#something is missing so i want to revisit before i post it on ao3 but happy this finally got a full draft

[palmofafreezinghand]

guilt

Esme and Carlisle fight about discuss his motivations to change Rosalie.

twilight advent calendar day seven: Choose one Twilight couple (or an AU ship) and tell us about an argument they've had. How did they resolve it in the end? (prompts here) content warnings: references to sexual assault & domestic abuse.

June 1933. 

Esme sat on the back porch step, keenly aware her freshly styled hair was frizzing in the evening rain but lacking all motivation to go back inside. She would have been thrilled about the project at any other point in her life, a mansion that desperately needed life breathed back into it. She should have been content for years exploring the rooms upon rooms of things to do, planning her restoration, and studying the hundreds of years of history haunting the halls. Yet, the hastiness of the move, and the chaos brought by their new unexpected discontented roommate, meant she loathed what her husband believed was a gift. 

The back porch was as far as she could go, the vast wilderness she once spent days hiding in was strictly forbidden. The newest housemate refused to be left alone with anyone but Esme and was too new to their way of life to be left alone completely. Esme should have taken it as a compliment and not the death sentence she had come to regard it as. 

She heard the back door creak open — a reminder she still needed to oil that hinge — before she detected her husband, her inhuman senses overpowered by her inhuman imagination. 

“Hello,” he said, heavy footsteps walking across the porch, she could hear the oak creak under his boot. The porch would need to be replaced, or removed, which was fine it was a horrific addition, not the only one she had faced in recent months. 

“You are home early,” she observed. 

“I am an hour later than usual,” he responded, taking a seat next to her, the porch groaned, probably termites. 

She blinked, it was awfully dark was it not? “Oh, I must have been in my own mind, I did not realize it was so late.” She moved to stand — begrudgingly preparing herself to mediate whatever conflict had arisen in her mere hours alone — but his hand around her arm stopped her. 

“Please don't rush off, I feel I have barely been able to look at you without someone threatening to harm me these past few months,” her husband said in a manner he must have believed to be charming. 

She sighed, their home had been… tense, to put it politely. Although it was largely due to his own’s action. He was correct, they had not had a meaningful conversation since April. They had briefly run into each other in hallways, or spent mornings playing chess in the living room but always with an audience, and the understanding they could not speak freely. That moment, although lacking the privacy they typically preferred, was the closest they had gotten to a moment alone in months. 

“Edward is simply worried, perhaps a tad mad, but mostly worried,” Esme explained. “You know how he gets.” 

“He is not the one I am frightened of," Carlisle laughed, his hand landing on her thigh. "I am afraid she will bite my head off every time I touch you."

She attempted to laugh along but even she thought it sounded wrong.

Frightened. She chewed the word, turning the tone he had used over in her mind, it had flowed so naturally. As if the scared teenager currently listening to every word they said from the second story did not have every right to be terrified. 

“She is scared, it is not her fault,” Esme said, wrapping her arm around him.

“She could tone it down a notch,” her husband scoffed, “even Edward was not this aggressive .” 

“Edward had the flu,” Esme said before she could think better of it. She knew better than to talk back, especially weaponizing what was a traumatic experience of her son’s. ‘I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean it dismissively, I know that was horrific, I was trying to provide him perspective,’ Esme thought to the boy who was undoubtedly eavesdropping. She could hear the muffled first ten seconds of her favorite composition and knew she was forgiven. 

“You reacted far better,” Carlisle countered. “You have been through similar," he said quietly enough it would be barely heard by those in the house.

“I had wished for death. I recognized you. I did not have my life ripped away,” Esme said. Why was he refusing to understand? 

“Edward had his life ripped away, as did I.” 

“Not at the hands of someone you loved.” 

“I understand that, love, but—” 

“Do you?” 

Carlisle recoiled at her tone, but followed it by a tight lipped smile. “Are you alright? This is uncharacteristic for you,” he said in his familiar “doctor” tone, comforting, patronizing, a tone that meant to convey ‘I am an authority.’ 

“I apologize,” Esme said, squeezing his forearm lovingly, “I have had a long day.” 

The words burned as she heard herself say them. How many unnecessary apologies was she destined to give when a husband of hers disagreed with her conduct? No, the two were nothing alike. 

He smiled forgivingly, nodding in understanding. His hand, large and cold, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers through her hair. She flinched, he frowned and withdrew. 

“I apologize,” Esme said, like one of Edison’s eerie dolls fated to echo the same sentiment until their wax record wore out. 

“Does she know about?” He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper, gesturing with his hand rather than say the name they danced around as if it was a curse.  

“Charles?” Esme asked, speaking at her regular volume, he winced but nodded. “You can say his name. He is not the Prince of Denmark.” 

“Macbeth was attempting to be the King of Scotland. Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark,” Carlisle corrected her attempt at levity. 

“Yes, I have told her about Charles. Not every detail but many.” 

“Do you think reliving that has caused this?” He asked delicately, once again gesturing, this time to her, referencing her previous tone. Heaven forbid she speak frankly to him. 

“It did not seem fair that I knew every detail about the worst night of her life, under no account of her own, and she knew nothing of mine.” 

“You did not have to share anything with her. That is your story to tell how, and when you choose.” 

“Carlisle, I know far too well how dreadful it is to be alone reliving that pain, feeling completely out of control of your life.” 

“You felt alone back then?” 

“Of course.” 

His only response was a hmmph. She had hinted at this compliant many times over the years but had never said it in so few words.

Esme took the silence as an opportunity to continue speaking about the topic they had silently agreed to dance around. “I have been thinking about Ch- him a lot lately.” She noticed the way his nails dug into his palm, his glare at a puddle forming in the backyard, and yet she persisted, albeit less confidently. “I think… perhaps, I buried a lot of my memories in an attempt to move through it, and to not upset you two, but now it is all bubbling back up.” 

“You do not have to discuss anything you do not wish to. No matter how much she pries.” 

“She does not pry. I share willingly, I am thinking about him anyways, I figure I might vocalize some of it.” 

“I apologize. She should not be forcing you to think of that thing.” 

Esme considered her next move carefully. Very rarely did she challenge him blatantly, and never in front of others, but this seemed far more important than anything they had ever disagreed about previously and privacy seemed extinct.

“You brought home a young woman bloody and nude, who had been…” she swallowed the venom that felt like bile rising in her throat at her next word, “raped and beaten by her fiancé and his friends. You decided she should be frozen in that moment for the rest of eternity, and you do not believe I am going to naturally think about my husband and his?” 

“His friends?” Carlisle stammered, one hand in a fist, the other gripping his knee. 

“Do not act as if I have had complete permission to share freely about what went on in that house. You have torn a hole in your pants in your anger.” 

He glanced down at his knee where his nails had shredded the slacks. “Do you expect me to enjoy hearing about him? To revel in...picturing what he did?” 

“No,” she said definitively placing her hand softly on his torn pant knee, “but I lived it and sometimes I can not ignore that it happened.” 

“His friends?” He asked again, quietly. 

“We do not have to discuss it,” she said softly, squeezing his knee comfortingly. 

“No, you want to. Please, tell me every gory detail,” he practically spat. 

“Carlisle.” 

“I apologize my tone was inappropriate” he said, in only a slightly softer tone. 

The couple fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by raindrops on brick. 

“Why did you change her?” Esme asked minutes later. 

“We have been over this before. She was far too young to die, I knew she was beyond the realm of medicine.” 

“You see young people die all the time. You see young beautiful women die often, I am not jealous enough to suggest that was the motivator. Why not any of them?” 

“This was different.” 

“Why?” He did not respond, she pressed further. “Why this young woman who had been through such familiar horrors? Why did you feel compelled to save her? Why not a woman like her forty years ago? Why now?"  

Her husband did not respond, but he met her eyes briefly, his mouth turning into a frown, and he abruptly looked away. It was confirmation enough. 

“That is what I was afraid of,” Esme muttered. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She had suspected this was at least partly his motivation from the moment she pieced together what had happened to the girl. His needless guilt had been a topic of discussion on a number of occasions, had made him act irrationally more than once, but this… was too far. 

They fell back into silence, her hand on his knee drawing mindless shapes but it felt more like a rehearsed gesture than a sign of affection.

He moved one arm as if to wrap it around her shoulders but pulled it back to his body before ever touching her. 

“You could not save me,” Esme said quietly. It was truth they had never acknowledged but both knew. “You believe you could not save me because you left, correct?” 

“It is the truth.” 

“But I was not a victim," Esme said plainly.

“Es-” 

“No,” she said, moving the hand on his knee to his jaw, pulling his face to look at her. She shifted on the stair to face him directly. “Listen to me, please. I married him. I stayed with him for years. I chose not to knock him over the head with a frying pan and feed him to my father’s pigs. I chose to stay in our home when he was gone for a year. I chose him. A thousand times over.” 

“I do not understand what you are trying to say.” 

“Even if you were there, even if you had known what he did, you could not have done anything.” The hand on his face moved to his upper arm. 

“But I cou—” 

“No. If you had given me a choice, I would not have chosen you. I believed that was the life I was supposed to live. I would have chosen him, every single time. Do you understand me?” 

“Do you… love him?” Carlisle asked, frowning as if the words burned. 

“Don't be foolish, you know I do not," she scoffed, “I never did. But I was not brave, I would not have chosen to escape even if for some reason you were there and offered. The only reason I left was because I had too. You did not fail to save me.” 

“You do not know that. If I coul—” 

“Carlisle, no. What happened in my life, is no one’s fault but Charles’ and mine. You are not to blame.” 

“But if I had—” 

“This is not about you!” Esme exclaimed harshly.

He gulped.

"What I went through had nothing to do with you. What happened to her had nothing to do with you. The only way you are involved is because you changed someone because you felt guilty over what you could not prevent me from going through?” She finally asked. 

He looked away from her, eyes focused on their feet. 

“I do not believe I thought of it that rationally in the moment,” he said slowly, “But logically, yes, that was probably a motivating factor.” 

“Do you understand the position that puts me in?” 

“I do now, yes.” 

“Do you understand the position she is in?” 

“I never intended -” 

“I know,” she said earnestly, leaning forward so she could look him in the eye. “You never intend. I do not say this to hurt you, love. I do not say this to make you feel guilty, but I need you to understand the consequences this has had, for all of us.” 

He bit his bottom lip, a jerky little nod. “I do,” he muttered. He turned, she thought to avert her gaze, but instead his head dropped on her shoulder. 

She wrapped her arms around him as she felt his frame shake, “I do,” he trembled, no louder than a breeze. 

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[softshrimpy]

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 15: Revisit The Past

Summary: Working at the Weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

I have no excuses for this one I am just a Sap who supports womens wrongs. 🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402 @the-bagel24 @eveymay @kimiinou @muffintopxs @h-doodles @bbykens @lilfartbox1 @bigolgay @winterfireblond @gela123 @i-like-reading @hopelessly-sapphic @alder-saan @im-a-carnivorous-plant @weemssapphic @barbarasstar

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 14

Cross Posted on AO3 Here

HWTAHP Masterlist

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

You were sat in a booth at the Weathervane. You didn’t want your father coming back to Nevermore. You’re almost certain he wouldn’t want to be there either. Larissa had insisted she stay with you, giving your father the side eye of a fucking lifetime. The two of you sat on one side while your father sat across from you, taking in the cafe curiously.

“Isn’t this the place you said you were working at? It’s quite nice.” He hums.

“I didn’t tell you where I was working. I didn’t even tell you I was in Jericho. So tell me, Dad, how did you find out I was here?” You asked, false pleasantry coating your words.

“Come on now kiddo,” he smiles awkwardly, his gaze flitting to Larissa and then back to you. “There’s no need to-“

“No there is. So I’ll ask you again, how did you find out I was here?” You interrupted, your already thin patience close to vanishing.

He doesn’t answer you, pursing his lips and he looks back and forth between you and Larissa uncomfortably. You sigh, moving to stand when he finally decides to speak.

“I spoke with your doctor,” he sighs, slight annoyance in his tone, “he said you hadn’t picked up your prescription in a month, said it had been delivered to Jericho the last time it had been ordered. So I come down here myself, to make sure you were alright… I’m worried about you.”

He reaches across the table to grab your hand but you quickly pull both your hands into your lap. Larissa reached out beneath the table to rest her hand on your thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. She was still glaring daggers at the man across from you both, despite her deep curiosity. She would have time to ask her questions later, when or if you were ready and you wanted to. For now, she would simply support you as best as she could, by making your father fucking uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m fine, thank you. So there’s no need for you to stay any longer.”

He then smiles at you in a way that makes you want to bash his face in. He reaches into his jacket and places an all-to-familiar pill bottle on the table between you, gently sliding it towards you. Larissa stares at the thing with so much contempt you’re sure she’s willing it to explode in his hand.

“I don’t need those anymore.” You say, pushing the bottle back toward him.

He frowns, his expression twisting in anger for a split second before he corrects himself.

“Well,” he starts, “as nice as that would be love, we both know how weak you get when you don’t-“

“That’s not a problem anymore. And quite frankly I don’t owe you any kind of explanation all things considered. So just leave me alone.”

“Kiddo…you don’t understand…” he tries, his false concern giving way to mild frustration. You knew it wasn’t just mild though, had first-hand experience of just how not-mild it could be.

“Don’t understand what? That I’m a danger without it? That this was never actually about me and my well-being but actually to protect you from something you didn’t understand?”

It would seem your anger wasn’t so mild either.

“That’s not-“

“Because I was a child who didn’t understand what was happening and instead of getting me actual help you decided to just cover it up? Because it was easier to just get me these stupid little pills and pretend nothing ever happened?” You continue, doing your best to keep your voice down despite the venom in it.

“That is simply-“

“Because you would rather I keep taking these, frankly fucking awful tasting pills instead of receiving support and- and care. And be around people who are like me? Is that what I don’t understand?”

“That’s enough!” he yells, and you hate yourself for the way you flinch.

Larissa immediately takes your hand in hers, moving to stand up and get you away from him when he continues.

“You don’t even have half the right idea, you ungrateful wretch. Your mother and I, we took you into our home, you had nothing, you were nothing. Without us, you would be nothing. We took you in, fed you, clothed you, raised you. Your mother loved you like you were our own. But then…then we came home one day to find our precious child had murdered her sweet babysitter. So what were we to do? You needed to be fixed-“

“Fixed?” You choke out, angry at the tears gathering in your eyes and the way your whole body shakes.

“You think it was easy? Finding a doctor who could create these fucking things?” He continues, shaking the pill bottle. “But we had no fucking choice. We couldn’t just let you carry on as you were! We couldn’t become known as the parents who raised a godforsaken killer! We did what we had to to make sure you would grow up to be normal. So you become one of those- of those monsters!”

For a second it feels like the whole world just stops. Like the universe is giving you a little time to process the truth; that this man never truly loved you, that your father never loved you. You can’t know if that was how your mother felt, rest her soul, but you can’t help but think she probably felt the same. That you were a burden on them. Never the child they wanted but the one they were stuck with. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit him.

Before you can even think of doing anything of the sort your father is suddenly sprawled across the floor, clutching his very broken and very bloody nose. You then notice a very angry and intimidating Larissa towering over his pathetic form, glaring down at him so intensely you think he might actually catch fire. She’s shaking her now rather bloody hand out as she slightly winces.

And then, as if that wasn’t metal enough, she lifts her hand(the bloody one) to tuck her hair back behind her ear, pushing her immaculate updo back into perfection. She had an eerily calm expression as she did before smiling oh so condescendingly down at your father, who was still clutching his nose as he stared up at her in horror.

“Now then, sir,” she sneers, “I’d suggest you leave town swiftly. Lest you wish to suffer any more harm.”

It’s then that your father's terrified gaze snaps to you, perhaps foolishly hoping you’d help him. But you aren’t even looking his way, transfixed by the statuesque blond you’ve grown so fond of. He must realize then that the two of you aren’t simply friends, the way disgust twists his features for a moment. He seems to want to say something, opening his foul mouth to speak before looking back at Larissa and freezing in his tracks.

It’s then that he realizes just who she is. The woman the people he had accosted for information about you had spoken about. The impossibly tall, insanely intimidating Principal of Nevermore Academy, a force to be reckoned with. The academy for outcasts. Only then does he think that picking a fight with her may not be in his best interest, not when the odds are she could very easily overpower him.

So instead of further condemning you and your actions he keeps his mouth shut (the first smart decision he’s made all day) and all but scrambles out the door before hopping in his car and speeding away. And then he’s gone.

“Holy shit that was fucking awesome,” James breathes, breaking the silence.

That snaps Larissa from her intense glaring at the door. She turns to you, looking you over to make sure you’re alright. You gingerly grasp her hand, the bloody one, turning it over in your to inspect the damage. You frown when you notice how red her knuckles are. You lift it to your mouth to press a soft kiss to them before looking up at her.

“Shall we go home?” She asks softly, reaching out with her other hand to grab yours.

You nod, still staring at her in awe. She says something to James, earning a snarky response no doubt. But you’re not really listening. You’re stuck very deep in your thoughts about Larissa and her bravery and badassness and how much you love her. And how you don’t particularly care what has happened in the past, you want her to know, you need her to know.

You make it back to Nevermore in a blur, you’re quite honestly just going through the motions. Your mind is running a mile a minute. You keep jumping from one thought to another. You honestly keep wanting to cry and then laugh and then cry again.

When you finally arrive at Nevermore you quietly follow Larissa to what turns out to be your quarters. Larissa stands in the doorway, looking rather conflicted. You all but drag her inside, leading her to sit on the bed. You quickly grab your first aid kit and waddle back into the room. You kneel in front of her, getting out some gauze and bandages. She starts to protest, claiming she can sort it out herself but you just shush her gently and continue cleaning up and bandaging her hand. You press a kiss to it when you’re done, staring up at her lovingly.

“Larissa I-“ you start.

“Darling I-I wanted to apologize. I-I don’t know what came over me. I-I realize I was- I was out of line. I-if-“ she rushes.

Before she can continue on with her unnecessary apology you all but throw yourself onto her lap and kiss her senseless. She lets out a cute little noise of surprise before melting into the kiss, wrapping her arms around your waist and clinging to you with all she has.

The kiss is soft and sweet and so full of love it makes your heart swell. You pour all the love you have in your heart for her into it, hoping she can feel it. You lick at the seam of her lips, moaning into her mouth when she parts them for you. You lick into her mouth, blushing at the moan she lets out and the way she grips your hips tighter.

Eventually, when you remember you need to breathe, you pull back. Your hands cup her cheeks, your thumb brushing over her cheekbones as you just stare at her wearing the dopiest grin. She’s staring up at you, wide-eyed and a little breathless. She looks a bit confused, and you realize while she may be one of the smartest women you know she can still be so utterly dense. So you will spell it out for her.

“Larissa…I-no one’s ever done anything like this for me before…like ever. And I’m not-I could never be mad at you, especially not for standing up for me like you did. I mean, I wanted to hit him so if you hadn’t I probably would’ve.” You snort, “and uhm when I saw you like…absolutely deck him. I honestly…honestly you looked very hot. Not that violence is right! But like…maybe it’s alright if you commit a lil violence-“

She lets out the most beautiful laugh at that, unrestrained and loud and imperfectly perfect. And your heart feels like it’s going to explode. You want to kiss her again, but you need to finish your thought.

“I-I know we still have a lot to figure out. And things aren’t-arent perfect. And I didn’t want to rush into things but I’m starting to realize that that’s just like bullshit and doesn’t actually even matter. Because-because what does matter, what matters to me…is you. And- and the truth. And the truth is Larissa, the truth-“

“Take a breath sweetheart, it’s okay.” She murmurs, a look of confusion still marring her features. So you take a breath, closing your eyes for a bit before you continue.

“The truth is that I think I-I love you…” you breathe, your voice wobbling with emotion. “No that’s-that’s not right. I know I’m in love with you. And-and I hope I’m not-I hope it’s not -that you don’t think I’m silly or-“

Your rambling is cut off when she launches forward to kiss you. This time she’s nowhere near as gentle. She tugs on your bottom lip with her teeth, her tongue rushing into your mouth when you gasp. The kiss is hungry and passionate and takes your breath away.

