#this takes place on marooners bay

[gummy1025]

The Goldie hunting experience (og image on the bottom)

[crest-of-gautier]

thinking very hard about eggstra work for chill season, i just have the strangest feeling that it'll have a charger + blaster in the line-up and that it'll coincide with reload's release just to laugh at me....

[aramblingjay]

After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last Geraskier, touch-starved, bed sharing (2K)

They meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

ao3

The first winter he returns to Kaer Morhen, Geralt is asked to describe Jaskier.

“We hear you’ve started traveling with a companion,” Eskel says over dinner. Lambert and Coën go a little too still in the corner to not be listening, and even Vesemir subtly turns his head in their direction—everyone’s been wondering, evidently, and Eskel has been chosen as the best person to pose the question.

“Yes,” he agrees, taking another bite of whatever it is Lambert has decided to pass off as dinner. Some kind of meat, perhaps? It powders in his mouth like chalk.

To his credit, Eskel doesn’t ask who the companion is. “What are they like?” he asks instead, and Geralt doesn’t miss the they. It protects him implicitly the way Eskel always has, assuming nothing, allowing him to reveal exactly as much or as little as he wants, and Geralt is reminded all over again why he’s never been able to deny Eskel anything.

Including this, so he tries to find the right words. It was never his strength, even back when he still had red hair and brown eyes and knew of Witchers only as a fiction told to scare disobedient kids, but it’s even harder now.

“He’s—”

The first description which comes to mind is loud, but that isn’t quite right. Jaskier is loud only in the sense that Geralt is always aware of his presence, a whisper of citrus and jasmine beside him. And he hums incessantly, sometimes accompanied by the twang of his lute, sometimes not—but it isn’t the kind of overbearing, obtrusive singing that loud would suggest. Jaskier’s music is just there, a constant background, as familiar to him now as the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind.

He’s a bard, Geralt considers saying, but that doesn’t capture the essence of Jaskier, almost suggests he’s nothing without a tune on his lips.

He’s brave. Certainly, he’s the first human Geralt’s met that has never, not once, smelled like fear around him, even when Geralt’s eyes are inky black and he’s more monster than man. But Geralt doesn’t know if that’s bravery or foolhardy, and besides, true bravery is to run toward that which you fear. To not feel the fear at all—that’s something else entirely.

He’s different. True. Not nearly enough to explain.

“He’s kind,” Geralt says finally, and it feels right. There is no kindness to be found here at Kaer Morhen—even Eskel, for all his protectiveness, is not kind. No Witchers are, no Witchers are allowed to be. But Jaskier is the opposite of a Witcher, vivacious like no one Geralt has ever known before, impulsive and free-spirited and wholly kind.

Eskel’s eyes go strangely soft. “Oh, Wolf,” he murmurs, so low only a Witcher could hear.

Geralt looks away. “Anyway, I doubt I will see him again come spring.”

It’s not a lie. Jaskier has undoubtedly moved on to pastures new, wintering in Oxenfurt or Lettenhove or some other place that Witchers wouldn’t set foot, somewhere bright and lively to keep the chill at bay. The chance that their paths will randomly cross again once Geralt comes down the trail in a few months’ time is slim, and he doesn’t expect Jaskier to wait for him either. Jaskier is kind, but not infinitely so, and surely spending another year on the Path beside a Witcher who grunts more than speaks is the last thing he wants.

It’s not a lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue anyway.

-

They do meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

Geralt dismounts Roach outside The Wolf’s Snout, a grimy-looking inn with a half-broken fence surrounding it, five days’ trek from the bottom of the trail. It is further than he usually travels before stopping—the Kaedweni innkeepers closer to Kaer Morhen are more used to Witchers popping in than those this far out.

(But Jaskier mentioned this inn to him last year, so. Here he is)

He has yet to meet Jaskier in the same inn twice, but somehow they always find each other in one establishment or another on the outskirts of Kaedwen. Geralt no longer doubts whether their paths will cross, the question is only when.

Though he knows Jaskier tends to winter close to the coast, he does not ask how or why Jaskier ends up in Kaedwen every spring. Such a gift is too precious to jeopardize, either by his clumsy questioning or his even clumsier acknowledgment.

Geralt steps inside the inn to a raucous dining area, every available table surrounded by men with red cheeks and loud voices, clearly well on the ale. A good bard would make a pretty coin or two here, he thinks idly, and wonders if that’s why Jaskier mentioned it.

The innkeeper is a short, wiry woman with sharp eyes that rake him from top to bottom as he approaches her.

“Room for the night?” he asks, careful to speak just loud enough to be heard over the din. The innkeeper will know, of course, but nobody else seems to have clocked that he’s a Witcher, and the longer he keeps it that way the smoother his stay will be.

“I won’t be having any trouble here tonight,” she says, but her voice isn’t hostile.

“I won’t give you any.”

A corner of her mouth lifts. “And payment up front. How many nights you staying?”

Several coppers lighter, Geralt ends up in a rather spacious room at the very end of the hall, complete with a bed large enough for two (or one broad Witcher), a second small bed pushed up against a window, a fireplace, and a round tub. The main bed even comes with a feather-padded blanket for warmth. Compared to his usual accommodations, it’s a veritable palace.

He scowls, and dumps his saddlebags in a corner. All this luxury is largely wasted on him, and does little to fill the hollow in his chest that has only grown with every step away from Kaer Morhen.

There’s not much to do here besides take in the finery and rest, so he casts Igni to light a fire and settles into the bed rather quickly. Some dinner would be nice, perhaps, but everything smelled a little too salted and seasoned downstairs—normally he can stomach just about anything, but several months of pampering over winter have narrowed his palette considerably, and it’ll take at least a few weeks time to remember how not to give a fuck again.

Sleep finds him almost immediately after that. It should be one of the most comfortable nights he’s had outside the keep in recent memory, but the emptiness of the room aches in his chest like a physical, tangible thing.

-

He wakes to citrus and jasmine and a voice he would know anywhere.

“She told me you were in—ah, Geralt. Here you are. Lovely to see you again after a long winter.” Jaskier steps further into the room until he’s fully illuminated by the firelight. He looks good, Geralt surmises, well-fed and looked-after. “Don’t mind me. Coin is short and this room is entirely paid for, so I’ll be here for the night.”

It’s phrased as a statement but intended as a question.

Geralt just grunts his assent and drifts back to sleep smiling.

-

They fall into the familiar routine just as they have every year before. It’s comfortable, safe, easy.

Geralt kills monsters and Jaskier sings about it.

Jaskier sleeps with fine ladies (and more than one fine lord), and Geralt scares away their angry spouses with a well-placed intimidating look.

Geralt keeps them safe, and Jaskier keeps them fed, the coin he earns from one night of performing usually triple what Geralt could even hope to earn from a single contract.

Jaskier smiles at him and worries after him and touches him with a care no one’s taken since he was a boy, and Geralt tries to understand what it all means.

The ache in his chest is an old, forgotten thing.

-

Their seventh spring, he once again stops at The Wolf’s Snout.

(He’s never waited in the same inn twice before, until now, but he refuses to consider what that might mean)

This time, he’s awake. Waiting up, one could call it, though the very idea is preposterous—Witchers don’t have anyone worth waiting up for, and the chance to sleep in a bed is a precious commodity on the Path. No one is coming home to a Witcher.

But then there’s a lyrical knock at the door—two taps, and then a faster three, the beat of a song he doesn’t know—and Jaskier is there. Framed in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in bright blue and green that should irritate his eyes but doesn’t, not in the slightest, only makes something loosen in his chest that’s been taut for too long.

Jaskier is there. Here. With him, again, for the seventh spring in a row, despite it all.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier says, and his voice is missing some of its usual brightness, its usual whimsical nonchalance, but it’s so good to hear all the same.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier shouldn’t be able to read what that means, just like he shouldn’t be here in a beaten-down inn along the forgotten backwater of Kaedwen about to step into a room already occupied by a Witcher, but Jaskier is brave and different and kind and entirely incapable of ever doing what he should.

So of course, Jaskier only says, “Yeah, me too,” like he hears the words Geralt doesn’t even know how to form in the privacy of his own mind, and steps over the threshold.

It feels significant, somehow. A bigger step than across a single plank of wood.

He stays silent, watching as Jaskier drops his bags in a heap by the door and undresses down to his smalls in the half-darkness.

There’s only one bed in this room. Geralt asked for a room and the innkeeper offered this one and he didn’t spend more than a second thinking about it before accepting. Witchers can’t be picky, and Jaskier has slept on the floor many a time—they both have, on cold and dirty forest floors far more uncomfortable than anything this inn could offer.

But.

“What are we doing here, Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, hovering by the edge of the bed but making no move to come closer.

Geralt doesn’t have an answer. But he shifts just slightly on the bed, an invitation—and Jaskier lies down in the open space next to him, no trace of fear anywhere in his scent even now—and for the first time since the mutagens burned away every part of the boy he used to be, Geralt wants.

-

The next year, Jaskier doesn’t come.

Geralt waits at The Wolf’s Snout for a fortnight, until he can’t delay going back on the Path any longer, and then another day just to be totally, completely sure.

Jaskier never comes.

He packs up his things, never considers leaving behind the human-safe potions or the lute strings or the too-small doublet even though they add weight to Roach’s pack—just shoves it all into the bottom of his satchel along with his emotions and his hopes and the weird sense of betrayal he has no right to feel, and walks the Path.

Alone, as he was meant to.

The ache is back, a monster under his skin. He feels cold and tired and empty, but a Witcher isn’t made to break, so he puts one foot in front of the other in front of the other until it’s winter again.

He collapses into Eskel’s arms the moment he’s back in the keep, grateful to still have one person who hasn’t left, and his eyes burn.

If he could cry—he can’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if he could, he would probably drown.

-

It’s foolishness, to go back to the same inn. It’s foolishness, and Geralt is not a fool, but he can’t help himself.

Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain Jaskier has left this life, left him, and then he’ll walk the Path and never ever return here again.

But he opens the door to his preferred room, an extra three coppers per night now but worth it just for the memory of having slept beside Jaskier in this bed, and it isn’t empty.

Jaskier is there.

His hair is longer. He’s dressed in deep maroon, and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, and he smells like he hasn’t showered since he left wherever he’s been for so long—and he’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcome. Like Geralt hasn’t spent the last year withering away at the prospect of never seeing him again.

“Jaskier.” He can’t find any other words. He can’t think of any that matter more than this, saying a name he thought he’d have to bury in the deepest corner of his mind forever, lest the mere memory of it reduce him to dust.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last year. It’s a long story involving—”

“Come here,” Geralt whispers, cutting him off. His voice breaks, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Jaskier standing on the other side of the room. “Please.” Witchers don’t beg but he isn’t a Witcher in this moment, just a man, old and weary and aching. “Please.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier is front of him in a flash. “Darling, I’m right here. I’m right here, I promise.”

That familiar hand reaches out and rests on his chest—he feels it, the slightest pressure when those long fingers brush against his tunic, the searing warmth of Jaskier’s skin on his own even with two layers of cotton in between.

Citrus and jasmine, the jackrabbit beat of Jaskier’s heart, and that soft, gentle warmth—Geralt closes his eyes and comes home.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 6

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Light Smut, NSFW, Minors DNI (as always)

Innopportune Timing

Out of the kindness of your heart, you let Kid and Killer sleep in your treehouse. First, you had wrapped up your more important items into a big leaf, mostly so that Kid wouldn't go through your shit, but if you were leaving this island soon, you would have to pack it up anyway. There were only a few items you wanted to take with you, one of which being your gun. It was fairly unique and you had made it yourself a long time ago, with some improvements since then. It was essentially a double-barreled revolver, set into an over-sized hunting knife. The blade was nestled right between the two barrels. Actually, you were fairly certain you had it with you when you encountered the newly-minted Kid Pirates. See, the cool thing about it was that you could hold the blade to someone's neck and have someone else at gunpoint at the same time. Which is exactly how you had gotten the best of your two friends at the time, Killer under your blade and Kid in your sights. You had sea prism stone built into it, otherwise Kid would have made quick work of you. Much like now, your observation haki sucked though and the next thing you remembered after that was waking up in a med bay with a head injury. It had probably been long enough that they'd forgotten about it. They'd probably been in much more memorable scuffles since then. Still, you didn't plan on showing it off any time soon. 

Killer was able to take the little tincture you had created for him and had quickly fallen asleep. With both of them in the treehouse, there was very little room to move. You had taken your things and put them on the roof, where you had slept. Occasionally you would sleep there of your own volition just to watch the stars. The leaves that made up the roof weren't that uncomfortable to be honest. You didn't hear Killer cough once during the night. That was good. You really didn't want to use your devil fruit. It took a lot of energy from you and you still hadn't completely figured it out yet. Especially with sharing your resources, you didn't have the energy to spare. Just because Killer was quiet, didn't mean you had slept well. Kid had an awful snoring problem. The Kid Pirates are having the best sleep of their lives right now. That's probably why they haven't tried to find their bastard of a captain yet.

The following day, you went about your normal routine and left them to themselves. The little dose of human interaction felt unfamiliar and combined with being cranky from lack of sleep, you wanted time alone. You walked along the beach, picking some non-poisonous fruits and snacking as you looked out at the horizon. Squinting, you tried to make out any sign of a ship. Nothing. Every now and then you could hear branches being snapped near the edge of the jungle. Seemed like Mini was hoping to scavenge your scraps. The beach had nothing to offer except for several semi-recognizable blue or white pieces. Killer's helmet. Finding more of them occupied the majority of your time until the sky started turning orange. If you found enough of them, you might be able to fix it. Technically, he owed you enough already at this point, but you genuinely did enjoy fiddling with and putting things together again. 

Returning to your treehouse, you put the fragments with your other things and checked on Killer again. You saw where Kid had at some point collected things that looked edible. Appraising the pile, you tossed about three quarters of the stuff out the hatch of the treehouse. Well, if he ate any of that, he's probably busy shitting out in the woods. You shook your head. He doesn't learn. Sighing, you made sure Killer was fine for the time being, and made your way back out of the treehouse. 

For some reason you couldn't shake this 'off' feeling you had and your feet had taken you to the spring. It was your happy place, offering some calming, meditative setting. I guess I could go for a dip. You couldn't swim, courtesy of your devil fruit, but this wasn't salt water and the water was only chest deep. The sound of the small waterfall that fed into the pool was always nice to listen to and the coolness of the water felt refreshing on your skin after a long day in the hot sun. Wading into the water, the shirt-dress you wore was quickly tossed to the side. You dipped your head under the trickling water falling from the overhead rocks and attempted to detangle your hair with your fingers. After you were satisfied with your work, you rubbed the dirt from your skin until you felt as clean as you were going to get without a real shower. You floated on your back and watched the sky turn pink-purple for a while, while the dripping and gentle splashing soothed you. Wading to the edge, you rested your head in your arms crossed over the still-sun-warmed rocks bordering the water. At some point you were lulled into a light sleep.

Your eyes opened at the sound of violently rustling leaves. Soft moonlight soon illuminated the Red Menace bursting forth to ruin your peace. You didn't move from where you rested but let out a groan.

"AND WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YA BEEN ALL DAY?"

You lifted your head and gave him an annoyed look. Who are you? My dad? "You missed me that much? I'm flattered," you sarcastically replied. You went back to being unbothered, laying on crossed arms and letting your eyes close. You missed the light tint of pink that dusted Kid's features, not that you could have seen it anyway in the dark.

"NO. I thought ya were going to bring back food! I had to find myself a bunch of shitty berries!"

"Proud of you," you grumbled. You heard him growl in frustration, surely trying to think of something slick to jab at you. When you continued hearing silence, you thought maybe he stalked off. To your horror, you started hearing the muffled plop of fabric on dirt and the clinking of buckles being undone. "The fuck do you think you're doing?" The change in pitch towards the end of your question was the only thing that betrayed your slight alarm. You didn't look towards him, partially because you didn't want to give him the satisfaction and partially because you were afraid you might like what you saw. Goosebumps crawled down your skin as you tried not to imagine what he looked like. 

