#tag yourself as a mutineer

[simplifiedemotions]

Malfoy’s Damnable Hands

for @sumbul. 

Hermione hates Draco Malfoy’s hands.

She has every right to hate them. She’s even made a list of reasons (for posterity, of course) to hand off as proof of her accusations. 

Below is the unabridged version:

Eighth year: they were potions’ partners. Heated cheeks and erratic heartbeats accompany stifling heat, and because Hermione has pearl dust all over her fingers, Malfoy picks up her curls and awkwardly moves them to one side so she doesn’t burn it off over the heat of their cauldron.

Every nerve ending tickles as he draws closer, set to burst when the touch of his long fingers graze the back of her neck.

“You’re going to set your hair on fire, Granger,” he admonishes.

She burns in more than one way. “At least you will be in the direct vicinity,” she says primly.

She hears his smile when he speaks. “I’m looking forward to it.”

                                          —

One year later: he’d gone off to France with his mother almost immediately after finishing at Hogwarts, and she’d found out through the Daily Prophet.

If she was upset that he hadn’t told her, she didn’t show it. And when he showed up at the Leaky Cauldron one Friday whilst she was there with Luna and Ginny, she pretended her heart didn’t skip a mutinous beat.

Thump, thump, thump. 

“Hey, Granger,” he says to her, when they meet in the hallway to the loo. 

Tu-tum, tu-tump.

“Hey yourself.” She hopes ‌her blush isn’t as visible as it feels. When she looks up at him, his gaze is avid, trained on her as if memorising every minuscule detail. 

Her tag is hanging out from the back of her blouse, and he reaches forwards with tapered fingers to tuck it back in.

She shivers under his touch, which hovers at her heated neck for a moment more than necessary. A suggestion of a touch. Her spine welcomes the tingle that tracks its way down her spine. 

His smile is melting ice, and she fights not to step closer to him. 

“I should've written—”

“Who said I was waiting?” she interrupts, crossing her arms and pretending she doesn’t care (she did she does she hopes it’s not obvious).

“Forgive me,” he says.

Hermione pretends to consider, making a show of huffing as she leans against one wall. He looks—happier, lighter than she’s ever seen him before. “Oh, alright,” she concedes, giving him a small smile. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, and she realises the weight in his gaze is an apology meant to encompass years.

“Fancy a drink?” she asks, breathless. Her first mark of forgiveness. At his dubious look, she adds, “Ginny is pissed after trying some new lemony concoction at the front, and Luna smiled at you when you came in.” Hermione is tipsy enough herself, and so has the courage to step into his space and touch his arm. “Chances are you’ll at least survive one round.”

She relishes the way his throat bobs nervously. “Lead on, then.”

The next day, she finds out that Malfoy is to join her department at the Ministry. They are going to share a cubicle. She ignores the way he twirls a quill between his fingers, glaring at him when he gives her an appraising look. 

She is perfunctory with him. She shows him the ropes, and he nods dutifully. When he shakes her hand in thanks, she clears her throat and returns it briskly.

A few months later (evidence shows that she held out as best she could), she has him backed into the shelf of some random supply closet. His damnable hands burn fire across her hips and waist whilst she ravages his mouth.

“I wondered how long it would take, Granger.”

She kisses him harder. “Shut up.” 

She is overwhelmed, liable to combust, really, at the way his hands press into the small of her back. He smooths his thumb over her cheekbone when they’re catching their breath, and she’s startled by the almost adoring look that paints his gaze. Before she can have more time to think about it, he’s lifting her up on a table strewn with linens. 

“This is as good of a height as any,” he says, his tone mischievous.

Her brows furrow. “For what?”

His damnable grin (it’s a bit crooked and it will take her five more years to admit it’s her favourite part of his face) spreads wide, and then he taps the inside of her knee with his thumb.

For permission.

She opens her trembling thighs to him. His hands mark their way up her skin with reverence.

More.

Please.

Malfoy.

Say my name. His voice is an ache-filled whisper.

Draco.

                                              —

Now:

“So you’ve made a list of reasons about how my hands are evil and you’ve called it damnable hands.” Draco looks up at Hermione over her notes (the abridged version) with a pointed look, his brow raised.

“Yes,” Hermione says most seriously. “All of which is to tell you that you’ve gone too far.”

He walks over to her desk and plants his hands on either side of her desk. It’s still too close, as far as she’s aware. He’s wearing a fine-tailored suit in charcoal grey that accentuates his eyes, of which she is hard-pressed to meet fully. 

“And pray tell, what have I gone too far about this time?”

Hermione huffs and stands from her chair, ignoring the flush in her cheeks that warms her skin. She moves to his side and gestures to the thin silver chain adorned by a sapphire that rests on her breastbone. “This necklace.”

He frowns. It’s not adorable. “Did you not like it?”

“I did, but—”

“I could exchange it for something better if you’d like—”

“No!” She blushes, then glares at his smirk. “It’s the way you put it on.”

“How did I—” He grins at her, seeming to realise what she means. Damnable man. Seven years they’ve been working together, and he’s seemed to memorise all her tells. “Are you so licentious, Granger, that even an innocent gesture such as putting a necklace on you is obscene?”

She scoffs. Thankfully, she’s had the same amount of ‌time to memorise all there is to him. “Nothing is quite so innocent where you’re involved.” 

“So if I…” He reaches for her, tracing his fingers over the thin skin of her neck, then palming her throat. She inhales a breath, but it does no good. “I can feel your pulse.”

“Well, you could potentially choke me like this. Of course my heart rate will rise.”

“Or it’s a kink of yours?”

“Thank you, but no thank you.”

Her heart flutters when he swipes his thumb over the curve of her jaw.

“I shall endeavour to only touch you gently then.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, as if incredibly inconvenienced. He smiles at her. “You better.”

Hands move to cup her face, his mouth (she makes a note to make a list of how she hates that part of him as well) presses against hers. 

“I’ve an idea that involves both of our hands. Should you be amenable,” he whispers against her mouth. 

She tugs at his hair and pulls him closer. Her hands feel as flimsy as paper. “And what’s that?”

He smiles. “I’ll tell you tonight.”

“Malfoy—”

                                          —

Hermione hates Draco Malfoy’s hands.

Exception: they’re at a dinner party, and his hand travels to hers under the table. She feels the press of his wedding ring against her palm, and smiles.

also on ao3. 

[holding-hands-and-hearts]

There was a new scar on Kix’s armor, a wide gash across the back seeded with rock and dust that Jesse brushed his fingertips across like a secret. And Kix breathed, soft and even, like it would hide the fact that the air couldn’t seem to find the other side of his diaphragm. The drama of the cracked plastoid would hide the matching set of bruises and broken ribs, and Jesse would busy himself with wiping the grime from both of their faces.

Kix would sip Jesse’s cup of water, they would share the ration bar he pulled from his belt. They would try to breathe, and remember that the other one still was, and then their moment to feel the aftermath would wrap up as easily as a wrapped sheet. Jesse would know better than to talk, and Kix would need the silence.

Except that Jesse was a kriffing idiot, one who kept both of their hearts too close, one who danced on the edges of new scars like he knew how to heal them, and Kix would never give him the satisfaction of admitting that sometimes he did.

“Did you get that checked out?”

“No.”

Kix shifts. The ration bar tastes like chalk, memories shoved to the back of a dusty shelf.

Jesse raises his eyebrows. Kix pretends not to notice.

So Jesse pouts instead, and Kix’s rebel heart betrays him, and Jesse matches the escaped smile like he’s won. Kix swats him.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Jesse echoes, and rolls his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

“It’s fine,” Kix insists. Mutinously, he takes another bite of ration bar.

Jesse hums, noncommittal, amused. It’s infuriating. His fingertips trace the cracks in the plastoid again. His breath tickles Kix’s ear.

He doesn’t even have to say anything, and that’s infuriating too.

“You,” Kix sighs, “are a pain in my shebs.”

Jesse hums again, almost a laugh. “It’s why you keep me around.”

He’s right - of course he is - and Kix won’t say it, but they both know it. Jesse is brilliantly bullheaded enough for the both of them.

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Jesse hugs him closer, and Kix sighs and lets himself bathe in the warmth. Even fresh out of the firefights, Jesse still smells like Jesse - something almost nutty, rich and warm and thick enough to bury yourself in.

And then Kix grunts, and Jesse pulls back, and Kix’s ribs are still broken.

“You’ve got to get that checked out,” Jesse says again.

“It’s fine.”

But Kix’s words sound hollow, and his breath still doesn’t quite reach the other side of his diaphragm. Jesse’s hand finds his instead, tangling their fingers together until Kix doesn’t have the energy to untie them anymore.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“You grouse when I win.”

“You deflect.”

“Awwwh, Kixystix. You know me so well.” Jesse tips his head, overdoes the innocence.

“Wish I didn’t.”

Jesse huffs, mock exasperation. His free hand traces circles at the base of Kix’s neck, drops down to find the spot where the edge of his hip flares out a little too far, and there’s another reason Kix can’t breathe.

He should maybe get that checked out. But Jesse is insufferable when he’s right.

So Kix lets himself melt, lets himself bathe in the warmth, lets the moment draw out like the whole thing is a tease.

Jesse can be right later.

*******

Some snark and some soft for @hades-in-a-handbag . This was super fun to write - thank you so much for requesting it! You know how much I love these two, and I hope you enjoy this one.

I wrote a little snippet of a sickfic a while back so I'll get that posted soon! 💕

(tagged for some mild cloneshipping but you can interpret this however you like!)

[tackytigerfic]

First Line Game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have fewer than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag some people to take part.

Thanks for the tags @bonesliketambourines and @maesterchill. I’ve done this for my last twenty fics over 1k (and yes there's a Witcher fic in there, which I wrote without knowing anything about the fandom or even the original content, mostly to get out of a writing block... but everything else is HP, mostly Drarry.) 

For the strongest opening line, it’s got to be 3 I think? Short but impactful, sums up the fic in three words. Done. But my favourite is probably 5 because I am obsessed with the idea of them both abroad and feeling lost and meeting by chance in front of imported boxes of PG Tips.

I see no pattern, just the carefully controlled chaos of someone learning to write as they go along.

Some people have already done this so apologies if I’m doubling up! Also, the more the merrier when it comes to these things, so everyone should feel free to take part. If you see this, consider yourself tagged.

@cibeewastaken @fraddit @fw00shy @ladderofyears @glittering-git @lqtraintracks @magpiefngrl @nerdherderette @onbeinganangel @p1013 @pineau-noir @quicksilvermaid @sitp-recs (from your recs) @slytherco 

1. Aim For My Heart (M, 3.4k, Ronarry)- “Big hands,” Draco says, and blushes, and Ron laughs out loud at that.

2. Collapsed In Love (M, 3.5k)- Draco should have known this would be a bad idea.

3. Our Little Life (M, 7.2k) - Sometimes, Harry dreamed.

4. Last Offices (M, 6.7k, MCD)- Harry didn’t know what to do after Draco died.

5. Between the Power Lines (M, 3.2k)- Harry bumped into Malfoy in the tea aisle of an imported food shop in Bethel, Connecticut.

6. Even the Night (M, 3.4k) - Potter’s on the roof again, face serene and uptilted to the sky under the gathering chaos of the clouds.

7. Modern Love (E, 61.3k) - In a way, it’s the Ministry party that starts it all.

8. Something Changed (T, 3.2k) - Harry was used to almost dying.

9. The Thing You Shouldn't Do - (M, 1.2k) - So much of my time before had been taken up with hating Malfoy that it felt like too much when the Order asked me to let him join us.

10. If It Takes All Night (M, 10.8k) - Bodies move under the blacklight, bright and slick and shifting like fish in dark water.

11. Carefully We Gather (M, 2.3k, Geralt x Jaskier) - By the time Geralt can get out of bed again, the snow is withers-high on Roach and there’s no way out of the inn.

12. A Real Gem (T, 1k) - I like him when he’s sharp, is the thing.

13. Through the Window, Clear Skies (M, 1.4k) - Harry liked it, having Draco to come home to.

14. Keep Me Covered (M, 2.8k) - “Peacocks, Malfoy? Really?”

15. A Lick and a Promise (E, 55.3k) - Harry would never have imagined that it was possible to eat a cauldron cake mutinously, but he's doing quite a fine job of it, if he does say so himself.

16. Tonight We Fly (M, 6.9k) - The Opaleye is the latest release from feted newcomer to the luxury broom market, Wyvern and Swift.

17. The Quiver of a Heartstring (E, 3.8k, Unhappy Ending) - Not that you're counting, but it's been eight months and seventeen days since you last saw him.

18. Catch Midnight (E, 4k) - Malfoy is leaning against the elaborately carved frame of the open window, and he looks like something that should have wings: like something fallen from the sky; like some sort of sleek bird still humming with the sudden quivering pause of arrested flight, maybe, or an angel.

19. And One To Play (E, 21.6k, graphic violence) - Draco Malfoy is in his element, and Harry Potter can't tear his eyes away.

20. Take You Made (E, 3.9k) - Draco Malfoy was long past wanting Harry Potter dead.

[moonbeamsung]

Sink or Swim

You plunged deep into an ocean of love for Huang Renjun, the boy who had already fallen for the sea itself.

member: renjun

au: sailor!renjun x gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: angst, fluff, slightly dystopian

warnings: character death/drowning, mentions of water (one passing mention of a typhoon and a very heavy focus on the ocean), light profanity

recommended song: when i was older by billie eilish

author’s note: Not only did the lyrics to the above song inspire this fic, but so did the general mood and sound of it :) I would recommend listening while you read, since I think it really adds to the atmosphere. My creativity took quite a while to cooperate on this one but I like how it turned out and hope you do as well, feedback is highly appreciated as always. Thanks to @astroboy-lele for her help beta-reading this (like 2 hours ago), and enjoy!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @hunjins​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

The sleepy little fishing village you call home seems to sigh with the tides, waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm not unlike that of steady breaths. It’s the world’s way of inhaling the salty air, sometimes laced with the pungent scent of a fresh catch.

The sport itself is a life force here, the key to any sort of contact with the rest of civilization. Without it, the hill that the small town is nestled into might just swallow up the dozens of small brick buildings, reducing them to nothing but a memory. The murky waters would carry minuscule traces of its existence far and wide, but not even a name could break the surface.

Unfortunately, the village’s dependence on exporting fish leaves little room for the personal aspirations of its residents. At some point in your life, you’ll be called to assist with a certain aspect of the product’s distribution. The elders in charge find ways for even the most unskilled of hand and mind to participate, but they always save the hardest work for those who were born into it: the sailing families.

Quite literally, a love of the sea is in Huang Renjun’s blood.

His great-grandfather was around to see the beginnings of the seaside community, and he became the most famous fisherman known to the village by returning to the docks with large nets in tow, just bursting with sharp fins and thrashing tails. Those were the glory days, and generations later, the Huangs want their young son to follow in his footsteps, to become just as well-known for legendary angling expeditions.

But... he’s not really interested.

He would much rather take to the waves in a boat and chase the horizon, not bothering with casting a net or even a rod. To him, the ocean air is beyond suffocating, like a poison meant to expel any wanderlust from his lungs, to rip it from his soul. Renjun is a fiery spirit, and not even the crashing, slate-colored waters can dampen the adventurous spark burning bright and warm inside of him. It would take more than a typhoon to do so.

You admire that about him, too. How he holds a strong but steady resistance to the traditions of the village, the limited and meager expanse of the world that you’ve both lived in—no, been confined to—all your life.

Just think of the endless possibilities that await, beyond the hazy fog obscuring the fine line between land and sea. The faint shapes that loom in the distance, perhaps a trick of the eye but perhaps another sign of life besides you, seem so close but are still just out of your reach, teasing you both with what could lie outside this languid, ashen realm. Your heart races at the mere notion of such a thing.

The waves are impossibly blue when their image is reflected in Renjun’s dark eyes; you notice this one dreary afternoon as you let your feet dangle above the gentle ripples, sitting at the edge of one of the many docks that tangle through a mess of sailboats and fishing gear. The burnt orange of his threaded sweater stands out against the rest of the scenery, so monochromatic you sometimes swear the world is black and white.

He’s a splash of color, a splash of adventure and determination among a colorless mass of villagers who wouldn’t trade the way things are right now for anything. The dull, scuffed toes of his boots drag along the wooden planks as he trudges towards you, settling down at your side with a small gust of wind. Both anticipating and dreading the impending day when his father would teach him how to take to the seas and steer the boat that’s run in his family for generations, Renjun finds himself at the humble and rickety marina often. Anticipating because that knowledge would enable him to change the course of his own life on his own terms, and dreading because he knew of the harsh disapproval those actions would receive.

But still, Renjun stays right there on the dock next to you, diving past the shallows of his conscious mind and into the darkest, deepest abyss of his own thoughts, letting them bubble and sputter up and puff into the air like sea spray. If both your hearts are oceans of their own, they collide in this moment, as his ambitions and aspirations spill over into yours and settle on the seabed below. He’s chosen you to entrust these secrets with. You, the only other resident of the village with a familiar restlessness in your eyes when the sun disappears below the distant horizon, gaze wistful and longing to do the same.

And as if they’re the precious riches of a mythical swashbuckling pirate, you keep them there, each word a golden coin or sparkling gem hidden away in a long-lost treasure chest. The twilight sky that evening is the most vivid you’ve ever seen it, and daylight is fading fast by the time Renjun finishes telling you everything.

“I never knew there was someone who felt the same way I did about all this.”

The realization sets in late, just as the weathered surface you��re both perched on sways in the wind. You fear for a second that you might slip forward into the icy water; that’s how strong the breeze whipping through the air around you feels. That, or it’s due to the sheer force from your heart as it swells at finally meeting someone you’ve admired from afar for what feels like an eternity, ever since you understood what life was like and what it meant for you here.

Sure, Renjun’s grandfather may have been well-known in the past for one reason, but to you, Renjun is creating a legacy of his own for another, one of more than just adolescent rebellion and defiance. It’s one of undoubtable self-awareness, of an adamant refusal to conform to an existence he hadn’t chosen, and he’s finding a way to alter what he’s been seemingly destined for all his life.

