#what prompted me to look into this months ago was the fact i genuinely thought it was in spanish at first

[thedrotter]

Re:Kinder Fun fact time!! Did you know? 😊

Yuuichi's theme song (the one that often accompanies his entrances with "Vamos Cantar!"), 新しい夏のナナ, is not in any latin language such as Spanish or Portuguese, despite its lyrics sounding as such. It's actually in Hanamogera, which to put it simply is nonsense speech based on japanese syllables. So the song's lyrics are essentially gibberish meant to imitate the sound of latin music! 😊

It is listed as such in the source site for the song, oo39.com, where the song can be found as "YS068" in the hanamogera category.

Additional fun fact! The song can also be found in Spotify as Vien Nana by Oo39.com themselves alongside a few other select songs from the site. So you can properly enjoy the song on the platform without having to import it from your local files.

Those are the fun Re:Kinder related fun facts for today... Use them to entertain your friends at parties ! ☺️

[moonshynecybin]

i feel like maïna sent me an ask/prompt about. SOMETHING. like this for forced coming out au genuinely so long ago but i can’t find it for the life of me so perhaps i simply made that up. anyways here’s a short fic set in that universe about them dealing with the panopticon. and in fact being pda whores in the panopticon. bon apetit

“There’s a photographer over there,” Marc whispers in his ear, breath warm and close. He loops his arms around Vale’s neck as he says it, sounding nonchalant, but Vale knows him better than that by now, can see the tension tucked in his shoulders, hidden in the carefully collected smile on his face.

“Hmm.” He replies, amiably, nosing at Marc’s cheek. They’re in the paddock and they’re together— of course there’s a photographer on them. There’s probably seven photographers on them. Par for the course in years past, but especially these last couple of months.

And Vale’s always believed that if people are going to look, he might as well give them a show.

He lifts a hand and flips Marc’s cap off of his head, setting it down backwards so the brims of their hats arent competing. Marc’s face catches the sun, and Vale leans in to kiss where it hits the jut of his cheekbone because he can— because it’s what he would do, if they were actually together. If Marc was a girl. If any of this had happened the way it was supposed to, for people like them.

His stomach clenches, involuntary. He thinks he can hear the click of a camera firing. Good.

“Now he can see me.” Marc complains, leaning closer. He tries to hide behind Vale, using their height difference to squeeze himself into his shadow, and Vale laughs, tugging at where his hair is starting to curl behind his ears, where Marc’s skin is smooth and warm.

“It’s been a few weeks— We should probably give them something to see.”

“It has.” Marc agrees, sneaking his hands down now, snaking them inside Vale’s jacket and under his shirt. “We should.”

Vale yelps, curves his body inward reflexively. They’re like ice.

“That’s cold!” He pulls a face. Camera flash.

Marc ignores him, cackles an evil little laugh into the fabric of Vale’s shirt around his collarbone. Vale lets him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans back in, making sure Marc is the only one who can hear. It’s their preferred mode of communication these days— close, edging on the line of plausible deniability. His lips catch on the delicate skin of Marc’s temple as he speaks, and they’re in public, so it’s okay to keep them there.

“Karen from PR asked the next time we are available, so we can, ah, do another date.”

Just a few months ago this would all have felt like a minefield, but when he raises an eyebrow —a question— Marc just nods easily. Understanding without words. They’ve been getting good at this part, after everything, all the press and performance and years on track, years in each other’s beds. In MotoGP, you have to be adaptable, able to read another rider’s move, know how they’re going to take a corner almost before they do— and there’s a reason Marc and him are the best at what they do.

“We’re in Phillip Island next week— do you want to try out that place we went last year?” Marc responds, voice lower a little more reserved. His fingers edge under the elastic of Vale’s waistband. His hands must really be cold.

Vale nods, even as his chest clenches, resentment and something less empowering spiking through him. Last year. Right at the end. Phillip Island.

Not a good memory.

He lays a hand to Marc’s neck, thumb hitting the hinge of his jaw. Tilts him where he wants him. Marc goes— like he always does, moving easily with him, body pliable everywhere but the track. His brown eyes focus in on Vale’s face, intent. Unsettling, if you know how he catalogs information, if you know how what sort of instincts he has on the bike— shoving in beside Vale on track without a thought. Risking a bit more than Vale’s ever been able to comfortably stomach.

But Vale’s always thrived in high pressure situations, under attention, and the way Marc’s eyes laser on him only makes him settle. Makes him sharper. Clearer. Hot danger zipping under his collar, shivery and sweet. He wonders what Marc will let him do, out here in the middle of the paddock, with a photographer on them.

Marc’s hands flex, where they’re pressed under Vale’s shirt, like he can understand what Vale’s thinking, that same uncanny ability to predict a move rising to the surface. His nails scrape a little, dragging along the skin of Vale’s lower back.

“Let’s do that.” Vale says. He doesn’t really remember what were they talking about. A date, he thinks. Marc all to himself.

Alone.

The careful attention of Marc’s eyes drop to his mouth, then once, quick, over his shoulder. The photographer. Right.

The show.

“Okay,” Marc says, eyes searching Vale’s face, uncharacteristically serious. Contemplative. Like he’s thinking about something. Vale raises an an eyebrow, but before he can say anything the look on Marc’s face condenses, and he leans up to kiss Vale sweetly, open and a little messy.

And this has always been the thing that’s worked most between them. Easy and magnetic. The push and pull. The perfect picture.

And then Marc’s pushing forward, deeper, licking into Vale’s mouth. Kiss skewing dirty, dirtier than they usually get nowadays, making Vale’s pulse jump— a dare. How far are you willing to go? it asks, that same impudent instinct he has when he’s diving up the inside of Vale’s race line coloring the kiss, and Vale answers.

His teeth bite at Marc’s bottom lip, exercising a little more control, and he crowds forward, using his height to push Marx’s head back, hand splayed on the edge of his jaw. Directing him, coaxing him. And Marc relaxes like that, back arching into Vale as the kiss extends. A surrender.

Vale’s got him where he wants him, and he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to lift a thigh, get Marc pressed up high and tight against him, wants to drag him off to his motorhome, see how far Marc is willing to let him go, wants to—

Another camera shutters, louder, closer, and it breaks the thread between them, bringing them back to reality. To why they’re here. Vale clears his throat, and Marc ducks his head.

Suddenly Vale’s chest hurts, feels cracked open with Marc tucked up against him, nose edging inside his jacket to find some warmth against Vale’s collarbone. So solid and warm and real. The only way Vale gets to hold him anymore is like this, for the cameras.

Love you, he lets himself think, probably for the first time. Love you, he doesn’t say. The camera shutters, and he pulls Marc closer into the well of his body.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for telling a guilt-tripper to knock it off?

I'm part of a Discord server for authors, both aspiring and published. We chat about life, discuss story ideas, share snippets, look for beta readers, give each other feedback on our query packages—the usual. We're from all over the world, so sometimes time zones don't match up, and inevitably there are members who are more active and, thus, get a bit more attention

There's this one user—let's call them Kat—who used to be fairly active and had decent interaction from other users. Around December, Kat shared a bit of their writing to a critique swap—basically a Google Drive where we could look over each other's stuff and provide feedback. They uploaded a bit late due to their schedule (GMT) and didn't get as much critique as they'd hoped, which made them a bit disheartened and they commented as much in the server. I can't blame them, since feeling ignored sucks, but I feel like complaining about it in the general channel (we have a dedicated vent channel) was a bit gauche.

Regardless, Kat continued to be active, albeit posting less frequently. Notably, most of their posting seems to be either responding to group prompts or talking about their own writing. Rarely do they respond to someone else's comments—or, hell, even replies to their own! I've seen people inquire more about stuff they've brought up, and then they just never respond. People do interact with them; they just don't interact back.

About a month ago, they messaged the server talking about recovering from illness and coming up with a story idea, asking for people to look over their first few pages. Two people responded with sympathy and interest; as far as I'm aware, Kat never got back to those people. Usually in interactions like this, someone asks for feedback, another person replies to tell them they're interested, the OP asks to DM, and the conversation goes there; Kat straight up left them hanging. After that, they only sent a few messages—a couple of replies to group prompts (those rarely have interaction from other users, though I've made an effort to react or reply to interesting responses, and I've seen a few others do the same), and another passive-aggressive comment about being ignored.

Tonight, Kat sent a message to the chat in the general channel (again, not #vent) that started with, "Whatever I've done or not done that's made me a social pariah in this group to people I thought were friends who now ignore my questions or posts, at least have a modicum of compassion and heart this message..." They then continued, talking about losing someone close to them. I do sincerely feel for them, but I can't bring myself to interact with that message in any way. Not even the heart they want. Worse, I'm entertaining the notion of telling them that while I am genuinely sorry for their loss, guilt-tripping people isn't an effective way to garner compression.

Why I WBTA: Literally they're grieving, that's such a shitty thing to do right now. Besides, they are right in that people haven't interacted with them as much ever since they asked for feedback on their work that one time. I doubt this will help anyone, let alone them.

Why I might be a JAH (I know for a fact there's no world where I'm NTA): Responses have dipped because they aren't posting as much, and moreover, since they rarely respond to people at all, it's likely that we've all learned that it's not worth it interacting with them. Besides, if I ignore them, they'll just keep guilt-tripping even more, which also isn't helpful to anyone. And again—we have a vent channel. Why they came into the place where we chitchat about our weekend plans vexes me somewhat.

I dunno. It's a very damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[clu-ven]

“Your lips, against mine. Boom. Kiss” Prompt with Jesse

word count: 3.1k

summary: At this point, Jesse is willing to try any cheesy pick up line in the hopes you’ll reciprocate his feelings.

tags: plenty of bad pick up lines, a make out session and discussions surrounding relationships/friends with benefits situations

! some small details might not be canon compliant (oops) !

“Ok, ok, ok, I got another one”.

At this point, you don’t even need to turn around, already well aware of who’s approaching you. After all, this is his fourth time coming over, wandering from his section of the Resolute’s training facility to yours. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be learning some disarming techniques?” you sigh, having overheard some of the other 501st troopers talking about it upon entering.

Jesse shrugs in response “Yeah, I think I know what I’m doing when it comes to disarming clankers”. Crossing his arms, he leans on the table you’re working at, watching you methodically clean the blaster you were just practising with.  

“So… you wanna hear it?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You know he won’t leave until you say yes. It’s as if Jesse takes pleasure in pestering you with terrible pick up lines, something you’re sure is a joke among him and some of his brothers. 

There was a point in which you wondered if he was serious and genuinely trying to flirt with you but you were quick to brush off that idea, knowing Jesse is a man who prefers to simply have some fun when he can.

“Fine,” you huff in feigned annoyance, putting down the blaster and giving Jesse your full attention. He gulps, your bored expression making his hands clammy.

“Ok but this is one Fives told me,” he warns “so if it’s bad, you can’t blame me”.

You reply in the form of a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to just spit it out already. 

Kriff, do you even know how intimidating you look like this? Jesse is sure you do and that you’re doing it on purpose, a hard lump forming in his throat the longer you stare at him. A mixture of excitement and apprehension tugs at his gut, his adrenaline urging him to say his secondhand pick up line.

Clearing his throat, Jesse puts on his best smouldering look “Hey, I’m the Azure Angel but you might know me best as the General’s ship”.

Without thinking, you crease your brow, confusion clouding your train of thought. Azure Angel? As in Anakin’s starfighter, the one he somehow destroyed months ago? Though, knowing the General, it’s safe to presume he probably crashed it.

Keeping his expression as charming as he can, Jesse continues “And I was wondering, can I crash at your place tonight?”.

Oh.

Your expression doesn’t falter. “Right… well, that’s definitely a new one” you slowly nod your head, trying your best to digest his flirting skills. 

Honestly, you’ve seen better from Jesse. In fact right at the beginning of his escapade to sweep you off your feet, he actually made you blush with his provocative flirting style.

He started out hot and heavy, using his filthiest yet downright lustrous pick up lines back then but you never gave in… and now the poor trooper is scraping the bottom of the barrel, using any cheesy pick up line in the hopes of wooing you.

It’s not that you don’t want to be with Jesse. It’s the opposite actually. If you were sure that Jesse is into you then you’d reciprocate his feelings, but that’s the problem, you’re not sure. 

There’s still a piece of you that wonders if this is a game, some kind of bet he has with the others. Or what if Jesse only wants some kind of one night stand? Or a ‘friends with benefits’ kind of predicament, something with no strings attached? 

Being completely honest with yourself, you don’t think you could fall into a no strings attached arrangement, not when you already feel so connected to him. Yes, you’ve convinced yourself that having no romantic relationship with Jesse is better than one where you get too attached to him. It’s the most logical option… right?

Jesse sighs, bringing you out of your thoughts  “Yeah, it’s a bad one… but not mine! That one is all Fives”. You try not to smile at his urgency to deflect the terrible pick up line, knowing that Jesse would have taken full credit for it if you instead showed any sign of liking it.

“Oh so I should be continuing this conversation with Fives?” you tease, suddenly perking up “Since it’s his pick up line?”. Straightening your posture, you glance over at the other troopers. 

It’s not a surprise when you see a group of them staring back, the usual bunch, all suddenly looking at the floor or ceiling the second they see you peer over. 

“What?” Jesse’s eyes go wide, his gaze following yours “Why? I thought you didn’t like it?”.

You shrug, keeping your eyes on the others as you blatantly lie “It’s pretty witty… it makes sense that you got that one from Fives, he’s always been the funny one”.

“I can be funny,” Jesse instantly blurts out, not even registering the words himself as he continues “definitely more funny than Fives”.

At the mention of his name, Fives looks over. Although you know he’s trying his best to be subtle, he gives Jesse two thumbs up and a big grin. All Jesse gives him in return is a scowl, which leads to Fives quickly looking away again and whispering something to Echo as he shuffles to the back of the crowd and out of sight. 

“Yep, definitely the funny one,” you repeat, trying to contain your smile when you see Jesse clench his jaw “but I wouldn’t say he’s the charming one”. As much as you love to tease Jesse, you don’t want to overdo it. 

“Charming one?” at the sliver of hope you give him, Jesse’s face lights up, his attention solely focused on you as he continues “Who’s the charming one?”.

“Can’t say” you continue to tease him, not bothering to hide your smirk anymore.

“Why not?” he smiles, leaning closer to you “is it because you’re looking at him? Huh? You getting all shy now?”.

