#ill be damned if i bare my ass on ao3. i can barely write about my ocs without feeling like im naked on stage. i salute your kind's bravery

[lucabyte]

I don't know how everyone isn't also always constantly thinking about how burial rites seem to be potentially one of the few things Siffrin instinctively remembers about their culture. But rest assured. I am in fact always thinking about it.

Textless version where they're just hanging out. It's fine!

#love how i said id slow down on fanart. and then didnt. anyway. the bg is supposed to be a ocean shore but its vague intentionally. #ALSO SORRY FOR DRAWING EVERYONE FACING AWAY FROM THE CAMERA ALL THE TIME? WHY DO I KEEP DOING THAT IN MY ISAT STUFF. HELLO? HELLO??? WHY??? #in stars and time #isat fanart #isat #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #isat loop #siffrin #sifloop #lucabyteart #hi again sifloop tag. read this as you will. go nuts. i know you people are here for the crumbs. #if you want other thoughts re: what they do/do not remember on instinct. i wonder what their culture's bonding ceremony equiv is. #since they dont seem to have any answers to that. perhaps since not directly asked during that conversation. hm. feels like a cute fic idea #not that ill be executing on that. #ill be damned if i bare my ass on ao3. i can barely write about my ocs without feeling like im naked on stage. i salute your kind's bravery #also sorry if the dialogue here is hard to parse what order its in. its a zigzag of some kind im not fighting my absolutely ass typesetting #samdontlook

[runninggolden]

Certified ‘Pain In The Ass’ (part 1)

Leonard McCoy x female OC (can be read as x reader)

word count: 3530

a/n: Hello! I’m writing again! This is an old fic of mine that didn’t work out. But I liked it a lot so I decided to strip it down to its bare bones and write it all over again and now it works! I’m still editing part 2 but it should be up soon! I’m on AO3 as RunningGolden :)

This was originally an x reader fic but I accidentally gave the reader too much personality so I just made her an OC. Whoops. You can still imagine her as ‘reader’, I don’t describe her looks at all and I only gave her a surname. Her personality is very strong, though.

This is sort of enemies to friends to lovers. The enemies part is more of a backstory though.

summary: Her friendship with Leonard was a strange one. They’d banter a lot, she’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. Oh, and she was deeply, embarrassingly, in love with him. (part 1 of 2) 

warnings: profanity, injuries, blood, aliens, danger, OC is a little shit lmao, they’re both idiots, literally children pulling each others pigtails, almost painful pining

___________________________________________________

When she met Leonard McCoy for the first time, she quickly discovered how easy it was to annoy him. One, admittedly dumb, comment and he whirled on her with a scowl that seemed to permanently reside on his face and frustration seeping out his pores as he snarled; “Damn it, I’m a doctor not a frog! The bio bed is stuck 5 meters up in the air and you suggest ‘jumping’?! Why does everyone insist on being a pain in my ass today?!” 

She laughed in his face.

That clearly wasn't the reaction the doctor expected if his look of disgruntled confusion was anything to go off. He looked her up and down, seemingly only then realizing that he did not recognize the person he just scolded.

"Hold on, who the hell are you?"

She smirked, his obvious bad mood dangling in front of her face like candy on a string. And boy, did she have a sweet tooth. "Oh, you haven't heard? I’m Chief Security Officer Flynn. They hired me to be a pain in your ass. Anyway, have you tried a trampoline?"

Despite her new job on the Enterprise keeping her quite busy, being Leonard McCoy's certified ‘pain in the ass’ was a role she took up enthusiastically. Annoying the notable doctor quickly became her favorite hobby. Bothering him in med-bay, crashing his drinking sessions with the Captain and proclaiming something dumb to get him to argue with her (much to the Captain's amusement), offering more useless comments for him to rant about. It was all a fun distraction from an otherwise stressful move to a new starship.

It was simple, really. A simple game, a simple back-and-forth, a simple source of entertainment.

But it didn’t take her very long to discover that there was absolutely nothing simple about Doctor Leonard McCoy.

There was just something special about him that kept her coming back for more. She couldn't stop seeking him out, bantering with him, learning things about him, trying to get him to laugh at her jokes. It didn't take very long for her to forget it was supposed to be simple.

He didn't make it easy, either. He claimed to absolutely loathe her and immediately seized any chance to argue with her, to complain about her, to glare at her. And of all the things she's learned about him, his god-awful (and overly dramatic) acting skills might just be her favorite. 

You didn't have to be a genius to tell that despite his colorful language, his words were never harsh. He scowled like he got paid for it but his expressions were never cold. And for someone who claimed that she was the unfunniest person in the universe, he sure covered up a lot of laughs with ill-placed coughs.

If you had asked anyone on the ship, they would’ve told you that he enjoyed their arguments even more than she did.

Perhaps she was also a distraction to him. Perhaps life in between all the action on the Enterprise was so dreadfully boring, that her antics kept him somewhat entertained. Perhaps underneath all the cynical theatrics, he liked having her around.

It took a year into the Enterprise's new mission for them to develop a strange sort of friendship. He begrudgingly made space for her in his life and she toned down her antics. From time to time he stopped acting like she was the bane of his existence and every now and then she opened the floor to friendly conversations. She’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. They still bantered a lot, but it was softer, somehow.

