#but like. i cannot get enough momentum going for it to roll far enough

[viulus]

So I haven't been updating anyone on my BotW progress, not really, but I felt like doing that right now.

Last night I finally made my way up to my first Devine Beast (Vah Medoh), and with that I also got to see the first flashback with Revali, and... I think he deserved to die in the Calamity, actually

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Three

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Three: The Golden Medallion

“No. Absolutely not,” you respond angrily, feeling the fire lurching up in your throat.

“Why not?” Luffy pouts deeply. Although his physical body is laying idle a few metres away, his face is hanging uncomfortably close to yours - the only explainable reason being that his neck’s so stretched out that it’s formed into the shape of a bamboo pole.

You childishly frown and point at the guy standing beside the remains of Luffy.

“I don’t want to work for the Bull-Boy,” you say.

“Who’re you calling Bull-Boy?” Bull-Boy snaps.

“Our cook is really good, and we go on cool adventures and stuff,” Luffy pushes on with a very underwhelming attempt at persuasion. You want to laugh out loud – it feels like he’s trying to coax you into his crew as if you’re some stray cat – but as much effort as it takes, you remain completely stoic.

Chopper is handled in Luffy’s vice-like grip like a helpless doll, who is then shoved in your nose; the wide-eyed reindeer looks at you in stupefaction.

“Look - our doctor’s cute.”

“She accepts your offer, Luffy-boy,” Gramps calmly says. You snap your head at him with a terrifying, bone-chilling glare on your face.

“That is not your decision to make,” you hiss angrily, fingertips growing warmer by the second.

“You’ve been getting your way since you were eight. So, now I’m deciding.”

“Have you gone insane by any chance?” You bark out as flames lick the strands surrounding your face. Has he forgotten how dangerous both of your lives are? As far as anyone knows, merely existing – breathing - shouldn’t be happening for the either of you two in this very moment.

With a loud Twang! and Snap! Luffy’s head recoils back to his body in an alarmingly fast momentum, his rubber neck slinging back like hitting a homerun. It seems like it’s now Gramps’ turn to be ambushed.

“Really? Are you sure, pops?” The captain bounces, beaming in Gramps’ face, in which Gramps boyishly beams back, completely undeterred by the rubber boy.

“Absolutely.”

“Cool! When can Swords join?”

“Hmm, she needs to repair the Marimo’s swords so…” Gramps taps a knobbly finger to his chin, looking incredibly nonchalant in thought. “Is a week’s time good for you?”

You cannot believe this. A pirate and an old man you’ve known since you were born are discussing your arrangements as if you’re a child moving between divorced parents.

“A week? That’s pretty long, pops. How about a day?”

A loud guffaw rings in the air. “Absolutely not. Blades require time.”

Luffy makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat, making the marimo shoot him a glare.

“Oi, Luffy. I’m staying here until my blades are done.”

“Stop talking to each other as if I’m not here!” You exclaim frustratedly. “I’m not joining, I’m not doing it.”

“Luffy, don’t you think you’re going too far?” Nami steps beside you, her forehead creasing. She glances at the flames rolling around your fingers like serpentine coils.  

Luffy pouts at her in confusion. “But I wanna be friends with Swords…”

“Why?” Bull-boy scoffs.

That’s it. You’ve had enough.

“Listen - I appreciate the offer, but I decline,” you announce as calmly as you’re able to. You turn to everyone in the room, eyeing them all with your usual hard-headedness and meaning. “That’s my last say.”

Luffy silently stares at you, looking baffled as to why you don’t want to join him on his adventures so badly. You quickly look away from his questioning gaze, trying your best not to reveal anything across your face.

You walk towards the hardened metallic puddle on the floor and crouch.

“What my old man said was wrong - frankly, I can’t fix your swords, Marimo. Even before they were liquefied, you presented me with scrap metal and not swords. Much to his opinion…”

You stare at your Gramps from a distance, not only frustrated with his foolish shenanigans, but of the permanent glint that lives in his eyes. He’s not underestimating your skills, no. He’s testing you. He wants to see whether you’re going to give out the right prognosis for these blades. It makes you want to roll your eyes knowing that he does this with every client who comes to your shop since you were about fifteen.

“…Fixing some swords would take me three days. Remaking them, though, will take a week.”

The swordsman unfolds his arms. “You can’t remake any of them. They’re all—"

“Wado Ichimonji, Sandai Kitetsu, Enma…” You list off the swords that…used to be in his possession. “We own all the initial blueprints to your blades.”

“What? How?”

Of course, he has a point - no other swordsmith would even dream of having these legendary blueprints laying so casually in their keep. But if you explain how and why and who and where, then your whole cover would be blown.

Being a Kozuki isn’t just for show. You've met multiple disciples and predecessors of different legendary swordsmiths thanks to the privilege of your name. You have worked alongside them, learned from them, been gifted with their precious scripts once they decided that you were worthy of them.

The Enma blade comes from your clan, of course. Your uncle, Kozuki Oden - this is – or was - his sword, so why is it in this green-head’s hands now?The Sandai Kitetsu, too – wasn’t that your own gramps’ sword once upon a time?

And then… the Wado Ichimonji. Pain spreads across your chest when you think of that sword – more specifically, of the previous wielder to it.

When Bull-Boy first arrived in your shop and you began to sense the type and make of these three swords, it completely took you off guard. Imagine a random guy showing up with two of your family heirlooms, and one who used to be your dear friend’s, in his possession, completely broken and disregarded in their sheaths.

You knew your Gramps could sense the make of those swords, too – he was the one who taught you most of what you now know. So why was it that when he was walking alongside him, he was completely relaxed? Not only relaxed, but elated and laughing? It didn’t make sense to you – to you, this guy is a thief. An uncaring thief who isn’t aware of the heavy histories that lay within those blades. It makes you furious thinking back on it.

“Come back in seven days and you’ll see for yourself,” you manage to muster out.

“I don’t get it.”

Oh, God. Is he really that dense?

“We. Make. Swords. Come. Back…Seven.” You shove seven fingers in his face. “Seven days.” Maybe acting it out with your hands will stick better in his empty head.

Bull-head kisses his teeth vexedly. “What is it with you two and the weird words?”

Gramps giggles pleasantly, waving his hand. “She learns from the best.”

Silence.

“You two are related?” Both Luffy and the Bull question.

“Have you been checked out for the whole of this conversation or what?” Chopper exclaims heatedly, climbing over them to smack both on the head.

“Honestly…” Nami says, disapprovingly glaring at them.

Shoving down all the feelings and desires of wanting to form companionship with these strangers, you turn your back and walk to the back door.

“Our shop’s closed,” you simply say, ashamed of the fact that you’re being so closed off. They won’t listen if you act otherwise, you think. It must be done.

Suddenly, a pair of hooves patter in a rush towards you and you feel your shirt being lightly tugged. You look down.

Chopper looks at you imploringly, and utter warmth washes into your heart.

“Is it still okay if we come back tomorrow with Franky?” He mumbles anxiously.

Unable to fight against your feelings anymore, a small smile brushes across your lips as you take in the sight of the doe-eyed doctor.

“We would be very grateful, Chopper.”

He blushes before giving you a strong nod, seeming relieved with your response.

With everyone else remaining silent, you finally take that as your queue to escape from the overwhelming parade of people in the room; all you want to do is to be completely absorbed in your work and to mourn over what could have been.

Later in the evening, as your unexpected guests take their leave after their lively hang-out with popular Gramps, you hear the door to the workshop turn and click shut.

The small domes of light resting on your walls warm up your home like fireflies humming alive, harmoniously buzzing and merging with the sound of your electric tools. The comforting sound of your Gramps’ footsteps close in on your small studio like clockwork, and you’re secretly glad that you’re able to hear them outside of your room once again.

Knock. Knock.

You keep staring at the torn letters that you’re attempting to preserve, your palms gingerly brushing across them like fragile artefacts.

“Come in,” you mumble, adjusting the neck of the warm light on your desk.

The door creaks to an open. There’s a silence as Gramps stands there for a few seconds before he shuffles towards you.

It’s quiet between you and your Gramps when he takes the old bench besides you – once upon a time, that used to be his mentoring seat when he examined the quality of your work. It creaks against his weight, and he grumbles out a little from the struggle.

He searches for your eyes, a kind smile on his lips, but yours are permanently glued to the work in your hands. You desperately try to avoid his attention on you.

“Raya…” Gramps gently says, putting a strong hand on your shoulder. “Let’s talk.”

“Sure. What’s up?” You try to ask as casually as possible regardless of the anxiety that’s dangerously bubbling up in your chest.

His warm hand moves away from your shoulder to place them over your hands, lightly lowering the letters away from your face. You lock eyes with your grandpa, slightly frowning.

“Can I ask you a question?” He cocks his head slightly.

“Okay.”

Gramps looks at you with curiosity in his eyes, his lips pursed tightly.

“What are you scared of?”

You pause, taken aback by this line of questioning. “What?”

“Your fear is palpable. Anyone with eyes can sense it,” he says, glancing over at the cracked medallion resting in the little groove of your desk. The family crest glints sharply across its surface, etched deeply into its golden skin. “This is what you wanted.”

“I wanted to learn and work on my craft – not to become some hot shot back home, and definitely not to join a pirate crew,” you correct while watching your Gramps reach out for the medallion.

The medallion spins heavily within his crafty hands as he observes the damage underneath the glow of your desk light. “Can you pass me the solder?”

You grab the coil of gold alloy from an open drawer, placing it in his open palm.

“I don’t want you to relish so much over what I’m about to tell you, but I think it’s time.”

Your ears perk up immediately whilst your hot red finger lays against the uncoiled wire, acting as a makeshift soldering iron. As gramps sets the wire across the coin, your finger melts it into a pool of gold, slowly flooding through the wide gaps across its surface.

“You have nothing more to learn, Raya,” he says matter-of-factly. “Your education with me is ending today.”

You swallow hard, completely speechless.

“What?”

He looks up from the medallion and stares at you straight in your eyes. “Do you remember how difficult it was to convince the clan to let you go of your leadership duties?”

You laugh out a little, nodding your head. “I had to steal some of your glue back in your workshop and glue my hands on an anvil. They didn’t know what to do.”

“They saw the same fire in your eyes that Kotetsu had eons ago - apparently, you two seem to be like two sides of the same blade. It shocked them so much that they had to change your path right then and there, to let you grow into your natural form, to become one hell of a legendary swordsmith…

“I remember having that discussion with the higher ups. It’s not like they’d refuse a former Shonen, but I wanted to make things clear that I was leaving. With you. Because if you and I stayed, we would’ve been found by the wrong people—”

“And we’d be dead,” you answer automatically. “I know.”

He nods with a smile on his face, heating up more of the gold alloy with your finger. “From then on, I taught, I lectured, I was – at times – cruel...”

He’s not wrong about that. A vivid memory of Gramps throwing away your half-made blades every time you would make even the tiniest little mistake flashes in your head.

“I taught you to fight and defend yourself with your very own weapons, to ingrain into you the importance of the objects that you bring into the world. I tried to make you stronger, to let you work on the thing that you have always loved the most. I tried to always make you into a better swordsmith than you were yesterday. And I hope I was somewhat helpful in that regard.”

“Of course,” you mumble quietly, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for your grandfather.

“You were my granddaughter as you were my apprentice...but now…” Although he’s trying his best to hide his face away, you manage to notice a few tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. “But now, you’re one of the best swordsmiths our clan has been honoured with. Dare I say, I think you're almost on par with Kotetsu.”

The breath you’re holding gets thickly lodged in your throat and you thoughtlessly pull your finger away, staring helplessly at your old man. Gramps turns to face you, forcing his tears to stay in his eyes a little while longer as he slaps his palm onto yours.

Pulling his hand away, the golden medallion of your clan glows as good as new in your hand.

“No one else in the world can teach you now, Raya - except for experience. And you need to see the world for that, Raya. You need to live.”

[omgthatdress]

I have a lot of feelings about Julie’s collection. After the election of Richard Nixon, the deaths of Janis Joplin, Jimmi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison, and then the Manson murders, the peace and love happy hippie 60s had given way to the dirty, strung-out scumbag 70s. Even though Julie is living in San Francisco, the hippie era had long since passed by 1974. As Hunter S. Thompson beautifully put it in Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas:

“There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . . And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.””

I love the hippie aesthetic. I get that AG would want to have a doll that reflects that. A lot of Julie’s story revolves around her fighting for environmentalism, which is one of the aspects of hippie culture that managed to stick around, largely because of backlash to the consumerism of the 50s. But in Julie’s collection there’s plenty of times when her looks lean too far into the 60s and miss the mark of the 70s. As much as I appreciate AG doing the hippie thing, an accurate collection for the 70s would drag us to polyester hell and never let go. The 70s are one of those special eras in fashion where everything is ugly as fuck. The fashion of the 60s was much more aesthetically pleasing, but the fashion of the 70s is ironically appealing. It’s so ugly you love it. It’s ridiculous. It’s camp.

Granted, the fridge that was 1974 fashion still had plenty of hippie leftovers in it, and her original meet look with its crochet cap, embroidered tunic, and fringe belt feel true to the era.

Hand crafts like knitting and crochet had a resurgence in popularity, so I’m glad that both collections have a knitted accessory.

Part of the history lesson Julie gives is that Title IX meant schools could no longer forbid girls from wearing pants, so that’s why Julie is in jeans.

Julie’s BeForever look is straight 60s hippie. The inspiration seems to be Janis Joplin, who had been dead for four years:

AG seems to be wanting to have it both ways with Julie, and I honestly wish they’d just commit to the 70s:

On another note, the 70s would have been a great chance to have another doll of color (American Indian Movement, much?), but they went with a White girl with blonde hair. Which honestly I kiiind of get. Like if I were going to select ONE decade of the 20th century to have a blonde doll, it would be the 70s. I cannot emphasize enough how ubiquitous long blonde hair was to 70s pop culture.

For an era that still claimed to be progressive, the 70s were whitebread as hell. Outwardly there was women’s lib, civil rights, and the sexual revolution, but inwardly, the 70s were an extremely conservative decade when Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority were just starting to lay their slimy hooks into the American political system. It’s a decade of contradictions and extremes that I wish AG would fully commit to.

[thnxforknowingme]

Christmas Eves (1/21)

Summary: Blaine makes a quick trip to Ohio to see his parents over Christmas. He certainly doesn't expect to run into his ex-boyfriend Kurt, or to reexamine every aspect of his life, but this Christmas Eve is full of surprises.

Rating: Let's say T? G or T.

Notes: I desperately wanted to participate in the December Klaine Fanworks Challenge this year, but have had no time for writing. This weekend I had a dedicated writing session with some friends and managed to complete chapters for 9 of the prompt words, so I think I have the momentum to actually write the whole story. Will it be done by December 21st, or even by Christmas? Almost certainly not. My quasi-reasonable goal is to get it all written and posted by the new year. Anyway, enough of my rambling - I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plead

Blaine slept in on Christmas Eve, groggy from travel and still accustomed to Pacific time. He woke up with the winter sun streaming through the window of his former bedroom, long turned into a generic guest room since he moved West for college. His mother had a passion for redecorating, and the room currently had a nautical theme - everything in shades of blue or white, boat motifs abundant, and a sign above the closet door proclaiming that You cannot control the wind, you can only adjust your sail.

He glanced at his phone, the calendar widget reminding him it was Christmas Eve, forecasting Christmas tomorrow and his scheduled flight back to LAX on the 26th. It was a short, perfunctory trip home for the holiday.

There was a knock on the door. “Blaine, honey!” His mother called. “Are you up yet? I need to run out for a few things, I’d love if you came along!”

Blaine dropped his phone onto the bedspread and squeezed his eyes shut, little starbursts appearing behind his eyelids.

“Just a minute!” he replied, and then rolled out of bed.

.

“Oh, this is nice,” Pam said, pausing by a display of velvety bathrobes in the department store they were exiting the mall through. “But I’ve already gotten you something cozy.”

Blaine resisted the urge to squeeze the cup of to-go coffee in his hand. His mother’s quick errands had turned into a trip to the mall, which was complete chaos as desperate shoppers searched for last-minute gifts and bedraggled parents lined up for hours to get their kids’ photos with Santa. Blaine was already nursing a headache and his mother’s words set off his internal alarm bells. “Please tell me you didn’t get me pajamas,” he said.

“It’s a tradition,” she replied simply, feeling the lapel on one of the robes and then continuing forward.

“Mom,” Blaine pleaded as they walked outside. “I told you this last year - I don’t need them. I don’t wear pajamas, and flannel is way too warm for Los Angeles anyway.”

His mother paused on the sidewalk curb, turning back to face him with an unconcerned smile. “Darling,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Let me have this, okay?”

Blaine took a deep breath. Arguing was apparently futile. “Fine,” he muttered, and set off towards the car.

.

Christmas Eve dinner was an elegant affair, but small. The next day they’d make the 40-minute drive to Blaine’s grandparents’ house, where other extended family would congregate, but tonight just he and his parents gathered around the dining table.

After saying grace and passing around dishes and complimenting the food, Blaine’s dad turned to his favorite topic of conversation - the importance of networking.

“Did I tell you my old classmate Andrew is going to be in LA next month?”

“Yes,” Blaine replied, “You copied me on an email to him.”

“Have you reached out to try and set something up? He owns a rental property somewhere out there so he might know someone useful in the industry. And he’d be a good connection for you to cultivate even if he doesn’t know anyone in film, if you were ever interested in changing directions.”

