#outline fic

[prahacat]

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

[lucky-fy]

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

NB: I commissioned another piece, go take a look :D

[aerequets]

trying to erase the trace of...

[scoops-aboy86]

I just saw a post about a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship but with the ages switched, so the one with money is in his twenties and the financially struggling one is in his forties. And I thought, wouldn't that be GREAT as a Steddie fic. 

Like, heir to the Harrington fortune Steve is just itching to dump his parents’ money down the drain on something. Or someone, because. You know. His parents tried to buy his love without ever being around to deserve it and that worked out Great, might as well continue the Harrington tradition (he thinks, while rolling his eyes). 

Enter Eddie Munson, walking disaster. Who sells weed for a living but spends most of his time planning and running dnd campaigns for underprivileged kids. Who is still trying to make it with his band, but meanwhile he’s the only member who can’t get a decent steady job because of bullshit murder charges when he was 19. (Which didn’t even stick, but it’s a small town… or maybe his dad just pissed off that many people.)

Eddie has the muscle tone of a slim jim and the hair of a tormented barbie doll, but the one physical feature he’s incredibly proud of are his tattoos. They’re all obviously home done, but when Steve realizes they’re all Eddie’s own work he’s (a) grudgingly impressed and (b) now has TWO great ideas for pissing off his parents. 

So Steve gets a tramp stamp in an apartment that he pays for but has Eddie’s name on the lease, and a grungy older boyfriend to parade around whenever he feels his parents need keeping in check. And maybe Eddie kind of makes it his unofficial job/personal undertaking to look into Harrington family dealings (he has his sources; his dad also schmoozed a lot of people and everyone knows his uncle is a stand-up guy) and alert Steve to things they’re being assholes about that Steve, more through fault of his upbringing than his own, wouldn’t have noticed. 

Like, maybe they own some medical buildings and are thinking of raising the rent on a pediatrician practice that offers sliding scale to low income families. At first, Steve is a little dismissive…

Steve: What’s the big deal? There are other pediatricians in town.

Eddie: Yes, but not everyone can afford to take their kids to them. 

Steve: Oh come on. 

Eddie: No, seriously. 

Steve: But… What if the kid gets really sick or hurt? 

Eddie: Sometimes they die, Steve.

Steve: ………………………. Okay yeah no that’s not happening. 

The next week, that practice has their rent lowered and a new lease locked in to keep the space (maybe even expand it into the plastic surgeon’s place next door) pretty much indefinitely and there’s an elite charity event that Steve and Eddie pointedly do not go to. 

(He can’t always get away with not going. Sometimes he plays the cards he’s dealt and goes with some pretty girl on his arm, but he has her home by midnight and he’s riding his boyfriend into the mattress by 1am.)

Eddie’s bandmates are dubious, but Eddie keeps swearing up and down that Steve isn’t a bad dude, he just has a lot of blind spots that he’s working on. Some harder than others, sure, but overall his cause seems to be just. Ish. A lot of what Steve does is motivated by petty revenge, but his parents are kind of shitty people so it tends to work out. “Plus,” Eddie adds brightly, “he’s a firecracker in the sack.” And is pelted with things for the crime of rubbing his sex life with a catch almost half his age in their faces. 

At some point they meet Steve, who has been specifically coached by Eddie to NOT buy out an entire restaurant or bar for the night just for the occasion. They come away with the general impression of, “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.”

Maybe they met in the first place because Dustin is one of the underprivileged kids Eddie was running campaigns for, and Steve has always had a soft spot for Dustin (and by extension all of Dustin’s friends and their families) since Mrs. Henderson was one of his nicer nannies growing up. Maybe Steve sets up a whole community center and tries to put Eddie in charge of it, but Eddie doesn’t really want to be anyone’s boss; he just wants to help kids excel at a game he loves because its one of the things that really helped keep him steady through his rough childhood and adolescence. But he does work there, because that way he can keep playing dnd AND teach guitar lessons. 

(Steve offered to help get the band signed to a label but Eddie was adamant, if they were going to make it they’d do it on merit, not money, or not at all. It’s really become more of a hobby for the other guys anyway.)

So Eddie is finally OKAY. He has a good income, a decent amount saved up from while Steve was covering all the bills he can now pay himself, and his Uncle Wayne hasn’t been more proud of him since the day he finally graduated high school on the third try (which was pretty good, for a Munson). 

