that the first unborn twin baby has been removed early then schedule, probably due to natural condition of death since the first one has a much weaker pulse compared to the second unborn baby which Talia had name Damian later.

The leading scientist check off the existence of the supposed first born who went without a name on the data base...

Unknownly to both parties, Jazz was very happy to have a little brother of her own now, even if his eyes flashes green a bit from time to time.

[kittycatcorner]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[radaverse]

samurai cat but remake lol

Og pic:

Og post: samurai cat (og)

[virescent-v]

Hiii. I hope you have a good day!! I'd like to ask 2,4,6,140 from the smut promt list. 😶

Two Emily fics in a week? I'm very proud of myself. :))) Also sorry this one also took like two-three weeks to do...

Office Hours

Summary: It's Emily Prentiss smut, ya'll. If you've read my stuff before, you know what to expect lol. Grey haired mommy Emily can do whatever she wants to me

Word count: 2k+

Prompts:

“just a little harder”

“no panties?”

“use your tongue”

“i can’t believe how wet you are already”

Have a great weekend everyone ;)

There was something so entrancing about watching Emily interrogate a suspect, something that I tried to never witness because it turned me on every single time. However, this time was unavoidable as the rest of the team was out of the office chasing down other leads, of which we had few of. 

I let Emily handle the perp, her experience gave her a leg up that the unsub wasn’t expecting. She was no-nonsense, intense, and fierce. She didn’t back down or give the unsub an inch. Even with her tactical questioning, she still wasn’t getting much, and she eventually decided it was best to let him sweat in the box for a bit. 

Following her out of the room, she led me back to her office wanting a few minutes to debrief and go over what we knew. But the second the door was closed behind us, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. I reached out and pulled her around to face me, a questioning look in her eyes before she registered what was happening. 

Emily’s smile widened. “You okay there, baby?” 

Oh, she definitely knew what I was feeling. Damn behavioral analyst. I licked my lips, my eyes dragging up her body. “You know I feel about watching you in the box, Em.” 

She chuckled, pulling me closer to her, wrapping her arms low and loose around my hips. “I know. I wouldn’t have taken you in there if I didn’t need the backup.” She pulled me in for a small, yet sensual kiss. She didn’t do work sex, an unfortunate thing for me with how turned on I am. She tried valiantly to keep it professional, a few quick kisses hidden behind doors, a hand on my shoulder in passing. We’ve been dating for over a year and I haven’t gotten her to change her mind. Yet. 

She broke away from me, walking back around to her desk, settling into the chair. I pouted a little before following her. As I approached her, I turned her office chair around and sank down to my knees, glancing up at her from my position on the floor, rubbing my hands up and down her thighs. 

She smirked down at me, pushing some of my hair behind my ear, trailing a thumb across my bottom lip. “Hm, you really are worked up, aren’t you baby?” 

“Mhm,” I moaned, taking a quick swipe at her finger with my tongue. “I want you, Em,” I whispered, making direct eye contact with her. I could see her pupils darken, her nostrils flared a little. She wanted me just as much as I wanted her. “Please? I promise I’ll be quick.” 

She chuckled, contemplating. She glanced at the clock on the wall, obviously trying to calculate when she thought the rest of the team would be back. “Fine, if you’re quick. If we get caught, I’ll edge you for a month,” her voice sounding firm. “Pants and underwear down, bend over my desk.” 

I swallowed hard. I didn’t question her because I knew she was being serious. I’m surprised she’s even letting me do this, but obviously she’s just as worked up as I am. I stood up quickly, undressing myself from the waist down, gasping as the cold air of her office brushed against my heated core. 

“Mmm, look at you. I can’t believe how wet you are already. Absolutely dripping for me.” Emily used both hands to push my legs further apart. My breath started to come faster eagerly anticipating her next move. She used one hand to trail through my wetness, coating her fingers in my juices. 

I tried to look behind me as she removed her hand, my face pushed against her desk. I caught just a glimpse of her tasting me from her fingers, her eyes closed as she licked each one clean. 

“You taste so good, baby. You ready for me?” 

I nodded vigorously, “Yes, Em, please.” 

Her hand snuck back between my legs, gathering more of my wetness before she slowly eased one finger inside of me. I couldn’t contain the small moan at finally having her inside of me, even though I knew I was going to need more from her. 

“You have to be quiet or I’ll stop. We can’t have the whole office knowing you’re a desperate, needy whore for me.” 

I closed my eyes at the onslaught of arousal that shot through me. Something about Emily’s filthy language always racketed my excitement up tenfold.

Her thrusts started getting a little harder, faster, her finger twisting inside of me, touching every inch of me that she could. 

“More, Em, I need more of your fingers inside me,” I hoarsely whispered. I was normally very vocal and it was taking a lot out of me to make sure I was quiet. 

She laughed lightly, “My needy girl,” she said, easing another finger into me. 

