#send this to a friend and ask them for a rough approximation of what the plot is

[yoosung-ah]

Mystic Messenger - a perfectly sensical, grounded, and normal romance game - out of context

[returnsandreturns]

have a little something

---

“Hey, what if you didn’t go out crimefighting tonight?” Foggy says, casually, after Matt makes his Dog That Heard A Noise face in the middle of a movie, one of the first nights that Foggy’s had to spend with him alone in what feels like decades but is more reasonably months.

“I know,” Matt says, sighing and getting up to get the suit, “but—I have to.”

“You don’t, actually,” Foggy says, lightly. “You could stay here and finish the movie or we could go get drinks or—go Christmas caroling. Ice skating. Over the river and through the woods. I don’t know, something seasonal. Or, I mean, I could take you to bed and fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

Matt turns back slowly, halfway to his bedroom.

“What?” he asks, face surprisingly difficult to read.

Foggy could play it off as a joke, a light jest between friends, but everything’s so fucking weird now. For all that he considers himself the most sane and level-headed person in his immediate circle, he should still be allowed to be weird occasionally, too. Or a cool, sexy wildcard, at least.

“I could take you to bed,” he says, with significantly more intent, standing up and walking closer, “and fuck you so hard that you can’t walk.”

Matt’s mouth drops open a little and he’s blushing by the time he says, strangled, “Fuck, Foggy,” and takes the step between them to pull him into a rough kiss.

—

They were nineteen the first time they fucked, after a slightly delirious kiss in the hallway outside their final exam of their freshman year, a hug went awry. Matt tasted like black coffee and one cigarette that Foggy reluctantly gave him that he took one drag of before making a low dying noise and handing it back.

“How is that worth lung cancer?” he asks, pointedly.

“Shut up,” Foggy says, leaning halfway out a window. “You’ve probably gotten caffeine poisoning like fifteen times this week. Your eye is twitching right now.”

“Your eye is twitching,” Matt mutters.

The exam takes Foggy two hours and he waits for Matt’s extended testing time to be over, slumping down against a wall to sit on the floor. He looks up when Matt comes out looking pale and grim.

Foggy stands up.

“Bring it in,” he says, opening his arms, and Matt sighs and basically falls into him for an exhausted clingy hug.

“We did it,” Matt says, pulling back, face close in a way that means Matt’s going to kiss him. Not that Matt’s ever kissed him before but Matt definitely knows how close their faces are in relation to one another and has done nothing to rectify it and that means all these little bits of the safety lock Foggy has in his head holding him back from falling for Matt Murdock almost click into place.

“We did it,” he echoes.

Matt kisses him.

Click.

—

“What are we doing?” Matt asks, when they’re half naked and crammed uncomfortably into a twin bed.

“Dunno,” Foggy says, unzipping Matt's fly. “Who cares. Feels good.”

“. . .feels good,” Matt acquieses, moaning when Foggy get a hand around his dick, adding desperately. “Feels really good.”

The decision that Foggy will fuck Matt comes during an approximately two minute brainstorming session where they agreed on everything offered and then Foggy says, “Okay, so, anal,” and Matt says, “. . .that, please,” and then suddenly Matt’s ass was in the air and Foggy’s dick was inside him and they’re fully sober except for desperation and caffeine and it’s the weirdest fucking moment of Foggy’s life.

“Have you done this before?” Foggy asks.

“Just fingers,” Matt says, groaning when Foggy thrusts in harder. “Jesus. This is. . .more.”

“Does it hurt?” Foggy asks, concerned.

“Don't stop,” Matt says, urgently.

“Okay, eager,” Foggy says, happily, patting his hip.

Matt huffs out a shaky laugh, says, “It kind of hurts but not as much as it—oh, fuck, Foggy, right there, right fucking there, please, please, please!”

It's the begging that sends Foggy over the edge earlier than he'd like but he still beats Matt, who comes just from his erection rubbing up against the sheets when Foggy fucked him harder and harder until Matt's words get swapped for incoherent moans.

Foggy gets rid of the condom then lingers awkwardly next to Matt's bed, not sure what the next step is here.

Matt's curled up on his side and he smiles sleepily, saying, “I think, all things considered, we could probably cuddle.”

“All dicks considered,” Foggy says, climbing back into bed to pull Matt into his arms.

“All asses,” Matt says, voice muffled in Foggy's chest.

“Well, really just yours,” Foggy says, kissing the top of Matt's head when he snorts softly.

After a few minutes of quiet dozing, Matt asks, almost shyly, “Do you maybe want to do that again sometime? Just for fun?”

“Sure,” Foggy says, because that’s the only option he can think of. “I’d be into that.”

They meet up every few days during that summer to hang out and hook up and then Elektra happens and then Marci happens and then it seems like the moment has passed. They’re adults and they have the firm and Matt’s a fucking vigilante superhero and those few months might have been Foggy falling in love but they were also just something that happened.

They were fun.

--

“Wait, is this all it took?” Foggy asks, when he’s got Matt on his back in bed, Matt’s legs wrapped around him. “If I had just noticed when you got that vigilante spark in your eye, do you think I could have just—fucked it out of you?”

Matt’s laugh is a little crazy as Foggy lifts him up to thrust in deeper, his head falling back on the sheets as it turns into a breathy moan.

“I want to say no,” he says, “but you’re really good at it.”

“All you had to do was ask, buddy,” Foggy says, lightly. “Or beg—I do really like it when you beg, actually.”

“Foggy, just fuck me,” Matt says, laughing when Foggy stops abruptly, buried inside of him. “Please, okay? Fuck me, please.”

Foggy pulls out and thrusts back in as hard as he can, pushing Matt up the bed, and Matt says, “Foggy,” in a way that makes Foggy ache. He leans down to kiss Matt, messy, sitting up again to see Matt’s face looking soft and sweet. He’s always worn vulnerable difficultly, but so freaking well.

God, he wants to keep this. He wants to timestamp this as the moment things finally started to go right again. He wants Matt.

Afterward, Matt’s sprawled out on his back and Foggy’s idyly hovering over him and kissing his neck when Matt says, so quietly, “I think about what it would have been like if we got together back in college, sometimes. Like-actually got together.”

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, sitting up.

Matt nods and smiles faintly when he asks, “. . .do you wanna do it right this time? Please?”

Foggy smiles down at him.

Click.

[zosonils]

screenshot of the ask so that i can keep it in my inbox for later - one of these got really long so i'm splitting it into its own post lol

7. Talk about three of your oldest OCs.

WELCOME TO HELL YOU'RE GONNA LEARN ABOUT MY SONIC OCS FROM PRIMARY SCHOOL!!!!

baby's first sonic oc was called jordan the hedgehog. i probably had others before him, but he stuck around long enough that i actually remember him. i made him in male furry dollmaker v1.1 and never gave him a better design. in retrospect he's excruciatingly uninteresting and there is genuinely nothing of note worth sharing about him, but i drew his boring ass so much when i was like 8. i made up a theme song for him with such baller lyrics as 'jordan the hedgehog, that is me, jordan the hedgehog,' and i sincerely have no clue whether i hijacked an existing song or made the melody up completely unassisted. love you jordan i'm going to go back to never thinking about you.

fortunately i soon rectified the mistake of having jordan the fucking hedgehog for a blorbo and set out to make my magnum opus, this time originating from sonic charrie maker. my memory of her design is much fuzzier because there was so much fuckin shit going on but my completely unironic mary sue was named tailikes [from tail + spikes because she was a hedgehog fox hybrid. girlie's parents looked at her and went 'haha crossbreed'] and looked approximately like this. she also didn't have a personality beyond whatever worked best for wish fulfilment and i don't think i even figured out an ability set beyond 'super powerful and can fly and use the chaos emeralds etc etc' but i'm so glad she existed. i have an agonisingly cringe memory of printing out a picture of her and getting kids in my class to sign it like a petition so i could send it to sega to make them put tailikes in the next sonic game. i'm sure yuji naka will be calling me from prison any day now

skip forward to when i was like 10 or 11 and the first oc i designed from scratch instead of lifting from a dollmaker was kicker [which was a nickname but i don't remember her 'real' one]. i grew up on a lot of archie sonic, and the roboticisation concept REALLY clicked with me [probably why i'm Like That now], so i wanted a cool cyborg sonic oc. at the time archie sonic had just hard-rebooted and introduced the retcon lore for bunnie where she was roboticised for experimental life saving medical technology reasons rather than robotnik reasons, and i thought that was really interesting, so i ripped off that backstory pretty much 1:1. i admittedly don't remember a whole lot about kicker's design or how/if i integrated her into the sonic cast, but i very much remember roleplaying as her with my friend basically every recess and lunch for a year, lmao.

maybe it'd be fun to see if i could salvage these guys with a redesign and another 15 years of artistic experience, but i kinda prefer just letting them be my friends from primary school who i'm not really in touch with anymore but who i sometimes think about fondly. like a time capsule of the kind of artist i was back when i didn't know what autistic burnout was and you could still just barely get novelty glasses in the shape of the current year to work. i ripped into my old ocs a lot here, but i think it's important that they're bad because that's how i learned to be kinda good. wouldn't feel right to paint over those formative rough spots, y'know. also how would i improve on such peak character design as tailikes the foxhog

[oviids]

pls share some of your spn fic recs 🥺🥺

ok, a few things first:

followers and mutuals who do not have supernatural brainworms, kindly avert your eyes

i don’t normally rec or even read much fanfic any more but this is a CRISIS ok (cont.)

there is so. much. content for deancas out there and i have incredibly high standards, several ancient ao3 bookmarks, can speedread, and want to spare you guys the experience of wading through it all.

i also have a section for spn femslash since I was pretty into that back in the day (sadly a lot less fan content for this :/)

I don’t really like au’s or pure smut (I honestly usually just skim or skip those scenes) so if you’re mainly looking for that kind of thing this probably won’t be very helpful to you. jsyk.

i’m not great at describing stuff but i’ll do my best, i’ll also try and add tw’s when neccesary.

i wil try and keep updating this with any other decent fics i find, feel free to rec stuff too since i’m like 7 years behind.(edit 1/25/21) this is getting looooong so i’m going to start making another list on my spn blog rather than update this one

(edit 1/3/21) since this has gotten pretty long i’ve added rating/approximate word counts and marked my particular favorites with an asterisk.

Dean/Cas fic:

So Says The Sword*** - explicit/85k. FUCK its good...au/time travel where dean is not pulled out of hell by cas and says yes to becoming the michael sword. honestly could serve as an alternative to actually watching the show, if you want to get into dean/cas without actually doing that to yourself.

Fata morgana.*  - teen/6k, pst s9 finale. very bela centric and i love it, she finds cas looking for dean in hell.

Redemption Road -misc/600+k. an incredibly long fic from a collaborative writing group back in the day. canon divergent from the end of s6 on, has a cool take on godstiel and the leviathans, as well as the lovecratian mythos connection. ngl when i reread it i only made it about 28% in but imo the casual reader can actually stop around there, the rest concerns a lovecraftian apocalypse that is still good (i think i don’t remember it very well) but not required to enjoy the first half. if you prefer i have an ebook version i can send you on gdrive.

Someone Who's Feeling For Me* - mature/45k, s12. they run into lisa braeden and dean thinks cas is into her while cas thinks dean still likes her. treats lisa way better than the show ever did and the miscommunication is pretty funny rather than annoying.

a turn of the earth - mature/95k. time travel fic where cas from s10 keeps showing up in deans life from a few years before s1 to right before the hellhounds take his soul.  slow burn, good character study, and at one point cas punches the dad in the face and it rules.

On the Wings of War - teen/85k, canon divergent s5. dean accidentally becomes the Horseman of War. plays fun, fast and loose with biblical lore, michael has some rights.

Named - mature/95k, alternate s5. EXTREMELY blasphemous in a fun sexy way. manages to predict metatron almost to a T. there’s one major character death and its literally jesus christ, everyone is very sad about it and it sets the rest of the story rolling. an alternate interpretation of cas’ mission to raise dean from hell which had me on the floor. ngl its kind of misogynistic at points, but its from 2010 and tracks with late oughts-2010 spn (sorry anna the author did you dirty here:/).

The Girlfriend Experience - explicit/15k. uhhh i don’t normally rec or even read smutty stuff unless someone i know is specifically asking for it but this has stuff like sam trying to be a good ally and dean thinking holding hands with cas is ‘kinda gay :/’ minutes after having gay sex with him.

i crippled your heart a hundred times - explicit/19k, s8. cas confesses his feelings and dean spends a long time getting his head out of his ass about it. truly hits different after the actual confession, despite being written six years early it feels like its actually what could have gone down more or less if the writers weren’t talentless demons who hate us.

My Roots Take Flight** - mature/125k. reverse au where cas is a hunter and dean’s an angel...OR IS IT???? an alternate retelling of s4. tw for briefly being set in a psychiatric hospital/the hospital being mentioned somewhat frequently throughout the fic, plus more references to torture in hell and heaven than usual.

The One Thing You Can't Lose* - teen/4k.you know those posts about how cas is a super-strong super-tough ancient warrior but he just lets dean tug him around because he likes it? thats it thats the fic.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built - teen/14k, post s8′s ‘goodbye stranger.’ cas is on the run with the angel tablet but keeps in touch with sam and dean by text, he and dean still manage to be terrible at Actual communication.

Autrement, Danger - or, The Account of an Exceedingly Long Day - mature/30k, post s11. a monster that takes the appearance of your soulmate leads to some wild miscommunications and dealing with years of repression, also dean gets to see cas’ true form which is always cool. tw for non-graphic mentions of underage sexual assault/sex work.

Down to Agincourt - mature/explicit/900++++k, endverse continuation. endverse!cas survives his encounter with lucifer and discovers another time-displaced dean from s7. i’ve only read the two of four parts but its really good, veeeeery slow burn, has a lot of fun oc’s and takes a rather surprising but (imo) entertaining and intriguing turn into Hellenic history and mythology. usual tw’s for endverse/endverse!cas but nothing graphic, it’s actually pretty light-hearted (relatively speaking of course).

Nothing Equals the Splendor** - explicit/8k, THEE finale fix it fic you’ve been waiting for! posits that the entire final episode was just a (very bad and lame) djinn’s vision.

like moses and batman and james dean - explicit/31k, post s8. explores dean’s trauma and internalized homophoba from his technically canon experience with sex work and its impact on his relationship with cas. the sex work itself isn’t really shown in any detail but it’s still a relatively heavy fic.

Crazy Diamonds - explicit/25k, s4/alternate s14. fresh-out-of-hell dean and dean from 10 years in the future are displaced from time and sent to each other’s present.

where the weeds take root - explicit/30k. au where the men of letters kick them out of the bunker and they accidentally move out into the country, get over their codependence and semi retire. featuring chicken coop building, sam volunteering at a dog shelter, gardening, and blissfully mundane domesticity.

No Resting Place - teen/6k. djinn dream fic, switches back and forth between cas’ dream of being married to dean and retired from hunting to the aftermath when he wakes up. tw for brief mention of suicide since, y’know, djinn dream.

any port in a storm - mature/52k. post s8 finale. cas and dean have to pose as a couple going through a rough patch for a case and actually deal with their emotional baggage, cas struggles with being human and metatron is up to stuff.

all this and heaven too* - explicit/7k. in the author’s own words ‘...a love letter to every trans person who ever projected onto Dean Winchester.’ absolutely unzipped me emotionally and theologically, its just. so good. tw for very brief mentions of internalized transphobia/dysphoria.

Because it is* - mature/6k, finale fix it. killing chuck does not bring back anyone back and the winchesters spend a very long time dealing with what they’ve lost, cas and dean SOMEHOW still manage to have signifigant communication issues even after the confession. tw for suicidal thoughts/brief attempt.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit* - teen/4k, s6. when cas fell for dean it automatically soulbonded/angel married them, shenanigans ensue when dean finds out during the angel’s civil war. funny and actually written back when s6 was airing so cas is still (or at least pretending to be) kind of an OP asshole which is fun.

Rinse, Repeat - teen/3k, s8. angsty character study of cas as he’s reprogrammed and trained to kill dean. not really dean/cas since its just cas’ pov of canon events but its beautifully written and ends with him snapping out of it through the power of love (also now a canon event!).

Emergence - explicit/59k, canon divergent after s11. dean meets a hunter he only recognizes as their friend claire novak’s missing father, but soon realizes he might be the answer behind the mysterious void in his memories and feelings (aka everyone’s memories of cas are completely wiped away for three years).

Cuckoo And Nest - explicit/10k, early established relationship/character study, cas tries to figure out how he fits into dean’s life and space in the bunker.

Build a Home* - teen/20k, canon divergent s12. sam and eileen are cute and turn the bunker into men of letters/hunters hq and everyone but cas moves in, mutual miscommunication issues and pining ensues.

Down in the River - teen/5k, early s8, cas prays to dean in purgatory while sam and dean try to figure out a way to get him out.

Teaching Poetry to Fish* - mature/52k, ?? BC through the entire series/canon divergent s14 and 15. retelling of crucial scenes throughout the shows timeline from cas’ pov, feat. actual fish and poetry.

the minor fall, the major lift - gen/4k, post confession/finale fixit. dean goes into the empty to save cas and runs into several old friends (and enemies).

With the Kisses of His Mouth* - teen/3k, gen later seasons. dean and cas keep kissing by accident.

Remaining Grace - explicit/109k, alternate s6. au where cas asks dean for help with raphael and dean, of course, does. tw for temporary major character death/semi-graphic depictions of alcohol withdrawal.

The face of heaven.* - teen/10k, au, dean is a regular guy and cas is a fallen star (think ‘stardust’, kinda).

Stories Are Made of Mistakes*  - teen/5k. newly human cas has trouble getting used to a human body and humanity in general, but still figures out that he and dean are A Thing before dean does.

Hurry Up And Wait - mature/21k, canon divergent s12. a fairyland and quite possibly LOTR related case comes up and dean goes full fanboy, mary is introduced to the wonders of the peter jackson adaptions, many references and comparisons (including between cas and dean’s ‘friendship’ and arwen/aragon). also charle is still alive and has just been doing fairy stuff this whole time.

There Are Many Things - explicit/28k, s9. cas is extremely lonely/touch-starved and trying to figure out this whole human thing, as well as where he and dean stand after being kicked out of the bunker.

It's A Long Life to Always Be Longing - teen/40k, post s11 finale. amara helps dean by putting him in a magical coma so he can finally get some much needed rest and show him possible futures for him, sam and cas. meanwhile sam and cas go on a roadtrip (or several) to find componets for a spell to wake dean up. really good sam and cas friendship, they actually talk about their shared lucifer trauma and stuff.

Non-Photo Blue - gen/2k, s4/5/alternate s5. fifty moments from cas’ memories of dean.

Tall Grass - explicit/57k, canon divergent post series. cas becomes the ultimate plant dad. feat the wayward sisters gang, cathartic character growth, fun oc’s, domesticity, and lots of actual botanical info-dumping.

on vessels - no rating/gen/2k. established dean/cas, cas tells dean about how he used to imagine what it would be like to have him as his vessel.

search for tomorrow on every shore* - teen/11k, post-finale (extremely derogatory). some angels in jack’s new heaven act out and dean gets temporarily resurrected in 2003 and runs into his younger self.

Architecture of the Minotaur’s Heart - explicit/45k, very canon divergent post s1. dean’s new house seems to have a life and mind of its own, while in his dreams he sees glimpses of a world and apocalypse that never came to be and an angel that looks strangely like his mysterious neighbor, cas. loosely inspired by the book house of leaves (which i highly recommend for fans of weird horror).

The Distance Of The Setting Sun - explicit/17k, post s5. established dean/cas relationship, team free will finally takes advantage of cas’ abilities to go on vacation around the world.

diamond star halo - teen/5k, s11. dean lets cas use him as a temporary vessel while he recovers from rowena’s spell, sam is a long-suffering third-wheel.

