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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months ago

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Hi Frosty! Congratulations on your 200 followers 🥳 Very well deserved!

I didn't have anything specific in mind, so I'm going to do my request a little differently (if you're not a fan of this, feel free to ignore). I'll give you three things. You can write whatever you want, but it must contain all three!

1. Fireflies

2. Peanut butter

3. A goodnight kiss

For clones, you can choose from Fives, Wolffe, Tup, or Thorn. It could be fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive or not. It's up to you! Oh, and with a female reader, please!

I can't wait to see what you come up with 💚

Much love!

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Holidays in Hyperspace [Tup x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: Having been friends for quite some time, Tup has grown incredibly fond of you and your company, and has been wondering how to take things to the next step. A unique opportunity presents itself when the 501st helps Ahsoka put together a party to liven things up and celebrate one of the many galactic holidays while on a long journey through hyperspace; Tup chooses the night of the party to make his affections clear. Will he pull it off without his (well-meaning) brothers meddling with his plans? 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader (save for a costume). Fluff fic. Friends to lovers. Some fixing of each other's clothes costumes. Mando’a. Very minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Fictional and in-universe holidays. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. This fic doubles as a submission for @pinahallowsevecloneparty (permission was given by the requester); prompt sentence(s) for that event are in orange.

Word count: 6,593

It was an early Taungsday morning, the Resolute flagship deep in the thralls of hyperspace.

Though you should be used to it at this point in the war, you would occasionally find yourself struggling with the extended hyperspace journeys. The longer they were, these trips were capable of warping one’s internal sense of time without local day-night cycles to take one’s cues from. The unaccustomed and inexperienced had a much harder time dealing with these drawn-out travel periods, often oversleeping or undersleeping.

Those who had grown wiser in time advised that if you were finding it difficult to sleep, it was best to find something productive to do until you were sufficiently worn out. So, around 03:30, you shuffled yourself down to one of the unofficial social centers—disused meeting or war rooms that had been converted to more inviting spaces-—and wondered who you would find.

More often than not, you could expect to brush elbows with your fellow crew members, as well as the boys of bravest blue, troopers of the 501st Legion of the GAR.

In your time among the Resolute’s crew, you created more than a few unexpected friendships with the Clone soldiers, all of which you cherish deeply.

Captain Rex, longtime leader of the 501st and right hand man to both General Skywalker and Commander Tano, often kept his mind sharp by devising battle strategies and studying intel on the Separatists. You’ve provided company (and caf) while he puzzles out new methods and attack algorithms with the limited downtime he has a handful of times in the past. He’s always been appreciative of how attentive you are as he painstakingly explains tricky terminology or tactics. Admirable ARCs such as Fives and Jesse enjoyed an easy conversation while working to keep their gear in perfect working order. They liked having someone to trade little jokes, someone to playfully pester with all the questions they had on galactic pop culture.

And once you had the approval of the legion’s oldest soldiers, the affections of Torrent Company’s youngest weren’t far behind. They made regular efforts to invite you to join them at the long tables within the commissary time and time again. Generously shared their space with you because they knew you were kind and nothing but respectful, and that you could tolerate most of their boredom-borne antics. (As well as counting on you to talk them out of the riskier ones.)

You haven’t had the chance to confirm it with anyone, but you’re beginning to suspect you're one of their favorite crew members, too.

As you step into one of these converted social centers, you find General Skywalker’s padawan and most of Torrent Company inside, the room in total disarray. Alerted by the door’s hydraulics hissing open, several turn to see who it is and greet you in excitement. Crates full of colorful bits and bobs are piled in the middle of the room, and the tables have been pushed against the interior walls to give everyone space to work.

“Hey, come join us!” someone calls in a lively voice from the back of the group. “We were just helping Commander Tano choose some decorations!”

Interest piqued, you join the cluster in the center of the room to see what all the fuss is about. Clutching a datapad, the young Togruta is scrolling down a long file, face set in an expression of deep concentration. Loosely circled around her, the Clones waiting patiently take the opportunity to trade a few more greetings with you once you’ve drawn closer, choosing to stand beside a trooper with his hair styled in a topknot.

“Hey there, Tup.”

Tup’s word of welcome is slightly teasing, but all in good humor.

“Well good morning. Couldn’t sleep, burc’ya?”

Friend.

You’ve picked up enough Mando’a in your time to recognize the word, sleepless as you are. Out of Torrent’s youngest soldiers, you and Tup are probably the best acquainted. It’s probably been a good few months since you’ve gotten to know one another properly after a few unfortunate trips to the medbay around the same time.

He had sprained his ankle during a field exercise on the planet the Resolute had been stationed over at the time, and needed to pay the health center a visit. Just to make sure the injury wasn’t something more serious than what a bit of bacta and rest could take care of. You, on the other hand, found yourself catching your cabin-mate’s stubborn fever, so you went to see if there was something you could get to lessen the amount of time you would find yourself out of commission. No such luck.

His kind demeanor and even kinder smile made your ailment more bearable when it became more severe, for a time. Tup was sure to visit you every day until you made a full recovery. You’ve been close ever since.

“Something like that…” you reply with a mild chuckle. “What are we choosing decorations for, exactly?”

“Commander Tano was telling us about different, minor galactic holidays just a moment ago.”

Your interest piques again. You knew of big ones, like Boonta Eve, named such in the honor of Boonta Hestilic Shad’ruu, a Hutt who ascended to godhood in Hutt lore. And the Wookie holiday, Life Day, that’s spread in popularity in recent years. But much like sleep, the knowledge of any minor holidays eluded you.

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

Dogma, listening nearby, offers an example. “There’s the Weequay holy season called the Month of Plenty. Honors a lunar god.” It apparently involves open skylights in temples dedicated to the deity Quay on Sriluur to aid with tracking the moon’s position.

Ahsoka, continuing to comb through the file, explains why she’s trying to plan for a small party when you ask what brought this up. “Around this time of year, when I was a youngling, Masters at the Jedi Temple would teach us about the different cultural holidays around the galaxy. To help us expand our minds and form compassion for other lifeforms. I… started feeling a little homesick for the Temple once I remembered.” There’s a few that have looked promising so far, but there’s simply not enough time to prepare for some of them.

Jesse, playfully elbowing Fives next to him, pipes up next. “That’s when we suggested we could find a holiday to celebrate before our next mission! It could be fun for everyone.” There had to be something that didn’t take a lot of planning or effort. Glancing at the datapad, he suggests one he sees at random. “Like… What about the Day of Breath, Commander?”

Ahsoka studies the information on the holiday for a moment, then shrugs. “Day of Breath is for celebrating the day someone was born. I can’t think of anyone who we could celebrate in the next two days before we’re out of hyperspace…”

Fives strokes his goatee in thought before nodding in your direction. “The day she was born wasn’t that long ago. Maybe we could do a belated celebration of her’s?” There’s a murmur of agreement around you, as well as apologies from those who hadn’t realized or forgotten.

“Wait,” Hardcase calls over his brothers’ voices, “what about this one?” He singles out a holiday listed in the middle of the screen just before Ahsoka scrolled on, one that’s celebrated around this time of the standard year.

The Night of Guises and Gourds.

“That’s an odd name.” Ahsoka remarks. Regardless of the strange name, she thinks the holiday holds promise.

It entailed colorful decorations, the creation and gifting of simple, sugary snacks, and costumes. There weren’t many strict or rigid traditions for celebrants to observe, either. Following the end of many galactic harvest seasons, this marked a time to honor the departed, and revere the creatures and concepts of lesser—and sometimes frightening—understandings. (The padawan laughed seeing the Force listed as one of the examples of poorly understood subjects by the document.) Reading deeper into what caught Hardcase’s eye about the costumes explained that these clever guises had drawn inspiration from galactic folklore and mythos long ago, and expanded to iconic figures from pop culture in more recent years.

And, they could be homemade.

“What do you think, Commander? Could probably find things laying around the ship, same as the decorations.”

Ahsoka nods in agreement with Hardcase, grinning.

“I think I already know where to look.”

“We can get a start on the decorations while you’re gone,” you offer, knowing it would take time to rifle through everything collected. It would be doing Ahsoka a huge favor as well.

“You wouldn’t mind supervising?” Ahsoka double-checks, handing over the datapad. You’d need it to best judge what decor crammed in the boxes in the middle of the room will fit the theme of the party while Fives and Jesse volunteer to go search with her.

You smile, certain. “No, not at all! There’s enough of us here to get a good start.” Like the majority of the GAR, Torrent Company was full of hard-working men who had a talent for making the most monotonous of tasks an enjoyable experience.

The padawan nods appreciatively. “Thanks. Dogma, would you mind helping her?”

Dogma meets Tup’s eye, and a strange expression crosses his face. He was never known to question or turn down orders, so to the surprise of both you and Ahsoka, Dogma attempts to shift responsibility. “I’m afraid I… h-have a headache. I should go see Kix for it, Commander. Perhaps Tup can help her in my stead?” Feigning an ache in his right temple, Dogma momentarily cradles the side of his head in hopes of better selling the lie.

Concerned, Ahsoka apologizes for not noticing earlier. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. Go get taken care of. Have Kix let me know if it gets any worse.” She waits once Dogma has quietly excused himself from the room, oblivious to the subtle glances the troopers cast in one another’s direction before turning her attention to your friend standing beside you.

There’s something slightly odd about those smiles coming from them when Tup says he’d be happy to help however you need while you set up for the party, but you try to pay it little mind. Maybe it’s just some form of Clone humor. You’ve seen plenty of it since joining the crew, and you’re sure to see more while you spend the next few days preparing for the Guises and Gourds party.

Word of the party spreads quicker than anticipated.

Plans to decorate one social center turned into multiple, before quickly changing to taking over the main cafeteria after late-meal in order to accommodate everyone interested in attending. As the volunteer team grows, problems disappear almost as quickly as they show up.

An hour ago there wasn’t enough bunting to decorate the main snack and drink tables. Now there’s enough to line the walls of the commissary in an unbroken loop. A majority of the decorating will have to take place the day of the party, leaving plenty of time that can be devoted to figuring out the fun foodstuffs and costumes.

Torrent Company continues to do most of the legwork, the troopers trading their armor for aprons as they work to make enough sugar cookies to feed an army, and then some. They’ve gotten a good head start while you have been busy with your respective tasks around the flagship. By your estimation, they must’ve made fifty trays or more so far, leaving some plain while others were decorated with icing and sprinkles.

You plan to join them once you’ve spent a little time off your feet. So snacking on a sample cookie given to you by Hardcase, you’ve taken to thumbing through a list of last-minute costume ideas on your datapad, looking for inspiration for the few who haven’t found something to wear.

“Mm. That’s a really good cookie.”

Someone from the back of the kitchen tells Hardcase that it’s probably Tup who deserves the credit for the batch of cookies he gave you a sample of. “He figured out how to make ‘em really soft before he and Fives started experimenting on another recipe together.” Hardcase then laughs, adding, “Neither of them will tell us what it is, or accept any offers to help.”

That doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you. Since Tup joined the ranks of the 501st, he’s adopted a few mannerisms and formed close friendships with many of his brothers, namely Dogma, Hardcase, Jesse, Fives and the captain. Out of all of them, and apart from you, Tup’s perhaps closest with Fives.

“Ooh, I bet Jesse hates that.” you reply with a mirthful grin.

Jesse, among the oldest of the company, had a sense of humor that often meshed well with that of his younger brothers’, leading him to keep a closer eye on them in an inadvertent manner.

Sure enough, as he slides another tray laden with cookies out of the industrial ovens before setting them aside to cool, Jesse calls to Fives and Tup as they continue to work with their backs to the rest of the kitchen. Whatever it is they’re working on, they’re doing a splendid job of keeping it secret.

“Are you sure you don’t want more help, Tup?”

“No, no, we got it.” Tup insists, likely not for the first time. “Don’t you still need to find a costume?”

Jesse laughs sheepishly, grateful for the reminder. “Oh damn, nearly forgot.” He’d been busy helping Captain Rex with official matters while most of Torrent had the opportunity to pick out their costumes.

Feeling bad he had missed out on that fun, you came prepared and put together a list of potential costume suggestions you thought he might like with the help of his brothers. “I gotcha covered, Jesse.” You invite him to grab something to sit on and pull up a spot beside you, pulling up those notes from the planning session.

“Got some ideas for me, mesh’la?” He takes the ideas everyone had brainstormed, grinning like a nexu.

You warn him with a playful roll of your eyes. “I had a little help from your brothers. So if you don’t like any of them, don’t be hasty to blame me.”