The stretch of her fingers felt so good and I could feel myself dripping more, my cunt pulsating around them as if trying to get her to go deeper. 

Emily was great at reading me and my body and started fucking me with vigor. She was thrusting into me with the perfect amount of speed, force, and depth, making sure to push down on each thrust in and push up on each pull out. 

I was biting my lip hard to stop from moaning out loud, my knuckles turning white from their grip on the desk. “Just a little harder, Em, baby, please,” I moaned loudly, thrusting back onto her fingers, unable to control myself. 

Emily shot out of her chair, grabbing a handful of my hair in her other hand, pulling my head back as her thrusts got considerably harder. “Moan like that again, baby girl, and I’ll leave you wet, aching, and wanting.” 

My moan in response stuttered in my throat as Emily’s hand traveled around my neck, choking me enough that I could feel the wave of euphoria wash over me, pushing me closer to cumming. 

“I said be quiet, baby. But since you can’t seem to help yourself, I guess I’ll have to do it,” she said, shoving two of her fingers in my mouth. I wrapped my lips around them, grateful to have something to help me stay quiet. 

Emily’s thrusts seemed to pick up even more speed, pushing deeper into my warm, wet cunt. “Rub your clit, love.” 

I trailed a hand down, rubbing tight, little circles against my swollen nub. I could feel the pressure building in my lower stomach. I was so close. I tried to rub myself in time with Emily’s strokes inside of me, but her pace was hard to keep up with. I just needed a little bit more and I was going to tumble over the edge. 

“Come on, baby. Cum all over my fingers. Be mommy’s good girl and cum for me.”

That was all I needed. 

Emily pulled her fingers out of my mouth, clamping her hand across my lips as I screamed, my cunt clamping down on her fingers, gushing my juices down her wrist. 

Emily continued to thrust into me, her pace slowing as my orgasm washed over me. As I finished, she gently pulled out of me, cooing at my whine. 

She pulled my upper body up and back against her, wrapping her arms around my waist to hold me up. Her hands rubbed slow, soft circles against my lower abdomen as her mouth found its way to my neck, peppering tender kisses there. 

As I caught my breath, I turned in her arms, tucking some of her graying hair behind her ear. She was so beautiful and I was so lucky to be with someone who made me feel like she does. She smiled at me, all of the emotions she was feeling shining in her eyes. She kissed me quickly before reaching down and helping to pull up my underwear and pants. 

As she got me settled, I was starting to feel my arousal skyrocket again. I pushed her gently back into her chair, settling on the floor in front of her once more. 

I reached up, running my hands over her burnt orange blouse, feeling her breath catch, tracing them down to the button on her slacks. I started undoing her pants, dragging them down just enough to have access to her. “Em, no panties?” I asked incredulously, licking my lips at the smell of her. She just smirked at me in return, lifting her hips to help me get her pants down.

I slid my hands up her thighs, pushing them apart. I went to use my hands to spread her further, but her hand on my jaw stopped me cold. 

“Use your tongue, baby girl.” 

I trailed kisses up her thigh, biting at the inside of it, making sure to leave a mark. She was mine and I needed her to know that, and wanted to see the evidence of me on her. 

Just as I was about to wrap my tongue around her clit, a knock resonated through her office from the door. 

Emily hurriedly pushed me under her desk, scooting her chair up as close as she could to it to conceal the fact that her pants were down around her ankles. 

“Come in,” she yelled, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat as Derek pushed through the door. 

“Hey, we got a new lead while we were out. We’ve been thinking about this all wrong, I think. We’re ready to debrief you in the conference room.” 

“I’ll be right there. I just need to finish this up really quick,” she said, holding up a random sheet of paper. 

I decided enough time had gone by, my need for her desperate. I trailed slow kisses up her thigh, licking a broad stroke up her lower lips, finally getting a taste of her. Emily’s legs immediately tried to close around my head, a hand sneaking under her desk to hold my head back. 

“You okay, Prentiss?” I could hear Derek ask. 

Emily nervously chuckled. “Yeah, uh, yeah. I think lunch just didn’t sit well with me. I’ll be right out.” From my position, I could still barely brush my tongue over her clit, and it made her hips jump. “Make sure everyone is ready when I get there.” 

“Got it,” he said, exiting the office and closing the door behind him. 

Once the latch closed, Emily pulled back a little from her desk, dragging me out from under it. “You better make me cum quick,” she said, forcing my head back between her legs. “I’ll punish you for this later.” 

I moaned into her pussy, the vibration causing Emily to sink further in the chair and grind her hips into my face. 

I switched from broad strokes to using the tip of my tongue to flutter against her, building her up closer and closer to the edge. I wrapped my tongue around her straining clit, sucking at the pressure I knew Emily liked, moaning again as I could feel her legs start to shake around me. 

“Shit,” Emily cursed above me, throwing her head back against her chair. 