She kisses your jaw, and then your neck, nipping at it before she presses her forehead to your collarbone. You feel her tears drip into your shirt, soaking the fabric. She’s still clutching you so tightly against her, almost as if she fears you’ll disappear.

“Oh darling…” she breathes against your skin, “I-I had never dared to hope…”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath before leaning back to gaze up at you. Her eyes sparkling and her cheeks blushing deliciously.

“I love you too… I have loved you for the longest time.”

Her words are a balm to your fragile little heart, making you feel impossibly bright and good and whole. You giggle, covering your mouth with your hand in an attempt to stifle it. Larissa gently pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm that makes you melt even further, if that’s even possible. And Larissa looks happier than you’ve ever seen her, her smile so bright and happy. You connect your lips again, gently pushing her to lay back against your bed. And as you kiss her only one thought runs through your mind.

Gods, you love her more than anything.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Hoseok

Hoseok lets Seokjin break him a little before he picks of the pieces between the family men. Handling everyone's bullshit is a full-time job, but Hoseok does it well.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Seokjin x Hoseok

🗡️ word count: 6.8k

🗡️ mafia au, established relationship, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: bottom & submissive Hoseok, top & dominant Seokjin; i don't know if i need to include "bathing one's lover" but idk it feels like a warning bc it's somewhat erotic and feels a little like body worship; shower sex (hair tugging; rough blowjob; use of the word "whore"; using anal toys to stretch oneself; rough anal sex against the wall; cum getting everywhere; mention of safeword; Seokjin's dirty talk is kind of nuts; ass eating; cum eating; a touch of aftercare); mention of drug running activities, creation of weapons, and the acquisition of firearms. some poolside making out.

🗡️ notes: mc is referred to in 3rd person (she/her) pronouns for this chapter! more slice of life, mafia style! this takes place so long ago, it feels cute revisiting this point of the story. enjoy!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @blog-name-idk - with minor unbeta’d edits done since.

🗡️ posted april 2024 - originally may 2023 | read on ao3

Hoseok's morning begins the way they often do: waking up moments before Seokjin's alarm blares. He blinks awake slowly and stretches his arms over his head, rolling away from the body over which his arm and leg had been draped, and onto his back, tugging their blood-red comforter as he moves. 

A small whine escapes Hoseok's lips as his muscles tug through the stretch—a gentle hint of discomfort blending with sweet release—and as he lets out a slow, peaceful huff of air, the shrill sound of an alarm screams, making Hoseok wince. 

With a grumble, Seokjin reaches and shuts the alarm off, then he rolls onto his back and quickly onto his side, wrapping all his limbs around Hoseok with his eyes barely open. Hoseok feels a warm, deep affection as Seokjin's naked body engulfs his, and he buries his face into Hoseok's neck. The hot breath that wafts from Seokjin's lips tickles enough to make Hoseok grumble and attempt to shove away despite not wanting to leave the tight warmth of his embrace. 

"Ho-wah," Seokjin mutters, a familiar nickname that is hardly passable as a word, and Hoseok hums in response. "What are you doing today?"

Now that Seokjin is settled, Hoseok hooks his legs around an ankle and a hip, and he relaxes with his eyes closed while he hums once more, a long pensive sound as he considers all that he has to do today. It is not much, but events and meetings within the family rarely go as planned.

"Gotta meet Ggukie," Hoseok responds through a yawn, making Seokjin yawn, as well. "And then Namjoon. Yoongi and the cub are taking the terror twins to the gun range, so the only person unaccounted for is Jimin."

"Ah, Jiminah," Seokjin grumbles, "what has he been up to?"

"Working," Hoseok responds, though he is not entirely certain. Jimin tends to be the outlier within the family, pursuing his own goals and staying out of trouble as best as he can. It is rare that he requests assistance from any of them. "Perhaps playing. Who knows."

"I miss him," Seokjin says after a few silent seconds. "We should have him back here soon."

"You miss him, or you miss his ass?" Hoseok asks playfully.

Seokjin chuckles as he mutters, "Same thing," with a shrug. 

Hoseok supposes he misses Jimin, too. The thought had not occurred before, but now that he is faced with it, he concedes. Jimin is good company, and the way his body melts in tandem with his and Seokjin's really is something special. Not to mention, his pain tolerance is impressive. 

"What about you?" Hoseok asks, using his leg to pull Seokjin's leg impossibly closer. "Anything not too unspeakable on the docket?"

"Meeting with Yoongi later," Seokjin says simply, and Hoseok nods in understanding, knowing that more information likely will not come. He adds, "A brief meeting. He might have to go to Hong Kong to chat with The Tigers, so we are finalizing some details."

Hoseok is only somewhat aware of the goings on in Hong Kong with the new guys, having been given the same information as everyone else, which is that Yoongi is going to be using another crew to handle some of the tasks he is no longer interested in being in charge of. Chiefly, drug running, which Hoseok is tasked with having a conversation with Jeongguk about later. If there is one thing the youngest hates, it is change.

"Shall we?" Seokjin grumbles as he begins an attempt to roll away, but Hoseok pulls him close and hugs him tighter. 

"We shall not," he whines, taking his turn burying his face in Seokjin's neck to breathe in the faintly soft musk of his skin and hair. "I still have an hour, and you evidently have nothing for a while. Stay here a bit longer."

With a burst of mocking laughter, Seokjin says, "If you want me to fuck you, just say so," and although it was not necessarily what Hoseok had in mind, the idea does excite him. 

"Gotta be quick," Hoseok warns; Seokjin loves to take his time and, frankly, an hour is nowhere near long enough.

"Are you being bossy, puppy?" Seokjin responds in a sharp tone, sending a chill through Hoseok that makes his breath fall ragged. 

"No, sir," Hoseok responds automatically, body relaxing as Seokjin begins to pull away from their embrace.

"How about we fuck in the shower?" Seokjin offers, voice soft and sweet, giving Hoseok's heart whiplash. "That way we can take care of both activities at once."

Hoseok likes the idea—thrilled at the prospect of having his cheek pressed against cold, hard tile as Seokjin knocks every last bit of air from his lungs. 

"Yes, please," he mutters, thrilled when Seokjin sits up and pushes the blanket from the two of them, making Hoseok shiver from the air on his bare skin.

Seokjin swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and lifts his phone briefly from the bedside table, presumably to check for notifications, then he gets up and walks past the length of the bed and around the end toward the ensuite. Hoseok stretches once more before following behind, feet touching down onto a soft burgundy rug over which he wiggles his toes before quickly joining Seokjin. 

He shivers when he reaches the en suite and his toes hit cold, white tile, and he quickly prances to the shower stall where Seokjin is busying himself with turning on the various overhead nozzles. 

With his toes on another soft red rug, Hoseok stands and crosses his hands in front of him, arms hanging relaxed, waiting to be instructed. He loves handing over control even before they have begun to do anything. It excites him. 

"Puppy?" Seokjin calls as water sprays from above and steam fills the pristine white-tiled room.

"Yes, sir," Hoseok responds softly. 

Seokjin reaches for a pale pink exfoliating cloth that hangs just to his right, then holds it below a bottle that sits on a waist-high shelf set into the tiled wall and pumps a dollop of clear soap onto it.

"Come," Seokjin says.

Hoseok obeys, stepping into the steamy room to join Seokjin, standing behind him. He takes the towel and begins to wash Seokjin's neck and throat—slowly but thoroughly—before working his way down to Seokjin's shoulders. He washes the right arm first, then the left, making sure to get in between each finger and use his thumbnail to clean under each of Seokjin's fingernails. 

Something about bathing his love always feels so ritualistic and calming, and it brings him comfort knowing that Seokjin enjoys it, too. 

Where Seokjin stands, there is a small pad that is suctioned to the floor, and as Hoseok makes his way down Seokjin's back and torso, to his legs, he slowly sinks to his knees. He tends to the right leg and then the left, lathering soap and getting lower and lower until Seokjin lifts each foot one at a time for him to wash. 

Hoseok stays on his knees as Seokjin steps away to rinse off, and when he returns stroking his pretty, thick length, Hoseok tosses the rag aside, clasps his hands behind his back, and sits up tall to open his mouth like the obedient puppy he is. Without a word, Seokjin takes Hoseok by the back of the head, gripping firmly to his hair, and slides his cock into his mouth. 

The weight of Seokjin on his tongue, stretching the corners of his lips, feels like home, and Hoseok sighs happily, fighting the urge to let his eyelids flutter closed. Seokjin likes it when Hoseok keeps his gaze wide on him, and as mist from the shower gets into his eyes, he blinks it away, letting it blend with his building tears. 

Seokjin fucks Hoseok's mouth, hitting his throat so rhythmically, Hoseok does his best to swallow around him to build his pleasure as quickly as he can. And it does the trick, making Seokjin squeeze and tug at his hair. Under enough pressure, Hoseok can make Seokjin cum in under five minutes—sometimes even three—and he does his best to press his luck, forgoing breathing until it makes him gag.

With a deep, needy groan, Seokjin pulls out, gripping Hoseok's hair enough to hurt, and Hoseok smirks as best as he can with his mouth hanging open and his tongue lolled out. Anger and arousal burn in Seokjin's gaze, which is precisely what Hoseok wants. 

"Trying to make me cum already?" Seokjin groans, yanking on Hoseok's head, making him gasp and grin as he nods. 

"Yes, sir."

"Such a greedy little whore."

"Yes, sir."

Without warning, Seokjin shoves his cock back into Hoseok's mouth and slams it deep, causing his throat to constrict and attempt to gag. Hoseok lurches as he breathes through it, doing his best to let the air pass through his nose while his eyes pool with tears. His hands clench and flex behind his back, and he blinks, keeping his eyes as wide as he can manage while Seokjin leers down at him. 

"If you're so eager to make me cum, then do it. Let's see how fast you are."

Seokjin pulls out, giving Hoseok a chance to heave in air, and then slides himself back into his throat, setting a quick pace of fucking as deep as he can. Hoseok relaxes his jaw and attempts to swallow around him, fluttering his muscles somewhat frantically. It is not his best work, but it is honest work, causing Seokjin to squeeze his hair and rut unevenly against his face. 

It takes no time at all for Seokjin to unravel, and Hoseok hums and moans to vibrate his throat around him, causing Seokjin's own hums and moans to grow louder and more desperate. 

"So good," Seokjin whimpers, "fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Hoseok loves these tiny moments of hearing Seokjin becoming completely gone. His voice cracks and breaks, and his body spasms, handing full control for a few glorious seconds over to Hoseok, who takes over, eagerly sucking him off until his hair is being squeezed so hard, the pain in his scalp is white-hot.

Without another word, Seokjin cums, trembling as spurt after spurt of release hits Hoseok's tongue and trickles down his throat. He does his best to swallow in order to avoid the sensation tickling too much, and he continues to suck until Seokjin is overstimulated and muttering for him to stop. 

"Up," Seokjin commands, voice fucked up and weak as he tugs roughly at Hoseok's hair. "Stretch yourself for me. I want to watch."

Hoseok gets up with a groan, knees having grown accustomed to being bent against the cushion, then he takes his place against the wall, face pressed into cold tile as he uses both hands to spread himself wide and prod at his hole for Seokjin's amusement. There is a shelf to his right dedicated to Hoseok's stretching ritual, and he wastes no time squirting lube onto a metal toy and working himself open with it, hissing and moaning from the stretch. 

Seokjin rubs his hands up and down Hoseok's thighs all the while, squeezing at the soft flesh and cooing at him for being so pretty and perfect, all for him. 

Once Hoseok is stretched around the toy—legs trembling fiercely—Seokjin stands and takes his place behind him, cock hard once more and ready for him. Hoseok loves days like these, when they do not have time to fully, properly prep him before they fuck. He loves the intense, blinding sting of Seokjin working him open, forcing him to accommodate his size. 

The pain is so intense Hoseok holds his breath, quickly becoming lightheaded from the steam that wafts around him, frantically placing the toy back onto the shelf where it lives. He could die just like this and be the happiest man in hell. 

"Too fucking tight," Seokjin groans against Hoseok's neck, shoving him against the tile wall as he trusts into him way too soon for it to feel good. 

Hoseok lets out a weak, "Ah!" dragging his lips against the wall, which is streaked with droplets of condensation from their forgotten shower. 

"No matter how much I fuck this little hole, you are always so god damn tight."

Hoseok's hands slide up to rest against the wall beside his ribs, and he digs his fingertips against the grout between tiles, desperate for purchase of any kind. But it is senseless; there is nothing to get a grip of once Seokjin sets a pace and begins using him properly; all Hoseok can do is chase his own high and hope he does not fall.

He has never fallen, yet; Seokjin would never let him. 

With a slam of his hips, Seokjin knocks what is left of the air from Hoseok's lungs, forcing Hoseok's cock to uncomfortably hit the wall. The squeeze between his body and cold tile is painful—just as he likes it. 

Seokjin sets a punishing pace working Hoseok open, making his screams and sobs echo loudly through the room. The white noise from the shower running behind him causes Hoseok to zone out and fall pliant for Seokjin, who allows him to rest his head back against his shoulder. 

Seokjin is merciless with the way he fucks, sending waves of pleasure-pain rocking through Hoseok's body, from the base of his neck down through his fingertips and toes. Hoseok's sobs become voiceless gasps and hisses, and he closes his eyes, letting all the world fade away, leaving only himself and the ruthless, wet slam of Seokjin's hips. 

Without warning, Seokjin reaches around and begins to tug at Hoseok's cock, making him scream—ripped from his warm, floaty euphoric place back to reality far too soon. It only takes a few strokes to send Hoseok to the edge, forcing him to paint the tile with his release, and then Seokjin shoves him against the tile to slide against his own goopy cum while he continues. 

It is absolutely disgusting the way Hoseok's torso becomes covered in sticky release. How he manages to shoot it so high up is beyond him, but he can feel the cum against his chest, causing him to slide up and down the wall. 

The painful squeeze of overstimulation takes over suddenly, and Hoseok begins to claw once more at the thin strips of grout, desperate for relief. But relief does not come—not yet. Seokjin uses him past the point of overstimulation, mocking and cooing while Hoseok begs him to finish. 

"Please," Hoseok squeals as Seokjin's cock drills him painfully hard and deep, "please, it's too much. I can't—sir, I can't! Cum for me, please, please!"

Sir, I can't is not Hoseok's safeword, and his pleas go ignored, falling on deaf ears.

Rather, Seokjin just encourages him to keep screaming. 

"Fuck, listen to your desperation, baby. That is gonna make me cum. Keep begging me to stop. You sound so fucking good."  

The urge to revolt and become petulant rises despite the pleasure that courses through him, and the heightened emotions assist with causing his cock to expand once more. At this rate, if Seokjin manages to pull a second and third orgasm from him, Hoseok will surely be lost to the world for the rest of the day, and he needs to be coherent to meet with Jeongguk. 

But reasoning with the man while he is balls-deep and mocking him is impossible. And Hoseok would be unable to find the words, anyway, already having used up his last few working brain cells to attempt to beg his lover to cum. 

"Sir," he mutters mindlessly between loud sobs, instead, "please. Pleasepleaseplease."

"Sounds so pretty when you cry," Seokjin coos gently as his hips rut hard and fast. 

Seokjin's fingers hold tightly to Hoseok's hips, undoubtedly adding to the dots of bruises already there. If Hoseok had more wits about him, it may even hurt a little to have Seokjin dig into past marks, but instead, the area is hot and tingling, feeling a bit numb. 

"You're lucky we don't have all morning," Seokjin groans against Hoseok's neck, dragging his lips and teeth over the skin, sending a shiver down his back. "You're lucky I can't use you until you really are begging me to stop. I would gladly fuck this tight little asshole until you are inside out and falling a-fucking-part."

God, Hoseok loves it when Seokjin becomes sadistic, saying the most deranged shit while buried deep inside him. He practically changes his tune and begs him to fuck him until he is completely broken, never to be used again. He feels exhilarated and incapable of being reasoned with. 

Seokjin yanks Hoseok's ass back, pulling him off the wall, and ruts impossibly faster, causing Hoseok's back to arc, frozen in pleasure while he trembles from the pain. Hoseok does his best to stay in place, feet planted on a little mat below so that he does not slide, and Seokjin uses him until his hips become uneven and he fills him with his release. 

The sound of Seokjin moaning echoes loudly off the walls, voice pitchy and ripped to shreds. Hands caress Hoseok's sides and back, over his shoulders and down his arms, and affection blooms throughout him as Seokjin's hips quake and he pulls out. 

As the hands slide down to Hoseok's hips and ass, Hoseok widens his stance and presses his chest once more into the wall, shivering as his skin hits the cold, hard surface. Seokjin spreads him wide and begins eating him out, licking, sucking, and prodding at his hole, pushing Hoseok close to his second orgasm. 

Seokjin is loud as he devours him, slurping and humming as if his own cum is the most delicious meal he has ever had. And when Seokjin is finished, he takes Hoseok by the hips and spins him around, making Hoseok giggle as he stumbles until his ass hits tile and his cock is swallowed whole.

The sensation makes Hoseok double over, placing his hands on Seokjin's shoulders for stability. Seokjin wastes no time sucking like his life depends on it, squeezing his cheeks tight and pushing Hoseok deep into his throat. Hoseok is unable to find the words of warning, voice breaking on scrambled vowels and consonants as he shoots his cum into his boyfriend's throat. 

When Seokjin releases his spent cock and sits back on his knees, Hoseok finally lets out a large gust of breath he had been holding onto. He feels exhausted and used in all the best ways, hole achingly empty. 

Seokjin gets onto his feet, grabs a blue cloth from the wall, and lathers it with soap, then begins to wash Hoseok much the same way Hoseok had washed him earlier. His movements are a bit rushed, but he is thorough, and for that, Hoseok is grateful. He really could stand in this shower all day and bask in the attention of his lover. What a shame he has to meet with Jeongguk so early. 

* * *

Dressed in his standard blacks, Hoseok makes his way to Jeongguk’s front step, taking the steel door knocker in his fist and firmly slamming it into the door three times. He is six minutes behind schedule, but only Seokjin and Yoongi care about tardiness. And anyway, he sent Jeongguk a text when he left to let him know he was on his way. 

Jeongguk opens the door just enough to unlock it, and Hoseok places a palm over the dark wood and presses forward, letting himself in. 

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk grumbles as he walks quickly from the door toward the kitchen. He wears a long black tee and black joggers, and his hair is a wild, dark mess. 

Hoseok snickers and kicks from his shoes, curious whether Taehyung is lurking somewhere. Then he makes his way through the mostly empty space, past a couch that is shoved too close to the television for anyone to actually sit at, and the punching bag that takes up the center of the room. He finds the youngest at the stove, stirring something. 

“Have you eaten?” Jeongguk asks without glancing over his shoulder. 

Hoseok grabbed a bite of a blueberry muffin that Seokjin had been enjoying before leaving, but otherwise, he had not found the time to have breakfast. 

“I have not.”

“Good,” Jeongguk responds, continuing to stir. 

The smell of peppers, onions, and butter wafts into his senses as he slowly and carefully has a seat at Jeongguk’s dining table. His stomach growls loudly. 

“I wanted to have it done before you got here, but I was…uh…distracted.”

“Is your distraction still here?” Hoseok teases, curious because he is unsure whether Taehyung has clearance to overhear their conversation. 

“He went home,” Jeongguk simply responds as he begins plating the food.

Hoseok sits back in the wooden chair and watches as Jeongguk takes out two glasses for water and one for coffee. He fills the coffee cup, leaving it black the way Hoseok likes it, and brings it over while cradling two water glasses in his other hand. 

“I can help you,” Hoseok offers, knowing Jeongguk does not accept help but eager to be polite. 

“You relax, hyung,” Jeongguk insists as the drinks are set down, and he returns to the counter where the plates have been left, carrying one in each hand. 

Jeongguk has made omelets with a scoop of rice and kimchi on the side, and Hoseok watches with bated breath as the plate is set before him, picking up utensils, eager to dig in. 

“Eat well,” Jeongguk says as he rounds the table and takes the seat in front of him. 

Once Jeongguk is settled down, Hoseok digs in. He wonders if, in another life, Jeongguk would have taken up cooking as a profession. Everything is seasoned perfectly and cooked just right, as always. 