“Me neither,” you shake your head, still in a small fraction of euphoric disbelief. “All that’s left to do now is stow away on a ship together in the dead of night, I suppose.” The comment is joking, but he takes it more seriously than you anticipated. The cloudy sky above brightens with his eyes.

You convene in shadowy alleys when no one’s looking, wasting away the hours as you mutually yearn for just a sliver of knowledge of the unknown, enthralled by the waves in the distance and what lies below and above and beside. Renjun sometimes whisks you away to a steep overlook that provides a panoramic view of the beach, the powdery sand so far beneath your bare feet gray enough to pass for finely packed pebbles. You find yourself melting into his embrace like the sea melts into the sky, blurring the already thin lines between air and water and between friendship and love. The way his fingers encircle your wrist with a curl like that of a cresting wave is telling enough on its own. His heart belongs to two bodies now.

You can’t help but notice all the similarities he bears to the element you’ve never lived a day of your life without seeing, without hearing the undulations of, without smelling or tasting the salty tang it brings to the air. Always moving, a force to be reckoned with, and evidently a possessor of the ability to travel far and wide on even the most fleeting of whims.

He’s utterly himself around the water, too. You’re almost positive he could effortlessly duck beneath the surface, take a breath, and his lungs would drink it in as if it was air. The only place he doesn’t feel like drowning is below the waves.

“Look!” Renjun points out an unfamiliar vessel tied down at the far end of the pier one day, sails torn in jagged lines as if they had been slashed by a larger-than-life creature. Upon closer examination, you find that the wooden bow of the sailboat is splintering and the windows into the cabin are shattered. The name carved into the hull is simply too faded for you to decipher the letters.

“This boat must’ve gone through hell and back,” you comment, your response delayed like an echo. “Who do you think it belongs to, anyway?”

He’s lost within a symphony of thoughts before he answers, “No one.”

Both incredulous and doubtful, you whip around to meet Renjun’s assured gaze. “No one ever comes and no one ever goes, it’s that simple. These same boats have been docked for years. They’ve belonged to the same families one decade after another.” The boy sighs, scanning the horizon for anything that might appear the slightest bit unusual. “The real question is where it came from.”

You have no answer for him.

“Regardless,” he speaks up again, quite matter of factly, “It’s ours now.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, ours. You said you’d sail away with me, right?”

It certainly isn’t the aspiration you would have envisioned yourself pursuing. You could have chosen to quietly obey, to live and work exactly as you were told by a community so rigid that you felt frozen to the bone. Not like the pleasant chill of the ocean, rather a restrictive pair of icy shackles, ever-tightening around your limbs and subduing your mutinous thoughts. But here you are, longing for a little something more both in life and with the only person that understands your heart’s deepest desires like they’re his own. And at their core, they are.

Without fear, Renjun takes a confident stride onto the boat’s deck, turning back to you and offering his hand as you mimic the action. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

A warm thrill courses through your veins, growing hotter with each small preparation you make towards your inevitable departure. It’s an affair of many weeks, but at last you’ve gathered all of the necessary supplies and courage to carry out your plan.

The day finally comes, the day you’ll spring into action and take hold of your futures by the ropes, no one but yourselves telling you how or where to steer.

On the most moonlit night you’ve ever been alive to witness, you and Renjun both slip out from underneath your fraying comforters, unbeknownst to the rest of your households. Save for your two restless souls, the entire village is sound asleep, the unceasing lullaby of the tides casting its steadfast spell on bodies and minds like clockwork. Wooden floors so hollow and dusty that they barely creak under your weight, you successfully glide out your respective front doors in silence like translucent spirits.

No one else in the village had even acknowledged the foreign ship’s presence, but this shouldn’t surprise you, not in the slightest. The thick, colorless fog of life had long since settled around the shoulders of anyone and everyone who allowed it to, ensnaring them in a mind-numbing, monotonous routine. It blocks out the sun and the rain, the light and the darkness. It’s all so sickeningly the same. Empty eyes can’t pay any mind to their surroundings. Meanwhile, yours are full of hope, the brightest in the land.

In the distance, Renjun appears as vibrant and sprightly as ever. His form cascades down a flight of stone steps, leading from the sheer hills clustered with homes onto sea-level ground, and glides over the small dunes of sand separating you. He reaches the edge of the beach and your side a minute later, the thump of his heart keeping time with the tides. A nod, and you’re sprinting towards the docks, fingers trembling in excited anticipation.

It isn’t until after you’ve clumsily set sail that you see the ominous shadows of dark clouds laid out ahead, directly in your path. Even in the dead of night, a flash of distant lightning illuminates the world in a harshly jagged blaze for as far as the eye can see, as it strikes some unknown location out in front of the sailboat.

You’re certain the repairs you’ve spent days and nights working on with Renjun will be enough to keep the ship intact, despite the weather you’re sure to endure if you continue on this route. So you press on, missing the apprehension furrowing his eyebrows.

But because every force of nature has decided to convene against you both for reasons eternally unknown, the harsh winds weave their way in between the threads your careful hands had stitched on the canvas, meant to catch the breeze but being torn apart by it instead. Suddenly you’re struggling to hold on to your balance and you feel as flimsy as a leaf in a blustering current of cold, crisp wind.

Perhaps you should have practiced first. Renjun had not yet received a single ounce of training from his experienced father, and it was far from wise to leave the only life you’ve ever known without any knowledge of how to get to your next one. He’s trying to hide his panic now, wavering between the steering controls and warily glancing up at the gloomy midnight sky. One more flash of lightning, and all goes awry, all at once.

The water around you surges, as if physically drawn to the heavens, and more falls from above. Raindrops pelt down onto your arms and soak your hair, drenching the sails and filling the shallow hull almost instantly. Wave after towering wave crashes down, hard, and you’re no longer certain which way is up. About to lose your footing, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle like the snug hold of a life preserver.

Before all vitality can be lost and smothered by the raging ocean, a desperate Renjun holds fast to you, your thin clothes clinging to the damp skin of his hands. The storm is just too much, and there’s no way you’ll see the journey through like you had hoped. It’s difficult, excruciating even, to accept, and even more difficult for Renjun to let go of you like this. He’ll fight until the end, fight the fates and the invisible forces that life entails to hold you for just a few more seconds.

He won’t be able to live with himself, even in whatever afterlife may or may not come after the darkness he already sees, feels closing in on him, if he doesn’t sacrifice his last breath for a final moment of bliss, of you.

The sensation of Renjun’s wan lips pressing into yours overwhelms and surpasses all others, his palms tracing the edges of your figure like the tides trace the sandy shore. Urgently he draws you close up against him, trying his best to shield you from the inescapable terror of the sea. A lifetime’s worth of energy and emotion and passion is expended, making up for all the time in the world he wouldn’t and couldn’t have. The tang of saltwater meets your tongue, and you’re not sure if it’s the taste of him or of the ocean.

A weak tug on your palpitating heart, an internal scream in your ringing ears tells you that you should resent him for this, for propelling you forward in your apparently unachievable fantasies of living the life you wanted for yourself. But you don’t, you can’t. It’s no one’s fault, really. With this thought, a peaceful stillness washes over you amidst the chaos, and your awareness of the boy in your embrace fades steadily, slowly, then rapidly. Reality is getting paler, more black and white than ever, and you’re sinking further and further down towards the ocean floor miles below. The faint light of the moon becomes distorted from underneath the water, blurring with your failing vision. It all slips away, and then there’s nothing.

It’s a shame no one in the village takes notice of the two extra stars that blink into existence on that moonlit night, but yours and Renjun’s souls take their place among the rest, both a warning and a calling to anyone who dared attempt what you did. Two guiding lights pointing any other dreamers towards the hope of a better, brighter future.

[op-peccatori]

adamō (M) | IkeVamp Isaac

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Isaac Newton/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+/NSFW/Explicit 

Summary: Isaac decides to surprise you with something you’ve been wanting to see, thereby earning himself a wonderful reward.

Word Count: 3400

adamō (latin): (verb) I love truly, earnestly, deeply / to fall in love with, conceive desire for, desire eagerly

a/n: This work may contain themes/elements you might not be comfortable with, so please, please read the warnings/tags under the cut, and skip it if you’re uncomfortable with them!

Also, I’m going feral for Isaac. This started out as a thirsty little thought and was fostered by Faa’s NSFW HCs for Isaac ( ͡≖ ᴗ ͡≖)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, oral sex, pegging/anal sex, rimming, minor crossdressing (underwear), butt plugs, might be OOC because I haven’t finished his route

The fading sunlight spills in through the open window. The softest hues of orange and gold, the sweet spring air at its heels, and you try to be discreet in the way you watch Isaac as he runs his fingers over the soft fabric; it’s a lovely mint green, just a little patch of it visible where he’d tugged the waistband of his pants down.

The sight of it a gift you’d been waiting for.

You had discussed it a few days back, but you hadn’t been expecting him to show up wearing them and rob you of all sense.

“Have you been wearing them all day?” you ask, voice hushed even though you’re within the safety of your room, as if one of the other residents would break in and witness what has to be one of the top ten moments of your life. You don’t want to share this with anyone, ever.

“Yes, they’re surprisingly...comfortable,” he admits, eyes lifting just the slightest to take in your expression before they avert once more. “Very soft.”

“They look great too.” The words, not adequate enough to convey the way your mouth waters, or the way your fingers burn with the urge to touch. 

“I can see that from your face,” Isaac mumbles, the corners of his mouth quirking faintly. “Why are you standing so far away?”

It’s true, you realize. Your fingers dig into the surface of the desk behind you, as if they’ll disobey and try to grab him. 

“Can I-?” You hesitate, stumbling toward him; after weeks of watching him study your underwear with increasing curiosity, you almost can’t believe you’re here. 

You’re sure the flush on his cheeks matches yours as he takes your hands in his, pulling you closer. The brush of your fingers, featherlight, but the weight of your stare is an intense, fixed thing. 

“Is it really so fascinating?” he asks, tugging at his hair until he’s managed an excellent imitation of the fruit he’s teased for so relentlessly.  

You drop to your knees in answer; he looks taken aback when your fingers brush the backs of his hands before curling around them loosely. “May I?”

“You needn’t a-ask...for permission,” Isaac says, and trembles when your lips brush the palm of his hand, and over his clothed erection.

Breath stuck in his throat, he lets his hands fall to his sides, content to let you drink him in as you unbutton his pants. You pull them down to his feet and he steps out of them, quiet. The air between you is heavier, your desire for each other never really ebbing away completely. The velvet pads of your fingers caress his skin, and it feels like static, makes his cock twitch, and it still confuses him a little, the way it seems to create little sparks along his spine.

Isaac never understood people, or feelings. But he trusts the way his consume him, he trusts the vulnerable whispers in the dark, stories exchanged along with tender kisses. He trusts the friendship you forged together, the love you both tumbled into, the way your bodies react when arousal drips heavy from you both.

You watch the way his eyes darken.

Is it really so fascinating, he’d asked, standing there in his shirt and vest, hair still a little rumpled, creamy skin flushed warmly, his socks mismatched. How comfortable he seems in his skin, at this moment, trusting you so deeply.

The fabric around his hips is so very soft, hugging his skin perfectly. There are two tiny bows on each side and it looks a little tight but—your fingers nearly spasm—that’s surely because he’s half-hard, the pretty underwear you’d picked out for him a little too snug around his bulge.

You don’t think you could ever get enough of this, you think, eyes sliding shut for a second when you feel his fingers in your hair. 

“I-is it how you imagined it?” he asks, looking a little self-conscious now as you continue to gape like a complete fool. 

“Isaac,” you begin, and your voice cracks. “Isaac, you look beautiful.”

“...You tell me that nearly every day,” he mutters, but when you look up at him there’s that pleased little smile dancing along his lips. It’s oddly similar to the one he wears after solving a problem, and after he’s made you come on his tongue more than once. It’s triumph, edged with desire and devotion. 

He likes to see you happy.

“Well, I mean it every day. But, god, you look so good.” Your lips meet the warm skin of his thigh and his palm settles on your head. 

“I’m going to need another meal before I let you tempt me any further,” he says, stern, but desire clear in his pale eyes. You lick along the edges of the cloth and his grip tightens.

Your teeth graze the curve of his growing bulge.

“...Blast it. Have at it, then.” With a loud cheer in the privacy if your mind, you tug the panties down swiftly; there’s not much time. Your mouth wraps around the head of his flushed length, sucking with a desperate kind of determination. His hips jerk frantically, slipping in deeper, spurred on by your moans.

“Gods, I won’t last too long if you d-do it like that,” he gasps, and you hollow your cheeks further, head bobbing fervently to meet his thrusts. Your intention was never to draw this out, and your eyes crack open just enough to catch the way his expression contorts helplessly when he spills himself onto your tongue.

You take a moment, chest heaving, the taste of him still strong in your mouth, and then you waste no more time before guiding him toward the bed. He looks a bit dazed, but catches on fast when you begin to undress him. He tilts his head towards you, and you press your lips to his chastely before pushing him back onto the mattress.

With one eye on the clock, you let yourself taste him.

Admiring the curve of his spine, you watch the way Isaac trembles before you. With his cheek pressing into your soft pillow, hands curling into crisp sheets under his chest, his knees spread and bum pushed into the air-he looks exquisite.

You had told him so, while peppering reverent kisses all over his back; he told you your sincerity was rather embarrassing, especially with your fingers tracing his sensitive cock lazily.

It’s a little strange, to be fully clothed while he has not a single garment on his body. Marks bloom all over his body, speckled across his chest, his inner thighs, his lower back. His length hangs, hard and leaking once more between his legs.

Another soft moan, quickly muffled, fights its way out his throat as the tip of your tongue traces the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. A single, lube-slicked finger pushes its way in, and you marvel at how tight he always is. 

“It’s been a while since we did this, huh?” you hum, sympathetic, the pumping of your digit slow and precise. He squeezes hard, sucking it in, and you caress his thigh gently. 

Isaac mumbles something, but you don’t quite catch it. “You’re going to have to be a little louder, darling.”

“I said—you can put another.” 

“Sure?” He wouldn’t say so unless he was sure, but Isaac does get a little too impatient at times; vampire or not, you like to prepare him thoroughly.

“Mm. I’m not fragile,” he arches his back a little, looking back at you over a shoulder. His gaze, half-lidded with lust, is unwavering as it meets yours, blush strands falling haphazardly over his forehead. You resist the urge to smooth them away. You revel in the pure comfort of your relationship; exploring, working through things with him is always a delight. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder, no shame at all when you try new things in the bedroom, only curiosity and eager hands.

The first time you had touched him, he had come all over your fingers, and chin, before you could take him in your mouth. He had blushed so hard you had worried he would pass out, but instead he had watched keenly as you licked every drop from your skin. And then, he pressed your body into the bed and buried his face between your legs.

The way he moans when you acquiesce and slide in another finger makes your mouth water. The way he writhes when you add another, pumping steadily, the wet squelches loud in the silence of the room—makes you squirm, your own walls clenching desperately at the sound. He is so sensitive, the needy sounds he makes are dangerously addictive, and it makes you greedy.

“There,” he gasps, at a twist of your wrist. His hips push back into your hand, urging you. “There, there.” 

But it isn’t quite time yet.

And so you withdraw your fingers with a whispered apology, much to his consternation, reaching for the little toy you’ve chosen for him today. It slides in without much effort, and you take a moment to admire the little jewel nestled between his cheeks. 

“You’re-wicked,” Isaac accuses, breathless and blushing, as he collapses onto his stomach. He looks mutinous, eyes that usually remind you of the rose quartz you used to keep on your coffee table now edging into a furious garnet.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go clean up before dinner,” you tell him, massaging his lower back. “But I’ve got tomorrow off. I promise I’ll take care of you, tonight and tomorrow.”

Isaac scoffs, stretching languidly and watching intently as you right your clothes.  “...Promise?”

You press a quick kiss at the base of his spine. “I’m all yours, darling.”

You enjoy pampering Isaac, but you have to admit, watching him squirm through dinner is extremely enjoyable. 

Or, perhaps, you’ve been spending too much time with Theo. Where else could this sadistic streak have come from?

The blush on his cheeks seems near-constant, and he can’t seem to look anybody in the eye for more than a second, let alone you, who seems to be watching him with an almost hungry glint in your eyes. 

It does not go unnoticed.

“Ugh, save the bedroom eyes for the bedroom, hondje,” comes a complaint from your right, and you look back down at your plate as Theo grumbles. Vincent shoots you an apologetic look, but even he looks a little curious. “He can’t even eat with you looking like you want to eat him.”

You laugh, careless and innocent, fingers digging into your thigh as Isaac makes an odd, choked sound and drops his fork, looking mortified immediately after. Next to him, Arthur seems to be watching the two of you, looking extremely entertained. At Isaac’s reaction, he blinks, jaw slackening as he looks at you. 

You narrow your eyes at him in warning, and he just looks dumbfounded.

The food tastes better than usual, and you wonder if it’s because of the knowledge that just an hour ago your mouth had been buried between Isaac’s legs.

Cleaning up after dinner took a while, and despite Sebastian’s attempts at shooing you away, you stayed until the kitchen and dining rooms were spotless. Bidding him a good night, you make your way up to your room with slow, measured steps. 

You hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to Isaac after dinner, as Leonardo had whisked him away to have a look at something. They usually spend a while on whatever objects they tinker with; satisfaction settles in your gut, however, when you open the door to your room to find him stretched out on his stomach, bare feet hanging over the edge. 

“I thought you’d be busy for hours, with the way Leonardo was talking.” You settle next to him on the bed, palm sliding down the length of his spine and back up. He looks relaxed, leaning into your touch as your fingers slide up to weave through his hair. 

“I told him I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. He’s not the sort to ask questions.” He cracks open an eye, looking a bit sullen. “You took a while.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. We can go straight to bed, if you want. You look so sleepy,” you murmur, fingernail raking across his scalp. He shudders, the softest of sounds escaping him before he seems to process your words, blinking slowly, eyes narrowing.

You’re on your back before you can speak any further, wrists pinned above your head, an incensed Isaac looming over you. He presses in, chest to chest, hips meeting yours and—

“Oh,” you moan when he rocks into you.

“Yes. Oh. I assure you, sleep is the last thing on my mind,” he hisses like a wronged feline, before withdrawing. A baffling, contradicting blend of bashful and wicked, your Isaac. “Unless you’d like to, of course.” 