Damn this man. Shrugging again, you look away from him and back at the blaster in front of you. “You are!” He exclaims, moving his head down to get a better look at your face “Aw, are you getting flustered in front of the man of your dreams?”.

You involuntarily laugh at that, finding the amount of confidence this one man can have utterly shocking at times. Jesse chuckles too, revelling in the fact he can make you laugh. 

He opens his mouth to speak again but before he can get the words out, someone calls out his name. “Jesse!” you both look over, slightly grimacing when you see an annoyed Captain Rex has appeared “Over here, now”.

“Duty calls,” Jesse sighs, standing up straight at the order from his Captain “see you later?”.

You decide to stay vague “We’ll see”. 

Jesse smiles at your ambiguity, appreciating how you like to keep him on his toes. With one last nod, he turns and jogs back to the others. You glance over your shoulder as he does, a tight yet strangely pleasant feeling in your chest. Damn his charm… and his nice butt.

***

Later turns out to be two rotations, which feels too long for you. You hoped you’d run into Jesse a few hours after your previous interaction or perhaps in the mesh hall early the next morning. But unfortunately, since you both have busy schedules, it takes two very long rotations for your paths to cross again.

You’re not sure what time it is, too early for any trooper to be waking up but too late for you to get a proper night’s sleep. Despite feeling more at home practising your fighting skills or strategizing the Republic’s next battle plan, you spent the rotation filling out an array of paperwork which has kept you busy well into the night. 

Since a good night’s sleep is out of the question, you’ve found yourself in the mesh hall, devouring either last night’s dinner or an early serving of this morning’s breakfast. Your internal clock is haywire, unable to decipher which timely meal this is supposed to be.

“There is no way you’re eating that” just as you spoon another heap of food into your mouth, Jesse comes into view, watching in awe. With your mouth full, all you can give in response is a questioning look, your eyebrows coming together as you tilt your head up at him. 

“Mesh’la, you should be wined and dined in the snobbiest restaurants of Coruscant,” he flatters you, planting both of his hands on the table as he clambers into the seat across from you “not forced to live on rations bars and whatever gruel that is”. 

Once you swallow the so-called gruel, you reply “And do you have the credits to take me to some fancy, high and mighty Coruscant restaurant?”.

Despite it being (presumably) the middle of the night, Jesse’s smile radiates a burst of energy. “Oh so when you imagine yourself at some nice restaurant, you picture me there with you? …And me paying?!”. He scoffs after adding in that last question, pretending to be baffled. 

You roll your eyes, too busy taking another bite of the food to reply. 

Resting his head in his hands, Jesse watches you with content fascination. “Actually, do you know what’s always on the menu at those fancy restaurants?” he asks, his smile unwavering. 

For a moment, you think, unsure whether this is some ploy or if Jesse is being serious. Giving in, you walk right into his trap “What?”.

“Me ‘n you” he replies with a wink.

Dammit. Luckily for Jesse, you’re too tired to make a big deal out of it, the long rotation finally catching up with you. With your eyelids feeling heavy, your face says it all. 

Jesse chuckles at your reaction, deciding to push his luck as he asks “Was that a good one?”.

With the shake of your head, you reply “Just as cheesy as the rest”.

Surprisingly, this seems to be a revelation for Jesse. Running his hand along that pristine jawline of his, he questions “They’re… cheesy? All of them? Cause I’m pretty sure I used a few smooth ones at the start of all of this”.

Finishing the rest of your food, you stifle a laugh “What, do the ladies at 79’s not tell you how cheesy your flirting is?”.

He replies with an amused scoff “I don’t think they care to be honest”.

Taking in this new yet frustratingly vague intel, you involuntarily lean forward “And what’s that supposed to mean?”. 

Never one to miss an opportunity, Jesse leans forward too, not close enough to invade your personal space but enough for you to notice his 5 o’clock shadow and the way his eyes study you. “I’ll tell you…” he trails off for dramatic effect “if you leave me walk you back to your quarters”.

You roll your eyes at the request but accept it nonetheless “Fine but if you think you’re entering my quarters then you have another thing coming” . 

Practically jumping up from the table, Jesse offers you his hand. “That’s fine by me, just an escort back to your room and nothing more” he confirms. Grabbing the empty container you were eating out of with one hand, you use the other to accept Jesse’s act of chivalry. 

Jesse waits until you’ve binned the container and are walking down the quiet corridors of the ship before elaborating on what he said earlier. 

Noticing your expectant look, he begins “Alright, alright… I just meant that at 79’s, the ladies are usually there for a reason, y’know? I don’t think a lot of them would be spending their night at a clone bar if it wasn’t for the cheap drinks and some quick fun”. 

He keeps his eyes on the corridor, only sparing you a glance. While Jesse tends to act like topics such as this are his forte, he’s never had to discuss this with someone he’s attracted to. It makes his chest tighten, the same question whirling around his brain as he tries to decipher whether he’s explained it in a fair way or if he’s coming across like an arrogant jackass. 

Your lack of response doesn’t help, his worries only intensifying when you don’t quip back a teasing reply. The only noise is his footsteps in sync with yours, getting closer and closer to your quarters. Jesse opens his mouth, about to ramble on a bit more but thankfully, you speak. 

“I don’t get it,” you admit, the door to your quarters coming into view, just a few more paces away “why do you flirt with me when you can go have as much ‘quick fun’ as you want while on Coruscant?”.

Jesse immediately raises his hand to stop you from saying anymore, his feet coming to a halt as he clarifies “Hold on, I’ve never said I wanted to have some quick fun with you”. 

No way.

Oh kriff, this can’t be happening. Is he really denying it? At this point, you presumed that fact was a given, even if he never said those words exactly. Though you try to hide your expression, your face drops, his words hurting you in a way you didn’t realise was possible.

Your shift in mood makes Jesse’s heart almost lurch out of his chest. “No! No I didn’t mean it like that,” he hurriedly states, placing a hand on your shoulder so you turn to face him fully “Well, actually I did mean it but not in the way you think, just please, hear me out”.

You stay quiet, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “I don’t want quick fun with you… or well, that’s not how I imagined us,” he explains, his eyes never leaving yours as he continues “I thought we would have some long term, committed fun. Well, that’s if I can ever convince you with any of my cheesy pick up lines”.

Feeling too vulnerable with his confession, Jesse tries his best to lighten the mood with that last part, hoping to deflect some of the attention back onto his supposed cheesy flirting skills.

With the inklings of a smile gracing your lips, you quietly ask “You got anymore of those pick up lines?”. The look in your eyes tells Jesse all he needs to know, a subtle shyness gleaming in your pupils, sprinkled with hope and anticipation.

“I’m sure I can think up another one,” he says confidently while his brain scrambles for a pick up line. Not wanting to waste any time and potentially lose this moment, Jesse says the first thing he thinks of; “Your lips, against mine. Boom. Kiss”.

You smile in response, taking your time as you consider the suggestion his pick up line so blatantly alludes to. “Straight to the point,” you comment “I like it”. 

Certain this is too good to be true, Jesse’s eyebrows momentarily quirk upwards as he replies “You mean it?”.

Although there is little space between you and Jesse as it is, you take a half step forward, closing the gap between your two bodies. “I think it’s your best one yet” you confirm, a buzz of satisfaction emulating through you when Jesse’s eyes flick to your lips.

Looking for one last sense of approval, his gaze meets yours again, searching your eyes for the same lust that fills his own. Angling your head upwards, you bring your lips close enough for Jesse to understand your intentions but too far away to initiate the kiss. Though you’re positive Jesse wants the same thing, you want him to make the final move. 

You can feel his breath turn shallow, as though the anticipation is too much. With his eyes fluttering shut, Jesse closes the gap, tentatively pressing his lips to yours as he tests the waters.

Everything in Jesse's head is telling him not to do this, that doing such a vulnerable act in an open corridor where anyone could see is a bad idea. And yet it feels so right, a dam of emotion bursting within him as you gently bring your hand up to cup his face, his stubble coarse beneath your fingertips.

In one bold move, Jesse loops his arm around your waist and takes determined strides towards the door to your quarters. You move backwards, trying to match his pace while simultaneously keeping your lips locked on to his. You keep moving backwards, only stopping when the corridor wall presses against your back. Yet even at that, you both continue to move though it’s now in smaller, more shuffled paces as you reach your door.

Jesse hungrily captures your lips in long, hard kisses, urgency lacing each kiss. Slowly, his hands begin to move from your waist, trailing up and down your sides without touching any part of you that’s too intimate.

Keeping one hand by his cheek, you use your other to quickly punch in the security number for your quarters, not even looking down at the command panel as you do.

Waiting for the door to open, you eagerly deepen the kiss, tongue gliding against his lips. With the same amount of eagerness, Jesse opens his mouth to you, bringing his hand up to hold the back of your head as his tongue glides against yours.

When the door opens, you step backwards again and into your room. You expect Jesse to follow, to keep his tight grip on you and continue your fiery kiss… but instead he simply leans into the room, his feet never leaving the corridor as his hands slip away from your body.

As his lips leave yours, it takes you a second to realise he’s not following you, a surprised pout forming on your face. Jesse smiles instantly, a flame of passion burning brightly in his chest when he sees your cute expression.

“Just an escort back to your room and nothing more,” he repeats, echoing his promise from before “that was the deal”.

“Jesse” you groan, slipping your hand into his and playfully tugging. 

He chuckles, cherishing the action. “Next time, huh?” he says, pulling you in close to him one last time “cause I’m not in this for some quick fun, y’hear? You’re not getting in my pants that easily”.

You join in on his laughter, giving him a quick kiss on the jawline and making no attempt to unwrap yourself from his embrace. Lowering his head to your ear, he mumbles “Go on, get some sleep”.

Reluctantly, you break away from Jesse, knowing he’s right. “Fine,” you sigh, stepping deeper into your room “see you later?”.

His relaxed grin quickly turns into a smirk as he replies “We’ll see”. That earns another eye roll from you, though it doesn’t hide the smitten look on your face. And with that, your door slides shut.

Leaving out a satisfied sigh, you walk to your bunk and sit on the edge, adrenaline coursing through you. With a fond shake of your head, you damn Jesse once more, knowing full well he’s got you wrapped around his pinky.

[itsjaywalkers]

jegulus & 71 pleaseee :))

i love all your writing btw!!!!

this prompt gave me an excuse to write this silly lil scene i've had stuck in my mind for days SO THANK U FOR THAT BABE

if u recognise what this is loosely based on . no u don't . i'm going thru something okay .

also !! thank u so much nonnie i'm very happy to hear it !! <3

71. "Kiss me, quick!"

Regulus doesn't know how he's managed to land himself a date with James Potter, but he isn't really complaining.

Or, well, maybe he is complaining a little bit, because, technically, it isn't a real date.

He thinks that, to all intents and purposes, though, it's absolutely a date. They're at a restaurant, sitting in the same side of a booth, and they keep gazing into each others eyes, smiling sweetly and giggling while they decide what they want to order.

Regulus can totally pretend this is real if he ignores the not-so-subtle glances James keeps throwing to the couple a few tables away from them. Or how he keeps whispering under his breath what he wants Regulus to do so they look more convincing. Or the fact that James chose to ask him to be his fake date through gritted teeth and a pinched brow.

He supposes it might be kind of his fault. Regulus hasn't been very nice to James, although there's been a considerable improvement since they met, which he believes should be more appreciated.

But, then again, the Regulus of seven months ago wasn't pathetically in love with James Potter.

Regulus misses him dearly. It was so much easier to keep his reputation intact when he didn't have to make an actual effort.

"I'm gonna put my arm around your shoulders," James informs him with a smile. It looks genuine, and it would've fooled Regulus if he didn't know the other man as well as he does.

He nods, offering a smile of his own that despite being considerably smaller, it's actually sincere. Regulus isn't too worried about it, though. Unlike James, he's an excellent actor, the best of their generation if he says so himself, and it's not hard to believe that he'd play his role perfectly.

Even if it's one as unbecoming as being James Potter's boyfriend.

As he said he would, James wraps an arm around him, and Regulus has to will his body to remain cool and relaxed but not too relaxed, or else he'll end up melting against James' body.

He's just so warm. Regulus reckons the other man ought to go see a doctor about it, get it checked, because it shouldn't be normal for a human being to feel so welcoming, so safe.

Regulus shivers, and he isn't sure if it's due to how disgusted he is by his own train of thought, or how well he seems to fit, tucked against James' side.

"I'm gonna put my head on your shoulder," he mutters, tone surprisingly even. Since he's already doing this, he might as well take advantage of it and properly enjoy it.

"Good idea," James murmurs, sounding excited, his eyes fixed on the guy sitting right in front of Macdonald.

Regulus thinks he'd feel more jealous if it weren't because this whole thing is a mere ruse to teach that asshole a lesson after breaking James' heart.

Still, he wishes James was paying attention to him. He's the Regulus Black, after all. It shouldn't be a choice in the first place.

"Oh," James gasps, squirming a little in his place and jostling Regulus' head a little from where it's resting on his shoulder. "He's finally noticed us."

Regulus can barely supress the urge to roll his eyes.

"Maybe we should turn it up a bit, then," he suggests, getting more comfortable and pressing even closer to the other man.

"You're right," James agrees without missing a beat, as if it's not completely unheard of, James admitting to Regulus being right about something. "I'm gonna whisper something in your ear, and you're gonna laugh about it. I know it must be difficult for you, but—"

"Pretending you're funny?" Regulus cuts him off, batting his lashes up at him all coyly. "It's nearly impossible, but unlike others, I do have the acting skills, so I think I'll manage."

James glares down at him, the gesture poorly disguised by a grin. The matching one Regulus gives him in response is totally genuine.

The other man leans down, until his lips are grazing Regulus' earlobe teasingly, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep an embarrassing noise from escaping.

"You're the most insufferable person I've ever met," James whispers, his breath hitting Regulus' skin with every word. "And I can't wait for this date to be over."

Oh, Regulus couldn't relate more. He's starting to come too close to popping a fucking boner for comfort.

He laughs, too loud and too eager, behaving like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush, and when realisation dawns on him, he does his best to ignore that he is basically a schoolgirl with a crush.

Regulus thinks that this must be what hitting rock bottom feels like.

"Fuck, he's looking this way," James says, still way too close to Regulus' ear, to his fucking neck. "He's actually looking this way. Oh my god, I can't believe this is working!"