I moved a hand between her thighs, drawing circles around her opening before easing a finger inside, immediately finding the spot inside of her that makes her go crazy and curling my finger against it. 

It only took a few well timed thrusts of my finger and curls of my tongue around her clit to have her hand tightening in my hair as she shuddered around me, her juices flowing down my hand as she came.

I used my tongue to clean her up as best as I could, wiping my hand across my mouth to wipe away any evidence of what we’d been doing.  

I helped her get dressed, kissing her lightly before walking towards the door. “Let's go, boss. We’ve got a debrief to be a part of.” 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your punishment, baby girl.” 

I smirked at her over my shoulder as I opened the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.” 

[cuubism]

hello friends. despite my 9 million existing dreamling wips i'm feeling the need to branch out a bit for the sake of my mental variety. what pairing other than dreamling should i write a little something for? could be romantic or platonic

other way of phrasing i guess: any pairings you really want to see more fics for in the fandom?

[stiltonbasket]

stilton please show us vampire wwx and fae lwj's first meeting omg

Despite the bothersome needs of his body, Wei Wuxian did not make a habit of preying on humans.

His mother had never taught him how to hunt, out of fear that he would grow to prefer human blood above all other food and so risk death by discovery of his nature. As such, Wei Wuxian subsisted on raw meat he killed for himself and blood taken from wild beasts and livestock: except on the rare occasions when he drank human blood to speed his healing, as he was obliged to do tonight.

The injury had been completely his own fault. Wei Wuxian knew how to avoid being recognized for what he was, but he had been caught feeding his own blood to a little child suffering from lung fever, since dead or living flesh from a vampire was a panacea for most mortal ailments; and as the case so often was when a docile vampire was found living among humans, Wei Wuxian was promptly set upon by a mob intent on killing him and grinding him down for medicine.

He escaped into the nearby wood with an arrow lodged in his shoulder and another in his back; and after he left the mob behind, he ran for another shichen and a half before collapsing in a moon-dappled clearing surrounded by oak trees.

He lay there without moving for a little while, but at last he struggled upright and removed the two small arrows from his back. The wounds would close by dawn, as long as he sated his hunger before then; so after a short nap, he got back to his feet and began searching the ground for footprints.

At this rate, it'll be noon before I find anyone, he thought disconsolately. Unluckily—or perhaps luckily, for Wei Wuxian—people from Jieyu Village rarely entered the forest, for there was no good hunting to be found inside, and anyone who ventured further than a li into the wood came back muddle-headed and strange, as if they had been poisoned with a sleeping potion or dealt a harsh blow to the head. Hence, the townsfolk had long since learned to keep out save in the direst need, when they braved the darkness of the wood to find medicinal herbs that refused to grow anywhere but in the long shadows of the forest's oldest trees.

It was in one such shadow that Wei Wuxian's search finally ended, when he stumbled across a hollow that held a bed of red maple leaves and a young man lying in a sleep so deep that Wei Wuxian's heavy breathing did not rouse him.

"Oh," he murmured, falling to his knees in relief. The young man appeared human, but not fully so; Wei Wuxian thought he might be half tree spirit, or some kind of divine beast taking the form of a youth. But whatever he was, he could spare more of his blood than a normal man; so Wei Wuxian snatched up his hand and sank his teeth into the boy's wrist, swallowing as quickly as he could until the two gashes in his back began to itch and scab over.

Within the next minute, the wounds had vanished. Wei Wuxian released the man's wrist and stood up, wiping his mouth on his dirty sleeve—and found himself struggling for breath with his back pressed flat against a tree, and the blade of a bright silver sword hovering an inch from his throat.

The young man was awake, staring down at Wei Wuxian like a hunter looking down the length of his bow at a rabbit. Wei Wuxian parted his lips to speak before crying out in terror as the blade skimmed the soft flesh at his neck—and then he looked up, petrified, to find his attacker wheeling backwards as if Wei Wuxian had kicked him.

"Ha!" he shouted, his fear dying away; for he had quite forgotten the other reason behind his mother's warnings to stay away from humans. "You're in my thrall now, young master. Now, be good and don't move until I'm gone, or—or I'll make you throw that pretty sword of yours into the river."

The man drew himself up to his full height and glared at him. He did not move, still bound by the power of Wei Wuxian's enthrallment; but then he narrowed his eyes and smiled, and Wei Wuxian's heart leapt with a thrill that was half fear and something he could not quite recognize.

A moment later, he was pressed against the tree again, so weak in the knees that he would have fallen if not for the white arms clasped about his waist.

"What did you do to me?" Wei Wuxian whispered. "I told you to stand still, so how—"

"You should have made certain you were biting a human, xuemo," the man hissed. "A being like you should know the consequences of eating faerie food without permission."