And it took one moment for her to mess it all up.

She made him laugh, really laugh, and suddenly it all made sense. It was all building up to this, all the bad jokes, all the pitiful attempts, they all came to this moment. And god was it worth it. He let out a hearty, belly-aching laugh and his eyes crinkled at the corners and it was like the stars aligned and heavens opened up. She finally saw the light and was lit up by it from the inside, her heart engulfed in flame by a single sound. It lasted only a moment and she was immediately thirsting for more. Thirsting like she was sweltering in the desert and the only thing that could quench her thirst was hearing that goddamn laugh again. Preferably on her lips. Whilst wrapped in his embrace.

Of course, of course this is what it was about the entire goddamn time!

Oh. Oh, I am so screwed.

-

“Leonard! It’s your favorite patient!” Her call was followed by an exasperated sigh and the screech of a chair. The Med-Bay was quiet that day, only a handful of people littered about and the only notable sound that could be heard was the occasional cough.

“What did you do this ti-“ Leonard abruptly stopped mid-sentence as soon as he rounded the corner and spotted her standing in the doorway clutching her bloody hand. “My god, what the hell did you do?!” He ran up to her and gently took her hand to examine it. She smiled at him sheepishly.

“Challenged Sulu to a duel… again… we got a little carried off.” She chuckled and he gave her the look. His famous ‘I can’t believe I have to deal with this bullshit’ look that most people would whither from in shame. Not her though, no, she reveled in it. She wasn't sure if it was because of her persistent desire to annoy him or that she just liked being in the center of his attention. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Again?! Last time he almost cut you in half and you decided to have another go?!" His arms folded disapprovingly across his chest as he glared at her. Apparently her cut wasn't life-threatening enough to skip a lecture.

She scoffed. “Oh, relax, I was fine, he barely grazed me.”

“You were out of commission for a week!”

“Yeah, because you banned me from moving!” 

“You would’ve ripped your stitches out!”

"I would've been careful!" 

"You seriously expect me to believe that?"

Fair point. “Okay, fine. I promise to never again intentionally get into another sword fighting duel with potentially the greatest sword fighter in outer space.” She promised in a flat voice, fingers crossed behind her back, before grimacing and quickly adding; "Don't tell Sulu I said that."

“You’re a menace.” He grumbled with an eye roll as he led her to the nearest med-bed and started to clean the wound. A stray hair rebelled from his neatly combed hair and she couldn’t help but think how adorable he looked as he continued berating her, each comment decorated with increasingly creative insults.

“Oh, Dr. McCoy… I love it when you talk dirty to me.” She breathed and sent him with a sultry look, successfully stopping his rant short. She snickered as she felt his hands still on hers for a moment before he fixed her with a glare. He drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head with a sigh, and went back to treating her wound.

Huh, that was weird. Managing to fluster Bones was no easy feat, but shutting him up? That’s rare. She could proudly say she's done it twice before, but this one felt different. Feeling like she was on the verge of something awkward, she decided to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Besides, next time… I’m finally going to beat Sulu at his own game.” She declared, breathing an inward sigh of relief as he immediately latched onto the distraction.

“What happened to ‘never getting into another sword fight’?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I crossed my fingers when I said that.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I cannot fathom how someone would let you be the Chief Security Officer on this ship!” He exclaimed dramatically, not for the first time, but only earned a grin from her.

“Obviously someone saw how awesome I am.”

“Obviously!” He repeated sarcastically. She snorted and watched his hands work on the cut Sulu so graciously gave her, admiring the way his long fingers gently applied a healing ointment on her wound.  His hands were steady, precise, practiced in the art of taking care of someone. His fingernails were better manicured than hers could ever hope to be, cut with a surgeon's precision. He had a few scars, faint white lines decorating his skin, along with a few freckles. His touch was soft, so soft she barely felt it, and she wondered, not for the first time, how a man with such a strong personality could be so gentle. Be so kind.

Despite his sardonic wit, brusque demeanor and his immense hatred for stupidity, Leonard kept surprising her with just how big his heart was. He was compassionate and cared deeply about all living things. He could curse your entire bloodline whilst nursing you gently back to health. He could hate space with a burning passion but still follow you into a black hole to make sure you were alright. They could be in the middle of an argument about her clumsiness (or lack thereof, in her opinion) and he’d still grab her just as she was about to fall over, which would’ve won him the argument. She thought about that moment embarrassingly often.

One of his hands picked hers up and cradled it, warm and comforting, as the other picked up a dermal regenerator and let the soft glow illuminate her hand. She barely registered the warmth from the regenerator, the feel of Leonard’s hands was way too distracting. She tried not to think about the fact that he did not need to hold her like that, she’s seen him use the dermal regenerator a million times by now and he never touches someone during the process. It was unnecessary. Yet there he was…

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Silently cursing, she tried to regain control over her traitorous body before the doctor could notice. She was fighting the urge to shiver… and the instinct to grab his face and kiss him.

I’m gonna go insane. I’m gonna go insane because of Leonard’s McCoy’s hands.