"That makes two of us," Regulus huffs after daring to take a peek and discovering that James' annoying ex is, in fact, focused on them and their cheesy display. He even seems to be shooting daggers at them.

"Shit, Gideon looks so mad," James comments, positively giddy at the thought. "We gotta do something else, something that actually drives the message home."

"And what would that message be?" Regulus drawls, tilting his face the slightest bit, making it seem like they're actually having a Moment.

"Probably 'you're a fucking prick and I'm glad we're over and you're gonna regret playing with me like you did.'"

Regulus hums, considering, and then his mouth is opening before he even has the opportunity to think about it. "Kiss me, then."

James splutters, eyes widening comically and jaw almost dropping to the floor. Regulus wants to snap at him for breaking character after all their hard work, but now that James has decided to fuck up so badly, someone's gotta keep their charade afloat.

"What?" he nearly yells, and it's almost physically painful for Regulus, holding back his scowl.

"Fucking keep it down," Regulus hisses, his expression resembling a lovesick fool's. "How do you want this to look believable otherwise? Especially after sabotaging us like this."

James has no business looking as offended as he does right now. If anything, Regulus should be the one sporting that aggrieved frown, considering the circumstances.

"Shut up," James grumbles, all petulantly like a child. "I don't want to fucking kiss you."

Regulus swallows the sudden wave of nausea and the pieces of his broken heart, and arches a judging eyebrow.

"And you think I do?" he questions with a sniff. "I'm doing this to help, but if you'd rather ruin your own plan because of your stupid pride, then be my guest."

"I know you're not just lecturing me about pride, of all things—"

"James, I think he's about to get up. Fuck, what if he comes here? Shit, this is—kiss me, quick!"

"Excuse me, he's doing what!?" James whips his head around in mild panic, just to see that Gideon really is pushing his chair away from the table, all his attention on them.

"James," Regulus urges him, elbowing him harshly on the side.

It takes James a couple of seconds to return his focus to Regulus, at least a dozen emotions flickering behind his eyes. "I'm not—I don't think we—"

With a long-suffering sigh, Regulus grips the front of James' shirt and pulls him in, clashing their mouths together and swallowing James' surprised gasp.

He tries to tell himself it's fine, that he's kissed other people before when shooting scenes for his show, and this isn't any different. Regulus didn't feel anything back then, because it was just work, just another role, and in a way, this thing with James is, too.

But it doesn't matter how much he tries, how he keeps repeating these words in his head like a mantra. His heart still speeds up as he moves his mouth against James', who seems completely frozen on the spot. His cheeks still burn, the blush probably being noticeable from a distance. His body still relaxes against James', seeking more of that lovely warmth, more of James' touch.

It's over way too soon, but the other man isn't responding, and if he keeps it up for too long with James just sitting there and taking it, their audience is bound to notice.

Regulus pulls away with a truly idiotic smile, and he hates that he doesn't even have to fake it.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he murmurs, while James blinks down at him.

He's about to turn around, search for Gideon and hopefully relish in his jealous expression, when he feels a hand on his jaw. The grip is unforgiving, bordering on desperate, and before Regulus has the chance to question it, or swat the contact away, James is pulling him in for another kiss.

This one's different. Less performative. Regulus wasn't actually acting in the first one, because he's been wanting to kiss the other man for a few months now, but he was still hyperaware of Gideon, of what they were trying to do. Of James being completely unresponsive.

In this case, however, it's sort of impossible to focus on anything that isn't James, who's kissing him eagerly, hungrily, deepening the kiss the moment Regulus begins reciprocating. He licks at his lips, requesting permission, and Regulus grants it without a second thought, nothing but white noise inside his brain.

Their tongues tangle, and James makes a keening sound against Regulus' panting mouth. His fingers twitch around the material of James' shirt, a whimper on the tip of his tongue when their teeth clash in their desperation.

Once again, Regulus is the one that puts an end to it, even if it's more out of survival instinct than actual want. You see, they start to get too into it, especially considering they're in a very public place, surrounded by other people.

There's nothing wrong with a bit of snogging, and Regulus has seen way worse than their little make out session. But then James' free hand is gripping onto his waist, pulling Regulus in until he's nearly straddling his lap, blood rushing south at an alarming pace and hips twitching with the need to thrust in search of some friction.

Surprisingly, Regulus still has some sense of self-preservation left.

He captures James' lower lip between his teeth and tugs, dragging another obscene sound out of him, before finally breaking their kiss. Regardless, James doesn't allow him to get far, his hold on him tightening as soon as Regulus attempts to put some space between them.

"Yeah," James exhales, sounding absolutely wrecked. "That wasn't hard at all."

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

High for love - Sherlock x reader

Request: "Can i request prompt #16 with BBC sherlock please? x"

Prompt: I may or may not be a tiny bit in love with you. Okay maybe a lot in love with you but that's beside the point.

A/N: I am thinking of doing a part two to this if people want? Let me know what you guys think!!

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drug use.

PART TWO HERE

Word count: 2804.

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

You ran your hands through your hair as you paced back and forth in your boyfriends apartment. You didn’t ant to dump him – well no that’s a lie otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it- but your reasoning didn’t feel valid. But surely it was better to cut it off now, rather than stringing him along the whole time? Before you could debate the subject anymore, the keys jangled in the lock and there he was.

‘hi baby’ He smiled as he dropped his bag, walking over to hug you. ‘’god I’ve missed you, work was hell. Julie, you know the one from the dinner party we went to last week, she didn’t do any of here paperwork so we were backlogged the whole day and it’s just insane-‘’

‘’Tom, can you stop for a second?’’ You blurted out, cutting him off.

You saw his brow flinch in confusion as he stepped back slightly at your tone.

‘’Is everything okay?’’ The genuine concern in his voice pulled at your heart strings.

Tom was perfect, he’s everything you could want in a guy. He was kind, compassionate, funny – he’d had you in tears from laughing so hard more times than you could count. You felt so happy when you were with him and you knew you could tell him anything and he would love you all the same. Yet here you were, about to break this poor man’s heart. And why? All because of some stupid detective you’d fallen for months ago.

‘’I need to talk to you about something’’ Your hands shook as you spoke, which of course Tom noticed.

‘’Hey you’re okay, whatever it is you know you can tell me. I’m here for you.’’ His words weren’t making this any easier.

He reached out to take your hands but the thought of him touching you right now made your stomach turn, guilt consuming you. His expression dropped when you moved away from him, clearly on edge now as well.

‘’Y/N?’’ He questioned.

You couldn’t even look at him, opting to stare at your hands instead. You took a shaky breath trying to compose yourself. ‘This is the right thing to do’ You told yourself.

‘’We need to break up.’’

It felt unreal as those words left your mouth. A heavy pause settled across the room, both of you taking in what had just been said. You glanced up at Tom, expecting him to get angry. Instead he just stared at you, a blank expression on his face.

‘’Tom?’’ you asked tentatively.

He just nodded slowly, processing what he had heard.

‘’Okay. Um, wow I wasn’t excepting that’’ He let out a shocked laugh. ‘’What changed? Did I do something?’’

You stepped towards him slightly. ‘’No, Tom, no. You were-are amazing. Truly. I’ve been so lucky to have you in my life. It’s just-‘’

You didn’t even know how to phrase it.

‘’It’s Sherlock.’’ You spat out, your face burning with shame.

You knew you hadn’t cheated, not physically. But the fact you were in love with another man while being in a relationship somehow felt like a bigger betrayal. And Tom deserved better.

‘’Your in love with him, aren’t you?’’ Tom’s voice broke through your thoughts.

You nodded, not sure what words would help the situation. You were waiting for tom to yell, telling you how awful you were before demanding you to leave. But it never came.

‘’I know you love me. That’s evident. But if I’m not the one your in love with, then I can’t stand in the way of that.’’ His tone was soft, deflated almost.

You looked up at him, seeing the sorrow laced in his eyes. It hurt to see.

‘’I’m sorry. I know it might not mean anything to you, but I truly never wanted to hurt you.’’  You said, keeping your voice low.

It almost felt wrong to break the quiet around the two of you.

‘’I know.’’ Was all he said, before hugging you tightly. The two of your stayed like that, holding each other for a while.

‘’Go and tell him then’’ Tom said, sighing slightly as he pulled away.

You chuckled stiffly at his words before grabbing your bag and heading to his door.

‘’I’ll see you around then’’ He called.

You nodded and walked out the door, a few tears welling in your eyes as you closed it behind you. What had you done? You didn’t even know if sherlock liked you back. There was a huge possibility he didn’t, actually it would be the surprise of the century if he did. Sherlock didn’t do feelings, or romantic relationships. He’s more than cable of it, but as he likes to remind you constantly, it only distracts from his work. As you were thinking this, your phone rang. Speak of the devil.

‘’Hello?’’

‘’Ah, y/n, where are you?’’ Sherlocks voice swum through the speakers.

‘’On the way home, what’s up?’’

‘’Me and john are working on a case, come over would you?’’

‘’Sherlock, I’m tired can I just help you guys out tomorrow?’’ As much as you wanted to tell him how you felt, you were worn thin emotionally right now and did not have the energy to face either him or john.

‘’What’s wrong with you? He asked sharply.

‘’Nothings wrong okay, I just want to go home and rest’’ You sighed, slightly annoyed.

‘’y/n I’ve seen you quite literally collapse from exhaustion due to helping us out before’’

‘’well god forbid I start to look after myself’’ you shot back sarcastically.

‘’No what I’m saying is, you being tired has never been an issue before. So why now? Something must be wrong?’’

You rolled your eyes at his words.

‘’Fine if you must know I just broke up with Tom. Yes I’m fine, no I don’t want to talk about it and no he didn’t do anything wrong. Now can we please talk more tomorrow?’’ You snapped, harsher than intended.

There was a pause on the other line.

‘’Did you hear me?’’

‘’What- sorry yes I got distracted. See you tomorrow’’ Sherlocks words were sharp as he hung up the phone before giving you the chance to respond.

You sighed and pocketed your phone, continuing your journey home.

**************************THE NEXT DAY***********************

You jolted upright, your eyes having no time to focus as your head whipped round searching for the cause of the noise that had disrupted your sleep. Eventually you fumbled around enough to find your phone, clicking the answer button before reading the name of the caller.

‘’What?’’ You said, your voice sounding groggy.

‘’Hello Y/N’’ A familiar voice replied.

But not one you heard often. Something was wrong.

‘’Mycroft?’’ You eyes widened, suddenly alert. ‘’What’s going on? What’s happened?’’

You heard the older Holmes sigh through the phone.

‘’My brother went missing earlier tonight and-‘’

‘’WHAT? Where is he? Is he hurt? Oh my god right I’m coming over-‘’ You scrambled to get out of your bed, dropping the phone in the process.

‘’Shit’’ You threw yourself over the side of the bed to grab it. However, you miscalculated how close you were to the edge and promptly fell off with a rather loud thud as you landed in a crumpled heap next to your phone.

‘’Ow’’ You grumbled before finally picking your phone back up. ‘’Hello? Are you still there?’’

‘’Are you quite alright? That was an awful lot of noise’’ Mycroft asked, sounding more agitated then worried but that didn’t surprise you.

‘’Yep, yes all fine. Now where the hell is sherlock? Shouldn’t you be out looking for him instead of calling me?’’

‘’Well as I was saying before you interrupted me, we’ve already found him. He’s been taken back home and is currently with John.’’ Mycroft continued.

You furrowed your brow in confusion.

‘’Then why are you calling me? You do know it’s literally 3 in the morning. I was sleeping’’ You shuffled on the floor so you could lean back up against your bed, still feeling the tiredness wash over you.

‘’He may be home but he isn’t exactly…well, sober’’ The unease was evident in Mycroft’s tone as he spoke.

Even though he would probably deny it at any turn, he cared for sherlock deeper than he’d ever cared for anything. As did sherlock for Mycroft. They truly wouldn’t be the same without each other, even if they were both too stubborn to admit to it.

‘’What can I do?’’ You said with a sigh.

‘’Go and talk to him. He seems to trust you. Possibly even more than he does john Find out why he’s using again’’

You held your head in your hands. You hated seeing sherlock high. It hurt you to see him resort to such methods. Even if it was for a case. That man was willing to dance with death in order to prove he’s right about something.

‘’Okay’’ You replied reluctantly.

‘’There will be a car outside for you. Update me as soon as you can.’’ And with that, he hung up.

You took a few minutes to compose yourself, before getting up. You decided against getting changed, you figured showing up in some plaid pyjama trousers and the black vest top you’d fallen asleep in would suffice. You grabbed a jacket before slipping on your trainers and heading out of your flat. Sure enough when you got to the lobby of your apartment building, there was a sleek black car waiting to take you to Baker Street.

The whole ride there you were thinking about what to stay. I mean what exactly are you mean to say to someone who’s probably higher than the Eiffel tower right now. Even now as you stood waiting for someone to open the door, you were coming up empty.

‘’Oh y/n hello dear!’' '

’Mrs. Hudson greeted you warmly as she opened the door for you. ‘’Hi Mrs. Hudson. How are you?’’ You smiled at her.

You’d always been rather fond of her. She was endlessly kind towards you, welcoming you with open arms without any hesitation.

‘’I’m good thank you. You haven’t been round in a while. Come in, come in. We don’t need you freezing on the doorstep now do we.’’ She ushered you in closing the door behind you.

‘’No, I know things have been a bit mental at work lately, I’ve been meaning to swing by. I’m sorry it has to be in the middle of the night. I’m sure you don’t appreciate being woken up by all this.’’ You gesture up the stairs as you spoken.

She just shook her head. ‘’Nonsense darling, I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome at any time. As for Sherlock, well all I can say is at least he isn’t shooting my wall to pieces again.’’ She chuckled as she spoke. ‘’You’d better get up there, see if you can talk any sense into him’’

You nodded, looking towards the stairs ‘’Yeah, I guess. I’ll see you in a bit’’ You took a deep breath, before walking upstairs.

Sherlock must have heard you because suddenly you heard his voice calling your name rather excitedly. You went to open his door but he’d clearly got there before you, flinging it open. ‘

’Y/n, you’re here! John look, it’s y/n’’ Sherlock grinned at you, his eyes wide.

‘’Yeah I can see that, I’m not blind’’ john retorted from behind the detective.

‘’Hi’’ You said, chuckling nervously.

‘’You’re bloody amazing you know that?’’ Sherlock said.