The only direction Blaine felt like going in now was far, far away from this conversation. He put on a polite smile and said, “I’ve been busy with the holidays, but I’ll make sure to reach out once I get back.”

“Good,” his father said. “Andrew was in my fraternity, we lived together my junior year. Have I told you the story about the Michigan game that year?”

Blaine had heard the story multiple times before, but he let his dad tell it again anyway, making sure to laugh and gasp in the right places. He had the wry thought that at least he was getting some acting practice, playing the role of an engaged, doting son.

.

At 10pm, Blaine grabbed his mother’s keys from the hook by the door and drove her car into town, parking outside the Watering Hole.

Blaine had never gone to bars much in Ohio - he’d moved away before he was 21, and had visited infrequently since. Sam had taken him to this place over a Thanksgiving break in college, and it seemed the kind of bar that would still be open on Christmas Eve. He just needed to be out of his childhood home, away from his parents and their expectations for an hour or two.

He went in and found it unexpectedly busy. Not crowded, but far from deserted. He ordered a beer and perched at an open table against one wall, where he could people-watch or stare at the TV behind the bar.

“Excuse me?”

Blaine turned towards the voice, and when he saw the man standing behind him, he felt like he’d taken a punch to the chest. It wasn’t pain so much as shock, the air temporarily knocked out of his lungs as he beheld the older - but definitely very recognizable - form of none other than Kurt Hummel.

[battlekilt]

/taps fingers on desk/

If even ONE of my prompts gets the @rexwalker-week selection, heck, even if it doesn't—I think I am going to write my ARCformers AU. Obviously, abridged.

Is it because I want to weave to the reader the image of Obi-Wan pecking through the Negotiator's cargo hold until he finds the one crate BigCat!Cody has flopped himself in, his whiskers down in a datapad reading a report? Or, at least until Obi-Wan changes it to a stimulating app that Cody's feline brain cannot help but BAP at—he's gonna catch those little fishies. What about the image of a tiny red fox skittering through the alleyways of Coruscant, listening in on a Separatist spy? Maybe there is the howl that cuts through a frozen wasteland, before the 104th barrels in to the rescue, with a large wolf watching from the rear (this is pack leader behavior)? There is also the image of Capybara Bly wading through the water, patiently guiding the little mitey alien children to safety? Maybe there is a massive jungle cobra slithering through the vines after the Tiplee and Tiplar sisters?

Sure. Those are great. However...

Mostly, I want to tell the image of—

Metal scraped across the floor as the hilt skid across the sleek floor panels. In the dark, there was only the blue of the blade to cast its light into the shadows. Further and further it slid, faster than its bearer could reflexively reach out towards it, its momentum continued to fling it towards the sharp ledge. The greater the distance his saber went, the more into shadow it became. Soon it would drop into the dark. Then, it was gone. Which is just fine: Anakin was quick thinking—he always thought of something else to do. But, most importantly: He wasn't alone. He had the Force and... like many of his Jedi brethren, he had his friend. There were those with scales, with fur... His? His had feathers. It was a good thing because momentum had tossed Anakin right after his lightsaber. The sides of the reactor shaft were too smooth for either of his fingers to grip onto, and the drop was far too deep. He knew the sound when large, powerful wings stirred up the stale air. Around his right arm, large talons gripped onto him and slowed his descent. He saw the blue-tipped feathers beat against gravity, and halt his fall. Quickly, swiftly, Anakin reached his other hand down beyond his drop, and re-summoned his blade into his hand. Only then did he look up, and see the face of his friendly, feathered rescuer. A white-faced bird of prey blinked at him. Boyishly, the young Knight smiled at the sight of the bird's face. Only briefly did he get to see the little blue feather tufts stand upright, where another animal's ears might be. Anakin could admit that those little fufts of feathers would be cute when they were quirked at him curiously with interest. They weren't always cute, like when the bird's mind was preoccupied. Soon, they were laid flat against the bird's head, just as it reared its neck upwards, where it peered on approach to the ledge. Anakin knew he was heavy, even for a bird of this size. Besides, the raptor was still a juvenile, had a little more growing to do. Right when the upward stroke of the bird's wing tips crested over the ledge's edge, the blue floofs were laid flat against the bird's head, yet the lower neck feathers ruffled like they were jaw muscles bulged along a strong, tan-skinned jaw. Black and gold peaked under the white-headed bird, its beak stretched wide as it screeched loud enough to make his ear drums feel like they'd shatter. Shatter like the joy of his heart ready to burst into his chest. Unceremoniously, he dropped onto the floor, left to fend for himself as he rolled himself onto his feet. "Thanks, Rex!" He got a scalding shriek as the bird went on its way.

But also, the sight of Anakin reaching his right arm outward, and a large harpy-eagle sized raptor coming in with claws stretched out. The feel of wind being stroked into his face, while the young bird settled its weight on his arm.

[lotgreys]

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[comatose--overdose]

hello! first of all i LOVE and adore you cat!Jason posts SO MUCH i might burst in to tears every time i read it. And i just had this little idea of if Roy was the one got turned into cat next time like that ginger long hair cat that shed every where, what would Jason do🤔🤔 anyway thank you in advance 💞

I'm eating dirt??? I'm going feral??? I'm so friggin happy you like my self indulgent shitposts omfg???

If it's Roy's turn to be a kitty, well you know how every orange cat is a himbo??? That to the max. He doesn't bother pretending to be a regular cat, but he's finally getting a breather and by God does that mean he's tossing away his brain cells for a while. The lights are on but no one's home. He's lazing about and lounging all over his Jaybird and cuddling up with Lian. Mom is giving him scritches and Dad is feeding him steak. Life is good.

He's not nearly as mischievous as Jason, but that doesn't mean he doesn't make a little trouble for Ollie just for the hell of it. Goodbye custom tailored suit, there's no getting the stain out of it after Roy knocks an entire pot of food onto it right as Ollie was about to leave for an event. In his defense, it wasn't entirely intentional, he only meant to spill a glass of water on him. An inconvenience that would go away soon enough. But, well... He isn't a small cat and he underestimated his momentum when he launched himself onto the counter, and damn, that surface was a little slippery, so BAM!! Right into the (thankfully cooled off) pot of chili. Ollie REALLY regretted how many peppers he put in that batch and giving Roy a bath afterwards wasn't fun. He felt pretty bad about it honestly and spent some time cuddling with Ollie on the couch, headbutting and nuzzling him in apology. Ollie missed the event, but he didn't really wanna go anyway.

(Jason took pictures of the incident and used them to barter for the chance to drive the batmobile. He threw in a "please Dad?" And Bruce was putty. As soon as Roy's human again, Jay's taking him for a ride.)

Roy tends to get things like shoes and bags and boxes stuck on his head and will just kind of flail around blindly until mom, dad, or Jay help him out. Connor, Mia, Artemis, and Emiko don't bother helping him, they're too busy taking pictures and recording videos to post on tiktok, that shit's gonna go viral. Thanks guys. Love you too.

Dick and Wally show up at one point and my GOD are they never going to let him live down falling into the toilet. Jay pulls him out and dries him off, and Roy makes sure to hack up a hairball right on Wally's jacket before he leaves.

He knew the squirrels were evil after they stole his hat before, but Christ, to be able to actually UNDERSTAND what they're saying?? The things they're planning?? Darkseid would quake with fear. He stays far away from them. That's a problem for human Roy later. He'll be prepared for the uprising.

He understands now, how terrible it feels to want garlic bread but not be allowed to eat garlic bread. Mia got Italian food! And ate it in front of him!! And all he could do was watch. She's more evil than the squirrels.

Tummy rubs. Oh the tummy rubs. He doesn't bother playing hard to get like Jay did. He doesn't bother with traps. He'll just walk up to someone and flop over and if you don't pet him he whines. It's the only thing (other than Lian) that can get Jason to put down his book. ...but that might be because Roy will crawl into his arms and put their noses together before rolling over and obscuring the pages. You Will Pay Attention To Me Jason. Look How Adorable And Fluffy I Am. You Cannot Resist, Jason. And truly, he can't. He's too cute. And opaque.

He's mostly annoyed that he can't tinker with his gear. He uh... He still tries but he doesn't get very far because of his lack of thumbs. Jason looks around for him for a while before finally walking into his workshop only to see him looking mournfully at his half finished projects.

"Ginger Snap? You good?"

He just meows pitifully. But some cuddles cheer him up, at least.

Jason makes sure he learns how fun the cat toys really are. While Jason enjoyed the kicker fish and catching the fairy, Roy loves tossing around the catnip mice and tugging on the little birdie attached to a bungie cord, though he's been smacked in the face by both multiple times. Connor and Mia have so many videos of it. They've been spread around the hero community. 5 million views on Tik Tok.

He curls up with Lian and keeps her warm during nap time. He has the overwhelming urge now and then to try to carry her by the scruff. He's a big cat, but he's not that big, though that doesn't stop him from trying to carry his kitten around anyway. It's an instinct thing. Jason notices and carries her around for him, following Roy's lead. Roy also steals every blanket in the house to pile on top of her and keep her comfy. It'll have to do. He doesn't put her down for a while after he turns back, satisfied he can actually hold her and carry her around again, even if he doesn't necessarily need to.

His siblings trap him under laundry baskets when he gets annoying with the zoomies. It slows him down but it doesn't stop him. It just makes him look like a turtle. They take it off him when he starts yelling. Or when Dinah does. Jason tries really hard not to laugh when he sees it the first time, but fails spectacularly. Roy gets a little huffy but can't stay mad cause well... It made his Jaybird laugh. Plus, despite laughing, Jay did move the basket, which makes him better than his traitorous little siblings.

Stick your hand into any given box and there's a high chance you're gonna come in contact with a mountain of fluff. Maybe teeth if you're a certain little brother who's taken to using a spray bottle to keep Roy off the kitchen counters.

None of their clothes will ever be free of orange cat hair. It's a curse. It's everywhere. It got in Jason's helmet??? ROY DID YOU SLEEP IN HIS HELMET???

(the answer is yes. Yes he did.)

Honestly Jason would just stick close and keep Roy company. He's glad there's someone who gets what it's like now too. This does mean Zatanna now has two people asking to turn them into cats later lmao

[Cat!Jason posts here]

[jackwolfes]

wylan taking care of jesper post-op (or viceversa)? 🥺

anon this is such a cute request I love it 💙🤍💖

trans crows 0.2 // post surgery

-

The profoundly frustrating thing, never mind the fact he can’t shower himself and has to sleep exclusively on his back— on top of the fact that Wylan has to shove him over flat again when he’s ended up curled around him, which wakes him up and ruins his night — is the fact he can’t reach his arms higher than a right angle.

He was instructed with no shortage of severity not to lift his hands above his head. That was the biggest thing, the most vital thing, the thing that lasts longest and is to be kept at the back of his mind for three to four weeks as a thing not to do. Not unless he wants to pull at the scar tissue and risk it pulling and bleeding and bringing him back into emergency care. He really doesn’t want that. He’s waited too fucking long for this.

But fuck, it’s annoying.

The compression bandages around his chest weren’t even that annoying, although they had hurt and left him sore and made him whine for hours until Wylan had caved and left him tucked beneath blankets while he went to get him pity ice cream.

This, though — this is irritating.

“Wylan,” he whines, knowing that he’s likely rolling his eyes at Jesper while he digs through their refrigerator in search of something for lunch.

“What?” he calls.

Jesper would just love to be able to not even need help — god, he hates nothing more than admitting his own weaknesses — but right now he can’t even reach for the salt on the lowest shelf of the open cupboard in front of him. He certainly cannot reach the packet of cookies only just visible on the very top shelf. He also does not want anything more in the world than those cookies.

“Wylan?” he calls again. He hears a gentle noise.

“Are you okay?” Wylan is closer now, and Jesper turns. He’s holding a handful of items to put in a sandwich, and looks confused until Jesper tips his chin up at the offending item just out of his reach. For fuck’s sake, he can’t even point at it.

“Can you grab me the cookies?” he asks, sounding pitiful. Wylan squints up at them, then sets down his lettuce and cheese and bread with a nod.

It doesn’t go well.

Jesper watches Wylan stretch for them, fingertips on barely grazing the cellophane. He hears Wylan swear, soft and quiet, a little damn. Then he plants his palms on the counter and tries again.

Even stretching as far as he does, even trying to build momentum by rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He makes another frustrated noise.

“Just— fuck.” Wylan drops back down so his feet are flat on the floor, staring with palpable frustration up at the packet of cookies. It’s mocking them both. Wylan sighs.

“It’s fine if you can’t—“

“Shush,” Wylan says. “I’m getting you the damn cookies.”

Jesper watches, trying to bite back a smile, as Wylan walks out of the room. When he’s back it’s with the little red ottoman they keep at the end of their sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Jesper raises an eyebrow, and observes. His boyfriend moves so efficiently, setting it down with a thud and stepping up onto it, only to groan with frustration when it isn’t quite a big enough boost.

“Why are they so fucking high up?” Wylan complains.

“I didn’t want you to steal them,” Jesper sheepishly admits. Wylan huffs, and looks over his shoulder to glance at Jesper. He shoves his fringe out of his eyes.

“Well, it’s a matter of pride now,” he says, so wonderfully matter of fact. He catches his hands on the underside of the shelf and uses his grip to tug himself up until he’s kneeling flat on the counter.

“Don’t fall,” Jesper says unhelpfully. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you up off the floor.”

“I’m not going to fall,” Wylan mutters. He teeters a bit dangerously, though, and Jesper can feel his heart leap up into his mouth.

Wylan makes a triumphant noise, though, and Jesper feels his grin grow tenfold. Then he’s watching his boyfriend grab a few more things from the top shelf — likely trying to avoid another production like this in the future. Wylan turns in place and slides off the counter until his socked feet hit the tile floor, dumping the extraneous collection of things on the counter. He makes a point to hold the cookies out to Jesper like a child showing off a brand new toy, though, grinning wide enough that Jesper can see the little place his teeth are a bit crooked. It’s charming. He’s in love.

“Thanks, angel,” he murmurs, offering out a cookie to Wylan first, which he takes eagerly.

Jesper smiles, hoping Wylan knows he doesn’t just mean the cookies. He means the sponge baths and the way he carries groceries in from the car — the way he drives Jesper to get groceries in the fucking first place. Jesper even means the way he pushes him onto his back in the middle of the night to keep him from hurting himself, even when he grumbles about it. He means thank you, Wylan, as earnest as he can make himself when he’s never one for earnestness to begin with.

He also kind of means I love you, but in the end—

“You did the same for me when I had mine done,” Wylan says. “Love you, Jes.”

Wylan beats him to it.

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 1 - Boy’s Night Out

“Okay,” Dick boomed, bringing the room’s attention to himself.  “Weapons on the counter.”  He raised an eyebrow at the disgruntled objections around the room.  “We are going out to have fun.  We are not going to take guns or knives or arrows to the bar. This is a night off.  This night is to relax and blow off steam.  Boy’s night out.”

“Having a gun does relax me!” Jason mumbled around the bite of apple in his mouth.

“Naw, it’s the shooting that relaxes you,” Roy pointed out shoving his head away as he walked past him.

“No guns!”  Dick grabbed the gun out of Jason’s thigh holster as he passed by and tossed it onto the counter.

“Hey!” Jason yelled, grabbing Dick’s shirt and violently pulling him back to face Jason.  “Don’t touch my guns.”

Dick held his hands up in surrender and waited quietly for Jason to let go.  Once Jason had backed off and taken another bite of his apple, Dick shook his head.  “See that there, is exactly why we need a night out and no weapons.  I expect all weapons on this counter before we walk out that door.”  He stared Jason and Roy down.

“Why are we going to a club if we just want to talk?” Tim pointed out with a defeated sigh.  “Loud music, people bumping into you, lights flashing… not the ideal atmosphere for talking.”

“We’re also blowing off steam and a distraction while we talk so Jason doesn’t get bored and start fighting is not a bad idea,” Dick pointed out.  “Which brings us back to no weapons.”

Jason huffed and walked over to the counter keeping eye contact with Dick as he started removing his knife and his backup knife and his small knife and his backup gun and laid them on the counter one at a time.  “Thank you, Jason.  Roy?”  

Roy sighed and removed his knife and a gun. Dick raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.  “What?  I’m not a paranoid asshole like him.” He motioned to Jason.

“Tim?” Dick questioned with a stern look.

“Like I carry weapons on me when I’m not in the suit,” he scoffed.

Dick stared him down waiting for him to admit having weapons.  When Tim didn’t fold under his stare, Dick nodded and looked back to the group.  “Fine.” He reached behind him to pull off his tee shirt, throwing it over the back of the couch and grabbing a button up shirt instead.  

Tim stared at the shirt he put on as he buttoned it.  “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah… what?  I like it.”

Jason opened his mouth to comment but instead glared at Roy when he smacked him upside the head to stop him from saying what they all were thinking.  "If Wally were here, you'd let him say it," he muttered.

"Well, Wally's sick isn't he?  So he's not here." Roy muttered back.

Dick looked between them and finally gave up waiting.  He shook his head and moved to the door.  “Let’s go. We’re going to hang out, drink, dance, and have fun.”

“And get laid,” Roy cheered.

“Not about getting laid,” Dick singsonged as he walked through the door.  

“But we’re totally going to,” Roy whispered to Jason.  “Well, we,” he motioned between himself and Jason, “are going to.  Tim’s boy is out of town and Dick’s on his own with that shirt.”

“Whatever, I just can’t believe he thought those were my only weapons,” Jason scoffed.

“Or that I didn’t have any,” Tim agreed.  “Either we’re getting better or he’s getting worse.”