“Did you remember to take your medicine this morning?” He suddenly asked, frowning at the report on his tricorder. She shook herself, realizing he had finished wrapping her hand whilst she had her private freak-out. He still gently held her hand with one of his, thumb stroking her palm as the screen distracted him. 

She fought the urge to scream and melt into a puddle, simultaneously. 

“Uh… yeah! Of course.” She lied. Crap. She totally forgot. He didn’t seem to believe her in the slightest.

“Oh, really?” He arched an eyebrow and stared her down. Usually she could stare back all day with the same stubborn attitude as him, but she was so distracted by the feel of his thumb - he's still doing it! - and silently cursed when she felt her face heat up. Looking away, she decided to just give in.

“Okay, I forgot.” She mumbled and he threw his hands in the air. Her shoulders subtly sagged as his hand left hers. Thank god, having a heart attack because of a thumb would've been embarrassing.

“I swear to god, do I need to physically come to your quarters and shove them down your throat so you’ll remember?” He shook his head at her and she would’ve thought he was furious if it wasn’t for the way he looked at her.

That look. God, she knew she had an unhealthy addiction for the man but he did not help when he looked at her like that. Like he was secretly loving this ridiculous thing between them, too. Like their bantering fueled him as much as it fueled her. She mentally begged her face to return to its original color and looked at him pointedly, with crossed arms, faking bravado. His eyebrows inched up as he mimicked her movements.

“I’d like to see you try.” She tried to sound intimidating but couldn‘t fight the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, I will.” He said, leaning forward, the corners of his mouth twitching. For a moment they simply stared at each other, competing in a wordless game, eyes locked in a heated battle, when the sudden clearing of a throat prompted them to look up at a grinning Jim.

“Okay, so whenever you guys are done flirting, I need you to go on a mission.” His grin grew wider as the two people in front of him blushed and Leonard took a step back, furrowing his brows and fiddling with his tricorder. She was about to retort when the latter part of Jim’s sentence registered and her heart stuttered for a different reason.

“A mission? I’m in.” She beamed and was about to jump off the bed when a hand stopped her.

“Oh ho, no, you’re not, you’re hurt.” Leonard kept his hand on her arm to hold her in place. Again with the touching! She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m fine, see?” She flexed her bandaged hand for them to see, it was still painful, but she wasn’t going to mention that.

“It could be challenging and considering you’re still healing, I’m not clearing you. You’re not going.” Leonard‘s tone indicated there was no room for arguments but unluckily for him, she could always argue.

“I’m going.” She whacked his hand away and jumped off the bed.

“You’re not going.” He tried to push her back on her bed but she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m going!” She said with determination. They started staring each other down again, ignoring Jim‘s chuckles beside them.

“Aw look at you two; you’re like an old married couple!” He cooed and successfully made them stop to glare at him.

“Shut up, Jim!” They said simultaneously, making Jim double over with laughter. She grimaced. He was definitely going to tease them about that. She just hoped it wouldn’t be in public, like the last time.

“Captain, permission to go on this mission?” She turned to Jim fully, ignoring Leonard‘s attempts to get her to sit down.

“Permission granted.” He nodded as he tried to catch his breath and she turned to Leonard with a triumphant smile.

“See? Captains’ orders.”

“Jim!“ He yelled at the Captain. „Well I say she can‘t, Doctor‘s orders.“

„Which one is more important?“ She stage-whispered to Jim and he opened his mouth to reply when Leonard cut him off.

„Mine.“ Fine, he wants to be stubborn? She‘ll just have to resort to desperate measures. Sighing dramatically, she melted away the tension in her body and took a step towards him.

„Len…" His eyebrow quirked at her quiet tone, but she ignored it and plowed through. "I really want to get outside, you know how uncomfortable I can get all cooped up in here. Remember the last time I skipped a mission? I almost went insane! It’s not like it’s my dominant hand, anyway...“ She gave him her best puppy dog eyes, hoping to god he‘ll just let her go. She was glad the Med-Bay was nearly empty at this point, her reputation would be in ruins at this pathetic display. 

Darn him and his ability to make her chuck away her own pride. 

He looked like he was about to argue, but she stopped him before he could by bringing out the big guns. "Please?"

She absolutely hated using that word and he knew it. She could tell he was going over her argument in his head and debating whether it was worth it. Glaring at her for a moment longer, he pinched his nose and let his shoulders drop.

„Fine, but I’m giving you a boost so your skin heals faster, even though I’m not supposed to, and you have to promise to stay close.” He relented and jabbed a finger at her. She jumped and beamed at him and he visibly softened. 

“Don’t I always?” She gave his arm a squeeze as a thank you. He shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Why do I even try?” He muttered. She just wiggled her eyebrows in response, already skipping away to get herself ready for the mission.

„Wait, that worked?“ Jim suddenly piped up, confused as to what just happened.

„Shut up, Jim.“

-

“-It’s a desert area, but there is a forest nearby that we can’t really get a reading on, we’ll just try to stay away from it for now, just in case.” Suited up and struggling with an armful of equipment, she listened to Jim drone on about the mission whilst the rest of the team gathered on the transportation pads. It was a simple run of sample collection but since it was mostly unknown territory, security was required to keep watch. The bright eyed new security recruit and her would have the exciting job of just standing there. But at least she's getting outside. Just the thought of the wind in her hair had her buzzing in excitement.

