#but it's been interesting to parse my feelings and the temperature of the room that mirrors my feelings

[whiskeyswifty]

it's very interesting listening to Lover songs and then Midnights songs back to back because I think if Midnights had followed Lover, it would have been less of a disappointment to fans/critics alike. They're both sonically and thematically along the same line of progression and a lot of people compare lover to midnights as the day vs. night albums and that feels apt. It's almost like folkmore was a gift and a curse for her. what now seems to have been a temporary detour into a creative side project all along has unfortunately become her life's greatest artistic achievement. to the point where people who'd never been interested in her music at all were drawn in and critics/critical fans were surprised and impressed for the first time in a long time at what appeared to be the next great evolution of her talents. the flip side of that is unfortunately those new fans were never interested in her prior work and are not interested in her return to that style, and the critics/critical fans who were thrilled by this new direction and excited for the future are equally disappointed and frustrated by her return to form. with a little distance now, I'm getting the feeling that the general dismissal, bordering on dislike, of midnights as a whole might be rather a manifestation of that disappointment and less a fair reaction to midnights on it's own. it is absolutely true that it's creatively a step down from folkmore, in dexterity and complexity and originality, nobody is arguing against that. but i know for myself, if i compare my opinion of midnights to lover, they're both the same level of mid generally. the highs of lover are higher than midnights, but the lows are also lower than midnights, so they average out to the same level of appreciation in the end. following lover, midnights does take a few steps forward, that had it been the successor, i would have perhaps celebrated as much as i did the Archer and such. midnights feels like a natural progression of lover in a way that, had folkmore never shown me how green the grass was on the other side, i might not have rejected it as viscerally as I did. alas, that's not how this played out, and idk if i'll ever be able to remove the stain of disappointment upon first listen to midnights in a post-folkmore world, but it makes me wonder. i think aaron is also to folklore what jack is to midnights in that had i not heard how her sound could grow with someone as texturally rich as aaron, i might hate jack's omnipresence less. and furthermore, it gives me a little insight into how differently taylor views these past 4 albums than we do and why sometimes an artist can be her own worst enemy on her way to realizing her creative potential, whilst the artist herself carries on blissfully unaware.

[tunedtostatic]

ain’t no safety coats, raft or river boats

Brian & Sana (plus a dash of Brian & Arkady and pre-Brian/Krejjh), 1.5k

This was supposed to be another triple drabble. It is not! Title is from “Can’t Be Too Careful” by Jennah Bell.

CW: Food, mention of minor injury, descriptions of deep bodies of water

~

Brian suppresses a sleepy morning yawn as he makes his way down the dim corridor of the starship Rumor. After two nights aboard, this path between the bathroom and the kitchen is still unfamiliar in a way that brings back memories of waking up in new apartments and the odd adjustment periods of still packed boxes and unfamiliar sinks and cabinets in new spaces that had abruptly become “home.”

Right. Just another new apartment. New bed. New shower. New, borrowed clothing—no boxes to unpack this time. New microwave. New cargo hold with thirty-five cases of bulk gourmet chocolate destined for the intergalactic black market. New bath mat.

In the kitchen, Captain Tripathi is at the stove, boiling a kettle.

New roommates.

“Morning, Brian.” Tripathi smiles at him, one of her dimples showing. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea?” Brian steps up to the counter next to her, opening the cabinet that he now knows holds the cereal. “Thanks, Captain.”

As Sana methodically unseals a package of vacuum-sealed bread, Brian realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with her. Krejjh has been spending hours with her, learning the Rumor’s cockpit, and Brian’s first hour aboard included First Mate Arkady Patel walking him to the Rumor’s tiny medbay and carefully cleaning the cut on his cheek with a taciturnity that did not come across as unkind. But this is the first time Brian and Sana have been in a room together without the rest of their tiny new crew.

The toaster slot in the wall dings, and Brian watches Sana out of the corner of his eye as she spreads butter substitute on her toast. He’s known her for three days, two life-threatening calamities, and one crew dinner. He trusts her with his life. He doesn’t think he knows her better than he did the hour they met.

“Have you and Krejjh been settling into your cabins okay? I told them to let me know if they needed the temperature lower in there. As it is, one reg controls the whole ship, but I should be able to rig something up.”

“You can ask them when they wake up. But their energy levels seem pretty normal to me.” Brian smiles.

Sana smiles back, but as Brian pulls the milk out of the fridge, he has the feeling that she’s watching him, too.

He doesn’t think her question about Krejjh was, like, a test, with a right/wrong answer where she was seeing if he was…willing to speak for them, or something. He doesn’t really think it was any kind of deliberate probe, even to scope out something as general as how much he and Krejjh trust or know about each other. But he does feel like, every time they interact, Tripathi has been quietly getting the measure of him.

He doesn’t have the measure of her yet. He’s known other people who are both kind and tough. That isn’t a heavy lift. But there is another dimension to Sana’s kindness, something deep and quiet that undulates like an underground river.

“It has been nice to have some enthusiasm in the cockpit, I have to say.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, now. Right, Brian’s almost-joke about Krejjh’s energy levels. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to teach the Rumor’s quirks to someone new.”

As she reseals the butter substitute, she glances at him with a canny expression. “You know, she might not come out and say this, but I think Arkady is looking forward to have someone who might be doing, say, translation work at the kitchen table while she’s on one of her coding marathons, too.”

Brian smiles and nods, wondering if Sana, for all her perspicacity, has realized yet that her subtle skid-greasing in this realm isn’t necessary. You met some interesting folks in academia, even if most of them didn’t carry at least three guns at all times and have biceps the size of Brian’s undergrad coffee thermos, and you definitely met some interesting folks on Neuzo. Resultantly, some types of weirdness are easier for Brian to parse than others.

A few hours after a sweaty, out of breath Sana, Arkady, Krejjh and Brian had made it aboard the Rumor and into space, Sana was still flying and Arkady had vanished after her into the cockpit to help liaise with their contacts. Unfamiliar with the ship, Brian and Krejjh had stuck to the kitchen, talking quietly.

Arkady had appeared in the doorway with a faint scowl, looking Brian and Krejjh over for a second before going to the sink and silently filling two glasses with water. She’d walked to the table and set the glasses down, remaining standing.

“Important to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks, dude,” Brian said hesitantly.

Arkady grunted, staring impassively down at them for another few seconds. “We did a pot of pasta last night. Leftovers are in the fridge. It has rehydrated shellfish powder. Allergies?”

Brian shook his head.

“Microwave’s there.” Arkady pointed to the very obvious microwave. “Fridge.” The even more obvious fridge. “Cabinets. Help yourself to whatever, except the chamomile tea, that’s for Sana’s headaches.”

“Roger dodger,” Krejjh replied, in a cadence Brian could recognize as false cheer.

Arkady turned to look directly at Krejjh, and Brian tensed.

Arkady must have noticed that, because she turned and looked at him for a long second. Her eyes, he realized, reminded him of a deep mountain lake he had seen once on a visit to Earth. The water had been impossibly clear; you could see through it all the way down to the point where light no longer filtered through.

She reached for a chair and swiveled it in an easy motion, sinking down to straddle it backwards.

“I’m this ship’s security officer,” she said, as though this wasn’t functionally obvious from the five holstered guns, the two sheathed knives, the events that had introduced the two halves of the new crew to each other, or her thorough sweep for bugs when they finally made it to the Rumor. “That means that while you are part of this crew, you are under my protection.”

Brian had felt his shoulders relax, and Arkady had dropped her lakewater gaze, mumbled something about Sana assigning them cabins later, and spun the chair back around.

Then she’d bolted. Brian had smiled and squeezed Krejjh’s hand—trying to ignore the way this seemed to make his heart flip a little more every time—and gotten up to microwave the pasta.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sana reaches a nonchalant hand to set it on a cool burner as deftly as if it was a teacup. Her arm musculature situation isn’t exactly shabby, either, which…yeah, working as a mechanic in the wartime shipyards would probably do that.

Then add ‘building a secret starship with your own two hands.’ Brian is still trying to wrap his head around that one. Becoming one of the only humans fluent in Standard Exo-Dwarnian after shiphopping to Neuzo for fieldwork, and then getting in the ill graces of the Dwarnian mafia and falling in l—becoming excellent friends with a deserting Dwarnian pilot probably wouldn’t be considered, like, that normal by most people? But Brian has never built anything larger or more secret than a poprocket that time in third grade, unless you count the less physical large-ness of his research, which was technically also a secret once the war broke out, and now that he’s thinking about it, if you gave each sentence of his thesis the weight of a rivet, it actually might be up there with the mass of a starship? Ha, he’s totally telling Krejjh that just to see the look on their face. No doubt they’ll have opinions on whether a chapter section is equivalent to one or two hull subsections.

“Mugs are in that cabinet,” Sana says easily, gesturing toward it.

“Got it, dude,” Brian replies, equally easily.

You don’t comfortably exist in a place like Neuzo, or for that matter a place like academia, if you expect everyone to present their whole self at all times. Besides, since Brian is now in effect depending on Tripathi’s astuteness for his own safety and Krejjh’s, it’s comforting to know that she knows how to keep an eye on layers of social interactions, even when that includes her interactions with him.

He hands off the mugs in a brush of cracked porcelain and calloused hands. The domesticity of working beside someone at a kitchen counter is unexpectedly comforting, too. He could almost be in the cramped galley kitchen of his last shared grad school apartment, or behind the bar with Alvie, getting ready for a shift.

He isn’t.

Sana drops the teabags into the mugs, pouring the steaming water carefully. “If you take sugar, I think it was last seen in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Brian chuckles at her almost-joke about the dynamic chaos of her kitchen. The kitchen. Their kitchen. He’s going to be spending the next few days getting used to that. If Sana is an early riser, maybe he’ll spend the next few days getting used to mornings like this with her, too.

[o-foramuse-of-fire]

Happy New Year! Here is my Secret Santa gift for @ubilupus! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Alice Brandon has a massive crush on law student Jasper Whitlock. The only problem? She’s never actually spoken to him out loud. AH/AU

Title: Apricity

Words: 3,450

Rating: G/K+

Read on: AO3 or FFN

The snow fell in feather-light flakes in the crisp winter air. Alice chewed her lip as she gazed at the historic building across the street, almost mystical in the snowfall. She walked back and forth by the bus stop, hesitating to cross the street. A dark blue bus pulled up to the stop, its sign flashing yellow. Several students descended and the driver waited to see if Alice would board. She shook her head, shaking flakes out of her pixie-cut. The driver shrugged, closed the door, and drove off.

“What are you doing?”

Alice jumped at the voice. Sharp yet sweet, like a slice of key lime pie, with just a hint of caramel smoothness. She turned and plastered a huge smile on her face.

“Oh, hey, Rosalie!”

Rosalie Hale was one of Alice’s closest friends. The two had met freshman year signing up to assist with one of the many student theatre groups on campus. Rosalie, a Business major, wanted to get involved in marketing and Alice, who was studying Art and Design, was interested in assisting with designing posters or helping to paint sets.

“Don’t ‘hey, Rosalie,” me,” Rosalie retorted. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you loitering out by the Law Quad.”

“Is it?”

“C’mon, Alice, something’s going on with you. And don’t just say you’re trying to plan out where to take grad photos because I know it’s something more than that.”

Alice quickly shut her mouth. That had been the excuse she was about to give. Everyone knew the Law Quad was in high demand for graduating seniors. In a few months, once the majority of winter was behind them and the temperature rose above freezing, Alice knew there’d be people crowding for the perfect cap and gown shot.

But that wasn’t the reason she’d spent more hours than she could count recently, wrapped up in her warmest--yet still fashionable--winter clothes and staring longingly at the gray stone arches. Alice heaved a sigh, her breath forming a tiny cloud in the wintry air.

“Okay. Fine. C’mon.”

Alice adjusted the strap of her cross-body bag and swung her scarf over her shoulder before leading Rosalie across the street. The two of them wandered into the Law Quad, looking more like Hogwarts at Christmas than it had any right to. Snow dusted the tops of the stone towers and turrets and coated the rooftops. Icicles hung from the mature trees like crystals. Students meandered through the Quad, ducking in and out of the grand arches, crossing pathways lined by Victorian-style street lamps. When they reached the door to the Law Library, Alice hesitated.

“Just don’t get me kicked out, okay?” The Law Library was notorious for having a strict no-talking policy.

“I won’t make a peep,” Rosalie said, her ruby lips curling into an intrigued grin.

They walked into the Reading Room, and no matter how many times Alice stepped foot inside there, she was always struck by its grandiose beauty and ambiance. The room was large and open, with a 10 story ceiling surrounded by beautiful stained glass windows bearing the seals of great universities around the world. The ceiling itself was intricately designed with squares of floral-like designs sculpted in gold. The Reading Room was illuminated with soft light from elegant two-tiered chandeliers, stylized to look like candles. Wooden shelves filled with legal books lined the long hall, interspersed with elaborate doorways and stonework. With finals fast approaching, students from all across campus crowded the oversized tables with curved reading lights, their books and notes stacked high. Anxious, academic energy crackled in the air. Alice walked down the aisle, Rosalie trailing at her side, until she came upon the third table from the back on the left. There, like he had been every day this week, sat a god.