“What’re you dressing up as?”

Consulting the short list, there was a ‘headless horseman’ suggestion that had been wisely scribbled out; that sounded like he was just begging to be haunted by Jango’s pissed-off spirit. Better safe than sorry.

“A siren. It took a tiny bit of convincing from Tup.” you say.

It had been the strangest thing. You had only mentioned it off-handedly, just a passing sort of comment while looking through the costume material Ahsoka had gathered up, finding a large bolt of shimmery sequin fabric in your favorite color. Like, a really large bolt; enough to make an elaborate (but probably very itchy) dress or two. It helped that it had a vaguely scale-like look to it as you showed the others.

“Heh. Someone could make a really handsome merman using some of this. Whaddya think, boys?”

Tup hadn’t found a costume yet and was seemingly eager to get the process over with, so he jumped on your suggestion. While doing so, he dug out a bolt in a complimentary color to the sequins and offered it out to you.

“Sounds good to me. Oh look! Maybe you could take some of this silk and use it with the sequins to make yourself a siren, burc’ya! You’d look really great.”

You agreed after a short moment of thought, hearing how sincerely he meant it. Tup would never purposely steer you wrong. Now the two of you would have a similar costume theme for the Guises and Gourds party.

It was hard for Jesse to contain his smile next to you. “Tup as a merman. And you’re matching with him? Sounds like you’ll be having a lot of fun.” Turning back to the list, he looked over everyone one last time before making a selection.

“If no one’s taken the king’s costume, I’ll use it.”

“Sounds good then; I’ll ask Ahsoka since she’s keeping track of everything.” Taking back the datapad, you send a short message to Ahsoka, who confirms the costume is still up for grabs just a few minutes later. “Say, any idea if the captain’s able to make it to the party, or does he still think he’s gonna be busy?”

“No idea,” Jesse replies glumly. “Didn’t have a chance to ask.”

“That’s okay.” you say, trying to remain optimistic.

There’s still time to find out, and no shortage of tasks to do before the night of the party.

The day of the party, not long before late-meal, you and Tup agree to meet up to take care of any alterations needed before getting ready for the Night of Guises and Gourds.

It’s not going as smoothly as you hoped. For whatever reason, Tup’s hands are shaking like an under-caffeinated Corrie while he helps you strengthen the stitching holding the slippery folds of silk together. More than once, while wearing the skirt fashioned in place of an awkward and constricting mono-fin, the needle he’s holding has grazed you while piercing through the elastic waistband.

“Ow.”

“S-sorry,” Tup apologizes with a stammer, checking for blood where he poked you.

By the mercy of the Force, he finds none.

“Just a couple more stitches. Unless, you’d rather not risk my help?”

With an assuring nod, you tell him to go ahead and finish. “It’s okay Tup. Just feeling nervous about the party?”

“Maybe a little,” he confesses, concentrating harder on making these last stitches as painless as possible.

Tup’s grateful you’re not Force-sensitive like Commander Tano or General Skywalker right about now. Otherwise you might be able to sense, even hear, how fast his pulse pounds in the shell of his ear. How his heart races, skipping a beat when you say his name. The flush of fire that builds in his face when he thinks of you in fondness and in friendship; it burns hotter day by day. How could he be so lucky to have you for a friend? What cosmic force did he have to thank for putting someone so wholly kind and sweet in his life?

And was he going to be able to pull this off tonight?

If he didn’t… When would he get another chance? Before he plucked up the nerve again, someone else could come along. Maybe another, less cautious brother. Or rather than risking romantisms with someone only born and bred to die, you’d play it safe and date a fellow crewmate. Maybe… maybe he had you all wrong and you weren’t the sort interested in dating.

Other than honest, loyal companionship, what could he even bring to a relationship?

Tup honestly wasn’t sure. But blast it, he wanted to try.

Stitching finished without further incident, Tup puts the sewing supplies aside. “That should do it. Give ‘er a spin, let’s see how I did.”

Humoring him, you start slowly, performing little half-spins. You want to make sure the thread survives a warm-up, first. The fabric sways like grass reeds in the wind, silk swinging against sequin. Building up to higher speeds, bigger movements, the layered skirt now ripples and snaps like wind-battered masts on seafaring ships of old. Slowing again, the movement becomes hypnotic, almost mesmerizing.

As you are now, you look fit for the sea with the long, layered skirt and borrowed bodysuit to give your upper body a slightly more ‘streamlined’ feeling. Your hair has been styled, careful hair gel application giving you a slightly damp, tidal-swept appearance. With more of Tup’s help, you would complete the look and truly fit the part of a siren for your guise. A bit of makeup here and there and a few faux pearls should be enough.

He’s grateful this part doesn’t require a steady hand worthy of a surgeon; daubing brushfuls of shimmering eyeshadows into the scale stencil you’ve made comes a lot easier than grasping a thin needle. Creating patches of these false scales around your eyes, your neck, and the back of your hands takes no time at all. Everything gets sealed with a setting spray and given time to dry.

You’ll leave adding any pearls for last. Now helping Tup, you take the same portion of fishnet stocking you sacrificed for a stencil and start at the collarbone and shoulders. Knowing it’s going to tickle, Tup asks you to save applying makeup on his face for last.

Working quickly, you move the brush and stencil down a portion of his arms, and he begins to regret the amount of glitter building on his skin.

“There’s so much glitter,” Tup remarks with a soft grimace. “We’re gonna be finding this stuff for years after tonight.”

You chuckle sympathetically and try to keep the lilt in your voice playful. “You decided to be a shirtless merman, remember? I can add less scales than we initially planned, but you should make your peace with it now, Tup.” He only shrugs, fiddling with an errant strand of thread from his sequin pants while you brush in the scales. With the completion of his upper arms, all that’s left to work on is his face.

The brush, combined with a feather-light touch proves rather ticklish for your friend.

“Hold still, silly,” you chide him after his head ducks to the side once more. “Hard to do this when you’re squirmy.” You’re prepared to cup his face if necessary, just to make sure the facial pattern doesn’t become misaligned or smudged. He'll need a do-over otherwise. Taking him gingerly by the jaw for the moment, you guide Tup’s head where you need him and try to pick up where you left off.

“Please look at me…”

Tup complies with your request, eager to follow instruction. The pair of you so close together like this, his soulful eyes are practically amber in the ambient light, wholly focused on you. Each time you need to lean in a little closer, carefully brushing in scale after scale, Tup’s smile seems to brighten.

Look at you? Be this close to you? He’d be all too happy to do so.

Once you’re finished, taking extra care to protect the scales with the setting spray, you surprise him with one final addition for his costume. Knowing you’ll have extra, you string together a row of the pearl beads meant to be finishing touches to your own costume with some of the thread from earlier and carefully wrap it around the base of his topknot. This way, it looks like his dark, curly hair has been secured by a string of pearls.

You take a second to find a pocket mirror so he can see the final product before the two of you set off to join his brothers for a hurried late-meal. He admires your work for a moment before telling you he loves it in a soft, awed voice and helps you gather your things.

“Mirdala, - ! I never would have thought of that.”

The two of you walk down to the commissary together and find they’re serving stew tonight—something that provokes an excited “Hell yeah, soup!” from the back of the hall—before you have a chance to discreetly confer with your datapad under the table and find the meaning of the words.

You find one means 'clever', but unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to properly make out the second word at the time.

But that wouldn’t matter soon enough.

In all your time aboard the Jedi cruiser as a longtime member of the crew, you can’t remember a time you’ve seen the main mess hall this lively. Tech-savvy Clones compiled a setlist and mood lighting for tonight to really complete the atmosphere, giving the space a playful vibe.

You’ve had a chance to sample some of the snacks, along with probably one of the best glasses of punch you’ve enjoyed in a long time.

And the costumes! You’re relieved there’s no costume contest put in place for this Guises and Gourds party because it really takes the pressure off of those who feel their entry is in some way conditional. Attendees can come just as they are, if that’s what they desire, or, if plans change.

Letting down her lekku for the night, Ahsoka traded her typical attire for a comfortable poncho set, only keeping the headdress and beaded markings of a padawan learner. You, Tup and the rest of Torrent Company couldn’t remember a time you’d seen her so relaxed, other than when she was meditating. Well, maybe relaxed isn’t the word for it. Happy is probably more appropriate. Carefree.

Ahsoka gets to put her responsibilities behind her and act more like others her age, just for tonight. She’s been bouncing between groups of soldiers since the start of the party, complimenting everyone on their costumes, enjoying the food and the music.

Around the same time she’s made it over to you and “your” little portion of Torrent friends, the 501st’s medic cuts his way through the crowd, surprising everyone.

“Kix! You made it!”

He had been expected to oversee the medbay tonight, but more than likely he cashed in a few favors in order to make an appearance. “Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. Sorry I missed…” Kix trailed off, gesturing to the decorations and a few of his brother’s costumes. “All this. But you guys look great! What’s everyone supposed to be?” Going around in a circle, everyone explains their costume, or lack thereof.

Dogma decided on a vampire costume because of its simplicity, settling for a red cape to accent his Republic blacks, though he wasn’t a fan of the false fangs. He wore them only for pictures, since they made it hard to talk. Fives had tried to pull off a lycanthrope look, but the adhesive was dodgy and he ended up looking like a Wookie with a very unfortunate case of mange. He had to settle for borrowing a non-Clone’s medical coat to dress up as a “Sexy Doctor” reminiscent of those medical holodramas. A glorious-looking king for all of fifteen minutes, Jesse successfully demoted himself to a fancy prince after he convinced Captain Rex to take the crown offered to him. Hardcase had wandered off to go talk to the captain about something shortly after and hadn’t yet returned, but he opted not to go in costume due to decision fatigue. He would much rather eliminate any stressors that would take away from the fun of spending time with his brothers.

Tup explained he was a merman when Kix questioned if he wasn’t cold being shirtless, proudly showing off the shimming patches of scales and the string of pearls nestled in his hair. He gestured to you next before his brother got the chance to ask, obviously excited.

“And she’s a siren; similar theme!”

Kix nodded to show his approval. “Rather impressive you two. And what about you, Commander? What’s your costume?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “Oh, I don’t have a costume.”

“Your poncho has a hood,” you point out, carefully raising the blueish white pocket of fabric over her head when she asks. “There! Now you can be a ghost.”

She gives you a beaming smile, grateful for your help. “Thanks! And thanks so much for all the help you’ve put into the party. Means a lot.”

Her smile is returned with one of your own.

“Any time, Ahsoka.”

Before setting off to mingle with the other attendees once more, she leaves you with a kind embrace and a reminder to enjoy the rest of the party. Everyone else, she playfully instructs to behave.

Kix assures her that they will. “It’s not every day we get to celebrate a holiday in hyperspace. Right, Tup?” He gently nudges the end of his elbow into the brother beside him currently looking a little lost in thought. Surprised, Tup turns to look at the medic, unsure what was asked.

“Hmm?”

“You okay, Tup? You seem distracted.”

Assuring his brother, Tup tries to wave Kix’s concerns away. “Yeah, yeah- I’m fine. Just remembered that I forgot something for the party in our bunkroom. Erm, more than one thing, actually…”

Without a moment of hesitation, or even knowing what it is that he’s forgotten, you offer to go with him. Surprisingly, none of his other brothers offer to lend a helping hand. That’s not like them at all. Each one of them merely smiles and says “Alright, we’ll see you two later.” before Tup disposes of your empty punch glass and leads the two of you out of the crowded mess hall. The lengthy corridors of the venator feel so empty by comparison, quieter than you ever remember them being.

Tup’s pace down to his bunkroom is hurried, which you chalk up to distance. While the bunkroom isn’t too far away from the party, you still have a bit of ground to cover together. You expect to return to the party before long, unless whatever it is Tup forgot ended up being something heavy, or unwieldy.

“Are you sure we don’t need your brothers’ help?”

“I’m sure. They keep offering, but I don’t need the help of my vode for this.” Tup replies cryptically.

You find his answer a little strange, but you’ll know what he means soon enough.

Opening the bunkroom door, Tup seems surprised that there’s no light on inside when the hydraulics quickly whip the door back. They were on when he left to help you fix your costume, and none of his brothers told him they had turned off the light, either. Nothing too weird about that, they must’ve just forgotten to mention it, excited about the Night of Guises and Gourds party.

He’ll just turn on the light and- nothing. Was there a problem with the panel? Depressing the usual buttons a few times has no results on the room, save for turning the dim ‘sleeping’ light overhead on and off instead of the primaries.

Great. More problems for the maintenance crew to sort out.

