#so i kinda just wind up going anywhere that he might be needed in combat...

[kowaindar0u]

//

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader - Dangerous - I

Summary: After losing your quirk, you confide in Tokoyami that your situation does, in fact, bother you.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, comfort, mentions of trauma, reader has a specific quirk, fem!reader, loss of quirk

You sat on the balcony of Heights Alliance, hugging your knees close to your chest as you stared up at the stars with glossy eyes. From inside, you could hear cheering. Your classmates were having a party to celebrate everyone coming home somewhat safely from a terrifying encounter with the League of Villains. The party was actually meant to be in your honor, mostly. To commemorate you finally coming home from the hospital after such a long stay. That being said, it didn't seem like anyone minded you not actually attending.

The previous weeks had flown by for you, almost as if you were on autopilot. You hadn't had any kind of time to accept the things that had happened to you, but everyone seemed to have already moved on, so you did your best to pretend you had as well. You didn't want to rain on anyone's parade.

Tears welled in your eyes as you twirled a dead strand of hair around your finger, pulling it from the follicle almost instantly, and you stared at it, pinching it between your fingers. Heartbroken at the frailty and dullness of it, you blew it out of your hand, letting the wind carry it away.

Suddenly, you wiped your tears onto your sleeve, hearing the sliding glass door hit its frame as someone stepped out. You didn't need to look, you already knew who it was. Heavy footsteps were a dead ringer for the identity of the person. Only two people in class wore combat boots casually- Jiro and Tokoyami, and you could hear the former's distinct laugh coming from inside.

"You'd think if someone threw you a party, you might show up," Tokoiyami said, sitting beside you, one leg straight out, popping between the bars of the railing and the other bent with his knee to the sky as he rested backward on his palms.

"Yeah, kinda rude, don't you think?" A raspy, graining voice chastised from behind him, only to be waved off by the raven.

"Enough," He said, willing Dark Shadow back within himself.

"No," you protested, a bit too late. "He's right, you both are." you replied, finally acknowledging him. "It is rude of me not to attend my own party, especially when everyone went to such trouble..." You had to stop faking a smile as it was making your lip quiver. You felt a sturdy hand on your shoulder, and a staticky feeling on the other.

"Are you alright?" Tokoyami asked, giving your left shoulder a reassuring squeeze as Dark Shadow rested his head on the left.

"I-I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" you answered, conviction wavering greatly as you stifled sobs. "You all went to such trouble to make sure I felt welcome when I came home, I'm just so happy to have caring friends." You were only half lying. Throughout your entire hospital stay, someone was always there with you. A few students rotated spending nights with you or sitting with you to ensure you didn't get lonely. Sato kept you in supply of so many sweets you were sure you'd gained weight as a consequence, and the girls kept your room cute and full of fresh flowers to lift your spirits. They had all gone out of their way to make you feel cared for. "I'm just going to miss you all so much..." You finally confessed almost silently.

"We aren't going anywhere, I promise," He said, comfortingly, eyes softening. "Why would you think that?"

"I know you aren't leaving, Toko," you corrected with a sniffle. "I am."

His vermillion eyes widened in pure shock. What did you mean, where you running away?" "No you aren't," he said in disbelief, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling your back against his chest. "You're still a part of class 1-A, no matter what happens."

"I'm getting expelled, Tokoyami." You stated flatly. "I'm quirkless, I can't stay here."

He was silent for a moment before speaking again, softer than you'd ever heard him. "That won't happen, it's in the bilaws. A quirk isn't required to be enrolled at UA anymore, ask Midor-"

"Nezu said it himself," you explained matter of factly, feeling honestly numb about the whole thing. "He said I'm in more danger here as a student and without a quirk I'm a liability. I can't protect myself or anyone else if the villains were to attack us again. He's sending me home tomorrow and my family and I will be placed in witness protection."

Suddenly, everything made so much sense to him. Why you had mentioned wanting to stay in the hospital, why you didn't want to join the party. For the class, it was a welcome home party. For you, it was for going away.

"I-I see..." he muttered into your back, tucking his head between the two of you to gather his wits. "That's...unfortunate, I'm going to miss you...very much." He confessed, his stomach dropping to his stomach at the revelation.

"I'll miss you too," you replied softly, gazing up at the stars. "Probably the most out of everyone."

"Is that so?" He asked, chuckling sadly. "I'm glad I could be your favorite."

"Nobody else ever had a chance of being my favorite," you confessed with a relieved smile. This all did feel good to get off your chest. "I liked you since day one."

You could feel Tokoyami freeze against your back, his eyes shot wide open. "Y-You...liked me?" he asked carefully, almost as if asking for confirmation would scare you away like a deer when approached by a human.

"Present tense," You responded sweetly. "I still do. Just thought you outta know."

You felt his grip on you tighten as his head perched on your shoulder. "How bittersweet..." He mused lightheartedly.

"What is?" you asked, cocking your head away from his in a feeble attempt to look his way.

"I always thought I'd have more time to collect myself beforehand..." he answered cryptically. "I thought I might wait to tell you until we're older."

"Tell me what?" you pressed, becoming nervous and annoyed at once.

"That I am..." you could feel him inhale through his nostrils. "Irrevocably infatuated with you." He finally admitted, sanguine as he held you in the peaceful cover of night.

"Would have been nice to know." You laughed, cheeks running hot, but not as much as they would have been under better circumstances. "Maybe we'll find each other later in life, maybe in another life entirely. Sometime after this is all over."

"I'd wait eons to be with you, (Y/n)." he accepted, knowing the time wasn't right, but that you were the right person.

"I think I would too," you agreed, nuzzling his feathered cheekbone lightly. "I suppose there's no point in asking you out now, is there?"

He unfortunately shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but at least until morning, we can be one, even if day break means separation."

"That sounds nice..." you cooed, resting against him as your gaze naturally lilted upwards to his, already waiting. "Fumikage...can I call you that?" You asked, almost sure of his answer, but wanting to be respectful none the less.

"You may call me anything as long as you call me yours." He replied, nodding.

"Wanna kiss...?" You could tell the suggestion caught him by surprise by the way he withdrew slightly, and you thought for a moment that you'd ruined everything. No matter if you did, after tomorrow, you'd probably never see him again.

"More than anything, yes," he answered breathlessly. "But I can't kiss you...by conventional means." He confessed, suddenly bashful. It was then that you realized it never dawned on you that Tokoyami's beak may not have been pleasant to kiss.

"Why don't you kiss me then..?" you suggested serenely. "That way you can show me how to kiss you back, it's not like I've ever kissed anyone anyhow."

"A-Are you sure...?" he asked, swallowing hard as you shifted in his lap to face him.

"I am," you confirmed with a smile, leaning closer expectantly. Tokoyami suddenly felt incredibly nervous.

Slowly, he leaned in to meet you, first nuzzling his forehead against yours and then your cheek. "I-It's called preening..." he said softly, beak parting as he took the gentlest nibbles at your cheeks and bottom lip. You couldn't help but blush as you struggled to stifle a giggle, failing miserably, making him yank back in embarassament.

"Thank you..." you smile sweetly at his fluster. "For sharing that with me, I could tell it was special."

"It's how birds show affection," he explained halfheartedly. "We clean each other's feathers, though, obviously you don't have any feathers, so I improvised..." Tokoyami felt like he was digging his own grave as he withdrew from you.

"It was precious..." you murmured, bringing your fingertips up to your lips, as if to hold his kiss there for as long as possible. "I loved it."

"T-There is something else we could try..." he suggested sheepishly. It's a bit more human but its...also a bit more how do I say it...?"

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously. "Passionate?"

"Something to that effect..." He muttered, on the verge of humiliation, until you nodded your head with a glint in your eye that made his knees weak. With trembling fingers, he raised his hand, trying his best to imitate things he'd read in gothic romance novels. Hooking your chin, he pulled you infinitely closer, tilting his head opposite of yours as he guided you to do the same, and he parted his beak again, this time wider than before.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of his tongue pressing against your lips, but you tried to adjust quickly so as not to embarrass him further. Letting your lips give way, your own tongue inched beyond them, touching his so very gently. Shocked, he almost pulled away but willed himself still, letting his tongue gently brush against yours with a furrowed brow. He had to concentrate in order to keep his beak from hurting you, but he was finding it so easy to lose focus as you crawled closer and grew bolder, pressing your face against the side of his in order to explore more of his mouth.

"My lark..." Tokoyami sighed, feeling lost in the moment as he shivered at the sensation of your tongue grazing the back of his teeth. As his hands slithered around your neck to cup your jaw, he couldn't help but feel his attention split at the overwhelming warmth that sat there on your shoulders. Eyes fluttering open, they suddenly snapped wide at the sight of you, magenta locks aflame.

"Lark," he repeated, pulling away, breath dripping with astonishment. "Your hair!"

[a-random-pillow]

When the Heating System Breaks

Despite Shinra being a muilt billion dollar business the heating system for the SOLDER floor breaks on what just so happens that to be the coldest day of the year.

Lazard is the first person to really feel the chill since he is not enhanced. Only compounded by the fact that his office has window that isn’t making his situation any warmer. On top of that he didn’t bother to bring a coat today because he toke the completely underground and completely insulated subway.

Angeal can hear the director’s teeth chattering as he walks by and his office, enchanced hearing you know. So Angeal peaks in (Angeal is still in a sleeveless top) and sees Lazard trying to work while freezing. Angeal is a good, honourable person who would not let another go cold if he can help it. So Angeal goes back to his room and gets is warmest sweat shirt and brings it to Lazard.

Lazard knowing Angeal is a good person who probably dosen’t haven any alt tier motives, accepts.

For a few hours, everything is fine, until the SOIlDERS start feeling the chill. Zack, remembering cold winters cuddled up with his family and their dogs during in front of the fire place descides the best course of action is to drag the blankets off as many beds as he can find and then bring all those blankets to the break room. The break room has no fire place but it dose have a bunch of comfy couches(thank Lazard for those).

The first one to join Zack in the break room is Genesis who came looking for his blankets. He storms in all angery and literally sparking, Zack realizes he has found his fire place. Thanks to some combat, a lot of negotiation and a promise to let Genesis play his audio copy of Loveless: Read by the Broadway cast, Zack convinces Genesis to stick around.

When Rouche sees this paradise in the break room he decides in that moment to dedicate the next 30 minutes of his life to run around the 1-2 solider floors to get as many people safe and warm as possible. Most people who come join the break room nest bring their own blankets and pillows, soon the whole room has been consumed by soft, warm and cuddly things.

When Angeal walks in to see this, he smiles and goes to make his famous hot chocolate.

Sephiroth had a similar idea but only with Genesis, Angeal and Zack instead of everyone but he can’t find them. So he is kinda sad when he goes to round them up, pillow and a bunch of his sweaters in hand and all of them being nowhere on sight or seemingly anywhere in their floor. In fact, no one seems to be anywhere in the SOILDER floors which is worrying. But thankfully he hears the sound of chatter and Loveless like a call form a Siren and finds the break room.

When Sephiroth joins in be isn’t really comfortable being so near so many people, so he carves out a small nook for himself in the corner of the room with only Genesis, Zack and Angeal allowed in. (Sephiroth gives Gen,Angl and Zack all one of his hoodies because he read on the web that hoodies form male friends are extremely warm and cozy. Especially if they come form a tall male friend)

Zack very dramatically declares that he needs to go find Cloud and dramatically opens the door, pretends to be buffered by winds before slowly walking into the hall.

The infantry still has heating but that doesn’t stop Zack form grabbing Cloud and dragging him back to the break room with him. Cloud realizes he is stuck here and join’s Sephiroth’s quite corner.

Angeal remebers Lazard an un-enhanced person who might me dead because of the cold(there was no chance of Lazard dying). When Angeal shows up Lazard is napping and Angeal thinks he might be dead and because Lazard is the only director SOILDER universally likes he kinda panics. Angeal picks him up which wakes up Lazard.

L: What are you doing?!?

A: Saving you! Good to see you are alive

L: why won’t I be?

A: you nearly froze to death??

L: I did not

A: …

L: can you just pick up my laptop before you drag me off to where ever you are planning to take me?

Angeal comes back with Lazard who he then wraps and blankets, gives hot chocolate and places in the middle of the SOILDERs. Lazard just roles with it and continues his work.

Later Rufus comes looking for Lazard because he thinks his secret brother might enjoy working in a warm office rather then this cold hell. He looks around and is rather concerned to see no one on the Soilder floor so he calls the Turks.

It takes five minutes to find the break room, Reno manages to take a few photos before he is noticed and chased out. Ten minutes later the heat returns and they all clean up the break room before heading back to their rooms. Expect for Cloud, Genesis, Angeal and Zack who Sephiroth brings to his room to order take out.

TEMPERATURE TEST: SUCESS

It appeared that the the failure of the heating system caused the Soilders to pool their resources and make a Base of operations within the break room. They used specific skills like Commander Rhpadous’e fire materia control to heat the room. They defended the base form any attacks and even brought in non-SOILDERS for support. Genral Sephiroth even joined although he allows Fair to take the lead, clearly a form of training.

Notes:

Vice President Shinra:

Before you do this again alert me, it would have been nice to develop better relationships with Director Lazard.

Turk Reno:

Lovely to see. they were like Owls. Like to see this again.

Professor Hojo:

I will ensure Sephiroth is not in the building next time this happens. Gifting iteams of clothing is a sigh of developing relationships. Also I demand somone get me somone of Commander Hewley’s hot chocolate.

Lazard looks up form the PDA he ‘borrowed’ form President Shinra’s desk. He wonders if he could kill them all the with poisoned hot chocolate.