And Steve… isn’t sure what to do with himself now that Eddie doesn’t need him anymore. He can’t think of anything he’s good for other than money—though his best friend Robin tells him that’s just because he’s a dingus, there are PLENTY of things. (They’ve been best friends since college, and there’s a story there but someone else is gonna have to fill in that blank because I’m getting sleepy.) Dustin chimes in that yeah, he can totally tell that Eddie has been sneaking Steve into campaigns as an npc (which he has to explain to Steve, again, even though they’ve been over this many times) for ages and is clearly so in love with him it’s ridiculous, has been for a while. 

Maybe Steve panics and does something dumb after that, but not so boneheaded that they can’t work it out dramatically in the rain after a brief period apart. Like in one of those romance movies that they both pretend they think are silly but genuinely get them choked up sometimes because they’re both kind of saps underneath it all. 

Eddie goes on to become a well respected tattoo artist, while still pitching in at the community center a few days a week. Steve continues his philanthropy work with the guidance of Eddie, Robin, his ex and investigative journalist Nancy, etc., and his own shaky-as-a-baby-giraffe-that-landed-on-its-head-straight-out-of-the-womb-but-getting-steadier instincts. They get married while skydiving (because Eddie joked about it and Steve held him to it), build the found family of Steve’s dreams, and live happily ever after. 

… Anyway, if someone could write all that out in actual prose I would love to read it. But with the sex dialed up to eleven because that’s important but I think I only actually mentioned it twice, a travesty.

[teastainedprose]

Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business. 

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs. 

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally.  "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit. 

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him. 

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that." 

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases. 

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in. 

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even. 

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes. 

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

[blindmagdalena]

Say It (Directory)

Homelander x f!Reader

18+ 11.6k. AO3 Link tags: obsession, second person (no y/n), possessive behavior, dubious consent, mild torture (not of the reader), canon typical violence, psychological warfare, unhealthy relationship, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, cream pie, cum play, lite blood, mirror sex, lite dacryphilia, praise kink, instances of sublander, overstim, angst. Homelander is his own warning.

There is an undeniable primal violence to love. It can bring out the very best in us as easily as it can bring out the very worst. In the wake of Homelander's constant, oppressive brand of love, you have uncovered aspects of yourself that would have been better left buried.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

[halogalopaghost]

While the turtles are staying with April in season one, she has a somewhat hard time keeping food in the fridge. Four mutant turtle teens are no joke as far as appetite is concerned, and the novelty of having 100% new and fresh foods in the fridge at all times is not lost on them. They have to be encouraged a couple times to help themselves, and when they finally do it's like an apocalypse on her fridge.

She also enjoys introducing them to new things during this time. She brings home one of those TUBS of pillsbury cookie dough to make them fresh chocolate chip cookies. Before they're in the oven, Mikey finds her and she lets him have some of the dough.

And then Donnie comes into the kitchen and freezes when he sees them. He looks at the dough. He looks at Mikey. He looks at April.

"Did you let Mikey have chocolate?"

April looks at him. Looks at Mikey. "...Yes?"

Don FREAKS out and smacks the spoon out of Mikey's hand. "We can't have chocolate, we're severely allergic!"

April PANICS. "What?? I didn't know, I'm so sorry!"

"What do you mean you didn't know?" Don asks, clutching his baby brother to his chest like he's about to perish. Mikey looks confused. "You wouldn't give chocolate to a dog, would you?"

April's freaking out escalates. Dogs aren't supposed to have chocolate! She knows that much. "What do I do? Should we—uh—go to the ER?"

"Are you insane?" Don has Mikey practically in a headlock and Mikey is—crying? Choking? "We need a VET, April!"

Splinter, whose dad-sense is tingling so hard that his fur is standing on end, enters the kitchen ominously. "Boys. I hope you're behaving and being kind to our host."

April is like, five seconds away from just dying of sheer embarrassment and worry. She looks at Splinter with huge eyes, about to admit she's POISONED his son, and then Don dissolves into giggles.

She stares at him, open mouthed in shock. He releases Mikey, who as it turns out, is also giggling. The chokehold was doing little to suppress it. Splinter puts his head in his hand.

"I'm just kidding April. We eat chocolate just fine."

She has to take another long moment to process the shock and calm her heart down. Don's laughing so hard he's tearing up.