"But I didn't eat any food," Wei Wuxian said groggily. All desire to move left his weary limbs, and he slumped forward into his captor's embrace like a—

"Oh," he gasped, stumbling back. "You're a fae. Fae food is anything made by a faerie that can be eaten, and when I drank your blood, I..."

"Precisely." The man—or the fae, he realized now—released Wei Wuxian's waist and stepped away. "I am in your thrall, and you are under the power of my enchantment. Remove your enthrallment, and I will swear an oath never to enchant you again."

Wei Wuxian grimaced. Fae were bound to their oaths, and could not break them upon pain of death; but Wei Wuxian had no idea how to break an enthrallment, or whether an enthrallment could be broken at all.

"What?" the fae growled. "What kind of a vampire are you, that you do not know how to do such a simple thing?"

"A half-blooded one," Wei Wuxian protested. "My father was mortal, and my mother was killed when I was a child. I've never met another xuemo besides her."

The fae was silent. "Can't you lift the enchantment on me anyway, young master?"

"Why should I?" the faerie demanded. "You could force me to do anything, if you wanted to. This enchantment is my only protection."

"But I wouldn't!" wailed Wei Wuxian. "I didn't even realize I'd enthralled you until you tried to kill me!"

"Forgive me if I do not believe you," the fae said dryly. "I am aware that xuemo are capable of hunting without using venom to gain power over their victims. You chose to use your venom on me."

"It's difficult to hunt that way! My mother died before she could teach me how, so I don't touch humans unless I have no other choice."

At this, the faerie sighed and lowered his sword.

"Why were you in the forest at all?" he asked. "This is fae territory. If you were in dire need of human blood, you should have gone south to the village at the base of the mountains."

"That's where I'm from," Wei Wuxian muttered, folding his arms. "I've been living there in disguise for the last ten years, but the village head caught me feeding my blood to his daughter, so I can't go back. If I do, I'll be slaughtered and ground down for pills."

The fae blinked. "They attacked you? Are you wounded, then?"

He sounded almost worried, which Wei Wuxian thought was very kind of him. He must not be the dangerous sort of fae, if he had it in his heart to worry about a blood demon who had enthralled him against his will.

"En, I was. But your blood healed me, faster than human blood would have done—so for that, I am in your debt."

"No need."

They stood without speaking for a little while, staring fixedly at the ground as they wondered what to do next.

"I know someone who may be able to help us," the fae said hesitantly, after about a ke had passed. "There is a dragon guarding the river that runs through this forest, and he lives only a few miles away from here. He always seems to know more than he should, so we might go there for help."

Wei Wuxian nodded and dusted his robes off; and with that, they set off down a dirt track that led into a denser, darker part of the forest, where the trees grew so close together that Wei Wuxian had to hold the faerie's hand to keep him in his line of sight.

He had never felt such a touch before, for it was both firm and gentle. directing Wei Wuxian through the wood without seeming to lead him at all.

For some reason, the young fae refused to let go of him until they reached the water dragon's lair two hours later; and despite himself, Wei Wuxian found himself wishing that the two of them could have met in better circumstances.

We might even have been friends! he thought, laughing wistfully to himself. Aiyah, he's not a bad sort. Maybe I'll come back to see him sometime, after this dragon of his finds a way to break the thrall.

But it was not to be; for the moment the water dragon rolled out of his den and spotted their linked hands, it threw back its great scaly head and burst into laughter.

"Stop laughing," the faerie ordered. "We have come here for help, Huaisang. This blood demon is subject to my powers of compulsion, and he has me under his thrall, but neither of us intended this to happen. How can we remove his thrall, so that I may safely release my command over him in turn?"

The dragon laughed for a long, long while, rolling about in the soft grass like a child, and then it looked up at the faerie and said:

"Forgive my rudeness. Congratulations, Wangji-xiong."

"What for?"

The dragon's eyes gleamed.

"For your marriage."

[plulp]

*ahem* can you draw the love interests with swapped personalities? Like they all had some type of BIG concussion and now they all swapped personalities I have an example (i really don’t count the uhh … animals it’s very questionable to me but ya know you don’t have to take my request)

Robin and Kylar swap … that’s all the rest I DONT FUCKING KNOW 😇🔫

robin and kylar? dont worry ive GOT YOU 🫵

[sasslett]

FFXIV Naughty Fic Prompts

a collection of my favorite smutty tropes and ideas that I desperately want to see people write

Only One Bed Trope (tm)

Someone accidentally walks in on your OC pleasuring themselves

Your OC accidentally walks in on someone pleasuring themselves

Your Echo-bearing OC has a vision of someone in a private moment

Sparring leads to steamy times

Bandaging wounds/cleaning up after battle

Your OC being watched (alone or with others) during a private moment by Midgardsormr/Feo Ul/Ardbert/Fray (Esteem)/Emet Selch/Crystal Exarch/that fucking shoebill/Hydaelyn, or anyone else who regularly spies on them

