#Literally the best thing I’ve EVER found digging through Danger Days

[redfish-blu]

Oh nothing, just this sketch of Party and Kobra that Becky Cloonan did at a convention and it’s the only known drawing of them together in her artwork. No I’m not crying profusely over it.

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[glowingbadger]

A student! reader (over 18 obviously) who has an awkward crush on Seteth who may reciprocate? This ask is like on the verge of the DONT section in your rules so feel free to ignore if it is too uncomfy xD

I actually got a couple asks in the wake of that post I made about teasing Seteth in the Academy uniform, so I'm glad you guys are vibing with me on that lol~

That said, I will say that a literal teacher/student thing is ehhhhh for me, BUT I think I have a way to make this work for all of us :3

Jeez, the number of times I've written Seteth fucking someone on his desk-

CW: former student, degradation, spanking, me being a Seteth simp

Seteth (FE3H) x FEM Reader - Garreg Mach Uniform

NSFW 18+

Sometimes it seems that your austere lover is even more busy in the post-war scramble for stabilization than he had been during wartime. Seteth had already been known for an almost worryingly dedicated work-ethic when you'd met him during your time as a student at the Officers Academy. Now, many years and sociopolitical shifts and one nervous love-confession later, it only seemed that more rested on on his shoulders than ever. Perhaps that's why, when you discover your old uniform while cleaning up your quarters one day, an irresistible idea forms in your mind.

Seteth's eyes drift, then refocus. He blinks away the exhaustion threatening to break him from his duties, then sighs as he runs a hand through emerald hair. The Chapel bells had signified the end of administrative hours some time ago, but he can't allow himself to become lax. There's still much to be done. It's days like this that make him think with a wry smile that his brothers would scoff at the way he's chosen to live his life, having traded fangs for bureaucracy.

His office door is propped open as usual, but he hears a knock that shakes him from his thoughts.

"Come in-" he glances up at you, and his brows furrow deeply. You can't help a playful smile at the sight of Seteth's face already tinted pink. With as much innocence as you can affect, you step into his office to show off your attire. Your old uniform still fits- more or less -but you've made some careful adjustments. The jacket and white blouse underneath are only buttoned as high as would be strictly necessary to be seen in public, exposing a daring view of your chest. Thigh-high stockings hug your legs, then lead up to perhaps the most scandalous aspect of this ensemble. You've rolled up the hem of your skirt until it flutters about your hips so short that when you're not careful, a glimpse of your backside is clearly visible. This latter point, Seteth clearly notices as you twirl for him, saying,

"Look what I found, love," He's already on his feet approaching you, and you smile up at him as sweetly as you can, "sure brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Without a word, Seteth tugs you away from the office door and shuts it firmly behind you.

"Did you parade yourself all the way here from your quarters looking like this?!" he demands, and you hear the click of the door locking behind you.

"Well I don't see how else I could have gotten here, so..." you reply flippantly.

"Goddess above," he says with an exasperated sigh. His thumb and forefinger worry at the bridge of his nose as he turns back towards his desk, "To think that anyone could have seen you-!"

You roll your eyes with a grin and follow him. You take his hands in yours, drawing them away from him and opening up his closed posture.

"Come on, I just thought you might like it," you say as you draw closer to him. Seteth sighs again and looks you up and down.

"Whether or not I like it is immaterial, my love."

"But you do like it," you prod him further, your grin widening.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His lips tighten for a moment, then he manages to say,

"It is... flattering."

Releasing his hands, your own travel up the front of his torso, enjoying the dips and swells of his muscled body beneath those conservative robes. You feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, and you say,

"Have I ever told you that I had a hell of a crush on you even back in my student days?"

Seteth speaks your name with a hint of a warning his his voice. You press your body to his as your touch travels up the strong contour of his neck to tease along the line of his beard.

"It's true. I've always wanted you, Seteth," you go on, "Every single time you scolded or lectured me, part of me was... incredibly turned on. Sometimes, it was simply too much to bear," you curl a lock of his hair around your fingertips. You can see his ironclad will beginning to fracture. "Sometimes, I'd return to my room and pleasure myself, all while dreaming of you disciplining me."

Then, his lips are on yours, his kiss so hard and impassioned that for a moment, you're breathless. Your smug posturing falters immediately. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth as one hand wraps around you while the other grabs onto the plump swell of your ass beneath the flimsy coverage of your skirt. Seteth pulls you firmly against his strong body, and you can feel his cock throbbing against you. Then, as suddenly as he'd initiated it, he breaks your kiss- but before you can speak, his hand holds at your chin and forces you to meet his fierce gaze.

"So, you came here in this shameful attire with the express purpose of provoking me," his voice is a husky whisper, the mere sound of it nearly enough to make your knees buckle, "Very well then- you will have your scolding."

He manhandles you into position, rougher and more forceful with you than he's ever been. Before long, you're bent over his desk beneath him, and he stares down at you with a heat that paradoxically makes you shiver. Then, he raises a hand, and brings down his palm across your ass. You whimper and arch up from the hardwood, but he only says coldly,

"Straighten your legs."

You do your best to obey, holding your backside upright for him as though presenting him with your body. Despite your efforts, his hand descends once more, the wonderful sting of his strike warming your skin.

"Spread them wider." he commands, and once again you obey without question. You hear the familiar rustle of his belt and outer robes coming undone, and you glance back over your shoulder.

"Eyes forward, Miss Y/N." he says, his tone now balancing on a dangerous edge. You whine in protest, but follow his instructions and merely await your punishment. He gives a low hum and says, "I see you are capable of some measure of discipline, at least."

You feel the stiff head of his cock pushing between your folds, but before you can prepare yourself in the slightest, Seteth drives into your waiting cunt. Immediately, your eyes roll back and you gasp out his name. He holds you by your hips, pulling you back against him until your ass presses flush against his pelvis. He's nestled deep inside of you, his powerful manhood stretching you to your limit- and for the moment, he simply remains as such. The tip of his cock is nudging hard against your womb, sending blended pain and pleasure radiating through your nerves. It's all you can do to keep yourself positioned properly for him.

"To think that you would flaunt your body about the Monastery in such attire," Seteth snarls behind you, his cock throbbing against your inner walls, "You're every bit as hopeless as you were as a student." Once again, he spanks you, and you have to imagine by now that his abuse has begun to mark your tender skin.

You're already panting aloud for him when finally, his hips begin to move. His pace is immediately firm and punishing, his cock pistoning in and out of you, stimulating your every aching sweet spot and sending a painful jolt up your spine with each thrust. Your lips hang parted as you gasp for breath, your eyes dazed and unfocused in your bliss. A sudden rush seizes your body, and you feel your pussy clench around the massive intrusion of Seteth's cock.

"Cumming already?" he says with clear derision in his voice, though he never eases his pace as his bucks into you, "Perhaps you were even aroused by showing yourself in public in this shameful state."

"Nuh- no...!" you whimper softly, "It was... it's only for you-!"

Smack! His palm strikes your bouncing flesh once more. You're still riding the wave of your climax- or perhaps you're cumming a second time already. It's impossible to tell.

"Yet you were already soaked by the time I bent you over," Seteth goes on as he pounds into you, "One can't help but think that perhaps my troublesome student quite enjoys behaving like a wanton whore."

You can't manage to reply anymore. Your head is spinning and your body aches. Seteth's full length drives into you to its base again and again, and you can't even begin to say how many times you've cum before he begins to falter. His hips snap towards you haltingly, his body shudders, and his balls feel large and heavy as they slap against you with each thrust. It seems even his immense self-control can't stand up to this lewd punishment session for much longer. As your hands uselessly try to find purchase on the surface of his desk, Seteth leans over you, his hands now on your waist, pinning you down beneath him. His member throbs from base to tip, and with an animalistic groan, he says,

"I expect you... to take full responsibility-!"

With this, you feel the heat of his release pouring out at your core. His length twitches with every shot of cum that he spills into you, and his hands grip you so tight you can feel his nails digging along your skin. Seteth moans out your name, and you're distantly grateful that no one else stays in the offices as late as he does- you've both certainly made enough noise to have caused a scene by now.

At long, long last, his member pulses with the final throes of his orgasm. Seteth's grip on you loosens, and his office is quiet save for soft panting as you both struggle to collect yourselves. He pulls his length from you in one motion, and already, you can feel his thick seed dripping along your lower lips.

"You will head to my chambers," Seteth says, then clears his throat as he struggles to regain his usual composed dignity, "And if you don't want anyone to see this dripping out of you, you'll go quickly."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder," you manage to mumble, slowly pushing yourself up from the desk. Seteth actually laughs at this. Even now, his laugh is a rare treat that makes your heart skip like nothing else.

"I am tempted to say yours, given your intentional provocation," he says, bending over to place a soft kiss to your lips, "but I acknowledge that my own weakened restraint is partially to blame. To that end," he adds, his smile once more gentle and fond, "I am feeling rather rejuvenated. I'll be done with my work before long, and I do hope to see you in my quarters then."

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

A Series of Firsts

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst

@kuripon

I wrote you a thing 😘

The biggest of thanks to the most darling @jaskiersvalley for tearing this apart and telling me how to put it back together correctly <3

This was written for The Witcher Bog Mini Exchange! A little exchange we did within our Witcher Discord! (I also forgot the meaning of the word mini and now this is 4k - after I cut out 2 plot points 😬)

So here is some fluffy and soft Geraskier goodness, rated T

-

Geralt sighed as he watched Jaskier trip over another rock in the road. In the daylight. On a clear day. The man really was a disaster, tripping over nothing simply because he just wasn’t paying attention.

Winter was approaching and they had been planning on splitting up at the crossroads ahead, Jaskier to head for Oxenfurt and Geralt to head for Kaer Morhen. Normally, when the two split for winter, they were close enough to Oxenfurt for Geralt to be able to leave the man there, but this year they had been nearly on the other side of the continent.

Geralt wouldn’t be able to get him to Oxenfurt safely and then make it to Kaer Morhen before the pass froze over, though, so they had agreed to split up.

Geralt wasn’t convinced that Jaskier would be able to make it to Oxenfurt by himself.

Sure, the pair had split up over the two or so years that they had been travelling together but typically Geralt left Jaskier in a city where he was relatively protected and could find safe travels with troupes or caravans should he leave for elsewhere. But here, in the middle of the road, Geralt wasn’t feeling overly confident about leaving the bard to his own devices.

He supposed he could escort Jaskier to Oxenfurt, then make his way to Novigrad and winter there, he had friends in the city. The biggest problem was how expensive it was and how few and far between contracts were in the winter months.

Geralt watched as Jaskier wagged a finger at the rock that had tripped him with amusement, still wracking his brain for a good solution to getting the man to Oxenfurt safely. Although, Geralt did suppose there was a chance Jaskier would be willing to travel with him for the winter, to Kaer Morhen. It certainly would be an adventure for the man, and he loved those. And Geralt wouldn’t truly mind the man’s company over the winter. There were a lot of tomes and poetry books which were thought lost to time that were still in the library at Kaer Morhen and Jaskier, always boasting about how much of a learned man he was, would surely love to see them.

Yes, it would be a good solution. Geralt would be able to keep an eye on the man and know he was safe, he would get his company over winter, which was truly no hardship, and Jaskier might find the idea fun. He supposed he could at least suggest it.

Clearing his throat, Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s rant about how rude it was to trip people, “Jaskier, would you like to accompany me this winter?”

Jaskier turned around to face Geralt, his mouth wide and a confused look on his face, “Accompany you?”

“Yes. To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking rather like a fish, Geralt thought.

“You want… me, to go with you? To your secret witcher keep? For the winter?”

“If you would like to join me, yes.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt, his blue eyes shining brilliant and bright in the sunlight. He looked confused, not an expression Geralt often associated with Jaskier, the man was rather quick witted, his mind seemed to race on even faster than his mouth sometimes.

But it seemed Geralt had stumped him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t like. I just thought you might like to see the keep. And there are some books in the library that I think you would find interesting.”

“Some books you think I would find interesting?” Jaskier asked, sounding faint.

“Yes.”

Jaskier blinked a few times rapidly, looking around as if trying to find a solution for his obvious confusion before settling his gaze back on Geralt and shrugging, “If you’re offering then, yes. I would love to accompany you.”

Geralt nodded, “Alright then.”

And it was settled.

Jaskier still looked confused.

-

Jaskier felt his mouth open as he stared in awe at the massive keep in front of him. He had been astounded as they reached the gate and then again when they reached another entry way and now, actually facing the keep, he was amazed.

It was absolutely stunning. Crumbling in places, sure. Maybe a bit worse for wear in other places as well, but truly just gorgeous.

“I thought you were cold?”

Fuck. He was, he really was, and he had wanted nothing more than to run inside the keep at the first opportunity and plant himself firmly in the middle of a fire, directly on the coals, but when the stone keep had appeared in front of him, stealing his breath from his lungs, he had forgotten all about the ache of his ears and the fact that his nose had long since gone numb.

But Geralt was right, he needed warmth and soon. He could come back out and stare at the glory of Kaer Morhen later, when he wasn’t about to die from hypothermia and lose a couple toes to frostbite.

When Geralt pushed open the doors of the keep, Jaskier felt the warmth wash over him in a comforting wave and he hurried behind Geralt to hopefully find the source of said heat.

Looking around in amazement, Jaskier’s eyes danced over the beautiful, if dilapidated, tapestries and murals decorating the giant walls of the main hall of the keep. It was glorious. Everywhere Jaskier looked, there was something new to feast his eyes upon, and every time he looked back at somewhere he had already studied, he found new details.

As much hesitance and confusion as he had felt taking Geralt’s offer to join him for winter, Jaskier didn’t regret his decision for a moment. If he hadn’t gotten to see this then… well, he supposed he wouldn’t know what he was missing, but now that he did know, he would never be able to go back. The history of the keep, literally written on the walls, be it in intricate murals or damages from the attacks, were screaming at Jaskier, begging to be immortalized in song. He could see the music dancing through the air as he looked around.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jumped, looking to where Geralt was staring at him, “Sorry… it’s just… amazing in here! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me how amazing it is?”

Geralt looked around quickly, a frown on his face, “It’s just… home?”

Jaskier felt himself soften at Geralt’s words, “Yes, it is, darling. And I’m very happy to be here. Now, if you could kindly escort me to the fire, I would like to lay down in it.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh and Jaskier could see the corners of his mouth twitch up, “Come on, it’ll be warmest in the kitchen and you can sit as close to the fire as you dare.”

“Right in the center, then!”

“I don’t know if I’m feeling roast bard for dinner tonight.”

Jaskier laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he followed Geralt to the keep. His laughter bounced off the walls, echoing around them.

Geralt had been right, the kitchen, a smaller room right off of the main hall, was certainly warmer, and Jaskier was able to pull a bench right up to the fire where he held his hands and feet dangerously close to the blissful heat.

“You’ll get blisters,” Geralt commented wryly as he shuffled around the kitchen, getting bowls out as he messed with a large pot. It smelled delicious, whatever it was. Jaskier couldn’t quite place it, though it smelled herbal.

Geralt filled the bowls and walked over to sit next to Jaskier on the bench, holding out one for him, “Here, eat this to help warm you.”

Taking the bowl with a grateful smile, Jaskier wasted no time digging in. He had never tasted anything quite like it before. It seemed to be a stew, certainly the heartiest one Jaskier had ever had, filled with venison, potatoes, carrots, and a number of herbs he was certain he had never seen before. It was delicious.

“Mmm, who made this?” He asked between bites.

“Vesemir.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Jaskier kept eating. Geralt didn’t talk much of the other witchers of Kaer Morhen, though he had mentioned them all a few times here and there. Jaskier had always gotten the impression that Vesemir had become something of a caretaker to Geralt, though he wasn’t sure exactly how they related to each other. But Geralt spoke of the other man as if he were a mentor, so Jaskier had always suspected Geralt had learned a lot from him.

If only Geralt would learn to cook a stew like this, Jaskier would never feel the need to spend coin in another tavern for dinner again.

-

The sound of the kitchen door closing startled Jaskier, and he spun around on his bench to see another witcher, grey haired and kind faced, standing just inside the kitchen, staring at Geralt meaningfully. Geralt shrugged.

Golden eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Hello,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling hesitant, “I’m Jaskier.”

“The bard.” It wasn’t a question. An acknowledgement, more like. Maybe even an accusation, Jaskier couldn’t really tell.

“Ahh, yes. That would be me.”

The man nodded, “I’m Vesemir. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Oh! You made the stew!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“It’s delicious!” Jaskier declared, gesturing to his third bowl, “Truly the best stew I’ve ever had. You’ll have to teach me how you do it, Geralt certainly can’t accomplish anything that tastes so good.”

Vesemir approached the table and sat across from Jaskier, both ignoring Geralt’s indignant grunt as the pair began to discuss why Vesemir’s stew was so delicious and why Geralt’s never seemed to measure up.

-

Jaskier laughed loudly, his head thrown back in glee, as Vesemir told another story about the havoc a young Geralt would cause and his subsequent punishments. Jaskier had been nervous to meet the older witcher, worried he wouldn’t be welcomed into the keep despite Geralt’s insistence he would be.

He needn’t have been worried.

Vesemir proved not only to be incredibly inviting but also happy to have a guest, particularly one gifted in music.

“I’ve dallied,” he admitted finally, after a long conversation with Jaskier about the best qualities in lute strings.

Jaskier couldn’t help but grin as he held his lute out to Vesemir, “Go on then, show me what you’ve got!” 

“I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will!” Jaskier gestured to the lute again.

Steady hands gripped the lute, holding it with care, making Jaskier smile, “Alright, play us something!” 

In only a few moments, Vesemir seemed to have fallen back into an old skill as he picked at the lute strings expertly. Jaskier wouldn’t say that the older witcher’s skills were comparable to his own but they were rather better than many other professionals Jaskier could think of.

Like the troubadour of Cidaris, for instance.

The sound of the lute resonated through the kitchen and Jaskier took a moment to appreciate it, appreciate sitting back and enjoying the music instead of being the one to provide it.

An idea popping into his head, Jaskier spun around to look at Geralt where he sat by the fire, watching the other two.

Jaskier held out his hand, beckoning the witcher, “Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,”

Jaskier scoffed, “Don’t give me that, Geralt. Come on, dance with me!”

Geralt shook his head, “No.”

Whining, Jaskier strode over to Geralt with a pleading expression on his face, “Please, Geralt! I never get to dance, I’m always the one playing. Please, please, please.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“Never!” Jaskier smiled brilliantly as he threaded his fingers through Geralt’s and tugged, urging the witcher to join him.

And Geralt, much to Jaskier’s utter delight, did so.

“Now I’m sure you aren’t overly practiced in the art of dance, but you can’t be too terribly bad at it.”

“I wouldn’t know, never done it.”

“Never… wait you’ve never danced? Any dance? Ever?”

“No. Who would want to dance with me?”

“Well I certainly do.” Jaskier felt an indignant anger swell up inside of him, angry at the world all of a sudden, bitter that it would treat such an amazing man so poorly.

“You’re strange and have no self preservation. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Spluttering, Jaskier floundered for a moment, shocked at the accusation, but just before he could start ranting, Vesemir switched tunes, playing something lively and good for dancing.

Choosing to ignore Geralt’s slight at him, for now, he grabbed Geralt firmly by the waist and maneuvered him into position, “Just do what I do, my dearest witcher, and you’ll be a dancer in no time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but still went along with it, his fondness for Jaskier showing in his eyes, his every movement. It warmed Jaskier through far better than the fire and stew had. It was a simmering warmth Jaskier felt every time the witcher proved his affections. Proved they truly were friends.

Geralt never did so with words but actions, as they say, speak much louder than words and Geralt was certainly a man of action.

Unable to believe his luck, Jaskier sent off silent prayer to Melitele. He felt a thrill run through him as he gripped Geralt by the waist. Geralt in his arms was truly a dream he had never thought would come true. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that this was more that it was, that Geralt felt the same as he did, but he would still enjoy the friendly embrace, he would give himself that.

Jaskier had, of course, been right. As he led Geralt through the steps, the witcher picked them up quickly, his training in footwork for fighting translating perfectly to dancing.

And, if you were to ask Jaskier, he would say Geralt’s first dance went rather well.

As the song came to a close, Jaskier took a chance, swinging Geralt around and dipping him. The only sign of surprise Jaskier could see was a slight widening of Geralt’s eyes, but he still allowed him to do as he pleased, pulling him up out of the dip, cradled close in Jaskier’s arms.

And then they were kissing.

Jaskier wasn’t sure who moved first, though it must have been him, surely. All he knew for certain was that their mouths were pressed together, open in a filthy kiss, and then the warmth of the witcher was gone.