April has never had little siblings before. She used to wonder what it would be like, and there was a time in her life where she had even wanted a little brother or sister to tease and love.

She did not know the true nature of little siblings. Which is evil, naturally.

She chases Don out of the kitchen with the biggest wooden spoon she has, and Splinter HOPES she catches him.

[littlecrittereli]

Wk doodles go brr......

*Spends 3 days on a full illustration that I don't even like that much and then proceeds to whip out a doodle that's better than anything I've ever drawn in my life on a low-resolution drawpile*

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

still unwell over the prospect of Howdy slowly putting the pieces together and having a complete mental breakdown over it. Laughingstock edition!

[escelia]

Danny can't recall many fond memories of his childhood, but ones he did remember often included their summer trips to his Aunt Alicia's in the countryside where he and Jazz would play in the woods just outside the Kent family's farm. The Kent's were a wonderful family who took his parents' ghost talks in stride, and they were always kind to him and Jazz. Danny loved when Clark and his wife Lois were in town while they visited. They always had really cool stories on account of them being journalists. And if Danny seemed to notice that Clark tended to treat everything like it was glass, or that he seemed to hear things way better than he should... well, Danny wasn't going to say anything about it.

It was about a year after Danny's accident that the Fenton family made a trip back out to Alicia's. Clark happened to be in town; he heard the Fentons were coming. He'd heard shouting coming from Alicia's, but had initially thought nothing of it. The Fentons were a loud family, always getting into some sort of trouble. Then he heard the sound of their weapons firing; a little weirder, but still normal for Jack and Maddie. And then he heard a cry for help... that's when he found Danny stumbling through their fields, covered in dirt and blood and green, glowing goop. He had a gash in his side that he gripped at in pain, and his eyes burned a toxic green in his determination to get to the farmhouse. He clung to Clark as soon as he was close enough.

"Please help me," he whimpered through ground teeth. "My parents are hunting me, please you have to help me!" Probably a meta, he thought, angry that Jack and Maddie could do something like this to their own son, meta or not. With gentle hands, Clark lifted the child he'd known since he was a baby and got him to the safest place he could think of for medical attention. It was time to smuggle a child into the Batcave.

OR

Clark has known Danny his whole life, and when an identity reveal goes sideways in the countryside, Batman helps Clark adopt Danny.

[subzeroparade]

"It won't be long."

[mokadevs]

if the first blorbo doesn't cure your depression you can get a second one for half off

[lynnearlington]

how can we be lovers (if we can't be friends) - chapter iv

Supergirl, Kara/Lena, M

“Okay,” Kara says, and she pulls Lena in close, an arm around her shoulder. “Now, when we go out there, try to look like I just rocked your world. We’re talking like you were tasting colors at some points.” 

Hockey AU is not abandoned, my friends. Enjoy it HERE.

fic playlist | crossbar playlist

ko-fi | fic tag

[comatosebunny09]

you're good at this—playing all coy and social as if you aren't a clump of nerves ready to burst.

like your legs aren't bouncing beneath the table, and you haven't knocked your knees against its underside a few times, almost spilling your wine.

like you haven't bitten your lips to hell, and your teeth aren't stained with the pretty rouge of your lipstick because of it.

no one's the wiser to your plight. to the quiet war waging in your head and the anxiety spilling like lava into your extremities.

you'll never get used to this things, no matter how many you attend—these parties, these galas, these socialites, this acting.

none of it is you.

not the form-fitting gowns, the kohl clumped to your lashes, the facsimile of a smile you've worn all evening until your cheeks ached.

but through the chaos, one thing remains a constant: him.

him and the hand he has clasped around your thigh to tether you. anchor you back to earth. all big and warm and reassuring, and he's angling himself a little closer until your nostrils fill with the scent of cured leather and peeled mandarin. and, fuck all, he’s warm even from this proximity. so hot, you feel the pressure of his body slowly seeping into your own.

his eyes gleam like the sunset in your peripheral. silently, they ask if you're alright beneath a slightly raised brow, above a customary smirk—a mask he dons during these gatherings if only to make the time fly by. not meant to tease you, he promises. he reserves something genuine for you.

he knows you're not alright, which is why he rubs all gently at the notch of your knee—an attempt to bring you back when you feel your mind slowly disconnecting from your body.