[no-droids]

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute.  Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside.  Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by.  It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it.  Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it.  It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore.  At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical.  But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive.  It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it.  He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing.  Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong.  He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have.  He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now.  He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here.  It’s not necessary.  He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now.  He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago.  He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you.  He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight.  Yes, this is what he’s waiting for.  He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi.  But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe.  In, and out.  In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level.  Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep.  He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient.  It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you.  Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious.  They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around.  Pulsing.  In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it.  Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean.  He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip.  He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer.  He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There.  He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious.  Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence.  There you are.  Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it?  He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet.  To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now.  Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world.  All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now.  He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere.  He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current.  He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember.  These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill.  Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth.  He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before.  Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal.  He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive.  The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks.  Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it.  Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose.  Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for.  There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus.  It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving.  With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get.  He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him.  He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi.  But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided.  Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps.  His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh.  It’s… good.  It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously.  Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely.  Where’s the challenge in it?  The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him.  It’s brash and brutish and not his style.  No, this is what he wanted.  He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger.  Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak.  He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect.  Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand.  Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here?  Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave.  It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared.  If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change.  Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time.  He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No.  No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here.  It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him.  A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough.  Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you?  Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you.  You’re not here.  Why aren’t you here?  He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer.  Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really.  They’re yours.  He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor.  He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together.  This will work.  If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open.  This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good.  His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs.  When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him.  He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting.  He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created.  Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously.  You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it.  But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you.  Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops.  Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself.  His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat.  Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows.  He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely.  Why does it feel so… so spectacular?  Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it.  Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see.  That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist.  Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up.  No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride.  The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine.  He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home.  Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences.  Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there.  They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again.  But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would.  They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability.  Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep.  His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires.  Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants.  He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through.  No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all.  His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now.  He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found.  He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second.  He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth.  Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth.  Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that.  It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it.  The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it.  He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself.  Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice.  The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made.  Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants.  Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now.  There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved.  Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did.  There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened.  Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time.  He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No.  You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe.  There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow.  He must have… increased it, or something.  Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep.  Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though.  He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now.  No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is.  Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue.  Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs.  Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot.  Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

[daveyjacobss]

clarity | davey jacobs

french vanilla part seven

reader x davey jacobs

summary: a stupid decision and a moment of clarity (in which maybe things aren’t as easy as they had hoped)

a/n: happy october!! not sure if anyone even remembers or cares about this series anymore but october 1st is when it all started lol so happy anniversary :) thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this and i hope you like it!! (please don’t be mad at me) as always, come tell me what you though of it!! (also this is unedited so pls forgive me for mistakes)

( french vanilla masterlist )

__________

Another month passed, all of the autumn leaves were long gone and the winter chill that lingered in the air had people crowding into coffee shops and the like. Y/N had gone to breakfast a week before with Race and Spot and they'd all been texting ever since. She'd gone to Crutchie's to bring him the promised coffee and banana bread and she had stayed there for hours talking. He'd been texting her, too. Even Sarah had started to text her regularly, chatting about whatever came to mind.

Davey Jacobs had been back in her life for a little over two months and her world felt a million times brighter. It felt like, slowly, he was bringing back all of the other people that she'd lost, too. She knew he wasn't actually responsible for Crutchie, Race, and Spot being back in her life, but it felt that way. It felt like merely his presence in her world was parting the clouds and combating the winter winds.

They were meeting up again, but this time he was coming to her apartment. Her roommate was gone for a few days visiting her parents, which meant they would have the place to themselves. It would be the first time since they saw each other again in that coffee shop that they would be alone together, no Sarah on standby waiting to act as a buffer if needed. Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself while she waited for him to arrive. She had already done a deep cleaning of the apartment the night before, coffee was all ready to be made if needed, their cabinets were stocked with a good amount of snacks, and she was fully dressed and ready. That left twenty minutes until he was supposed to be there for her to walk around her apartment aimlessly, trying to calm her heart and control her breathing. She didn't have any papers out for their story. They rarely seemed to get any work done for it anyway, so she thought, maybe, she would ask if he just wanted to push the story to the side for the day. Maybe they could just talk or watch a movie or make out on her couch (okay, probably not the last one, but she could dream).

It was odd being so nervous, as if asking if he wanted to simply hang out with an excuse for doing so was some big step in their relationship. Their relationship would probably have to be normal for things to be categorized as big steps, what they had was all twisted and out of order. There were big steps that they had already taken and then backtracked on, steps they had never made it too, steps they would have to find their way back to. Still, her heart squeezed in anticipation for his telltale knock on the door. Alex would tell her how annoying her pacing was, but Alex wasn't there so she continued to stomp around.

Davey got there exactly eight minutes early, his knock loud against the wooden door. She startled like a cat, tensing immediately and practically jumping out of her skin. Her heart beat sped up to impossible rates, she felt like if she waited a few seconds more she would be able to watch it hop out of her chest and start doing laps around the building. Determined not to give it the chance, she stumbled quickly over to open the door. He was running a hand through his hair as she did so, smiling when he saw her.

"Hey," he said, bristling a little as he situated his bag and his coat. She opened the door wider to let him in and closed it behind him.

"Hey, do you want me to take your coat?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, obviously amused as he shrugged the garment off his body.

"Why thank you, kind madame," he said as he handed it to her, tone mocking and jovial. She laughed quietly.

"But of course, good sir," she responded, smiling up at him as she hung up his coat. Having in the apartment made the space look different somehow—smaller, but not in a bad way. It looked more homely, she supposed, cozier with his warm presence there. She took a step toward him without even really noticing, unconsciously trying to close the distance between them. "So, do you wanna watch a movie or something? There's this YouTube video I kinda wanna show you if you're down."

She saw the look of confusion pass over his face, eyes flicking over to his bag set down on the floor. She could tell he was thinking about the story, thinking about how he had brought his materials because he assumed that's what they were doing. She held her breath while waiting for him to say something, to react in some way.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face. His shoulders seem to sag a little in relief as he met her eyes. "What do you wanna show me?"

She clapped excitedly and then grabbed his hand to drag him over to the couch, picking up the remote so neither of them sat on it. She didn't realize until she had pulled the video up that she was till holding his hand. She looked at their joined fingers with wide eyes before her gaze moved upward to his face, finding him resolutely facing the TV, his cheeks flushed pink. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

He hadn't pulled his hand away. He was still sitting there holding her hand and not looking at her and it felt remarkably similar to how it had been when they originally started dating. She untangled their fingers and moved her hand to her lap, but the feeling of his skin lingered. She had the urge to text someone about it, an all caps freaked out rambling kind of message. The thing was almost everyone she wanted to tell about it (Race, Spot, Crutchie, Sarah) was connected to Davey. She supposed she'd have to settle for telling Alex later, with his disappointingly apathetic reactions.

Later felt like it was centuries away, though, with the thoughts running through her head. He hadn't pulled away. He had just kept holding her hand. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she turned her attention to the video she had put on. Still, she remained painstakingly aware of Davey next to her and the small space between them. She wanted to scoot over and rest her head on his shoulder, curl up around him like she used to when they had movie nights. She wanted that space gone and she couldn't stop thinking about what he might do if she held his hand again. She breathed. He laughed at something in the video. She breathed again. Time seemed to be moving strangely, like they had entered their own little pocket of the world where nothing, not even the passage of time, could reach them. She took a second to revel in it before she found herself once again glancing at Davey's hands, her own fingers twitching with the desire to reach out to him.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep pretending she wasn't in love with him.

__________

In retrospect, Davey probably should have pulled his hand away the second they sat down on the couch. All he could think about since the last time they'd seen each other, on repeat, was that she didn't love him anymore. He was torturing himself at this point, literally laying down to have his heart stomped on. When she finally detached their hands neither of them said anything, but he could feel her looking at him and he fidgeted a bit under her gaze. He wished he wasn't so nervous around her, constantly tiptoeing around the things they wouldn't talk about. Eggshells wasn't the right word for the floor their feet had seemed to find, it was far more precarious than that. There was a fear buried deep under each of their interactions that he would say something wrong, make a reference to their relationship before or, god forbid, bring up the night it all fell apart.

And yet, she had invited him over for no reason. Not to work on the story, just to exist in the same space as her and show him a YouTube video that she thought he would like (he did, it was incredibly funny). That was dangerously close to what they had once been, and the potential of it almost scared him.

He needed to start thinking of this practically. None of his friends knew that he was talking to Y/N again, Sarah was the only one. They'd only been back in each other's lives for two months after spending over a year apart because they had broken each other's hearts. She likely wasn't still harboring any secret feelings for him, not after all that time and certainly not after what he had said to her that night. Realistically, this strange little relationship of theirs wasn't going anywhere. Maybe they would end up friends in the long run, but it was never going to go any further than that. So, thinking practically, Davey needed to decide whether it was all worth breaking his own heart every time he saw her and had to pretend that he didn't feel the same way about her that he had back then.

He wanted to just bask in the moment, to sit there with Y/N and steal glances at her as she pulled up another video for them to watch. She was so breathtakingly beautiful it was almost unreal. When he wasn't thinking practically, half the time he was convinced she didn't even exist, that he must have dreamed her up. But she was real and she was there and he needed to stop looking at her before she noticed. He wanted to bask in the moment, he really did, but he just couldn't. Not this time.

They made it through four videos before he got a text from Les. It wasn't anything important, just a question about if Davey knew where his favorite hat was, but he knew that was his chance to remove himself from the situation so he could think more clearly. He told her that the text had been from Jack and he needed him back at the apartment.

"Oh, you have to go so soon?" She frowned at him, almost pouting. He nodded, standing up reluctantly. She followed suite, looking rather dejected. It made his heart ache, seeing her upset over him leaving. But that was exactly what he needed to escape, her ability to break his heart over and over and over again every time they saw each other.

Something about it all made that goodbye seem very final. He wasn't trying to erase her from his life completely, so why did it feel like this was the last time he was ever going to see her? Maybe that was what made him do it. Maybe it was her frown or the finality of it all or the fact that he was about to go out into the cold and she always made her feel warmer. Maybe it was everything and nothing all at once. It didn't really matter why he did it, all that mattered was that when they paused together in front of the door he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her securely into his chest.

She let out a surprised squeak, but then she was leaning into his touch and burrowing her face in the material of his crew neck. He held her for longer than he probably should have, just as he had held her hand earlier. Having her so close to him formed a barrier between him and any sense of his practicality, the smell of her shampoo flooding his nose and the feeling of her hands on his back soothing him more than anything else could.

He had to pull away, he knew he did. Taking one last deep breath, relishing in the feel of her body against his, he began to untangle himself from her.

He didn't make it far.

Their eyes met with their arms still wrapped around each other. He couldn't breathe, her face so close to his that he could see even the tiniest of movements of her pupils. Practicality, his brain kept screaming at him. He was making too much out of nothing, he needed to get out of there before it got to weird and then she didn't even want to be his friend anymore (more precarious than eggshells). He needed to get out.

But then she was leaning in and pulling him closer and crashing her lips against his and he figured he could probably stay a while. Forever, really, if she wanted. Screw practicality, caution to the wind, all that mattered was the fact she was kissing him.

And he was kissing back—fervently, desperately. God, he loved her. He had so much love for her he barely knew what to do with himself, but that didn't have to mean heart break and confusion anymore because she was kissing him.

He'd been stupid, thinking this was escapable. They were inevitable—of course they were, they always had been. He could see it all in front of him: his parents welcoming Y/N back with open arms, overjoyed that Davey had won her back. Les joking around with her and letting her wear his hat even though no one else was allowed to. His friends warming back up to her and all of them getting to be together like a family again. Sarah cheering him on when he told her they were back together. Nights spent together on her couch watching dumb videos that made them laugh and mornings in his bed, constantly asking for five more minutes so they could keep holding each other. Going out for dinner and going ice skating in the winter and talking walks in the park in the spring and going on day trips to the beach in the summer and frequenting coffee shops in the fall, laughing over how it all began.

It was all right there in front of him, right in his arms. He wasn't going to let it go this time, let her go. He loved her, and she was kissing him, all was right with the world.

__________

Holy shit. She was kissing him. Y/N was full on frenching Davey and she.....had not meant to do that. But he had had his arms around her and then he was looking at her with those sparkly eyes of his and he just looked so pretty that she couldn't resist.

Kissing Davey was nice, familiar. It awoke stampedes in her stomach and sent a warm tingling feeling through each of her limbs. She had missed kissing him a lot, more than she'd initially realized. It made her want to reach up and tangle her fingers in his hair, to pull him away from her door and back into the apartment where they could make out on the couch like she had fantasized about an hour ago. The tingling sensation was taking over her body and suddenly there was adrenaline rushing through her.

Something that felt like clarity broke through the haze. Maybe it wasn't clarity, maybe it was just foolishness or fear, but it broke through nonetheless.

She pushed him away as it came over her, staring at him with wide eyes. He looked wonderfully flushed and tousled, panting as he stood there. He was looking at her like he might be in shock, and she didn't blame him. She had come out of nowhere with that kiss, no time spent spent pondering the consequences or what it might mean for them.

But there were plenty of consequences to think about, millions of things running through her head at lightning speed once she finally found the sense to think of them. And, suddenly, she wasn't so sure kissing him had been a good thing. It had been too fast, too soon after everything they had put each other through in the past. She couldn't do this to him again, and she wasn't sure her own heart could handle loving him only to lose him again. Or, worse, to somehow find, as the time passed, that she would fall out of love with him. That one day she would look at him and not feel the same way, like she was still that girl behind the counter at the coffee shop writing jokes on his napkins.

And she wouldn't be able to survive it if she had to go through the loss again. She had given up so many friends for the sake of not intruding on Davey's life after they had broken up, she'd spent her entire time in Paris so sad that she could barely enjoy all the sights.

She hadn't meant to kiss him, and she really really shouldn't have. It was too much. The room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in on her, and even though she was panting no air was reaching her lungs.

She looked at him, at his messy hair and his red face and his eyes completely focused on her. She loved him, she really did, but she couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry," she choke out, feeling a sob forming in the back of her throat. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay," he breathed. The corner of his mouth started to move upward and she let out a strangled noise like a dying animal. His face contorted in confusion but she couldn't bear to stay and explain. She opened the door and walked out, rushing down the stairs until she was outside and the cold air was burning in her chest. She didn't even realize until she was a block away that she had just abandoned Davey in her own apartment.

She hadn't grabbed a coat or gloves, her body shaking in the cold as her teeth chattered. At least her phone was in her back pocket, waiting patiently for her to make an inevitable call.

The first time her and Davey had ever had a fight she had gone to Spot and Race's apartment to rant to them about he stupid he was being. Even though they had been his friends first, they listened dutifully to her and offered up their support. They had even helped her cool down with warm drinks and funny TV shows until she felt okay enough to call Davey and apologize. What had happened in her apartment wasn't exactly a fight, but it was a Davey related panic and they had always been her go-to people for that sort of thing.

She called them when she was halfway to their place, shivering violently as she walked and praying it wouldn't start snowing. Race picked up after the second ring and, when he heard the way her teeth were chattering, urged her to find somewhere warm to wait so they could pick her up.

The closest place was across the street from where she was standing, and it was the same coffee shop where she had met Davey. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, but she went inside and told Race where she was. He told her he'd be there in ten minutes, asking if she wanted him to stay on the phone while he made his way to her so she wouldn't be alone.

She told him no, but when they hung up she felt the isolation suffocating her. Everything that had happened that day weighed her down, bringing her sluggishly into a seat next to the window where she could keep an eye out for Race.

She closed her eyes for a minute, pretending she was back at home in her bed and she had never invited Davey over, never even met him again after they broke up. It tore her up to think about, but maybe the alternative—the life she had been leading before, no closure and still heart broken—was better than the mess she had landed herself in.

Race made it to the coffee shop in nine minutes and thirty six seconds, she had counted. He took one look at her and wrapped her up in his arms. It was nice, and he was warm, but it felt like Davey's touch was still lingering on her and he had squeezed too tightly on a still healing bruise.

When they made it back to Race's place, Spot was waiting for them with three steaming mugs and a soft, sympathetic smile on his face. Race had given her one of his sweatshirts at the coffee shop and she bundled herself up in it, hiding away from the world.

"What's going on, Y/N?" Race asked gently. She sighed, taking a sip from her mug. She had called them, after all, she figured it was only fair they got to hear everything.

"It's a bit of a long story..."