Jaskier watched, a forlorn feeling settling over him, as Geralt strode swiftly from the kitchen, the door slamming behind him.

Turning slowly, Jaskier looked to Vesemir, who merely quirked an amused eyebrow.

Jaskier groaned, “Bollocks.”

-

Jaskier should sit, really. With the way he was pacing, he would wear a hole into the bearskin rug thrown on the floor of Geralt’s room. He should sit in a chair by the fire that Vesemir had politely started for him after showing him the way to Geralt’s room. He should curl up and do some writing or reading or anything to keep his mind occupied, distracted.

All he could think about was the kiss.

Jaskier still wasn’t sure what happened, how it started, but it was truly everything he had hoped for, for… far too long. And the more he thought about it, focused on the moment, the less confident he was that he had attacked Geralt with his mouth and the more he wondered if it hadn’t been mutual. Geralt had certainly pressed them together even tighter as if it had been.

But was he overthinking it? Was he putting emotions where there should be none. Creating something that didn’t exist. Was he simply projecting his desires where they were unwanted?

Maybe he would know the answer if Geralt hadn’t run off. Like he did every time something serious happened.

Jaskier knew, had known from very early on, that Geralt struggled with processing his emotions. He wasn't sure if it was an issue of how Geralt was raised or perhaps hearing a life time of hateful people saying he had no emotions or if the mutagens he was subjected to really did affect his emotions in some way, or maybe some combination therein, but he did know that Geralt struggled. And that was okay, truly. Jaskier didn’t mind. He saw the way Geralt put in the effort to communicate with him, though it wasn’t ever really with his words. But he did put in the effort and that’s what Jaskier had always focused on.

Now, though, he was rather frustrated. If Geralt would just stay when things got tense, take a moment to calm down and then use his words, then maybe things would be easier on the both of them.

Maybe-

Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t trip on the edge of a bearskin rug and knock his head against a table.

Groaning, Jaskier sat up slowly and cradled his head in his hands. He could already feel a bump forming, the spot throbbing dully. Of course he would manage to hurt himself when he was getting all fired up, ready to confront Geralt.

And of course that would be the moment Geralt decided to walk in the room.

“Jaskier?” Geralt rushed over to Jaskier’s seated position, kneeling on the ground beside him.

A gentle hand pulled Jaskier’s away from his head and Jaskier whimpered as it was exposed to the air of the room.

“Jaskier are you okay? How do you feel?”

Jaskier winced, taking stock of his injuries. His knee felt rather bruised and his arm certainly ached some but it seemed that his head had taken the brunt of the damage. “I think I’m alright.”

Geralt made a tutting noise, one Jaskier had only heard him use when something was wrong with Roach. Any anger that he might still have held left him with that single small noise. He knew Geralt cared about him, he knew that without a singular doubt, so really there was no point in getting angry. He just needed Geralt to talk to him.

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes, the concern reflected in the brilliant amber nearly overwhelming. “I’m okay,” he said, taking hold of Geralt’s hand, “thank you for being concerned. Can we talk?”

Furrowing his brow, Geralt disregarded the question, “Are you sure you’re okay? I should get something to put on your forehead.”

Shaking his head slowly, trying not to make it ache worse, Jaskier broached the subject again “It can wait. But we should talk.”

Geralt nodded, a resolute look on his face.

-

Geralt should have known that this would be a bad idea, inviting the bard to winter with him. Sure, it was an excellent way to keep an eye on him, make sure he was safe and sound, but it put Geralt at risk of revealing feelings, both to himself and Jaskier, that he would rather keep locked away.

He thought his heart would burst from his chest when he saw the amazement shining in Jaskier’s eyes as he took in Geralt’s home. He had pleased him, given Jaskier that coveted thrill of wonderment he always spoke so highly of. And then Jaskier had laughed, bright and loud, the sound echoing through the main hall of the keep. Geralt would never be able to get that sound out of his head. It warmed him, made his stomach flip and flop in strange ways.

It was terrifying.

Throughout supper, watching Jaskier get comfortable in his home, watching him and Vesemir bond, Geralt couldn’t help but let his thoughts stray. It wasn’t something meant to be, Geralt knew that, knew he wasn’t destined to spend his life alongside someone, to have a family outside of his fellow witchers. It was a miracle he had managed to travel with Jaskier and enjoy his company for as long as he had.

No one really wanted to spend their time with a witcher. No one except one really strange, clingy, chatty, loud mouthed bard. Whom Geralt loved.

Fuck.

He knew better than to admit this, admitting it made it real, gave him thoughts best left alone. Geralt did his best to lock down the feelings as Jaskier offered Vesemir his lute. Steeling his will, Geralt did he best to be resolute in his decision, determined to stay strong and never admit this weakness. And then Jaskier turned to him, eyes wide and pleading, and asked him to dance. That one look, that simple request, was all it took to break him.

Next thing he knew he was spinning around, held in Jaskier’s arms, in his home, and he felt content. Safe.

It was too much and not enough and then they were kissing. Geralt wasn’t sure who started it, but he did know he leaned in greedily, clutching at Jaskier tightly, unwilling to let him go. But he wasn’t allowed this. His life, his destiny, would never allow this happiness. This moment would turn sour with time. Even if Jaskier did want it now, he wouldn’t forever. He would grow tired of the witcher’s life, grow tired of the Path, grow old and weary of Geralt’s wandering ways.

He couldn’t have this.

So, he ran.

It maybe wasn’t the most responsible decision, and maybe it would do more damage, but it could be no worse than staying. Staying and looking into Jaskier’s eyes again and crumbling even more, falling hopelessly headfirst into the love he knew he felt.

That he knew he shouldn’t feel.

He left the keep and the courtyard behind, climbing up to the old bastion, jumping up on its now crumbling walls, ignoring the wail of the ghosts below. And there he sat, staring into the distance, slowly growing colder and colder, and the whole time all he could think of was Jaskier.

Geralt had never needed. He never wanted for anything. He never yearned.

And yet…

Jaskier’s eyes and his smile and the way he strummed his lute thoughtfully when composing and the way he danced around carefree and happy whenever given the opportunity and the way he worried endlessly over every injury Geralt may face, from mundane scratches to gaping wounds.

Geralt loved him. Had loved him for some time. And now, in his home, where he felt safest, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from Jaskier and not from himself.

Fuck.

-

He knew Jaskier was waiting for him, he could smell his scent, chamomile and honey, coming from his room. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat. Faster than it should be.

Speeding his strides, Geralt threw open the door to his room to see Jaskier slumped over on the ground, his hands clutching at his head, his face screwed up in pain. Geralt could feel a lump in his throat, the worry he felt for Jaskier instant and overwhelming. He rushed to the bard’s side, taking Jaskier’s hand in his as he inspected the knot forming on his head.

And Jaskier insisted he was fine, deflecting the injury and instead asking Geralt if they could talk.

Geralt knew they needed to. They probably should have had this discussion, and many others, a long, long time ago. But Geralt didn’t like talking and Jaskier had always humored him.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Not like that. I should have made sure you were interested first.”

“Jask-”

“No, let me say this, Geralt. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now, I’m sure you know that. I’ve not kept my attraction to you a secret for some time now.”

Geralt… hadn’t known. Jaskier flirted with him, of course, he flirted with everyone. Geralt had never thought much of it.

“But I think there’s more to this than me being… over excited and kissing you when I shouldn’t have. I think we need to discuss our feelings for each other.”

“I agree.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he winced slightly. “Well… in that case, shall I start?”

Geralt nodded.

“Alright then, Geralt, I love you. I love you dearly. With every bit of me. And I want to spend the rest of my life travelling with you.”

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you, too, Jaskier.”

“You do?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt smiled, cupping Jaskier’s cheek, “I’ve never said that to someone before. I’ve never wanted to until now.”

“I’ve never meant it, not until now.”

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

I was going to actually post this before asks closed (didn’t get the chance), but Teddy Bear Anon, you are one of my favorite people and a magnificent creature. You get my vibe. 

About Bad canonically being Sapnap’s dad I feel like that has so much extra angst potential when we consider the rest of the found family. Like. Sapnap, Tommy, and Fundy all have dads who started with the best of intentions but for one reason or another ended up slowly becoming a danger to them. I imagine Tommy and Fundy one day showing up with a cake and telling Sapnap “We regretfully welcome you to the shit dad club” and Sapnap is torn between being upset still and laughing over the absurdity of the situation.

Bonus points if Tommy made the cake using a recipe book that Niki gave him, the last gift Niki ever gave to Tommy. Tommy was originally a really bad cook/baker but after the egg really started to take over he went full survivalist. Leaning to cook was necessary but learning to bake was something he did as a way to raise everyone’s spirits. He’s never gotten the flavor quite to match with Niki’s perfectly but everyone agrees he’s gotten pretty decent in terms of skills. He and Fundy in particular will sometimes just spend an entire day in silence baking and then quietly eat their creations while reflecting on the friends they’ve made and lost over the course of L'manberg’s lifetime. When the group got back to the past and Niki made cookies for Tommy and Fundy the pair very nearly started crying.

Tommy is in an interesting position as a character since he did commit a lot of minor crimes and acted as a general nuisance but he was also still a child. (A very traumatized one considering I canonize SMP Earth with its unlimited lives but even more wars. Including against God. Tommy fought God just let me have this.) He acknowledges the moments when he went over the line and has tried to apologize. In particular at some point before the egg fully takes over he pulls aside Jack and tells him that he’s sorry for the way he acted when he was still in exile, taking one of Jack’s lives and all. Jack and Niki in particular are an interesting subject to address and a painful one for immune!Tommy to think about when he sees younger Niki because the three never fully tossed out the hatchet but it was obvious in the eyes of someone like Sam that both of them were growing more and more hesitant to hurt Tommy. It was made worse by the fact neither were even marginally immune, and it didn’t take long for the egg to get to them.

He never stopped being chaotic. Tommy at his core is just that kind of person. He did, however, grow up enough to act in a more mature manner. Started to recognize what’s too much. In particular he became a lot less violent and willing to lash out after Sam Nook in essence reparented him. He’s still an absolute wild card of a person, which in the eyes of Sam and Sapnap is a good thing. For this au I think we should actually address Tommy having severe ptsd and during the building of his hotel/the early days of the egg before it becomes a noticeable threat it shows. He’s a lot more subdued. Shows of aggression all carry a kind of desperation and his typical jokes feel flat. Lashing out at people slowly becomes more of a defense mechanism to see if someone’s going to leave or betray him, to test the limits of how nice they’re willing to be. After all, nice people have only ever been nice to Tommy when they wanted something from him. His eyes, especially after L'manberg is blow sky high, are well and truly gray. The first time Tommy genuinely laughs after filling Sapnap’s room with chickens is considered celebration worthy to them. His pranks take on a more hermitcraft-esque feel to them which honestly makes them more funny.

By the time they get to the past Tommy has recovered, but he still carries the kind of maturity that like Teddy Bear mentioned is reminiscent of age swap Tommy. When he gets especially stressed though, Immune!Tommy will slip into moments where he acts as tired and done with the world as age swap Tommy. With that said, most of the time he just acts like a more mature Tommy. Nothing could ever completely erase his unique vibe which Ranboo has gone on record as describing “Willing to fight God deaf, blind, and backwards just to prove a point." 

Immune Fundy and Tommy get on really well once Fundy manages to catch up with the rest of the group. It gets to the point where everyone from the past is kinda shocked since smp Fundy and Tommy do not get along. At all. Literally the first night Fundy’s back someone goes to wake them up and they find Fundy asleep on top of Tommy which is a wild experience since this Tommy is a goliath who often refuses to take off his full Netherite max enchant armor. He really becomes a "looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll” kinda mans.

Also, yeah, this is Dream’s retirement arc. He is literally just sitting in the corner watching Tommy dote on his younger self and Tubbo before completely pile driving two of the most powerful people on the server straight into the dirt. At some point Tommy sits down with past Punz. He tells this Punz that their Punz died protecting him and Tubbo and that Tommy never got to properly thank their Punz so he’s going to thank this Punz. Tommy then gives Punz an entire stack of Netherite. If we’re gonna go ahead and agree on Phoenix Tommy then Tommy is fire proof, meaning he probably spent a large amount of time in the nether to avoid the egg crew and get rare supplies. Meaning he also probably did a lot of mining just to distract himself and it resulted in him being loaded. Tommy used to have a fear of tnt and explosives but he seems like the type of mad lad to say “exposure therapy” and make a massive cavern in the underbelly of the nether.

I think it would also be really interesting to dedicate like, a couple of chapters to other people’s perspectives. I kind of want to set the time they arrive in the past partway through the Pogtopia arc since I like mildly unhinged but not completely gone Wilbur. Plus then it also makes more sense for Techno to be there. Just prefer the aesthetic really. I want to have Wilbur see this version of Tommy and come to a sudden “oh” moment. I want to have a moment where Tubbo looks between his Tommy and this new Tommy, seeing himself nowhere to be found, and has enough what the fuck moments to become aggressively protective of his own Tommy. Especially if immune!Tommy ever admits to the past Tubbo why he is the way he is, what he faced under the thumb of the people he trusted. Which, out of everyone on the server, Tubbo would be the first one from the past to actively learn. 

I am fully on board with Tommy knowing how to sew. That should just automatically be canon in literally ever AU. Tommy for all intents and purposes is still Phil’s child for me. Survival runs in the family the same way that chaos does, so he’s got a ton of basic survival skills that he just doesn’t show off because it’s still Tommy. He would have been completely fine in exile if it wasn’t for Dream. Whenever someone ruins their clothes in the Immune group they automatically go to Tommy and at first the past versions are very confused (except for past Tommy and Tubbo obviously) and then Tommy’s just “Sapnap this is beyond ruined it can’t be saved, let me make you something new” and within a couple days he makes Sapnap a completely new outfit. Like maybe Sapnap fell into a lava pool because Blaze Sapnap Supremacy and his clothes are beyond saving and everyone is beyond baffled when Tommy just acts like this is a weekly occurrence. He’s memorized Sapnap’s measurements and style tastes and already had a new outfit in the works for him that Sapnap immediately adores upon it being presented to him. It takes about a week for past Eret to learn that Tommy stress sews new clothing and he cannot think of a better model. Eret has never had such a full closet. Eret has everything from three piece suits to ball gowns now. Eret lives in terror of the days where Tommy disappears god knows where with Fundy and the two reappear with a new wardrobe for the entire god damn server. 

Speaking of disappearing I really like the idea of part phoenix and part tanuki Tommy for a couple reasons. Being a Tanuki he’d have access to enough magic to hide his hybrid traits, which if they’ve been present for long enough would be a necessity to him. Additionally think about Fundy and Tommy building a den under Church Prime that slowly turns into a maze. Think about it. It starts off simple and then they both start digging more and it gets deeper and deeper and more complicate and the two just refer to it as their den and the only ones who are fully aware of the connotations of that word are Sam, Sapnap, and Ranboo who remember the absolute hell that was trying to navigate the original. Just Fundy and Tommy bonding over the fact they are literally the only creatures on this server that have this catacomb memorized and at the end of the catacomb is their saferoom which connects to rail way that the two spent a month straight on. It goes at least 25k blocks from spawn and it’s a final emergency resort in case they can’t stop the egg and the Immunes needs to regroup and essentially try again (if they keep bringing their younger selves with them then hopefully they’ll finally get an army large enough to stop this, but everyone really hopes it doesn’t come to that.)

I’m working on the first chapter of my fic right now actually if I’m gonna be honest and phoenix Tommy is absolutely without question canon to it but I’ve still been going back and forth on if I want him to be part tanuki as well or just blessed/favored by one like Teddy Bear mentioned. I’m also tucking away the whole thing about the magma blood for later use. Phoenix Tommy just makes sense. They used to call him Zombie Kid for a reason back on SMP Earth, he just literally does not die ever unless he decides he does.

~Snapdragon & Firefly

[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 10

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Going to draw a heart over Wangxian to keep track of every time the camera shows someone third wheeling them from now on.

Wei Ying uses his Binding/Bonding talisman on Xue Yang to show Lan Zhan it’s a dynamic tool that doesn’t deserve to be named “Boring”. Even though there’s a serial killer on the loose, Lan Zhan’s opinions on his inventions matter a lot to him. Standard Wei Ying stuff.

Wangxian’s Mirrors

At this point of the show, I could not believe there was a couple who directly mirrored Wangxian. And surprise! They were two men who dressed in black and white and came together for their common vision exactly like Wangxian did. Wei Ying cannot help but connect the dots and Lan Zhan is already aware of their eminence.

Xue Yang Fancies The Yiling Laozu 

Xue Yang’s introduction makes the story take a darker turn but also a gayer one. The homoerotic subtext between him and Wei Ying literally jumps out of the screen.  

(This episode had a lot of moments that were just begging for alternate dialogues to be written. I just wanted to have fun with the subtext that’s already present.)  

Wei Ying doesn’t want Lan Zhan to waste his precious breath interrogating the bad guy. He protectively steps up (something he does quite a lot) and puts some distance between the both of them.

But he wants Lan Zhan to hold his sword while he does that.. and if that act wasn’t necessarily considered to be intimate or romantic before, it just became that after Lan Zhan refused to do it in front of everyone.

Wei Ying has uttered many conspicuously gay things on the show but most of them are with reference to Lan Zhan. Therefore, this is possibly the gayest dialogue he has ever said in a strictly non-Lan Zhan context.

His tone is all, “Honey, you've been existing for 5 minutes, I'm the queerest person the cultivation world has seen in a millennium. You think frisking a guy is going to make me feel scandalized?” This is nuts to me because Xue Yang is arguably the most blatantly coded gay character on the show.. and here is Wei Ying all but saying he can outgay him. That he shouldn’t come after his job. And Lan Zhan just looks like..

It is curious how Lan Zhan says no to something that would require Wei Ying to go near Xue Yang again.

We get it, Lan Zhan. It was hard to see your guy giving attention to someone who wasn’t you.

When Lan Zhan is unsure what's happening back home, the first person his eyes seek is Wei Ying, his source of strength and reassurance.

SongXiao Help WangXian Fall Deeper In Love

Wei Ying is euphoric to meet another pair of Soulmates™. (The same kind of glee that queer people feel when they meet a celebrity queer couple.) His relationship with Lan Zhan just gained supreme validation and a boost to the power of infinity!

He sees everything he has with Lan Zhan reflected in SongXiao’s relationship. He admires them and is delighted that people like them who aren’t concerned with clan drama can walk the wider path of justice, and also lead successful, honourable lives. He looks to Lan Zhan for confirmation but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too eager to publicize the super sweet promise they made at the lantern ceremony or the fact that he’s been secretly enjoying Wei Ying’s companionship on this expedition. And let’s be honest, it would’ve been more shocking if Lan Zhan did confirm any of that here.

Cheer up, Wei Ying! Lan Zhan will get plenty more opportunities to prove his love for you and he'll ace every single one of them.

No one asked for this but thank you NHS for declaring your ideal type is beautiful gentlemen who fight crime together and unapologetically go their own way.

The parallels between the two pairs write themselves. More importantly, it is while watching SongXiao leave together that Lan Zhan stumbles onto an epiphany.

This is such an underrated moment in the show. The sorrowful music and slow-motion shot of Lan Zhan looking at Wei Ying with vulnerability all over his face once again drives it home that Wei Ying is The One for him, and he is his. He was already getting tired of denying that Wei Ying is his soulmate in every sense there is, and he feels his pain and sadness in this moment. It is enough for Jiang Cheng to feel sorry for him and move on but not for Lan Zhan who feels all that his soulmate feels. 

It is overwhelming and brand new information to Lan Zhan himself that he can feel it because Wei Ying is not in impending danger right now, so this need he feels to protect him and be there for him can only mean that he loves him beyond the shadow of a doubt. Wei Ying seems upset thinking about his mother and Lan Zhan gets it, without Wei Ying having uttered a word the whole time. His face shows a kind of defeat in this scene; he surrenders to everything he has known and felt for some time now : He's in love with Wei Ying and would tear down the universe without a second thought if it means it would rid him of his unhappiness. And he isn't able to do that in this moment. But thanks to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, he’s found comfort in the truth they have each other at the end of the day, even if they have nothing left in this world. He cannot give back to Wei Ying what he has lost but he can accompany him in his sadness, and it will have to be enough. And it is, because Wei Ying can overcome just about everything as long as Lan Zhan walks by his side.

Wei Ying Says Lan Clan Deserves Rights

Wei Ying has many nice things to say about the Lan clan who he found exhausting a few months ago. Love brings about miraculous changes in a person, y’all.

Wei Ying gravitates towards Lan Zhan as if it's second nature to him and it really is.