“This is amazing, Ggukah,” Hoseok mutters with a mouthful of food, chasing it back with a gulp of perfectly brewed coffee. “Thank you.” 

Jeongguk hums in response, eating quickly, as if his life depends on it. It is always this way with Jeongguk—he always seems in some great rush to finish his food. 

Hoseok, on the other hand, takes his time, savoring each bite while waiting for Jeongguk to be ready to talk. When the youngest finally does shove his plate away with a satisfied groan, Hoseok pats at the sides of his mouth with his white cloth napkin and places it gently beside his half-empty plate. 

“About this transition of duties,” Hoseok begins, winning him a petulant whine from across the table that makes him chuckle softly. He decides to tease the guy, instead. “Are you really this sour about giving up drug running?”  

“It’s not about the drugs,” Jeongguk insists for what he clearly believes to be the hundredth time, based on the dramatic look of exasperation that he pulls. “It’s about—“

“The principle of the thing,” Hoseok interrupts, taking the words from Jeongguk’s lips. “You will have more responsibilities as one of Yoongi’s right hands.”

“I'm sure he needs more right hands since his current one is busy fucking his fiancée,” Jeongguk grumbles, not missing a beat. 

Hoseok cannot hold back the laughter that bursts from his chest, winning him a glare from across the table. Jeongguk's audacity never fails to crack Hoseok up. 

“His fake fiancée,” Hoseok corrects as he lifts his coffee to his lips and savors a warm, bittersweet gulp. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clearly already fed up with this conversation. And Hoseok cannot blame him; things seemed fine before Yoongi set his sights on the cub. Why he decided to complicate their lives and hers is still beyond him. The money her ex owes him is hardly enough to be concerned over—certainly less than they usually shake a man down for. 

“Namjoon still performs all his duties,” Hoseok continues, feeling a sudden urge to defend his friend. 

He really does feel for Namjoon—the man is so desperately in love with Yoongi, and he did struggle at first with feelings of being replaced when their little darling moved in, especially when he had to start sleeping in his own bed again. “Yoongi is simply tired of being a drug lord. He makes enough to afford a middle man, and The Tigers are a good fit.”

The Tigers are a group currently operating out of Hong Kong. Should they accept the responsibilities of Yoongi’s drug operations, they would have income flooding in. Two of their associates are stationed in Taiwan, tripling their efforts. All of this has been explained to Jeongguk, of course, yet he refuses to listen. 

“I could use a hand with weapons,” Hoseok says, trying a new tactic of swaying him. Truth be told, he really could use some help with both the acquisition of firearms, the building of incendiaries, and other pleasure projects. Ryujin has been a bit too quiet these days, and if she gets word about Hyunjin, they may need to be prepared for anything. 

Jeongguk hums, nodding once while avoiding eye contact, the way he does when there is something on his mind. Hoseok has an idea of what may be bothering him, but he waits to see if he will spit it out while he has a couple more bites of his cold breakfast. 

When he does not, Hoseok chases the food with water and asks, “What is it?” before shoveling more food into his mouth. Jeongguk really is a phenomenal cook. 

“I just…” Jeongguk begins. 

Then he finally lifts his face, and Hoseok sees all essence of the man stripped away, leaving behind the wide-eyed boy he knew back when he joined the family. The look in Jeongguk's eye is one of worry, making Hoseok’s heart ache, and he sets his utensils down and places his hands in his lap. 

“Nobody is replacing you, Jeonggukah.”

Jeongguk frowns. “That’s not—“

“Are you sure?”

With a sigh, Jeongguk shakes his head. Then he points his gaze, squinting at Hoseok. 

“Has Seokjin hyung told you something?”

This makes Hoseok chuckle, further furrowing Jeongguk’s brow. 

“Jeonggukah, Seokjin is not conspiring anything. I know you tend to be wary of him, but although there are plenty of things only he knows, he is not hiding anything.”

“Hmm,” Jeongguk responds, folding his arms over his chest. “We’ll see.”

With that, Jeongguk leaves the room, and Hoseok cracks a smile before finishing his plate of food. The sound of velcro adjusting cuts through the silence of the room, and Hoseok savors the final bites of omelet and kimchi. Then he drinks back the rest of the coffee and leaves the dining space to join Jeongguk. 

He hears the sounds of glove-clad fists hitting a punching bag before he sees Jeongguk boxing—hopping lightly from foot to foot and pretending to dodge between punches. 

“I meant it when I said I could use help,” Hoseok calls loud enough to be heard over Jeongguk’s fists striking leather.

Jeongguk says nothing, but Hoseok can see in his eyes that he is considering the offer. The man is smart and having someone like him on his team would be invaluable. 

And, perhaps with his closeness in proximity, Hoseok can help the guy cope a little better with his demons. He thinks no longer having first dibs on all of the best cocaine in Seoul will be good for Jeongguk.

Hoseok stands a while longer and watches Jeongguk box. Everything from his stance to his strikes is calculated and precise; showmanship at its finest. Really, everything Jeongguk does amazes Hoseok, when he thinks about it.

Finally, Jeongguk stops. Even though not much time has passed, he is panting and glistening with a sheen of sweat. He rolls his shoulders back and nods to Hoseok as he speaks.  

"What have you been building?"

Hoseok perks up and considers this a win, smiling to himself as he runs through a mental list of all the latest gadgets and weapons he has been in the process of manufacturing. 

"One of my latest toys is a hubcap with blades that extend out, so you can ram the car next to you and slash their tires."

Jeongguk's mouth and eyes widen comically, then he blinks from his thoughts and shakes his head, laughing as he asks, "You're joking, right?"

"Nah," Hoseok responds, also laughing because Jeongguk is absolutely precious. "We've been working on them for several months."

With another shake of his head, Jeongguk mutters, "That's some James Bond shit," and Hoseok laughs even harder, bending at the waist and placing his hands on his knees for stability. 

"You have no idea," he says, thinking of all the other James Bond-type contraptions and weapons he has been working on, making Jeongguk laugh harder. 

Moments pass, the laughter dies, and Jeongguk nibbles on his bottom lip while his eyes trail around the room. He screws up his face the way he does whenever faced with a choice, then nods his head and says, "Alright. I'll consider joining you."

This makes Hoseok's heart soar, and he claps his hands while shouting, "Oh, good!" and making Jeongguk laugh some more. 

* * *

Jinnie Might have to head to Busan and oversee Hyunjin's escape. Care to join me?

Hoseok As exciting as that sounds, I think I would rather stay home and enjoy a nice warm bubble bath. 

Jinnie Preemptively scheduling a bath without knowing which day I have to leave?

Hoseok You know me, always prepared for anything!

Jinnie Suit yourself.  I expect pics, baby.

Hoseok Of course, sir. ;) How was the meeting?

Jinnie Brief. Yoongi and company came back from the range drunk, and they all convened in the pool. Could hardly capture his attention for ten minutes. 

Hoseok  Did he forget about the meeting?

Jinnie Likely, but that's fine. I just needed the green light to start pulling Hyunjin out. I have a feeling he doesn't actually care how I do it as long as it gets done. 

Hoseok Anything involving Busan is a sore spot. 

Jinnie It's ridiculous, honestly. How many years will it take for him to move on?

Hoseok I wanted to speak with him, but I guess it can wait. Coming back home?

Jinnie Walking up the path right now, baby.

Hoseok  Movie night?

Jinnie Sounds perfect. 

* * *

Hours earlier, after his meeting with Jeongguk, Hoseok sent a text to Yoongi asking when a good time to meet up and have a little chat might be. He is surprised to find Yoongi responding, given that Seokjin said he was drunk earlier. He wonders if it would be wise to check in with his friend at a time like this. 

Credits roll on The Matrix, and Hoseok sighs as he leans forward to place the empty metal popcorn dish onto the table, careful not to stir Seokjin, whose head lies in his lap; as soon as the film began, it had taken approximately twenty minutes for him to fall fast asleep. 

Despite his efforts, however, Seokjin grumbles and rolls onto his back, stretching as best as he can, given he is lying on a long mauve velvet couch with his head resting on a thigh. Hoseok gently runs his fingers through Seokjin's hair, smiling at the man who blinks away sleep with a lazy smile. 

"Yoongi messaged a bit ago saying I could stop by for a chat, so I think I may."

With a sound somewhere between a hum and a yawn, Seokjin asks, "Mmm—what time is it?" while curling onto his side toward the back of the couch with his face buried against Hoseok's stomach. 

"A little after seven," Hoseok guesses, given it was around five when they started the film.

"What are you gonna talk about?" Seokjin mutters, voice muffled in Hoseok's black t-shirt, huffing warmth through the fabric and onto his skin.

"Just gonna touch base and let him know how my talk with Jeongguk went. I have a feeling Gguk hasn't said anything about it."

"Likely not," Seokjin grumbles. 

"We've also gotten some offers from a Russian contact for some machine guns, and I am curious whether that is something he may want."

Seokjin nods and rolls onto his back before sitting up with a groan, seeming reluctant to lose the lap that so dutifully acts as a pillow. He yawns again as he asks, "Kalashnikova? Vityaz?"

Hoseok lifts his legs straight and stretches, then slides to the edge of the couch and stands, feeling the tired ache of limbs that have sat unmoving for far too long. 

"My, aren't we a nosey one," Hoseok teases, avoiding the question because he does not like discussing firearms in the comfort of his home.

Stepping in front of Seokjin, Hoseok takes his face in both hands and plants quick, sloppy kisses against his cheeks and forehead until Seokjin gets frustrated and attempts to push him away. 

"Excuse me for taking an interest in your work," he pouts.

Hoseok smiles and concedes, giving Seokjin space and letting him breathe. Then he walks over to the entrance, grabs a black bomber jacket from the rack beside the front door, and slides his feet into a pair of black leather loafers. 

"See you soon, Jinnie," Hoseok calls, glancing back to the couch to find no sign of Seokjin—he must have laid back down. 

A grumble from the couch confirms his suspicions, and Hoseok smiles as he makes his way out the door, into the cool evening air. Just to be sure that Yoongi is still available to meet, Hoseok gives him a call, making his way down the path that leads to the back gardens of the main mansion. He enjoys taking the long way. 

"Ah, there he is!" Yoongi announces, bypassing any greeting, and Hoseok can already tell that Yoongi is definitely still drunk. He thinks he can hear the terror twins shouting in the background and wonders if they are all still at the pool.

"Here I am," Hoseok responds, eyes on the gravel and dirt path ahead. "I'm heading over now, assuming this is still a good time."

"Ah, I would have told you to wear a bathing suit!" 

Hoseok chuckles and shakes his head despite there being nobody to see him. "I'm not in the mood for a swim, but I appreciate the gesture. Who is with you?"

The longer of the two paths that connects the two properties opens into the shrub maze in the back of Yoongi's gardens, and Hoseok walks around it, taking the shortcut along a path between the outermost hedges and the wall of trees that enclose the property. From this distance, he can see lights shining above the pool area.

"Joonie, Tae, and Ggukie," Yoongi mutters. 

"You sure your hands aren't too full?" Hoseok teases as he passes through an archway, into the larger garden, walking past the Greek statues and fountains. 

"Never too full," Yoongi responds with a chuckle. "You know I love to be overwhelmed at all times."

Hoseok knows all too well that this is the case; it is part of what worries him.

"Is the pool entrance open?" Hoseok asks as he approaches; there is a gate that leads directly into the pool from the garden, making it easier to get to than walking through the mansion.

"Joonie!" Yoongi yells, muffled slightly as if his hand is over the microphone of his device. "Be a dear and let Seokie in through the gate!" 

Hoseok approaches in time for the large wooden door to swing open, and he stops in his tracks when he is greeted by Namjoon glistening wet with a dopey smile, wearing black swim trunks that cling to what little they manage to cover.

He has all but forgotten about his call with Yoongi, and he glances at his phone to find that the call has already been ended. With a chuckle, he slides the device into his pocket, bows his head at Namjoon, and mutters, "Thanks, Joon," as he enters the pool area.  

Something sexy and downtempo plays over the speakers, and there are champagne bottles scattered from the diving boards to the pool beds that are tucked away under awnings. Hoseok finds Taehyung and Jeongguk making out in the deep end by the diving boards, with Jeongguk pressed against the wall and Taehyung looming over him. It takes a moment to notice that on the far end of the space, Yoongi is reclined in the hot tub.

"Right this way, sir," Namjoon says in a mock butler voice, guiding Hoseok toward Yoongi with a stiff, open palm, making Hoseok laugh. They walk side by side, Namjoon with a bit of a sway in his step.

"Where's the sweetheart?" Hoseok asks, noticing her absence.

"She ran off a while ago," Namjoon responds, and Hoseok notices the little grin that blooms on his face. "Got overwhelmed by too much attention, I imagine."

Oh, this is interesting, indeed. "Attention, hmm?"

Namjoon chuckles and softly mutters, "Taehyung made some offhand comment about her and Jeongguk hooking up, and I don't think she has recovered."

"Is that wise?" Hoseok asks before he can stop himself. And although Namjoon seems unaffected by the question, he adds, "Sharing with Taehyung, I mean?"

With a shrug, Namjoon mutters, "Come on, hyung; you and I have both been there before," and he breaks off to round the hot tub from the opposite side where a set of steps are, to wade over to Yoongi.

"Champagne?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon's eyes widen as if he had forgotten something. 

"Ah, right!" Namjoon responds, "I got distracted and brought you something else."

Hoseok grabs a pool bed and pulls it over to where Yoongi is reclining, dragging it until he can sit within his eye-line, then he has a seat and leans with his elbows on his knees. 

"Hoseokah!" Yoongi shouts with a similarly dopey grin as he sits up, and Hoseok laughs. 

"You're drunk, boss. Should we talk another time?"

Yoongi shakes his head and frowns. "More tired than drunk. But you have my attention."

Although he expects that they will be having this conversation again at some point, Hoseok begins anyway. 

"Jeonggukah doesn't quite seem sold on The Tigers yet, but he has agreed to help with my team if that is something you are interested in allowing."

Yoongi hums and nods, and Namjoon says, "Seokjin has also recommended him for House of Cards, and Jimin has asked about him working the brothels. But I feel like your team could use his brainpower more than the others."

Hoseok is not surprised that Seokjin has jumped on the chance to ask for him, but he is a bit taken aback by Jimin asking for help. Jimin likes his things to be his and only his; he has rejected plenty of offers by the family men and Changbin's security crew to help in the past. 

"I agree that Hoseok's team could use him the most," Yoongi says, voice sounding surprisingly clear considering how tired and inebriated he seems. "But I like the idea of him being sought after. I will find out what the others may need from him, and we can see about having him become a floater."

"I think that's best," Namjoon agrees. 

Hoseok hums and nods his head; the more people are chomping at the bit to have Jeongguk around, the more distracted he may be from whatever plagues him. And he will be less inclined to let his abandonment trauma seep in and make him feel like The Tigers are stepping in to replace him. 

"Alright," Yoongi says with a sigh as he begins to sit up. "I need to get out of here before I become any more lightheaded. Let's run the idea by Jeongguk, and then I am going to get some sleep."

"Sounds good, boss," Hoseok says, standing from the pool bed. All of this could have been negotiated as a phone call, but at least he got plenty of fresh air today. 

Hoseok drags the pool bed back to its rightful spot and joins the others to run the plan by Jeongguk. Taehyung reluctantly stops pressing the youngest into the pool wall, and when Jeongguk turns to face Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok, his gaze is fucked out, and hickeys cover his neck. Hoseok laughs, watching as the poor guy's face turns beet red, and then, after some berating from Yoongi and Namjoon, they begin their conversation.

This is nice, Hoseok thinks. 

The nights are becoming cooler but still temperate enough to handle without bundling up—although Namjoon and Yoongi are shivering into towels that they have draped over their shoulders. 

Despite light pollution, a few bright stars are visible as the sun continues to fully set, and everything seems…calm. Peaceful. Happy. 

Hoseok holds onto this moment and tucks it away. He hopes that everything within the family can stay this good for a while. 

*

thank you for reading!!! and for your patience! 💜💜💜

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Collateral is copyright 2022 - 2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations or reposts allowed!

[taizi]

So lil request if ya feel up for it :-}

★ A story about Mikey's brothers finding out about his and Woody's secret relationship(?). Like, maybe it can be that one of them are going through Mikey's phone and they see his camera roll full of photos of him and Woody !! Or like they walk in on the two cuddling asleep or something idk :-0

Do whatever U want 💖

i went with rise on this one. i missed those guys :')

read on ao3

x

Don slams into the infirmary with a shout of, “LEO! Leoleoleoleoleoleo!”

“Congratulations, my name just sounds like noise to me now,” Leo replies drolly, as if he’s not ecstatic to have company. Sure, Raph had been camped beside his bed up until like ten minutes ago, but a lot can happen in ten minutes. 

As if to prove it, Don shoves a phone into Leo’s face. “Michael—our Michael—has a boyfriend.”

Leo sits up so fast he feels it in his entire body, an ache radiating down his spine like it’s a gong that just got rung.

“You’re lying!” 

“I would never lie to you,” Donnie says, his tone a weird mix of agitated and absolutely giddy.  

Such a gossip, Leo thinks fondly. 

Don piles onto the bed, still careful of Leo’s broken bones but a far cry from the cautious, mincing way he climbs in lately for their Youtube video essay marathons or vent sessions. Leo might have to orchestrate more tantalizing secrets for his nosy twin to uncover if it stops him treating Leo like something glass that’s about to break. 

Shoulder to shoulder, Donnie holds the phone where they both can see it. Now that Leo’s looking at it properly, he clocks the glittery sticker-covered military-grade phone case and says, “Oh, no. Tello, you didn’t. Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t steal his phone.”

“It’s called the Freedom of Information Act.”

“That does not apply here!” Leo is torn between horror—because Mikey is objectively terrifying—and glee—because Donnie is an absolute menace and he loves to see it. 

“Agree to disagree. I could have just cloned his phone onto a new device but where’s the pizzazz? Anyway—”

He brings up Mikey’s camera roll, scrolling through dozens of post-invasion celebratory selfies and candids, past a few scattered pics of Mikey’s own cooking and digital art (and Leo makes a mental note to revisit that, because there aren’t as many of those as there ought to be) and finally making an “ah-HAH” sound under his breath, tapping on a particular picture to blow it up. 

It’s a selfie taken at arm’s length of two faces squished together to fit the frame. One face belongs to Leo’s little brother, caught mid-laugh. The other one is distinctly human, almost lost in a haphazard cloud of yellow curls and turned sideways to plant a kiss on Mikey’s spotted cheek. 

Leo finds himself smiling involuntarily. Mikey looks happy. It’s cute. 

Of course, if Mikey thinks he can have a whole-ass secret boyfriend and get away with it, he’s got another thing coming. Not when he has three older brothers and an older sister who have been waiting their entire lives for this moment. 

“This doesn’t prove they’re dating,” he points out, mostly just to play devil's advocate. “Maybe they’re super affectionate friends. The five of us do cheek- and forehead-kisses on occasion, too.”

“Mm-hmm, yes, I thought you might say that, and I am, of course, prepared to offer more evidence.” 

Donnie taps out of the photo gallery and brings up Mikey’s messaging app. He scrolls for a bit, past the sibling group chat, April, their own names, Raph, their dads—even Rupert, what the hell?—and then, right beneath Piebald and before Casey Sr., is a text thread with a contact simply, and tellingly, labeled babe💛.

On pure reflex, Leo smacks the phone out of Don’s hand before he can open the thread. 

“So what we’re not about to do is read his texts to and from his boyfriend,” he says, very deliberately, so a single world won’t be misconstrued.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Donnie mumbles, in a tone that suggests that he was, in fact, gonna. 

Leo picks up the phone and goes back to the picture. He checks the timestamp, humming thoughtfully to see that it was from a little over two months ago. They've certainly been busy since the whole Krang situation, but Mikey has always had time for the things he loves. He makes time. He’s just a kid, albeit one who had to grow up too fast, but he was born with a good sense of what’s really important.

And this guy, Leo thinks, seems like he could be important. So why is this the first they’re hearing about him?

“How exactly did you make this discovery?” Leo asks, handing the stolen phone back. 