"Ya forget who yer talkin' to, girlie." There was a shift in the water as Kid stepped in. "I do whatever I want." And right now Kid wanted to cool off some of his frustration that he was still stuck here. As a bonus, Kid wanted to fluster you. It was amusing to him and he wanted a distraction from this predicament. Distraction, at the moment, came in the form of the bare skin of your lean-muscled back. How easy it was to imagine it pressed into the black, silky sheets of his bed...

Girlie. Heat rose to your face. Ew, why do I like that?  Splashes alerted you to Kid's presence at the opposite side of the pool. A relieved breath left your chest. You thought he would place himself uncomfortably close to you. Sinking lower in the water, you slowly turned to face him. An eyebrow quirked up as you took in the sight before you. His scarlet hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes burned a dark orange. Pale, muscular arms, well an arm and one-fifth of an arm, were stretched on either side of him as he leaned against the edge. You accidentally caught his gaze and frowned when a smirk spread across his features. 

"Couldn't resist turning around I see." Kid wished you would sit up just a little more. The tops of your breasts were dangerously close to breaching the water's surface. 

"Oh fuck off. I can see you trying to manifest the power to see through water." Even with your scars, you had no lack of self-confidence. That being said, you hadn't gotten a look in a proper mirror, only reflections in the water, so you only had a vague idea of their extent. But, you were highly sought-after before this life, and the cockiness from that lingered. "Glad I can only see out of one eye. I don't have to expose both retinas to your ugly ass." It almost pained you to lie. Almost. The competitive side of you took over and you were determined to win this battle of wills.  

Kid snickered. "Killer's told me I've a fine ass actually." Amber eyes wandered over the parts of you that Kid could see. The moonlight reflected a soft silvery light where it touched your scars. It reminded Kid of the way moonlight reflects off ocean waves. Kid was no stranger to scars or disfigurement. It didn't bother him in the least. Especially since he could tell you wore it with purpose, the badge of a fighter. "I might be inclined to show ya if ya beg."

"Me? Begging?" You scoffed. "I didn't even beg for my life when this happened." You angrily gestured to the ruined side of your face. Fuck you revealed too much, you dumbass. You bit your cheek to cut yourself off from saying anything more. 

His eyes widened for a moment. Kid didn't expect that. He wondered how far he could pry. This started as a little fun game but he genuinely wanted to know your backstory. There were obviously a lot of pieces to it and you seemed to be hiding them purposefully. "What happened?" He asked bluntly. Kid wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

You let out an irked huff. "Don't." What business did he have trying to get to know you? At the most you would be a passenger for a week or two and then you would fuck right off to tie up some loose ends. Since you had been alone between when it happened and now, you didn't realize how poorly you would react at being asked about it. You mentally kicked yourself for opening up the door to this line of questioning.

"Ya don't have to be shy with m-," Kid started to tease.

"I said LEAVE IT." Your prior life as a captain led you back into the habit of issuing commands. As you said it, you had lunged forward and pushed a wall of water towards him. It was pretty childish to splash someone, but your temper was known to get the better of you. Great, now he's probably going to drown me. You retreated back a few steps.

Kid wiped the water out of his eyes, with a wicked smile. "Yer a rotten little brat, ain't ya?" Kid stalked forward. He took great pleasure watching you shrink backwards. 

Before you had the chance to do anything, his hand shot out towards you. Where you anticipated to be hit or grabbed, a cold sheet of water hit you. Holding your arms up defensively didn't do much to block the water from going up your nose. In a fit of coughing, you lashed out again but this time was weaker, since the coughing devolved into half-giggles. This was so stupid. I'm having a fucking splash fight with Eustass Kid. 

This went back and forth a few more times. You were... having fun? Simultaneously you were trying to get the water out of your good eye and blindly splashing towards where you thought he was. An iron grip closed around the wrist trying to get him wet. You had finally cleared your vision and your now-free hand attempted to pry his fingers from your wrist. "Fine! I'm rotten. Are you happy?" You were still half-heartedly laughing. Something burned in your lower abdomen. Oh. That was a feeling you had nearly forgotten. It only got worse when he turned you to face him. 

There was the wicked smile again. "No." Kid tugged you closer until he felt your free hand splayed out on his chest to keep some distance between the two of you. "As the winner, I believe I'm owed a prize." 

Yanking your hand back to no avail, you glared up at him. You wanted to take back your other hand too, but you didn't want him to pull you flush against him. Maybe I do. You cursed the basic human needs of your body for causing your will to falter. Sliding your hand further up his chest, you hooked it around his tree trunk of a neck, giving a little tug to make him lean down. You wouldn't give Kid the chance to make the first move. This was going to be on your terms and your terms only. Kid barely gave you resistance, and it was probably only because he was shocked you didn't fight him on it. 

The second your lips met, your wrist was released and you felt his palm press into the small of your back, forcing you to be pressed up against him. You growled out of annoyance, though it certainly sounded like something else to him. Fuck it. You nudged him towards the shallower area where he could sit and still be partly submerged, sliding your tongue into his mouth while you did it. Pushing him down, you were semi-straddled over him. The kiss was broken only when you both had to stop for air, panting. 

"One hand isn't enough," Kid mumbled into the skin of your neck. His hand alternated between grabbing your ass and titties, which were just as soft as he wanted them to be. 

You let out a low laugh. "That's funny... I was thinking the same thing." You could feel his cock against the inside of your thigh. It was befitting of the giant man under you. In other circumstances, this would be considered romantic, an island oasis under the moonlight. The burning feeling at your core was only getting more intense. Your fingers grasped at his red locks as you kissed him again, letting out a satisfied moan when he bit your lip and moved to do the same thing to your neck. 

Both of your heads snapped towards a chorus of whistles and cheers. "Alright, Captain!" "Any more where she came from?" "Hey, where's Killer?" 

Your eyes flicked to Kid. His face was as red as his hair. Not with embarrassment obviously. Just anger.

"OF ALL THE FUCKIN TIMES TO SHOW YER SORRY ASSES!" Kid smoothly bucked you off of him so that he could remove himself from the water. He snatched his clothes, tossing your shirt closer to you when he came across it. "ONE OF YA IS GONNA SUCK MY FUCKIN COCK TO MAKE UP FOR IT." He stormed over to the group and demanded to be taken to the ship. 

The group of mostly men weren't deterred by Kid's yelling. They were gathered around him asking if he was fine and about Killer. While they were focused on him, you lifted yourself out of the water and threw your clothes on. So much for ending your dry spell. 

Next

[romanoffsbish]

A Safe Haven

WandaNat x Fem!R

Request | Prompt | 3,060 Words

Warnings: Injured R, Descriptions of Burns/Stabbings

Natasha and Wanda had gone out for the day, they shared a short brunch before setting off to go shop. They wanted to be prepared for your return tonight with all of your favorite things. It was your first official mission as an Avenger after Fury gave you the final go ahead, you were so excited when you left this afternoon, and they wanted to make the return just as special for you because it was only fair, as you were the only light in their lives most days.

—

Then they got a call, and suddenly a concerned Wanda was falling from the skies, landing back at the compound, and running in a frantic way to get to the med bay. Apparently you were waiting there, and Natasha agreed to purchase your things then meet her back there in about ten minutes, but she promised it'd be less.

"Bruce, I swear to god I will shove that needle into your jugular if you don't get the hell away from me! I can do it by my fucking self!"

Wanda wasn't really surprised to hear you screaming, you were never a fan of the clinical side of things, nor were you one for allowing others to see you in such a vulnerable state. Except for if it was with Nat or Wanda, that trust took a long time to build, so she rushed through the doors, and made a beeline for you.

Red wisps wrapped around your hand right as you managed to steal the syringe full of numbing drugs from the nervous scientist, you scowled deeply, but your body also visibly relaxed when your lovers presence became clear to you. You instantly felt safer...

"Moya lyubov, we don't stab our friends."

You growled, "He was going to do it first."

Wanda smirked at you, eyes of an intricate green never leaving yours as she nodded sideways at the sheepish man, he took her hint with a running start. The doors swinging as he left in a rush signaled to you he was gone, "What a pussy," you grumbled and Wanda snorted, "Play nice, he was trying to help."

Honestly, if you didn't see him shift into a giant green monster with your own eyes you'd never believe that Bruce Banner was the Hulk.

"He knows better Wands." She nodded with a hum to follow. "Yeah, but he also knows if he didn't try he'd have me and Nat to deal with, and I hate to break it to you, but we're scarier."

You gasped and pointed the syringe at her now, "Take it back little witch." She rolled her eyes, and literally took it back from you. "Done." She winked, you rolled your eyes, and shrieked, "Not what I meant Wands, I am way scarier!"

"Detka," she chuckled with a soft shake of her head, because as scary as you thought you looked, you truthfully didn't. With furrowed brows, a crinkled nose and an exaggerated pout, what she knew was meant to be an intimidating scowl, it only softened her heart. So, as was an inevitability she cursed at you, "You look adorable."

You gasped again, this time more loudly, and the heatless words died on your tongue as you felt a surge of pain. The adrenaline had faded.

Your body fell back against the bed, wrapped hands pawed at the sheets and tears began to stream down your face. Wanda's teasing smile fell, and for the first time since she had arrived she witnessed just how hurt you truly were.

There was ash all over your maroon suit, the flecks of charcoal white covered not only it but your face and hair. Fortunately your hands were already wrapped by someone, but the burns you had sustained were everywhere.

Where the white ash didn't reside, jagged holes in the suit took its place, showing the brunette your third degree burns. Then her eyes trailed further down your body, noticing the scrapes and bruises, and stopping in post haste on the saturated red gauze wrapped over your thigh. Her stomach flipped, seeing you in pain like this always hurt the empath just the same.

"It's okay," you whispered through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to sit back up so you could try to comfort the witch who's lip was now wobbling, but her hand softly pushed you back into the bed. "No, it really isn't."

You should honestly be fine; this was a simple recon mission, medical aid made no sense.

Wanda reached for a white rag from the cleaning station, she softly wiped your face clean, then she thoroughly wiped an unmarred portion of your shoulder clean. She smiled down at you, her thumb traced over your cheek and you instantly nodded. Giving her the silent permission to give you the magical shot to numb the pain, her lips touched yours just as you winced. A momentum picked up as you felt the ice rolling through your veins. Your body feeling as if you could party all night when it really belongs in the junkyard in this state.

Being the responsible party the witch pulled away, smiles pressed lightly together as she hesitates to truly part, but with immense strength she manages. "We need to fix you up now my love, let me do what needs to be done."

Wanda knew she'd have to soften your resolve some to allow her to use her powers like this.

After every mission she'd rush to either your or Natasha's side, use her powers to heal you just a bit, then she'd spend an entire day sleeping.

Then one really bad time put an end to this for a long while. When Nat was struck by a bullet, Wanda suddenly collapsed as Natasha's lungs partook in a miracle as they did the opposite.

"Y/N, don't worry," she quickly shushed you. "I'm going to make these third degree ones, and then I'll stop. I promise I'll be okay, I had Tony make these bracelets for me that help me better pull my energy. No more collapsing."

"C-careful Wan," you stuttered, the heat rolling through your body was still intense, even with the Novocain coursing through you, so you're desperate for her offered relief, but you would never allow it if you thought it would hurt her.

"I always am," she winked at you, then began to remove the rest of your suit. Her body stuttered as she really took the sight of you in.

"Why are you in this state Y/N," she wasn't accusatory, just concerned. "Where was Steve and Tony?" Your eyes widened, because the truth would only lead to the other's demise.

You'd considered lying to her, but even in your delirious state you knew better than to try. Nat probably already got the ear full from Hill, so you knew Wanda would have found out.

"They forgot I was there," you whispered the embarrassing truth so quietly, but you knew she heard it when her jaw clenched. "They triggered the bombs on the floors above me, but then after I shrieked into the coms they stopped and Tony flew up to save me."

"This isn't exactly saving," Wanda sneered. "Those idiots are in for a world of hurt."

"Wanda, it's okay." It wasn't, but you wanted to pretend like it was and she could sense that. "You're right, it's gonna be fine, just relax."

Wanda placed a chaste kiss to your lips as her forehead leaned into yours. A shaky breath fanned across your face as she began to heal you, you could smell traces of mint on your lips, and feel the love she left behind in its place. "Just focus on me sweet girl, you're ok."

"Wan, you said just the burns," you whined, and the witch kissed your protests away as her warm, glowing hands hovered over your thigh.

"Look, I'm fine moya lyubov'," she hummed, her thumb tenderly traced over the new mark on your thigh, and you sighed contentedly.

Wanda saw you shiver, she didn't want to hurt you further with the tight fitting emergency clothes you all had in the medbay for moments like these, so she slipped her own hoodie off and with her magic she made sure it fit you in an oversized manner like you preferred. All to protect your body from being seen by the team.

"Can you stand now?" You nodded, and the brunette guided you onto your feet. Natasha burst into the room just as Wanda pulled you into her, eight minutes in total. The witch was hoping for more time, but you needed to eat, and the redhead will want her time with you.

Wanda pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, "I'm so happy you're okay detka," then she left an even softer one to your lips before she was gently exchanging you for the grocery bags. She gave Natasha a quick kiss, they shared a fond smile as they watched you burrow into your other lover with a swiftness. Then Wanda was gone to the kitchen before you could blink.

Natasha didn't mind the grime transferring to her shirt, she only smiled and buried her nose in your hair, she could smell hints of your apple scented conditioner beneath the layers of smoke and ash that settled onto the strands.

Natasha's blood boiled when she looked just beyond you and saw the tattered remains of your suit behind you. Most of your burns were on your upper body so she couldn't see the improved state, but she did notice the few on your legs, and knowing they were once worse was enough to make her rather homicidal.

Tony and Steve would be smart to find a safe house, because after you fall asleep tonight there's no one left to protect the assholes.

They were careless with your life, and to your girlfriends that's an unforgivable slight.

"Thank you for coming home to us detka," the woman held back a sob as she repeated her usual mantra for when you'd return from a shield mission, but the way her arms tightened around your waist gave way to her clear fear.

"I'll always come home to you guys Natty."

"I appreciate that." Natasha gently pulled away from your embrace so that she could cup your cheek and pull you in for a kiss that she poured all of her love for you into. "We love you a lot."

"I love you guys too Natty, even more than Taylor Swift." Natasha chuckled in disbelief, "Wow, you're clearly in a state of delusion."

"Let's go get you cleaned up detka." Natasha scooped you up against your weak protests. You'd lost a decent amount of blood with the wound on your thigh, plus, no amount of magic heals the need for rest after what you've been through. So this is really the least your lover felt she could do to play her part in your care.

After taking the elevator up to your shared room the redhead set you down on the counter in your en suite, then she filled the tub with scentless bubbles and lukewarm water as to not aggravate your already overheated skin.

You watched with your lip caught between your teeth as your lover stripped down to nothing. She was always something to admire, and you'd never stop. "My eyes are up here."

"I know, I'd rather look at your boobs," you admitted without any shame causing the woman to loudly snort, "Y/N, you're injured..."

"Yes, and horny for my girlfriends always."

Natasha shook her head at your truly heatless words, "You're insatiable darling." You only smiled in response, allowing her to gently guide you into the readied tub where she just as quickly settled her body behind yours for the optimum support. "Dirty, dirty girl indeed."

You huffed, a protest of sorts, but you were too fatigued to back it up with words. The silence slowly encompassed the bathroom, sounds of water splashing into the marble all to be heard as you rearranged your body to lay face down. Natasha frowned when you shivered, she tried to offer her own body heat, but she couldn't budge on the water or else you'd be worse off.

She hummed a soft tune as she ran her fingers up and down your spine with delicate strokes. Her hand began to kneed at the unmarred skin, hopefully helping to relieve the tension that still resided in your muscles from the long day.

Her hand eventually made its way to your thigh where it methodically paused. She softly ran her thumb over your new scar, face falling further as she racked her brain for an answer that only evaded her with logical thought.

"How did you get stabbed?" You tensed as she finally verbalized it, now remembering that the empty floor you were sent to had a straggler who graciously left his blade behind in your leg. He'd totally blindsided you, swinging it at you before he escaped down the fire escape.

"The information was faulty," your scratchy voice came out sounding pitiful. "The place wasn't empty like Fury had first relayed."

Natasha hummed in understanding, she lifted your face and kissed away the tears as they fell. No more words needed to be said, she could tell it was just a fluke in intel, and it infuriated her that they'd not be more thorough for your first time up against Avenger level threats.