- at an event with sylus. you're clearly nervous. you always are. so the pair of you bid an irish goodbye, and he'll murder anyone who has the gall to stop you.

- watching him sneer at the partygoers blocking your exit is low-key a turn on.

- the night concludes with you both settled on your couch in your living room.

- and, of course, kissing ensues. because why wouldn't it?

- and he's a little handsy, so deft fingers creep up the expanse of your thigh because, of course, the slit of your dress would beckon such actions.

- and sure, yeah. you're into it as he gently pushes you back against the sofa. slots himself between your split legs as your fingers rake through the riot of his hair.

- and he hums all nice and low into your mouth, very much enjoying the sticky grind of your lips together.

- this is sylus. he's always gentle. always takes care of you, treating you like aged porcelain preserved in a museum.

- so why the fuck are you so nervous?

- you’ve made out a thousand times before.

- sex, however.

- well, fuck.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: he struggled to fall in love while you struggled to value your life the way you valued others, entire fic is inspired by one line from nandemonaiyo by macaroni empitsu

warnings: not suicidal acts but it is very selfless behaviour from the reader, reader does not exactly fear death, hoshina calls you "darling"

wc: 1500

Hoshina Soushirou struggled to fall in love, to accept that he was in love without feeling so terribly vulnerable, and you knew this. On the other hand, you struggled to value your own life the way you valued others, and he knew this. And surprisingly, or perhaps unfortunately, this combination pieced together your relationship far better than one would expect.

You were a platoon leader in the 3rd division, and you’ve been for quite a while now. You were good at what you did, bringing people together and livening up the mood when times got dark. Still, you were strong enough to not only get the job done, but also to cover for your officers when things got tough. While you enjoyed what you did, and took pride in the position you were given, you weren’t exactly fond of it anymore.

You were sick and tired of seeing your officers die, and the thought of them gone kept you up at night. Not to mention there was nothing could get rid of the guilt you felt when you had to inform their loved ones of their passing. Well, perhaps you didn’t have to inform them personally, but to you, it was the least you could do. But it hurt you so much, no matter the number of times you’ve gone through it through all these years. Even if it was inevitable considering your job, and even if it wasn’t something you had much control over, you just couldn’t get used to it— nor did you really want to. So a few years back, you had sworn that you’d protect your officers, even if it meant you’d lose your life. If risking your life was going to save theirs, there wasn’t even a need to hesitate, you’d do it every single time.

And Hoshina knew this. He knew you would and he also knew there was no stopping you at this point, because he agreed. He was the vice-captain of the 3rd division, he knew exactly how you felt and couldn’t agree more. He also knew that you took these passings to your heart. He knew the thoughts kept you up at night, and he knew just how much they broke your heart. So subconsciously, he tried not to get attached. He had locked up his feelings after a while and so he loved you a little— just a little. He was good at this too, because he naturally struggled to fall in love in the first place. He struggled to accept he was in love.

And as horrible as this sounded, you knew this and you wanted him to, because when it comes down to it, if you were to leave him behind, what you were doing would be no different. And that was the last thing you wanted to do— leave someone who loved you behind.

While this sounded like nothing more than a broken relationship, at the end of the day you were undeniably in love with him and he was as well— there was no doubting that. Although he didn't believe in being with someone while constantly on the brink of death, he still loved you and he still wished to be by your side, the same way you were absolutely in love with him. So this was just the way it was.

It was obvious whenever one of your officers passed, it was always all over your face. As soon as you walked into your shared unit, even if you put on a smile and laughed, he’d see it in your eyes right away. He’d sense it in the way you walked and the way you talked. The way you’d be a little zoned out, and sounded terribly exhausted.

Every time this happened, he made you a warm cup of tea and squeezed your cheeks as he gave you a warm kiss, and you’d realize that he caught on again. Today was one of those days again.

“It’s not your fault, darling,” he said. “You did everything you could, I know this. You know this.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to mope around and ruin your day,” you said, and he shook his head. “I’m just a little tired of myself, for watching my coworkers who followed my lead and trusted my orders to just… die. Also, horribly ashamed to face their family— I could never apologize enough.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the hardest part,” he said.

“I know they don’t blame me, nor do they show how lost they are when they’re in front of me,” you said. “But when they’re alone, at night, they’ll start to think. It’s always harder for those left behind.”