You went to reply but were cut off by Sherlocks arms wrapping around you, pulling your body close to his as he rested his head on your shoulder. You let out a gasp as your arms hung awkwardly by your side. What the fuck had he taken? Just as quickly as the hug had begun, it was over as he pulled away from you still smiling. He turned and walked back into his apartment, focusing on some paper work spread out on his desk. You just stood there, a shocked expression smacked across your face.

‘’You okay there?’’ John asked, shaking you slightly. You blinked at him before nodding your head.

‘’What has gotten into him? Well drugs apparently, but he’s never normally this…’’

‘’Happy? Elevated? Fucking insane?’’ john suggested, looking over at the man who was now in a heated discussion with a skull that he kept on the fireplace.

‘’Yeah. I mean usually when he’s been caught high, he’s all grumpy and just curls up in a ball probably hoping we all shut up and leave him alone. But this, this is new’’

‘’are you saying you prefer the moody, short tempered bastard version of these events?’’ John asked raising an eyebrow at you.

You watched Sherlock move around the flat rather erratically, a feeling of discomfort forming a pit in your stomach.

‘’I don’t know yet’’ You replied honestly.

‘Ah y/n, come here’’ Sherlock waved you over to him, where he was now sat back down at his desk.

You shrugged your jacket off walking over to him, leaning against the desk.

‘’You need something?’’ You asked him, folding your arms.

He broke his gaze away from his laptop, looking up at you. His eyes took their time gazing over your figure making you shuffle nervously under his stare.

‘’You truly are beautiful you know.’’ His words sounded so genuine, you were taken a back. ‘’Anyway, I needed to ask you something but I forgot what it was. I’m sure it’ll come back to me’’ And with that, he shrugged and immediately went back to typing away on his laptop.

You just stared down at him. Sherlock never complimented you, or if he did the most you got was a short ‘’well done’’ or ‘’good job’’. He had never commented on your appearance, only ever on your work and he had most certainly never called you beautiful.

‘’AH’’ Sherlock clapped his hands together, making you jump. ‘’that’s what I was going to say, I remember now. It’s not a question mind you.’’ You rolled your eyes, slowly getting more agitated.

‘’What was it then?’’

‘’I may or may not be a tiny bit in love with you. Okay maybe a lot in love with you but that’s besides the point’’

For about the third time that night, you were stunned to silence. What. The. Fuck. There was no way you had just heard him say that.

‘’I need a drink do you want anything?’’ Sherlock asked as he got up and walked to the kitchen.

That’s when reality hit you. He didn’t mean it, he was high. It was just the drugs elevating his mood. He cared for you, you knew that. But now with whatever he’s taken he clearly thinks he loves you But he doesn’t. He’s made it perfectly clear in the past how he feels about love and relationships. Maybe he’d picked up that you had feelings for him and was now using them against you as some kind of joke? It wouldn’t surprise you. You’re heart sank as you faced the reality of the situation.

‘’Fuck you man’’ You mumbled as you moved yourself away from the desk.

‘’What?’’ Sherlock turned to see you with your back to him, standing by the sofa. ‘’Was that to me?’’

‘’Well it sure as shit wasn’t to john’’ You snapped, running your fingers through your hair.

‘’What did I do?’’ Sherlock asked. For the first time this evening, he looked sober. He looked like him again.

‘’You know what you did, you prick. Look it might be all a joke and funny to you now because you decided to go and inject fuck knows what into your body yet again – but the way I feel is not something I’m letting you mess with. Not anymore.’’ You grabbed your jumper, throwing it on before heading to the door.

‘Y/n wait please-‘’

‘’Make sure to tell Mycroft what you took. He wants to know’’ You said before heading down the stairs and rushing out the door, tears slipping down your face.

Your phone rang in your pocket. You knew it was sherlock and you had no interest of talking to him. Not now, or any time soon. First Tom, and now this. You were exhausted and you didn’t want to deal with any men for the foreseeable future. But part of you wondered, what if he’d meant it? Was there any way he truly could love you? You shook your head dismissing your thoughts. No, he wasn’t thinking straight. By the morning he probably won’t even remember what it is he said to you. What a fun conversation that would be. But you would deal with that later. For now all you wanted to do was go home, curl up, fall asleep and forget about the rather handsome detective.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! Your pinned post (... That's what it's called right?) says if you don't get a prompt on a Wednesday they still count (and I would have waited until next Wednesday to send mine but to be fully honest I have memory issues and will have forgotten I even wanted to send a prompt in two days).

I read your stuff about Ragnor meeting Alec in the sentient shadows verse (which is excellent, by the way) and I loved it so so so much it was incredible so basically my prompt is : bby Alec (in whatever verse you want!) meeting various downworlders and utterly charming them by just being himself (and being oblivious that he's making half the downworld platonically fall in love with him hahaha).

Have a good day ! Days. Week. A good month even!

He’s that’s what it called! I did end up changing that a bit ago because of how many prompts I’m getting but I still take the prompts especially when people don’t know! And tumblr edits are weird, they don’t always show up for people right away.

I hope you like where I went with this prompt! And enjoy!

—

Raphael freezes, because someone is watching him, or something is.

“You’re really pretty.” A soft, childish voice says and Raphael’s unbeating heart forcibly flutters, just so it can stop beating again.

Raphael looks down and to his left and there’s a small child watching him from the shadows.

“You should not be here, mijo.” Raphael murmurs and he doesn’t step closer, instead he inhales and he winces.

Angel blood.

“You need to leave.” Raphael hisses and he shows his fangs, for once hoping that this child will be just as indoctrinated against vampires. That he will be terrified and run.

Instead Raphael gets a genuine, half-startled smile.

“I want fangs.” The child mutters and he pouts, expression exaggerated as he tries to jut out just his canines. He tries to hiss and instead he just makes a sound like a raspberry and Raphael didn’t realize child soldiers could be cute.

It’s a sobering thought.

“Mijo.” Raphael tries, because being mean didn’t work. “It’s not safe here, okay? My leader hates nephilim and loves angel blood.

“Your leader?” The child asks, precocious and daring and not even a little afraid as he walks a little closer. He’s still mostly in the shadows and Raphael half hopes he’ll be a ghost or something and that Raphael’s hallucinating the scent of angel blood.

“Yes, my clan head. We all must listen to her, no one under her authority can protect you from her.” And Raphael has had very few decent experiences with nephilim interference, he'll trust himself far more.

“If she’s bad, why can’t you remove her from authority?”

“We need a reason and proof, little cherub.” Raphael admits, unsure why he’s being so talkative but he figures it’s the fact that the nephilim is a child. A curious, brave, foolish little boy. Perhaps similar to how Raphael himself once was… a very long time ago.

“Does she hurt you?” There’s a moment and a darkness to the soft voice of the child. “It’s not okay if she hurts you. Do you want me to hurt her back, I can make sure she doesn’t hurt you again?”

Raphael stares because when he first saw and smelled a nephilim child, this is not where he thought his day would go.

“Ay, Dios mio.” Raphael murmurs and then he winces when the child perks up and repeats his offer… in Spanish.

“No. No.” Raphael says in English and then Spanish and then in half a dozen different languages until his eye is twitching. Thankfully, it does work but then Raphael is being met with a protective little scowl, one that looks unimpressed.

“You cannot help me, or anyone in my clan.”

“But I’m a shadowhunter, it’s my job to help.” It would sound almost naive, if there weren’t already a small weapon strapped to his thigh. But Raphael knows better, that this small nephilim will not be able to help and he will grow up far more jaded.

“I’m a vampire. You have no reason to interfere in my clan’s dealings.” Raphael reminds him, because it’s important to make that clear. Even if the child is wanting to ignore the laws in order to help him from some strange misguided sense of protection.

“So I need a reason to help you?” The little, unsettling cherub frowns but it looks more like a pout. Raphael is reminded of the children he used to help watch over and he ignores the pain. There’s a glint of calculation and then a tiny, feral smirk. Far too jaded for such a young child and Raphae recognizes the marks of nephilim born better now.

For none of their babes are ever raised truly as children.

“If we get married I could help you.”

“Excuse me?” Raphael asks, wondering if the sun has suddenly comeup.

“You’re really, really pretty. And mother said I’ll need to get married someday anyways. You’re a vampire, you could wait for me since you’re immortal and then I can marry you and help you.”

A minute later Raphael is watching the child — who still hasn’t introduced himself beyond Raphael’s future husband apparently — sketch out what are basically strategy plans.

They’re crude but usable and coherent, all the parts except where a very small half-cherub is trying to marry Raphael.

“Mijo—“ Raphael sighs, “I’m not going to marry you.”

“My mother is really pretty.” The child says with a shrug, “and I’m going to be pretty deadly when I get older. I’ve heard that’s a good combination.”

Raphael curses as quietly as possible — is still overhead and understood — and then he looks down.

A hand is politely tugging on his jacket.

“Is that not enough?”

“Not for me.” Raphael says gently, “all hearts yearn for different things. Mine does not wish for a partner like that.”

“Oh.” There’s a wrinkle of a small nose and then a sigh, “that makes sense. I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen but they reminded me that we haven’t seen many people.”

Raphael takes that as the platinum lining it is. He’s not sure who ‘they’ are, but for all he knows, invisible friends happen across races.

“So you’ll leave?”

“I’ll leave.” The kid smiles up at him and then his foot scuffs over the dirt in the pothole he was using to draw. “I still like you though. If you ever need help, you can ask for us. If the shadows ever hunt you, then ask for me. Alec Trueblood, Raphael Santiago.”

The kid steps back and smiles, a little hand wave even as Raphael startles.

While he finally has a name… Raphael never offered his own.

Raphael takes a step back, his instincts suddenly screaming and he realizes that he felt nothing around the child. They’re gone, as if they were never there in the first place and Raphael swallows venom as it floods his mouth.

It’s as if the child registered as neither predator nor prey.

Raphae swallows and slides into the shadows and mouths the name, ‘Alec Trueblood’. He doubts he’ll ever have a need, but the child did offer and Raphael will remember it.

Just to be safe.

—

Alec: wow, so pretty. Must marry so can protect

Shadows: there is a big ocean with a much prettier fish that is better for you

Raphael: im allergic to fish. Anything besides blood really but especially relationships

(Apparently in the books canon, baby Alec has a crush on Raphael)

[laurenairay]

and prompt 1 with nathan mackinnon!! can’t wait for these! thank youu

I really enjoyed writing this softer side of Nate! Thank you for choosing him for this one, Bre, and I hope you enjoy it!

“You know it’s only you who makes me like this.”

Words: 655

*

“Surprise!”

You flinched at the loud shout from your boyfriend, hand clutching over your heart as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Nathan MacKinnon, you are the worst!” you gasped, batting at his chest with a hand.

“I missed you too,” he snickered.

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him hello, unable to stop yourself from sighing happily as Nate quickly deepened the embrace, one of his hands cupping your face as his tongue slipped past your lips. He’d been gone on a 10-day roadtrip, not due back until – you thought – this evening, but here he was way ahead of schedule. Not that you were complaining, certainly not with the intensity in his kiss.

Eventually you pulled away, head spinning and lips throbbing, Nate looking just as affected as he took a step backwards to give you a little air.

“I thought you wouldn’t be home until tonight?” you said, frowning slightly as you looked up at him.

“There’s a storm due in the time we originally were meant to fly back, so the team managed to organise an earlier flight schedule to get us all back safely. I thought it would be nice to surprise you, with these,” he explained.

And as he pointed to his left, into the kitchen, you raised an eyebrow and wandered into the room…only to stop in your tracks at the sight of the most beautiful bouquet of pale pink peonies, at least two dozen of them bright as anything. They were your favourite flowers without a doubt, and the fact that Nate had remembered that? And wanted not only to buy some for you but surprise you with them? Wow.

“For someone who says he’s not a romantic, you do remarkably well with proving yourself wrong,” you said softly, smiling widely up at him where he was hovering behind you.

“It’s nothing really,” Nate shrugged, although the pleased smile on his lips let you know exactly how much he liked that compliment.

“Nate, please stop selling yourself short. This is incredibly romantic and I love it okay? Almost as much as I love you,” you said firmly, lips still quirked in a smile as you turned to face him.

His small smile spread into a grin, such a rare thing but so genuine, and he ducked his head a little as if to hide it. “I love you too. So much.”

6 months ago he would never have been so open with his feelings. Hell, even 2 months ago he wouldn’t. But the day he finally told you he loved you was a day you’d never forget, and you treasured every moment as much as he did when he was open with you.

“You know it’s only you who makes me like this,” Nate murmured.

“Like what?”

“Soft. Vulnerable. Every other synonym.”

“Someone’s been learning their word-of-the-day calendar.”

“Babe I’m serious,” Nathan said, huffing out a laugh, “I don’t get to be this way around everyone. Mostly because I built up so many walls, pushed everything down, just so I could put my everything into hockey. But you helped me realise I could have both, you know? That I could have everything. So thank you.”

Oh your sweet, sweet man.

He may not feel comfortable expressing his emotions in front of many people, but the fact that he was growing so open and honest with you? It was everything.

With tears stinging at your eyes, you could out a laugh through your smile. “No thanks necessary, okay? You deserve everything and more.”

Nate shook his head fondly, moving to circle his arms around your waist.

“Maybe we both deserve it, hm?” he said simply.

“Maybe we both deserve each other,” you added.

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned.

As he leant down to kiss you again, you couldn’t help but think that you liked the sound of that too.

[thestalwartheart]

Hi! Not sure if you're taking prompts, but I'd love to see a 00Q story that addresses the defibrillator screw-up in Casino Royale. Whenever I watch that scene, I think "That never would have happened with (Wishaw's) Q there."

Hi!

I love, love, love this idea. In fact, I love it so much I want to make a series about it, but for now we'll have to deal with a short.

I was lucky enough to watch Casino Royale in a cinema the other night, and whoa boy did I have feelings about it all. This little scene came straight into my brain. A lot goes unsaid here, and it's pre-relationship, but I hope you like it anyway!

Read it on AO3 or below 😊 Feedback is always dearly appreciated!

competence.

The personalised gun is a stroke of genius, but it’s only one stroke of genius. It’s not until a couple of months later that Bond is assured Q Branch is in good hands.

He’s in the garage, escorted by Tanner, who is immediately distracted by the prospect of inspecting a Triumph motorcycle. Bond wonders vaguely if he’s on the verge of a midlife crisis.