"Natty, I'm really cold." You shivered more noticeably this time and she took that as a sign to lift your bodies so she could run the shower. You were likely having a reaction to the loss of blood now, body struggling to regulate after all its been through in only a matter of hours.

Natasha did everything, and to her surprise you let her, you were just so tired and pliant.

She gently sat you down on the bench in your massive shower, then she moved to rid your locks of all the debris. You leaned back when she requested, her strong arm held you up with ease as the warm, once clear water turned to black as it slid down the drain. The various debris getting caught on top of the silver drain gratings, and she soon grimaced as an entire chunk of plaster thunked against the marble.

Natasha waited until the water ran clear to sit you back up. You pouted when you saw her expression, it was pained, and you felt guilty. Thoughts of how you could've prevented this plagued you, truthfully you knew it wasn't on you. Tony and Steve made a massive mistake. Fortunately for you the redhead didn't give you long to overthink before she lifted you again.

You purred when her lips pressed into your neck as she tugged you into her embrace. Fresh hot tears cascaded down your skin along with the streaming water and you held her even tighter, trying to somehow reassure her that you're still here. Natasha held you close like that for an entire minute as she sobbed.

"I'm okay Nat," you whispered reassuringly, "I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm safe with you two."

You reached down, pulling her hand back up with yours to prove your words right. You kissed her knuckles with a tenderness only reserved for your lovers. Then you flattened her hand against your chest, overlaying it with yours for optimal comfort. Nat sighed as soon as she felt the strong thrum beneath her palm.

"Thank you detka..." You kissed her cheek and she turned her head fast enough to steal a proper kiss as well. To her delight you didn't try to pull away, but instead you leaned in and allowed her to deepen it without her asking.

"I love you," you whispered as you playfully smiled against her lips, "But I'm becoming a prune, can we get this show on the road?"

Natasha chuckled, "You're lucky you're cute," shaking her head as she reached for the first of many hair products you had. She set the bottle beside you, and greedily leaned in for another kiss. "Your wish is my command detka."

After Natasha finished you up she guided you to the door with a hand on your hip, and the other on your lower back for assistance. The redhead spun you, softly pressing you into the wall so she could have her last moment of alone time with you. She raised a single hand to cup your left cheek, she ran her thumb over a scar beneath your left eye. Memories of your first ever encounter, a hectic mission, flashes through the both of your minds. You share a reminiscent smile as you kissed her palm.

"I love you too," Natasha finally verbally reciprocates your earlier sentiment. It wasn't needed, her actions alone said it, but you never failed to melt when your lovers reminded you. You whined, your usual cry for attention, and Natasha pecked your lips just before opening the door so you could get in bed and rest.

When the two of you exited the bathroom you both smiled at the sight of your lover on the bed. The scene was overwhelmingly domestic. Wanda wore an oversized shirt of yours, with a smart remote in her hand, apparently keying in your favorite movie on Hulu, and you melted.

You leaned your tired body back into the redheads who leaned against the doorframe,  eyes falling to the rest of the targeted display.

On a tray to the left of the bed was three plates full of your favorite home cooked dinner of Wanda's, and three cans of varying sodas. On the bedside table sat a burn cream, a couple extra strength Tylenol, and a glass of water.

All of that alone was enough to make you want to cry. So, when Wanda jumped up and ran to embrace the both of you the tears actually fell. Your lovers rubbed your shoulders and sides lovingly, depositing kisses wherever they could as they let you have a moment to feel it all.

In there arms was where you felt the safest, you never knew what the feeling of home was like until you met them; they were your physical embodiment of a safety net, and now, you knew you'd always have something to fall into.

——

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, will add as we go on

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Word count: 2.9k

A/n: i don't remember which gifs i used already fkdoslzkz anyway, enjoy guys lmao

You awake in a silent room, everyone sleeping. Or almost. It's scary how quickly you notice Natasha's absence in the bunks or on the ground within the improvised beds. With a low groan, you sit up and look around to find her. And you do, she's sitting at the helm, one leg against her torso that she holds with her connected hands, her eyes fixated on the space advancing at speed around her. The colorful tapestry reflects against her like water navigating her skin, and you realize you could look at her forever. This too scares you. So you decide to face your fears head on and stand up to go talk to her.

"I'd prefer if you didn't put your boots on the seats," you whisper as to not awake anyone else. She looks up at you with those blue eyes and you feel your heart skip a beat. She offers a mischievous smile to you, before she puts her leg down.

"Stick in the mud."

"Better than mud on this… I want to say leather, but I have no idea if I'm honest." Her throaty laugh makes you smile and you hide it by looking at the console. You were doing good time, all things considered.

"I'll keep that in mind for the future."

Her teasing makes you escalate the situation. You refuse to back down now that you set up that boundary.

"You better remember."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll have to come for you," you threaten, leaning closer to her before you think better of it. There is a tension there, but you can't quite put your finger on it until she leans up, her eyes searching yours.

"We wouldn't want that," she says in… is that a flirty tone? No. No way. You were imagining things.

Things like a future after you're back on Earth, a very unlikely one, where she comes to visit you, or you go back in space together. Maybe you could be friends, or maybe… you stop your gay brain. 

Yes, Natasha Romanoff is a very attractive woman, but one who would never be interested in you. And she is an Avenger, an incredible human being, a hero - no matter if they never came to save you right now. It's crazy how much you already want more from her despite barely knowing her, which is why you decide to simply shelve these budding attractions that you can't call feelings yet. It's better that way.

You just need to get further away from her face. And you did. Very slowly.

"I'm glad we agree," you say, your throat suddenly very dry.

You hear a beep coming from the side and take a look at the controls. Apparently you just made it to the Universal Neural Teleportation Network. You look at the empty space before you, and give a look to Natasha.

"We need to wake up everyone to secure them for the jump." You stand up and start to shake a few of your passengers awake, ordering them around with Natasha. When everyone is secure, you sit back at your seat and send the signal to open the door to the network and go through. You feel the sudden speed pull at your inside uncomfortably and before you know it you're far from Vormir.

-

A few hours go by before you are able to see the outpost orbiting a gaseous planet. You slowly approach until you receive a transmission.

"Outpost Theta-3, decline your identity."

The voice sounds frantic, and you quickly notice you were far from the only ship approaching the outpost. Probably an after effect of half the galaxy appearing back suddenly.

"We're mercenaries, in need of a place to board."

"Alright. Bay E-12 starboard."

"Thank you."

You fly and park next to the platform you were given access to, quickly feeling the gravity dampener relaying your ship's thrusters. It was bumpy with all the ships coming and going right next to you, but it was still a success. You let out a sigh of relief, glad to be able to get out of the ship. After staying in for so long, you're starting to feel cooped up. Still, you let everyone know they can leave safely, and wait for the cleaning crew to go first. When you leave your seat and look behind you, Natasha and June are still there, waiting for you to get out of the cockpit. There are no words exchanged, and no need for them, but you're thankful they waited for you. You join them towards the open door and before the three of you come out, you hand Natasha a small chip.

"Universal translator. So far we all had one, but we might come across people who don't so…"

"Alright," she nods. "Can you…?"

"Ah, yes, let me…" you come closer to her and gently move her hair out of the way, your fingertips caressing her skin so you can attach the chip right behind her ear. She let out a breath, now noticing she held it in at your proximity.

You offer her a shy smile before turning back to the door and going through it, only to see your new friends were under the threat of weapons. Some of them are pointed your way once you go through the door. You quickly put your hands up and someone comes to you to get your weapons, including those Natasha have.

"You're under arrest for being a part of the Grafd Syndicate. Charges include theft, attack against the Nova Empire, slavery, and numerous other crimes," one of them say as he steps forward.

"I'm so glad I can understand them," she seethe with a look your way. Did she think you…? No, she has to know.

"Wow. Wait, no. We're not– we stole the ship, remember. We stole it to escape them," you address the man in front of you, as much as Natasha. You can't see if she believes you or not, too worried by the scan they submit you to. It isn't the first time something like that happens, but every time it puts you on edge.

The man who scans you reports the results to his superior, who examines them for a minute. Tension feels your back, and you want to flee but you know better. They'd shot you down in an instant. Luckily it doesn't come to that. With a gesture everyone brings their weapons down. You take a deep breath, relief washing over you.

"We understand your situation, we will keep you among the other refugees until we know where to send you." The man starts to leave and you take a step further.

"That usually doesn't go so well," you whisper to yourself before you decide to plead more of your case. "Wait, actually we need you to contact someone and we can be out of your hair in no time."

He considers your words carefully.

"Lieutenant Krio, please see to them," he says without answering you directly. The Lieutenant in question, an alien with green skin but otherwise an humanoïd appearance, nods before she takes a step towards you.

"Please follow me, any of your needs will be covered once you get settled. Including your requests," she adds when she sees you're about to interrupt again. You abdicate for now and agree to simply follow her. You could almost smell Earth, you just needed to be patient a little bit longer.

After traveling through some hallways, you arrive at their mess hall. It's a long room, with a high ceiling, white walls and no windows but a skylight that gives directly into space, and more room than needed most of the time you imagine. But not today. Today, it's full of people. You guess most of them are past victims of the Snap, judging by how lost most of them look. There were at least a hundred people packed in the room, and your group just added to that number. When your guide finally stops it's to show you a small space delimited only by some holographic tape, with barely enough space for all of you to lay down, some sleeping bags and blankets stocked in a corner.

"Wait, we can just stay in our ship if you don't have the space," you offer upon observing your new quarters.

"Sorry, but we have to follow regulations."

"Regulations say we have to be parked like animals in a room?" You ask, your tone bordering on anger.

"That's how it is. No one likes it but we can't do anything about it. We need to secure your ship and it might take some time with the current influx of people."

You're about to protest some more when a hand grabs yours, and you immediately calm down at the cold coming from it. You give a pout to Natasha at her clear message. Calm down. We won't be there long.

"Okay, okay… can you at least try to contact the person I need you to?"

"Sure, do you have an ID number for them?"

"No, just a name." You turn to Natasha and let her give it, ignoring the annoyance on the face of your interlocutor.

"Carol Danvers, also known as Captain Marvel."

Recognition crosses the face of the Lieutenant and she nods. "We can try to contact her, but don't expect much. She rarely answers."

"Simply tell her it's from Natasha Romanoff."

"We will. Now if you'll excuse me…" she looks at your new quarters, then to your group. "I have more work to do. Someone will bring you food and more sleeping arrangements."

"Thank you," you answer very briefly and walk into your small corner. There was barely any space to move around and once everyone was sitting down, it felt even worse, especially with your bags thrown on the ground.

-

You discard your empty food tray when a soldier walks the imaginary hallways with a trolley to recover all the discarded dishes. After that, you sit next to June, who is now sleeping directly on the cold hard ground, and face Natasha, talking a few words in hushed tones to her.

"So, how do you know this Captain Marvel?" When you were taken from Earth, she wasn't yet a big name. You briefly wonder if you should have kept this question to yourself when you see the haunted look in her blue-green eyes, but she still answers.

"It was shortly after the Snap. We were still counting our losses. So many people…" you can see her eyes glimmer with unshed tears, and you wonder how many people close to her she lost. You guess a few. You yourself wondered sometimes if upon returning on Earth you would find the empty house of your parents, or if they would be there still.

"Anyone you knew?" You ask before thinking.

"Friends. My sister, too."

Slowly you move next to her and put your hand on her cold one, before you squeeze it gently. She looks so vulnerable, so far from the image you had of Earth's mightiest heroes. You truly hope your warmth can reach her somehow.

"I'm sure she's back like everyone else."

She smiles at you, just from the corner of her lips but it's enough for you. Your eyes meet briefly before she looks down, and you think you can see a bit of red on her cheeks. Somehow it makes your heart skip a bit.

"Yeah, she's probably fine. I just hope she'll be okay until I come home."

"Hey, if we're lucky we won't take 5 years now that we have your friend." Your joke makes her chuckle.

"Anyway… she appeared not long after the Snap, looking for Fury. He was part of the casualties so from then on we started working together," she finishes.

The haunted look made you think that this short explanation left out the weight of the numerous years spent feeling these losses. Her sister, her friends, whoever this Fury guy was. It was a lot when you also had the weight of half the world disappearing on your shoulders too. The grief must have been agonizing.

"That's quite the story. I guess that's all it takes for superheroes to start working together."

She hums, and after a lull in the conversation, she leans against you. It takes you by surprise, your breath catching in your throat. You swallow hard and turn your head to look at her. She's looking back at you with her sea-side eyes, and her face is so close you can feel her breath on your skin.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" She asks in the same whispery tone you've been using for your conversation, but suddenly it feels so much more intimate. "You're just warm."

"No, it's no problem." Your answer it's a bit louder than you intended, and a small smirk finds its place on Natasha's lips. You blush in embarrassment.

"I'm going to take a nap then. Wake me up if anything happens."

You nod, she closes her eyes, and your throat is the driest it's ever been.

-

"Wake up," you urgently move Natasha away from you. "I think something is happening."

When she opens her eyes, she takes a deep breath and your scent immediately invades her senses. She'd had the best sleep she had in a while, and awakening is now harder than she expected it would be. But, contrary to her spirit, her body is ready to fight. Instinctively she reaches for her weapon. She still had two full magazines but it won't be enough if they're under attack. Maybe she can nick a weapon, but first, she has to assess the situation. She looks around, seeing everyone is agitated and some of the guards are running in the hallways. The floor is slightly shaking, too, a clear indication of something happening.

"Any idea what's happening?" She asks, crouching instead of simply sitting to get ready to act. You're already doing the same, a knee still on the ground to check on your own weapon and make sure the coils are in good shape.

"Not really. The station has been moving for a few minutes now -" explained the shaking "- but no one told us anything." As you are checking your weapon, Natasha notices your fingers are unsteady. It's the first time she sees something worry you since you met to the point of making you tremble.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You nod at first, then shake your head, your breath shallow. "I just… What if it's the Grafd? What if we endangered everyone by coming here? When it's just us, it's fine, but there are so many people here!"

Natasha frowns. She's worried about your sudden panic, but also focuses on the fact you mentioned that you are being pursued by some people - the people you escaped from, she guessed now - but why would they still be after you? Yes, you took a ship from them, but it had been five years. It makes Natasha wonder if something else happened that they were so hell-bent in finding you again. She would need to bring the subject again later. For now, she decides to simply comfort you. You seem on the verge of a panic attack.

"Hey, it's probably nothing. See, Lieutenant Krio is here." She gently rubs your back, and you take a deep breath to relax slowly as you listen to the Nova Corps agents.

"Please, everyone calm down. The station moved through an asteroid field, we're in stable space again."

You let out a deep, shaky breath, and Natasha has you sit back down. Gently she pries your weapon from your fingers and puts it down on one of your packs.

"Those guys really scares you, huh?" She asks a rhetorical question. You know it's useless to deny it, no matter the bravado you show more often than not. Usually, there isn't a station full of innocent people around you. Usually.

"I guess. It's just… it happened once. People got caught in the crossfire." You swallow with difficulty. You remember the screams and the fire and the smell of burned corpses. After that you avoided places that were isolated, and you kept as low a profile as possible. You only scavenged in hope of getting out of this whole mess.

Natasha knew the feeling too well. For her, it was Dreykov's daughter, the people of New York during the battle who didn't make it. She knew what dreams haunted her friends too. It was the price of that life after all.

"Does it get better?" You ask when you see in her eyes what you see in yours when you look in the mirror.

"It does. Bit by bit. But never fully." It's hard for her to tell you the truth but she knows it's what you want. You nod. "It helps to have people you can count on." She looks towards the now awake June, and Tim. You barely know the guy but he'd been there for you so far - a bit out of paranoia but still it counts for something. "And to have people to talk with."

She smiles at you and takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. The gesture is firm but she offers you the possibility to take your hand away. You choose to leave it there.

It's a peaceful moment, and a peaceful feeling that she brings to you. But it barely lasts, when a soldier comes to your group. You let go of her hand, almost like a shy highschooler who doesn't want their parents to know about their girlfriend. A blast to the past.

"We got an answer," he says shortly. "Says she'll be here soon."

Natasha straightens her back. "Perfect."

It sounds like you were soon going to be home.