A golden-haired young man with storm cloud eyes. Sculpted cheekbones and lips that Alice just knew were soft and kissable. A few strands of curly blond hair fell in front of his face as he pored over a thick tome, and the man pushed them out of his way with a flick of his long fingers. He was dressed in a knitted black sweater that complemented his tanned skin and accentuated his lean figure. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

Alice delicately pulled out the chair across from him, and slid into it as silently as she could manage. As she sat down, the man looked up from his book. His face lit up, eyes sparkling and lips stretching into a heart-stopping smile. Alice’s heart fluttered, and she returned his smile with an uncharacteristically shy grin. She opened up her bag and pulled out the textbook she kept in there for this exact purpose. She flipped through the pages until she came across the midnight blue bookmark denoting the last chapter she’d attempted to slog through. But before she could even attempt to read the first sentence, a crumpled piece of paper landed in front of her. Alice opened the note with excited fingers, her eyes eager for the words scrawled inside.

Art history again?

Alice’s mouth twitched. She scribbled a response on the paper, folded it up neatly, and passed it back across the table.

Yeah. My last final. I’ve been really slacking on the reading.

Maybe you know more than you think. You’ve been reading that book every time you’ve been in here.

Alice bit her lip. Had she done that? She’d meant to rotate her books, her excuses to be in his presence.

I keep getting distracted by the architecture. It’s just so beautiful in here.

It is. But if it keeps pulling your focus away from your studying, maybe you should try one of the less decorated spots on campus. Like Starbucks.

He shot her a smirk as he watched her read his words.

Never. I like the view here too much.

Me too.

Rosalie surreptitiously watched the exchange from a table across the aisle, quirking an eyebrow when Alice flushed scarlet and covered her mouth to hold in a giggle. She narrowed her eyes further as the note passing spanned a whole page. Then a second. Then a third. She didn’t think either of the two had touched their books in a while. Pursing her lips, Rosalie rose to her feet and sauntered back over to Alice’s table. Alice didn’t even notice her approach, she was too engrossed in whatever she was writing. Rosalie tapped her on the shoulder and crossed her arms. Alice gave her a sheepish grin, hurriedly wrote one final message, and passed the note to the blond-haired guy. He glanced it over, and the good-natured smile seemingly glued to his face fell ever so slightly. He gave Alice a wave as she stood, returned her book to her bag, and hoisted it over her shoulder. Alice returned his wave with her own, then tripped over her feet as Rosalie grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to the exit.

As soon as they were back outside, Rosalie spun on Alice.

“Okay, spill. Who was that guy?”

Alice’s voice took on a dreamy tone. “Jasper Whitlock, first year law student. He’s originally from Texas and he went to Rice, majored in Political Science and History. He’s got a younger brother who’s studying Engineering at Rice now, and a little sister who’s in her senior year of high school. He likes horseback riding, Mexican food, and horror movies.”

“Wow, Alice, did you stalk the guy?”

A rosy blush colored Alice’s cheeks. “No. We passed notes. And then I Facebook stalked him.”

Rosalie snorted. “You’re crushing on him hard.”

“Except I haven’t said a word to him!” Alice cried, dragging her hands over her face. “I came to the Law Library to sketch last week--you know how I feel about Gothic architecture--and he was just there! Sitting at that table all gorgeous and studious. I don’t know how I worked up the nerve to pass him that first note, I swear my hands were shaking the whole time. But I’ve never actually spoken with him, like, words out loud, you know?”

“And he’s never tried to follow you out of the library to actually speak with you?”

“Nope.”

“Hm. He loses a few points for that. But maybe he’s just shy.”

“How could anyone that looks like that be shy? He probably just doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, he likes you, Alice. Trust me.”

“You don’t know that.” Alice whined.

“Did you not see the look he gave you? Like you were the sun and he was a mere flower. He bloomed in your presence. And practically wilted when you left.”

“I don’t know, Rose...”

Rosalie spun on her heels to stop and face Alice. She reached down to place her perfectly manicured hands atop Alice’s shoulders.

“Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Tomorrow, we’re gonna dress you up and make you look so goddamn gorgeous, that he’ll follow you outta there like a little lovesick puppy.”

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

Early the next morning--earlier than Alice would’ve liked--Rosalie was in her apartment, clucking her tongue as she parsed through Alice’s wardrobe. Alice sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Rosalie had roped their friend Bella into the scheme, and the brunette was sitting next to Alice, almost as tired as she was, her head falling onto Alice’s shoulder every now and then.

“You owe me Starbucks for this,” Bella mumbled.

“Yeah, Rose,” Alice agreed. “Jasper doesn’t usually make it into the Law Library until after 11.”

“Which means we only have four hours to get you looking jaw-droppingly sexy,” answered Rosalie. She picked out a black dress that was way too short given the current temperatures, shook her head, and returned it to the closet.

“At least she’s keeping in mind the weather,” Bella muttered under her breath.

Bella was the most practical out of the three girls. She and Alice had met in their first year English class and had become fast friends. It had taken some time for Bella and Rosalie to warm up to each other--Bella had a knee-jerk response to anyone involved in a sorority. But after Rosalie had chewed out a sleaze-ball who’d attempted to run his hand up Bella’s skirt while the three were out dancing one night, the two had forged a tight bond.

“Okay, how about this,” said Rosalie as she held up two hangers. In one hand was a black pencil skirt. In the other was a silk purple blouse with a deep V-neck. It was long-sleeved with bunching at the wrist. “Some tights, your black pumps and--”

“I’ll look like a librarian,”

“A sexy librarian,” Rosalie corrected, but she returned the items to the closet.

“We’re trying to get this Jasper’s attention, right?” asked Bella.

Alice nodded.

“Well then, what do we know about him? What does he like?”

“Ooh, good idea Bella. Alice, has Jasper ever looked at you more than usual or in a different way? And what were you wearing when he did?”

“Um, not that I can remember...”

“Does he have a favorite color?” Bella offered.

Alice straightened, like a jolt of electricity had run through her body. Her eyes sparkled and she grinned with exuberance. She hopped off the bed and rushed over to her closet, pushing aside dresses and sweaters with ferocity until she found what she was looking for. She pulled the emerald green sweater dress out of the closet and held it out in front of her proudly. Though unassuming on the hanger, it clung to her body like a second skin. It had a scooped neckline, which artfully showed off her delicate collarbones, and an intricate knitted design.

“Green,” she said with a joyful smile.

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

“Girls, I don’t know if I can do this,” said Alice, clutching the front of her black peacoat with white knuckles.

“Alice, you look beautiful,” Rosalie assured her.

“Yeah, it’s going to be fine! You’ve got this!” Bella encouraged.

Once the emerald dress had been decided upon, Alice had spent the next few hours under Rosalie’s direct care. She’d picked out a pair of black leggings, as well as a pair of black booties, plus the black peacoat with silver buttons to complete the look. Bella had chosen the knitted white beret style hat that hung loosely off the back of Alice’s head, displaying her dark hair with contrast. Alice’s hair normally stuck out in all directions, but Rosalie had coaxed the energetic strands into becoming tendrils. Rosalie was an artist with makeup, and had accentuated Alice’s features without overpowering her. Black eyeliner and mascara heightened Alice’s doe-like eyes, and the silver eyeshadow shimmered with every blink. Alice’s cheekbones were highlighted and dusted with a soft pink blush. Alice had always thought her lips were small--just like the rest of her--but Rosalie had worked her magic and now the lips, painted cherry-red, appeared pouty and full. Bella had talked Alice through exactly what she was going to say to Jasper, filling her up with self-confidence. She gave advice to Alice on how to win over Jasper with her words, not just her looks.

Now, the three of them were standing in front of the entrance to the Law Library. Alice’s knees knocked together. Rosalie and Bella were on either side of her, practically pushing her in.

“You know, I think I might be coming down with something, I’ve been standing in the cold too long, maybe I should go home and we could try this another day--”

“Uh-uh, no way!” Rosalie stopped Alice from running away and turned her right back towards the Law Library. “We did not give up valuable finals studying time for you to back out now. You are going to go in there, and you are not coming back out until you have a date!”

Rosalie shoved Alice forward, causing the shorter girl to almost trip. Alice recovered and gathered herself with a determined puff of air. She brushed a stray curl out of her eyes, rolled her shoulders back, and strode into the Law Library with as much confidence as she could muster.

As expected, Jasper was there, seated at his usual spot. He was surrounded by piles of books, and hunched over a thick notebook. He looked very focused and very hot. Alice closed her eyes, thought back on everything Rosalie and Bella had said to her that morning, and began to walk towards Jasper’s table.

He heard her approach--the clicks of her black boots echoed in the silent hall--and glanced up from his notebook. At first, he gave her his usual genteel grin, but then Alice watched his eyes widen and his lips part as he took in her appearance. Alice slowly undid the buttons of her coat, feigning nonchalance as best she could. She shrugged the coat off her shoulders, and Jasper gasped. The big reveal, Rosalie had called it.

Alice slowly sunk into the chair, smoothing her dress as she sat down. Gracefully, she extracted the small notebook and ballpoint pen she’d hidden in her coat pocket. Her heart was beating a mile a minute but she forced herself to appear calm as she placed the notebook on the table, flipped open the metallic golden cover, and began to write out the words she, Rosalie, and Bella had planned.

I’ve really enjoyed our chats over the last week, but I’d much prefer to actually speak in person. I like you a lot, Jasper, and I want to get to know you better. Grab a coffee with me?

With a final flourish of her pen, Alice tore out the sheet of paper, folded it, and tossed it over to Jasper, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she sat down. The note landed in the center of his notebook.

Jasper blinked dumbly at the sound of the paper hitting his book. He glanced away from Alice and nimbly unfolded the note. He smiled as he began to read it, and Alice’s heart skipped a beat. But then an odd expression came over his face. His smile fell. His jaw dropped. His eyes became pitying, disbelieving.

Alice felt her heart sink into her stomach.

He didn’t like her.

Feeling tears well up in her eyes, Alice haphazardly threw on her coat and hastily stuffed her notebook and pen back into her pockets. Biting her lip, she ran out of the Law Library as fast as she could.

She burst out into the Quad, her face stinging in the cold. Rosalie and Bella were waiting by the door for her, but she ran past them, ignoring their perplexed faces and questioning calls. She couldn’t talk to them right now. She wanted to run back home and hide under her comforter, forgetting every foolish action she’d taken today.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hey, Alice, wait!”

Alice turned as a charmingly accented voice with just a hint a twang called her name. Jasper was running after her, his unbuttoned coat flying open in the wind. Alice tried to hide her gape as she took in Jasper. She knew he was tall, but she hadn’t realized he was quite this tall. He towered over her by over a foot at least. Alice sniffed and wiped away the few tears that had fallen.

“It’s okay, Jasper, you don’t have to humor me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw how you looked at me in there. It’s clear you don’t like me the way that I like you. And that’s fine! I’m fine! I--”

“Alice, what?”

“--really, you don’t need to let me down easy or anything, I got it, and--”

“Alice.” Jasper’s tone became more pleading. “I was just a little taken aback, is all. You surprised me.”

Alice’s breath caught. “I...surprised you?”

The edges of Jasper’s lips turned up. “Yeah. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you out all week and you beat me to it.”

Alice’s mouth fell open. Her brain was a mess of white noise as she attempted to process his words

“You...you like me?”

It was Jasper’s turn to blush.

“But you never...I mean...all this time...and the way you are I...” Alice stammered.

“My apologies for not speaking up sooner. But I’ve never,” Jasper hesitated, “I’ve never felt like this before. The words we shared on those scraps of paper weren’t much, but they meant everything to me. I’ve actually been coming to the Law Library every day, hoping you’d return,” he added with a bashful grin.

Alice gave a little start. He’d been doing that, too?

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings,” Jasper continued, running his fingers through his long blond locks, “but I felt a connection with you right away. I just didn’t know how to deal with it, cause it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to that. I’ve had some pretty messed up relationships in the past,” he said with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t understand,” said Alice. “If you felt like this, why didn’t you say anything? Why did I have to do all this,” she motioned to her outfit, “to get you to come outside with me?”

“I came outside cause I could tell I’d upset you. And that ain’t right. I only ever want to see you smile.”

Alice flushed. Jasper took a slow step closer to her. Alice was struck again by his imposing stature. He had to duck and push snowy branches out of his way to get to where Alice was standing. And yet, with the way he was gazing at her, Alice didn’t feel small at all. In fact, she felt terribly emboldened by his adoring look.