“And leave you like that?” you exclaim, aghast. “Do you really think I’m that cruel?”

“Well, then. Why are you still lying there like a fool? Are you going to fuck me or not?” he asks, cheeks reddening as frustration overtakes any shame. 

“Isaac!” But you get up even as you laugh, heading over to your drawers to get the equipment out. He comes up behind you, working the ties of your dress open, warm lips pressing to the nape of your neck. You step over it as it pools at your feet, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders smoothly. The pants come off, leaving him in the panties, your eyes fixating on the trail of soft pink hair, the end of which is only just visible beneath the sheer fabric.

You kiss, softly, then frantically, your breasts pressing into his chest. 

“I ate extra, today. Just in case,” he tells you, kissing down the slender slope of your neck, nipping gently. 

“Okay. I trust you.” Your nails rake down his sides and he nearly melts in your arms.

“Fool,” he mutters, kissing you gently, gratefully. 

“Yes, but I’m your fool,” you return breathlessly, smile just a touch impish.

You can only blink then, as you’re pressed back into the drawers, and whimper when he sinks down and licks into your cunt. He’s unrelenting, two fingers pushing in to join his mouth as it slides up to your clit, hands curling around the back of your knee and lifting it to get better access. It’s a testament to how well you’ve come to know each other that he knows where to touch you, tongue circling maddeningly, to make you come on his mouth.

You’re not entirely sure how you end up on the floor, but his arms are around you, your face buried in his chest.

“What was that for?” Your words are muffled by his skin, but by now both of you have learned to decipher most of the other’s many variations of mumbling.

“Couldn’t go wrong with another snack,” he retorts, kissing the side of your head. “And just in case I fall asleep right after.”

He has never fallen asleep right after sex, no matter how many waves upon waves of pleasure you’ve drawn from each other. 

You’re grinning even as he helps you with the strap on, and it still feels a bit funny, but comfortable as you both work through it together. 

“You’re so considerate, Zack. I’ll give it my all tonight,” you nod resolutely. “I’ve been doing a lot of squats.”

“...Be quiet.” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“But Isaac, you like it when I talk-”

Isaac takes your hand, pulling you along to the bed as you laugh at his disgruntlement—it dies in your throat when your eyes catch sight of the soft swell of his rear. You hook your thumbs into the delicate waistband of the panties, tugging them down his legs with the utmost care, lips pressing warm kisses into the lean muscle of his thighs.

He’s patient, resting on his back, legs bent in the air as you slide the plug out and press slick fingers into his hole, stretching him open. Eyes bright, he’s good to go, but he knows your need to check, just in case.

He studies the way your brow furrows just a little before smoothing out, satisfaction in your eyes as you look back up at him, wiping your hand clean on a small towel. There’s a pillow under his hips, a jug of water on the bedside table.

He feels so warm, inside and out.

“Okay, that’s good enough. Are you ready?”

He thinks for a quick second and pulls you down, body curving over his as he crushes his mouth to yours, kissing you messily.

“Now I am.” 

Your smile is more tender than lustful as you pull back and take hold of the dildo, pressing it into him carefully. It slides in without much resistance at first, with you only slowing to a halt halfway through. He can’t quite think, but he can hear your soft whispers, the feel of your fingers combing through his hair.

“We doing okay?”

“Ngh,” he replies—groans, really—and you nod seriously. 

“Okay, good.”

You roll your hips in small, controlled motions that help you slide in deeper and squash his ability to form sentences. He moans, and moans, and moans, reaching for your hand blindly. You lace your fingers through his, your other hand tight on his hip. 

“You’re doing so well, baby.”

He whimpers in response, eyes squeezing shut when you begin to fuck him slowly. He hasn’t gotten any less sensitive, his cock feeling ready to burst already. 

You can’t stop staring at him, his length bouncing as you thrust harder; he’s twisting and whimpering but he’s surrendered completely, mind blissfully overtaken by pleasure. Your hand slides over firm skin to cup his balls, heavy in your palm, and your lips curve into a tiny smirk as his eyes fly open.

“You’re ready to come, aren’t you, darling?”

At his frantic nod, you increase your pace, thrusting harder, eager to see him unravel. His mouth falls open noiselessly, but with a slight change in angle, he’s keening, back arching as your fingers squeeze his balls gently, not touching his cock. 

You don’t need to.

He comes on a broken whisper of your name, thick ropes of come spurting over his chest, his eyes wet and legs trembling. You pant with exertion, pink and sweaty, watching as his eyes flutter open. He looks gorgeous, wrecked and so blissed-out it makes you a little giddy.

“Hey, you,” you murmur, propped up over him, pressing your lips to his forehead, grinning a little at how he offers his cheek next, sighing as you pull out.

“Hello,” he croaks, voice still raspy, and you collapse next to him with a loud, contented exhale. You both take a moment to breathe, hands clasped together, one of your legs thrown over his. But your mind will not let you rest until you’ve cleaned him up, and you do so with an admittedly besotted little smile at the way he dozes softly. 

Putting the harness away, and the dildo for a thorough cleaning session, you return to bed to find Isaac watching you. You coax him into sitting up, handing him a glass of water as you rearranging the pillows behind him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I know, I know,” you reply distractedly. “Should I bring you something to eat?”

He peers at you over the rim of the glass, before setting it aside quietly. Slender fingers curl around your bicep, pulling you onto the bed until you’re sprawled beneath him. Bright-eyed and far from groggy, he smiles at you, fangs peeking through. 

“I take it you’re not sleepy after all?” You’re a little embarrassed by how squeaky that was, but he’s looking at you like he’s ready to devour you. You realize, pleasure sinking low in your belly, that you’re dripping.

You watch as the wicked parts of him take over, pale pink eyes pinning you in place as he licks down the soft planes of your abdomen, nuzzling your belly. 

“Mm, no,” he affirms, crawling up to flick his tongue over a taut nipple, a shiver breaking out across your skin as his fangs graze fragile skin ever so softly. “I do, however, find myself in need of a quick bite.”

A wolf in sheep’s clothing indeed—one you’re hopelessly in love with.

ending notes: I wrote most of this while running on no sleep but ngl I had a lot of fun! 

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

Inciting flashback

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader 

Word count: 2,300

Warnings: fluff, making out, alcohol

Tags: @huliabitch who very kindly provided a prompt for me. I hope it lives up to your expectations! (I may or may not have started on one of the others) ❤️

"What did you do to my bird, Dameron?" You threw your hands in the air at the near wreck of a ship. Poe had clearly been attempting to fix it before you got down to the hangar, or at least stop the smoke billowing from the rear end. Beebee-ate whistled a lot of information at you, detailing the gory details of the fight. You ignored the clench of worry, he was on the ground and offended enough to be fluffing up like a tooka cat in a rainstorm.

"Your bird?" He protested, blocking your path to the ship as though you couldn't see how bad it was. One of hangar drones beeped disapprovingly as it put out the fire.

"Look at her! Your shield generators are leaking!" You ducked around him, spotting more and more issues. If it wasn't so much work you'd almost be impressed. It took effort to wreck X-wings like this, especially when he hadn't been flying in atmo. You narrowed your eyes at the seeping puddle of suspicious liquids as it crept closer to Poe's boots.

"Look-" He tried again as you whirled to look at him, flinging an arm behind you at the mess.

"They're not supposed to leak, Dameron!" You bulldozed through his attempt to defend himself. "There's no fluid in them! And the flashback suppressor? That's the cause of the smoke. It's inciting flashback!"

Poe ran a hand through his hair, gaze flicking from Black-one to your face guiltily. He opened his mouth to speak

"Ahh. Ah." You held up a hand to stall the no doubt heroic explanation of how he'd wrecked your baby. You did not need more fuel for your anxious day dreaming and if you let him talk he'd probably talk you down; let him be the one to sweat a little.

"Out now. Beebee can stay and help. You go and clean up. And stay away from this bird, she has trauma." You ordered briskly pivoting on your heel, pointedly not watching him walk away.

Beebee whistled apologetically before leading you over to the ship, fire suppressant foam drifting past you on the breeze. It was going to be a long day.

Banging. That was definitely a banging noise. It wasn't the siren to alert the base to approaching TIEs and your alarm was more of a beep. The noise got louder, you groaned hoping the noise would scare it away. You burrowed further under the blankets, maybe if it couldn't see you it couldn't wake you up?

The banging subsided, leaving you to blissful silence.

A heavy weight landed on the bed instead, making you roll into the dip.

"Twist, wake up!"

You groaned again, pressing your face into the mattress hard enough to push your nose into a weird shape, making it whistle with every exhale.

"Twiiiiiiiiiist, come on!"

The demon bothering you had Jess's voice; maybe that was a sign about your friendship.

"Go 'way." You muttered blackly, firmly clutching the blankets in case the demon Jess got ideas about stealing your covers.

“Twist, it's the party. You agreed to come to it. You even sounded excited." Jess coaxed, rubbing your shoulder.

"Poe broke the thing. It's fixed. I sleep." You protested, cracking open one eye to glare at her through the blankets.

Jess lay down on top of you, ignoring the halfhearted poking you resorted to, resenting your sudden demotion to mattress.

"You fixed the ship yesterday. Time to face the light and party like a pilot, baby."

She pulled the blankets off your face, grabbing the chrono to prove time had passed since you'd passed out after fixing black one.

"Kriff."

"Come on. Poe's been driving everyone crazy asking about you. I promised to bring you to the party to shut him up." Jess said cheerfully, yanking the covers off and forcing you into an upright position.

You gave in and opened your eyes, yawning obnoxiously to ensure Jess knew you were tired.

"So you don't really want me there,"you muttered mutinously, "just want to shut Dameron up." You pulled on a dress, too lazy to figure out which leg went where in trousers and put a top on.

"Yep!" Jess agreed. "And you wriggled your way out of the last party and were smug about your hangover free morning. Revenge is a dish best served to the sleep deprived."

She tamed your hair easily, smacking a kiss to your cheek when she'd finished. You smiled in spite of yourself.

"Hate you too, Pava."

"You know it, Twist." She chirped, pulling you out of your room and back out into the world.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, complete with bonfire. Beebee spotted you first, whistling as it barrelled towards you at high speed. You crouched down to greet him, laughing as he jiggled his body sphere in excitement.

"Fully recharged, Bee, I promise." You said, nodding solemnly to their advice about the importance of regular recharging for humans.

"There she is!" Snap hollered from the bonfire.

"Twist!" Kaydel called, leaning heavily on Snap’s shoulder to stay upright. "Come join the fun!"

The pilots all yelled some form of encouragement, chorusing a toast to you. It would be embarrassing but last time there had been toasts to the inventor of caf, in reality they just wanted to down their drinks.

Jess led you to the circle, firmly pushing on your shoulders so you sat next to Poe. She winked with the subtlety of a nerf herd and swanned to the other side of the fire to sit with a grinning Tallie.

Poe offered you a bottle wordlessly. You took a gulp, smiling gratefully.

"Thanks Poe."

"I'm Poe again? Wasn't sure after you kicked me out the hangar." He teased, eyes gleaming in the firelight. He took a pull from his own drink, lips wrapping around the bottle stem distractingly.

"You reversed the polarity of the flashback suppressors, flyboy. You're lucky I let you back behind the joystick." You retorted, smile ruining the delivery.

"I needed the power!"

"You ruined a perfectly good X-wing!"

"I took out four TIEs!"

"Well, I'll be sure to send my condolences to their mechanics. Not the point, Poe!"

He burst out laughing, sending you into a fit of giggles, helped by the near empty bottle in your hand (when had that happened?)

"Truth or drink!" Kaydel cried, swaying a little on Snap's lap.

"How long have you guys been here?" You asked Poe, ducking your head closer to his so Kaydel couldn’t overhear the question.

"An hour, maybe less." Poe replied, leaning closer so you could hear. "Kay's just a lightweight.” He widened his eyes at you as she began hiccupping sending you into another giggle fit.

"Truth or drink!" Jess took up the call.

"Do you think I can escape without them noticing?" You looked around for an exit. Poe grabbed your wrist, hold easy enough to break if you really wanted to get away. The heat felt nice on your arm though, enough that you gulped a drink to suppress a shiver.

"Truth or drink." He said grinning, repeating himself more loudly for everyone else's benefit.

"I fix your x-wing and this is what it gets me? Betrayal." You gasped only a little serious, you did not need Jess' machinations with the combination of alcohol. He leant back to grab you another bottle as compensation.

"I'm right here, what's the worst that could happen?"

You shot him a flat look.

"Tempt the force, why don't you."

He chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"I'm serious, it’s just a drinking game. You can do it with juice if you'd prefer."

"Kriff no. I'm keeping my plausible deniability for anything embarrassing I do or say."

He laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at you.

“To plausible deniability." He said solemnly, clinking your drinks together. You smiled, ducking away from his gaze and tuning back into the game.

"Twist, truth or drink" Kaydel half sang, waggling her eyebrows, "who was your worst kiss?"

"Girl back home. Too much tongue." You grimaced, wrinkling your nose at the memory. Kissing really shouldn't involve that much of your face being wet.

You shuddered, physically rearing back from the memory ending up pressing your leg against Poe’s. You hesitated over moving it away, the decision made for you when he returned the pressure.

"Jess, why do we all call Twist, Twist?" Tallie asked innocently. You knew it was genuine curiosity, only Kaydel and Jess knew that story.

"Oh no." You whispered, closing your eyes.

"Yeah Jess, why do we call Twist, Twist?" Kaydel singsonged, Snap's arms around her waist acting like a seat belt to stop her keeling over.

"Funny story?" Poe asked amused, raising an eyebrow.

"Just embarrassing." You moaned, meeting Jess's eye across the fire and drawing a finger across your throat.

She smiled and nodded exaggeratedly.

"You ever had a pretzel, Tallie?" Jess began grandly, grin far more evil than normal.

"I hate you!" You wailed, turning to hide yourself behind Poe's shoulder. He patted your thigh sympathetically but made no move to actually stop Jess telling the story

Jess winked as she finished "Easy to get up there, harder to get down. When we found her she was all twisted up like a pretzel. Her ankles were round her ears.”

"I didn't know people could bend that way." Kaydel agreed seriously.

Poe choked on his drink, coughing loudly. You slapped his back a couple of times, rubbing over his shirt to soothe the sudden fit. Cheerfully ignoring everyone else as they carried on the game.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It went down the wrong pipe." He wheezed.

"You've only been drinking for about thirty years, Poe, maybe you still need practice." You laughed, graciously ignoring the obscene hand gesture he made in response.

"Poe, Truth or dare?" Snap asked, mischievous gleam in his eye.

"I thought it was truth or drink?" Poe frowned, waggling his bottle at Snap.

"Please, it takes a barrel of Yavinese moonshine to get you drunk. Truth or dare?" Snap insisted.

Poe glanced at you, huffing resignedly.

"Dare."

Jess got up and whispered in his ear, too quietly for you to overhear even as close as you were. There was a pause as Poe glared at her before Jess whispered something else, a little more harshly.

Poe made a low rumbling noise of discontent in his throat but nodded anyway.

He took your hand gently, pulling you into the surrounding trees.

"Wha- Poe!"

You half stumbled to a wave of cheers and whistles from the pilots. You flushed unsure why exactly they were cheering.

He led you away from the firelight, shifting his grip to weave his fingers through yours.

"If you murder me, I will haunt you forever." You warned him, other hand coming up to hold his wrist so he couldn't vanish in the dark. "And if you abandon me out here I will find my way back to base and move all your furniture two inches to the left."

He stopped walking, smile clear even in the dark.

"No murder or abandoning, I promise." He said softly, tone just a hair too serious for a party game.

"Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear." He linked his pinkies with yours, squeezing once before flipping them to hold both your hands in his.

"Poe-" Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, trying to read his expression for clues

“I want to kiss you." He whispered, eyes dropping to your lips. “Can I?”

You nodded, leaning in to press your lips to his.

He pulled back, your hand reaching to tangle with his hair so he couldn't go far.

“Poe?”

“You’re sure, I know we had a drink and-“

You kissed him, sliding a hand into his curls to hold him closer to you.

“I’m sure, Poe.”

He grinned wolfishly and kissed you again, firmer this time, pulling you closer to him until you were flush with his front. He pulled back again.

"Love it when you say my name." He confessed, pressing his forehead to yours.. "Try and get your attention just so you'll say it again."

He dipped to kiss you before you could answer, swallowing the whimper you made. One hand slid to the small of your back as the other cradled your jaw. You tugged on his curls, licking into his mouth and smiling at the harsh sound he made in response. Poe pushed on your hips, guiding you backwards until you were pressed against the nearest tree. The surface letting you arch against him without falling over.

"Poe!" your head rested on the trunk as you tried to catch your breath. He mouthed at your neck, nipping hard enough to make you buck against him.

"Dameron! You were supposed to tell Twist about your stupid crush, not abscond with her!" Jess's voice echoed through the trees.

"Abscond is a big word." You observed quietly, breath hitching as he sucked on a sensitive spot under your jaw.

"Is that really what you have to say?" He huffed, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You have a crush?" You asked instead, smiling smugly, seizing the opportunity to return the favour and lick a stripe up his neck. The grunt was as gratifying as you suspected.

"A stupidly big one." He admitted, panting slightly. "Best mechanic in the galaxy, can't stop thinking about her."

"What a coincidence," You bit your lip as Poe's hand began encouraging you to rock on his thigh, "I have a crush on this pilot. Always driving me crazy, hanging about where I can look but not touch.”

Poe kissed you again, all wet heat, pinning you to the tree until you yielded to him.

"Dameron! Twist!" Jess's voice yelled, much closer. You looked at Poe, biting your lip to stop a laugh at his arrested expression.

"Walk me home, Poe?"

He pressed another searing kiss to your lips, taking your hand to lead you back to the base.

"You can touch me all you want when we get there."

[ao3feed-stucky]

by Avengers_Whore

“I’d avoid that one if I were you, Barnes. Not good for polite society,” a passing alpha murmured. James scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Steve beat him to it. The omega had grabbed the alpha by the front of his jacket and got into his face.

“Say it to my face, you pompous, sack of-!”