“Just in case?” Leonard froze and she chuckled.

“It’ll be fine, Len, like Jim said, we’ll only be a few hours.” She shot him a grin and he muttered curses under his breath and something that sounded like ‘fine, my ass’ but she couldn’t be sure as the feeling of transportation took over and her feet sunk in sand.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the sudden hot air. It was warm, almost overbearingly so, and there was a sickly sweet smell in the air. The air, god, there wasn't much wind but the subtle caress on her skin was enough to make her head tilt back and grin towards the sky. Her eyes opened to a captivating mix of pink and purple. Three yellow moons stretched across the atmosphere and she was overwhelmingly glad she got Leonard to stop arguing like a paranoid mule and let her join. She looked down to comment on it when something made her freeze.

She was alone.

Spinning around in confusion only gave her more questions than answers. The sand under her boots seemed to cover a rocky landscape which was dotted with strange cacti-like plants. They were tall, but not tall enough to be trees. Their thorns were larger than that of a cactus and made walking around them difficult. They cast dark shadows that stretched across the barren ground, only interrupted by a few pathetic looking bushes.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made you flinch at the sound of your own breath.

She fought the sudden surge of panic as she hastily searched for her comm, ready to ask what the hell was going on, when a voice suddenly piped up from it, making her jump.

“Landing party has successfully reached its destination.” Jim's voice sounded distorted. Was her comm broken?

“Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, Jim, but I think I’ve lost you.” She spoke into the comm as she started walking around, trying to catch sight of her team.

“What?” A pause. “Wait, where the hell are you Flynn?!”

“Ah, Captain, something ----- happened with the transport-----at caused Flynn to be transported els------.” Scotty's voice sounded even worse and he kept cutting out. She turned her comm around, assessing for damage. It seemed fine.

“What do you mean elsewhere? Where is she?” Jim was starting to sound as panicked as she felt. She had a bad feeling in her gut and she couldn’t shake it. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled only to be met with another blasted cactus. She raised the comm to her mouth again, eyes fixated on the plant.

“Jim, when you said forest, was it possibly a forest made of… uh, cacti-looking things?” She asked in a low voice and gripped the equipment in her arms tighter.

“She’s in the forest?! The ‘let’s stay clear of those, just in case’ forest?” Leonard’s voice both soothed her and panicked her even further with its words. Yep, something was definitely off. She looked around again, the back of her neck prickling with the feeling of being watched.

“Calm down, Len, I’m sure Scotty can beam me away…. Right, Scotty?” She tried to calm down enough to reassure them both. She would be fine, Scotty would sweep in any second and beam her up. She was met with silence. “Scotty?”

“Ah, eh, no, not exactly— can’t detect— there’s something in there—- disturbing the process.” He sounded apologetic, but she stopped listening halfway through. She saw movement again, this time right in front of her. Did that… no, did it?

“…any idea of what it is?” Jim asked. The movement happened again, this time enough to confirm her suspicions. Before she could react, the cactus in front of her literally started moving towards her.

“Holy shit!”

________________________________________________

sorry to end on a cliffhanger lmao >:) tell me what you think! part 2 should be up in the next couple of days! it will be longer ;)

#Leonard McCoy #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy x oc #leonard mccoy x you #star trek fanfiction #karl urban x reader #fanfiction #bones x oc

[caught-in-the-filter]

My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body. 

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

[ravenclaw-questions-gone-writing]

Ven’s Idea Outline #1 (Maribat)

Remember that MariDamiJon fic that I mentioned I was going to do for the gift exchange? It’s still bouncing around in my head and Luka decided to join in so I’ve decided to at least make an outline in (assuredly vain) hopes that it will leave me alone for a bit.

Ao3

Part 1

Typical Daminette but Hanahaki style bc I can’t find any Maribat hanahaki fics and I need one and I can’t find any.

Dick and Damian sent to scope out Paris for Hawkmoth related reasons

Jon goes with bc he’s Damian’s emotional support kryptonian but he might arrive later This idea has been removed but I like it so I will share it.

Damian is getting familiar with the new battlegrounds  taking a walk in the park when a girl falls from a tree and lands on top of him

The girl apologizes profusely before explaining that she’s really clumsy and she was just trying to help a kitten stuck in the tree

It’s not love at first sight but Damian appreciates an animal lover and is slightly less of an ass than he would usually be

Might mix this with my Blossom Soulmate AU that I never got around to finishing and posting, now that I think about it

Anyway, Damian helps her get the cat down from the tree

He latches onto this potential information source who is not as annoying as most other people and sticks with her

They become friends friendly acquaintances and he drops by her school to pick up her up after she agreed to show him around Paris.

Debating Lila salt...

Debating Class salt...

If yes: Damian walks into a scene where Marinette  and sweeps Marinette away without a word to the rest of her class

If no: Damian arrives and proceeds to wait for her outside by his motorcycle

Either way, his appearance makes waves in Dupont’s rumor mills

They do not know he’s Damian Wayne, just that there’s a dude who attractive enough to be model with a motorcycle waiting for the schools (tragic, if salt) sunshine fashion princess.