Around the room, mechanics and engineers move about with ant-like industriousness. They scurry under cars, motorcycles, and, most memorably, a jet-black speedboat that looks no less lethal for its compact size. The busyness of it all, however, is highly organised. There’s not a speck of dust in the air or on the floor. There are no superfluous conversations, either. Every word spoken in the room is about horsepower or weaponry or which wires need to be joined or cut. Otherwise, there is only silence — the peaceful kind that exists between people who feel a great sense of camaraderie with each other.

When Q walks in, the room loses a little bit of its air.

Not that Q notices. He smiles benignly, and a little distractedly, at the workers who greet him with a “Sir” and a nod of their heads. Not aware of his own status, then, surmises Bond. And it is his own, not the title’s. Bond’s seen enough people play at Quartermaster to know the difference between genuine respect from the Q Branch staff and a pale imitation of it.

He’s dressed in a navy corduroy suit today, paired with a similarly dark checked shirt and a maroon tie. Bond can tell by his collar that the outfit started out ironed, though it now has the creases of a day at work folded into it. Q would still get away with it if it weren’t for the hair, which looks as if it’s been tugged in a hundred different directions throughout the day. It's likely the result of paperwork or a meeting with accounting. In the few missions Bond's gone on with Q in his ear, he's learned Q never gets this riled by matters within his own department. Nor is he very intimidated by the dangers of the field.

Bond has the mad urge to tuck away one of Q's wayward curls behind his ear.

Q, entirely unaware of those thoughts, saves his most genuine smile for Bond. It’s not wide. It’s a short, sharp little thing, but like the jet-black speedboat, it’s no less impactful for its neatness.

“007. Lovely to see you.”

Q leads him over to a beautiful Aston Martin. It’s the car Bond’s eyes had first been drawn to, though it seemed understated at first glance, placed as it was in a room full of snazzy red coupes and deadly-looking Jeeps. Q’s face assumes a bit of smugness, as if he’d known from before he walked into the room where Bond’s attention would lie.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” remarks Q in that smooth, crisp voice of his. “I don’t just mean the car, though she is extraordinary. No, it never ceases to amaze me how much taxpayer money we pour down the drain for fifteen minutes of technological glory, only for it all to end up at the bottom of a river.”

Q looks over, briefly, at a car’s waterlogged skeleton. Formerly a sleek black Jaguar, and, if Bond remembers correctly — which he does — it was assigned to 009 a week ago.

Bond smiles. “Have some faith. I like to show them an hour, at the very least.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you tell all of them.”

Q doesn’t give Bond the pleasure of answering back to that. Immediately, he launches into a monologue about technical specifications. Bond listens with interest — though he doesn’t show it — impressed at the safety improvements and the many tricks up the car’s sleeve, though he’s most impressed by the newness of the miniguns. Custom-ordered, apparently. Before this Q, there hadn’t been custom-built guns in Q Branch for over a decade.

There hadn’t been very much worth noting from Q Branch at all in that time.

It’s only when Q opens the car’s glovebox compartment to display a defibrillator that Bond feels anything other than a benign sort of satisfaction. An old spike of adrenaline moves up through his chest, the residual wisp of memory that has never really left him. Q must catch the look in his eye because he clears his throat and lets out a short, understanding little sigh.

“Ah, yes, we’ve made a few changes to the existing design.”

“I should hope so.”

Bond gets another smile for that, a somewhat regretful one, though Q was likely still in bloody high school during Bond’s last dance with an MI6-made defibrillator. While he’s taking the blasted thing out of its casing, Q explains the design changes.

“Permanently attached leads. See? No pulling them off.” Q tugs at one firmly more than once. It stays firmly in place. “The wires are reinforced to prevent any damage from…well, whatever you agents get up to. And there have been some software changes, too. I can see the charge and override the button from here. No need to press it yourself should you be…incapacitated.”

Bond nods, silent. Q continues.

“Along with the one in your car, there’s a smaller, more discrete model in your briefcase. The same design modifications have been made to it. Both have passed extensive user testing.”

His tone is verging dangerously close to pity, and Bond suddenly yearns for the snappish, arrogant man he’d met at the National Gallery.

“Don’t tell me you went into cardiac arrest just for me, Q.”

“You say that as if you don’t bring us all closer to a heart attack with every moment you’re out in the field.”

Banter aside, he goes on to assure Bond that along with testing in the lab, 003 had made use of the device last week and returned unscathed. With that, Bond thinks he’s clear of any coddling, but he’d forgotten one essential detail from his and Q’s first meeting and all their encounters since: as precocious and cocky as the new Quartermaster is, he’s also exceedingly kind. And rather astute, too, if not with people, then at least with the history of the job and the responsibilities it entails.

Q closes the car door with a snap and straightens up. “My job is to outfit you with the tools you need, Bond. I happen to think we’re rather good at it these days, but if there’s anything we haven’t thought of, any equipment you require—”

“An exploding pen?”

Q’s only response is a distinctly British kind of withering look.

“—that you deem necessary to ensure a safe return,” he pauses, his voice softening and his face twisting a little with the awkwardness of the conversation. “You need only ask.”

“Thank you, Q.”

“Well, good luck in the field. Do try to return the equipment in one piece.”

Bond steps forward, making sure to get just close enough to Q to fluster him. It works for a moment, though the boy recovers quickly. Perhaps he’s been here just long enough to have become immune to an agent’s charm.

“And what about us agents?” murmurs Bond. “Say it’s between me and the gun or the car. Should I not return in one piece?”

Q averts his eyes. He looks around the garage and squints briefly at the ceiling as if he’s looking straight through the concrete to the bureaucratic behemoth above. Then, over the top of his glasses, eyes sparkling with mischief, Q looks back at Bond and quips, “Are you not part of this agency’s equipment? I trust you can make the right call about which...assets…we consider more important.”

A month ago, Bond would have guessed at the gun and the car being more important to Q. Now, he’s not so sure.

“Stay safe, 007. I’ll look forward to seeing you upon your return.”

With that, he slips the car keys into Bond’s hand and walks away. Bond fiddles with them as he takes a second look at the car.

In it, there’s a palm-print encoded gun (version two, apparently), several miniguns, an oil slick, heat-seeking missiles, a poison-detection kit, and a defibrillator meant to properly stand up to the kinds of emergencies agents face in the field. All of that is cased a frame designed to withstand bullets, fire and water. The Noah’s ark of cars. Well, it would be if it weren’t also a harbinger of destruction.

It's fine work, certainly, but it isn't until Bond climbs into the vehicle and opens its accompanying mission envelope that he lets an unguarded smile free. Lying inconspicuously atop the paperwork is an Omega Seamaster with a note wrapped around its band.

For opening doors. If you find yourself really putting your back into it, try the alarm.

Q.

Yes, Bond thinks, as he makes use of the car’s small ashtray compartment to burn the note. Staying safe in the field might be a bit easier this time.

[sweetaswithscottymac]

for a prompt: seb/lewis, person of your choice staging an intervention with lewis :) and whatever comes next ;)

i guess they won't be shorter after all... 1.5k words, somewhere between cracky and not. set around that goddamn dinner.

//

Daniel holds his tongue for months. He sees the posts, he hears the quotes, and he doesn’t say anything. He’s got a bit going on himself, after all. A seat for 2024 won’t materialise out of thin air. 

He’s already in Abu Dhabi when Lewis texts him on Monday. Daniel reads the message, puts his phone down, and puts his head in his hands. Maybe it’s time to say something.

Love the idea mate let’s make it happen, he texts back. 

*

Daniel bides his time through the genuinely excellent dinner. He annoys Lando as much as he possibly can without Lando outright throttling him, and flirts with Pierre until Yuki starts to frown at him. They’re easy company, and Daniel tries not to think about the fact that this might be his last dinner as one of them, too.

Throughout, his eyes stray down the other end of the table. Lewis spends most of the meal smiling at his plate or smiling at Sebastian. More than once Carlos tries to start a conversation and Lewis doesn’t even hear him. 

It’s definitely time to say something.

The opportunity comes in the lull after dinner. There’s dessert coming, although if Daniel knows F1 drivers, they’ll all take one bite and push it away. People start to move around, swapping seats, or standing to stretch their legs and forming little pockets around the room. Lewis ducks out, presumably for the bathroom, and Daniel gets up to position himself by the door.

“I just gotta,” he says, waving his phone at Lando in response to his questioning look. 

Lewis is easy enough to intercept when he slips back into the room.

“Great idea, this,” Daniel says.

“Least we could do, right?” Lewis says it like Daniel really had much to do with it except helping him corral anything. Daniel’s not the one who spent two hours on google trying to find a restaurant that would work for everyone. 

“Yeah,” Daniel agrees anyway. Lewis looks a little tired—don’t they all— but he soft light of the dining room gives him a glow. “Kind of offended you didn’t organise a dinner for me, though,” he adds.

Lewis shakes his head. He looks a touch embarrassed, but when he speaks he sounds earnest.

“Nah, you’ll be back, I’m sure of it,” he says. He reaches out and squeezes Daniel’s arm. “You deserve to be.” 

“You seem to reckon Seb will be too,” Daniel teases. 

“If Fernando came back, why not?” Lewis says stubbornly, but he’s smiling just at the thought. Jesus Christ. 

“I guess if your least favourite rival found his way back...” Daniel says, even though he suspects Fernando’s spot has been supplanted recently.

“Then my favourite could too?”

“Might be a bit tricky, but I’ll do my best.”

Lewis laughs, but there’s something pitying in the look he gives Daniel and, nope, that’s not what this conversation is about.

“Have you told him? That you don’t want him to leave, I mean,” he says, before Lewis can say anything else. It’s not the most graceful segue, and sure enough, Lewis frowns. His eyes flick to Seb, who’s taken Daniel’s vacated seat. He’s gesturing broadly as he explains something to Charles and Lando, looking particularly animated. 

“He knows,” Lewis says. “I say it every time someone asks me about him. Of course I’m going to miss him.”

Daniel can feel his eye twitch.

“But have you said it to him, not just about him?” It feels a bit like explaining something to his nephew.

Lewis drags his eyes back to Daniel. 

“Of course, I don’t know what you—”

“Do you remember Coachella?” 

Daniel’s probably giving Lewis conversational whiplash, but he’s running out of time and for some stupid reason, he’s so invested in this. 

“What do you—” Lewis starts out looking confused, then bites his lip. “Oh.”

Adorable. Daniel wants to pinch his goddamn cheek. 

It was more than three years ago now, even though it feels like both more and less time has passed since then. Hanging out with him and his friends, seeing Lewis much more relaxed than he ever had before, had felt like the kind of perfectly serendipitous good time you can’t construct if you try.

It’s always been clear Lewis knows how to have a good time, and Daniel wasn’t disappointed. Sometime late into the night, grabbing some downtime between parties, they’d wound up in a tent sharing a joint, and Lewis had rambled for twenty goddamn minutes about how pretty Sebastian Vettel’s eyes are. Lewis’s friend, the tall one, Miles, had caught Daniel’s eye and laughed.

“He gets like this,” he’d said, and Lewis had playfully punched him in the arm. He hadn’t shut up about Seb, though.

It had been enlightening, and Daniel’s always remembered it with fondness, and more than a little curiosity. 

“Don’t you just want to get it off your chest?” he asks. “Seize the day and all that shit. No risk, no reward?” He racks his brain for another cliche as a crease appears between Lewis’s eyebrows. 

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, without…” Lewis spreads his palms like he’s offering something up. “I don’t know how he can possibly not know,” he adds, quieter. “And he’s never been afraid to say what he thinks, has he. So he clearly doesn’t—” Lewis creaks off and looks around them, like he’s remembered they’re still surrounded by others. 

Daniel can recognise the signs of someone who’s turned something over and over in their head, rotating it every which way trying to get it to fit. There’s a fundamental piece missing though, without which he’s going to be stuck at this impasse forever. Daniel is happy to provide it.

“I wouldn’t assume he knows,” he says. Despite their time as teammates, and almost ten years on the grid together, Daniel feels like he’s gotten to know Seb better this year than any other. Sebastian has always been so private but all the times he’s reached out to Daniel to offer his support, he’s given away a little bit more of himself. “When Seb says he doesn’t really think he’ll be remembered, he kind of means it.” 

Lewis looks stricken. 

“But that’s about everyone else,” he says. “The paddock, and the media, and the fans. Not the people who really know him. Not—”

He stops, looking completely perplexed by the idea, and Daniel feels like the clouds are finally parting.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he says, clapping Lewis on the shoulder. “Maybe just make sure.” 

*

By the end of the race on Sunday, Daniel mostly feels a sense of relief. P13 is about right, probably, and a tiny part of him is glad he never has to drive this fucking car again. He works through his press commitments, congratulates the podium finishers, and makes his way around the whole garage, thanking every single McLaren employee. 

He missed Seb in the press session, still no doubt caught up with his team, so he ducks into the Aston Martin garage to find him and give him one last hug. No one looks at him twice, too busy packing everything down, and Daniel winds his way through the corridors towards Sebastian’s driver's room. 

He rounds a bend and stops abruptly. Someone else beat him to Seb. 

They’re half tucked into a corner, but not remotely as hidden as they seem to think they are. Lewis has his hands in Sebastian’s shirt, tugging him into his own body like he’s afraid Seb will dissolve the second he lets go. They’re kissing, the kind of kiss that Daniel immediately feels embarrassed to be watching. He doesn’t look away, though, because he’s earned this satisfaction.  

There’s a cough from next to him. 

“Finally, they have stopped being stupid.” Fernando looks almost as tired as Daniel feels. He adjusts the cap on his head. “Well, not really. But at least they are being stupid in the same direction, no?” 

Daniel stares at him. If Fernando is here at the same time as him, and is just as unsurprised as him… well, the conclusion draws itself.

“What did you do?” It’s hard not to make it sound like an accusation. 

“Someone needed to say something.” Daniel’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks Fernando sounds defensive.  

“And that someone was you? And Lewis listened to you?”

“Lewis?” Fernando scoffs. “Of course not. I spoke to Sebastian after the press conference on Thursday.” 

That’s only slightly less baffling to Daniel, but before he can interrogate him any further, someone in a nearby room drops something with a crash and Daniel instinctively looks back at the pair previously lost in their own world. 

Sebastian has his eyes open now, and they land on Daniel and Fernando. He’s already flushed, but even from here Daniel can see that the colour deepens. He doesn’t move though, and lets Lewis press a kiss to his neck. Fernando makes a displeased sound, but Daniel gives him two thumbs up. 

Sebastian flips them both off, the ungrateful bastard.