__________

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[spacecadetal]

bait (1/3)

kakashi hatake x fem!reader 

summary: after years of hinting and nudging your friend, kakashi, to take you out on a date, he just doesnt get it. but its okay, looks like someone else wants to take you out instead warnings: alcohol use, mentions of violence, mentions of injury, mentions of scar word count: 1923 part one - part two - part three / ao3 authors notes: howdy, i felt like writing a little something something. we got jealous kakashi and hes a little bit of an asshole about it but anywho... this is a three parter and its also been uploaded to ao3 so enjoy

You huffed and puffed as the cold canteen touched your lips, eternally grateful for the water you were pouring down your throat with one mighty scull. Wiping the sweat from your brow, a smile formed on your lips.

“Phew, you really got me there” you laughed, your breathing still erratic as your pulse began to slow down. 

“That’s because you’re easily distracted,” Kakashi teased, cooling off under a tree.

“I am not!” you protested through your laughter.

Sparring with Kakashi was always a great way to stay in shape. Always testing your limits and then some. Over the years you had your victories but Kakashi had more of them, still that didn’t deter you from bringing it your all when in friendly combat. 

The sun was high in the sky with no clouds to protect from it’s fiery beams. You stood with your hands on your hips, the training grounds behind you a vast field of trimmed green grass surrounded by towering oak trees. Kakashi always knew the best spots to train, the places no one thought to go. 

Kakashi wasted no time pulling out his novel, one knee bent while his other leg lay flat against the grass. Collected as if he hadn’t just sparred with you for an hour straight. “What about that escort mission from the Land of Stone?” he asked coolly, his eye scanning the pages in his hand.

“You don’t just get to see a baby boar every day” you defended. It’s not like there was any danger lurking around but you did linger there for far too long. Long enough for Kakashi to come along and pull you away before mama boar could come back and charge at your group. 

“Alright then, what about the bandit camp at the border?” 

Ah, that was a long time ago. Three years to be exact. Those pesky bandits kept you on your toes, that’s for sure. Two on one with only your kunai and a couple of shuriken to aid you. A flying kunai landed in your back near your shoulder blade, catching you off guard only for Kakashi to swoop in and fend the third bandit off for you. 

“I thought someone had my back.” you said, eyebrows raised though he still was not looking your way, nose still in his erotic fiction. That kunai had really hurt, you still had a scar. “Anyways, are you coming?”

Wordlessly, Kakashi snapped his book shut. Trading his shady spot under the tree for a spot next to your side in the sun. Walking back to the village along the dirt path, you engaged in your usual chatter. Mostly a stream of your thoughts entering your brain and exiting out of your mouth while Kakashi hummed and nodded. Years of friendship and he didn’t mind your rambling nor did he think you were annoying (well, he hadn’t expressed it anyway), it was good. Kakashi could be a man of few words when he wanted to be but you had more than enough for the both of you. 

“Any plans for tonight?” Kakashi asked out of the blue, finally glancing up from his book.

Heat gently started to rise to your cheeks but not enough to give yourself away. A part of you hoped this was going to be a lead in for him to make plans with you.

“Oh…no not really.” you said, eyes shifting from side to side.  “I mean…I kinda wanna try out that new restaurant...”

Hint, hint! Nudge, nudge! With a lingering side eye in his direction, you tried to catch his reaction. The slightest change in his brow or a twitch of his lips hidden behind fabric. However Kakashi seemed unfazed, flipping the page of his book as he walked along. “Why don’t you?” 

Okay, so maybe you need to lay it on a little thicker. Say no more. 

“It’s kind of a place for two, if you know what I’m saying…” you said, your head tilted towards him. 

Finally Kakashi lowered his book, his head turned to you. He must have finally gotten the hint, your eyes widened in hope. It was silent between you for a moment, and your expression told him you were expecting something, perhaps for your daydreams to finally come true. “Oh well, maybe one day you’ll have someone to go with”

Seriously? ‘You! I want to go with you!’ you wanted to scream but you composed yourself like you usually did. A heavy breath left your nostrils as you tried to keep your head high. Okay, one more try. 

“Yeah, like on a date. I think that would be really great, super cool actually, if someone that I really liked would take me there...on a date...romantically” 

That was obvious as you could make it without outright saying it. 

“Sounds okay, I guess” Kakashi said, shrugging as he considered it for a second.

Bubble burst. For someone who was excellent at strategy, formed his own jutsu, and knows a thousand others, this man had a thick skull. Was he truly oblivious to your hints? They weren’t exactly microscopic, more like a billboard with bright flashing lights around the border. Date me! Take me out on a date! For the love of all that is good in this forsaken world! Sure, you were your own woman. You could easily ask him yourself but it was more romantic to have him ask you. You loved that stuff. Flowers, romantic dinners, walking under the moonlight. There was nothing better than a chivalrous gentleman.

You had some inkling he might feel the same. Kakashi was a master of subtlety. His hands would gently come down on your waist when he squeezed past you, lingering there for a second too long. When sparing, he often pinned you down. Straddling you as he smiled with his eye, sometimes he’d stay there for an extra couple of minutes despite your protests. His fingers would brush against yours while you walked side by side. Normally you didn’t react and figured it was accidental even with your cheeks turning the colour of strawberries; Kakashi never let it be, pointing it out and bringing attention to it. Apologising profusely. Maybe you were too in your head about it. Taking every little gesture to heart because you desperately wanted him to feel the same too but you weren’t exactly foolish either. 

Another day, another attempt of dropping hints with nothing to show for it. Used to the disappointment, you accepted defeat the moment you stepped back into the bustling village streets. Mid afternoon and it was as busy as it normally was. Kids running around the streets, kicking balls and chasing each other. Women walking with their friends to teahouses for a pot of jasmine tea and gossip. Folks walking home from the market struggling to hold the heavy bags in their hands. The two of you wandered around without aim or purpose before Kakashi led you to the bookstore. The man had too many books as it was and yet he was going to buy another, not that you mind being dragged there. Kakashi had disappeared into a small, hidden corner of the bookstore where erotic fiction was stocked while you were browsing through cookbooks by the front of the store. Fingertips flicking through pages trying to find something good to make. 

Kakashi was right, you were easily distracted. Recipes using cod and cabbage had taken up all of your focus, leaving you unaware of the person standing next to you on your right. Head turned to you as if they were waiting for your head to pop up and notice them. It wasn’t going to happen, you were too engrossed in the instructions of ‘remove the bones and place them to the side for the broth’, so they cleared their throat loudly. 

That captured your attention, instantly your head snapped in their direction. 

“(Y/N)” Tanoshī said with a kind smile, giving you a little wave with one hand as the other held some random cookbook he had picked up in front of him. 

At first you were alarmed by the sudden sound but upon realising who was beside you, you instantly relaxed. Eyes and lips softening from a frown to a smile. Tanoshī was someone you had missions with occasionally, friendly towards everyone he encountered. You weren’t exactly close but when you did notice him, you would smile and wave. 

“Oh, hey! What’s up?” You asked, happy to bump into him like you usually were.

“Sorry to spring this on you but, uh, did you want to go out tonight? I really wanna try out that new place and you were the first person I thought of. It could be, ah, like a date, maybe?” He asked, his fingers flipped through pages yet his dark eyes were locked onto you. Scanning for the slightest change in your expression to hint at some impending rejection. 

“A date?” You asked, surprised at the offer.

You were glistening with sweat, bare arms covered in streaks of dry dirt and scratches, stray hairs sticking to your face and in various directions. Not exactly in an attractive state to be asked out, maybe that’s why Kakashi didn’t. Yet Tanoshī was standing beside you asking you out and you actually felt quite flattered. 

While you reflected on how flattered you truly felt, Tanoshī’s eyes darted about, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeah! I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t-“

“That sounds great actually! I would love to do that! Did you want to meet outside there at eight?” You interrupted him, happily accepting his offer.

It had been so long since you had been on a date. Even if it didn’t go anywhere you had an intense craving for romantic attention. Needing to feel some connection between people that made you appreciate the little things in life. If someone wanted to take you out, of course you were going to go. Besides it’s not like Kakashi is going to be asking you out any time soon, your hints hadn’t exactly been working in your favour. But who knows, maybe Kakashi might catch wind of it. Better yet, he might get jealous; you highly doubted it though.

Tanoshī had told you that eight worked for him and smiled brightly as he left the store with a wave in your direction. Clumsily you placed the book back on the shelf, eyes on Tanoshī as he walked down the street through the large store window. A smile of your own gently on your lips, someone really asked you out. It was quite flattering. You were about to tear your eyes away when you felt a presence behind you. “Sounds like you have someone to go with after all” 

When your head whipped around to meet Kakashi, you noticed he held a new book in his hand. One that wasn’t part of the Make-Out Paradise series, briefly you glanced at it but paid it no mind. Instead you were focused on the fact you had a date.

“It sure does!” your smile was wide but internally you were frowning. Wanting to whack him around the head and scream: it should be you taking me there! 

“Anyways, it looks like I have a date to get ready for” Your eyebrows wriggled around and Kakashi reacted as he usually did. One eyebrow raised in silence. With that you were walking out the door, a mini salute in Kakashi’s direction as you pulled the door wide open. 

[universal-kitty]

20 for you and Cloud for the prompt meme. 👁️👁️

40 Ways f/o’s say ‘I love you’

“I’ve been thinking of you.”

   Trying to make contact with Aerith’s “sibling” was like trying to make contact with bees, Cloud was starting to realize. No matter what he did, there seemed to be a wall for it. Any time he thought he was making some progress, up came a wall to make him stumble last minute, doubting any progress he thought he’d just made with the little spitfire.

   “You’re not doing anything wrong,” Aerith had assured him. “They’re just...prickly like that. I think they do it to keep themselves safe.” It made a lot of sense when she put it that way, but still... Cloud was beginning to think he’d never understand her adopted sibling.

   Well... Until nighttime came around, anyways.

   He couldn’t sleep that well, anyways. Laying in bed, suckered into spending the night, trying to find some comfort, any sort of peace of mind...and then the creaking of wood. It paused for a long, long while- achingly so- and Cloud was ready to pass it off as a chance sound- the wind, maybe- and attempt sleep again, but Aerith’s door opening caught his attention again.

   Open, closed. Silence...and then the soft sound of footsteps going across the landing and down the stairs. Cloud waited for what felt like ages before getting up, himself, opening his bedroom door just as Rachael slipped out the door downstairs. It was easier to tail them that way, bright eyes curious as he crept downstairs, giving the room a once-over, before moving along to the front door.

   The moon was in full, it seemed. The garden was bright with moonlight and made spotting Rachael wandering into the garden so much easier. There seemed to be...a blanket or coat wrapped around them, walking who knows where, but with just enough purpose that they didn’t seem upset.

   That’s good, at least. He wanted a good start before potentially ruining both of their nights with his own awkwardness.

   Cloud followed without hesitation, only to find himself fumbling when Rachael ended up carefully walking down to the bank, seating themselves by the water. It was such a lovely sight, but how exactly-?

   “If you wanted to sneak up on someone, you shouldn’t wear boots,” they called out softly, turning to look at him from over their shoulder. “I heard you since you left the house. Boots and gravel don’t mix, y’know.”

   ...He didn’t know what to say to that, aside from sighing, internally bashing himself for being so careless. It was quiet again, aside from the stream, and Rachael sighed after awhile. “...You know you can join me. Might as well, before you look like any more of a creep.”

   “I’m not a creep. I was keeping an eye on you.” Regardless, he stepped forward, carefully making his way to their side. Rachael snorted.

   “Yeah? From what monsters? Even the Turks can be less creepy than you are.” Ouch. That one kinda stung a little bit...but only a small, ghost of a smile showed through on that one.

   “Aerith.” He proceeded to- after a beat of hesitation- sit down beside them, a fair bit of space between them both to keep things comfortable.

   “You calling Aerith a mo-?”

   “She worries about you,” he snapped quickly. Rachael took in a startled breath...then sighed it out, looking away from Cloud entirely.

   “...I know she does. But I’m not weak, either. I can hold my own.”

   “They don’t seem to think so,” he pointed out softly, turning to look at them better. To stare, since they wouldn’t notice him doing so. Wondering why exactly...even the strong Aerith could have such a stubborn sibling, but consider them in need of protection. Parents, he could understand. But even Aerith...?

   “They never do...” Knees were pulled up, Rachael clinging to them...and Cloud could spot a small frown on their lips. “I’m just...a late bloomer, is all. I can still do things, even if I’m not ready for combat.” Not ready for-? Is that why?

   ...Was Rachael unable to hold their own in a fight?

   “I’ve been thinking of you,” he admits, suddenly, and they choke on air, coughing. He can’t quite tell in the moonlight...but something about their face looks a tad different.

   “Y-You wh-?”

   “You keep your distance from me, but I see how other people interact with you. How you interact with the stray cats and dogs. Aerith told me you have an affinity for animals.” It’s all facts, but somehow... They seem embarrassed? “The kids adore you and talk about how you always play with them. You let people think Aerith is older, when you are. Aerith’s told me how kind you are...

   “Why do you keep away from me, then?”

   ...A deep silence seemed to overtake them at that moment. Where Cloud was now fully invested in staring Rachael down...not that they’d meet his eye. They seemed pretty content to look everywhere BUT at him. The stream, the walls around them, the flowers (closed for the night), the junk that only added to the charm of the surrounding area (in a way Cloud can’t begin to process)... Anywhere that’s not at him.

   “You’ll have to answer me eventually, you know.”

   “...I know. But I don’t want to...” An unexpected response. How does one even go anywhere from that? Time to find a way, before he ends up staring at another, insurmountable wall.

   “Why?”

   “If it was that easy to explain, you think I wouldn’t tell you?” The snappish tone was back, at least. Weirdly comforting, especially since Rachael was looking at him again. “...what are you smiling about, you weirdo?”

   “I’m not smiling,” but he feels his mask come back on too late; a soft downward tug of his own lips, “but... I want to know. Someday.” He’s quick to clarify that, unsure of anything that might make him lose this precious ground. “For now... You could stop being such an ass towards me.”

   Rachael sighed, a small hum leaving them as they looked back towards the water, chin on their knees. “You drive a hard bargain, mister mercenary...but it’s a deal I can work with.” Another sigh as they stand up, brushing off dirt and small rocks from their cloak, shaking it off...and then offering their hand to him. Cloud, glancing at it before looking back up to Rachael in muted surprise and wonder.

   “...Let’s start again, okay? I’m Rachael Gainsborough. I’m the elder, adopted sibling of Aerith, but I’ll let people believe whatever they want to believe. I like cats more than dogs...and sometimes, I think the planet has a voice and that my sister is right.

   “And you are?”

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 4: Human Shield

(Pack your bags, martyrs.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 4: Human Shield

Word Count: 3521

Relationships: none

Warnings: injuries (various), blood, weapons (swords), implied concussion

A/N: alrighty, time for some Creativitwins shenanigans! i hope i captured their personalities okay; this is definitely my favourite story i’ve written for whumptober so far ^^

A shrill, feral roar rips out into the Imagination, echoes through the mindscape past the boundaries of the twins’ realm and in every nook and cranny it can reach. It’d probably hurt Roman’s ears, if he wasn’t already so used to hearing it, but this time isn’t like all the other times. It’s frantic, and angrier, and tension ripples through his limbs. The Dragon Witch is his foe, yet again, except this time, he’s joined by Remus. His brother hasn’t ever been one for fighting alongside him, preferring independent combat as opposed to co-op, but Roman was already here, and Remus was bored, so now they’re in a battle.