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. regularly scans all of our devices for anything icky—you’re welcome—and he asked me who the blond guy was,” Donnie explains offhandedly. “He thought we had a new friend he hadn’t met. You know how he gets when he thinks we’re leaving him out of literally anything.”

“Like father, like son,” Leo says sagely.

Donnie lowers the phone and makes direct eye contact. “No.”

Leo laughs so hard he thinks he might actually be in danger of puncturing a lung with one of his broken ribs. Donnie goes back to snooping, but there’s a pleased quirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“DONALD!” a voice thunders suddenly from down the hall. “IF WHAT I THINK IS HAPPENING IS HAPPENING, IT BETTER NOT BE!”

“Eughh boy,” Leo says. 

Looking as though he just saw his life flash before his eyes, Donnie shoves the phone at him and blurts, “You take it! You’re a convalescent, he can’t kill you! It would be against the Geneva Conventions!”

“Oh, I see, you want me to use my horribly mangled body as a meat shield between you and the consequences of your own actions.” Leo holds his hands up and open to avoid having any incriminating evidence forced into them. “Also, I think you skipped like six years of Social Studies.”

The infirmary doors slam open hard enough that one of Leo’s shelves of meticulously organized medical supplies rattles ominously. Mikey looms in the threshold, silhouetted against the light from the den. It’s appropriately intimidating.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Mikey’s eyes lower to the bright yellow phone in Donnie’s hands. It’s indie-film levels of drama. Leo is eating this up. 

Donnie whispers, “Oh, Hawking, I did not think this through.”

“When you die, who gets your laptop?” Leo whispers back. 

“I knew it!” Mikey shrieks. “You think S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. can keep a secret?? S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.?? You programmed him with all your own tells! I’m going to destroy everything you love!” 

The resulting cat-and-mouse chase around the infirmary is rowdy enough that it summons Raph, warm and fresh from the shower, dressed in his favorite huge pink hoodie. He catches Donnie on his way by and lifts him bodily out of the melee. Mikey is bloodthirsty enough that he scales Raph like a tree and their biggest brother is forced to hold Donnie out at arm’s length to keep the two of them apart.

“Woah, woah, hey—Jesus, what is happening?” Raphie says. His eyes dart to Leo, one dark and the other a pale milky pink, but it’s still the same look he’s given Leo a billion times before. The one that says loop me in. 

Leo searches under his pillow for the palm-sized knife he keeps there and focuses hard. Two little cyan portals open, maybe the size of dessert plates, one next to him and the other by Donnie, a neat little wrinkle in the dimension. He reaches through it and retrieves the phone. 

Pretending he doesn’t feel woozy after the brief use of ninpo well before he was technically allowed to use it again—because then he would have to admit that Draxum was right about something, and frankly he’d rather die—Leo waves the recovered goods at his brothers.

Mikey stops trying to kill Donnie and stares across the room with a very vulnerable, unhappy expression. Leo hates that, so he takes charge. 

“Just the Cain Instinct at work, Raphala,” Leo says, smiling. “How about you deliver Donnie to April for a lecture on respecting other people’s privacy, and I’ll talk to Mikey about the pros and cons of fratricide.”

“Pros and cons? What pros? You know what, nevermind,” Raph adds before Leo can answer, holding Donnie more comfortably in the crook of his arm as Mikey hops down from his shell. 

Donnie is dead-weight at this point, gone totally limp and accepting his fate. Since a lecture from April has a fifty-fifty chance of turning into a gossip session, Leo doesn’t feel bad for his twin at all. 

“And don’t think you're not in deep shit for that portal just now,” Raph says severely, pointing at him. “Yeah, Raph clocked that. No ninpo while you’re healing, Leon, or I’m telling pops.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo says dismissively.

But Raph still comes over to rub his head, and Leo still leans into him when he does, because a little part of Leo is always going to be six years old with stars in his eyes, gazing up at his biggest brother like Raph could hold the whole sun in his hands if he wanted to.

When Raph has carted Donnie away, the infirmary is much quieter. Mikey slinks over to the bed ungraciously and invites himself right up, pressing into Leo’s side and hiding his face in a yellow-striped shoulder.

Leo passes him back his phone. Mikey tucks it against his plastron and doesn’t say anything.

“So the pros of fratricide would be that your stuff would get stolen way less,” Leo begins airily. 

With a huff, Mikey nudges him. 

“He showed me a picture, but we didn’t read any texts,” Leo adds, less playful. “As far as we know, you have a really good friend we just haven’t met yet.”

“Yeah,” his little brother says quietly. He presses his face harder into Leo’s shoulder. Leo works his arm out from in between them and wraps it around Mikey’s carapace instead. 

Tracing a familiar pattern between the scutes, he says, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

When Leo came out, a few years ago now, he was terrified. 

It was just another thing that made him difficult, that made him harder to love, that might cost him what little of his father’s good opinion he thought he had. He kept it a secret, tucked behind the armor of his plastron where no one but himself would ever see it.

But then one day, when he was fourteen, Leo found Raph in the living room, watching Youtube videos of the NYC Pride Parade with something young and hopeful on his face, only to slam the laptop shut when Splinter came in. Raph’s expression had twisted into something ashamed. Afraid. 

And Leo thought, Absolutely not.

So he came out to his family over dinner that same night. He said it like his hands weren’t sweaty and shaking beneath the table, like he hadn’t practiced the words and tone in the mirror for an hour beforehand. 

He couldn’t force himself to look at Splinter, twisting some spaghetti onto his fork and following his big announcement with something stupid, like, So I guess you could say the only straight I am’s a straight-up bitch. That way everyone would know it wasn’t serious, wasn’t a big deal, they could stop looking at him now please. 

Raph didn’t even get after Leo for saying the bitch word. He flew to his feet and rounded the table and scooped Leo up into a big bear hug. Well, Leo and Mikey, because Mikey was already attached to him at that point. Donnie said, “Gasp! This is my surprised face. Whoever could have anticipated this astonishing turn of events?” because he was an asshole. But he also reached over the table to put his garlic bread on Leo’s plate, because he was the absolute best. 

Leo’s heart didn’t stop racing for what felt like hours, even after his brothers squeezed him to death and made a bunch of noises about loving him no matter what, even after Splinter informed the table at large that his Baby Blue could start thinking about dating boys in another thirty years and not a minute sooner! 

But he did that for a reason. So his brothers had a lead to follow if they ever needed one. So they wouldn’t be scared like Leo constantly was.

And now the tension slowly leaks out of Mikey’s frame. 

“I know. I know,” he says, stronger the second time. “I guess I got all in my head about it. At first I wanted it to just be my thing, for me. I liked him but I wasn’t sure if he—you know. And then when he did, everything was perfect, and I didn’t want to mess it up.” He sits up enough that he can look at Leo, red-brown eyes earnest and wide. “Then the longer I didn’t say anything, the more impossible it felt to ever say anything. It’s not ‘cause I didn’t—”

“You don’t owe me or anybody else an explanation, Angie,” Leo says, tugging on the tails of his mask. “If you want to talk about him, I’m all-ears. If you want me to blackmail Donnie into forgetting he exists, I can do that, too. I’ve got the goods.”

Mikey smiles. It’s a relief to see. “I have no idea how you did it,” he says. “How you just told us like it was nothing. Told dad. I guess being his favorite probably helped.”

His WHAT?

Leo chokes on an incredulous laugh. He thumps his own chest, wheezing. Mikey rolls his eyes and slumps down again, gets comfy, a familiar weight under Leo’s arm. 

“Puh-lease, Lee. You two are like the same person, all the way down to the inherent self-worth issues and validation-seeking. Of course he’s going to feel complicated about loving a carbon-copy of himself when he hates himself so much.” After a moment, Mikey adds, “I think you help him feel better about who he is.”

Huh. Welp. Time to pack all of that up to think about later because otherwise Leo’s brain is going to explode.

“Nice attempt at distracting me, but I’m the master of misdirection.” Leo jostles Mikey, enough to make him whine stoooop. “If you think for one second you’re not everyone in the entire family’s favorite person, then there’s something deeply wrong with you,” he adds severely. “Junior has only been here for like five minutes and even he likes you best.”

Mikey’s grinning by the time he’s done. Leo can feel the shape of it against his arm. 

“It’s a gift,” the youngest Hamato says humbly. 

Identical chimes from the phone in Mikey’s hand and the one on the bedside table alert them to a new text in the Mad Dogz group chat. 

Bootyyyshaker9000 After an illuminating conversation, during which absolutely no robot sons were taken hostage to force my compliance, I have seen the error of my ways and will endeavor to change my behavior. I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies to Angelo for my invasion of his privacy. I am not making this statement under duress. YellowSubmarine Good enough for you, baby?

Mikey’s grin graduates with honors into a laugh, that charming, full-bodied thing that fills whatever room he happens to be in. He types a quick reply and the group chat goes crazy. Leo sort of just lays there and takes the moment in. 

In about an hour, it’ll be time for another round of medication, but Leo thinks—even though it’s sappy and saccharine and he would never, ever say it out loud—that this is medicine enough. 

“Sooo,” Leo says, “you gonna tell me about him?”

“Leo,” Mikey groans, but he’s still smiling. 

“Oh, come on, you have to give me something.”

“How ‘bout a trade?”

Aww, his baby brother knows how to barter. Leo is so proud.

“I’m listening,” he says.

“I’ll tell you about Woody,” Mikey offers, waving his phone around, “if you tell me about that bunny waiter from Run of the Mill who asked for your number.”

Leo would shoot upright if he had, like, a completely unbroken back. As it is he has to move a little slower. 

“What?? Why—how did you—I mean, who?” Nailed it.

“Raph overheard the entire thing,” Mikey says sweetly. “He thought it was cute so he told me since I was right there. You know he can’t handle cute without gushing about it to somebody.”

It’s Raph’s knee-jerk reaction, like cute-aggression; only instead of squeezing or biting, he has to overshare to the nearest available party, usually while choking back tears. 

Kneading his temples, Leo forces out, “Mm-hmm.” 

He can’t even be mad, though. It’s Raph. If Donnie had been the one to overhear, it’d be plastered on a billboard above Times Square by now. 

“Lemme have this one on Donnie,” Mikey says, and brings out the big guns, brown eyes all wide and liquid. “He always gets your secrets first.”

“Disaster twins privilege,” Leo replies, so he doesn’t have to think about the novel concept that his family could believe his secrets are worth anything. “Alright, Miguel. Since it’s to spite Dontron specifically, you have yourself a deal.”

Mikey whoop-whoops, with the arm and everything. It’s so stupid. And it makes Leo think, This Woody guy doesn’t know how lucky he is. 

[celestialsister0918]

Fic Writing Review 2023

Thanks for tagging me, @gammacousin!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either. (Copied and pasted)

Words and Fics

Word Count:

142,081

Fic Count:

6 started. 5 completed

Most Productive Month: February by far, thanks to Kinkuary!

Top Five by Hits

The One He Needs Right Now: Jim Gordon's Kinkuary: 5941

What I'm Thinking About (Sirius x Ginny): 3600

A Window Not Missed (Bruce x Nat): 2107

A Window Closed (Bruce x Nat): 1101

In the Sepulcher by the Sea (Sirius x Severus): 684

Top Five by Kudos

A Window Not Missed (Bruce x Nat): 96

What I'm Thinking About (Sirius x Ginny): 61

A Window Closed (Bruce x Nat): 47

In the Sepulcher by the Sea (Sirius x Severus): 32

The One He Needs Right Now: Jim Gordon's Kinkuary: 24

Fandom events:

Two @trulymadlydeeplyfest fests! 1 in February and 1 in October. Both Harry Potter. I'm so bad at knowing where all the fests are so those are my only two.

Upcoming Plans:

To Complete:

Finish "A Window Closed" (Bruce x Nat)

Start "A Window Opened" (Bruce x Nat)

Start "A Special Election" (Jim Gordon x NEW OC) - I have one chapter written and some dialogue prompts for chapter 2. I'm soooo excited for this one.

Other Ideas:

Continue one-off Sirius and other Gary Oldman character one-shots on Tumblr.

Write a Jackson Lamb piece

Maybe write a Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova one-shot if the mood strikes

Write another Gary Oldman RPF (many dialogue prompts already written). Here's my first Gary RPF if interested... it was set during the Dracula filming. The new one will be set after his divorce from Alex but before Gisele.

Reflection

I took a couple long breaks from writing this year. After finishing "Submissioner Gordon" in December of 2022, I was at a pretty bad low from lack of interaction with that fic. My heart has NEVER been in something as much as it was that fic, so to have so many hits and so little interaction made me think everyone hated it. Yet I continued the story with the Kinkuary prompts, where I wrote a short fic every day for 28 days. Again, I feel like it bombed.

At the same time, I made what I thought would be my last hurrah in the Harry Potter fandom, and it didn't do so great either. I was in a BAD spot comparing myself to other writers, so I took a long hiatus.

During that break, I started watching the entire MCU with my son, start to finish. My brain grabbed onto Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff and would NOT let go. So in May, I began publishing the "Never Say Never" series, where I try to fix their story.

The feedback from the Marvel fandom and Brutasha readers/writers really warmed my heart and got me back in the groove. I am forever thankful to them, because it truly restored my confidence in writing.

I will always be thankful for my Wizarding World series and the Submissioner Gordon/Daddy Issues universe, and my brain loves to revisit those stories and characters. It's just bittersweet because it never really found its audience. However the feedback I got from my foray into the MCU fandom has built my confidence enough that I am able to write in HP and Dark Knight without really worrying what others think. I am just doing it for me and my love for the characters. I know my writing isn't bad--- it's just not a lot of people's cup of tea.

I also want to give a shoutout to the small but steadfast Gary Oldman fandom I have found on Tumblr and Instagram. They've become very dear to my heart, and I love that we can share random thirst posts together when so many others just don't get it.

If anyone is reading this, please share your 2023 stats and reflections as well! I love writers supporting writers. Happy 2024 to you all!

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Don't Blame Me 2.0 | Sneak Peak

So here's just a little sneak peak of my re write of Don't Blame Me. I've been wanting to revisit this for a while. I will post the rest of it in one go probably on Ao3 for ease but here's just a little peak of some of the extended stuff I'm doing. This is probably chapter 1 or 2. I haven't decided the order yet. It is 100% new material and I hope it gives a good example of what the rest of the re write is gonna be. Hope you enjoy 💕

Word Count: 2k

Nina stared up at the ceiling. It was ugly. Grayish plaster smeared across to form a minuscule mountain range. She was angry at them with their manmade topography. She wanted to climb up and scrape them smooth. She wanted to destroy something without consequence. 

The bed in the safe house was too hard and the covers were too thin. Made it impossible to sleep and yet she’d spent the past three days laying in it. She missed the warm comfort of her old bed, layers of wool blankets and a fluffy down mattress. She missed the feathers that poked her in the middle of the night. 

Kyle, sat guard by the door - rifle in hand. The curtains always drawn close. She’d long lost track of time, only gauging when offered food. Shopping bags laid scattered across the floor. Price had bought clothes, guessing her size and getting it wrong most of the time. She’d finally asked for something warm and big. 

He’d come back with a large navy sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. They were nice and soft and the sweatshirt was large enough she could tuck her knees inside of it and pull her hands into the sleeves. A small comfort. 

She didn’t like it here but she wasn’t given a choice. Hunted like an animal across countries and continents. All because of her father. Some people may be attached together with red string but he was the rope around her neck. 

The house somehow felt more sterile than the hospital they had her at initially. She didn’t like it there either with doctors and nurses constantly prodding her. Taking blood for various tests, physical exams where she was expected to strip for strangers. Their hands were always cold. 

A week ago she hadn’t even seen another person in years and now she didn’t think any part of her had gone untouched. She’d fought and screamed every time they pulled another needle out. They’d had to sedate her after she kicked a nurse in the shoulder and almost knocked her over. Price stepped in at that point and refused to let them do any more tests or exams until she’d relaxed. She never got the chance.

She woke up to a man forcing his way into the room. Kyle dragged her out of bed and into a corner, ripping an IV out of her arm. Price had met the man at the threshold. The intruder got one good hit in before Price slammed his head into the door. 

Her stomach flipped, hearing his skull crack. Death wasn’t an unfamiliar face but she ached having seen him so often recently. How many just in the past week? She’d lost count. Blood dripped down the door, like a bug that got squished. 

Kyle was holding her arm, bandaging where the IV got ripped out.

“We’re moving her.” Price said. “Now!”

Kyle scooped her up easily, carrying her bridal style, down the halls and stairs of the hospital. 

“Kate, I need a safe house.” Price barked into a radio. Nina clung to Kyle, letting herself get carried away once again. It had been futile to fight previously so she allowed it now. She also didn’t want to complain about not walking across the parking deck barefoot. 

Price drove while Kyle sat in the back, having her lay down on the seats next to him. She stayed quiet, she was good at that. Quiet and surviving. They drove what felt like hours around London in order to lose any possible tails. Eventually Price pulled into an underground parking deck and they switched cars. 

The Russian was driving this time, she believed his name was Nik. A large white utility van. She sat with her back against the side. Her feet were cold. Kyle and Price flanked her. She felt like she should be wearing a black bag over her head. 

It was dark when they got to the safe house. A coat was thrown over her head and she was kept bent over as they led her inside. Lights off until the blinds could be pulled shut. 

“You should be safe here. Kyle will keep watch over ya,” Price assured, holding her shoulders. She was older than he was when they last saw each other. A stranger but the only person on Earth who seemed to remember her name.  A friend of her father’s, his sergeant. He’d stop by their on base house often enough to be a familiar face. He got her a birthday gift once or twice. He’d had dinner with her family. She felt ashamed to say she hadn’t thought about him in years yet there he was at the edge of the world to hold her on the helicopter ride home. “How are you feeling Nina?”

“I’m okay.” What else was there to say? It felt like the ground was constantly collapsing under her and she was treading ice water. “I’m tired.”

“Let’s get the bedroom set up for you.” He rubbed her back as he led her upstairs. She waited in the hall as he checked over the room and pulled the blinds shut. She was glad they left her alone to sleep, even if one of them was always outside the cracked open door. She’d barely left the bed since. Kyle had moved a chair in at one point.

“Just keeping you company.” He smiled. She imagined the true reason was so he could stop her if she tried to kill herself. There was a reason she had to ask for any pain medication, there were no knives in the kitchen and the sweatpants came without strings. Truthfully she didn’t have the motivation for all that. 

She thought about taking another shower or maybe a bath. Hot water on demand was another comfort. Something she’d missed. 

She got up wordlessly and walked into the ensuite bathroom. Bottles, jars and tubes also scattered across the counter. Kyle had explained what it all did. Moisturiser, cleanser, masks and other words she didn’t remember. She slathered it all on anyway. It did make her skin feel less tight. If it made a physical difference, she wouldn’t know. The mirror was gone. 

Kyle had taken it off the wall the day before. She’d needed his help turning on the water. Her reflection frightened her. She knew she was older, a woman of twenty five. She still expected to see a little girl staring back at her. In a way there was, how small she looked. How starved she looked. She didn’t like her skin or hair or her face at all really. Price had remarked how much she looked like her mother. She couldn’t even hold her face in her mind. She knew that she never looked sick like this. As tattered and forgotten. 

She’d hung a towel over the edges of the mirror. Kyle took it down and she put it back up. He seemed to understand and it was laid in the hallway facing the wall the next morning. 

She filled the tub with steaming water and squirted some soap into it. She wasn’t allowed to lock the door so she left it cracked to let the steam out. She sunk down till her nose barely scraped the water’s edge. She soaked until the bubbles all popped and disappeared and her skin was pruned. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“The captain is going to be back soon with food,” Kyle broke the hours-long silence. He was extraordinarily kind to her despite having not said more than a couple words to him over the past days. “He asked if there’s anything else you want or need.”

“I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t know what she needed or wanted. Everything seemed like a distant dream, half real. She thought about the things she ate as a child and wondered what was real and what was some elaborate coping daydream. It all just seemed out of her grasp. 

“…Nina?” He asked. It still felt weird to hear people say her name aloud. It was something she had kept like a secret for so long. “Do you like cake?”