Robin and Nightwing meet up with Ladybug and Chat Noir to offer their help in figuring out who Hawkmoth is, as well as fighting and training.

Full Miraculous court meeting with Ryuko, Viperion, Queen Bee, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Pegasus, Bunnyx, and Monkey king. (Rena Rouge is removed if Class salt. Replaced with Fox!Nath or Fox!Julieka)

Ladybug and Robin get along

About two weeks in Adrien starts officially dating Kagami.

Another week passes and Damian finds out Marinette has been coughing flower petals and her unrequited love is her classmate Adrien Agreste.

She refuses to remove the hanahaki - this version is the standard they can’t fall in love ever again if they remove it.

This revelation makes him oddly uneasy, it isn’t until his own Hanahaki shows up later that night that realizes he understands why.

Damian does a pretty good job of hiding it.

Dick knows something is up but he’s trying to give Damian more space so he doesn’t look into it and trusts Damian would ask him if it’s life threatening

Ladybug notices his discomfort on patrol and they talk

He is surprised to learn Ladybug also has it and Robin comes up with the brilliant idea that they should fall in love with each other.

There is precedent that if you fall out of love with the person, the Hanahaki will go away. But falling out of love is difficult and not easily done. There must be no lingering romantic feelings at all.

Ladybug encourages Robin to chase his crush first, because he at least has a chance if the girl he likes also has it.

Cue the debates

If Ladybug wins: Enter Damian going all out in flirty assassin seduction techniques from his mother - Good Talia that kills rapists, none of that she raped Bruce bs, she actually had a good relationship with Bruce and a mutual breakup because of differing views on killing people - that he’s barely used since his lessons on it in the league and romantic advice from Dick.

He goes full on Bitch-sensei from assassination classroom.

He’s commissioned a shirt from Marinette. She gets to design it however she wants.

It is a long sleeved button up, specifically made to accentuate his muscles without being too revealing.

That’s the shirt he wears when he asks her out with flowers and a stuffed kitten holding a stuffed wood board that says “please date me” He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top button undone. Collar and hair ruffled up for maximum sensuality. He’s got a lot of references between all the people he knows (Bruce, Talia, Selina, Dick, and really his whole family is full of objectively attractive, seductive people he can reference. Just as long as he avoids mimicking their failing romantic habits, he should be fine.)

He tries to be suave about it but is a little too nervous to completely pull it off. It doesn’t matter because Marinette finds it endearing.

On the date, he’s more confident and is able to pull off suave bastard much better but only at the end. He’s a gentleman until the very end, when he leaves her in the bakery

He goes in, and twirls her admittedly short hair around his finger, maintaining eye contact as he presses his lips against her hair - it’s admittedly harder than he expected given how short it is but being so close made it more intimate and the blush on her face was definitely worth it

He leaves in the bakery slightly dazed and counts the date as a success.

Marinette’s mind shut down bc damn that boy is fine and smooth af is flustered and confused as heck but she’s willing to give him a shot

Alternatively: Marinette’s not sure about dating Damian because she feels like she’s just using him to get rid of her hanahaki bc of the idea that Robin had proposed.

Dick is ecstatic that Damian was acting weird because he had a crush and loved helping his brother out with this date planning in the city of love

He doesn’t report it back to the batfam yet because they had a small argument about it and Damian pulled away with the small victory of Dick has to wait until after the first date to tell them.

Damian is glad he Marinette’s willing to give him a chance but he’s worried about Ladybug

he wonders if he should set her up with Tim or Duke, it’d be a shame to lose a friend and hero like her.

Robin brings up his success to Ladybug and asks if there’s anything he can do to help her.

She notes that a friend had actually confessed to her and she’s giving them a chance.

They accidentally compare notes on their dates and that’s their reveal.

If Robin wins: An awkward start that smooths into moonlit dates on the Eiffel tower, dancing on rooftops, an increase in flirting but only after battles, never before it bc they have a professional reputation to keep, increasingly physical training routines, stolen kisses but not on lips until they’re more comfortable with each other.

Fast tracked mutual slow burn which kinda defeats the purpose of a slow burn but whatever

I have realized these ideas are not mutually exclusive.

Maybe Ladybug wins first but Damian fails to seduce Marinette because she has the doubts so they go with plan B and date each other. Ladybug is more comfortable with the idea of dating Robin because they both have Hanahaki and are knowingly using each other to get rid of it?

There is no identity reveal in this version

Complaint Break time: I was writing this to get it out but it keeps growing, wtf.  This is so long and I haven’t even gotten to the main part.

It was supposed to be an established Daminette but I wanted to show how they got together, this was supposed to be like 5 bullet points, 10 tops.

At some point, I’m going to have to mention the rumor that people with Hanahaki are being kidnapped because the flowers that bloom after their death make great medicine but that cures most illnesses and are good potions ingredient whatever, something along those lines. It’s not the ones they cough up but the flowers that grow on the vines constricting their lungs after until they die and only blossom after death. Those flowers that spread the pollen into the air that makes the Hanahaki disease possible.

That’s why people keep it a secret unless they’re going to get the surgery as there’s not other way to treat it.

But that’s a plot point for part 2.