They’re fighting together against the Dragon Witch to keep her at bay, but they’re also fighting each other, in more of a verbal way than a physical way. Their bickering is nothing new, a familiar backdrop to the sound of swords clanging against metallic scales and the sizzling noise left in the aftermath of their opponent’s fiery breath. They don’t argue about anything in particular, anything important. They never really do, if Roman’s being honest. It’s more of a sibling rivalry and casual disdain rather than genuine hatred, although he’d never actually admit that to Remus. Their squabbles and quarrels are, while annoying, something Roman regards with a begrudged fondness, and that is a piece of information he will take to his grave.

Which actually might be sooner than he thought if he doesn’t start paying attention.

The sting that emanates from the slash in his arm is something Roman has been frequently acquainted with in the past, but it doesn’t make the wound hurt any less. He knows the danger of fighting in the Imagination, knows that the effects will last until you leave, but sparring with knights and battling monstrous creatures is fun and helps to get Roman out of creative blocks. If leading Thomas in artistic pursuits means a few scrapes and bruises every now and again, then Roman is happy to endure a little bit of pain until he can get back to the main part of the mindscape and wave the injuries away. He never stays hurt, so it hasn’t ever been a big problem before. Damage to his person is impermanent, and it always has been, so Roman just shrugs off the pain of the abrasions and cuts and contusions and holds his sword in front of him in an aggressive attacking stance.

“Ha! You got whapped!” Remus jeers from the left, nasal voice cutting easily through the chaos as it always does. Roman glances over, does a double-take, and then gives an incredulous laugh. Remus is covered in blood, most of it likely to not be his own, but he also has scrapes and burns all over his skin and outfit. He’s one to talk!

“Shut up!” Roman calls back, retorts in the same way he’s used to. A general rule with Remus is that you won’t have a certain interaction with him just once. If it happened before, it’s gonna happen again, and this has been proved true countless times. Roman has come to expect the lewd gestures, the disturbing language, his “surprise” tackles from the shadows that Roman manages to sidestep nearly every time. Remus has a fixation on repeating things until they stick, doing the same thing over and over and over until something new or different happens. Einstein probably wouldn’t have been very fond of him.

Remus belts out a laugh, leaps forward with manic eyes to slash at the Dragon Witch. His cutlass manages to leave a clean slice on the creature’s back, comes back stained with violet blood. Roman still doesn’t understand why Remus won’t just use his morning star, since his brother has always been the most powerful when using it. He insisted before the fight began that it’s “more fun this way”, hooked his morning star onto his back, and set off to get into more trouble. Roman can still feel the headache even now.

The Dragon Witch growls again, lashes her tail out in a swinging arc, and Roman dives over it cleanly. Remus, as much of a reckless idiot as usual, grabs the spiked appendage when it gets close enough. He’s immediately whipped around as she tries to shake him loose, but Roman knows from personal experience that Remus is like a rabid dog and will not let go once he’s latched on. His legs and sides smack into trees, rocks, the ground, and yet he’s still somehow not winded enough to let his grip loosen a single bit. Roman can tell that the Dragon Witch is starting to get frustrated, smoke blowing out of her nose just like in the cartoons they still watch frequently.

The Dragon Witch herself has gone through a few iterations throughout Thomas’ life, getting more and more “realistic” as he grew up, if you count a half-witch, half-dragon hybrid as being anywhere close to realistic. When Thomas was younger, she had just been a large, purple dragon (influenced by Spyro, no doubt) with a stereotypical witch hat. Now, she’s more of an actual character, closer to what Roman imagines would be in a cool medieval fantasy show on television.

Most of her body is human-- her torso, arms, and legs are pretty normal-looking apart from the violet scales and deep scarring. She’s mostly naked, with a ripped, flowing robe to cover up her sensitive areas (Thomas is still family-friendly, damn it), and a lavish hoard of body jewelry hung at any place that’s free. Her neck boasts delicate golden chains, her wrists and ankles are encircled by broken diamond shackles, and other silver jewelry drapes across her torso, stomach, and legs. Her whole schtick is that she comes to unsuspecting villages in the night, steals their valuables, and uses it to adorn herself in immeasurable wealth.

However, she’s still part-dragon, and that comes in the form of gleaming pointed teeth, wicked sharp nails, an enormous wingspan, and of course, her spiked tail, which is probably far more lethal than it should be. Her shimmering scales radiate out from the center of her stomach, create a patch of bare skin similar to that of what a teddy bear might have, which is almost ironic when it juxtaposes the bloodstains discolouring nearly every smooth inch of her body. She’s definitely evil, and has probably killed tons of imaginary villagers, and Roman kinda loves her simply for the merit she poses as a villain. Whenever he needs a break from the chaos and responsibility, he can rely on her consistency, can depend on the knowledge that she’s always waiting somewhere to engage Roman in his favourite heroic escapades.

And although her purpose is to play the villain, to lose to the hero, an inevitable means to an end, she’s still dangerous. If he slacks off, he can absolutely be defeated. Well, at least Roman can. Remus seems to be having the time of his life even while getting thrown about like a ragdoll (maybe because of it), and honestly, that probably is his idea of fun. He couldn’t have been an arts and crafts geek, could he? No, he has to be weird, and vulgar, and stuck in a cycle of heedlessness. And despite the fact that every time Remus lets himself get hurt on purpose, to fulfill his idea of a day well spent, Roman feels like he’s gonna have an actual heart attack, he can’t deny that some of the foolhardy things Remus does are highly entertaining. Such as now.

The Dragon Witch lets out vicious snarls as she tries to throw Remus off of her back, outraged howls that are only met with deranged laughter. Of course, his brother is unafraid, impetuously so, and that’s something that gives him a clear advantage in most of his fights. Their opponents can act threatening, rise up as terrifying monsters and evil sorcerers and haunted thieves to menacingly loom over the hero, but Remus isn’t the hero, and he can be just as scary. It’s a critical part of what makes him so intimidating, really.

With every growl, every failed slash, the Dragon Witch gets more agitated. She kicks up dirt and gravel with her clawed feet as she stomps around, bleeds into polluted air with rash arrogance. The path they stand on is partially obscured by clouds of dust, leaving the two’s squabble to be enacted as shadows through the grimy lens. Sound is more effective than sight, in this instance, and it’s this sense that leads Roman back into the fray.

His eyes burn as he trudges toward the faint outline of the Dragon Witch, footsteps filled with caution while he shields his eyes from the dust in a futile attempt to ease the sting. He almost trips over upended rocks multiple times but manages to approach the scuffle relatively unscathed. It’s a wonder Remus is still hanging on, squeezing one of the larger spikes on the half-dragon’s back in a death grip even as she doesn’t let up trying to shake him off. Roman can see through the haze in the air that Remus has managed to almost double the number of scratches he had before, and yet nothing’s changed. He’s still grinning, still whooping and shouting as if he’s this is all just a game, and for him, it probably is.

Despite the fact that the lacerations don’t seem to bother him, Remus is still unable to fight efficiently due to his position, and Roman realizes with a groan that he’s going to have to front the efforts on this one. He doesn’t know why he expected Remus to contribute a single thing to make his life easier, but even with the annoyance, he still can’t really bring himself to be angry.

The prince-like side sighs once more, steels his resolve, and then dashes forward.

Once he’s close enough, Roman almost swings his sword in an effort to do some sort of damage, but manages to stop himself before he does. He’s learned over time that recklessness in combat is one of the biggest detriments to swaying the fight in your favour, and has slowly began to adopt and absorb the patience and split-second strategizing that often tips the balance towards himself in altercations. There are only a few moments before the Dragon Witch will notice him and attack, so Roman needs to think quickly.

In all of the fights he’s had with her, there has been a relative consistency in the way the villain ensures Roman will be the underdog, getting beaten multiple times throughout the battle right up until the end. Her counter-attacks are the focal point here, something he’s begun to train himself to look for in their skirmishes. They’re easily compared to chess pieces, and it’s important for Roman to condition himself into analyzing each move to see where he can improve.

There is one part of their battles that tends to repeat itself, a specific situation that he’s relived time and time again. Roman will charge at the Dragon Witch thoughtlessly, foolishly leave himself wide open, and she’ll whip around at the last second to strike him in the torso with her tail. It’s almost practiced at this point, choreographed into the repetition of the timeline, fluid from one altercation to the next. And Roman knows this, is striving to rethink, and recognizing patterns is how he’ll overcome his deficiencies.

He can’t wait any longer. Narrowing his eyes, Roman puts on an act, lets out a dramatic battle cry as he lunges forward with his sword raised above his head. He can see the Dragon Witch smirk, sees the way her dark eyes glint, and he knows that he’s not going to fail this time. As soon as Roman is within range, she turns as usual, easily baited out with conscious forethought. This time is different, though, because Roman stops short, shifts back to lag the pace, and her tail shoots around.

In a moment that doesn’t happen often, Remus turns around, somehow knowing exactly what Roman’s plan is. There’s a synchronicity there, duality that only comes from two beings who used to exist as one. Roman hops over the Dragon Witch’s tail, leaps forward to grab onto Remus’ extended hand, and uses the leverage to vault off of her back and over her head. He lands hard on the ground in front of her, refusing to waste a single precious second as he ignores the pain that shoots through his legs at the rough stop. Roman immediately turns and plants a foot backward, stamps an anchor into the grass to use as a pivot point. There’s a very small window of time that Roman has to operate in, to take advantage of the pause of surprise as the half-dragon processes the new turn of events. The prince spins around, then uses the momentum to bring down a harsh slash on the Dragon Witch’s chest.

The villainess shrieks, rears back hard enough to finally eject Remus from her back, and she doubles over to clutch at the gash in her open patch of skin. Remus lands in the dirt with a thump, breath forced from his lungs at the impact, and Roman ignores the Dragon Witch for now in favour of rushing to help Remus up. Yeah, his brother is annoying, but he’s still his brother, and Roman is a terrible excuse of a prince if he doesn’t help someone in need, especially family.

His counterpart groans from where he’s laying on the ground, rolls his head to the side to reveal a rock now coloured with a smattering of red. Of course he hits the one place where there isn’t grass, devoid of a more forgiving landing. Roman’s so used to the way that his brother is able to adapt to each new challenge, laugh back in the face of adversity in a different, more careless way than he himself does, that seeing a glazed film over unseeing eyes causes him to stumble back.

Although Remus isn’t usually perturbed too much by injury, and in fact welcomes it, that doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt, that it doesn’t affect him the same way it does any of the others. Particularly in the Imagination, where everything is amplified multiple times, colours and sounds and feelings turned up several notches to match the overwhelming, extraordinary nature that encompasses such a vast, limitless wealth of creation. The production of ideas from such conspicuous places, influenced by the very experience that sets their host apart as an individual, it allows for so much light, but also so much darkness. And though Remus operates comfortably within these confines, yanks on the reins with a force of a tidal wave to force relevancy and requirement, it consequently brings to light how much even his already staggeringly disturbed intrigue can be worse, can always be worse.

Roman has never had full control over the Imagination, has shared it with his brother despite the split far favouring himself. He tries to keep it relatively clean, err on the side of easier topics so as not to disturb Thomas, but even Remus needs an outlet, especially Remus. Roman tries his best to put forth light and warmth, and he’s largely successful, but the suppression of his brother’s thoughts and ideas can only hold on for so long before there is a need to release the pressure, create a draining channel to make sure the water doesn’t spill over the dam. It’s not nearly as bad as it used to be (though the journey to forgiveness and acceptance was certainly arduous), but the predisposition toward lording Roman’s contributions above Remus’ has resulted in a severely heightened state of the areas under his counterpart’s control.

One such area of control is the effect of injuries on those who get hurt inside the Imagination, something that, while more realistic and immersive, has gotten Roman into trouble many, many times. Wounds don’t work the same here as they do in the main part of the mindscape, set apart from the innate impermanence of how they function. Here, they actually hurt, which is not something one would experience outside of the Imagination. They’re also unable to be waved away, cast aside in an instant; once you’ve got it, it stays there, at least until you return and employ the use of object impermanence like a salve. Sure, it makes engaging in Roman’s favourite heroic scenarios feel much more real, but it’s also left him in various predicaments, having to limp away from battles or cower under the force of broken bones.

So normally, when met with the assertation of his brother bleeding from his head, there would be little cause for panic. But in the Imagination, there are much harsher consequences for reckless behaviour, and the way Remus sways and wobbles as he tries to sit up spells out bad news. Roman can feel his heart-rate quicken, feels the lump in his throat forming as Remus doesn't seem to be cognizant enough to respond to his calls and questions.

The prince-like side reaches out, shakes his brother’s shoulders to try and snap him out of it. It seems to succeed somewhat, and Remus blinks a few times before finally meeting Roman’s worried gaze. His face is terrifyingly blank for a few moments, as if he doesn’t even recognize him, and then he’s standing, wincing at the volume of his own voice when he barks out a laugh. “My ‘ead got hit pre--pretty hard, didn’ it?”

Roman’s alarm builds even more, eyebrows furrow as his twin stumbles to the side from a loss of balance that doesn’t have any external cause. Remus reaches up to scratch at the back of his head, forgetting the injury that was just created, and he winces with a sharp hiss as his hand comes back partially covered in fresh blood. It’s a wonder he hasn’t passed out yet, what with the absurd amount of blood he’s lost just in the past few minutes alone, but he’s still standing, and Roman is impressed even amidst the concern. And then his counterpart’s eyes snap open, as clear as they were before, and he’s yelling out a “Move!” as he tries to reach forward.

But it’s too late, and the eldest twin certainly isn’t going to let it hit Remus, so he raises his arms to the sides in order to shield as much of his brother as possible. Roman feels the drag of spikes tearing open the flesh on his back, the ache of the bruises beginning to form from the force of the impact that the Dragon Witch’s tail causes.

Roman spins around through the acute pain emanating from his back as he summons his shield, the one he only saves for emergencies because its gleam can beguile and stupefy and entrance any being who lays their eyes on it. It has a property that almost hypnotizes, something that Roman certainly didn’t intend on it doing, but he’s had to employ its assistance sparingly because of how long it leaves its victims in a daze. He has no problem using it now though, holds it up and braces himself against Remus’ newfound grip on his shoulders, and ducks his head.

The Dragon Witch screeches and tries to send a vicious plume of fire their way, but the shield protects them, turns each flickering flame into sparkling dust to drop harmlessly to the ground when it’s close enough. Her belted attack soon dies out, morphs from a shrill howl to a pained moan, and her voice starts to lose its volume. Roman risks taking a peek over the top, and sees the villainess stumble from side to side as her eyelids droop involuntarily.