“Okay! Let him go, Steve, I think you’ve defended your own honor,” James said, gently separating the alpha and omega. The blond huffed and let go of the rude alpha, watching him hurry off. “Well, no one has to worry about you, do they? You can take care of yourself.”

“I try. I get myself into trouble most times and it’s hard for my father to find an alpha willing to take me on,” Steve answered, face turning mutinous. “Most of them want a soft, docile, little thing to hang off their arm.”

Words: 14442, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Peter Parker, Harley Keener, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Sharon Carter (Marvel), Justin Hammer, Sunset Bain, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, Ana Jarvis, Edwin Jarvis, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, past Tony Stark/James "Bucky" Barnes

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, regency au, Character Death, its Tony, im sorry, it was part of the plot, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Family, Parent Tony Stark, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is Bucky Barnes's Biological Child, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Harley Keener is Bucky Barnes's Biological Child, Morgan Stark is Bucky Barnes's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Harley Keener & Peter Parker are Siblings, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Normalized Feminization, Feminization

[elareine]

Misperceptions

Rating: Teen  Warnings: Swearing  Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd (side), Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Tags: Brotherly Bonding, Future Fic, 5+1 Things, Pining, Misunderstandings, Jealousy, Fluff, Guilt, Family AO3: /21199679 Companion to Reasons to be jealous. 

Five times Dick was jealous of Tim and Jason’s relationship, and the one time he wasn’t.

One

Dick couldn’t tell you how he ended up here.

Jason didn’t even work with him all that often. They usually stuck to clearly demarcated lines in their cases. The last attempted homicide between them might’ve been a while back by now; that didn’t mean Dick was necessarily comfortable around him, and he refused to apologize for that.

This time, there had been no way to avoid cooperation. Considering everything, it had gone okay. Two human traffickers were behind bars that hadn’t been before, so Dick considered it a win. After the arrests, Jason had suggested a drink, and Dick, not wanting to reject him without reason, had taken him up on it. One or two beers, and then they’d head home.

One beer had turned into fruity cocktails had turned into tequila straight from the bottle. Maybe it was their competitive nature that wouldn’t allow them to back down when the other ordered something, maybe it was the stress of the past few days slash years, but Jason was basically spread all over the booth now, Dick comfortably nestled into the corner beside him, their shoulders touching as they passed the bottle back and forth.

“So, little wing, are you seeing anyone? Or is there a hot chick waiting for the Red Hood in every city by now?” he settled on. That was what a big brother was supposed to ask, right? Never mind that he had to look up at Jason as he said it. He’d never asked Damian that question—but that was a bad thought, and bad thoughts deserved tequila.

Dick took another sip.

“Nah.” Jason took the bottle from him and examined it critically. “Goddammit, Dick, are you trying to kill yourself? How much of this did you drink?”

He was one to talk, slurring as he was. Dick graciously overlooked that fact, insisting: “What do you mean, nah? There’s gotta be someone.”

“Well, yeah, Tim.”

Jason grimaced at his own words, though Dick wasn’t sure why. His head felt slow and fuzzy. “What does Tim have to do with this conversation?”

“I’m in love with him, dickhead.” Jason snorted. “Hah. Dickhead. That’s never not funny.”

Dick had heard that joke about a million times before; he was drunk enough to chuckle anyways.

“How long?” he asked when he’d calmed down. Kinda embarrassing, him not noticing his little brothers dating. Urgh. Phrasing it like that made it sound weird.

Jason shrugged. “Dunno. Years.”

Funny that he was so blasé about that. Dick had pegged him to be the type to remember anniversaries to the minute. Not like Tim really cared about that stuff, though, so it was probably fine.

Now that Dick thought about it, they were sweet to and about each other all the time. Fighting crime together counted as, like, a prime dating activity in vigilante circles. Dick remembered all the times Tim had mentioned he was grabbing breakfast or dinner with Jason.

And it made total sense. Tim was the main reason Jason had calmed down considerably in the killing department, and Jason had been loyal to Tim whatever happened, arguing his side every time, even with Damian. Dick didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before. They were so obviously a couple.

It was unfair, he thought mutinously. Jason and Tim had just seemed to click from the beginning. They were clearly made for each other.

“What the fuck are you talking about. Are you forgetting what I did when I first met him?”

Jason’s voice was both incredulous and ashamed, but Dick wasn’t paying any attention, his thoughts going down a path they had traveled, many times before. Only this time, he spoke them out loud. “You two are so… I just—I just want Damian to—”

And then, to his utter humiliation, Dick broke down in tears.

Fucking tequila.

He didn’t remember anything that happened after that. That was probably a blessing.

Two

Jason was in his late twenties now. It had been almost ten years since he’d returned to Gotham. Dick got drunk with him less than a week ago. Talking to him shouldn’t feel like making polite small talk with a stranger, but it did.

“Yeah, I tend to turn the heater up, too,” Jason was saying, sounding bored with himself. He’d been tapping away on his phone for most of the day. “Tim likes it a bit chilly, though, so I’m getting used to it.”

Dick didn’t take his eyes off the target as he sighed. If only the man would do anything more exciting than sit in an office all day. He mournfully remembered the Mafiosi of his youth, all of which would rather have been caught dead (and in many cases were) than sit in front of a computer all day.  

Jason’s phone buzzed again. His brother didn’t even bother to apologize before grabbing it to reply.

“Tim?” Dick finally asked, more to start the conversation again than because he had any doubts.

Jason hummed in agreement. “He needs important mission intel.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “He’s bored at work, isn’t he?”

“So am I.”

“Oh, excuse me, is my company that terrible?” Call him a hypocrite, Dick still felt insulted.

“No, but trying not to talk about the elephant in the room is. You know. Our little tequila evening.”

…Dick had really hoped they could just keep ignoring that. Jesus Christ, go right for the sore spot, won’t you, Jason? Dick had never regretted the bluntness his family was famous for more than at this moment. Well, there had been that time Steph had described ‘pegging’ to Damian after he, being twelve, had asked why Dick was walking so funny after visiting his then-girlfriend… and the time Bruce had given him The Talk again after noticing he was interested in boys… and the time Babs had—okay, maybe this wasn’t even top five, because there had also been that time where—

Jason’s voice interrupted that thought process, which was probably for the best. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Dick searched his face. Jason looked calm, open, a little bit hopeful—as if he was willing Dick to trust his word.

“Okay, cards on the table, I don’t actually remember what I told you,” Dick finally admitted. “So, uh, please describe the elephant to me.”

Jason hesitated. “Oh. I could forget about it, too, if you like.”

“No,” Dick decided, though he did consider it. Still, he was curious now. And surely it couldn’t be that bad? He couldn’t have been drunk enough to— He couldn’t have been. “Tell me.”

Jason’s phone buzzed. This time, he ignored it, still looking strangely hesitant. “You told me that you’re in love with Damian.”

Dick stopped breathing.

Literally; the ringing in his ears grew louder and louder until he felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dick. Dick! It’s fine. You’re fine. No one else knows.”

Dick took a gulp of breath, then another, forcing out: “Don’t tell him.” Then: “Don’t tell Bruce.”

“Never,” Jason promised. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Dick wasn’t so sure about that, but—what choice did he have? Weirdly enough, it was that thought that calmed him down. There was nothing he could change about it now. All that was left was running damage control.

At least Jason had waited until they were alone to bring it up and hadn’t told anyone else. That had to count for something, hadn’t it?

“I haven’t—I never told anyone.” He’d barely admitted it to himself.

“I know.” Jason’s smile was sheepish, but there. “You, uh, made me promise the same thing about fifteen times already.”

Dick groaned, embarrassment finally setting in. “God, I’m so sorry. Fucking tequila.”

“Tell me about it. My head hurt for a whole two days after.”

The target chose that moment to move, and they both moved into instant alert—but it was only to the bathroom. Once the man was typing away at his desk again, they relaxed, and Jason finally answered Tim’s texts.

Then he leaned back on his hands casually and peered at Dick. “So. Damian, huh?”

Dick seriously considered ignoring him, but—it might feel… nice. To talk about it with someone. Even if it was Jason.

“Yeah. I know you two don’t—” Dick gestured with clasped hands.

“Hey, no, Damian and I, we’re good,” Jason reassured him. “Tried to kill each other a few times, laid down some ground rules about how to not insult people the other person cares about, and voila, no assassination threats in months now.”

Something in Dick wanted to protest. Damian was so much more than threats of violence, always had been, and it annoyed Dick to no end that people still held his upbringing against him.

Then he realized how ridiculous he would sound saying that to Jason of all people, and instead settled on: “So you just don’t talk about Bruce and Tim at all?”

Jason shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Huh.” That sounded exhausting, but who was Dick to judge?

“Gotta say I’m a bit surprised, though. Didn’t think you’d go for him.”

Dick tensed, expecting any of the reasons he told himself at night—Damian was too young, too vulnerable, too much his brother—

Jason continued, grinning: “He’s not even a redhead.”

Dick threw his com at Jason’s head, but he was laughing.

Three

Dick unironically loved it whenever a group of bats gathered to work a case (or an Arkham breakout, as it might be.) Sure, there was a lot of bickering happening, but wasn’t that what family was about?

Honestly, it was even better without Bruce. Less tightly run, more fun. Seeing Damian in Bruce’s cowl instead was still weird, though. It wasn’t like Dick himself hadn’t donned it plenty of times. Hell, even Jason had done it once or twice, which had been one hell of a trip for everyone involved.

All of which was a good thing—Damian should have more than being Bruce’s mirror image. Dick was so proud of the way he’d grown into himself, had taken on his own vigilante identity.

However, it was a reminder that the child he had helped socialize, the Robin to his Batman, had, indeed, grown into a man. A man that didn’t smile often, to be sure; one that still liked to keep the world at bay, that trusted few, showed his heart to even fewer.

Something sharp dug into his side. “Earth to Nightwing, Earth to Nightwing.”

Dick started. Fuck. He’d been staring at Damian again, hadn’t he?

With a grateful smile, he elbowed Jason right back. “It’s called thinking, ever tried it?”

“Not your particular kind, no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I occasionally suspect there are fluffy clouds moving behind these eyes and nothing more.”

“Aww, Little Hoodling,” Dick sang, sliding his arm around Jason in a deceptively friendly move, “one day, you’ll be a real boy, too.” Then he moved—or tried to.

It was like trying to flip a car.

Dick tried again. Sure, there was little leverage like this, but he’d been able to flip Damian (who wasn’t that much lighter than Jason, and just as tall) the other day without much effort; why was this so much more difficult?

But Jason didn’t move. “Bit heavier than you remembered, Nightwing?”

Dick made a show of sticking out his lower lip to cover how startled he was. Had it really been that long since he’d been roughhousing with Jason? He could swear it had been a thousand times, but… apparently not.

Dick couldn’t regret getting away from Bruce back then. It had been necessary. But he was glad they now had a chance to move on as a family.

Okay, maybe some people would be a bit more worried about the dozens or so homicidal criminals heading their way disrupting any reconciliations. Dick never had been one of these people. Tim and Jason fought together like a well-oiled machine. As for him and Damian…

Well. They were the best, weren’t they?

Coming back to the cave, high on adrenaline and full of cravings for Alfred’s cookies, had always been one of the best parts of the job for Dick. Add in the all-too-rare opportunity to spend some quality time with Damian… the night, or morning, was looking up.

Jason, God bless him, headed right for the showers. Tim, however, lingered, looking ready to set up camp at his workstation.

“Why are you here and not in the shower?” Dick waved a hand in the direction Jason had disappeared to. It wasn’t meant to imply anything dirty, except it was.

“I need to write a mission report,” Tim protested, true to his little workaholic form. Dick would’ve expected that to lessen a bit now that he was getting some. Though now that he considered it, Jason was a workaholic, too.

“We can do that, right, little D?” Dick smiled at Damian, who grumbled but acquiesced. “Go ahead and have an early night, dude. You look beat.”

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Damian said, already sitting down and spreading maps on the table. Dick, not wanting to annoy him further when he’d basically forced Damian to stay for the rest of the night, made haste to join him.

When they’d gathered the full picture of the events of the night, he frowned. “What I can’t figure out is: Where did they get those supplies from? There does not seem to be a single origin point.”

“Hmm.” Damian was chewing on a pen again. It was adorable. “Flyover?”

“No planes detected.” Dick rechecked the flight radars.

“Plenty of people know how to hide from our equipment. You said it yourself: Someone paid a lot of money to stir up this much trouble.”

“We would’ve noticed the packages, though.”

Damian nodded, conceding the point. “Water?”

“The river is meant to be well-guarded…” Dick’s voice trailed off, and they both sighed at the same time.

“We should go over the guard postings; check for suspicious activity.”

Engrossed as he way with their discussion, Dick barely noticed Tim and Jason leaving, only calling a cursory ‘Take care!’ after them before Damian demanded his attention again. Eventually, they had to begin writing their reports, though, and Dick concentrated on his laptop to do so. The silence was comfortable, and time flew by.

Damian silently vanished at some point, returning some minutes later with a plate of cookies and two mugs full of steaming hot chocolate. It smelled heavenly.

Dick smiled up at him as he took the mug—his favorite superman one, he noted. “Thank you.”

Damian didn’t smile back, but there was a slant to his mouth that told Dick he was pleased. When the other sat down again, he did so right next to Dick on the bench, their thighs touching. “Show me the surveillance video again.”

“Of course.”

Dick was pretty sure Damian had it on his computer, but maybe not. Not like he was going to deny the opportunity to be this close to Damian. Bruce was away, after all. And even if he checked the surveillance footage from the cave, what was there to see? It wasn’t like he was doing anything untoward, Dick told himself. He just took a little more comfort from being close to Damian than he did when it was any of his other siblings, that was all.

Their heads were bent over the video for almost an hour; neither broke focus up until a new figure entered the cave.

“Morning, Duke.” Dick waved at the newcomer.

“Hi, guys. How was the breakout?”

“Fine. We handled it.” Damian seemed annoyed. Dick didn’t know why; he’d been fine until just now, and he and Duke usually got along well in their own way.

Duke seemed unfazed, merely looking around. “Where’re the reds?”

“They’re fine,” Dick reassured him. “Just headed out already.”

“Let me guess.” Duke’s voice was dry. “They’re feeding each other waffles.”

“I think it’s pancakes today.” Damian matched him in tone, and Dick chuckled.  

“Let them have some fun, eh? At least Tim gets fed this way.”

“Too. Much. Flirting.” Duke shook his head and moved to the back of the cave, presumably getting ready for his shift.

When Dick looked up, Damian was staring at him in a way Dick had never seen before. He felt himself flush, wanted to ask—but Duke returned with his uniform and a question about the new batarangs, Damian looked away, and the moment passed.

Four

“If he’s coming to Wayne functions now, we might as well make Jason officially a part of the family again.”

Dick did his best to smile at Tim reassuringly, unsure if this was Tim’s way of floating the idea of Jason being reintroduced to the public as his boyfriend. Playing it safe, he pointed out: “Bruce doesn’t know how to ask, and he thinks Jason will say no.”

“He might not.”

Of course he wouldn’t, not if Tim asked him to. Jason was so whipped. Dick wasn’t kidding himself: If Tim hadn’t been complaining for weeks about having to attend this event, Jason wouldn’t be here. He was even making nice with some socialites to give Tim a break, for God’sGod’s sake.

Dick let his gaze wander over to where he’d last spotted Jason and flinched when he saw that Damian had joined him.

Their youngest had been late; out on a call as Flamebird. Dick was sure it had been important and all that, but he didn’t think it warranted him being deprived of this sight for so long.

If Dick liked seeing him in the batsuit, Damian in formal wear was… The dramatic lines of Damian’s suit, a close approximation of the styles his maternal family favored, made him look like royalty.  

The people around him seemed to think so, too. There was a woman at Damian’s elbow, laughing and touching his shoulder whenever he spoke. The man across from him couldn’t tear his gaze away, either, visibly undressing Damian in his mind.

Dick kind of wanted to punch him. Or better, yet: Go over and show them that Damian was supposed to be his, mark him and dishevel him and have him look at no one else; let him do the same to show that Dick belonged to Damian in return.

His hands went to his own throat without any conscious input, pressing into bruises that weren’t there. For cover, he loosened his tie, clearing his throat as if to force himself to breathe normally.

When he dragged his thoughts back to his own conversation, he saw that Tim, too, was staring at the group with hunger in his face. For a second, he felt an unexpected kinship with his brother, the urge to share what was plaguing him growing strong—but no.

He just couldn’t.

“Well, you would know better than anyone else,” he absently pointed out the obvious instead.

“I know that if he keeps throwing Damian to the wolves like that, he won’t live long enough to answer Bruce.”

Dick laughed. “Aww, you know Damian only means his death threats 30% of the time these days. Still, I’ll go rescue him. Coming?”

Tim waved him off, and as Dick advanced on the group, he noticed Jason peeling off. Well, about time. Jason had left Tim’s side for a whole twenty minutes already, surely a new record. Dick had no idea how those two thought they were being subtle.

Even before he began to speak, he felt Damian looking at him.

All attention was welcome to Dick, but being the focus of Damian’s… It was like no one else existed to him but Dick, and Dick craved that feeling more than anything in the world. Damian, he knew, judged everything and everyone. Being regarded like that and still found worthy was headier than any wine.

Buoyed by the feeling, he turned his best smile at the group: “Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, but I need to steal Damian away from you for a few minutes. Our host has been asking for him.”

Damian nodded gravely, turning to leave immediately. There was a fleeting touch to Dick’s elbow that spoke of thanks for extracting him from the situation.

He himself stayed for some minutes before making his own excuses, vaguely ambling back towards the buffet. It never hurt to look drunker than any of them would allow themselves to be at this kind of event.

The sound of laughter drew his eyes to the dance floor.

Jason and Tim were dancing. If Dick tilted his head at a thirty-two-degree angle and squinted just so, he could call it a quickstep. They looked ridiculous; two very-grown men, twirling each other like they were delicate princesses and giggling the entire time.

And yet.

There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. He’s never been someone to hide his love. If Damian were his, he’d want to proclaim it openly and proudly, just like Jason and Tim were doing now.

They never could. Even if, by some miracle, Damian returned his feelings, they were siblings in the eyes of the world. There was no coming back from that.