Jiang Cheng spends a lot of time trying to get Wei Ying to spill the Top Secrets about the Yin Iron and Wei Ying is like, "Sorry, I’m bound by the Soulmate laws to tell you absolutely nothing."

Wei Ying is already embracing the idea of controlling the Yin Iron and people are rightfully getting offended by his suggestion.

What did you expect, Wei Ying? Not everyone is your lifetime confidant to give you the benefit of the doubt and reciprocate it with compassion, trust and open-mindedness.

Wangxian’s Temporary Separation

What was that, Wei Ying? Did we hear you admit that the Gusu Lan roof is softer than the one in Qinghe? Could this have anything to do with a certain law enforcer in Cloud Recesses you fell in love with at first sword fight? 

There is a delicate, bittersweet air to this separation, and even the casual watcher is going to be wondering, “When did I get so invested in Wangxian that WuJi makes me want to cry?”

It's cute how Lan Zhan is like, “Okay, I’ve seen the love of my life for one last time, I’ll quietly take my leave so he doesn’t know I was waiting for him to come back.”

Turns out, "I'll sleep on your roof tonight," is one of the most romantic things we could tell the person we love. Isn't it brilliant that just few seconds ago Wei Ying had said he will take whatever ground he finds as his home for the night, and how utterly beautiful is it to have followed it up with this dialogue? “Lan Zhan, I'll sleep on your roof tonight.” Because the world is big but my home is wherever you are. That’s where I’m happiest, I'll sleep on this rugged roof and walk through thorns if it means I get to be by your side. I won't mind it at all. And how unbelievably romantic is it that Wei Ying makes a philosophical statement about life, which ends up being about Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan hears the implications in his voice. And he openly yearns to stay behind a little longer and commit to his memory what Wei Ying looks like when he is drunkenly proclaiming his love for him under the moonlight. It is pleasantly surprising that Lan Zhan is willing to express his emotions when he knows he is safe from Wei Ying hearing them, that he doesn't mind telling him goodbye when he thinks Wei Ying won't remember it. 

But the audience can hear his voice and we are going to remember it. How, "Wei Ying, I have to go," is uttered in a cadence so sweet we did not know Lan Zhan was capable of before this. And the choice of words do not simply mean that he’s going to leave, but that he has to, and most certainly not because he wants to. And how it really means, “I’m worried about everything, but especially you, and I'm sorry I have to go. I have to trust that we'll both be okay on this path. Please know that I don't wish to leave you, and forgive me for it. Wei Ying, I love you."

Even their temporary separation hurts so good. If they were meant to be best buddies, this scene wouldn't have been shot so poignantly. But we got used to seeing them together and every frame is designed to dig deeper into your heart and instil the fact that these soulmates are parting, and we don’t know when they’ll see each other again. This is the melancholy of a man who does not wish to be away from his lover but is forced to for the sake of the greater good. Anyone can see that.

The rooftop and moonlit night come as a callback to their first meeting, only Lan Zhan no longer wants to point the tip of his sword at Wei Ying, it gives him far greater satisfaction to place Wei Ying behind his sword.

I haven’t counted the number of times people acknowledge Wangxian’s relationship and/or know that they are inseparable, but it’s safe to say almost every character does that at some point. And some even know how to exploit their weakness, that in order to hurt one of them, the surefire way is to simply aim for the other like Wen Chao does here.

To summarize, Episode 10 saw Lan Zhan showing us his true colors : When he isn’t occupied with being the esteemed, intimidating Lan Wangji, he’s busy being a regular, sweet, romantic guy in love. And Wei Ying did that. He single-handedly exposes the soft side of Lan Zhan that nobody sees to the audience now and the world later on. 

This episode also gave us this : Two soulmates chilling shoulder to shoulder zero feet apart because they’re falling in love.

[hale-13]

Zero Days Without Incident

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 20 Prompt - Defiance

The ‘Days Without Incident’ sign in Tony Stark’s private workshop has nothing to do with engineering or science mishaps and all to do with a bet between him and a certain Spiderling.

Words: 1783, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Stabbing

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter you have thirty minutes until your curfew,” Karen warned him, already plotting a course home and throwing it up on his HUD.

It was a balmy spring evening and Peter had spent most of his patrol leisurely swinging through Queens or relaxing on a hammock made from his webs. There had been a few petty crimes he had dealt with, some grand theft bicycle, a cat stuck in a tree but, all in all, he couldn’t really complain. He loved being Spider-Man and helping his neighborhood but it was nice to have a slow day sometimes.

A scream sounded in the distance.

“Spoke too soon,” he mumbled, altering his course and picking up speed. “Can you get me directions K?”

“Of course Peter,” Karen answered, as chirpy and happy as normal, re-routing him away from his apartment and toward the sounds of discourse in the distance. When he dropped in on the scene it seemed to be a mugging in progress and Peter rolled his eyes – didn’t people have anything better to do on a random Tuesday in April? God just seriously rethink your life choices.

“I would say its knife to meet you but I’ve definitely used that pun in the last couple weeks and I don’t want to be accused of not being original,” Peter called down, making both the assailant and victim flinch and look up to where he was perched on the wall above them. “Where did even get that thing? The renaissance fair? Who robs people with a full on dagger anyway? Run out of kitchen knives?” Peter quipped, flipping down and pushing the mugger away with a well placed kick to the arm that made the man stumble back.

“This has nothing to do with you bug,” the man snarled, brandishing the weapon at Peter now and making him roll his eyes. “Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to use this on ya.”

“Spiders are arachnids actually, not bugs” Peter pointed out, shooing the stunned woman out of the alley and on her way out of any potential danger. “And how about you not stab anybody today huh? If you promise to behave I won’t web you to the wall and call the police. Sounds like a fair trade right?”

The man snarled at him with irritation. “You talk too much.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter agreed easily with a nod. “But what do you say? Ready to give up your life of crime for the straight and narrow?”

“No,” the man grumbled and, with literally no warning, lunged forward and stabbed his knife directly into Peter’s gut.

They both stared at each other in stunned silence before Peter processed the pain with a loud ‘fuck!’.

“You motherfucker,” Peter grunted, backing away to lean against the wall, holding the knife still with one hand so as to not dislodge it. “I can’t believe you stabbed me!”

“I thought you would dodge! You always dodge!” The man said, reaching up both hands to dig into his hair. “I stabbed Spider-Man what the fuck!”

“God this is just-,” Peter grumbled using his free arm to fire webbing at the guy and secure him to the nearby dumpster. “I’ve gone three weeks without having to go to the MedBay! Three weeks! All I had to do was last one more and then I got to pick the movie at movie night for the next month! God I can’t believe it! Mr. Stark is going to be so insufferable now!”

“You could just… not tell him?” The man asked hopefully, not even bothering to struggle against the webs and Peter blew out a breath as he sank down to sit on the gritty ground – he was starting to feel a little cold and dizzy from either the blood loss or shock, he couldn’t tell which. Not that it mattered, his fierce anger overshadowed everything.

“Not an option,” Peter grunted, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the helpful countdown timer Karen had started displaying the second Tony had entered the Iron Man armor and started jetting to him. “He already knows.” Curse the Baby-monitor Protocol! He and Ned would need to remove it again…

“He track you or something?” The man asked questioningly, head quirked to the side in obvious curiosity.

“Or something,” Peter agreed.

“That’s wack man,” he said. “An invasion of privacy. A, uh… violation of your constitutional rights as a free American!”

“Do you honestly think Tony Stark cares about an something as simple as an invasion of privacy? I’m lucky he hasn’t microchipped me yet,” Peter pointed out. Or, at least, he didn’t think Tony had microchipped him. He’d have to check that and remove it post haste if he found something.

“Dude,” knife guy said commiserating and Peter had to fight the eye roll. Of course the person who stabbed him felt remorseful now.

“I know,” Peter agreed, peering down at his side to look at where the knife was embedded into him. He was pretty good around blood as long as it wasn’t his own and, looking at the way his suit was slick and blood was beginning to pool under his thighs in a puddle made Peter lightheaded so he closed his eyes again. “He’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you by the way,” Peter warned. “He has pretty good lawyers so I wouldn’t have high hopes of getting out of this without jail time.”

The man groaned and Peter just shrugged. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time and all that – also don’t stab people and leave them to the ministrations of their helicopter mentors. Same thing really. The sound of repulsers neared and Peter braced himself – he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this.

“I guess that we can change the ‘Days Without Incident’ sign back to zero eh Spiderling?” Tony teased as he landed in the mouth of the alley, disengaging his suit and walking over to kneel next to Peter. “You were doing so good too – your longest streak ever in fact.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter hissed as Tony prodded around the wound carefully with a pre-gloved hand. “Can you not touch that?”

“No can do buddy,” Tony said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Gotta anchor it in so it doesn’t fall out on the ride back. Happy’s on his way to pick us up.”

“Oh great,” Peter groused, letting Tony lean him forward a little so he could start wrapping roll gauze around the knife. “He loves to complain when I get blood on the seats.”

“Only when you get impaled,” Tony said brightly, pulling the gauze tight almost vindictively and making Peter wince. “Wouldn’t want to deprive him now would we?”

“You could just let me bleed out and die here,” Peter suggested seriously. “Since my life is basically over now anyway.

“You’re such a dramatic little shit,” Tony groused, tying off the gauze and levering Peter up off the ground to slump into his side for the extra support. “Now say ‘goodbye’ to your friend, he won’t be seeing the real world for a long, long time,” Tony’s voice had an edge of steel as he said this, dragging Peter to the end of the alley and ignoring the muggers ‘Aw man, c’mon!” as they passed. Peter just shrugged a ‘what can you do?” and wiggled his fingers in a facsimile of a wave as he was pulled away.

Happy, to his credit, was efficient and must have already been in the area because he was quick to pull up with a surly look already cemented onto his face as he surveyed where Peter was leaning into Tony and dribbling blood onto the sidewalk in large, heavy droplets. “I already called the cleaning crew,” he told them through the open window. “They’ll be here before the police to scrub up any possible radioactive DNA.”

“Best forehead of security ever,” Tony crooned lovingly as he carefully situated Peter onto the pile of towels Happy had put into the backseat to soak up the blood and keep it off his leather seats. Happy glared at the both of them in the rearview mirror before rolling up the partition. Tony snorted in undisguised mirth.

“How you feeling kiddie?” He asked as he peeled Peter’s mask from his sweaty face. “Not going to pass out on me again right?”

“Uh…” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight to stop the spinning and grey dots that were clouding his vision. “No promises. Sorry.” Tony just let out a put upon sigh like he expected as much and pushed Peter to lay down across the seats, grabbing one of the extra towels to press tightly around the knife and making Peter let out a whining moan at the pressure. “Yeah I might pass out,” he said faintly as his vision started to tunnel.

“Go on then,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s damp curls and smoothing them away from his face. “At least you don’t sass me when you’re unconscious.” Peter felt the man lift his legs to slid a few wadded up towels underneath… like that would actually help keep him awake.

“Rude,” Peter grumbled before losing his grip on reality – he trusted Tony to take care of things for now.

——————————————

“I hate this movie,” Peter grumbled groggily, as he pulled himself awake some time later. He was lying in one of the beds in the MedBay, attached to a blood transfusion and with a thick padding of gauze on his abdomen. Tony, seated next to him and munching on popcorn, just sent him a shit eating grin and held up the whiteboard that had been hanging in his workshop displaying ‘Days Without Incident’ with a large 0 written under it in obnoxious red ink.

“This is such bullshit,” Peter said petulantly, picking at the tape holding the IV in place. “I can’t escape! Go watch your garbage movie somewhere else.”

“Excuse me you brat,” Tony said imperiously. “The Breakfast Club is a cult classic thank you very much and besides,” he continued, offering Peter the bowl of popcorn, “someone clearly has to educate you on good movies.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Peter said, flicking a kernel of popcorn playfully at his mentor (and missing damn – he must be on drugs) and letting his tired eyes slip closed again.

“Sore loser,” he heard Tony tease as he fell asleep and that did it. When he won their next bet they were marathoning the whole Star Wars series from beginning to end, including all of the Clone Wars and the Mandalorian, and he didn’t care what Mr. Stark said.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Marry Me

Request: Hey I really love your writing. Can you make a story where Fred Weasley and the reader are married and their journey through the war and everything and Fred lives. :) @famdomhideout​

A/N: thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Angst! Mentions of war, mentions of violence, injury to reader, injury to Fred, pretty much sad the whole time but lots of fluff at the end and in between. I didn’t proof read so there may be grammar mistakes.

Italics are flashbacks

Your lungs burned as you ran through the hallway, the sound of the death eaters footsteps getting louder as they got closer. You quickly turned a corner, pressing yourself against the wall and holding your breath, your eyes screwed shut as you attempted to make yourself invisible, only releasing the air from your lungs when you heard the death eaters run past you. 

You opened your eyes. You were in your old potions class. You looked around the now destroyed room. Shattered jars, that once held herbs and potions were scattered across the floor. The projector screen at the front of the room had been torn in half. Textbooks had been ripped apart, yet in the back of the class, standing right next to you was your desk, The first letter of your name having been scratched into the wood surface, accompanied by an F and encased in a heart.

Fred.

You ran out of the classroom, and headed straight for the great hall, desperate to find the red headed man. You entered the large room, your eyes scanning the soot and dirt covered faces bodies until they landed on a head of long fiery hair.

“Molly!” You yelled, the woman’s head wiping around at the sound of your voice to find you. 

“Oh, Y/n thank goodness!” She said relived, engulfing you in a hug.

“Where is he?” You asked, looking around the room, hoping to meet the eyes of the man you loved.

“We thought he was with you” A familiar voice said, causing you to turn and meet eyes with George, his twin who would have usually been glued to his side being nowhere in sight. 

Panic began to set in as realization washed over you.

He was still out there.

“Five more minutes!” Fred groaned as you opened the blinds of your shared bedroom, his arm quickly covering his eyes as the light washed over him.

“Come on Fred, the shop opens in an hour” You giggled, sitting on the bed to put on a pair of socks, only to yelp in surprise as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your middle and quickly pull you back into the bed, your back now pressed to Fred’s chest.

“George can handle opening. I wasn’t to spend a few more minutes with my perfect person” Fred said, kissing a light kiss on your shoulder.

“Oh really, this is perfect?” You asked, motioning to your untamed bed head and mismatched socks.

“Yes. You’re perfect” Fred replied, a soft smile crossing his face as you blushed at the compliment. “If fact, that bed head is kind of turning me on.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you finally gave in and closed the space between you and Fred, pressing your lips to his with a smile.

“I need to go find him” You said, already beginning to back up towards the entrance of the great hall. 

“No, you can’t go-” Molly started.

“I’ll find him! I promise, I’ll be back soon” You called, turning and falling into a sprint as you went out in search for your husband. 

“We needed this” you sighed, leaning your head to rest on Fred’s shoulder as you watched the stars.

“That’s an understatement” Fred said, but you could sense the tension in his voice.

The past few months had been hard, both emotionally and financially. The start of the war meant most people spent their time indoors, which in turn had caused the shop to suffer greatly. 

You remembered the day Fred and George left Hogwarts to start it. It was the best day of their lives, and though it hurt to have to say goodbye to your boyfriend, you were happy that he was pursuing his dreams. Now, the shop was in danger of being shut down, along with most of the other stores in Diagon Alley, and having to see the constant fear in his eyes broke your heart. So, you proposed a weekend get away to forget for a few days. And here you were, sitting under the stars, enjoying each others company in silence, until.

“Marry me” 

“What?” You asked, sitting up to look Fred in the eyes, unsure if you had heard him right. 

“Marry me” He repeated, turning so he was now fully facing you, holding both of your hands in his. When you didn’t answer, he continued.

“I’ve been thinking, with everything that’s going on right now, who knows what's going to happen. The only thing I know is that I want to spend every second I may have left with you. Now, I know I don’t have a ring, and-”

“Yes!” You shouted, throwing your arms around him and sending you both back to the ground. 

You had been looking for him for almost an hour now, ducking into classrooms and hiding around corners to avoid as many death eaters as you could. You had just walked out into the courtyard when you saw him. He was on his broom, knocking down death eaters left and right. He was laughing.

You couldn’t help but smile. Of course Fred would be laughing at a time like this. However, your smile quickly fell as you saw a curse fly by his head, and hit the wall next to him, causing it to start to collapse.

“Fred!” You screamed, but he was too far away. You quickly shouted a spell, causing some of the falling bricks to fly in the opposite direction, but didn’t notice the debris now falling towards you. Not until a sharp pain ran through your head, and the world went dark.

“Y/N, baby wake up its ok” Fred’s voice called, shaking you lightly. You jolted awake, a cold sweat covering your body as you took in your surroundings. 

It had been going on for weeks now, the nightmares. Whether it was replaying the night the Burrow burned down, or when George got hurt, or when death eaters attacked the school. The memory would always be exactly how it happened, except they always ended with you watching Fred die, before dying yourself.

Fred gently rubbed circles into your back, helping you catch your breath and calm down. Your began to fill with tears, and despite you quickly wiping them away, Fred still noticed.

“What’s wrong love?” Fred asked, making you take in a shaky breath.

“So much has already happened. We’ve already lost so much. And it still isn’t over. I just want it to be over” You sobbed, leaning into Fred's chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

“It will all be over soon, I promise. Tomorrow we go to Hogwarts, and then it will be over” Fred said comfortingly.

“How do you know?” You asked, your tear filled eyes looking up to meet his.

“I just know”

You awoke to the sound of yelling, causing you to quickly sit up. You winced as pain flooded your senses, reaching up to your head and pulling your hand away to see blood. You blinked quickly, trying to clear your vision so you could see the scene before you. 

The entire wall from before had collapsed, and as you scanned the wreckage, there was no red head to be found.

You quickly stood, your head spinning a bit at the action but you ignored it,  quickly running to the rubble and falling to your knees as you began to dig through the rocks. 

“No no no, Fred!” You shouted, trying to find any sign of movement, looking to your left to see a flash of red hair.

Fred.

You ran over to him, falling to your knees so you could better look him over. He was unconscious, but breathing, however most of his right leg was now covered by the rubble, and your heart sunk to your stomach.

“Y/N!” You heard from a ways away. It was George.

“Were here! Help us!” You shouted back, looking back to Fred. He was covered in dust and dirt, his leg was mangled and he had a cut above his left eye. But he was alive.

A week had past. A week since the battle of Hogwarts, and the end of the war, but Fred still hadn’t woken up. Madam Pomphrey was able to heal Fred’s leg a bit, but he had a severe concussion, and would need to spend some time at the hospital to heal.

You and George had spent a lot of time together in his hospital room, neither one of you wanting to leave his side, but after a few days, you promised George you would call as soon as Fred woke up, so he could go home and spend some time with his fiancé Angelina.

You were currently sitting beside Fred’s hospital bed, making small doodles on the cast that was now covering his right leg. The doctors were able to help a lot with the healing process, but the bone still needed time to fully heal.

You had just finished a very crude drawing of a hippogriff, when-

“Doing a self portrait are we?” Fred asked, grabbing your attention.

You jumped up from your chair, throwing the pen in your hand somewhere across the room before closing the space between you, and engulfing him in a hug.

“You absolute idiot! Don’t ever scare me like that again!” you sobbed, pulling back so you could hold Fred’s face in your hands.

“Glad to see you too” He chuckled, his voice a bit gravely from lack of use, but you didn’t notice, or care. Fred was ok, and that’s all that mattered.

“I was so worried” You choked, tears still running down your face, which Fred gently wiped away.

“Well, I couldn’t die without giving you a proper wedding now could I?” He teased, making you let out a small laugh.

“What happened here?” He asked after a moment, reaching his hand up to gently brush across the large bruise and stitches on the side of your forehead.

“You were literally crushed by a building, and you’re worried about me?” You asked ridiculously.

"Of course” he said simply, before smiling and pulling your face towards him to connect your lips to his. 

You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your moving to sit next to him on the bed to allow you easier access, and for him to deepen the kiss further.

“You know” He said, interrupting the kiss “Scars are super hot”

“Shut up” You smiled, shoving him a bit.

“No seriously, those stitches are a major turn on, maybe we could- ow!” Fred started, but you interrupted him by poking his bad leg, reminding him that any funny business he was planning would have to wait.

“You’re such a pain” You giggled

“That’s no way to speak to your husband!” Fred said with mock offence.

“Well technically, you’re not my husband yet” You argued.

“Fine, second thing were doing when I get this cast off is officially getting married!”

“What’s the first thing?” You asked, causing a smirk to cross his face.

“First, I’m gonna take off your clothes and-”

“Fred!”

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

A/N: I made it a bit more angsty than I thought I would but I think it works with the situation. Also, yeah they aren’t ‘officially’ married, but they are to themselves so that’s what matters most lol. I hope you liked it!