The Dragon Witch’s gaze lands one more time on Roman’s shield, and then she’s slumping to the ground, lost in the intricacies of its swirling gold patterns.

“You alright?” Roman asks as he stands back up, furrowing his brows when his twin’s eyes shift in and out of focus. He reaches out to steady Remus in case he falls, but his brother manages to shake his head as if he’s trying to jostle the cotton in his brain and then straightens up just fine, so he lets his hand fall back to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good now. You’ll really do anything to be the hero, huh? Oh, my saviour!” Remus swoons, mocking a feminine voice as he puts the back of his blood-soaked hand to his forehead delicately. The dark red claret streaks across his face, mats his wild, unruly hair down, and Remus doesn’t acknowledge it at all. His counterpart mocks the damsel in distress, snickers with that god-awful nasal laugh of his, and Roman playfully whaps him on the shoulder with the hilt of his katana in relief.

Remus casually bumps his shoulder against Roman’s own as they walk back to the entrance of the Imagination, shows a rare sign of good faith, and Roman is positive that he has the best brother in the world.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Sixty-Five: Staff ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

While not as physically demanding as his work had ever been as a shinobi, Sasuke’s role in the refurbished police force still requires a fair level of physicality. Few, if any, of Konoha’s residents could ever truly lift a hand against him at anywhere close to his full power, but that doesn’t mean he skirts on his training. Chasing thieves and combating small-time gang members within the village’s wall still takes at least a basic level of strength.

Of course, quite a few simply give up as soon as they realize who they’re up against...and few of his assignments ever even leave him winded. But, as his father always said, your body is your primary offense and defense. Weapons can be broken, chakra run dry, kekkei genkai can fail you...but the one thing you should always be able to count on is yourself. Your greatest weapon and asset.

So, Sasuke makes regular visits to the training grounds, though rarely for anything too robust. Hinata joins him fairly often, or other times he ends up facing Naruto for a few hours...at levels far below their maximum. Can’t exactly let them raze Konoha to the ground by going all-out in a spar. Most of his work is just general upkeep. Exercise, sparring hand-to-hand, practicing with weapons, or even meditating to keep his chakra flow balanced and open.

“So...what’s your favorite shinobi tool to use?”

Currently taking a breather, Sasuke and Hinata both sit atop a fallen log just outside a well-worn training area beneath the crown of a tree. The leaves are beginning to turn, but there’s enough in them to cling on and provide a little shade as Autumn begins. A pleasant breeze wicks the sweat from their skin, leaving them cool as they settle after a spar.

Sasuke turns to give her a glance. “Favorite tool…?” He takes a moment to think that over. “...I rely most on my sword, but...shuriken are a close second. I prefer them to kunai most of the time. Why?”

“I was just chatting with Tenten the other day,” Hinata muses. A leaf is held between her hands, carefully peeling away pieces along its ribs. “She’s trying to open a weapons shop, and was wanting to know what gear is the most popular. And it got me thinking, is all. I don’t use much weaponry, really...kunai at times, but mostly my hands are my weapons. I don’t have much...need to rely on something outside my body.”

“Your fighting style also relies on chakra, though,” Sasuke reminds her. “It’s good to have some kind of backup. Sure, Jūken still translates into taijutsu, but it’s far less effective without being able to hit tenketsu. It’s not a very...physical style of fighting.”

“True...it’s actually really easy to keep up the forms,” Hinata muses. “It’s more about redirecting, or dodging. I can practice the moves themselves for hours and not get too tired. But that doesn’t mean my chakra always keeps up. That’s usually when I start using a kunai instead. It’s a slightly different motion, though - a slash compared to a strike of a palm.”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t hurt you to learn another style based solely in taijutsu or bukijutsu. I could teach you kenjutsu if you want.”

That earns a soft laugh. “I’ve never considers wielding a sword before, honestly...I like something...smaller. Closer to my body, I guess.”

“Having an extended reach can be useful.”

“I suppose. Tenten was showing me a bō staff...I’d honestly never really considered it before. The way she was spinning it, and striking…! It was actually really neat! Not something I’d expect from a glorified stick,” she giggles.

“Blunt objects can be just as useful as sharp ones if you know how to use them,” the Uchiha replies.

“Have you ever tried one?”

“No, I haven’t...but it seems like it would be interesting. Using a longer weapon means having to adjust to its weight, and balance. Your arms get more tired, so you have to tone them to account for the additional lifting you have to do. And of course there’s taking the shockwaves of blocking blows, or giving them.”

There’s a hum as she considers that. “You’re right. I guess there’s a lot to think about with that sort of thing. Still...I’m not sure it would really be my style. She offered me some lessons, but...I’m not sure if I want to take her up on it.”

“I’d go with you if you went.”

“Really?”

“Sure. It’s never a bad thing to learn a new skill...or at least try to. Having an additional trick up your sleeve might save your life.”

Hinata can’t help a soft snort. “Well...there aren’t too many dangerous encounters in our work now,” she muses. “The police force doesn’t really handle the same degree of criminals as shinobi do. Which I guess I partly miss, but...it’s sort of nice typically having the upper hand.”

“Well, you’re skilled enough as it is to give most people a run for their money,” Sasuke tells her honestly. “You’re one of the strongest Hyūga as far as I’ve been able to tell. But that doesn’t mean you can’t expand your arsenal, just in case.”

After all...the more time passes, the clearer it becomes that there are still those who blame the remaining Uchiha for a number of Konoha’s problems. The backlash against Sasuke, his brother, and their cousin hasn’t relented. If anything, it’s been slowly getting worse. And while Sasuke does know that Hinata can handle herself against most enemies...he worries about her. Getting involved with him means putting herself in harm’s way.

If she can pick up another skill that might give her the slightest edge...he’s not about to tell her not to.

As though realizing his thoughts, Hinata sobers slightly from her joking. “...true. Maybe I’ll tell her I’ll take her up on it, and see if she’d be okay with you tagging along. I’m sure she’d be fine, but better to ask.”

“Yeah, not everyone is comfortable around me, even now.” It’s been over a year since his return to Konoha, and there’s still many who tread on eggshells around him, as though afraid he’ll suddenly turn savage and attack.

Ridiculous, but...at the same time, he can’t blame them.

“Well...I guess I can tell her you’ll buy shuriken from her,” Hinata then muses, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’ll get kunai when I need them. Once she gets her shop all set up and ready to open, we’ll have to go take a look!”

“Mm. Sounds good. Can never have too many weapons,” he notes, glancing over at her giggling. “...what?”

“Nothing, nothing...so, should we have another round of sparring, or...are you ready to go home?”

Sasuke ponders that for a moment. In all honesty, he’s far from tired. But it’s midday by now, and breakfast was quite some time ago. Probably a good idea to get some lunch, clean up, and be productive in other ways for the rest of the day. “Let’s find some food, first. I’m starved.”

“Okay! Maybe we can invite Naruto-kun and Sakura-chan…?”

That earns a grimace. “...do we have to?”

“Well, no…”

“...maybe another time. I have to have more forewarning than that to be ready to deal with those two...especially at the same time.”

Hinata laughs and gives a nod. “F-fair enough. I suppose that means no going to Ichiraku’s...Naruto-kun is surely there.”

“Yakiniku sound good?”

“Sure!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

                                                              .oOo.

     Well, not much to today's entry (or, well...technically yesterday's - I'm still a day behind Dx) - mostly just a sort of...slice of life between our two lovebirds. Or...soon-to-be lovebirds. This is around the time they're sort of...figuring out that next step, and all that comes with it.      But hey, here's something both neat and kinda sad: there's exactly 100 days left in the challenge, now. Just over three months! I won't lie, part of me will be glad when it's over. I've loved this challenge, but it CAN be a bit draining, at times. But it's been so awesome to get back into ficcing, and into the SH community. I definitely plan on turning some of these into longer projects - y'all will have to help me pick which ones xD But yeah, just happened to notice that milestone...oof.      Anywho, I gotta head to bed, so that's all from me tonight. Thanks for reading!

[believerindaydreams]

on reflection, writing this ‘verse is like trying to get into a jumper that’s a size too small after shrinking in the wash. 

nevertheless, I did promise this tale of cinnamon!Angel...

"I don't know, how come you've never told me how you two met," Mac says lazily.

He's whittling something with his red-handled knife, meticulously upright compared to his partner's languid sprawl. Jack's working off a hangover from a late-night trip into town, with the aid of a bacon sandwich and a pitcher of water that’s already warming in the hot climate. One of them ought to go and turn on the air conditioning...if they could just be bothered.

"I assumed you'd told him, Jack," the third member of their trio says. Murdoc leans back on a plump sofa cushion, taking care not to dislodge the cat sitting on his lap. (He doesn't pet it; it doesn't scratch him; the whole affair has more the air of a negotiated settlement between equals than a pet-master relationship).

"Sure. I said I'd taken you around Mission City in my cab...that's about all there was to it, Mac, honest."

"You're twitching. Jack, that's a sure tell."

"How would you know? Maybe I lie to you all the time, and just let you think you've got one up on me..."

"He doesn't do that, does he?" Mac asks Murdoc. "Asking for your professional opinion here."

The assassin snorts. "No."

"See, this is why I gotta get away from you two sometimes...it's no fun fooling, when you've got my tricks down pat. I'm outnumbered."

"So what's the story?" Mac persists. "If it's worth Jack lying about, there's gotta be one."

"Well, this much is true. There was a taxi involved..."

********

"What would you do for a nice crisp hundred?" Murdoc had asked. 

Not that crisp, actually, with all the humidity in the air; but the taxi driver had eyed it greedily enough. Tapped his cap, in the way of men who've seen more war movies than combat. "...heck, anything! Take you anywhere you want- all the way to St Paul, if you like."

Precisely what he ought to have done, and won't. "That won't be necessary. Just take me around the main streets...oh, and fill me in on the local colour. Metaphorically and literally. I'm an amateur photographer, so there's no knowing what location might take my fancy."

"You mean, just drive and talk? Brother, you're gonna be my best customer ever..."

That had been an hour ago. An hour of letting the scene seep into his bones, with the patient, unyielding attention he generally reserves for scoping out the location of his next kill- is it so very different, the intention already threading through his bones? Stalking the prey, laying the trap...and his blonde-haired desire's not likely to prove an easy yield, either. Not in a place where everything starts and ends with the church, even in casual chat like this.

An hour of the quiet turning to desperation, in brief. That presents opportunities. "You're not local any more than I am," Murdoc says, almost amiably. "A Texas accent, is that right?"

The taxi driver shrugs, pops a piece of bubble gum into his mouth. "Sure, years back. Honestly, I can't even hear it myself these days. Though people remember anyway. Mission City, people here have long memories...you make one gaffe and trip on stage, they'll be laughing about you at potlucks for the next twenty years."

Worse and worse, a gossipy sort of town. He has no business being here, none whatsoever...what would Nicholas say, to hear that HIT's finest is planning to set up here? "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good move, yeah. I should have gone home years ago, I miss it like hell. Somewhere I wouldn't need a stepladder to be eye level with a girl, you know? And chili with some kick in it. And no winter! Santa maria, I could have gone my whole life perfectly happy not to know what cold was..."

"So why don't you leave?"

"Reasons," the taxi driver says. Shrugs, which Murdoc wishes he wouldn't do while driving; but there's so little traffic it hardly matters. "Love child, or next best thing to it- I got shunted all the way through the foster system. Not much fun. Long story how I ended up here, but it's my turf now- you're an actor, aren't you? That's next best thing to a hustler- see, maybe the pickings are kinda slim but at least I've got the field to myself. If I left I might have to go straight, and what fun would that be?"

"Ah."

It's a chilly, distinguished syllable, and the taxi driver shrinks back. Nice to see he hasn't lost his touch. (Now that had been worrying him rather.)

"One more thing- where in this town might I find a coffee shop?"

"Oh, there's only one place for that," the driver says, and promptly speeds up. "Mac's place, the Chrysanthemum Cafe. Kinda on the outskirts but it's worth it, believe me- they started the place to serve the construction workers, when they were building that prison, you know? Or I guess you wouldn't, actually. That's a weird thought," the taxi driver muses, chewing on his gum. "It's been shut for more than a decade now, and the town's still never gotten over the shock. Mind you, anybody under thirty with a lick of sense is moving south..."

Promising material, Murdoc decides. The more desolate the surroundings, the easier it should be to coax away the man he-

(what could he possibly name it, even in the depths of his own mind? and the afternoon's sure fascination seems to dim, potential willing but unnameable-)

"And I tell him he'll never make any money giving away cookies, but he's a dunderhead and won't listen. Course, Mac has a couple of tricks up his sleeve for the adults. The hot chocolate, for instance, that's a trade secret..."

Lost in thought, he doesn't notice when the taxi driver winds down;  and though the silence doesn't take his notice, the sudden bang of a bubble exploding certainly does.

"Pthuck! Yeesh, sorry..."

"I didn't enjoy that."

"I didn't either," the taxi driver splutters, bringing the car to a halt with alarming suddenness. "Just great. Bubble gum all over my mustache, I just waxed it too! I look a mess!" He angles the mirror towards him, dabbing at his face.

Murdoc turns away from the unengaging spectacle, unobtrusively letting go of the gun cocked and ready in his pocket. Nothing wrong with his instincts, prepared to meet an unexpected threat- but he shouldn't have needed them. This taxi driver's never going to know how close he came to a brief and unexpected end- though fault or no, his professional pride's been hurt. Somebody's going to pay for that.

"How much further is this cafe?"

The taxi driver waves, haplessly. "Just up the street."

"Good, I'll walk the rest." He counts out the fare on the taxi meter, tidy enough sum, and puts it on the dashboard.

"Hey...I thought you said. A hundred dollars."

"I asked what you'd do for it. Not that I'd give it to you."

It's raining in earnest as he steps out of the cab, unafraid to meet his fate-

*******

"Whoa," Mac says abruptly. "You two met up, and you scammed Jack?"

"That's why I never told you," Jack says, mustache quivering. "Taking me for a ride- he was no good! I knew that from the start!"

"...wasn't that information that I should have had, before I decided to ride off with him into the sunset?"

"Why? You didn't need me to tell you that face was bad news- did you. Uh, did you?"

"...okay, I didn't," Mac admits. "I didn't."

"If it's any consolation, I was most regretful afterwards," Murdoc says to Jack. "It meant I couldn't take the obvious route towards acquiring his affections, since I'd managed to mortally offend the sole person in town who could have negotiated their purchase-"

"Ah, you shouldn't have let that stop you. I had a piloting habit to keep up, you know that's worse than crack. I'd have let you smooth it over for enough moolah-"

"And just how would you have managed that, Jack?" Mac asks sternly. "Asked me nicely?"

"Sure I'd have asked you nicely. Begged. Pleaded, turned handstands, whatever it took to get you to grips with the concept that we were both one good sneeze from disaster...and a crazed millionaire actor would still be worth humouring."

"And suppose after all that I still said no?"

"Well, if I'd known he was that kinda guy," Jack says, a gleam in his eye, "maybe I'd have had a whack at it myself. Just cut you out of it altogether, and let this lovely foreign actor whisk me off."