Make Known** - teen/16k, s6/7. dean struggles to understand how cas could have become his enemy and whether he ever truly knew him in the first place.

blunt little instrument* - mature/1.4k, post finale. dean finally confronts his father in heaven, very cathartic.

my heart a compass*** - teen/10k, post confession. the empty forces cas to re-experience his most regretted moments while dean tries to snap him out of it and bring him home.

A Crash Course in Someone Else's History - teen/11k, s6. cas from the very start of s4 is brought forward in time by s6!cas to distract the brothers from his and crowley’s plans.

The Cuckoo Father - mature/8k, s7 au. the woman who found cas in the river post-leviathans does not marry him bc he was sent to her by god or whatever, but actually identifies him as jimmy novak and sends him back to claire and amelia.

The Dead Dean Clause* - teen/5k, post alt s5 ending. team free will celebrates surviving taking down lucifer by getting blitzed, cas lies to a cop and gets an impromptu driving lesson. title/description sound dark i know but it’s actually very funny and light.

Suck It, Judy Garland - mature/20k, s12 (after the ‘i love you...i love all of you’ episode). cas and sam have to pretend to be a couple for a case and dean is NOT happy about it.

By Daylight and In Dream - teen/16k, s5. pre-dean/cas, dean invites cas to use his dreams to hide from the other angels. tw for very brief mention of a memory/dream of alastair sexually assaulting dean.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven - mature/22k, post-canon. an actually happy (if sometimes bittersweet) heaven endgame written several years ago, though some details are rather eerily similar to the show’s ending.

heaven is a place on earth* - teen/2k. dean’s pov of some of the times cas left him behind throughout the show, and one alternate ending where he finally gets to stay.

I Cleanse The Mirror - teen/20k, alternate s6. dean’s body is stolen by an ancient elemental and his soul has to hitch a ride in cas’ vessel.

an exploration of gender; angelic*** - mature/4k. *oscar isaac voice* lets get into angel gender politics!! aka cas is trans.

Zenith - explicit/33k, s9. after 9x06 an angry witch curses cas with the ability to see supernatural beings and human souls.

La cucina. - gen/3k, alt s9. dean goes wild helping a newly-human cas find out what kinds of food he likes, or the early s9 domesticity we deserved!

Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest***** - teen/7k, post-finale. john and mary finally come over for dinner and john reacts to dean/cas in a rather predictable fashion. SOOOOOOOOO good omg, its so funny and a little sad and very very cathartic. part of a series that has a few other really good short fics.

The Way You Didn't Go - teen/5k, s15. coda to 15.09, dean has nightmares about the moc!cas timeline.

On Drowning - teen/28k. dean saves cas after he nearly drowns, they both try and deal with the physical/mental fallout (aka the fic where thee iconic “you only touch me when you think I’m dead or dying” originates). tw for realistic depictions of drowning/triage/misc medical information.

The Thirty-Six Questions That Lead to Love* - mature/13k. claire has dean and cas pretend to be her gay dads for a case and they play the titular 36 question game, get mistaken for swingers, and birdwatch, among other things.

Assorted F/F stuff:

Deep Breaths* - mary/ellen, au where mary said no to azazel’s deal and let john stay dead, still becomes a milf.

Like Rebel Diamonds - krissy/claire, they become hunter gf’s on the hunt for cas to kick his ass for taking jimmy. not-so-stealth dean/cas as well.

To Ash and Bone - anna/ruby, same author as the previous fic (p much all of her stuff is good from what i recall). au where ruby is a witch and helps anna when she’s cursed.

Holy Clockwork Angels - jo/ruby, STEAMPUNK au with very cool worldbuiilding.

At Day's End - jo/anna (my fucking KINGDOM for more jo/anna content, the dean/cas parallels are allllll there), au where they are both at the camp in the endverse and gfs.

these posts - ok so not actually a fic but i’m now obsessed with this hannah/meg dynamic.

Tagelied - mary/ellen, the true story of how ellen got into hunting before angels interfered.

Hell's Bells** - meg/abaddon, alternate s8/9 where meg survives crowley’s attack with sam’s help and teams up with abaddon (who she has a sk year old crush on) to take back hell.

The Ecstasy of the Rose - anna/ruby, anna travels back in time to escape heaven and becomes a signifigant part of ruby’s old human life.

Angel Underground - anna/jo, kind of an urban fantasy au with a very intriguing premise (sadly its very short, i’d love to see more if this ‘verse).

Clover, Flame - billie/mary, billie was always the reaper that showed up to take mary after her death(s) over the years.

Drag Me To Heaven - anna/ruby, a variant on the ‘last night on earth’ thing with dean.

Come Home* - jo/anna, canon-divergent au where anna is the new waitress at the roadhouse and helps jo set up a (probably not really) haunted house for halloween.

[acourtofbookishdreams]

Azriel ~ Irresistable*

Azriel x Reader

* = NSFW. EXPLICIT CONTENT.

Summary: Whilst training with Azriel, you make one too many ‘innocent’ mistakes and his resolve wavers with each one until he can’t take it anymore.

Warning: NSFW, forbidden romance, teasing, shitty writing with no sense, out of character azriel, piece of crap - posting anyway aha

Word Count: 2539

"You need to tighten your core" Azriel instructs, voice soft and unjudgemental but aggravating nonetheless.

"I am tightening" I grit from between my teeth, working with all my waning strength on moving along the balance beam.

Azriel and I had been training only for a couple of weeks now after I'd finally decided I wanted to learn how to defend myself or at least be able to hold my own until I could get to safety. However, my insipid mortal reflexes and strength was making it insanely difficult to learn anything.

Considering my being the remaining mortal sister of the Archerons after thankfully being on a short trip to see a friend at the time my other sisters had been kidnapped and turned, it seemed like an even better idea. Especially to my overprotective older sisters. Sometimes, being the only human around definitely sucked and others, like when my sisters got roped into Fae bullshit...it definitely didn't.

It did really suck I wouldn't find a mate, though. That sounded incredibly...convenient.

"You may think you're engaging your core but you're not" Azriel says, moving slightly closer, his shadows surrounding him in the soft dawn light.

"You know what, if this is so easy then-ah!" I squeal as I fall off the beam, stumbling slightly and gripping the beams surface to keep from slipping as my feet land hard on the floor, ground shock reverberating up my legs, "Ugh, this sucks!"

Azriel chuckles softly, "You'll get it."

"It doesn't feel like it" I grumble

Azriel comes up behind me, placing one large hand across my stomach, pushing against it softly, "You need to act as if you're sucking in your stomach, belly button to spine."

I do exactly that, my stomach concaving in, forcing his hand to slip from my stomach and back to his side and Azriel laughs - a big, joyful chuckle, the loudest I'd ever heard from him.

"Was that a laugh?" I smirk, quirking one eyebrow

"I do laugh, you know."

"Not often...and not around me."

"Focus. We're not here to discuss my social habits. Now, I meant internally. It may sound strange but visualise it in your mind and then pull your stomach in and hold it. You'll feel it."

My smirk slips and I nod, focusing. I do as he instructs and though he is right, it does feel strange, I definitely feel it in my stomach, an odd and uncomfortable tightening sensation as if my stomach was benching a weight.

"Ow" I pout, releasing my stomach, "I don't like that"

"You'll get used to it" Azriel smiles, "Now, come on, back up on the beam and try again"

"Will you catch me if I fall?" I tease, my smirk returning. Though he may be over 200 years older than me, strictly off limits because of his being a completely different and dangerous race from me and completely emotionally unavailable, it didn't mean I couldn't flirt.

"Of course" Azriel responds, tone all business. I roll my eyes slightly as I hop back up onto the beam, one foot in front of the other.

Squeezing my eyes slightly against the pressure, I perform my weird suck-in thing to engage my core, taking a tentative step forward...and finding it suddenly way easier. Gaining confidence, I take another step forward, and then another, each one coming faster and faster until...

"I did it!" I giggle, reaching the opposite end of the beam and jumping off, "I actually did it."

"Well done" Azriel commends, his ice-hewn face slightly broken by a small smile, "Next beam"

"Already?" I gulp, looking over my shoulder. The next beam was higher up then the first, the top of it reaching my chest. I turn back to him, gesturing to the lower one, "Can't I just do this one again?"

Azriel says nothing and I sigh, moving over to the other beam and grabbing a couple step blocks to get up to the beam. Heaving myself up and onto the beam, I wobble softly and a small, startled squeak escapes my lips before I regain my balance.

"You really will catch me, right?" I ask nervously. Again, no response omits from his lips, just a short nod of which I couldn't tell was either actually in answer to my question or instruction to get a move on.

"Okay" I breathe, closing my eyes and stilling my body completely, performing the process of engaging my core slowly, each muscle at a time until I felt so tightly wound even a sharp shove couldn't knock me from my feet.

I take a step forward...then another...and then I slip.

My foot hits the side of the beam wrong and in an effort to stay up, I attempt to pull it back on rather than letting it go and placing it behind my other foot, bending at the knees as I was taught to do and had done many times on the lower beam. I scream and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I tip backward, flailing my arms out as my back heads for the ground.

As if in slow motion, I turn my body as I fall, instinctively positioning to catch my fall with my hands - a rookie mistake. A pair of strong hands encircles my waist as I turn and without thinking I grab onto him, securing my body to his in every way possible to stop my fall. I grunt as one of my feet lands hard on the floor, ground shock again erupting through...one of my feet?

I open my eyes and find myself in the strangest position...Azriel's face was before me, his arm hooked underneath the crook of my right knee, holding the one leg up whilst the other was placed upon the floor as normal, my hips pressed against his.

"You really did fall in the most difficult way possible" Azriel says, voice deep and gravelly...as if straining.

It's then I notice Azriel's stance is crooked, his weight tipped to one side slightly as if weighed down...I gasp and almost send myself flying again as I realise what exactly I'd done in my attempt to escape a painful landing.

My knee was grazing his right wing, my left arm tightly wrapped around his neck with my elbow brushing the inside of his left wing and my right hand was placed entirely on the soft membrane of the inside of his right wing, my fingers splayed across the shimmering surface and pressing lightly onto it, the way one would place their hand on a surface to maintain balance.

Points of contact everywhere with Azriel's wings...Azriel's sensitive wings.

"Oh my...I'm so sorry" I gasp, pulling my leg out of his grasp and removing my arm from his neck, my hand from his wing, until I was standing before him. Closer than I'd ever been before, his eyes boring into mine.

"You couldn't have just fallen backward?" Azriel says, his voice still rough and strained, "I would've caught you."

"I know, I-" I stammer, "I didn't think, I just acted on instinct. I don't know what I was thinking. Are your wings okay?"

"They're fine" Azriel frowns softly, "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Feyre's told me before to be careful of your wings, to make sure I keep away from them because they're really sensitive...are they not?" I redirect as his confused frown deepens.

"They are but not in the way you seem to think" Azriel explains, "It doesn't cause me pain, which by the look on your face, I assume is what you think."

"It's not painful?" I breathe a sigh of relief, "Oh thank the forgotten gods...but if it's not a painful sensitivity, why do you seem so tense? Well, tenser."

"While it's not painful, it is still sensitive. The sensation is hard to explain but it just provokes a different...reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too hard to explain. How about I show you the approximation of what it feels like to a non-winged being and then you tell me the reaction you have."

I nod, a little nervous about the slight gleam in Azriel's eyes, a knowing one...

Leaning forward, Azriel breathes softly into the shell of my ear, lips trailing sensually along the outer edge as his large hand ghosts down my spine in soft, light movements, his fingers barely touching the skin but sending shivers all the way through my body. My eyes go heavy lidded and instinctively, I grip his bicep to hold myself steady, neck tipping back slightly to expose more of my neck as his breath gusts over the sensitive skin, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back to keep me from falling on my ass. A small noise escapes from my throat.

In a lighting fast move, Azriel pulls me to rights and releases me completely, stepping a good few paces back. Breathing heavily, my eyes open and meet his and I imagine our expressions to be almost exact. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, chests rising and falling so agonisingly slowly as we attempt to keep our breathing even and failing completely.

"Woah" I breathe, "I definitely get it now."

"You can't do that, Y/N, damn it!" Azriel growls and I straighten further, lust filled haze vanishing.

"Do what?" I gape

"Make me-" Azriel says and then stops himself, "Never mind. Today's session is over"

He turns on his heel to leave but I run after him, meaning to grab his shoulder...and accidentally gracing the back of his wing again.

Damn it, dumbass.

Azriel releases a frustrated growl and whirls on me, pushing me back into a nearby wall, his hands on my waist, eyes staring into mine.

"That"

I was still confused. This was the only time I'd ever touched his wings...

Seeing my confused expression, Azriel presses closer, his body pressed to mine, something hard pressing into my-

Oh.

"I...I wasn't aware I" I stumble over my words, "I wasn't aware it was something I'd done more than once."

"That's a lie and you know it" Azriel huffs, "Stop feigning innocence."

"I'm not feigning anything!" I protest. I truly hadn't meant to turn him on. Now or any other time. Feyre and Nesta and Elain had all made it clear I shouldn't get into it with Azriel...Gods, even Rhys had told me to keep away!, "Why does it even matter? We're both adults, we can just move on from-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Azriel growls, "That I've wanted you every moment from when I first saw you, that Feyre and Rhys gave me this lecture about duty and responsibility and the different race bullshit and ordered me to stay away from you. The only reason I was allowed to train you is because I swore it'd be training and nothing more!"

"I'm...I don't know what to say to you except that I didn't know anything about any of that."

"I swear you're my own personal hell on Earth." Azriel sighs, shaking his head, eyes hard and cold as flint.

"Wow, thanks" I scoff sarcastically, offended, "I wasn't doing anything intentionally."

"That may be even worse" Azriel concedes, "Knowing that anything you did wasn't intentional means if you truly tried to make a move...I would fall at your feet and beg you for just a second of your time. For one moment between-I shouldn't be entertaining this idea."

No, please go on.

"It doesn't help that I can smell you every time you enter a room. It's like you specifically-"

"Wow, so now I smell?" I huff, "Perfect."

"Not that kind of smell. I can smell it on you now."

It?

Well, sure, I was sweaty but I'd just been working out. Although I'd cooled a bit now, with all the slow and steady lust-filled contact we'd had-

Oh...again.

I remember Nesta telling me once to be careful with any time I spent...with myself because the males could smell...

Could smell arousal.

"Oh" I say aloud this time, "That."

"I could swear you would touch yourself before each training session just to drive me insane with what I can't have-damn it, stop it!"

"Well I can't really help my body's reactions when you talk like that" I defend, that warm and tight feeling in my stomach building, eyelids fighting not to fall.

"Try" Azriel suggests weakly.

"If the past few weeks of my unintentional seducing you wasn't proof enough, I clearly can't do that."

"What has been with you recently? You're aroused all the time."

"I don't know" I blush, "I just...have been. Besides, it's not like I have someone I can go to here to...relieve myself of the frustration so I'm all I've got."

Azriel's jaw clenches, eyes ablaze with a hungry fire.

"Why can't we...I mean, why am I so forbidden to you?"

"Feyre and Rhys say...well, I don't know. It doesn't matter about their reasons, their my High Lord and Lady. If they order me to do something, I obey."

"Is that something you can't fight?" I ask, eyes trailing up and down his body, "Like a magical side effect stops you?"

"No, it's an honour thing-" Azriel stops short, recognising my intention, "Okay, I know you're doing this on purpose now"

"So what?" I whisper, "It's not like I'll tell them anything...and there's no one out here to witness for at least a few hours."

"Hours?" Azriel chuckles, "What makes you think you can handle that?"

Cocky now, huh?

"I'm almost certain I probably can't...but I'm more than willing to try."

Azriel's erection grows larger, pressing insistently upon my upper thigh, "Y/N...I can't"

"Yes you can" I say, "Something tells me you're just as good at getting in your own way as Feyre and Rhys are. I'm more than capable of making my own decisions and I would be lying if I said this isn't one of the fantasies I've used to help me out when I'm alone."

The sound of Azriel's teeth grinding against each other makes me smile. I don't know where this sudden confidence came from - perhaps from knowing how badly he also wants this. Maybe it was fate's way of making something that was always supposed to happen, happen. By removing my nervousness and forcing Azriel to think his way out of his own mental purgatories.

Azriel, still fighting his own mental battle, pants softly and I lean forward, trailing a long line up his neck and along his jawline with my tongue. My hand drifts up, reaching for the tender inside of his wing-

"Don't. Do. That" Azriel grits out, hand gripping my wrist and pushing it back against the wall, up above my head, the other arm quickly following, "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Who said I wasn't planning to finish?" I smirk

"Gods, you'll be the death of me" Azriel sighs, leaning closer to me. I could already tell the battle was lost, he was just clinging to the last scraps of will he had left.

"What was that you said earlier? That you would 'fall at my feet and beg for just one moment between...' What were you going to say?" I tease

"Shut the fuck up" Azriel growls, his lips pressing to mine.

Masterlist

[ashbrea381writings]

Flying Blind: Chapter 2, Meeting the Bats

“Bunnyx? Should I be concerned?” Ladybug asked, turning to look at the person behind her. Bunnyx was obviously a good five or so years older than the rest of the team, and Batman would have shrugged it off if it weren’t for the next words from Bunnyx’s mouth.

“Nah, I wanted to be at this meeting since current me wasn’t.” Bunnyx pulled up a chair and flipped it backwards to sit on it that way. “To explain, Batman, I can’t tell them too much or the timeline would become unstable, and that really isn’t good. I help where I can and where they are going astray from the correct timeline.”

“Who is to say the correct timeline?” Robin asked. “Couldn’t you nudge it into a more favorable outcome?”

“Not without disappearing. Back to the Future style.” Bunnyx commented bitterly. “Been there, almost disappeared, it sucked. But I can tell you this, LB, it’s okay to trust them with the info you’ve got so far. They’re very helpful.”

“Thanks Bunnyx. Sticking around?” Ladybug asked, handing them a plate with some pastries.

“For the best pastries in Paris for free? Yes, for sure.” Bunnyx started laughing as they took the plate and took a few steps back. “I’m probably gonna let you all strategize without me though, I just wanted to hear the convo I missed the first time ‘round.”

“Oh please, you know they would feed every one of you guys for free if you asked. Unless you’ve had a falling out in the future I don’t currently know about?” Ladybug teased, loosening up more than she had so far.

“Nah, but at the point I’m at, I’m trying not to drain them, you have no idea how much time travel makes you hungry.” Bunnyx chuckled. “Besides, with the rest of these guys stopping by constantly, I’m surprised they even manage to make any money.”

Ladybug shook her head but didn’t comment, turning back to Batman and sighing. “We also have a friend who cannot always help out in battle for civilian reasons. That is Tempest, who has the ability to transform into three different forms; lightning, air, and water.”

“And you’re all about the same age?” Batman asked, his frown deepening.

“More or less, within about a year and a half from oldest to youngest.” Chat confirmed as Ladybug nodded. “We try not to advertise our real ages for both identity reasons, and to try and control just how many people don’t want us doing this due to our ages.”

“And you have no mentor? No Adult to pull you out if things get rough?” Batman’s voice was incredulous, and he sat up even straighter in his seat.

“Unless you count Bunnyx who jumps back from the future now and then to check in.” Chat joked, poking said hero in the ribs.

“Watch it, Kitty-Cat, I can and will send my younger self something embarrassing about you.” Bunnyx slapped his hand away, but sounded bored.

“Who gave you your powers then? You said before that you got your abilities from items?” Robin asked, leaning forward and bracing his arms on the table.

“Like I said, he gave up his memories to protect more of the artifacts.” Ladybug sighed, “The items in question are individually called the Miraculous. There is a box that I have custody of that usually holds them. I won’t say how many there are. Right now I’m letting each person here use one, Chat and I were picked by the former Guardian. When Hawkmoth found out the identity of the former Guardian, he attempted to find out our identities too and wanted to steal the box for himself.” Ladybug stood and began to pace slightly in the little room there was. “During the battle, Chat and I were able to retrieve the contents, and the former Guardian transferred his title to me. The magic of the Miraculous wiped his memories to keep the secrets of the Miraculous from ever being taken from him.”