“So it’s not cause I look amazingly sexy?” Alice teased.

Jasper chuckled. “You look beautiful today, really you do. But I think you look beautiful every day.”

Alice giggled, and her cheeks turned pink with new warmth. “So about that coffee,” she said, a hint of coyness slipping into her tone.

Jasper smiled sweetly. “I’d like that, ma’am.”

He took her hand, and Alice was surprised to find how well hers fit in his. Like they were made for each other, despite the height difference. Warmth raced through her body as he interlaced their fingers and gently ran his thumb over her skin. Alice hummed contentedly, and nestled into Jasper’s side. Another perfect fit.

[unicyclehippo]

beau + caleb “People are staring.” “Just trust me.”

In a world a step to the left of the one we know, Caleb was never swept into the work of his Master Ikithon, and Beauregard Lionette—eldest child of Thoreau Lionette—was sent not to the Cobalt Reserve but northwards, to the capital. In some ways, the world they inhabit is very similar. In other ways, it is entirely changed.

//

Beauregard—Beau, as she insists on—wears her age awkwardly, all knobbled knees and elbows and neck, like one of those wobbly just-born horses who insist on walking and running and racing an hour after they are born, just because they can. She’s like that too—always running, not walking.

‘Guten morgen, Beau. Did you do your readings?’ he asks her, as he always does. He appreciates the stability of their routine, even if he doesn’t appreciate her answer.

‘Nope.’

‘You must do your readings if you wish to progress in your lessons,’ he says, putting no effort toward convincing her. If she has resisted this long—four tutors, him being the fifth—and a half dozen months, then she has plans of her own that he isn’t privy to, and doesn’t need to be. ‘We can begin in Duroski’s Theories of Combustion, chapter four—if you do not wish to do that, please say it, don’t throw your book at my head.’

‘If I threw it at your head it would’ve hit you,’ she tells him. ‘I threw it over your head.’

Bren lifts his head from its duck. ‘Is there something else you wish to do?’

‘Do you ever get tired of being boring?’

‘No.’

Beau throws her head back. Groans.

Bren doesn’t know who she is, beyond resolutely being the least capable student in Master Vollod’s class, and he doesn’t need to. He is paid whether she learns or not. She turns up to each session, and sits and waits, and sometimes he is sure that he sees a gleam of interest in some of the subjects, and yet she never makes a move to take notes or complete her essays or attempt the magic.

‘Chapter Four,’ he reads aloud, since she makes no move to collect her own text. ‘Combustion—or burning—is a high-temperature exothermic redox chemical reaction between a fuel, called the reductant, and an oxidant—‘

Beau slumps lower in her seat and lets her eyes glaze over as she stares at the ceiling, unseeing and not hearing Bren’s words. It isn’t long before Bren begins to scrawl his own notes into his book, drawing from this basic textbook for his own essay on advanced evocation methods, and if he forgets to read aloud, Beau doesn’t point it out.

//

She doesn’t like magic, he learns after an embarrassingly long time of tutoring her. It isn’t even from a question he has asked her, or a conclusion he came to on his own, but one that he overhears as he makes his way to their table in the Reading Room of Soltryce’s smallest library.

‘—would make some sort of attempt -‘

‘No.’

‘You have the potential to be great!’

‘I have no intention of being great at this shit!’

‘Your family isn’t paying for you to waste your life, your potential,’

‘That’s exactly what he’s doing. I don’t give a fuck what he’s paying—I am never writing so much as a single fucking rune,’ Beau hisses with so much acid on her tongue Bren expects the assistant to melt with it.

‘You’re being a child. He only wants what is best for you,’

Beau laughs, a bitter little laugh. There’s a shift of movement and then a gasp and Bren peeks around the stacks to find Master Vollod’s assistant, Torok—Tammy—T-something—with her hand on Beau, gripping her arm tight. They’re close together, the assistant hissing into Beau’s ear, and the younger girl’s face goes carefully blank.

Bren has talent with fire. He knows how it works, feels a connection to it that he does not feel to the other elements. Adores—in a way, a depth, he does not feel for many things—the warmth of it, adores its constant shift and change, the way it refuses to settle to one space or another. It is wild and grand. Powerful, dangerous, immensely helpful. It is magic, Bren believes. He has studied it in depth for years, and so he does not believe himself mistaken in seeing Beau’s eyes burn at whatever the assistant says to her.

‘Call me that again,’ she says, ‘and I’ll break your face.’ She wrenches her arm from the assistants pinching grip. Takes one step and then another back, before she turns on her heel and walks unerringly to Bren.

He has a moment to wonder if he should pretend he had only now come across her, but Beau looks entirely too knowing so he just says,

‘Guten morgen, Beau.’

‘Ermendrud.’

‘Have you done your—‘

‘No.’

Bren rocks back on his heels, clicks his mind to his next comment since she has moved their pace up. ‘You must do your—‘

‘Can we go outside?’

Bren blinks. That is outside of his experience with Beau, but he also doesn’t see a problem with it. He also doesn’t like the way Beau has grown tense, hands making fists at her sides. He also doesn’t like the way the assistant is watching them.

‘Ja. Ja, of course.’ He sets the textbook into his book bag. Steps out of her way. ‘Lead the way.’

//

‘I do not think this is permissible,’

‘It’s fine, dude, I’ve done it hundreds of times.’

‘That does not mean it is permissible,’ he points out. ‘People are looking—they are staring at you, Beau—‘

‘Trust me. I won’t let you get in trouble, man.’

Despite the way worry scratches at his spine, Bren looks up at her face, her tension slowly relaxing into an expression he doesn’t know of her, and his body moves before his brain can decide to. Bren follows her up onto the crate and the roof of the stable from there, and up onto the sloping tiled roof of the Resident Hall.

‘This is-‘ he pants, clinging to the roof as a slick tile makes one foot slip from beneath him, ‘terrifying.’

She laughs.

Bren thinks it is the first time he has heard her laugh with happiness. It is not pretty the way the court ladies laugh, breathy little things, coy, hidden behind soft hands and fans and other feminine instruments Bren does not understand. Beau’s laughter is harsh and too-loud. Bren doesn’t mind.

‘It’s fun.’

‘Your concept of fun and mine are - oh boy - markedly dissimilar,’ he says a little shakily, still climbing higher to join her, and then a brown hand reaches down for him and another grasps the scruff of his collar and yanks him up to more stable footing. Helps him to sit on the ridge of the roof, red tiles sun-warmed. When he finally feels stable—or at least as though he is not about to fall—he looks across at his student.

‘You do not like magic,’ he says. He’s been thinking about it for the entirety of the climb and before, since overhearing the conversation.

‘...No.’

‘Why are you at the Academy if you do not care for it?’

‘Parents want me here,’ she tells him dully. Her expression is closing down again, and it sends a pang of upset through him.

‘Ah. What - if you wish to tell me - what would you...prefer to be doing?’

Beau squints sideways at him. ‘Why?’

‘I am a curious man.’

‘You’re a weird man.’

Bren frowns. ‘Hey.’

‘What? You’re saying you aren’t?’

He considers his hobbies and passions and the whispers he has heard of others opinions of him. ‘Mm. I think I am.’

‘You definitely are.’

‘I think you are as well. Strange. Not a man.’

Beau flips him off. He thinks about returning the gesture but both hands are solidly placed on the roof and there they shall remain.

‘May I ask another question?’ He waits for her to shrug. ‘If you do not care for magic, why do you continue to attend our sessions?’

‘Had to. Tori threatened to tell my dad if I ditched another tutor.’

Bren feels a frown crumple his own brow. ‘Oh.’

Beau’s eyes cut over to her. She’s very young, still, and hasn’t learned how her face works as the youth strips away from it and she grows into her heavy brows and thin lips and stately nose. Try as she might to hide her sudden apprehension, it still bleeds through.

‘Plus,’ she says, nonchalant, ‘you’re fine. Cool, or whatever.’

‘You just called me weird.’

‘Yeah, but it’s fine. It’s whatever. You’re fine.’

Bren parses it out. Nods. ‘We are friends.’

‘I did not say that.’

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Submitted by @owlespresso

Relationship: Wol!Reader/Thancred

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Deciding to take the advice of a dear friend, the Warrior of Light adventures across Norvrandt to explore the land with new eyes. Il Mheg is one such beautiful place you yearn to see, though equally dangerous in more ways than one would expect: beware of the pixies pranks and, more than anything else, don’t eat anything that they offer you.

You unfortunately fail in the second part of that warning.

-

Il Mheg is a wonder in its own right, a splendid land dotted with vibrant color that extended to not only the flowers, but those who lived there. 

You consider it a great honor to be able to traverse the land among the native people, the fae who generously allow them to pass through and visit. You were immediately curious about their culture, including the wide variety of colorful foods.

It became abundantly clear that they used flowers in several of their staple dishes, obvious from the way vendors flaunted them on the road and in the streets. 

The sun shone bright over Il Mheg as you wandered about, entranced by the quaint mushroom houses and bustling foot traffic. It was only a half-hour until noon, when you’d planned to rendezvous with Thancred in the center of the settlement, which left plenty of time for you to explore and indulge in some of the local treats!

Gil ready in hand, you trotted up to one of the fae vendors. The brief conversation you had passed by in an admittedly pleasant blur. They spoke so quickly that it was difficult to keep track of what they were saying, but you could only assume they were glad to see a paying customer.

The pastry that was shoved into your hands moments later was a visual feast of color. Pink pastry dough lovingly fashioned into several flowers was nestled against dollops of mint green-tinged whipped cream, and the entire thing was covered in crystalized sugar. All of it was wrapped up in a fluffy, cone-shaped crepe.

It was quite a sight to see, so glamorous that you almost didn’t want to eat.

Then, your stomach rumbled. 

Needless to say, the succulent pastry was scarfed down in about five seconds. Chomping down the last bite of the delicious treat left you wanting for more, but you restrained yourself in favor of minding the time. You didn’t want to be late for your meeting with Thancred. It had been awhile since you’d last seen him, and your concern for his well-being and eagerness to see him far outweigh your need for another crepe.

And that’s how you landed here.

While making haste to the Aetheryte, you were unable to stop marveling at your surroundings.

It seems as though you’re were early, though. Thancred’s nowhere in sight, leaving to your own devices. Well, at least there’s plenty to look! Your gaze flutters around the arera, taking in the pure mystique of it, catching bits and pieces of passing conversations. 

In the middle of hearing a fae’s qualms about the recent rains, something peculiar begins to rise within you. A steady, building heat that causes sweat to gather on your brow. Maybe it had just gotten hotter out? But that did little to explain the mounting arousal between your thighs. Your absentmindedly rub your thighs together, frowning when it did little to alleviate the tension.

Your lower stomach begins to tingle, a warmth bubbling in your body and making your cheeks much too hot.

This is unlike you. You know your body, and you know that this isn’t normal. 

Panic begins to set its claws into you as you desperately try to figure out what’s wrong, bouncing on your heels to the side of the clearing, unseeing gaze fixed on the gleaming Aetheryte.

Should you try to find a healer? Maybe ask around—gods no, you’d die of embarrassment!

Heading back to your inn room seemed ideal. Teleporting shouldn’t take too much out of you, but Thancred—

The sound of your name brings your thoughts to a cold, dead stop.

“There you are,” Thancred says, unmistakably happy to see you. Your heart jumps in your chest, the steady rhythm pounding in tandem with the thrum of arousal in between your legs. The afternoon sunlight catches on his stark, white hair and your pulse jumps, sings in relief at the sight of him, “My apologies. I mixed up where we were supposed to meet–was wandering around downtown like a lost fool.”

“Oh, it’s fine!” you assure him hastily, and it’s impossible to stop your gaze from running over his face. There’s the ever beguiling angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips–where your attention lingers for much too long before flickering downwards, “I wasn’t waiting for too long!” You get to the firm shape of his chest, outlined lovingly by his tight armor, before getting ahold of yourself and looking him in the eyes.

Which, is a bad decision, because oh gods, he’s looking at you and you suddenly feel like some hapless, giddy school child experiencing puppy love for the first time–besides the mounting, insistent need coiling inside of you.

“How blessed I am to be forgiven so easily,” the lavish croon of his voice makes your spine prickle, “Come along, we have all of Il Mehg to explore. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on the way, I’m sure.” 

He gives your shoulder a firm pat, and even with the frustrating barrier of cloth between you, you feel another shock of need.

“Y-Yep! That sounds fi-fine,” you jump from your standing position and begin to scurry in the direction of the western exit, which leads out to a large, welcoming field of flowers with a few large, scattered trees. 

There’s the thumping of Thancred’s boots behind you, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s eyeing you with contemplative concern. 

You’re more interested in the idea of being chased–Thancred chasing you, being down on you from behind, pinning you to the ground–

No, no, bad. If you keep thinking like that, you’ll lose your wits and actually do something you might regret!