<><><><><> 

The bar was more crowded than they expected, but they had still been able to find a table far away from the dancefloor where they could actually talk and watch the other patrons while they drank.  

“Dick, we need another round,” Roy pointed out, motioning toward the bar.

“And?” Dick scoffed not even looking at him, keeping his eyes on the dancefloor instead.  

“And we want the drinks now not in an hour,” Jason retorted quickly.

“We all know if any of us go it’s completely hit and miss when the bartender acknowledges us and with the bar as busy as it is, it could take a while.  But every time you go up, he makes a beeline straight for you.” Tim continued flatly.

“Heh, straight,” Roy chuckled.  

Dick rolled his eyes but got up anyway.  “Fine. I’ll just buy all night long.”

“Now that’s what I call a good night out,” Jason cheered, holding his beer up toasting Dick.  “Get me two.”

Dick pushed through the crowd and finally settled into a spot leaning against the bar.  As soon as he appeared, the bartender made his way over to him, bypassing patrons who had been waiting since before he got there.  Dick sighed at the proof the others were right. He ordered their drinks with a smile. No use upsetting the man pouring their drinks and controlling whether they got served or not.

He looked up and down the bar while he waited for their drinks.  His eyes caught on a woman a few people down from him.  She was waiting patiently and gorgeously for her drink.  Her dark hair was pulled up in a high bun, but tendrils had fallen around her face from vigorous dancing.  Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and her long-sleeved, bright blue crop top looked like it was meant to flutter lightly over her top but instead it clung to her sweat-covered body as she moved, occasionally giving a flash of the black bra underneath.  She was flushed from dancing giving her a luminescent look.  But the thing that truly drew his attention was her smile.  She had the most gorgeous, welcoming, exuberant smile on her face.  It lit up her whole face, causing her eyes to crinkle.

He started to push away from the bar to talk to her when he saw a man drape his arms over her shoulders. His head was positioned so the back of his head was blocking Dick’s view of her face so he couldn’t see if her expression was happy about the intrusion or upset, and his yellow and red shirt that hung loosely off him blocked Dick's view of her body language.  Dick leaned back against the bar, but kept an eye on her in case the embrace was not welcome.  How bad was it that he kind of hoped it wasn’t?  However, it quickly became apparent that it was not unwelcome.  “Come on Bugaboo, let’s get back out there.  I want to have fun tonight.  Maybe find someone to finally make out with me.”  

The woman rolled her eyes at him.  “Adrien, almost anyone here would make out with you.  Straight men would make out with you if you asked.”  She and the man nodded to the bartender in thanks when he dropped off their shots.

“It can’t just be anyone though.  I’m looking for a sign.  I’m waiting for the universe to show me my future.”  He stretched out his hand in front of him as if showing off his future.

“In a nightclub that is probably a front for one of the mob families,” she deadpanned.  He shrugged at her.  “I cannot stress enough how much that’s not how this whole thing works.  The universe isn’t going to give you a sign, especially not in a dive bar while you’re drunk.  You make your own destiny, my child, this isn’t Serendipity.  Now, drink,” she commanded.  

Dick watched as they clinked their glasses together and downed the shots before returning to the dancefloor.  His eyes followed her as she started dancing.  He hummed to himself, clearly together but not together.   Their boy’s night had been going on long enough, hadn’t it?  They had been talking long enough that it would be acceptable for him to get on the dancefloor himself soon, right?  He hummed to himself.  He might have to try to find her later.  He tore his eyes away when the bartender brought his drinks.  He winked at the bartender in thanks and returned to their table.

He brought the drinks back to the table, joking and reminiscing with the three of them.  The point was to get closer to each other, after all.  All throughout their conversation, he kept an eye on the bar for the woman he had seen earlier.  The next time she went up to get a drink, Dick excused himself to get one as well. They were close enough.  He wanted to get closer to someone else now.  The others at the table raised their eyebrows, giving each other knowing looks.

By the time he made his way through the crowd to get near the bar, the woman was facing off against a man who was easily twice her size and mostly muscle. “Hey, asshole!  Back off!”  

“Excuse me?  What the fuck business is it of yours?” he growled, crowding her personal space in an effort to intimidate her.

The woman clearly didn’t get the message, furrowing her brows in an angry glare.  “Grabbing someone’s ass and attempting to grab other areas as well without their permission is sexual assault, fucker!  She clearly does not know you and does not want you touching her.”

“You have no proof of anything,” he snarled at her.  “Now sit that pretty, tight, little ass down and maybe I’ll let you kneel in front of me a little later.”

The woman’s mouth dropped as she stared at the man.  “Yep, that’s the expression you’ll be making later.”  He reached to pat her on her ass.  Dick lunged to grab his hand before he could reach her, but he was just a beat too slow.  Instead, the woman grabbed the man’s hand and twisted along with his momentum, pushing him down as she twisted.  She moved her feet slightly to trip him, throwing him even further off balance.  She twisted his arm at an uncomfortable angle as he fell, forcing him to turn over on his stomach so she could pin him to the floor once he finally landed.  “Also, sexual assault?  Illegal, asshole.  Doing it to more people, surprisingly, doesn’t make it less illegal.”

“It isn’t sexual assault if you want it,” he jeered at her.

She scoffed at him, making sure to keep the pressure on her hold as she did.  “I doubt there has ever been anything living or otherwise that has wanted you looking at them let alone touching them.”  Dick chuckled at her response.

“Excuse me, what is going on here?”  A man Dick recognized as the bouncer asked.  He was eying the woman who was pinning the man down with heavy suspicion.

“That man sexually assaulted that woman and when this woman pointed it out he tried to sexually assault her as well,” Dick answered for her.

The bouncer looked between the first woman, the second woman, the man on the floor, and Dick.  He finally nodded and grabbed the man by his jacket collar.  “Come on mother fucker, we’re going to get your picture then you are never coming in here again, understood?”

“Do you know who I am? You’re making a monumental mistake,” the man screamed as he was getting dragged away.

The black haired woman didn’t bother watching the man as he was hauled away.  She shifted her focus entirely onto the blonde woman who had been assaulted.  “Hey, are you okay?  Can I get you a drink to steady your nerves?”

The blonde shook her head. “No, thanks.  I’m okay.  It happens. You go to a club, it’s going to happen.”

The black haired woman and Dick both gaped at her.  “It shouldn’t happen ever.  If anyone ever does anything like that to you again, kick their asses or call someone over to do it for you.  He had no right to touch you.  Going out to have fun doesn’t make you an open target,” Dick interceded.  “Assholes like that should feel unsafe in clubs not you.”

The blonde shrugged at him. “Thanks for your help anyway.  Can I buy you a drink?”

The black haired woman shook her head and gave her a gentle smile.  “No, thank you.  I just refreshed mine.  Have fun, yeah?”  The blonde nodded and waved before returning to the dancefloor.

The black haired woman collapsed onto a barstool with a sigh.  She chuckled and shook her head as she looked at her drink.  “Thank you by the way.  I don’t know if the bouncer would have trusted just my word.”

“Not a problem.” He took a seat next to her.  “I’m glad I could do something to help.  I tried to grab him before he could get to you but I wasn’t as fast as you.  You were really impressive.”

She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye but didn’t really stop to look at him.  The charming smile he shot her faltered when she didn’t look close enough to actually see it.  His liquor fueled mind frowned at the lack of attention.    “Thanks,” she mumbled.  She drank the rest of her drink in one gulp, which Dick thought was quite impressive considering it was full and not a shot.  

She laid the glass on the counter harder than it seemed like she meant to and continued to stare at it for a few moments.  “Hey,” he leaned a little closer to her while still giving her space.  “You okay?  You want another drink?” He motioned to the bartender for two more drinks for them.  

She rubbed her face and took a beat before turning to finally face him with a thankful smile.  “You really don’t have to.”  

Dick’s charming smile made it back to his lips, even wider than it had been before.  “No, but you deserve it for protecting the club.”

She shook her head.  “It wasn’t…”  She looked down at his shirt and balked, staring at it suspiciously. After a few moments, she looked up toward the sky with an annoyed scowl that still looked adorable, like an irritated kitten.  “Am I a joke to you?” she called out.  

His charming smile morphed into a look of confusion.  “I’m sorry?”

She waved her arms like she was waving away the concern.  “It’s nothing.  Interesting shirt.  Fan of ladybugs?”

He looked down at his shirt as though seeing it for the first time, “Oh… uh… I just liked the pattern. I don’t think I would have even recognized them as a ladybug if you hadn’t explicitly pointed it out.”  The woman looked back up toward the sky with a menacing look he didn’t quite understand.  He thanked the bartender when he served their drinks and turned back to her.  “Do you… uh… like ladybugs?”  

The woman gave a defeated sigh and looked down to her shoes.  When she looked back up, a resigned but amused smile was on her lips.  “No, it’s just… my friends used to call me their everyday ladybug.”

Dick cocked his head to the side studying her curiously.  There was something going on, but he couldn’t quite make it out yet.  But there was no way he was going to miss an opportunity to dance with a beautiful, strong, sweet woman.  “I’m Dick.” He stuck his hand out to shake hers.

She took his hand and gave him a bright smile, “Marinette.”

He looked over to the dancefloor and back to her.  “Do you want to dance?”  Her smile brightened, making his heartbeat pick up.  She pulled on the hand she was still holding and guided him onto the dancefloor, drinks still in hand.

Chapter 2

@dickinette-february

[tessiete]

TESS! Hope you are well!!!! Prompts prompts prompts! If you’re not already inundated with requests, allow me to add my own greedy submission to the pile: “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?” for Qui-Gon and Obi if you feel up to it! 🤟🏼❤️

WELL HELLO FRIEND!! I absolutely feel up to it. I'm just, you know, bad at time management, so I apologise for the delay. Please accept my many, most sincerest thanks for sending the prooompt in the form of this....thing. What I wrote. SOME BABY-WAN WHUMP, AND DAD-CARE!

You're absolutely wonderful! THANK YOU!

On The Clock

The sun never sets on Coravian Bast. It says so on all their coins, and all their dataries. It is stamped at the summit of every federal building, and pressed into the plastoid casing of every holobook, every datapad, every speeder and tug and ship they manufacture. It is both an astronomical truth, and the rallying cry of a people who, for centuries, have remained proud, and strong, living beneath the ever-burning glory of their sun. But now, that sun is burning out.

It is not by sabotage, or ambition, or folly. It is not brought about by anything more malicious than the passage of time, and it is a tragedy which has been predicted now for many years. And for many years, the government of Coravian has been planning. With the aid of the Republic and the support of several high ranking senators, Coravian has made arrangements for the mass migration of their population to new homes on new worlds. The sun will set on Coravian Bast, but never on her people.

Yet some do not go willingly. Some resist the edicts, and declare they will not leave. Some declare that they do not mean to let anyone else go either, and for this reason, the Jedi Council has seen fit to assign a Master-Padawan pair capable of overseeing the evacuations. Up to now, the population has been peaceful. The protestors have been loud, but cautious. They do not expect anything of note to happen. Master Jinn gives his padawan a sardonic grin and suggests that perhaps someone will give an impassioned speech.

“Coravinians are known for their philosophical debates,” he says. “Nearly every city has an ampitherium. It’s like a park filled with tall platforms wide enough only to stand on, but tall enough to see over the head of a grown wookiee.”

“What do they do on them?” Obi-Wan asks, in awe.

“They talk,” his master says. “Sometimes for hours.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that,” he says. “The longest recorded was a discourse on the nature of sentience in ancient korarchetropes of the protopaleo era, four thousand four hundred million years ago.”

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did the korarchetropes leave many written records?”

“No, my padawan,” replies Qui-Gon. “They were a primitive, single-celled form of life.”

“Oh.” There is a pause, longer and more uncertain than before. “Will we have to listen to one while we’re there?”

The master smiles. “Not unless you are particularly disobedient.”

“Then I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Obi-Wan swears with a smirk. “I promise.”

It is not a difficult thing for him to be, his master thinks, and indeed he is the very picture of deference and decorum during the two weeks they are there. Every day, he walks at his side, three steps behind and one to the left. He is unobtrusive, and observant. He speaks intelligently when spoken to, and remembers every obscure custom and tradition that their hosts play out in preparation for leaving the planet, and Qui-Gon is proud. His padawan has come such a long way from the desperate little waif he’d found on Bandomeer, and yet not so far as to have lost that youthful naivety, and trust in the world. He will make a fine Knight, if Qui-Gon is careful enough. If he is restrained enough. And cautious. And aware.

And yet, no sooner does he conclude this than all his plans are torn apart, for the next day, as they stand upon the viewing stage to watch another transport of refuges lift off and head for space, there is an attack. The Coravinians do not fight with words this time, but with bombs and grenades. A sonic blast throws him from the platform before he can draw his saber, and in another instant the remains of the stage goes up in flames and it is all he can do to leap free and regain his bearings.

One of the federal aides is dead, lying torn and bloodied a few feet away. Another staggers forward, coughing in the smoke. Obi-Wan. Where is Obi-Wan?

He searches around him, frantic, but there is nothing he can see except fire and ash. In desperation, he turns his focus inward to pluck at the little strand of light between them, hoping that it may ring out clearly even amidst the chaos. It is still new, and still very slight. The thread tremors beneath the weight of his mental touch, singing its note high and sweet and very much alive.

“Obi-Wan!” he cries out, surging forward, following the thread as it draws him along its path until he comes to a heap of steel and stone. He reaches out in the Force, and with his hands, scrabbling at the pile of debris. With a single thought, he moves a heavy cement boulder, and he pushes back twisted steel and rebar.

“Master!” It’s Obi-Wan, and his voice is strong and steady. “Master, under here!”

Qui-Gon can feel his own fear clogging his throat. It tastes like oil and charcoal, and he spits to clear it from his mouth, working as fast as he can to reach his padawan. A few more seconds, and he discovers a pocket of air beneath the scrap. A pale hand, smeared in soot reaches up through a gap, flailing blindly for purchase.

“Padawan!” he cries, and he falls over the rubble to catch that small hand in his own, feeling the soft palms, and smooth skin, as yet unweathered by age or strife. “Obi-Wan, are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes, master,” his padawan replies. “I think - only, I think I hit my head.”

“Are you bleeding?” He does his best to keep his voice steady. To stay calm. To leave the thread taut and unplucked in his mind. He strokes the back of Obi-Wan’s hand in comfort.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s dark down here. Master -?”

“I’ll get you out,” he says. His grip slackens, and for a moment, Obi-Wan’s tightens in reflex, afraid of letting go, but he quickly masters himself and allows Qui-Gon to slip away.

Relying more on brute strength than the Force, Qui-Gon tears at the rock until it falls away, and he can reach inside the cavern to pull Obi-Wan free. Whether Obi-Wan is lighter than Qui-Gon anticipates, or whether his arms are fuelled with terror and fear, his padawan comes out of the rubble with enough momentum that he is sent staggering into his master’s arms, nearly falling to his knees. But Qui-Gon catches him, sets him aright, and is soon crouched before him, running his hands up and down his arms, over his shoulders and back, and along his scalp searching for injuries.

He finds one just above Obi-Wan’s left ear, hidden in his hairline. But even his thick, tawny tuffets cannot disguise the slick of blood, and his padawan winces as his fingers skim over the open wound.

“Anywhere else?” he demands.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No, master,” he says, but his legs buckle, and his fingers clench around Qui-Gon’s forearms as he tries to resist the pull of nausea in his gut.

Qui-Gon frowns. “We need to get you to a medcentre.”

“No, master!” Obi-Wan protests. “The bombers. They’ll get away!”

“Little One, there is no chance they are anywhere close enough to be found. That is the purpose of a bomb. Did you feel anything amiss in the Force before it detonated?”

“No,” he says.

“Then you understand,” he replies. “If they were near, they would have surely stood out in a sea of otherwise placid civilians.”

“But still -”

“No,” the master insists. “You must be tended to first. You will not help me if you collapse while in pursuit of ghosts. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but he nods, his chin dropping to his chest, and his fingers flexing in the folds of Qui-Gon’s robes.

“Now, stay close, and follow me,” says Qui-Gon. He straightens again, peering through the smoke to find salvation. The wind has picked up. The ringing in his ears has stopped. He can hear the cries of dozens of injured people, but none that are near enough for him to help. Some ways away, he sees the ash of the explosion recede and finds sunny daylight beyond. With one hand to guide his student at the elbow, he makes for that.

Obi-Wan stumbles along, tripping over rock and rubble. With each step, he grows more and more uncoordinated. To Qui-Gon it seems as though he is half carrying him before they’ve gone more than a hundred yards.

“Master,” Obi-Wan mumbles, as his toe catches on a stone and his legs give out. He hardly makes any effort to save himself, but his fall is aborted by Qui-Gon’s hand at his arm. “Master, I don’t feel very well. I’d like to lie down.”

“Not yet, Obi-Wan,” he says, between gritted teeth. In the distance, he can make out a mass of emergency responders, all frantically attempting to organise the pandemonium into something civil and orderly. He drags his padawan on.

“M’sleepy,” Obi-Wan protests. And then, as if to prove his claim, his head drops and the full weight of his body swings into Qui-Gon, hinged at his arm where his master supports him still.

Qui-Gon grabs him around the middle, and attempts to prop him up, giving him a little shake. Obi-Wan’s head rolls on his neck, his eyelids fluttering as he fights for consciousness.

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon urges. Obi-Wan frowns. “Stay awake. Listen to me. Obi-Wan?”