Tag list:

@levylovegood

@imonlyherecauseimbored

@sebby-staan

[mandadoration]

before the winter

summary: anon asked: I am LITERALLY BEGGING on my KNEES for a sliver of Din (from that black and white drawing) with a breeding kink. He looks like he fucks wild, like supet dominant, almost primal, but extremely caring. Mando is definitely territorial over his girl. Bitch looks like he invented the breeding kink... I unfortunately cannot help that I am a whore for that man - Fool + anon asked: Could we maybe get some breeding kink din? Claiming his girl in the ultimate way, making her take his seed and punishing her if any falls out. He wants to breed her, wants to fuck himself and his seed so deep she will always be his, telling her dirty things while he does it, how she'll always be his, how she is going to take his cum like a good girl and not waste a single drop

word count: 1, 6222

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

warnings: smut, breeding kink, mild bondage

a/n: so the context behind the drawing by @magichandthing​ is “what if clan leaders dressed like this” and so uh

I’ve taken some liberties with thinking about if this were the case (i.e. clan leaders =/= covert leaders, but still in high standing? maybe some sort of council?) I’ve also amended the Ways of the Mandalore and Mandalorian culture to try and explain his dress. 

Also kind of expanded on this post?

Read this on AO3

In the turbulent times of today, trying to make sure the Ways of the Mandalore didn’t die out were crucial. Mandalorians were an endangered way of life already, and the current political climate wasn’t the best environment for expanding. Secrecy and discipline were enforced. Mandalorian coverts were hidden with high security and discretion. All members of the covert had to be on the same page at all times to reduce risk. After all, the best way to stop something was to stop it from happening in the first place. All of these preventative measures, but time marches on without a care. A new generation had to be brought up. 

Foundlings were to be revered, but there always seemed to be an undercurrent of tragedy underneath all that. A foundling wasn’t taken in by a clan unless they were all alone, and as death tolls rose, more and more were orphans. There seemed to be an increase of that, it seems. Young children left alone in the cruel world forever torn apart by war. As Imperials do anything and everything to scrabble for power, numbers were growing seemingly by the day as more and more children were taken under wing. They were cared for, and even loved, for a found family was just as important as beskar.

But a child born into a clan was something to be celebrated. 

“Mando--”

Which is why your whimpering voice and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting were echoing around the empty chamber as Mando takes you from behind. 

As a result of circumstance, the Way has amended itself a little, and life became different compared to what it was in the past. It still retained the heart and soul of Mandalore, staying true to the real meaning of what it means to be a Mandalorian, but times have forced change, especially concerning clans. For example, within their home turf, clan leaders forwent the usual pomp of beskar. Of course, anywhere else, and they would proudly show off shining armor and the best gear. The show of bare skin was a testament that they have earned their title through blood and body, a way of showing their status. To have the grace to bare their skin, especially in these dangerous times, was an immense show of power. 

For you, it just means less layers. Less layers meant Mando could sheathe himself into your warm heat faster. Less layers meant it’d be easier and more convienent to fuck a child into you. 

You weren’t a Mandalorian. You weren’t a foundling and you didn’t swear the Creed, but you were unequivocally Mando’s, and you were his to take whenever he felt like it. It’s a high honor to catch the eye of a clan leader, especially one as selective as Mando, and you became a person of intrigue when it was revealed you weren’t bound by the Way. Despite the eyes that follow you and the ever-so fleeting touches from others in the covert, the marks that never failed to show on your throat far above what any collar could hide spoke more than words. 

The last time someone put their hand on you, Mando had no hesitation on showing what happens when someone fucks with something that belonged to him. 

Paz Vizla’s broken arm was a testament to that. 

Mando puts a firm hand on your back and pushes you down, keeping you face down, ass up as his hips snap forward against yours. Each thrust makes you scoot forward the slightest, and punched out moans seem to be the only sound you can make beyond the occasional garbled sound of his name. His grip is bruising on your hips, and he pulls you back to meet him halfway in an effort to increase his pace. Mando’s breathing is labored, a soft groan going through his vocoder every now and then, but he’s rather impassive considered how brutally he was fucking you. 

Mando’s beads and necklaces have long since been discarded, and his pants are only shoved down far enough to reveal his cock. You wish he could pull you flush against his chest, but the horns soldered onto his helmet prevents you from getting too close. You don’t mind, and you mind even less in those rare moments you’re on top, holding on to those horns for stability as you fuck yourself on him. But Mando had descended upon you far too quickly and without any preamble that you had no time to even ask him what was going on. Clothes were taken off, and if too much of a hassle, ripped off, his belt secured around your wrists and shoved to the cold floor of his room. Your hands are bound in front of you with it, the Mudhorn buckle, the symbol of his clan, glinting in the low light of the room. He at least had the sense to lay his cloak underneath you, and the fur trim gave your hands something to grasp at. 

You only feel the slightest bit of guilt when your tears soak the fine fabric. 

Mando moves his hold on your waist to your arms, yanking you back as your back arches and lets Mando somehow sink deeper into you. The moan you let out is filthy, and you think through the haze that you’re being a little too loud, and others were sure to hear. So you bite your lip, teeth tugging on the soft skin as you try to stifle the sounds, only for you to yelp when Mando slaps your ass before he goes back to hold onto your arms.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Your shoulders are straining at the joints from the angle you’re held up in, but you’re so close that you ignore it in favor of increasing your moans tenfold as per his request. In turn, a deep, guttural growl emanates from Mando, making you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “My sweet girl, so- so tight, so willing, and all mine.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust that makes you shake. Mando slips out of you, chuckling under his breath at the needy whine you give, and flips you over so that you’re on your back. One grabs your bound wrists and pins them above your head, and the other comes down to lead himself back into your blushed hole, the sweet drag of his cock curling your toes and making you see stars. As you stare up at his helmet with glazed-over eyes, you can see how truly debauched you look in the reflection. Hair mussed, face flushed, eyes shining with unshed tears, seemingly frozen in a permanent state of euphoria. That’s what Mando saw when he looked at you.

You wish you could kiss him. 

And that’s another thought that’s fucked out of you as Mando resumes his previous pace. Harsh, unforgiving, and with a clear purpose in mind.

He leans in as close as he can. “Are you going to cum with me?” Mando croons. You nod frantically, half delirious from the rising rush of your orgasm, and give a moan of appreciation when Mando dips his hand down to rub at your clit, matching it in time with each thrust. “Where do you want me cum?” he asks, and it’s a misleading question because you know all he wants to hear is you beg for it. “In your mouth? On your face? Wherever you want, sweet girl, I will do it.” Mando’s voice is so tender and soft, borderline condescending compared to how ruined you feel. He’s close, you can tell, the strong, corded muscles under his skin jumping and straining to maintain an even pace, and he gets awfully wordy when he’s about to cum. 

“In me!” you gasp out, clenching and unclenching your hands, nails digging into your soft palms. You strain against your bonds, wanting so badly to bring him close, to touch him. “Please, fuck, Mando, cum in me!”

“Anything for you,” he grunts, “Anything for my sweet girl,” and with one final swipe at your clit with the rough pad of his gloved thumb, you’re cumming, mouth open in a soundless scream as your eyes roll back into your skull. Mando buries himself to the hilt, moaning through the voice modulator as he releases inside of you, and from how much he absolutely fills you, his hot cum has nowhere to go but out, leaking over his cock and smearing over your thighs. His cloak is definitely stained from that. 

As you start to come out of your haze, whimpering one last time with a hoarse voice as he slips out, the ridge of your entrance catching on his head, you’re glad that your hands are bound because you’re sure you would’ve torn up Mando’s back with your nails. You run your fingers over the crescent marks dug into your palm. 

Maybe he’s into that. You’ll have to ask some other time. 

Your heart rate picks up again when Mando makes a displeased sound, almost disappointed, running a finger over your abused entrance. “That won’t do,” he sighs, and he scoops some of his leaking cum to shove it back inside your hole, not caring when you jolt and sigh with each insistent press of his fingers. 

You give him a breathless, “What?” and Mando just hooks his arms under your legs to bring him flush against his hips again. 

“I said, ‘That won’t do’,” he repeats, slower this time, and your face reddens again when you feel his softened cock twitch against the cleft of your ass. “Because you’re a messy girl, and I’m aiming for a child before winter comes.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons @jokersdoll​​ @creamysacrilege @blondecity​

Pedro Tag: @mrsparknuts

[fvrxdrm]

A Million Nightmares and One Dream (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

RE2make!Leon  Warning: Smut, Dry-humping, oral sex

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Have you ever had a nightmare? One that feels real? So real that you couldn’t figure out what was reality and what was not? Well, I have. I still am, actually.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve started running away from whatever the hell those things were. Two weeks trying to survive this hellhole of a place called Raccoon City, and two weeks praying that I would wake up from this nightmare...but I’m still not awake.

It made me question if I’m even asleep or not. Maybe I’m dead? Maybe I’m in another universe? Maybe my mind’s just going crazy? The answer I don’t know and I don’t think I’m going to get that answer anytime soon.

It’s never-ending. Whenever I close my eyes and open them again, I still see the same incubus in front of me: lifeless eyes that would stare back at me, pale and cold skin that would touch me every now and then, thick red liquid that would gush out from every part of their bodies, their growls that would destroy the eerie silence of the cold, dark night, their teeth digging into another person’s flesh as they mindlessly enjoy their gruesome meal, puddles and marks of blood that were scattered and smeared all over the city, the growing flames from vehicles that were crashed in every structure and fellow car, and the lack of light that made it a tad bit difficult to move around without being grabbed by any of those undead.

This had to be a nightmare, right? I had to be asleep. This isn’t possible...or is it?

It was hard running around, desperate to save my own life that’s at stake with barely anything to defend myself with. But despite that, there was this one thing, a person, perhaps, that came out of nowhere, just like those hellish monsters just roaming around, finding their next dinner, except this person wasn’t someone I was scared of, I was in love with him.

Leon Scott Kennedy, a rookie cop who was supposed to start his first day a week ago. He got a call from the police station to stay away from the city but his curiosity got the better of him and that curiosity got him involved in this nightmare.

During that shit-show we were in, we had been chased around by a fucking giant in a trench coat and fedora, met a woman who broke my heart by kissing the man I’ve caught feelings for and then betrayed us, almost got killed by a beast with a huge-ass eye on its right arm, and then we escaped the city using a train together with a little girl named Sherry and a college gal named Claire.

We found ourselves inside two hotel rooms with Claire and Sherry sharing one and Leon and I sharing the other. It felt kind of weird to me for some reason. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have feelings for and we’re literally in the same room. With one bed. We’re going to be sleeping next to each other!

Calm down, Y/N. You’re just going to sleep, nothing else.

It’s just...it doesn’t help that I’m in a tank top and underwear only with no pants or bra on while Leon was wearing a sweatpants with no shirt on and just went commando.

Get your shit together, Y/N! Tomorrow you’ll have a new set of clothes.

“Y/N?” Leon called mumbled my name beside me in a sleepy voice.

It’s been an hour I think since we got in bed and Leon immediately fell asleep in exhaustion as soon as his body flopped on the soft mattress while I didn’t...I couldn’t for some reason even though I’m very tired myself.

I turned my head around to look at the young man beside me who propped himself up before laying his upper body on my chest.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered in my ear, his hot breath fanning against my skin causing shivers to run down my spine and the little hairs on my neck to stand up. I let out a shaky sigh.

“Nothing. Just thinking”, I managed to breathe out after a few seconds of thinking about my response.

“About?”

You?

“Nothing you should be concerned about”, Leon lifted his head up and looked down at me with his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Now I’m more concerned”

“Leon”

“Y/N”, My E/C orbs began staring at his blue ones with the same intensity as the man on top of me, keeping myself from averting my gaze towards his plump lips that looked so soft.

Ada got lucky, huh?

Alas, my brain couldn’t take it anymore and just commanded my optics to shift my gaze towards his lips that were being moisturized by his saliva-covered tongue. I continued to stare at it for a few more seconds, admiring the art that I don’t know if I would be seeing again in front of me, before looking at Leon’s eyes again. They were half-lidded now, his orbs now focused on my own parted lips, just like what I did before.

Is he copying me?

Slowly, he began leaning down, his eyes still fixated on my mouth that began releasing more and more air as his head lowered itself more. My heartbeat was raising each millisecond and his hot breath was tickling my face.

Closer and closer...and then...

Our lips touched. It was like what I expected it to be: smooth and soft like a baby’s butt.

My hand found its way towards the nape of his neck before pulling him closer as I was enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, his tongue dancing with my own in a smooth tango, and the sound of what we were doing bouncing off the walls surrounding us.

All of the horrors that’s been glued to our heads were gone in that moment. Vanished. Now we were in a dream, a dream we never wanted to escape from. A dream we wished was forever. But that’s impossible, just like how a nightmare always ends, and that’s why we made this dream the best we’ve ever had so far.

Leon pulled away and spread my legs before making himself comfortable in between them, his warms hands still planted on my knees.

“Is it okay if I do this?” Leon rolled his hips against mine, his cock that was covered by the slightly thick fabric of his sweatpants gliding smoothly against my my thin fabric-covered clit, the pleasing sensation causing me to close my eyes and bite my lip as a small gasp left my mouth. I nodded my head a few times until I heard Leon chuckle above me and roll his hips against mine again.

Leon leaned down again, not stopping his hip movements, before his lips flattened against my neck, lightly pressing kisses on every patch of skin that was exposed to him while my hands found its way on the back of his neck once more, this time, my fingers combed through his soft blonde hair and my hand lightly balled itself into a fist as his movements became faster and faster, causing a loud creaking sound to resonate throughout the small room as the bed below us began moving with Leon.

Leon groaned from above me, his lust-filled voice muffled by my skin as he proceeded to leave some love bites on my neck.

“I’m close, Y/N”

As soon as he said that, his actions grew quicker than before, his desperation to come undone flooding his head as he did so. 

The pleased sounds coming from our mouths increased their volume with us not caring if there were other people hearing us from the other side of these thin walls. Leon’s groans became animalistic growls and my pitch became higher. My grip on Leon’s locks became tighter which only added to the hedonism he felt, the bittersweet sensation causing him to come fast and hard, his white fluids staining his grey pants.

When he noticed that I hadn’t come yet, he lowered himself down to where his head was peaking through the valley between my legs before looking at me softly.

“May I?”

I nodded my head as I bit my bottom lip that was bruise with all the kissing and biting we were doing, the anticipation rising as my thoughts scrambled inside my head, knowing what was bound to happen next.

Leon placed a sole kiss on the skin just above the brim of my underwear, his eyes still trained on me, before letting his teeth pin the thin cotton fabric between them and winked at me as he began sliding the material down my legs in an antagonizing pace.

“Leon”, I whispered sensually and hungrily, my tone reflecting on the need I was feeling.

Once the nether garments were off and were thrown out of the way, Leon shifted his focus towards the glistening wet lips just below my hips, his eyes slightly widened as he saw how wet I was but his astonished and amused look soon changed into something more lustful and concupiscent, his once blue orbs that were now mostly covered black indicating his own hunger.

The tip of his tongue finally touched my sensitive nub, my body jolting a little bit at the sudden action but nevertheless, it felt good, great even. He licked a long stripe from the bottom up until the tumescent pearl that’s been begging to be touched by the man between my legs.

My fingers found their way through Leon’s hair again, tugging it more and more as the sexual gratification grew more and more intense the closer I got to my high.

“Leon”

And now, it’s been nineteen years since that incident. Leon and I thought after escaping that hellhole that that was the end of it but nope. The government forced us to work for the USSTRATCOM and then after a few more years the new president recruited us to the new organization he found called the DSO and we’ve been sent to missions after missions involving B.O.W.s and the like.

The only good thing that happened throughout the years of fighting this bullshit was Leon and I got married! He proposed to me after finishing our mission in the Eastern Slav Republic and eventually got married a year later. Crazy, right? We didn’t have a kid though as we would only put him/her in danger but sex was still there, only had to take my pills regularly AND we actually adopted Sherry after getting out of Raccoon so that’s a plus.

“Hey, Chris!” Leon called the BSAA Silver Daggers’ captain’s name and watched as he turned his head around to face him.

“Yeah?”

“How long can we keep going on like this?”

“I don’t know. I never make plans that far ahead”, Chris replied as a soft smile tugged on his lips.

Leon just chuckled in response before looking at me and taking my hand, his fingers lacing with mine as he did so.

Yep. A million nightmares and one dream.

[outerbonks]

complicated [2] - jj maybank

here’s part two! please enjoy and tell me if i should keep it going!

summary: you’re a kook and JJ doesn’t like you at all. That’s what he wants everybody to believe anyway.

word count:+2k

warning(s): sad shit, mentions of abuse, swearing

taglist (open):  @danicarosaline​, @yeehaw87​, @sspidermanss​

PART ONE

It'd been a few days since the party at the boneyard and you were meeting up with the pogues soon as per JJ's request.

You’d hung out with them before but something felt off about this time, Kie had been texting you all morning making extra sure that you were coming.

She was never usually this concerned about if you'd be coming or not, it was usually just one message about a half hour before you were supposed to meet but today your phone was buzzing non-stop.

Kie 🌺✨: So ur coming today right?

You: ofc 💞 meeting at John B's place right?

Kie 🌺✨: Yes but wear something cute 👀

You: okayyyyy

You: why tho? 👀

Kie 🌺✨: For the group pics obviously 👀

You: sounds fake but ok bby 😌✨ I'll dress cute... only for you tho 😉

Kie 🌺✨: that's why you're my girl 😘 

Kie 🌺✨: okay I've gtg do some stuff but I love you

You: love you too 💞

Kie 🌺✨: John B's at 1pm

You: I've got it, see you then

She was definitely up to something, you could tell, she never cared how you dressed especially not when all you were doing was meeting up with her friends.

Deciding not to worry about it, you threw your phone onto your bed and started to get ready.

Settling on your favourite white crop top, the one with a daisy embroidered in the middle you pulled it on along with a pair of denim shorts and your white converse, that had become dirty from the amount of wear and tear they'd been through since you got them.

The posing you were doing in front of your mirror was interrupted by your phone chiming yet again.

JJ Maybank: Hi. 

JJ Maybank: Kie gave me ur number

JJ Maybank: She told me to ask u to bring snacks

You: Sure I'll stop by the store on my way

You: Any preference?

JJ Maybank: Whatever is fine with me princess

You: Alright I'll see what I can do

JJ Maybank: Wait get chips

You: What's the magic word? 🥺

JJ Maybank: Are u really gonna make me do this princess?

You: I mean if you want ur chips 👀

JJ Maybank: Remember when I told you I didn't hate you? I take it back

You: Then starve 😌🥰

JJ Maybank: Fine. Pretty please will you pick up some chips

You: Why of course I will since you asked ever so nicely!! 🧚🌺✨💫💞

JJ Maybank: You suck

Laughing at his response you grabbed your purse and left your house, making your way to the store.

You couldn't lie, you enjoyed messing with JJ. Now that you had his number you had a feeling that the two of you were going to be annoying each other on a whole other level now.

When you arrived at the store you made sure to stock up on snacks, buying extra chips as an attempt to ensure today stays peaceful between you and JJ.

Soon enough you found yourself at John B's front door, knocking on the frame gently.

Kie answered the door with a bright smile, giving you a hug before pulling you inside.

"Did you bring snacks?" Was the first thing you heard as Kie ushered you into the chateau. You let out an airy laugh and held up the plastic bag in your hand for JJ to see, "As promised."

"Great! Both of you go sit down." Kie instructed and you obliged, sitting down on John B's couch and placing the bag of snacks in-between yourself and JJ who immediately started rummaging through the bag, you watched intently as he pulled out a bag of chips with a big smile on his face, "These are my favorite!"

Nodding your head at the boy you looked at him with a mockingly parental look, trying your best to hide the smirk forming on your lips, "That's what happens when you say please, sweetheart."

 JJ scoffed before looking around the room in confusion, "Where'd the others go?"

Neither of you had noticed Kie and John B sneak out the front door and realization washed over the both of you as you heard the engine of John B's van running.

The pair of you scurried out to the porch, watching as the van moved away and Kie stuck her head out the window, "We're going to get beer, we'll probably be a while! You two should talk while we're gone! Bye!" She shouted before John B hit the gas and the van sped off.

Sighing you looked at JJ with an unimpressed expression, "Guess we're talking then."

"Seems like it." The boy muttered crankily, following you into the house.

Spending time with you meant getting to know you and getting to know you would eventually lead to falling for you. JJ couldn't let that happen. But he had no choice, he'd rather talk to you than spend hours in silence waiting for his friends to return.