[tawaifeddiediaz]

love like (the sweetest) chocolate

for @deareddie​ and inspired by this reddit post

[AO3 Link]

Word Count: 3728 words

Buck has a problem.

And that is…he doesn’t like peanut butter.

Buck scowls at the bowls of candy artfully set out, his fingers twitching in his jacket as he catches sight of the peanut M&Ms. 

“That is a low blow,” he hisses to Eddie, who slots into place in the adjacent seat with the most confused expression Buck has ever seen on him. “The lowest blow that can ever be blown.”

“What is?” Eddie hums, his tongue darting out to fiddle with an artificial fang, and Buck promptly forgets his trail of thought in favor of tracing the spit-slick line of his mouth.

Eddie is, thankfully, oblivious to Buck’s staring, still craning his neck to find out exactly what Buck’s pissed about. Buck doesn’t think even he remembers, too distracted by the sight in front of him.

He curls his hands tight in the pockets of his slacks, gaze drifting down to take in the rest of his best friend’s costume.

Eddie’s dressed as a vampire for the station Halloween party, a long flowing cape trailing behind him, draped over his seat. The collar is ostentatiously tall, jutting up from his shoulders to nearly the top of his ears, and it annoys Buck because it’s partially blocking his view of Eddie’s face.

Underneath, Eddie’s donned a tight black dress shirt, the top three buttons obscenely undone below the knot of the cape, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a maroon waistcoat that molds to every last line of his body. And because the universe hates Buck, he’s in the skinniest pair of black pants that Buck’s ever seen, curving over thick thighs and a tight ass.

His only saving grace is the cape, because it stops his eyes from being glued to Eddie’s ass all night, but he still hasn’t been able to look away from the man since he walked in behind a mini-Indiana Jones.

Right now, though, his gaze drifts right back to the table in the center of the engine bay where Ravi and Karen are setting out plates and bowls of snacks for people to munch on as they mingle, his forgotten thought pushing to the forefront of his mind.

The peanut M&Ms mock him.

Eddie catches his drift as he follows the direction of Buck’s glower, and he just laughs, his arm slinging over Buck’s shoulder to tug him out of the chair. “Oh, come on, it’s your fault for lying to everyone. These are the consequences.”

Buck follows Eddie automatically, the lean lines of his body pressed into Buck’s like perfect puzzle pieces. They shouldn’t be able to walk as smoothly as they are, but somehow it works, even with Eddie’s arm across the line of Buck’s shoulders. 

“No, it’s not, it’s everyone’s fault for being so fucking weird about peanut butter,” Buck complains back, trailing off before they join Karen and Ravi. Eddie lets go of Buck — regrettably — to help Karen with the plates, while Buck trails behind, trying so fucking hard not to look at the peanut M&Ms.

Ravi catches him looking anyway, but mistakes his glance for something else. “Oh, sorry, Buck, I forgot you were allergic. I can go put these inside.”

“I’m not,” Buck says absently, grabbing a bunch of pretzels instead, pretending their crunch was the sweet crunch of the chocolate shell cracking into the roasted peanut, the perfect blend of sweet and savory.

Karen pauses in her conversation with Eddie to fix him with a confused look, clearly listening in. “What? I thought you were deathly allergic.”

And she thinks this because Buck refused to eat her famous peanut butter brownies once under the guise of the lie, because the scent of peanut butter doesn’t sit well with him, but neither does the disappointment on his friend’s face.

Buck stammers and scrambles for an answer, his best friend no help at all where he’s beaming over Karen’s shoulder, those fangs making that smile more dangerous than usual. “N-no, I am allergic, but not deathly. As long as I don’t eat it, I’m fine. No cross-contamination here.”

Karen nods slowly, distracted when Bobby calls her upstairs, but Ravi stands there with narrowed eyes, head cocked like he’s figuring something out.

Buck sincerely hopes he doesn’t.

“What?” Buck says, popping another handful of pretzels in his mouth. He wishes they were at least the chocolate covered ones so he could pretend that they were his favourite chocolate. 

Eddie’s low laughter filters through Buck’s ears, and he turns to glower at him. Feeling spiteful, he steals the chocolate chip cookie out of Eddie’s hands, taking an aggressive bite and stomping off before Ravi can actually figure out that he’s lying.

Buck was in third grade when the first whiff of peanut butter made him nauseous enough to throw up in the toy bin. One of his classmates had opened a packet of peanut butter crackers, and the smell of it had reached Buck all the way across the room.

His teacher had been nice about it, even if some of the kids hadn’t, but she’d explained it to everyone, instantly shutting them up.

“Evan might have an allergy that we don’t know about, okay? It’s not nice to make fun of people for it, but even if he doesn’t have an allergy, some people just don’t like certain smells or foods,” she’d said, in her kind, gentle voice.

His parents had taken him to the allergist, even though they were downright confused about it, because Buck used to eat peanut products all the time. Not peanut butter, because he’d always hated it, but chocolate and ice cream with peanut pieces in it.

Just as they suspected, Buck hadn’t been allergic to peanuts at all — he just hated the smell of peanut butter.

He’d tried explaining it to a few people, only to hear various versions of why he should love peanut butter in return. The defensiveness had been just plain annoying, so he’d switched tactics, thinking it was much better for people to be overly cautious of peanuts around him altogether.

Buck hadn’t even known what an allergy was but he’d taken that one sentence and run with it because it sounded like an important enough excuse to get people to stop defending it in front of him.

Twenty-three years later, he still tells people that he’s allergic to peanuts, just to avoid peanut butter-related debates.

The problem, though, lies within the cerulean bowl that Eddie’s picked up, no doubt to take upstairs and hide.

Buck loves peanut M&Ms. 

He doesn’t even know why he loves them so much, but it’s the only candy he ever eats during movies, the only chocolate he refuses to share with anyone. Something about the thin layer of chocolate covering the crunchy peanut sends a shot of serotonin straight to Buck’s brain.

Maybe they’re his guilty pleasure or something.

There’s no real reason for him hating most other peanut products other than the fact that peanut oil kind of makes him want to hurl, but right now, all Buck can think about is how much he wants a handful of those M&Ms. 

Christopher coming to stand next to him distracts him enough that he can tear his eyes away from the bowl, and subsequently, the man standing behind it with a larger-than-life smirk on his face as he makes his way to the stairs, his cape flaring dramatically behind him with each step.

“The M&Ms?” Chris asks knowingly, as the sole other confidant in this deception of his, barring Maddie. They’ve watched too many movies together for Buck to hide it from the Diaz boys.

Buck glances down at him. “Yeah, Indiana Jones, the M&Ms.”

“Want me to sneak you a handful?” 

Buck can’t help it then — he laughs loudly at the eager enthusiasm in Christopher’s voice. “Pretty sure I'm not supposed to be encouraging peanut-M&M-related smuggling. But thanks for offering.” 

Chris shrugs, entirely unsympathetic as he cracks the fake whip towards the ground, looking slightly off-put by the thought of not pulling off the peanut heist. “Shouldn’t have lied, then.”

He lopes past him without a second glance, meeting up with Denny to do whatever it is new teenagers do at these parties, but Buck gapes after him. There was a time where Chris would’ve stayed at his side during these parties, or asked to be put on his shoulders so he would be super tall.

“Your kid is a menace,” he tells Eddie when the man joins him again.

Eddie whooshes out a breath but laughs as he catches sight of his son. “I think he’s being the teenager I wanted to be, and I have no idea how to deal with that.”

“That sass is 100% Diaz,” Buck agrees, hearing the fondness in his voice loud and clear. “Pretty sure he just offered to commit a robbery for me.” 

Eddie shakes his head, beaming with pride despite the illegal notion of the act, and turns to give him a soft smile just before it turns into something gently teasing as he gestures to the spot where the M&M bowl once was. “Well he can try, but see? The temptation is gone.”

He’s not thinking about chocolate anymore.

Buck’s smile fades as he looks across the inches between them, across the handsome planes of Eddie’s face, made gorgeous by the heart inside him. Even the stupid fangs can’t distract him from his gaze flickering down to Eddie’s mouth, where the greatest temptation of all rests.

Not the time or place, Buckley .

He doesn’t want to do this while he’s dressed in this fae costume, temporary tattoos scrolling down the side of his neck to disappear into the soft tunic beneath fake, malleable armor. Costume points cap his real ears to look like those of fae, and he’s even got his hair spray-painted a silvery white to fit the part of an old fae warrior.

Sure, they look great — unlike last year’s party, where Buck was Mr. Potato Head, and Eddie was a hot rockstar — but if they’re going to do this, then he wants the first time they kiss to be when they’re them . When they’re Buck and Eddie, with all the pretenses stripped away between them — even if it’s something as silly as a fucking Halloween costume.

And somewhere where everyone isn’t looking on.

“Buck?”

Eddie’s voice, slightly amused, startles him out of his thoughts.

Buck clears his throats and tears his eyes away from the man who tempts every carnal desire he’s ever had.

Suddenly, the M&Ms don’t even feel like a blip on the radar.

------

Eddie sends Christopher off to bed as soon as they get home, a stern look in place when Chris tries to push bedtime.

Chris looks to Buck as if he could somehow get Eddie to extend his bedtime, but Buck shrugs apologetically behind Eddie. He’s all for hanging out with his favourite kid, but he knows he has to stand with Eddie in this.

“Damn, Diaz, never thought I’d see the day,” Buck teases, pulling the fake costume ears off. 

Eddie grimaces as he tugs the fangs out of his mouth, making a face as he lets them fall in the kitchen sink, immediately turning the water on. “Neither did I. But I think I’ve got it down pat.”

He hadn’t had to use a single word, so Buck thinks so, too.

“You managed to stick to your guns, too,” Eddie adds, turning to pin him in place with a raised eyebrow. Buck doesn’t even know why he or Chris try anymore — Eddie has had eyes at the back of his head ever since they pranked him with that Hildy-run coffee maker.

He remembers the M&Ms again and sighs loudly. “This lie is costing me my whole life.”

Eddie laughs again, somehow looking even more gorgeous without the stupid fangs. His own canines scrape idly across one side of his mouth as he nods, a smile still curving his mouth, and Buck finds himself hyper-fixated on the movement. “You’re still on about that? We could’ve stopped at a 7-Eleven for you to get your fix.”

Buck snorts. “You make it sound like I snort peanut M&Ms for a high.”

“The way you were looking at them tonight?” Eddie raises his eyebrows as he leans back against the sink. “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Though I’d be concerned if you were snorting them at the back of a 7-Eleven.”

Buck glares at him for a minute before he loses the energy to, slumping back against the kitchen table to perch on the edge. “I wish I could.”

Eddie studies him for a second, then sighs, turning towards the far cabinet. Buck watches as he pulls a small bowl out, setting it on the table behind Buck before he reaches back into his cape, where there are apparently pockets, to pull out a balled up napkin.

Not just any napkin.

Buck watches wide-eyed as Eddie opens the bunched-up layers to reveal a handful of colorful chocolate, their shape strikingly familiar to the same ones Buck was just lamenting about.

A napkin full of peanut M&Ms. 

“Eddie, what—”

It doesn’t stop there.

Two more bundles of candy come out of his pants pockets, another one out of the cape, and four more out of the deep pockets of his waistcoat. Each of them is carefully twisted at the top to keep the candy safe.

Sheepishly, Eddie lays them out on the kitchen table, carefully tipping each of the napkin-bundles of candy into a bowl. Buck watches him do this methodically, leaning down to transfer the candy in the same way Buck sees him take care with literally everything else. He’s focused on just his task, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he concentrates.

Eddie doesn’t even like peanut M&Ms that much.

Buck’s struck in the chest with the burning urge to tug Eddie’s bottom lip out of the hold of his teeth and between his own, to kiss the breath out of his lungs until they’re both dizzy with it.

He only barely manages to refrain.

When he’s done, there’s a whole bowl full of Buck’s favorite chocolate in the world sitting on the table, stacked into a high peak of them. Some of them are smushed, a few with the chocolate shell cracked. The napkins lay crumpled, forgotten with smudges of melted color on them as Eddie makes awkward jazz hands at the bowl of candy.

“Ta-da,” he says lamely, picking nervously at a loose thread on his pants as he steps back.

Buck’s still rooted in place as he looks at the gesture. 

“Eddie,” he breathes out.

“You looked like you were in actual pain from not being able to eat them so…” Eddie explains quietly, gesturing grandly again. “There you go.”

Eddie stole peanut M&Ms from the station’s Halloween party for him .

Buck turns his attention back to the only temptation he’s never indulged in — the one man who makes him better . Who listens to even the most superficial things about Buck, and doesn’t think any quirks of his to be frivolous. 

Including the M&Ms.

As if Buck wasn’t overwhelmed enough, Eddie turns to open the far cabinet again, reaching behind the colorful stack of cereal bowls to pull out a box of those gross health-nut bars that Eddie eats the days he forgets breakfast. 

Inside the box aren’t those stupid protein bars. Instead, there are stacks of yellow packets of peanut M&Ms, clearly kept there to hide them from little, teenager eyes — clearly having been stocked up for a while.

“Christopher gets an insane sugar rush from these, even though he’s past the age where he gets sugar rushes and I’m not really sure what it is about these specific M&Ms that make him bounce off the walls, but anyway…I keep them in here. They’re for you,” Eddie explains. He’s fiddling with the box again, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. “So you don’t actually have to go to 7-Eleven to get your fix.”

If Buck thought he was overwhelmed before, it’s nothing compared to the lightning strike of realization that hits him — Eddie loves him.

He’s always loved him, even when Buck was too blind to see it. And maybe this isn’t a realization he’s having over fucking peanut M&Ms of all things, but a culmination of all the small things that led them to this insane moment in Eddie’s kitchen, standing here in truly ridiculous costumes as they look at each other across the space between them.

Maybe there haven’t been any pretenses between them in a long time, and maybe this is exactly how they’re meant to get together — in the heart of Eddie’s home, with all these realizations unfolding around Buck.

With him falling in love with Eddie all over again.

There’s the mug that belongs to Buck drying in the dishrack, the frog-shaped soap dispenser Buck had bought for Eddie as a joke but still somehow lives on the sink, the coffee maker that Eddie made Buck disable Hildy from before he started using, the cereal that only Buck eats sitting on top of the fridge, the cream cheese Eddie loves but only started buying because Buck lied to him about liking, too. The book that sits on the coffee table, a bookmark hastily shoved in the middle as if Buck’s ever come back to it since the last time he opened it.

And the M&Ms of course.

Every single part of their lives is tangled almost irreversibly, to the point where Buck thinks that if someone were to tear Eddie away from him, they’d take all of Buck with him, too.

Buck stops holding back.

He slowly takes the box out of Eddie’s hands, setting it down on the counter without a second glance.

“You know, there’s this other thing I’ve been telling myself.”

Eddie hums, low and soft. “Yeah?”

Buck nods slowly, gauging Eddie’s reaction with every step he takes. “Yeah, it’s that it’s impossible to find someone that knows me inside and out, no matter how stupid those things are about me. It’s impossible to find someone that loves all of those things. But that’s not true either, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie says quietly. His voice is barely above a whisper, but he’s confident, secure in the knowledge of how he feels — for Buck, of all people.

He’d been settling for less and less, thinking that maybe they would grow into each other, that maybe this is what love is but Buck doesn’t want to do that anymore. Not when he has the man who’s loved him unconditionally standing in front of him, without any expectations.

Time stretches between them, slow and syrupy, and Buck takes in every last detail on Eddie’s face — the small smile flitting across his mouth, the ruffled hair, the warm eyes Buck has built home in, the anticipation slowing their breathing down.

Buck kisses him.

Eddie kisses him back.

He twines his fingers into Buck’s hair and tugs, keeping him where he wants him, and Buck fucking melts right into him, chest to chest, toe to toe. Eddie’s hand winds past his neck to cradle his jaw as they kiss and kiss and kiss. Buck licks the taste of home from Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie leaves his mark on Buck’s.

The kiss ignites every bit of yearning Buck’s ever felt for the man he’s gone pliant for, leaving him drowning in the sensation of finally having what he’s wanted for so long. Desire hums between them, but despite that, there’s a comfort in the knowledge that this is where they are — in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen, exchanging slow, soft kisses where they’ve spent countless days and nights with each other.

It feels right .