A linkpearl call at a very bad time

Discovering/dealing with racial physical differences during intimacy (ears horns tails height differences etc etc etc)

Vacation to the Gold Saucer/Costa Del Sol/one of the many hot springs in the game (Kugane, Camp Bronze Lake, Lakeland)

Combat abilities used sensually/sexually

Post-battle emotional high/"Holy shit we're alive" moment

Pre-huge battle "We might not make it out of this alive" moment

Fun with fantasias

Everyone is attracted to the WoL/everyone wants a piece of the WoL

"I know we shouldn't but I can't help it" sorts of dynamics

Fellow Scion/acquaintance walks in on WoL/OC with their partner - gossip ensues

That damn Ishgardian ball we never got but deserved (ok I guess this isn't really steamy but it can be)

Other character with special sensing abilities (Y'shtola's aether sight, Krile's super sensitive Echo, Hythlodaeus' soul sight etc) knows what the WoL/OC has been up to/knows OC and their partner are a couple before they're out (or uses their ability in the heat of the moment if shipping with them)

Something fueled by armor/glams (and we know there's a lot of sexy outfits in game)

WoL/OC being given comfort after one of their few defeats (Zenos, Ranjit, Final Days etc)

That inn room scene in Endwalker (if you know you know)

[daboyau]

Hey, for the writing challenge, I'd be interested in seeing 38 for whichever of your AUs you prefer, if you're not overwhelmed!

Also, your latest chapter for the Hunger Games AU is so good! Donnie helping Digi and Gizmo is a little heartbreaking. He wants to be cold so bad, but no. And the descriptions were so excellent. I want to see all the designs! Especially the farmer and the corn haha. That cracked me up a bit:D Thanks for writing, I love to read it!

Sorry this took so long!! For some reason “hole” was just not wanting to cooperate with me! I had a handful of fleeting ideas (Zombie au, raph’s death in the bad timeline, shell rot, after the foot cass joins a cult that worships The Pit instead, etc) but ended up going with something for my Leave AU. I feel like I should have written you something RHG related since you gave me such a kind compliment about the last chapter. 😭 alas, my brain didn’t want to cooperate there. I hope you like this regardless!! @eb177

@boots-with-the-fur-club

It’s the fifth time they’ve run through this drill, but for some reason, Three just can’t seem to wrap his head around it. There’s something in the footwork, and the transition from one flowing movement to the next that he just keeps missing. His brothers are eyeing him nervously now. Their movements slow just a little, trying to give him time to catch up, or the opportunity to see how their steady movements differ from his own clumsy ones and fix his mistakes. 

Draxum has noticed. He’s watching them, eyes narrowed, lip curling with disdain. Three knows he should be better, just like he knows that his blundering and his brothers’ trying to cover for him will mean they get punished, too. He can’t let that happen, so he needs a way to draw all the attention (and all the ire) towards himself. Draxum draws closer, fury in his expression, a look that promises punishment for their unsatisfactory performance. Three’s heart is pounding hard against his plastron, and it’s easy to see that their creator is out for blood. 

When Draxum tells them to do it again, Three waits for him to circle closer. Then, he lets his ankle twist. He lets himself fall. 

One gasps and Four covers his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle his whimper. Two freezes, expression empty but eyes gone glassy and distant. Three barely has time to hit the ground before Draxum’s hand has circled his arm with bruising force, claws digging into muscle as he hauls him to his feet and drags him from the room. His brothers try to follow, but Three frantically shakes his head at them, eyes pleading. They fall back, watching him until the door slams shut between them.

He knows where they’re going. The fear is already rising like bile in his throat, choking him. It’s hard to breathe, and Draxum is so much bigger and he’s dragging him along now because Three is too short to keep up on his own, and the mark his grip leaves on his arm is going to take forever to heal, and he knows that this is going to hurt, and all he can think is at least it’s just me. 

The lab is usually forbidden. The only time Three is taken inside it is when he’s done something wrong. Something bad. Something that will require their creator to pick him apart to discover exactly what it is that has malfunctioned inside of him this time. Three doesn’t like the lab. 

There is a pit, tucked away in the corner. Maybe it used to be used for something good. Like a well, or a place to burn trash. Now it is used to hold them until Draxum has the time he requires to run his tests. To poke and prod and rip and cut and get answers to his many questions and grievances. 

Last time, he’d spent four days down there before Draxum had deemed it convenient to begin. Three trembles despite his best efforts to hide the fear that rises within him. The waiting is almost as bad as the tests. He wishes that Draxum would just get it over with, but he knows he’ll never get that lucky. After all, he’s the one who always puts himself into this position. He should just feel grateful that none of his brothers will be down there with him.

He hovers at the edge of the hole, his position held in the balance only by his creator’s hand on his arm. He wonders how long it will be this time. Draxum’s angry gaze tells him that he won’t like the answer. 