“So not only are you a superhero as a teenager, but you guard a set of ancient artifacts that each hold incredible power?!” Batman stood abruptly. “If there is some sort of title involved, who gave that title to your mentor?”

“People who are a combination of long gone or not welcome here due to antiquated ways.” Ladybug snapped harshly. “Do not presume to know what is going on with us. Age does not mean wisdom, just that you assume you know what is best for other people.”

Batman took a step back and sighed. “I am angry on your behalf that you were put under this amount of pressure.” He took a moment to calm himself and shook his head. “Am I correct to assume that Hawkmoth is of a similar age to me?”

Ladybug studied Batman for a few moments, sharing glances with a few of the other teammates who all made some sort of gesture or facial expression that they understood among themselves. “Roughly, yes, we cannot be precise but I would judge you and him to be within 3 or so years of each other.”

“What other information do you have? We might be able to help figure him out.”

“It will be difficult, the magic of the Miraculous makes it difficult to pinpoint an identity, and tends to make you want to drop the search. Although, there are some exceptions. Rena figured Carapace out after meeting him in the mask twice.” Ladybug pointed out. At that comment, Rena chuckled and elbowed a blushing Carapace.

“Not fair, LB, you know why it was that easy for her to figure me out.” Carapace muttered, pulling his hood lower over his face.

“My point is, maybe someone with an outside perspective would be able to push past it.” Ladybug shook her head at her friends. “Here, this has everything we’ve observed about Hawkmoth, and information that will help you to identify him more easily. Some of that information covers Miraculous holders in general from our own observations about ourselves. Don’t look into our identities with this, just Hawkmoth.”

“What kind of information?” Batman asked, taking the flash drive.

“How much of a height difference we have when we transform, how much things like hair and eye color change, Chat is an exception for the eyes part.” Chat gave a bow as Ladybug said his name. “It also has Hawkmoth’s approximate measurements from what I’ve been able to figure out the few times we’ve seen him in person. He’s a very tall, slender man.”

Batman handed the flash drive to Robin, who plugged it into a screen on his glove, asking quietly, “Hmmm, how accurate are these measurements and how did you get them?”

“I’m good at sizing people, there’s a civilian reason for it that I won’t name. I could probably give you yours if you wanted.” Ladybug chuckled.

“She’s nearly dead-on, actually, I’ve seen it in action.” Chat added, smirking. “Like that time she figured out who was who at a costume party.”

“That was one time and it was a bet, King Monkey should have known better than to challenge me, he’s known me for years.” Ladybug sniffed. “Besides, it was a good team-building exercise for me to identify you guys in the crowd while you switched costumes.”

“Team building exercise?” Batman seemed unconvinced.

“We’d only just decided that we all needed to know who each other were. So we went to a big costume party with several quick change outfits and tried to identify each other so we’d always know who was who even if we switched Miraculi.” Ladybug explained.

“You all know each other as civilians?” Robin asked, looking shocked.

“After what happened with the former Guardian, I was rather… Stressed and didn’t have a way to tell anyone why it was so bad, so I confided in Rena, and she basically told me that it was time we all knew each other. She’d known Carapace from the start and he found out about her shortly after, so it was something that just made sense. We coordinate better now and know what’s going on in each other’s lives and can adjust for it.” Ladybug shrugged. “We know if one of us is sick, or busy, or can’t get away from civilian life long enough to handle Akuma’s now. We’re more coordinated in our plans and can cover for each other both as heroes and civilians.”

“Do your families know you’re all doing this?” Batman asked quietly, seeming to think about the situation.

“One of us has parents that know, I won’t say who.” Ladybug crossed her arms and stared the Bat down.

“And what do they think?”

Chat chucked, “They’ve basically adopted everyone who wasn’t their kid already and told everyone to stop by anytime. They also keep an eye on the news and give excuses for the one that’s their kid to make sure they get to be at Akuma fights when they’re needed for it.”

“They also offered to patch us up if there’s ever an injury that the Cure doesn’t fix. We haven’t run into that problem yet though.” Honey Bee added, making a gesture like she would start touching up her manicure before being stopped short by her gloves. “By the way, Bug, you need to teach us how to adjust our suits manually, you said there was a way.”

“That’s an entire Saturday on it’s own, Bee, save it for the next girl’s day.” Ladybug waved her off casually.  “Now, I’m sure you guys have what you need to start the investigation with you?”

“Yes, we’ll keep you posted.” Batman held out a comm unit to Ladybug. “The batteries last three days, if it takes longer than that I can meet you here to switch out. It’s also undetectable while you’re wearing it and muting it and turning it on and off is intuitive.”

“MmmmHmmm, I’m willing to bet it’s also a tracker. Pegasus, take a look?” She passed the device to said hero and he plugged it into a small tablet he pulled out of a pocket.

“There is the ability for it to track movements, but that was disabled before I even touched it.” Pegasus handed it and Ladybug tucked it into her ear, testing the settings a bit before leaving it muted but on.

“I know how important secret identities are, the tracker is only in there because it’s the same type as what Robin uses and I’d rather not have him injured somewhere and not be able to get ahold of him.”

“I still don’t like the tracker either, B.” Robin muttered, causing the Miraculous holders to chuckle.

“We can track each other when we’re suited up.” Ladybug swept a hand around the group. “It’s useful to know when each other is on the way or where someone is when you need to meet up.”

“Anyway, we all have places to be, so we’ll check in once and a while through LB to see how it’s going.” Chat said, cleaning off the table and tucking the dishes back into the baskets they came from. “Bee, here’s yours, I think you’ll be missed sooner.” He passed one off the Honeybee who promptly zipped away on her top, waving as she passed over the building. “LB, delicious as always, I need to convince them to teach me their ways.” He sighed, handing Ladybug a basket.

“Don’t be shy, if you ask I’m sure they’d show you. They don’t have anyone willing to take over when they retire, and it might be good for you to have a job like a normal person.” She laughed, taking the larger basket and setting it on the ground before wiping down the table with a cloth she’d pulled out.

“Don’t think I won’t… Next time I’m home alone for the weekend, I’m there.” He laughed and collapsed the table after she wiped it. One by one, the other Miraculous holders put away the chairs and helped Chat wrangle the table into it’s storage shed.

“How often do you guys do this?” Robin asked, watching as the other heroes took off in separate directions.

“As often as we have the time and can get away from our civilian lives. Since we all know each other, it isn’t as hard as it was.” Ladybug shrugged, ruffling Chat’s hair.

“We keep it to a reasonable amount of time and not everyone is always able to make it, but it’s always a nice way to get in some bonding time with the team.” Chat added, pushing Ladybug’s hand off of him. “We’re basically family to each other at this point, so we don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t spend time together. I gotta run, it’s almost time for my next thing.” He sighed and launched himself up with his stick, waving at them and running across the rooftops.

“We’ll be in contact, and I’ll be listening on the comm.” Ladybug pointed to her ear where the device was invisible to any who didn’t know it was there.

With that, the rest of the remaining heroes left, leaving Batman and Robin in a closed-off alley with a beautiful garden and a small shed. “Want me to check what else is in the shed?” Robin asked after making sure his comm was muted.

“No, there was nowhere to hide anything, it’s only big enough for the stuff that’s in there and they left it open the whole time we were talking.” Batman sighed and looked at the sky that was going pink with dusk. “Let’s get to the hotel.”

[val-aquenta]

Last day of Mace Windu Appreciation Week! The prompt: Freeform.

Here on ao3

A little fluffy moment betwen Knight Mace WIndu and Youngling Obi-Wan Kenobi. Thank you all for reading!

Mace had never meant to return to the Temple yet. As a new knight, he was meant to be out and about on missions, resettling into the sway of travelling without a Master, yet here he was. Staring down at a young child who was looking rather tearful. He knelt quickly, one hand lingering on his knee. The boy was red in his face and looked, in Mace’s opinion, positively adorable. “Forgive me, young one, I did not see you there.” There was a soft sniffle and the boy rubbed his face before looking back up, his expressions more in control. He smiled, “There you are. Now, did I hurt you?”

The boy shakes his head, looking at his hands. Oh my Force, he’s so tiny. His hands! Mace thinks watching as the boy stands up and looks up at him. “No, Master…”

Mace gently shakes his head, “I’m a knight, young one, not a Master yet. My name is Mace Windu. What’s yours?” Mace prompts.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The boy, Obi-Wan shifts slightly, looking around before turning and looking back at Mace. 

“Do you have anywhere you’re supposed to be?” He asks, head tilting slightly to the side. 

Obi-Wan looks at him with a soft smile. “Yes? But… Bant left me behind on accident, so I… I think I’m lost.” The boy’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I’ve just been walking around…” 

“And managed to get into the closed-off section?” Mace hums. He stands up. “If you would like, I can take you back to the creche?” Obi-Wan nods, stepping closer to Mace and reaching out to tug on his fingers. 

“Do you think Master Dolan will be angry?” Earnest eyes raised at him. He swears there’s a little sparkle in those eyes. 

“I think he's likely worried, Obi-Wan.” Mace looks around for a second and then begins leading the way out of the closed sector of the Temple. Back when there were more Jedi, these rooms would have been used, but now that their populations dwindled entire sections were closed off as keeping them running simply became too costly for the meagre funds the Republic sent their way. He looks down at Obi-Wan, consciously slowing his pace so that the child can keep up comfortably. Obi-Wan is quiet, remarkably so. His steps are soft little pads on the stone floor. There is a light humming coming from his companion. A song from the creche, he recalls quickly. 

“Knight Windu, how old are you?” Mace raises his brows at Obi-Wan who flushes. “I-I’m sorry Master, you don’t have to answer.” 

“Not to worry, Obi-Wan. I don’t mind, but take note that many other beings do mind.” Obi-Wan nods. “I’m 22.” 

There is a pause before the boy murmurs, “15?” Mace looks down at the boy in confusion, sending a small pulse into the Force. Obi-Wan looks up and startles a little. “Oh… 15 years difference. Between you and me.”

“So you’re… 7?” Obi-Wan nods, seeming very proud of his age. “Very old, huh?”

“Master Dolan says that soon I’ll be able to get my own crystal to build my sabre, though the power will have to be re,” Obi-Wan pauses to suck in a short breath, “regulated. Is your lightsaber regulated, Knight Windu?”

“Sometimes. If I’m sparring with friends for example. Or teaching young 7-year-olds.” He smiles gently, indicating the boy to turn left. “Here we are, just a little bit more.”

“Can I see? Please?” Obi-Wan looks at him. “What colour is it? And what about your hilt design. I’m not sure what I’d want from my hilt, or my regulator or anything, but Master Dolan says that I’ll know when the Force wills it. Did the Force tell you about your sabre, Knight Windu?” Mace blinks, a little shocked before a smile tugs the corners of his lips up. 

“I suppose it did.” He hums thoughtfully. “I had a plan, I suppose, a vague idea of what I wanted the hilt to be made of, the approximate size, the feel of it in my hand, but I had no idea how it would actually look until I made it.” He unclips his sabre, showing the general size and shape. “And the colour of the blade? Now that was a surprise.” Leaning away he thumbs it on, the purple hilt bursting forth with a comforting hum. Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide as plates, shining in the purple light. Mace thumbs it off after a moment, clipping it onto his belt. “But, perhaps you will have a different experience. Shaak, that is Knight Ti, she had a pretty detailed diagram of her lightsaber, though she tweaked it a little when she built it.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen purple. Why is it purple?” Obi-Wan shuffles closer, looking up at him. “I’ve seen all kinds of colours between green and blue and yellow and orange and I think I saw a white blade once, but I’m not sure. I was really small. But I’ve never seen purple.”

“I don’t know why it’s purple. It simply is.” Obi-Wan, if possible, looked even more enthralled. “And you? What blade do you think you will have?”

“Well… when I have visions, I see different blades all the time. Sometimes they’re all black and rough while sometimes they’re gold and silver. Master Yoda says that it's because there are so many futures and I see different ones.” He pauses for a moment. “I do want a type three aurek silver hilt, though. They feel right.”

“Uh-huh.” Mace smiles. The young boy is truly endearing with the way he talks at such a rapid speed, stopping quickly for breaths and breaks. “Oh… we’re almost here. Do you know where you are meant to be?”

Obi-Wan looks up at him. “Well… Master Dolan said we were going to go to visit the archives.” He paused for a moment, hand fiddling with the edge of his sleeve before Obi-Wan looked up. “I don’t know where it is, though.” Mace blinked and smiled softly, projecting a soft reassurance, something that he recalled his creche master doing whenever he was overwhelmed by something. 

“It is no problem, Obi-Wan. I can take you to the archives, and we’ll find Master Dolan together, alright?” He reaches down and offers his hand. 

“Are you… sure?” He speaks with hesitation layering his voice. “I mean, Master Dolan says that Jedi are busy. Aren’t you busy?” Nevertheless, Obi-Wan reaches out and places his small hand in Mace’s trotting along beside Mace as they walk towards the archives.

“I’m on a break,” Mace admits, smiling at a friend who gives them a strange look before shrugging and hurrying along. The pack on their shoulder indicates a new mission.

Obi-Wan goes through the information before nodding seriously. “Master Aliya says that it’s important to have breaks during difficult tasks to not burnout.” The young boy lets out a huff before continuing, “I guess it makes sense you’re resting.” Mace almost wants to laugh, but he fears that the endearingly serious face would lift off of Obi-Wan’s face. 

“I would hope it does,” he offers seriously instead, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hand as they turn a corner almost running right into Master Rancisis. They manage to sidestep, getting a humoured look from the old Master before he slithers down the hallway. They’re almost there, and Mace feels strangely sad about it. The youngling had managed to burrow his way into his heart easily. Kira would say that most things manage to burrow their way into his heart, but he thinks even she would have problems saying no to Obi-Wan’s large eyes. “We’re almost here.”

Obi-Wan perks up, studying the hallway intently, wanting to memorise the route. “Master Yoda told us that the archives are one of the best-kept databases in the Republic. Have you ever seen another like it?” Mace thinks of the seemingly endless rows of blue holos as well as the flimsi copies kept in a more controlled environment to protect them from environmental damage. Indeed, many universities find their way into the database to use it for research. There is an open policy for the archives, though only a select few can change the contents within. He would say that no, he had not seen a library as vast and diverse and well kept as the archives, but he is not sure how much of that statement comes from a healthy fear of Madame Nu should she find out he’d said that. He’d rather not be on the archivist’s bad side. 

“Few have matched the archives' size and wealth of knowledge, though there is a vast library on Alderaan solely composed of original documents.” Obi-Wan looks at him curiously, urging him to continue, “It is more difficult for knowledge to be shared from that library due to the fact that the documents have not been recorded digitally, but it is still a vast library and a sight to behold.” He had visited it twice with Cyslin and the smell of old books paired with the elegant covers had very much seemed Alderaani. “Well, here we are. The archives. Let’s look for Mater Dolan, shall we?” Mace squeezed the hand softly, shooting Obi-Wan a smile. 

Obi-Wan grinned back and followed him, turning the corner. Almost immediately a large wookie was in front of him, and then he was kneeling down and reaching for Obi-Wan. “Thank the Force, Obi-Wan. Where in Force’s name were you? I’ve been worried sick! You and your habit of wandering…” Large hands flutter around, turning Obi-Wan from one side to the other before finally deeming him alright. The reddish-brown fur which had been standing on end in an agitated fashion smoothed down. Master Dolan’s eyes shifted from intently studying Obi-Wan’s face to looking at Mace. “Thank you so much for bringing him here. I was about to call the Temple guards.” The wookie says, head bowing in thanks. 

Mace smiles, “Oh it was no problem. Obi-Wan was a good walking companion.” He shot the boy a smile who still managed to smile back, large hands still resting on his shoulders. Master Dolan begins muttering under breath about how he was ageing prematurely and how ‘all these grey hairs are a result of your habit of wandering, young man.’ Finally, it seemed the wookie truly calmed and stood, towering over Mace though there was a gentleness in his eyes that made it feel calming and comforting. Obi-Wan stood by Master Dolan’s side, head leaning against the Master’s leg with a tired smile. 

“I’m Master Dolan,” he introduced himself, taking in a deep fortifying breath. “I can’t thank you enough, Knight…”

“Ah, Mace. Mace Windu.” Mace bowed a bit in greeting, “And truly, you don’t need to. Obi-Wan is a kind soul, I enjoyed our short walk back.”

“Nevertheless, I thank you.” 

“Ah, well, alright then. But I assure you, it was not an inconvenience at all.” Mace assured. 

The frazzled creche master calmed fully, looking down at the young child and giving him a little poke for attention. “Come now, what do you tell Knight Windu, hmm?” 

Obi-Wan blinked adorably before bowing respectfully, “thank you, Knight Windu, for bringing me back to Master Dolan.” His voice was somewhat soft, but strong still. 

“Well, thank you, Obi-Wan, for your company. I enjoyed our conversation very much.” The young boy perked up before turning to hide a bit behind the wookie Master’s leg, face bright red in embarrassment. Obi-Wan appeared to try and speak, but only a small squeak came out before he retreated further back behind the cover of the legs. 

After a while, though, the young boy found the courage to speak and peeked out, “I like talking with you, too,” he says seriously before retreating even further until he is practically hidden by the Master’s leg. 

“Well, I best be going. Master Dolan, Obi-Wan.” He bows in farewell, receiving one in response from the two. “May the Force be with you.”

Master Dolan smiles and replies in the same manner, “And with you.”

“Always. Obi-Wan adds, peeking out and waving his arm goodbye. “Bye, Knight Windu!”

[folklord]

3. winless fight

part 3 of HOAX series | din djarin x f!reader (au)

ao3 | my masterlist

summary: when you promised the Empire that you would destroy Mandalore, you did not expect that approximating your old friend would become yet another obstacle in your hoax. Suddenly, to know Din Djarin was to watch the death of your past plans and, at the same time, the creation of a faithless love.

warnings: this part is about war, literally. mentions of blood, death and injuries. emotional vulnerable din. season 2 spoilers. but don't worry, next one is all about romance | word count: 2k

thanks @mrpascals for the review <3

About ten Mandalorians stared intently at the Mand'alor instructions in the meeting room. All war strategies were taught by him in a didactic way and all questions were calmly answered. You were there for about ten minutes, waiting for your permission to speak. Bo Katan and Vizla often questioned Din about his tactics, but the two seemed to have opposite ideas. Din acted as a mediator between the polarities in the room.

"Can the Empire's presence be confirmed?" The Mand’alor asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“I did a meticulous analysis. It was, in fact, a kind of BT-1, the ancient droid of Darth Vader.” All the Mandalorians began to whisper upon hearing the famous name, while Din continued to stare at you. “But that doesn't mean anything. The circumscribed initials are from a disabled imperial cruiser. And believe me, the Empire would not send messages or threats in the form of carcasses.”

Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Din’s voice echoed between the walls:

“You may leave. Kaya, please stay.”

It was surprising how everything was going according to your plan. Every person who left the room stared at you, especially Bo Katan - you already knew her from past situations, but her crystal eyes seemed to burn you when they analyzed you from head to toes.

Approaching Din after the last soldier left, you noticed that the visor was facing a specific place: Keldabe, the old capital. He seemed to have lost himself in his thoughts, so you decided to start a conversation.

"Din, if I may ask…" he turned to you, "Why are you so sure an imperial invasion will happen?"

"Because I screwed up Moff Gideon's plans." The tone of his voice as he spoke that very specific name sent goosebumps through your body. You kept staring at the helmet, waiting for him to explain even though you already knew what happened. “The child… Grogu was special. He is special… He was important to the Empire”

“Grogu…” you repeated the name, as an affirmation.

“Moff gave me the darksaber so easily, and laughed at Bo Katan's frustration when she saw me with the weapon that she wanted so badly… But he didn't care, as long as he had the kid.” His voice cracked. You could swear his eyes were teary. “But he didn't expect… No one expected a Jedi to save Grogu. Gideon shivered in fear as Luke Skywalker destroyed all of his droids, and he did it all alone.” The last word was said almost in a whisper. “The Empire does not dare to challenge him to get Grogu back, not without the saber that is now in my hands…”

“And you are sure that they will come because they know that Mandalore is already too weak to fight...”