“I’m listening, master…” he insists, but the words come out slurred, and his eyes close again. He slumps forward until his forehead falls against the pommel of Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and his body falls into his master’s arms.

“And yet you disobey me, anyway,” Qui-Gon huffs. He taps at his cheek, trying to make him laugh, or smirk. Anything. “Obi-Wan?” he prods. “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?”

“Mm,” his padawan says.

“Do you remember what I said? About the korarchetropes? You promised to obey me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You said they talk for hours. M’listening.”

“Then do as I say,” he stresses. “Stay awake.”

He feels him nod against his chest, but his breathing has slowed, and he doesn’t stir himself to reply. Qui-Gon coughs, and begins to speculate.

There is still smoke. Fires burn nearby, hot and stinging. They are not getting any closer to help, and he can feel blood seeping through his tunics. Though Obi-Wan is no longer as slight as he once was, Qui-Gon doesn’t hesitate to sweep him into an embrace, wrapping one leg around his waist, and throwing the boy’s arms around his neck. Like the child he so recently was, Obi-Wan presses close, his head tucking neatly beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, trusting and unresistant to being carried. He has not yet the dignity of adolescence to embarrass him. Nor the consciousness to suggest it. With his padawan held tight, Qui-Gon walks out of the darkness of destruction, and back into the light.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

I love your work! I dont think there is enough Vladimir/ofc out there and you capture him perfectly. I saw you did some related to tik toks, can you do one where reader shows the Romanians and Volturi males how tampons work. I saw some ti k toks and the guys reaction went from cringe to lol. I just wanna see the ancients freak out. 😂

The Romanians

Vladimir: "Alright, do you know what this is?" You asked and Vladimir nodded. "Yes." "Okay so you know how I put it in?" "No." "Oh this will be fun!" You said cheerfully. "Will it?" Vladimir cracked a smile of amusement. "We push this for momentum." Vladimir looked taken aback however the smile remained upon his face. "Oh is that so? Momentum? Push it in there about forty miles per hour do you?" He asked and you giggled. "Okay so the bottle is my 'hooha'." "Hoohaaaaa..." Vladimir repeated with a slow nod and a smile. "Stop! This is serious!" You cried out through laughs. "I'm listening! You push that thing in at about forty miles per hour into your hooha for momentum, okay next." You doubled over immediately in laughter. Even Vladimir was struggling to contain his own laughter. "Okay, then you push this part and-" "and it's getting bigger. That's...that's big." Vladimir nodded, eyes widened slightly. "So now that you've ripped yourself open, now what?" You burst out laughing again. Vladimir picked it up by the string, pulling it out if the bottle. "oh my- ce naiba fac oamenii acum?" (what in the hell are humans doing now?)"I-its not like that!" You laughed behind your hand. "Yes it is, you're telling me that doesn't do you damage being in there for hours?" You couldn't stop laughing to even give him an answer.

Stefan: "Want to see how they work?" You asked. Stefan contemplated it. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt." One tampon and a water bottle later, you unwrapped the tampon. "Okay the top here of the bottle is my..." "Yes, yes, the fun area. Go on. Continue." Stefan bent down slightly to get a better look. You couldn't help but giggle quietly to yourself. "So with the one, I have to pull it until it clicks." Just as you said, the tampon clicked. Stefan hummed. "Well isn't this just fine technology. Go ahead, tell me more. I'm invested now." He smiled. "So I insert it until here, the thinner part." Stefan hummed. "Then I push down." You did and the cotton immediately began to expand. Stefan bit his bottom lip. "Oh dear. That's... wait if it gets that size how are you going to get it back out?" "I pull it out." You said simply as you did so. Stefan gasped at the struggle to pass the cotton through the neck of the bottle. "Doesn't that hurt?" He asked. "I'd describe it like pulling a balloon out of you." Stefan didn't seem to like that much. He took a hold of your hips, bending down before planting a kiss to your stomach. "Are you okay, little one?" "Did...did you ask me or my uterus if I was okay?" You asked with slight confusion.

"and then you give it to your vampire boyfriend for a snack."

The Volturi

Aro: "Alright, so, you've seen me with these before haven't you?" You began holding up the packaged tampon. "For your menstruation cycle, yes." Aro said smoothly. A hand moving to your lower back. You nodded. "Does your gift let you see how they work?" "Not entirely, only your thoughts of them my dear." Aro answered. "Well, I was hoping I could give you a demonstration." You smiled at him. Aro nodded. "Go ahead, my dear." You unwrapped it and pushed down, setting the cotton free. "So pretend this water bottle is my...you know." Aro nodded. Without a word, you dropped the cotton into the water and almost immediately it expanded. Aro hummed in surprise. "Modern technology never ceases to be a surprise." He said. "So obviously this isn't the exact shape but I think you get the point, it expands in me. So that there isn't a leak and then after about 6 hours..." You trailed off, slowly pulling at the string. "Is this where you find it uncomfortable at times, cara mia?" You nodded. "yeah because whilst this is already sometimes unpleasant, sometimes it's a lighter flow and so then at times I can be pulling out dry cotton." You winced and Aro nodded, clearly full of sympathy.

Marcus: Marcus was probably the least chill about it. Like this man just watched silently, no freak outs no nothing. You were actually very confused at how calm he actually was. "Don't let Aro see those. He'll be very intrigued." You snorted at that. Sounds like Aro. "What do you think?" Marcus paused. "...I will admit I didn't expect it to expand to that size but I didn't think it appropriate to make a comment incase you were uncomfortable." You didn't anticipate such an answer but omg it was so precious. He simply smiles at you as you heart eye him.

Caius: "No! I have a mate that requires my attention and I want their attention more than yours!" Caius called out before closing the bathroom door behind him. "Hello, my love. Why are we in here?" Caius asked before kissing your cheek. "Would you like a science lesson?" "What would the lesson be about?" He asked. You help up a wrapped tampon. "Seen these before?" "No." He answered. "Also the question is 'have I seen these before?'. "This is a science lesson, not a English lesson." You smirked playfully and he gave you his own small smirk. "So I use these when I'm on my period." You began as you unwrapped it. "How is that supposed to help anything?" Caius furrowed his brown in confusion at the contraption. "We're going to pretend this is my uterus and the top of the bottle is my...you know." "I most certainly do." Caius grinned. "Inappropriate, this is educational." "Why of course, my love. Please continue." Caius said slightly smug. "So see this thicker bit? This goes in my... y'know." You pushed the thicker part of the tampon past the opening of the bottle. Caius slowly turned his head towards you with a raised eyebrow looking very unimpressed. "Until my fingers on the outside blocks it from going any further." You did a double take on Caius' expression. "I hope you don't enjoy putting them in there." Caius said. You gave him an unimpressed look. "Believe it or not darling, not everything that gets put up there feels good and if it helps you, this is one of them that doesn't feel good." "I figured, my love. I'm just teasing. You're blushing." Caius said kissing your cheek again, now wrapping his arms around you. "I am perfectly aware of the conditions required for that kind of pleasure. Thank you, love. I am not an idiot." You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. "You push this part and-" Caius inhaled sharply when the cotton freed itself as well as expanded by the second within the water bottle. You giggled at his wide eyed expression. "I'm going to be honest with you, my love. That is unholy." None of us expected the teasing yet here we are. Caius has jokes even when shook 😂 Suddenly he's huffing with a scowl. "I AM ON MY WAY. If this is something ridiculous there will be consequences Jane!" He turns to you with a loving smile. "I must go, my love. Thank you for the science lesson." With another kiss to your jaw, he's gone.

Alec: Alec was immediately frowning at the tampon before you had even unwrapped it. A common theme for Alec when he was trying to understand something. "You've seen me with these before right?" Alec made a noise of confirmation, although his expression didn't change. "...you know you can come closer, it won't hurt you." You said, unable to overlook the distance he had created between himself and the counter with the water bottle and tampon. Alec moved closer silently. You unwrapped the tampon. "So these come in different sizes, there are ones bigger than this for a heavier period. These are ones I'd use when I have a lighter flow." "The top looks rather intrusive." Alec said. "I won't lie to you, it is but it's not as bad as you think. It's not like agonizing pain or anything like that." You assured him. "This thicker part is the part that's going into my...entrance. Let's just say that." You placed the the top half of the tampon into the bottle. "Some of these have a mechanism where you pull this part so that it clicks but this one doesn't sound stop when my fingers touch my private area and push this part." You pushed down and the cotton came free, the plastic coming off. You removed the plastic completely and Alec inhaled sharply, watching as the cotton expanded. "It will expand to my shape and stops any leaks." "What about the string?" Alec asked. "That stays out of me...or I'm not getting it back out." You smiled slightly at him. "After some hours it gets uncomfortable and can build up some serious harmful bacteria. So it's important I change it." You pulled it out and Alec grimaced. "Does Jane know of these?" He asked. You paused. "Does Jane get a period?" Alec shook his head. "Likely not then and they most certainly weren't a thing when you were human."

Demetri: "So you get what the bottle is representing right?" You asked. "Yes." Demetri nodded. "Good. So this goes in to about here." You explained putting the tampon into the bottle. "My fingers will only let me go so far so it's self explanatory how far it goes in." Demetri nodded. "I see." "Then I push down on this part." His eyes widened as the cotton suddenly expanded. "O-OH!" You giggled at his deer in headlights expression. "Oh that is painful. That cannot be painless. That's-!? It expands in there?" He looked at you incredulously, nodding to your stomach. You nodded with a small smile. "Why are you smiling!? This is awful! How would you even get that back out!? Wouldn't this string break!?" "Let me show you." You said hurriedly with a smile. Slowly, you pulled the tampon back out the bottle. The cotton contorted. "Oh! Oh! Oh you poor thing! Oh I was blessed! Oh I was lucky! Oh no! Oh no! Oh, you poor thing! Your poor- oh no, no, no, no." Demetri covered his face with his hands when it finally came out. This poor guy might be traumatized. "I need to change you. I need to change you soon. I just- I can't believe you go through that every month, multiple times. You dont even look bothered!" Demetri said to you. You shrugged lightly. "It's nothing too serious. Sometimes it's uncomfortable but I wouldn't say it was anything like torture." He has a whole other level of respect for you. He wouldn't even dare repeat why, instead only wincing. You're a badass, that's all Felix needs to know.

Felix: Felix was mostly silent, other than the faces he made of horror. In fact, you found his reaction so funny, you couldn't help but take it one step further. "So then you pull it out, don't yank it and you can only keep one of these in for four to six hours. Eight at the very most or you'll die." "I'm sorry, go into that part?" "Toxic Shock Syndrome." You replied with ease. Felix looked perplexed. "It's rare but what will happen each time is that the bacteria will produce toxins that can enter my blood stream through my uterus lining." Felix didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. It was clear upon his face. "Were you exaggerating when you said you'd die?" Slowly you shook your head. "Nope." You continued. "It can be fatal and requires medical intervention immediately." "And you do this everytime your on your period, multiple times!? Playing with fire!?" Felix was almost screeching but you nodded simply as you began to pull it out of the bottle. "Oh no, that isn't coming out. That'll stay in there." Felix said eyes wide at the rim of the bottle. "No, it will." You answered before pulling at the string. Slowly but surely, the cotton of the tampon contorted, reshaping into the confounds of the bottle. Felix's jaw dropped and that's what happens when you pull it out of..." Felix trailed off nodding to your stomach. You nodded. "It must be a relief." He commented. You weren't so sure. "Not really, it's uncomfortable when it's full like this but pulling it out isn't much better." "This is awful. I hate every second of this." Felix groaned. That was when the idea had come to you. "Alright, this is the important part." You told him, successfully hiding your smile. "There's more!?" He gawked. "Yes, because after that, I have to suck the blood out of this to replenish myself." "Excuse me!?" Felix jolted back and you immediately burst out laughing. "Felix..." "What did you just say to me!?" He cried out. "How else am I going to make up for the blood I've lost!?" "Demetri, get your ass in here!" Felix yelled. That was when you knew the joke was over. "Felix! I was kidding! It was a joke! I don't eat it, I just throw it away." You doubled over laughing. Not before Demetri got in there quicker than you could blink though. 🤷‍♀️

[itsthestutterforme]

The Affair (Mr. Cho)

Summary: Y/N sets aside the past she had with Mr. Cho when she realizes he's in trouble. //SMUT Warning, photo is not mine.

Yelling yourself awake, your sweat trickles down your chest and back to be absorbed by your already drenched shirt. Standing up from the couch, you glance at the clock and it read 8:21 pm. You didn't even realize you fell asleep.

You pull off the shirt as you walk into you bedro and toss it across the room. You reach into the drawer to grab another shirt.

You freeze when you see Cho's shirt and slowly reach for it. You had a nightmare about Cho being ambushed and kidnapped. It felt too real to be a dream.

You hated yourself for calling off your relationship with Cho. There was something about how could make you feel like you were the queen of everything by blessing everything you touched. The two of you were meant for each other. You could even go as far as being soulmates in another lifetime.

But in this lifetime, he had a wife and an entire family. You couldn't bring yourself to take time away from them just so he could be with you. You loved him for being able to make that decision, but you loved him enough to make the ultimate decision that be cannot make.

You pull Cho's shirt over head and take your phone into your hands to call Vincenzo. After the fourth ring, he whispers a soft hello when he answers. "What's wrong, why are you whispering?" You say. "It's Mr. Cho." Your heart sinks in your chest. "What about him?"

"He's been held captive. I-" "Where are you right now," "No, Y/N. I will not let you get hurt," "Tell me now, Vinenzo." There was a moment of silence before you hear a deep sigh. "The Geumga Plaza," he says before hanging up.

Rushing to the drawer to grab black jeans, shirt and shoes. You change your clothes as fast as you could and pulled your hair into a high bun. You grabbed your keys and were out the door.

Gi-seok met me into the parking garage and led me to the rest of the group. When you guys rounded the corner, Vincenzo was on his knees as he bled from his head. A man stood over him and raised his leg to kick him.

"Enough!" You say, making everyone stop their motions. The rest of the group mimicked what you said and you rolled your eyes annoyingly. The next thing you knew they were rushing towards you. You duck under the blow the first man threw and thrust kicked him against the wall.

Hitting one man in the throat, you grab his arm and pop it out of place. He yells and you roundhouse kick his face, knocking him out cold. You block another blow and punch him once in the throat and again in his solar plexus before tossing him to the ground.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and when you turned around, it was one of those goons. By the time you had a time to react, an older woman with boxing gloves punches him in the face. You thank her with a soft nod before seeing a man run towards you.

You run towards him and hop on his shoulder to clamp onto his neck when you both rolled on the ground. Using all of your strength and momentum, you throw clear across the plaza, knocking down his people like bowling pins.

Looking around the remaining goons are fighting with the other members of the Cassano family, leaving you wugb the two guys that held Cho.

You were in the process of walking towards him when he broke free and punch one across the face before kicking the other in the chest. He looks at you warmly and you could feel your heart flutter in your chest.

Without thinking, you touched his face tenderly. His right cheek was swollen and covered with bruises. He had a cut above his left eye and his lip was bleeding.

"It isn't as bad as it looks," he says softly. You shake you head and bit your lip angrily. None of this would have happened if he was with you.

"I know what you're thinking, and it's not true." He adds. Pulling away from his face, you move your attention to the bruises peeking out from his shirt.

"You need to go to the hospital," "Why?" "You could have some internal bleeding. We have to make sure." You explain. "I don't t-" you grab his hand and drag him across the plaza to your car.

**

Turns out he did have some internal bleeding from how many blows he took to the chest and stomach. The doctors say that if he didn't come in as soon as he did, he could have died choking on his own blood.

The doctors called Cho's wife that you haven't officially met yet, but she thanked you for saving his life anyway.

You decided to leave soon after, not want to take time away from him and him family. It's been a week since you've seen him last. He hasn't texted or called you, which is both heartbreaking and good at the same time. It means that he's been taking advantage of his new time.

Throwing your gym bag over your shoulder, you reach for the door knob until you heard a knock on your door. You look through the peep hole to see Cho with a large basket in his hands. "What the.." you say to yourself.

Opening the door, your eyes glance over the basket before meeting his gaze. "What's all this?" "See for yourself," he says, giving me the basket. You look at him and he gives you the okay to open it. Setting the basket down on the table, you could hear him door close behind you.

Your eyes widen when you open the basket to see a new iPhone 11 box with an Apple watch sitting right there beside it. Laying there on the bottom was a cotton penguin sweatshirt with a matching fleece shorts bottoms and socks. At the side was your favorite candy, Y/F/C. All of this together could easily be $1000.

"Cho, what are you." You trail off when you notice how close he was to you. "Why are you doing this?" You ask. He smooths over your hair with his hand and cups the back of your head. "I told her everything." He says. "What?!" You say as you pull away from him.

"Why would you do that? You have a family of your own, why would you put that in jeopardy for someone like me?" "Because you are my family, and I love you." "No, Cho, I will never forgive myself if I am the reason why you get divorced from your wife."

Every step he takes towards you, you take a step back until he walks you into the wall near the door. "You saved my life," he whispers as he cups your cheeks.

His eyes drift from your eyes to your lips but doesn't move from his spot as he searches your eyes for approval. He closes the gap between you by pressing his lips to yours.

His abs brushed against your stomach as he pulled you closer to him. Your hands trailed along his jawline as his tongue invades your mouth. He pulls away to kiss down you neck, your skin igniting under his touch. He takes both of your hands into his and pin them against the wall.

He turns you around and pulls your back into his chest. He caresses the back of your arms and sucks on the sensitive skin along the base of your neck. He pulls off your shirt and left warm kiss down your spine. You loved how he took his time with you. He wasn't in any rush.