“Drink?” Daniel asks, turning back to Fernando. 

“Yes,” Fernando says. “I need to forget I ever saw this.”

[cosmicswritings]

Saw your thing for writing requests, please just ignore if that's off the table!

Starscream or OP in any universe gets the other to genuinely laugh.

Okay, I think I have the perfect post war idea for that. I’m going to do TFP (it was hard to find which universe but oh well). Actually, you’re lucky because I’m going to also make and IDW version of this prompt because an idea LITERALLY just popped into my head. I’ll tag you in both <3. 

Also this fic was so fun to do thank you so much!!

__

Eventually, Starscream knew he’d have to contact Cybertron to let them know that their prized pet had gotten loose. 

Most people thought that Optimus had perished when he’d jumped into the Well of Sparks, and in his own exile so did Starscream. He wasn’t too upset at that at all actually, in fact, that was the one thing he could celebrate while on the run from the predacons and the rest of Cybertron in general.

Yet, Prima worked in many ways because living in his humble cave on an energon-filled, yet desolate planet systems away from Cybertron, he did not expect a confused, clueless and very much alive Optimus Prime to find him.

That had happened a month or so ago, and Starscream could not shake him off. Optimus - or Orion - was clearly lost. Starscream had thought to kill him at first, or even send him to bounty hunters for some energon rations or something but…little by little, he had a change of spark. He didn’t know what it was about clueless Optimus that made him less prone to violence or at least want to change his ways.

Truth be told, that answer was simple. Starscream was lonely, and he’d lost everything.

Everywhere he went, people looked upon him with disgust and hatred. Not that he didn’t deserve some of it, but it hurt. Especially when he had, during the conclusion of the war attempted to change and defect from the Decepticon cause. No one believed him, and the Autobots had treated him poorly because of it.

That said, as clueless as Orion Pax (or Optimus) was, he didn’t look at Starscream like he was a monster.

He looked at him like he was a savior and perhaps, one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. And that is why Starscream could not bring himself to harm him. He knew eventually Optimus’s memories would return, or that someone would come for him, but until then, he could indulge in the new friend he’d made. 

Presently, Starscream found himself sitting against one of the trees outside of their cave. Truth be told, they did not spend that much time in their cave; it was where Starscream hid. However, given they were the only ones on the planet, being outside suited Starscream more. He was used to living in the woods like this, being beneath the trees and in nature. During his self banishment, he’d found himself there before and it was a comforting setting to him.

There was a datapad in his hand, a book downloaded from an Earthling database. As much as he hated to admit it, Starscream loved Earth books and stories. 

In the distance there were heavy footsteps heard growing closer and closer. Starscream retained his calm demeanor, as he already knew who the mech was approaching him.  

“Starscream,” The voice was soft, yet filled with excitement and curiosity. “I know it’s going to be another cold night, so I found some firewood. I can regulate heat much easier than you can…you on the other hand…”

He stepped in front of Starscream, who was still leaned against the tree. He hadn’t faced him yet.

“Or, you can just sit next to me and warm me. You are a big, loveable hunk of metal, we don’t need fire to stay–”

At that moment, Optimus had fully made it in front Starscream, still holding large tree trunks in his arms. Starscream’s optics made contact with Orion’s yet, his vocalizer paused as he attempted to speak. A breathless noise came from the depths of his audio system that eventually, burst into laughter. 

Orion tilted his head in confusion.

“Is something funny, Starscream?” He asked quietly. 

“You–your head–our audials!” Starscream stood and practically ran over to him. “Were you rolling in a meadow?” Somehow, some way, when searching for fire wood, Optimus had accumulated a rather large amount of flowers upon his head. He was more than likely pushing through some trees as he did so, and did not even realize that he had grown a sort of crown of flowers. 

Orion smiled rather bashfully and inclined slightly as Starscream approached him, messing with the makeshift flower crown on his head. “You are many things Orion Pax, but you manage to get more an every day.” He still chuckled as he spoke. Never in his millions of years did he expect to see Optimus Prime with flowers on his head. Somehow though, it seemed fitting. 

“Cute, is that a human term?” Optimus asked, confused.

Starscream chuckled. “Yes…yes it is. Ahh there, now you look better.”

Optimus smiled, dropping the pile of fire wood and taking just a flower or two from his audials and somehow placing them upon Starscream’s head, fashioning them tightly.

“Now Starscream, we both look ‘cute’.” Orion said, gaining more confidence.

Starscream smiled, feeling that familiar rush of energon flush his facial chasms. He hated to admit that after all this time, he started to grow feelings for Orion Pax. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

__

Hope you enjoyed and as always, requests are open! I loved writing this!!

[petri808]

Stingue for @theguildawards Secret Santa, @twicesix giftee 🎄🎁🤶🏻 Happy Holidays!

Is his taste in men that bad or just his judgment that he keeps picking the ones who hurt him in the end? Rogues only had three if you count the one in high school, but once their true colors came through, so did the fact they were hiding something. Trevor lied about his grades which he only found out about because he couldn’t graduate with their class on time. Such a minor thing, but the fact he lied is the problem. Then there was Antonio who he met in undergrad. What didn’t the guy lie about! Not a fellow college student, but seventeen-year-old high school dropout, who claimed to work as a server at a restaurant, was a busboy, and always forgot his wallet at home. Total scammer that Rogue dumped within a couple months, though too bad that he was good in bed. Finally, this latest one. Tch, this might be the best one yet.  

A long-winded whooshing sound of warm air escapes Rogues lips as he slowly blinks and swirls the honey-auburn contents of his glass. 

“Well, that was sad a sigh if I’d ever heard one.” The soothing upbeat alto voice remarks.

Rogue turns to the stool beside him and realizes a handsome blonde male has taken it. He’s been so lost in his own thoughts; he didn’t notice a newcomer to the bar. The man looks around his age, eyes which normally would look almost black, its blue hues shine through from the bar’s backlit liquor display in front of them. 

Leaning against the bar top with his chin resting on his propped hand, “It’s Christmas Eve,” the stranger continues with a warm smile. “It hurts me to see a raven beauty like you so blue.”

The unexpected compliment takes Rogue by surprise, enough to make him forget for a second the reason he’s drowning his sorrows in this bar. He turns away to hide the blooming warmth on his cheeks. “If I’m ruining your evening, feel free to change seats.” Rogue responds in a curt monotone. It’s nice to be complimented, but he isn’t in the mood. 

Undaunted, the stranger turns the comment around. “On the contrary,” he sits up. “Meeting you has made my night all the sweeter.”

Oh, brother, this guy, and his lines… Rogue rolls his eyes internally— too bad it’s working, or he’d have gotten up by now. 

“Name’s Sting,” the stranger prompts, “and you are?”

“Rogue,” he responds without looking at the man. 

“Rogue…” Sting mimics as he turns a little to the side and looks up as if in thought. With a half-lidded, one brow slightly raised, side-eye glance, his voice grows husky. “Are you as naughty as your name?” He teases. 

Rogue turns to retort, but when he sees that damn sexy side-eye slash kryptonite, he quickly reverts to staring stiffly, straight ahead at the bar back. “Are you a prick like your name implies?” He retorts.

“Nah,” Sting relaxes as if knowing he’s won that round, “but I’d be happy to pierce your heart.”

“Pfft.” That genuinely pulls a tort laugh out of Rogue before he can stop it. “Twice pierced in a day, yeah, no thank you.”

Sting’s brows furrow, head tips in confusion as he leans closer in concern. “What do you mean, twice?”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend this afternoon. Hence,” Rogue tips his head slightly back as he gives the man a side glance, holding up and gently shaking his glass, voice dripping with sarcasm, “drinking away my broken heart.”

“Oh…” is all Sting can muster for now as he holds in his true intentions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Rogue cuts him off. “You couldn’t have known.”

An awkward silence drifts between the two men, juxtaposed against the merriment in the bar itself. Sabers Bar & Lounge is a favorite amongst the gay community for being comfortable yet entertaining. Everyone is welcome, gay, straight, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re respectful and don’t cause trouble. In fact, this is where Rogue had met his ex a year ago, which is why it’s also where they’d planned to meet up tonight for the holiday. It’s a special place… Was a special place. Maybe he’s an idiot for coming here after all.

All around the silent strangers, Christmas music is flowing along with the drinks. Singles and couples on the dance floor or singing along to the music in impromptu karaoke contests. Festive holiday motif has thrown up all over the bar with strings of multi-colored lights around the room, a Christmas tree set up in the corner near the door decorated by what appears to have been children based on the lack of design, even a mannequin dressed up in Mrs. Clause drag, all fierce in her candy cane stockings and fur-lined red mini. And of course, mistletoe boughs hanging randomly from the ceiling over the dance floor. Such an awesomely gaudy holiday party. Only thing that would make this place perfect is cutting off the damn Mariah Carey from being played over and over!

It’s just easier to zone out watching the festivities going on than ruminate on misery in an empty apartment. Rogue knew he should’ve seen this coming, or maybe he had an inkling for some time now that his ex was cheating on him and just didn’t want to believe it. Until he couldn’t ignore it. A photo is tangible proof he cannot deny no matter how much he wants to. The only curiosity is, why he’s not as upset as he should be after a breakup. He’s upset sure, but not enough to break down into tears and while it’s true he’s not the emotional type to begin with, shouldn’t he feel a little bit more annoyed? Rogue motions his empty cup to the bartender for a refill. Or maybe the alcohol is doing its job of dimming his response.  

Hesitantly, Sting places a hand on Rogue’s shoulder. “Hey, um,” he breaks the silence, “do you wanna talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

Rogue turns to the man with a brow raise. “You really wanna know?”

Sting shrugs. “They say talking about it makes it easier to move on.”

“Is that so…” Rogue turns back to staring at the backlit bar in thought. Guess it doesn’t hurt to talk about it. Not like he really has anyone else to vent to since he hasn’t even told his co-workers about this one. See! Somehow his intuition had already sensed something wrong not to mention it at work. Course, he did tell his friend Minerva who’d told him the guy seemed flaky, but he didn’t listen. Oh well, it could be handy if others overhear the conversation and know to stay away from Rufus, the cheating bastard. 

“Alright. Since you wanna know,” Rogue replies. With his refill, he begins in a low, emotionless drawl. “I’d already suspected, though I hadn’t actually seen or heard anything, it was just… a feeling that he was hiding something from me.” He lets out a winded exhale. “He made excuses of why I couldn’t go to his place because he didn’t want to bother his roommate. PDAs were a total no, no, not even holding hands which I thought was a bit too 1950s, but fine, some people just aren’t the showy type. And he could never stay the night. That one bugged me the most.”   

“So, how’d you find out?”

The ice in Rogue’s glass clinks against the side when he put it down a little too hard on the bar top. “What kind of cell do you have?”

“Cell? Uh,” he swivels slightly and looks towards his back jeans pocket where his phone is, as if he’s forgotten he even has one. “Ah,” then he turns back to Rogue. “Um, a Samsung.”

“I’ve got android too, but he has an iPhone.” Rogue turns to look at Sting. “Did you know that the camera on iPhones have a feature called live?” Sting shakes his head, so Rogue continues. “When it’s turned on, it captures 90 extra seconds of the scene before and after you snap the pic.”

“Oh, wow, that’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah….” Rogue semi-shrugs. “Anyway, this morning he texted a good morning pic from inside a bathroom, I assume ‘cause the mirrors behind him.” Rogue takes out his phone, swipes for a few seconds, then shows the photo to Sting. “There’s a woman in lingerie here,” he points at the photo. “Right there in the mirror during those 90 seconds at the beginning.”

“Whoa…” Sting leans in to look closer. “So, she’s right there by him.”

Rogue takes a good gulp of his drink. “Yeah. I questioned who is she and he tried to say his sister is visiting. Tch!” The inflection in his voice spikes in anger. “Such bullshit. After badgering him, he finally told me the whole truth. That’s his damn wife in the picture.”

“Wife?!” Sting spits out his drink. “He bi? Down low? What a dick to string you along a whole year.”

Just saying the words makes Rogue shiver with disgust. “Down low. He doesn’t want people to know he prefers men, which is fine, but don’t fucking lie about it and make me think we’re in a relationship!” His head droops. “I was such a sucker.”

“Hey, hey,” Sting places a hand on Rogues shoulder, “don’t beat yourself up over this. It happens sometimes. At least you caught on before it got any more serious.”

Rogue’s shoulder slump. “I know… Still hurt though.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Sting grins when Rogue looks up at him. “Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle meeting tonight!”

“Pfft,” Rogue snorts a laugh. “Suuuure. So, who’s your employer, Santa?” 

“Nah, I’m the white snow angel here to bring you Christmas cheer. And you,” Sting points at Rogues chest, “are the grinch whose heart I’ll make grow bigger to accept a new man—” he raises his arms with exuberance, “me!”

Openly rolling his eyes, Rogue huffs and turns his head away in annoyance. “What are you, trolling out of boredom or to tease lonely saps on Christmas Eve?”

Sting leans forward, pulling Rogue back by his chin, and fixing him in a grinning stare. “You wanna know the truth?”

“No, lie to me.” Rogue rolls his eyes. “Of course, the truth!”

Sting relaxes back, propping his leg over his knee and resting a hand on it, “I saw you around when you were with that guy in the pic.” He gestures mildly in accentuation. “Thought you were my type and since he’s blonde,” he shrugs, “I had a chance if one presented itself and surprise!” He winks at Rogue, “my wish came true.”

“Pfft.”

“Okay, seriously, for real,” Sting’s brows furrow as he reigns in his exuberance. “I’m telling the truth. I’ve been watching you from afar for months now biding my time. Ya’ can’t blame me for jumping at the opportunity.”

“Months, huh?” Rogue straightens his back. Is this guy for real?! Sure, seems like it. Stalker much? Should he be concerned? He’s leaning towards no, but as we established earlier, his judgment isn’t the best of men. “Are you always this flirty and chatty? ‘Cause considering what I just ended, I don’t want another player tricking me—”

“I am not a player,” Sting cuts Rogue off matter of fact, “and I only flirt when I’m interested.”