Your words were chosen carefully. Din turned to face the board, and his left hand held a miniature of a Mandalorian soldier so tightly that you could only see half the helmet escaping between his thumb and forefinger. In that instant, you knew it was the perfect time for your next move because it was clear that Din took everyone out of the room to be alone with you, so he could be vulnerable. He trusted you enough to let you watch even the human being behind the tiniest beskar slowly slip between his fingers.

“Din, you saved my life… and it was so easy for you…” stepping closer, you took his hand between yours. The black glove was rough on your skin, but you didn't hesitate to draw small invisible circles over it with your thumb until Din was slowly undoing his fist. “I noticed, two different groups are respecting you and they are all fine… The child, Grogu, is fine” the miniature Mandalorian soldier was already a little crumpled, but you kept it on his palm. "There is no other Mandalorian with more honor than you."

When you finished the sentence, Din tried to remove his hand, but you pulled him by the fingers. The miniature fell to the ground, but the loud sound its fall produced was unimportant when you decided to hold his right hand as well. His hands were so big that they covered yours, but you found a way to fit them between your palms.

"I did what I had to do." His voice cracked.

“You did so much more…” you looked directly into the visor, trying to meet his eyes. “He wasn't your son and you crossed the galaxy to rescue him, you fought ruthlessly against villains to have him back… That's all Mandalore needs, a protector, a lover…”

“It was this love for him that made me less Mandalorian.”

The words came out with tremendous anger and pain. His hands dropped yours into the air, making you realize again how cold Mandalore's air was today and how he had warmed you. You rubbed your palms together to recover from the heat shock, while his last sentence still echoed in your ears. What made him less Mandalorian and yet worthy of the Crown? What had Moff Gideon not told you?

"Din, I-"

"Sir!" A child in mandalorian armor ran across the room to Din, leaving your words stuck in your throat. "Mand’alor, the Empire is here!"

His exit from the room was so fast that you almost didn't see it, and in the seconds you tried to process what had just happened, the first imperial attack came upon the skies: you saw through the window that the place you admired, where the children were playing yesterday, was already on fire.

"Kaya!" The same child who alerted Din called you, pulling you by your cloak. "The Mand'alor told me to give this to you." He handed a key into your hands. "He told you to take your weapons and go to the Great Room: Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman."

The key was to the Kyr'bes Room, you deduced. Din had given you the key to the entire Mandalorian arsenal, unaware that you were the greatest imperial weapon - and you were pointed directly at him.

(...)

The next few moments went out so fast that you didn't have time to think. With the key in your hand, you opened the room and searched for your weapons. The rest of the arsenal was made of the kind of weapons that not even the soldiers could carry with their bodies and that would, therefore, also be useless to you. Din's voice echoed down the hall, mixed with the screams and doors being rashly shut.

With your weapons, you ran to the Great Room, the same one you were greeted in. Din was standing next to his throne, in front of hundreds of Mandalorians, all facing their Mand'alor.

“…and you know they only want me. So protect your ade, Mandalore's future must remain safe"

All the children were taken to a corridor on the right, and you noticed that none of them hesitated or cried. This was the most beautiful example of how Mandalore culture raised their warriors.

“We know all the strategies and we know that there are no better creatures than the Mandalorians when it comes to wars. But we also know that our weakness is in our differences. Don't you dare fall into the imperial tactic of playing us against each other… this is the oldest trick in the galaxy, and it always works.”

Din took his darksaber and walked across the room until he was face-to-face with Bo Katan.

“Someone once told me: Mandalorians are stronger together. This is the way.”

The huge doors began to open as some Mandalorians put on their helmets and took up position. The Mand'alor, in front of them all, held his saber in his right hand and the beskar spear in his left. You saw at the opening, the glare of the imperial bombs hitting the planet's ground.

“Aruetii! Aru'ela!” someone in the crowd shouted. You knew what it meant: foreigner, enemy.

Suddenly, the doors closed again. The rattling of armor echoed off the palace walls and all the Mandalorians turned against you. All the blood in your body was frozen.

One of them, in blue armor, came out of the crowd with a spear similar to Din's and pointed it at you, positioning it right in your chest. You almost acted on impulse and wrenched the spear from your body to start a fight, but Din's visor — highlighted over the crowd by the reflection of the darksaber's light — made you hesitate.

"What are you implying?" You tried to speak as calmly as possible.

"You entered the room confirming that this was an imperial droid. In the next moment, they are already on our planet. Aru'ela!”

Shit. Moff was a real son of a bitch. You weren't even allowed to take control of the situation… you were, really, just an imperial doll who needed to find a quick way out.

“Can't you smell smoke under your helmet? Your planet is coming-”

“Aru'ela!” this time, everyone screamed. Dozens of soldiers raised their weapons in your direction.

"KE'MOT!" Din's scream followed by the sound of the spear hitting one of the doors made everyone fall silent. In the next instant, everyone turned to him, except the man holding the spear, at which point was almost ripping off your clothing.

The doors opened again, probably on Din's orders, but you were too nervous to be sure. Then everyone shifted their bodies and turned their weapons down. The blue soldier with the spear ran the point down your neck, but without hurting you, just as a warning which you understood very well. When the entire doors were open, the crowd went out towards the battlefield that had become the Palace garden. It wasn't hard to tell Din apart from the rest of the crowd: his darksaber cut through every droid and every stormtrooper in just one try.

[...]

You were fighting for Mandalore. Everything you've done so far resulted at that moment when you decided to hurt the first stormtrooper - but this one seemed insignificant when you lost count of how many you'd already killed. You were an intruder, an aruetii, fighting for the wrong side as hard as your body and heart could - and you were already feeling the effects of that effort. Your now weak arms acted like an instrument of annihilation and your legs tried to find a balance between the bodies of imperial soldiers on the ground. Your entire physique felt like a death machine on autopilot. Nothing stopped you until you realized there were no more stormtroopers around, at the same moment when your eyes caught the glimmer of Din's darksaber against Moff Gideon's neck, and an imperial weapon bigger than an X-WING directed to the Mandalorian Palace.

From the distance you were, and the weakness your body was at, you couldn't see much beyond blurs. All the Mandalorians around had guns pointed at the Empire - which at that moment, as far as you could see, was just Moff Gideon and a dozen private soldiers. The instant you've managed to open your eyes again, the glow of Din's saber seems to have faded and you saw Gideon walk toward his ship. The imperial weapon was dragged into the cruiser, and everything disappeared into the sky.

When there was nothing else to distract you, your exhaustion took over. Your legs could no longer support the weight of your body, making your knees ache as you hit the sand floor. As you tried to draw in more oxygen, the right side of your body throbbed as if it had been burned. Sitting on your feet, you brought your hands up to your ribs, and shit, you were bleeding.

If there was anything in the galaxy that was divine, you'd be sure to beg now so you could at least get away near some body of water. You haven't seen or felt clean, natural water since you were a child when everything was still fine. In your dreams, you imagined your death with the sound of a lake in the background, but all you could make out at that moment was the sound of someone approaching you and beskar material crashing against some surface.

“Cyare… what did you do?”

-----

Part 4

@la-lunaluna @meetmwhallway

let me know if you want to be added on the taglist :)

[magic-is-something-we-create]

For the fruity ask game 🍐🍋 :)

thank you for the ask, chichi!!!

🍐 Share a scene from the climax of your WIP

i haven't written the actual climax yet, but here's a climactic moment of part two!! quick content warning for blood and violence, so be careful if those are a trigger!

Screams and the smell of blood wrack my senses as rain pours down. The dying send their last prayers with the remnants of their voice, like the harder you scream, the more likely you are to live.

One scream, though, seems perpetual and undying among the rest.

Dawn rips into all that approach her, teeth sinking into their necks, clawing at them like an animal as she screeches into the darkness of the storm. Blood flies from her mouth as she leaps from one soldier to the next, the light in her eyes brighter than anything but the reflections of thunderclaps on the freshly-drawn swords of the other ship. Her ferocity sends a stone sinking to the bottom of my stomach, and I could believe in the moment that she’ll survive anything with a howl and a bit of blood.

And then larger squads start leaping in tandem, and I realize just how few of us are prepared to fight, against the seemingly-endless soldiers flowing from the other deck.

Dawn is surrounded first. Her eyes are an intermittent flash, even as I begin to shoot into the cluster around her. And for a horrible moment, she’s gone.

The burst of light and peal of thunder nearly topples me, as far away as I am from her. The soldiers around her seize, sparks of lightning chasing up the water soaking them. As she rises from the mass of the fallen, the veins beneath her dark skin glow, and she howls a kind of pain that could break the clouds.

As she falls to her knees, it hits me why she never graced us with a magic trick.

She’s a Light mage, cursed with the Bloodthirst that makes too many candles sear her skin like hours in the undying sun.

🍋  Share a scene that involves love (platonic too!) and/or friendship

and here's ice being proud of his sister after helping her rival calm down!

I almost lose her mumbled “Thank you” to the chorus in my mind that wishes I had told Ember the same thing, when I finally recognized the blood on their hands and the regret staining their heart for what they were.

I give her my best approximation of a reassuring smile, and stand again. “I have to go check on Ember, now, but I’ll be back in a while, and we can work on the pain again.”

She nods. As I close the door behind me, I take a breath, hoping I actually helped, rather than just making her feel like she needed to look a little more sound of mind.

And just as I’m about to leave, I catch Lakia’s hesitant voice through the wood. “So... light hurts a lot, huh?’

“Yeah.”

“... You tried a parasol, yet?”

The warmth of pride swells in my chest, and I weave my way to the room Ember chose knowing that though my sister is rough around the edges, she’s getting soft enough to try her hand at making friends.

thank you again for the ask!!!

Send me a fruit, and I'll share a snippet!

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

5. Draw me like one of your French girls

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.3k

At this point, I’m seriously considering commissioning my own fanart.

It all started the next morning at our first press release. Somebody had the bright idea to show me some fanart that’s been rolling in the past few weeks of a certain k-pop rapper and I. Not gonna lie...we look good together.

Too good.

Then again, everything about Min Yoongi has seemed pretty good since I woke up to a couple more texts from him this morning. I passed out after his late-night/early morning apology, but he sent another text not long after.

4:32 MYG: So does this mean I’m forgiven? Bong-cha made it sound like you enjoy holding grudges.

9:02 MYG: Morning. I hope everything goes well with you today...is it alright if I keep texting you?

9:02 MYG: Just so I can keep tabs on everything. I don’t want this to get too out of hand for you.

Obviously the poor man is just as worried about all of this as I am. I couldn’t help but give a sleepy chuckle when I woke up to his messages.

So far, I’ve done a wonderful job of ignoring how nice it felt to wake up to a good morning text.

I’ve also done a great job at keeping calm and breezing past any weird questions from the current press conference I’m in. That is, until a Korean reporter (I have a hunch they’re from Dispatch) pipes up not only with a question, but with visual aids!

“Cara, do you mind if I ask you a question? Would you like a translator?”

Reminding myself to be gracious and kind, I shake my head. “Go ahead. I should be alright without a translator, thank you.”

The reporter nods, shuffling forward until they pull a paper out of their file in hand. She gives me a sickly smile, passing the paper up to our security guard who does me the honor of bringing it right to my outstretched palm.

“This is one of the newest renderings, I was just wondering how you have been feeling about this entire situation?”

I already guessed what this was going to be about, but the picture in my hand confirms it.

It’s fanart.

To be honest, it’s very well done. It’s a watercolor, the artist placed us walking along a rainy sidewalk. Hand in hand, Yoongi’s gummy smile on full display while I look down at my toes.

Sebastian whistles beside me, clearly as in awe of the artwork as I am. Before me the reporter still wears her smile, waiting for a response. I pass the paper down the line, allowing Rhea to get a chance to admire the fanart.

Maybe it’s the boost of confidence I received upon reading Yoongi’s text this morning that has me grinning back at the reporter with a saccharine smile.

“Did you draw this? It’s very well done.”

Not everyone can understand Korean in this press conference, but the few that do start chuckling. The reporter blanches for a moment, smile faltering.

“N-no, but if you could answer the question-”

I’m sure I look very disappointed as I look down at her. She definitely works for dispatch; she practically reeks of it. Maybe that’s what gives me the boldness I need as I realize that I’m not even her direct target; Yoongi is.

Yoongi’s nice. I don’t think she is.

“Oh, everything is going fine. Honestly, I should get in touch with this artist. They’re very talented.”

The reporter’s eyebrows flick up, sensing a new method of attack. “Were you thinking of commissioning your own?”

“Honestly, I might consider it. Maybe it’ll make my aunts quit hounding me every Thanksgiving about my love life.”

With that, the paper is handed back to the security guard, but the reporter motions for him to keep it. Confused, he hands it back to me. I turn it over so I don’t get caught staring at it during the conference. That’s the last thing Yoongi or I need right now.

As the reporter takes her seat again, I can’t help but feel a little triumphant. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

🌙

12:22 ME: I never said you were forgiven, did I?

As soon as we get out of the press conference we are ushered into a van which takes us to another interview. I figure that now is as good a time as any to text Yoongi back, seeing that this morning I woke up late and was too flustered to come up with a response.

“Who are you texting?” Sebastian asks. “Is it your friend that always calls you?”

I consider lying to him for a moment, but realize that it might actually be nice for him to know. He can keep me from being unrealistic when I start to fangirl.

He may also help me to keep that promise I silently made a while ago: to not go so easy on Yoongi. Right now, it’s proving harder than expected to dislike him.

“Nosy.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, that only happens when you get texts from me.”

“Ha! Right. It’s a secret...kind of. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll try my best not to.”

Taking an unnecessarily big breath, I spill my secret that I’ve kept for approximately 12 hours.

“It’s Yoongi.” When there’s no immediate reaction from him, I backpedal. “Also known as Suga?”

Before Sebastian can respond the ping of my phone pulls my attention away.

12:26 MYG: Oh good, you responded. I was getting worried you were actually mad. So is it alright if I keep texting you? I don’t want to mess with your schedule.

“You’re smiling again.”

I look up to see an annoyed Sebastian Stan. He’s not very good at sharing attention, and it would appear that Yoongi is no exception.

“How strange, I didn’t realize.”

12:27 ME: That’s fine.

12:27 ME: But I am mad!!

12:28 MYG: Hahaha sure

“Cara, we’re here.” Sebastian says as he clambers out of the car. I follow after him, pocketing my phone.

There’s a few cameras outside waiting for us, but we’re able to make it inside the building without too much fuss. Once we make it into the room where we’re supposed to have one of our interviews, Sebastian pulls a paper out of his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

He smirks at me, unfolding the paper. It’s the fanart from earlier. I didn’t even realize that he’d pocketed it.

“Tell Suga I say hi, at least.” He poses with the papers just below his chin, giving the best puppy dog eyes he can muster up. It’s rather convincing, if I’m being honest.

“You weirdo,” I mumble as I snap a photo. I’m quick to send it off to Yoongi, captioning it.

12:37 ME: Sebastian says hello.

Our interviewer is just about to come into the room when I receive a response. Not having the self-restraint to put my phone away, I quickly take a look. Sebastian peers over my shoulder, curious as well.

12:40 MYG: Winter Soldier!!!

12:41 MYG: Hi. Did he draw that?

I cackle, quickly translating the message. Sebastian looks appalled. “I have better things to do than draw fanart!”

“Yeah, like write fanfiction, right?”

He grins at me. “Obviously.”

12:42 ME: No, but he says he’s writing fanfiction.

12:42 ME: We’re about to start an interview rn but I’ll tell him to send you his rough draft later. 😏

Interviews pass, and it isn’t until I’m finishing up dinner that my phone pings with another message from Yoongi. I nearly impale Sebastian with my fork as I lunge for my charging phone; he’d come into my hotel room to eat dinner with me.

“Watch it!” Sebastian grunts, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate. We were promised lunch by Rhea earlier but it ended up just being a small snack as she was whisked away by a long-lost friend. The two of us managed to control our hunger for as long as possible, but Sebastian wasted no time calling up some food for us before we even got back to the hotel.

We barely beat the delivery boy here. He wasn’t all that surprised that we were American. Sebastian had tried out some very choppy Cantonese. What did end up surprising him was that he was delivering a meal to the Winter Soldier. I was able to sneak into my room undetected while the boy’s eyes were bugging out as Sebastian signed his hat.

“Sorry,” I mumble around my food.

9:12 MYG: I’m still waiting for the rough draft.

I translate the message to Sebastian, who cackles and promises to get started on it as soon as possible.

9:14 ME: Sorry, Sebastian said he’s still trying to write it. I’ll let you know when it’s ready!

9:15 MYG: That’s alright. I’ll be patient.

9:15 MYG: I saw a clip from your press conference today.

My stomach lurches as I realize what clip it was that he probably saw. Does he think I’m some crazy fangirl now? I mean, I might be. But he doesn’t need to know that.

9:18 ME: I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?

Sebastian notices my change in expression and shoots me a worried look. “Everything alright?” I shrug.

“Yeah...I just hope I didn’t get him in trouble with what I said at the press conference today. I think that reporter was trying to go against him somehow.”

“He’s a big boy. Did he say anything about it?”

I look back down at the messages even though I already know what he said. My stomach lurches again as I see the three little dots at the bottom of the screen.

“No, not really. He just said he saw a clip or something. He’s typing right now, though.”

9:20 MYG: I thought I was the worrier. No, you didn’t. How was the rest of your day?

“What’d he say?” Sebastian grabs our cartons of food, tossing them into the wastebasket.

“He’s just…”

“Are you blushing?!” My friend stares at me from across the room, eyes wide. “No way! You like him!”

“No! No I don’t!”

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me! You’re so into him!” Sebastians hurries back over grinning wide. “Wow, he must be a good texter.”

That really is helping my blush. “Nooo, he’s not. He’s just nice. That’s it. It’s just fun having someone nice to talk to, you know? He feels really bad about everything and - Sebastian quit it - and it’s just sweet of him to care. That’s it.”

Sebastian stops looking at me with his puppy dog eyes and leans back in his chair, a contemplative look overtaking his features. “I thought I was nice to talk to.”

I pause for a second, breath getting caught in my throat. “Y-you are. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shakes his head, giving me an award-winning smile. “No, I know. Aren’t you going to respond?”

“Oh! Yeah!” I focus on my phone again. There’s an uneasy feeling rising in me at Sebastian’s comment, but I brush it off for now. He’s always been bad at sharing his friends. He’s the same with Anthony Mackey, I’ve seen it up close.

9:25 ME: True, I’ll let you worry. My day was good, just finished up dinner. How was yours?

“There, I-” I look up proudly only to find Sebastian’s chair empty and the door clicking shut. “...I did it.”

MYG: It was great. Got lots of work done.

MYG: Have you decided if you’re going to come to the festival or not? Also, Bong-cha says hi.

ME: Wow, she can’t even tell me herself. No respect. No, I honestly didn’t even think about it today...but I’m pretty sure we’re all going either way.

MYG: Haha she’s not happy with your comment.

MYG: She’s reading over my shoulder, I promise I’m not reading our conversation out loud. Is your director making you go?

I just miss the chance to respond as my phone lights up with an incoming call.

“Bong-cha, quit reading my conversations you little weirdo.”

“Hey, how’s it going with you? I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“Are you still in the room with everyone?”

“No, just left. You should see Yoongi right now, though.”

“Why?”

“He looks like a kid in a candy store every time he gets a text from you. It’s adorable.”

“Yah!”

My friend’s cackle soars through the phone, and I swat at the air as though I could somehow get her to stop.

“Please tell me you guys are coming to the festival.” Bong-cha’s sudden change in tone has me pausing, chewing on my lip.

“We are. Why?”