Shaking his head, Tup suggests you both just forget it for now and go figure out where the stuff ended up. What you came for had originally been left by the door, but it looked like someone forgot why it was there and put everything away. It was likely going to be by his bunk or along the back wall, both of which were further back from the door.

Guiding you through the semi-darkness, he takes your hand to help you navigate the room.

It’s tidier than you expected, the only ‘mess’ to be seen are a few open foot lockers stacked at the foot of each bunk. “Watch your step. Wouldn’t want you to trip over anything.” As you venture deeper, the radius of the dim sleeping light fails to adequately light the way around, meaning in no time at all you’d be stumbling blindly without your friend’s help.

You tighten the stitching of your interlocked fingers, an anchor of safety. In return, Tup squeezes your hand reassuringly; a promise you’ll be okay while your eyes adjust to the dark.

Coming up to the back of the room, Tup tells you to wait off to the side, offering to find a decent light-source for you so you have an easier time helping him ‘find’ everything.

But he won’t be finding anything; this is all part of his plan. Removing the mattresses from the frame of the bunk, he lays each on the floor in front of you, throwing down a couple of spare pillows for good measure. Inviting you to get comfortable, he collects the box of rations and a small holo-projector previously hidden under the lower mattress.

Humming to life, the projector begins to play a pre-selected recording once Tup has set it on the floor.

Slowly, tiny spots of blue light wink into existence and fill the air around you, lazily drifting on a far-away breeze. In the bottom of the projection, thin stalks of tall grass sway and ripple, wave-like. This must have been recorded in a forest clearing, or grasslands of some kind. In it is a ‘sparkle’ of fireflies, climbing and bumbling through the air in a fascinating spectacle.

It becomes pretty apparent what he’s trying to do. In your lifetime, you’ve seen more than enough holo-dramas and read just as many romance novels to puzzle out where this is going. Tup, your very good friend, has put together a picnic in the middle of hyperspace to the best of his ability in order to ask you a very important kind of question.

“Tup… Is this what I think it is?”

By way of answering, Tup takes the hinged lid of the ration box and swings it back to show you what’s inside. Nestled in a crumpled layer of parchment paper lay peanut butter cookies, still looking just as soft and gooey from when they were baked. It’s an offering to share, or maybe a gift to you.

Moving closer, he puts the box between you, waiting with bated breath and a nervous smile after you take the first cookie and break off a mouthful to sample. “Oh, Maker,” you moan near-sinfully after the first bite. “These are even better than the other cookies.” It’s decadent; rich and buttery smooth all at once. A lot of care must have been put into getting the recipe down for you. These had to be what he and Fives were working on in the kitchen the other day.

“You made these for me?”

Tup nods, finding his voice. “I did. I wanted to make tonight special. Well, m-more special than it already was.” Throat bobbing, he swallows down his nervousness with a bite of his own hard work, chewing slowly to think of something more to say. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now… But I couldn’t find the right time to say it. Or the right thing to do.”

Half-eaten cookie in hand, he gestures to the holographic fireflies. “I wanted to take you stargazing. But we see stars all the time, especially in hyperspace. So Hardcase suggested fireflies instead. I-I dunno where he found the idea; I was running out of time.”

“Well, even if he can be a tad… distractible, ‘Case is full of lots of good ideas. And fireflies are pretty.” you reply, breaking off another portion of your first cookie. “What were you running out of time for?”

In the dim light, he shrugs his shoulders, full lips set in a slight pout. “It doesn’t really matter, I guess. There was so much more I wanted to do and I only had a few days to do it.” The fact he did it at all was an accomplishment, too. It would probably be best to tell you that another time.

Best not to spoil the moment when you move aside the repurposed cache full of cookies and slide closer to him, all with that sweet look on your face he grew so fond of. It didn’t matter that it had been half a year or less since getting to know you. Tup had grown so enamored with you for your kindness and a rare, genuine nature to you that he knew he’d be willing to risk making his heart vulnerable to you.

His brothers had his back. You practically had his heart; he just hoped to make it official.

Trying to put himself at ease, Tup finds your hand and merely holds it for a time. Committing to memory as much as he can. The weight of your hand, the length of each digit. Where your hands are soft, or rough with the evidence of a storied life. How comforting it is to feel you squeeze his hand and rub your thumb over every scarred knuckle with the kind of tenderness he was never really afforded as a young cadet, or even as a tubie.

He’s courageous, and competent, and capable of so many things… except finding the bravery in himself to utter three little words.

“I… I want you to be more than just my friend. More than a vod’ika, too.” Tup tries explaining, using the Mando’a word that means more than just ‘sibling’, but also ‘dear friend’; both of which are always meant as endearing terms. He’s grateful you’re clever enough to read between the lines and know what his tongue cannot bring itself to tell.

Utilizing your knowledge of the ungendered language, you search for the next closest words as you move to cradle the back of Tup’s head, smiling encouragingly.

“What do you want me to be?” you ask. “Gar…?”

Voice soft, almost breathless, Tup answers your prompting. He sits forward. You do the same.

“Mirdala cyar’ika.”

Drawing him close, warm, silken lips take that first of shared gestures quickly—testing, even tempting deeper waters. Each of you face this depth, deciding to press on together. Warmth consumes the two of you as you each grow bolder, going forward with more confidence in swimming further out from safe harbors. Out of reach from the white caps of the cresting waves, together you take pause, seeming to recall where you are.

For a moment, you felt almost adrift. Heads light, and the silk from your skirt pooling between you, slipping with every moment, had given you both the feeling that you were somewhere else. Somewhere lightyears beyond the Resolute racing through a hyperspace lane, bigger than this dim bunkroom and the middle of a projection of little, living stars swimming in an ocean made of oxygen.

Basking in this euphoria, both of you first lean against the other, arms laced tight and catching your breath. Neither want to let go. Not when there’s a thousand unspoken I love you-s to perform, and a thousand more ways that are far more unique.

“We can tell your brothers whenever you’re ready. This little bit of… ‘star gazing’ was a great idea… Thank you, ner cyare.”

Before the end of the night, it would not matter that he ended up missing the rest of the party with his brothers; Tup could now say with full confidence that his new favorite holiday was the Night of Guises and Gourds.

Not when you could say the same thing.

Thank you for making a fun request for this little event, Steph, and for allowing me to double-dip by fitting this into Pina's Monster/Halloween AU by making this a costume party. This ended up longer than I expected but it was so, so much fun to write; I hope you enjoyed! 🩷

Fic taglist: @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

#frostfics #Holidays in Hyperspace #frosts 200 terrific follower event #request fic #the-bad-batch-baroness #star wars #tcw #the clone wars #tcw fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #tcw tup #tup x reader #tup x fem!reader #pineapples 2024 halloween party

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

Text

And I'll Be An Old Troubadour, When I'm Gone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Dis my favorite GS song <3 fits my OC perfectly <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost doesn’t typically get out of the country if he can help it when he’s on leave. Rarely does he even get to Scotland to see Soap’s family. That’s about it, but somehow, Troubadour convinces him to fly out to the States and down south to see him for the month they’ve been given. It does take quite a bit of convincing, and even a great home cooked dinner and somehow wining and dining Ghost’s pants off, but he does.

Troubadour has a fun time showing him around the town he grew up in, and even takes him to the high school he played football in. He grins widely as he sees his trophy in the case and a cheering team photo behind it. He tells him stories about getting drunk by a bonfire and almost burning all the little hair he had on his chest when he decided to jump over it and almost fell face first instead. Tells him about how he managed to whoop a rival school’s tail in a street fight in a parking lot when he was a senior. Talks on and on about how he used to spend every summer on a tube floating down the river with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other, and a can of bait between his knees. Ghost’s eyes don’t give it away, but his smile is evident beneath the black face mask he wears around the town.

He drives Ghost around town, takes him to the local diner and shows him what a real country fried steak tastes like, and by the time they’re done with apple pie and coffee, Ghost is literally bursting at the seams and ready to fall over in the booth while Troubadour laughs at him. He looks good when he laughs. Like he isn’t trying to look out for everyone like Price always is. Troubadour’s good like that; the big brother they never had, the one they can go to for anything, no matter how foolish or big. He sometimes thinks Troubadour should retire and do something better with his life. Something less risky. But he knows that Troubadour is a good man, wants to do the right thing, even if he gets his hands dirty. He wants to make a difference. Wants to be the man he deserved to look up to as a young man instead of the shit father he did have. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could be a good man like Troubadour.

Troubadour tells him the cabin he’s rented is about two and a half hours out of the town and Ghost settles into the passenger seat of the 2021 Dodge RAM 1500, comfortable and content to close his eyes for a couple hours. He watches the end of the sun fall behind the mountains and watches the stars come out above the truck. So deep in his own mind that he doesn’t realize Troubadour’s hand is on his thigh until he feels his lover’s fingers gently pressing and thumbing against the roughness of his jeans. Troubadour likes to touch. He’s always holding Ghost’s hand, his thigh, his chin on the soldier’s shoulder, toes brushing his calf under the covers.

He looks over inconspicuously, taking in the side profile of the man he’s come to love so deeply, of something that came from such an admiration and respect. Ghost often wonders if Simon Riley would be the man Troubadour was if he hadn’t let his past warp him so greatly. The man’s hands are strong, firm, steady, the wheel gripped in one as he silently and masterfully turns the wheel around a winding curve when the radio plays the next song and he sees the corner of Troubadour’s mouth turn up and he starts to hum the cords of the beginning, and Ghost is almost shocked at the smooth voice that comes out of the man, like bourbon running in his veins as he sings.

Sometimes I feel like Jesse James, still tryin’ to make a name. Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am. I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song. I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

It makes something in Simon’s chest tighten painfully. Their lives are lived in an hourglass that’s running out of sand fast. Every moment is never guaranteed, no tomorrow ever promised, but the longer he spends with Troubadour, the more he hears the life he wants to be living instead. He wants to wake up at five AM for god knows whatever reason, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs drinking their coffee. He wants to sit on the back porch in the swing and drink bourbon as they watch the fireflies in the summer and talk about the change in football and wonder if the season will be better than last year’s. He wants to spend every Sunday going to a café where they complain about the same breakfast they always get but still eat it and can’t wait for the next time. He wants to sit on the steps of their home in the early winter months, and watch Troubadour chop wood and bitch that he could chip in instead of ogling him like a pervert but still take his sweaty shirt off anyway.

Simon begins to admit the one thing he’s always been afraid of, and that’s the fact that he actually wants to live long enough to die an old man next to the old man he’s come to love.

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have begun to sting until he blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, looking over at Troubadour as the man simply sings away without a care in the world other than the fact one of his biggest bragging rights is, “George Strait wrote a song about me. I mean, it’s obviously about me.”

Simon feels the world collide with everything he’s ever felt and known when Troubadour looks over as if called out to him and gives him a pearly white smile.

I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone.

Troubadour picks up his hand, kisses the back of Simon’s, an ever-present and firm promise to love him for all he’s worth for as long as he has and even into the next life and all eternity.

I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

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alicentrasers · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!! I'd quite like to ask about Dogma'a Rulebook please! (Also Fuck me in the arse tonight because that title!!!)

Lmao, I was waiting for someone to ask about that!

Dogma's Rulebook is another fic from my old co-author. They wrote about 3ish chapters before jumping to another midnight idea. Minor editing has occurred with this one but I'll be honest, I haven't read it in a while.

General premise is about Dogma's transition from the front lines, after umbara, into the guard. It covers his introduction, his relationships with his new squad, the commanders, and a possible love interest via civilian- though Im thinking about cutting that character as his main purpose was simply cuddle piles.

Here is a section that I have deemed Safe for Public Consumption:

"The barracks themselves were not much different then the ones on the Resolute, although there were many more bunks with space to spare, and even a large window on one side. The Commander starts talking to Dogma again, something along the lines of the freshers being in the back and some trooper habits. The large window has several mattresses placed in front of it, along with a veritable nest of pillows and blankets. The bunks that they were scavenged from have been fashioned into shelves with everything from holopads to odd plants stored in their cubbies. These bits of improvised furniture create a sort of room within a room, blocking off the view to most other bunks, and with the evening sun it all looks rather peaceful.

A firm hand clapping his shoulder brings Dogma back to conversation, Commander Thorn is wrapping up his welcome speech it seems. “Remember the other vode here can help you find anything, you’ll start on basic patrols with your assigned group after tomorrow, get some rest Private.” Dogma nods, he hasn’t used more than a handful of words on the way here and he wasn’t about to change that, hopefully it wouldn’t seem too disrespectful to the Commander. Honestly Dogma isn’t usually this wrapped up in his own head, but ever since Umbara he’s been distracted more and more lately, usually by the smallest things too."