I feel like this is already longer than anything I’ve put out at this point in time.

Back to the story:

Even though they’re dating, the Hanahaki doesn’t go away immediately. It slows and becomes less frequent but there are times when they think of how their love doesn’t return their feelings and the flowers come back with a vengeance and they’re down for the day, possibly the entire week, hacking up flower petals and buds.

(Ladybug Wins version until otherwise stated) It’s during one of these fits that Dick finds out and is angry at this girl playing with his brother’s feelings.

Damian is too busy hacking up bloody flower petals to correct him

The entire batfam and subsequently Superfam now know the batfam’s youngest has hanahaki

Jon is called in and flies in to help keep an eye on his best friend

Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Duke are shocked but they pack up and are ready to go in guns blazing to have a talk with this girl bc the boys might not be on the best terms but that’s their baby brother. The girls stay behind to hold down the fort (because I need more time to get familiar with them before I can confidently write their characters. I’m not too confident about Duke either but I already mentioned him and it’s too late to back out now.)

So, Damian’s brothers and his father track her down to a different park in Paris where Marinette’s hanging out with her friends

They’re incised to find their brother’s girlfriend with another guy’s arm around her, leading her away from the main group of friends

It’s Luka, he’s helping her hide her hanahaki because she assures him that she has it under control and will go with him to the hospital if it becomes too much

They confront the couple

There’s a lot of intimidating posturing and accusations

Batfam is absolutely not prepared for the bloody flowers that spill from her lips - her hanahaki is even worse than Damian’s

Detective bats (correctly or incorrectly, depending on which version happens) put the pieces together and figure they’re dating to get rid of the hanahaki, that is something Damian would absolutely propose

and oh shit, this time it’s not just Bruce that’s adopting someone. They have a little sister now.

Luka explains what he knows about the situation and basically confirms what they’d deduced.

Welp, since they’re here, Hawkmoth has become top priority.

Hawkmoth takes one look at the Miraculous circle and the new set of bats and just- nopes out plus super boy and just nopes out.

Like, he tries but he has no expectation of winning and tries to run instead. It doesn’t work, they have all grounds covered.

I should probably make use of Mayura if I ever do write everything out but she didn’t really leave much of an impression on me tbh and I don’t have a lot of ideas. Maybe if I ever go back and watch it.

Celebratory, on-the-spot kiss between Robin and Ladybug where they do “oh“ and realize the pressure in their chest is finally gone and the Hanahaki is no more.

(Robin Wins) Dick is obliviously happy about little Robin leaving the nest and finding a mate until he finds out both the little heroes coughing up flower petals on their date

then he goes in and mother hens them both, before demanding answers

He’s also less happy about this whole dating thing

Dick can’t do much about Ladybug without revealing her identity but Damian isn’t getting out of it so easily

Dick figures out who Damian’s crushing on and goes to do a little investigating. He is very surprised to see it’s a bubbly, energetic designer girl and not someone... calmer. But then he thinks of Jon and it makes a little more sense

He talks to her, asks about what she thinks of Damian and is pleasantly surprised by her positive view of his brother. He asks if she would go out with him and she coughs up some petals

Now, Dick’s freaking out and why are there so many children with Hanahaki? This is the third one in two days!

fast forward because I’m finally out of ideas for this part

Ladybug knows she’s fallen for Robin, which was the entire point of them dating but she not sure he actually reciprocates or is still trying to forget that other girl.

Or if you went the other way, Robin’s still chasing Marinette but Ladybug now likes Robin and is aware that he’s trying to woo her. So, out of the frying pan and into another for her.

Robin is absolutely having regrets bc he is an emotional wreck and crushing on two girls and this was not supposed to happen, damnit.

A meta gets akumatized and takes out half the miraculous court but turns out the meta’s psychic ability can help track Hawkmoth so its all cool, now that they know what Hawkmoth feels like

Ladybug, Chat Noir, Ryuko, and Robin vs Hawkmoth and Mayura

Nightwing stayed behind to watch the other heroes are no longer brain dead from the battle but boy are they out of it and he has to make sure they get home safe

that does not mean he’s not extremely put out and worried about it since he knows half the team has hanahaki and it may interfere with the fight

Even if the Ladybug suit lessens the hanahaki attacks, they still happen from time to time

For two people who don’t  show up to fight often Hawkmoth and Mayura put up a good fight

Ladybug has an hanahaki attack and Hawkmoth tried to take advantage of it, only to get knocked out by Chat Noir who’s still pissed at his dad for causing this whole thing

Chat Noir and Ryuko are pretty shocked Ladybug has hanahaki, even more her timer runs out and she choses to present it to Robin

Robin is shook

He gets it together and pulls her into a kiss that cures their hanahaki and makes their brains melt

Now Marinette’s kinda confused bc what the other girl

Damian, slightly shifting his mask so she can see who he is: That other girl was YOU

Now Marinette’s the one who’s shook

Note: Chat Noir and Ryuko have both de-transformed at this point and are watching with wide eyes but they do not see who is under that mask. Also, no cameras in this section of the manor bc that would be proof.

They have a lot to talk about but it works out in the end.

the outline above was written out of order bc I had to go back everytime a new idea hit and I cannot be bothered to go back and dodeca-check this thing again just to make sure everything makes sense.