“Come stay with me!” Bong-cha shouts. I jump up, a grin already working its way onto my face. “It’ll be just like old times. And, I was looking at the schedule you sent me...there’s a couple of nights where you’re done relatively early. We could go do something fun!”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. My phone is buzzing with incoming texts, but I ignore them for now. “Yeah, that’ll be fun. I’m not sure if I can come stay with you-”

“C’mon,” Bong-cha whines. “I never get to see you anymore. We’ll make it work! Oh, I’ve gotta go, Tae brought Yeontan. But let me know!”

With that, Bong-cha cuts the line and leaves me on the other side caught between excitement at seeing my friend and dread at having to come face to face with Yoongi. Texting is one thing; but actually spending time with him?

“Just be his friend,” I mumble to myself. Settling down, I attack my food once more. The space where Sebastian sat before makes me furrow my brows.

What’s going on with him? I mean sure, we’re really good friends. But we still see each other constantly, why would he be so possessive?

It’s probably all just in my head. My phone light up with the texts I received a couple of minutes ago while I was still on the phone, and this time I physically cannot restrain the smile that comes through as I realize Yoongi is still texting me.

MYG: Really no pressure about the festival. I know Bong-cha really wants to see you, but please don’t feel like you have to come and hang out with us.

MYG: We’re not even that cool, anyways.

MYG: Are you just hanging out with Sebastian tonight??

I stare down at my phone for a moment, the smile being wiped from my face. Plopping down heavily on my bed, I close my eyes and power off my phone.

Yoongi is nice. So nice, apparently, that I can’t even tell now if he’s trying to get me to stay away. The fact is simple: he’s a nice man who has a reputation to uphold and is trying to keep everyone happy. That includes me.

He’s nice for texting me and trying to make sure I’m doing alright. Any decent human being would do that. But there’s also the fact that I’m new to this game in the spotlight and I know that I’m not going to be able to keep my feelings out of this.

I take a moment to breathe, forcing myself to push away the impending panic that sets in. This is no way to live, and I know that I’m only setting myself up for heartbreak when someday I don’t wake up to a good morning text from Yoongi.

It’s only been one day of communicating and I can already feel myself getting too attached.

Powering on my phone again, I flinch at the new texts.

9:17 MYG: Bong-cha just told me her evil plan. 😩 Did she tell you about it on the phone?

9:31 MYG: Sorry if you’re busy! Just text me back when you can. Let me know about your plans for the festival, too.

Even though I’m itching to text him back and waste away the rest of the night talking to him, there’s another more pressing matter I have to face. Quickly getting up and leaving my phone there in order to fight the temptation, I grab my room key and head a few rooms down. A quiet knock and a few seconds later and Sebastian is opening up his door.

He looks down at me warily, and I feel almost like we had a fight because of the way he’s looking at me. Emitting a loud sigh, he shakes it off and grins down at me in a way that makes me question if I even saw the previous expression at all.

“Hey,” I mumble out weakly. Moving past him into his room, he follows silently behind me.

“Hey…?”

Without another word I land face first onto his bed, the action pulling a laugh from him. Good. His laugh reminds me that this is real. This friendship is real, and Sebastian for all his annoying teasing, is a true friend.

Bong-cha is miles away and busy. She’s also biased. So Sebastian is the next best thing.

“I’m freaking out,” the pillow muffles my words but I know he hears me loud and clear. The mattress dips on one side as Sebastian settles onto it, and a moment later a hesitant hand begins kneading the flesh at my shoulders. I let out a satisfied sigh.

“What’s going on?” His tone is gentle, and the sound of it nearly tugs some tears out of my eyes.

“I’m pathetic, Sebastian.” I clutch his pillow and bury my face farther into it. “I’m so pathetic! I’ve literally never met the man before in my life, and I’ve spent the last 24 hours sending a few texts back and forth and I already feel like I’d jump off a cliff for him!”

Sebstian’s hands pause in their kneading for a fraction of a second before continuing on. “I told you you liked him.”

I turn to look at him, and again I catch that wary gaze before he drops it. “Really? ‘I told you so’? Rude. I need help, Sebastian. It’s never going to happen, he’s just being nice, and I just need to be cordial and get through this. Right?”

He nods, contemplating a bit. “Sure. He seems like a great guy. But at the end of the day, the two of you are just caught up in a weird media frenzy and that’s it. Is that what you want me to say?”

“I guess.” I huff, flipping onto my back as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why do I like him though? Am I just desperate?”

Sebastian stands up and laughs. “No way. If you were desperate you would be falling for me, not some inconvenient, crazy famous kpop star.”

Somehow his words make me laugh, the feeling easing the panic a bit. “You’re right, I guess.”

🌙

I end up passing out in Sebastian’s room only to wake up at 3 am and find myself a little too close for comfort to my co-star. Gently untangling myself from his mess of arms and legs, I sneak out of his room and back to my own.

Half-asleep and looking the part, I groan at my reflection in the mirror as I try to brush my teeth. Pointing at my reflection with my toothbrush, I give myself a pep talk.

“You are not pathetic,” pause to spit, “you’re not desperate,” rinse out the brush, “you’re just friendly. You’re practicing making new friends, and Yoongi as well as all of BTS are a part of that. That’s it.”

So when I finally settle down into my cold and very empty bed, I don’t feel very guilty sending Yoongi a late-night text. He never texted me again after the last one I saw, and I easily brush off the feeling of disappointment and replace it with relief.

3:13 ME: Yeah, we’re going. No, I have no idea what the evil plan is. Do we need to come up with a counter-plan? And sorry I never responded...I was busy annoying Sebastian and left my phone in my room. Good morning! This is payback for your late texts last night!

I fall asleep easily after that, double checking that my phone is on silent before snuggling deep down into my pillows.

Honestly, what do I even have to worry about? Everything is going great with promotions, the movie is finished and should be well received, and in a couple of days I’ll get to go see Bong-cha and make new friends!

Into the silence, I can’t help but laugh. I’m not dumb enough to believe that everything will go as planned.

Especially not as my dreams take over and the only thing I can dream of is a man in a black suit, turning around to greet me over and over again. I can never quite see his face, but somehow I know him.

Even in my unconscious state, I lie to myself and say that it’s not Min Yoongi.

Previous - Next

Taglist is open! Ready to head to Seoul next time?

taglist: @taylorroe3 @eusticenatalie @agustneeds @oceandeep​ @prdshobi​

[silverostro]

the interrogation // self-para

cw: mentions of torture, police brutality, violence, blood, electric shock/electrocution, forced amputation

i bet on losing dogs i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place by the ring where i'll be looking in their eyes when they're down i'll be there on their side i'm losing by their side

{ click here for trigger-free tldr. }

{ cigarettes, wedding bands. }

Few memories remain of childhood, but the words are clear enough in your mind, nothing else in the cold, darkness you’re thrown into.

It’s best to keep your head down, and focus on the things you can control, focus on the silver, instead of trying to change the things you can’t.

Your choice to stop doing so led you here, and yet your can’t bring yourself to regret it, knowing you’ve done much worse in trying to focus on the few things your believed were in your control. You’ve never had control; not then, not now.

All you can do is find irony in those words.

Focus on the silver.

{ savior complex. }

You keep hearing him. At first you think they’ve taken him, too, but you realize quickly it’s your mind playing tricks on you.

His voice, saying your name. When you first went back to the suite, when time felt infinite, and only the two of you existed, even if only for a few hours. Directly before it came crashing down, cuddled up together, wrapped in warmth, safe, talking, just talking about anything and everything. 

Then when they came for you. The fear clear in their voice, the frozen panic. Odd, that you felt so calm, even as the peacekeepers pulled you away, held Robyn back, even as you said a few words of comfort, so calm as you told them everything would be alright, knowing it was a lie, looking over your shoulder to take in the sight of them, in case it was the last moment you were allowed that gift.

Then blackness. But not panic.

The paranoia that has been plaguing your mind for weeks is the thing that keeps you utterly calm. The still lingering feeling of their lips against yours, skin against skin keeps the rough hands pulling you around from bruising anything more than skin.

There’s work to be done.

{ black hole sun. }

It begins.

Silver to focus on. Silver and Copper. 

(You’ll realize the irony later.)

Exposed wire, wrapped roughly around your wrists. The static closes in on your mind, protective, before they even start the shocks. You’re prepared, because you’ve been here before.

The questions start before the electricity, but your mind is already filling in the blanks, distortion louder than the voices in the dim room.

There’s mention of a message from so-called rebels, of a coded broadcast at the end of the reception, and your mind can hardly catch up with it, hazy as it’s suddenly become. But you realize soon enough. They think it was you. And that makes you laugh. You’ve done so much, been so careless, but not this. You spent the night enjoying yourself, not hacking. You ended the night in Three’s suite, with Robyn, fingers busy learning their body, not typing code into hacked consoles.

The irony isn’t lost on you that the thing to confirm your paranoia was founded has nothing to do with you at all. It’s both frustrating and hilarious in your jumbled mind that they’ve got it all so wrong.

You tell them you’re more intelligent than to do something so foolish. You tell them that you weren’t even at the reception at the end of the night, that there are people who could confirm that, Avoxes who could confirm. But it doesn’t matter, because they’ve already made up their minds.

(No, someone else made up their minds for them.)

The first crackle of electricity, the first shock feels like meeting an old acquaintance again after a long time apart, your body remembering the feeling as if your Games were yesterday, not twenty-three years ago.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, and say nothing.

{ idontwanttobeyou. }

How long it goes on before they realize you’re more stubborn than they believed, you don’t know. The electricity makes time feel like liquid, the same as your insides.

They think that the taunting will make you weak, but it does the opposite. Knowledge has always been power for you, after all.

No use in lying. It had your signature all over it. You’re lucky. At least half of Three is smart enough not to get so cocky.

Digit.

Your mind makes a leap, and in the haze of pain it’s only logical. Digit did this, Digit made sure you would take the blame. You should be livid. And perhaps you are a little angry, but not for what she’s done to you, for the lack of warning, for the lack of forethought. Perhaps you should be ready to tell them it was probably her. But you don’t. You think of her Games, of how little you tried, how little you helped her afterward, of the pain she’s suffered because of it. Because of you. It feels a like penance, the first concrete form of it since telling her you would try.

They’ve given you control.

Now you have a job, one you had offered to do back on the train, one you hadn’t realized you would be called on for now. It’s a simple job. Keep her, and anyone else they might threaten through you, safe. Lie through your teeth, no matter the consequences for yourself.

It’s only fair.

You’re glad, through the distortion, to have something to focus on, rather than this being what you expected, being taken for your own carelessness. This is easier.

Better to focus on anything but the silver.

{ when your mind’s made up. }

They hound you with questions, looking for details, looking for names, but you have none to give, and so the answer is more electricity.

It’s an intimately familiar feeling, one that’s lived constantly in your mind, in your dreams for twenty-three years. They’re using your own calculations against you. The pain calling up memories as it burns so many to the ground. It’s no longer a phantom feeling. Two hundred volts of DC current at approximately three amps, just as you had calculated perfectly, running through your body. Except they left out a critical point.

The coppery taste on your tongue, though, the uncontrollable spasms tell you that your body doesn’t think they’ve left out something critical. They’re making their point just fine.

And yet.

If you’re going to suffer anyway, if you’re going to die, you might as well taunt them into doing it more efficiently, because you’re not going to give them what they want. They’re wasting their time, and yours. The least you can do is make sure they finish their job before your resolve weakens.

“Keep going. More volts, higher amps. Water. You’re not doing what you think you are,” you laugh, but your voice doesn’t really sound like your own anymore.

Instead of what you ask for, you get nothing. The electricity stops, but the shaking doesn’t. Your insides feel jumbled, your mind a wreck, unable to think any coherent thought except lie, over and over again.

{ kansas remembers me now. }

You don’t know how long you’re alone. Seconds, hours, days. It’s silent except for your ragged breathing, the noises of pain you can’t control, and you find your mind cycling through flashes of memories, static at the edges of them all, as you drift in and out of consciousness.

Music drifting in through an open window, soft touches, hands steady for the first time in years, gentle and then not-so gentle kisses. The feeling of a small wooden figure clutched between your fingers, the smell of earth lingering on it, a smile, a friend. The sound of machinery whirling, your mother’s laugh, melodic, your father’s hand on your back, proud. Whispered conversations in corner booths, two other heads huddled together with yours, lost. Thalia, the smell of her blood, then the smell of electrical burns. Is that real, or imagined?

A cup of liquor, with a little tea. Standing in your kitchen, promising to try. Promising to keep her from harm, in so many words.

Time to make good on that promise, whether she wants you to or not.

{ all eyes on me. }

A new tactic. Knocked to the ground, the now familiar taste of blood on your tongue, then forced into a seat, restrained. In the haze of pain, exhaustion, you think of Robyn, wishing you’d memorized their taste a little better.

You wait for the threats to others, prepared because of Swann. They don’t come, though. There’s no mention of Robyn, no mention of Blythe, no mention of Perri, nothing of the argument with Griffin, nothing of your conversations with Hudson, or Fava, or any others. All of the things you’ve done, and all they focus on is something you haven’t.

Someone grabs your left hand, and forces it down against cold metal, almost soothing against hot skin.

“Who told you to send the message?”

Your reply is involuntary, manic laughter, garbled by blood. Laughter that’s cut short, laughter that turns into a strangled cry when you feel the cold, sharp blade press against your knuckle.

You don’t remember what questions come after that, the pain too intense, the panic too overwhelming. Only the smell of blood, the shine of a silver blade in the light, the sound of your own cries.

No, not just your own. Distorted, distant, you hear another. Two others. Familiar. Your parents? You don’t know if it’s a real memory, but it feels like understanding. 

History repeats itself.

{ the wanting comes in waves/repaid. }

It comes in threes.

It’s a statement, your mind supplies, as if to tell you this isn’t just your punishment, there are going to be consequences in Three, too, for what you haven’t even done. Knuckle by knuckle, finger by finger, they’re taking your tools, and even in the haze of pain, you know if you survive this, they’re not going to give them back, no gift of beautifully-made tech from your own District on the other side waiting for you.

If you’re not going to use your skill for the Capitol, you won’t be allowed to use it at all.

The thing that keeps you conscious is the knowledge that they can’t take it fully. You hear your parents’ voices again, your father taking a wrench from your left hand, putting it into your right, your mother telling you it’s important to know how to use all of your tools, just in case. That keeps the pain from becoming unbearable, that keeps your lips tightly shut except for the involuntary sounds of pain.

And then they take your right hand, and you feel sick to your stomach, thinking they must have seen how you’ve tried to train yourself over the years to use both hands. Your right hand is weak, unsteady from the electric shocks of your Games, you can’t write with it, can’t draft plans, but it can still be put to work. You have enough strength there to hold a wrench, to solder wires, tighten nuts and bolts. The thought of losing both hands’ abilities to create makes you panic for the first time since you were taken from your suite.

It’s selfish, it’s cowardice. Twisted, that you’d rather die than be left useless. They know that, because of course, they do. You helped make certain their surveillance is top of the line. Of course, they’ve used it to learn your weaknesses, too.

It’s a horrifying thing, to realize for the second time in your life that you’re wrong about your death. To have your life in the hands of the Capitol, and know they’re going to make sure you survive. Again.

(Just another example, just another show of what happens to those who don’t shut up and do exactly as they’re told. There’s a vague thought that you’re surprised they don’t just take your tongue, too.)

This time, they take half at once, to make their point clear. Half of your index finger gone, then the feeling of that sharp metal on your thumb, before you break.

“Please, please, don’t...not my other...please,” you beg through sobs of pain, and you hate the sound of it, hate how panicked your voice is, how it shakes.

If they say anything, you don’t hear them, launching into lies without thinking, anything to keep them from taking more from you.

“It was me, just me but...it isn’t so simple...it was a test, nothing more...no one...no one told me to do it, and I know nothing else...The train, it sparked an idea...I was trying to...trying to draw them out of the woodwork. The rebels, whoever they are...in search of information.”

A shuddering breath, another sob you can’t control, as you try to focus through the pain and distortion, as you try to ignore the coppery, overwhelming smell of your own blood.

“We’re all desperate,” you say, voice barely audible. You didn’t do it, but this part is true. “Our loved ones...are about to die. We just needed...motivation. I just wanted hope.”

It’s only then that the cool, sharp silver leaves your thumb. A low laugh comes in response.

“That wasn’t hope. Clear enough for you now?”

You nod slowly, because there’s nothing else to do, and they finally let go of your arm, release the restraints, let you collapse.

{ i bet on losing dogs. }

They don’t realize how wrong they were. 

Here’s your hope: you’re still alive. They weren’t intelligent enough to realize how much of a mistake that choice was. It isn’t hope, perhaps that’s true.

But it certainly is motivation.

[connorandersons-blog]

Computer Virus

Connor gets a virus from a murder victim, but the only way to 'cure' himself is... you guessed it! Have sex! This has definitely been done before it was still really fun to write! I also blame the convin discord server for this. It's just pure smut with feelings thrown in at the end.

The reference to rape is from the victims of the crimes, Gavin and Connor very much want this and consent. There is dubcon only cause its the whole fuck or die and I wanted to be safe!

Word count: 3,037 Rating: E

Hope you enjoy!

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

He shifted in his sheet for what felt like the hundredth time since getting back from the case, trying to ignore the shivers and jerks that wrecked his body. He grabbed the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white as his… problem got worse again. "Ha-Hank, I um, need help." It was getting too much, and he needed it to just stop. 

Hank hummed looking over with a raised eyebrow. "What's up, son?" 

"So, I uh, may have downloaded a virus." One that his systems didn't exactly know how to fight. "Normally I can fix it myself, but it isn't acting like a normal virus." It wasn't creating anything new but just enhancing things that were already there.

Hence why he kept staring at Gavin and having to stop certain programs, even when they kept coming back online without his permission.

He pouted when Hank burst out laughing, drawing nearly everyone's attention, even Gavin looked over rolling his eyes. Fuck, Gavin's eyes on him (or at least in his general direction) wasn't helping at all. Gavin caught his staring and stared right back with blinking. It reminded him of cats finding for dominance, and now he's thinking about that, fuck. 

He had to look away, trying to focus on Hank and not the rising heat in his face and his whole body for that matter. "Hank! This is serious! I got it when I connected to the victim." A dead one, so he thought it would be safe. Apparently, this virus didn't need power to stay alive, fucking wonderful. 

That sobered Hank up a bit, realizing exactly *what* virus Connor was infected with. "I am not helping in that way. Sorry, Con, I appreciate it, but no. Not happening." 

That only caused his blush to get deeper, shaking his head so quickly he's worried it would fall off. "What? No! I don't, oh my god, Hank, what the fuck? I meant I literally need help: I'm overheating!" 

"Oh. Uh, I can get you a drink? But you know what you have to do to kick this if you don't wanna burn up." Hank moved to stand, and Connor let him. They had both seen the burned bodies when the androids hadn't been able to work it out of the systems. 

And that was the problem. Connor would have to have sex with someone, the even worse problem was it didn't have to be consensual. With the cases they'd seen one too many sexual assaults due to it, which was hard to figure out how to charge them. On one hand it was self-defense, if they didn't they would die, but it was still rape. They'd let the lawyers figure that out, their main mission was to watch whoever created the virus. 

"I know, I know. I'm going to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face so I can think clearly for a second." Standing was awkward but he shut down that program so he could at least make it there without his problem being too obvious. 

The bathroom was blessedly empty, he went to the sink. He yanked off his tie, tossed that and his jacket to the counter, and unbuttoned his shirt, the cool air making him shiver in relief. "Fuck." He grumbled, leaning against the counter. He cupped his hands under the cool water and splashed it onto his face, feeling the wet trail down to his chest. 

He didn't have time to pull his shirt on again before the door swung open and none other than Gavin Reed stoked in, eyes catching Connor's before sliding down to openly stare at his chest. 

"Jesus, what the fuck Tincan?" Gavin said, crossing his arms. 

Connor ran a hand through his hair, trying desperately to not jump Gavin here and now. "I'm having some technical difficulties, I apologize for my appearance." 