Like I said, old work, needs major edits. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it as Dogma is not one of my main characters for this AU.

-*-

Hehehehe, Fuck me in the Ass Tonight

That is the Working Title for the Ongoing Chat-fic Landline Across the Galaxy posted on my AO3. Currently, I had to change the working title to Funk Me on the Dance Floor cause I work on that doc at work a lot lmao.

This is an Information/Gossip Chat started by Jesse. It features characters that I don't normally see in most CloneWars chat fics, as well as some OCs of mine to add to the chaos. Landline has the heavy job of Connecting all of my WIPs and Posted Fics together into a general timeline, as well as providing Lore and another perspective on the canon events.

Oh, and memes

Never forget the memes

Here is a section from the unposted Plans for new chapters:

"Ahsoka: JESSE'S GOT SPACE INSTAGRAM AND NOBODY TOLD ME!!

Jesse: SOKA, HUSH

Ahsoka: YOU FOLLOWED AND UNFOLLOWED BARRIS, I'M GOING TO KNOW

Jesse: IT WAS A MISTAP, I APOLOGIZED

Ahsoka: ACCEPT MY FOLLOW, YOU COWARD

Ahsoka: WHY BOTHER WITH A PRIVATE ACCOUNT ANYWAY

Jesse: I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT THUS CHAT, AND ASK THAT AGAIN

Ahsoka: ….

Ahsoka: okay, true

Ahsoka: BUT U STILL DNT TRLL ME

Jesse: have you considered that maybe I don't want ppl seeing what I post?

Ahsoka: Jesse

Ahsoka: You have 3500 followers…

Jesse:...

Ahsoka:...

Ahdoka: LET ME IN

Jesse: NEVER

[Kix is now Online.]

Kix: And this is why I have this commline muted

[Comet is now Online.]

Comet: Jesse… Why are you shirtless in your profile picture…

Kix: >:("

Yes, I normally write snippets for this fic while sleep deprived and watching vines. I am /hilarious/

#clone wars #star wars #commander cody #captain rex #ao3 #commander fox

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howlthorne · 15 days ago

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( David Casteñada/ male/ he/him) — Lucas Thorne has been living in Port Leiry for like a day. They currently work as a Unemployed, and are 31 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a Werewolf or if they’re connected to Harford. They tend to be quite Stubborn and Hot Headed, but can also be Loyal and Caring.— ( JJ/ EST/ they/them/ 21/ needles)

Name: Lucas Jesse Thorne Occupation: Currently unemployed Age: 31 Sexuality: Queer Species: Werewolf Clan/Pack/Coven?: Harford Hometown: Washington, D.C - Later West Virginia Relationship Status: Divorced x2 (Same guy) Personality Traits: Stubborn, Hot-Headed, Cocky, Loyal, Caring, Romantic

TW: Murder, cannibalism, kidnapping, child abuse, infidelity

001. You’re six years old, and you walk down to your kitchen to find a monster hunched over the bloody pile that was your family. The world blurs, and time seems to freeze as the monster sinks its teeth into your arm. Just as quickly, you’re free, free to struggle and almost make it halfway down the hall to your baby sister’s room before the darkness sets in and you fall. When you come back to reality, you’re being carried by a man with blood in his hair, wearing clothes from your father’s closet. You ask about your family, you cry, kick, scream, and he tells you they’re dead, tells you he didn’t mean it, tells you he was the monster, and you’re one too. You ask about your sister, and he looks guilty, looks back, and he tells you she’s gone. You don’t have anyone, anymore.

002. The man’s son was killed by a hunter, he tells you. His wolf had traced the scent to your house, and he wasn’t in control, wasn’t aware of how vicious he had been with your family. Your new room is full of clothes that are too big, posters for bands you don’t like, unfinished homework on a desk for classes you’re not old enough to be in. The next full moon you learn you’re a monster too, and he tells you he’s part of a pack, that they’ll take care of you, that they’re a family, and the word makes you want to throw yourself into anyone's arms and cry until everything feels less awful. A boy who’s lost his family, and a father who’s lost a son. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?

003. Your father always gets antsy right before the full moon, and tempers rise in the worst kind of way. You started yelling back months ago, and something’s got you getting bold, getting careless. Your skull cracks open against the kitchen counter, and your right ear never works the same again. He pulls you out of the hospital before the sun sinks too low, but your wolf doesn’t take kindly to stitches. What could have been a tiny mark on your scalp is a large scar, left from a night spent dragging a claw through half-healed wounds when the skin stitching together began to itch.

004. You do the math sometime in highschool, poking holes in the story. Your family died under a crescent moon, and while you can’t turn on one, you know your father is one of the kind of wolves that can, and keep his mind in the process. It’s your parents, your baby sister, the life you were going to have, supposed to have, that you’re thinking of when you finally do it. It takes a lot to poison a werewolf, but wolfsbane grows all over these mountains, and you’re more patient than you look. You pack a bag and skip town that night, and never look back.

005. The nerves all around your broken arm are screaming at you to do something, but when the doctor asks you to rate your pain on a scale of 1-10, the best line you can manage through the pain is “I’m looking at it. Ten.” You fall fast, and you fall hard, tripping over all your hangups and worries and falling right into a marriage for the best two years of your life. You feel safe, you feel loved, and for the first time in a while, full moons aren’t as awful when you know that your wolves get along, that you’re more likely to wake up with him right there.

006. You’re pulling away, and it’s unraveling your marriage. You’re pulling away from him, and you don’t know how to stop. Something is wrong, something you don’t know how to put into words, something you let sit heavy in your chest as he throws himself into work more and more. Eventually, it becomes unbearable. You know it’s wrong, you know you’re being stupid, but that doesn’t stop you from taking someone home when you know he’s working late. When you think he’s working late. You break his heart in the process of breaking your own, sign the papers when his lawyer sends them, and you still can’t find the right words for why you did it.

007. It’s hard to keep away from him when your wolves still act like a pack. Waking up after full moons within shouting distance of him leads to walks back to town together, and something has to fill the silence. You’re falling back into what could have been, and it’s beautiful enough to end up drunk in a courthouse, saying “I do” all over again. It doesn’t last. The relationship is dead. The "what if’s" are finally quieted, the dreams about what could have been if you’d never fucked it up are set aside. You’re both better off without trying to drag the corpse of your marriage out of its grave.

008. You learn she’s alive by mistake. You’re getting your old last name back, calling hospitals back in D.C to try to find your real birth certificate, not the fakes your not-father gave you with his own last name, and you start hearing things that make you hope. You dig, try your hand at social media searching, and eventually you find it: Port Leiry. You pull up your roots, buy a one-way bus ticket, and don’t even bother to say goodbye before you go.

#cor.intro

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bihanspookies · 1 year ago

Text

Alora Fucks Up

Summary: A night away at a bar ends up turning into one of Alora’s biggest mistakes.

Warnings: uuhh blood, broken bones, violence

All Alora wanted was one night to herself, to have a sense of peace away from her hectic lifestyle. She wanted to be away from her peers, away from that god forsaken base, and from the latest thorn in her side: Jesse Waylon fucking Geller. Lately he had been showing up more and more at the Black Dragon base, Kano contracting Red Claw for a different type of business. Needless to say that Jesse’s persistent and obnoxious personality was a complete 180 from that Mitchell fellow she met two weeks prior.

She had gone to some shady bar, one that normally favored members of the Black Dragon and other mercenaries since they would usually bring fair business. It was almost an unspoken rule that the different factions kept to themselves, yet instead here she was, white knuckling her beer bottle as some greasy creep kept insisting on talking to her. She told him to leave her the fuck alone— exactly like that, but he persisted and even slid into the barstool next to hers.

“Fucking hell, you look rough. Like it though...” Is what he told her when he caught the first glimpse of her scarred face. That’s when Alora had verbally cursed him, annoyance crystal clear in her tone and had demanded for him to move.

He didn’t, five beers too far in to make a single coherent thought. Alora was ready to just give up and leave, far too drained and irritated to properly deal with the man and sort him straight. She downed the rest of her beer (her first one), placed money on the table and hopped off the stool without so much as a glance to the guy.

“Hey! Not done talking—“

It was instant when she swung around and clocked her fist into his jaw, blood and a few teeth flying out and skittering across the floor because he decided he didn’t need any when his hand came to slap against her backside. His cry of agony silenced the bar, the other patrons murmuring at the scene that was beginning to unfold. Fights were normal on this side of town, it was rare when something didn’t break out. He stumbled off the seat, using another one to keep himself upright.

“You fucking bi—!”

He was silenced again when her same hand shot out and whacked him on the nose, knocking him clean off his feet. He crashed to the floor, colliding into a few other bar goers as they barely cushioned his fall. Alora stepped closer, ready to execute another hit when the man put his hands up, waving and shaking them for mercy. Alora scoffed and rolled her eyes, prepared to finally leave when of course he had to open his mouth again. She didn’t quite catch what he said, just knowing that it was some other bullshit.

She grabbed her empty beer bottle off the countertop, the man’s eyes widening in fear when he saw her rear her arm back. He screamed when it came smashing down right next to his head, amber glass exploding into a million tiny shards and sinking into his skin.

He howled in pain and Alora sucked her teeth, muttering a ‘sorry’ to the bartender and dropping a few more bills for damages.

That was yesterday night.

Today, in the late afternoon, she’s sitting at the base’s bar and idly chatting with Kate and Billie. It’s an ordinary conversation, when Danny and Kano walk in with the latter looking positively peeved off. Alora briefly spares them a glance, opening her mouth to reply to Billie when Danny slides into the seat next to her, giving one of his infamous charming smiles before making it tight lipped and turning to talk to Billie who was sitting behind the bar.

“Whiskey, Kano Jr. I need it.” He muses, Billie giving him a look and rolling her eyes.

“Do I look like I’m ol’ enough to be servin’?” She retorts, downing the rest of her soda before hopping off her barstool anyway to reach under the counter and grab a bottle of whiskey. As she’s pouring it, Alora can’t help but notice Kano in the background, angrily talking about something to Alex and Kabal who were in the middle of a pool game. Their expressions shift from confusion to bewilderment as they listen to Kano talk, Alora unfortunately a bit too far away to catch exactly what he was spewing on about.

She’s brought back when Danny clicks his tongue, putting her attention back on Billie who just finished licking the rim of his glass and handing it off to him. Danny inspects his cup and wipes it off with a napkin before taking a huge sip, looking at Billie with a raised eyebrow before he brings the drink away with a sound of satisfaction.

“Keep that bottle out, Mini Me. Gonna need it with the way this deal got botched.”

That makes Alora’s curiosity pique, trailing her gaze from Danny’s glass to his face. He catches her stare and takes it as a sign to continue. With a heavy sigh he leans back, stretching and lifting his glasses to rub at his tired green eyes.

“Prick didn’t show up. Turns out the muppet got his ass handed to him at the bar last night….”

It’s a slow creep that starts in her heart and spreads throughout her body. The hair on the back of her neck prickles and Alora starts wondering if there was some sort of off chance that there was another guy who got beat at the exact same time.

“How’d you figure that?” Billie asks while Alora starts to twirl the straw in her own cup lazily, using her finger to have it circle around the rim. She’s keeping calm, staying silent to determine if she’s royally fucked or not.

“Well for starters, mate has the gall to send Kano a picture of him in the hospital. Absolutely beaten to shit.” Danny huffs and takes another sip, a slight grimace on his features as he places the cup back down. Alora feels a skip in her heart, simply giving a quirk of her eyebrows as her gaze drifts behind the Brit and back to her boss. She can see Kabal doing his best to talk Kano down, Alex giving his own input here and there. Kano shakes his head, a flash of disgust crossing his face before he leaves the pool table with a wave of his hand and heads towards the bar.

“What was the deal?” Kate pipes up, appearing from Alora’s right and leaning onto the countertop to look at Danny. He sighs, a bit dramatically, and looks to Kate with a small pout on his lips. Kano’s grumbling to himself when he reaches them, giving Billie a small head pat before ducking under the counter to reach for a bottle.

“Well darling—“ another sigh, “Dear ol’ boss managed to snag me some precious material from Outworld. I’ve been wanting to try and experiment for some new tech but,” He shrugs, downing the remainder of his whiskey before slamming the cup down and sliding it towards Billie. She makes a face a him, unscrewing the bottle and ready to pour when Kano grabs it from her.