Series of moans left your lips when he snakes into to your pants and cups your pussy, rubbing soft circles on your clit. Your legs fall open to give him more access, but you were starting to get impatient.

"Please," you beg as he pulls away from you and licks your justice off his fingers with a hum. "I've missed you," he says, lifting you up and throwing you on his shoulder without warning. He flips the light on and sets you on the bed gently before pulling off your tights.

Maintaining eye contact, he slides two fingers into you bundle of nerves and curled at different angles until he hit one of your gspot. Your legs started to tense as a familiar knot forms in your stomach.

He isolates his fingers so his middle finger strokes the upper wall of your pussy while his ring finger and index finger rub circles on the sides. His eyebrows were pressed together as if he was really focused on something.

That was when it hit me you yell out in shock when he hits three separate gspots. "There we go, sweetheart." He rubs your clit with his opposite thumb and your body was thrashing, unable to deal with the increasingly huge wave that was crashing over you.

He continued to move his talented fingers and your stomach grew sore from tensing your abs so much. You were on the brink of your second orgasm when he slowed down his fingers, making you whine.

He took off his glasses and kissed down your stomach. Curling his finger slowly, he moves down you body until his face was settled in between your thighs. He picks up the face with his fingers as kitten licked your sensitive bud. "Oh!" One hand gripped the sheets while the other gripped his hair.

Even after your second orgasm whipped through you, your legs were involuntarily trembling. He cups your cheeks and presses a burningly slow kiss on your lips, taking the air right out of your lungs. "You are... you're amazing." You say, making him chuckle.

"I'm nowhere near done with you yet,"

[love-and-monsters]

Cavern and Foe

M elf X GN reader, 8,276 words.

After coming across a sworn enemy and shooting him, you both fall into an underground cavern. The only way out is to work together. If, of course, you can manage it. 

You unfurled yourself from your hunting crouch and headed a few steps further into the forest. It was unnaturally quiet in the dusk, and you could feel your stomach grinding hungrily against your ribs- it had been hours since your last meal at dawn, but you still hadn’t managed to catch anything. The only animal you had managed to hit with your arrow had been a deer, and that had only been in the flank. Generally, your ritehood was not going well.

It would be another week and a half before you were allowed back in your village. Hunting wasn’t strictly necessary for the ritehood; there were plenty of people before you who had survived on a diet of plants alone, whether by choice or necessity. But an unwillingness or inability to bring down prey did preclude you from your chosen profession.

You wanted to be a warrior. And that meant proving that you were strong and skilled enough to become one.

Something rustled the undergrowth behind you. You shifted your weight, turning your body toward the noise without making any of your own. With only the smallest, most delicate motions, you removed an arrow from your quiver and threaded it. There were precious few of them left- you were going to need to make this shot count.

The rustling moved closer to you. You squinted through the woods, trying to make out the shape moving between the trees. It was tall. Perhaps a bear? Taking down one of those would surely confirm your path as a warrior. But it would have to be fairly young to be so quiet- bears were usually much heavier.

You caught a glimpse of tanned skin through the trees and loosed your arrow. It plunged straight and true into the flesh of your target.

The scream that went up made your hair stand on end. It was full of raw agony, a nearly human scream, but with a razor-sharp edge that made it sound a little like a wildcat’s. Your heart leapt. A cougar, perhaps? That would earn you a warrior position, surely. Barely breathing, you plunged through the woods toward your target.

What you saw made you stumble to a graceless stop.

It looked almost like a person, wearing off-white robes with an embroidered neckline. From its head, poking through its black hair, rose a crown of short, bone white horns. Its ears were long and pointed, extending almost past the back of its head.

An elf. You whipped out your bow and pointed an arrow at its throat. An elf. With its head, you would be the most respected member of your town. You could be a warrior, if you wanted; you would probably be given a high-ranking position right off the bat. Who would deny you, after you had killed one of your people’s greatest enemies?

The victory was already singing sweet inside your head, so you were too distracted to notice the elf’s tail whipping across the ground. It hooked your ankle with a surprisingly strong grip for its thin size and yanked.

Your feet went from underneath you. Only barely did you manage to catch yourself on your elbows, and by the point, the elf was on his feet, sprinting back into the forest.

Rage flashed through you. In seconds, you were on your feet, plunging after him. You could see him darting between trees and scrambling through the undergrowth. Bright spots of blood stood out against the deep green of the forest, guiding you after him.

He was slowing down, stumbling more and more. The splotches of blood were growing bigger- running seemed to be making the injury worse. You were right behind him, gaining on him with every step. Without breaking your stride, you pulled your bow off your back and nocked an arrow. You trained your sight on him. All you needed to do was get one good hit- just one.

And, before you could blink, he dropped out of sight.

Confused, you staggered, trying to kill your momentum. Where had he-

And then you pitched into the same pit he’d fallen down.

You felt yourself hit the ground in slow motion. One of your arms twisted underneath you. There was a split second of stomach-turning horror where you heard and felt your bone crunch as you landed on it. Then there was one second of nothing.

And then the pain hit you.

Agony. You couldn’t move your arm. You couldn’t fathom moving it. There was nothing to move. Your arm was nothing more than a white-hot blaze of pain. It made your stomach churn with the awfulness of it and you rolled onto your belly so you could vomit. Sobs and dry heaves mingled together, leaving your body convulsing and trembling.

Time lost all meaning for a while, but eventually, you got used to the pain. It was still there, but you were able to take one small part of your brain away from screaming in agony and figure out what was happening.

You were in some kind of small cave. The hole you had fallen through was distant above you, far enough away that you could blot it out with the palm of your hand. The room curved upward, like an inverted bowl. It was only the size of a small room, perhaps ten feet across. Sitting across the room, glaring at you, was the elf you had just been chasing.

There was a long, awkward silence. He was clutching at his shoulder, blood pumping slowly down his front. You moved instinctively for your bow, but froze when you touched it- it had been smashed upon landing, no more than splinters and string. Not that it mattered- you weren’t shooting one handed. With your good hand, you fumbled for your knife, but you weren’t excited about your chances- the broken arm was your strong arm, and you were pretty sure that even injured, he would be able to wrestle the knife away from you.

“It would seem we are at a stalemate,” the elf said. His voice was slightly accented and rather soft. “You cannot kill me, I have no desire to kill you, and we are not getting out of here any time soon.”

You glared at him from across the room, as much as you could manage. It was hard to stop your expression from twisting into a grimace of pain. “Maybe you’re giving up. I’m going to climb out.”

The elf somehow managed to make an eyebrow raise look sarcastic, but he said nothing else. Cradling your broken arm, you examined the wall. Unfortunately, the hole you had fallen through appeared to be roughly at the apex of a dome. Attempting to scale it would mean pretty big sections where you hung nearly upside down, a feat that would be difficult with two functional arms. With only one still working, it was nearly impossible.

That didn’t mean you weren’t going to give it a try. There were a few rocks that jutted out from the wall, creating solid footholds. You braced your good arm against the wall and started to climb.

Your fingers slipped from the stone when you were only couple of feet above the ground. You struck the ground hard, knocking the wind out of your lungs. For a moment, you just lay there, gasping and choking as pain radiated up your broken arm.

It took a few minutes for you to be able to sit up and you risked a glance at your broken arm. You had been avoiding looking at it, mostly out of fear.

Your stomach twisted as you looked at it. The bone had shifted against your skin. It hadn’t broken through, but you could see the unsettling jut of it, twisting the shape of your arm. It took several deep breaths and staring determinedly at the ground before you could settle your stomach.

“You’ll need to set that.” The elf sound smug. “It’ll be useless until then, and worse than useless if it heals like this.”

You looked down at your arm again. Experimentally, you probed it with your fingertips. The pain was bad enough that your vision hazed over for a moment, leaving you trembling and gasping on the ground.

When you came back to yourself, the elf was tearing strips of his toga apart. He wound the strips around the gash in his shoulder, tying it off. The movement of the arm seemed limited, but it was leagues better than yours. He paced slowly along his side of the room, resting his fingers against the wall. You followed the motion of his tail. His expression was smooth and unperturbed, but his tail whipped and coiled behind him, twining close to his legs.

Time slipped by with agonizing slowness. You could only tell it was passing because the light filtering into the cave was gradually growing dimmer. Your stomach growled, adding its own complaint to the aches and pains you were already feeling. You had been trying not to move, since that only seemed to aggravate your broken arm, but finally, driven by your groaning stomach, you shifted to look for your pack.

The elf watched you as you grabbed for your bag. It was small, but it contained a few days’ worth of rations. Looking at them made your nerves flare. There wasn’t enough to last you until your arm healed, and even if it had, you weren’t sure it was going to help. Your arm was not healing properly without being set, and every tiny touch made a nauseating wave of pain roll through you. You weren’t setting it on your own, and if your arm wasn’t set, you weren’t climbing out. Starvation was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.

Your stomach growled and you reached fumblingly for the food with your non-dominant hand. Fuck it. Might as well eat. Nothing would be solved by going hungry. You ripped into one of the strips of dried meat. Ugh. If it was going to be your last meal, you really wished it could have been something that tasted better.

“You have food?” The elf had gone still on the other side of the cave. One of his arms was pressed to his middle, like he was trying to massage away hunger pains. He was staring fixedly at you. In the dim light of the cave, his cheeks looked sallow and his eyes, sunken. Was he starving? You pulled the food bag tighter against your chest. Would you be able to hold him off if he decided to charge? He seemed to be thinking the same thing, eyes flicking over you. You might be able to get a few good kicks in, and if you got a lucky shot on his injury, you could probably incapacitate him. But he could easily incapacitate you, too. It was all up to luck. And neither of you were willing to take that chance.

The tension went out of him after a moment and he slumped against the wall, still staring at your bag. Your eyes drifted to the tight bandage at his shoulder. “Do you know how to set a broken bone?” you asked.

He looked at you cautiously. “I am aware of how to do it. I’ve never actually done it, though.”

“I’ll cut you a deal,” you said. “Set my arm and I’ll give you something to eat.”

His eyes drifted from your bag to you, then back to the bag. “And how are you going to stop me from twisting your arm and stealing the bag?” he asked.

“I’ve still got my knife on me,” you said, indicating the blade at your hip. “If you reach for the bag, I’ll have just enough time to gut you before you grab it.”

He eyed the knife. “And how do I know you’re not going to try to stab me the second I get within range?”

“Because then I’m not getting out of here either. I need my arm set. And you need to eat. We both need this. I’m not going to be stupid about this if you’re not.” The elf looked at you for a moment, weighing his options, then nodded.

He approached you slowly, eyes scanning your every move. You held as still as possible, keeping your hands low and nonthreatening. When he reached you, he crouched at your side, turning his body away from you. It was clear he was trying to keep any vulnerable points away from you.

His hands brushed your arm and you gave a strangled groan. “Usually, you’d set it with some sort of stick or piece of wood to keep the bone straight as it heals,” the elf said. “But I don’t have any of that.”

You glanced around. Your bow had chunks of wood that were as long as your forearm, but they were all curved. “Arrows,” you said. “I have a couple. Will those work?”

The elf lifted your quiver and slid one of the arrows free. He examined it for a moment, then deftly snapped off the tip and dropped it on the ground. You grimaced. The elf ripped at the hem of his clothes, tearing off another long strip of fabric. When he had a long enough chunk, he lay the fabric and arrow together and took your arm in his hands. Despite everything, his touch was soft and gentle, barely brushing your skin.

“The bone is out of place. I’ll have to shift it back in,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll heal perfectly.”

“I’m good with good enough,” you said. You turned your head away. Looking at your arm was starting to make you feel sick. “Just go for it.”

“Hold on.” He reached down and seized another arrow. After snapping off the tip again, he pressed the body of the arrow to your lips. “Bite on it. It’ll hurt.”

You seized the arrow in your teeth. He nodded and looked back down at your arm. “All right. Three… t-” He hadn’t even finished saying two before he was pressing on your broken arm.

Your vision went white. Agony blazed through your brain. You couldn’t think. Distantly, you thought you could hear someone screaming. There was the vague sense that you were thrashing around. But you couldn’t be sure. The pain commanded all of your attention.

Slowly, the pain diminished. It didn’t go away, but you started being able to have coherent thoughts around it. You were lying down, sweat soaking into the dirt. Fine tremors ran over your body. The elf was sitting over you, looking ruffled.

“You kicked me,” he said. His voice was winded and, as your senses returned, you realized he was clutching his side.

“Sorry,” you said. Your voice was raspy and your throat protested even the simple aspect of talking. You’d said it reflexively, but to your surprise, you realized you were actually sorry. Genuinely, you hadn’t meant to hurt him. “You could, uh, kick me back.” It was a stupid thing to say, but you had said it so often to your siblings that it was nearly automatic. To your surprise, the elf laughed.

“I won’t.” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t move your arm. It’s bound, but it’s not stable. Arrows aren’t the best for splinting.”

Your arm was still throbbing bad enough to make your stomach turn, but you had enough wherewithal to turn and grab your bag. “Here,” you said, thrusting it at him. “Take some.”

He looked at you cautiously, then reached into the bag and started rummaging through your food. It would have been easy for him to drag the entire bag away from you. There was no way you were in enough of a shape to stop him. Instead, he pulled out a tied-off bag of dried fruit and laid the bag back at your feet. Transaction concluded, he retreated to his side of the cave.

It was rapidly getting darker in the cave. The sun was setting, and any light that you once had was fading. You shivered. The cave was chilly. Usually, you managed nights in the woods with a fire, but there was no wood and you weren’t quite desperate enough to sacrifice your clothes. Instead, you lay back on the dirt ground and did your best to cover your body with a coat. Shivering sucked. It made your arm ache even worse. Gradually, the cave dimmed into pitch blackness.

Despite your exhaustion, sleep refused to come. The sickening pain of your broken arm notwithstanding, every noise from across the cave made your eyes snap open again. Could he see you? There were rumors about elves having dark vision. If you fell asleep, it would be simple for him to steal your knife and slit your throat.

Your paranoia kept you from engaging in any but the lightest of sleep. The slightest sound brought you back to full wakefulness, and you never really lost consciousness. You only drifted in the dim, dreamy area between wakefulness and sleep.

Morning came to find you stiff, exhausted, and in a worse mood than you had been in the night. The pain in your arm was more insistent, a constant throbbing that shoved its way to the forefront of your mind. The elf appeared to be in only moderately better shape. He was holding his arm in a strange way, suggesting that his own wound had stiffened overnight, though he looked better rested.

Slowly and uncomfortably, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. The elf watched you, caution in every line of his body. You ignored him, instead scrounging in your bag for breakfast. Rationing was probably a good idea, so despite your weakness, you only ate a few strips of dried meat and a piece of hard biscuit. It barely filled the aching void of your stomach. Trying to distract yourself, you started fussing with the bandages on your arm.

“What do you think you’re doing, idiot?” the elf hissed at you. You paused, looking up at him. He had shifted closer to glare at you. “I went to all that trouble to bind your arm and you’re just screwing it up!”

Irritation flared in your chest. “I am not screwing it up! I’m making it tighter!”

He snorted. “Sure. Just don’t expect me to rebind it again when it comes apart. I’m not looking to get injured by you again.”

The anger grew brighter and hotter. Frustration at being trapped, injured, and afraid spilled over. “If you hadn’t been trespassing in the first place, I wouldn’t have shot at you! What were you doing on our land?” It felt good to vent your spleen on someone.

“Your land?” the elf snarled back. “You can’t own land! Just like a human, to think you can come in here and take whatever you want-”

“We take whatever we want?” Your voice echoed in the small space of the cave. “You stole our crops! But sure, act all high and mighty because we like to make sure our own people get fed-”

“You can’t steal a living creature! What lives belongs to the land and the land is for all! Only a human would want to possess everything!” The elf stormed toward you, jabbing a finger toward your chest.

“Only an elf would claim the moral high ground while stealing food from the mouths of our children!” You rose to meet him, faces inches apart. His features were as delicate as any elf’s beautiful even when twisted in rage. The constant ache of your arm only spurred your anger further.

“We did no such thing! If you have not sustained the land so that it will sustain you, then you only have yourselves to blame,” the elf sniffed. Red haze clouded your vision.

“How dare you! All you elves claim to be so pure and noble, but you’re all just a bunch of smug bastards, lording your superiority over everyone else! I bet if your people had to fight starvation off by tooth and nail every year, you wouldn’t be so damn high and mighty!”

“At least we’re not the ones shooting any human on sight! We’re not a bunch of savage murderers!”

“We can’t trust you not to take our stuff! It’s either that or you rob us blind and we’ll die as surely as if you slit our throats!” You had pushed each other to the middle of the cave, right under the single shaft of sunlight. Your voices echoed off the walls, filling the space with overlapping noise.

“And of course, your first instinct as a human is violence! You couldn’t negotiate to save your stupid hide!” The elf leaned over you, his face barely apart from yours. “All you know is how to shoot and ki-”

Something underneath you groaned. The ground shifted, buckling under the elf’s feet. He wobbled. Directly beneath him, the floor of the cave shuddered. You backed away, skittering toward the wall. The cave floor was unstable. Perhaps it hadn’t been able to take the weight of the two of you standing together. Perhaps your voices had been loud enough to shake something loose. Or perhaps it was just the last straw on the camel’s back.

You saw a look of undisguised terror on the elf’s face as the floor on his side of the cave crumbled away.

It was pure instinct on your part. Perhaps it would have said more to your character if it hadn’t been, if you had made the conscious decision to save an enemy. But it wasn’t. You just saw his look of fear as he went down and lunged to catch him.