“Are you feeling alright?” he inquires as he matches your pace. You are very decidedly not alright, caught between cancelling this entire outing entirely, asking him to fuck you senseless behind one of those trees, or continuing to weather the strange, mounting symptoms until the day’s end. The latter option sounds the most unappealing. “You’re usually not so…”

“I’m fine,” you say, too quickly, too firmly. There’s a nervous bounce in your step as the both of you pass underneath the pearly gate and into the wilderness. Distantly, you wonder if one of the flowers from that delectable pastry is responsible for this, and if so, wonder which kind it is, “Just, uhm, feeling a little off today, is all. It’s nothing I c-can’t sleep off.”

“If you say so,” he says slowly, skepticism clear as day in his voice, “So! Where would you like to head first? There’s Longmirror Lake–I hear the massive ruins of an ancient city lay underneath it! Of course, there’s also the impossible to miss castle in the middle of Longmirror…”

He goes onto list several possible spots you could visit, outlining the best parts of each, but you have a hard time parsing his words when you’re so focused on the rhythmic sound of his voice, coupled with whatever ailment insists on ruining your day. Had it stayed to a minimal level, you likely would have been able to ignore it–but your knees are getting weak and the subtle movement of your clothes against your skin is suddenly more grating than ever before. The overwhelming scent from your floral surroundings only contributes to your dizziness.

Thancred says your name a second time, and shakes his hand in front of your face, jolting you from a daze you didn’t even know you’d been in. 

“Any of those are fine–whichever you want,” you bring a hand up to rub at the bridge of your nose. Your tongue feels like cotton in your mouth. 

“Alright, we’ll head to the lake, then. It’s the closest one,” fortunately, he has no qualms about making the decision. You’re hyper conscious of the air against your skin, your clothes weighing down your body, clinging with sweat. The scent of the flowers, Thancred’s warm presence beside you. Your fingers curl into tight fists, palms much too hot and slick.

“Okay,” you say and your voice is strained.

It’s eating at you. It’s eating at you and you can’t stand it. With every step, you feel the moisture that’s gathered on your undergarments rub back against your cunt. Your gaze flicks to look at him, fixing on the angle of his jawline, on the elegant shape of his nose.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he turns to look at you, lips upturned in a slight, amused grin. Prick, stupid prick and his perfect face–you’re suddenly stuck by the idea of your thighs clenched on either side of his head, his tongue dragging up and down your clit, lips working relentlessly at your cunt while his hands grip you tight. You take a sudden, deep inhale and you realize that you’ve stopped in place.

He repeats your name and suddenly, he’s much closer, leaning into your space and narrowing his eyes. You wish you were anywhere but here, right now, because all you can do is stare at his lips with wide, hungry eyes and hold your breath.

“Pardon my assumption, but you certainly don’t look alright to me. You’re not acting like yourself and your pupils are the size of dinner plates,” he says. He leans in and presses his forehead against your own to check your temperature, and his innocent concern seals both your fates.

Your mind gives out.

Whatever you’d been poisoned with possesses you for that one moment and before you could even realize it, you seal your lips against his own.

Oh gods, oh gods– Your brain ceases to work as panic wars with your ailment, and your body all but crumples into his arms, face pressed to his chest. He catches you, of course he does, because he’s Thancred. He’s Thancred, your Thancred–

“Oh, my god,” your voice is a mere whisper against his chest. Your left hand presses against his abdomen and the thundering, agonizing arousal reacts instantly, “I’m–I’m so sorry!”

You push away from him. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You’d ruined everything! You should have just said you weren’t feeling well You aim to take a step back, but the ankle where you put your weight slips on the dirt and. Panic and dizziness wind together and jumble your senses, your vibrant floral surroundings passing you in a blur as you start to fall. This is it, you sob internally, I’m going to die after looking like an idiot and kissing him out of nowhere–

Then there’s a firm grip on your wrist and you’re yanked to your feet. The momentum from the tug carries you forward and into his chest. Your face presses into his armor. He smells good, cologne and gunpowder and spice. You don’t want to move, not even to quell your feverish, unrelenting symptoms.

“Alright,” his voice rumbles deep in his chest and you can feel it, “It’s incredibly clear that something’s amiss. It would be in your best interests to come clean,” his arm tucks around your waist, pulling you tighter against him and your knees just about give out. He curses, letting go of your wrist and wrapping his other arm around you in a clumsy hold against his body, “Twelve, we should get you to a healer.”

Your hard nipples press tight against the constraining fabric of your cloak and it takes every ounce of your restraint to not start grinding up against him. Your body cries out for it, weeps for it, begs, but Thancred is your friend. Thancred is your friend and he deserves to know what’s going on.

“I ate a pastry back in town and I think it made me sick!” you urgently inform him, “I was just fine before that!”

“That explains it,” Thancred says with a sigh, his lips so close to your face, “Most of the plants here have… special side effects. The fae have lived here so long that they’ve developed immunities to most, if not all of them. It seems that the vendor who sold you that treat left out that particular detail,” you just about collapse with relief. Thancred knows what’s happening. Smart Thancred, strong Thancred–

Breed, breed, fuck, mate–

“That being said, it’s not a good idea for you to be out and about like this. We should get you somewhere safe,” Oh no. Does that mean he’s going to drop you off somewhere and leave? No, no, that’s the worst thing that could happen right now! Especially after going so long without seeing him, especially when you need him now more than ever.

“Don’t go!” the desperation in your voice comes as a surprise to even yourself, “I don’t–I want–”

Your frustrations mount as you try to articulate what you want, what you need.

“You want me to help you,” he spells your thoughts out and you nod, relieved that you don’t have to articulate them yourself. Thancred will take care of it for you. 

He doesn’t say anything else after that, likely deep in thought or in conflict.

“I trust you,” you whimper, “I’ve always trusted you, Thancred,” it pains you to tear your face away from his chest, but you tilt your head to look up at him and don’t regret it. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted.

It’s so much, so much, so much and the pure amount of sensory assault makes you begin to tear up. You tilt your head back down to hide your face, hands balling in the fabric of his jacket. Your knees start to tremble again, cunt sopping and body screaming out for his hands on your chest, ass, back, anywhere!

“Shh, it’s alright,” Thancred hushes, and the bestial part of your brain coos in content, so delighted he’s here and that he’s taking care of you, “I have my reservations about this. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” you say, leaving not even a second of silence, “Please, I need you! I’ve wanted you even before this!” your voice trembles with the weight of what you’d just said and pitches with desperation. Throwing caution to the wind, you continue,  “Thancred, please. I wouldn’t ask this of anyone else,” if you’re going to confess your carefully guarded feelings, you might as well go all-out. Consequences be damned! You can deal with them when you can actually think straight, “I”

He ducks down and cuts you off with a kiss.

It starts off as only a slight, gentle press, merely testing the waters, before he tilts his head for a deeper angle. Your eyes slide shut and your entire body loosens in a show of submission, more than happy to let him lead the way. His fingers curl into your hair, holding you where he wants you. His tongue rubs against your lips and for a moment, you don’t respond, too pleasure hazed. 

He gives your hip a light slap and you gasp, giving his tongue ample room to feel every inch of your mouth and tongue in a dexterous dance that makes you glad he’s there to hold you up.

Your shaking hands reach up to clutch his shoulders, feeling the broad muscle underneath his form-fitting armor. Your bodies press tight together, and you cling to him even when the need for air forces you apart. You gasp for it, dizzy and surrounded by him, him, him. His firm grip around your waist, his broad chest nuzzled tight to you, his scent. He’s perfect and he’s the only thing keeping you on your feet.

A thrill rolls up your spine at the knowledge that he can manhandle you so easily.

“Come this way, dear,” he murmurs, and his face moves away. Your protesting whine is met by a low chuckle as he carries you from the road and into a nearby grove of trees, with thick shrubbery and branches. He’s talking, but you’re not listening, eyes lowered as you press your face into his shoulder again and take a deep inhale.

It’s impossible to keep track of where he’s bringing you, but in only a few moments you feel your back settle against a tree trunk. Vivid, pink leaves loom above your heads, the sweet smell of the blooms more overwhelming than ever.

He presses you in tight, weight covering you entirely. Satisfying, deep, contact, contact, contact. You feel the swell of his chest, the press of his clothed cock against your sopping core.

One of his hands cradles your cheek and you automatically tilt your head into it, exposing as much of your neck as possible. The roughened material of his glove grates slightly against your skin. You want them off, but your coherency sizzles away when his lips dance over the skin of your neck. He plants a vast array of fluttering kisses over the unmarked flesh, making you squirm and whine. He shushes you again, tongue laving over the crook of your neck, before he nips there.

You buckle again, falling onto the knee he manages to shove between your legs just in time.

“Fuck!” you cry, eyes screwing shut at the oversensitivity. Sweat slicks your forehead and you feebly flop back against the trunk. Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he palms a breast, reminding you that there’s still an awful, cloth barrier preventing you from feeling every inch of him.

“Can you come just from this?” he inquires, much to unaffected. His knee begins to grind back and forth against you and you ride it, pressure and friction so good, too good against your sopping folds.

“Thancred,” you breathe, burying your face into his shoulder. It’s all sweet ambrosia, a devilish, intoxicating cocktail of sensations that numbs your mind to everything but the here and now, whittles your world down to only him.

His hand strays from the back of your head and grabs at your shirt, deftly undoing the buttons. You help him, throwing i haphazardly to the ground.

Your hips roll and buck desperately against his built thigh, head tilting back, back arching as he squeezes a tit. His fingers grasp the edge of your bra and yank it down to free your breasts. The material of his glove is still coarse against your hardened nipple, but it’s contact and that’s all that matters.

Then he ducks down, starting to lavish your chest in attention. Your dragged back under the mindless, euphoric haze. His tongue rolls around your untouched nipple.

“Thancred,” his name emerges from your lips as a warbled moan, and he hums in response, wrapping his lips around the perked nub and giving a firm suck. “Ah!” you downright squeal, panting as his fingers drip to your trousers, toying with the waistband,.

Your hands scramble and claw against his armor, suddenly possessed by the urge to see him just as bare as you are, to press against his firm torso. 

“Off,” the demand comes out as a weak whimper, but he obliges. One of his hands reaches and starts to undo the numerous straps over his chest, while his mouth stays busy. His lips pop from your nipple with a lewd, wet noise but he only moves to the next, devoting his free hand to tugging your trousers down. 

Your movements are hurried and manic as you help him, shoving both your bottoms and undergarments off at once.

“Oh,” he says, your eagerness seeming to surprise him. From there, your hands fly to his chest, helping him out of that tight, but agonizingly complex armor, “My, aren’t you eager?”

“Wear something that’s easier to take off,” you grumble. The thrall of the heat still has you in its firm grip, loosening your verbal filter and clouding your decisions. Off, off, off, is all you want. It doesn’t matter that you’re out in the open, that anyone could stumble upon your tryst at any moment. There’s no Eorzea, no missions, there’s nothing that needs to be done besides him.

“I’ll make sure to give that a try,” Thancred draws, and the top piece of his armor falls to the ground, revealing… another, admittedly tight-fitting shirt. You give a hiss of annoyance and he chuckles, grabbing the hem and taking it over his head, gently depositing it next to his armor. While he does that, you kneel, fingers greedily grabbing at his best, “Twelve, you really work fast when you want to.”

You don’t honor him with a reply as you finally undo his best, and grab his trousers, yanking them to the ground. The sight of his still-clothed bulge greets you, and you’re immensely pleased to know he’s as invested in this encounter as you are.

Unabashedly, you press your face against him, nuzzle your cheek into it. His breath hitches and you feel a rush of satisfaction, until his hands grab your shoulders. You allow him to tug you upwards, giving a startled squeak when he envelops you in a passionate kiss, the kind that makes your knees weak and your lower stomach feel gooey, hot want.

His cock presses against your stomach and you can’t help but wonder how it’ll feel inside of you. 

“Follow my lead,” he breathes against your neck and you shudder merely at the feel of it. His calloused, still gloved hands grab at your thighs, twining them around his hips, “My, my, you’re already so excited,” he purrs as his cock dips against your soaked cunt. You just about sob, eyes shut tight, head tilting back against the trunk. He’s so close, so agonizingly close to where you need him the most!

“Just fuck me already,” you beg, plead, on the verge of tears.

He hums in affirmation, bringing his weeping cock close to your entrance. The slow slide inside you burns with both pain and pleasure, leaving you a heady, listless mess. Your hips roll into him, a feeble attempt to get as much pleasure as possible out of it.

Whatever concoction you’d ingested made you wet enough for this to work without proper lubricant, thank twelve. You wouldn’t have been able to wait for him to procure some.

Your trembling hands grab at his shoulders, tighter and tighter until he finally hilts within you, pelvises nestled together. A low moan unfurls in his chest and the desire in you lights anew, because finally, finally, he’s going to be just as affected and lost to ecstasy as you are.