Draxum lets go of his arm. For one terrible, stomach churning second, Three remains where he is. Heels overhanging the emptiness, balanced only on his toes, swaying slightly as he stares up at his creator’s face. Draxum sneers. He presses one finger into the center of Three’s plastron. 

He tips backwards, into the darkness.

[ailithnight]

Just had a wild idea in the shower for a dp\dc crossover.

Wes Weston is convinced that Batman is actually Lex Luthor, using the cowl to hide his baldness.

And he swears that Bruce Wayne is Superman, with makeup. After all, they are both himbos.

(the fact that Bruce and Clark have canonically swapped with each other without anybody noticing shows that they're similar enough)

Danny thinks Wes is completely ridiculous, but is also quietly concerned because he was right about him being Phantom, what if Wayne really is Superman?!

Sam's not convinced. Not only do Lex and Batman have completely different body types, but there's no way that the man who got drunk at a gala and got his lips stuck to an ice sculpture of himself can possibly have the mental ability to calculate how much force to use when grabbing a falling Lois without her exploding.

Tucker compares pictures. The butts don't match.

Its an interesting idea, Anon.

I, however, am not a DPxDC prompt blog.

While I do occasionally post prompts, those are just my own thoughts that latch into my head but I don't intend to write myself.

In the future, consider sending your prompt ideas as an ask or submission to the resident DPxDC prompt blog, @stealingyourbones

[oflights]

Happy pride! For the drarry slice-of-life prompts, might I suggest: Harry in [whatever the first job you ever wanted to have when you grew up was] and a meetcute-at-work?

hi!! thank you!

so my mind immediately went to "marine biologist harry" because like, i was a 90s kid! of course i wanted to be a marine biologist! which then got me thinking of interesting ways to make draco meet marine biologist harry, which got me thinking of beluga whale animagus draco???? (because i was all about whales as a kid, that was the whole point of it for me.)

anyway. that's what this is? why is it 1.1k words again? who can say, i sure can't. happy pride 🌈🐳

Draco doesn’t expect to see Harry Potter while swimming in the chilly, salty depths of the St. Lawrence River.

Work had taken Draco to Montreal, and he’d booked the extra Portkeys to Quebec City and then Tadoussac without a second thought. Draco so rarely gets a chance to change into his Animagus form in an actually suitable environment, and he’s changed here before; this particular pod of beluga whales is incredibly friendly and welcoming even for his short visits, and so he’s been looking forward to this for months.

Until now, it had been all about getting into the water: making sure local friends have his coordinates in case something goes wrong; casting the proper Disillusionment Charms so no one notices a random blond nutter jumping into the river alone; letting the cold wash over his magic-warmed body for a few suspended moments, until he relaxes into the transformation and lets that magic overtake everything else.

That first moment of transformation—so freeing, so unique, nothing like Draco ever feels on land—always goes a long way to soothing the disappointment he’d felt when he’d first managed to become an Animagus.

He’d known it would be something aquatic; he’d felt drawn to the sea throughout the whole process. Even so, transforming into a beluga whale had not been expected, and after the initial sense of accomplishment, basking a little in all his friends’ delight and amusement, it had struck how difficult it would be to find opportunities to transform.

Draco had adjusted his travel plans and work trips to become colder and more Arctic, but he’d quickly learned how social whales are, and how intolerable they find it to be alone. So it became more about finding other belugas to swim with, to communicate with. Chancing upon this pod had been a stroke of luck, and Draco has missed them.

He could hear them as a human on the shore, high-pitched and soft and wailing, but it’s different as a whale. Hefeelstheir call within him like this, loses himself in it, revels in the sensation of immersive belonging he’s rarely felt before.

In moments like these, Draco loves being a beluga Animagus. It’s all worth it.

And then he sees Harry Potter.

It’s not so strange to see a team of marine biologists on the St. Lawrence. There’s a good amount of marine life here, not to mention the colony of merpeople that lives around the Saguenay Fjord that could explain the presence of magic folk. What’s really strange is that this team includes Harry Potter, not someone Draco would ever have expected to find halfway around the world from home.

Potter is dressed like he might be a marine biologist, which is ridiculous—Draco is certain he’d read that Potter had gone to work with dragons. He’s leaning over the railing of the small observation deck of his boat, dark hair blown wild and glittering with salt spray, radiating Warming Charms, grinning broadly at the friendly belugas streaming through the waters around them.

As Draco watches, still dumbfounded, Potter raises his wand and Conjures large, shiny bubbles, setting them to float over the water and delighting the belugas, who pop them with excited squeals, splashing happily as he Conjures more.

A few of the other members of the pod seem to sense Draco’s frozen disbelief and translate it as distress, swimming over to nudge him gently with their rounded heads, bonking him carefully on his flank. The movement draws the attention of Potter, who smiles at him in a way that Harry Potter has certainly never, not once, smiled at him before.