"Do you wanna play 20 questions?" You asked, breaking the awkward silence that has settled over the both of your once you returned to your seats on the couch.

JJ let out a huff, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, "What are we? Twelve?"

Letting out a scoff you couldn't help but roll your eyes, "You sure do act like it."

"Fine. You ask first." He sighed, sinking into the couch and digging into the chips you'd brought.

"Alright, start off easy… What's your favorite hobby?" The blond boy beside you shook his head and leaned his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at you, "Surfing. My turn. What did you mean the other night when you asked me what age you were when it all started going wrong?" He fired, the question had been locked and loaded in his mind since the night at the boneyard. 

"It's kind of a bummer, you sure you wanna get into it?" You questioned, catching your lip between your teeth.

The boy only nodded, staring at you expectantly, "Well, when I was thirteen my mom got really sick, she's been in and out of hospitals on the mainland for the past three years, my dads never left her side so I don't see much of either of them anymore. She's in some private hospital on the mainland right now, we're pretty sure she won't be getting out again." You explained numb to the situation, it'd been three years of you pretty much raising yourself, your dad kept up with the bills and put money into your credit card but he hadn't actually been home with you unless your mom was healthy enough to be there too, but she hadn't been home in the last year which meant neither had he.

"Shit…" JJ murmured, looking at you sympathetically to which you shook your head at him and gave him a tight smile. You really didn't want anyone's sympathy.

"It's fine. But I guess to give you an answer to the question, everything started going wrong when I was thirteen." You added on casually as if you hadn't just opened up about your dying mother seconds earlier.

"My turn." You stated, keeping eye contact and asking, "Why don't you want to get close to me?"

His little speech the other night had left an impact on you, you wanted to know what was so bad about you that made befriending you so awful. 

JJ sighed heavily, shrugging his shoulders, "It's complicated, I've got a reputation here on the cut y'know? And you've got yours on figure eight. We just shouldn't mix." 

You didn't bother trying to hide your confused expression, you both knew that that was bullshit.

"Maybe we shouldn't. But since when have you ever gone by the rules of society?" You piqued up.

"Hey it's not your turn anymore, you already asked your question." He butted in, throwing a chip at you.

"Fine, you go but we're getting back to that one." You warned him, making him chuckle in response.

"After you asked me when things started going wrong, you said something else…" JJ threaded carefully, having a sinking feeling that he knew what you meant by the question in the first place but the curiosity was killing him.

You nodded patiently waiting for him to continue, you knew what he was about to ask and you mentally prepared yourself to give him an answer.

"So… why can't you wear dresses to parties?" He finished, his voice gentle but his eyebrow raised.

Swallowing thickly you fidgeted with the hem of your crop top, "Last year at a kook party-" You started, shifting your eyes away from JJ's, focusing on your legs instead, "-One of Rafe Cameron's friend's, he was a senior and I had just finished freshman year, well anyway I was wearing this cute little dress and he told me he really liked it so we started hanging out and the next thing you know he was kissing me and that was all good and fine, it was really great actually." You retold to JJ, pausing for a second to glance at his eyes that were looking at you intently, his bottom lip between his teeth.

Heaving out a heavy sigh you ran a hand through your hair before finishing the story, "But then his hands were all over me and I didn't really know how to feel, yanno? I was a virgin and I'd never had a guy be into me like that so I let him go on. Until he literally tore my dress right off me and I knew then that I definitely wasn't ready for what he wanted. So I told him to stop and he flipped out on me, called me a tease and a slut and told me that if I didn't want to be fucked then I shouldn't have dressed like it. And that is why I can no longer wear dresses to parties." 

You couldn't figure out the look on the boys face, it was an expression that was a mixture between anger and sadness and something else that you couldn’t quite place.

"Who was the guy?" He inquired, his voice dangerously calm.

The story made him angry, he hated when guys thought they could just take advantage of people, he couldn't lie and say that it didn't especially bother him that it had happened to you.

You just shrugged again, "Doesn't matter. Pretty sure he moved to the mainland for college." You explained seemingly unbothered, the same way you had been after answering the last question and JJ wasn't having any of it.

"It does matter though, why do you do that?" He wondered out loud, scooting closer to you on the couch while you avoided eye contact.

"Because JJ, if I start acting like it's a big deal it's going to become a big deal and I don't want a fuss over something that happened to me in the past while other people have bigger things to worry about." The blond beside you nodded in understanding at your statement, he got that, he felt the exact same way and he realized that the pair of you were a lot more alike than he thought.

"Just don't tell Kie or John B okay? I'm only telling you because I let it slip at the boneyard, you're the only one that knows." You whispered, finally meeting his blue eyes.

He nodded with furrowed brows, "Secrets safe with me, princess."

Giving him a tight smile you spoke up again trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, "If you weren't so stubborn I think you and I would be really great friends."

JJ laughed, taking off his red cap and running his hand through his hair before placing the cap back on his head, "You know what you're probably right-" The boy let out and exaggerated sigh before going on, "Screw it. We're friends now, princess." He stated with so much authority that you had to laugh.

"Wow and all it took was my tragic origin story? If only I’d known sooner." You said sarcastically, shoving his shoulder with your own.

JJ laughed and so did you, it was so strange, if someone had told you a week ago that you'd be playing a way too personal game of 20 questions with JJ Maybank you would've laughed in their face and asked if they were stoned. But it felt oddly comfortable in the moment.

The giggling was hushed by your phone buzzing with a message from Kie.

Kie 🌺✨: We're on our way back 

"They're coming back." You turned your head to face JJ who was smirking mischievously, "Should we fuck with them?" He asked you while scooting closer to you and looking at your phone screen.

"Oh absolutely, here." You agreed handing him your phone watching as he began to text Kie.

You: Take ur time  😉

Kie 🌺✨: What's with the winky face?

You: No reason 👀

Kie 🌺✨: omg Y/n what happened? 😳

"What should we tell her?" JJ snickered and you gasped excitedly, "Oh my God, tell her that we "bonded" but put a bunch of sex emojis after it."

"Brilliant." He commented under his breath as he began typing again.

You: Oh nothing, me and JJ just did some bonding 😌🥵👅🍆💦

Kie 🌺✨: Oh god please tell me you didn't…

Laughing at her response, you snatched the phone back from JJ, leaning close to him so he could still watch the screen and started typing, unable to contain your laughter.

You: Oh yeah, we bonded reeeeeaaaallll good. Right here on John B's couch 😜

"They're gonna be real smug about this working." JJ chimed in and you nodded in agreement.

"True. But I'm kinda glad it did." You confessed almost shyly, not trying to inflate his ego.

To your surprise JJ nodded in agreement, "Yeah you're not so bad after all. But we gotta keep this low-key, I don't want the other guys on The Cut thinking I'm a kook sympathizer." He muttered dramatically with a grin.

"Oh of course not, stays between us and the pogues." You stated with a grin to match his.

The boy reached a closed fist towards you, "Truce?" He offered up hopefully.

"Truce." You told him, bumping your fist to his gently with a smile.

Things had always been complicated between yourself and JJ but you had a feeling that it was only going to get messier from here.

part 3

[aquietwritingcorner]

Embers of Revelation

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner Word Count: 8269 Rating: T Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2021 Warnings: Child abuse/neglect Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery, Black Hayate Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: 6 of 7 Summary: Tasked by Fuhrer Grumman to investigate a suspected alchemic incident, General Mustang’s team finds themselves stranded in Hawkeye’s hometown. Needing a place to stay, they find themselves taking shelter in her childhood home. However, her past can’t stay buried there, and as revelations come to light, they also bring embers of danger with them. Sequel to Embers in a Wounded Heart AO3 || ff.net

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Chapter 5

Havoc made his way back downstairs and followed the voices around until he found Mustang in the dining room with the documents that they had laid out. He, Breda, and the sheriff were looking over them.

“Hey boss,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Mustang looked over at him. “How were Hawkeye and Fuery?”

“Alright,” he said. “Both were worried about the other. Fuery feels guilty, and the drug kinda lowered Hawkeye’s walls, so she’s a bit more emotional than usual.”

It was his way of saying that she was worried and scared, and she knew that the team would pick up on it. He was sure that the Sheriff could read between the lines as well, but most people were polite enough not to push when something was clearly being framed in a private way. The sheriff appeared to be one of those people.

“So, what’s going on out back?” Havoc asked, curious about the noise that he was hearing. It was still going on.

“Falman looked through the records in town,” Breda said, “and found evidence that there was a door that led from the outside the basement. No one is exactly sure when it was covered up, but it was. Right now, we’ve got men out there, digging to find it.”

“Why?” Havoc said. “He wasn’t getting through that way, if we have to dig to find it.” If he had been, surely they would have seen some sign of it.”

“If he was using alchemy to cover his tracks, he might have,” Mustang said. “But with the ground as saturated as it’s been, the rain would have washed away any signs of alchemy used on the ground.”

“We also want to know for security’s sake,” Breda said. “Even if he wasn’t getting in that way, if there’s a tunnel, or staircase or some other sort of opening, then we need to know so that we can guard against it.”

“Right,” Havoc said. “That makes sense.” He paused, looking towards the kitchen and the back door. “So, who’s out there?”

“Most of the men that came back with you,” the sheriff said, “and that other fellow of yours. Lieutenant Farman or something.”

“Falman,” Mustang corrected him

“Falman,” the sheriff immediately corrected himself. “Can’t get it to stick in my head for some reason.”

People always seemed to have a hard time remembering Falman, or his accomplishments and Havoc thought it was tragically ironic, considering that the man had that fantastical memory that he did. He was kind of like Sheska, in that, and Havoc had a brief chill thinking about the unholy memory that would be produced if the two of them ever got together and had children.

“I’m about to head out and check on the progress,” Breda said. “You wanna come?” he asked Havoc.

Havoc shrugged. “Might as well. Might pick up a shovel and help.”

“No, you won’t,” Mustang said, and havoc looked back at him, startled.

“Sir?” he said, confused.

Mustang looked at him. “I’ve noticed the way that you’ve been pushing yourself. You’re not moving smoothly now either. You’re not going to be doing any hard labor. You’ve been neglecting taking care of your legs since the day Hawkeye was looked in the basement. Today you’ve pushed them even more. You need to rest them.”

Havoc made a face. “Boss—I’m not sitting around doing nothing while there’s work to be done.”

Breda clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, no one said that you were sitting around doing nothing. Someone’s got to write up the report since Hawkeye and Fuery are out of commission.”

“Oh. Goody. Great,” Havoc deadpanned, and Breda, Mustang, and the sheriff all grinned at him. Well, at least he could provide the entertainment.

He went with Breda out back, waving at Mrs. Nelson who was, it seemed, cooking up a storm in the kitchen, just like Havoc had thought she was. It looked like she was planning on feeding every single man here, and somehow that didn’t surprise him in the least.

Out back there was a group of men working behind the house. They seemed to be taking turns digging, although there were plenty of shovels around.

“Where’d we find all the shovels?” Havoc asked, not remembering there being that many around her before.

“General transmuted them,” Breda said. “It made it go faster.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Havoc said, looking at all of the work that had been done.

Running along the house there was a trench, dug down about three feet and extending out about two. It ran for maybe four yards at this point, and they were clearly looking for something very specific. The ground was so wet, though, that the piles of dirt were slippery, sloppy mud piles and the walls of the trench held little integrity. The men themselves were covered in mud, nearly from head to toe, and even Falman himself, who looked to be doing more directing then digging, was pretty muddy too.

Havoc was glad that Fuery was laid up in bed at this point. He didn’t need to see trenches like this. Not after his experiences down south. They brought to mind the few stories that Havoc had gotten out of the young man, and even those were sparse. Best for him not to see these, if he could be spared them.

“Any luck?” Breda called out to Falman.

Falman shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We know it’s somewhere in this general vicinity, though, from the pictures I found. The house has been remodeled a time or two, so that makes pinpointing it a bit more difficult. Plus, when these things are removed, they tend it bury the place where the door was.”

“Yeh, and the Hawkeyes always were a paranoid bunch,” one of the men said. “The family’s been around these parts since nigh the beginning of the town. But they’ve always been a bit squirrely. There’s stories that stretch back pretty far. Riza’s grandparents here were as well. They didn’t like anyone in their business. And old Berthold, now he was a strange one.” The man glanced at them, “Look, I ain’t saying that I have anything against alchemists. They can be right useful! But there was something off about Berthold, and especially after his wife died of the sickness. Didn’t see a lot of him before that but saw less after.”

“Yeah?” Havoc said, curious, and wondered if this man would give him more information.

The man nodded. “Bout once a month he’d go around and fix things, charge for them, although it didn’t have to be money. Sometimes it was supplies or what have you. You never knew what me might ask. Sometimes he brought his daughter around with him, and sometimes he didn’t. She was a slight, shy thing, never played well with the other kids. Just stood back and watched, like she was scared to or something. Worried about her a bit, but she seemed alright, so we just thought it was more of the Hawkeye strangeness.”

He paused, though, scratching at his neck, before remembering the mud on his hand and pulling a face. “When she came to school, though, she seemed to be alright. Shy, quiet, but alright. Well-mannered, polite, smart. She was socially awkward, but that was understandable, living in this big house with no one but her strange father. Honestly, she only really started to come out of her shell when that Mustang kid came around.” He shrugged. “No one thought he would last, but he did.”

“A city boy in the country. Yeah, that’s usually a recipe for disaster,” Havoc agreed.

The man seemed to take that as encouragement and kept talking. “Oh, there were a few disasters in there,” he said with a grin. “But on the whole, it wasn’t too bad. All the girls were enamored with him, though, and the boys hated him for it. He would start to get a little arrogant, and then Riza’d come along and slap him down, sometimes literally. She’d fuss at him and chew him out about the stupid things he’d do, and he always looked surprised, but he listened and learned. It was honestly the most animated that any of us had ever seen her, and it was refreshing to know she wasn’t completely taken over by her father.”

The man sighed, looking back at the house. “Kinda hoped the two of them would get married one day. They were good for each other. You should have seen how withdrawn she got again when Roy left. A few of us worried about her, but we all knew better then to step into the private affairs of the Hawkeyes. Things never went well for the people that did that. When Roy came back just before Berthold died, we didn’t know how things were going to go. He was a soldier then, and Berthold did not like the military. When Berthold passed, the talk about town was if Roy would marry Riza, or if she would follow him.” He shook his head and sighed. “She followed him, but not in the way that we thought she would.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Havoc said.

“Imagine our shock when we saw the newspapers talking about the Flame Alchemist and The Hawk’s Eyes, and we knew that they were our Roy and Riza.” The man continued. “It was a shock to us, and the talk of the town for months. Even more surprising was when Riza turned up one day, talked to some people about making sure her home was restored a bit and kept up, paid for it, and then left. We had no idea what was going on. She had some strange requirements too,” he said, thinking about it. “We weren’t to look through the study or the basement. She took care of the study, and Roy came a few days later, and took care of the basement. He never returned, but she came back once a year to check on things, and then left. I think she’d write Mrs. Nelson and maybe a couple of others to check on things, just to be sure.”

“Yeah, sounds like the yearly trips she’d make,” Havoc said. “Never knew where she went, though.”

The man shrugged. “Here, it seems.” He looked back at the house again. “You know, even though they never married, it seems those two are still together.”

“Yeah,” Havoc agreed. “Boss and Hawk are pretty inseparable. They always manage to find their way back to each other. And,” he grinned, looking at the man, “she still gets onto him and fusses at him.”

The man chortled and rocked on his heels. “Some things never change, do they? Maybe one day the two of them will just go ahead and get married.”

“Maybe so,” Havoc said, and he knew that he wouldn’t object, although he wasn’t counting on it anyway. Not until everything was done and Mustang’s plans were complete. The only thing those two were more dedicated to then each other, was the plan.

Havoc watched for a few more minutes before looking over at Falman. “So, what are you going to do if you don’t find—”

He was cut off by the shout of a man who was digging. “Hey! Hey, I think we found it!”

Falman gave Havoc a look that seemed to say, “you doubted me?” and all three of them headed over to where the men were digging. There were the remnants of a structure there, capped and sealed off. It looked like it could have been part of a chute or an escape at some point, and the men were trying their best to clear the soggy ground away from it so that they could get to it easier. That, of course, wasn’t easy, considering the soggy ground around them, but they were still trying.

“General!” Breda called, his voice bellowing like only he could. “We’ve found something!”

Within just a few moments, Mustang was outside, and so was the sheriff, both of them heading straight towards the area that the men were gathered around. It only took them a second to realize the trouble that the men were having with the ground, and only one word from Mustang to clear them away.

“Move,” he said, and all of the men scrambled back.

Mustang clapped and put his hands on the ground, the familiar blue light crackling up. Or, well, listening to the murmurs of the men who were watching, it might only be familiar to Havoc, Breda and Falman, Havoc decided. Maybe he was just so used to alchemy and seeing it that he forgot just how amazing it could be.

Mustang raised up part of the ground in thick walls, to prevent the slop of mud from running down in it, and, at the same time, drew the moisture out of the ground around it. Havoc could feel the ground under his feet become a little firmer, but he heard others suddenly notice that the ground around them was soggier. They were standing further back, so he guessed that Mustang had simply moved the water away.

“Alright. That won’t hold forever,” Mustang said. “The ground is too saturated for that. But it will hold for now.”

The opening was clearly sealed up, and that was another problem that they were going to have to deal with. Havoc heard talk of tools and the like, but he just smirked, knowing wait was coming next. Mustang clapped again, and put his hands on the seal, transforming it into a door. Breda climbed down into the area Mustang had made, and together they pulled each side open. It was dark down there, and Mustang pulled on a glove, snapping and sending a small line of fire down it. Stairs were still there, rickety though they seemed.

“Falman. Stay here and guard the entrance,” Mustang said.

“Yes, sir,” Falman replied, looking as if he really didn’t want to go down there anyway.

Havoc climbed down to join them, And Mustang turned to look at him, clearly about to tell him to stay behind too. “I’m coming, boss,” he said. “I need to see this through.”

Mustang looked at him, and then nodded. “Alright. Then let’s go.”

“I’m coming as well,” the sheriff said.

“So am I,” Thompson said.

“No.” Mustang’s voice was sharp. “This is the captain’s private life. We know about it, but I am not going to expose her life to people she hasn’t given permission to.”

“This is part of an investigation that’s happened here, where I am,” the sheriff said. “This is my jurisdiction. I need to be part of this.”

There was a clear tension building between Mustang and the Sheriff, and it was all fueled by Mustang’s protectiveness over Hawkeye. Mustang, though, was not a stupid man. He understood how to weigh things and seemed to come to some of decision.

“We’re going to go down first,” he said. “Let us look around, make sure that there’s nothing sensitive, either both personally for the captain, or militarily, and then, once we’ve made a clean sweep, then we’ll call you down.” The sheriff looked like he was going to protest, but Mustang cut him off. “We don’t know what we’re going to find down there, but we do know that it involves the military. With my alchemy I’m better equipped to handle any potential problems, and I know my men and what they’re capable of. It will be easier for us to handle any potential problems. We know how to work with each other.”

The sheriff was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But if you’re not back soon, we’re coming down.”

Mustang nodded, and they headed down the dark, damp stairs. There was no light down there, but apparently Falman had thought ahead, and gave Breda a lantern before they headed down. The stairs were steep and old and creaky. They carefully made their way down them, Havoc just hoping that they wouldn’t collapse under them. The stairs led into an open area that obviously had once been part of the basement but had been blocked off at some point in time, although Havoc couldn’t see a reason why.

“How did I miss this?” Mustang murmured to himself.

“Depends on how thick the walls are,” Breda said, going over to it with the light.

Mustang followed him over and beckoned for him to shine his light in a particular place. “Here,” he said. “Signs of alchemy. This was how he was getting in and out of the house. This was how he locked Hawkeye in the basement and escaped.”

“But how did he get down here?” Havoc said. “It wasn’t the way that we came in.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Mustang said, and turned to look around and see what else he could see down there.

Breda swung his lantern around too, trying to see what else there was down there. It carefully roamed the walls, until Mustang called for it to come to a stop.

“There,” he said. “Right there. I want a closer look.” They walked over, and Mustang knelt to examine the wall. “there’s alchemy here too. There must be a wall here with something behind it.”

“Want me to get the sheriff?” Havoc asked, this seeming like something that it might be a good idea to have the man in on.

“Yes,” Mustang said. “Bring them down.”

Havoc went back over to the bottom of the stairs and called up. “Hey! You two come on down. We found how Johnson was entering!”

It was only a couple of moments later that the Sheriff and Thompson were coming down the stairs and joining them in this closed off section of the basement.

“Where?” the sheriff asked.