Eddie pulls away from him slowly, tipping their foreheads together. Buck inhales the familiar scent of his cologne, his fingers trailing down Eddie’s face to ghost over the smattering of hair visible in the open collar of his dress shirt, down the fine lines of his torso to hook in his belt loops.

Eddie’s hands trace patterns on Buck’s tunic, now free of the plastic armor he’d thrown on for the party. Buck leans into the steady comfort of the action just before Eddie hums again, reaching behind Buck to pick up the bowl.

“You know, I spent the whole party stealing these for you. The least you could do is actually eat them,” he teases gently.

“All this after I stopped Chris from committing a chocolate-level crime. Should’ve been watching you, instead,” Buck scoffs and grabs a handful, popping one into his mouth as he holds another out for Eddie. “I was too busy kissing you to eat them.”

Eddie’s gaze softens at the reminder, unguarded in a way that takes Buck’s breath away.

He sets the chocolate bowl down again, looking Eddie in the eye. “Thank you.”

“For committing a chocolate-level crime?” Eddie's eyebrow quirks up as he smiles teasingly.

Buck rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass, for loving me.” His tone quiets. “For paying attention to even the smallest things about me.”

“I love you for a lot of things, but for all of those things, you know,” Eddie tells him, one hand falling to the back of Buck’s head. “Like when you lie about liking chive and onion cream cheese just because I like it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Buck protests, but he knows he’s been caught out.

Eddie pulls him into a searing kiss, lips mapping continents and stories across Buck’s skin. “I love you, Buck. Even if you like peanut M&Ms more than normal, and you hate peanut butter, and you only drink out of one mug, and you lie about fucking cream cheese. Maybe I love you because of those things, but...all I know is that I do. Love you, I mean.”

“You sap,” Buck chokes out. “I love you, too.”

He doesn’t ponder on the lack of eloquence in his answer, tugging Eddie closer until he can kiss him again, the taste of him so much richer than the taste of the finest chocolate in the world.

This time, Buck swears that the chocolate tastes sweeter.

[redqueenphoenix]

Comic-Con (A TWD One Shot)

Comic-Con

(A TWD Fan Fiction)

I do not own any of the rights to The Walking Dead, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned from here on in, other than Veronica Strauss. Some situations have been changed and some people may have been switched in this alternate universe. 

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Female OC

Word Count: 2416

~*~

Veronica looked down at her cell phone as she put her earrings on. She knew that she had to be getting out the door in a hurry. She was scheduled at a comic-con panel for The Walking Dead and time was running out for her to get ready. 

There was a knock on the door of her hotel room door as a security team member called into her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Veronica was dressed in a form fitting maroon colored dress that struck her mid thigh with a little glitz and glam. Wearing the earring and necklace that was left in her hotel room by a co-star. One last look in the mirror she adjusted her ponytail that held her long, red curls back. Pulling open the door she was met by her security team. To her they were a bit much, but she quickly became a fan favorite upon her debut in the show.

Benny, her main security guard that drove her to most of her events, smiled at her. “I can’t believe this is the last season. Are you excited about this panel?”

“Yeah, but I am also a bit sad. I will miss all my co-stars. They have become like family.”

Benny nodded as he brought his radio up to his face, “Miss. Strauss is on the move. Heading to the car now.”

The radio popped back, “Morgan is on the move too.”

“Alright see you there.” Benny said as he motioned for Veronica to walk with him. They made their way down a private elevator into the basement garage of the motel. Her eyes looked around the parking garage and smiled as she saw Jeffrey Dean Morgan heading to his car with his security team. 

Benny nodded to her as he held the door open for Veronica, allowing her to settle into the back of the car. 

As she settled in her phone gently vibrated, spreading a mile wide smile across her lips.

“You seem pretty composed after last night, Kitten.”

Blush crept onto her face as she looked down at her screen, “I may have had one too many drinks, but I assure you, Jeffrey, I’m fine.”

“I’ll take that as you had fun.”

Veronica laughed as she closed the text message thread. She leaned back in the car as Benny drove down the street to the Civic Center. 

“We’re about to pull in with Team Saviors.” He said over his radio.

“Are you referring to us as ‘Team Saviors?’ Lord, I would hate to hear everyone else's codes.” She laughed as they pulled to a stop right behind the car that was bringing Jeffrey Dean Morgan to the event. 

Benny got out of the driver's seat and came around the car to help her out as the fans screamed and took photos. 

Veronica moved to the other side of the car to get out as Benny opened the door. Her eyes went up as soon as she noticed that it wasn’t Benny’s hand that reached in for her. The very familiar tattoos of Jeffrey’s hand sent blush straight to her cheeks as he helped her out of the car. 

A shit eating grin played on his face at her reaction. “That’s quite a lovely color. And you wear my jewelry wonderfully.” He chuckled as he placed a hand on her back as they walked between the ropes that kept the fans at bay. Stopping to take photos, mingle and sign autographs. 

As soon as they entered the Civic center they were met with a few of their fellow co-stars lined up to head out to the panel.

She could hear the crowd cheering as the announcer, Chad Hardwick, began introducing the cast to walk out to the panel seating.

“You know them as Rick and Carl. Please welcome to the stage: Andrew Lincoln and Chandler Riggs.” The crowd roared to life as they stepped out onto the stage.

“The unexpected friends of the group, Euguene and Princess: Josh McDermitt and Paola Lázaro.”

 “The couple that’s not a couple but should be, Daryl and Carol: Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride.” The pair walked out smiling as they waved to the group. 

“The unstoppable force known as Maggie: Lauren Cohan.” She smiled as she stepped out waving back at Veronica and Jeffrey.

Jeffrey smiled as he placed his baseball bat, Lucille, on his shoulder and motioned for a microphone before they could be announced. 

“You ready, darlin?” Jeffrey smiled at her as he prepared to walk with her out the doors. 

“Yeah.” She smiled back as she kissed his cheek. No one on the cast knew that they had been secretly seeing each other since their debut together. Which made for some interesting encounters for both of them.

“Please welcome the duo you love to hate. Negan and Victoria: Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Veronica Strauss.” The crowd went wild. So loud that it was almost deafening as they opened the doors for them to walk out.

“Are we pissin’ our pants yet?” Jeffrey said into the microphone as they began to walk out. He hooked his arm around the end of Lucille so he could balance her on his shoulder while he still held the microphone. Placing his free hand on the small of Veronica’s back. 

“You can breathe, you can blink, you can fuckin’ cry. Oh hell you’re all going to be doing that!” He laughed as he switched hands with the microphone and pointed Lucille over the crowd. “Vicky, darlin’ any one of these shits stand out to you?” 

Veronica walked behind the panel and stopped behind Melissa McBride and raised her hands, causing the crowd to cheer. Then she moved down the line to Norman Reedus. Before she could raise her hands for the cheer, Norman turned around and wrapped her into a tight hug. 

After the crowd settled down the pair made their way to their seats. Sitting at the end, Veronica was smack dab between Jeffrey Dean Morgan and her best friend Paola Lázaro.

She laughed as Norman came down to them with his cell phone taking pictures of himself with everyone like he was one of the fan girls in the crowd.

Finally Norman sat down and Chad Hardwick started talking, Veronica’s mind started to drift to the night before. Noticing, Jeffrey smiled as his foot nudged over to her. 

He leaned over to whisper in Veronica’s ear as Paola’s eyes went wide next to her. “I know last night was fun, but focus, Kitten. There’ll be time for that later.”

Blush stained her cheeks as she turned back to the crowd. Attempting to bring her focus back to the panel.

“...and the dinner scene, even though we were all laughing it was really emotional.” Paola spoke into her microphone beside her.

“The amount of takes we had to do because we all started tearing up was starting to annoy the camera men.” Josh McDermitt added with a laugh. 

Chad Hardwick looked down the panel table as he spoke, “So were Carol and Daryl’s ending scenes scripted or did you guys actually cry?”

Melissa McBride chuckled as she looked at Norman, “Do we have to answer this one?”

The whole panel laughed along with the crowd at her answer.

“She started crying and that made me emotional. Thank god the camera switched to the back of us cuz by the end of it she had me in tears too.” Norman smiled as he grabbed his water bottle.

“Admit it, we all cried at least once in the last days of shooting.” Lauren Cohan spoke with nostalgia.

“Well, that brings me to my next question. Some of you will be seen in new spin offs of the show. I know that Lauren, Jeffrey and Veronica will be reunited in The Walking Dead: Dead City here soon. Are you all excited about that?”

Veronica smiled as she moved towards her microphone, “I’m personally excited to see how this one pans out. Victoria Hawkins meant a lot to me to play and I can’t wait to step back into her shoes.”

“The three of us coming together in character is more of a need than a fear between them now. They each have a reason for why they are in this.” Lauren looked down to Veronica and Jeffrey. 

“I like that. It’s more of a need than a fear. We’re getting those made into bumper stickers guys!” Jeffrey laughed as his hand went to go over the top of Veronica’s.

“I can’t wait to see how that show plays out with you three. It’s sure to be explosive!” Chad laughed as he turned back to his cards. “So we have time for a few fan questions.”

A young man dressed as a walker came up to the microphone with a nervous smile, “So my question is for Lauren, Jeffrey and Veronica. Since your characters have a shaky past with each other on The Walking Dead, does that impact your friendship in real life?”

Lauren laughed as Jeffrey looked at the two women with a shocked look.

“No, we are really good friends outside of the Walking Dead Universe.” Veronica chuckled as she smiled.

“All I can say is watch the bloopers reel on the DVD’s, you can see how many times we all broke character cuz we are all such good friends.” Jeffrey laughed as his arm snaked around the back of Veronica’s chair.

“I broke character because you two are so darn funny.” Lauren laughed as she looked down at the two, “You made it hard to work sometimes.”

Paola chimed in, “they really do.” The crowd started laughing.

Chad pointed out another fan to come to the microphone, this woman had blonde hair with red tips and dressed like she was at a funeral. “My question is for Jeffrey. Would I be able to take you out?”

His eyebrows furrowed together with a smirk crossing his lips, “like to dinner? On a date? With a sniper rifle?”

“Well since you offered it, maybe a date?” The girl dared to ask.

Jeffrey felt Veronica tense up a bit at her question and he glanced at her with a grin. “I have to politely decline. I’m already seeing someone.”

The room exploded in gasps including the panel. His response rocked the room in shock.

“What the hell?!” Norman Reedus blurted out, “Now's not the time to talk about us.”

Jeffrey laughed and smiled widely as the room all started buzzing about his comment. “Sorry, Norman, your cuddles just ain't cutting it anymore. I’m breaking up the bromance.”

Norman gasped and acted like he was heartbroken as the crowd hung on their every word.

The goth girl went back to her seat as an older guy stepped to the microphone. “Hey there, my name is Matt and my question is for Veronica. First off I want to say your dynamic and chemistry with Jeffrey on set was phenomenal. Was the intimate scenes with Jeffrey awkward? Like I bet they are now knowing he’s seeing someone.” The guy chuckled.

Veronica blushed deep red as he finished his question while Jeffrey chuckled looking over at her and leaning into the microphone.

“Well, Veronica, was it awkward?” His tone was playful as he smirked at her remembering the night before.

Veronica took a deep breath and smiled, “I didn't think they were. I actually enjoyed them a lot.”

The crowd cheered, making ohh and ahh sounds as they watched the pair. Paola even joined the group next to her. 

“Hey now! This panel is getting a little spicy!” Melissa McBride moved up to her microphone. 

“Now is that why you two were late to a couple shootings, because you were practicing?” Chandler Riggs chimed in with a chuckle.

This time Jeffrey turned a shade of red alongside Veronica. 

“And I wasn’t Invited!” Norman called from down the table.

Andrew Lincoln laughed as he blurted out, “Don’t feel bad I wasn't invited either!”

Veronica began giggling in embarrassment as the group joked with them. 

Jeffrey’s face suddenly went serious as he turned to Veronica, leaning in and whispering into her ear, “follow me.” He extended his hand to her as he stood up. 

Her eyes went wide as she took his hand, helping her out of the seat. Leading her towards the front of the panel table while holding a microphone in his other hand. Getting to the middle of the table, so that their co-stars could see along with the crowd.

Brining the microphone to his lips he smiled, “I think it’s time to blow it out the water. Four years of working with you and you are just as beautiful as the day I first met you. Veronica. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner for Negan than you.” His hand dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box causing the room to roar with cheers. He dropped down to his knee, “four years of seeing you in secret, but now I want the world to know. Will you be my wife?”

Veronica blinked a few times as she stared at the ring in the box.

“Well, if you’re not gonna answer…” Norman laughed as he started to act like he was gonna climb over the table.

“Yes.” Her answer was not heard due to her not having a microphone. 

Norman wasn’t having it not be heard as he sat down on the table and yanked his microphone from the table. Holding it to her lips and motioning his hand for her to say it again.

“Yes, Jeffrey, a million times yes.” She exclaimed as he slipped the ring onto her finger and embraced her.

Out in the crowd two younger guys dressed as Sam and Dean Winchester yelled over the crowd, “GO DAD!” 

Jeffrey kissed Veronica with a chuckle, then turned to the crowd. Squinting looking for the boys who called out. “Sam, Dean. I told you both to wait at the hotel!” 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter as the panel came around the table to congratulate them.

[clonesimpextra]

A Shattered Peace: Chapter 13

Scattered Stardust

[previous][next]

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.6K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: After Abregado, Wolffe faces more issues back home on Kamino. Also available on AO3

A long time ago, in a place Wolffe once called ‘home,’ he wasn’t called ‘Wolffe’ at all.

Everywhere he went, regardless of who he was around, he was ‘CC-3636’. Nothing more. Nothing less. One of many, created to succeed at a singular goal.

Or die trying.

The day Wolffe earned his name was, he thought now as he stood in one of the Tipoca City landing bays, the day things started to shift in his mind. Maybe he was more than a number. Maybe he could be more, just a bit more, than the Kaminoans told him to be.

He could follow orders, he’d decided, but in his own way.

He could care for his brothers, he’d told himself, more than the war they were created for.

He could.

He would.

He did.

Now, as he watched brothers walking around him, none of them wearing 104th maroon, Wolffe almost wished he could give his name back.

He didn’t deserve it. Had stopped earning it. Wanted to go back to being a number because numbers didn’t have to feel … this … this emptiness in his stomach hollowed out by a pain so deep he almost couldn’t register it anymore.

How had this happened? How had he let this happen?

So many men gone. Just gone. Either blown up by the Malevolence or picked off, one-by-one, in the aftermath.

Like he should have been. Like he almost was.

He could still feel a deep ache in his lungs and his head from those moments with too little oxygen. Every rise of his chest was a reminder of what happened … how long ago was it now? He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in that escape pod, waiting for a death General Plo wouldn’t allow him to accept. 

Abregado … Kamino.

Once upon a time he would have been able to list off the distance between the two, the exact time it would take for a mid-size ship to travel from the desolation of one to the relative sanctuary of the other. But, that ache. It was more than just physical.

“Wolffe?” 

Someone spoke behind him and it took Wolffe a second longer than normal to realize it was Sinker. He turned around to face his sergeant and was relieved to see the familiar maroon still on his armor. A reminder that even though he failed, at least he didn’t have to live with it on his own. He pulled at the cuff of his officer’s uniform and nodded for Sinker to continue.

“Jedi General Shaak Ti wants to see us, sir.”

Wolffe nodded again, tugging at his other cuff. This damn uniform didn’t fit right. It felt odd on his skin. Too loose, too thin, too soft. Too much like the clothes he used to wear on Kamino before he’d been given his armor. 

His armor … just another thing he’d lost.

“Sir?”

Wolffe nodded a third time without looking up. It was Boost who’d spoken just then.

Sinker and Boost. All that remained of the 104th.

And Comet. Comet was still alive. The first thing Wolffe had done when they’d reached the Resolute was ask about the 414th. Rex had assured him, before he’d left with Skywalker, Ahsoka, and General Plo, that Amara and her men were on their way back to Coruscant. Were probably already there by now. 

So Comet was with Amara, there wasn’t anywhere in the galaxy he’d be safer. And yet, a small part of Wolffe wished he was here. Wished he could have his eyes on all three of his remaining men just to make sure they didn’t disappear into stardust, too. 