She could hear the smile in his voice. She didn’t remember the last time she had cake. Her 11th birthday maybe. 

“I can have Price pick some up for you. I’d say you deserve it.”

“I’d like that…thank you, Kyle.”

“I’ll text him.”

Price arrived a little less than an hour later. She was back in bed, wearing the same sweatshirt and pants. Kyle had shown her how to work the telly. There was nothing familiar on. 

Price had given up on getting her to eat anywhere but her bed, bringing up the food with a tray. 

“Thank you,” She said as he laid a plate of lamb, rice and veggies in front of her. The three of them ate in silence as she periodically flipped through the channels on the telly. 

“What day is it?” she asked as another holiday ad came on. 

“December sixteenth,” Kyle answered around a bite of lamb. 

She didn’t realise Christmas was so close. She changed the channel again, wanting to avoid any possibility of raising hope. 

“Gaz, take the dishes downstairs. I need to talk to Nina.” Price said as they finished eating. She thanked Kyle as he took her plate and pulled her knees to her chest. 

Price had a serious look on his face, more serious than usual. 

“We have to move you again.” He said. She nodded, chewing on the idea of having to leave again.

“Why?”

“My contact in M16 believes there’s a leak and you’re at risk again. They shouldn’t have known what hospital you were in.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “These men are dangerous, Nina. They believe you know where your father is.”

“I don’t.”

“I know you don’t, love. We’re working on tracking them down but until we do you need to be kept safe. You’re going to the United States tomorrow afternoon.”

“The United States? Why all the way there?”

“It’ll be easier to hide you. You’ll be under cover, new name, travelling with one of my mine.”

“Kyle?”

“No, unfortunately I need him here.”

“Then who?” She wasn’t sure if she trusted anyone else. She wasn’t even sure if she could trust Price. 

“His name is John.”

“Your name is John.”

“Different John.” He chuckled. “MacTavish. A scot. He’ll look after you.” He patted her shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Price?”

“Yes, love?”

“Will I ever be safe?”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and got eye level with her. 

“I will make you safe.” He said firmly, like he believed it to be true. “Try to get some sleep. Lots to brief on tomorrow.”

The idea of having to move again twisted her stomach. More helicopters? More high speed chases down mountain roads? More bullets whizzing by? Her hands were shaking already. She pulled her arms into her sweatshirt and scratched at them. Every red line was a release of tension in her body. Another strange man who’s side she would be tucked into. She knew Price wouldn’t put her with someone who would hurt her, at least not knowingly. 

There was a knock on the door.

“Nina? Can I come in?” Kyle asked. 

“Uh…yeah…you can.” She pushed her arms back through her sleeves. He was smiling as he came in. A pastry box and fork in hand. 

“Price says you need protein but cake has eggs so I think it counts.” He handed her the box. She laid it in her lap and opened it. It was a small chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and cadbury flakes on top. Her mouth watered. She wanted to feel the sugar grit against her teeth. 

“Thank you, Kyle.” She said, holding the box close. There was a time when she was younger and she used to close her eyes and imagine a great big party with cake and balloons and streamers and friends and her family. She held onto that fantasy for a long time. She hoped the cake tasted as good as it did in her head. 

“Eat it all if you want but don’t get sick, yeah?” He handed her the fork before going to leave. “Soap’s a decent bloke. He’ll take care of you.”

What a stupid nickname, she thought as she stabbed her fork into the centre of the cake and dug out a chunk. 

It was better than she imagined. 

I would also like to shout out some of the people who've supported this story over the past year. There are more than I could ever list (I'm adding as I remember usernames) but thank you all so much

@macravishedbymactavish @queen-ilmaree @argella1300 @purplemarmar @devcica @avidreadee123 @water-bearz @glitterypirateduck @murdersheghostwrote @sea--biscuit @coolmaybelateruniverse @pssytrux @mykneeshurt @yearningforsappho @celestiialspheres @fleetwoodmoth

I appreciate more than y'all could ever know 💕

[rainpebble3]

Snippets Someday!

Heh, so I think I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @archangelsunited for this! Thank you for the tag and I'm happy to be able to get to it :D

Again, I'm not sure who has all been tagged or not so I apologise in advance for the multi tag <3 :) @paraparadigm @kookaburra1701 @orfeoarte @gilgamish @thana-topsy @tallmatcha @snippetsrus @rhiannon1199 @inquisitiondragonborn @the-storytellers-seer @elfinismsarts @friend-of-giants @saltymaplesyrup @changelingsandothernonsense @thelightofmorning

Rules:

Rules: Revisit an old fic (or earlier chapters of your current WIP) and share a snip from: * Your first chapter * Your favorite chapter * Your most challenging chapter Alternatively, if you don't write longfic, feel free to share your one-shots. Provide as much or as little commentary as you want.

Seeeing as I mentioned in another post how precious my character Ailith is in her story "The Flames of Justice" (which is complete on AO3 😇) This story was something that was initially meant to be a 5 chapter intro to my fic Snarling Wolves but a friend betaread those first few chapters and she said she needed more to understand Ailith... so I gave her more. 70 chapters more than the original 5 :D

Despite all that I put her through I adore Ailith's character. She will always be so special with me, even if I'm painfully blocked on her latest adventures!

First Chapter - This is where we get to see some of Ailith in her brattiest state. She was described by some as a bit of a Malfoy!

"Miss Copperwing! Are we boring you?" The irritating voice of her teacher broke into her fantasy as he slammed a book on the desk at the front, making everyone jump. She felt the rest of the class eyeing her, hoping to see her taken down a peg or two. Ailith knew they didn't like her... they hated that she was better than them. She also knew she was the youngest in the group by at least ten years which was hugely resented, and she loved showing off in class.

Ignoring her classmates, she smirked at the stuffy Altmer at the front of the classroom. She released a heavy sigh before answering him. "Just a bit, Mr Spellock..." she drawled. As an added insult, she began to chew on a ragged fingernail.

She could almost taste the disapproval from her classmates as it rippled towards her. They tutted and shook their heads. She didn't care, they were dull morons and she enjoyed watching her teacher squirm. Despite beings an arrogant ass and always talking down to her, he wasn't even a master of anything, he hadn't earned the right to teach anyone.

"Well," he frowned for a second. He ran a hand through his golden hair before smirking, "I suppose, to perhaps save us some time, you wouldn't mind explaining to the class what the consequences of magika burnout are?" The class stared silently between the two mages.

"Burnout, hmm..." Ailith picked at an invisible thread on her robes, sounding bored. She gnawed on her lip and sighed more dramatically than necessary. "I guess that would be when you spread yourself out over too many fields causing rapid fatigue, hindered recovery and impaired casting. It could cost your life if you get too carried away or potentially weaken your abilities permanently... Oh! And we have to mention caster's flu, that's a nasty... nasty consequence there." She finished by sucking a breath through her teeth.

Ailith's mother had explained this to her when she discovered her daughter aged ten surrounded by spellbooks from all of the magic schools and practising novice level spells from each of them. Ailith's smirk widened into a grin as Mr Spellock shook his head and took a moment to compose himself. He was getting quite annoyed with her, but now it was the time to put the cherry on top. She stood up and stretched. Everyone blinked at her curiously.

My favourite chapter - Ohh. I don't know how to pick, there were so many fun chapters! I think I'll go for chapter 20 when Ailith gets a talking to from her beloved mentor for being her typically reckless self.

She jumped down and landed in the ash pile. It exploded upwards and Ailith coughed, flapping at the ash cloud.

“Ugh,” she groaned and gagged. It stank of burned troll hair, troll fat and general troll stench. She staggered away, brushing ash off her and followed the corridor into the first hall. Her boots echoed in the silent ruins as she retraced her steps. She soon spotted Master Bedail sitting on a broken pillar reading through the notes she had left with him earlier. He raised a hand warily as she approached.

He realised it was Ailith and smiled, “Hello my dear, how are you?”

“Good! I’m glad to see you here, I was worried.”

“Ah yes, I wasn’t able to get beyond this door. I suppose there was some rubble blocking it from the other side. I’ve been reading through your notes on the crystals… I believe they do have a purpose but I’m not sure what…”

“Oh! I know! I can show you, follow me!” Ailith grinned and turned to head back up to the entrance. She was so excited her walk quickly shifted into a jog.

“What did you find?” Master Bedail asked as he tried to keep up with Ailith who then sprinted towards the entrance.

“Look at these crystals, if we touch them we can see their original bindings!” She called out excitedly over her shoulder.

“How in the world did you discover that?”

“I touched it and felt the power! It was incredible! I read through an Ayleid lexicon before leaving so I picked up a few words, something about protecting the main chamber, intruders will die so on and so on.”

“And you wrapped your hand around this supposed weaponised light?!” His tone quickly lost its enthusiasm.

“Well, yes. It wasn’t activated by my presence, so I assumed it was safe, anyway, I undid the bindings on one and…”

“YOU WHAT?!” he spluttered.

Ailith froze. “I undid the bindings and used it to kill a troll…” she mumbled.

“For the love of Azura, girl!” He shook his head and Ailith felt an embarrassed flush travel up her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it was?!”

Ailith opened her mouth to defend herself but Master Bedail continued, “That magic could have turned on you! It could have killed you or at the very least taken your arm! Do you want to lose part of yourself so easily?!”

“No, Master Bedail…” she bit her lip and blinked against the sting in her eyes. “I could feel the magic, it responded to me so I just… did it…”

He shook his head, “My dear, you must be so careful with your actions. These ruins are incredibly dangerous, their defences have endured for millennia. You may be skilled in magic, and I know you are a thorough researcher but…” he sighed heavily, “For your own safety, try not to be so impulsive with unfamiliar spells.”

Most challenging chapter - Like favourite chapter, I have so many to choose from. I think I shall settle for this snip from chapter 74, when Ailith is a guest at Blue River Prison (A Thalmor Prison mentioned in the Beyond Skyrim: Bruma mod which is one of my most favourit mods!!).

He released Ailith abruptly, pushing her back into the mud. Two guards came from behind her and wrapped her wrists in chains that were staked into the ground at different points, pinning Ailith there like a bear in a trap. She couldn’t move her arms and as she tried to steady her breathing, Rulindil crouched next to her. His beard tickled her neck as he whispered in her ear.

“You have permission to scream, Dartwing.”

Ailith looked behind him and watched some guards approach her with impeccably polished maces that shone menacingly in the rain. They came closer and closer as Rulindil stepped back. Ailith stared frantically between the crowd and the guards but there were no allies, only waves of faces wearing the same expressions of hunger and anger. She was so busy searching for someone who didn’t eye her with open hatred that she missed the swing of the first mace.

[bechloeislegit]

20 Questions Game

This seemed like it might be fun to do. So, here’s my responses. I was tagged by @ridiculously-over-obsessed

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

AO3 says I have 113 Works (many of which I migrated over from FanFiction.net since that was the first site I posted on).

2. Total AO3 word count

1,866,264 (Can this be right?)

3. Fandoms you write for

I write solely for Pitch Perfect 

4. Top 5 fics by kudos -

Love at First Bite: A Pitch Perfect Story - A vampire AU fic; cowritten with RJRMovieFan.

Pitch Perfect 3: BeChloe Is Legit! - Pitch Perfect 3, written as we believe it should have been and could have been if the filmmakers were a little more visionary; cowritten with RJRMovieFan.

Skyping While Sleeping - Summary: A one-shot based on a post/prompt from Tumblr User @ladygaybeale. Beca is on tour and Skypes Chloe. Chloe thinks Beca is asleep and tells Beca her deepest regret.

Stronger - Summary: Beca and Chloe meet before Beca starts at Barden University and become fast friends. Chloe is a Senior and had a terrifying experience when she was home for the summer. The two are drawn to each other, but is Beca biting off more than she can chew in wanting to be more than just a friend to Chloe? Rated M for language. Warning: Mentions of anxiety attacks and assault (not sexual).)

BeChloe Week 2019 - Summary: 8 BeChloe One-shots based on prompts submitted by Tumblr users.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I’m sure I’ve missed some, but I do try to respond to them all.

6. Fic w/Angstiest Ending.

I think I’d have to say, “Chloe Effed Up.” It’s the only fic I’ve written where Beca and Chloe do not end up together.

7. Happiest ending? 

I am known for happy, fluffy stories, so I can’t pick which of my fics would have the happiest ending. (I do love writing an Epilogue and will (almost) always find a way to have a happy ending.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None that I can recall.

9. Do you write smut/what kind?

Not usually; I have written some light smut when I felt it added something to the story (or I got badgered enough and added some to keep readers happy; giving into peer pressure is not usually my forte, but I can be persuaded every once in a while).

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven’t, but I have used characters from Grey’s Anatomy more than once. 

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Yes.

12. Ever had a fic translated?

Not that I’m aware of.

13. Ever cowritten a fic?

Yes, several, actually.

14. Favorite ship?

For writing, all Bechloe, all the time. Also, Staubrey. And, I don’t write them, but I have grown a bit fond of Junksen (and I did write a Christmas one-shot where Aubrey and Emily were together).

15. A WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Nothing that’s been posted. (I do have a couple of fics in a Drafts folder that I started because I got an idea and didn’t want to lose it. I may have to revisit that folder and see if there’s anything there worth working on.)

16. Writing strengths?

I finish every fic I start; nothing is left incomplete. I also feel I’m stronger at writing one-shots than multi-chapter fics.

17. Writing weaknesses?

I use dialog to convey the story because I’m not as good at imagery or descriptive narratives.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in a different language?

I haven’t written too much in a different language, only small parts of conversations, and Google Translate may or may not have been involved. If I actually spoke a different language, I would definitely write something in that language.

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

Pitch Perfect. Also, it's the only fandom I’ve written for.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Wow! That’s a loaded question. I don’t really have a favorite, but I do have a few that I really am proud to have written. My top five are (in no particular order):

Beca and Chloe’s Summer Fling My Name is Beca Mitchell What if the World Ended Tomorrow? Chloe Goes On Strike Stronger

There are also a number of one-shots that I would consider faves (I admit I have too many to list).

Tagging: Anyone who reads this and wants to do it.

[themarydragon]

I got tagged by the fantastic @jenseits-der-sterne which is lovely, thank you. Nobody ever tags me, and I love these damn things. <3  <3  <3

Most hits: Calm Waters Run Deep, or CWRD, with 146,084 hits (as of today) which is just…? I don’t even know, guys. It’s one of the shortest multi-chapter works I’ve ever posted, so for it to be pushing 150k views across only 11 chapters (and its, you know, six years old) is just nuts to me. I keep hearing that people are finding it rec’d on reddit? Which, also, blows my poor mind. I love that it is so loved. Writing that probably saved my life.

Second most kudos: The Quiet River Rages, tQRR, which is part 3 of Trouble the Water (CWRD, part 1, has the most kudos). I feel like Trouble the Water is just what I’m going to be known for, as a fic writer, and I am totally down for that.

Third most comments: CWRD again, with my #3 spot for comment threads! tQRR has more comments, which makes sense (since a lot of people wait and comment at the end) but my #1 here is Keep to the Stars, which makes my heart glad. I’ve got over 200 comments on Chapter 11 of CWRD, and my favorites are where someone wanted to say SOMETHING ELSE but got short-circuited by the cruel way I ended the chapter. This is also why I have a “tears of my readers” mug.

Fourth most bookmarks: Remember the Spring, the middle installment of TtW and one of my only one-shots. TQRR (#3) and CWRD (#1) also show up here, with KttS as #2. I’m actually stupendously proud of Remember the Spring, and I’m going to be revisiting this style for the totk fics I’m writing I plan to write this winter. I have them outlined and they’re written in my HEAD doesn’t that count?

Fifth most words: Okay so I’m verbose. The #5 spot is Loved and Lost with 90k. I have 1.3 million words on AO3, I’m a wordy bitch. I almost went through and edited the hell out of Loved and Lost so it would be closer in length to Lost and Found (the other half of that fic) but @kathsilver helped talk me out of it. Thanks again for that, kath. <3  My top 4 all have 100K+ (Steel Your Heart at 105k, Higgins’ Song [my beloved][my favorite child][do me a favor and go read about Higgins] at 152k, and Will to Live [god I miss Twitch imma go read that this weekend] at 186k). But my monster is Keep to the Stars, at over a quarter-mil (290k). And honestly it should have been longer, Steel Your Heart should have just ran right along with it but I started writing before the DLC dropped so it is what it is.

Least words is in Promise Kept, which is my one shot of vignettes of a DA:I Inquisitor Cadash and her unrequited relationship with Varric Tethras. I love them and I regret nothing.

Almost all my mutuals are fic writers so if you can see this, I’m interested in your stats. Consider yourself tagged. <3  

[dinsverdika]

Touch-starved (one shot)

Pairing: Hunter (the Bad Batch)/Reader

Tags (as posted on AO3): established relationship, kissing, making out, fluff (maybe? i'm not sure), suggestive, touch-starved Hunter

Word count: 1,365

Notes: hello! This was initially a WIP which had stayed on the WIP shelf for too long. As I recently posted another Hunter one shot, I decided to dust it off and revisit it. I wanted to make this the part one of the said one shot but ending up thinking that the two pieces didn't fit that well together. So I'm leaving you the choice of taking them as a package deal or not. I forgot to add it in the tags but I've written this with a AFAB reader in mind.

A gasp breached your lips as a strong pair of hands grabbed your hips and pulled them down.

“Hunter!” you whisper-shouted.

But you couldn’t help the grin from appearing on your face as you adjusted your position on his lap. It took a bit of shuffling around but you were now facing him instead of having your back turned to him. “I was going somewhere,” you said.

“There’s nothing to see in the cockpit,” replied Hunter, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He planted a kiss on the spot where your jaw angled upwards.

“I actually needed to report something to Tech,” you explained but tilted your head anyway, granting Hunter an easier access to your neck.

He hummed, “can’t it wait? It can’t be that important if you don’t have to report it to me first, the sergeant.”

You chuckled as Hunter peppered featherlight kisses all over your neck. He always knew when to pull the “sergeant card” on you.

“I guess you’re right, sergeant,” you smirked.

The smirk on your face quickly disappeared as Hunter drew another gasp from you as you felt his teeth gently nipping at your skin. Not enough to hurt you but certainly enough to catch you off-guard. He had tightened his grip on your hips too, bringing you closer to him.

“What has gotten into you?” you asked, giggling as Hunter had resumed peppering kisses on your neck. You braced yourself by putting your hands on his broad shoulders.

“Missed you, is all,” he mumbled from the crook of your neck.

“We’re in the same ship and spend most of our time in close proximity,” you retorted.

Hunter licked the spot behind your ear. If the moan ripping through your throat had not been held back by your teeth biting into the soft cushion of your bottom lip, it would have resonated in the short corridor leading up to the cockpit. Thankfully, the door separating the two areas was closed.

“I missed feeling your body pressed against mine,” added Hunter.

Oh.

In simpler, more straightforward terms: he was horny.

It had been a while since you and Hunter had some time to yourselves. You cuddled in his bunk and stole a kiss here and there but the Marauder did not provide the intimacy and the privacy you two were craving. Fortunately for you, the Bad Batch were close to rounding up the long list of missions they had been given, meaning you will be soon back on Kamino. Hunter and you could hide away in the allotted room the Kaminoans had provided you when you had been assigned to work with the Bad Batch.

It would be unfair to say that Hunter was the only one who was a bit touch-starved, though. You had been longing for his touch and now that he had his hands on you, you wished that the Havoc Marauder could travel through hyperspace even faster than it currently was.

You craned your neck to look at the navicomp behind you, Hunter was working on it when you had walked past him.

“What were you doing anyway?” you asked.

“Just looking up the star system we’re gonna jump into soon. Nothing too important,” he replied, bringing your attention back on him by turning your face gently by the chin.

You were about to retort that nothing seemed too important at the moment but Hunter locked your lips in a soft kiss before you could. The teasing remark flew out of your head as you relaxed into the kiss. Your muscles let go of the pent up frustration one by one as the kiss deepened. You wrapped your arms around Hunter’s neck as his hands stroked your back, a warm feeling blossomed into your chest. Hunter moaned into your mouth as you tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth and his hands grabbed your ass cheeks, angling your crotch onto his codpiece, drawing a moan out of you. The warm feeling in your chest had spread down to your belly, making you feel feverish with want.