“Okay, okay” Rogue puts his hands up in defeat from that curt response. It was a genuine and quick retort from Sting filled with anger at being labeled a player. This makes him think it’s true. This man is hot and okay yes, blondes are his type. Even the one-sided earring was endearing, and based on his slim figure, yet v-shaped top half, there’s likely some nice, toned muscles including a six-pack hiding behind the fabric. Okay… tempting… Plus, Sting is funny and sweet albeit the tooth-rotting sugar kind. What could it hurt to give him a chance? “You win. But slow it down,” he laughs. “First step is exchanging deets, second step dates,” emphasizing the ‘s,’ “to get to know each other— and don’t think I’ll be jumping into bed with you anytime soon.”

“Aww,” Sting teasingly trails a finger over Rogues leg, “I promise I won’t bite too hard.”

Suddenly, Rogue hops off the stool in a serious manner. “I change my mind, goodbye,” he turns to leave.

“Wait!” Sting grabs his arm. “I’m kidding! Just kidding!” He holds tight to keep Rogue from leaving, not that Rogue is trying very hard to pull away. “Can we at least cuddle,” he whines. 

Rogue holds back his snickering at teasing the man. “I’ll think about it.”

“You won’t regret it. Hey,” Sting blurts out, “I noticed that coffee shop around the corner is open tonight too. How about you forget about your ex and let’s start fresh. We could go there instead?”

Rogue thinks for a moment before responding. Earlier he had wondered if coming here was the best choice, and while meeting Sting may have turned out to be a plus, he’s also right that staying is keeping him linked to his ex. It’s time to cut Rufus out of his thoughts completely and continuing this conversation in a new environment with a new man will do the job. “That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t mind something to eat too.”

“Great!” Sting smiles big and sticks his hand out at Rogue. “Sting Eucliff. 26. Taurus. Fashion student and part-time aspiring runway model.”

That makes Rogue laugh and reciprocates by shaking his hand. “Rogue Cheney. 25. Graduate student in chemical engineering. I work in a lab.” He lets go. “Isn’t this an odd pairing? Fashion student model and a scientist?”

Sting shrugs. “They say opposites attract.” He grabs Rogues hand, entwining their fingers. “To new beginnings.” 

Rogue laughs again. “To new beginnings.”

The new couple settle their bar tabs then head out into the chilly night air. For winter, the temperature is still tolerable where they live, and any snow that collects on the ground rarely lasts longer than a few hours once the sun is out. The cafe will only take them around seven minutes by foot, so they walk slowly hand in hand for warmth, and close enough to brush up against each other. Now that Sting is mellow, the idle chatter morphs into a bit of twenty questions as they pass by all the closed storefronts along that street towards the one beacon of light from the cafe. It’s the most relaxed Rogue’s felt in a long time. Passersby wouldn’t even know they’d just met by how comfortable they appear. 

When they reach the cafe’s brightly lit picture window, Sting turns to Rogue. “Can we take a selfie with the cafe as a background,” he asks in a mischievous tone. “Then you can send it to your ex with the word ‘upgraded’.”

“No.” Rogue states plainly, uninterested in anything more to do with the guy.

“Awww,” Sting whimpers and throws on the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. “Please!…

“No.” Rogue reiterates.

“But you deserve to show off.” Sting wines and holds onto Rogues coat like a child. “Make him feel bad, he deserves it!” When Rogue doesn’t answer for several seconds, he gives up. “Bummer,” shrugging, “It was worth a shot.”   

“It’s not worth my time,” Rogue simply states. “Besides, if he gave a damn in the first place, he wouldn’t have lied to me.”

Sting pulls out his own phone. “Okay, okay, but I still wanna take a selfie.” 

They pose with the festive glow of the cafe behind them, then head in, finding a seat for two across each other next to a wall. The place is a 24-hour cafe, but it’s still surprising to see anyone there at this late hour of 11 pm, let alone because it’s Christmas Eve— well, technically Day in less than 60 minutes. The cafe usually doesn’t pick up again until the bars get out at 2 am, when the need to sober up, craving munchies, or just doesn’t want to go home yet crowd shows up. Which is good for the new couple. They’ll have a quiet place to talk for at least a couple more hours. 

He isn’t much for sweets, so Rogue orders a hot, pumpkin spice chai latte and a couple of blueberry scones, while Sting chooses a hot peppermint flavored mocha with dark chocolate flakes grated on top the foam and a gooey cinnamon roll. The poor server looks tired and ready to go home for the day. Can’t really blame them, Rogue reminds himself to leave a couple extra bucks as a tip for having to work on a holiday. In contrary to the bar’s decor, the cafe is warmly lit with a fresh Christmas tree decorated with white lights, a purple garland, silver bells, lilac-colored mirrored balls, and white glitter covered snowflakes of different designs and sizes. Each table has a centerpiece of a reindeer, elf, or Santa standing in the middle of a nest made of wound-up white fairy lights. Finally, lighted icicles hang along the windows tops which have been frosted around the edges. It really helps him to relax from the day’s events. Once their food and drinks arrive, the conversation shifts into what their plans are for the next day. 

With school on break for the holiday’s, Sting didn’t have any specific plans. He explains how he’s from a town in the northwest who moved to California for school and for a modeling contract. A recruiter found him when he was 17, convincing his parents to let him sign on to an agency. “I don’t always go home for the holidays; it depends on my schedule. Plus, they’re still getting used to the fact I came out of the closet to them last year. I don’t think it bothers them, just that it was unexpected. So, I’m giving them breathing room for now.”

“Let me guess,” Rogue queries, “your mom was hoping for grandkids?”

Sting laughs, “probably. Gay or straight I never had plans for kids anyways.” 

“Same, though if my partner wanted to adopt, I might consider it.” Rogue adds. “But that’s a big maybe.”

“What about you?” Sting asks, “does your family know?”

Rogue leans back. “My parents died when I was young from a car accident, so my dad’s brother and his family took me in. You could say I’m one of the lucky ones, ‘cause they figured it out before I did.”

“That you’re gay?” Sting verifies.

“Yeah. So, when I came out to them, they were not surprised at all.”

“Lucky.” Sting teases. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

Rogue shakes his head no. “You?”

“Maybe, depends on you.”

“Me?”

“Since we’re both free we can spend it together. Isn’t that better than being alone on Christmas?”

“I guess…”

“How about I make us dinner? I’m pretty good in the kitchen,” Sting leans in over the table with a smile. “Maybe some white wine shrimp scampi and linguine or bacon wrapped beef tenderloin? What would you like?”

“That actually sound pretty damn good.”

An hour into the conversation, things are going well between the two. They really are quite different in terms of careers but have enough in common to talk about and Rogue must admit, his last relationships never started off this smoothly. It’s as if they’ve known each other for a while but only just now decided to turn their friendship into a romantic one. Stings exuberance and smile pulls you in. This must be one of the reasons he can perform as a model. 

Then just as Rogue orders a refill of his drink, a notification on his phone pings. He pulls it up to see a what’s app message from his ex with a photo attached. Oh, this better not be some sappy apology or something— Eh??

“Sting, did you post the selfie we took??” Rogue demands. Guess he can’t be too surprised that his ex is a follower of Sting on Instagram considering he’s an up-and-coming model.

“To my Instagram, yeah, why?”

Rogue shows him his phone and the message. “Cause my ex is accusing me of fabricating it, like colluding with you somehow.”

“Pfft!” Sting laughs so hard tears form in the corners of his eyes. “Woooow! Is he that pathetic to think you couldn’t catch someone like me?! Okay now you gotta let me get him back, please!”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, I do,” Sting snatches the phone from Rogues hand, then moves around the table, quickly bending down next to the man and planting a kiss on his cheek as he snaps another photo. Rogue tries to take it back, but Sting keeps it away, going back to his own seat as he responds to the ex’s message with one of his own.

Rogue just sits there stunned as he watches his boyfriend with the most Machiavellian grin plastered on his face. 

Sting also sends the photo to himself and posts it to his Instagram tagging Rogue and including a message naming him his new boyfriend and if certain exes can’t take the heat, get out of the fire. “Posted!” He cackles like a mad man. 

“What did you say to my ex??” Rogue demands. So, Sting hands him back his phone and he read the message out loud. “Don’t ever talk to my man again or I’ll out you to my million followers and your wife. Love, Sting. Oh…” He looks up. “That’ll shut him up.”

Sting leans back all proud of himself. “Told ya. Now he’ll leave you alone and we can move on together.” 

“You’re crazy,” Rogue must laugh at how things are turning out. “But you really are my white Christmas angel.”

“I’m protective of what I care about,” Sting winks. “Now, back to dinner. What’s your pleasure?”

Rogue tips his head up slightly in thought, “Mmm, the scampi.”

Sting grabs Rogues hand over the table, leaning in and placing a kiss on the knuckles. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

[drowning-in-cacophony]

Ten Years Tomorrow

For @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 213: Ten Years Later

[Summary: two former comrades meet up, ten years on]

The chair creaks ominously as someone slides their weight in, barely bothering to pull it back. Maybe they want a seamless arrival. Maybe they’re an idiot who doesn’t realise this isn’t a place that bolts down the seats.

Either way, actually, they’re an idiot, because a seamless arrival, gone one moment and there the next, was never going to happen. She’d clocked them as soon as they’d walked into the place. Into town, really.

How could she not?

They clear their throat. Their hopeful first sign of appearing or a genuine need, who knows.

“Ten years tomorrow, huh?”

She doesn’t look at them. Not yet. The words are neutral enough, what everyone will be talking about. It’s a national celebration – a flicker at the screen set in one corner will assure that. They’re talking parades. Massive dramatizations of how it all went down. Feasts, gifts, days off work. A whole thing. It’s a decade, after all. That’s a big deal.

Her plans for tomorrow are a little different.

It’s a decade. After all.

She wonders if that’s why they’re in town. To praise the celebrations, maybe participate in a fete or two. Or because they know that whatever she’s doing, it’s not going to be about participation.

“Long time, really,” they add on after a lengthy pause, yet like the time that’s passed, it’s not enough for her to forget. She curls her fingers up into her palms, hidden by the shadow of her elbows set on the counter. Says nothing.

“It’s a whole new order, now. Something fresh; something born out of the ashes of what came before. They’ll be hoping for another decade. Another ten decades.”

Born out of the ashes: they’re not wrong. She remembers those ashes, how they’d scorched along her palms as she dug – in fact, she still has the burn scars, still pink and waxy even after all this time. They make certain actions uncomfortable, and they make for excellent reminders of what ten years ago had cost. Of what it was meant to cost, and the actual price it took.

Of course, it wasn’t just a case of overcharging. It was deliberate. Made heavier on purpose.

Her fingers curl tighter; the scars pull with them.

It had taken her months to stop choking on the ash in her lungs and months to plan tomorrow too. This sort of thing needs precision, a sharp mind – is that why they’re here then, if they mean to stop her? To dull her mind against their unrelenting excuses? It’ll be one of the only things that can be done. She’s done nothing wrong yet, nothing that’s wrong under this new order at least. Her old sins and failures, they were wiped out on the day she committed them.

“I don’t know if you look at the world much, but it’s coping. It’s moving on. Maybe it should be allowed to. Maybe the past should be buried tomorrow. Let those ashes go.”

She takes a very deliberate breath, as deliberate as their move a decade ago. “Maybe.”

They startle a little, from the sound of her voice. It’s sudden, considering her silence; it’s a reminder that maybe they’d forgotten, slid under the floorboards of the world’s coping. Coping! Like that’s a reason to let things by. The world’s coping, but it shouldn’t be. It should be thriving. People should be thriving, stretching and growing. Not-

Not this.

“Look,” they say, taking a breath of their own. “I’m in town for the celebrations. Thought… well. It seemed appropriate.”

“So you looked me up.” She wonders if they did it alone, or if this is some sort of sanctioned thing. Last she heard, they were doing pretty well for themselves. Taking the ashes and building themselves stairs while she burned her flesh.

“We should- I mean. It’s ten years tomorrow. Maybe we could take in the celebrations together.”      

“Together.” Her tone’s flat. Together, it says. You think I’d want to go together with you?

They, naturally, flinch.

“We’re the only ones left, aren’t we? It seems fitting. You and me, letting the world celebrate its biggest milestone of this order. A whole decade.”

They keep repeating how long it’s been. As if a decade is a millennia, too long to consider changing anything. Too long to fight against, because it’s too many years coming in to pin down. But a decade’s just a decade. Ten years, not even a generation. Ten years, and most of the people in this place were born well before ten years. They remember.

And even if it’d been a millennia. There are some things worth fighting, even if it’ll be like an avalanche.

“It does sound fitting,” she tells them. “You and me, the last ones left.”

They jolt, and out of the corner of her eye she sees the hopeful twitch at the corner of their mouth.

“I have missed you, you know.”

“I know.” Obviously they’d have missed her, otherwise they’d never have come here, ordered or not. It’s not just duty or worry that’s brought them here, it’s that hollow loneliness that they’d know only she’d understand and feel in that searching way. Once, they’d all been something. Closer than anything. That sort of thing can’t be replaced, no matter how hard someone tries.

She’s the only person left in the world who knows what they’re feeling. Who could smooth those raw edges, even just for one day.

Her edges hurt too, of course, but she dug in the ashes and fire cauterises pretty well. Even with them being as messy and aching as they are. It will be fitting, really, them both together again, ten years later.

As it began, so it will end. And this time, there will be no fire they can escape.

“So you and me? Taking in the celebrations together?” They check. The smile on their face grows a little, hope and the wry fondness they’d always worn when they’d looked at her. At any of them.

“It’ll be fitting.”

“Great! Something to look forward to. Tomorrow.” The chair creaks again as they lean back in it, more of a relaxed posture now. They think they’ve won something: their eyes on her. If this is duty, they’ll think there no way she can do anything now. If this was just about old connections, then they’ve got what they wanted too.

And so has she.

[superfluouskeys]

omg i just realised you're in law school?? can i ask what prompted you to pursue a (i presume) 2nd degree? i am nearing 30 and considering going for a 2nd degree as well but i'm super reluctant haha, would you mind sharing something about your experience? are you doing like a master's, did you choose it to get a specific job you are aiming for?

Ah, I would be happy to talk about my questionable life choices lol! For law school in the US if you want to actually practice you get what's called a Juris Doctor (JD) degree, which is a professional degree, and you have to have completed a Bachelor's to pursue it. People who want to like, specialize in something will sometimes get an LLM (Master of Law), but generally do that after the JD, even though a JD is technically "higher" than a Master's. Absurdly long story of my Journey TM under the cut lol

I tell people law school was a response to the pandemic even though that's not really true bc I don't want to get into the years-long insane series of thought processes that led me here lol. I only have a Bachelor's degree (in German/Music) and never intended to pursue anything beyond that. I'm naturally intelligent and did very well in school without trying, but I never had any particular interest in pursuing a higher education and pretty much just did it because that's what you're supposed to do. Looking back I feel quite embarrassed that I didn't fully appreciate the value of my education, even though I obviously wasn't doing it on purpose LOL. I got a lot of value out of college in general but it's frankly amazing that I did fine in my classes given my general self at the time. Fortunately I went to one of those schools where ppl hear the name and go oooOoooo woOOooOOow and don't generally care about my mediocre GPA.