Your good hand caught one of his. For a horrifying moment, he kept going, fingers sliding through yours. Just in time, his other hand snapped up and caught your wrist. His fingers were slick with sweat, but he managed to hold on.

You groaned. You weren’t quite lying on top of it, but the position you were in was putting your weight onto your bad arm. It took all your strength to just hold onto him. There was no way you were going to be able to pull him back up and if this went on, he was going to pull you over the edge too. But you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t let him fall.

His legs scrambled at the crumbling ledge beneath him. “I can’t pull you up,” you said. “Can you try to climb out?”

“I’m trying!” He pulled on your arm, trying to climb you like a rope. You kicked your legs furiously, trying to find something to anchor yourself with.

One of your feet caught on a chunk of stone. You wrapped your legs around it, hooking your foot around your ankle. Slowly, sick with the agonizing pain in your arm, you pulled yourself away from the ledge.

He scrambled up onto solid ground as soon as he could grip the ledge. Both of you scurried away from the edge of the pit, huddling together against the wall. Now that your adrenaline was fading, the pain in your arm was crawling to new levels. You must have done something to it when you lunged for him. Cautiously, you probed the bone through the bandage. A coil of pain kicked you straight in the stomach. You rolled over and vomited bile over the ground.

When you were done, you sat back up, back pressed to the wall. Your skin was clammy and fine tremors wracked your frame.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at the elf. He was pressed against the wall, smudged with dirt and a few smears of blood. His eyes were focused on you, wide as saucers. “You saved my life.”

You spat a bit of stomach acid onto the dirt. “Yeah. So, I guess it’s all evened out now, huh? Maybe you can stop yelling at me for almost killing you.”

He blinked at you. “No, I mean- why did you save me? If you wanted me dead, there was no better chance than that one.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know why I saved you. I wasn’t thinking. I just saw that you were scared and- I don’t know. It’s one thing to attack a trespasser. It’s another to just… let someone die.”

The elf stared at you for a moment, the whites of his eyes bright against the dirty background of the cave. “Your arm,” he finally said, “is it… okay?”

You didn’t want to look at it. “I don’t know.”

“Sit back against the cave wall,” the elf said, waving his hand toward you. He crawled over to you, settling next to your injured arm. You turned your head away. “I’m going to unbind it. Please try not to kick me again.”

“No promises,” you said, trying to smile through your gritted teeth. You thought you caught a quiet huff of laughter as he bent over you.

Cold fingers delicately unwrapped the cloth bandages and removed the splint. The elf sucked in a sharp breath. Your stomach dropped. “That bad?”

“Um,” the elf said. “You sort of lay on top of it when you grabbed for me, right? I think you, um. I think you pushed the bone a little further out of alignment.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly. There was a measure of unsteadiness to it. “It’s hard to see down here, so maybe it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“How bad does it look?” you asked.

The elf grimaced. “It’s… swelling. And the bruises are bad. And the bone’s out of place again.”

“Fix it,” you said. “You shoved the bone back in place before, do it again.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I can stabilize it, but you’ve jostled it more out of place than it was before. I don’t want to risk damaging anything else.”

You leaned your head back against the wall. “Just do what you can.”

He at least attempted for gentleness this time, but you still had to grit your teeth against the sheer awfulness of the pain. His fingers were nimble, and the warmth of his body against yours was almost comforting. When he leaned away from you, you found yourself missing the contact.

The elf was apparently reluctant to part as well, because even after he finished with your arm, he stayed next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “We need to get out of here,” he said.

“Yes. We established that already. The problem is how,” you said. “I can’t climb out of here even without a broken arm, and unless you’re hiding some impressive wall-scaling abilities, you can’t either.”

Something tapped against your side. You looked down to see the elf’s tail twisting and coiling on the ground. Occasionally, the fluffy tip would hit you, though it seemed to be more incidental than intentional. “No, I can’t. Especially not with an arrow wound.” He moved a hand over it absently. “But there has to be a way out.” He got up and started pacing along the wall, touching it with his palm. His tail waved behind him, swinging from side to side.

“Maybe,” you said, unconvinced. “Or maybe not.”

He fumbled along the wall for a few minutes, before lashing out with a kick. “Dammit! The floor crumbled so damn easy, why won’t these walls?”

He kicked the wall again and again, sending tiny stones skittering across the floor. You watched, wide eyed. The elf slammed a particularly hard kick into the wall and yelped, then started hopping around, clutching his foot. He slumped to the ground, mumbling and cursing.

“You all right?” you asked.

“Just bruised,” he groused. “Sorry. I get grouchy when I’m hungry.”

“We’ve got some more supplies,” you said, nudging the bag closer to him. He snorted, pushing the bag back over to you.

“Not that kind of hungry. There’s no light down here, except that tiny little patch.” He pointed up to the distant hole in the ceiling. The direct sunlight filtered down into the gaping hole in the ground. “I’ve been trying to meditate, but it’s just not effective without the sun. It’s making my skin crawl.” He gave an affected shudder before glancing at you. “How are you managing it? You’ve barely been affected by night-sickness at all.”

You stared at him. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”

The elf looked back at you with a similarly confused expression. “Night-sickness. Do humans call it something different? You know, when you haven’t done your light meditation for too long?” You shook your head. “Do you have totally different words for all of it? Look, how do you process the light from the sun into energy?”

“How do we- what?” You were staring to get frustrated. “You’re not making any sense. We don’t convert light into energy or whatever.”

“Then how do you get energy?” the elf said. He sounded well and truly bewildered, like the very idea was completely unheard of.

“We eat food? You know what eating food it. I’ve seen you eat.” Several expressions flitted across the elf’s face, from confusion to surprise to something like guilt.

“You only eat food?” he asked. You nodded. “Ah. That, er. Explains some things.”

“What does it explain?” you asked. “And what do you mean we only eat food? What else would we eat? Rocks?”

The elf chuckled weakly. “Then you would be a lot better position down here. No. Elves need sunlight. Without it, we get sick, and we can die. Food is still necessary, but we don’t need much. We have maybe one meal a day and we meditate to gain our energy other times.” His tail hooked around his chest, curling and twitching. “We can eat more food, but it’s… wasteful, I suppose. Or maybe overly indulgent.”

Several ideas were dawning upon you in the same moment. “That’s why elves don’t have farms. You don’t need them. You don’t eat much, so you can afford to just forage every now and then and gather what you want. Human farms must look greedy to you.”

“It did come across as a little…” He made a vague hand gesture. “A little gluttonous, perhaps. To have so much food and to be so possessive over it felt like an overreaction.”

“But we need it,” you said. “We got dangerously close to famine last winter.”

The elf shrank back. “We didn’t know! We don’t grow our own food! I mean, it’s not fun to go without food, but we can live. The idea of planting and growing living things that only you can harvest is just weird! You plant things because you like seeing things grow and get healthier, not because you have to.”

You kneaded at your forehead. “Are you telling me the war between our species for years has been because we didn’t know you guys eat sunlight?”

“We don’t eat sunlight,” the elf said. “It’s more of an energy transfer process. And you could have asked.”

“You could have asked before stealing our food!”

“We didn’t know it was stealing!” The elf had drawn closer to you as you were talking, and you were suddenly overly aware of how close you were. You could feel the heat of his body against yours. A wave of buzzing heat spread over your body from the pit of your stomach. Your eyes were unsettlingly drawn to his lips. His upper lip was fuller than his bottom one. Your mind wandered, almost casually, over to how it would feel to kiss the upper lips, to explore it with your teeth-

“Okay, get off me!” You struggled away from him. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but you thought there was a red flush staining his cheekbones. “It doesn’t matter how this whole thing started. Maybe, if we can tell people that this whole thing started with a misunderstanding, we can get them to end it. Or at least stop being so belligerently violent toward each other.”

The elf glanced at his injured shoulder. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. But, uh. We’re still kind of trapped. We’re not going to be stopping a war if the only thing people find are our skeletons.”

“Which means we need to find a way out of here,” you said. You stood up, your legs wobbling. You hadn’t realized exactly how tired you were. Apparently falling into a pit, breaking your arm, and then rescuing the guy you had previously tried to kill was an exhausting process.

The elf stepped closer to you, eyeing you like he was worried you were going to fall over. “I looked around. I didn’t see anything.”

“Might as well give it another pass,” you said. “Not like we’ve got that much else to do.” You started to pace along the wall, trying to feel for any weak points that might lead to a tunnel. The elf stayed by your side, tail flicking around your ankles.

No matter how closely you examined the walls, they never became anything other than solid stone. “There isn’t a way out,” the elf said. He was starting to look despondent, slumping against the wall. “I’m going to die down here.”

“No one’s going to die down here any time soon,” you said. “We just need to figure out a way out of here! There must be one.”

“Or the only way out is the same way we fell in, which we can’t get to.” He watched as you kicked at the wall some more. “Don’t bother. It’s not going to work. If I couldn’t get out, you’re not going to do it.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Do people let you get away with this all the time at your home just because you’ve got a pretty face?” you snapped, then realized what you’d said. The elf, apparently unable to believe his ears, stared back at you.

“Er- what?”

“Never mind! I wasn’t thinking. It’s the pain. It’s making me loopy.” You gave another kick toward the wall. It remained as solid as ever. “Fuck!”

The elf stood back up. “Kicking solid rock isn’t going to help. You’re so stubborn. Are all humans like that?”

“Well, we don’t all give up like elves do, apparently,” you snorted.

“You waste your energy with fruitless endeavors instead,” the elf replied. He walked over to you, examining the wall. He still managed to have the refined air of an elf, even after spending a while at the bottom of a cave. “It’s not going to collapse.”

You staggered back from the wall. Your leg ached and the wall had suffered absolutely no damage. “Well, we can’t just stand here and do nothing.” You paced away from the wall and toward the pit. You couldn’t see the bottom, though it was already so dark it could have only been a few feet down. A breeze rustled your hair.

The elf sat down next to you. “You’re not thinking of throwing yourself off, are you?”

“No. You could push me, though. If you’re annoyed I’m still here.” It was a very weak attempt at a joke. The elf didn’t smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” he said. “Even if you’re the one who got me into this. I don’t want to be alone down here.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I, uh. Don’t mind having you down here either. I mean. I’m not happy you’re going to die too. If I could get you out, I would.”

“Me too. I just wish someone knew what we did. Maybe it could help people,” the elf said. His shoulder pressed against yours as he leaned closer to you. You leaned back into him. The contact was nice. He smelled oddly good, despite everything. Another breeze drifted up from the cavern beneath you, stirring your hair.

The elf went stiff next to you. “Did you feel that?”

“The breeze? Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“It smells like the forest! Like fresh air! There must be a way out down there!” The elf scrambled to his feet. “If we can just climb down, we can get out.”

You looked uncertainly into the pit. The sides were jagged, with plenty of hand and footholds, but you weren’t sure how far you would be able to make it. “You’ll have to go on ahead,” you said. “I can’t scale the wall, not with my arm like this.”

The elf’s face fell. “I can’t just leave you here.”

“If you can get out, you can get help. I’ll be fine.”

The elf’s tail coiled around his legs and his ears twitched frantically. “No. I’m not going to leave you.”

“You’re going to have to! I can’t climb like this, and you’re even more of an idiot than I thought if you’re going to stay here just because I can’t get out. Go!” You waved your hands at him, ushering him toward the edge of the pit.

“No.” The elf planted his feet, fingers curling into fists. “I can get you out of here. You saved my life. I’m not going to abandon you.”

“Technically, I save your life after trying to kill you. So, I would say that sort of evens the whole thing out,” you said. The elf rolled his eyes, glancing around the small cave. “Look, the longer we stand around here chatting, the less time you have to get out of here-”

“No. I have an idea,” the elf said. He fumbled with the hem of his clothes, tearing it into strips. Most of his stomach was exposed, showing off toned muscle. You deliberately did not look at him. It was not difficult because he was definitely not appealing to look at. “Come here.” You took a cautious step closer to him. “No, come here.” He seized your arm and tugged you next to him. “Stand still.” He took the cloth strips, which he’d tied into a long band, and wrapped them around both of your waists, tying you together.

“What’s this going to do?” you asked. One of the elf’s arms fell loosely around your waist, trying to steady himself against you. An odd jolt jumped through your core. You froze.

“It’s a tether between us. I should be strong enough to support at least some of your weight. You can use your good arm to climb and I can support your other side.” You tried to twist your head to look at him, but that put your faces dangerously close together. You looked away. “But we’ll have to work together.”

“I can do that,” you said. The elf’s hand pressed to your back. His tail twined around your leg for a moment.

“Okay. Just watch your step.” It took some careful negotiating of your positions to start scaling down the cliff, but you managed. Your arm screamed with pain, but the elf’s body pressed against yours, bracing you. Climbing down the rock wall was a slow, uncomfortably process. Once or twice you slipped and the elf had to pause and brace himself to support you, and he even slipped once and you had to bear his weight. It was difficult, but you managed to coordinate your movements. Without speaking, you and the elf moved as one. His tail looped around your waist. It couldn’t support your weight, but it was comforting to feel the elf’s presence.

The wall went on and on. Your arm ached from the jostling alone, and you kept bumping it against outcropping stones. The elf’s breathing had taken on a ragged edge- clearly he was struggling to hold up both of you.

“Can you tell how much further?” you asked. The elf squirmed, trying to get a look at the ground.

“No. It’s really dark. Could be a couple feet. Could be further. I don’t know.” The elf leaned closer to you. “This may have been a bad idea. I… I can’t hold on much longer.”

“I know.” Your own arm was trembling. Going up was no longer an option. There was no way you’d make it back to the top. The only hope was that the ground wasn’t much further away.

The elf moved down a couple more feet. You could tell his moves were laborious. Maybe if he hadn’t been helping you, he would be doing fine, but supporting another person was taking its toll. “I’m sorry,” you said. “This is all my fault.”

“Yeah,” the elf said, “it kind of is, isn’t it?” He sighed. “At least we know the reason our species had a feud, though. Even if no one else ever does, we’ll know the truth.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’m sorry I shot you and I’m sorry we ended up down here. But I’m gad we met.”

The elf’s tail curled tighter around your waist. There was almost no light, so you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him next to you. Just the two of you, huddled together in the dark. Even that small comfort felt precious. “I’m glad, too.”

As he moved to take another step down, the foothold he was using crumbled. You heard him yelp and felt him scramble to regain his grip, but his movements were clumsy and fumbling. The belt at your waist tugged and you tried to brace yourself, but it didn’t matter. You were tired and your weak grip was no longer enough. The elf’s weight pulled your grip free and you tumbled into the dark.

You barely had opened your mouth to scream when you slammed into the elf, landing squarely on top of him. He huffed out a breath and wheezed awkwardly as you tried to figure out what had just happened.

“What was that?” you groaned, struggling to push yourself up. There was just enough light to see by, which meant that you got a good look at the elf’s face, which was directly under yours, as he stared back at you. Your noses were almost close enough to touch. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest where you were lying on top of him.

“Um,” you squeaked. The elf didn’t seem to be processing the situation any better. He stared at you, eyes wide.

You recovered first. “We lived!” You scrambled up, wobbling a little. Your legs didn’t seem to be fully aware of the fact that you were alive. The elf made his way to his feet, equally unsteady.

“And you feel that, right?” The elf’s ears were twitching and his tail was waving in a constant, smooth motion. He tilted his head back, focused on the airflow of the cave. “The breeze is stronger. This way.” He took off at a light jog. You jogged after him, arm cradled against your chest.

There was a tiny glow of light in the cave that grew brighter and brighter the further you traveled. The tunnel sloped upward, your calves burning as you continued up the increased grade. The elf kept glancing back at you, making sure you were following him.

You turned a small bend and the light pouring into the cave became blinding. Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut. One of your hands fumbled and caught on the elf’s arm. He grabbed you back, and, clinging to each other, you plunged into the undergrowth of the forest.

Your eyes were slow to adjust to the brilliance, but apparently the elf’s were not, because he made a choked noise of horror. You squinted, eyes watering. There were dark shapes around you, humanoid shapes. Relief flooded through you. “It’s okay,” you said. “It’s oka-”

The pointy end of a spear hovered right in front of your chest. You froze. The elf, despite being about an inch taller than you, was trying to retreat behind you. You shifted to stand more directly in front of him, good arm out.

Now that your eyes were more properly adjusted to the light, you could see who was gathered in front of you. It was a hunting party, all four of them holding enormous spears and very ready to plunge those spears into the chest of an interloping elf and anyone who defended him.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your voice was slow and soothing as you could manage. “Guys. It’s me.”

The spear wavered. The man in front, Elias, frowned. “Step away from the elf,” he said. “We can take you back to town, get you some treatment.”

The elf was gripping your clothes tightly. His eyes were wide and he glanced at you uncertainly. You could read the terror in his eyes, the utter fear that you were going to hand him over to the humans.

You braced yourself. “No. Look. There was an accident. He helped me, even after I tried to kill him. He comes with me.”

Bewildered looks were exchanged between the hunting party. “He’s trespassing,” Elias said, but there was no longer as much conviction in his voice. You drew yourself up, trying to look as authoritative and confident as possible.

“He saved my life. And he had important news for us. He stays with me.” You ushered the elf fully behind you, daring the hunters to get around you. They looked at Elias uncertainly, waiting for his say so. He looked back at them. Already, they were lowering their spears, and Elias seemed to sense that they were no longer going to attack confidently.

“All right,” he said. “But the elf stays under guard.”