Hunter let go of your lips to trail back down to the crook of your neck with quick, needy kisses. He searched the perfect spot with his mouth, he knew his lips were where they needed to be when you hummed in pleasure as he licked your sensitive skin. He sucked on your skin, willing to leave his mark. You tried to protest against it through the haze fogging up your head, having a visible lovebite decorating your neck would be inappropriate until you hadn’t made it back to Kamino. He cut it short by sealing his lips with yours once again. His kisses were devouring, leaving you breathless. Your clothes were starting to feel too constricting and his armour too cold and hard against your body.

Shivers crawled on your skin as you felt Hunter’s warm hands sliding under your shirt. Hunter sighed at the feeling of your soft skin, spurring him on. He tentatively thrusted up and swallowed the soft moan which escaped your lips when his codpiece nudged your bundle of nerves.

“Hunter,” you gasped but he slated his mouth over yours once more. His hunger for you made him reckless. The taste of you, the feel of you had left him unaware of his surroundings.

“Hunter,” you said again, breaking the kiss. You had to push him away from you by his shoulders. The small gap between you two still allowed you to feel each other’s laboured breathing against each other’s face.

“We need to tone it down,” you exhaled.

Hunter was looking at you with a lustful half-lidded gaze, his chest was heaving and his lips swollen with desire. The flames of arousal licked the insides of your lower belly and it took a great amount of restraint to not surrender to your desire for the man in front of you.

Hunter’s gaze flicked down to your parted lips, they looked so inviting. The haze of his mind cleared up a bit at your next few words, “remember where we are.”

You watched as Hunter blinked a couple of times and looked around, taking in his surroundings. His eyes darted back to your face, shock appearing on his features as he realised that you two were heavily making out in the navicomp room and that anyone could have walked in on you.

Hunter sighed as arousal dissipated from his body, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my emotions take over me like that.”

You shushed him with a quick peck on the lips.

“No need to apologise, Hunter,” you said, wanting to reassure him. “It’s been difficult for me too, I’ve been missing you as well. I just didn’t realise how much until your hands were roaming all over my body,” you added with a small laugh.

Hunter chuckled at your admission, “well, we’re both guilty of being needy.”

“Could anyone blame us, though?” you asked. “We’ve been on the go for longer than usual, it was bound to happen at some point of another.” You slid your hands from his shoulders to his chestplate, “I’m glad that no one walked in on us.”

Hunter’s eyes widened at the reminder of his brothers walking in on you. “Maker, I’m glad that it didn’t happen too. We may be brothers but I definitely don’t need them to witness us being intimate like that.”

You nodded and planted another peck on his lips. “I should go and see Tech, now” you said, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “Otherwise we may get carried away again.”

Hunter hummed in response, looking as defeated as you. “Yeah,” he sighed. “And I should go back to what I was doing,” he added, gesturing to the navicomp.

You used his shoulders as leverage to get up from his lap, giving one last look to Hunter before turning away in the direction of the cockpit.

A sharp smack on your butt made your entire body whip around.

“Hunter!”

He threw a wolfish grin your way. “Just a taste of what’s to come once we land on Kamino.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away once more. “You’re impossible.”

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “Dark Swan, Hot Chocolate”

Well friends, I’m a little late getting this posted this week, but I wanted to revisit this little early 5a one shot - a missing Swan Believer moment that I would have loved to see when they returned from Camelot to Storybrooke. There’s art now too, so hopefully the whole product will bring a bit of warmth and a little smile. It can still be found as a chapter in my collection of various one shots, “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts”, on either AO3 or ff.net, if that is your preference. There are numerous other fics where this came from in that collection. 

Summary: Standing alone outside Granny’s Diner, while all of those she loves are gathering inside without her, Emma feels the true weight of what taking on the Darkness has cost her. But there’s one special person who can still bring an offering that reaches her, no matter how dark and cold the night might feel...

“Dark Swan, Hot Chocolate”

by: @snowbellewells

She stands alone outside the packed diner, huddled into the long, black duster she wears over her equally dark dress, futilely trying to ward off the chill autumn air. Unfortunately, the effort is wasted when the cold comes from within her as well, wrapping subtly around her heart. Cozy, bright lights and the hum of chatter from her gathered family, former friends and allies, emanate in a soft glow from the windows of the little inn and restaurant, piercing the night.

The woman once known as Emma Swan, now the self-proclaimed Dark One, impassively watches those within mingling, laughing, and embracing. If a person didn’t know the tiniest nuance of her face, she would look unaffected, waiting for the best time to make her next move. However, as her thin frame, buffeted by the wind at her back, leans forward slightly, a hint of the yearning within her peeps through the harsh, immovable veneer. The former lost girl who had almost – finally ¬– found her home nearly shows through the frosted, severe hair and barely glimmering pale skin for a moment, aching desperately to take a step closer, to be back inside, within the warmth of love and light, once more a part of something.

The Darkness slides back in smoothly, quickly, before Emma’s human longing can fully take hold, purring with the thrilling tingle of so much magic at her fingertips, whispering that she does not need any of them. ‘Look at them, going right on without you…’ the insidious voice in her head reminds, until Emma finally recedes once more and it is the icy, impervious new magical villain who turns and begins to walk away – a solitary black shape against the backdrop of the dark, deserted street.

Suddenly, she stiffens at the sound of the bell above Granny’s door jangling, a slam as it hits the frame again, and footsteps pounding down the steps, onto the pavement, seemingly running after her. She pauses, body taut and vibrating with barely contained power, fingers clenched in tightly until her nails dig into her palms, forcing herself not to spin and immediately blast the newcomer off his or her feet.

Waiting, she is still and unchanging as stone until a small, light hand falls gently on her arm, and Henry speaks in the voice that pierced her impenetrable heart four years ago when he showed up at her door in Boston, and refuses to leave her, even now. “Mom!” Henry pleads, voice roughly cracking with emotion as he clutches her elbow. “Wait, please…”

No matter how the beast within roars and tries to surge up in retaliation at her hesitation, Emma fights through it enough to turn and look on her son, a young man now but still beseeching her to listen and believe in him. Henry’s mop of brown hair ruffles in the breeze as his eyes search her face, hope somehow still directed at her, his faith causing a lump to rise in the back of her throat where nothing else has penetrated.

“Here,” Henry offers, holding up a to-go cup from Granny’s that she hadn’t noticed until then. “I know you like it with cinnamon…like I do. You must miss the hot chocolate.” He tries a mischievous, knowing little smile, and Emma somehow feels a tiny echo of her own inching her own lips up at the corners.

Giving the barest of nods, Emma extends her hand to take his offering, careful not to let her fingers brush his – not wanting the chill that has taken her over to infect his warm heart and generous spirit. “Thanks, Kid,” she rasps, struggling to force the words past a tightened throat and make them heard.

He shrugs, “No problem” his easy reply. They share a moment that is nearly casual, coming close to the easy camaraderie they have always had. But his earnest face sobers quickly as he catches her wrist before she can distance herself again and stares into her eyes unflinchingly. “I – I know you’re angry…at Gramps and Grandma, my other mom…everyone. And you’re hurt. You feel like it’s too late…this is who you are now, and that they should have to pay. It isn’t true though! I’m not giving up on you – and I’m not the only one, either.”

She shakes her head, starting to protest, but Henry interrupts, not letting her deny his hope and his love…his Charming optimism. “I miss you, Mom,” he adds wistfully, then plows on, “but I know you’ll be back. Until then, enjoy the hot chocolate.” With that, he gives her one last quick smile and dashes back the way he came, back into the warmth and light of the gathered citizens of Storybrooke.

Emma turns and continues the walk to her house alone. Raising the cup to her lips though, she finds one tiny tendril of warmth and comfort at first sip; the chocolate, milk, and spice of the cinnamon greet her tongue with happy nostalgia and sweetness. It solves nothing – and yet, for the briefest of moments, it thaws a bit of the ice that has encased her from the inside out. Maybe the real Emma is still in there somewhere, anxious to savor something as simple as a favorite drink, and maybe – just maybe – find her way back out.

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @cosette141 @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @anmylica @xsajx @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @thislassishooked​ @optomisticgirl​ @sotangledupinit​ 

[moonstrider9904]

Wrecker

Chapter 16 of Moonwalker: The Batch

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{join my taglist!} {crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: When Rex appears at Cid’s cantina, the bad batch are led to Bracca in a race against time—and Wrecker’s inhibitor chip.

Word count: 4.6k

Tags/warnings: Mature. Depictions of violence and injuries, including choking and bone fractures. PTSD and panic attack. So much angst. Hurt with some comfort and some nice family interactions to balance out the anguish.

A/N: once again, an angstier chapter, but this is daily bread when it comes to canon LOL. Anyways, if you feel this may be a bit much for you, don’t hesitate to skip the chapter and ask me for a summary instead!

Songs: glad you came, you can run, end of time

Sarah

A feeling lingered within her, when they returned to Cid’s parlor at Ord Mantell, that she had left that place determined to achieve something, and she hadn’t. Still, Sarah pushed the sensation down, knowing that her Guardian, now binded to her in the eyes of the Force, could pick up on her distresses better than he could before.

Cid greeted the squad with her usual snarky remarks, but she softened when her gaze found Sarah. She’d scanned the group, no doubt hoping to find the missing member of their squad, only for her features to drop when she saw no one new. Cid then examined Sarah’s marks, staring at the obvious difference in them from when she’d left.

“What happened to you?” Cid asked Sarah. “R6 told me you were shot.”

“So he came back alright?” Sarah confirmed. “What about the Y-Wing?”

“Safe and sound,” Cid replied, though her curiosity didn’t fade.

Sarah knew the story was far too long and far too painful for her to revisit, and she opted to just sum it up. “I failed.”

Before she could feel too upset, Sarah looked up at Hunter and squeezed his hand. “But good things came out of it too.”

Cid looked down at Sarah and Hunter holding hands. “I can see that.” She then shook her head and returned to her usual self. “Hey, Bandana, if you’re done making googly eyes at Strider, I need to talk business with ya.”

Sarah inevitably smiled at the nickname Cid had come up with for Hunter; she squeezed his hand, letting him know it was okay for him to go.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

Hunter followed Cid into her office along with Tech and Echo, and Sarah figured she could use a drink to soothe the utter mania of the past few days. But before she could make her way behind the bar to pour herself something to drink, she could hear Wrecker and Omega giggling behind her as they tried to sneak up on her, and she turned around to meet their mischievous grins.

“What is it now?” Sarah asked.

They somehow grinned even wider and spoke in unison, “Can we go get our post-mission treat?”

“What mission?” Sarah chuckled. “You guys were chilling on Jedha.”

“Excuse me?” Wrecker feigned indignance and spoke in the most eloquent tone he could manage. “We rescued you and therefore we deserve our Mantell Mix.”

“Does Hunter know?” Sarah asked.

“Yes he does,” Omega replied.

“Does he approve?” Sarah raised a brow at her.

“You know what Hunter’s like,” Wrecker answered. “But, just ask yourself, what would the Force do?”

Sarah facepalmed. “Wrecker, that’s not how the Force works—” a sigh escaped her. “You know what? Just go.”

Cheering and hopping, Omega and Wrecker made their way outside for their well-deserved share of Mantell Mix, leaving Sarah alone at last inside the parlor. She went behind the bark and poured herself a glass of Corellian whiskey, never mind the time of day that it was.

She’d dealt with a lot of her own thoughts while on the ship, but with her current bond with Hunter, Sarah felt she had to watch her feelings more. He’d sense whenever she was upset, nostalgic, melancholic, and she didn’t want to add to Hunter’s weight.

But they’d already established boundaries and the fact that Hunter didn’t always have to come running to her whenever she felt down; Sarah wouldn’t want that. Nevertheless, now was the time to feel.

What she’d told Cid was true. She had tried, but failed. Sarah still held herself accountableM if she had just waited more, held her anger inside for a little while longer instead of lashing out.

But just like she couldn’t save Fives, she couldn’t save Crosshair either.

Then, a new presence made Sarah emerge from her lamenting train of thought, a presence that didn’t feel hostile, but made her stand on alert nonetheless. She stood up and faced the entrance to the cantina, and in came a man hidden by an oversized gray poncho, standing ominously at the entrance, wordless, looking at her.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

He didn’t answer.

Sarah sighed. “I’m afraid the name strider is already taken around here, so you’re gonna have to pick another vibe. Mind taking that hood off for me?”

The man chuckled, his voice instantly making bells ring within Sarah. Before he began taking his hood off, she already knew who he was, and the blue of his armor under the poncho only confirmed it. He took the hood down, revealing kind brown eyes and peach-fuzz blond hair, and the same war-hardened, sentimental gaze he’d carried for years.

At the sight of him, Sarah completely neglected her glass of whiskey and ran up to him, her arms flying around him as he hugged her back and spun her in a longing embrace.

“Rex!” She cried, holding tighter onto him.

As soon as Rex set her back down, looking gently upon her, four figures came running into the bar from Cid’s office at the back, with Echo being the only one not to stop as he ran over to Rex as well, enveloping him and Sarah in another hug.

With quiet, tiny sobs, the three of them hugged each other tightly, the three of them having been through their own shares of shit since the last time they were all together on Anaxes. Smiling through the nostalgia, Rex paid close attention to the new marks that covered Sarah, letting out a soft chuckle worthy of him.

“If your marks had been that color back when you were in the 501st, you would have matched even better,” he said to her.

The three continued to hug, their foreheads still touching while, in the background, Cid looked over at Hunter and Tech.

“Should I whip out the clone clubhouse sign and hang it in the front?” With a small eye roll, Cid approached them. “Hate to break this scene up, but I need to know if Poncho here plans on stayin’ long so I can make arrangements.”

“I don’t plan on staying very long, ma’am,” Rex nodded.

“Huh! Ya hear that?” Cid looked over at Hunter and Tech. “He just called me ma’am! At least someone here knows some respect, why don’t you guys ever call me ma’am?”

Cid stomped away mumbling under her breath, making Sarah chuckle slightly at her apparent annoyance towards the clones, even though it was obvious she’d grown fond of them. With her out of sight, Hunter and Tech approached Sarah and the others, slowly and saluting Rex, acknowledging the captain they’d grown to respect entirely.

“Captain,” Hunter said.

“Sergeant,” Rex reciprocated.

“Quite the surprise to find you here,” Tech said. “But the question is, how did you locate us?”

“I believe you came across Trace and Rafa Martez recently,” Rex said.

Sarah looked questioningly at Hunter.

“We had to do something while you were away,” Hunter answered her.

Rex tilted his head at Sarah. “Away where?”

She sighed and parted the embrace. “You better sit down, Rex. I’ll pour the drinks, because it feels like we’re gonna do a lot of catching up.”

Sarah led them to the bar and went behind it to pour different drinks she knew they’d all favor while she told Rex the story of how she’d gotten a bounty set on her by the Empire, how she took the chance to go find Crosshair, how she’d come close to succeeding but ultimately ruined it.

How he’d been forced into shooting her, how she’d almost died, how she’d been to Jedha to heal.

But she didn’t want to keep the mood down and quickly changed the subject, and seeing as how there weren’t enough stools for all of them, Sarah went to sit on Hunter’s lap, enjoying the familiar safety of being in proximity to him. Behind her, she could feel Rex looking and smiling at the two of them.

“So,” Rex said to Hunter, “you’ve been taking care of her.”

“I’ve done the best I can,” Hunter replied.

“And he’s done a great job,” Sarah reassured him, knowing it was still a sore spot for Hunter. “He’s been taking care of all of us.”

Hunter chuckled, his gaze landing softly on her. “I’m just glad I can finally take better care of you.”

“Well, I’ll admit I like you two together,” Rex raised his drink at them. “I was just wondering if it’d ever happen for Sarah.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Well, we all knew since Anaxes that Hunter was into you,” Rex said.

Sarah looked back at Hunter. “Did you really?”

He smiled at her. “What do you think, mesh’la?”

Sarah leaned in to give Hunter a kiss on his cheek, bringing an aura of softness around the canteen.

“So…” Rex chuckled. “Word is you’ve got a kid now.”

“If you’re thinking she’s like our daughter, then yes, she kind of is,” Sarah replied.

“But who is she?” Asked Rex.

“Omega,” Hunter said as he took a sip from his drink. “She’s a clone, like us.”

Rex gave him a puzzled look, but it seemed Rex would be able to see for himself when Omega and Wrecker came into the cantina from the outside, both smiling widely, their bellies no doubt full of Mantell Mix now.

“Is that who I think it is!?” Wrecker beamed as he charged over to Rex, picking him up and hugging him tightly while Hunter introduced him to Omega and the child observed Rex.

The sight warmed Sarah’s heart, particularly seeing Wrecker greeting Rex so happily. She thought back to Skako Minor when Crosshair had crossed the line with his comments, earning himself a share of punches from the usually collected captain, only to have Wrecker step in about to do the same if it meant defending his closest brother.

Now, here they were; Rex had accepted Wrecker’s tight hugs and was now kneeling at Omega’s height while she got to know him.

Things had certainly come a long way since then.

But amidst all of the happiness, everything was cut off when Wrecker, the way he had done time and time again, groaned out in pain and clutched the right side of his head, unable to hold in any of what he felt.

“Hey, Tech,” he grunted, “I need another one of those med patches.”

Meanwhile, Rex got up and positioned himself in front of Omega, his demeanor protective and already reaching towards the blaster holstered at his belt.

“What’s going on?” Rex asked, his tone suddenly wary.

“Rex,” Sarah got up from Hunter’s lap and went over to him. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Sarah,” Rex said. “After Tup and Fives and Crosshair, you should know that already.”

“None of their inhibitor chips worked when the order was given,” she gestured at the batch.

“So you think him clutching the right side of his head where the chip is located is a coincidence?” Rex questioned.

She felt herself going cold with fear as she looked over at Wrecker, terrified at the possibility of stories repeating themselves with Wrecker.

Thankfully, Wrecker stopped contorting from his pain and his behavior turned back to normal, almost entirely, had it not been for the lingering tension. Rex retrieved his hand from the blaster and sighed, looking straight at Hunter.

“I take it, then, that you haven’t had your chips removed,” Rex stated.

“No, we haven’t,” Hunter replied. “We haven’t seen the need to.”

“That and we do not have the access to such equipment,” Tech replied.

“Well if you leave them in there, you’re a threat,” Rex continued. “To the kid, to Sarah, and to yourselves.”

The clones all exchanged looks, wordlessly coming to an agreement until Hunter acknowledged Rex again.

“Alright,” Hunter said. “How do you suggest we get them out?”

Rex seemed to fully return to his old self. “I’ll let you know. We’ll keep in touch, and be ready to move out.”

As Rex repositioned the hood over his head, Sarah accompanied him as he readied himself to leave the parlor. The two of them stepped outside of the bar and looked heavily at one another, both thinking among the same lines.

“Hey,” Rex felt it was his duty to warn. “He won’t be able to control it. I don’t want you to be afraid, but… be careful.”

At his words, the scar at the center of Sarah’s chest tingled, aching with the many memories of clones stripped of their will.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she stated.

Rex nodded and gently touched her shoulder before walking off, not looking back until he was eventually out of sight.

*

Their comms had eventually led Clone Force 99 to Bracca, where Rex was waiting for them.

The planet had been quick to show them its hostility.

With the hovering threat of the scrapper guild and unknown horrors lurking in the waters that drenched the never-ending starship deposit, it was not a place any of them wanted to remain in for too long. Heaps of rusty metal lay all around them, making it difficult to chart out a path if they wanted to avoid sharp, rusty ends.

In trying to get across a chasm, Wrecker, already tormented by the headaches and pain his own inhibitor chip caused him, had fallen into the water only to be attacked by a giant, deadly creature. In a fit to save him, Sarah had to risk her being detected by other Force users and restrained the creature with her grip, using her spare hand to snipe the creature’s eyes to kill it and get it to let go of Wrecker.

After such an effort, she’d wound up drained, but luckily, pulling Wrecker back up through the cable he’d been hanging by was a task she didn’t need to help in.

Hunter had crouched next to her, helping her get back up and hanging onto her so she could walk.