I never really had a clear idea of what I wanted to do with my life, and I don't feel I'm one of those people who has a Calling TM. I'm good at and enjoy a variety of things, and I have a hard time being happy doing the same thing for a long period of time. I worked as a professional actor/singer when I graduated, and even within that field I became unhappy when I did too much of the same kind of work. Ultimately, as I grew into myself, I became frustrated and disillusioned with the industry in general, and with how I was being forced to live my life. I so rarely got to do anything I genuinely enjoyed, the work that paid best was utterly soul-sucking, and the general attitudes of the people around me esp. towards maintaining one's appearance were very unhealthy for me. They're unhealthy for everyone of course, but I was trying to recover from viewing my body in a negative light, and being around ppl with these attitudes made it pretty much impossible.

So I was already sort of looking for a new path of some sort a few years ago, but what I didn't realize at the time was that I had completely lost faith in myself and my abilities, and was selling myself incredibly short. I tried to do a bunch of dumb shit which obviously wouldn't be fulfilling in any way, tried to reshape my life into something bearable, and failed miserably several times. I was in fact halfway through discarding another failed attempt and taking up a new one when the pandemic hit. I ended up having to move back in with my mother, and what we all hoped would be a couple of months turned into Whatever This Is. So I found myself with a lot of time to think lol. And while it was a very difficult experience, I kept telling myself, whatever you do, no matter how bad it is, you need to actually think ahead for five fucking seconds and try to do something that will actually work, you know lol, because otherwise you're just going to end up in the same place again.

Law school started as a whim like any other; I was having lunch with my mom, and she mentioned offhand that she thought I should go to law school (she didn't go but she has a lot of lawyer friends). And I was feeling just insane enough that day that I was like yeah idk maybe I should. So I went home and was like okay how does one go to law school. I looked up a practice LSAT, took it knowing absolutely nothing about the LSAT, and did EXTREMELY well. So I thought, well. Huh. I need something to do w my life so I stop wanting to eat drywall, why not study for the LSAT lol, can't hurt.

And it just sort of kept going from there. Practicing for the LSAT gave me a sense of purpose, applying to law schools gave me a sense of purpose, and that sense of purpose enabled me to start slowly improving the horrible circumstances I was in. I didn't know how anything would shake out and to be honest I didn't particularly care at that point. Looking back I think I really had no hope for the future, and I was pretty crazy and didn't really feel like I'd be able to live very much longer. I didn't envision myself as a lawyer really, more as a law student lol. Schools have a lot of free resources and people who want to help you, and even as crazy as I was I felt I was in a much better place to take full advantage of those things than I had been in undergrad, in order to achieve SOMETHING. I wasn't really worried about what that might be.

So, I vowed to myself that whatever happened, I would really try, not just in school but to build a better future for myself. I did not arrive here in a good mental state, to say the least lol. And going back to school brought back a LOT of painful memories from my previous time in school when, as I mentioned, I was infinitely crazier. As just a couple of random examples, I was sort of toying with the idea of trying to learn a new language, and realized that I was still holding onto this intense guilt about the mental breakdown I had while taking a Russian class in college. One of my professors told me that I was an amazing writer, and I realized no teacher had ever told me that before. I had these insane moments sitting in class where I would get emotional because I was just so happy to be there, in spite of absolutely everything. I stopped regretting all of my past mistakes, because I genuinely think, no matter what horrible things I've done, I would do them all again if they would bring me here. My favorite professor literally saved my life, and is probably the only person in the world who could have successfully convinced me to go to therapy. I can't really even wish I'd done any of this sooner, because I know without a doubt that I wouldn't have been ready.

There are definitely some challenges to being back in school after so long. I remember feeling especially when I was around my friends who were in grad school that if I had to, like, write a long-ass paper or something, I just wouldn't be able to do it lol, like I'd just be so pissed that I had to do some arbitrary assignment. But it should be noted that I, like, despise philosophy-type subjects and things with no practical application, and always felt like I was bullshitting my assignments to make them longer. Not only do I love law school assignments because they are about applying the law to a set of facts (which may be made up but still have real-world relevance), but I always have a LOT to say, and am always struggling to make my papers SHORT enough rather than dragging out my dumbass takes to meet the minimum lol. It's a lot of work, but generally it's work I actually WANT to do, which makes all the difference.

I definitely also feel a bit of a disconnect from most of my fellow students. I think this is partially an age thing and partially a life experience thing. Like, for example, I had a series of hilarious conversations with ppl a few weeks back bc one of my classmates was like "where do you go?? you leave class so fast?" and i was like ?????? when class is over you get to leave that's the deal??????

And I was talking to my fave professor about this and she was like yeah that's definitely a difference of being a little older, you're probably just not in the same mindset that they are. Which is definitely true, and worth keeping in mind. It's not a big deal really but it can be very isolating if you don't feel like you can relate to your classmates on that level. I sometimes get a little :( because I don't usually have a hard time talking to people but I'll just have the most insane interactions w some of my classmates and have to talk myself down like it's okay it wasn't you the other person was the one acting weird LOL. Also, for me at least, I definitely have a little bit of a 'you can't tell me what to fucking do' attitude sometimes LOL, and will get really irritated when professors keep us over time or make us do something pointless. That may just be my sweet personality, but I think in general having been out of school for awhile and also being a bit older, I'm MUCH less tolerant of trifling bullshit than when i was younger LOL. Generally I think there's a lot LESS trifling bullshit to deal with in law school bc there's just so much that's genuinely important to learn? But something to keep in mind.

But god there are SO many benefits! Like, as I mentioned, I'm a naturally intelligent person, but it's actually terrifying how much my mind had slowed down over the past few years. I've had SO many moments here where I was like oh my god, I'm stupid, I'm just stupid and I can't understand this-- and then I was like okay sweaty :) have you considered taking a nap and maybe you'll calm down :) lol but you get my point. Learning new things in a structured environment where you literally have to do the work I think is so beneficial especially at this particular age, since most people get pretty settled into their ways around 30, and personally I don't particularly like being set in my ways and want to always be growing and improving and pushing myself. Every aspect of my life has improved noticeably since I've been here, my physical and emotional and mental health, my memory, my writing, my personal relationships--everything.

BUT that is a direct result of all the work I've put in, because I did this at the right time for myself, and at a point in my life when I'm able to truly appreciate the value of a good education and all the benefits and resources that come with that. So, I would say that if you're in the right mindset to go back to school, it's absolutely 1000% worth it. But if you feel like, 'I don't want to do this, this is a waste of time and will make me miserable,' then I'd say wait it out a little more. There might come a day when you're like, wow, I'm so ready. Or you might think, I can't believe I was gonna go to grad school for That TM that would have been insane, and want to go for something else lol. I think we're so conditioned not to listen to our intuition that we don't realize a lot of the time our gut instinct will tell us whether something is the right move or not!

Wow this was long lol, thank you so much for reaching out, friend, and I hope some of this was mildly helpful or entertaining! I wish you the best in your ventures, and of course I'm always happy to talk more!

[electricbluebutterflies]

the end of quiet

Pre-canon / pre-relationship Marc/Layla have my heart and also they are both disaster humans and I adore them. PG-ish and also on ao3.

Prompt: a kiss to pretend (thank you as always @apple-grass-and-smiles)

This is, objectively, a terrible idea or perhaps a series of them.

Layla does not form attachments easily or get involved with anything with a pulse, and honestly she’s not sure how this happened other than that she is annoyingly human and occasionally distracted by pretty and-

Running through a city she does not know alongside someone she’s known for about a month whose level of dumbass is at a different point on the scale than she thought a month ago is, in the grand scheme of things, not her idea of a fun day but here they are.

She’ll blame the pretty, if she has to. American-ish mercenary type – she can’t trust accents or claimed affiliations but at least the career choice seems legit given how screwed they currently are – whose flirting seemed at least genuine even if she wasn’t ready to take the bait. They exist in compatible sectors of the underworld and have mutual acquaintances in multiple countries, which is about as much vetting as anybody in her orbit ever gets. And she’s not sure how this current disaster happened to her, exactly, but if she’s going to die too young and tragic there are much worse places than Barcelona and-

All of a sudden, Layla has an idea. It might not be a great one, and it hinges on both of them looking local enough if they’re not talking, but it’s all she’s got and that tends to be where things work for her and-

“Just go with whatever I do,” she whispers, and with that she twirls around and takes a kiss.

Layla is not the PDA type at all, thank you very much, especially not with people she barely knows, but this is a time-honored distraction technique for reasons and to his credit Marc is the right kind of cooperative. Lets her more or less push him into an alley and against a wall, gets one of his hands in the ends of her hair and for a moment she’s worried it’ll hurt but he’s not doing anything, lets her have enough control that she’s wondering if she even read this situation right and-

“You’re amazing,” he says against her mouth, and it’s obvious neither of them really wants to break apart.

“Tired,” she corrects. “We stay like this another minute or two, we might get out of here intact.”

She takes another kiss because she wants to and because she is in no mood for the fact that he doesn’t shut up when he’s panicking and it’s kinda cute but not in a situation this desperate, and this isn’t how she meant to deal with feelings that are going to be that much more complicated now, and she’s starting to think that the moment she met him was the end of quiet for her and-

“You’re a mess of mixed signals,” he breathes when they have to.

“I’m trying to stay alive,” she corrects. “How is that mixed? And it worked.”

“How dead would I be if it had been the other way around?”

She smiles, and this is why she thinks she could like him, the way he doesn’t see her line of work and her life choices as invitations to be a jerk. “I think I’d understand. There’s got to be a reason they do this in all the movies.”

“You ever have?”

“Kissed somebody as a way of blending in against a wall? Nope.”

“First time for me too.”

She laughs, and her hair goes everywhere and it hits her that she feels safe with him like she’s pretty sure she hasn’t with another human being she wasn’t related to and she’d like to keep feeling that way for a long time. Maybe this is what falling in love is like for her, strange as that concept is. Maybe it could be something. Maybe-

“I could get used to this,” she says because she can, because she wants.

“The trying to outrun the whatever the hell you even pissed off that much?”

“I’ve been doing that since I was sixteen, it’s not new,” she laughs. “And if I remember right, you were the one who-“

He turns his head and kisses her cheek and it’s warm and it makes her a new kind of happy. “Then what part-“

“The kissing. The being close. The holding hands while we outrun the whatever the hell.”

“Yeah. I could get used to that too.”

They’ll figure this out later, when the adrenaline isn’t making either of them make fun choices, when they’re somewhere legitimately safe. Feelings, existent as they may or may not be, were made to be discussed in dive bars and cheap hotel rooms. Not here not now.

For now, she clings a little because she needs more time, and he lets her, and maybe the home she’s wanted her entire life could have a heartbeat.

[heytheredeann]

I had a MFU Witcher AU thought: in the setting where Napoleon is a Witcher, I'd say he still interacts with people a lot, so he knows a lot about humans and how they operate. But! In the setting where Illya's a Witcher, I'd say he avoids any comunication and interaction with people as much as possible, so he knows next to nothing about humans. So, when Napoleon starts following him and, for example, falls ill, Illya freaks out because: what's happening with my bard; is he dying?? And then Illya gets embarrassed about his lack of knowledge and tries to sneakily observe what Napoleon needs and how he reacts, etc. And after a while, Napoleon would be just like: Peril, why are you looking at me like that all the time? I think it'd also work if Napoleon got hurt and Illya'd be like: hm, it'll heal quickly, he'll be alright. But the wound would in fact be serious for a human, but Napoleon wouldn't say anything (because he only complains about the inconsequential stuff. why should he complain about something serious?). And only after Napoleon passed out from bloodloss or something, Illya'd be like: oh shit! Human = fragile. Must protect my bard better!!

Well, it took me only two months to get to this LOOOL Sorry (and sorry to everyone else who sent prompts that are still sitting in my inbox), I've been very busy and I'm kinda writing at snail pace. ..........also I didn't do a great job at following the prompt LOL. I went with the premise of Napoleon being sick, and I meant for this to be fluffier and funnier but uuuuh Illya started overthinking and angsting so. here you go LOL, thank you for the prompt and I hope it's enjoyable!

When he steps back into the room, Illya is expecting him to be, if not already packed and ready to go, at the very least awake.

Napoleon is not really a morning person, that much he has already had a chance to learn about him even though they haven’t been travelling together for all that long, but Illya did make sure to wake him up before leaving, informing him that he’d be going to the market to buy some things and that they’d leave town upon his return. The purpose of getting a sign of life was precisely to make sure that Napoleon would know to start dragging his ass up in his absence.

Yet, when he gets back to the inn, Napoleon is not, in fact, awake. Instead, he is still lying in bed, hidden under the blankets up to his nose and still, Illya notices with a frown, shivering pretty evidently.

“What are you doing?” Illya asks, stepping closer and eyeing him dubiously.

Napoleon opens one eye, which is distinctly reddened. “Sorry,” he mutters, hugging his pillow tighter. “I don’t think I can travel. I’m sick. Thought it would pass, but—nope. I’m sorry.”

Now, Illya has precisely no framework of reference for how bad this is. He can feel, even before his hand reaches Napoleon’s forehead, that he’s radiating heat, which indicates an high fever, he can see that he’s shivering and miserable, he can hear that his voice is hoarse and tired and that he sounds genuinely regretful about his inability to travel. Napoleon may complain left and right about the dirt and the blood and the monster innards, but he is always trailing after him anyway. Illya is pretty sure that he couldn’t keep him away if he tried. So if he’s saying he can’t travel—

He isn’t sure how durable humans are when it comes to illness, he just never had a reason to ask anyone and it hasn’t been any of his business since way too long ago to remember properly, but he knows that he, as a witcher, could travel with a simple fever. He assumes Napoleon probably could too, that he would have at least tried, especially since he knows that Illya is supposed to go—if he didn’t, it means he can’t get up and leave. If he can’t, then the illness must be somewhat severe, right?

[More on Ao3]