And Amara …

Wolffe straightened up, finally looking from Sinker to Boost, from dark visor to dark visor. They could hide behind those, lucky bastards. Wolffe didn’t have that luxury, and he needed to remember that. If he wasn’t careful, every emotion he was determined not to feel would find its way across his face. 

He cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, set his mouth in a thin line, and nodded a fourth time.

He could do this.

He would do this.

The ache in him lessened, just a bit.

“Let’s go see the general.”

*****

Wolffe knew Shaak Ti primarily by reputation. She was stationed on Kamino after he’d already left, and though she sometimes made appearances in General Plo’s holo calls with the Council, she and Wolffe never had much reason to interact with one another. 

But the shinies liked to share stories about the wise Togruta Jedi who observed their training. The beautiful woman who gave them advice and who wasn’t afraid to question the Kaminoans and trainers on their behalf. Wolffe had always rolled his eyes at this kind of talk, chalking the infatuation and admiration up to Shaak Ti being the first non-Kaminoan woman not on a data pad many of the boys had ever laid eyes on. 

Most of those same boys were dead now.

Wolffe blinked the thought away and pressed the panel next to the general’s office door. 

“Commander Wolffe, Sergeant Sinker, and Trooper Boost,”  a soft voice floated towards them from inside, “Please, come in.”

The office had the same too-white walls that decorated all of Tipoca City, making the entire area feel more like a med-bay than a place to live. But this room was different than the others Wolffe had seen across Kamino. There was no desk in here, not even a single chair. Instead, plush cushions lined one of the walls. Wolffe recognized them as similar to the ones that used to sit in Amara’s office on the Triumphant. Meditation cushions, then, in place of proper seats. Wolffe almost snorted at how very Jedi is all was. Typical.

But he couldn’t deny that the open space and the slight color added by the cushions made the room feel more welcoming than the rest of this place. Warmer, maybe. And somehow calming.

Or was that just the Jedi influence? His eyes flashed to the woman standing in the middle of the room. Shaak Ti was already looking at him, a gentle smile on her face. She looked far too peaceful, Wolffe thought, given everything they were here to talk about.

Then again, none of it had happened to her.

Her smile remained, but the general tilted her head to the side, just a bit. As if she knew what he was thinking. 

Jedi, Wolffe thought to himself again before building back up the mental wall that should have already been there to begin with. He needed to get a grip. Just because he’d failed everyone back in the Abregado system didn’t give him an excuse to lose his shit now. He was better than that. He had to be better than that. 

So he kept his gaze trained on the Jedi before him and nodded for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “General. You wanted to speak with us?”

“Yes,” Shaak Ti said slowly, eyes flicking between him and his brothers. “You three have been through a great ordeal, I believe. I am sorry for the loss it has caused you.”

Her words were genuine, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Wolffe wasn’t surprised. Most of the Jedi he’d encountered over the last several months were the same. But her sorrow still felt small to him. How could “sorry” cover the breadth of thousands of lives lost?

How could anything?

Wolffe wanted to ask her this, wanted to know if maybe the Jedi knew something he didn’t. If she could make sense of this for him so he could nod his head yet again, say “Ah, I understand,” and actually fucking mean it.

Instead, he swallowed past his questions and said what was expected of him. “They were good men. Committed to the safety of the Republic.” But … he was still Wolffe, not just CC-3636. No matter how much he wished he could go back; he never would. “I hope their deaths won’t be for nothing.”

The general’s smile fell, just a bit. “As do I, Commander.” She took a step closer to them, hands folding behind her back. “That has something to do with why I called you here. To discuss the future of the your battalion.”

“The … future, General?” Sinker asked before Wolffe could get a word out. The sergeant’s voice was masked by his helmet’s vocoder, but the inflection was clear all the same. What the hell was the general talking about?

Shaak Ti sighed and motioned between Sinker and Boost. “Please, take your helmets off. I like to see the faces of the people I’m talking to.” 

Any other time, Wolffe knew Boost would have made a clone joke. Just look at Wolffe, then General, he’d have said. We all have the same face, even if his isn’t quite as handsome as mine. 

Instead, the only sound in the room was the whoosh of air as the two helmets released their hold, the soft thump of the domes pushed up under plastoid-covered arms. Wolffe looked at his brothers, meeting their gazes long enough to see his confusion echoed in their eyes. He turned back to the general and waited.

“Counting the three of you here, and Clone Trooper Comet, who I have been told is still helping the 414th, only four members of the 104th remain,” Shaak Ti said gently but matter-of-factly. “This is a concern. For many reasons.”

Wolffe grit his teeth, forcing the neutral face Mar-Va had trained all his command clones to adopt to remain in place. The only concern Wolffe cared about was that thousands of men hadn’t needed to die. Shouldn’t have died. They’d flown right into a trap that the Republic in all its glory and infinite wisdom hadn’t seen coming. 

But just because that was the only concern he cared about right now didn’t mean it was the only concern, period. What kind of commander would he be if he couldn’t see the forest for the trees?

The GAR relied on its battalions. As good as the remaining four of the 104th might be, they couldn’t tackle even a portion of what their larger group had been capable of. And this wasn’t like Tibrin. They didn’t just need a hundred more men to make up for losses. They needed thousands.

The past several hours, Wolffe had been living moment-to-moment. Had been so focused on survival and the safety of General Plo and his remaining brothers that he hadn’t really stopped to think about what their need would mean. 

“You want to disband the 104th.” It wasn’t a question because Wolffe wasn’t asking. It was the logical move, from a military standpoint. The commander in him, the good soldier who followed whatever orders were thrown his way, accepted this. 

The Wolffe in him wasn’t so docile.

So, before Shaak Ti could answer, Wolffe shook his head, the ache that had settled inside him suddenly far away. “That would be a mistake, General.”

He could feel Sinker’s and Boost’s eyes on him. Interrupting a general wasn’t something he was known for. But this couldn’t wait. There was an urgency that replaced the ache in Wolffe’s chest that he was becoming all too familiar with. 

He didn’t have much in this life that he could call his own. Just his name, his brothers, and his battalion. He lost brothers every day, but he’d be damned if he lost his battalion, too. 

Maybe the general could sense this in him. Maybe the walls around his mind had slipped just enough for her to get a peek into his desperation. Or maybe it was just clear in his eyes and his voice. Whatever it was brought Shaak Ti to a pause. She considered him for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest, a more relaxed position than before. An equal, maybe, instead of a revered figure.

She inclined her head, forehead creased in what Wolffe hoped was curiosity and not annoyance. “Explain.”

Wolffe didn’t need to be told twice.

“What would you do with us, if the 104th was disband?” It was a rhetorical question, really. He already knew the answer, but he wanted Shaak Ti to hear it out loud. “Put us with another battalion?”

The general nodded. “Likely one you’ve worked closely with before. The 212th, 501st. Maybe Master Unduli’s 41st.”

“And waste General Plo’s leadership?” Wolffe shook his head and began to pace the room, Shaak Ti’s eyes following him. “That’s not what you need.”

“His leadership would not be wasted. Simply re-allocated from time to time.”

“Temporary leadership of already-formed battalions? Constantly jumping from one to another?” Wolffe barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s essentially wasting his talents. Just like lumping us in with another battalion would be wasting ours.”

He paused to glance at Sinker and Boost, who were all but fidgeting in their armor. Wolffe didn’t speak like this to Jedi. Well, at least not to Jedi who weren’t Amara Kora. But if Amara were here right now, she’d be doing the same thing. He knew she would. Wolffe cleared his throat and continued.

“We’re several months into this war now. Which is several months more than any of us thought it would last. Am I wrong, General?”

Shaak Ti pursed her lips, but Wolffe swore he saw the corner of them twitch up in the moment before. “I would say your assessment is essentially accurate, Commander.”

Jedi, Wolffe thought for the third time as he found himself fighting back a smile of his own. He hadn’t won this yet.

“You don’t need one less battalion when you’re already sending every single one you have on mission after mission after mission. With no end in sight as of now. It’s all hands on deck, sir. Even if that means rebuilding one of them from the ground up.” He stopped next to his brothers and placed his hands behind his back. The perfect military rest for the perfect commander that the GAR couldn’t afford to lose. At least, that was the idea. “The 104th is one of the Republic’s best. Sinker, Boost, Comet, and I will make it that way again. I give you my word, General.”

The Jedi peered at the three of them for another moment, and Wolffe resisted the urge to pull once again at his cuffs. This would have been so much easier if he’d had his armor.

Finally, Shaak Ti uncrossed her arms and gave them a small smile. “You make a compelling argument, Commander. Master Plo would have been proud to hear it.” She cocked her head, smile widening just a bit. “Though I imagine if he were here just now, he would have been the one making it, not you.”

Wolffe gave a quick, sharp nod, not wanting to get his hopes up. “He’s a good teacher, sir.”

“Hmm, he is at that.” Shaak Ti turned her hands over, palms up as if conceding to him. “You have convinced me, Commander Wolffe. The 104th will stay. And I will see what I can do about having Comet sent here. To help with the rebuilding.”

Sinker and Boost shifted next to him and something in Wolffe loosened ever so slightly. He could have this. He might have lost at Abregado. But he hadn’t lost here. At least not yet.

The general motioned them to the door and they stepped out into the hallway. Sinker and Boost turned to leave, but Shaak Ti reached for Wolffe’s arm, holding him back.

“I should warn you,” she said in a voice so low Wolffe had to strain to hear it. “I am not the only one who makes these decisions. I will support you as much as I can, but Lama Su and the … trainers. They will be watching you closely.” She let go of his arm and looked directly into his eyes, a sternness in her gaze that reminded him for a moment of Amara. “Do not let go of your fire just yet, Commander.”

Wolffe watched her turn in the opposite direction of his brothers, an uncertainty settling in the pit of his stomach. He was standing in the halls of the only home he’d ever known, but he felt like he’d just stepped onto a battlefield.

And something was telling him that the odds were already stacked against him.

*****

Growing up on Tipoca City, Wolffe never had a room as private as the one he was standing in right now. The wide, circular space with four beds built into the walls was at odds with Wolffe’s memory of the dozens of pods that populated the bunk rooms he’d slept in up until last year. Had these rooms always been available? Empty and waiting for visitors who didn’t require the strict and invasive regime of the clones?

Wolffe sat on the bed closest to the door and tried not to be bitter about it. He sank half an inch into the mattress and scowled at the softness. The Kaminoans had these types of beds hidden away on this side of the facility this whole time?

So much for not being bitter.

“I can’t believe they were going to disband us, just like that,” Boost said as he walked out of the fresher, running a towel across his head. “After everything’s we’ve done. Hells, after what we just went through.”

“They’re having to replace more and more clones these days,” Sinker yawned as he sat down on his own bed. Wolffe could hear the bitterness in his voice, too. “Probably didn’t sound too appealing having to allocate so many just to one battalion.”

“Well that’s literally what they made us for,” Boost scoffed, tossing his towel aside. “They should have been prepared for the possibility.”

Wolffe sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He didn’t have it in him to discuss this again. Not after what Shaak Ti had said to him before they’d parted. The coming days on Tipoca City were not shaping up to be the restful ones he’d been promised when he, Sinker, and Boost were dropped off. The ache in his chest and head was starting to return and he desperately, desperately needed to sleep.

But they needed that approval from Lama Su and the trainers. Wolffe wasn’t too worried about the former. He hadn’t spent much time around Kamino’s prime minister, but he did know that Lama Su wasn’t usually one to get his hands dirty. He’d approve the continuation of the 104th if only because it meant he didn’t have to bother with the nuisances of explaining to the Republic why his people couldn’t help rebuild one of the GAR’s best battalions.

The trainers, though … they were another story.

When Wolffe was a cadet, the clones were trained by Mandalorian warriors hand-picked by Jango Fett himself. But as time wore on, those Mandalorians slowly began to leave Kamino, either by choice or by force. Mar-Va fell into the latter group, something Wolffe didn’t like to think about much.

These days, though, the Kaminoans employed bounty hunters to help train the clones. Wolffe had never met them, but he’d heard enough stories from the shinies to know they couldn’t necessarily be trusted. Not like the Mandalorians and not at all like Mar-Va. There was no telling whose best interest these bounty hunters, former or not, had in mind. But if they didn’t approve of Wolffe’s rebuilding efforts, if they gave Lama Su even the smallest reason to think disbanding the 104th would be easier than letting it continue … 

There were worse things that could happen to the four remaining members of the 104th than being placed with a new battalion.

Wolffe pushed the thought away and shifted on the bed, scowling again at the unfamiliar comfort. He’d worry about rebuilding tomorrow.

“Hey, uh, Wolffe?” Sinker’s voice cut through the too empty space between them.

“Yeah?” Wolffe looked across the room at his brother, who was staring down at the chest plate held between his hands. Sinker’s brows were creased, a pained expression on his face that Wolffe recognized all too well. He saw it every time he glanced in the mirror these days.

“If we’re starting over,” Sinker paused, tried again. “If we’re rebuilding the 104th, should we use a different color this time?”

Wolffe blinked, unsure what to say.

“Why would we do that?” Boost interrupted. When Wolffe looked at him, he was scowling at the floor. “Maroon’s ours. Everyone knows that.”

A loud crash from Sinker’s direction pulled Wolffe’s attention back to that part of the room. The chest plate his brother had been holding was tossed on the floor, far away from the bed.

“It was more than just ours, Boost.” Sinker rose, removing his armor piece by piece and letting it fall wherever it wanted instead of placing it in the careful pile all clones were committed to. “It was theirs, too.”

He didn’t need to say who ‘they’ were.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, weighed down by the absence of … everyone. The 104th had experienced loss before, but never, never on this scale. Wolffe had to remind himself that just because he was their leader, just because he was responsible for all of them, didn’t mean Sinker and Boost weren’t feeling the loss every bit as much as he was.

He wished there was something he could say to them that would make it better, easier. But there was never anything anyone could say to him. So he did the only thing he could. He pushed it back.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Wolffe rubbed at his forehead, more tired than he had been since they’d returned from Tibrin. “We have a lot to do before we even start talking about paint anyway. Get some rest.” He waited until they looked at him. “Both of you.”

Boost lay back on his bed and turned toward the wall. Sinker gave a short nod before walking to the fresher, slamming his hand on the door panel a little too harshly.

Wolffe forced himself onto his back, tugging at the collar of the fresh bodysuit he’d picked up earlier when he’d received a new set of armor. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes that made him so antsy, so uncomfortable. Maybe this was just how he was now. After everything.

He wondered what Amara would think of him, the next time they saw each other.

With that thought, his mind suddenly filled with her.

Was she really safe back on Coruscant? Had she listened to his recording? Did she know yet, what happened to them? Was she worried?

Wolffe closed his eyes and tried to remember what she looked like the last time he’d seen her. They’d been on the GAR compound, just down the hall from her office. Her hair had been in her usual braids, a little messy. Probably because she’d kept nervously tugging at them, even when he knew she didn’t realize she was doing it. 

There had been a few more freckles across her nose and cheeks than he was used to, likely caused by all the time under the Tibrin sun. He’d wished he could touch them, trace them with his thumb so he could commit them to memory. Look for new ones next time.

She’d worn a maroon tunic instead of the tan one she’d always worn as their commander. A small part of him had wondered if she’d chosen the color for them. To remember them, honor them, keep a part of them close even when they were far apart. Wolffe had thought that his colors looked so good on her, better than they ever did on him, and it was part of the reason he’d sent that recording with Comet.

But they weren’t his colors anymore, were they?

Sinker was right. 

Something wet trickled down Wolffe’s cheek and he turned his back to the room, eyes still closed.

Maroon didn’t belong to them anymore. 

It belonged to the stardust scattered forever across the Abregado system.

*****

“Commander Wolffe!”

He shot up from the bed, on his feet and heading for the door before the echo of his name even quieted. He didn’t know what trouble there could possibly be on Tipoca City at such a late hour, but his training took over regardless. A hand to the door panel and he stepped out of the circular room, glancing frantically up and down the too bright hallway for the origin of the shout.

He heard footsteps, the sound of dozens of soldiers marching, to his left and hurried that way. What his brothers were doing marching down these halls, he had no idea, but he went anyway, intent on helping wherever he could.

As he neared the end of the hall, the marching grew louder, mixing now with more shouts in his brothers’ voices.