“I won’t ever leave you behind,” he said as he kissed your forehead.

“Oh, don’t say that now,” you said. “When I’m gone you better not mope around. You're going to go find someone who won’t go dying on you any moment. You better not miss me.”

“Oh, don’t you say that. We’re not trying to jinx anything over here,” he said, flicking you on the forehead, which you quickly put your hand over. “Besides I’ll be fine. You know this.”

You did, and it made you smile. While even you thought it’d break your heart to hear the man you loved say he’d be fine without you, it was still a bit of a relief to you. This was okay.

“But really, you’d better not leave me behind,” you said.

“I would never,” he said.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He’d be lying if he said this didn’t break his heart a little, but he did find strange comfort in it. Or he used to at the very least. He had always been this way, it had always scared him to fall in love, to find someone important to him, and become someone important to someone. So being in a relationship came with a large sense of guilt for him, because he was never able to let go of himself and love, and he feared how unfair this was. But now, he could just love you a little, and detach himself from the rest. It was easier for him to do so.

It was supposedly, exactly what he wanted.

Yet, every time there was a mission he thought about you. He thought about whether you’d do something reckless today, or whether you’d come home injured. He prayed that none of your officers would be in danger, because he knew you’d be fine alone. He wished that you’d come home that night and scold him again for staying up too late or drinking coffee at 3 in the morning. He hoped that you’d laugh if he were to crack the stupid joke he came up with just now, and you’d make him laugh in the morning over some silly mistake you'd complain about.

He hoped that you wouldn’t leave him behind.

“Oh,” he said.

“What is it, Hoshina?” Okonogi asked.

“Sorry, nothing,” he said. “I’ll stop spacing out.”

“Rather unlike you, to be,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I fear it is.”

It truly was rather unlike him to be hopelessly in love, and to know that he was. He was hopelessly in love with you.

This just wasn’t the right time to realize, because he had a horrifying number of kaiju to deal with in front of him. Each one of them separately would not have been a problem for him, but there were just so many— not to mention they were working together. He’d be fine though, because he promised he wouldn’t leave you behind, and who was he to be breaking a promise with you?

Soon after, Okonogi had made the decision to call people over to support him, and immediately you rushed over. You knew you had your platoon to be watching over and you weren’t the closest to him, but none of that mattered. If he was gone, you’d truly be nothing, even if that wasn’t the same for him with you.

Yet, by the time you had made it he had already neutralized every last kaiju.

“Soushirou!” you yelled, rushing over to him. He was so beaten up as he lay on the ground, absolutely still, it took everything in you to not think about the worst. Until he raised his arm to give you a weak thumbs up. “You absolute asshole. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

He smiled as you reached his side.

“You’ll be okay,” you said, sounding more like you were trying to convince yourself. “The ambulance is coming.”

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, and immediately you shot him a glare as if to warn him that this better be good if he’s wasting his breath on it.

But it was.

“Darling, I’d die if you left me behind.”

[allgremlinart]

[ Do NOT be deceived. Zuko's guards ARE on orders to let him in for booty calls. ]

post-canon jetko. Zuko isn't a rail-thin angry refugee anymore. Jet isn't hurting as bad as he did. He even finds himself new purpose after the war - hunting down still-rogue Fire Nation mercenaries and war criminals, housing orphans, and being occasional bounty hunter for hire (he's not as good as June, but he has his ways). And, of course, hitching a ride on the ship taking the Earth King's diplomatic embassy to the Fire Nation. The Avatar may have refused to kill the new Firelord if he steps out of line, but that doesn't mean Jet wouldn't. It's his job to go over there from time to time and remind certain people of this. If he so happens to have almost-civil discussions and intercourse with a head of state when he does so, that's purely incidental, and does not distract him in the slightest.

full pic ;]

[ Jet really DID visit Zuko's chambers with the intention of debriefing with and analyzing him, this time. To see if he could manipulate some more aid out of him, maybe, (Jet could play him like a fiddle, it wasn't hard,) or to wheedle him for lodgings and food for himself, or to see someone that he knew was just as restless as he was, regardless of peacetime, regardless that he shouldn't still feel like that. However, he caught Zuko right after he had a... meeting. With an Earth Kingdom noble. And, well... when you grow up deprived you learn you don't turn down leftovers. Or sloppy seconds, as it were. ]