Silently he serves himself, filling his cup to the brim before going to the tech heads, a ping ringing off his phone as he starts to tilt. He unlocks his phone with one hand, still tilting the bottle.

“Anyway, not to worry love. Kano and I are already making plans to reschedule. Isn’t that right?”

But Kano doesn’t hear him, a sudden hard gaze on his features as he glares at his phone. Faintly Alora can hear something playing from the device, wondering what exactly has him looking ready to pop his own head off. His hand seems frozen in midair, whiskey still streaming out and eventually filling Danny’s glass. It topples over the sides, a slow puddle forming at the base of the cup.

“Uh…”

“Da’? What’s—“ Billie is cut off when her father’s hand crushes the neck of bottle, glass raining down and into Danny’s cup and all over the countertop. Kate and Billie jump back, while Danny and Alora’s eyes widen. Shards crunch in Kano’s palm and when Alora flicks her attention from that to Kano, her stomach twists when she sees him already staring at her.

“Didn’t like this shirt anyway.” Danny remarks sarcastically, pushing back from the bar to avoid getting more whiskey all over him. He gets off the stool and makes way to the bathroom to clean up.

From her peripheral she can see Alex and Kabal stop their game, attention now pointed towards the scene. She can feel the tension radiating off of Kate, her fingers gingerly brushing against Alora’s hand from under the countertop. Alora’s pinky barely raises in return, not daring to break the eye contact with Kano.

Ever so slowly Kano lowers his phone and slides it towards Alora, whatever he was watching still playing over and over on a loop. She doesn’t have to look down to know what the video is, the sounds of glass breaking and various gasps still fresh in mind from yesterday.

“Look. At the fucking. Phone.” He growls through clenched teeth, his hand that was holding the bottle finally releasing and shaking out whatever bits of glass had embedded into his skin. He ignores the stings, waiting for Alora to clarify so he can proceed with what to do next.

Alex and Kabal made their way towards them with Danny trailing not too far behind, looking down at his shirt and muttering to himself. Kabal reaches in between Alora and Kano to grab the phone to tilt it so he could see what exactly has Kano’s panties in a twist. He hisses through his teeth, Alex looming behind to catch a glimpse as well. Immediately his eyes snap up to his friend and boss, mouth open and ready to intervene.

“This was you?” Kano asks, venom laced in his voice as he waits for Alora’s answer. She stares back at him, keeping her gaze on his but not ignoring the way his nails started to leave faint indents in the wood of the bar. She feels Kate’s touch again, the brief contact doing little ease the anxiety piling in Alora.

“Kano, come on she didn’t—“

“Shut the fuck up Demir!” Kano barks and smacks Danny’s overfilled cup off the countertop without looking, sending it crashing into who knows what. It shatters with whiskey splashing everywhere, a sharp inhale of breath sounding from Kate’s lips. Kano points his finger at Alora, nostrils flaring as he asks the question again.

“Was. This. You.” It’s repeated with malice, his thick eyebrows knitted together so tight that if the situation wasn’t so serious then Alora might have cracked a smile.

She runs her tongue over her teeth, keeping her expression as neutral as possible.

“I didn’t know.” She finally answes, not a quiver in her tone or a tremble in her body, even knowing that there’s no point in trying to explain the situation to him. She can see the muscles jumping in his jaw and Alora knows she has very little time to diffuse the bomb that is Kano of The Black Dragon.

His eyes narrow, his palms giving two firm taps to the top of the bar before he shrugs.

“Din’t know, eh?” His lips purse a bit, coming around the counter to the other side with his boots crunching over broken glass. He leaves a small trail of wet whiskey footprints as he stops in front of Alora.

Thick couldn’t even begin to describe the tension in the room. Her eyes remain on him, expression stoic as gauges how to proceed. It felt like a heavy weight was sitting on her chest, ready to crush and pin her body to the ground.

Alora makes the mistake of briefly breaking eye contact to look at Billie, who was doing her best to sneak away unnoticed and leave the room— most likely to find and grab her mother.

Whack!

Pain immediately forms on the right side of Alora’s jaw, stars and colors dancing in her vision as she’s slightly knocked off balance and stumbles off her seat. Kano sends a kick to the center of her back, propelling her forward and almost to her knees.

“Go on get up then! Since you like to fuck up strangers! Get up!”

Another hit right to the mouth, so excruciating that Alora’s vision goes blurry for just a moment. She falls to her side, blood dripping past her lips in a steady flow. She sees Kano approaching fast, fury etched in his face as he rears his leg back to kick her in the stomach.

Alora counters and grabs onto him just in time, gritting her teeth and swinging him around to send him tumbling away from her. The Aussie rolls into it, quickly standing up and grunting as he reaches out towards her again.

“Do you have any fuckin’ idea how important this deal was? Huh?! Do ya?!”

Alora finally gets to her feet and sends a devastating punch towards his chest, Kano shifting off to the side at the last second so that her fist scrapes alongside his cybernetic heart. He fists her braids, pulling her hair back to hit her square in the face. She can feel her nose crack from the impact, involuntary tears springing to her eyes and grunting as crimson gushes out. He strikes her again in the same spot, blood shooting into the back of her throat and causing Alora to gag and sputter out flecks of red. It stains Kano, painting his skin and bandolier.

Faintly she can hear Kate screaming and pleading for Kano to stop, Alex having to hold her back in his arms so she doesn’t get caught up in the fight either. Danny stands near her, ready to grab and hold on as well while Kabal catches Erron and Echo up to speed. Echo’s eyes widen a fraction at the scene, standing close to Erron as she watches the fight.

“You absolute dumb fuckin’—“ Kano roars.

Before he can get in a third hit, Alora catches his hand and crushes it in her own, pushing back against him to create some distance. The Aussie grits his teeth and knocks his head into her, Alora actually feeling as if she was about to black out from how hazy her vision got.

Suddenly she feels 16 all over again, fighting endlessly in the Koliseum to reach the end for something that was never going to be hers in the first place. Breaking bones, tearing muscles, ripping through flesh like melted butter all for nothing.

All because she made one mistake.

“Kano stop you’ll kill her! She’s had enough!” Kate begs, squirming in Alex’s hold to get free.

“No,” He says, spitting off to the side. “She can take it. Ain’t tha’ right, love?”

He takes Alora’s right arm and twists it behind her back, yanking it so incredibly tight and hard against her that she can feel something threaten to pop. Her scream is one of pure anguish, coming out hoarse and broken, resonating throughout the bar. The tears that were holding on finally fall free, streaming down her cheeks and leaving wet trails into the blood that was smeared across her skin.

Alora’s so frazzled right now that she can’t properly think straight, too focused on the searing pain of her arm and hacking up the blood that keeps getting lodged in her throat. She clenches her teeth and rears her head back to knock into Kano, his hold faltering but not enough for her to slip free.

Fight back. Stop being scared and fight back.

So she does it again, even stomping on his foot and using her free arm to reach behind her to his face. The angle is extremely awkward since it��s her left, but she finds the edge of his cybernetic eye plate, her nails wasting no time in piercing the into the delicate flesh that surrounds it. Kano roars in pain, holding on for just a few seconds before he finally lets go and shoves her away. He swipes his fingers across where she had her nails, grunting when his tips show dark red.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” In a fit of rage he shoots his laser out to her, not taking the time to properly aim. It doesn’t hit her anywhere critical but it does land on the shoulder of the arm he just potentially fractured. The smell of burning flesh hits Alora’s nose, making her gag at how it infiltrates her senses. She can hear Kano’s boots getting closer and closer and in a desperate attempt she swings her fist around to clock him on the side of his skull. The Aussie yells and shoots another beam at her, just barely hitting the edge of her shoes. Alora scurries back and yells as she spears herself into him, sending him crashing to the floor and unleashing a flurry of hits straight to his face. She’s ignoring the piercing pain of her left arm, too focused on making Kano hurt.

Within the second punch his nose is crooked, blood shooting out and soaking into his beard. Hit after hit cause him to scream, Alora not faultering for one second and for the briefest moment she has the urge to keep going until he’s unrecognizable. Sometime after the sixth punch Kano stops fighting back and it’s only when she can hear Billie screeching that she realizes what she’s doing.

“What the fuck!!”

Alora’s fist stops mere centimeters away from his good eye, heavy breaths passing her lips as she stares down at the messy scene. Her icy eyes are flicking wildly all over him, looking and waiting for a sign of life.

She wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. Not to Billie.

“Da’!”

In that split moment of Alora snapping her head up to look at Billie, seeing her be held back by Skarlet, Kano’s fingers claw into Alora’s shirt. He brings her down roughly and collides his head against hers, shoving her onto her back and straddling her hips. His hands latch around her neck, closing off her airway and then lifting her to begin slamming her head against the ground. Alora’s gasp morphs into a choked gargle, the blood that had been collecting in the back of her throat viscous and blocking her breathing even more.

She can hear a collection of yells from Alex and Kate, knowing that they wanted to interfere but knowing that it could cost them. Not that Alora would want them to anyway, this was her fuck up after all.

She tries to cough, spitting blood up like a baby as it dribbles down her chin. Kano lifts her higher, her back coming off the ground and Alora knows he intends to throw her down with every bit of strength left in him. He never gets to do so, Skarlet running over and placing a hand on Kano’s shoulder to hold him back.

“Kane!” There’s fear in her eyes, Alex and Kabal running over to haul him off of Alora and pull him a good distance away. Alora turns to her side, heaving and hacking up whatever she could as it lands with a splat onto the concrete floor. She sucks in a deep breath, sputtering when more blood gathers and she spits it out again and again and again.

She feels a hand on her shoulder and on instinct she smacks it away from her without looking. She swipes across her nose, streaking blood and snot, and peers over her left to find the hurt expression of Kate as she stands there with her fingers fiddling with one another. Alora silently stares at her, trying to convey an apology through her eyes before giving up and rising to her feet. There’s a slight sway as she stands up straight, Alora giving a brisk shake of her head and sparing Kano one last glance who’s already turned his attention to his wife and daughter.

She doesn’t bother to look at the others, not needing to see the expressions on their faces and add to her shame.

Everything hurts; face, arms, stomach, back. She brings a hand to the back of her head and is only mildly surprised when just her fingertips come away with blood. They’re not the worst injuries she’s had, having gone against Shokan and Tarkatan before, it would just take a bit longer than usual to recover. She touches her jaw gingerly, nose scrunching when pain radiates from the simplest touch. Alora maintains her composure as she walks out the bar, feeling the burning stares of her peers on her back as they burn holes straight through her.

Even when she’s completely out of the room and out of sight she holds herself, head held high as she walks through the corridors towards her sanctum. Carefully she opens her door, twisting the door knob all the way to the end and then pushing it open. Michi’s tiny squeaks greet her and it brings the faintest smile to her busted lips. She wants to go say hello, to hold her sweet pet in her hands but she can’t taint him with blood.

She does however walk past her mirror and catch a glimpse of herself.

She stops and looks, a sinking feeling in her chest as she counts every bruise and gash that Kano graciously delivered to her. She twists around to look at the burn mark from his laser, hissing when she touches the edges of the wound. She finds herself thinking and hoping that the discoloration will fade and the cuts will scab before—

She blinks, eyebrows bunching together at her thought. A certain face flashes through her mind and Alora feels a surge of annoyance flow through her body. She sucks her teeth and turns away from the mirror, going to her drawer to grab fresh clothes. She whispers a quiet ‘hello’ to Michi, the first smile of the day gracing her lips when he scurries towards her.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

The water burns in the best and worst way, hitting her open wounds and sore muscles but soothing her body and soul. She runs her fingers through her hair to work out the knots, faint throbs echoing through her body when her hands pass along to lather soap. The encounter plays in her mind all over, every hit sending a throb and Alora can feel her nails start to dig in her scalp.

It wasn’t her fault, she knows that. She doesn’t know exactly how much the video shows but it didn’t matter, not to Kano. A deal is a deal no matter what.

It doesn’t even cross Alora’s mind as to how he got a video in the first place.

She inhales sharply, holding it deep in her chest before releasing it. There’s a burn in her eyes but she refuses to let them form into tears. She wouldn’t let Kano of all people get to her like that. Instead she finishes cleaning herself up, going over her body two more times to make sure all the blood is off.

And then she stands there, eyes staring blankly as water washes down the drain. She doesn’t know how long she remains motionless but eventually she slides down the wall and brings her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top as she lets time continue to slip by.