"That never would have worked," Murdoc says dismissively. 

"You wanna bet? This hacienda, a hanger full of light aircraft- hell, I didn’t even see it was my chance and I still took it. Where are we now?"

“...the Gulf Coast.”

“Rest my case.”

[dpn-datalogs]

ACTIVATION PROCESS INITIATED ENERGY RESERVES: 100% PREFORMING DIAGNOSTIC SCAN... DIAGNOSTIC SCAN RESULTS: 0 ERRORS FOUND PERFORMING SYSTEM SCAN... SYSTEM SCAN RESULTS: 0 ERRORS FOUND ELAPSED TIME SINCE PREVIOUS SHUTDOWN: 2d 7h 42m 13s ACTIVATING..._

Hydro groaned softly as he booted up, his optics taking a second to adjust to the bright light above him. Once he could see clearly, the first thing he noticed was that he was no longer near the shore he ran out of power near. In fact, he wasn’t in water at all. “Wuh...” Hydro attempted to sit up, only for a familiar hand to gently push his chest back down.

“Don’t get up just yet, Hydro.” Tundra said to his brother. “Your self-scan may have read green, but I want to run my own.”

“Tundra?” Hydro was surprised to see his brother. It could only mean that he had managed to make it home after all, even if the currents had to take him the last bit if the way. Unless... “...this is home, right? I didn’t wash up in the north pole or something?”

“This is the foundation, Hydro.” Valte rose from his seat next to the workbench Hydro was laying on and patted the waterbot’s pauldron. “You gave us all quite the scare. We were afraid the worst had come to pass, and I don’t mind saying I’ve lost enough Prescotts for one lifetime.”

“Hydro, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been heavily modified since you were last here.” Tundra said as he looked over Hydro’s body. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, you noticed the new look, eh?” Hydro chuckled softly as he gripped his hands. They were still there, much to his relief. “It’s...kind of a long and crazy story. Actually, can I tell everyone at once? Figure it’d be easier than repeating myself a half-dozen times.”

“Of course. They’re on the other room, and just as curious as I am.” Valte said as he went to open the door.

Tundra tapped Hydro’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hydro, Mr. Valte wasn’t exaggerating when he said how worried everyone was. Don’t be surprised if the other’s get-” The snowbot was cut off by Burrow and Bouquet running over and jumping on Hydro to hug him. “...emotional.”

Hydro had no time to brace himself, and the kids all but tackling him caused a generous OOF. “Heh...hey now, don’t be so down. I’m back in one piece, right?” He would only get tears and blubbered questions in response. “Oh boy...someone wanna give me a hand? I’m getting kinda soggy...”

“You’re on your own. Frankly, I hope you rust.” Scimitar frowned, her eyes a bit puffed from having cried while Hydro was offline. “It’s the least you deserve for scaring us like that...”

“Missed you, too...” Hydro rolled his eyes as Beetle lifted the kids off of him.

“We all missed you, Hydro.” Beetle assured. “Like she said, we were all scared. For all we knew, you were dead.”

Hydro gave a bit of a shrug at the notion. “Well technically, I was for about a week.”

“Hydro, that isn’t funny.” Beetle would only get a raised eyebrow in response, which eventually connected the dots. “...you’re not joking are you.”

Hydro sighed before shifting on the workbench. “I guess that’s as good a segue as any to explain the new body.” he said. “Okay, everyone pay attention and hold questions for the end. It all started the first day I was gone. It was pretty normal until the harpoon...”

. . .

It took about fifteen minutes for Hydro to finish his tale, and everyone in the room was left rather dumbfounded by its end. “...so does that mean you’re a zombie now?” Burrow finally asked.

“No, I’m not a...actually, wait a second.” Burrow raised a good point. Hydro was dead, but now he wasn’t. By his understanding of the word, he was technically undead.

“That isn’t important.” Scimitar cut in. “If this Pirate Man went through all the trouble to rebuild you, why didn’t he bring you home himself? Seems rather odd for him to put all that time in just for you to wind up out of power under the docks.”

“Yeah, about that. He was going to, but...well...” Hydro paused a bit, rather embarrassed about how he ended up off of Pirate’s boat. “Remember Splash? Well one night after Pirate turned in for the night, she and I got to talking...”

“So. How are you feeling?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m okay. To be honest, I thought I’d be a little more freaked out about having died, but so far…nothing to write home about. So either it hasn’t really hit me yet, or I’m emotionally jaded to, frankly, an unsettling degree. You?”

“I’m just glad that you made it at all. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you, but it looks like you’re doing alright now. Dad really knows how to bring dead robots back to life! Even if he won’t let them actually live after...”

“...uh...this might be a little invasive of me, but...are you okay with how protective your dad is?”

“...not really. I get why he’s like that, but I’m not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice.”

“Mistake?”

“Nevermind. Just know that I’m really glad to finally be around a guy who’s not dad or a Joe...actually, speaking of which, I think you and I have some unfinished business...”

“Hm? What, you wanna do some more training.”

“No, silly. Don’t you remember what we were talking about when we first met? Before dad interrupted us? About being more than friends?”

“Oh...OH. Uh, look, I’m flattered, but Pirate was pretty clear about-”

“I don’t see dad anywhere. Do you...?”

“Well, no, bu-MM!”

“The man saves your life...and you make out with his daughter.” Scimitar pinched her brow in frustration. Clearly, death had not changed her embarrassment of a brother in any way.

“Hey, she kissed me. Let’s get that straight right now.” Hydro quickly defended himself. “I was ready to treat her as off-limits. In fact, I would’ve told her that, except...”

“GET YER HANDS OFF ME DAUGHTER YA MANGY SARDINE!” “Gah! It’s not what it looks like!”

“Dad, I thought you were asleep!”

“Ungrateful little barnacle! I’ll blow off every last part I put into yer perverted hide!!!”

“I wanted to explain things to him, but that’s when he started shooting depth charges at me.” Hydro recalled. “I just jumped overboard and started swimming for my life. Last thing I heard was him screaming about gutting me next chance he got...”

“Hmm...sounds like you should stay on land until he cools down.” Valte pondered. “Just as well. Not like you’re going to be able to leave the Foundation anytime soon.”

“Wait, what!?” Hydro yelped.

“You said yourself, Pirate Man rebuilt you as a weapon.” Valte explained. “Unless you let yourself be rebuilt, I’ll have to re-register you with the state as a combat robot.”

“Rebuild nothing! I’ve tasted life with hands, there’s no way I’m going back!”

“I figured as much. It’d probably be faster than rebuilding you anyway. Until you’re legal again, you’re not to leave the Foundation for anything. Understand?”

Hydro sighed, but then nodded. “Fine...anything’s better than going back to a hook and a stump.”

“It’s okay Hydro!” Bouquet ran up and patted her brother’s arm. “You can help me in the garden until you can go outside again!”

“And I can teach you to play video games!” Burrow added.

“Well, at least I won’t be bored.” Hydro chuckled as he patted both their heads. Bouquet’s fro was bouncy and slick to the touch, just like the Hydro always thought it’d feel like.

“Alright, I think that’s enough excitement.” Valte chimed in. “Come on, kids. Let’s all give Hydro some space. Tundra needs to finish examining him anyway.”

The DPNs headed out of the lab, though Scimitar and Valte lingered outside the door.

“I still can’t believe he’s back.” Scimitar said to Valte. “It’s like his being gone was just  a nightmare, and we’ve all finally woken up...”

“I know...” Valte sighed as he turned away. “And once Alex is back, we can wake up from the bigger one...”

Scimitar smiled at that notion as Valte walked off. He was right. If Hydro came back, it meant that Dr. Prescott could just as easily return as well. She gave Hydro one last glance through the lab door’s window before leaving herself...

[tisfan]

Shut up and Drive

Title Shut Up and Drive Link A03 Square Filled I3 Ship QuakeRider Daisy Johnson/Robbie Reyes Rating explicit Major Tags sex in a moving car, PIV sex, barebacking, corset, daisy’s underarmor,  Summary: Daisy feels safer in Robbie’s car and Robbie’s life than anywhere else… But what the HELL is she wearing under her combat armor?

Word Count 3,068 Created for @mcukinkbingo

Daisy staggered down the ramp of the ‘jet, not really watching where she put her feet. If Robbie hadn’t grabbed her elbow at the last minute, she might have fallen flat on her face.

“Hey, girl,” Robbie said. “You need t’drop by medical?”

“I’m fine,” Daisy said, yanking her arm away, and neatly disproving that theory by wincing. Her chest ached, her hips hurt, her fucking legs felt like she’d been running barefoot on concrete for hours.

Inhumans could often only be combated by other inhumans. Stupid mundanes made it harder for Inhumans to trust anyone, so they didn’t come forward with their abilities, and then something would happen. Something always happened. Terrigenesus was a painful, terrifying process, and then the Inhuman would be attacked or frightened, would lash out like any reasonable thinking creature, and suddenly…

The mundies would be screaming for help because scary scary and well, you fucking caused it, didn’t you?

Which meant SHIELD had been spending months trying to track down Inhumans, trying to protect them from humans, trying to protect humans from them.

And they were hated on both sides.

Half the time, they couldn’t save anyone. She glanced at Robbie. The other half didn’t want to be saved.

She wasn’t sure what Ghost Rider was still doing, hanging around. He wasn’t an Inhuman, his revenge was done and over. He’d gone to hell, come back and dragged Aida with him to hell.

And now he was back. And Daisy had no goddamn idea why.

Except that he made her a little nervous. And a little jittery.

She liked him. And she didn’t like that at all. She’d gotten to the point where she distrusted the hell out of her own instincts. Ward, and then Lincoln; Hive, and then… no, she was better off alone. Better where she couldn’t hurt anyone. And where no one could hurt her.

“Come on, girlfriend,” Robbie was saying, and damnit, she’d almost walked into the wall. Pain was laced up her spine; she was so tired she couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t had coffee in months; her powers were pretty terrible even when she wasn’t jumped up on caffeine. “You need t’ see a doctor.”

She thought the headaches were supposed to go away, eventually.

“I just need a bed, Robbie,” Daisy said, pushing at him. He was hard to push, hard to brush off. Hard to lie to. The Ghost Rider stared out of his eyes sometimes, all judgemental and shit.

“Fine,” Robbie said. And that was weird because Robbie never let her get away with anything, but there they were, right next to the Hell Charger, and how had that even happened. “Get in the car. You can stay at my place and I’m gonna make sure you sleep. Rest. That’s what you need. Which you’re not gonna get if you stay here.”

Which might have been right. Coulson depended on her. Everyone depended on her; she was SHIELD’s best asset in the damn fight, and she needed to be here--

“Watch your head,” Robbie said, and he lightly pushed on the top of her head to get her in the car and sitting down.

As always, sitting in the Hell Charger was like being wrapped up in a hot blanket. The seats were leather, soft and supple. Felt like being cradled by enormous hands. The faintest whiff of sulphur, like a blown-out match. She shouldn’t like it; the demon-fueled car should give her the creeping shudders, but it didn’t. Like the man who drove it, the Hell Charger was a mass of contradictions.

She never felt safer in her life, sitting in the bucket seat, her feet aching to be bare and up on the dash, let the window down and feel the wind in her hair, pump the music up.

Daisy started peeling out of her armor while Robbie drove, that black jacket of his zipped up. There was a bruise on one cheek, but it was already fading; one of the Watchdogs had gotten in a hit before the Rider popped out and charbroiled his ass.

Which Daisy should find horrifying, and not hot.

But maybe it was time to admit some shit.

(more under the cut)

She did find Robbie hot. She did find the Rider fascinating. And even though she didn’t want to be, she was drawn to both of them. She felt safe in the Hell Charger. She felt safe with the Rider, and she knew for a fact she couldn’t hurt Robbie. Not physically.

And he couldn’t hurt her either.

Not physically.

“Why are you still hanging around?” She wrenched at the buckles on her jacket, threw it into the back seat. Worked at the zippers of her underweave, anti-ballistics shirt; designed by Tony Stark, paid for by deep uncover accounts from Stark Industries, and Daisy only knew that because she was the second best hacker in the world and even Tony Stark couldn’t keep her out forever.

Although, to be fair, Stark probably knew she was poking. And letting her do it, because sometimes you could find out more about a person by letting them look around than you could by trying to tag them yourself. She knew that trap, knew it, and let Stark lull her into a false sense of security anyway.

“Huh? You tryin’ to drive me away, girl?” Robbie didn’t take his eyes off the road, even though she knew for a fact it wasn’t necessary. The car might not be alive in the traditional sense of the word, but it was aware. “I thought we did good, today.”

It was both disconcerting and natural the way Robbie talked about himself and his Rider. We. Us.

She unlaced her boots, tossed them into the back as well, followed by sticky, sweaty socks.

“You both did great,” Daisy said, and that was just the truth. “Pretty sure I couldn’t drive you away if I wanted to.” She lifted her hips, unzipped her tactical pants and shoved them down around her ankles. She was wearing compression shorts underneath and she could feel the tight stretchy fabric pressed against her skin. She always felt pressed on, these days. Everything she wore was super tight, to keep herself from shaking to pieces.

“So, you don’t want to.”

“No.”

Daisy finished getting her armor rolled down to her hips; it was hot as hell in the Charger (which was appropriate, and she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, even with the sheen of sweat over her skin) and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“What in th’ name of christ are you wearing, and why are you half naked in my car?” Robbie’s eyes did come off the road, suddenly, and he was staring at her, his amber cheeks flushed darker with embarrassment… maybe interest.

Daisy looked down at herself. “Combat corset,” she said, a half-smile tugging up the corner of her mouth. “Jemma designed it.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You can say Christ?”

Robbie lost his flustered look in favor of epic amounts of exasperation. “One, I ain’t a freakin’ vampire. Two, I have a demon inside me; taking the Lord’s name in vain and sendin’ it walking around the block like a hooker’s kinda the devil’s schtick, you know? Three, you still haven’t answered my question about getting naked in my car.”

“Everything’s always… pressing on me. I have to be squeezed like a sausage all the time so I don’t break ribs, and my arms, and my spine. I have permanent crease marks on my legs from wearing these damn super girdles all the time.” Daisy took a deep breath -- even with the corset on, she felt more relaxed than she had in the last week -- and didn’t look at Robbie. “I feel safe here. Like… there’s no pressure. Like I don’t have to be squished just to function.”

“Here?”

“With you,” she clarified. “In the car, too. But mostly, just with you.” She let her hand drift down, rested on the gear shift.

A moment later, Robbie put his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah, girl,” he said. “I hear that. That’s… that’s why. Why I’m stayin’. Why I stick around. You make me feel… normal. Like I ain’t, since this happened. You give me somethin’ to hold on to, when the world’s gone to hell.”

She knew it wasn’t the world, but Robbie himself that had gone to hell and come back with vision that was both clearer and somehow more horrible. She leaned in to kiss him, meant it to land on his cheek, to be comfort and affection and--

Missed.

Maybe it was that he turned his head at the last second, or that she really actually wanted to kiss his mouth, to taste that fire and see if she’d be burned by it.