"Right… you know if I found a human-like this I'd say they were horny. Can droids even get horny?" Gavin leaned on the counter, apparently forgetting why he came in. 

"We can, the case I currently have deals with a virus that does just that but to the extreme. If the android does not release the tension they will overheat and die." He should have told him to just fuck off, use the bathroom and leave, but he wanted Gavin to know. 

"Right." 

"I've been infected with this virus." 

He watched as Gavin's face morphed into one of shock, then worry, then… interest? "Well damn. Can't you just rub one off? Not the first time someone's done that in these bathrooms." Gavin let his arms relax, eyes trailing up and down Connor's body. He lingered on his chest and crotch where there was definitely a tent to his pants. 

"It seems it must be done with someone else. I'm not sure why. I was going to contact one of my friends, perhaps Markus, to help if I couldn't get this under control." He knew Markus would understand, he'd been kept up to date on the case and had worried about the possibility of Connor getting infected. He had assured Markus it wouldn't happen, his firewalls were too strong and if it did get in he could work it out without a problem. 

"Don't you have like… android antibodies?" 

"Not exactly. This virus is different than most. I have to go and find the strings of code myself but they keep multiplying faster than I can delete it. My systems aren't recognizing it as a virus but part of my normal coding." Which just made it so much harder. And it took them a while to find in the androids since scans had said nothing was wrong. 

Gavin's face scrunched up adorably, trying to process the information. "Fucking hell. Well, how much time do you got left 'til you literally die from being too horny?" 

"Approximately thirty minutes unless I have sex, then the timer stops as long as I eventually climax." Might as well be as honest as possible if he really was going to die. It didn't feel real like it was just some silly prank, but he'd seen the damage. He knew how much agony the androids went through as they caught on fire and burned alive. 

"What the fuck?! You're going to die in thirty minutes but you're standing around talking to me? Go get some dick or whatever!" Gavin pushed away from the counter, shaking his head. Connor couldn't help but try to get closer, leaning forward just a bit. "... Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to control myself, I swear." He tried to say it normally but it came out as a whine. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take in slow breaths. The closer he got to the timer running out the harder it was to think clearly or even stop himself from grabbing Gavin and fucking him on the counter. 

He jolted, biting his lip to stop the moan that threatened to spill out when rough, calloused, warm hands ran up his chest. "Oh god," he whined, tilting his head to expose his neck. 

There was a tentative hot lick to it, a moan slipping out of him. "Can't let you die, I guess. Do you need to fuck or be fucked?" Gavin asks, fingers massaging Connor's chest. He shivered when those hands started playing with his nipples, getting them since and hard. 

He kept his hands to himself even as they twitched to hold and pull Gavin even closer. Each touch from Gavin was like an ice cube to his skin, burning cold, yet it felt so good. "I don't know, just need you." 

Gavin hummed, pulling Connor down enough so he could suck a nice big hickey onto his neck. "I can do that." 

No. Fuck, no this wasn't right. He weakly tried to push him away and off but his hands just holding him by his shoulders. "Don't do this, don't want to hurt you or… not without you wanting it too." He couldn't rape someone, he couldn't do that to Gavin or anyone else. 

Gavin paused, pulling away so they could see each other's faces. "I've wanted to get my hands on you from the moment you walked in. It was so unfair, it was like they stole you from my dreams and made you real. Drove me fucking insane." 

"Please touch me," he whimpered, leaning closer. It hurt so much, his body tugging him closer to Gavin to get anything he could from him. 

"Shit! Right, sorry Tincan." Gavin grumbled, crashing their lips together, teeth clinking awkwardly until they got into a fast rhythm. Gavin leans against the sink until Connor needs more and picks him up to sit him on it, slotting himself between his open legs. 

Connor ground his hips forward, hissing at the electricity that shot through him, making his arms tighten around Gavin. 

Gavin broke the kiss, gasping for air but taking the time to shrug his own jacket off and Connor grabs his shirt and yanks it over his head. He needed his hands on Gavin and he needed it now. His chest has some hair, and Connor couldn't help but squish and play with those soft but firm pects. 

"I want you to fuck me." He sighed out when Gavin scratched down his back. "I need you to, please Gavin."

Gavin sucked at the skin on his collarbone before pulling off with a soft, wet pop. It hit him that they were in the bathroom… at work. Anyone could walk in and see them and yet he didn't want to stop. It only made him want to keep going, the idea of being caught sending a thrill through him. He could easily say he had to, he had the virus after all. 

"Yeah, yeah ok. I, oh fuck, I don't have lube or a condom on me." Gavin leaned forward, resting his head on Connor's shoulder, biting down to keep his own moans quiet. The bathroom may have thick walls but if someone walked past there was the possibility they'd hear. 

"Don't need a condom with me and uh… I don't need lube either. I kinda self-produce it." Thank God for that. He could get away with doing it without on himself, it wasn't like humans could hurt him in this way. 

Gavin's mouth dropped open as he leaned back, eyes wide as saucers. "Well fuck me then."

"I thought you'd be doing the fucking," Connor teased, reaching a hand down to cup Gavin through his pants. He bucked his hips into the hand, letting out his own small whimper. 

"Fuck off! Shit, ok uh, how do you wanna do this?" Gavin asked, pushing off the counter, but his hands quickly went back to touch and pull Connor close. 

Connor glanced around before eyeing the stalls. He hooked a finger around Gavin's belt loops and pulled him into one, sitting him down. "This ok?" He pulled his own belt off, tossing it to the ground. 

Gavin nodded so quickly his head was sure to fall off, but he pushed his own pants and boxers down, eyeing Connor as he did.

The cold hit him up but he really couldn't care less. He hadn't even closed or locked the stall door before he reached behind himself and pushed a finger in. He bit his lip, working himself open quickly, eyes squeezed shut. He could hear the slick sound of Gavin fucking his own hand roughly at the sight of Connor. And if that didn't do things to him. 

He pressed a second finger in, then a third after a glance down at Gavin's length. It wasn't too long to be a problem, but it was plenty thick, flushed from the blood rushing through it. His lube had already kicked in, it had done that the minute he was infected but now he had an actual use for it. 

"Have you done this?" It was probably a stupid question to ask, but he wanted to make sure Gavin at least had an idea of what to do, even if Connor would do most of the work. 

"Trust me, I've had plenty of dick and given plenty. You aren't my first pretty boy, not by a long shot." Gavin smirked up at him with all the confidence in the world. 

Connor keened at the petname, nodding quickly. "Thank god, so have I if you're wondering." He had been very curious after deviating and had some friends that had no problem helping him experiment. 

Apparently, he was taking too long because his body started to tremble and the timer started up again. He pushed it out of his HUD with a small huff. "Shit, ok, you ready?" He positioned himself over Gavin, glancing down to make sure they were lined up. 

Gavin's hands rested on Connor's waist, thumbs rubbing soothingly into his perfect skin. "Course I am, take what you need, baby. I'm yours to use." 

His hands rested on Gavin's shoulder as he slowly sank down onto his cock, both groaning at the sensations. He just felt so sensitive, skin burning in a good way from where they were connected. He sat himself down, hips twitching but he needed to give them both time to adjust. 

Then Connor rose up and sank back down, again and again, speeding up to an almost inhuman pace. Gavin leaned forward capturing Connor's lips in a heated kiss. 

"So good, baby," Gavin mumbled when he needed to breathe again. "Keep going, ok? Shit, you're so beautiful." 

He rolled his hips just the right way that had him close to screaming, but Gavin was quick enough to stick two fingers into his mouth. Connor sucked on them, licking between them and swirling his tongue around the tips. Gavin pressed the other to the small of Gavin's back, almost reverently as he let Connor fuck himself just how he wanted it. 

Connor took the fingers out his mouth to intertwine their fingers, his other still holding desperately to Gavin's shoulder as their foreheads pressed together. It was close to being caring and intimate, but Connor didn't want to think too hard on that. Gavin was just doing this to keep him alive, nothing more nothing less. Right? 

Gavin kept mumbling sweet nothings against his lips, their breaths mingling as Connor's bouncing started losing its rhythm. "You close?" Gavin whined, his hands tightening enough that would hurt a human, but the pressure just felt good to Connor. 

He nodded, already feeling the tenseness come over him. There was a coil inside him but he couldn't get there, he needed something. 

"Come on, Connor. Let me see you come." Gavin pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Gavin probably had no idea what he'd done, but Gavin saying his name like a prayer shook him to the core and he couldn't hold on anymore. He said it like he… like he loved him, but his mind went blissfully blank as he sat him onto Gavin's lap, squeezing around him. 

He could feel Gavin in him, feel himself being filled up but he went limp in Gavin's arms. The man didn't seem to mind, just putting his arm tightly around him as they tried to slow their breathing. 

He checked for the virus but it was completely gone and out of his system. He felt overheated but not unnaturally so now, now he felt content and satisfied in Gavin's arms. He pressed soft kisses to his shoulder and neck, leaving lazy hickeys here and there. "Thank you," Connor mumbled against his skin. 

"Yeah, no problem. Hopefully, you enjoyed yourself?" 

Connor nodded, his eyes still closed in bliss. "Very much so. Though we should both get cleaned up and back to work." Not that he wanted to even move let alone work, but he had responsibilities. He had to tell Hank he was ok and managed to get it out of his system. 

Gavin's hold tightened protectively around him, their hands still clasped together. "Nuh-uh, not yet. You fucked me so hard I need more than a minute and you're staying with me for it." 

Connor hummed happily, nuzzling at Gavin's neck before laying his chin on his shoulder. "Ok." 

The two sat there and no one even came near the bathroom (little did the two know, Hank had said there was a problem in there and told people to just hold it for now, and everyone listened). It was calm and warm, but he did pull off, making them both hiss. He sat back down, wrapping his legs around Gavin's waist. 

"Could we do this again?" He asked meekly, still hiding his face. He didn't want to push, Gavin was generous enough, but he didn't want this to stop. 

Gavin was silent for so long he was sure he'd be thrown off and yelled at for even thinking it was a possibility. But then Gavin pulled back, cupping his cheek gently and pressing the softest kiss to his lips. "Yeah, we can do this if you want. I'm ok with whatever you want, just sex or… more?" Now Gavin looked nervous, but Connor broke into a wide grin.

"More! More, please, I um, yeah I'd like more." This couldn't be real, but Gavin was still holding him and pressing kisses all over his face making him giggle. "Gavin!" He whined, his smile widening impossibly. 

Gavin smiled back, his eyes lighting up beautiful even in the bathroom lighting. "Good, cause so do I. But I think we should at least leave the bathroom, my ass is getting sore."

"Oh!" Connor jumped back, offering a hand to help Gavin up. They got toilet paper and cleaned each other up with soft words and laughter. They still both looked thoroughly fucked, but maybe people would think they just fought? One look at either of their necks would prove otherwise, but that was fine. 

He wasn't sure if he'd first thank or punch the person who created this virus, but either way, he would catch them. Plus Gavin had promised a reward for doing so, and he wouldn't fail his mission.

[supernova1us]

Transformers: Earth Bound

just another of my many transformers series ideas

After the brief but brutal war with the decepticons, the victorious autobots remain in a stagnant military state. In place of the slain  high council, the convoy council, made up of autobot commanders, guide cybertron. Optimus Convoy, feeling distant from his more militaristic peers, chooses to follow a lead on his long missing mentor Kup. Of Elita One, he asks to remain and monitor the situation on cybertron. Optimus leaves with his trusted allies Bumblebee, Ratchet and Road Rage and follows his clue to earth.  

Detecting an unusual cybertronian energy signature, optimus sends the others to investigate while he secretly reveals himself to the human leaders.  Optimus is stunned to discover that the human governments know of his species, many having been in hiding on earth for hundreds of years. The other autobots discover an archaeological dig under attack from transformers Sideways and Nightbird. They proclaim to only be searching for dangerous relics to protect the humans.  From the site bursts a giant robotic raptor, and it takes both groups to eventually subdue it.  The creature then transforms, revealing itself as cybertronian, and the mysterious duo slip away in the confusion.  Other than recognizing himself as a powerful warrior, the aggressive newcomer has no memory of his name or past and is dubbed “dinobot” by bumblebee.

The autobots and dinobot meet up with optimus and find their ship has been disabled and they are attacked by a force of brainwashed, undead transformers under the command of sideways and nightbird.  Destroying the attackers and driving off the duo, the group is resigned to remaining on earth, with the aid of their human companion Mikaela.  Striping their ship to create a base in an abandoned mall, they resolve to investigate the source and purpose of the transformers refugees. It soon becomes clear that the real threat is the alien Quintessons, who covet and secretly prep the earth for their invasion. Under the command of the power hungry Mara-Al-Utha, the alien forces coil the planet in their tentacles for the greater quintesson forces’ eventual arrival.  

The autobots, joined by a reluctant dinobot, set forth in acting as heroes for everyday crisis on earth, as well as tracking kups whereabouts, researching dinobots past and thwarting the quintessons’ schemes.

Autobots:

Optimus Convoy/Prime(fire truck)- idealistic, practical and courageous, he rises to being a true leader by aiding the humans in defense of their world. He does carry some emotional baggage from his role in the war, which he still struggles to work through. 

(the pics of the main autobots are just close approximations i could find from what i imagine they’d look like. for optimus, he would be mostly just be cybertron/galaxy design, but not have the jetpack/cannons and just a fire ladder on his back)

Ratchet(ambulance)-the old and grouchy but wise and caring medic and second in command. He is also the one most interested in researching Dinobots past.

(mostly identical to his cyberverse design, just more standarly bulky lowerbody/legs)

Road Rage(corvette)-a skilled and friendly soldier and best at dealing with the humans, due to her politically related past. She also constantly deals with a alt mode related personality disorder.

(pretty close to her masterpiece design, with a few of the stylized details of her TFA look. would also have a retractable face plate to look like her original figure) 

Bumblebee(sports car)-eager and excitable scout and soldier, despite being the smallest of the team; he’s also the closest of the autobots to Mikaela. He also carries trust issues due to a past relationship.

(basically his evergreen design but slightly more squat)

Dinobot(raptor)-a powerful and vicious ancient warrior, he has forgotten his past save his pride and honor. While he sees the autobots as inferior, he recognizes their bravery and is willing to stand with them, finding their cause just.

(wouldn’t have the double jointed legs, would have pointed feet with a spike similar to AOE grimlock. would have a tall, lanky stature and some features similar to TFA lockdown. does have a normal sword and would have the pronounced large claws on hands but not sure how tail would be utilised converted in bot mode)

Kup(pickup truck)-a cold and grizzled war vet and optimus’ former instructor. He secretly guards the matrix of leadership until it senses its next bearer. He left cybertron to hide it but wound up crashing and in stasis on earth.

Elita one-optimus’ second in command and sparkmate, she remained on cybertron but grows suspicious of his prolonged disappearance. When denied by the council to search for him, she manages to get off planet with aid of the wreckers, with only jazz, nautica and bulkhead as backup.

 Others:

Mikaela-the autobots primary human ally, she is friendly, aloof and street smart, but tries to hide her rough home life. she;s also able to aid ratchet on occasion with her knowledge of mechanics.

Sideways & Nightbird-a mischievous and nefarious pair of bots who act as spies and assassins for the quintessons on earth and often clash with the autobots.

Lockdown-an honor-less and sinister bounty hunter who frequents earth.  

Dinobots-an order of ancient cybertronian warriors who defended prehistoric earth from the quintessons previous attempt to take it. Nearly all the warriors were killed by the meteor the quintessons sent to earth.

Quintessons:

Mara Al Utha- a deranged and vengeful scientist class quintesson in charge of the invasion of earth. He seeks to regain his former position as advisor to the judges.  

The Curator - a 3-faced type quintesson, he’s the sycophantic and dramatic advisor and second in command to Mara.

Xeros-the oafish pufferfish-like head medic and technician of the quintessons earth forces.

The Watcher-a transformer-like robot who sits above the earth in the form of a satellite, acting as the eyes and ears of his master.

Gamekeeper-a giant crab-like beast; he is the enforcer and executioner for his quintesson master.

Judges-the 5-faced leaders of the quintesson empire; they desire the natural resources of earth and begin to grow untrusting of mara al utha, forcing them to intervene. While there are many judges, a specific trio primary commands the empire.

Inquirata-head of the quintesson scientists and chief counsel to the ruling judges, as well as a rival to Mara Al Utha.

Tyrannicon-a quintesson/sharkticon hybrid, he acts as the leader of his vicious race and general of the quintesson forces.

Gnaw-a specially upgraded sharkticon, he is the loyal but slow-witted goon of Tyrannicon.

 Refugees:

Tigatron & Airazor-beast bot partners who wonder earth, they are close allies of the autobots, often acting as long range scouts for them.  

Terrorsaur-a sinister beast bot who runs a human/transformer crime syndicate. After many confrontations he is defeated and imprisoned before escaping and reluctantly joining the quintessons.  

Slipstream-a renegade decepticon who has retired to earth, acting as a rogue element. She later takes command of spittor and waspinator after they abandon terrorsaur.

Jetfire: an ancient warrior and explorer who laid dormant on earth for a long time. he is now old, rusty and not quite in his right mind.

Gnash-a rogue allicon who once served as body guard to Mara al utha before desiring freedom and going into hiding.

Paddles-the only other survivor of the “dinobots”, she was exiled from her kind for her benevolence and has remained hidden on earth for eons as the truth behind the lock ness monster.

Flip Sides-bumblebee’s former flame, she was imprisoned after being awakened as a decepticon sleeper agent. She has escaped prison and taken refuge on earth with the aid of slipstream.  

Riptide-an aquabot who enjoys being on earth for its water sources. He is aligned with the autobots but also tidal wave and the atlantians.

Skids-an autobot scientist and explorer stationed on earth; he is a friend to both ratchet and kup.

Drift-a former decepticon turned autobot swordsman who remains on earth to hunt his rival, wreckage.

Wreckage-a brutal and cunning decepticon warrior and former comrade to drift.

Tidal wave- a massive and powerful decepticon warrior, he lays semi-dormant under the oceans of earth as the revered guardian of the hidden city of atlantis and its people.

Snowcat-a clownish decepticon who enjoys skiing, causing avalanches and general mischief.

[fangroyal]

i'm really curious about Dawn of the Conformists!

OH GOD OKAY SO

Fuck.

Somehow I just knew someone was going to ask about this one, and I’d have to find a way to actually explain it.

Which is honestly totally fine because I do love this crazy thing, but...

So this is CuRed (aka Michael/Pete, aka the curly-haired goth kid and the red-haired goth kid, because I’m pretty sure this is one of the rarest rarepairs I ship, and I don’t expect everyone to know who they are. 😂😂😂). Fun fact about me: they are my OTP only second to Dron, SO YEAH.

This one’s obviously way post-canon, when they’re of adult age and all that. It’s got zombies. It’s got roadtrips. It’s got pining and misunderstandings and epic human-on-zombie fights. And, you know, conformist stuff. Or, moreover, zombies that are obsessed with so-called “conformist” things. Because, you know, the goth kids are so annoyed by that kind of thing, haha. Which is fun for me, as a fellow goth, because I actually like some of the things I’d be ragging on myself.

ANYWAY, it’s a problem project for me because...ugh. I’ve just had it lying around for so long at this point - since September 2017? I think??? - and because of that, it’s gone through several transformations from the original idea. Essentially, whenever that was in 2017, I wrote down an outline and a bunch of snippets of scenes, was SO excited about it - and then I got really super sick in summer 2018, and have since not written anywhere near as much as I used to. (An issue that plagues me to this day. *sigh*) And up until a couple months ago, I would only open the folder for this one, like...once or twice a year, read through it and smile and remember how much I loved it and this ship...and then I’d continue to do absolutely nothing with it.