Draco has a rush of feelings that don’t entirely fit in the water. There’s old resentment, annoyance, a break of his peace—in his whale form, in the perfect, embracing cold, that all seems silly, wasteful. It’s easy to translate to a playful sort of mischief instead.

He starts swimming again, giving grateful return bumps to his concerned pod members on the way right up to the boat, Potter’s eyes trained on him the whole time.

“Hi,” Potter says brightly, giving him a wave as Draco pops out of the water. In answer, Draco gives an enormous spray of water, glittering bright in the sunlight and dripping all over Potter and a few other crew members, making them laugh. “Nice to meet you too,” Potter says. He laughs again as a few belugas follow Draco’s lead, a shower of water dropping down all around them.

Potter Conjures bubbles directly over Draco, smile widening as he pops them before they’re even fully formed. Draco leaps up higher and spots the strap of a messenger bag by Potter’s feet, and on the next bubble, he misses on purpose and takes a swipe at the strap.

The bag splashes into the water in an instant, the sound loud over Potter’s startled, “Hey, that’s mine!” as the rest of the team laughs again. It’s quick, easy swim work to duck down in the water and hook the floating strap around one fin, making sure to spin onto his side to show Potter he’s got it.

Draco takes off, squeaking happily when he hears a flat splat sound behind him, a bodyboard hitting the water. It’s followed by another splash, Potter calling out, “Give that back!” as he starts to swim after Draco.

Even with magic—infused in his wetsuit, driving the bodyboard, clear and unmistakable and disconcertingly familiar—Potter can’t exactly keep pace with a grown beluga whale. Draco revels in that for a few viciously satisfying moments before he slows only long enough for Potter to catch up, to reach out between Draco and the bodyboard, and to catch hold of Draco’s fin—before speeding up again and taking Potter with him.

He tows Potter back to shore, spurred by his laughter and exhilaration, the way he’s ignoring the alarmed shouts of his colleagues from behind them, delighting in the clicks and squeaks and lovely, encouraging calls of Draco’s pod.

Draco bumps up against the rocks where he’d jumped in, knocking Potter against them until he takes the hint and climbs up, eyes wide and amazed. There’s another moment where Draco hesitates—it’s always hard to change back after feeling like this, to want human feeling again, worse still to take away some of the magic of what Potter has just experienced.

But he wants to change back, wants to see the look on Potter’s face. He recasts the requisite Warming Charms and pulls himself back into his human form, landing on the rocks next to Potter, gasping unfamiliar human breaths for a few seconds before he gets his bearings and braves a look at Potter.

Potter, who still looks just as amazed, still exhilarated, and somehow not at all disappointed. His eyes sparkle familiarly, and Draco blinks and feels nothing of the old resentment, like he’d left it all in the water in that first, tall spray.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Draco says, holding up Potter’s stolen bag.     

[vigilbutts]

i've been silently stewing on this for A While in my little corner but i wish this community would participate in the "send an ask to the person you reblog this ask meme from" thing that other rp communities do on this site. there's been a number of people i've heard from or noticed being bummed about getting few or no asks for these memes within the gw2 tumblr community, and like... maybe as a community we should go back to following that little rule? just something to consider, perhaps.

IF YOU ALREADY DO THIS OR NEVER STOPPED DOING THIS! THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE! I HOPE YOU GET MANY ASKS! 🥰💕

[zukkaoru]

Hi Grace! I don't know anything about bsd, so I'm gonna stick with atla (if that's okay). Zukka with the fluff dialogue prompt: “I want to spend the day with you doing nothing.” please. 

it's been so long since i've written them so uhhh i hope this isn't terrible 🫣

(prompt requests are still open)

.

The morning sun filters through the windows, painting Zuko’s bedroom golden. For the first time in months, they’re allowed to stay tangled up with each other in bed past sunrise. Sokka traces his fingers up and down Zuko’s arms as Zuko’s lips ghost against his boyfriend’s jawline. For a brief moment, they are allowed to be nothing more than two boys in love.

“Sunshine,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko lifts his head just enough to let his eyes roam over Sokka’s face. Summer has brought out his freckles, and they dot his face like constellations in the night sky. He cups Zuko’s cheek with one hand, then says, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

Zuko hums in agreement. It would be nice, he thinks, if they had no obligations. If Zuko were not the Fire Lord and Sokka were not travelling constantly—if they lived in a world where they could hold onto each other outside the confines of this bedroom, if the world were not set up to oppose them.

“Me too,” Zuko agrees, then leans in to steal another kiss. “I’d take even just one day. I want to spend the day with you doing nothing.”

“One day,” Sokka muses. “One day of no responsibilities. Just you and me.” He sighs. “Maybe someday. For one whole day, we’ll lock ourselves in this room and do absolutely nothing.”

It’s a nice fantasy, unattainable as it may be. There are always things that require Zuko’s attention, and there are always people unintentionally pulling him and Sokka apart. But maybe one day, when Zuko has established himself as Fire Lord, when the world isn’t still reeling from one hundred years of war, they’ll be able to find a day of peace.