“I stay with him,” you said. The hunting party fell in around you. The elf squeezed your hand. You could feel a world of gratitude through that small motion.

You refused to leave the elf, even as they questioned him and treated your arm. Explaining about what you had discovered took some time, and there was certainly no small amount of skepticism. But after hours of waiting and repeating yourself, a delegation of elves entered the town.

“Guess you’ll be heading back home soon,” you said. The elf nodded.

“I’m glad of that,” he said. “Though I think… I think I’ll miss you. Isn’t that strange? Missing the person who tried to kill you?”

“Just as strange as missing the person you tried to kill,” you said. “I’m glad I met you, Viatas,” You had learned his name soon after the other elves had arrived.

“I’m glad I met you, too.” He leaned in and gave you a gentle hug, careful not to disturb your arm. He was warm and he smelled surprisingly nice and your heartbeat pounded in your ears as he squeezed you.

“We’ll see each other again,” you promised. “Now that we’re actually talking, I think things are going to get better.”

“I hope so,” said Viatas. He waved to you once more before following the elvish delegation into the forest. You watched him until he had completely vanished between the trees.

Three weeks later, you paced around the entrance to the cave. The sun was low in the sky, washing the area around you in an amber glow.

The foliage rustled. You froze, eyes locking onto the spot where it shifted. There was a moment of silence, then Viatas emerged, hands raised.

“Not going to shoot me again, are you?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Still can’t hold the bow, actually. My arm’s not fully healed yet.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Viatas sat down next to you on a fallen log. “I didn’t make it worse, did I?”

“No. They said I probably never would have been able to use it properly if you hadn’t set it. It’s just a bad break. You saved my life and my arm.” You nudged his leg playfully and he laughed. “I’m glad you got my message.”

“I was glad to hear from you. I’ve been worried. I mean, things are going well in my home, but I wasn’t sure how your people were taking anything. You’ve been all right, haven’t you?” He gave you a concerned look and you nodded reassuringly.

“I’m fine. Actually, I asked you here to talk about something. I just got assigned as an ambassador to the elves.”

Viatas’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently an elf will come to my town and I’ll go to yours and that’s supposed to help with interspecies relations. So, uh. I’ll need some help when I go. And I figured that you’d be a good person to ask. I mean, you’re the only elf I really know.”

Viatas frowned. “You try to kill me, kick me when I try to help you, and my reward for getting you out of the cave you were going to die in is more work?”

You sputtered. “You don’t have to! I was just thinking I’d offer-”

Viatas rested a reassuring hand on your arm. “I’m kidding.” He drew closer. In the dim light, shadows played appealingly over his features. You found it a little hard to breathe all of a sudden. “I would love to work with you.” He drew closer still. “In fact, I’ve rather missed you-”

You closed the distance, pressing your mouth to his. He moved in the same moment, lips molding to yours.

An amount of time passed. You weren’t really paying attention to how long. But you broke apart eventually. “You’re better at that than I thought you’d be,” Viatas said in a quiet, awestruck voice.

“Yeah?” you said. “I think you need some more practice.”

“Oh?” Viatas lifted his brows. “Well, perhaps I should get some.”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning close to him. “I think you should.”

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Pompeii!Reader

It's the Pompeii prompt, but really I wrote it as an excuse to have Loki be shirtless in a hot tub.

No regerts

-

The rush of blood filled your ears, drowning out the crowd around you. Your feet pounding on stone and your ragged breathing the only other noise you could make out as raced through the throngs of people.

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you saw the beast of a man was still after you.

Swallowing hard, your throat dry and burning, you forced your attention forward again.

Ducking around stalls and market vendors, past people and animals alike. On, he pursued you.

The wind was knocked out of you as you felt yourself collide with something solid. You had risked another glance back and did not see the sudden appearance of a man before you. To your surprise though, as the man knocked the wind out of you, catching you in his arms, he shifted his hold on you and spun you about. He had one hand on your upper back and another on your hip. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, despite his strange clothes.

For just a moment though, as he held you in your arms, slowing your momentum, you spun around. But in that precious time, you gazed up into his face and met his eyes as he stared back at you. The two of you shared a stunned look.

The man had strange green eyes, sharp cheeks, black wavy hair and a tall forehead. He stared at you with an intensity like no other. His thin, pale lips parted slightly as he looked at you clearly confused.

Your face must have mirrored his.

The two of you stopped spinning.

He didn’t move his hands.

Nor did you. The strange material felt so odd under your hands and if you were being honest the broadness of his chest and the muscles… You felt your cheeks heat up and forced yourself to pull back.

A smirk crossed this strange man’s face as he gazed down at you, finally letting go of you.

“Loki! What are you doing? We’re not supposed to interact with the locals, you’re going to mess the timeline up even more.”

You looked over as a man with grey hair and similar clothes came running around the corner.

“Loki?” You asked.

“I am.” Loki smiled, seeming to like you saying his name. “And she ran into me, I merely prevented us from falling over.”

Abruptly you recalled why you were running.

Loki looked at you, seeming ready to ask you that same question.

Before you could speak, the beast of a man finally arrived, charging into the alleyway that the three of you were tucked away in. “Come here, you’re mine.” He reached for your wrist and you tugged away, kicking him as hard as you could. The brute snarled, holding up his hand to strike you with the back of it.

Loki stepped forward and caught it, “That’s enough.”

“Loki…” The grey haired man warned softly. “You know what’s going to happen, just let history progress as it should.”

“I won’t stand idly by and let thugs like this exist.” Loki responded coolly.

You looked between the men fearfully.

Loki held your gaze, “You’re safe, trust me.”

Slowly you nodded.

“Give me it, Mobius.”

“No.”

“Give me it or I’m taking it.”

“I’ll have to report you for defiance in the field.”

“Would you really do that?”

The man, Mobius, sighed, “Loki. Please.”

Still gripping the brute’s wrist, Loki held out his hand towards Mobius. Mobius sighed heavily and tossed a little box to Loki. Loki took the box and touched it to the brute’s arm. There was a soft whir and a flash of fire sparks and then… the brute was gone.

You squeaked, pulling away.

Loki lunged towards you, tossing the box in the same movement back to Mobius. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He said soothingly, “You’re fine, you’re safe, no one is going to hurt you.”

Held by both of Loki’s strong hands, you realized that despite what you had just seen, you did feel safe. Slowly you nodded.

Loki exhaled softly, a smile spreading on his face. “Now then.” He stepped back, removing his hands. Bowing low, he reached for your hand and pressed a soft kiss to it, his lips brushing across it feather light.

You found yourself giggling.

“I am Loki, at your assistance. God of Mischief, current employee of the Time Variance Association.”

You blinked at him.

“And who might you be?”

“Oh!” You scrambled to tell him your name as the man Mobius looked more and more uncomfortable.

“Loki, can we talk?” Mobius hissed. He grabbed Loki’s strange sleeve and dragged him a few feet away, lowering his voice to angrily yell. “What do you think you’re doing? The volcano is going to blow in three days. She’s going to be dead. Why are you making friendly with her? You’re jeopardizing the mission by getting buddy buddy with a local, and if we have to come back and do this again, we could throw even more timelines out of balance.”

The two men looked over at you.

“She heard everything I just said.”

“Oh most definitely.” Loki replied.

“Dammit.” Mobius cursed softly.

You waved at them.

“Look, just give me a little time with her and I’ll clear this whole thing up.”

“Yea? How?” Mobius retorted.

“I’m the god of mischief, I can be very convincing.”

Mobius rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, whatever. I’m going back to basecamp, but just, don’t screw this anymore than you already have.”

“How is this my fault? She ran into me!”

“It’s always your fault, Loki.” Mobius sighed and shook his head, turning and walking off.

You watched him walk away. “He seems…” Pursing your lips, you searched for the word.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Bureaucratic.”

You smiled at Loki. “So, uh, what’s this about me dying?”

Looking down at you, Loki picked at his hand, his eyebrows furrowed. “Nothing, come on. Show me Pompeii.”

-

“And last of all, this is where I live.” You announced, having given Loki a tour of the entire city.

Night had fallen by now and you were glad to be home. Standing on your doorstep, you were now even with Loki in height. The night chill had settled in and you found yourself slightly envious of Loki’s strange clothes, a jacket, to keep him warm.

Loki looked at the building from the outside with interest, his eyes roving the structure but lingering on you.

“Would you… would you like to see inside?” You offered shyly.

You saw a tinge of pink on Loki’s cheeks as his eyes met yours, “I don’t want to be untoward.”

“It’s just a tour.” You offered your hand to Loki and he stepped in after you, looking around the extravagant building.

Loki tilted his head as he followed after you.

“I’m the daughter of a Senator. He makes sure I’m well looked after.” You shrugged.

As you led Loki through the various rooms and halls, showing him the paintings, mosaics, servants hard at work, and even the gardens, he commented mildly, “Even I’m impressed.”

“Oh, even?” You retorted, unable to stop yourself from playfully shoving him.

Loki chuckled, “You might not believe it, but I am a prince.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Really? Of where?”

“It is a far off place, you would not know.”

“Uh-huh…” You started skeptically, then looked at his clothes and thought of the strange box.

“You don’t believe me?” Loki replied, staring at you intently.

“Actually I think I do.”

“Good, I would not lie to you.”

You hesitated, uncertain about his sincerity. The memory of the man, Mobius, talking about your death came back to mind. “Do you have a place to sleep?”

“I can find my way back to our camp.” Loki shrugged.

“That will not do.” You shook your head.

Loki raised his eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

Your cheeks heated up again. “And your clothing needs washing. You cannot wear that again tomorrow without having it cleaned.”

Loki smirked.

You reached for the shirt collar and rubbed your thumb along it, there was a grey blemish. “Surely my servants can clean whatever this is.”

Opening and closing his mouth for a moment, Loki stopped, “I won’t stop them from trying. What do you suggest I wear in the meantime?”

“We have more reasonable things to wear, and surely you would like to take a soak, no?”

“A soak?”

“Yes. It is the house bath so you wouldn’t be alone…”

Loki turned his head, uncertainly.

“I figured, I might join you?” Your voice rose in pitch.

The smirk on Loki’s face widened and he hummed softly, “I think that would be delightful.”

-

Modesty shift wrapped around your torso, the servant helped you step into the hot water. Thoughts flashed across your mind on living in a society where such modesty items weren’t the norm. Your cheeks heated up and you knew it wasn’t from the water.

You sank down onto the bench grateful that your servants had kept the pool steaming for your arrival, no matter how late you would get home. Your hair was tied back to keep it out of the water and kept up. Laying back, you rested your eyes, wondering when your guest would arrive.

Were you being too forward? He had just saved you from a terrible fate. And there was no denying how interested you were in him, and not just because he was from some strange existence. This man was breathtaking, you had never seen a man in these lands as gorgeous as him.

There was a soft knocking at the door. “Mistress. Your guest.”

You opened your eyes and looked over, swallowing hard.

Loki stood beside the servant, a simple cloth wrapped around his waist. Your eyes roved over his muscular torso, toned abdomen, broad shoulders, strong arms and…

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to say something.

“Loki! Wonderful, come, come, please join me.” Your voice was hoarse as you slid over from the stairs to the bath.

Watching him walk, how like a predatory cat he moved, his muscles rippling with each step. No movement was unnecessary, each step deliberate, like a hunter on the prowl, and then he was sitting beside you in the bath.

Sighing, Loki leaned back in the bath and let out a small groan as his muscles loosened in the warm water.

Your heart pounded a mile a minute as you forced a smile looking at him. One of the servants stood waiting in the shadows. “Servant, fetch some wine.” You croaked.

“Wine? I haven’t had good wine in ages.” Loki mused.

“We should change that.” You murmured.

Loki reached for your hand beneath the water, gently lifting it to the surface with both his hands. He gazed at you seriously as his fingers trailed along the palm of your hand then down to the delicate wrist vein. “Your heartbeat is so fast, darling.” He smiled, tilting his head. His black locks shifted with the movement. Carefully he moved your hand over the left side of your chest, just above your breast. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “And loud.”

You could feel your eyes shimmering as you stared up at him open mouthed. How you wished it was his hand and not yours in that place.

The door opened and Loki moved away, the spell broken.

A servant walked in, carrying a pitcher of wine and two goblets. He set down the pitcher and poured one goblet for each of you, before returning to his place in the shadows.

Loki moved opposite you, sipping his wine and stared, his gaze fixated on you. “This wine is incredible.” He purred. “Worthy of Asgard.”

“Asgard?”

“Where I was raised.”

“I have heard of no such place.”

“I am not surprised.”

“Is that where you are a prince?” You asked, reaching out and sliding your leg against his.

Loki smirked, “It is. It is where I am a god.”

“Careful, if the gods hear you challenging them, they tend to get angry.”

Loki shrugged, “So be it. Perhaps my presence is why Vesuvius must erupt.”

You furrowed your brow, “The mountain?” You pulled your leg back, “Is that the death that Mobius was talking about?”

Loki nodded.

“Oh.” You looked away sadly, “I am a distraction then… something to enjoy before, before you leave, yes?”

“No.” Loki shook his head. “I’m bringing you with us.”

You blinked, turning your head sharply to look back at him. “What?”

“The TVA cares too much about the sacred timeline. Their little lizard gods have too much power. If I’m going to burn their organization to the ground, well, I may as well throw it into as much chaos as possible first.”

“So, you’re just using me as a means to an end?”

“Some call me the god of chaos. But no.” Loki slid back around the bath to be next to you, setting down his goblet. “Sometimes there are people in your life that you meet, that you can feel play a part, sometimes a big part, sometimes a small part. I,” he hesitated, “I don’t know what role you’re destined to play yet.” Loki reached for your hand, his larger one engulfing yours, long fingers almost a full bend longer than yours.

The two of you looked at the way his hand consumed yours.

You nodded meekly, as he slid his hand to the side, clasping your hand together.

“I don’t know this feeling, but I don’t want to stop feeling it.” Loki confessed.

You rested your head on his chest. “I don’t want to either.” It was then that you could feel his heart racing and a small smile spread across your face.

-

Eventually you and Loki left the warm water that had begun to cool. You were each given robes and set off in the direction of the sleeping chambers.

“Wait, Loki.” You stopped, dismissing the servant who had indicated a guest room for Loki. “Stay with me?”

Loki looked at you uncertainly, glancing up and down the hallway at the guards standing at attention.

“Please, I’m always so cold after those baths.” You began earnestly.

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched, “Very well.”

You reached for his hand, wrapping your pinky finger around his and led him along to the master chamber.

It was a grand room, decadent to the extreme. You dismissed the guards with a curt nod, though they stayed within calling distance. Beautiful art and pillars decorated the room with various sitting places should the need arise to entertain.

By the window, was your bed, one of the softest in the city.

Unable to stop yourself, and letting out a laugh at the scandal of it all, you dragged Loki over to the bed. Your legs hit the side and you fell back onto it, dragging him down on top of you.

Loki flushed, rolling over and laying beside you, gazing into your eyes. You gazed back at him, your chest heaving.

“I never noticed your eyes were so green.” You whispered.

“Oh?”

“I was trying to memorize all of you, I didn’t want to forget any details of you.”

Loki lay on his side, hooking his leg over yours so you rolled on your side to face him. Stroking his hand down the material of your nightgown, Loki smiled at you. “You won’t.” His hand came to rest on your waist.

Reaching up you tangled your fingers in his hair, stroking your thumb along his cheek.

Abruptly, Loki moved, gripping his other hand to your cheek, and the one from your waist moving up to guide you towards him and -

And then he was kissing you. His lips pressed to yours, soft gentle, lips brushing against yours, featherlight, mouths moving in sync, the faint tug as you feel him smiling. Your eyes already shut as you sink into the kiss as he rolls over pressing himself on top of you. He pauses the kiss and changes to soft staccato kisses, peppering them down your jaw and throat as you grip his strong shoulders and sigh arching your back into him.

Slowly he stops, the two of you opening your eyes and looking at each other again.

“I think I really like you.” You whispered.

Loki nodded mutely.

Words of confirmation would have been nice, but at least him nodding was something.

You smiled weakly, taking his hand and rolled over, your back to him, placing it on your stomach and closed your eyes.

Loki reached for the blanket, pressing his chin to the top of your head and covered the two of you with it. He laid there in silence, watching as you curled into him. Biting back his chuckle, he smiled as you gripped his arm fiercely, trying to wrap it around yourself as tight as you could in your sleep.

With his hand so occupied, and his other arm somewhat pressed beneath him, Loki focuses his mind on warding the room.

You wake abruptly in the early hours of the morning. Something warm is pressed to your back, a heavy weight across your body. You are entombed, unable to move.

There is a gentle snort, a soft grunt, and then a heavy sigh.

Swallowing hard, the memories of yesterday come flooding back. Craning your head around, and wiggling with all your might, you strain to see the person sharing your bed.

For a moment you are surprised. A part of you genuinely thought he would leave.

Loki’s body starts to react to your wiggling and you stop, face heating up. Biting your fist, you lay still.

Then, with apparent ease, Loki rolls over onto his back, dragging you with him and holding you in place much like a comfort object. He hugs you tight, and you lay on his chest, squeezed in place and unable to move. His physique suggested he was strong but this was beyond anything you could imagine.

Carefully, you shifted your arm free and reached up to stroke his face, “Loki, Loki…” You drew out the word, whispering in a sing song voice.

Loki’s eyes slowly opened, bleary with sleep. Letting go of you, though you stayed on his chest, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Hey Loki.”

“Mmm, hello darling.” Loki hummed, blinking then slowly seemed to come to his senses. He sat up and you fell off of him. “What witchcraft?”