“Watch your left!”

“Push through, NOW!”

Were they training? At this time? Had there been a glit—

This isn’t real.

Wolffe stopped. Closed his eyes.

You’ve had this dream before.

“Commander! On your right!” 

He lifted his right hand and shot without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, felling a battle droid instantly.

He wasn’t on Tipoca City anymore, but he still knew this place. Not the name of it, no. Nothing as simple as that.

When he blinked his eyes open, he knew the hazy edges of smoke. When he sucked in a breath, he knew the bitter smell of charged plasma. When he took a step, he knew the thick rivers of blood under his boots that squelched like mud. 

He knew the whisper in the air coming from a direction he couldn’t lock down.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Wolffe closed his eyes again, willing the senses away.

She was here, remember? She pulled you out.

And suddenly, he did remember.

Amara, standing in snow. No, not snow. Ash. Holding his hand, saying his name, looking at him so gently.

Telling him to wake up.

He should wake up. Should end this nightmare before it dug any deeper into his mind. But …

If she’d been there then, couldn’t she be here now? And if she could be here now, then Wolffe needed to wait. He would wait here, in this nightmare, for a moment with her. Even if it wasn’t real.

And it wasn’t real, right?

“Wolffe?”

He opened his eyes and saw the ash falling like snow, could feel it on his covered palm, turned up and lifted out and … 

And you shouldn’t be able to feel the way ash crumbles on your skin, paper-light and fragile and course, in a dream, should you? He looked up at the grey sky, squinting at the barely-there stars and forgetting what had made him open his eyes in the first place until he heard it again.

“Wolffe.”

A statement. Not a question.

His name. In her voice.

Wolffe turned, and she was there. Just like he’d wanted. Just like he’d known, somehow, she would be. And that, surely, made this a dream. He didn’t have the power to conjure Amara out of nowhere. Wasn’t sure anyone did, really. 

That’s not how the Force works, she’d say to him if this person standing before him was really her.

He looked down into her brown eyes, so dark with grief they were almost black. And she was looking back at him like she had when he was in the Resolute’s medbay. Mouth pursed, eyebrows creased, like she could lecture his pain out of him.

He knew that look as well as he knew his own reflection. Had committed it to memory, and clones had near-perfect memories. He would have no issue recreating this visage of her in his dreams.

But maybe …

Maybe there was something slightly off about the way she was standing. Something off about the way her two braids were tied back behind her head, not hanging down her chest like they almost always were. 

Every time Amara graced his thoughts, her hair was the same. And maybe it was silly and superficial and ridiculous, but Wolffe didn’t know her any other way.

“Your braids,” he said out loud, hoping that would explain something.

The crease in her brows deepened and she reached up to pat the braided buns at the top of her neck. “They were getting in the way …”

“It’s nice,” he added quickly, because what else is there to say in this place that shouldn’t be real but … is? Somehow.

Amara lowered her hand, still peering at him under those creased brows, and reached for his. “Wolffe,” she said again, pleading this time but he didn’t know for what, “what happened?”

She knew. Wolffe could tell from her eyes that she knew about the Malevolence and the deaths and the pain. She just wanted to hear it from him. A rundown, a debriefing like they always used to do after their missions.

And Wolffe wanted to tell her. Wanted to open his mouth and explain to her everything he couldn’t explain to himself. She deserved to know and he was tired of carrying it all on his own.

But he could feel the callouses on her palms, rubbed into the skin from years working with her lightsabers. He could smell the flowers that followed her wherever she went, overpowering the battle scents from earlier. 

He could feel her, here in this dream that maybe wasn’t a dream. 

And suddenly it wasn’t enough. Suddenly, an overwhelming want coursed through his body and he brought her hand up to his chest, pressed against the bodysuit he’d carried over into this place.

Her eyes widened, but she stepped closer all the same, placed her other hand on his chest, too.

“Wolffe,” she whispered.

And he responded as if was speaking into that holo recording. The one he’d made when he was so sure of what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. An honesty that wasn’t always easy for him.

Wolffe leaned his forehead against Amara’s and said, with everything in him, “I wish you were here.”

*****

When Wolffe opened his eyes again, he was staring up at the gray ceiling above his bed. He blinked a few times, accepting that he was awake now, away from his dream, away from Amara. Accepting that it would all slip away into the recesses of his mind, maybe pulled back again the next time he had this nightmare.

Because there would be a next time. There always was.

But as his body became more awake, more alert, Wolffe could still remember the dream. Could still feel Amara’s hand in his, pressed against his chest. He could see the ash that looked like snow falling around them. He could see her hair in the braided buns and hear his name pulled from her lips.

He waited a moment, still certain everything would soon fade.

By the time he got out of the fresher, the water dripping down his neck from his hair reassuring him that he was, in fact, awake, every detail remained crystal clear in his mind.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

Wolffe shook the thought away, moving to kit up in his new armor. He hadn’t left his bed, this room, Tipoca City. That was impossible.

He clasped his right vambrace on and paused. It was impossible, wasn’t it?

The question reverberated through his head all the way to the cafeteria. Sinker and Boost had said they’d meet him there when he took his turn in the fresher. Maybe he could ask them what they remembered about Amara’s or Plo’s various ramblings on the Force. Though, he was pretty sure neither of them had any firmer grasp on the particulars than he did. Especially not Boost.

It was, quite literally, magic to them. No matter what the Jedi said.

He was just down the hall from the cafeteria when a voice called out ahead of him.

“Commander Wolffe, a moment?”

He paused, nodding at the Togruta Jedi as she drew closer. “Yes, General?”

Surely she wasn’t here to tell him she’d changed her mind about the 104th. Jedi weren’t that callous. At least, not in his experience.

“I will not keep you long.” She glanced at the cafeteria doors as a group of clones walked out, smiling at them when they passed. “I have just come from a meeting with the Jedi Council and thought you might like to know. Clone Trooper Comet will leave Coruscant shortly. He should be on Kamino within the next day or two.”

What remained of the 104th, the old 104th, would be together again soon, then. Wolffe wondered how much Comet knew, not relishing the idea of having to tell him anything about the Malevolence himself.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said, pushing the thought away for now. “I appreciate your support.”

“You’ll soon have more than just my support, Commander.” Shaak Ti leaned in to whisper her next words, as if revealing a secret. “Your previous co-commander, General Kora, will accompany Comet here. I understand she plans to stay for a while. To assess the rebuilding efforts in General Plo’s absence.”

Wolffe could only stare as she pulled away and patted him on the arm. “I will let you know they’ve arrive. Enjoy your breakfast.”

She continued down the hall, leaving Wolffe standing perfectly still and earning annoyed nudges and grumbles from brothers entering and leaving the cafeteria. None of it registered, though. All he could hear was an echo of his own voice from the dream that was seeming less and less like a dream.

“I wish you were here,” he’d said to Amara.

Soon she would be, as if she’d heard him from across the galaxy.

Maybe, Wolffe thought, as he finally shook himself free of his stupor long enough to get through the cafeteria doors. 

Maybe she actually had.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Pontiac GTO

As one of the most sought-after members of the muscle car realm, Pontiac GTOs are a big draw among ardent collectors and casual fans of classic cars alike. This slick 1971 Pontiac GTO, with its recently rebuilt and punched-up 400 V8 motor, is the beneficiary of a comprehensive restoration that's left it not only looking great, but in outstanding running condition, taking that already magnetic attraction and ratcheting it up more than a few notches. And whether you prefer to call it 'The Tiger' or 'The Goat', it's a beast in the streets either way.  

Just a quick glance at this classic will leave you with the indelible impression that this is one seriously clean, straight and solid cruiser. It's likely been pampered a good portion of its life, as its flush fitting panels are all very straight, and the body gaps and sheetmetal creases are as the factory intended. This GOAT has been restored with an eye toward showmanship, and it certainly looks the part with its collection of clean, tight lines that you'll encounter from the hood, the sporty fenders and doors, and that iconic rear end – all of which serve as proof to how thorough the restoration was. The eye-popping Maroon Metallic finish is a wonderfully bright upgrade over the factory Castillian Bronze this GTO was born with, looking liquid-smooth and consistent from front to back, with an impressive shine from its clearcoat. With a deep, lustrous finish accented by shiny metallic flake that's evenly dispersed throughout the body, this car attracts loads of attention everywhere it goes. It's a top driver-quality finish that can be shown off with pride, and when it glitters in the sun you get to sit back and watch the envious gather everywhere you go. The badging on the front grille and decaled emblems on the decklid and fenders are sharp, combining with very clear glass, a commanding rear spoiler, and straight front and back bumpers that drive home the point that no stone was left unturned in bringing this venerable muscle car back up to its optimum condition.  

There's quite an impressive black vinyl interior sitting inside, which in our opinion is a perfect complement to the vivid bodywork. It's also been refurbished and mostly kept in its original configuration - save for a set of Dakota Digital gauges - to provide the rewarding and era-appropriate driving environment classic car enthusiasts look for. The broad buckets up front and bench seat in back show virtually no wear at all and still have a fresh shine to them, and because the covers are high-quality Legend units, they'll look this good for a very long time. A clean expanse of black carpet runs underneath the seating and keeps the asphalt temperatures and road noise at bay, the matching door panels are handsome and blemish-free, and the taut headliner above completes the whole package. Peer through the 3-spoke woodrimmed steering wheel and you'll see the original gauge cluster, although now the pods are filled with a full complement of Dakota Digital gauges. The original radio is long gone, although the machine-turned panel on the dash is still in place and looks great, and the factory A/C system has been upgraded to use modern refrigerant and blows hard and cold. A middle console splits the front buckets and houses the shifter for the automatic transmission below, and the condition of the rear seat suggests it's barely been used. A full-size spare tire wrapped around a matching aftermarket rim and an original jack set sit in the spacious trunk out back, whose floor has been treated for scuff protection with black spatter paint.

The YS code 400 cubic inch V8 sitting under the hood has been driven less than 500 miles since its full rebuild, and it runs with a smoothness and consistency that makes it very much up to the task of daily driving, if you should so choose. Augmented with Edelbrock aluminum heads, a Holley double pumper 4-barrel carburetor, Edelbrock aluminum intake, and a set of ceramic-coated headers, the engine is very powerful with performance that's delivered instantly up and down the throttle. It's paired with a TH400 3-speed automatic transmission that handles the power with ease thanks to an added 2800 stall convertor, shifting with plenty of certainty followed by the sturdy Auburn Gear 10-bolt rear end out back. With both power steering and power 4-wheel disc brakes in tow, this is an easy driver, and this Poncho handles great thanks to new suspension components front and rear, sway bars, and all-new steering components. The soundtrack is great too, with a 3-inch H-pipe dual exhaust system anchored with Flowmaster mufflers doing most of the barking. Should you desire any more proof of just how well-put together and cared for this GTO is, take a glance underneath - you'll find a very well attended to undercarriage there. This GOAT sits on a set of 17" Vision Legend series wheels that are outfitted with 245/50/17 performance radials. 

[infamoussparks]

Prologue

“DUPs done and gone. Curdun Cay emptied out. Conduits free to live and let live.”

“Can you believe it’s been five years?” Delsin crowed, hands firmly at his hips as he grinned madly at the deserted, rundown building before him. His olive complexion was stunning with the autumn sunlight washing over him. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees nearby and toyed with the locks of his hair that fell from beneath his favorite maroon beanie. Fetch and Eugene were at his side, as always.

“It’s wild to think about. And now we can finally get started doing what we’ve wanted to do since we finished things with Augustine and Curdun Cay was demolished.” Fetch nodded looking over the building before her, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her fuschia hair was up in its signature bun and her pale skin soaked in the welcomed warmth of the sun, free from the clouds for the moment.

Eugene remained cozy in his oversized hoodie, eyes tossing cautious glances around the structure from behind his glasses. He chimed in with his own smile of satisfaction. “And the Department of Unified Protection was disbanded.”

“DUPs done and gone. Curdun Cay emptied out. Conduits free to live and let live.” Delsin was hopping from one foot to the other, excitement palpable in the air around him.

It was a glorified, empty warehouse somewhere in the outskirts of Seattle, safe from prying eyes and easy to protect in a pinch. It had a few broken windows and the main door was locked with the thickest chain and lock. Bolt cutters would have to be added to the shopping list once the self-proclaimed “Heroes of Seattle” started one. One of the side garage doors had been pushed open just high enough for all three friends to see into the dusty, vacant interior. Fetch took a few steps inside, hands by her side as she looked around, twirling slowly to take it all in. Delsin stepped past her standing a few feet away, his arms outstretched and the biggest, lazy grin on his face like he had just saved the world. Again. 

“Ta-dah! What do you think?” Delsin sounded as happy as a bird with a french fry.

Fetch nodded slowly, a smile lighting her face. “This place… yeah. It’s got potential.”

“I like to think so.”

“And you just bought it? Like, you own the place now?”

“Cold, hard cash, baby!”

“… uh, and a little hacking…” Eugene spoke softly, almost under his breath. He was slower to enter the bare structure but Delsin could tell he was already calculating exits, counting windows, checking security.

“Well, I like it! I could settle in here,” Fetch was still taking it all in. Two stories, metal staircases, and so much space for art. “What are we calling it once we’re done rebuilding?”

The three conduits fell silent, lost in thought. The moment didn’t last long before their voices started echoing off the metal and steel and emptiness inside. 

Delsin cleared his voice, “I was thinking… ‘Smoke and Neon’?”

“Nah. Too us.” Fetch shook her head with a slight frown.

“How about ‘You ConDoIt’?” Delsin smirked.

Fetch scrunched up her face in a look of disbelief. “Are you even being serious right now?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“Let’s hear them, Neon Princess.”

“We could call it, ‘Little Fletchlings’ or ‘School of the Gifted and Talented’.”

Delsin huffed and his hands found his hips, “We are not naming this place after some X-Men comic.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I think that’s dumb. We’re calling it ‘School of Rowe’.”

“Oh, sure. Like naming a school after you located in Salmon Bay doesn’t sound like we’re some sort of fishery.”

“I said ‘ROWE’ not ‘ROE’!”

“And I said—“

“W-we shouldn’t call it anything if we want to remain inconspicuous. A name would bring us too much attention.” Eugene’s voice was raised now, he was glaring at Delsin and Fetch from where he stood a few feet behind the couple. Silence fell and after a moment the mimic and the neon conduit exchanged a glance—Delsin with an eyebrow raised and Fetch with a smirk.

A burst of neon color raced toward Eugene before dying out to his left. Fetch flicked Eugene’s hoodie off his head. “That’s smart, Gameboy. Good thinking.” She accidentally knocked his glasses askew as she ruffled Eugene’s unkempt hair and walked past him toward the outside.

“Hey! Don’t touch—“

“That’s why we pay him the big bucks!” Delsin chimed in, slapping Eugene’s chest as he passed the video conduit and caught up to Fetch.

“I-I don’t even GET paid!” Eugene huffed, but it was no use to get angry with those two; it never stuck long enough to cause any issues.

Delsin and Fetch were already outside to plan out painting and what supplies they needed for the remodel and rebuild. Eugene rolled his eyes, fixed his glasses and turned his back on his friends to take another look around the empty warehouse. He took in a quiet breath of air and a small smile formed as he pulled up his hood back over his hair.

“Welcome home.”

[positivelyruined]

How I See Mita | happy golden birthday, lolu! 20 years old on the 20th of May @lorcandidlucienwill

Animal 🦊 FOX

The phrase “cunning as a fox” came about for a reason. Nearly every culture regards the fox as stealthy, and smart. However, their intelligence is related to their comfort. As creatures, they become incredibly well-acclimated to their surroundings and can navigate with surprising speed. Immediately, Fox represents the elusive and mysterious adaptability to dwell in difficult environments, but never lose their playful edge.

Place 🌌 TOYAMA BAY, JAPAN

Toyama Bay, Japan is one of the few locations worldwide where you can see the inner workings of nature lit from below — instead of above. Most blue beaches are the result of bioluminescent algae, but in Toyama, the bright glow is caused by an active gathering of the Firefly Squid. The species glows at night, lighting the beaches, and attract visitors from near and far.