The reason for this is because after what happened to me in 2018, and now that I’m pushing 30, my writing style and my relationship to my writing and the kinds of stories I want to tell have all changed so much. And not that I’m trying to say what I wrote for this story three years ago is bad, but it’s...it’s, uh, not good??? Okay, so, by “not good”, I really mean it’s just...it’s too much like my old writing. And not just the words themselves, but the character development, the plot, my strange need back then to be very, you know, shock for shock’s sake. 🙄 Like, when I was younger, I admittedly didn’t have a great grasp on a lot of the pieces and parts of writing. Not saying that I’m a fucking expert on it now, of course not, but I do prefer the way I write now - my style, my voice - a lot more than what it used to be.

So when I inevitably opened up that folder again a couple months ago, and once again remembered how much I used to love it, I was struck by how much I wanted to change about it, to make it more like how I write now.

And so what was once actually called The Walking Conformists became Dawn of the Conformists. I decided what was once two old friends realizing their small mountain town had all turned into zombie-like “conformists” - that they needed to get away from there, move to another state, another city, where Henrietta was waiting for them, and thus the pining and hijinks sprinkled in between - needed to be more of a gradual “what the fuck”, both cracky and not, zombie’s placated by conformist things experience, a la Shaun of the Dead (i.e. the name change). I wrote up a few lines about this one scene that really stuck in my mind for the new treatment, and THEN...promptly didn’t do anything else. Again. 😂

Because, you see, I’m also having a lot of trouble translating the old outline and snippets to the new version. I don’t like a lot of what it once was, but I do like some of it. And unfortunately, the parts I do really like still relate to that whole roadtrip/moving idea, aaaaannnndddd....I don’t know what the fuck to do about it, haha. If anyone out there is willing to, I don’t know, alpha? or something? and help me out with this transition, I would appreciate you forever.

ANYWAY, I’ve rambled on enough, I think, LMAO. So I’ll give you snippets now. The first is one of the pieces I do still like from the original - a little glimpse of our poor angry boy Pete raging at himself over just how much he wants Michael. The second is part of that scene that gave me the desire to start crafting the new version. (Both are very rough, I’m so, so sorry.)

Old Version:

Pete had tried his best to make himself look like he hadn't gotten dressed in the back of a car, nor brushed his teeth in the woods with a water bottle, but he feared he hadn't succeeded. Michael looked immaculate in that way that drove Pete absolutely insane. Normally, his hair would be gelled down on the sides, top swept forward in a delicate wave down one side of his face. He was, of course, lacking in such style today, his hair mussed instead, curls tousled all about his head ― and yet he still made it look like the goth fashion statement of the century. He was even sitting there wearing that stupid fucking dangly raven's skull earring Pete had gotten him for his birthday at least four years ago, and it made Pete want to gouge out his own eyes.

He took out his frustrations on his last piece of sausage instead, spearing it violently before shoving it in his mouth.

New Version:

Pete jumped back, knocking into the counter and sending an empty mug crashing to the floor. His hands scrambled behind him, his breath coming in short pants. The man swayed on his feet, a hanging piece of skin on his cheek sagging low enough that Pete could see the layer of muscle tissue beneath. He glanced at the bread knife at the far side of the counter, wondering how quickly he could reach it before the intruder came for him again.

Then, the man slowly raised his arm and pointed at the menu above Pete's head.

Pete blinked. A hour seemed to pass as they stared at each other, and then the man gestured emphatically, and Pete ― against his better judgement ― stepped cautiously forward and followed the man's finger to the spot he was pointing at.

This had to be a fucking joke.

"Y-you want that?" Pete asked. The man gave another insistent growl, and he leaned away from him, his pulse twinging in his neck.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he huffed. "Fine. H-hold on, just ― just stay there, okay?"

Pete tried his best to remain calm as he waited for the milk to steam. It was difficult to do with a definitely possible living corpse standing menacingly on the other side of the register, boring holes into his back with cold, dead, surprisingly wide-open eyes. Pete struggled to keep his hands from twitching as he poured espresso into a to-go cup.

When all was said and done, he plonked a large pumpkin spice latte onto the counter with a nervous nod of his head.

The man picked up the cup, and ― seeming to suddenly think of it ― flailed his free hand for a moment before dipping it into a tattered pocket of his jeans and fishing out a small pile of something that might've been a muddy piece of trash, might've just been a clump of dirt, but most certainly was not any form of currency Pete recognized, and slapping it onto the counter. Pete eyed it with barely-concealed disgust.

Then the man took a sip of his drink and smiled. Or at least attempted an approximation of a smile. His skin cracked from his lips out and threatened to fall off his face entirely. He grunted something that sounded suspiciously like 'thank you' and shuffled towards the door, cradling the cup lovingly between both hands.

"Sure thing," Pete mumbled, hovering anxiously at the register as the man leaned against the door, swinging it open and disappearing into the night. Before it even shut, Pete was already striding across the room, grabbing and yanking it closed, flipping the lock and switching off the neon 'open' sign, gripping the handle with shaking hands as he sank to a crouch.

"What the actual fuck."

WIP Title Game

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #2: Signs

Prompt: sway | Master Post | On AO3

Warnings for 5.3 Spoilers as this is set post-patch MSQ!

--

Without picking her head up from the table, Tataru smacked Thancred’s arm. “All right, all right, enough!” she whined. “Six days home and grilling Rere about her hand signs for field scouting, you absolute killjoy.”

“When else am I going to get the chance?” Thancred said, gesturing to the party around them. “I have her pinned down with alcohol!”

“Friends, friends,” Rereha said, making a placating gesture. “There’s enough of me to go around!”

While the newly restored senior Scions had still not yet been cleared by Krile for anything more strenuous than short, gentle walks throughout the Rising Stones, she had acquiesced to the idea of throwing a party. The door between the Stones and the Seventh Heaven had been thrown up, drinks poured freely, and the Wandering Minstrel and a rotating cadre of bards provided music as half of Revenant’s Toll passed in and out to welcome the Scions home. Tataru and Rereha had wandered over to Thancred’s table a few bells into the festivities, supporting one another as they staggered from side to side like landlubbers with no sea legs and their fourth mugs of ale in hand.

Thancred, secret workaholic that he was, had used the opportunity to pump Rereha for information on the myriad hand signs she and her fellow Warriors of Light had been using for over fifteen years, something about which the chatterbox lalafell was normally surprisingly recalcitrant on.

Tataru pointed at her fellow pinkette now. “I want to know what that hand sign you’re always using is,” she said, only the faintest slur present in her voice.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, honey,” said Rere, lifting her mug to take a deep glugging pull.

Tataru forced herself upright, bracing herself on her elbows, and held her hands in front of her face, wiggling her fingers. Thancred propped his chin on his hand, raising his eyebrow. “Oh, I think I know the one,” he drawled. “That has to be one of the lewd ones.”

Rereha set her ale down and squinted at Tataru’s hands, brows furrowed, before she lit up and a wide, evil grin spread against her dark-skinned features. “Oooooooooh that one is my favorite!” she sang out. “All right, so that one is actually a combination gesture-expression, so watch closely—”

Shoving her mug out of the way, she held her hands just in front of her so that they were parallel with each other and perpendicular to the table. She flicked her hands up, then down, slow enough that the movement was clear for her audience. Then, she jerked her right thumb over her shoulder and waggled her eyebrows at the same time. Finally, she did the sequence at full speed: hands flicking and flowing into the thumb jerk, eyebrows waggling, almost too fast to perceive for anyone save her sisters-by-choice.

“Any guesses?” she chirped.

“Definitely lewd,” said Tataru.

“Unquestionably,” said Thancred.

Rereha cackled. “Close, but not quite! That is the hand sign for ‘a whole-ass man.’”

A beat of silence.

Two.

Rere’s grin somehow got wider.

Tataru started laughing so hard she snorted, throwing back her head and clutching her belly as she nearly fell out of her chair. Thancred dropped his head into his elbow, shoulders shaking as he guffawed and snickered, trying to catch a breath. A few people looked their way, the laughter loud enough to be heard over the rest of carousing, but the sight of Rereha grinning like a coeurl was explanation enough for everyone.

“Now, it’s important to note that you don’t need to be pointing your thumb at someone specific for this sign,” said Rereha cheerfully. “The object of discussion does not need to be physically present.”

“Dare I ask who qualifies as a ‘whole-ass man?’” Tataru gasped, wiping away a tear, reaching for her own ale.

“It’s subjective, but generally any ruggedly handsome gentleman will fit the bill! Thancred, even if his face is almost too pretty—”

He raised his head and doffed an invisible cap to her, still snickering.

“—Raubahn—”

“Oh, that is a given,” Tataru said into her mug, eyes twinkling.

“—Urianger—”

“Surely not.”

“Swole book-liftin’ arms, my friend!”

The gunbreaker stared at her. “What does that even mean, Rereha?”

She waved a hand at him. “Shush, I’m still listing. Aymeric because arms, Estinien because thighs, Hoary because godsdamn, that red mage X’rhun because wow, Cid because have you seen that chest—”

“Nero?” Tataru said curiously.

Rereha paused and tapped her chin. “Sometimes,” she said, finally. “Mostly, however, he’s a gremlin.”

At this, she held up her closed fist, then extended her forefinger and pinky as far to the sides as she could, the rough approximation of the round body and wide, pointed ears of the chattering voidsent.

Alakhai walked by at that moment, heading for Dawn’s Respite, carrying a dozing Alphinaud piggyback. “Talking about yourself, Rere?” she said, eyebrows raised.

“Queen of the gremlins, that’s me!” Rereha cheered, throwing her hands up, and sending Thancred and Tataru into fresh peels of laughter.

[unicyclehippo]

If you're still taking prompts, then... verklempt with a touch of marcid, as a found family comfort fic for poor Beau after that last episode (she needs it).

verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion // marcid - incredibly exhausted

//

Caleb

//

The woman who walks out of that house is not his Beauregard. If not for his familiarity with transmutation, he might suspect that someone else had been put in her place; the imposter has copied her flawlessly—wears her face, her skin—but she does not know how to be their Beauregard.

Their Beauregard has eyes like needles, sharp and shining, that pin people open to examine their insides, cobalt eyes. These blank eyes, these clouded-over eyes, are wrong.

Their Beauregard moves like a cat. Not like Frumpkin, whose form sometimes shifts and moves to fit the world—he is real and unreal and his smoking steps reflect it. Beauregard moves like one of the great striped cats, the kings of the southern forests; Caleb had seen one, once, in his days at the Academy and it is the only way he knows how to conceptualise of Beauregard’s distinctive physicality. She is forceful and graceful all at once; she slinks and steps and climbs with power in her movements. There is a confidence to her that is all physical—all of her power, all of her presence, contained. Concrete. The imposter cannot begin to understand this. Her hands are wrong. They hang heavy at her sides like an inept simulacrum, like gloves filled with some unsuitable material— with ice, with lead. They lurch in pendulum swings from the shoulders, out of time. She does not stride or strut. She stumbles over a hunk of raised rock. When she braces against Caleb, who steps quickly to her side, her fingers claw at the proffered arm so she doesn’t meet mud.

Her skin is cold and wet from the misting downpour.

Enough, Caleb thinks. Tugs her to stop, halt.

She doesn’t argue with him and it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Blue eyes drift to his face, unseeing, glazed. He sees the faintest stir behind them of recognition and she looks down to their joined hands.

‘Your hands are cold,’ he says softly.

There is no hiding that they have stopped from the watchful others, but he doesn’t have to let them hear. Beau is a private person and they have learned more of her history in the last two days, last hour, than ever; he will not let anyone take more from her, not even the knowledge that her hands are cold.

‘No,’ she denies. ‘’m all—hot.’ Rubs her other hand over the back of her neck as she has been doing all day. The skin is red, raw with scratching, but from what he can see it is hot from friction alone.

He makes a sound of disagreement. Pulls his gloves from the pocket of his coat and works the first onto the hand he still holds. It is hard because she is not being helpful, like pulling a glove onto a statue, but finally it is more or less on and he rubs the hand between both of his own in that rough way that calls heat back into extremities.

She shivers. Blinks, surprised by the way another shiver shakes through her.

He coaxes her second hand into the other glove. ‘There. Wunderbar.’

Beau curls her fingers into fists, slightly cushioned by the gloves that are only a little threadbare. ‘You don’t need ‘em?’ she asks, the thought making her reach off and fiddle with the cuffs.

Caleb lays his hands over hers. Squeezes. ‘Nein, it is fine, I can summon flames. Keep them.’

He cannot help but wonder—as she struggles past the exhaustion to think, to figure if he needs them more, eyes narrowing into an approximation of shrewd, prying—how many things Beau has been given. A slap across the face, is the first he knows of. A jade necklace with no apparent defences, supposedly to keep her safe. Anything else? Fire boils in his belly, threatens to burn through his veins, his entire self—threatens to send the rain that hits him steaming, hissing away from his too-warm skin—as her tear-stained cheeks crinkle into a very small smile.

‘Thanks, Caleb.’

He lets his hand settle on her shoulder when they set out again, fond, letting her feel the weight of his presence at her side.

//

Nott

//

She waits until they’ve purchased beds for the night in the inn, waits until Beau and Jester have gone upstairs to their room, before she follows. Waits until Beau has excused herself, stepped into the washroom, before letting herself in and setting the little jade rabbit on Beau’s bedside.

‘You steal that?’

Nott screams and spins, crossbow drawn. Beau doesn’t even flinch; her eyes are focused on the statuette, over Nott’s shoulder.

‘Beau! Steal? Little old me?’ she hedges awkwardly until she realises she isn’t seeing upset on Beau’s face, or annoyance. Strange, given that is Beau’s go-to expression, but... ‘Ah—yes. I didn’t like the way he spoke to you, so,’ Nott flutters her fingers in a There you go sort of motion. Her eyes narrow, gleaming with interest at the way Beau’s expression shifts.

‘He’s—complicated,’ she says finally.

Nott isn’t sure if what she has, what this goblin body has, are hackles, but if they were they’d be raised by Beau’s tone: quiet, borderline defeated. Worse—understanding.

‘He’s an asshole.’

Beau smiles crookedly. ‘So am I. So was I.’

‘You were a kid,’ Nott snarls. Holds her hands up in surrender when Beau’s eyes snap sideways, staring at her finally instead of that damn statuette. ‘Sorry, sorry, not my place, sorry.’

‘No. It’s not.’

‘Right. Well.’ Nott whistles faintly through her crooked teeth.

‘I nearly broke that,’ Beau tells her, eyes sliding back to the statue. ‘When I was - I dunno. Ten? Ten, I think. I was running in the house and slipped. Slammed into the table,’ she says, and doesn’t seem to notice the way her hand lifts to rub at the long-healed scar above her eyebrow. ‘It fell off. Hit the carpet. There’s - ah - a little chip missing on the back,’ she tells Nott, who doesn’t bother checking. The corner of Beau’s lips twitch up into an expression Nott wouldn’t in a hundred years call a smile. ‘He picked that up first.’

‘Beau...’ The girl sighs. Nott puts her crossbow away. She hadn’t realised it was still out, the weight so comforting in her hands. Now they’re empty, they itch with the need to take something, work with something. She threads her long, bad fingers together. ‘Thank you for coming here. I know you did it for me and—thank you.’

Beau jerks her head in a nod. Nott has nothing more to say, knows it isn’t the right time to mention how much she thinks Beau’s dad is a dickhead, knows very little of what she says will be taken seriously by Beau. So instead, she says to her friend,

‘It sounded cool. Your plan for the wine. I’m sorry he didn’t listen to you.’ Nott eases forward, toward Beau standing interposed between the bed and the door. She stops beside her, pats the girl fondly on the hip. Leaves her hand there as she looks up into Beau’s suddenly blank face. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re with us.’

‘Okay,’ Beau rasps, not meeting her eyes.

Nott pats her side again. ‘Sleep well, Beau. You need your rest if we’re off to fuck up a hag in the morning.’

//

Fjord and Yasha

//

‘At least we know now,’ he says low to Yasha as they follow Beau out from the inn. ‘If we ever want her to be less sneaky, just...’

‘Confront her with her past?’

‘Yeah.’ Fjord grimaces. ‘Not really funny, huh?’

Yasha eyes the slow figure ahead of them, her meandering path. She would think Beau were drunk, if she hadn’t been watching her carefully since they left that place. A half cup of wine would have no effect like this on the well-practised monk.

‘No.’

The pair follow Beau through the mud-slopped streets. For a short while, she stands at the base of the switch-back roads up to the Rainbow Vineyards and Yasha is prepared to return to the inn and fetch everyone, in case Beau has it in her mind to revisit the house—what they would do, she isn’t sure. Stop her? Perhaps. Help her? Definitely. But Beau doesn’t head up; she turns away and wanders back up the path. Fjord and Yasha step aside to get out of her way and she walks right past them, unseeing.

‘Still raining,’ Fjord says to Yasha.

Her chest tightens around mixed pain and love. For Beau, who is hurting. And for Fjord, who will muster a bad lie to protect his best friend.

‘Ah. Yes,’ she agrees, lying too. ‘I think I feel it.’ She holds her hand out, palm up to the sky. Wipes imaginary droplets off against her cloak.

They follow Beau to the other end of the town, to the southern gates. She walks out of them, staggers to a stop by a low cliff where she sits. Throws her legs over the edge and grasps at small rocks, tosses them down the embankment into the burning pools there.

Fjord sits to one side of her.

Yasha sits on the other.

Neither of them speak, until eventually Beau swears. Scrubs at her cheeks.

‘Fuck—when—hey guys,’ she says, voice thick. She reworks it into something sharper. ‘Are you following me?’

Yasha looks to Fjord over her head, nervous. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here, she has caused enough hurt,

‘A-yup,’ Fjord tells Beau, a hint of his old swaggering accent in the word.

‘How long?’

‘Good long while.’

Beau stares at him, mouth working but no sound coming out. She jerks her head to Yasha, who smiles. Jerks her head to the pools, which burble and burn away.

‘Didn’t notice.’

‘No, we know.’ Fjord leans heavy against her shoulder. ‘It’s alright.’

‘Should’ve noticed.’

‘You don’t have to be —‘ Yasha hesitates, suddenly nervous under the way Beau looks at her. Like a piece of flint waiting to spark. Like a woman who is hurting. ‘We wanted to...make sure you are safe. We didn’t...wish to intrude.’

‘Did you at least hide?’

‘Nope.’ Fjord pops the sound of the p with relish. ‘You walked right past us.’ Holds a hand up to his face, exaggerating—though not by much—how close they had been and Beau had not seen them.

‘Fuck.’

The word punches out of her along with e last of her energy. Yasha catches her as she sags, leans her fully against Fjord who wraps an arm around her shoulders.

‘He’s a cute fuckin’ kid, huh?’ she mumbles.

‘Sure is. Looks like you.’

‘I was a little monster.’ Beau knocks her head on his shoulder. Drops a hand to the side, fingers hooking onto Yasha’s bracer.

‘Naw,’ Fjord says, so so softly. ‘I reckon you were just fine.’

They sit with her as her facade breaks again, no energy to maintain it, and she cries. There’s little left in her to cry out so when she’s empty of tears, she almost crumples in on herself and bit by bit she slips from this state into unconsciousness.

‘Yasha? Little help?’ Fjord asks, holding Beau awkwardly back from the edge of the low cliff.

Yasha stands. Scoops the smaller woman into her arms. Adjusts her with Fjord’s help so her head leans peacefully on Yasha’s shoulder, Fjord’s cloak a cushion. They head back to the inn, Beau lulled by the rolling step, cradled safely in her friend’s arms.

The inn is dark, the stairways barely lit by lantern light. Yasha carries her up the stairs—laughs softly at Fjord’s low whistle.

‘You’re not tired at all? You carried her all the way across town—she’s small but she’s not exactly light!’

‘She’s fine,’ Yasha shrugs. Her muscles are warm from exertion but it isn’t something that strains or hurts. ‘Would you—the door?’

‘Huh? Oh, sure, yes.’

He cracks the bedroom door. They creep in, not wanting to wake Jester. Jester, who sleeps turned toward Beau’s bed, who looks as though she had drifted off in the middle of staring at the empty sheets.