“What?”

Loki’s eyes darkened as he looked at you distrustfully. “I have not slept like that,” he trailed off.

You pulled back and sat next to him on the bed, tugging the blanket with you. The sting of tears welled in your eyes.

“My dear, I am so sorry.” Loki murmured, gripping your cheeks and pressing his forehead to yours. “I did not think I would ever sleep so well again.”

You smiled weakly, still feeling the prickle of tears, “I’m glad I could help.”

Loki pulled you close, hugging you into his arms and burying his face in your hair. “I will not let your fate be the same as this city.”

[zid1an]

a while ago I asked if anyone would want to see a preview first chapter of thirteen years. this is not that. what you do get however is jiang wanyin’s drunk adventure, revised and written with love

Jiang Wanyin is drunk, Lan Zhan eventually comes to realize. He watches him from across the table in an attempt to reconcile with this truth. They aren’t within the confines of the Cloud Recesses and Jiang Wanyin is dressed mostly inconspicuously. Consequences for the circumstances are therefore unlikely.

So Jiang Wanyin is... drunk. Sitting lopsidedly, his head swaying side to side to a beat that Lan Zhan cannot hear, and smiling. A content smile that fits disarmingly well with his sharp features. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright. There are a few strands of hair framing his face. Lan Zhan starts, realizing he may be staring a bit too intently.

I will get both myself and Jiang Wanyin through this evening with subtlety and patience. Great patience. And subtlety. We will be very subtle.

Jiang Wanyin is drunk, and Lan Zhan is fine.

Except Jiang Wanyin is now also much, much too close to Lan Zhan’s face.

“I feel like I can see you better like this,” Jiang Wanyin announces, grinning lopsidedly with a look in his eyes that indicates that his behavior is an intentional decision made to bother him.

Lan Zhan stares at him, unimpressed. He has to fight to keep his eyes from crossing.

Jiang Wanyin sighs exaggeratedly, the scent of alcohol drifting into Lan Zhan’s face, and drawls, dialect heavy, “I mean, your expressions are clearer, this way. It’s nice.” He sits back and stretches. “It’s fun to figure out what you’re thinking, you know. Right now, for example,” he lifts his cup to cover his mouth, sharp eyes belying his demeanor, “I think you kind of want me dead.”

Jiang Wanyin is an uninhibited drunk, Lan Zhan observes flatly. Their waiter returns, refilling their pot to Lan Zhan’s chagrin. “So how do these two esteemed patrons know each other?”

Jiang Wanyin points at himself with an affronted frown, as if he is shocked to find that he wasn’t recognized on sight. He opens his mouth to speak, eyebrows furrowed, and Lan Zhan senses that whatever is going to come out of Jiang Wanyin’s mouth will become a hindrance on the subtlety that he has somehow managed to maintain so far.

“San-“ was all he was able to voice before Lan Zhan places the silencing spell on him. Jiang Wanyin mppf’s with a roll of his eyes.

Lan Zhan suppresses a long-suffering sigh before speaking, “Third meeting.”

The waiter blinks vacantly, “Meeting?”

Lan Zhan sits, comprehending his own graceless lie.

Mn. I have made a terrible mistake.

His ears have begun prickling as his words finish sinking in. Lan Zhan imagines this is the feeling a man possessed would experience after being gifted a small shovel and with it dedicating himself to digging an unending pit. Or perhaps a grave. He looks over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder, unable to make eye contact. “Courtship,” he finally adds, having resigned to lowering himself further into the dirt.

Their waiter smiles indulgently at his answer and retreats, surely taking with him whatever remained of Lan Zhan’s pride.

The silencing spell must have worn off, for Jiang Wanyin yawns and points at him, accusatory. “Lan Wangji, you haven’t been sneaking drinks when I wasn’t looking, have you?” he asks suspiciously.

Lan Zhan, still avoiding eye contact but at least confident in this, replies, “I have not.”

Jiang Wanyin squints at him, “Are you sure?” Lan Zhan knows he would have fallen asleep by now if he had, and so he nods, absently taking note of the cracks in the ceiling.

“Then why are your ears so red?” Jiang Wanyin asks, voice earnestly curious. In the corner of Lan Zhan’s eye he can see that Jiang Wanyin is leaning forward again. He avoids eye contact with him more insistently.

A moment passes. “Lan Wangji, are you listening to me?”

Another moment. “Hanguang-Jun, it’s rude to ignore someone who’s talking to you. Surely that’s one of your rules?”

It is. One copy of Virtue as punishment. The silence stretches, taut. Lan Zhan should have been expecting recoil.

“Gege.” Lan Zhan freezes. He finally turns his head to see Jiang Wanyin grinning triumphantly. He feels his previous embarrassment grow twice its size, creeping down into his shoulders from his ears. “So you heard me that time, huh?”

“I was not ignoring Jiang Wanyin.”

“You were.”

I was. Lan Zhan, in lieu of responding, covers his face with his hands.

“Why are your ears turning even more red, gege?”

“Jiang Wanyin, we are in public,” Lan Zhan says, muffled.

Lan Zhan is suddenly blessed with silence. He can almost see Jiang Wanyin thinking; he imagines it’s another scowl, though with a scholarly dignity and focus.

Xiongzhang would never allow me to forget the amount of time I must have spent with Jiang Wanyin to picture that so vividly.

The energy in the air shifts, faintly colder. “Gege, look at me, please.”

Jiang Wanyin is shaving years off my life. Lan Zhan does not look.

“Please, look at me.”

Lan Zhan’s hands twitch, but he does not look.

“Lan Wangji, please,” and Lan Zhan is only so strong willed, so he moves his hands and he sees...

Jiang Wanyin frowning, though it’s different than before. “Am I that embarrassing to be seen with?” he asks, voice bitter and expression unreadable.

It is very sudden, the way Lan Zhan feels profoundly lost. “Jiang Wanyin is not embarassing.”

Jiang Wanyin takes another pause. He looks up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, and Lan Zhan can see now that he was right about Jiang Wanyin’s thinking scowl.

A hiccup punctures the silence, and Lan Zhan is reminded with a sharp jolt that Jiang Wanyin is drunk. He would not be so forthcoming otherwise. He feels as if his head has just surfaced above water.

Jiang Wanyin huffs, face turned down now, his face relaxing but eyes remaining sharp. Lan Zhan almost doesn’t hear him when he says, startlingly quiet, “Lan Wangji, I don’t think I really hate you.”

Lan Zhan tenses, panicked. “Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Wanyin continues unhindered, a warped smile taking the place of his previous frowns, “I don’t think I want you to hate me, either. I’m scared that,” he laughs scornfully, “I’m scared that I’ll become so cruel and unpleasant that no one will care enough to uncover the parts of me that are worth knowing anymore.”

The words remain simmering in the humid evening air, and Lan Zhan is horrified to see tears rolling down Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks. Lan Zhan carefully eases his cup, now empty, away from the teardrops on the table.

“I don’t hate Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Zhan states, as gently as he can. “Not going anywhere.”

Jiang Wanyin looks up, although Lan Zhan can’t be sure that Jiang Wanyin really sees him through the tears that are still spilling down his cheeks.

Jiang Wanyin is very beautiful, says his useless brain, even through the pang of sympathy that lances through his chest. Two copies of Virtue.

Jiang Wanyin whispers mournfully, “I don’t want A-Ling to grow to resent me.”

A lump forms in Lan Zhan’s throat, suffocating. “He will not. Jiang Wanyin is doing a good job. He will know that Jiang Wanyin is doing a good job.”

And though it may speak more to Jiang Wanyin’s lack of sobriety than Lan Zhan’s choice of words, Jiang Wanyin smiles. An open expression that Lan Zhan shouldn’t get used to seeing. An open expression that Lan Zhan wants to get used to seeing.

Jiang Wanyin is truly very beautiful. Three copies.

And then Jiang Wanyin slams a hand on the table, startling Lan Zhan out of his (foolish) stupor, and stands on shaking legs. “Well, I’m exhausted and never want to think about any of this ever again! Good night, Lan Wangji,” he announces, too loud for the establishment, and for a moment Lan Zhan is convinced that he’ll make it to his room in one piece.

It is a brief moment, however, because after one strong first step Jiang Wanyin begins to list to his right and Lan Zhan moves quickly to steady him.

Jiang Wanyin frowns up at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Bright eyes. There’s more hair framing his face than before, curling slightly. “Lan Wangji, if you don’t stand me up I’m going to fall asleep here.”

Lan Zhan blinks. His face must be turning red as well, with how warm he feels. “Mn.”

Jiang Wanyin is back on his feet for what must be no less than a few heartbeats before he attempts another unsupported step forward.

...

Ask for help, Jiang Wanyin.

The man in question sways a little on his feet before turning around, huffing out a sigh, and asking, with great difficulty, “...Gege, can you help me get to bed?”

Lan Zhan glances outside, sees the moon rising over the hills. It would be best if I buried myself now.

He then looks back at Jiang Wanyin, who is watching him with bright eyes and half curled hair and flushed cheeks, and wonders with great solemnity how and when it was that he began to compromise his pride.

However long ago the waiter last left our table, perhaps.

This is to say that Lan Zhan is holding Jiang Wanyin up by his arms and walking them towards the stairs before he can even ask the innkeeper if they have a shovel.

He gets them up half a flight of stairs before Jiang Wanyin, apparently having processed Lan Zhan’s embarrassment from before, looks up at him and, no longer keeping up a sober appearance in the privacy of the stairwell, mumbles, “So you intend to court me, Lan Wangji? I hope you know,” he stops and heaves a long sigh, “that I won’t make it easy for you.”

Lan Zhan continues walking them both upwards, too focused on their upward momentum to allow himself the shame. Just make fun of me directly, Jiang Wanyin.

They stand together now, more or less, in front of the door to Jiang Wanyin’s room.

Lan Zhan is not going to answer Jiang Wanyin.

He opens the door and gracelessly maneuvers them in. Jiang Wanyin does him the favor of sitting of his own volition, the bed holding his weight silently. As gently as he can without being indecent, Lan Zhan pulls off his boots. Removes his hair pin, taking the time to untangle some of the knots that had formed over the day of travel. Carefully lays him on his side.

Jiang Wanyin will forget.

And yet, “I do know,” Lan Zhan says, wearily accepting that Jiang Wanyin turns him into a fool that simply can’t not say the most embarrassing things that come to mind.

Jiang Wanyin is fighting to keep his eyes open now that he’s in bed, but he looks up at Lan Zhan and hums inquisitively, “Mm?”

“I do know,” Lan Zhan has to manually turn his body towards the door, “that you won’t make it easy.”

[whythinktoomuch]

~pARt thREe~

(pt. i.)  (pt. ii.) 

“She told you, didn’t she?”

Lena stirs, rubbing at her bleary eyes as she sits up—all of which Kara protests in her sleep with a small groan, the arm thrown over Lena’s middle wrapping all the more tightly, insistent yet gentle. 

“We’re doing everything we can to find him,” Alex continues, and Lena thumps firmly at her own chest. “We don’t need your help, Lena. We just need you to focus on getting better, okay?”

Lena rolls her eyes. At this point, she could have said it along with her if she wanted.

U NEED A NEW TAGLINE, Lena writes out.

“Well, hurry up and get better already, and I’ll look into changing it.”

Rolling her eyes again, Lena lets out an emphatic hmph!, and it’s enough to get Kara to jerk awake.

“Mornin’,” she murmurs, her voice is still gravelly from sleep. She flops onto her back and yawns, hair out of place, eyes half-lidded and blinking, and it’s the most perfect ensemble of loveliness that Lena’s heart has ever encountered. Kara grins upon noticing Alex. “Oh, hey… Aw. My two favoritest people in the world…”

Lena feels her entire body stiffen. She shoots a hasty glance back at Alex, who’s already watching her reaction with a curious squint. 

“What time is it?” Kara asks.

“Half past eight,” Alex says.

“Pfft, no, it’s not,” Kara says, snorting. Then she catches sight of the tiny 8:37 in the corner of some news segment playing on TV. “Oh no, oh crap. God, I’m so late! Okay, all right, um... I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Kara pecks at Lena’s temple before grabbing her jacket and rushing out the door. Lena looks back at Alex; she somehow feels both smug and embarrassed in equal measure. 

Alex just clicks her pen with a sigh. “Yeah, we are so not going to talk about that.”

Lena smiles, treating Alex to a flash of steel and a zipping motion in agreement. She’s more than happy to replay certain moments for herself on her own time.

—

Few weeks later, Lena’s arm is both cast and pain-free. Her elbow’s still creaky and stiff from disuse, but according to Alex, it’s now in perfect working order.

“So, we can be arm wrestling buddies now?” Kara holds out her hand and Lena automatically grabs it—any excuse to touch Kara is a good one, after all.

“Absolutely not,” Alex cuts in, ever the professional spoilsport, tugging at Kara’s collar until she lets go of Lena with a sheepish grin. “I don’t need you undoing all our good work just ‘cause you wanted to impress Lena.”

Kara scoffs in supposed disbelief, but her cheeks betray her with a rather bright shade of pink. “I wasn’t… I wouldn’t even—hah.”

The pleasant color in Kara’s cheeks only serves to embolden Lena though, and she reaches out to give Kara’s bicep a comforting squeeze. It makes the blush about a 1000 times worse.

“Jesus, just let me finish my checks and y’all can go back to being weird together,” Alex says.

“We’re not—” Kara starts, but her grumbles are cut short by some breaking news taking over the TV: a gas main explosion at a children’s hospital.

“Kara,” Alex says, whipping her head around. 

“Already on my way.” The cheery warmth in Kara’s tone has given way to something much more assertive. A hard edge casts over her entire face and form, her shoulders squaring, her glasses whipped off then abandoned.

Lena barely has time to wonder if a CatCo writer really needed to be at the site of such a dangerous scene when Kara disappears in whirl of dust and wind, sending little knickknacks flying everywhere in her wake. Then Supergirl appears on her screen, saving people and taming the blaze in real time.

And suddenly... Lena can’t breathe.

“Lena? Lena!” Alex rushes to her side. “What’s wrong? What is it? Is it your elbow? Lena, what’s—”

Lena shoves at Alex, but the momentum is all but lost amid all the gasping, her lungs already cramped and struggling to accommodate the violent heaves of breath. She feels sick. She feels like she’s dying. She feels like dying. She feels like the world is closing in on her, tightening around her steadily contracting throat, and she can’t see anything past the overflowing tears, and she just can’t—she simply cannot—fucking breathe…

“Lena, come on! You’re all right. You’re okay,” Alex insists as she catches Lena around her wrists, stilling her flailing arms with a grunt. “Hey! Look at me! You’re okay. Just let me help you.”

But Lena tears herself from Alex’s grip, covers her face with trembling hands and just cries and cries.

“… Lena, come on… You gotta work with me here. What’s wrong?”

Lena jerks away from the gentle touch. She slams her eyes shut, unable to witness what would surely be an extraordinary display of heroism depicted on the small screen. “Kara.” It hurts her jaw and everything else inside her to say it, but she does. Sobbing, practically wailing the name over and over again.

“What about Kara?” Alex demands, incredulous. “It’s… it’s just a fire. She’ll be right back. She’s been in way tougher scrapes than this. She’s going to be fine.”

But Lena refuses to be consoled, clawing at Alex’s arms whenever she tries to approach her again. Then gradually—irrevocably and just so very regrettably—it dawns on Alex.

“You didn’t know,” Alex says with a resigned sigh, and Lena can barely hear the words over her own wheezing. “You don’t remember.”

—

Lena eventually allows herself to be sedated, giving Alex the go-ahead only once all the aching has exhaustively passed the point of tolerance. But still, she tries to fight it. Struggles against the medically induced respite for as long as possible. Because it’s only a matter of time now. All she has left to do is wait.

—

It’s dark when Lena is roused from her shallow slumber. The room smells like ash, windswept smoke, and gasoline. Supergirl’s leaning against the far corner, arms loosely crossed at her chest.

“Hey,” she says, and Lena just waits. “I’m sorry... I thought you knew. This whole time, I thought we were…”

A single tear rolls down Lena’s cheek. She waits even longer this time.

“Lena…” Kara takes one step closer, freezing in place when Lena makes no move to receive or repel her. “Look, I know… I know I should have told you so long ago, I know, I know.”

Then she goes on to explain. The excuses she’s told herself. The misguided attempts to keep Lena as a friend despite her differences with Supergirl. Her own selfishness. Her fears. All the inevitable regrets that came with all of the deceit…

It sounds heartfelt.

It feels rehearsed.

A lot of it, Lena is sure, must come from some place indistinguishable from the truth.

Kara ends on a tearful note, begging Lena to please say something in response, setting the mini-whiteboard onto Lena’s lap so carefully, so gently with hands that could destroy entire worlds and lives on the simplest of whims.

After a long enough pause, Lena drops her gaze down to her lap. Her fingers twitch as she eyes the marker sitting by her hand. She slowly reaches for the whiteboard, grip tightening on the corner so hard that the melamine creaks. Then, with all the force she could muster with her newly repaired arm, Lena flings the board across the room.

It bounces off Kara’s perfectly stoic face and clatters to the ground.

The silence rings out, disrupted only by Lena’s breath heaving through painfully gritted teeth.

Kara’s jaw clenches, then she swallows hard and nods. “Understood,” she says, and is gone from the room in the next instant.

Breath hitching and sobbing out uncontrollably, Lena falls back onto the bed and sheds tears that she was so sure had already long since been spilled by now. 

(next part here)