For now, though, Zuko will cherish the few extra minutes they’ve found this morning. It won’t be long before he’s called elsewhere, but until then, he’ll continue to kiss Sokka slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world, and he’ll be content to have Sokka in his arms as the sunlight pours over them.

[drinkingbitterboy]

hello i just wanna say all the folks i've found in this little community are fantastic and fun and i'm happy i'm here :) still on my break though because it's a real rough time of it, but just wanna say i'll be back soon :)

also thank you for the feedback on the thing i drew! getting back into drawing after a decade off has been...rough... but the nice comments and especially encouragement from @blacktrickle have been so helpful. love y'all

[whorekneecentral]

day 14 of kinktober converted me into a jenson whore istg he gives me very high sugar daddy vibes🫣 if you dont mind could you elaborate on how sugar daddy! jenson would treat/spoil you? thx in advance <33

omg thanks babe and you’re welcome! // this one’s for @diorleclerc - she’s in her jenson era rn <3

okay so sugar daddy jenson is something we all need. 

it started by accident truthfully. well, not really. 

your friend had mentioned to you that the guy she was seeing (who was a total bore) had a friend who was looking for a similar arrangement to what she and her sugar daddy had. 

you weren't really sure, you’d never done anything like that before but she assures you it’s fine and she’s met the friend, he’s a ‘nice quiet guy’ according to her. 

so you give it a go, you meet him at some 5 star restaurant he suggested and he's not what you expected at all. 

you were expecting an old, boring investment banker like your friend’s sugar daddy but this guy couldn't be more than 40 and quite handsome. 

he introduces himself and asks if he can sit down, he apologizes for being late when he was no more than 2 minutes late. 

you two end up hitting it off and you were half expecting him to tell you to come home with him; which you wouldn’t have minded but instead he drives you home. 

he’s more shocked about where you were living; it wasn't horrendous, it was decent enough for a college student. 

over the next few weeks, you joined him at business dinners and events he was attending.

he made sure to move you out of your apartment and into a much nicer one closer to him + he paid off the reminder of your student loans/tuition. (he's your sugar daddy for a reason lmao)

it’s been at least 2 months and he’s yet to make a move other than a few kisses. 

you ask him why he hasn’t touched you or done anything yet; to be fair, you were coming back from some gala with him, sitting in a ridiculously expensive dress in an equally expensive car and you’ve had more than a few drinks. 

he tells you he wasn't sure if you were comfortable and he didn’t want to rush you, he wants you to be comfortable first.  

that night, he takes you back to his place but nothing happens, he helps you change and leaves you to sleep off the drinks. 

the next morning, you wander through the house to find him in his office, you sit yourself on his lap and he leans in to kiss you. 

one thing leads to the other and now you’re sitting on the top of the desk, legs spread as he eats you out. your hand tangled in his hair and truthfully, this is the best head you’ve gotten in your life. 

you told him as much, he makes a mental note to do it often. 

it spirals from there. 

jenson would fuck you anywhere -- the first time was sweet and soft though, in bed and no rushing and nothing rough. 

but after that? fucked like bunny rabbits or whatever the phrase is.

bent over his desk, the couch, the counter, on his desk, in the shower, up against the window. 

in the car was his favourite; what good is having an expensive car if he can’t fuck his pretty girl in it? -- that also happened to be his nickname for you. 

when jenson left for work, he’d make sure you stayed at his place rather than yours that way when he got home, you were there. 

he’d order stuff in advance; flowers, sweets, little pick me ups for you for the few days he’s gone.  

sending you a whole wardrobe of clothes, especially lingerie was his favourite thing to do. 

just because he knows you’ll call him to show him all the pretty pieces he bought for you or you’d send him a million pictures of yourself in them. 

not to mention that he’d usually get the earliest flight home just so he can take it off you or if he's impatient, just pulling it to the side as he fucks you wherever he can. 

jenson also had a habit of spoiling you even when he was home. 

the first big purchase aside from your condo was the car he bought you. he had taken you to the dealership, letting you pick out what you liked under the impression that he was shopping for himself. 

it didn’t strike you as odd when he bought one that same day, he had the money to do so. 

you were shocked when he handed you the papers to sign, telling you that the dealership needs the owners signature. 

he liked to know you were his as well. 

pieces of jewelry he’s gotten you or his favourite piece, the newest in the collection; a simple silver chain with a flat heart pendent on it. 

the outside edge of the heart was lined with diamonds but the backside had something engraved; JB. 

you wore it everyday, even without him asking you to do so. 

also lavish vacations was his thing.

anywhere you wanted, you were there over night and in the biggest villa available.

you always insisted that it wasn't necessary for him to get such a big place for just the two of you but he tells you that  he’d rather not get noise complaints when you scream his name.