“You can move!” you assure him, hips already beginning to twitch.

“Twelve, you feel good,” he says and swallows, throat bobbing. You follow the motion of it with keen concentration, leaning up to kiss his hot skin.

Then, he starts to move. His hips draw back and shutter forward, and you experimentally roll to meet him, mouthing absentmindedly at his chest. Your lips press against a nipple, tongue rolling over the hardening bud.

The pace picks up, and each time he slides back inside, his pelvis bumps your clit. You bite your lip as your nerves fray, a hand reaching down to rub at the bundle of nerves while the other wraps around his neck and clings.

“Make noise for me,” he says, “No one else is around to hear,” and that encouragement is all you need. 

He coaxes moan after moan, whimper and whimper out of you, muffling them with his own lips as he kisses you over and over. His tongue laves against your own, swallowing your pathetic little sounds. Your back slams against the trunk with each thrust, and the violence of it somehow sends your further into the brink.

Your eyelids flutter spasmodically and your heartbeat thunders in your ears, cunt throbbing with oversensitivity. Something molten hot and delightful blooms inside of you and you’re over the edge, cumming around his cock with little more than a minute of encouragement. 

Your juices spill around him and onto the grass beneath. You distantly hope none of it gets on his boots, which he hadn’t bothered to take off. 

You’re limp in his arms while he continues to fuck you, simply chasing his own orgasm. The idea of becoming little more than a sex toy for him is more arousing than it should be, but you don’t get to think further on it between his erratic, urgent thrusting.

“Fuck–” he snarls, low and deep as he pulls out of you. Cum shoots onto your stomach, warm and sticky and utterly fucking blessed.

Arms still around you, he staggers back and drops to his bottom, likely smooshing a few flowers in the process. He brings you with him, still seated on his cock even as he flops onto his back. Your face presses into his sweat-slicked chest and you wrinkle your nose, moving onto his side. His cock, still half hard, twitches inside of you and your breath hitches and the feeling.

The air is still, quiet with the exception of the chirping, vibrant wildlife.

“Thancred,” you murmur after several long moments, “We’re probably squishing the flowers–and we still have to see the castle! Gods, I’m so sorry,” With your problem taken care of, the reality of what’s just happened finally returns, as does your coherency. Gods above, you can’t believe you’ve done this!

Your brace one of your hands against the ground and you attempt to shift off of him–only to be tugged back down by an insistent arm around your waist. His cock has grown soft inside of you, but the fact that it still lingers makes you tingle with something warm and heady.

“No, stay here,” he grumbles, “The flowers will regrow. The castle will be there for the next millennia or longer.”

“But–”

“You’ve exhausted me, utterly and completely,” he teases, turning his head to kiss your forehead, “So indulge me.”

“Okay,” relief is palpable in your voice as you relent, settling against his side. Your eyelids lower, gaze absentmindedly sweeping over your surroundings, taking in the vivid blooms, the rich brown trunks, and… 

“Thancred, where have our clothes gone?”

[demytasse]

[Shinzaya] Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) — Ch 1

Summary: Shinra turns to Izaya in order to gain sexual proficiency, what he’ll need for his future with Celty. Yet ambiguity of feelings could destroy his plans and friendship alike—though it might be within their best interests that their companionship changes routes. Rating: PG (Ch 1); PG13 (future) Previous Chapters: Prologue | All Chapters

—

     As their middle school days had met an end, so had their lonely club—and when high school term began, so did their creep towards graduation. Which put the teens smack dab in the middle of an upcoming end; adulthood approached too soon for any last-minute bouts of immaturity, but there was still some wiggle room.

    Regardless, Izaya adhered to his method of how to properly ease himself into the life of expected status quo. To him, it made sense to keep to his own priorities, apart from peers and friends alike; a somewhat lonesome approach but matched what was to come. Which Shinra continued right on Izaya heels—hypothetically, with a parallel plan rather than a literal clip at the back of hallway shoes sometime in the past.

     It spoke of how worn-in their friendship was, how similar they were, and how seamless their tried and true formula worked. It counter-spun from what outsiders thought was normal for tight-knit friends, yet to them it wasn't counterintuitive. That is if their schoolmates actually regarded them a second time after their first day introductions. 

    However, it seemed true—their present interaction did mimic a retired relationship as it barely went beyond hallway greetings throughout the week and bumped shoulders as they entered or exited class. Though it would be an insult to dub Izaya and Shinra distant cohorts. Rather, the self-absorbed beings fell into sync whenever they were compelled to share ideas and observational data, like hobbyist social scientists that exchanged notes when their schedules aligned. 

    Whether for brief moments or the length of the lunch period, they'd continue from the top of their previous scene—delivered improvisational lines over scripted small talk, and split ways just as casual. It was a joke that judgemental classmates thought the two barely clicked when those who believed the farce were generally hard-pressed for quality chit-chat themselves.

     In other words, Izaya and Shinra were no actors—just odd friends.

—

    A classroom of thirty was left desolate—desks abandoned and recently straightened by the student janitorial crew. Essentially everyone had left the premises. Yet the corral of empty chairs wasn’t a complete set, only a majority, as two of them were occupied somewhere in the middle and off to the side, with a particular silence to keep them company. It wasn’t a normal stasis when people were still present, but Izaya was to blame as he pretended to be alone despite the unnerving incorrectness. 

    Sat backwards directly opposite him was Shinra, pressed into Izaya’s personal space like there was still a crowd—his nose forward and glasses primed. The scene akin to their old interactions with just a hint of intimacy was hardly correct for their current years, but here they were. In wait of whatever afternoon was to follow; and as Shinra had been the one to suggest their rendezvous, he initiated the study session without a hello and spoke a few lines out of order with a topic not yet broached.

     “So! I'm looking to gain experience.”

     He didn't budge, even though he’d received a cue to distance himself by way of Izaya's exasperated sigh and turn of attention.

     “You’re saying you want us to have sex," Izaya watched the other adjust his glasses, "for science."

     “Oh good, you caught on quick!” Shinra clapped.

     “Don’t mock my intelligence, Shinra. You insinuated it. Heavily, I might add.”

     “I know.”

     During the time that his peers cleaned around him, Izaya started to browse some gossip garbage that a gaggle of females read in between glances his way. It was grating enough for him to determine why they giggled and squealed; which more or less was the same bother as the trash proclamation which unnerved him now.

     “You’re aware I’m male, correct?” 

     “Huh, I didn’t think sexuality was a concern of yours, Orihara-kun. It always seemed that you were open to whatever advantageous situation you might be offered. Maybe I was wrong.”

     “I meant, Kishitani-kun, for someone looking to please a particular female, sexual experience with a man is hardly beneficial.” His stare steeled. “A human male, especially.”

     “Well, any experience is better than none, wouldn’t you think?”      Shinra made his prognosis with a finger held high, while Izaya flipped through the pages of what was dubiously his magazine—in search.

     “Listen, the girls might claim me ‘effeminate enough to bottom anyone’,” his brow raised, “or ‘non-threatening enough to top specific bottoms’, but my supposed range still doesn’t meet your needs.”

     Izaya was bothered, to say the least, that a clique of his classmates studied him in such a shallow fashion, that Shinra wanted him for such a shallow purpose, to which he tossed the bothersome reading material aside in disgust of it all. Though it was lost on Shinra as he chewed Izaya’s statement—tested the added variable against his own with his eyes rolled up to a corner in thought.

     “I still think you could fit the role well. A female body double, despite absent physiology."

     “And there’s the truth I was looking for. So you're wanting me to roleplay for you?” he mimicked his own beheading much to Shinra's comical dismay.

     "Honestly, do you think I'd let you sully my dear Celty’s image with some hack cosplay job? What I meant was that you lack female anatomy and desirables. Like a nice rack of breas—”

     Izaya cut him short, “you mean, I couldn’t live up to your dullahan standards?” He twirled his words but spat out the contagion.

     “Oh. Well, not really, but you should know that!”

     “Aww, what a shame. I really would’ve rocked that form-fitted riding suit she wears.”

     A sarcastic gesture was wound up and ready, but Izaya's shrug baulked at the scrutiny made in his favour. He was joking, of course, but now he was worried that the punchline was taken seriously.

     "Hmm..."

     His friend sized him up; a tailor in consideration of which cut would flatter his curves, what fabric needed to be snipped, and if the garment was more appropriate for the floor—or so it seemed. Selfconscious, Izaya broke into a cold sweat, even more when his pursuant breached their median space, drawn by attraction rather than a scheme.

     "Maybe so..."

     Shinra smiled—slyly. It was the kind of lilt that would shiver most sexually, and Izaya couldn’t tell if he was one amongst the statistic who’d blush so easily in response, or if he borrowed the reaction from another.

     So instead of parsing it out, he opted to correct his settled spine with the support of his chair, his back arched too far to be comfortable. Clearly with no intent to separate himself from Shinra, nor was it due to the side-effects of the trauma he acquired before he was tricked into founding their club. Obviously, it was a cocky cat stretch to prove that he controlled the scene—he didn’t.

     “So this proposed 'study session' was all a ruse.”

     “Was it?”

     “Don't play innocent. You're obviously looking to use me for my body.” Izaya drew a barricade around his chest.

     “That’s the gist of it. Having sex, that is.”

     “No, usually both parties gain some form of pleasure out of it. At least, that’s the traditional way of things.”

     “You say that like you wouldn’t benefit from it.” Shinra persisted, his flirt still in play.      “And you say that like you’re sure that I would.”      “Of course! The appeal of friendship is more than just like-mindedness, rather it’s underlined with physical attraction as well. I’m sure you have some amount of sexual interest in me, Izaya, even if it’s minuscule.”

     “Oho, with that logic the same goes for you.”

     “Which I hardly believe would shock you. Might I remind you who came to whom asking for sex?”

     “Selfishly.”

     “Nonetheless.” He shrugged.

     Izaya tried to ignore the pseudo-psychological factoid that Shinra made up to sway him. “I'm going to chalk this up as your worst proclamation since we became...whatever you could call us."

    Shinra nodded, "that's fair."

     “He admits it...”

     “Is there any reason not to?”

     Izaya shook his head, “Shinra, you are honest to a flaw.”

     “That may be true, but you've always been charmed by my openness, among other things.”

     On cue, Shinra increased the way his eyes sheened as if it were possible to control arousal in that fashion. In like, he intensified his flirtatious technique with a lowered tone spoken in a whisper.

     "Am I right?"

     If anything the distance between them hadn’t changed, but it certainly felt like the temperature stifled from combined body heat. Cowardice glued Izaya in place while his opportunity to escape passed—though unconsciously he knew it was out of curiosity to see how far Shinra would take his strategy; what more he would do after fingers traced up his shoulder to rest at the peak. Which step in his courtship manual followed a heavy gaze and deep breath.      Izaya faced a doppelganger, for certain. Shinra was no longer present, he assured himself. In no way would his friend be able to tease like he did. Touch him in a way that wasn't in the least bit awkward, but sensual—prepared to catch him in liplock as much as catch him should the pressure cause Izaya to buckle.

     Perhaps Shinra was enough concerned for his well being to plan for multiple outcomes, which assuredly all led to Izaya falling in some way or another. Though it was likely that he acted with his own interests in mind, that his goods wouldn't go damaged. Whichever reason it was moot—the amateur doctor would jump at any opportunity to fix a broken patient if only to foot a favour as the bill.

     With a slight squeeze, Shinra reminded him that he'd been slack-jawed for too long. Izaya's pulse beat against his ribs, drummed his throat; the cadence tensed his vocal cords, and his short breath dried his speech. 

     "Whether I’m charmed remains to be seen…"

     The weakened words settled in the air—lost in a staredown, both were dusted with uncertainty. The former was an oddity and the latter came as a shock because wasn’t it Shinra that claimed he operated with platonic tools?

     Yet it was Shinra that relented, the genuine curl of his lips diminished and discomfort added to his brows. He read as concerned, disappointed; not particularly hurt, but somewhere in between that and bothered. Izaya wondered if he looked terrified from his friend’s vantage, yet it was hard to determine as the other sighed and pulled back with his palms exposed in surrender.

     “Alright.” 

     That was it—the tension was gone, never existed. Perhaps.      Instead, the bag at Shinra's hip was given attention—the quick-switch of demeanour threw Izaya for a loop; the seamless fashion was, in short, enviable. All that he witnessed was how Shinra wavered just a smidgen and let out an extra breath that was indeterminable; his thrown slouch was taken advantage of to slip hair past his ears to keep his nosey neighbour away from a good spy.

     He's hiding something...

     Nothing else to observe nor ponder, Izaya blinked back to normalcy; the sound of rifled papers harshed his ability to fully relax.

     “What were you thinking of studying today?” Shinra’s voice was muffled.