“Well done,” he’d whispered to her, drawing a smile from her before they all arrived at the barren ship’s medical bay to face the inevitable.

The med bay was dark and dirty, and not at all what a medical bay should ideally be, but it was what they had for now. With Echo’s help, Tech was able to get the med bay’s power back on, and by the time the engineer was getting the equipment ready, Wrecker’s groaning got louder, squirming on the spot in a futile attempt to bear through it.

But the fact that the equipment worked decently was a light of hope in that dark, ruined Venator cruiser, and in the meantime, Omega kept Wrecker company while the others scattered around the room.

As Sarah and Hunter set the group’s packs on the ground, Omega approached them, her thumbs fiddling with one another as she struggled to make eye contact.

“What is it, honey?” Sarah asked her.

Omega looked up at her, worried. “Just because the surgery worked on Rex doesn’t mean it’s safe. It’s dangerous.”

Sarah exhaled and kneeled down to be at Omega’s height. “I know. Nala Se told me when I was on Kamino.”

“Nala Se?”

“You think I was gonna go through that plan alone?” Sarah chuckled. “Anyway, Omega. We both know what that chip can make clones do. We can’t risk leaving them in there.”

“Sarah’s right, kiddo,” Rex told Omega. “We’ve seen it first-hand.”

Omega’s bottom lip trembled. “But if something goes wrong, and I’m left alone…”

“First of all, even if the worst were to happen, you won’t be alone,” Sarah told her. “I’m never gonna leave you.”

Hunter kneeled as well, smiling softly at the child. “None of us are going anywhere, ‘Mega. You’re stuck with us for the long run.”

Omega looked at them and smiled softly, her gaze drifting to Sarah. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course,” Sarah replied, ruffling Omega’s blond and black curls. “You’re my baby.”

The kid’s eyes sparkled. “Am I really?”

“Well,” Sarah said as Hunter chuckled in the background. “You’re his baby, so, by definition, you’re kind of also mine.”

Omega giggled and gave Sarah a big hug, and as Sarah hugged her back, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt a disturbance in the room. Slowly to not alarm Omega, Sarah got up and gestured at Hunter to keep her company, and she walked over beside Tech just as he was about to inject something into Wrecker.

Wrecker’s cries of pain had stopped, which should have been a good thing had it not been for the way Wrecker grabbed Tech’s wrist with all his strength, stopping his brother from anesthetizing him. Tech shot Sarah a quick look before looking at Wrecker again, frowning softly, not in the mood for Wrecker’s overwhelming fear of needles.

And that’s when Wrecker’s other hand flew to Tech’s neck.

Shocked and in horror, Sarah watched paralyzed as Tech looked into Wrecker’s eyes while the latter lifted him up, about to throw him to the wall.

“You’re in direct violation of Order 66.”

Hearing Tech crashing into the durasteel walls of the med bay and tumbling to the ground snapped Sarah from her trance, and quickly as she could, managing through the exhaustion from having saved Wrecker from the creature earlied, she rummaged through their gear to find a hand blaster and set it to stun mode while Hunter quickly grabbed Omega to keep her safe.

Rex and Echo were the first to try and stun Wrecker, but he overpowered them easily and were soon both down. Sarah’s eyes widened at seeing Echo unconscious on the floor—she could feel he was still alive; all would be well if he was alive.

Wrecker reached for his helmet and put it on, aiming his blaster at her and Hunter. Without thinking about her lack of energy, Sarah reached out to Wrecker and restrained him, both of her hands trembling as she did, and looked over her shoulder at Hunter and Omega.

“Run,” she told him.

Her arms trembled; she wouldn’t be able to hold it for long, and in the meantime, Hunter struggled to find a blaster.

“Hunter, now!” Sarah yelled as she felt Wrecker shifting even in her grip, his finger reaching for the trigger.

Hunter hated it; he knew he was supposed to be the one protecting Sarah, but he trusted her. Still holding Omega, Hunter ran out of the room and down the hallway, finding a room where Omega could safely remain hidden in case everything went wrong.

Sarah struggled to hold Wrecker, and she knew she’d have to come up with something else quickly. She shoved him away, sending him crashing towards the wall with a chillingly loud crash, making him drop his weapon and helmet. Before Wrecker could reach for his blaster, Sarah drew it towards her, lightheaded.

She stared into his eyes and felt the familiar cold return to her marks. As much as she tried to see Wrecker through the chip, she couldn’t. His warm gaze had been pried away from him, replaced with a bitter, stone-cold duty to kill.

It was happening all over again.

And all she could do was stare.

Sarah only reacted when Wrecker lunged for her; miraculously able to dodge him, Wrecker took one of the oxygen tanks resting on the wall and threw it at her. Barely dodging again, Sarah tripped and crashed onto the wall, dropping her and Wrecker’s blaster in the process. She scurried away, crawling for her life until she managed to get up and run down the dark hallway.

“Jedi!” Wrecker boomed, his voice a growl that could end her.

Sarah turned around, and though she wanted to mov her legs, she couldn’t. She stayed still, her eyes wide with horror as she panted quickly, enhancing the vertigo she already felt.

He was coming for her.

She could only stand as he ran towards her, but before he could get to her, Hunter appeared behind Wrecker and jumped onto him, tackling him as he begged his brother to snap out of it.

It wasn’t long before Hunter was overpowered too, and Wrecker crashed him onto a wall, pinning him as he choked the life out of his oldest brother. Sarah could only watch as Hunter’s gaze pleaded Wrecker to return to reality, until Hunter went limp and unconscious, dropping to the ground loudly.

She was next.

She trembled as Wrecker approached her; her hands couldn’t keep still even though she kept them fisted at her sides. Terrifying memories of the last times an inhibitor chip had activated clouded her, as did the anguish of separation, the sorrow of loss, and the piercing pain of a blast crossing her heart. And with tears already rolling down her stained face, Sarah scurried backwards trying to reach for something, anything she could use to defend herself.

But Wrecker took her by the neck and effortlessly lifted her with only one hand, depriving Sarah of the little air and strength she had within her. She tried pushing his hand away, but his free hand reached hers, and with one crush, he cracked the bones of her wrist sending piercing pain all over her arm.

In agony, Sarah’s cries of pain filled the hallway, using way too much of the precious air she had left.

“Wrecker!” She strained, tears rushing in rivers down her cheeks as she struggled to make eye contact with him.

This can’t be it.

I can’t not save you.

She sobbed. “Not you too…”

Staring into Wrecker’s eyes, Sarah’s vision blurred to black.

*

After a dreamless slumber, Sarah woke up in Hunter’s arms with her right wrist wrapped in a cast, most likely Tech’s work while she was unconscious.

When Hunter sensed she was awake, he looked like he was about to say something, but all Sarach could do was hug him tightly.

She couldn’t keep that up. She couldn’t keep seeing her loved ones being taken away.

She felt Hunter’s hand reaching the back of her head, soothing her as she cried onto his chest. Sarah remained wordless in his arms for what felt like an eternity until she rounded up the will and the strength to get up again.

Tech hurried over to her and adjusted a fabric around her cast, and as he did, they both bitterly looked at one another’s bruises. An odd gesture for him, Tech reached for Sarah’s free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Something broke inside of Sarah, and in a fit, she pressed her body onto Tech’s, needing to feel him close. He hesitated, but Tech held her back, carefully, silently. When Sarah looked up, she noticed Wrecker lying on the medical bed, unconscious as the machine performed the procedure on him.

At least he’d made it to that point.

“He’ll be fine,” Tech reassured her softly. “We… we shouldn’t be mad at him.”

Realization hit Sarah. “I’m not… If I’m not mad at Crosshair, I won’t be mad at Wrecker either.”

Tech gave her a sad smile. “You haven’t given up on him.”

“For a moment, I thought I had,” Sarah replied, silently looking at the cast around her wrist.

“I’m afraid the Force won’t magically cure that one,” Tech said. “I injected a blend that’ll speed up the healing process, though.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, Tech.”

Their hands brushed softly as Sarah went over to the doorframe where Rex leaned on the durasteel. She stood in front of him, mirroring, her gaze never leaving Wrecker. She had to see him wake up.

Hours passed, and gradually, everyone else fell asleep. Rex and Sarah remained wide awake, both tormented by their respective shares in the aftermath of the war, by their shared pasts and losses.

Looking at Rex, Sarah noticed he looked so much older than the rest of the clones, so hardened by battle and by war, and though he didn’t want to talk about it, Sarah knew Order 66 had been brutal for him as well.

Rex looked over at Sarah, his hard eyes saddening a bit as he sighed.

“We took Fives for a madman…” Rex said. “To think all of this could have been prevented if we’d listened to him.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sarah said quietly. “If anything, this is his legacy. Us knowing about the chips. If it saved you, it can save them, and that’s more than enough. Fives would be glad to know we’re saving his brothers.”

But despite her words of hope, Sarah’s expression hardened as she tried to fight back tears again.

“I couldn’t save him,” Sarah whispered into the darkness, finally bringing herself to speak the words that had tormented when Rex was the only one who could hear them.

“Fives?” Rex asked her.

Her gaze met Rex’s and she shook her head. “Crosshair.”

In his silence, Sarah could feel his empathy.

“I failed,” she continued. “All I ever wanted to do since the war ended was to save him, and I couldn’t do that. Omega told me not to feel responsible, but…”

“It weighs down on you,” Rex continued. “I get it, kid.”

Of course. Sarah knew Rex would understand better out of everyone else.

At that moment, Wrecker began to stir awake, and already it seemed that he was returning to his normal, gentle giant self, and at last there was a gleam of hope filling the med bay. Rex and Sarah watched as he and Omega greeted one another and, with a gentle touch on Tech’s shoulder, Wrecker apologized.

Rex then looked back at Sarah.

“It’ll be hard,” he said. “But if you go about it right, you could still save Crosshair.”

Sarah didn’t reply. It wasn’t out of anger at Crosshair or even Wrecker, it was simply a numbness that had overcome her after everything that had happened.

“It’s worth it, Sarah,” Rex continued. “Take it from me. I’ve had to bury many brothers because of this chip. If any more clones can be saved from it, saved from the Empire, it’s worth it. Just don’t do it alone.”

Rex walked over to the rest of the squad and helped Echo prepare for his own surgery, and as Sarah looked at them, she reflected on what Rex had just told her. She’d known Rex for a long time, and she knew many things about him, but what she knew best about the clone captain was that he was always right about that sort of thing.

Hunter walked up to Sarah and put his hand on her shoulder. She nodded at Rex and walked alongside Hunter towards Wrecker, and then, Hunter walked over to Omega and Tech to continue prepping Echo.

Meanwhile, a tear-stained Wrecker stared at the cast around Sarah’s wrist and the bruises on her neck.

“Sarah, I’m so sorry…”

She wrapped her good arm around Wrecker and pressed her side to him so that her wrist wouldn’t take any damage. Wrecker’s hands went down to her shoulders and held her sweetly, with care, just the way she knew Wrecker to be.

“I tried, Sarah,” he said. “I tried hard, I really did…”

“I know you did, Wrecker,” her voice broke. “It wasn’t your fault, I’ve—I’ve seen it before.”

“That’s the thing,” Wrecker added. “I made you go through that again, I’m sorry—”

Sarah hugged him fully, sniffling into his shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Wrecker.”

Wrecker hugged her back. “You saved me… you all did.”

Sarah sobbed a little bit more into his shoulder, holding as tight to him as she could.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” she whispered, thankful that at least one of them had returned.

One chip was down, four chips remained.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @rexandechosandwich @nunanuggets @sageislostinspring @misogirl828 @salaminus @ladykatakuri @seriowan @rain-on-kamino @prozacspice @eyecandyeoz

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #29 - January 8th - January 14th

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from January 8 - January 14, 2023! Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing! 

Challenges/Prompts:

The following is a roundup of open challenges/prompts. Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

@thefinestmuffin and @JessBakesCakes are hosting a casual Josh/Donna Rom Com Fest that will reveal on February 14. Prompts and claims are open; details here. 

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from January 8 - January 14. 

Josh Malina posted a screenshot of an email about his donation to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. 

Marlee Matlin posted photos of herself with the late David Bowie in honor of his birthday.

Marlee Matlin posted a selfie with makeup artist Brett Freedman.  

Marlee Matlin posted a memorial post for her friend Vae who has passed away. 

Mary McCormack posted a star-studded group photo from a To Leslie screening party at Courteney Cox’s house. 

Rob Lowe posted a trailer for his new movie Dog Gone, which came out on Netflix January 13. 

Janel Moloney posted a video from a performance she attended at STREB in Brooklyn.

Donna Moss Daily: January 8 | January 9 | January 10 | January 11 | January 12 | January 13 | January 14

Daily Josh Lyman: January 8 | January 9 | January 10 | January 11 | January 12 | January 13 | January 14

No Context BWhit: January 8 | January 9 | January 10 | January 11 | January 12 | January 13 | January 14

@down_brad_: January 9 | January 10 | January 11 | January 12 | January 13 

@janelmilfoney: January 9 | January 10 | January 10 (2) | January 11 

 Edits/Artwork:

The West Wing | Holy Ground by @dark_timeline_ [VIDEO EDIT]

#CJTOBY: we had it good there for a while by @zieglercregg [VIDEO EDIT]

Creator Spotlight:

Each week, we will talk to a fandom creator and interview them about their work and their process. We’ll also give you the opportunity to ask them questions, too! Want to be a featured creator? Find us via one of the methods listed at the end of the briefing!

This week’s creator is worldsofdreamers on tumblr and on ao3. You can find the spotlight on tumblr or on twitter.

 This Week in Canon:

Welcome to This Week in Canon, where we revisit moments in The West Wing that occurred on these dates during the show’s run.

Season 1, Episode 12: He Shall, From Time to Time aired on January 12, 2000.

Season 2, Episode 11: The Leadership Breakfast aired on January 10, 2001.

Season 3, Episode 10: H-Con 172 aired on January 9, 2002

Season 4, Episode 12: Guns Not Butter aired on January 8, 2003.

Season 5, Episode 11: The Benign Prerogative aired on January 14, 2004.

Season 6, Episode 11: Opposition Research aired on January 12, 2005.

Season 7, Episode 10: Running Mates aired on January 8, 2006.

Editor’s Choice: 

This week brought us the anniversary of two big Josh and Donna hurt/comfort episodes in Guns Not Butter and The Benign Prerogative. We thought there was no better way to celebrate than to share some of our favorite Josh/Donna hurt/comfort fics this week!

so cover me up and know you’re enough to use me for good by sam_writes_fics | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | “I need to learn how to not be so… how to keep things at arm’s length.”

“I hope not.”

It’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets this city turn his Donnatella into a hardened, soulless political operative, he decides right then and there. He’ll quit his job and drag her out the door with him before she even comes close.

 all we know is don’t let go by mikaylawrites for defendingtheearth | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Donna nods, but a tear slips down her cheek. Josh reaches for her, wishing he weren’t wearing gloves so she could feel his skin on hers. She grabs his hand with both of hers, clutching onto him with surprising force until the anesthesiologist puts her under and her grip slackens. He watches her eyes close, unable to tear his gaze from her face.

The last thing he wants to do is let go of her hand, but one of the nurses gently tells him he has to leave. They guide him out of the room, and the moment the door closes behind him, Josh knows.

He’s in love with Donna.

In which the events of the Gaza arc bring Josh and Donna together rather than drive them apart (and Donna’s mental health gets the attention it deserves).

if you’re feeling small, i will love your shadow by scullymuldrs | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | The one consistency in her life was that: Donnatella Moss could take care of herself.

 often a sweetness by thefinestmuffins for hufflepuffhermione | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Josh and Donna cope with a series of increasingly intense and unsettling events in the only way they know how: by turning to each other.

*Or; a fic to fill in the emotional gaps in late season 4*

 now and at the hour of our death by aeoleus | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Who was with you, Stanley asks.

Everyone was with me, Josh replies.

I thought we agreed not to lie to each other, Josh, Stanley says.

 Coda to Noel.

 home, in varying degrees by joshatella (shuuuliet) | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | After Amy asks Josh a question he doesn't really want to answer, he calls Donna for comfort. But Donna, unbeknownst to him, needs a little comforting, too.

Set after the events of 3x08: "The Women of Qumar".

 stood on the cliffside (screaming ‘give me a reason’) by hanyolo | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | And she’s glad she isn’t there to see the doe-eyed look of concern she knows he is giving her right now. It’s the same look he gave her when she told him about her car accident, right before she told him she wouldn’t stop for red lights and left him speechless in the doorway of his dimly lit office; as they sat together on a park bench on a cold October night waiting for Cliff Calley to return her diary; as he held her hand in the operating room because she’d been scared and disoriented and needed him to tell her she was going to be okay.

It’s a look she’s seen plenty of times before and she knows it has the power to break her.

// josh trying to take care of donna while she deals with the aftermath of gaza

 On Joyful Mornings by JessBakesCakes | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | “Are you afraid of me?”

What she wants to say is Joshua, sweetheart, right now you’re about as terrifying as my neighbor’s new puppy. But there’s a palpable sadness in his voice when he asks her. So instead, she can only say “Of course not, Josh,” and put down the carton of eggs before joining him on the other side of the counter. 

Or, Josh and Donna wake up on the morning after the events of "Noel".

Fics:

 Presenting your weekly roundup of fics posted in the tag for The West Wing on Archive of Our Own. If you are so inclined, please be sure to leave the authors some love in the form of kudos or comments. Be mindful of posted warnings/tags for each story.

 Josh/Donna

The California 47th by pipisafoat | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

To Our Women by Prof_Frink | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

to live for the hope of it all (the folklore drabbles) by flowersinapril | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Do You Have Room For a Turncoat On Your Coatrack? by TemperanceCain | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

heartbreak, you know, drives a big black car by phos3 | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of by hanyolo | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

A Dream is a Soft Place to Land by StealtheRest | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

but i knew you by swancharmings | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

For As Long As You’ll Give It by Bric_a_Brac | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Thanks, for Noticing by TemperanceCain | Rated M |  | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

 Other Pairings/Gen Fic

walk it for you anytime (thin, thin line) by jazzjo | Rated G | C.J. Cregg/Andrea Wyatt | Complete

No Matter What by All_That_Jazz_93 | Rated G | Kenny Thurman/Male OC | In Progress

Where The Hell…? by dumbchemist | Rated T | No pairings listed | In Progress 

Figures of Speech by Darsynia | Rated T | Toby Ziegler/Original Female Character | In progress 

bartlet for president! by buddyhollybenhur | Rated T | Josh Lyman & Sam Seaborn, Josh Lyman & Leo McGarry, Sam Seaborn & Toby Ziegler, C.J. Cregg & Josh Lyman | In Progress

almanac by jazzjo | Rated T | Amy Gardner/Andrea Wyatt | Complete

A Different Life by PreppyPrincess5103 (JAG crossover) | Rated M | Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie/Sam Seaborn | In progress 

Multiple Pairings

Children of the Apocalypse by murph283031 | Rated T | Leo McGarry/Annabeth Schott, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Mallory O'Brien/Sam Seaborn, Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | In Progress

There are no second acts in American lives (except when there are) by norahb | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Original Female Character, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Sam Seaborn/Original Male Character(s) | In Progress

Paradise City by casliyn | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Amy Gardner/Josh Lyman | In Progress

THE WEEKLY PRESS BRIEFING TEAM CAN BE REACHED VIA THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

Twitter: @TWWPress

Email: weeklypressbriefing@gmail.com

 Feel free to let us know if we missed something, if you have an event you’d like us to promote, or if you have an item that you’d like included in the next briefing!