———

Alex/JJ/Jesse: @chadillacboseman

Billie: @cyberneticsanguinaire

Echo: @roofgeese

Kate/Danny: @bdfightclub

#RAAHH THIS TOOK FOREVER RAAHHH #alora #mk alora #I’ll be adding this to the masterlist in a bit #mk Alex #mk jj #mk Jesse #mk Billie #mk echo #mk danny #mk Kate

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phantomwritezstuff077 · 1 year ago

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Sneak peak into my side series for “The Runt”: Family Line

i’ve decided to gift to you guys this little drabble sneak peak of Family Line, my side series for The Runt 🥹

Artax whinnied as he galloped around the small arena, bucking wildly as he tossed his head and reared, once again throwing Jesse off of his back and into a nearby thorn bush. The yearling snorted as he cantered around in circles, trying to find an escape around the fence but there was none, he charged towards the wood but then skidded to a stop at the last minute — he wanted to jump but he didn’t know how to.

“Stupid fucking horse!,” Jesse cursed, standing up in the thorn bush as he threw a stick covered in barbed wire at Artax, hitting the poor horse in the withers and causing a nasty laceration running from his withers to his mid-shoulder.

The yearling screeched, spooking again as he galloped to the far corner of the arena, rearing and tossing his head again, blood spilling from the fresh wound.

Artax could feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he tried to spit out the harsh bit that had been jammed into his mouth, spooking at the sight of Jesse hopping the fence and trying to grab his reins, the yearling whinnied again, kicking at Jesse as his ears pinned backwards. He was clearly terrified and he didn’t want this man anywhere near him.

“Jesse what the fuck is wrong with you!,” a younger voice echoed throughout the ranch

The bay mustang’s ears pricked up, his nostrils flaring as he heard the sounds of Vi struggling, yelling about something but he couldn’t quite make it out, but all he knew was that she was angry, more than likely angry at Jesse, she was being held back by an older man, a man who was much older than both her and Jesse.

Artax remembered how a few nights ago she took care of him, how she helped him calm down and settle into this funny thing that these people called a stall, it had comfy bedding in it but there wasn’t in food or water in his stall unlike the other horses stalls who had plenty of food and water in them. He also remembered how she tended to the nasty grazes in his knees from the day he was rounded up, and that she’d given him the name “Artax”, and that somewhere out there there is a little girl who will love him.

He wondered where that little girl was if what she said was true, where was his little girl?

A/N:

HEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH

tag:

@slutforsnow

#family line #the runt #billy the kid #billy the kid gif #billy the kid hc #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid x oc #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #billy mccarty #billy the kid 2022 #laurie is villys daughter #villy as parents #villy #violet evans x billy the kid #violet evans #billy the kid x violet evans #jesse evans

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electricbluebutterflies · 1 year ago

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stolen moments for jessica and leto?

Choice-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

He shouldn’t be doing this right now.

Objectively, slipping away to spend a few moments with his partner and their child is not the worst thing Leto could be doing right now, but… it also isn’t on-schedule, and a particular meeting will start late, and-

He is allowed to decide his priorities, he reminds himself. The calm of his domestic life – calm that will not last but is appreciated while it does – is the most important thing in the world. It’ll be fine.

He had asked for everything and received; he asks for so little now, tempted to knock on the door, tempted to give warning in case his presence is unwanted, in case-

Before he can, it opens, and what a perfect sight. His partner, tired as ever but at least upright, their son resting in her arms, this quiet moment of hope manifested and-

“Do you need something?” she breathes.

Every day more reasons to love her, Leto thinks, every day more-

“Just wanted to see you. Both of you.”

She steps back, allowing him into her spaces, this room that wasn’t used for almost a year beforehand but now she nests, now she creates her own world. He is no longer the most important person in her life, not since the birth, but close second is still close and-

“You do have other-“

“Don’t remind me.”

She gives him one of her sharp looks, the kind he’s learned to expect whenever he does decide to prioritize her, and maybe she’d be calmer if that happened more often but-

They both understand the circumstances. He is trying, he would say if he thought she’d hear him out, and it is never quite enough, and she forgives anyways. Something deep in this cold woman wants to be loved, and something in him has found a way through her ice and thorns, and-

“Do you need anything from me?” she asks again.

They had routines, once, and now they do not. There will be no more… it’s only been a month, he hasn’t asked for her since, he’s tried to be respectful of her cocoon and her healing and-

“What might I ask for?” he replies.

“What might you want?”

Impossible woman, skies forbid she ever have actual preferences of her own instead of just-

“May I hold you? Just you, for a moment?”

She steps back and carefully places their child in the cradle before returning to face him, and he knows her stance, her uncertainty mixed with cooperativeness mixed with-

“You may.”

He takes half a step closer and oh he has been so cautious these last few weeks, ever since her fragility was made clear – her stubbornness is what it is, and he loves her for it, and she worries him – and even this seems like it might be too far, even this-

Their bodies still fit perfectly, and perhaps more of her weight rests on him than usual, and she hides her face against his shoulder as she rarely does and-

“Does something worry you, my storm?”

“I will not be difficult,” she breathes. “I will not be…”

“That does not seem like-“

“It is as if my heart has been separated from my body and given its own life, and the fear of it, and-“

“Jess-“

“Do you not feel the same?”

It is different for him, he thinks; there are two manifestations, the other currently clinging to him and pretending she’s alright and-

“Completely. Does my presence not make that clear enough?”

“You could just be avoiding-“

“That too, but-“

She kisses him – the first time she’s done that in a month, since overwhelmed emotions in aftermath – and he has missed her in ways beyond words, the slight softness of her when she wants something and-

“You don’t owe me this,” he murmurs against her lips.

“And I will not offer more, but… it has been strange to sleep without you, my love.”

“If that was not what you wanted-“

“I will never speak badly of your respect for me, but… I do trust you. I have given you how many nights and you have never-“

He kisses the side of her face, aware what this means for her, aware that basic decency works too well on her, and it’s been a while since they’ve had one of these moments and-

“It is strange without you too.”

“I would allow it. You never wake me, and-“

He can’t recall ever being in her spaces for such purpose – she’d all but abandoned this room until she’d found use of it again, some petty justification about his bedroom having a better window or something equally frivolous and easier to admit than her deeper desires – but if that is what pleases her, if-

“You could have asked.”

“That is not who we are.”

He wants to linger, wants to keep this moment forever, wants a great many things and none of them are ideal now and-

“Will you be alright if I-“

“I will. I would not dare to assume I am-“

Even this is not enough, somehow, even this does not make clear-

“You are my heart. Both of you. Never forget that.”

She takes another kiss and then breaks the embrace, two steps back and biting her lip. “Go… whatever…”

“I do miss you knowing my schedule more than I do.”

“And I do appreciate you breaking it for me, but-“

“The door will be unlocked in the quiet of night?”

“I would hope you would come to me earlier, but yes.”

He will do better by them, he thinks, silent promise as he carefully shuts the door behind him and returns to a much less interesting afternoon. Nothing else matters. Nothing else will ever matter more.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

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bubblegum-blackwood · 1 year ago

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Persefoni's Miscellaneous Fics

in no order but (mostly) chronological

Fruit Gushers (part one of My Sweetest Rancor) - Marius/Mael, E, 4766 words. After Mael's suicide attempt in Memnoch the Devil, he and Marius hash things out once more, and thousands of years of resentment finally boils over into one glorious hate-fuck (and then another, and then another). About time!

Blood and Hot Chocolate - Marius/Daniel, G, 1745 words. Marius comes home to find that Daniel is nowhere to be seen; he finds him in an abandoned building and has to coax him out of his hiding place. After that it's just indulgent fluff <3

Oceans of Time (part one of Centuries-Old Breakdowns) - Louis/Lestat, G, 4914 words. In an AU where Claudia succeeds in killing Lestat, Louis meets a hauntingly familiar youth in San Francisco.

Last Chance - Marius/Mael, M, 2565 words. The beginning of Marius's story from The Vampire Lestat but it's more explicit that Mael totally has a crush on Marius lmao

Near You - Marius/Daniel, T, 1160 words. Daniel, coming out of a long dissociative state, finds that he's been so isolated in his madness that he's become quite touch-starved, and he uses Marius as his outlet. Adorableness ensues.

In You I Taste God - Lestat/Armand, M, 1356 words. Lestat tells Armand he loves him, and Armand doesn't believe him, so he tries to find a way to prove it. Takes place in between TVA and Merrick.

Teacher's Pet (part one of les Innocents) - Marius/Armand, Louis/Lestat(/Armand), Marius/Thorne, E, 19867 words. First-time college student Armand attends Rice University, where he becomes enamoured with a certain Dr. de Romanus.

Graduation Party (part two of les Innocents) - Marius/Armand, Louis/Lestat, T, 1857 words. Armand decides it's time to tell his friends about his relationship with Dr. Marius de Romanus

The Angry God - Avicus/Mael, M, 3700 words. After Marius flees the Sacred Grove, its Faithful turn to Mael to be their new god - or, the story of Mael's turning, as an expanded scene.

Close Enough - G, 810 words. Fighting his desire for Jesse's blood, Mael seeks out a lookalike victim to satisfy his thirst.

The Thirst - Avicus/Mael, E, 1945 words. Avicus and Mael take home a prostitute and bring her to completion one last time before killing her together.

Razorblade Kiss - Jesse/Mael, T, 3200 words. After the fifteen years that passed between Jesse's visit to the Sonoma Compound as a mortal and her being turned into a vampire, she and Mael finally get to reunite.

Angel of Music (part three of les Innocents) - Marius/Armand/Daniel, Louis/Lestat(/Armand), Marius/Thorne, E, 27615 words. Now thirty years old, Armand, Lestat, and Louis’s careers are taking off with the growing popularity of les Innocents, and Armand meets a snappy young journalism student.

Renaissance Faire (part five of les Innocents) - Marius/Armand, Lestat/Louis, Eric/Santino, G, 2276 words. Professor Thorne and Dr. de Romanus take a group of students to the Renaissance Faire, where Armand learns what happened to Santino, and Lestat has a surprise for Louis.

The Fourth of July - Armand, Daniel, and Louis, G, 813 words. Seeking refuge from the loud fireworks set off on the Fourth of July, Daniel is met with a surprise.

#vc

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librarycomic · 1 year ago

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Roaming by Jillian Tamaki and Mariko Tamaki. Drawn & Quarterly, 2023. 9781770464339. 444pp. http://www.powells.com/book/-9781770464339?partnerid=34778&p_bt

It's 2009. Zoe and Dani meet up for a freshman spring break trip to New York City. Fiona, Dani's friend from her dorm, goes along. Zoe has a new very short haircut and does not like to talk about herself. Fiona seems more concerned with being cool and drinking and not being seen as a tourist than anything else. Dani is the one with guidebooks and an agenda that includes her friends, buying a bunch of postcards, and visiting a ton of museums. After they check into their hostel, they have pizza and wander to Times Square and then a bar. It's a great sequence that includes them paying for a photo (oops) and Fiona epically telling off a guy in a bar. But then cut to day two, where things start to feel weird, it becomes clear which of them is the third wheel, and it seems like two of them are on their way to hooking up. Awkward. (It's a perfect distillation of that moment of not quite feeling at home at a four-year school while still pining for / trying to figure out the place of older friends in one's life, in light of growing up a bit and starting to move on.)

Things I love: Law & Order coffee, every page set in the Natural History Museum, and the horny pigeons on the title page that stand as a warning to any library person who opens this: THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU PUT THIS IN THE YA SECTION.

It's one of my favorite books of the year. As soon as I return this to the library, I'm buying several copies to give as gifts.

Here's a great interview with the Tamakis conducted by Jesse Thorn, on his show Bullseye about the book and more. https://www.npr.org/2023/11/17/1197954636/jillian-mariko-tamaki

#bookreview #graphicnovel #graphicnovelreview #friendship

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jerzwriter · 1 year ago

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June 2024 Recap

Fanfics...

Crimes of Passion

A Time to Heal | Trystan x Carolina (NSFW / 18+)

One Day... | Trystan x Carolina

I don't quite recall... | M!Trystan x Tobias (OH Crossover)

Open Heart

Insecure | Ethan x Kaycee

Stranded... | Ethan x Kaycee

No Returns | Tobias x Casey

Our Little Secret | Ethan x Kaycee

Freshly Squeezed | Casey x Jordyn (F!MC x F!MC)

Money, Money | Tobias x Casey

New Discoveries | Ethan, Bryce, Tobias (MOC World)

I don't quite recall... | Tobias x M!Trystan (CoP Crossover)

The Perfect Day | Tobias, Ethan, Tobias x Casey (4 mini-stories)

Mono~poly: A Tobias x Casey (and Others) AU Series Information | Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: Something Big

Chapter 2: Love on Tap

Wake the Dead

Traditions/Tradiciones (Mini-Series) Part One: Ring the Bells That Can Still Ring

Text Fics & Edits...