     “Honestly, I didn’t plan for anything…”

     The shuffling stopped—without a tick Shinra popped back to normal, chipper but fake and cautiously hopeful.

     "Well in that case," he presented a pristine textbook, “let’s humour our ourselves with an old favourite!”      It was innocent and somewhat pure, the emotion that Shinra exhibited. Simple coercion which Izaya couldn’t hold back the smile which it lured, despite his desire to reserve his candidness. 

     Izaya shook from a silent chuckle before Shinra joined in with an audible hiccup. The dam of tension let up—lighthearted laughter spilt out. Short, sweet, and sentimental; what they shared eventually calmed, but not before they both loosened up.

     “Biology...” Izaya hummed, “how appropriate."

[darkhymns-fic]

Separate

As Lloyd starts on his journey to look for the Cores, he finds it much harder than he anticipated. He's not used to traveling alone, without her voice by his side.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: It's Colloyd Day!! To celebrate, I wrote a collaborative fic with the wonderful writer, Lil-Samuu, with both of us writing different sides of the same story, hers from Colette's perspective and mine from Lloyd's. This was a fun idea for such a special day! 

For Lil-Samuu's Colette-focused story, please read it here. This is connected to Lloyd's story and works well when read together! @frayed-symphony also drew amazing art for both stories, be sure to check!

---

Lloyd had never been a very good writer.

That simple fact was told to him by Professor Sage whenever she had the chance to. Much of that was complimented by a frown, trying to read over an essay he turned in that very morning while he looked several different shades of guilty. Clearly littered with incomplete sentences, some of them including just the wrong words by nature, it was hard to parse whatever he was trying to say.

Not like he didn’t try, but his characters would get a little sloppy, or merge into one another and make little sense of the sentence he attempted. It wasn’t the same as drawing or making figurines. Those things interested him, feeling like he could create something out of nothing, or just try to mold an idea that he had been holding inside his head. Then it was easier, then it was interesting.

This, writing, just wasn’t interesting to him.

“Gah, why does this stupid stuff matter anyway?” Lloyd had argued, his temper getting the best of him. At 12, he couldn’t control the rawness of his frustration. Though he wouldn’t have much better luck a few years later. “If I want to talk about something, I should just be able to say it! Writing it down takes way longer.”

“There will be times when you can’t just say what’s on your mind at that moment,” his teacher had patiently explained. “It’s good to gather your thoughts and put them down for someone to read later. What if they can’t hear what you to say at that moment? What if it’s easier to say what you want on paper?”

“No way! If I have something to say, I’ll just say it!” Lloyd was proud of his stance on this, hands on his hips, head raised high. Not even his low marks for the day could drag his spirits down.

Until one night, when he had to write a letter for Colette.

Suddenly, he had a chaos of thoughts to say, but no way to say them out loud. And no more bravery to do so.

As he stayed up on the night he would leave her, Lloyd tried to write her a letter, until the picture was clear in his head.

---

Despite the strange warmth in the air, Lloyd had somehow still caught a cold.

“Ah-choo!” Lloyd sneezed a bit loudly. With a sigh, he wrapped his cloak around himself, trudging through the snows before finally seeing the city gates of Flanoir. The spires of its cathedral pierced through the dark night sky, which glittered with so many stars and the brightness of two moons.

“I’d count as many as I could before, when Kratos helped me. But now I can only count a few before my eyes get heavy. But it feels so nice to do so all the same.”

And she would say that with the brightest smile on her face – to be able to sleep again.

Lloyd had barely gotten a full night’s rest since he left Colette.

“Agh, don’t… think on that now. It’s not helping any.” He clamped down on his muttering, trying to keep his lips from getting chapped from the wind. Also, it was kinda weird talking to himself like this? He never used to do it this much, but it had always felt natural before to say whatever was on his mind, knowing someone was with him to hear it. Sometimes he’d listen to how Colette would do the same, pattering off the names of dogs she found, or talking about the shapes she saw up in the cloudy skies, and he’d drink in the sound of her voice.

Each night was quiet and empty without her.

Lloyd finally made it past Flanoir’s entrance, dimly annoyed at himself for landing his Rheiard a bit far off from the city. But it’d be dumb to just get the vehicle out from his wing pack, fly it for like a minute, and then get off again! Even though his walk had been an extra 15 minutes because of it, but Lloyd was stubborn like that.

He kept making dumb little mistakes like this lately. A wrong flight turn at Sybak, then leaving half of his Gald at one town accidentally… and now here at Flanoir…

Lloyd’s satchel that he carried over his shoulder was light; he’d gone through most of his food, sometimes snacking in the middle of the night when he could barely sleep. He kinda wished the blessing of Martel gave him better self-control… or the power to summon infinite food… or something else that was cool.

“The power to summon doggies! All kinds from around the world!”

“Heh, yeah. That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it? Kinda like my Sorcerer’s Ring that one time!”

Lloyd blinked, stopping in the middle of the street when he realized. Oh, now he was making up conversations between them…

Martel had said her power would protect him from the mental effects of his mission, but he was clearly already losing it! Needing something to do with his hands, he looked through his satchel, trying to remember what he needed. More food definitely, maybe some mittens (he still had a few Penguinist’s Quills), a couple of Gels, but did he even have enough money…? He kept searching, assessing, his hand brushing against something familiar, making him stop.

He held out what he found, the sky feeling heavy, yet the weight in his palm so light. Red-dyed gloves imprinted against the white, the contrast so strong in his eyes still.

He was losing it, or… he just really, intensely missed Colette. He thought knowing that she was safe now would be enough but…

It had been only a week or so since Lloyd had left Colette – not bravely, not with an explanation of any sort even. The air had been familiar in that part of Sylvarant, just near Iselia. Maybe that was why he had chosen to go on that very night. Colette wouldn’t be far from the town; she’d go back to her home, to people that would be there for her, when he couldn’t be. She’d be able to have a normal life to herself again, one that was denied from her; from the world, and even from himself.

He had already involved her in one dangerous mission with him. He couldn’t put her in another. That was what he told himself – what he kept trying to tell himself.

Lloyd did wish he hadn’t left her completely alone though. He had tried sneaking away by himself, but Noishe, who had tagged along with them for most of the journey, soon caught wind of his movements. The only way to stop the dog’s whining was to take him along, at least far enough to Dirk’s home. Maybe Colette would stop by there…

Someone bumped against his shoulder, nearly making him trip. Oh. Yeah, he was still standing in the middle of the street like an idiot. Clearing his throat, he put back the weight he held into his satchel and moved away, the antiquated buildings – yet taller and sturdier than most buildings back in Sylvarant – giving him a nostalgic sense. The snow fell more gently here than outside the city walls, probably because those same walls buffered the wind, leaving more pleasant but still chilly weather.

…Actually, it was a bit warmer here too, even more than he expected. That’s weird… The cloak now felt a bit too suffocating this way. He had to loosen it from his neck, giving himself room to breathe.

Things in the world weren’t right, not completely. From changes in temperature to a certain taste in the air. That was why one night, Lloyd had heard Martel’s voice in his head, telling him what he needed to do. He was supposed to search for the Cores. But, in all honesty, Lloyd had no idea where to begin. He had just… somehow ended up here. In Flanoir.

That had been another mistake. Why did he travel to this place?

---

In the cozy warmth of his room, the metal fireplace insulating him well against the cold from outside, Lloyd had nearly fallen asleep on his feet until he heard a soft knocking on his door.

Usually, Lloyd would conk out like a log once entering an inn room. Just the sight of a bed invited him to just lay down and close his eyes right away. The pleasant heat of the entire inn already had him yawning and stretching, the snows from beyond the building muffling most sounds.

But this time he stayed up. He expected something. There had been so much in his head, the snow gently falling.

She didn’t even have to say anything until she opened the door, her hair so bright –

---

Lloyd found himself at the inn before he knew it.

“Oh,” he said aloud, looking around like a gaping fish. He had just completely blanked out on his walk to here. How’d that happen? He rubbed his scalp, thinking on it a bit too hard.

“Oh! You’re Lloyd Irving, aren’t you?”

Well, that got his attention. Lloyd turned to the front, finding a man around his age, waving to him.

“Yeah! I remember you! You and your friends would stay here all the time like a year back.”

“Uh! Y-yeah, hey!” Lloyd waved at him, walking to the front past some dining tables, his boots making the floorboards creak. He felt so bad not remembering this person’s name… He did recognize the face though. The guy had short cropped black hair, a ready smile on his face. He seemed pretty happy to see Lloyd?

“Are your friends going to come by too?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me this time around.” Saying that out loud suddenly felt weird, as if the reality of everything had just now sunk in. No, no, he had known that all along. He had just been trying to push it away in the back of his skull, that was all. “For a, uh… a quick visit!”

The man behind the counter continued to smile at him. So, was he the receptionist? The innkeeper? Maybe the cook that just happened to be out here while the real receptionist was on break? Colette would probably remember… At the least, she might have remembered his name. Having gone with Lloyd around the world to name every dog she met, she learned and memorized most people’s names they came across too.

And maybe she would remember this person, especially after her and Lloyd had been rejected by so many inns at so many places.

But she wasn’t here with him.

“I could tell it was you. No one else wears so much red around here!” The guy kept laughing and talking, but it was hard to pay attention. Things didn’t seem right, like Martel had told him. Things just weren’t right.

And it was up to him to fix it.

---

“Those with the blessing of Martel can weather the mental drain of the Cores. So only you can take this mission.”

Yuan had always been blunt and straight to the point. At least at this moment, Lloyd appreciated it. After some rough first impressions, both had started to trust one another. Especially with the presence of Martel binding them.

Still, he had to ask. “Why doesn’t that include Colette though?”

Yuan raised an eyebrow. It was strange not seeing him wear the dark cloak anymore, his clothes more casual, his eyes less hard and bitter. The tree behind him was still a small thing, a sapling with the first hint of greenery, leaves beginning to sprout forth. He couldn’t see Martel, but he could sense her – despite not knowing what exactly she thought of his question.

With Yuan, he could tell right away. “You’re thinking what I just asked was stupid, aren’t you?”

“Never said that.” Yuan frowned. “But why Colette specifically?”

“Because… she was with me when we both went to the tree. When we gave it a name!”

“When you gave it a name,” Yuan reiterated. “Remember?”

Lloyd sighed. “Okay… but we both promised we’d do anything to protect the tree from withering.”

“It was still you that made that promise. And Martel accepted that promise, along with the name you’ve chosen, as proof of the pact.” Yuan sighed. “Or should I go over the way such pact-formations work again?”

“I got it, I got it.” Lloyd held back another sigh. He had left Colette at a Church of Martel, her business with the priests allowing him time to visit this place with the World Tree.  Even though she had been here before, even though she had heard the name he gave… She had asked of him to give it a name…

“Are you just looking for an excuse to not do this?”

“No!” Lloyd said back. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. I’ll find the Cores and keep Ratatosk from awakening them. If only I can.”

“That’s right,” Yuan said, now appearing to be satisfied. “Only you.”

He felt Martel’s own satisfaction as well, but in there, a small tinge of understanding.

Lloyd still wished for a different outcome.

---

“Do you want a room? Hello?”

Again, he had been thinking too hard on things, losing track of everything. If Colette was here, she’d have nudged him for spacing out. Or talked with the innkeeper/receptionist/chef? Lloyd still wasn’t sure…

“S-sorry. Uh, what were you asking?”

“Just wanted to know if you needed a room. We can probably give you a discount after all your stays with us! Like… like 10 percent max though.”

Lloyd thought on it longer, much longer than he meant to. The inn’s rooms were warm, but the place was already so warm, warmer than it needed to be. Any other time, it would make him fall fast asleep, but like before, his mind kept turning over and over.

When Colette opened the door to his room, he had felt those thoughts settle. But, she wouldn’t do that now. Because he left her.

“Um, no. That’s okay. I’ll be leaving already.”

“Oh? Then… why did you come here?”

Lloyd paused just as he was turning away, the words completely lost to him. There was a weight in his chest that was hard to get rid of.

“I’m not sure,” he said out loud, then left through the inn door. He still didn’t learn that guy’s name.

---

When Lloyd had left with Noishe to his dad’s home, part of him had been calm. Something about seeing the two-story house there, the vines climbing up the walls, the sun’s rays slanting over the creek that ran around his house, had been relieving. The dog happy-whined at the sight, already wanting to run towards the home, his large ears flicking with excitement.

Lloyd honestly felt the same. But he stopped himself from just running forward. Moving further out of the forest, he saw Dirk watering the garden, probably having been up since dawn doing all the other chores in the house – including taking care of what had been Lloyd’s own chores.

He could barely hold back anymore, so with a shout, he called out to him. “Hey! Dad!”

The dwarf perked his head up, his beard somehow even bushier than before. Noishe had rushed past Lloyd, ambling up to Dirk to get promptly petted on his furry head. “Lloyd! Haven’t seen ya in a while. Still holding up?”