Mustang gestured towards the wall. “Over there. He’s been transmuting himself a way into the basement. But I think that he also transmuted his way in here too. This wall shows signs of alchemy. I’m going to see what’s behind it.”

The sheriff nodded, and they all stood back as Mustang clapped and put his hands on the wall. The wall itself fell away, revealing a tunnel behind it. The sheriff and Thompson looked at each other, but Mustang was staring at the tunnel, resolute. Breda and Havoc followed suit. They were going to figure this out.

“Let’s go,” Mustang said, all business, his voice holding all of his command.

He started forward, Breda and Havoc right behind him, the sheriff and Thompson following behind after a moment. The tunnel was earthen, and sodden. It looked like it might collapse at any moment, but Mustang walked on, not deterred in the least. It was winding, and every so often there was a plank of wood with a transmutation circle carved into it. Mustang activated them as they went, and it became obvious that these were for structural integrity, which really was ingenious when you got down to it. It still didn’t take away Havoc’s unease at being underground in a sodden earthen tunnel after the area has been completely saturated with rain and the water table had to be higher than normal, but it was at least something to try to help.

The tunnel went on for a long way, completely dark and only with room for them to walk single file. Eventually, after what felt like forever, but probably wasn’t as long as he thought it was thanks to the dark, the tunnel started to slope upwards. It was a relief to Havoc, and Breda’s shoulders seemed to relax fractionally as well. This tunnel was claustrophobic, and Havoc would be glad to get out here.

“Any idea where we are?” Mustang called out, breaking the silence. “I’m completely lost.”

“Well, if I’m right, we’re still on the Hawkeye property, but nearing the edges of it,” the Sheriff said. “I think we’re heading towards Johnson’s house.”

“Really?” Mustang said. “Now that’s interesting.”

“I wonder how deep this tunnel is,” Thompson said. “How many properties could we pass under and the people up top have no idea?”

“Theoretically, you could have a whole maze of tunnels under the town, if they were properly structured,” Mustang said.

“A whole other society, huh?” Havoc said. “Not a bad idea.”

“It’s like the Ishvalans that were living in the sewers,” Breda said. “Living down there and making their own lives separate from those above, for the most part.”

“Never would have thought of that,” Thompson said.

“It isn’t something I think you’d have to worry about too much,” Mustang said. “The sewers were already structured, so they didn’t have to worry about keeping up anything. But for something like this you’d need either alchemists or engineers to make sure that the integrity is maintained. That’s not a skill that you’re going to find to be very common.”

Mustang frowned as he came across another one of the carved transmutation circles. “It will be interesting to see if Johnson is smart enough to have figured out how to do this on his own.”

“You think he didn’t?” Breda said.

“I don’t know yet,” Mustang said, “but it feels familiar, like alchemy I’ve seen somewhere else before.”

“What do you mean?” the sheriff asked.

“All alchemy tends to carry with it a personal touch,” Mustang said, “especially if it’s unusual or new alchemy. Even if you trace back the most basic of alchemy as far as we can, you can see that there’s a certain pattern to it. Think of it like how engineers can tell another engineer’s work by the way it’s constructed or put together. Alchemy circles are basically elaborate calculations. You can tell who developed something if you’re familiar enough with the person’s work.”

“Huh,” Thompson said. “Never knew that.”

Mustang shook his head. “It’s’ not something that most people would notice. Even amateur alchemists often don’t see it. It’s really only noticed when you get into the high-level research and development of circles.”

“And these seem familiar to you,” Breda said, pulling them back on topic.

“Yeah, but I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “I need to get a better look at them and do some research.”

By this time, the floor was sloping up more and if felt like they were coming to an end. In fact, as they rounded a corner, they came to what appeared to be a dead end.

“What?” Thompson said. “Don’t tell me that—”

“Don’t worry,” Mustang said, clapping his hands together and placed his hands on the wall in front of them. It parted, opening up into another dark, empty space. But this was a structured place, and a staircase was clearly seen. This was, obviously, a basement, and the exited out into it

They all looked around for a moment, Mustang frowning a bit as he did.

“What is all this stuff?” Thompson asked.

“It looks like supplies to me,” the sheriff said. “And I get the feeling they’re not for anything good.”

“They’re alchemic supplies,” Mustang said. “And in an unusual quantity.”

“Just what have we stumbled into?” Havoc asked.

“More then we bargained for, but maybe exactly what we needed,” Mustang said with a confident smirk. “Let’s keep going.”

They headed towards the door of the basement, up the stairs and out of it, to emerge in a house. The house wasn’t well cared for, and definitely not clean, but Thompson and the sheriff seemed to recognize it.

“This is the old Steadman place that Johnson bought,” Thompson said.

“I thought so,” the sheriff said. “This proves quite a lot.”

“And opens up a lot of questions,” Breda said, looking around.

There were footsteps from outside, and then, suddenly there was a man in the doorway with a gun.

“Hold, Carey!” the sheriff called out, and the man lowered his gun.

“Sheriff?” he said, confused. “Thompson? Roy Mustang?”

“Yeah, it’s us,” the sheriff said. He hitched a thumb back towards the basement door. “Found a tunnel. Followed it all the way here.”

“A tunnel?” Carey said.

“Yeah. Make sure no one gets in here, alright?” the sheriff said,

“Yessir,” Carey said.

They poked around the house a little more after that, and then headed back, with just a few things that Mustang and Breda wanted to give a look over. But the day was drawing to a close. They needed to get back to the house, and the other men needed to get back to theirs.

The walk didn’t take terribly long, although Havoc’s legs were hurting him quite a bit by this point. He was definitely going to be in a lot of pain tonight when he finally stopped moving, which was incentive to keep moving. Of course, if he kept moving, he’d also end up hurting a lot, so it was a lose-lose situation all the way around.

By the time they got back to the house, Havoc was nearly hobbling, and Breda had fallen back to walk beside him, just in case. Many of the men had already left, leaving just a few that were there keeping an eye on the place. The Doctor had the wagon prepared and looked relieved to see them.

“General Mustang!” he called. “Good. If you hadn’t of shown up, I was just going to take your man on with me anyway.”

“Apologies, Doctor,” Mustang said. “We were following up on an unexpected lead.”

“Well, I’ve got a couple of the men ready to bring down the young man of yours. We’re going to load him up and…”

Havoc stopped listening to the doctor’s words, focusing instead on getting himself inside. His legs were aching fiercely now, and Breda, concerned, had decided to pull Havoc’s arm around his shoulders. Havoc didn’t mind. He really needed to sit down. His legs had had it, and there really was no choice. He was going to have to take one of those pills tonight.

Grimacing in pain, he let Breda lead him inside, all but collapsing at the small bench that was just inside the door.

“You really did a number on yourself,” Breda said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Havoc replied. “Just help me get to the mud room. Gotta get all this stuff off.”

“Nuh-uh,” Breda said. “We’re gonna get you upstairs and to the bath. You can get cleaned up, up there, and go straight to bed after that. And you are taking one of your little pills tonight. I’ll take care of any of the mud you leave behind or any of the mess you make.”

Havoc wanted to object, but really there was no fight left in him for this. He was in pain, and he was filthy and the last thing he wanted to do was clean. Breda got an arm under him again, and helped him stand up, Havoc letting out a hiss of pain as he did. They went towards the stairs, and then very slowly made their way up them. It was hard, but Havoc dug in deep and managed. Breda all but dumped him in the bathroom, telling him to strip, started the water, and then left. When he came back it was with clean clothes and a towel for him, and a bottle of some kind.

He dropped some of it in the bathwater, and watched it for a second before turning away, seemingly satisfied.

“What was that?” Havoc asked him.

“I was gonna give it to you later, but you’ve put yourself in this much pain I thought I’d go ahead. Remember that oil you got on that trip to Ishval? The one that helped you so much? I managed to get my hands on another form of it. You’re not supposed to rub this in directly, but soak in it, and it should help. Seems like a good time to try it out.” Breda explained.

“I’ll take it,” Havoc said.

Breda helped Havoc up and into the tub, and Havoc let out a hiss followed by a sigh of relief as the warm water and the oil hit his legs and back. It wasn’t an immediate relief, but it did help. Breda gathered up Havoc’s muddy things, then, and stood up. “I’ll be back later to get to this floor. If you need anything, just yell.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Breda.”

Breda waved off his thanks and left, and Havoc relaxed back into the tub. He tilted his head back and listened. He could hear other people moving around the house. The nurse seemed to be checking on Hawkeye, and then there was movement down near Fuery’s room, too. He heard walking and voices and worked out that they were taking Fuery out to get him to the doctor’s office. Havoc had wanted to say something to him before he left, but too late now. He’d just have to give him a call later or maybe go see him, once he felt up to walking that distance again.

Breda came back in at one point, still muddy himself, but less so, and took care of the floor as promised. He said that someone had finished connecting the phone, and that it was in working order. The sheriff had guards stationed around the house and the shack that Johnson had stayed at. He also had some men stationed around the house, just in case. With half his men down, Mustang had thanked the sheriff who said for him not to worry about it, that they looked after their own. Breda also said that the Nelsons were sticking around, at least until everyone was settled for the night. Mrs. Nelson was cooking up a storm, and she was keeping things clean too. Mr. Nelson had taken care of the horses and had helped with a lot of the logistics of things, such as building something around the outside entrance to the basement so that it wouldn’t get mud around it again and filling back up where they had dug. Fuery had been taken on to the doctor’s office, and Hawkeye was sleeping again, the stuff that Johnson had used apparently knocking her for a loop. Havoc appreciated the update, and thanked his friend before he left again, to take of whatever else there was do.

Eventually, Havoc was ready to get out of the tub, and he managed to pull himself up and out of it fairly well. He still had a good strength in his arms and was well versed in relying on them more than his legs. Shifting the burden to them and giving his legs a rest wasn’t too much of a switch. He dressed himself, but Mr. Nelson appeared to help him to the room, the rest of them being far too muddy. He settled into the bed, Mrs. Nelson coming up not long afterward with some food for him and handing him his bottle of pills. Havoc ate, took one, and then laid down to sleep as best he could. His legs were still screaming at him, but he didn’t want to take another pill.

He heard the others getting showers, the bathroom and other floors getting cleaned, and Mustang checking on Hawkeye as he drifted. Breda came in at one point, and made Havoc take something else that helped him get to sleep better. As Havoc drifted off, his last thought was that he sure wanted to get back home soon.

By the time Havoc woke the next day, the sun was already well up. He groaned as he woke up, groggy from the medicine he had taken, and grimaced as he felt the pain in his legs. That wasn’t a good sign, although there wasn’t much he could do about it at this point. Slowly and carefully, he rolled out of bed and dressed himself before carefully making his way to the bathroom and then downstairs.

Hawkeye was at the kitchen table when he got there, also looking groggy and nursing a cup of coffee. Falman was at the stove, cooking. Hawkeye gave Havoc a smile as he came in, and as she turned her head towards him, he let out a bit of an exclamation at her face.

One side of it was covered in deep blues and purples and looked like it hurt. There were a couple of cuts near her eyes. Her hair looked like she had maybe run her fingers through it, and she was wearing what appeared to be one of Mustang’s shirts instead of her usual tightly fitting ones.

“Geeze, Riza, good morning I guess,” he said.

She gave him a tired smile. “It’s practically afternoon,” she said, “but yes, good morning.”

“How are you feeling?” Havoc asked her as he sat down. Falman put a cup of coffee in front of him, and he nodded his thanks to the other man.

“Hungover and sore,” was her answer. “I have no idea what he used on me, but the effects of it linger.” She looked at him. “How are you feeling? I was told your legs were in a lot of pain last night.”

“Still are,” Havoc said, “although nowhere near as bad.  I don’t plan on running anywhere anytime soon, though.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Hawkeye said. She paused. “Thank you, Jean, for all that you did yesterday.”

Havoc waved it off and swallowed the sip of coffee he was taking. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s just what we do.”

Riza merely smiled back at him, tiredness still in her eyes.

“So, where’s Mustang and Breda? And any word on Fuery?” Havoc asked.

“The general called this morning to check on Fuery,” Falman said. “He’s doing fine, nothing wrong with his spine. He just pulled a few things in his back, but that, his ribs, his arm, and his head should heal up fine with time.”

He walked over to them with a pan and slid some eggs onto their plates before returning to the stove to tend to another pan. “The Sheriff called this morning as well. Breda and Mustang took off after that. I’m not entirely sure why, but I think something may have happened or been discovered at Johnson’s house or shack. They headed out to investigate.”

Falman returned to them, sliding some sort of hash browns onto their plates, before returning, again, to the stove. “They told me to stay here and keep an eye on things. I’ve had the basement door locked, just in case, and Hayate patrolling the house. Nothing has happened, except for the men who kept an eye on the property last night asking me for some coffee, and Mrs. Nelson calling and saying that she’s going to bring some more food by, as well as our clothes.”

He brought over another pan and pulled them out some bacon. “She bundled up all our dirty clothes last night and took them with her, insistent on cleaning them.”

Hawkeye smiled. “That sounds like Mrs. Nelson,” she said. “She was always doing things for others.”

The three of them ate quietly together, Hayate making an appearance for food one time, but otherwise not begging off of them like he liked to do. It was clear that he was focused on his job of patrolling the house. It was a couple of hours later when they heard a sharp bark from him, and a skittering of his feet on the floor. Falman was the first one up, a hand on his gun, just in case. Hayate didn’t seem to be alarmed, though, which was a good sign. But after everything that had happened, no one could really blame them for not being cautions. Hawkeye, too, had her gun out and ready to go, making her way to the entranceway living room, just in case. Havoc stayed seated on the couch, his gun half hidden. Sitting or standing it make no difference to him. He had gotten to be a good shot either way.

It turned out, though, to just be Breda, who stomped his boots on the stoop, opened the door, and slammed it behind him. He looked at his welcoming committee for a moment, and then carried on as all of them lowered their guns. After all, he had to have expected this as well. All of them were a bit paranoid normally. Now it was in overdrive.

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” Falman said. “I thought you would have been gone longer than that to look over all of the information found in Johnson’s house and shack.”

“Johnson’s dead,” Breda said bluntly as he stepped into the living room. That sentence immediately had all of their attention.

“What?” Havoc said, clearly startled. How could Johnson be dead? He had seen him delivered to the prison himself, seen the deputy take custody of him, seen the first aid done on the shoulder where Havoc shot him. “He couldn’t have bled out!”

“No,” Breda said. “He didn’t. When the sheriff went in this morning, he found the guard there, also dead, his throat slit. Johnson had been murdered in a similar manner.”

“Who was the guard?” Hawkeye asked.

“Robert Harper,” Breda said. “Sheriff says he’s got a family. Young. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking this to them.”

“Oh, no,” Hawkeye said.

“that’s not all,” Breda said. “A man named Brandon Pruett was guarding the shack. He was also found dead this morning, throat slit, not far from the ashes that was all that was left of the cabin. It was burned to the ground.”

They all exchanged looks at that. This wasn’t a one-time thing; this was definitely someone covering up something.

Breda wasn’t finished. “The two men guarding his house last night, John Yuerisk and Adam Presson were also murdered with the same MO. The house there was burned to the ground too, but it looked as if the basement had been cleaned out first.”

“What about the tunnel that led from his house to this one?” Falman asked.

“Collapsed,” Breda said. “It looks like it was done on purpose too. Mustang is going back through it, reconstructing it and looking for the plates that held those transmutation circles. He told me to meet him back here.”

Havoc ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, man, what a mess.”

Breda nodded. “The sheriff has asked for our help with this. With all of the stranded passengers, the pool of who could have done it is pretty wide. It’s too much for him to handle alone, especially with the deaths of those four men.” He looked at Falman. “You worked in Investigations for a while and worked with Hughes. Mustang wants you down there helping.”

“Of course,” Falman said, and left immediately to go get his uniform jacket and whatever else he needed.

“What about us?” Hawkeye said. “We can help out too.”

Breda held his hands up. “That you need to take up with the general. Personally, I think it might be a good thing if we all went, but Falman can at least get things started.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the front. “I did borrow a small cart and horse, just so you two wouldn’t have to walk the whole way if you can convince the general to let you go. I also brought back the laundry that Mrs. Nelson took with her, and some food she sent along.”

“Bring it in,” Hawkeye said. She looked over at Havoc, her gaze determined even with her bruised face. “Think you’re good for it?”

Havoc grinned at her. “Oh yeah, I can help out with this,” he said. “Better than sitting around uselessly.”

“Good,” Hawkeye said. “Then we’ll be ready to go as soon as the General gets here.”

It was clear that, whether Mustang was in favor of this or not, Hawkeye planned on being involved, and there was really no arguing with her on that. Breda went to unload the cart and eat something, and Havoc and Hawkeye went upstairs to change. They ran into Falman on the way down, who they admonished to be careful on his way to town. Hawkeye called for him to wait, and then followed him down the stairs, calling Hayate over to her. Havoc could hear her instructing the little dog to go with Falman and guard him, and then the two were sent on their way.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to go alone,” Havoc heard her explain to Breda. “If none of us are going with him, then Hayate is a good choice.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Breda said.

Breda hauled the laundry upstairs where they went through it, claiming all of their uniform pieces. Havoc had a bit of confusion between his pants and Falman’s, but Falman was thinner than he was, so that was quickly figured out. By the time they were dressed and ready, there was an odd sound from the basement. Breda made his way down to the basement while Hawkeye took up a position looking out back, towards the entrance they had found. Havoc stayed in between, ready to give assistance as needed.

Suddenly Hawkeye called out “All clear!” and lowered her gun. “it’s just the General.”

Sure enough, about the time Breda got to the top of the basement stairs, the backdoor opened to admit a very filthy General Mustang. He was covered in dirt and mud, and honestly, it made sense. Those tunnels had been made of dirt and the like. Of course, he would get filthy reconstructing them.

“Any luck?” Breda said, as Mustang headed straight for the washroom.

Mustang tossed something to Breda before he moved into the washroom fully. “Not really. I found part of one of the plaques, if you can call it anything useful.” He started to strip down in the washroom, clearly not wanting to get mud everywhere. “Other than that, nothing useful at all. I made sure to collapse the tunnel back again. I don’t want anyone else using it. But I will say this,” he came out, a towel wrapped around him, “that tunnel was definitely collapsed with alchemy.”

He started to head for the stairs, and then paused, looking at Hawkeye and Havoc. “Why are you two in full uniform?”

“Because we’re going to help with the investigation,” Hawkeye said.

Mustang frowned. “No. Absolutely not.”

“And why not?” Hawkeye demanded.

“I won’t have the two of you exhausting yourselves like that.” Mustang said.

“It won’t exhaust us,” Hawkeye said.

“I said no,” Mustang said and started walking out and towards the stairs. “I’m going to shower, and then Breda and I are going to help with the investigation.” He left, leaving the three of them in the kitchen, his steps echoing on the stairs.

Hawkeye stood there for a moment, then her eyes hardened, and she strode after him, purposeful in her walk.

Breda and Havoc stayed put and stayed quiet for a moment.

“How much you wanna bet she just walks in on him?” Havoc asked.

There was the sudden noise of a door being flung open, a strangled shout of “Hawkeye, what the--!” before the last word was lost in the slamming of the door.

“Why would I bet on a sure thing?” Breda said.

Havoc shrugged. “What some food?”

“Sure.”

By the time that Mustang and Hawkeye came back down the stairs, Mustang was a bit grumpy but not arguing the point anymore, Hawkeye apparently presenting her case to him well. They ate, and then all four of them headed out, Havoc and Hawkeye riding in the back of the cart that Breda had borrowed. It wasn’t a long ride into town, but once there it was clear to see that people weren’t happy and that things were tense.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Breda said.

“Yeah, we do, but we’re going to do it.” Mustang replied.

Although they weren’t much of a military presence, having all of them there did help to bring order to the chaos. Falman already had a system going, and so they jumped in and helped to smooth it along. Falman handled a majority of the interviews, recording names, statements, and various other details. Havoc had never really had the chance to see this side of Falman in play before, not like this, and it was fascinating to watch him. He understood, now, why he had been such an asset to Investigations and why General Armstrong was trying her best to get him back to Briggs.

Breda, likewise, was also an asset. He helped to look over the statements that they were given, organizing and classifying them. He had piles and piles of them, but he also had a system going. Havoc had a feeling that he and Falman were going to be working late into the night on this, like a giant puzzle that they needed to put together and figure out. Havoc was mostly on organizing duty, although he had his own ways to soften people up before they went into be questioned. Mustang oversaw the whole operation, Hawkeye a step behind him, like she always was, or going somewhere with the authority of his orders.