Her lips met his and her eyes widened with the shuddering shock of it, and then she let her eyelids flutter closed and went for it.

In that moment, when Robbie leaned into it, one arm going around her shoulders to pull her closer, he became her entire world for the space of one kiss. His lips parted, his tongue slid inside her mouth, and she let herself fall into it. His mouth was strong, lips thin against hers, and he worked his tongue inside her mouth with purpose.

“Woah,” she said, pulling back a little. “That was… unexpected.” She couldn’t help but touch her own mouth with her fingertips, checking to see if the heat of him had hurt her in any way, but everything was normal.

Except that her whole world had just been turned upside down.

“I’m sorry,” Robbie said, and he looked back at the road. “I--”

“No, it’s… it was nice.”

Robbie snorted. “Nice? Then I ain’t doin’ it right.”

A flame of wanting licked at her spine. “Yeah? Then do it right.”

Robbie’s expression grew sly. Seductive. “You asked for it, girlfriend,” he said, and it was a threat and a warning and a desperate plea all at once. He reached for her, and she let him take her hand. He yanked.

The world looked very different straddling his thighs, the steering wheel of the Hell Charger at her back, moving itself with precision. The world seemed somehow darker. More dangerous and exciting. She squirmed to get herself comfortable, felt the molten heat of him baking out through his road leathers.

Robbie’s hands were on the back of her neck, the small of her back, pulling her down to kiss. “You ready for this?”

“Shut up and drive,” Daisy scoffed.

And she kissed him. Kissed him like she was dying and he was the cure for everything. He kissed her back like she was the touch of sunlight he’d been missing. They kissed and kissed, devouring each other. Eager, needy, wanton and willing.

Kissed like coming home.

Like the first and last and only.

Daisy’s breath came faster, each little gasp of air impossibly loud inside the car, which drove on without concern for whatever the humans were doing -- or maybe absolute care, since the Hell Charger didn’t hit a single pothole, didn’t miss a single green light. Drove like it wanted nothing more than for them to have everything they needed, that it approved. A voyeur and a second lover, and a protector.

Robbie’s hands came up to cup her breasts, letting the weight of them rest against his palms and Daisy arched backward. The wheel pressed into her back, gentle and comforting.

How strange it was, to feel so safe, so much joy, at being so powerless. She’d given up everything to the car, to the man, to the Rider. He could do anything he wished with her, and she’d let him, and gladly. Anything to ease the burning need between her legs, the pain in her chest, the way her heart hurt all the time.

Robbie soothed her with his kisses, stroked the fire with his hands, banked it with each roll of his hips against her.

She writhed, feeling the hard length of him underneath his leather pants. She was whining, straining, and there was no relief to be had. She pushed up, scrambled with her compression shorts, which were impossible to get on and off in the best of circumstances. Hell, she got them on with a pair of boot hooks and a half bottle of talcum powder on a good day, how the hell was she supposed to get them off while in a car?

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Hold still.”

Robbie put his hands on her hips -- no, on the shorts -- and he ignited. The skull of the Rider stared at her, looked into her soul.

And smiled.

She didn’t scream when her shorts caught fire.

The heat barely brushed her skin, like wrapping her hands around a mug of coffee. Hot, but not painful.

She reveled in her newfound delight. Her body knew what to do. She rocked down, grinding against the leather, her bare skin relishing the feel of him against her.

“I want, I want--” Robbie was saying, and he was back, the Rider pushed aside again.

“Take it,” she said.

“I can’t go slow,” he protested, staring up at her as if this was some crime he was confessing to.

“I don’t want slow,” she told him, clear. She bit his neck, harsh and leaving teethprints on the tawny skin. “I want you to fuck me. Here in your car. With every bit of you.”

Robbie let out a deep, throaty groan. He lifted up, pushing his leathers down and they were then skin on skin. He shoved at the corset, yanking at the fabric until her breasts were squeezed out the top. When his mouth closed over the tip, sucking her into the wet inferno of his mouth, Daisy threw her head back and screamed.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” Robbie murmured against her skin. She was swaying from side to side, her hands gripped onto his shoulders, barely able to hold her head straight. Spasms of pure pleasure were shooting through her body with precision aim.

His motioned were uncontrolled, jerky, as he wrestled with the corset, and she had some pity for him, but she also didn’t want him to scorch that off, because getting fitted for the damn thing had been a pain. She squirmed until she caught the hooks under one arm and started unsnapping them for him, baring her to his sight.

His skin was on fire, body burning up for Daisy’s touch. She felt a surge of power, knowing she’d reduced him to this. Got her hand on the jacket zipper and yanked it down. He struggled out of the leathers, and each motion of his body rubbed him against her. By the time they were mostly naked, Daisy had reached the end of her already limited patience.

She spread her knees as far as she could inside the confines of the Hell Charger, felt his thick cock against her belly. She wanted, wanted, and she took him. Raising up, she rubbed against him until she got them lined up, felt the head of his cock slide into her; an inch, just a little, barely a tease.

She knew he wanted her, could see it in every line in his face, the way his eyes were half-glazed and yet he couldn’t look away from her. She could barely stand to look at him, each motion of his mouth set her need burning higher. She arched back and then impaled herself on that dick.

He writhed under her, moaning and she knew that he was mad for her, just as crazy as she was.

The only sound she could make was his name. Her hands reached back, gripped the steering wheel, which held itself steady for her, even though she could feel the car moving beneath them -- she had no idea where they were going, only that they had to get there, had to, had to…

“Robbie!”

He moved in her, working magic with hips and dick and fingers. His rhythm was deliberate and slow, surging with the car’s movement, like an errant heartbeat. With each thrust, he drew a gasp from her lips, and with each moan, the perfect pitch of her voice spurred him to greater efforts.

His hand was on her, working her with his fingers, while she rode him. It was difficult and uncomfortable and perfect and wonderful all at the same time. She couldn’t get enough of the way he touched her, couldn’t stand any moment that her lips weren’t on his, couldn’t hear anything but the way he cried her name, couldn’t taste anything but his skin.

He moaned her name, and she screamed his. She clenched up, her entire body spasming around him as each muscle pulled to its tightest and then relaxed all at once. She went limp in his lap, clinging to him with shuddering sobs. She clutched at his shoulders and he drove up into her, again, and again, and-- One more powerful thrust and then he was shuddering with it, spilling himself into her, and she was nearly oblivious to everything except her own release.

He took her mouth in one last, searing kiss.

Darkness surrounded them, and Daisy let herself raise her head. “Where are we?”

“The garage,” Robbie said, huffing a laugh against her skin. “Charger took us right where we needed t’ be, with a little privacy for bonus.”

Daisy reached out behind her and stroked the dash, her hand as gentle and affectionate as if the car itself was her lover. “Thank you.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow at her. “What about some thanks for me, girlfriend? I was doin’ all th’ work here.”

“You already got yours,” Daisy reminded him. She climbed out of his lap with a grimace, her feet bare against the dirty concrete of the garage floor.

“Yeah,” Robbie said, smirking. “An’ if I’m real lucky, I might get some again.”

“Oh, I don’t think luck’s what you need.”

“Oh yeah?”

The door from the garage led right into the house. Daisy didn’t bother to gather up her clothes. She just looked back over her shoulder, watching him watch her walk. “Come get it.”

Turned out, the path from the garage to the bed was further than they made it a second time.

The couch didn’t mind.

[johnandrasjaqobis]

1 2 5 9 14 17 19 AAAND 22 about JOSEPH and BOTH HIS OPTIONS bc there isn't enough of him and you MUST supply to my demand

gotta make me work for it key i see how it is (how gr8 ily this is gon be LONG

1. What drew your character to their LI and vice versa?For Danse, initially, it was just the relief of having a commanding officer again. Joseph isn’t nearly as independent as he likes to believe, and especially with how overwhelming the whole situation tended to be, getting orders and having someone to answer to took a weight off.

At the very start, Mac was just an investment -- someone who knew the ‘Wealth better than Joseph did, and might be able to keep him from stumbling into some raider nest that literally everyone knows about Forsythe, come on. They ended up getting along far better than either expected, though, and Joseph was really appreciative of someone who actually knew what they were doing around a rifle, especially since Mac insisted he was self-taught.

Danse was legitimately impressed by this random wastelander (Joseph didn’t actually tell him about the Vault thing for a little while) holding his own against the ghouls and then the synths in ArcJet (never mind that Joseph kinda set him on fire in ArcJet, he figured the literal panic attack the poor pryrophobe had after the fact was recompense enough). He was a very good soldier from the start, which, of course, made a lot more sense when Joseph came clean about the whole cryo thing.

For Mac...well, Joseph did pay him. And paid him pretty well, all things considered, it’s not like he was gonna say no. But like I said, they got along weirdly well, with the same weird sense of humor and preference for staying as far back from combat as possible. After long enough that it wouldn’t feel like an insult, Joseph showed him a couple of pointers for shooting -- just how to hold the shoulder, better follow-through, etc. Joseph was an idiot about a lot, but not about survival.

2. What was the first moment that they knew they were in love with their LI?It was the same moment for Joseph, tbh, and I think I wrote it at some point. They’d already been living together, because Mac brought Duncan up from DC and decided he liked the ‘Wealth better, and Danse honestly didn’t have anywhere else to go. Coming back from an errand run, Duncan on one hip and MacCready rambling about something trivial, Joseph just kinda realized all of a sudden why everyone assumed they were married.He’d been feeling it for a long time, but that was the dawning realization of “okay maybe a little bit of homo.”

5. How do they comfort each other when they are sad?Eventually they all figure out the best way to manage it with both of the others.Danse usually retreats to somewhere quiet by himself, and it’s good to just sit there with him, listen once he’s ready to talk, assure him that yes, his emotions are real, not just some glitch in programming.Joseph generally needs to be distracted. Take him out for shooting practice, or run an errand for Preston. Talk about things eventually, but at first it’s good to just put the problem on the backburner and make it feel less overwhelming for a little while.The best strategy for Mac (and tbh it works with everyone to an extent) is to plop Duncan down on his chest. Have the physical proof that his son is alive and healthy and growing like a weed, and it’s tough to be sad when a toddler is insisting you play tag or read his new comic book with all the voices.

9. How open are they with their feelings?Ironically, Mac is probably the best between the three of them. He makes an effort with it for Duncan’s sake -- say how you feel, explain why this made you upset, etc, and it just kind of carries over into every other interaction around the Red Rocket. The other two are getting better, Danse especially, because he’s finding that voicing feelings makes them seem more real on the days when the whole synth thing hits harder than usual. Joseph......is working on it.

14. Is their anything they associate with each other?Joseph for Danse - the smell of ozone laser weapons leave behind, that breathless feeling of suspension the split second after a huge firefight ends, snorting into coffee over a joke that you did not expect to be said so casually

Danse for Joseph - the kind of high winds you get on top of skyscrapers, large fires (in a kind of ironic sense), the smell of gas and motor oil, the kind of solid reassurance that you exist, you’re real, you matter

Joseph for Mac - an unobstructed view of the sky, the smell of gun oil on used rags, laughter without any concern of being too loud, the feeling of going into a warm dark cave and shutting off all the lights for a minute

Mac for Joseph - sniping from a vertibird (somehow), the quiet hum of engines running in the background, the inevitable good-natured groan over a bad pun, that very specific feeling of seeing Duncan for the first time in over a year when they picked him up from DC

17. Their ways of expressing their loveMac picks up little gifts -- a book he assumes Danse might like (not that the selection is very broad in the ‘Wealth), supplies for Joseph’s motorcycle, even Codsworth will find a new windchime left wordlessly on the counter sometimes.

Joseph does favors -- picking up an errand run to the city that someone else was slated for, fixing Mac’s rifle when the bolt starts sticking, or doing one of Duncan’s chores with a hushed promise to not tell his dad

Danse likes to feed people -- neither of the others were ever great at cooking in the first place, and every once in a while Danse will insist that Codsworth take a night off and make something overly impressive for someone who mostly ate out of a communal mess hall. It also ensures that they get everyone eating dinner at once, which is a novelty sometimes.

19. Describe how they communicateIn a word, briefly. With Joseph and Danse both soldiers and Joseph and Mac both snipers, they’re all pretty used to quick conversations, even wordless ones sometimes -- all of which, of course, is dropped around Duncan.

22. From the outside looking in, what is their dynamic like?It makes sense on a basic level, but watching any of them interacting in town or on the road, the sheer amount of bickering is probably strange. All of Mac’s jokes about Danse being a synth seem a little in poor taste, but tbh it was Danse that starting making them to begin with. (any time it starts raining, “that’s racist” “.....HOW” “it’s inconveniencing me”)They all get along wonderfully. It’s just not immediately obvious.

[iztarshi]

Murder on the Rockport Limited -- Episode 15

I'm going to begin this by wondering whether the crab maybe could have cleanly sliced his head off. It's got the rows and rows of teeth, but also big, snippy claws.

…seems unlikely, but no one else was THERE.

Yep, my theory, Hudson hid a temporarily stunned or sleeping giant fire crab on the drinks trolley… no no wait that doesn't account for the wand. At all.

What if Jenkins enchanted one of the doors from the little in-between bit and actually went somewhere ELSE where he got his head chopped off and then… came back??? Possible, I think, but kind of dumb.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Right, now to actually start reading the next chapter.

"Angus: I’ve found that not killing is pretty easy. I go long stretche- long periods of time without killing anybody."

Yeah. Yeah, really guys, I think the kid is concerned for your moral development now.

I think -- although it would complicate things for no reason -- that technically Angus' book should be intercepting the Scuttle Buddy? Or is magic eavesdropping distinct from sending magic messages?

"--currently cosplaying Taako as a stupid man, that may change, I--he’s kinda been going back and forth."

Yeah. Yeah, I thought so. So that's not deliberate, just part of figuring a character out.

I hadn't even thought of that with the hands. Did someone not know it had to be the engineer?

Yeah, I think Taako's intelligence just went up a bit. Mostly because otherwise Justin can't have ideas.

Travis deliberately explains his theory out of character, but it's still Angus who reacts to it, because it kind of has to be. It's not like the humans playing them can act WITHOUT acting through them.

So the hands are in the fake location, but it has to be the engineers hands. Hm. What if the person in the Engine car is Jenkins and the body was Hudson wearing a bow tie? Jenkins is the one that can use that wand so he's well equipped for going anywhere.

So he goes from the place between the carriages, kills Hudson, puts his hands on the thing, then goes back to IMPERSONATE Hudson.

Yeah. That would work.

Ooh. Yeah. Same theory as they have. Let's see if any of us are right.

"Taako: By the way, classic Jenkins to use a crab instead of just using a spell slot."

He's just never going to let that go.

That's a terrible plan. A terrible plan. Have they forgotten the damage the crab took being shoved outside the train to scrape all the way down it? And won't casting levitate on someone's shoes cause them to hang in the air upside down?

Okay, Magnus gets to learn to balance on his shoes without having to roll for it. I, um. Probably would have made him roll. Because really? But then what if he'd wound up upside down and unable to do the thing?