“Yeah!” Lloyd answered a bit quickly, waiting for his dad to make the connection. The space around him was too prominent, the lack of a voice too clear.

“I don’t see Colette with you today. Is she back in Iselia?”

Lying is the first step down the path of thievery. And even though Lloyd had definitely lied before, that vow felt so much more vital at this moment. She probably was in Iselia at this moment, maybe even looking for him…

“Someone needs my help,” Lloyd said, a little rushed, but still convinced he had to go through with it. “I can’t have Colette involved in it. So… we need to be separate from now on.”

He inwardly winced, seeing the gears in his father’s head work, assessing the truth of his words. That was one other reason why he didn’t lie often. His dad could always tell when he did anyway.

“How long will you be gone then?” Dirk finally asked, stopping his petting of Noishe to cross his thick arms over his chest.

“I’m not sure. It might be a while. I… really don’t have any idea.”

“Have you told Colette any of this?”

A pause. “I did.” This one wasn’t a lie still, but he held back. He had a feeling Dirk wouldn’t approve of the way he told Colette.

But sometimes things couldn’t be said right away at that moment. Sometimes one needed to wait and gather one’s thoughts, suddenly all so mixed up. And sometimes, it was easier.

Dirk continued to visibly ponder over Lloyd’s words, the sun still shining brightly, despite a small chill in the air. The weather had been strange lately, like the hint of snow back in Triet. Lloyd didn’t have much time to pause and wander around anymore. But still, he had to come here, he had to have some closure in something.

His father looked him straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter that he was a few feet shorter – Lloyd always felt smaller in his presence no matter what.

“You’re doing what you believe is right and true, are you?”

“Yeah!” This he knew for sure, even though the pain of leaving Colette was still fresh. “Of course!”

“And you won’t go making trouble for people out there?”

“No way! I swear!”

Then, that bushy beard revealed a white, shining grin. “Then what are ya waiting for? Get to completing your tasks so you and Colette can travel together again.”

Lloyd blinked, feeling out of sorts almost. “You’re not mad?”

“Lloyd, you’ve done nothing to make me angry. I trust you. Just as I know that Colette trusts you too. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Right! I will!” Back then, his burdens felt lifted, at least for a moment. Still, he had one thing to ask. “Hey, Dad? If, um, Colette comes by…”

He paused, wondering if he had a right to say this. He had given her a letter, but was that enough?

“Go on, Lloyd,” Dirk said, his voice gentler.

“Can you tell her…?”

---

Maybe camping out in the snows was his way of punishing himself.

But still, the outside was not nearly as cold as it should have been. Either way, Lloyd wore his cloak, and if he buried his hands underneath the snows, they’d go numb with the chill regardless. He made the campfire by rote, soon finding the flames eat up the kindling, already melting the snow underneath it. Snowflakes still drizzled down, if not as fiercely as they once did a year ago.

“Could we still make snowmen like this? Or do you think it would melt too fast?”

“We could try! Just gotta speed through it! Whoever makes the fastest snowman wins!”

“Oh! What do I win then?”

“Hey, why are you assuming you’d win already?”

Lloyd sat against a big snowdrift, half burying himself in it. Here he was, making up conversations again. What would his dad think of him now though? He no longer felt as confident as he should have been.

In his satchel, there was little food and money. He had forgotten to stock up, already leaving Flanoir before even staying there for more than an hour. It hadn’t felt right, being there without her. Traveling all this time with her, and then suddenly an emptiness around him.

His hand had brushed against the snowbunny she had given him earlier in the city, its shape fitting into his palm. It was the one thing he made sure to never forget to leave behind.

“And I get to stay by your side, right?”

Lloyd shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the memory, the guilt, the need to have her seated beside him. And then he was overwhelmed by the reality that she would not be with him for so long.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud to the fire, seeing the way it flickered in the darkness. The fire seemed to cast long shadows, longer than they should.

Lloyd raised his head. The clouds finally cleared, giving him a clear view of the stars.

There were so many new ones ever since the worlds reunited. People of both worlds now shared the same sky, the same stars, and the same moons. Sometimes he wondered, back when Tethe’alla was separate, how different the sky must have looked compared to Sylvarant’s. Or maybe it was still so similar. But with them meshed together like this, that distinction no longer mattered. Everything was now under one sky.

Colette was under this sky too. She seemed to like counting the stars with him.

There was one particularly bright star. It flickered like a candle in the pitch-black expanse above him. Looking up at that star made his head feel a little clearer. The tension in his neck seemed to dissipate.

Under this same sky, maybe Colette was watching this star too? Thinking that, at least a little bit.

The air was warmer than it should have been, but still Lloyd wrapped his cloak around himself, the empty space around him much too wide, much too cold. He’d do better tomorrow, figure out what he needed to do, where he needed to go, to finish his mission and get back to Colette.

It was just hard to get used to.

“I’ll come back, okay?” he said out loud, watching that same bright star. No one would hear him, not for a long while. But someday, she would.

It was nice though, looking up at the sky, at that star…

---

Dear Colette,

By the time you read this, I’ll have already left on my own journey. Sounds familiar, right?

I think I understand why you wrote me that letter back then. It’s not easy to do this. You look really happy when you’re sleeping, and I don’t want to ruin that with this. Or maybe I’m too worried to do that anyway.

This will be familiar too… I care about you too deeply to get you involved. Sorry, I’m just stealing your words at this point. I’m not good at this!

Even though… I wish you could be involved? But I can’t ask that of you. I can’t ask that of anyone.

But I can promise you though that I’ll come back! I want to protect this world, this world with Colette in it. And I want to keep staying by your side, too.

But for now, I can’t.

I’m sorry.

I was happy traveling with you all this time. Just with you. And I wanted to keep that going.

I’m sorry for leaving, and for telling it you this way. I hope you can forgive me.

But I’ll always  I really feel like I I’ll miss you, Colette.

I’ll come back.

-Lloyd

[youhearstatic]

Sandworms and Other Concerns - Barry discovers that Lup's presence can improve any situation, including having his arm torn off by a fifty-foot-long, carnivorous, burrowing, acid-spitting, hook-toothed, pinstriped Sandworm. (By @tanger-catnip & @youhearstatic - Also on AO3.)

 Lup blinked. Once, then twice. At first, she didn't know what had woken her up. The ship was perfectly still, aside from the faint thrum of the bond engine that she'd learned how to tune out decades ago. The interior lighting that simulated a day-night cycle was dimmed as low as it went which meant it was still 'nighttime.'

After a moment, Lup realised what it was. The steady pattern of breathing that lulled her into sleep was coming at its normal pace. Barry was awake.

Lup braced herself with one arm and lifted her head. Her pale blue eyes shone like lanterns, a side effect of her darkvision.

It was all in shades of grey, but she could see the whole room. The dresser with its drawers left open, the closet door with the two sets of robes hanging from hooks, the bookcase stuffed full to bursting, and her bra on the floor next to a pair of durable denim jeans.

"Hey," Lup murmured, once her ethereal gaze settled on the object of her interest. She moved the arm slung over Barry's middle and reached up to touch his cheek.

Lup licked her lips. They were painfully dry, on the verge of cracking. Gods, she hated the desert. It had been picturesque for about ten minutes before the Starblaster crew had realised there was nothing else to this plane besides sand, sand, and more sand.

The hand on Barry's cheek moved to his shoulder, careful to not touch the joint where his arm should have been connected. Lup was trying her hardest not to stare. She knew he was self-conscious about it and she could only sympathise.

Being grievously injured early in a cycle was almost worse than death. The pain hurt almost as much as having to deal with the steep reduction of your abilities. In this case, Barry's had lost his whole right arm, making even routine tasks like eating and writing that much more difficult.

Sometimes, when Lup shut her eyes, she still saw flashes of that horrible moment when the cartilage in his shoulder gave out, and his skin tore open.

"I'm going to fucking kill that sandworm, slit it open, and take your arm back," Lup growled under her breath. "I don't care if it's mostly bones by now."

Barry shifted awkwardly. He was still not fully adjusted to leveraging his body with one less limb. After a low grunt of pain, he gave up the effort. With two arms he could have tilted himself towards Lup without disturbing the snuggling that much, but until he got a lot more used to things, everything would be a huge production.

"I'd rather your bones didn't join them," he said. He bent his head to where her hand rested on his shoulder, rubbed his cheek against her fingers. "Pretty sure your fireball made my... uh, made it taste charbroiled anyway."

Lup cracked half a grin and a short snicker. Then her eyes narrowed as she looked Barry over closely, searching for any signs of discomfort. Something had to have woken him up.

"Do you need more painkillers?" She asked.

Barry went quiet, his thoughts drifting back where they'd been before she woke. Ever since the dull ache turned to a persistent roar, he'd been considering the meds. Merle had reminded him he needed to stay ahead of the pain. 'If you let it get out of hand - ha! - it's hard to catch back up. Then I gotta blow another high-level spell keeping your ass upright,' the cleric had told him. Merle had already done a lot of patching up when the three of them returned from that disastrous scouting mission.

On the other hand - ugh - the meds made him muddle-headed, and he was already down a considerable amount of usefulness.

"No painkillers yet," he told her. "I can't think with them."

Lup frowned. "It's the middle of the night? Why do you need to think?"

Lup wasn't going to push him on it though. She had a feeling if the roles were reversed, she'd be just as stubborn about taking her medication. Not being fully present when they were counting down days till the apocalypse was a tough pill to swallow.

Barry focused on her, squinting to make out details on her face in the dark. "What about you? Are you doing okay?"

The sand worm's teeth had gotten him, but only after it's mate had been split open by Magnus's axe. Both Lup and Magnus were coated in its caustic blood. Mags's chest armour had taken the brunt of it, but they were both freckled in nasty-looking, coin-sized burns.

Lup sighed and moved to kiss him. His lips were dried out from the heat like her own, but she hardly noticed.

"I'm fine, Cuddle Muffin. I've burned myself worse making pancakes."

That wasn't strictly true, the pancake incident hadn't gotten her in places covered by clothing like the acid, but the overall coverage was similar.

Now that she'd confirmed everything was alright, or at least was how she'd left it, Lup dropped down and nestled back into her preferred spot under Barry's remaining arm. She hugged him tightly around his middle, unspeakably glad to have him around to hold. It'd been touch and go for a few terrifying seconds. If Magnus's grip had faltered, or her fireball had missed, the worm would've dragged Barry under and ripped him to shreds.

"I hate it when you do that. You've had your arm torn off and you're worried about me? Like, seriously?" Lup thought that she'd worked out all her feelings on this, but they kept coming back. "Just, let me take care of you for once, okay?"

"You do take care of me." Barry squeezed her gently. "All the time," he promised.

They went quiet for a moment. Barry listened to her breathing beside him. The feel of her arms around him helped take his mind off his right side.

"Did I ever tell you I broke my arm when I was a kid? Three places. Had one of those casts that makes you look like a kid's stick drawing with the arm jutting out straight. At least now I'm not banging it on stuff, I guess," he added with a huff of laughter. "I probably told you already, didn't I?" The passage of time since he lost his arm was hard to parse. He'd probably told her the same story three times.

Try as he might. Barry couldn't stop coming back to that sickening noise right after Magnus had grabbed him and before Lup had started screaming. Afterwards, Lup and Magnus had taken one look at him and gone completely pale.

Gods, that noise. Everything else was a blur, but that noise stayed in his head.

Barry was both tired but not, and the clarity felt worth holding on to. Being out of it was worse than anything. He'd woken up at one point and thought it was all a dream. His arm was fine, but he'd never been on the Starblaster. No Hunger, but no Lup. Maybe he hadn't woken up. He's not sure. He didn't like having his thoughts messed with.

"Sorry," he said with another light squeeze. "Go back to sleep."

Lup didn't want to sleep, she wanted to stay up and listen to him ramble about anything and everything. If it were possible, she'd wrap herself up in his voice like a warm fuzzy blanket.

But, it did sound a little scratchier than it should.

"Not yet. You should have something to drink," Lup decided.

Lup paused to snuggle into his side and hug him tightly. Making up for the moments she would be gone in advance.

Then she slipped out of bed. Taako and her could move like quicksilver when they wanted (old talents from travelling shows they'd worked) and the mattress barely moved to mark her departure. She went to the door and opened it just wide enough to slide through.

Lup wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, but it was late enough she doubted that anyone else would be up to spot her and give her shit for it.

Once in the kitchen, Lup found a heavy cast-iron kettle and filled it with water. She took a pass on the stove and held the kettle over her open palm as she summoned a handful of flame. The flames licked the pure black metal, heating the water to boiling in minutes.

Lup rested it on the stove and went to go find the herbal tea. Davenport kept a stash of chamomile and lemon for when his headaches got bad. She filled up an infuser with two spoonfuls of dry leaves and shoved it in the pot.