“They’re making a spectacle of themselves.”

Dick shivered. He hadn’t noticed Damian coming up behind him. Now the warmth against his back and Damian’s low whisper against his ear were unmistakable.

Damian had grown so tall, almost towering over Dick; tall enough that he could rest his chin on the top of Dick’s head, and for one long moment Dick thought he might do precisely that, pull Dick into him by the hips and envelop him so fully—

But Damian cleared his throat and stepped back. Dick swayed on his feet, shame and arousal burning in his stomach in equal measure.

Immediately, Damian’s hand was on his elbow, steadying him with care most would not suspect him capable of. Dick leaned into it gratefully before he knew what he was doing.

Christ. He needed to get out of there.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m not feeling so well,” Dick blurted out, immediately wincing at how obvious a lie it was.

Incredibly, though, Damian let him get away with it. He merely looked over to Jason and Tim, and nodded as if he understood; though what it was he understood, Dick didn’t know. “Do you require assistance? I will call Pennyworth, let him know you are coming.”

Great, and now Dick felt terrible for making Damian worry.

“No, it’s fine.” He smiled, hoping it was convincing. “I just need to get some rest, I think.”

“Take the night off,” Damian ordered. “We will cover for you at the office.”

There was nothing for Dick to do but agree. Maybe a night off would help him get his shit together. Ever since he confided in Jason and found out about his relationship with Tim, his mood had gotten worse. A good night of sleep could only improve things.

Impossible as it was, he felt Damian’s gaze on him all the way home.

Five

“Damian is back,” Tim told them through the coms. “Everything is set up for tomorrow.”

“Alright. Get some sleep, babybird.”

Jason’s voice was so soft. Something in Dick ached, listening to it.

That was the one good thing to come out of this mess: being privileged to see this side of Jason. Dick had to admit to himself that he hadn’t let himself see it before.

Still, he wouldn’t be Jason’s older brother if he didn’t tease him: “Getting all sappy on me, are you?”

“Excuse me?”

The genuine confusion on Jason’s face was hilarious. “Babybird.”

“Oh, that.” Jason tried to shrug it off. “Just a nickname.”

“You’re so sweet.”

Jason grumbled to himself. “Watch yourself, or next time I’ll let you act the loving couple with Damian.”

Images rose unbidden in Dick’s mind. Damian smiling down at him, pulling him into his arms at the reception, pressing a kiss into his neck… And then later, Damian shirtless, looming over Dick, caging him in, looking for all the world as if he wanted to devour him…

Dick swallowed. Maybe Jason had a point.

They got ready for bed in comfortable silence. At least it wasn’t awkward being half-naked around the other anymore. Dick was pretty sure there was a gun taped underneath Jason’s nightstand, but at least he was polite enough to hide it.

They slid under the covers, though neither of them turned off the string of fairy lights that were probably supposed to add to the romantic atmosphere. As it was, lovers staying up all night was exactly the image they wanted to create, so it served their purpose.

Still neither of them slept, too alert to their surroundings. Dick was content to just lie here, maybe doze off a bit, until morning came.

Then Jason inhaled and rolled over to his side. “No, you know what, I’m gonna ask. Why are you not hitting on the brat again?”

Dumbfounded, Dick sputtered: “Because—reasons!”

“What reasons?”

Jason sounded genuinely curious, and it felt like the kind of thing you shared with your brother, or maybe, a friend. The thought lifted Dick up enough to finally voice the thoughts in his head every night.

“He’s a lot younger than me.”

“Always knew you would turn into a cougar,” Jason teased, but there was nothing mean about it. “Seriously, Damian knows his own mind. He’s not underage, or even close to it. Somehow I don’t think you were attracted to him when he was a teen.”

Dick thought of Damian as a particularly gangly teenager and grimaced. “No.”

“Let me guess—realized one day that he’s a man now and boom, there were all these feelings?”

Dick smiled at him. “Was it like that for you and Tim?”

“Not really. I always saw him as an equal, even when I shouldn’t have,” Jason admitted.

Dick sometimes forgot that Jason was only four years older than Tim. When he’d come back from the dead, he’d been a grown man to Dick (and, he suspected, Bruce,) not a nineteen-year-old. Trying to kill everyone and start a criminal empire did that to you.

“You both got over that, though.”

“Yeah, I guess we did.” Was that a blush spreading over Jason’s cheeks?

It was funny. For all that he was encouraging Dick to open up to him, Jason didn’t seem all that used to talking about his own feelings.

“Anyway,” Jason deflected, “I know you fucked people much older than you, so that’s not the only reason. Neither are the murderous in-laws, though they frankly should be. So what’s holding you back?”

“He’s my brother. I know Bruce wanted me to be his brother.”

Jason considered the point. “Are you actually morally concerned, or is it mostly about not wanting to fail in Bruce’s eyes?”

“The latter,” Dick admitted. It was difficult to explain. He considered both Jason and Tim his brothers, yet ne he wasn’t bothered by them dating at all. With Damian, there was a strong feeling of loyalty, similar to that of a family member, but the love itself had changed. And theirs was a peculiar family, anyway. Roy had often joked that dating another vigilante was a little incestuous because of how small a group they were. Maybe it was no wonder that shit was all getting mixed up in his head.

So that was… fine. Weird, but fine. Dick could rationalize that to himself. But failing Bruce? Even after all these years, all those arguments, the thought still made him physically recoil.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but: There’s nothing you could do that would make that man love you any less.”

And Dick could see that hurt to admit, the ‘unlike me’ unspoken but present, so he joked weakly: “Oh, please, we all know Duke’s his favorite.”

Jason looked grateful, but he persisted: “I mean it, though. Why do you regard Damian as more Bruce’s son than the rest of you? Don’t tell me it’s the blood thing, because we both know that’s utter bullshit.”

Dick didn’t have an answer for that.

“You know there’s an easy way to settle this, right?” Jason asks when Dick didn’t speak. Throwing the blanket off, he got up and rooted through his suitcase. Dick watched as he pulled out his laptop and declared: “We’ll just call Bruce.”

Dick sat up in alarm. “You’re going to bother Bruce in the middle of a JL mission to ask about—this?”

Jason shrugged, though he couldn’t fool Dick. His neck muscles were tense. “Damian’s gonna kill me tomorrow anyway; I have nothing to lose.”

“Why would Damian kill you?” Dick felt very lost.

“No reason, Dickiebird, no reason.”

Dick decided to ignore that, and Jason’s amused tone, to focus on the important thing here. “We can’t call Bruce. He’s on another planet, and anyway, there’s no need—”

“Look, you want me to talk to him? I could ask him.”

Dick couldn’t think of a single less subtle thing for them to do. Bruce would know Dick was listening right away, and if not, as soon as he checked their mission log when he returned.

Maybe that was Jason’s point, though. Was he really going to keep hiding this?

Dick took a deep breath. “I’ll call.”

When Jason slid the laptop over to him, he looked almost proud.

It seemed like ages until the connection was set up. Finally, Batman’s familiar cowl appeared on the screen.

“Nightwing,” Bruce’s voice was crackly with static, but the concern was audible. “What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Dick reassured him. “I hope. Just. Do you have a sec?”

Bruce looked torn. Dick saw Jason twitch and guessed he was tempted to interfere, to tell Bruce this was important. Pity that neither of them could be sure if that would help or hinder.

In the end, Bruce nodded.

It was, perhaps, a good thing Bruce seemed to be pressed for time. There was no way for Dick to prevaricate; he had to come straight out with it: “I think I’m in love with Damian.”

And then he held his breath as he waited for Bruce to lecture him.  

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “I trust you and have no reason to doubt your choice in partners. I trust Damian to know what he wants, too. Please don’t hold back on my account.” He paused. “Just… don’t tell me any details.”

It was a terrible joke, but Dick laughed nonetheless.

He couldn’t be sure, but there was a sound in the background that sounded like an explosion. Bruce looked away from the screen for a moment. “I have to go. Be safe.”

“Thank you,” Dick told him, sincerely.

Bruce shook his head. “Not for that.” The connection closed.

The room was quiet as Dick tried to digest the fact that one of his top ten fears (after, you know, everyone dying) had been laid to rest in the span of five minutes, just like that. What did you even say?

“That went better than expected,” he finally settled on. “Thank you.”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, look, there are a few trauma points he can’t deal with it—” he pointed at himself, then shaped a gun with his fingers, “but he’s a detective. He knew and had plenty of time to chew it over. That speech was practiced to hell and back. You probably just released him from the misery of wondering how the fuck to bring it up with you.”

Dick chuckled. If it sounded a bit wet still, neither of them mentioned it.

“Also—I like the kid, I do,” Jason said, “but we’re all glad if he doesn’t end up with a civilian.”

It felt different, seeing Damian now that Dick was allowing himself to hope, to want. He had no idea if Damian would even be receptive, had never allowed himself to consider the notion before. When they all met in the cave after the mission had ended, Dick let himself smile at Damian openly, full of delight at being able to do so without wondering what would be caught on camera.

Damian didn’t smile back. He grabbed Dick by the arm, scowling, and told him: “We’re leaving.”

“What about the—” Jason began to ask, but Damian was already dragging Dick away.

Resistance seemed futile. He shot an apologetic glance at Jason, who waved him off, looking way too amused.

It was only when they were alone that Damian let go of Dick, glaring daggers at him and the world, but not speaking. Dick patiently waited him out. Damian would tell him what was eating him, or he wouldn’t. No prodding in the world would speed up the process.

“Why Todd,” Damian finally demanded to know.

Dick frowned. Apparently, Jason’s statement about him and Damian getting along hadn’t been truthful. Well, after all that Jason had done for him last night, and the weeks before that, he wasn’t going to just let Damian question his place. “He has proven himself an able and trustworthy partner on these missions.”

“I’m not talking about the mission,” Damian hissed.

“Then what—”

But now that he had begun, Damian wouldn’t stop talking. “I don’t understand. You were looking at me, and I thought maybe—finally—but then there was Todd, and I don’t want you to be in love with him. He’s going hurt you. What does he have that I don’t? Tell me and I will change it.”

Oh. Oh.

“Damian,” Dick couldn’t help but smile as he reached out to touch Damian’s arm, “I’m not in love with Jason. He’s with Tim.”

Dick hadn’t realized how tense Damian had been until that tension left him to be replaced with hope: “You’re not in love with Todd?”

“I’m not.”

Damian’s other hand rose to cover Dick’s. “Then—”

“Yes.” Dick knew his feelings must have been written all over his face. He didn’t care. “Yes.”

Damian made a sound like a sob and bend down to kiss him.

Dick’s plan: Test the waters. See if Damian was interested at all. Maybe start some slow romancing if there was hope.

Dick’s reality: He was swept away by the force of Damian’s kiss. It was unpracticed, to be sure, but there could be no doubts about the feelings behind it. Damian’s hand on his cheek spoke of devotion, his teeth on Dick’s lip of passion, and his eyes were on Dick’s the whole time, never once looking away.

It was being devoured, and Dick loved it.

And One Time He Wasn’t

Unsurprisingly, Dick didn’t get to do much work that day. Or the next. When they finally emerged from their rooms to debrief with Tim and Jason, he was feeling stiff and bruised in the best of ways. To his surprise, Damian pulled him close as they walked, his hand heavy on Dick’s hip. Dick melted into him, pulling him close in turn.

Now that he had it, Dick didn’t know how he could have denied the two of them this feeling for so long.

Thus tightly wound, they entered the cave—and stopped. It took a second for the image to sink in: Jason was sitting in Tim’s lap, their fingers linked in front of his stomach.

Like so many things with those two, it should’ve been funny—Tim was by no means tiny, but he was considerably smaller than Jason. Instead, it looked right.

Jason grinned at him. “So. We’re together now.”

Dick, still high on the events of the last day, said: “Oh, how nice.” Then: “Wait, you weren’t before?”

Tim groaned and hid his face in Jason’s back, only the red of his ears still visible. Jason, however, didn’t look embarrassed at all, just distinctly unimpressed. “Dick. Are you telling me these two geniuses thought the two of us were dating, while you thought I was already dating Tim?”

Dick blinked. “Tim thought that too?”

“That’s it,” Jason said, “I’m revoking your detective licenses. All of you.”

[psychadelickate]

House MD - House: Dad

Title: Dad Word Count: 1452 Fandom: House MD Pairing: None Characters: House. readerDaughter Rating: Teen Gif: Not Mine Requested: Anonymous Prompt: Okay i have a request for House Md. Could you please write something about being Houses daughter?

You’re seated at the last booth in the coffee shop. At this late hour, the place is empty, leaving your favorite seat unoccupied. Your table is littered with books and papers and your iPad is somewhere in the mess, but it doesn’t concern you right now. What does, is the Jane’s expression as she walks up to your booth. “(Y/N), the usual?” she asks and you nod your head. You’ve been coming to this place ever since you can remember, Jane coming to get you when your dad couldn’t. Jane is tall, dark haired, loud, warm and brown eyed and though she looks nothing like you, people often mistake her for your mom.  “How about you, honey?” she asks your best friend, who simply smiles at Jane and tells her she’s good with anything.  You both go back to the assignment due the next week after Jane leaves the two of you at the table. Both of you immersed in the files, you only look up when a gaggle of women enter the coffee shop and settle at the table closest to you.  They’re all well dressed, composed and older and you don’t need to guess they’re doctors here for the conference.  “So, what’s it feel like to be back in Princeton?” you hear one of the women ask another and you resist the urge to look up and eyeball them.  “It’s different,” comes the reply.  “And how do you think he’s going to react when he sees you’re in town?” comes the next question.  You guess she shrugs in answer because there’s no verbal one.  “Do you really think House has changed? He’s a drug addict. Brilliant and world renowned, there’s no getaway from that, but still a drug addict,” comes another voice and this time you feel your face flame. 

“And let’s not forget the kid that he got dumped with. Drug addicted father, mother who abandoned her. Who knows how she’s turned out?”  It’s too much for you to hear, and so you pack up your stuff with not much care. The world around you blurs for a second though it clears when you blink, but blurs up soon after and it takes you a little while to realise you’re silently crying.  You heave your backpack and walk out just as Jane walks to the table, plates in hand. You don’t have the strength or heart to tell her what you’ve just heard. You’re not sure where you want to go, but you find yourself on the forth floor of PPTH, walking toward your dad’s office. He’s in the middle of a diagnosing session with his ducklings but he sees you through the window and stops the session when he sees your expression.  He looks mutinous.  “Who,” he asks and you know he wants to know who’s responsible for the tear-tracks on your cheeks.  You look at the man before you, take him in, and you can’t equate him with the person those vile women were describing at the coffee shop.  Sure, your dad has pain issues with his leg; he’s never hidden that from you and with Uncle Wilson’s help he’s been able to manage the pain, somewhat. Yes, some days are worse than others, but you’ve never seen him popping pain pills, or injecting himself with opioids to forget about his pain.  What you see when you look at the man looking back at you is your dad. Your hero… Uncle Wilson often told you that you were the reason your dad become such a party-pooper and you always laughed it off but now… now you’re thinking about it.  Chase had talked about poker nights at the apartment, but you don’t remember living in an apartment and all the pictures of you since you were born were taken at the house you and your dad currently live in. Poker nights moved to your new home and boys nights decreased. You often heard Chase and Wilson complaining that your dad never joined them, but House always told you it was because he wanted to spend time with people he actually liked… Despite his leg pain, your dad was the one who taught you to ride a bike, without the training wheels. He was the one who cleaned and treated bruised and bloodied knees. He’d been the one to calm you down when you’d fractured your wrist falling off the monkey bars in the fifth grade and assured you it was fine to get a sky blue hard cast even though the nurse tried convincing you blue was for boys. Cooking, baking cupcakes, piano and guitar lessons were quality time he made available for you.  He was also the one who terrorised your dates if he didn’t like them, and to his credit, he was correct about ninety-five percent of the boys and thirty percent of the girls. You loved that he grilled them endlessly about their intentions toward with and with you, even though you made a show of protesting his behaviour in front of said dates. Your interest and love for medicine came from him. He was always explaining things to you, making learning as exciting he could for you and appreciated it. There was nothing your dad didn’t know or couldn’t do… “(Y/N),” you hear him call you though before you can answer his phone starts to ring.  You see the screen light up with Jane’s picture and you have no doubt she’s relating the coffee shop events to him… His expression changes from concerned to furious as Jane talks and you’re grateful his attention is off you for a few minutes.  The sound of heels clacking on the vinyl flooring gets your attention and you turn to see one of the women from the coffee shop walking toward your dad’s office.  The silence at her presence is deafening. Your dad’s ducklings have stopped quarrelling at are looking in shock at the woman. You’re clearly missing something here and its obviously something big.  “House,” she greets, but your dad is livid. You don’t have to hear his voice to know it, you can see it in his eyes.  “You need to leave,” he tells her and you note he hasn’t addressed her by name. Your dad’s anger doesn’t scare her and she continues talking as though he never asked her to leave.  “I want to see her,” the woman says.  “No.” There’s no explanation or reason.  “She’s mine too,” the woman says and the anger that your dad has been holding in blows out.  “Yours? Yours? Are you kidding me? You left her when she was three days old. Couldn’t wait to leave her on my doorstep because you didn’t want to have kids with a drug addict. And you needed to focus on your career. If she’s yours too, where were you when she had fevers that wouldn’t break for days, or when she cut her first tooth, or when she took her first steps or even said her first word? Where were you in the first grade when she had to do an oral presentation about her mother and she had no idea what to say, because she doesn’t know what having a mother feels like,” House is on a roll.  “You weren’t there!” he booms. “House,” the woman tries, but he’s done.  “For fifteen years you’ve missed every one of her milestones, every important event in her life, so no, you don’t get to meet her. She might have biologically inherited some genes from you, but everything else comes from me. She’s mine,” you hear your dad say.  And then just as suddenly as it started you see the fight leave your dad. He looks exhausted and older than he really is.  “Actually, she’s old enough to make her own choices so (Y/N) if you want to meet your mother and spend time with her, that’s up to you,” he tells you.  You, however, have no intention of doing so. Not when wounds are so raw and she’s hurt your dad so badly.  “I think you need to leave. And you can tell your posse of friends my dad isn’t a drug addict,” you tell her as you walk to your dad and hold onto his forearm.  He’s been your one constant in life and you’re not letting go of him anytime soon. Not for anything.  “It’s always been dad and I and I’m okay with that. We’ve done okay without you for fifteen years…” you don’t need to complete your sentence, she gets the meaning of it.  Your heart hurts at the sight of tears in her eyes, but you stay strong. That’s the most important lesson you’ve learnt from your dad…

Tag-list: @kyky9103 @diaryofafan17 @wefracturedmotivation @yeetmetohim @manicmarsupial @cameronmonaghantrashaf If you’d like to be tagged, let me know More house MD here

[jaymendell]

Every Road Will Lead You Home (29)

prompt: day twenty-nine prompt | @thenightofthelivingwriters​

if you have a prompt you would like to link/suggest to me, please do!