Part 2 (that was supposed to be the main story- finally made it, the starting point. I cry.)

Ok, so, now that Daminette is established and the evil is defeated

Damian returns to Gotham with his girlfriend in tow to introduce her to the rest of his family, despite his better judgement

Jon is happy that Damian is in happy, loving relationship but he’s a bit sad that it’s not him and oop, sunshine kryptonian boy got hanahaki’d.

Same for Luka. (Yes, Jagged will be his dad and a Gothamite.)

Jagged and his kids join them in Gotham bc he has to be there to show his favorite designer niece around to all the best places of his hometown.

Luka finds out Jon has Hanahaki and they bond over the experience

They make a pact to cover each other and get the other to the hospital when it gets to that point

Pining/Simping meetings over their best friends that for some unknown reason seem to lessen the flower coughing over time even though these meetings probably make things worse but they also need vent before it increases again.

Luka and Jon beginning to fall for each other but they think the other is still in love with Marinette/Damian and it’s true that they still hold feelings for their best friends that aren’t diminishing in the sleightest and it’s all very confusing.

It’s even more confusing when we add the new hero in Gotham, Viperion who’s there to continue training with the bats since he’s visiting the area, rescues and lightly flirts with Jon who ended up developing a small crush and Jon realizes he has a type.

So, poor Jon’s now crushing on Damian, Luka, and Viperion

Viperion meets Superboy and the kryptonian doesn’t seem to like him?

Luka’s crushing on Marinette, Jon - still doesn’t know that Damian is Robin. And is kinda curious and a little hurt that the Robin’s oddly familiar kryptonian is actively and obviously avoiding him and that heart song is kind of familiar but different.

Viperion also gains a crush on Robin after watching him take down a thug in a very graceful way - the bird was showing off for his bug and decided to make it a little showier, he accidentally also caught a snake

Ladybug and Robin still flirt but the court - aside from Ryuko and Chat, depending on which version - think that’s just their dynamic, though they do pull Robin aside for a bit to tell him she has a boyfriend now. He assured them it’s fine and he knows, oddly amused at their attempt.

man, I am not original with this identity porn thing

It isn’t until Luka sees Jon again that he puts it together.

Marinette suspiciously notes Luka and Jon been hanging out an awful lot she’s making connections to the time she had hanahaki and Luka covered for her

The pains of befriending deductive genii.

Cue the panic and they accidentally claim they’re dating but it throws Marinette off for now, so it kinda worked?

Hanahaki fic with a fake dating AU. Oops.

Mari decides since she and Damian don’t know this, they must have been neglecting their best friends and double dates are the way to go.

Cue more panic

Unlike Marinette who is willing to trust their word, Damian’s a suspicious bastard who’s kind of dubious and a little salty that Jon didn’t tell him earlier if they’re telling the truth but Mari’s all gung ho about it so he lets it go for now

They go on the date and it is an emotional mess for everyone involved

It starts out fine

Jon and Luka act a bit weird because they have to cover for each other randomly coughing up petals, not to mention they’re on a date with their original crushes without actually dating their original crushes not even mentioning their new crushes and the secret identity reveal that Luka still hasn’t confronted Jon on and Jon’s guiltily thinking about Viperion half the time he thinks about Luka and shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Yeah, so they’re a mess

Damian’s watching them like he’s trying to figure them out and it is not helping but thank god Mari’s distracting him totally on accident

Marinette? She found a random lost kid in Gotham looking for their parents

So now the double date’s been temporarily derailed to help the lost kid

While Damian’s watching Marinette try pass the crying kid off to Jon for a  moment so she can make a phone call to report a lost child but the kid’s clinging onto Marinette, and they exchange looks so Jon calls in the lost kid instead and he’s just struck with the idea of a family with the three of them and some kids

Cue panic time (again)

Ignoring the thought of children, why was Jon in his fantasy?

Luka’s just watching a smitten boy go into panic mode over the trio and while doesn’t quite know what’s going on in Damian’s head, but that was really cute and oh not again

They find the kid’s parents, and the date moves on

Jon’s more comfortable, Marinette wasn’t really bothered in the first place. Luka and Damian are now having crises

Luka makes a joke under his breath in an attempt to calm down before his Hanahaki acts up

It did not help bc Damian overhears and gives a small amused snort that made his heart stutter but hey positive interaction!

Both Marinette and Jon but end up having feelings very similar to the one Damian had earlier when they look over at Damian and Luka’s little interaction - Damian’s giving Luka a small smirk and Luka is entirely embarassed at being heard when he wasn’t hadn’t meant to be.

But then Luka gives Jon a small sign before he excuses himself to the restroom so Luka can run off and cough up his flower petals

You remember that whole thing about the kidnapping people with hanahaki so they die and medicine and things can be collected from the flowers springing up from their corpse thing? Yeah, the kids are in Gotham and there is definitely a group there that has dealings with the trade and someone saw Luka hacking up flowers

but they mark him and pull back to plan instead of kidnapping him then and there bc drama and Jon followed him to the restroom to check on him

Date ends ok and everyone’s kind of an emotional wreck

Damian has surprisingly learned his lesson on miscommunication and guiltily confides his fantasy to her like a parishioner to his priest

Marinette basically goes same and confesses about the moment she and Jon saw his interaction with Luka.