"Clint: Well, we could hold the other end of the rope-- Taako: [overlapping] Eh, well, that seems like a lotta work-- Travis: [overlapping]: I don’t trust you fuckers!    Taako: What if- what if I get bored? Travis: See!"

Yeah, don't trust them. Well, you can maybe trust Merle. Don't trust Taako. He'll drop you if he decides things need to be sped up.

Magnus has a very SPECIFIC kind of lateral thinking. The kind where he uses things in unexpected ways, and the result is always a really unlikely attack. (Heroic Freestyle! …I think most people likely to bother reading a liveblog by me are Girl Genius fans and will get what I mean.)

I actually KNOW Magnus survives long enough to be in the rest of the story, but every time he does one of these stunts I still wonder how he isn't dead yet.

"Griffin: Uh, and uh, we’re gonna get into combat, but I’m going give you a surprise round on him since this was all very, very surprising."

Griffin is very nice to them. Which is fun, I'm glad they don't die, but he very obviously doesn't want them to die either.

It makes their style seem the equivalent of that, uh, isn't there a saying that it's worse to face a man who doesn't know how to use a sword than one who does, because the one who doesn't might do ANYTHING. Is that a saying or is that Terry Pratchett? Anyway, that's their style. Bewildering the enemy into submission.

The question of whether Griffin is going to wind up playing three NPCs fighting three NPCs… this is going to be a thing by the Stolen Century arc, isn't it? At that point it pretty much has to be.

Woo. The mystery is solved, Jenkins is… I was going to say dead, but actually who knows.

And we'd all better REALLY HOPE Taako can figure out that wand.

[bettysnooze]

i can't remember if i asked or not so!! 6, 7, 12, 13, and 28!! long ones im soz

6. which one of your muses have you been playing the longest?

answered here !!

7. which one of your muses has the most ships?

HELEN RIGHT NOW OH MAN, i never realised how flirty she is wow, and the chemistry is off the charts for so many ppl i don’t even know how to begin, half of this might just be in my head so um pls lets talk about sHIPS WITH HELEN

12. what is something everyone should know about your muses before interacting?

betty: she’s made a name for herself among students, i feel like it’d be pretty common knowledge that auradon prep and arcadia uni has its own sandman. they might not know its specifically betty?? but definitely once they’re around her, you’d just know. so if you need a good night’s sleep or some help with nightmares, betty is your girl. 

veronika: she’s a tour guide for auradon prep students! so she’s good for characters that come in for the first time ever. she always has some sort of bag with her and it’s basically a survival kit (water, umbrella, maps, auradon keychains). 

makaria: she always looks amazing. girl with the awesome fashion sense, great nails, great hair. always put together. she had a good relationship with her father, so on the isle they were basically this strong unit. if hades was walking, you’d know mak wasn’t too far behind. 

hershey: he comes from a playable game! the arcade’s on the west coast somewhere, but yeah sugar rush is 100% playable so if it’s relevant for your character to have went there and played sugar rush by any chance, then they probably would remember hershey from there. 

cestrum: he’s tall. like…6 foot more. i think i said he was 6 foot 2. in a crowd he’s one of the tall ones. when he’s sitting down in a low chair, his knees are really knobby it’s like watching a giraffe sit down. 

aiwei: he’s got visible frankenstein’s-monster type scars. recently, he’d had to stitch himself up a lot (without a good access to magic) so along his arms and fingers especially. his skin isn’t warm, it’s a little pale actually but honestly the life comes from his eyes and his smile.

otto: he’s handsome af. literally classic prince charming. comes from snow white’s family, so very posh, very rich boy trope. sits with the cool kids, acts like a cool kid, lives like a cool kid. will only be seen associating with other royals (or those close to royals) or sitting alone. but he always looks busy too. 

illyria: she’s a bit ‘mona lisa painting’ in that her eyes will literally follow you even if she doesn’t move. once you catch her attention, she won’t look away until she’s had her fill of analysing you. also she speaks a lot in class (more in recent months) and if she’s curious about you, you’ll know. she bothers a lot of people in class too lmao.

kirsa: she’s a cheerleader! super team spirit all the way. she’s got makeup on her all the time, has her own version of a survival kit. need lip balm? she’s got new ones you can just take. need pads or tampons? she’s got light, heavy, and super. need a snack? she’s got a brownie in a tin. need alcohol or smokes? she’s got them too. omg she runs high school contraband.

dignan: LITERALLY SO BUSY WITH CLUBS. you will literally always see him hanging out with someone from a sports team, usually the baseball team. he’s literally a jock. since he joined the team he’s taken to wearing some sort of sports fashion – a cap, or shoes, or a jersey or jacket. BUT ALSO he’s in mathletes!! if he’s not in any of his other extracurriculars or studying or hanging with friends, then he’s at the gym or training. 

helen: also a jock. but she’s more known for having aurelius hanging around her all the time. he knows he can’t go into any buildings, so he’s always waiting outside. sometimes he hangs out by the classroom window and watches lessons LMAO. 

penelope: if you look poor, she’ll scoff at you, if you look rich, she’ll wink at you. she may also try to steal your shit, rich or poor. her luck with stealing comes and goes, sometimes it’s a smooth steal, most of the time she gets caught. she always tries tho.

13. what’s a weird headcanon you have for each of your muses?

betty: idk if this is weird but betty has the ability to literally sleep anywhere. once she decides she’s comfortable and wants to sleep, she’s done. betty’s been found sleeping in a closet, under a desk in a student’s lounge, IN CLASS…

veronika: she knows like every word to a handful of like early 2000s songs. outkast’s “hey ya”, eminem’s “without me”, coolio’s “gangsta’s paradise”, black eyed peas “where is the love”. a lot of avril lavigne. she won’t sing it (unless you’re noelle) but she can recite and mouth along to the song

makaria: she had a cooking phase. but only she eats the food bc she doesn’t want to accidentally poison anybody or make them puke. she likes cooking food. considers herself a good food critic.

hershey: hated ice-cream for the longest time bc, as a kid, he couldn’t get through the ice-cream catapult range on the sugar rush track. full-on boycotted ice-cream from like ages 6-10. it was a sad time for hershey.

cestrum: i’ve talked about it before but his tapdancing! started when he found a pair of dancing shoes in wonderland. then he found an old gramophone and some records. he basically taught himself how to tap dance. he doesn’t do it so often now because there’s every chance someone’s going to catch him doing it.

aiwei: secretly tried all sorts of things to make himself taller. he’d do stretches. he’d hang upside down. the last straw was when he would hang by his arms off a tall beam, with weight attached to his feet. he can’t feel pain so he just added as many weights as possible, and one foot literally popped off the socket. there’s a scar there too.

otto: scared of open water. doesn’t like the idea of drowning. he frantically trained himself to be able to swim well (in a pool) but he’s still wary of going to the beach. doesn’t like flying on a plane over large bodies of water. just……..no open water.

illyria: she’s really really bad with makeup. all she had to go on for years was tia dalma’s intense eyeliner, smokey-eye look LMAO. she tried makeup for a while but got too lazy and is just bare-faced now (she loves moisturising though and buys all sorts of sea-themed facewashes and things).

kirsa: she’s really picky about food. she’s a little self-conscious about it so when u eat with her for the first time she just goes with whatever but once she’s comfortable it’s just gonna be so specific. “hi so i’d like the apple pie for dessert with the ice-cream on the side, and if it’s home-baked pie then i’d like it heated but if it’s not then leave the ice-cream and i’ll have whipped cream instead. otherwise, i’d still like the ice-cream on the side – and for the salad, can i also have the dressing on the side please?” this is shamelessly taken from ‘when harry met sally’ but EVERYTHING IS ON THE SIDE

dignan: he’s superstitious especially about competitions. the first baseball game he won, he ate ice-cream beforehand so like now every time he has to eat ice-cream before a game. different rule for mathletes though, whenever they have a competition, he has to do like ten sit-ups. he will do those sit-ups anywhere, but he has to get them done. doesn’t walk under ladders. doesn’t open umbrellas indoors.

helen: she’s really not looking to love anyone right now, but she ends up liking so many people and she kinda loves that physical side of the relationship a lot ??? she also loves showing off and that’s not really a quirky headcanon but like she loves showing off

penelope: idk yet but i think maybe she once tried singing to the birds on the isle (back when her grandmother was still like ‘yes penny sing!!’) and honestly like the birds either died or tried to attack her, she probably has a fear of birds now because of that. 

28. can you sort your muses from weakest to strongest?

PHYSICAL STRENGTH-ABILITY WISE

aiwei: is a pacifist but also just like no upper-arm strength and literally you could rip his arms off with the right amount of force so no

cestrum: could literally knock him over with a strong wind but at least he’s a little more solid than aiwei. also a pacifist. also has a little trauma when it comes to physical harm so he just freezes and let’s things happen to him.

kirsa: has no idea how to defend herself and literally just runs or something and she’s not even a fast runner. she can scream tho and she panic-fights so she has every chance to scratch someone’s eyes out.

hershey: also panic-fights. would rather run (or drive away) than fight. if he had a car in his disposal he would still choose to just drive away with as little injury to anyone as possible. not very powerful in terms of physical fights; he gets beat up a lot.

veronika: knows how to avoid fights. calm in a brawl. uses her environment to her advantage (ie. broken glass, distractions). looks to leave fights rather than end them.

dignan: only more powerful than veronika physically but strategically he’s a mess. impulsive fighter. will throw himself into anything. upper-arm strength because of recent training and exercise; good aim, has amazing aim. 

illyria: calm, strategic, trained fighter. but only good with weapons, not very good with hand-to-hand combat (would rather not touch anyone at all). different scenario if she was in the water, but by herself she’s at this stage of the scale.

otto: brute strength. brawls. boxing. clenched fists and can take a hit and doesn’t stop hitting until the other person gives up. also swordsmanship. 

helen: the most powerful out of all my non-powered people. she’s got the strength, the strategy, the experience and the training. actual warrior princess helen rider. can also do everything in heels and on horseback. can probably do motorcycle stunts.

betty: she has so much untapped potential; the ursula event was only like a small dose of what she could do if she decided to use her powers that way. could end a fight before it even started.

makaria: ofc a goddess of death would be like the most powerful. fire (hellfire) powers, and shadow manipulation and basic magic and teleportation and also she doesn’t know it yet/hasn’t had a chance but she can manipulate the dead that are devoted to hades. also she’s gonna get her immortality one of these days so Full God Mak Aidoneus™

[meandertreme-liveblogs]

I can remember to do these, I promise

OK so I’ve missed like the last 3 ses’s because I keep getting distracted. Really, really sorry about that. In this pseudoSES I’m going to talk about asscreed iii, obviously, but also about the arkham series, specifically arkham knight because I liveblobbed that one. I’m not focusing on the story so there won’t necessarily be spoilers, but there won’t not be spoilers so if you want to remain unspoiled probably steer clear of this ses

So. Before I get there I do wanna just talk about the game for a while. It’s. a fun game. They do a lot of things right. The sailing minigame is fun, although tbh if there was the occasional “we take a quick break from sailing to go do a stealth segment, which involves boarding the other boat or whatever” like in the trailer for black flag I would love it even more. The thing is sailing is fun but slow, so like. I love doing it but it’s also a lil tedious?

And that’s how I feel about most of the mechanics in the game, tbh. Like, exploring the underground is lots and lots of fun, but also it’s really slow. Chasing after papers, finding chests, climbing high buildings; all of these are fun on their own but going to the locations necessary is boring at best. Combat is almost, but not quite, fun; stealth is fun but easy to mess up, which is frustrating; hunting is generally boring; I don’t really understand when asking friends to do things is a good idea; caravans don’t make any sense to me either; and so on and so forth. This game suffers from the same problems as most open-world games; there’s so much to do that the inevitable boring stuff like picking flowers gets in the way of actual fun missions. I honestly don’t hold it against the game; they tbh are a big-name enough game that they should have known better, but the fact is that it was pretty inevitable for there to be large amounts of bloat to an open-world game like this. Like, Inquisition had it, Far Cry 4 had it (I haven’t played much fc4 but I’ve played enough to know it’s there), and so on and so forth. They’re all good games; they just put in mechanics that are not designed for me.  That’s ok.

The story…well, I don’t really care about Connor or any of his friends tbh. Like, I don’t want the Kanien'kehá:ka to get hurt but the fact is I know that they will. The game’s implication that Connor’s actions could wind up hurting his own tribe might have been an interesting concept if I cared at all about Connor but the fact is I don’t so I don’t really care about any character development he goes through. That could change though! Like, Connor is not so far gone that he can’t restore himself to Interesting Character status! It’s just, he was an interesting kid but now that he’s an adult and acting the exact same way as he did when he was a kid it’s boring. Why didn’t he change at all during the time skip? If he manages to become a likable or interesting character (which I do hope happens! I don’t want to be apathetic towards the main character!) I’ll let y’all know. Desmond is a much more likable and interesting character, though. He has like, an interesting point of view about everything that’s going on. His excitement at stealing the battery, his anger at learning he was playing as a Templar…all of this is really engaging. It’s like, man Ubisoft obviously you’re not completely incompetent with writing so why can’t you make Connor interesting? But oh well

The thing about the Arkham games and AssCreed is that I did not know that they were just literally the same thing going into the game. Like, the mechanics are just the same here. The exception: the Arkham games make combat fun, and AssCreed combat is, like, almost fun. Like, it’s clearly very close to being fun and it’s actually really painful that it isn’t quite there. It’s just a teeny bit too clunky. Also there’s this urge to use the environment when fighting but it never works out and just breaks up the situation. AssCreed fighting is just not quite smooth the way Arkham fighting is and therefore doesn’t get there. The ability to insta-kill people is fun though. Like, there was one time when I was chasing this messenger and kinda just caught up to him and smoothly stabbed him and it was just cool in a way that Batman isn’t. like don’t get me wrong Batman’s cool but Arkham batman isn’t Smooth Cool in the same way that Connor is. He’s smooth when he runs away from things (which tbh connor running away from things is anything but smooth) but his actual kills are only occasionally smooth. Like it happens! But there’s something satisfying about the guy actually being dead.

I honestly though I hate the fact that I kinda just have to Kill People! Like, they’re just doing their Jobs! They don’t deserve Random Stabbings but that’s all I have for them so Murder Murder of random pseudo-innocents will have to do I guess

TBH though AssCreed’s existence is really bad for Arkham Knight in particular though. Like, even though the share mechanics are better implemented in AK, the fact that ACIII has additional features which are fun, like homesteading and ship fighting and stuff really really shows that AK could have done so much better than a car. Like, the problem with AK is that they didn’t improve and they really really needed to improve to justify its existence over Origins, and the thing is ACIII really does prove that cool features do exist! Like, you could have found something Fun! The fact that Rocksteady made something mediocre is not because there wasn’t anywhere to go, but because of a failure on Rocksteady’s part. So I guess I don’t have all that much to say about the connection between AssCreed and AK other than: they are the same game, and the fact that they both exist reflects poorly on both of them. Oops.