When Tobias opens his eyes and finds that he is a bird yet again, he isn't even surprised. This has become the norm, now.

What is perhaps more surprising is the fact that he is on fire.

Tobias squawks, tumbling off his perch in a flurry of feathers, only barely managing to stop himself from crashing headfirst into the ground. A moment later, he realizes that he is, perhaps, meant to be on fire, and feels a profound sense of embarrassment.

This embarrassment only compounds when he hears a light giggle, and Tobias glances over to see a woman watching him in amusement.

"Firebird, you've made quite a fool of yourself," she says, smirking, only for her expression to falter a moment later. "Not that I'm any better."

She turns away, clearly not expecting a reply, but Tobias has assimilated the memories of his host, and he knows exactly how the two of them have come to be locked in this gilded cage.

"Who's the bigger fool?" he croaks out, voice surprisingly deep for the small vessel he is inhabiting. "The bird in a cage, or the woman in a wedding gown?"

Princess Vasilisa instantly spins around, her face made into a mask of fury.

"You think I want this?" she snarls. "You think I want to be stolen from my Kingdom, kept as a prize for some stupid old man who couldn't even catch me himself? At least the Knight was able to use his own cleverness to beat me, though I despise the methods."

Tobias sniffs, moving to resettle himself onto his perch.

"Don't be mistaken. That Knight is stupid too–his horse is the one telling him what to do. Literally."

Vasilisa blinks, and then sighs heavily, cradling her head in her hands.

"Oh, why am I not surprised," she mutters.

"You did tell them that your wedding gown was in the deep ocean," Tobias says.

"And they believed me," Vasilisa concedes. "I suppose that should have been the first sign."

"I'm more surprised that they actually found a dress, and in your size no less." Tobias is, perhaps, having too much fun with this, but the situation is just so patently ridiculous that he can't help himself.

Vasilisa shoots him an impressive glare, and he just knows that she's itching to shoot him full of arrows. Vasilisa is tall and muscled, and looks rather ridiculous in the puffy gown they've stuffed her in, but Tobias knows that her strength is no illusion, so he obediently quiets down.

"I won't marry the King," she announces mutinously.

"No, you won't," Tobias agrees. "You'll marry the Knight instead."

That gets a reaction, Vasilisa visibly pulling back.

"What?" she says, giving him a dubious look. "He's no King. He has no authority. If the King died, I wouldn't just marry some random nobody."

"Well, presumably you would have married him willingly, as you have miraculously fallen in love with the man who kidnapped you," Tobias answers.

When Vasilisa stares at him flatly, he can only shrug.

"That's just the way it goes," he says honestly. If these happy endings made sense, he wouldn't be here in the first place.

"Not for me," Vasilisa says, lifting her head. She looks him in the eye, approaching his cage. "And not for you either, I expect."

"Do you have the key?" Tobias says sardonically. "If not, don't bother. I'll outlive everyone in this palace, so I'll get free someday. Take care of yourself first."

"I don't need a key."

Then, with very little effort, she rips off the iron door to his cage, dropping it carelessly on the ground next to her.

"...Ah," Tobias says, reevaluating his life choices. "Shall we be off, then?"

Vasilisa smiles–it's a beautiful, terrifying thing. "We shall."

...

russian fairytales are super fun! and vasilisa reminds me a lot of grannonia... i think i might have a type. tobias certainly does, anyway. hope you all enjoyed, and lemme know what you think! coming up on the ending!! <3

tag for this series | my ko-fi

[ckret2]

anon: Something for TFP StarWaveWave conspiracy AU you talked about on tumblr?

I would like to personally thank this ko-fi commissioner for ensuring that I was incapable of thinking about anything else at all today; and secondarily thank @kurxo​ for accidentally indirectly inspiring this by drawing Starscream being friendly with Soundwave and Shockwave. Fic based on that fanart and some posts I made a few days ago about a potential Starscream + Soundwave + Shockwave conspiracy to overthrow Megatron; this fic is a setup for how such an alliance could come to be. The related posts are tagged #starwavewave conspiracy

If he’d stopped to think about it beforehand, Soundwave would have expected the hardest part of starting a mutinous conspiracy to be convincing himself that he wanted to help Starscream to overthrow Megatron. Certainly, that was the slowest part. Convincing Shockwave had been much easier. But no—it turned out that the trickiest bit of the whole thing was convincing Starscream that he wanted to overthrow Megatron.

###

“Thank You For Listening, Soundwave”

###

"Legend tells that it holds the power to revive the dead," Starscream said.

Megatron replied, "We require only a cadaver to be certain. Are you willing to make the ultimate sacrifice?" and Starscream cringed away from him, laughing nervously, deflecting the question.

Soundwave recorded.

Soundwave hadn't realized until that moment that so much of what he disliked about Starscream was how he shrank and shriveled and cowered in fear.

He hadn't realized until that moment that—even faced by the most highly-trained Autobot guerrilla force in history, by energon shortages and hungry soldiers, by carving out secret strongholds for the Decepticons on an alien world—he hadn't seen Starscream cringe once in the last three years.

Until now.

###

"Megatron's greatest mistake was ever allowing you to live, Prime!"

It was true. Soundwave didn't like the thought of Megatron making mistakes—but when he allowed himself to dwell on his leader's flaws...

Watching a dozen camera feeds from a bank of screens on the Nemesis, Soundwave recorded. He recorded, spark rising in hope and disbelief and delight, as Starscream dove toward the defenseless Prime. He recorded, spark sinking back down into the dark, as Megatron intercepted Starscream before he could destroy their greatest enemy.

He recorded.

"But the Autobots—Optimus—right there, waiting for you!"

“My greatest mistake? I've made a few. But there is one I do not intend to make again!”

That should have been how Megatron announced that he was correcting his mistake by ensuring that the Prime did not live.

When that wasn’t what Megatron did, for a moment Soundwave didn’t understand.

He turned a camera toward the Prime, who was helpless and totally ignored. He turned another toward Megatron, hauling away the Decepticon that had nearly killed the Prime to thrash him instead.

Soundwave had a good idea how Starscream had earned Megatron's wrath. He told himself that Starscream deserved this beating. He told himself that it was a punishment proportionate to his crime.

He told himself this to avoid wondering why Starscream was a higher priority than their greatest enemy.

"N-no! Master!"

The Decepticons rose up to throw off their chains. Soundwave wondered why they called Megatron "master."

###

"I have been a fool. Made mistakes. Monumental ones. I now realize I was never destined to be leader, or even an equal partner. And, I am at peace with that. I have gained a clear understanding of my place in the universe. Of who I am. Of who I was always meant to be. Starscream: second in command, humble servant to Lord Megatron."

At Starscream's request, Soundwave recorded.

Soundwave told himself that this was as it should be, that this was something Starscream needed to learn. He tried to ignore the bitterness rising in his throat at Starscream's resignation to servitude.

The Decepticons rose up to escape servitude.

He told himself he only felt bitter because he knew Starscream was probably lying. He tried to ignore the slight comfort he felt at the thought that Starscream might still be hiding a defiant spark.

"Thank you for listening, Soundwave."

No one ever thanked Soundwave for listening.

###

"I know you can hear me."

Starscream's fugitive voice floated like a ghost through the halls of the Nemesis. Yes, at the other end of the labyrinth of halls, Soundwave could hear him.

"I'm only hungry. All I’ve come for is fuel. Merely a few cubes." He was so, so quiet. "Please, I beg of you, do not betray me. Recall how many millions of years we have been fellow officers—I'm sure I've never said it, but I truly hold you in the greatest esteem, and were the situation reversed I would certainly not betray you. And remember who gained you—gained all of us—that energon."

Soundwave thought of all the energon mines Starscream had located and established in three years, and all the mines Megatron had lost in half that time.

Soundwave thought of how they had convinced themselves that Starscream would be easy to replace; and how his replacement had challenged Soundwave to a fight, something Starscream had never dared nor desired to do, even when they had disagreed during Megatron’s long absence.

Soundwave thought of how Megatron had come home with Orion Pax unharmed and protected; and just as easily as Starscream, Soundwave had been replaced.

Soundwave recorded Starscream's whispered plea. And he told no one.

###

When a whole flock of Starscreams crept on board, and one whispered into the air, "I am, of course, still grateful for last time," again he recorded, and again he told no one.

When the flock attacked Megatron, Soundwave still wasn't entirely sure he'd made the wrong decision.

###

"Do not ever make me regret which one of you I spared."

Soundwave recorded.

So many of Megatron's recent changes to the chain of command seemed to be a notable step down. Airachnid over Starscream. Orion Pax over Soundwave.

Choosing Starscream over Dreadwing would have been a step up, if it had been the Starscream who led them calmly and competently for three years, shrewdly preserving their numbers and bolstering their fuel reserves, quietly respecting Soundwave’s competence and perspective even as he loudly complained about his specific opinions. But this broken, scared thing, who seemed more interested in winning Megatron's approval than winning the war, was just another step down.

Strange, but Soundwave hadn't thought Starscream had seemed so broken when he came home with the Omega Keys.

He reviewed his recordings.

###

"What should I call my new domain? New Kaon? Or perhaps 'Gilded Earth.'"

Soundwave recorded as the Prime sliced off Megatron's arm.

He recorded as the Prime’s blade swung down into the Omega Lock, so close that Soundwave could have reached out and touched it.

He recorded from where he had crashed to the ground as Cybertron's one hope of resurrection vanished in a ball of flame.

He recorded because he was too horrified to look away.

When Soundwave was on his feet again, too dazed from the blast and from sudden grief to begin to think about what to do next, he drifted, automatically, to stand at Starscream's back.

It was Starscream who snapped to his senses and seized control of the situation. Starscream who commanded Knock Out, "Attend to our master. He requires medical attention!" Starscream who sought the Autobots just in time to watch them retreat, and snarled, "Prime! He will pay for dooming Cybertron to remain a lifeless husk." Starscream who put a voice to the rage Soundwave couldn't speak. Starscream who, Soundwave realized, easily buckled under the threat of pressure, but always stood strong once it was actually applied—as he stood strong now.

It was Megatron who laughed. Megatron who said, "They can run, but they can never again run home." Megatron who spoke like he thought this was a victory.

Soundwave felt like he was standing at the correct mech's back.

###

Soundwave played back his recordings over and over. Megatron's every moment of charisma and heroism, his every moment of spite and malice. Starscream's every moment of cunning and caution, his every moment of self-doubt and self-interest.

Soundwave was grieving for Cybertron. He knew that. He wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't know whether his shaken loyalties were founded in a fair assessment of the current state of Decepticon leadership, or in the frustrated feeling that everything was slowly falling apart. Despite their new stronghold on Earth and the scattering of the Autobot forces, he felt like they were on the losing side. He feared he was being irrational.

But he didn't know what he alone could do to figure out the rational course of action. So he did what he'd always done: remain silent.

"I find myself in urgent need of good news, so please, Knock Out, tell me that you found something useful."

"Some things, my liege. And someone."

Enter the most rational mech Soundwave had ever met.

###

“But you will be pleased to know that I avenged your seeming demise by personally terminating the Autobot Cliffjumper.”

“Careful, Starscream. You may dislocate a landing gear patting yourself on the back.”

Soundwave found himself, again, standing just behind Starscream. When Megatron had been gone, he’d stood at Starscream’s back for years without thinking about it. Now that Megatron was back and he could compare, he was finding himself more and more comfortable standing at Starscream’s side than Megatron’s, and he could not quite identify why.

When they had left the room, Shockwave turned to Soundwave. “I am certain Starscream did not go out of his way to avenge me.”

Soundwave gave him a slight nod.

“Then if he performed, as it were, a mere incidental execution, why does he consider it so notable that he killed Cliffjumper?”

Soundwave displayed a graph on his face, with a label identifying it as a chart of every Autobot the Decepticons had killed since coming to Earth. The graph was empty. He zoomed in on the only month with a bar displaying a kill count higher than zero: one.

“Ah,” Shockwave said. “So he’s the only one who’s gotten anything done on Earth.”

Soundwave was relieved Shockwave thought so too.

###

From the exit to the flight deck, Shockwave watched as Starscream argued futilely with Predaking, who continued to do absolutely nothing that he ordered.

Soundwave lurked behind him and echoed Megatron’s words. “‘Starscream, assume command of my beast.’ ‘Starscream! You have failed me enough for one day.’”

“No, he hasn’t met with any success.” Shockwave turned slightly to glance at Soundwave. “But you wouldn’t expend the effort to point out something obvious like that.”

Soundwave shook his head; no, he wouldn’t. No, that wasn’t his intended meaning. He tried to rearrange the statement. “‘Starscream! You have failed me enough for one day.’ ‘Starscream, assume command of my beast.’” Was that clear enough? “‘You have failed me’—‘assume command.’”

Shockwave tilted his head back as he puzzled over Soundwave’s meaning. “It is possible that Megatron anticipated Starscream’s failure before giving him the order?”

Soundwave nodded.

“Rather… self-defeating,” Shockwave said. “You think Megatron is deliberately sabotaging one of his first lieutenants.”

“‘It is possible.’”

“I have not witnessed Megatron displaying such self-destructive tendencies.”

“‘Wouldn’t expend the effort to point out something obvious.’”

“Hm. True.” Shockwave watched silently for a moment as Starscream shrieked and cowered back from the Predacon’s enraged snarl. “You’ve been here longer than I. And see more than most. I will observe Megatron closely.”

Soundwave bowed his head. “‘Thank you for listening.’”

###

"Soundwave. May I speak with you about our energon supplies? There appears to be a significant discrepancy in our record keeping."

Soundwave nodded warily to Shockwave, already wondering what new crisis they were about to face.

"For over two years, our quantity of energon mines—and, correspondingly, output of energon—has steadily declined. However, records indicate that our store of reserves has remained consistent. Do you know the reason?"

Soundwave slowly shook his head. He couldn't imagine. Who would tamper with the records? Surely he would have noticed any unauthorized meddling. And he could see their energon stores on his cameras; now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember noticing that they were any lower than usual. Yet they should be. Were his cameras compromised?

"Strange," Shockwave said mildly. "I will investigate further and update you on my findings."

When Shockwave found Soundwave later, he was pouring over old computer logs, looking for any indication that anybody had touched the inventory system who shouldn't have.

"I have found the reason for your consistent energon stores," Shockwave said. “Our Eradicon fatality rate has remained inversely proportionate to our energon production rate, such that the dwindling amount of fuel available to consume and the dwindling amount of soldiers consuming it have remained roughly equal."

Soundwave nodded, then remained still until Shockwave had moved on.

He punched a hole through his computer monitor.

For the first time in his life, he deleted some of his own surveillance footage.

###

“Even now, you do not criticize Starscream,” Shockwave commented, examining the mutated head of a Terrorcon Eradicon.

Soundwave shrugged. Did he have to? Soundwave felt that this debacle spoke for itself; it didn’t need Soundwave speaking for it.

“I am beginning to believe you are trying to persuade me of Starscream’s worth.”

Soundwave didn’t reply. He was doing no such thing; but he wasn’t trying to dissuade Shockwave, either. He was only reporting all of the little things he’d noticed—all of the little things he’d recorded—all of the little things that were otherwise so easy to overlook in the face of Megatron’s commanding presence and the way Starscream repeatedly fumbled under Megatron’s gaze—and waiting to see Shockwave’s judgment on how they added up.

“His recent behavior has been erratic,” Shockwave said. “And stupid.”

Soundwave remained silent.

Shockwave carefully set down the mangled head. “However, Starscream is not alone in that,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he’s not even the worst offender.”

“‘I have been a fool. Made mistakes. Monumental ones.’ ‘My greatest mistake? I've made a few.’”

“Then you are measuring them against each other.”

Soundwave nodded slowly. “‘I find myself in urgent need of’—’a clear understanding of’—‘Starscream!’—‘And,’—’Lord Megatron.’”

“Hm.” Shockwave didn’t say more. But Soundwave remained, listening, all the same. Just in case.

###

“He left me for dead on Cybertron,” Shockwave said. “I am convinced that his reasons for doing so were logical enough—for the position he was in. However, I am not convinced that that they are sufficient for someone who would be the leader of an army.”

It was the first time Shockwave had directly broached the subject of Starscream hypothetically leading an army.

Soundwave almost suspected Shockwave resented Starscream for leaving him. He answered in Megatron’s voice: “‘If Breakdown allowed himself to be captured by those smaller than him, weaker than him, he deserves whatever fate awaits him.’”

“I see.” Shockwave remained silent a moment, musing on that. “No, I don’t suppose Megatron would have been any more likely to rescue me than Starscream was.”

Soundwave played a video on his visor: Starscream speaking to Megatron, “‘But Breakdown is a key player in our…’“ and flinching back from Megatron’s snarl, “‘uh… Your wisdom reigns supreme, Lord Megatron.’” Then the footage sped up, cutting between different cameras as Soundwave traced Starscream’s path through the Nemesis until he got outside and flew off without telling anyone.

Shockwave watched evenly. “No doubt, Starscream considered Breakdown a resource of some sort.”

No doubt. But Soundwave didn’t know that for certain—Starscream had never utilized Breakdown in any significant way.

Shockwave said, “I would far prefer the leader who does not consider his resources so quickly disposable over one mistake.”

Until the relief washed over him, Soundwave hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped Shockwave would lean in that direction.

“In your measuring of Lord Megatron and Starscream’s flaws… what do you intend to do if you conclude that Starscream is the better option?”