The only part of this process she couldn't rush though was the brewing. So Lup tapped her fingers on her thigh and started to count to 300 in her head.

She gave up around 240 and poured out the tea into a large mug with the phrase 'I make horrible chemistry puns, but only periodically' on the side. Next, she dumped in four teaspoons of sugar, stirred it up, and cast Ray of Frost to cool it down to just the right temperature.

Lup carried the mug in both hands, moving slower, so she didn't spill. She nudged open the door to what used to be Barry's room but was now their shared one. She placed the mug down on the bedside table and flitted up to the bed again. Settling with her legs on either side of his hips. She helped him sit up. Shifting positions stirred up the roar in Barry's arm or lack of an arm or wherever... but how could he complain with a naked elf beside him bearing warm tea?

Lup collected the mug and pressed it into his fingers but kept her grip on both the mug and his hand. The last thing Barry needed right now was to have hot water spilt all over his chest.

Barry couldn't have stopped the smile if he wanted to. Lup helped him with the mug, and he drank. It was sweet, the way he liked it, and the sugary warmth of tea and knowing she had put such care into preparing it pushed away some of that persistent tug of pain.

After a few sips, she sat back to look at him. Probably trying to figure out what else he needed, he realised.

"Hey," he told her. "Did I ever tell you..." he hesitated and went for a joke instead. "...that I broke my arm when I was a kid?"

He waited for a beat then smiles. "Kidding." He leans forward, tilting his neck so he can kiss her forehead.

Lup fell right into his trap. Silly of her, but she'd had her guard down. She laughed, high and soft like the rustle of wind chimes.

Barry sat back and continued, "I was going to say: did I ever tell you that you're better than pain meds?"

Lup shifted and tilted her head to one side. "You sure it's me and not my tits?" she asked with a grin. She moved her shoulders back, showing off her chest. There wasn't that much to show, but she was damn proud of them.

"I'm sure they're a contributing factor," Barry admitted, giving Lup the long, appreciative look she always deserved. "But I really did just mean how you take care of me."

Lup dropped the posture and nudged a little closer to him. "If I'm better, then I shouldn't leave your side until you get your arm back, right?" She smiled wolfishly and tapped him lightly on the tip of his nose. "I bet you'd get sick of me eventually. You're going to deny it, you huge sap, but 24/7 Lup for a whole year is a lot to handle, even Taako gets breaks."

Barry shook his head slowly, to not disturb his shoulder. "Sap that I am, I'll deny the impossible. I'll never get sick of you, of this, of us. I signed up for the long haul." He made a face. "Though currently, you'll have to trust me on the signature."

He ran his hand over her knee to her thigh. His thumb edged around one of the circular burns. "I'd like to threaten the cause of these, but it's already dead, and I'm not sure my left armed punching would pose much threat."

Lup bit down on her bottom lip. Like most burns, they were still hot to the touch, even ages after the incident. They would probably scar over. She might have cared about that before, but thanks to the regen cycle any change to her appearance, positive or negative, was only transitory.

"I guess I'm gonna have to work on offhand casting, huh?" Barry mused. "And offhand writing and eating and everything else."

"I'll practice with you," Lup offered. "Then you can't trick yourself into thinking you suck at it, because I'll suck with you, and we can add being ambidextrous to our list of kickass skills. Something tells me this'll not be the last time someone loses an arm."

"True," Barry agreed. "Probably should have worked on it before, huh?"

Lup shrugged and said. "Before? Later? Our timeline is so fucked up, does it even matter?"

Barry was lost in thought for a moment. "I bet Lucretia can cast with both hands equally." His eyebrows pulled together in concentration. "But she usually uses both together. I wonder if there's a left brain/right brain component to casting? Maybe I should try offhand with and without a wand, too. Maybe a wand would..."

Barry reached his left arm to scratch the opposite side then stopped. "Dammit. Phantom itching. I read cases of that but..." He dropped his hand to his lap. Lup wanted to try getting it for him as if she might have more luck

"Maybe Magnus can carve an arm for me," Barry thought out loud.

"Wood is kinda heavy, Blueberry. You'd might as well tape a stick to your arm... unless."

Lup grew quiet, taking her turn to get lost in thought.

"Never mind. We have plenty of time to sort shit out. If anyone can figure out how to jury-rig a prosthetic arm while stranded in a planet-sized desert, it's us."

Lup glanced around her, remembering where they were. "Crap, I should have helped you lay down already." She vacated his lap and helped him settle back down in bed, adjusting the pillows to compensate.

"Babe, do you ever feel like..." Lup trailed off and shook her head. Better not. He was injured and tired. "Do you want those painkillers now?"

Barry looked over at the medicine container and made a face. "I guess I'd better before it really gets going. Half dose maybe? I hate to waste them. Someone else might need them before this cycle is over."

He let her get the meds and the tea. He wanted to see how much he could do on his own, but then she'd just have to help him up and get him back settled in bed again. His balance was still tough to negotiate. He'd slipped and knocked the still raw joint yesterday and had no desire to experience that again.

It was bad enough just to look at. He was ready for the stage where he could pin up the sleeve and not have to see it so much. But Merle had recommended leaving everything but the sutures uncovered. They needed to keep a close eye out for blood poisoning or infection since they didn't have a lot of information on sandworms. The sum of what they had learned was: bites, has caustic blood, resistant to fire damage, and susceptible to axe.

Lup carefully shook out a pair of pills from the bottle. It had originally contained 500 capsules and was still about 3/4th full. She dropped the second pill back in anyway and placed the remaining one into the palm of Barry's hand.

She let him take it on his own, waiting till he had it in his mouth before pressing the mug to his lips. He swallowed, which was maybe more difficult since she had laid him down before giving him the pills, fantastic planning Lup, Bt-dubs.

She distracted herself by readjusting the bedding. She'd arranged a pillow to help support the right side of Barry's body. Lup edged it back into place and tucked the blanket over it.

"Hey," Barry said, patting the space on the bed beside him, "Come here and finish that thought you had before?"

Lup looked up then over to the spot where she probably should have been. She nodded and checked everything was fine one last time before rounding the bed and hopping up. She was too awake to lie down, so she crossed her legs and pulled his left arm into her lap. She played with his hand, rubbing his fingers with her thumbs and gingerly tugging on them before letting go.

Barry watched her. These sorts of moments were his favourite. Watching her close and quiet while she lined up thoughts to share with him. The way she touched him when she was distracted and the way it soothed them both.

"It's not important; you should be resting right now," Lup protested. Having her brain directly connected to her mouth was helpful for witty comebacks, but it did get her into more uncomfortable conversations than she would have liked. Particularly with Barry, who paid her such close attention that no offhand comment would escape his notice.

But she knew the more she denied telling him, the more interested he would get. It was too late to take it back now.

"Okay, fine. The other day I remembered something. Y'know when we were stargazing that time, and my head was on your tummy, and it made that funny gurgling nose? You turned all red, and then I said it sounded like you had eaten a dinosaur, and then I tickled you until you promise not to eat any more extinct creatures?"

It was funnier to think about than to say out loud, mostly because Lup could still picture the abject horror on Barry's face before he realised she found it funny.

"Oh, no, not the dinosaur," he said with a quiet chuckle. It's been years, and his face still went red thinking about that. But with Lup, he had learned about a kind of embarrassment he hadn't known existed. One that was sweet - fond even - because it was something shared. Embarrassment probably wasn't the right word for it, though. Or maybe it was the right word, and the one he'd felt before was ashamed.

"Ha, yeah. But uh, that doesn't matter," Lup continued. "It's just I had that pinned in year 43, but like, two hours later I realised that it couldn't be because Legato was 47. The more I think about it, the more I see that I have no idea what order a lot of my favorite shit actually happened in."

Lup sighed and stopped fidgeting with his hand, settling for just holding it.

"Fifteen years... that's how long we've been, right? This is sixteen? It either feels like a few months or an eternity. Never like a decade and a half."

Barry squeezed his fingers around the hand beneath his. "I know what you mean. There have been a few times I've thought about asking Lucretia to figure out when something happened, but I never do. But, I sort of like that so many, uh, so many of my favourite memories aren't moments in the timeline anymore."

Barry hesitated a moment, considering his words. "They're, uh, like books I've reread so many times that I can't remember not knowing the story." He felt his cheeks going red again, knew he was being sappy but pushed on. "I just know how they make me feel," he finished, squeezing her hand again.

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of her palm. "But then, I don't know about elf lives. For a human, though, I've lost all perspective on time."

"See, that's the thing! This shouldn't be that long for me, right? But I don't... I didn't have this much stuff I wanted to hold onto before," Lup admitted. "Taako and I had our moments, obviously, but there was so much bad mixed in with the good, it was easier to just let it all go. Taako would still be there when I woke up the next day, and he was the only thing worth holding on to, so I didn't think it mattered... But, BJ, like about age 100 to 175? All of that is just a blur. I couldn't tell you anything about that if I tried. We were kids, then we were in college, then the institute, then this..."

Lup brought Barry's hand up to her face and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"I tried to talk to Taako about it, but I think he'd still operating on the level I used to. He's letting it wash over him, and I'm just down here trying to catch water with my hands, and I..."

Lup shook her head. She bit down very softly on the side of Barry's pointer finger. Honestly forgetting that it was his hand and not hers as she tried to sift through her thoughts.

"If we were on normal time, you'd be... It would be half over by now. I don't have enough memories of us for it to be half over."

Lup looked down and noticed the faint pink mark her fangs left on Barry's finger. "Aw, fuck. Sorry babe. You know I get bitey when I'm anxious, but you've had more than enough teeth for one cycle."

Barry laughed. "Lup, if having your teeth on me was a problem it would have come up before now."

"-And I could never have enough memories of us. I mean, I don't want us running forever but..." It was impossible to think of what it might be like when time found them again.

"I know what you mean about trying to catch it all," he said, switching back to the other part of her topic. "Does Taako not...?" Barry stopped and considered the thought. "I really hate thinking of him... not having moments he wants to hold onto."

The more Barry thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. He suddenly wanted to go pull Taako out of bed and drag him out to the deck, get him to make up obscene constellations or work on a convoluted prank to pull on Magnus. But you can't force those moments. Like this one, even in the middle of living it, he already knew it was a favourite. Spun out of nothing but being awake at the same late-early hour.

It reminded him of how lucky he was. He'd woken up in pain, struggling with back and forth thoughts of how it should be dealt with. But even without medicine in his system yet, the pain was background noise for how grateful and lucky he felt to be with her.

"I'm glad you have more good memories than you can hold onto," he whispered. Dammit, he wanted to wrap her in his arms. "Miniature hug," he told her and closed his fingers around her wrist. He rubbed his thumb over her skin the way he'd rub his hands on her back.

Lup snickered and repeated "Miniature hug!" she took his remaining wrist in her hand and returned the squeeze. Then because she could, Lup flopped down, cuddled up to him, and tucked his arm around her hips like it was a blanket.

She groaned, just from the pure comfort of it all. She'd rather not have the actual blankets over her because of her acid burns, but Barry was better anyway.

"This is all your fault, you know," She muttered. "Before, I didn't know what I was missing. I thought I had everything I needed. Now I'm pissed the fuck off because some shitty worm deprived me of 5.3 percent of you."

"I'll accept that blame," Barry answered fondly.

Lup tucked beside him was wonderful. He'd never known anyone could be almost frustrated with an overabundance of contentment. But then, it wasn't something many people got to experience often, he thought.

He thought of them stargazing and his stomach interrupting the moment.

"But," he said and tapped his palm on her hip gently. "It's the worm's fault I'm half as handy. But now the worm can join the army. I don't have anything up my sleeve... Uh, there's probably something with 'will I ever play the piano again' but I'm blanking. I'd give my right arm to stop thinking of these," he finished apologetically.

Lup groaned, not out of contentment this time.

She held up a finger and pressed it to his lips. At first, it seemed like she wanted him to shut it, but then she proved that she'd only been buying herself more time to think.

"I think these puns are verging on self-harm. It might even be a cause for alarm. I'd hate to see you fall into an armpit of despair. If you don't stop soon, it could cost you an arm and a leg. Trying to avoid this is going to take some elbow grease."

Lup took a deep pull of breath and looked him dead in the eyes. "How does karma taste, cyan pants."

"Okay, you win, you win," he told her. "I'm glad you're on my side because you know Magnus and Merle will try to outdo themselves with those for the rest of the year."

Lup kissed him hard on the lips, then pulled back to whisper, "love you, you massive dork."

Barry decided that If karma tasted like Lup's kiss, he'd accept whatever it had in store.

He waited for her to settle back in place and tightened his arm around her. "I love you, Lup. You're the best, hands down."

Lup flinched. Anyone else in the multiverse and she would have come firing back, pun-guns blazing, but for Barry, she could let him have the last laugh.

She closed her eyes, hoping that if she pretended to sleep, he would join her.