There were a few other soldiers that had been on the train, as well as a few that were former soldiers, and they were quickly drafted into helping with crowd control, after they had passed through their own questionings. The sheriff and his men were working with Breda on classifying a lot of the information and making some follow up questions that they needed to tend to later.

All in all, it was several hours work that stretched into the night for all of them. No one was happy with that, from the people who were helping, to the people who were being questioned, to the townspeople.  It didn’t help that there were more than a few people in town who were in mourning. With four men dead, murdered, no one could blame them for that. It was probably the biggest tragedy this town had seen in a very long time, if at all.

Havoc could sense that some of the townspeople blamed them, and he could understand why. The military was often at the center of trouble, and Mustang and anyone associated with him definitely tended towards that. It was just the way it was. But others, although unhappy, seemed to recognize that it wasn’t their fault, even though they were involved.

All in all, it made for a very difficult and long day, one that had all of them tired and dead on their feet by the end of it. They ended up borrowing the cart again to head back home, something that turned out to be a good thing, as the doctor sent Fuery back with them, saying that he still needed to be careful, but that he would be fine overall.

The days after that moved quickly. Mustang made call after call out to Eastern Headquarters and to Central. There was a lot to report on, after all, and it took a bit of finagling to make it work so that Hawkeye’s secret wasn’t exposed. It was written off, it seemed, as if Johnson was under the impression that she knew more about Mustang’s alchemy then she did, and that he could get it from her. With Johnson dead, well, he couldn’t refute it. Of course, anyone in the know knew differently, but there were precious few of them—that they knew of.

Hawkeye grew increasingly tense over the days. None of them knew if Johnson had managed to give knowledge of her tattoo to anyone or not. There was no way to tell if other people knew about it or not. All that could be known was that Johnson knew. It was understandable that she was high strung about it. Mustang was too, and that put the rest of the men on edge. Add to that, that it was still a mystery how those supplies in Johnson’s basement got moved with no one able to travel, and it was a true mystery, and a chilling one at that.

It was at least a week later before the military was able to get anyone into the town. It was another week before the rail lines started running again. The rains had caused massive damage over every region they had been hanging above, and crews were hard at work trying to repair things. The team did, though, eventually go on to their original destination, but by the time they had gotten there, the trail had grown cold. Without anything else that they could do, the team returned to Central. They were truly grateful to be back home.

But Havoc couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t over yet. So much had happened, and so much was still hanging in the balance and left unknown. There was no way that this was permanently over. Something else had to happen. It didn’t make sense otherwise. There were too many loose ends for his liking, and if there were too many for him, then there were definitely too many for Mustang.

Havoc thought about it, as he sat in his apartment, looking out the window at the night, and flicked his toothpick away. Yep. Something was definitely coming. The question was, what and when?

And, what to do in the meantime?

His hand reached out for the phone, and he rattled off an address to the operator. “Hey—Rebecca? Wanna go out tomorrow night?”

[seyaryminamoto]

I recently saw a video where GRRM talked about how he saw two different kinds of writers. He mentioned the gardener(planting the seed of an idea and letting it grow) and the architect(who plans out and organizes everything ahead of time). Obviously, every writer is a little bit of both but I was wondering which you relate to more and if you’d be willing to share some more about your own writing approaches and processes :)

I think I've answered similar questions in the past, but it'd be near impossible to dig it out in this ridiculously big, chaotic archive of my blog xD so I guess I'll answer it again, and if we come across the previous answers I've given, it'd even be fun to compare if there's anything different in the answer these days (?)

Personally, I think the best way to go about this is to have a mix of both things, but for me, it's in a very specific manner.

While I absolutely see the value in letting a story spiral and grow into whatever it wants to be, I have to say I don't think my best work comes from that. The lack of structure is similarly liberating and dangerous, because if your story's purpose isn't something you, as an author, have really made up your mind about, it's 100% possible that the story will end up going in very strange directions that MIGHT not make much sense, when you look at where you started out.

I've told this story a few times, but it bears repeating xD my first "serious" attempt at writing (by which I mean, I took it seriously, not that the content itself was super serious, since it was a trainwreck more often than not xD) started off as a perfectly happy romcom high school story! And tbh, to this day I love it as it is... but I know, I KNOW, that I totally warped the initial purpose and process of the story when, upon fulfilling the first bit of conflict in the story and leaving some massive loose ends I had to wrap up, I found myself at a loss because I had no idea how to continue. I was seriously, genuinely, at a loss for ideas and storylines to keep going. What, then, did I come up with?

... my happy romcom characters ended up embroiled in an organized crime catastrophe that has ZERO build-up in the first part of the story xD

(To the eagle-eyed who might have picked up something here... yes. That is 100% what I was poking fun at through Yang in Gladiator during the Fire Lord's Shadow arc. Yes. I mock myself. More accurately, I make Azula and Sokka mock my most questionable writing choices :'D)

Now, then, I had a very weird mess in my hands and I admit, it wasn't a great place to be at xD you see me now with my very, very small likelihood of falling into writer's block? Well, back then, I spent more time blocked than writing, for sure :'D and one of the reasons why that happened is because, while I had some ideas for what I wanted to write in the future? I didn't really have a set direction beyond "I want these and these characters as endgame relationships!", which is pretty much the most basic level of "plotting" you can pretend to do, as a writer xD And ironically, even then I was far more malleable and willing to experiment with whatever character combinations came up later, which even resulted in me discovering, well into writing a story, that some characters I absolutely did NOT conceive in a relationship were actually pretty good together! :'D

But that I had very little direction when I started writing that story was still a problem. I actually found more direction and built some more structure as I reached the last part of the story, and I will say, it's the strongest bit of it, by far xD (as evidence of what I'm saying, it was the first time I ever wrote an OUTLINE DOC! XD) but I have no doubts that, if I'd had the foresight to actually know where I was going, the story as a whole would be much much better, no matter how much I love it for what it is.

So! This particular writing experience of mine taught me countless things, among them, to actually ponder direction and purpose in stories instead of diving in blindlly. It's not really about having foreshadowing hints every ten minutes, which is what some people take as a sign of quality (I'll dare be quite controversial and say that not because you know what you'll write ten years down the line does it mean your story automatically makes sense... xD), it's about actually having a purpose in what you're building, a real direction, character arcs and plotlines that, to put it simply, work.

Therefore... I know for a fact that I can't be a full-blown plantser (or gardener) because I've tried it, and while I absolutely see the merits, the drawbacks are pretty sizable for me, and it just really doesn't work with my approach to storytelling.

Thus... If I MUST choose a category out of them both, I'd say I'm an architect, but the truth is I'm not an architect in the most strict sense of the word, either :'D

If you want a super strong building, you obviously need the best foundations for it. But you don't stop there, of course: erecting a building takes a lot of different efforts and processes if you really want your building to not only stand tall but to be a proper, decent place to live in. And while in real life, the reasonable thing would be to have a plan for each of those little details you have to build in, from filling the walls, to the type of flooring, down to even the decor... in writing, THIS is where I take the gardener approach! :'D

I don't know if I've said it in the past, but while sometimes I don't know how to start a story (which, despite my carelessness with the matter in the past, I've come to realize is a VERY delicate choice to make, one that can actually destroy my immersion in a story if it's a choice made carelessly), usually, I try to make myself think about where it's going, first of all. Currently, I have a few potential original projects rolling around in my head... and I don't know where they start :'D but I DO know where I'll take them, what the actual, ultimate climax of those stories would be. This, then, is the most basic foundation for a story, for me. I choose a destination, kinda, and then build the journey there :D

This is, loosely speaking, how I've built up Gladiator. And yet Gladiator, being the ridiculously big mess that it is, required a very unique plotting approach that I suppose might be at odds with a lot of what I've said so far xD yet it also remains true to a lot of what I've said here :'D

When I first started to ponder this story, the first plot point was obvious and instinctive: Sokka's capture. When Chaosconetic (the one who first gave me the idea for this story) suggested it, he didn't quite put forward the idea of having Azula being the one who captured Sokka personally. I thought of making Azula and Sokka first come face to face in this way because... honestly? Because I just wanted them to interact as soon as possible x'DDDD it complicated matters, of course, but that was absolutely something I could work with.

Yet... where was I going with this story? It was a rewrite of ATLA as a whole, so what exactly was the direction for the story? Clearly, Azula and Sokka would wind up falling in love, and how exactly would that come about? And beyond that, wouldn't it be a seeerious mess for this to happen in a setting where Ozai is STILL in power? Why, of course it would be! :'D It added a new layer of complications to the generally already complicated Sokkla relationship, and instead of it being kept secret or being a forbidden romance for the reasons canon-based stories typically make it so, it's BEYOND forbidden here because Ozai is still a very much active factor in this story, and he makes everything worse :D soooooo...

With these particular factors in mind, I had several things to think about. With Sokka fighting as a gladiator being the core of the story, I had to figure out who would be his rivals, and in doing so, figure out what his power curve as a warrior would look like :'D in doing so, I settled very quickly on Toph for his main serious rival, but Sokka wasn't the only one whose story I'd be telling: obviously, Azula's arc would be important too, as I'd have to work with developing her FAR MORE than I ever had before, and while Sokka's personal opponents would be important, Azula is the one who chooses Sokka as her personal warrior, therefore, she had to have a purpose in doing so. Said purpose then materialized when I decided to make use of Zhao's character for Azula's main goal and foil, and so, I needed Zhao to have THE best gladiator of all... and I didn't need to think about it too much before I settled on Combustion Man for the role :'D

Thus, those were small, isolated yet pivotal elements that I had to articulate into a structure that made sense :D they were small things I settled on pretty quickly, from the very first few days of plotting. I can say for certain that, by the third day, I already had settled on the climax (... can't decide whether that's a fortunate or unfortunate wording choice, tbh xD) scene of Part 1, when Azula and Sokka have their fateful fight in chapter 96, then finally succumb to their attraction and act on their feelings without holding back, in chapter 97 :'D I knew I wanted this to happen after Sokka hit a low point upon failing to defeat Toph, either for the second time or after losing against her far too many times that he just was too discouraged to keep going, hence, I knew what the lead-up to this would be from literally day THREE.

But beyond this? At like... day one or two of plotting, once I settled on Combustion Man as the ultimate man to defeat? I also settled on how Part 2 would end :> back then, I honestly had no idea how much time there would be between the events from chapter 97 and the upcoming culmination of Part 2, I wasn't anywhere near advanced enough with plotting to even KNOW I'd split the story into parts because it would get too big to handle xD But what I did know was that I needed these two situations to happen, situations deeply entwined with Sokka's role as a gladiator. Everything in between was variable, and it was stuff I could figure out slowly, along the way.

The ultimate direction of the story, though? That did take me a long time to settle on xD In fact, I think it took me well over a year after I got started to really figure out where I was going with all of this. A close friend helped me figure out things by offering many ideas for Zuko and Suki's storyline, basically tossing them at me in hopes that I'd make sense out of some of them... and I don't really know if she even knows how much that helped me xD I really spent a long time unsure of what I wanted to do, what I COULD do... until at long last, I settled on one slightly ambitious direction that eventually turned into what you'll all know as Part 3 :'DDDDD

So... yeah, that's why I say I'm being contradictory as heck xD Yes, I worked out some core details of the story since the very beginning, but it wasn't ALL the core details, let alone the ultimate direction of the story, BUT... in building up Azula's character arc, that direction slowly became clearer to the point where, when this particular possibility stared me in the face, I knew it was where we had to go, I realized that what I'd written over that year was leading up perfectly to that outcome.

Ergo, Gladiator is 100% a work of gardening and architecture, woven together to a point where I have a hard time remembering what, exactly, was the result of each thing. There's some things that I settled on early on, like I said, structure things... and then there are some parts where the characters just went wild and did things I did NOT expect them to do xD There's one scene coming up, right before the climax of Part 2, where Azula actually does something that I honestly WASN'T sure of doing... and yet I couldn't resist the urge to go forward with it, once the idea came to mind, and so I did it. And now I regret nothing xD was it necessary? Possibly not. Will some people find it weird and out of place? Maybe. But was it CATHARTIC AS HECK!? Aaaabsolutely friggin' yes XD pardon me for being so self-indulgent, but that's part of what being a gardener is about (?)

So, I really think the best stories benefit from a careful approach to mixing the principles of both ideas. I know that some gardeners think that a structure can stifle creativity (not necessarily true, if you sense a lack of creativity in anything you're doing, it IS up to you to turn it around, switch it up and make it interesting, right...?), I also suspect architects might think gardeners would be utterly unable to tell a good story altogether in virtue of letting the story run away with them (also not necessarily true, as the quality of a story isn't quantifiable as easily as that, gardeners might just make masterpieces without as much need of direction as I personally require: Philip Pullman apparently had no set direction in the His Dark Materials trilogy and I could swear that's some of the best storytelling I have EVER seen).

Ultimately, each person gets to choose their ideal approach and what exactly they're trying to do with their work, as well as how they want to do it... but if you ask me, if your characters never seem to pull you in unexpected directions, you might just need to rework them or approach them differently to give them more life. If they DO pull you in those unexpected directions, but you're not sure if you can follow them just because you need to follow structure, it's really up to you as the author to choose whether to sacrifice the life/creativity within your own work and stick to structure, or sacrifice structure and potentially cause your story's course to crumble :'D

It may sound like I'm advocating for gardening so much more, despite I've labeled myself an architect, buuuuut... ironically, a very complicated but VERY rewarding scene in Gladiator Part 3 damn near WRECKED my structure when I was writing it a few weeks ago :'D I literally had to take a day off from actually writing so I could make a list of ALL the elements that would be impacted by this change if I went forward with it. If I chose against it, I would have to rewrite the complicated scene in a different way, and it might have been waaay too weird to make it work. If I chose to keep it, I had to tread VERY carefully or end up potentially making a mess of the ultimate direction of Gladiator's story, even threatening the themes and nuance that I have been counting on since I settled on this direction. Thus, sometimes gardening can be dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

I THINK I found a fair enough compromise that allows me to keep the best of both worlds... but I hope I've made it clear that both ways of working have their pros and cons, and why even mixing both things can have pros and cons xD but this is also why I, personally, think that a writer benefits the most from figuring out at least a loose outline, the broad strokes of what they want to achieve in a story, and then figuring out the many ways in which they could fill in those foundations, in whatever way they're most comfortable.

And so, I have rambled plenty xD I hope that was thorough enough, my position in this particular subject is honestly to oscillate in the middle of both things, where part of your job as the writer is to determine which situation benefits more from either approach :D Like I said before, I've found structure isn't something I can sacrifice easily, but more often than not, letting the story flow, letting the characters make their own choices, can enrich your story rather than hinder it. So... I lay the foundations, the structure, so that seeds can grow inside it, if that makes sense xD

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Oh would you look at that! The insane level of reblogging that my chronic pain post is getting has reminded me of yet ANOTHER aspect of the culture within the chronic illness community that I cannot abide or support. 

Let’s examine this, shall we?

Within the last day or so, someone reblogged it and added the hashtag “fuck doctors”. hm... Let’s talk about why that’s not ok at all, shall we?

Now, this isn’t an isolated incident. I actually see that sentiment a lot, often paired with “you know your body best” and often coming from so-called “self diagnosed” people who spout off about knowing more than doctors. 

First off, just to get this out of the way, self diagnosis is not valid. I’ve said it before and I will say it until the day I fucking die; it’s absolutely ok and encouraged to do some research as to possible causes of your symptoms, it’s ok and encouraged for you to advocate for yourself and to bring them up to your doctor to see if they feel the overall symptoms fit that diagnosis. It’s ok and encouraged to seek a second opinion if you feel necessary. 

HOWEVER it is not ok to doctor hop again and again until you find one who tells you what you want to hear. It isn’t ok to claim you have a condition that a medical professional hasn’t diagnosed you with. You can say “oh I think I may have this, but I need to bring it up with my doctor to see what they think.” You do not know more than your doctor. While you may suspect you have something based on your symptoms and a google search, your doctors have been to med school (hence them being a doctor and you not being one) so there are definitely things either within your symptoms or within the diagnosis that you don’t really know about or understand that make it a poor fit. 

Yes, occasionally you will bump into a doctor who is a prick that doesn’t listen to patients at all. BUT if every single doctor you see is ‘mean’ or ‘not listening’ or ‘a bully’ then you need to take a step back and take a look at what you are doing. There’s a saying that applicable here: It’s common to meet an asshole from time to time, but if everyone you meet is an asshole, then it’s more likely that you are the problem/asshole. That also applies to doctors. 

“omg Dr. Morrisey, get to the fucking point, yo.”

I feel you. I’m long winded. sorry about that. 

So the chronic illness community at large has fostered an attitude and stance the last few years or so that if a doctor doesn’t agree with you or give you what you want, they are horrible and mean. Typing that out or saying it out loud, it sounds like a very spoiled child, right? Yeah. In the same vein, there’s been an attitude that has sprouted and taken root from that, which is the ‘fuck doctors’ thing. It’s basically fostering a blanket distrust and dislike of medical professionals, which is incredibly dangerous. 

I understand how frustrating it can be to be undiagnosed and not know what is happening to your body, to just want a name for it so you at least know what you’re up against. As someone who didn’t get diagnosed until she was 31 despite glaring, lifelong symptoms, I get it. But that doesn’t make it ok to self diagnose or distrust and discredit medical professionals, most of whom are just trying to help. They usually want to get to the bottom of things just as much as you do. They became doctors to help people become healthy or at least mitigate the impact of their condition via various types of symptom management. 

Chronically ill people (and really people in general) need to keep in mind that information within the field of medicine is constantly changing, evolving, being added to. As more conditions are discovered and more information about currently known conditions and how to treat them is discovered via research and clinical trials, the more new information doctors have to learn. And the field of medicine in general moves forward so rapidly that there is no conceivable way for every doctor or medical professional to keep up. I think that as long as they are willing to learn new things, even if only as they come up, then they are doing fantastic. 

Let’s talk about a real world example, shall we? 

I have vascular ehlers danlos syndrome. It’s a fairly uncommon and serious subtype of the ehlers danlos family of conditions. When my rheumatologist gave me a clinical diagnosis of just ‘ehlers danlos’ while we awaited my genetic testing appointment, I went in to my general doctor to update her. She said, “Well, I don’t know much about EDS, but I will do some research to get us through until we find out for sure which type you have, then I will dig into that one, too.” My cardiologist was the same way and when I came into my first appointment after notifying them of my official diagnosis (post genetic test), he was visibly excited because he found the research about it to be really interesting and he wouldn’t have ever done research about it had I not been his patient. 

My point in this example is that doctors are people, too, and cannot be reasonably expected to have all knowledge of every condition ever, especially with the rate at which new information is discovered in their fields, how quickly advances are made. Think about it. Would it be reasonable for you to know every single thing about whatever field you are in? No because that wouldn’t be a reasonable expectation for any human being. What is expected is a willingness to listen, observe, and learn on the doctors part and a willingness to listen, adequately and realistically communicate, and follow your treatment plan is expected of you as a patient. 

This whole movement of demonizing medical professionals and nurturing a distrust in them has to stop. This weird culture of thinking that your google search overrides their medical degree has to stop. 

I mean, shit, I’m betting a lot of the chronic illness community who does that last bit were rolling their eyes, shocked, or just plain livid at all the people during this Covid pandemic who claimed their google research was more valid than the medical professionals at the CDC, WHO, and various governments’ agencies. 

Yep. When you run around your chronic illness blog or group claiming that your research & life in your body is more valid than the experience, education, and conclusions of your licensed medical professional, you sound JUST LIKE the people who during the pandemic have claimed that what the CDC and WHO say is wrong and needing masks is a lie because they “did their ReSeArCh” via facebook or google. 

So, stop acting like a covid denier or anti masker. stop nurturing this hate and distrust of doctors who more often than not are just trying to help. Yeah, they may tell you stuff you don’t want to hear or disagree with, but the fact is that at the end of the day, they literally went to school for AGES specifically for this. No amount of google searches or living in a body is going to outweigh that. 

If it did, we’d all be fucking doctors. 

[miraculousholder]

We Belong Together ~ Chapter 2

We Belong Together ~ AO3

Summary of Chapter 2: A small glimpse of the past from both Marinette and Adrien, shows how they feel about one another...

(Five Years Ago)

Sixteen year old Marinette tightly held onto the small gift box she had made for Adrien’s sweet sixteen birthday. Although the young model didn’t have anything special planned, she still wanted to show her appreciation for their friendship through this small gift. And if she finally gains the guts, then maybe she can ask him out to the movies or to lunch.

“Baby steps, Marinette.” She reminded herself.

Alya comes into campus and spots Marinette pacing back and forth, talking to herself. She chuckles and walks over to her best friend.

“Still not sure how to approach Adrien?” She asked the young teen.