National Hug Your Cat Day | Open Heart | Tobias x Casey

Father's Day Plans | Open Heart | Tobias x Casey

Father's Day Plans 2 | Open Heart | Tobias x Casey

My Commissions

A Time to Heal (fic is NSFW) Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose 🎨 by @/artbyainna (IG)

Happy Pride!🌈 | Casey x Jess fanart by @/artbyainna (IG)

2024 Recap

#my recap #jerzwriter #june 2024 #open heart #crimes of passion #wake the dead #playchoices

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desertfangs · 3 months ago

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I was going through Blood and Gold last night looking for something and I realized Marius actually lays it out in more detail to Thorne earlier in the book.

He's talking about Lestat's adventures in Memnoch:

"And he brought back with him a bloody Veil with the Face of Christ quite beautifully blazoned upon it." "Ah, and this you saw?" "I did," said Marius, "as I have seen other relics. It was to see this Veil and to go into the sun and die that our Druid priest Mael was nearly taken from us." "Why didn't Mael die," asked Thorne. He couldn't conceal his own emotion when he said this name. "He was too old for such a thing," said Marius. "He was badly burnt and brought low, as can happen with those of us who are very old, and after one day in the sun, he hadn't the courage for more suffering. Back to his companions he went and there he remains."

Which companions this is referring to is unclear, he's not with Maharet and Santino at the end of the book. Maybe he's with Jesse? Regardless, it does seem he survived. Maybe he's taking a long nap. Maybe he's beating the high score on a PacMan machine in some arcade in Poughkeepsie.

Is Mael alive? Sources say yes.

This is just something I think is sort of funny so I wanted to make a quick post about it. Because The Vampire Chronicles are told largely in first person by various characters, what they know and believe can vary.

We know that Mael did go into the sun in Memnoch the Devil, much like Armand. (Discussions of why a druid would do this are fun and interesting but not why we're here today.) Armand obviously survived that and he's much younger, so it stands to reason that Mael should have (or at least, could have) survived it, as well.

Mael only appears in future books in flashback and does not join the others at Court. But in Blood and Gold, Marius does say he survived his attempted suicide by sun:

It was a Druid priest who brought me to this peculiar death, a creature named Mael, mortal when he wronged me, but a blood drinker soon after, and one who still lives though he tried not long ago to sacrifice his life in a new religious fervor. What a fool.

(BTW, I love Marius' judgemental editorializing of this, and it's extra funny because if I recall correctly, he does not comment on Armand doing the same thing in the same way, and is in fact very worried for him in TVA. The first person narration is gold sometimes.)

However, in Prince Lestat, Lestat believes Mael is dead, though not with any conviction, even commenting that he doesn't think such an act should have killed him:

Mael, I knew, had perished in New York, though precisely how I wasn’t certain. He’d gone into the sun on the steps of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, but surely that had not been enough to destroy him.

So Lestat thinks he's dead but isn't like, sure sure and Marius says otherwise.

I'm inclined to believe Marius has kept better tabs on this and Mael is, in fact, alive. He's just not interested in participating in Court, and probably a little embarrassed about the whole business.

(I personally believe Jesse also knows he's alive and that he has no interest in joining the others at Trinity Gate, but that is pure headcanon.)

#mael #marius #marius de romanus #vc meta #blood and gold #prince lestat #vc quotes #tvc #the vampire chronicles #mael lives #vc

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edwin-paynes-bowtie · 2 years ago

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Ok now I'm curious about your thoughts on tmt s post chain of thorns dynamic. (I agree that separating was the right call bc I feel like they were a little to codependent on each other 😭)

I think it depends on who we're talking about when it comes to codependence. I don't think that the problem really extends to Thomas or Christopher - their friendship seemed really healthy, and they both had good boundaries with the rest of the group. Kit's death is definitely going to throw a wrench in the works. I think that at first, Thomas will be worried that he will be excluded a bit because they previously had lumped off into Matthew/James and Thomas/Christopher. But, since they're separating post-ChoT, I don't think this is going to be a serious issue.

I really like James and Matthew's friendship, actually - it's by far the best thing about James, and I love that he by and large gives Matthew a place to be himself and find refuge. Matthew confiding in him is wonderful, and I love his unconditional love for Matthew no matter what he does. (Because, bestie, SAME!)

But Matthew is... better in a lot of ways, but still not in a good place with Cordelia/James at the end of ChoT. I think that he needs to quit Cordelia in the same way as he quit drinking. An absolute period of no-contact is essential, and I think his Voyage is great because it provides that in a kind of built-in framework. (I think his Voyage is great for many reasons and was a natural conclusion for the character, but that's a talk for another day).

Part of quitting Cordelia is, necessarily, taking distance from James as well. They're married (and pretty unhealthily - if I do say so myself.) The Voyage provides a way to do this, too.

When Matthew gets back, he will hopefully have his own person. Which will be great, and will help him get over Cordelia a lot. But I think that Cordelia, and her marriage with James, and what that means, is always going to hurt Matthew at least a little bit. And, much like having alcohol in his house screams temptation, James and Cordelia will always be a little reminder of a bleak past where he wasn't doing well. They'll always be that temptation, regardless of whether Matthew is in love with Cordelia or not. They're not temptation toward Cordelia, but a temptation toward old, unhealthy ways of the past.

I think that, while it will likely not happen in CC's canon, James and Matthew growing apart a bit is a) a natural outcome of ChoT's events, and b) the best possible outcome for Matthew's mental health.

But what about Thomas?

Thomas has undoubtedly lost the person he was closest with in TMT, and I hate that for him. Especially because Thomas and Christopher had such a good dynamic. But, after Christopher dies, he has Alastair, which is good. He's a talisman against pain and grief. He's a sliver of bright, wonderful joy and light in what I think was overall a shit sandwich of an ending for Thomas.

I think that over time, as Matthew and James drift apart, Thomas would/should nurture friendships with each of them individually. This would position him as the apex of TMT. and a much healthier crux than James or Matthew would be.

However, I think that Thomas would naturally remain closer with Matthew than he would with James. This is partly because Thomas and Matthew have been lifelong friends; this is partly because Thomas and Matthew have wonderful dispositions that rub along perfectly together. They have a lot of shared experiences, and it's worth noting that Thomas told Matthew that he loved Alastair first and Matthew told Thomas he needed to stop his drinking first. This closeness would be exascerbated because of Alastair, who I firmly believe Matthew will be extremely close with in a few years' time.

Additionally, James has Jesse now, and ChoT positions them as an obvious budding BFF duo. This makes a lot of sense to me as they're basically the same character they have similar dispositions, personalities, and life positions.

So, in the end, I think that the group will shift into two basic categories:

Matthew

Matthew's partner

Thomas

Alastair (who is also very close with Cordelia)

Grace (Alastair's BFF, obviously, and a reminder of Kit for Tom)

And,

James

Cordelia (who is also very close with Alastair)

Lucie

Jesse (I think Grace should not make up with him, actually!)

...OR, this would be what would happen in an ideal world. Alastair and Cordelia are the strongest tie between the groups. I do not think that in Magical Shadowhunter Happy Land it will happen. But in the healthiest realistic scenario, this is what I think.

Of course, James and Matthew would still be friends. Close friends. Parabatai. But not... Like They Are. And I think that, in the end, that's for the best.

#yeah... yeah #also i'm biased. group 1 is Favorite Characters lmfao #i do love cordelia tho #sorry girl #oh #lowkey #anti jesse blackthorn

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sunshiline-writes · 1 year ago

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #17: Dirt and Oranges

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This chapter is a bit chunky! Hope it makes up for the wait LMFAO. word count:3.9k CW: emotional whump, gaslighting, dissociation, some amnesia, ableism, POC whump, fade to black noncon, self deprecating, hand feeding, confinement, captivity, mentions of minor whump (blink and you miss it), aftermath of hand whump, disability whump, let me know if I missed anything

The hayloft wasn’t too bad. He had a thin blanket for the night time and every few days, Xavier or Jesse switched the manacle on his ankle to the other so it didn’t chafe too much. All he had to do was behave. Wake up with the sun and when he saw the top of their hair above the ladder, he waited on his knees. His knees were bruised constantly and so was what little was left of his ego.

Xavier had started to let him down in the barn to clean the stalls, start polishing the saddles, and cleaning the tools. He’d even been given a bucket and a towel, told to clean his own blood off the barn wall. Blood stained. Migel didn’t know that before he started to scrub at the wall with cramping hands. Ah yes. His hands. His hands were, quite plainly, fucked to all hell. His left hand was better off. It always felt tight and there was a scar right in the middle of his palm, circular where it always hurt the most. His right hand. His right hand was the worst of it. It had been set as best as it could, but his fingers still looked wrong. Some of them still bent a little the wrong way. That was the least of his problems though.The problem was the way his hand was curled like he was about to make a fist but stopped midway through. Straightening his fingers outward was excruciating and curling into a real fist was also painful.

Looking at them too much made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. So mostly he just avoided looking. But signing had become an arduous process too. It made him angry, even though it wasn’t allowed. Somehow, Xavier had been patient with him when he was figuring out how to grab the rake to clean out the stalls. Even offering advice and helping him figure out a grip. Xaviers mood swings made Miguel dizzy sometimes.

There was a brightside. Jesse was still mostly the same. The torment was the same. Fake sweetness followed by an angry backhand to the face. Mocking the state of his hands and then softly massaging them so that they felt better. The push and pull was familiar. He was used to that. Xavier had been oddly sweet… Just sweet. Providing words of encouragement and comfort. He hadn’t hurt him in weeks. Miguel preferred him when he was playing mind games. Maybe it was because he had stopped fighting. He didn’t know. Most of the time.. He was too tired to really try and figure it out either.

Today the rays coming through the barn window were soft and warm on his face as he awoke. He half wanted to go back to sleep. But they would have his head if he was still asleep when they came up the ladder. He pushed himself up on his cot, tried to do the exercises for his hands that Solomon had given to him. When that failed, he stared at the wall, trying to remember what got him here.

Miguel had lost time. That much he knew. There was a period of time he didn’t remember. After Jesse.. In Solomon's bed.. He shook himself free of the memory. It was better if he didn’t remember. He could stand missing time. It had happened many times before. To be honest, Miguel didn’t remember much of his first year here. The entirety of his thirteenth year of life was a distant blur, only recalling bits and pieces. He didn’t feel like trying to remember. It wasn’t worth it.

There were certain memories that stood out among the rest. A gun hot and heavy in his hands pointed at Xaviers face, burning pain on his chest, the smell of melted skin, and lots of darkness. He spent so much time blindfolded when he was thirteen, unaware of his surroundings. Moving through the darkness like drowning in a lake. Miguel mostly just accepted that he would never know exactly what they did to him that year.

He did wish he remembered some things before he was taken. He had siblings once. He knew that. His sister's faces were fuzzy. Sophia had dark hair that curled into a nest on her head and was shorter than him even though she was older. Marisol’s hair was longer and more brown. She had soft hands. He remembered Jaime the most though. He was smaller than him. The smallest of the four of them. Jaime used to run around a lot. His father used to call him travieso, but he would smile while he did. Miguel assumed that was because for all the mischief his brother liked to cause, he was harmless.

Harmless fun. When was the last time he had that? Before Xavier? Before he could remember? Miguel tried to hold onto their faces, to the way they looked when they laughed. But they were fading. All of them were fading away from him like water through his hands. The tighter he held, the more they slipped away from him. It had been eight years since he’d seen their faces or felt their touch. All of it seemed to escape from him. They never came for him. He remembered that. His parents gave him up to a devil, demiono, and never even tried. Miguel shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Yet here he was, lost in his thoughts, wondering what life could have been if they had at least tried.

It wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least he would have known he was loved once. Real love. Not whatever Xavier and Jesse had to show him. Jesse’s constant need to be feared and loved at the same time. Xavier’s desperateness for Miguel to rely on him for everything. None of it was real love. He wondered if the two of them ever had been held or hugged. If someone had hugged them when they needed it, would they have been different? Could they ever be different?

Miguel was thinking too much again. He did that sometimes. His mind always moved faster and faster until they dug him into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Sometimes, when he thought too much, a sinking feeling would rise in his chest. Make him feel like a cave, hollow and dark. When he felt hollow, he would go to Solomon, help him with his chores. Make up new ones to keep himself occupied until the feeling passed. If the feeling didn’t pass, sometimes his chest collapsed. It never actually collapsed, it only felt like it did. Like all the emotions and memories were sitting on his chest at all times and sometimes they broke his bones. Then everything was painful and it was hard to breathe.