“‘If you conclude,’” Soundwave corrected. “‘Your wisdom reigns supreme.’ ‘I am’—‘an equal partner.’”

“Then I shall consider the matter carefully.”

###

Soundwave approached Megatron, and in Knock Out’s voice, said, “‘My liege, we’ve located another of Shockwave’s Predacon energy signatures.’”

“Have you?” Megatron glanced at the map displayed on Soundwave’s face, then turned to glower across the bridge. “Starscream! A chance for you to redeem yourself after your string of recent mishaps.”

Starscream sucked in a sharp breath when Megatron shouted his name, but rallied quickly. “Yes, of course, master. I shall not disappoint you—you have my word.”

Megatron scoffed. “I don’t intend to give you the chance. Knock Out will be accompanying you, to see that you behave yourself.”

Soundwave tilted his visor back into Megatron’s view and displayed a new image: a range of steep mountains, with the red dot flashing atop one of the peaks. No place for a car. Megatron frowned, but said, “You’ll go then. I trust that you are more than capable of keeping Starscream in line.”

Soundwave bowed his head. Megatron had always had great faith in Soundwave. Soundwave had always been proud of that.

But he still remembered how quickly Megatron had shifted from venting his ire on Starscream to venting it on Knock Out once Starscream became unavailable.

And he still remembered how quickly Megatron had replaced Soundwave with Orion Pax.

He wondered how far down the line of officers Megatron would have to go before Soundwave became the next acceptable target; and how much was Megatron’s faith in him really worth, then, if it was conditional on maintaining a buffer of punching bags between them?

When they were well outside Megatron’s hearing range, Starscream turned to Soundwave and said, ”I assure you, I do not need to be 'kept in line.' The very thought is ridiculous!" Starscream laughed; it wasn't convincing. "It's the Autobots that we need to be wary of. You keep your watchful optics peeled for them while I retrieve the fossil, and we'll have no trouble at all!"

Soundwave thought Starscream was doing enough talking for the both of them, so he made no reply.

He transformed and waited for Starscream to follow suit before he opened a bridge; flew through; shut the bridge, immediately transformed back, and landed; and waited for Starscream, who’d shot off into the distance, to realize that Soundwave had stopped and circle back. “What’s the matter? Autobots?” Starscream looked around at the empty grassy plain. “Where’s the mountain range?” He transformed and landed as well. “Soundwave, are these the correct coordinates?”

Soundwave nodded.

A second bridge opened and Shockwave approached. Starscream took a step back, wings shooting up in alarm. His wings had been telegraphing his every mood since he came back from exile. “What’s going on?” he snapped. “Soundwave? What is this?” He crouched, clearly ready to spring into the air and transform.

Soundwave couldn’t fault Starscream for being wary. He’d had experience with being lured out alone to be tortured. Soundwave held up a hand toward Shockwave, gesturing for him to stop.

Shockwave halted. “We wanted to speak to you where Megatron can’t overhear.

Starscream looked between them nervously. “Okay,” he said, uncertainly. “Why?”

“We have been analyzing the last few years of the Decepticons’ progress,” Shockwave said. “Or, rather, the Decepticons’ decline. We've been bleeding energon, soldiers, resources, and advantages. Our conclusion is that, without new leadership, the Decepticon Army will soon perish.”

Starscream flinched. “No, that’s impossible,” he said. “There’s—there’s hardly half a dozen Autobots. We’ve all but won the war on numbers alone.”

“‘For over two years, our’—‘amount of soldiers’—‘has steadily declined.’”

Starscream studied Soundwave’s visor, then Shockwave. “You’re serious about this?” he asked. “But—no. You can’t possibly be. Are you?”

“Have you ever known me to play practical jokes?” Shockwave asked.

“‘We require only a cadaver’—‘Megatron’s.’” There was no point in mincing words. Starscream needed to know they were past the point of mere hypothetical musing. The words Soundwave had just spoken were grounds enough for execution—if he was willing to risk saying them, then he was willing to risk putting them into action.

Starscream reeled back like he’d been struck, and started pacing. “You are. No. You can’t be serious.” He wrung his hands together fearfully. “You can’t! Especially not you.” He glowered at Soundwave. “You stopped me when I wanted to pull the plug on him—now, now you want him dead? Impossible.”

“‘I have been a fool.’”

“Don’t you dare use my words against me! Why are you ready to betray him now when you weren’t when we had the chance?”

“‘Megatron’s greatest mistake was’—‘dooming Cybertron to remain a lifeless husk.’”

For a moment, grief and rage flickered in Starscream’s optics—the same grief and rage that Soundwave felt every time he replayed the sword cutting through the Omega Lock—but then he squeezed his optics shut and shook his head, pacing faster. “This is all behind me. I am loyal to Lord Megatron, now! I’ve no interest in being a party to any—any attempted usurpations! I don’t know why you’d want me anyway,” he laughed a shade hysterically, “I can’t seem to do anything right lately—“

“‘Megatron is deliberately sabotaging one of his first lieutenants.’ ‘You’—‘see more than most.’”

Starscream’s optics flashed back on. He froze, face twisted in pain. For a moment he didn’t speak.

Soundwave took a step closer. Starscream stepped back. “You’re mocking me,” he hissed, voice thick.

“Your confidence has been damaged,” Shockwave said. “Deliberately and systematically, I believe, from my review of your recorded session with the cortical psychic patch.” Starscream flinched. “Nevertheless, we both believe that you are capable of recovering and would serve our needs where Megatron would not.”

“‘Starscream is the better option’—‘for’—‘the leader of an army.’”

His wings lay flat and trembling along his back. His face contorted through several expressions in rapid succession—confusion, hope, fury, despair—but settled on distrust. “This is clearly a trap. You’re trying to lure me into saying something compromising so you can snip the recording out of context and tell Megatron I’m up to my old tricks.“

Soundwave tipped his chin up, catching Starscream’s attention so he’d notice the little red dot he’d started blinking in the corner of his visor—yes, it was true, he was recording as always—then unfolded Laserbeak just far enough from his chest to extract a slim data drive with a tiny microphone. It had a matching blinking red light; it was still recording.

“We had thought you might fear that,” Shockwave said. “An offering of mutually-assured destruction.” Soundwave held out the drive. “Should you agree to assist us and we betray you, you can present your own evidence to Megatron. We will go down together.”

Starscream took one step toward Soundwave, hesitated, then took another, hand stretched out to slide the drive from Soundwave’s fingertips—as though he was afraid to get too close to him. “And if I go and present this recording to Megatron right now?”

“If you’re right that this is a trap, then you will win Megatron’s favor for passing his test,” Shockwave said. “If our offer is sincere, you’ll still win his favor for exposing two traitors.”

“And if this is indeed a test and I keep the recording, I doom myself.” Starscream’s hand squeezed tight around the drive. “Then there’s no reason for me not to take it to him right now, is there?”

“‘A chance for’—‘personally terminating’—‘Megatron.’”

He continued to stare at the drive in his hand, expression still dark and distrustful.

Soundwave was sure Megatron hadn’t broken him all the way. Somewhere in him, he still wanted this—whether for a chance to lead or just for a chance to get out from under Megatron, Soundwave didn’t know. But he did want it.

But he couldn’t trust it enough to take the chance.

And Soundwave didn’t blame him.

Soundwave took a slow, cautious step closer, and whispered, as soft as a ghost carried on a breeze over the plain: ”’Please, I beg of you, do not betray me.’”

Starscream sucked a breath in.

“‘Recall how many millions of years we have been fellow officers—I'm sure I've never said it, but I truly hold you in the greatest esteem’—”

"Don't," Starscream hissed. "I said whatever I thought I had to, you can't blame me—"

“—‘and were the situation reversed I would certainly not betray you.’”

Starscream fell silent.

He stared at Soundwave, then at the drive in his hand.

"No," he said softly. "You didn't betray me."

He slid the drive away into a wrist compartment, and looked up at the two of them. "So. If we go down, we all go down together—is that the deal?" He spoke now with some facsimile of the bravado he used to be able to wear before his exile—it was a haggard, worn, jaded bravado now, but it was reassuring to see it back on Starscream all the same.

"That seems the most mutually acceptable arrangement," Shockwave said.

"'Acceptable.'" Soundwave nodded. "'Deal?'—'Are you willing to make the ultimate sacrifice?'"

Starscream shuddered at Megatron's words; but, all the same, he nodded. "As long as I don't have to risk making it by myself."

With Shockwave’s voice, Soundwave promised, "'Starscream is not alone.'"

###

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Fictober19 - Day 1

Original Fiction Prompt: “It will be fun, trust me.” Project: Seven Cities Word Count: 683 Warnings/Tags: None

HEY I’M DOING THIS THING.

------

Walking, Alex found, was much more difficult in a blindfold.

Every single cobblestone seemed hell bent on catching the toes of her shoes, and she could feel the murmur of the market crowd pressing on her ears, uncomfortably close. Even the steady hand against her back felt less like a comfort and more like it was poised to shove. She fidgeted with the edge of her rough woolen blind, only succeeding in disturbing the arrangement of the fabric to fall further over her eyes, and send her into further darkness. 

"Is this entirely necessary?" she asked, for the third time in as many minutes. Behind her, Tahir laughed, and guided her out of the way of some unseen hazard.

“I think it’s funny,” he said as he jerked her back into place at his side, “so yes. Entirely necessary.”

“You are a swine-hearted, bilge-sucking mutineer and I hope you hang.”

“Now, now,” he said, unable to hide the grin in his voice, “no need to be unkind. I thought you had agreed to trusting me.”

“I did,” said Alex, scowling. “I did, certainly. But this is a hell of an exercise in trust, Tahir.” 

“Well, I’ll not make you suffer it much longer. Turn here.”

The hand on her back suddenly pushed to the right and grumbling, Alex let herself be moved. The cobblestones underfoot receded as they walked, slowly becoming the hard packed dirt of a side street as the murmur of the market faded behind them. A slightly more electric mumbling picked up several yards ahead, but even straining, Alex couldn’t make out any words.

Finally, Tahir’s hand slid to her elbow and pulled her to a stop.

“Here we are,” he said brightly. "Though nearly not, for all of your growling. Go on then, take it off.”

With a roll of her eyes, Alex reached up and tugged the blindfold off. The mid afternoon sun nearly blinded her a second time, but after a few minutes of blinking and scowling at the dirt, the spots faded, and she followed Tahir's sweeping gesture towards the scene in front of her. 

A set of worn steps lead down the gentle slope of a small valley, descending about forty feet below them. Rows upon rows of benches hewn of rough stone had been set into the sides of the hill, which meandered down into a wide green that was spread in front of a circular stage of dark, polished wood. Banners of silk hung on either side as makeshift eaves, and some enterprising individual had hung awnings of rigging rope and sail canvas over a majority of the stone seats. The green and stage were both open to the elements, but that apparently did not bother the small muster of people that were milling around them, shouting at one another and the fruit sellers and beer carts that were pressing into the edges of the crowd.

“A playhouse,” Alex said at last. She turned back to Tahir, frowning. “You dragged me halfway through the city, blindfolded, for a playhouse?”

“You nearly sound disappointed.” Alex’s scowl darkened, and Tahir laughed. “Oh, belay your grumbling. You forget, lad; I’ve been to your cabin. Anyone else would see your collection of scripts and mistake you for a playwright.” His grin widened. “Or a poet.”

“How dare you."

"I only mean that a learned sort like you would appreciate this,” he said, keeping the worst of his laughter behind a hand. “Might even enjoy it, if we’re due for a miracle. Come on, Alex. Haven’t you earned the slightest notion of a break? You’ve worked yourself near to fits for the last two months, and this is meant to be fun.” He offered his arm, and a genuine smile. “Trust me?”

Alex stared down at his arm, then at the growing crowd that was pooling at the bottom of the stairs beside her. For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then she sighed, so heavily that her shoulders drooped, and begrudgingly hooked her arm in his.

“Yes,” she said as they started down the stairs. “I suppose I do.”

[sinni-ok-sessi]

Thanks @comradegrantaire for tagging me! Rules: list 10 songs I’ve been listening to a lot lately and then tag 10 friends.

(I am so very awkward about tagging people, so would rather not do that, but if you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!)

(There’s gonna be a Lot of Trials of Cato on here cos I’m very much a ‘pick a band, listen obsessively for six months, move on’ kind of person. Also, I have had Some Gin this evening, so that may explain some of these captions.)

1. Lyke Wake Dirge by Pentangle (as @trans-cuchulainn reminded me the other day...). It’s just real haunted and very much ‘if you’re rich and don’t help the less fortunate, Jesus hates you specifically’, and while I’m not religious at all, that’s a sentiment I can get behind.

2. Gloria by The Trials of Cato. Trans coal miners! A bangin’ tune! Admittedly very obviously written by cis people, but nonetheless, a banger!

3. Willie O’ Winsbury by Offa Rex. I’m a simple soul: I see a ‘plot twist: bisexuality’ folk song and I fall in love.

4. Our Boy Jack by The Mechanisms. Look, Bella Ciao has a fantastic tune and can only be improved by the addition of space pirates (not to mention lyrics in a language I actually know how to pronounce, because my Italian is truly painful).

5. Coventry Carol by Loreena McKennitt. It’s Christmas and it’s real fuckin’ haunted, I don’t know what more you want.

6. Good Friends by Jan Harmon. Someone at my folksong group sang this and it’s haunted my brain ever since.

7. Let The Great Big World Keep Turning by... I don’t actually know, but as sung by Paul McGann in The Monocled Mutineer. It’s maudlin af but also deeply ingrained in my brain and I’ve been singing it to myself a lot lately.

8. Tam Lin by Anaïs Mitchell. ‘S just. ‘S a good tune. I’ve loved Fairport Convention’s 7-minute epic Tam Lin for so long, but I think the tune here just makes this one a winner.

9. Theses Are The Things by The Trials of Cato. Another ‘welp, the world’s gone to shit, here’s some angry folk music’ track, because I’m nothing if not predictable.

10. Autoclave by The Mountain Goats, because I saw a tumblr post about ���I am a: man / woman / great unstable mass of blood and foam’ and got seized with strong feelings about Zolf Smith, reluctant group dad and even more reluctant cleric of Poseidon, for about an hour. Also because ‘And no emotion that’s worth having / could call my heart its home’ is such a good line, aaaah.

(If you’d got me a week ago, it would’ve been mainly picket line songs, so I’ll add that Solidarity Forever has some absolutely banging verses, Bread and Roses has a stunning tune, and that ‘Money speaks to money, / the devil for his own. / Who comes to speak for the skin and the bone?’ is raw af, and also that group singing is one of the most healing and emotionally rewarding things to do in activism and I recommend it.)

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Eighteen

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

December 16th, 2000

“It’s official!” Remy exclaimed, walking up to Emile and hugging him. “I dropped out of college!”

Emile laughed and hugged Remy back. “Now that you’re not going to school, what will you be doing?” Emile asked.

“I’m working a second coffee shop now,” Remy explained, “It’s something I’m good at and if I’m good enough I could get promoted to manager.”

“That’s great, Rem,” Emile said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I just feel...freer, you know? Like I could do anything! I knew all the stuff they were teaching me in business school, so maybe if I get good enough at making coffee I can start my own shop. That’d be cool, don’t you think?”

Emile smiled. “That sounds exactly up your alley,” he agreed.

March 11th, 2019

Emile was working his jaw with his head bowed and Remy put a steadying arm on his bicep. Hopefully Emile wouldn’t start shouting, but at this point Remy wasn’t sure what might happen. “Are you sure about this, Sarah?” Remy asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Sarah confirmed. “The fingerprints are obviously a little bigger than the ones they took at birth, but it’s undeniable. His name is Deagan Russell. His mom has been suspected of drug abuse and child neglect for years, but the police could never get anything to stick. Apparently, she would have Dee lie to anyone who came over after receiving a call. And you said she just dropped him off in the middle of the neighborhood?”

“The day we were moving,” Emile said darkly. “If she had waited one more day, we wouldn’t have found him.”

“Breathe, Emile,” Remy said. “I’m angry too, but going into a blind rage isn’t going to help anyone.”

Emile took a deep breath. “Every last kid. Every last kid I helped conceive went to a broken home in one way or another. I never should have donated my sperm.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Remy said. “Besides, isn’t it better that they’re yours? If they had been anyone else’s kids, who knows whether or not they’d be in a better home now?”

Emile bowed his head again and Sarah looked at the two of them sympathetically, before glancing behind her to a play area where Dee was preoccupied with a couple toy trucks. “Look. You can claim child negligence, and bring charges against her if you so choose, once you’ve adopted him. Provided, you know, that’s what you want to do.”

“What else can we do?” Emile asked. “We can’t just cart him away to some foster home and hope for the best! Roman had enough issues, and he claims he wasn’t there that long!”

Remy strengthened his grip on Emile’s bicep. “Honey, you have to breathe. I know this is hard.”

Emile glared at him. “It’s not you who helped bring this boy into a broken home.”

“No,” Remy agreed. “But he is a son to both of us. I’m just as angry, if not angrier, than you about this. But we’ll be no use to anyone if we walk into this mess angry.”

Emile took a breath, then another. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remy dismissed. “Worry more about what we’re going to do about Dee.”

Sarah sighed. “I’m going to need to talk to him, and we’re going to have to figure out if we’re going to charge his mother.”

“I’m definitely willing to press charges,” Emile said. “She doesn’t deserve to get away with this.”

Sarah nodded and turned toward the play area. “Deagan,” she called, voice soft.

Dee froze like a deer in headlights, before putting the trucks down and walking over. “Yeah?” he asked softly.

“What can you tell us about your mother?” Sarah asked.

“Mama was fine,” Dee said, his voice robotic and rehearsed, but Remy could see the fear in his eyes as he lied. “Why?”

“Dee, we know she would almost get in trouble a couple times when you were with her. We’re just worried about what might have happened to you,” Emile said.

“Mama was fine,” Dee insisted, eyes growing glassy. “She loved me and made sure I had food.”

Remy took a deep breath and looked down at Dee. “Dee, we don’t want to force you into this, but we have to talk about it.”

“Mama was fine,” he insisted again. “Fine, fine, fine! She was fine!”

Remy let Dee get frustrated and flap his arms and heave in deep breaths for a few moments before he gently asked, “Did she ever take pills she shouldn’t have?”