Flower 🐯💐 TIGER LILY

The Tiger Lily is a bright, eye catching addition to any flower garden. However, these striking blooms are more than just aesthetically pleasing. They also hold significant spiritual and symbolic meaning throughout history. In many ancient cultures, Tiger Lily flowers were considered sacred. The bright orange color of the petals is an embodiment of life energy and was thought to represent creativity and passion. Tiger Lily flowers were often used in rituals as an offering to invoke healing, protection, and good fortune.

Character 🪷 KATE SHARMA

Ah, Kathani Sharma — a quick-witted, bold, and stubborn heroine — who puzzles Anthony Bridgerton to his very end. Kate possesses a true essence of independence, which was rare for women of her time. Positioning herself as an outsider in the ton made it much easier for her to handle the sharp words of those who disagreed with her fiercely formed opinions. Underneath her sharp exterior is a deeply loyal sister, dedicated friend, and passionate woman. Her story is a journey of learning to respect her own needs and desires after a lifetime of putting others first.

Season 🍁 AUTUMN

The beauty of Autumn is in the change. Autumn’s fiery colors are embraced around the world; but they are not the only part of it which holds beauty. Autumn is the blender on a painter’s palette, taking all the best of both summer and winter, and merging their drastically different elements into warm and comforting creations. Apple Cider, anyone?

Hobby 🗺️ ADVENTURING

Adventure is the call to action, no matter where, no matter when. The hardiest of souls can find adventure within the great scope of nature or in the quiet lore of an old bookshop. Wherever they go, adventurers bring with them a sense of excitement for whatever lies ahead. Don’t let them get bored — they can cause trouble when not properly occupied.

Color 💃🏻 MAROON

“And I chose you

The one I was dancing with in New York

No shoes

Looked up at the sky and it was

So scarlet, it was maroon.”

MAROON — Taylor Swift

Gemstone 💎 AMBER

Amber frequently holds once living things, so the ancients believed that amber possessed the essence of life itself. Colored with the drops of the sun, there is little question as to why. Its warm beauty is still associated with positive energy, warmth, and connection.

Food 🥟 SAMOSAS

Samosas are a triangular shaped, South Asian pastry filled with spiced potatoes, meat, or fish. They can be served as an entree, appetizer, or snack. Their origin dates back to the Medieval Times, in the Middle East.

[iwashie]

BLUE LOCK MEN AS BREAK UP SONGS pt2

📌 kenyu yukimiya, mikage reo, kurona ranze, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, alexis ness

︶ ︶ ︶    ୨୧ ︶ ︶ ︶ warnings- breakup songs that I think suits the Blue Lock boys. (pt1 here)

✶ KENYU YUKIMIYA- MAROON/ TAYLOR SWIFT

When the morning came we Were cleaning incense off your Vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again Laughing with my feet in your lap Like you were my closest friend And I chose you The one I was dancing with in New York No shoes Looked up at the sky and it was The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet it was The mark they saw on my collarbone The rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home So scarlet, it was maroon... And I lost you The one I was dancing with in New York...

✺ MIKAGE REO- FINGERS CROSSED/ LAUREN SPENCER SMITH

Introduced me to your family Watched my favorite shows on your TV Made me breakfast in the morning When you got home from work Making plans to travel 'round the world Said we'd always put each other first All love songs we used to play to Funny, now I hate you Now I remember when you'd call me late at night I gave you my hours and advice Just tryna fix you and all your daddy issues But now I don't even miss you anymore So I, I want all the tears back that I cried All the hours spent giving advice on how to write your songs All you did was prove me wrong When you said you love me While you must've had your fingers crossed...

✦ KURONA RANZE- COULD CRY JUST THINK ABOUT YOU/ TROYE SIVAN

We wrote a life all by ourselves Wish I could put it back on the shelf But there's a dazzling wave That keeps me at bay with you, my love I ride this one all by myself I could cry just thinkin' about you Every line I write is something about you Every guy I want looks something just like you Every book I read, I only read for you Every art piece is just to remind you I don't know who I am with or without you But I guess I'm 'bout to find out Yeah, I guess I'm 'bout to find out We took a trip and made the best We laughed and played, then laid to rest But life's a blackening way of drifting us further than we are And now we're knee-deep in this mess I could cry just thinkin' about you I don't know who I am with or without you But I guess I'm 'bout to find out....

✹  CHIGIRI HYOMA- TWO GHOSTS/ HARRY STYLES

Same lips red, same eyes blue Same white shirt, couple more tattoos But it's not you and it's not me Tastes so sweet, looks so real Sounds like something that I used to feel But I can't touch what I see We're not who we used to be We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat....

✸ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE- 2 CIGARETTES/ JACK & JACK

Lately I can feel us drifting Both of us been acting different We used to be so consistent Is there nothing left to say, say Now I see your face and I just don't know you Yeah, the picture's there but it's not quite focused And I know it won't, but I'm still here hoping That it gets better now It gets better now, yeah No more late nights, us just talking Used to FaceTime, now you just calling It's no one's fault but some things just fall apart, yeah I smoke two cigarettes and I don't even smoke, no Now the sun's coming up and I'm halfway sober And I know it won't but I'm still here hoping How'd it get so complicated Can't even have no conversation Past the point of trying to save it But we push it to another day....

✿ALEXIS NESS- LIKE YOU DO/ JOJI

Lately, I can't help but think That our roads might take us down different phases Don't wanna complicate the rhythm that we've got But I'm speechless When everything's so pure, can it be aimless Painless? Lost in the blue They don't love me like you do Those chills that I knew They were nothing without you And everyone else They don't matter now You're the one I can't lose No one loves me like you do...

[cloudbattrolls]

Public Works

Kasolm Varzim | Present Night

Kasolm yawned as they rubbed conditioner into their curly hair; didn’t want it drying out, especially now that it was definitely the light season. Heat drifted through the city like the clouds up above, settling in like the fluffy plant seeds that blew around, gathering on the streets and sidewalks.

They looked in their ablution trap’s mirror, nodded in satisfaction, and rinsed their hands off before wiping them on a soft hand towel that had a pattern of statues on it.

Then they walked out of it, stretching, and paused to take a look at their cat, who opened one green eye to regard them as they passed her resting place on one of their wall-mounted shelves. 

“Bella, you bum.” They said affectionately. “Why do I keep you? You do nothing but shed.”

The fluffy white animal did not dignify her owner’s response with one of her own, and simply closed the eye again as her plume-like tail twitched slightly.

“That’s what I thought.” They said, shaking their head in mock chastisement. “You can’t even be bothered to give me an excuse. Who taught you rhetoric, eh? Os jovens são preguiçosos.”

The whispers sounded in their ears as usual while they walked to their front door, but equally as usual, Kas couldn’t make them out, and the amethyst necklace kept the worst of it at bay. It was practically imprinted into their dark gray skin with how much they wore it.

They smiled as they opened their door and locked it behind them, though they noted it could probably use a new coat of paint in a few perigees: the current blue was flaking off a bit. It had been a while since they’d last called for carpenter droids.

They yawned again, walking off down the sidewalk. Not one of their livelier nights, but enough energy to keep their appointment. Just so long as no one bombarded them with too many questions, it would all be ducky.

The park wasn’t too far; they’d have taken a bus otherwise. They preferred not to, though: they stuck out like a fine painting in a public bathroom, being a purple cusp on public transport. Their size didn’t help either; squeezing into a crowded area when they were wide and tall had gotten them dirty looks at least a double-dozen times.

It didn’t bother them much, but it wasn’t as if the highblood enjoyed such resentment either.

Especially now. 

They were growing accustomed to keeping their powers at a low ebb - feeling only passing sparks of growth, feeling, thoughts - but it wasn’t perfect. Getting too overwhelmed or exhausted put them at risk of being a magnet for all that, and nosing into others wasn’t their thing to begin with.

Or causing some other loucura like the living painting incident to happen. No, thanks; they could do without all that.

Kasolm smiled when they reached the park, relaxing as they came closer to the trees and the laughter and screams of the playing pupas and the occasional lusus. Just a little further to go.

“Mx. Varzim!” Called one of the waiting trolls - a young oliveblood. “Everything’s ready.”

They looked over the canvas and paints that had been set up for them, as well as the bucket of water, and nodded approvingly.

“Bom trabalho, you lot.” They said with a smile. “Nice, very nice. Let’s hope the kids don’t think it’s boring, ay?”

The olive looked a little worried, and the two lowbloods with him who’d helped set up - a yellow and a maroon - shrugged.

“That’s up to you, ain’t it?” Said the maroon, blunt if not unfriendly.

“Sure is, mano.” They agreed breezily. “All right - hora de começar. Stand back and make sure no wayward caretakers or nothing gets close to the canvas, please.”

“Yes, boss.” Said the yellowblood with a sarcastic salute that Kas chuckled at. The olive looked at them in worry and annoyance; he needn’t have bothered. The other two had worked with them before, unlike him. They knew Kas to be as mellow as a sleepy lizard.

They walked over and took out their big paintbrushes from their sylladex, the kind for wide sweeping brushstrokes. Tonight, with its warm air and smell of blooming trees and flowers, wasn’t a night for subtle work. 

Not as the wrigglers of various ages and castes filed in, some with curious expressions, others looking more skeptical or even slightly hostile, a few regulars whispering in excitement. Some sat in the provided plastic chairs; a few of the midbloods and a lowblood or two took out their own.

A few pigeons and gulls flew around the group, and Kas hoped they didn’t steal the grasped packets of snacks in anyone’s hands or decide to relieve themselves on their heads. They also hoped no one’s lusus decided to snap at one; that had happened before and it had been a mess to sort out, even if no one had gotten seriously hurt.

“All right, crianças!” They called in their loudest voice, and the talking mostly died down. “What color should I start with?”

“Blue!”

“Red!”

“No - gray!”

“Purple!”

“Piss yellow!”

Kas nodded at all the suggestions, even the last one from a kid who looked incredibly smug about what he’d just said.

“Ah, sorry, mano, my favorite yellow is the kind when your eyes are all gummy with sleep and you wanna be back in recupe and not at schoolfeeding.” They said with mock sorrow as they shook their head, and several of the kids laughed and crowed in agreement.

Even the one who’d spoken gave them a grudging hint of a smile.

They dipped their brush into it - turmeric and arrowroot powder, all natural pigments like ybe other colors - and began making bold, quick strokes across the canvas with little care for how or where they fit together.

“That doesn’t look like anything!” Called one kid, and Kas nodded in agreement.

“Not yet!” They called back. “Which color now?”

“Brown!” Yelled the boy from before. 

“Nice try.” Chuckled the purpleblood.

“Green? Blue!” Came the call from a few kids.

“Green it is.” Agreed Kas, and used a different brush to splatter the drops - crocus and indigo material mixed together - all over their existing strokes.

They added red, then black, then stopped for a moment. The canvas was now mostly covered in completely random strokes and splatters of paint; the whole thing looked like one of the abstract exhibits from their museum.

“Here comes the fun part.” The cusp said. “Now watch closely, and feel free to use your hands, ‘cause I don’t want anyone saying this is just illusion psi or voodoos. I got none of that. All I got…”

They dunked their paintbrushes in water, and put them aside, before reaching out a hand to touch the canvas.

The ingredients in the paints - parts of things that had once lived and grown - grew again, springing from the canvas and carefully weaving and blooming together into a cohesive piece of art, taking form into a cityscape full of light and color - all formed from carefully colored petals, leaves, and stems.

Music drifted from the canvas as well, the distant sound of dayclubs and street buskers. 

The sound of light season life.

“…is this.” Finished Kasolm with a proud smile as they took their hand away.

The kids broke into excited and disbelieving chatter, running up to touch the plants that burst into existence before their gray-hued eyes.

Kas stepped back, happy to let them pull on and even take parts of their work if they wanted. This wasn’t the museum; their park art was for the wrigglers, meant to be touched and played with. The flowers would die in a few nights anyway; they were just regular plants, despite how they’d been created.

They noticed the olive, too, was staring wide-eyed.

“I - I don’t understand.” He said. “Are you a psiionic?”

“Eh, close enough.” Kas said with a shrug.

“But you’re a highblood!”

“Don’t let it bother you, mano, I don’t. And I gotta live with it.” They said with a flippant tone and a shrug.

He looked…slightly afraid.

Kas softened a bit.

“I’m just an artist.” They assured him. “Don’t wanna be anything else, ay? Too stressful. Look at the kids, do they seem worried?”

Several of the children were throwing flowers at each other or feeding them to herbivorous lusii.

“No…” He said, his trailing off voice making it clear he didn’t put a lot of stock in that. Even though they doubted he was more than seven, at most.

“Are you worried about Kasolm?” Snorted Iolett, the maroon. “Don’t bother. I never met a more relaxed indigo. You think I’d work for some raging lunatic?”

“You would if they paid you good.” Shot back the yellowblood, Dakkry, and Iolett flipped him off as she went to clean up the canvas and paints, the former of which had been stripped mostly bare.

Kas laughed softly and yawned again. Reaching their limit, but hey, all worth it.

“Thanks, all.” They said with a wave to their helpers, the pair of lowbloods nodding back before returning to their bickering.

They didn’t bother worrying about the olive. Either he’d be a problem, or he wouldn’t.

They were just happy they’d found a way to use their powers without harm, a way that brought others joy and let wrigglers know for a moment that there was wonder in the world.

That made it all worth it.

[gcldengrime]

open to: everyone | @aurorabaystarter location: your muse's place, utp

Stained bright red, the only piece of clothing Lennon had left of his older brother was now splattered in maroon. Dirt and gravel had been weaved its way between threads, torn and frayed from dragging himself across the pavement and getting pushed against it. He had managed to get himself off of the bar's property lines to avoid being banned. The only problem was that without the gaze of bystanders, there was no anchor to settling the matter with rationality. It didn't take long for him to taste metal in my his mouth with copper, and then silver from the ring that cut his lip.

Lennon, however, couldn't go home immediately. His brother, who had been wandering the streets of Aurora Bay refusing his help, had finally given in. To go back after a fist fight would only contradict his preachings. He'd come here for help, but every touch that pressed into the bruises blooming under his skin he pushed away. He had instigated ever groan and cry from his body but Lennon would deal with the true consequences soon enough. He simply preferred to do it after his body stopped trembling against his own weight. With a hiss though clenched teeth, he spoke, "I'm fine. I just need to get cleaned up and I knew you were the only one who would still be awake."

[stingrayloveblog]

The biggest (and smallest) differences in s2 salmon run from s3 salmon run that i can immediately tell (not including obvious stuff like the lack of egg throwing and whatnot):

-the splash of ink that forms at the beginning of each wave after super jumping is larger

-steel eel hit boxes actually make sense (you wont get hit by a steel eel that is on a platform above the wall you are climbing, and you wont get hit just by getting close to the steel eel in general, you only get hit if you actually touch it)

-flyfish bins are a lot more finicky

-steel eels are a little bit worse at tracking down your every move, taking a slight delay to follow you rather than tracking you perfectly

-salmonids actually turn around and go into the water at the end of each wave, while in splat 3 they tend to either continue attacking you, get stuck in place, or just walk off in a random direction

-a lot less knockback from hits, most noticable from cohocks

-somehow, salmonid smokeyard feels slightly bigger in s2. Thats the stage in rotation rn so idk about the other ones yet but im sure its the same case for spawning grounds. Marooners bay didnt feel too different in s3

-no violent controller vibrating from grizzco charger :(

-salmonid ink is green rather than the somewhat bluish green they use in s3 despite not updating the colors of some models to match that change (drizzler torpedo, steelhead bomb, and steel eel body are all still green in s3 even though they dont use that ink color anymore)

-goldies have frying pans in s2 but not s3 for whatever reason

-salmonids are less likely to hit you if they arent targeting you during glowflies

-if youre like me and tend to get confused for a bit on which way low tide is for some of the slightly more symmetrical stages, the grizzco boat was always a good indicator of where to look since it was always in the low tide direction

-snatchers can block salmonids during glowflies if the path is narrow enough

-golden eggs dropped by goldies during glowflies do not lauch themselves 50 billion miles away from where the goldie died like they do in s3 and instead stay within reasonable reach

-significantly less blatant desync between players

-all gushers spawn salmonids instead of spawning in from shore

-if you die after a wave ends and dont get revived before the next wave starts, the weapon shown on your icon wont update until you get auto-revived by the next wave starting