Yasha holds Beau as Fjord pulls down the sheets; lowers her onto the mattress and helps Fjord work at the laces of muddied boots. Easing them off, Fjord takes them, holds them in his hand. Watches Yasha’s hands carefully—not from any suspicion but from a deep, worried care—as she draws the blanket up to around Beau’s shoulders.

‘Sleep well, Beau,’ Fjord says with all the reverence of a prayer.

Yasha wonders if he is aware of the faint green glow around his free hand as he rests it on Beau’s shoulder. The frown that grips her brows tight loosens a fraction. Eases.

//

Caduceus

//

Caduceus trusts Fjord and Yasha to track her down in the night.

His job is not like theirs. Their duty is to protect her, to keep her from going too far, to bring her home. His is — he’s reluctant to say harder, he has no doubt there was some careful work to bringing her home, but it is one thing to catch the wild horse and another to tame it. So he’s heard. He’s never tamed a horse himself, nor does the analogy sit well with regards to Beauregard. Except, that is, a wild horse is skittish to the reaching hand and he cannot stop thinking about a younger Beauregard, already young, who has been struck by her father. Caduceus doesn’t consider himself an educated man but there are some things he knows to the core of himself, and this is one of those things: Beauregard has been starved of those necessary things, like the withered and pitiful garden within the estate. If she is not healthy, if she does not bloom brightly and prettily as expected, it is not the plants fault but the gardeners.

That is to say, he thinks, and rolls a mouthful of floral tea over his tongue, she deserves more. Better.

Which brings him to his duty, and his eyes lift from the handsome grain work in this simple tables to the stairs where a barefooted girl, hair half-fallen from its topknot, hurries down.

‘Morning, Beau.’

She looks marginally better. Reflexes far improved from the night before. He had been tempted to check for signs of undeath, with her moving like the animated dead, skin as cold.

‘Cad,’ she grunts.

The skin beneath her eyes is puffy and dark, from crying and from a lack of sleep. He had heard Fjord and Yasha return late last night, perhaps even early into morning, so she can’t have slept for more than—three? Four hours at most.

‘You haven’t slept enough.’

She grunts. ‘Seen my boots?’

‘Yes.’ He drinks from his cup. Flares his nostrils to take in the scent as the movement stirs, hits the notes of the drop of honey he had added. After last night, he needs the boost, the sweetness.

‘Where?’

He just smiles, no intent whatsoever to say. ‘Tea?’ He has rarely seen anyone who needs a cup more than she does now; she desperately needs it, needs a moment to relax from holding herself so tense, gingerly, like she has been turned inside out and back again and she’s scared it’ll happen again.

Beau doesn’t seem to agree. Squints are him, a not unfamiliar squint, the one she gets when she’s reading books in unfamiliar script. Like she is figuring him out. Lips pressed flat, not quite a scowl.

Caduceus thinks about telling her that he isn’t a book, can’t be read like one, when she nods, frown clearing.

‘Fjord’s got ‘em. Great. Thanks.’

‘What?’

Beau salutes. Backs up the stairs.

‘How did you—‘ he begins to ask, brows crawling higher in his forehead like fat, confused pink caterpillars, but she has already disappeared, taking the steps two at a time.

He listens as the door to the room he was sharing with Fjord creaks open. A moment, and then it creaks closed again. The loose floorboard at the top of the steps squeals and Beau returns, boots in hand, and takes a seat at the table with him turned in the seat so she can pull the boots on. Wipes a rough palm over the sole of her foot, brushing off dust and dirt.

‘He polished them,’ she grunts. Shakes her head. ‘Sap.’

‘He cares for you.’

There—a small shift, like a contraption winched tight, Beau’s shoulders creaking closer together, tighter, tense.

‘He just hates mess. Seen him at the Xhorhaus? Washes his room out. Scrubs the kitchen top to bottom.’

‘Mm.’

‘You must like that.’

‘He reorganises the cupboards,’ Cad tells her, watches as the comment surprises a smile out of her.

‘Caduceus,’ she says, teases, ‘is that a complaint?’

‘Everyone has flaws. Neatness isn’t too bad of one.’

Boots on, obviously feeling a little more put together, more herself, Beau leans back in her chair with an arm slung over the back of it. Her smile is crooked, a half-summoned thing. ‘Yeah, he’s alright,’ she allows.

‘He’s marvellous.’ There—an easy shift into what he needs to talk to her about. ‘As are you.’

She rolls her eyes hard.

‘We’re all looking after you in our own ways.’

‘Found a way to help me, have you? Am I easy like the rest of them?’

‘No. I don’t think you have ever been easy.’ He watches her flinch truly this time and hums, realises his misstep. ‘That—was not meant to be an insult.’

‘’s fine, dude. Whatever. You’re not wrong.’

Caduceus’s duty is care; his duty is helping people to move on, to grieve and leave their grief, to transfer it into something that can be borne more easily. It was easier when he had no interest in the grief himself, but he loves this woman and somehow it has made him clumsy.

‘There are great works that are done,’ Caduceus says to her. ‘Art and other acts of creation, great gardens. They aren’t easy.’ Beau frowns. ‘But they are marvellous.’

Beau clicks her tongue, shakes her head. She isn’t ready to talk, or hear more of the regard he has for her, that they all have for her, so he stops.

‘Tea?’

Beau sighs. ‘Sure. Why not.’

He smiles as warmly as he can manage. ‘I have two options.’ He pulls them from his pack, smells them to make sure. Sets them before her. ‘This one,’ he shows her, puts it to one side, ‘will clear your mind. Help wake you up. And this,’ he sets it to the other side and if it is much closer to her, well, it isn’t as though he is trying to be subtle, ‘will help you go back to sleep.’

‘I don’t think—I’m not going back to sleep, dude.’

She doesn’t push the offering away. Stares down at it with tired, tired eyes.

He waits. Won’t make this decision for her. Figures, from what he can gather, she’s had enough of people trying to make decisions for a whole lifetime.

‘Would—will you make me a cup of this?’ she asks, quietly, looking a little shameful as she points to the clear-head tea. ‘I’m sorry—I know you think I should—but I can’t. Not right now.’

He hums. ‘Perhaps tonight. You’ll sleep very well after it,’ he offers. Is rewarded with a look of relief, of thanks.

‘Sounds good. Yeah.’ Then, after a moment, ‘’preciate it, man.’

He keeps to that promise. Drinks a pot of tea with her that morning that, he thinks, has a lot to do with the good decisions they make that morning. Tea helps with that. Sitting quietly with a friend helps with that. And that evening, after a very very long day, he finds her before she can offer to take first watch and sits her at the end of his bedroll and sets up his tea station right there. Pours enough of the leaves into the water to make a single cup. He takes care to prepare it the way he always does, when he has the time—it isn’t prayer, isn’t a ritual of the kind he makes to worship the Mother, but a ritual of another kind, as old and as profound in some ways. The ritual of care, of providing, of effort. The ritual of making something especially for the one person who will appreciate it, need it the most. Not the exclusion of others, but attention to one person alone.

‘Here,’ he says, words buzzing like beetles in his chest. It always feels a little foreign, a little strange, to speak. He hadn’t spoken for a long, long time before his friends had collected him from the Grove and sometimes the words are hard. The gestures—the making, the healing—are harder for people to misconstrue. He picks up the cup by the brim, sets it in her cupped palms.

Sits beside her as she sips.

‘Long day.’ Beau grimaces. The tea is bitter, but that isn’t why she grimaces. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assures. ‘Jester will forgive you.’

‘She wants me to—slow down. Relax. I can’t relax, Cad, even on a good fucking day.’

‘Hmm.’

Beau snorts. ‘Helpful.’

She drinks a little more.

The air is clean and clear within the dome, pleasant after the hours of walking in this strange place that smells so heavily of metals and gases. Caleb tells them all that it is minerals and sulphur, the waters like pools of acid from the chemicals. To Caduceus, it is as if the earth itself here is dying and decomposing, petrifying even as she bloats. It’s strange and as fascinating as it is upsetting, and from moment to moment Caduceus shifts on whether this is natural or not.

Beau sits there on his bedroll and there she stays, cup beginning to tip out of numb fingers, head lolling.

‘Oop,’ Caduceus says, reaches over to catch Beau at the small of her back, spread his hand wide there as she sags and drops into sleep like a fish tossed onto land—that is, surprising to the fish, who struggles briefly, eyes wide, before landing with the dull sound of flesh on stone. ‘Whoops.’

‘Gods, Cad, what the hell—did you brain her?’ Fjord asks, alerting Caleb too, who looks up from his place in the centre of the dome where he has chosen to read.

‘No, no, she’ll be just fine. Sleep through the night, hopefully.’

Fjord grunts. Looks fondly at Beau. Then laughs. ‘She’s already snoring. Dibs on the other side of the dome.’

Caleb looks amused, obediently shifts his things from where Fjord points. He looks tired too, Caduceus notes and briefly regrets that he had only made the one cup. And that he had done so in front of Caleb. He’ll never get the wizard to drink this brew now.

//

Jester

//

It is a long day punctuated by the strange, sudden greys that colour the flora here—flowers and vines and trees shrivelled and withered and turned to living stone, the thrum of life present but dulled to the point where Caduceus is hard put to feel it. Jester leaves him to tend to the plants and figure them out. She doesn’t know an awful lot about plants and her time is better spent, she figures, at Beau’s side.

They’re miles from the Lionett estate and everyone within it but still Beau walks like she’s expecting an attack at any moment, snaps at useless discussion, and walks too fast for any of them to keep up until Jester snags her. Holds her hand hard enough that the girl can’t shrug her off. It makes Beau more restless, Jester can see that, the way she’s straining to get ahead, to get to whatever awaits them, to figure this out and find answers finally, and Jester understands, really, she does!

‘It’s just that it’s dangerous if we can’t keep up with you, Beau, and what if you get into some kind of trouble and we’re too far to hear you, or don’t pick the same path, or just can’t get there in time?’

‘I can look after myself, Jes,’

‘Obviously, obviously,’ Jester agrees hurriedly. ‘You’re really strong and smart, Beau, we know that, but you don’t have to look out for yourself when you have all of us, and—‘ Jester hesitates, not sure Beau can take hearing about how very, very tired she looks.

‘I am feeling very tired, myself,’ Caleb says, not to Beau because the others are all pretending not to see the way Jester has more or less grappled Beau into standing still for just a second so she can talk her into making camp and staying with them. Jester shoots him a glare; she knows he can lie more convincingly than that, and they are supposed to be convincing Beau. But he must know some way of talking to her to get her attention because Jester feels the lightning thrum of tension running through Beau’s cord-tight muscles fade the smallest bit. Feels shoulders drop an inch. Hears her reluctant scoff, almost a laugh.

‘Fine. Fine.’ Beau brings her hand up finally to return the hug—grapple—and pat Jester’s back. ‘You can let me go now, I’m not gonna bolt,’ she tells Jester, who wishes very much she could see Beau’s face and what that amount of fondness would look like. Hearing it is enough—sweet like caramel, warm and featherlight like smoke around her.

Jester pulls back slowly. Affects a suspicious squint and doesn’t let go. Not just yet. ‘Promise?’ she teases.

It’s doubly sweet to see how reluctantly the smile comes, how Beau has to rearrange her whole face to accommodate it.

‘Promise.’

Jester squeezes her. Releases her, hugging hands gliding down to Beau’s, squeezing those too. She leaves a trail of healing behind her, because Beau’s dad might have said run from the things in the woods but Beau had decided not to.

Beau hooks her pinkie around Jester’s. Holds it for a moment, says again—‘Promise’—before she begins to pace the campsite, bothering Fjord and distracting Caleb who just wants to set up the dome. He sends raven-Frumpkin to busy Beau, leads her on a chase around the clearing and up to the branches of a nearly spruce—the low branches, when Caleb sees the way Jester glares at him.

‘Hey Caleb. Caleb.’

‘Ja, Beaure—Beau.’

‘Ha! Beau-Beau,’ Nott repeats. ‘Cute.’

‘Call me that again and I’ll happily help with the first part of your resurrection,’ Beau promises. Nott hisses in through her teeth; after a moment, Beau clears her throat. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, no, say how you really feel.’

‘I said I’m sorry!’

‘Alright, I think everyone could do with a minute apart. Beau—‘ Cad says, bends over her, hand on her shoulder. ‘You promised I could make you tea.’

Jester can see the way she wants to snap at him too, send him away. Sees the moment Beau gives in and lets Cad lead her to his bedroll on the edge of the dome, talk quietly with him as he brews a bitter smelling tea that makes Jester’s nose itch when she passes by later. She misses the exact moment when Beau passes out but turns when she hears her crumple, cries out when she sees Beau sprawled there and hurries back into the dome.

‘Caduceus!’

‘She’s fine,’ he tells her. Fjord nods like he’s just asked the exact same thing. ‘She’s fine, just sleeping.’

‘You knocked her out?’

A hint of nerves crawls over Caduceus’s face. ‘I—helped her sleep.’

‘Ooh, she’s going to be so mad when she wakes up,’ Jester whispers, not sure if she should be mad on Beau’s behalf or relieved.

‘Ah.’ Caduceus scratches at his hair, the point where one lock of hair is turning white. ‘Well.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.’

‘Aw, I really appreciate that. Thank you, Jester.’

Jester pats his arm. Moves Caleb’s things—who clicks his tongue and sighs—so she can lay out hers next to Cad’s bed, taken over by the fully snoring Beau.

Curled up beside her, Jester smells the faint scent of Cad’s sleeping mat—sweat and earth and growing things like sweet grass, and the bitter tang of crushed beetles. And below it, shuffling closer, she smells what she knows now is the smell of Kamordah, though she knew it first as Beau—the tang of metal and the bite of something ever so faintly sour, even as it balances against the flowery smell of jasmine. She wonders as she drifts off whether it is something that sunk into Beau and refused to shift, or if the other girl just happened to gravitate toward soaps that smelled similar. She’ll have to ask.

//

Beau wakes later, when the fire has burned down to embers and the last watch—Yasha and Nott—have slunk off to patrol just beyond the treeline. Jester wakes to the sensation of gentle, careful fingers on her tail, unwrapping it from where it is snuggly curled around Beau’s ankle. Beau’s pant leg had lifted an inch or two, bunching higher around her calf, and Jester’s tail had taken advantage, seeking out the warmth of the human’s skin and double wrapping there where the cloth has moved to reveal skin.

‘Jes, geez,’ Beau mutters to herself, struggling to get free. ‘Help a girl out,’ she hisses though not loud enough to wake Jester, if she had not been already well on her way to waking. With a sigh, and a grumble, Beau tickles Jester’s tail with blunt nails, enough to make the muscles twitch and jump and slacken. Quicker than anything else, Beau slips her foot free with a quiet sound of victory.

She staggers to her feet, hand going to her head, smacks dry lips. ‘God, Caduceus, what was in that fucking tea,’ she mutters, picking her way over curled sleeping forms.

Jester eases up onto her elbows; most of her believes Beau isn’t silly enough to make a break for it—she has left everything, including her goggles. A small part of Jester that has zero sense and only concerns itself with keeping her friend right at her side where she can see her and soothe her and protect her worries. Pushes her to sit upright.

Across the dome, Jester sees Caleb rouse as Beau crosses the threshold of the hut.

‘Hmm,’ he says.

‘I think she’s going to pee,’ Jester whispers. Brings his eyes suddenly to Jester, searching in the dark. He settles on what he thinks is Jester—pretty close for being in near complete dark, the canopy thick overhead—and nods slowly.

‘I can’t leave,’ he tells her. ‘The hut will drop.’

Jester stands. Pats his shoulder as she passes to follow Beau out. She waits just beyond the boundary of the hut, seeing how Beau has only gone a short way from them, and waves a little when Beau returns, picking her careful path across the stone-and-grass clearing.

Beau’s steps falter and then pick up. When she gets closer, Jester can see a crooked, easy smile on her face and silently thanks Caduceus for knocking Beau out.

‘I’m fine,’ Beau insists when she’s close enough to be heard. ‘You—everyone doesn’t have to worry about me.’

Jester tilts her head up to return the smile, twice as sweet. ‘I’d like to see you try and stop us.’

Beau snorts.

‘Sleeping okay?’

‘Yeah. Whatever Cad gave me was a helluva knock out.’

‘Oh, you knew?’

‘Sort of. He told me it’d help,’ Beau explains, and seems mindlessly to accept the hand Jester holds out for her as they make their way back inside. ‘I didn’t think he meant it’d knock me on my ass in two seconds flat but,’ she shrugs.

‘And everything...else?’ Jester winces, hearing the obvious sidestep in the question. Beau’s eyes cut sideways to her; somehow, they still hold nothing in them but sleepy fondness.

‘You mean with my dad.’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s—‘ Beau shrugs. Tilts her head hard to the side in an effort to crack her neck, release a little of the tension that has built up so much in her shoulders, spine.

‘Here, let me,’ Jester offers. Pats Beau down onto the bedroll once more and sits behind her, knees pressing into the soft of Beau’s hips. It’s nice with how incredibly cut Beau is that she still has that padding on her hips, the soft layer. Jester knows it’s to protect those vital organs but she also knows that things can be more than one thing at a time, so the softness can be protective and incredibly sweet all at once.

Jester moves closer, knees pressing dimples into it, thumbs brushing and then pressing into it as well. She is rewarded with a low grunt of pleasure as Beau realises what she intends, and the other girl lets her head fall forward on her neck, opening up her back for Jester to work. She rubs and massages until some of the knots at least feel looser, less incredibly tense, and finally as she reaches the top of Beau’s back she rubs her fingers soothingly over the jade tattoo where Beau has been pressing and rubbing and pinching the skin all day.

Beau hums, the sound vibrating into Jester’s knees and hand.

‘Better?’

‘Mm. Much.’

‘Good.’

Jester drags her hands down Beau’s back, rubbing gently now with none of the pressure of a massage. She leans forward to rest her forehead against Beau’s shoulder blade. Sighs.

‘Tired?’ Beau asks.

‘Yeah.’

Beau reaches back. Scritches blunt nails lightly on Jester’s scalp, around those itchy parts of her horns. ‘Go on, go back to sleep,’ she urges.

‘Are you?’ Beau is silent for a long moment. ‘Beau?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ll sleep,’

‘Beau.’

‘I promise. I just—want to go over that weird ass prophecy thing again. God, he’s such a schmuck, having a fucking prophecy from a witch.’

Jester grunts unhappily. Wraps her arms around Beau from behind so she can’t reach out for her notebook. ‘In the morning, Beau.’

‘We’ll wanna head out straight away—‘

‘In the morning,’ she says again, no room for disobedience in her tone.

Beau tries anyway. ‘Just a minute—‘

‘I’m staying up for as long as you do,’ Jester tells her, changing tracks. Her accent thickens with a yawn. ‘I’m really sleepy, Beau,’ she wheedles. ‘I promise we can look at it in the morning—Cad will make us breakfast and Fjord won’t be really awake until the sun comes up, you know that. Please?’ She yawns a second time for good measure, doesn’t realise until she’s halfway through it that it’s real. She rubs her head sleepily over the sharp bone of Beau’s shoulder. Knocks her forehead against it.

The girl sighs for a long moment, all the breath pushing out of her lungs. ‘Fine. Fine.’ She can’t help but laugh when Jester nuzzles against her shoulder, giggles at Beau’s reluctant acquiescence. ‘You’re lucky you’re cute.’

She lets Jester bear her down to the ground just as they are, Jester still hugging her, and collapses with a little huff. Wriggles around until she’s comfortable, enough to make Jester release her. Beau turns on her side to face her, hand pillowed under her cheek.

‘Beau?’ Jester’s eyes trace her profile, illuminated by the faint glow of the dome.

‘Mm.’

‘Are you scared?’

Beau’s breath slows, the only sign that she had heard. Finally, she says, ‘A bit. Yeah.’ And when Jester’s cool fingers sneak under her blanket to find Beau’s, Beau holds her hand. And they sleep.