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

The Gray Kind

She-Ra fanfiction  Mild shipping.  Catradora, Entrapdak, others hinted at / mentioned.  Characters: Adora, Catra, Bow, Glimmer, Scorpia, Entrapta, Hordak, Horde Clones  Genres: Slice of Life, Comedy. Post-canon.   Rating: PG / Teen, just because Catra uses a few naughty no-no words as a treat.  Inspired by: A trip to see my family across the country and a visit to get some takeout from a hole in the wall that I grew up with.   Summary: Adora is nostalgic for a few things - small things - from the Horde.  She finds herself missing ration bars, of all things, and seeks out the secret to their lost recipe.   Also on Ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/46812565

The Gray Kind Adora picked at her plate of food at the royal table.  It was laid out with a fancy gelatin, beautiful fruits cut into fancy heart and star shapes, delicate cured meats and cheeses and delightful, fluffy biscuits. This was not normal for her, to pick rather than scarf and her friends noticed.   “What’s wrong with you?” Catra asked through a mouthful of ham and biscuit.  Glimmer gave her a glare from across the table.  Catra had never had the best table-manners and, then again, neither had Adora.  People who’d been raised in the Horde encountering good food for the first time tended to be none too delicate in their devouring.  Catra got, perhaps, a special pass just because everyone was glad that she was navigating basic morals and learning how to live a life not based on conquest.  She was also fairly new to eating at the royal table after spending the last year and a half in encampments working on rebuilding projects as per her reformation guidelines and being used to soldier’s mess-tents, where eating food quickly took priority to eating it delicately.   Adora knew better and had learned to be dainty enough for the Queen’s guards and dignitaries, but she’d never been this dainty before.   “Oh, nothing,” Adora tried to deflect.   “We haven’t seen you pick at a plate like this since we fighting the Galactic Horde!” Bow pointed out.  “Please tell us what’s wrong. We’re your friends.”   “I promise I wasn’t in the kitchen this time!” Glimmer joked, holding up her hands.   Adora took a little bite of a star-shaped white fruit and looked wistful.  “It’s wonderful, really, but I’ve just gotten to thinking how much I miss ration bars.” Everyone’s eyes went wide.   “Huh?” Glimmer half-yelped.  “Are you insulting Chef’s cooking?  If so, I’ve got to know, I mean… she’s not going to be happy if she’s off her game.”   “Are you sick?” Catra asked.  “Seriously, Adora, do you have a fever?”   “No, the food’s great!” Adora assured, “As always!  It’s better than I could ask for!  It’s just… I guess I’m feeling nostalgic…or something.”   “For the Horde?” said Bow, incredulous.   “A little,” Adora admitted.  She gave Catra a demure glance.  “I mean, the best part of being in the Horde is right here, but…” “It was terrible.” Catra huffed.   “Not always!”   “All we did was train.  Or sneak off somewhere and had to worry about getting caught doing ‘unauthorized activities.’  Things could fly under Hordak’s lack-of-nose but not a lot got past Shadow Weaver.  It was dismal and stinky…”   “Says the person who wanted to rule it,” Glimmer noted, snarkily.   “We’re all allowed to be young and stupid, right?”  Catra held her upper arms uncomfortably.  “Let’s… not bring this up.”   “Besides,” Glimmer added, “It’s not like you can’t go back, it’s just different now, better!  New Scorpioni is lush and green because of the She-Ra magic and the safe release of the Heart of Etheria!  I bet we can find all of your old make-out spots and revisit them and they’ll look a lot better now!”   Adora looked at her boots, her face going absolutely red at the joke about “make-out spots.”  Catra’s fur was puffed up.   “It’s not really that,” Adora said after a pause.  “It’s just… have you ever gotten a taste for something and you haven’t had it in a long time?  I haven’t had a ration bar in forever!  They were hearty and filling…” “And bland.  And weird,”  Catra added. “Good riddance!” “I thought you liked actual food!” Bow questioned.   “I do! I do!  I love it!” Adora said, holding her hands up.  “You know me!  I deplete the ice cream stocks almost as bad as Mermista!  It’s just… you know… I guess I’m a little tired of… fancy.”   “This isn’t fancy!” Glimmer retorted. “This is a pretty basic dinner. You were right beside me at my coronation, and at the Primefall ceremony and…” “I know, this is everyday, but it’s still ‘fancy’ to me.  It always has been.”   “I know!” Bow gasped, “It’s the party-thing all over again!  You had to get used to parties!  You didn’t even know what they were!”   “Pheh, Adora’s such a square,” Catra teased. “Always by the book, we could barely get her into anything contraband because she believed in the Horde’s mission to save the people of the planet from the eeeeevil princesses.  But… yeah… we didn’t do a lot of fun stuff in the Horde except beating each other up.  I still can’t believe you’re nostalgic for the food, though!  How can that even…be a thing?”   Catra stuffed another meat-laden biscuit into her mouth.  She munched and swallowed it down dramatically.   “The stuff was objectively garbage.” “I know, right?”  Adora said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.  “But they had just the right amount of salt on them… and that red sauce that Commander Cobalt made sometimes – I don’t know it was made from, where he got it or what it even was, but it was perfect with the gray ones! It even made the brown ones taste better!”   “They were nutrition, not pleasure,” Catra reminded.   “Yeah… but… I kind of miss some things from… what used to be home.”   ____________________________ Later that night, Catra was hanging up her daytime clothes while Adora was washing her face in the bathroom sink of their private chambers.   “Do you really miss the Horde?”  Catra asked, “I don’t miss anything about it. Everything about it was miserable – except maybe when I took over and got to push ol’ Hordak around.  I have to admit, that was kind of fun.  But… you know… it’s hard for me to be nostalgic when the only reason I was there was because I got dumped off there in a box and Shadow Weaver only let you ‘keep’ me because you thought I was a kitten.”   “You are a kitten,”  Adora said, turning around with a cheeky grin.  

“But I grew up. Surprised the hell out of everyone that I wasn’t the species they thought I was.  We’re free now. We aren’t following anyone’s orders, living in fear anymore and we get to eat what we like.  Why would you want anything else?”  

“Just a flavor I miss,” Adora said, shirking on a sheer white nightgown over her underclothes.  Whether it, or they, would stay on the entire night was up to them. Catra was giving Adora a frisky smile while Adora was giving Catra a tired one.  Maybe it was going to be just one of those “cuddle and talk” nights.  

Catra sighed as she sat down on their bed. The tip of her tail lashed with a tremor of agitation.  “To tell the truth,” she admitted.  “I kind of miss them, too.”  

“Heh, really?” Adora asked.  

“Maybe not the brown ones.  The green ones were a little better.  The gray ones… were actually kind of good – especially with that weird sauce.  The stuff was just a little bit spicy, not too much.  I don’t know if it would go with anything else!  It was just perfect with the bars – they somehow, SOMEHOW worked! I swear, Adora!  The people here in Bright Moon just put cream sauce and their fancy berry jams on everything… If I never see a béchamel again, It’ll be too soon!”  

Adora softly laughed.  “I know they’ll never understand it!  Horde-food is, as you said, just ‘objectively bad.’  The most cost-effective ingredients…reconstituted whatsit!  We could have been eating a bunch of bugs for all we know!”  

“I have to keep up appearances, you know,” Catra said, her ears drooping.  “Sparkles and Arrow Boy and the staff and the citizens all accept you and whatever quirks you have because you’re She-Ra.  I screwed up in a way I can never come back from, so I can’t talk about missing anything about the Horde.  I have to be polite and eat their food and just get used to being all…civilized, I guess.”  She turned away when Adora sat down next to her.  “I’m still only here because I’m your pet.”  

“I wouldn’t say that.  You did a lot…in the end, I mean… fighting Prime.  You were the key to his downfall – you and I and all of our friends. Don’t ever forget that. I would not be here without you.”  

“It doesn’t really make up for the damage I caused up until then.  And… if Entrapta is to be believed, even fuckin’ Hordak helped to take down Prime and you don’t see anyone inviting him over for tea.”    

“He wouldn’t come,” Adora offered.  “I actually invited him once.  Entrapta said he wasn’t feeling well.”  

They sat in silence until Catra turned back to Adora.  “I feel like I have to try so hard… so they don’t feel like I’m a threat anymore, I mean.”

“You don’t have to try as hard as you think you do,” Adora offered.  She cupped Catra’s cheek and ran a thumb over it.  She ran the tips of her fingers up to touch the back of her ear in just the way that Catra liked.  

“Maybe we can take a trip to visit Scorpia and see if she knows anything about our old crappy food,”  Catra said.  “It would be just like her to keep making the junk.”  

“It’s been a long day,”  Adora replied with a frisky smile.  “I think we should both go to bed.”  

____________________________________

 “I’m afraid we don’t have the technology anymore,” Scorpia said as she, Catra and Adora walked in the shade.  “Those machines all broke down when the vines got up in them and no one’s bothered to fix them.”  

Various people milled about. Many carried or carted construction-supplies as even over one year after Primefall, there was quite a lot of repair to be done, as well as new building of infrastructure and housing as people moved into the former Fright Zone.  Gardeners in big floppy sun-hats trimmed vines and bushes – and not all of them had metal shears. Some had claws. Scoriponi people who’d been scattered throughout Etheria were returning to their ancient homeland under the rule of their ex-soldier-Princess (although Scorpia would be the last to say that she really ruled the land, the Princess-stuff being new to her.  She billed herself more like a loose organizer with something of a Force Captain’s ways, still).  Ex Horde-soldiers that both Catra and Adora recognized seemed to be making a good life for themselves here.  There were even a few clones.  

“Do you know the old recipes, at least?” Adora implored.

“Nope! Can’t say that I do!  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have some of my special tea?  Or crumpets? Perfuma taught me how to make great crumpets.  Oh! And Entrapta’s kitchen staff taught me a recipe for these miniature scones! They’re just wonderful!”  

“Nah,” Catra said, pointing a teasing finger at Adora.  “Blondie here is really hankering for some old school straight-up garbage-food.”  

“Do you know where Commander Cobalt got off to, at least?” Adora asked.  “We need something from him, too.”  

“The last I saw him, he and Captain Grizzlor were going to make a new life for themselves in the Crimson Waste – they were going to try to open up a bar or something.”  

“We like what you’ve done with the place,” Adora offered.  

“I’m not sure it’s what my family had when I was too little to remember…before the Horde.”  Scorpia was sheepish.  She rubbed the back of her neck with her right claw.  “I’m trying, though… and making it our own.  We’re keeping most of the growth here, trying to make it into gardens.  Perfuma and I kind of…have extended visits with each other?  I don’t really like living out of a tent or in a tree-hollow in Plumeria, I’m more of an indoor-gal, so it’s kind of a compromise.”  

Catra held an arm and lashed her tail. “I can’t say that I’m not still getting used to the Bright Moon lifestyle, either.”  

“Yeah… it can be a little much,” Adora admitted.  “It’s why we’re getting a bit nostalgic.”

“For crap,” Catra asserted.

“Yeah…for crap…I guess,” Adora conceded.

“You could try asking Hordak,” Scorpia suggested.  “He invented the ration bars, so he’d know all about them!”  

Catra turned on her heel and put herself into a position to walk straight back to the skiff that she and Adora had come in on. “Nope!”  

________________________________________

 Adora found herself alone on the dark mountain trail leading up to the Crypto Castle in Dryl.  She was bound and determined to find answers, even as Catra was content to forget about it and go back to cream sauces and berry jams over smoked river-fish and delicate cured meats.  

Being greeted by robots did feel unnatural and being greeted by clones almost as much so – each face essentially the same, save for how many new eye colors and hair colors they were now displaying. As uncanny as they were by their left-of-standard-humanoid nature, the clones in settlement in Dryl made Adora smile. They were very warm to her, welcoming. They were experimenting with a wide variety of clothing – trousers, dresses, big weird hats with feathers…sandals with socks.  They’d developed a variety of little quirks, somewhat exaggerated in each individual expressly to stand out – as individuals.  They certainly were developing their own culture apart from their collective past quite rapidly and Adora had never before seen people so full of what seemed to be a collective joy.  

They were free now and they reveled in it.

A lovely spacebat with eyes that had gone a warm light brown named Acorn escorted Adora inside.  “Oh, and you might want to duck now,” he casually said after several minutes as they walked along.    

At that moment, Adora sensed a disturbance in the air and heard a “Whoosh!”  Acorn grabbed her shoulder and they ducked down just as a blade swept past their heads, parting a hair at the very top of Adora’s head.  Her eyes were wide and her teeth were clenched.  

“Entrapta has disabled most of the castle traps,” Acorn tried to assure her, “but a few parts of the security system are still armed.  We’ve all gotten to know which ones and where by now, but guests need a little help.”  

“Um… thank you… Mr. Acorn,” Adora squeaked out.

“ADORA!”  

That loud, nasal voice could only belong to one person.  Entrapta slipped down out of the ceiling and ambulated on her hair to greet her in the front hall. “I’m so glad you’re here!  Will you do a She-Ra transformation for me up in my lab?  I wanted to run some more tests…”  

“Um…” Adora said awkwardly, penting her index fingers together.  “Believe it or not, I’m actually here to see Hordak.”  

“Oh, I’ll tell him right away!”  

________________________________

 “If this is about the prosthetics-project, tell the Queen that we are still working out some critical errors in the cybernetics.”  

Hordak stood with his back to her.  His armored arms were crossed.  He stood over a table upon which was what appeared to be an artificial arm composed of a kind of material somewhat resembling First Ones’ crystalline.  It had a gap in the middle, composed of an independently-swiveling radius and ulna.

“And the Salineas water-purification machines should be ready in a month’s time if Mermista’s engineers decide to actually follow our blueprints instead of insisting upon their stubborn continuance to be suspicious of us.  Let it be known that Entrapta’s brilliance more than makes up for my… war criminal inclinations.  I will go back to that kingdom in chains once again if it would assure the populace of my contrition…”  

“I’m not here for any of that,” Adora said with an anxious, insincere laugh.  “I am here asking after a recipe.”  

“A recipe?”  Hordak turned around, his ears perking up with utter incredulousness. “You may wish to speak with Baker regarding your request.  I have barely begun to understand…food.”  

“He loves mangoes!”  Entrapta chimed.  She stuck her face in her tablet and let her fingers slide over it. “We’ve got some more heavy-ore to trade if Plumeria is interested in sending us more fruit and seeds and tree-saplings!  The bats are just wild about fruit! And Dryl has many new subjects to keep fed now that they’re weaning off the amniotic fluid! Any kind! It doesn’t matter!  Did you know that they can even eat berries that are poisonous to us?  I had a panic when Wrongie got into some nightshade, but he was just fine!”  

“Ration bars,” Adora asked, ignoring Entrapta’s tangent and looking Hordak straight in his deep red eyes.  “I want to learn how to make the old Horde ration bars.”  

“Ration bars?”  Hordak asked, “Whatever for?  Does not Bright Moon already have a nutrition program for their army?  Are you planning another interstellar journey and require something easy to store?”  

“Okay, this is going to sound weird, but here goes…”  Adora caught her breath.  “I kind of miss the taste of them?”  

Hordak snorted.  His ears went sideways.  

“Do you also wish to know the makings of Galactic Horde amniotic fluid?” he sarcastically inquired.  

“No, no,” Adora said, holding her hands up, “That’s fine.  It’s just… I got so used to eating the bars as a kid that I sort of miss them now that I haven’t had them in a long time?”  

“And I thought that once one discovered flavor that one was never supposed to go back,” Hordak said, turning around again, tinkering with the arm on the table.  “As you wish.  I will share the components of the bars.  No doubt you will find yourself disappointed in them all over again.”  

“Thank you, sir.”  

“I am no longer a sir or a lord,” Hordak reminded her.  “I am merely a failed conqueror, a defective clone, a war criminal making pitiful attempts at atonement and… Entrapta’s.”  

Hordak grabbed a tablet off a shelf and pressed several places on the screen with casual clawed fingers.  “Ah, yes, here it is.  Brown, green and gray.  Each had a base of common grains – generally wheat and barley, whatever we took from annexed farmlands.  Vegetal components consisted of sea grasses harvested by the Horde navy and freshwater algal blooms, spirulina and the like… Ah, yes… a protein component of various insects that infested the Fright Zone – pest control and nutrition all in one. Imp couldn’t control all of the pests on his own as much as he liked to try…”  

“Insects?”  Adora made a face.  

“Four-footed livestock animals were thrown into the mix when we were able, but yes,” Hordak said with a nod, not looking away from the pad, “Insects were the most reliable resource.  I assure you that they were thoroughly cleansed and cooked so that the ones found in the sewers would not infect the soldiers with any of the diseases that the planetary natives are so prone to in regards to contact with waste and the creatures that happen to live in it.”  

Adora made another, more wrinkled up face.

“Tell me that sewer-bugs weren’t in the gray ones…” she pleaded with a wince.  

“We tended to source the higher quality gray mix from annexed farmland.  Most of it was made of what you would call…what is it again?  The curled-furred especially stupid animals?  Mutton? And the eggs of the common domestic birds?”

“Yep!” Entrapta chimed.  

Adora breathed a sigh of relief.  King Micah had been trying to impress upon her the joys of insects as cuisine, but she had yet to take to it – and even he eschewed the idea of the spindly-legged crawly brown sewer-scuttlers.  

At least one thing she’d liked to eat in the past – her favorite kind of bar – was made of something decent.  

“Oh, and myself,” Hordak added.  

“Huh?”  Adora asked.  

Hordak set the pad down on the worktable and regarded her with a straight face.  He gestured to his chest.  “Myself,” he repeated.  

“I…am afraid that I do not understand?”  

“The gray bars provided an extra nutrient-boost to the troops.  A part of their component was a cloned matrix of my own cells.”  

Adora’s jaw dropped in horror.  

Hordak smiled wickedly as he tugged at one of the thigh-slits of his tabard-dress.  Entrapta grinned ear to ear.  “Remember, Entrapta, how I showed you the harvest-point? Right here, from a small sample of my right thigh-muscle.”

“Well, those thighs are your best feature other than your brain!”  

Hordak smacked his thigh playfully (for Entrapta) and put down his dress.  His ears were perked and he had an undeniable sharp-toothed grin at Adora’s discomfort.

“Oh, dear moons, I know what you taste like…”

“He’s quite a snack, isn’t he?”  Entrapta said, sidling up to the spacebat and wrapping a tail of hair around his waist.  

“I…know…what…you…taste…like…”  

“Not truly,” Hordak said.  “The treatment necessary to foster vat-growth rendered out any flavor you might find in conventional meat.  It should come as no surprise to you.  Clone-components made up a significant portion of our amniotic fluid.”  Hordak’s ears tipped back and he looked ceilingward, thoughtful.  “What used to be ‘waste-management’ and ‘humanoid-resources’ in space is something we have since rejected in regards to a newfound respect for personhood, but I cannot say that I had these qualms back when I ran the Etherian Horde.”  

“I’ve…eaten you…or some of you…”  

“I am afraid so, Adora.”  

“Adora?” Entrapta asked in concern, “You look a little green…”  

_____________________________________

In the end, Adora somehow tracked down the recipe for Commander Cobalt’s special sauce – a mix of tomato and peppers with a few stray seasonings thrown in (all vegetation-based).  

She found out that it was quite good with fried potatoes and with crispy fried fish.  

Adora was content to never eat a gray ration bar again.  

__________________________

END.

[novaviis]

hiii um. so while i totally love the fact that you're revisiting old works and making them even better + straightening out the timeline, and without question its so fun to read the reduxes. um. I also kind of miss the originals, too, if that makes sense? There's just some type of beautiful nostalgia that happens when reading the the originals from years ago, when Watercolour had just started out.

(continued because i ran out of letters). So, I guess I was just wondering that if you do still have the original drafts saved... would you be willing to post them separately somewhere? I would have saved them on my own, but I didn't think of it/get to it before the reduxes were posted. I don't intend for this to be annoying or imply I don't love the rewrites; they're amazing and I'm grateful you've taken time to do them. I just miss the originals too. Thanks so much! 😭😭💖💖☺

I have actually been thinking about this. I did something similar with Light Me A Lantern, and Inuyasha fic I finished last year. I had been working on it for so long that I wasn't really happy with the earlier chapters anymore. However, I'd started writing it on FF.Net. So, what I did was, as I posted it gradually to AO3, I went through and edited those chapters I wasn't happy with anymore. That way, I was able to keep the original version on FF.Net.

That isn't necessarily something I can or really want to do with Watercolour. I'm not uploading it to another platform, so it doesn't really make sense to. However, I might do another work around, maybe start a tag and a section on my blog to upload the original versions of the stories I revamps as a sort of Archive. I don't really have the time or wherewithall to get that started right now, but it's something I'm thinking about in the future!