Dee looked up at Remy with so much hurt in his eyes that Remy almost wished he could take the question back. But he needed to know the answer. “Did she?” he pressed.

Eyes dropping to the ground, Dee mumbled, “Not at first. But Mama’s back got hurt at work and she had to go to the doctor at the hospital. They gave her some pills that helped her, but after a while she would just...stare at nothing after she took them. And...and if she took them she wouldn’t make me food or help me get anything to drink. The only thing she really remembered most of the time was...was my eczema cream.”

Emile’s nostrils flared and Remy turned to him. “Emile, why don’t you take a walk for a minute, okay? Sarah and I can do the rest with Dee.”

Remy stared down Emile’s mutinous glare. Eventually, Emile huffed and stood, walking away. Dee looked after him, confused. Remy said, “Emile is going to take a little walk for a bit, Dee. He’s angry and needs to cool off before talking with us again.”

“Why?” Dee asked.

Remy braced himself for impact as he said, “He doesn’t like that your mom took pills instead of helping you.”

Dee made a soft “oh” sound and climbed into the chair that Emile had vacated. “How much trouble is she in?”

“A lot,” Remy said. “She neglected you, Dee, that can’t go unpunished.”

Dee took a breath and nodded, promptly shutting up.

Remy sighed. He didn’t want to alienate Dee, but he didn’t want to lie either. Parenting was a lot harder than it looked at first glance, and it already looked difficult. “Your mom wasn’t a good person, Dee. I’m sorry, but she just wasn’t. That doesn’t mean she didn’t have her good days, but when it comes down to it she didn’t help you as much as she should have. And that means she’s in trouble. We’re not going to love you any less, and if you still want to live with us, you can, but you can’t go back to your mom’s. No matter if you stay with us or anyone else. It just can’t be her.”

Dee looked at the floor, nodding. His eyes were glassy. “I...I love her...but...but I kinda...feel...relieved...?”

Remy put a hand on Dee’s shoulder. “You’ll be with someone who takes care of you from now on, Dee, that’s a good thing. Of course you can miss your mother, and love her, but it’s safer if you’re not with her.”

Dee nodded, a few tears falling. Remy’s heart was breaking, and he murmured, “It’s okay to ask for a hug if you need one.”

No sooner did he say that than Dee flung himself into Remy’s chest, quietly sobbing. Remy rubbed his back in small circles, looking frantically at Sarah to know if he was doing this right. She gave him an amused smile and a thumbs-up.

Emile walked back in and sat down, giving Remy a questioning look. “We were just explaining to Dee what’s going to happen now that we know who his mom is.”

“Ah.” A beat of silence. “And I take it he’s a bit upset?”

“He feels more relieved, and guilty about that, actually,” Remy said as if he were talking about the weather, trying not to make a big deal out of this. “But we’re pretty much set for adopting him, provided that’s what he wants.”

Emile nodded. “I take it you’re waiting out the crying to ask that,” he said.

Remy shrugged. “Yeah. The kid’s been through a lot, he deserves a good cry.”

“Oh, one other thing,” Sarah said. “His birthday was the second. He’s officially six years old.”

“You should have told us, Dee,” Emile spoke softly. “We could have celebrated.”

Dee’s crying tapered off somewhat and he turned to look at Emile. His hands were shaking as he signed something Remy didn’t recognize.

“You wouldn’t have bothered us,” Emile said, forehead creasing into his frown. “If you want to be a part of this family, you’ll never be a bother to us. Ever.”

Dee looked confused beyond belief at that sentiment, and Remy rubbed Dee’s back a little more, providing comfort the only way he really knew Dee liked at the moment. “Why?” Dee signed.

“Because you’re important, Dee. You have to understand that everyone is important, including you. And you can’t bother people who want you around. We definitely want you around, and we know you’re important, and if you like, you can stay with us.”

Dee looked at Emile in somewhat of a shock. Then he turned to Remy. Remy smiled at him and said, “Yeah, I agree with your dad here. We’d love to have you, if you want that.”

There was a beat of silence where no one did anything. Then, Dee’s face crumpled a little and he nodded. “Yes, please,” he signed. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“All right, then. Consider yourself a part of our family, Dee,” Remy said.

Sarah smiled. “I’ll get the adoption papers started. Hopefully this is the last time, right?”

“If it is it is, if it isn’t it isn’t. We’ll take in whoever needs help that we can accomodate,” Emile said.

Sarah gave a little laugh. “Spoken like a true parent,” she said, standing up and moving further into the office.

Dee was crying a little bit still and Remy lightly hugged him. “It’ll be okay, Dee,” he promised. “I know you miss your mom, but we’ll take care of you.”

Emile sat next to them, and Remy could tell he was still a little agitated by the news of Dee’s mother. But right now, Remy didn’t want to poke that bear. Later that night, he’d let Emile rant all he wanted. Right now, though, Dee had to be their first priority. “Hey, Dee,” Remy said softly.

Dee looked up at him and signed, “What?”

“In honor of your birthday, what do you say to visiting a toy shop on the way home? Just to get you a little something special,” Remy said. “As a belated birthday present.”

Dee grinned through his tears and Remy fixed Dee’s hair as Sarah came back with the papers. “Get these back to the court within the next two weeks, you two know the drill by now,” she teased.

Emile took the papers and the three of them got to their feet. “Thanks, Sarah,” he said sincerely.

“Yeah, seriously, thank you,” Remy added.

Sarah waved them off. “Just be good dads, all right? If there aren’t any more issues with the adoption process hopefully I won’t be knocking on your door for any inspections.”

“Of course,” Emile and Remy spoke at the same time. Dee snickered.

The three of them left, got in the car, and headed to the local toy store. “This’ll kill two birds with one stone,” Emile said. “Because Patton and Virgil’s birthday is in three days.”

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “If you want to pick out a present for each of the twins, I can keep an eye on Dee.”

“Sure,” Emile said.

They went inside and Dee was overwhelmed within ten seconds of entering. He hugged Remy’s leg as they moved through, until they got to a section with stuffed animals. Dee’s eyes were flitting everywhere until they stopped, completely fixated, and he ran halfway down the aisle to pick up a stuffed snake.

Remy walked over and ran a hand over the snake. “You like snakes, Dee?”

Dee nodded. “Scales,” he said, tapping his cheek where there was a small patch of eczema still. Then, he said, “Scales,” again, pointing to the snake.

“This snake might not have scales, but I see your point,” Remy said with a smile. “Is this what you want?”

Dee hugged the snake and nodded eagerly. Remy smiled. “Well then, we’ll get them. Is it a boy or a girl, do you think?”

All he got in return for that was a shrug. “Okay, fair enough,” Remy said. “Do they have a name already, or do you wanna think about it?”

Dee made a sign that went across his teeth and Remy frowned. “Teeth...? Oh! Do you mean fangs?”

An enthusiastic nod. Remy laughed. “Fangs, cool name. Let’s get Fangs.”

Dee grinned and they walked up to the front, Dee only parting from the snake for as long as it took to scan the animal’s tag. A tap on his shoulder had Remy turning to see Emile behind them. “So, I see Dee found something he liked,” he said.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “The snake’s name is Fangs, just so you know. You find stuff for the twins?”

“I found a Lego set for Patton,” Emile said. “And from a small selection of books I found some Goosebumps stuff. I figure Virgil would want to at least give those a go, and if he winds up not liking the one I chose it’s no big deal.”

“Yeah,” Remy said. “Put the stuff on the counter, let’s ring it up.”

They bought everything and Remy smiled as Dee climbed into the back of the minivan, snuggling his new snake. As they drove home, so Emile could look after Dee while Remy went to check on Sleep Easy, Remy discreetly observed Dee in the back. He looked entirely preoccupied with his snake, and while Remy knew Dee was sad about his mom, he was infinitely glad that Dee had decided to be with their family.

[impalaanddemons]

Enterprise Crowd - Snowy Christmas Special Part 2

Summary: A mission gone wrong. A landing party stranded in a snow storm. A relationship that needs some serious alone time. She is our mutinous Lieutenant Reader, part of Enterprise IT. He’s her commanding chief engineer. And they’re 60 inches deep in snow. Wordcount: 1500ish A/N: What do your elven eyes see? Ohhhhh it’s the second part of the fluffy fluffy christmas special. It’s just fluff. Seriously. I wanted to write fluff. PWP?! Warnings: Cursing, more cursing, rocky relationship, age difference, there is so much fluff on the horizon you have no idea, i hope you’re excited as i am

You stared at each other for what felt like a full minute in the freezing wind, although merely seconds passed. „It’s bitter cold here, Sir. And you aren’t wearing a life suit.“ „I would’nae have to, if someone would listen for once.“ he barked and stepped over to your side, leaving a visible trail in the snow. You perked your head to give him some clever retort, but he cut you short with what resembled some sort of low growl containing all his disapproval. „There’s a starfleet safehouse a mile east. Get going.“

You lifted an eyebrow at him and he laughed that short barking laughter again. “What, lass? Ye think this old engineer doesn’t have trick or two up his sleeve?“

When you arrived at the safehouse you were frozen to the bone despite your thick clothing and didn’t even want to think about how the scotsman felt. It was more of a hut then a safehouse if you had to be completely honest. The walls could use a paint job and at least one of the windows looked like it was more of a decor then a functioning piece of architecture. „You serious?“ „Ye wanna sleep outside?“ „Yeah. No. Fair point.“ you conceded and headed inside with him.

The inside of the warehouse - hut - was only marginally better - the wind whistled through a window that couldn’t be shut completely anymore and by morning the snow would’ve piled up to the roof. Kirk personally would’ve to shovel you out of that. „Ah, look, lass. They got a fireplace.“ „How .. romantic.“ you offered. The scotsman gave you a serious side eye, then went on to grab some firewood - conveniently stacked in a corner of the room - and began starting a fire in the open fireplace. It did seem rather archaic for starfleet, but who knew how long this hut had been defying the storms of this planet. „You were a boyscout?“ you lifted your eyebrows, sitting down on the edge of one of the cots in the room. It was still too cold to slip out of your environmental suit. Guilt  pinched at your gut. „Boyscout“ he huffed and stared at the small flames already licking up at the wood he had placed down.

„I’m a scotsman, Y/N! I grew up with this.“ he almost seemed cheerful now. Which was better than having a fight about your stubbornness. „Father always took me out camping when I was a laddie.“ he continued, poking the fire with an iron stick. „We’d go fishing. Have a campfire. Ah, good times.“ he chuckled to himself while the fire started blazing, engulfing the first small log of wood he’d carefully placed there. „You make it sound like it was a hundred years ago, Monty.“ you answered and immediately felt the blood rush to your face at the use of your term of endearment for her. It had just slipped out of your mouth and you bit your tongue for its betrayal. The chief commander turned around to face you - his face had gone soft, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was a handsome bastard. Tall and with muscles in the right places and a small tummy the uniform usually hid away. „I am an old man, lass.“ he answered and, after making sure that the fire was really going now, threw another log into it. The flames shot up. It would be warm in no time in the small room.

„Getting older by the minute.“ „You’re not that old.“ you carefully avoided another term of endearment, instead started pulling at the zipper of your suit. „Old enough for ya.“ Instead of an answer, you just rolled your eyes. Aside from being loyal and occasionally funny he was also stubborn enough to cover for a donkey if there was ever need for it. You slipped out of one arm of your suit in silence and listened to the storm outside howling and ripping at the hut. Listened to the fire crackling and your own heartbeat. „Ye should come over here.“ he said. „And sit on the ground? Eh. No.“ you slipped out of the other arm and then straightened up to slip out of the rest of the uniform. Too busy for a moment you didn’t notice the chief engineers eyes on you immediately - only when he looked up and you realized that you were only wearing a shirt and shorts did you make the connection between his expression and his half parted lips. You had seen that expression on his face before. A few times in fact. And the first time you saw that face was back when you had shared the first night together. You shuddered involuntarily and turned your face away. „Nothing I haven’t seen before“ he muttered, his voice in its lowest register now.

Goosebumbs crept up your arms despite the warmth of the fire. „Oh“ you looked over your shoulder and smirked at him. „Have you been spying on me, Mr. Scott?“ „I should, maybe you’d be more willing to follow your orders then?“ „Way to ruin the mood, Mr. Scott.“ you shot back and pulled a blanket of the nearest cot to wrap yourself in it. „Ye did think i’d just gonna let it pass?“ he poked the fire once more, then added another log. „I had hoped you’d fall for my charm." He raised his eyebrows and closed the distance between the two of you. His face was stern and earnest and full of intent, it took your breath away when he turned you around with one hand. „But I already have, Y/N.“ he said. A soft expression settled in the corner of his eyes, the tug at his lips. „I have a long time ago.“ his hand cupped your chin - his rough fingertips, still cold from the weather outside. You lifted your own hands and put them on his. Hot and cold. There was always a faint smell of oil and electronics on him and that other part that made him him. Your eyes found his and you smiled a little. He bent down - oh he was definitely your type how could you ever have denied that? - and placed a small kiss on your lips. You sighed. „I’m sorry.“ He quirked his head a little, like he always did when something caught him by surprise. „Lass, I need to put the date down.“ „Oh, shut up.“ you laughed. „I should call Mr. Scofield. Wait.“ he ducked away from your hands and flipped open his communicator. „You don’t.“ you snatched it out of his hands, still laughing and threw it on the bed. He chuckled, a beaming smile on his face. His right arm caught you while moving and pulled you close, right into his tight embrace.

You could drown in his arms. Surrender to his tight grip forever. A warmth that had nothing to do with the flames filled your heart and made it pump frantically. „Yer a bullhead.“ he whispered. You could feel his lips moving at your ear now. „I learned from the best.“ you muttered your voice fluttering uneasy. The scotsman chuckled. A low, warm rumble that tickled down your spine. He gently pushed you backward until the hollow of your knees hit the cot. You stood there for a second, his  free hand, the one not nestled around your hip, moving up to your hair, burying itself wistfully.

Another gentle push from him, toppling you onto the cot as gentle as possible. „Ye need to lemme under that blanket“ You had to stifle a laughter at the engineer gently pulling with two fingers at the blanket. „If you ask that nicely.“ He pushed back - just a little, not letting go of you but creating enough space to pull another blanket over the two of you.

Then he climbed onto the cot as well - some shuffling and shoving and a bit of laughter. His lips in your hair and on your forehead, he pulling you half over him like a separate blanket until you lay in his arm, the both of you fitting barely so on the cot. „No one move now.“ his voice was raspy at your ear. His lips tugged at your earlobe, the soft skin of your neck almost lazily. „I hate you.“ you sighed, leaning into his warmth and idle caressing. „Ye liar.“ You smiled to yourself. He was right, of course.

TAG LIST YES IM STILL DOING THAT (guys tagging is like an episode of GoT right now where is everyone *sighs*)

@webhoard @inaugural13 @thebloody3agle @sassymissmyra@flowerbunbunny @anotherotterlover @theleonardmccoy@thewalkingdeanisdanielhowell @dirajunara-archive@mustanglegends @elinanve @gracieinanovel @noodledragonoverloard @newhappiness430 @ambie2020 @trashcan-to-end-all-trashcans @biologik

[allofmystudentsrunaway]

Star Trek Discovery Coda: 01x01: Make not your thoughts your prisons.

@yedrindax @bubobubosibericus @whomerlockwood @silfreya  @thedoctorsawkwardhufflepuff@nicholasbholmes @jazzfic @thanatosx49 as promised people..i’m starting at the beginning. if you would like to be added to the tag list (or removed :) ) just let me know. 

Coda:01x01: Make not your thoughts your prisons.

Michael sat very still hands flat on her thighs and tried to meditate, it was almost impossible to concentrate. The dull light of Proxima Centurii tinted her cell rust red, blood everywhere she looked; On her hands, on her face and in her eyes when she caught her reflected gaze. Every twelve hours the prison rotated away from the small star and then she slept. If you could call the tangle of nightmares sleep, it certainly wasn’t restful.

Despair is insidious, a snake that winds it’s way into the mind and chokes out all other thought. At first she had tried to pull herself from it’s grasp. She had done the work they asked of her, mixed with the other prisoners tried to make her atonement mean something. It didn’t work. The others knew what she was, the guards didn’t bother to protect her and now this was her life. Her Life, watching an insignificant star slip past the window and waiting for the night terrors to come and claim her.  “I deserve this” She reminded herself, it wasn’t martyrdom or histrionics, it was simply the truth. She had caused death, so many deaths.  Friends she loved had died because of her actions,  if anything her punishment was too merciful. Starfleet had no idea what to do with her. She was a mutineer, the first ever. The powers that be couldn’t make her walk the plank, even so they had buried her anyway. So she let herself be choked by the snake, suffocated in her own guilt and over and over her mind showed her Philippa’s face as T’kuvma thrust his blade through her heart. Michael dwelled on that image, held it before her eyes and burned it into her soul.

The sun was slipping away as the station turned into night, Michael lay down. She lay straight arms and legs rigid, not wanting to sleep but knowing she couldn’t prevent it. The lights snapped off and left her alone in the darkness with only the cold stars for company.

"Where fear walked, anger was its companion." Sarek whispered in her ear. She blinked back tears, night was the only time she allowed herself to cry. It was dangerous during the long hours of daylight, when a guard might see and take exception to her grief.

“I do not need Surak’s Analects now.” She told her imagined Father.

“I think you tell yourself falsehoods to comfort yourself. There is no logic in that” Michael turned over and curled herself up tightly. Sarek had said that to her when she was nothing more than a frightened child.

"To each joy its celebration; to each sorrow, its observance." Her father towered over her, Vulcan face implacable, even so his voice hinted at compassion. Michael realised she was dreaming, she knew if she looked around she was see her Mother Amanda.

“I remember this day.” It was the day she had first gone to the learning centre, She recalled Spock reaching out for her hand as they walked to their parents shuttle.

“Michael, my daughter you cannot exist in the past, you must live in the now”

“How?” she begged. The lights in her call flashed on dragging her from her dream, she sat up blinking and confused. One of the Guards, Ensign Galus was stood inside her cell brandishing a phaser rifle.

“You, Burnham get up you are being transferred to Tellun, pack your things.”