It happened sometimes before he came to the ranch. When it did, his father would hold him close to his chest, make Miguel feel his pulse, and hum. The vibrations were always calming, following along with the pulse, his fathers steady breathing. Solomon would hold him sometimes. But now all he felt was a sinking emptiness in the pit of his stomach the longer and longer he spent alone in the hayloft. He’d grown so used to company. To the feeling of other people around. Especially Solomon. Miguel had forgotten what it was like to feel lonely.

Loneliness was killing him. So much so that he had begun to look forward to his visits from Jesse and Xavier. Heart racing when he saw them. Even if it was just to make sure the manacle hadn’t chafed his ankle too much, give him food or water, and take out his waste bucket. Simple things like Xavier running a hand through his hair, or Jesse wrapping a hand around his throat made him ache for more touch. More anything. At least now he had jobs to do. Taking care of the barn, cleaning the saddles and boots when they came back from rides. He cherished his time down from the hayloft. Even if he was watched like a hawk all of the time. Even if no one dared to talk or look at him.

Today was no different. When he saw the shocking red hair appear from the ladder, he got on his knees. At least they didn’t hurt anymore when he did it. Or maybe they did, he was just used to it by now.

Jesse had a bucket in one hand, and his other hand was behind his back, hiding something. What was he hiding? It made his stomach sink to his knees too.

Morning mutt, Jesse said, grinning from ear to ear. Walking toward him and putting down the bucket with a thud. He looked up and squinted at Jesse’s face. He seemed chipper. Happy and less angry. There was something wrong here. Miguel moved to look at the bucket but Jesse grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and making his neck arch painfully. He whined, breathing picking up. Maybe Jesse is in a mood today.

Jesse lifted Miguel to be face to face with him, making Miguel grunt and one hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist.

Close your eyes and open your mouth for me kid, Jesse said, licking inside his ear again just to see him squirm. Miguel came to a realization of what he wanted from him. Was this the reason for being so chipper? He just wanted a hole to fuck? Open them and I’ll get out the blindfold and the bridle and I’ll leave you like that to do your chores.

It wouldn’t be the first time Jesse’s done that. Left him to his own devices when he’s blindfolded. He wouldn’t doubt that Jesse would do it again. So he just closed his eyes and tried to relax. Let his mouth hang open as Jesse slowly lowered him back down, releasing his hair. Miguel only wanted to be done. Get his breakfast, do his chores, come back and sleep. That was all he wanted. The darkness was enough to try and consume his thoughts. He waited for the salty taste of sweat and come on his tongue. Nothing came.

Not for a while at least. Miguel’s mouth was getting dry from sucking breaths in through it. Then something was placed in his mouth, soft and almost pillowy. A finger under his chin pushed slightly to make him close his jaw. Miguel bit into the citrus in his mouth, cool juice exploding over his tongue. The taste was sweet and tart, spreading into every corner of his mouth. He chewed and he let it sit a bit longer before he swallowed. He opened his mouth again eagerly, awaiting another slice. A finger tapped against his eyelids and Miguel opened his eyes, staring up at Jesse with an orange in his hand.

He was smiling. Good right? You want some more?

Miguel kept his mouth open, nodding. He wanted more of that orange, he hadn’t had much more than stale bread and water for his time in the hayloft. It was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

Two more slices of orange were placed in his mouth and he chewed greedily. Tongue slipping over Jesse’s fingers that sullied the taste a bit with dirt. He didn’t care. Miguel no longer cared about much anymore.The shattered remains of his dignity were on the floor in front of him. Along with drops of his blood. And the last of it was being stolen from his body from fingers that tasted of dirt and oranges.

He could barely remember what it felt to be a person anymore. If he ever was one in the first place.

You’re being real good today aren’t you? Here’s some more, Jesse said, an amused smile on his face as he gently placed another slice on his tongue. With every slice, Miguel could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into desperation. He was desperate for more of the sweetness, even if it was made slightly bitter by the taste of dirt. Dirt and oranges. Was this what had become of him? Begging for scraps.

My uncle got them for Hen. She asked for some from the market. I managed to steal some from the crate before– Miguel didn’t see the rest of what Jesse said. He had turned away from him and Miguel whined as Jesse stepped back. Jesse wore that same grin as he did, wiping his hand on his pants to try and rid himself of the juices from the orange. I don’t have any more, mutt. If you’re real good today, maybe you’ll get some more before I take you back.

With that, Jesse flicked out his hand. The man tilted his head slightly to the side. Clean my hand, you can have the last of the juice.

Miguel burned with shame as he moved, grabbing Jesse’s fingers and sucking on them.

Dirt and oranges. He wished Jesse always tasted like this. Jesse’s fingers were rough and calloused, but he did his best. Swirling his tongue around them, in between, trying to get at every last taste of orange. Jesse pulled his hand back and a trail of saliva came away, connecting Miguel's mouth to Jesse’s hand. He almost retched at the sight. Disgusted with himself.. with Jesse. With his predicament. All of it was almost too much. He was angry and tired and he just wanted to sleep.

Instead, Jesse moved to unlock the manacle from his ankle. The skin there, angry and red. It was time to switch legs when they got back.

The rest of Miguel’s day went in a blur. He was far away. Following instructions. Cleaning the horses, washing them as Jesse watched with mock interest. He cleaned the bridles, including the one that was reserved for him. He didn’t think about it. Miguel found that when he didn’t think as much, everything got easier.

Brush, clean, walk. Brush, clean, walk. Taking walks with Jesse or Xavier had become normal as well. Jesse walked with him around the ranch, taking the black draft horse with them. It walked behind them at a leisurely pace. They didn’t talk. Jesse was unusually quiet and it filled Miguel with dread. Sinking into his stomach and into his legs. They turned around to go back to the bark, a breeze making the day cooler. A minor help from the brazing sun hot on the back of neck.

Jesse waved to get his attention and Miguel looked at the other man.

Do you ever think about them? Your family before you came here?

Miguel frowned. He wasn’t allowed to think about them. Let alone talk about them. He narrowed his eyes at Jesse, cautious. Why was he asking this? Why did Jesse look so tired? What was happening outside the hayloft that was making Jesse ask questions that weren’t allowed? The hair on the back of his neck raised, sensing some sort of danger. Miguel shrugged in response to the question, an attempt of playing it safe.

Sometimes I think about my mother before I came here. Do you think about yours?

A memory shattered through the fog in the back of his brain. His mother running her hands through his hair, untangling the curls. Gentle fingers rubbing his earlobes, the soft rumbling vibrations that meant laughter. The tiredness that came from being safe in his mothers lap.

Miguel found himself nodding without his permission. Jesse nodded along with him. It was almost normal. A conversation he would have had with a friend. Precious and intimate. Miguel couldn’t let himself feel like that though. If he started to think of Jesse as more than just the person who hurt him, he’d never make it out alive.

Don’t worry. I miss my mom too. I won’t tell Xavier.

He took that sentence, those words and held them close to himself. Jesse was just another person who missed his mom. Miguel didn’t know what to do with that information. He could throw it out, leave it with the rest of the darkness he didn’t remember. Or he could keep it close, a reminder that Jesse was just a person. A bad person. But a person nonetheless. Miguel decided that he would save a decision like that for later.

The man walked on. Leading the horse back to the dreaded barn, back to the hayloft. Back to where everything would be awful again. He suppressed a shudder. Keeping his head straight, not looking at Jesse. Not ignoring him but not inviting him in for more conversation either. Miguel no longer wanted to think about mothers and fathers and brothers. He just wanted to put the horse back in the stable and make it back to the hayloft in one piece.

Something caught his eye, a movement to his left. It made his heart stop, his stomach drop. Miguel's hands tightened their grip on the lead of the horse, the pain somewhere distant. Everything else was distant. Solomon was walking out of the house, down the steps. Staring at him too. How long had it been? How long since he’d even been allowed to ask if the man was alive? Something in him compelled him to let go of the horse's lead. He took a step toward Solomon. Solomon took a step toward him. Signing something, saying something.

His face was bruised to all hell, brown skin covered in fading green and yellow blotches. Solomon's eyes looked so tired. So fearful. Miguel couldn’t help himself. He ran toward the man. The man who helped him, who raised him, who never once left his side unless he was forced to. He took only a few steps before a hand wrapped around his waist and yanked him backwards. Solomon stopped in his tracks. Literally feet away, if Miguel reached he could almost touch him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug and let himself be held by the only person who ever provided any true comfort. But the arm around his waist started to drag him backwards.

Something in him ignited. He fought, kicking and dragging his heels in the dirt. Nails digging into Jesse’s freckled skin on his arms. Drawing blood. There was a sinking feeling as Jesse continued to drag him. Solomon took a few steps forward, reached out to him. Miguel reached back out to him and their fingers touched. A tingling spread through him and he could feel his throat tighten. He was so close, so close and he was being dragged away again.

Was it worth it? To hug the man he considered a father? Was it worth the punishment that awaited him? His body seemed to act again without his permission as he threw his head backwards. Skull cracking against Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arm around him loosened and he wiggled out of the hold, sprinting toward his caretaker until his arms were wrapped around Solomon’s waist. Breathing in his scent.

Solomon always smelled of earth and rosemary. Arms wrapped tightly around him and Miguel buried his face into the man's chest. Solomon was warm and safe. Every memory he had that was ever good of his time here included Solomon. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid that he would never be able to see him again. Something in his chest broke. Shattered right into pieces. And it released out his eyes and mouth, flowing out of him like a river. Was he screaming? Wailing? There was wetness on Solomon's shirt and Miguel wailed harder. Hands curling into the soft fabric of his clothes. His whole body shuddered with his cries.

Slowly, gently, Solomon lowered them both to sit on the ground. Miguel in his lap and curled into his shirt. Sobbing softly at the warmth of another person. Solomon slowly rocked Miguel back and forth, holding him like a small child, until his cries stopped. When he stopped, Miguel finally found the courage to look Solomon in the eye.

Hello she’awee. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jesse’s going to take you now. You go with him. You go with him and you live and you keep on going. Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel took in a shuddering breath as Solomon wiped his tears. Jesse’s cold and calloused hand yanked him by the shirt into a standing position. Shoving him to move forward. Away from Solomon who stayed on the ground. He forced himself to look ahead, to not look back. If he looked back he wouldn’t make it. With every step a part of him faded deeper and deeper into itself. Until when they were back into the barn and the world smelled of horse manure again, he was no longer there.

He was outside his body, watching Jesse march him up the ladder. Watching as Jesse shoved him down to his knees and locked the manacle around his ankle again.

Don’t fucking.. Come back. You asshole, Jesse said, slapping him across the face. Miguel blinked and he was back in his body. Seeing it through fresh eyes. Looking up at Jesse. You with me?

“Yes.” Miguel answered lamely with his hand, tears welling in his eyes again. A sharp pain came across his cheek.

Don’t you dare fucking cry. You fucking ran. You went to Sol, you’re not supposed to do that you fucking shit. I thought Xavier burned those rules into you. You aren’t even supposed to mention him and you fucking ran toward him.

Oh. Oh he really was in trouble wasn’t he? Xavier was going to kill him this time. Or worse, kill Solomon. Jesse grabbed his chin with a bruising grip and he leaned in real close. Even his breath smelled of oranges and dirt.

I won’t tell if you act like you want it. If you’re real convincing, I might even be gentle, he said, shoving Miguel backwards on his back. The wind knocked out of his chest. Miguel instinctively crawled backward. Are you angry yet Miguel? Jesse asked as he pulled tighter on the chain that held him. You can be angry. I promise. You wanna go back out? Go see Solomon? Come on.. he drawled, crawling over Miguel on the floor. Hovering over him. Or do you wanna stay with me?

Nausea rose in his throat and he whimpered. But he brought a hand to Jesse’s chest and looked up at him

“I want to stay with you,” he signed slowly. One hand snaking behind Jesse’s neck to pull him close. Pressing their lips together.

Good boy.

And Miguel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden floor.

He focused on the smell of dirt and oranges. He pretended that the scent was something comforting. Something easy to stomach. When Jesse was done, Miguel was hand fed another orange. He told himself he was content with that.

He was still hungry.

Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure how much left of him there would be by the time hope came round again. But maybe it would. Maybe it would and there would still be a piece or two left of him to save. He could be a better dog for someone else. For someone kind.

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