Marinette sighs. “No I know today is the day! I just don’t know when but it’s definitely today!”

“Well you have until break or even after school,” Alya checks their schedule. “If you want I can have Nino bring him over so you can do it in private.”

Marinette shakes her head even though she knew that would be easier. “No I can do this. I promise!”

“Okay, girl come on. Let’s get to homeroom.”

Throughout the whole day, Marinette found it harder and harder to give Adrien’s gift. When she would have the chance, he would be meeting with another classmate. Or when he was alone and she was walking over, somebody else would sit with him. At this point, the universe was really showing Marinette that they were not meant to be.

Until the final bell for the school day rang.

Marinette stayed behind to talk to a teacher about making a banner for the science club and she happily accepted. By the time she left the class and went to the locker room, it was nearly empty.

Adrien sat on the bench and was listening to Natalie’s, his father’s assistant, voicemail. He sighs and ends the voicemail, looking down.

Marinette cautiously walks over. “Adrien?”

Adrien looks up. “Oh hey, Marinette! What are you still doing here?” He asks, hiding the sad tone in his voice.

“Mr. Philips wanted to talk about me making a banner for the science class.” She says and sits down next to him when he made some space for her on the bench. “And you?”

“Oh just waiting for my bodyguard to get here. I guess there was traffic,” he shrugs.

They sat in silence for a moment. Marinette studied his facial expressions and while he remained calm and collective, his eyes told a different story.

“I...I overheard the voicemail your father’s assistant left you,” she spoke up first. “I’m sorry.”

Adrien looks at her and gave her sad smile. “Don’t apologize. I’m kind of used to my father being busy. Even on my birthday.”

“Yeah but still. I feel bad. No one should be alone on their birthday.”

Adrien was about to say something but his phone rang. It was a text message from his bodyguard, saying he was outside.

“My bodyguard is here,” he says and stands up. “Want me to walk you out? A lady should never walk alone.”

Marinette couldn’t help but blush and accepts the offer. On their way out, they spoke about class assignments and maybe getting together with Alya and Nino for a homework session.

Marinette spotted the silver grey car in front of the school.

“So I’ll see you later then?” Adrien says to Marinette.

Marinette nods happily. “Yeah, of course!” Then she remembered the gift she had. “Wait before you...” She started digging in her backpack.

Adrien was surprised to see a small blue box in her hands and she hand it over to him.

“Happy Birthday Adrien,” said Marinette, smiling at the young man. “I-I wanted to give this to you earlier but I got shy. So sorry if it’s a little late.”

Adrien accepted the gift and was stunned. The fact he got a gift from someone and that someone being Marinette.

“Wow...thank you.” He looks at Marinette and hugs her. “I really appreciate this. You’re a good friend to me.”

Marinette blushes really hard and hugs him back. “I’m glad I can be there for you.”

They pull away from each other, Adrien thanking her one last time for the gift before leaving to get in the car.

Marinette was a little sad to be seen as a friend but in all honesty, she knew that’s what Adrien needed.

And being known as his friend was a title she will cherish forever.

But even forever, was a dangerous word to say.

XX

(Present Time)

Marinette snapped out of the trance the lead singer of Cataclysm had on her. She sits back down and sips on her drink, her friends joining her after dancing around to the bands second song.

“They’re insanely talented!” Alya shouts over the loud music.

“They’ve improved a lot since high school!” Mylene shouts. “You guys can see Ivan right?”

Marinette looks and sure enough, each of the band members were some of her classmates from her old school.

Ivan was playing the drums and wearing a unique grey mask with horns that Marinette can only describe as the horns of a goat.

Then another guitarist who she didn’t recognize wore a teal mask and didn’t have a huge extravagant design compared to Ivan.

She can see Kim though on keyboards, wearing a brown mask with a golden head piece sitting on his head. Actually his design was her favorite and she was surprised by how he decided to go with this look. But then again, he was more expressive and loved to show off.

But that Chat Noir...his mask wasn’t impressive and she was thinking up ways to improve it already. A simple black mask couldn’t be enough for someone whose name is literally black cat. No he deserved something more special.

‘Snap out of it!’ She yells at herself. ‘You don’t even know the guy and you already plan to design a mask for him? Get a grip girl!’

Alya nudges at Marinette’s elbow. She leans close to her ear. “Want to stand by the railing again?”

Marinette nodded and joined her friends by the railing of the balcony to continue watching the band.

“Whose the singer?” Marinette asks Alya.

Alya looks at the lead singer and squinting her eyes. “Bad lighting! Can’t really tell.”

No way was Alya going to be the one to tell Marinette that the lead singer was the boy who broke her heart. While Marinette has matured a lot over the years, she can act out irrationally. And knowing how clumsy her friend can be, she’s very capable of freaking out and falling off the balcony somehow.

Luckily Marinette accepted this answer and they continued to have a great time.

The more Chat Noir sang, the more she realized she was falling deeper into the pits of her heart. Was it actually possible to fall in love with someone’s voice? Probably not but yet here she was. She touches her heart and felt it beating faster, almost along side with the drums. It felt like it would burst out of her chest any minute now.

The crowd below her cheered as the band finished their fourth song. She watches as girls go wild as Chat Noir drinks some water. He throws a dashing smile and winks again at the group of girls. They get even more crazier and Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

“Show off,” she mumbles under her breath. Yet, she still wanted to get to know him.

Nino did say he was bringing them backstage and maybe this was her chance to get to know him. And maybe if she liked how he was as a person, she’ll ask him out to lunch. She wasn’t as shy as before. She’s had a boyfriend before and can talk to guys now without stuttering. She was a goddess! She can do it!

Then she heard him talk.

“Wanted to take a quick moment to thank you all for being here and supporting us tonight. It really means a lot to me and my band.” Chat Noir spoke through the mic. He waited until the crowd’s cheering died down to continue. “We’ve played a few of our old songs, but I’ve written a new one and tonight I’ll be sharing it with you all. I hope you enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it about a special someone who I once knew.”

Chat Noir looked behind his band and his guitarist, nodding in approval so his bandmate can begin to play the song.

The girls looked at Marinette with concerned as her mouth hung open, completely horrified. She knew that voice. She wasn’t stupid. It was the same voice who would crack the dumbest puns ever, but yet they made her laugh every time. The voice that comforted her when she needed to cry over the hardships she had gone through in high school when it came to her friendships and classes, as it sometimes became to much for her to keep up. And the biggest clue of all, it was the same voice she fell in love with over and over again until that horrible day.

She should’ve known those green eyes looked familiar. And she hated just how much of a toll he still had on her.

She held her breath as he sang the first few words of his song.

“You're the light, you're the night. You're the color of my blood. You're the cure, you're the pain. You're the only thing I wanna touch. Never knew that it could mean so much, so much.”

Marinette wanted to run. She felt like the air was getting hotter and her chest getting tighter.

She stood up. “I have to go.” She says and starts grabbing her jacket and purse from the chair.

“Wait Marinette,” Alya grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go please?” She begs her best friend.

“Alya you know-“

“Yes I know and I know you’re still hurt but Marinette...it happened a long time ago. Things have changed. You have to just trust me on this one.”

Marinette looks at her and at her friends.

“If he says or does anything, you have us to kick his ass.” Mylene assured Marinette. Rose and Juleka nodding in approval, backing up Mylene’s claim.

Marinette debated one last time with herself before she sat down. Alya hugged her, rubbing her back. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Marinette nods and dabs her eyes before any tears threatened to fall. As Chat Noir- no Adrien, continued to sing, she took a vow for herself.

To not fall in love with Adrien ever again.

It took forever for her heart to heal and while she found comfort in other men’s arms, it still took her a long time to know what real love truly is. And now that she knew what it is, she wouldn’t be falling for some rich kid.

No.

She deserved better then that. Who that better man is she had no idea, but she knew it would be anyone but Adrien Agreste.

XX

“You're the fear, I don't care. ‘Cause I've never been so high. Follow me through the dark. Let me take you past our satellites. You can see the world you brought to life, to life.”

When Adrien first wrote this song, he immediately thought of Marinette. She was the only girl who struck such a strong nerve on him that she was hard to forget.

She was beautiful, strong, smart, kind, did he already say she was beautiful?

Marinette was the girl every parent wanted their kids to bring home to be introduced as a friend or girlfriend. However, Marinette’s first official meeting with his father wasn’t exactly what he had pictured.

(5 Years Ago)

Their class were getting ready to leave for the New York trip in honor of French American Friendship week. They had sent in their video that briefly told the story of the relationship between George Washington and Marquis de Lafayette.

Almost everyone was going. Except for Chloe, Lila, and Adrien.

While the class can careless about Chloe and Lila, they were upset for Adrien since he wanted to go to the trip.

“Haven’t you tried talking to your dad?” Nino asked him.

“Yeah, but he’s so busy I’m lucky if I see him for dinner.”

Lila chimes into their conversation. “Well don’t worry Adrien. I’ll still be here since I have charity work to get done so you won’t be alone.”

Marinette frowned upon hearing Lila. No way would she allow for Adrien to be alone with her.

“No!” She yells and everyone looks at her. “I mean...we can’t just leave a fellow classmate behind! If Lafayette abandoned George during the war, then there would’ve been no French American Friendship week.” She points at Adrien. “Adrien, you are our Sock Washington! And I will talk to your father and convince him to let you come with us.”

Adrien was stunned. Would she really stand up to his own father just to allow him to go on this trip?

“Wow...thank you Marinette.” He smiles and the classes cheers.

After school, Marinette and their class went to the Agreste manor. Upon seeing the doors to the house, Marinette began to develop cold feet.

“So! Whose coming with me?” She asked her classmates.

Alya chuckles. “Oh no class rep this was your idea and you’re going through with it. You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah! It’s not like he’ll shame you for questioning his parenting skills, remember your name, and ban you from the fashion world.” Spoke Nino and Alya elbowed his stomach.

Nino held his stomach. “Ugh! I mean...you’ll be okay!”

Marinette nodded and turned around. She took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, where Natalie had the doors open for her already.

Gabriel was standing on top of the staircase. “I was told you wanted to briefly speak with me, Ms. Dupain-Cheng?”

“Yes! It’s about your son.” She cleared her throat. “He told us that he wasn’t allowed to go on the trip to New York and I don’t really think that’s fair.”

Gabriel raises a brow. “Oh? And why do you feel that way?”

“Well...all the students who are allowed to go have to have outstanding grades all throughout the school year. Adrien was on top of the class when it came to grades so he was the first to get the invitation. He’s responsible to and always goes to his lessons after school. And on top of that he always has his modeling appointments. I think it would be cool to let Adrien have this opportunity plus there will be chaperones with us to keep us all safe.”

Gabriel frowned and stayed quiet. Marinette began to feel the tension in the air and she started to get nervous. But then Gabriel smiled.

“Very well, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You’ve convinced me. Adrien will go to the trip.”

“Really!?” Marinette cleared her throat. “I mean, thank you. I know Adrien will appreciate this very much.”

“You must really care for my son if you went this far to make sure he was allowed on the trip.” Gabriel comments.

Marinette tried her hardest not to blush. “Yes, sir. He’s a g-good friend of mine!”

“Very well Miss Dupain-Cheng. If this is all then I shall best return back to my office. I will tell Adrien the news when he returns from his fencing lessons.”

“Thank you, Mr. Agreste!” She smiles widely and happily leaves to tell her classmates the good news.

Once she had left with his classmates, Adrien had been given the news by his father that he was allowed to go on the trip as long as his personal bodyguard went along.

Gorilla, terrified of flying, only agreed cause he knew it would make Adrien happy.

Adrien was shocked but extremely happy that his father came around.

“You should also thank your classmate, Marinette. She’s the one who came here to convince me.” He says and left it at that.

Adrien knew Marinette planned to talk to his father. He just didn’t think she would go through with it. But the fact that she did, shows just how much she cared for him.

And during that plane ride to New York, they both stared out at the window. Looking at the sunset.

He glanced over and didn’t realize just how pretty she looked as the sun brightened up her face. Nor did ever think why his heart beat so fast when he hugged her and then shared another dance with her on the rooftop party.

And when he finally realized it all, it would be to late.

(Present Time)

Adrien continued to sing, nearing the end of the song. He looked up to where Marinette was and sang, “Oh, I'll let you set the pace. Oh, 'cause I'm not thinking straight. Though my head's spinning around, I can't see clear no more. What are you waiting for?”

What exactly was he waiting for? To find the opportunity to talk to Marinette and clear a lot of things up. It’s the least he can do after what happened between them.

Yet Marinette can sometimes be stubborn so to even get her alone for five minutes will be challenging. But it definitely isn’t impossible.

XX

After his song, they continued on with the show and finished by midnight. The club would be open for a bit longer, now just listening to a DJ play the music.

Marinette and her friends head downstairs to go backstage. Alya whispered to the security the code and they were allowed to pass by. As they got closer, Marinette started to feel dizzy and sick.

She did have a few drinks but she didn’t think it was the alcohol affecting her.

They get to the dressing room and they’re let in by the staff. The girls walk in and sit wherever felt more comfortable and waited for the guys.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen Kim and Adrien!” Says Rose.

“It has been awhile hasn’t it?” Juleka spoke softly.

“I wish Alix was here.” Says Mylene.

“She’ll be back next week. Then we can all go out to lunch.” Alya suggested and everyone else agreed.

Marinette started to feel pale as soon as the guys came in. She drank some water but her stomach started to feel weird.

And then she saw him.

Adrien Agreste.

His hair was messy and his shirt was slightly damped because of the constant sweating from the heavy lighting. And once he took off his mask, she can finally see just how much Adrien has grown since she last saw him.

He lost his baby fat so his jawline was more firm, yet on the stage she knew he kept his boyish grin. His shirt was loose but his arms were exposed, which allowed for Marinette to see how his muscles have also grown and were defined. Was that a tattoo she also saw on his upper shoulder?

Adrien was handed a towel to dab the sweat off his face. He looks at Marinette and he felt his world freeze. He can hear their friends talking in the background, but they were only mumbled noises to him.

Marinette was getting dizzy and heard her stomach making a weird noise as Adrien took a few steps closer to her.

“Hey, Marinette.” He says softly. His voice still sounding like the sweetest song to the young women. “Long time no see huh?”

Then, she threw up on his shoes.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Am i the only one who thinks that a pride and prejudice au with arthur and his s/o would be amazing. I mean it can even be modern but i find the idea (or some elements) great lol

Hello, lovely! I actually went ahead with a modern interpretation of the storyline for this one. Part of what I’ve always loved about both Darcy and Elizabeth was that they both came with their own prejudices and pride, and seeing them both grow through it- Anyway, I sort of wrote these with that basis in mind.

For this AU, I have a theory that the Nations are recognized much more prominently as politically significant, though most folks can't generally tell them apart from other politicians. The important thing is that people are aware that the Nations exist, and folks have a habit of forming their own perceptions of said Nations without having ever met them.

When you had first found out Arthur- this impeccably dressed, grouchy-as-all-hell asshole that you had been stuck sharing a doorway with during another unanticipated hailstorm- was actually a nation, you immediately assumed that his little prickliness lords his status over everyone.

He really hadn’t given you the best first impression; he was exhausted, cold, sopping wet, and was sincerely considering the benefits of crawling under a rock for the next century. It didn’t help that you were so expressive, each of you snipping at the other in those few moments where you were stuck together.

He honestly wished he could have cursed you to oblivion when you bowed at one of his complaints, tone entirely mocking. “Forgive me, your Majesty!”

Both of you had been hoping you would never run into each other again; your flatmate had agreed that he sounded like a “proper clotpole,” and Arthur had a new face to direct all of his frustrations onto.

Life’s a bitch though.

You kept running into each other- bumping into each other on Oxford Street, stuck in the same queue at St. Pancreas, and there was one blessedly quiet day you saw him outside St. Paul’s, both of you consenting to an uspoken truce, just for this once. You were surprised when you found yourselves talking about the book you had with you, and just how often you had to keep pulling your focus away from his eyes; you could have sworn they were actually glittering at times, almost alight from within with his passion and mirth.

Arthur was surprised by how much he had enjoyed your company when you weren’t arguing with him, and he started to grow paranoid by just how often he was hoping to run into you again. You were… You were spunky, held fast to your opinion. While he generally agreed with your complaints against the current government- many of which he actually shared himself- his position was too precarious; Nations usually have to play Devil’s advocate to avoid falling down a dangerous precipice.

He's observant, or maybe he’s a little obsessed. But how dare you keep distracting him! Human lives are so short and their scope so limited. He was too proud to admit how intrigued he was by your views of the world, how he clung desperately to each shiny tidbit of your story he was able to squeeze out. You were human; you had no right to vex him this way.

And yet, the moment he learnt that one of your flatmate’s visas was expiring soon with no hopes of affording an extension- He may or may not have pulled some strings. And, well- He maybe did a little more digging to try to subtly help out with the cost of rent in the coming months, helping ease the burden so you and said flatmate could focus better on your respective hobbies.

Each meeting found you with passionate theories about the world and your place in it; you knew from the first conversation that he was involved in politics, but it wasn’t until later that night when you saw him standing behind the Queen on the news just who he actually was.

When he needed advice- both on helping fix some of the glaring governmental issues you had debated with him, and how he could best approach you about a possible courtship- it had been Alisdair he turned to. He was really the only person Arthur could confide in anyway; Scotland had enough complaints about the current government to fill an entire library, and no other Nation really shared the same intimate knowledge on the current aristocratic drama as the redhead. Wales and Northern Ireland could be confidants as well, but Arthur’s always kind of trusted Ali to always be blunt with him.

It was only a matter of time for some of Arthur’s “coworkers” to notice his attachment. Many of them disproved his interest in you: “Couldn’t you settle for a noble?” “You could have at least chosen someone with a broader public image.”

Frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck, and politely, stiffly, advised them to piss off.

He knew he was falling in love with you with every short meeting, any small debate during those “accidental” moments you stumbled upon one another again. At first it had just been the way the city lights framed your figure, then it was the fire in your eyes whenever you bickered with him, and then it was finding out that you knew, knew for months, just who he was and not once letting it hold you back.

You were starting to find yourself looking forward to running into him again. He had started to open up a lot more, and your first perceptions of him being a prat had faded away significantly. He was so kind to others, even when he didn’t need to be. He had apologized eons ago for snapping at you that first night- why he thought that conversation was a good idea when you were just trying to get lozenges at Boots you’ll never understand- and you never again saw him as done with the world as he had been that first night. If anything, he seemed almost- Brighter? Happier?

Somehow- perhaps through a few offhand comments?- you find out that Arthur has been pulling a few strings with Home Office to get your flatmate’s citizenship application approved. You start to suspect that he’s also the reason your boss finally gave you a raise that was nearly three years overdue, why rent became inexplicably affordable for all the tenants in your building, and why the safety measures you’ve been fighting for for literally years are finally being put in place. You can’t prove any of this, mind, but you know it’s him. You can feel it.

His attitude in the last few encounters had changed significantly, the last exchange of insults- in Mr. Haddock's, no less!- far more wistful than normal. There’s almost a softer tone when he’s talking to you these days, a gentleness you’re really growing fond of. It had gotten to the point where you were usually dismayed to see him leave, and part of you kept cursing yourself for constantly forgetting to give him your number.

One particularly breezy spring day, one where you had a little more free time, you had settled to read on a bench in Inner Circle, Triton and Dyads offering a calming soundscape as you read. Whether by happenstance or, as you were beginning to suspect, design, Arthur was yet again joining you, seemingly quite content to scroll through Twitter while you kept at your novel. It was just as you were starting to tuck your bookmark away that a particularly strong gust was stealing it away from you, headed right for the water. Before you could even process, Arthur was bolting after it, tripping on seemingly nothing to fall face first into the water. You covered your face in embarrassment, bemused and mortified by the curses coming out of his mouth. He was victorious at saving the bookmark though; triumphantly grinning as he came back towards you, bowing with a cheeky grin. “I think all this heroism’s earned me a date, eh luv?”

Your first date completely shattered the image you had of him. You opened the door to find him in a fitted leather jacket and form fitting denim jeans, nearly giving you whiplash; you had never seen him in anything but a suit before. He had a wicked, self-satisfied grin, the arm he offered and the doors he held for you offering subtle hints that this was, indeed, the man you had become so fond of.

In the end, Arthur proved to be almost nothing like what you had expected. Seeing him laugh, so carefree, the rainbow lights from the buildings behind him setting his hair ablaze in an iridescent crown, his eyes closed in reckless abandon- You couldn’t help but be glad your opinions had been completely wrong about him.

I must say, Lovely- I absolutely concur with your theory here. If my muse sticks with me, I may explore this AU a lot further somewhere down the line. Thank you for the submission!