“So, We’re together, and they’re together...and I might be in love with Jon, you think you might be in love with Luka... What now?“ Damian asked, trying to make sense of it all

“We could...” Marinette swallows, “um, all four of us? together?“ she offered meekly. Seeing that Damian seemed to like the idea, she continued. “Y’know, feel out how receptive they are to the idea and then just seduce them?”

Ok, so the temporary communication skills were nice.

Because instead of talking it out with their best friends, they decide to seduce them but to be fair, there’s at least one version of this where Damian got where he did because of seduction.

Between both Damian and Marinette’s phsyical attractiveness, their combined determination and stubbornness, Damian’s assassin seduction knowledge, and Marinette’s fashion ability and tactical knowledge of where to accentuate what, Jon and Luka have no chance of leaving pining hell for the foreseeable future.

Marinette doubles down on the “double dates” aka, seduction plans in action and group hang outs, aka much more softer, subtle seduction plans

Marinette and Damian do not do much seeing how receptive they are and really just jump right into the seduction, except they adjust the plans so Luka and Jon don’t catch on so Daminette couple thinks it’s ok to go all out.

Cue seduction and pining hijinks, and a whole lot of bloodly flowers and plenty of internal screaming

Damian learns that Luka might not be too bad in the group and Jon is panicking because oh shit he’s got another crush and it’s his best friend’s girlfriend.

the quartet’s love issues are really full circle... or whatever this shape is supposed to be. Because there’s still the whole Viperion/superboy thing and - i just... I’m not going to keep analyzing this.

Somewhere during this, Jon confesses his feelings this particular friend group to Con, leaving out the whole Hanahaki thing. Con tells Tim for advice on being a big brother and things happen but I’m not sure what. I just want TimCon and the Superboys bonding

So a couple weeks pass by the Hanahaki’s getting pretty bad and Luka suddenly goes missing

Ladybug and the bats are on it as soon as they realize he’s gone

Except they are missing one, very important piece of information

Luka’s hanahaki

So, for the next few days, they don’t get anywhere until Jon slips up and ends up coughing up a shitton of bloody flowers which leads to panic, confusion and explanation, bc wtf Jon, you’re supposed to be dating Luka and that’s definitely not unrequited

So everyone gets the full explanation, the final piece of the puzzle snaps into place and the bats are on it.

Marinette and Damian have to put aside that whole revelation in order to track and save Luka before he dies of Hanahaki

They both make sure to kiss Jon first so he doesn’t get handicapped by his hanahaki like Ladybug did but he and Luka will be on thin ice once they get Luka back

So it’s pretty much a race against time bc they don’t know how bad Luka’s hanahaki is

Tracking, beat up bad guys, possible magic related villain(s) searching for potion ingredients that may take harm Superboy more than than if they weren’t there

They rescue Luka or Luka and Ssass break out as Viperion and meet them halfway.

Hey, the identity reveals!

 Either way, at the end of it, Luka ends up with Ladybug and the unconscious and they have to wait until he wakes up to administer the kiss/cure bc it doesn’t work if one party is unconscious

which sparks an interesting idea of a sleeping beauty-cinderella style hanahaki fic where it would work if they’re unconscious, and the patient has to find go out to find who cured them and I’ll have to adjust some other rules of the hanahaki disease such as who can cure it but goddamn it

So while Luka’s out, Marinette and Damian confront the possibly injured but very much awake Jon

Once Luka wakes up and is brought up to speed, they take care of his hanahaki and work out the new boundaries of their new relationship

Part one is longer and I’m a bit put out by that. This made much more sense in my head but if you got this far, my rambling must have made some sort of sense.

#Maribat #mlb x dc #Daminette #Ven's rambling #Ven's ideas #Ven's idea outline #DamiJon (Maribat) #LukaMariDamiJon #LukaMariDami #MariDamiJon #yeah #im not getting every part of this ship #polymory #wait no this is polyandry #whatever poly relationships #drama #pining #angst #there's not actually much angst given this is a hanahaki outline #romance hijinks #partial crack? #hanahaki #Hanahaki Maribat #Idea Outline 1 #sigh #this was longer than expected

[sweeethinny]

Reputation - Delicate (Chapter 4)

I know it took me a while to make this one, and just yesterday I deleted three times and started from scratch. But I finally liked what I wrote. Clearly, not canonical, since, there were no death eaters at that wedding or the kiss Ginny gives Harry in her room. The death eaters, I took it off because, Harry deserved one last day of peace, and the kiss, I just delayed it

Thanks to the people who enjoy this story, I still find it very strange to think that people who read what I write (not being my best friend, who reads absolutely everything). :) 

Thank for @allthatwooloowho who helped me, honey, thank you <3

AO3

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so 

You must like me for me

Her dress made her so beautiful, so ... radiant, like a masterpiece in the Louvre. The dress rolled with Ginny's movements as she walked around the tent, the fabric rolling back and forth. 

In the golden light, the fabric glowed like flaming gold, rare and wondrous to behold. Her hair was braided at the top of her head, but the rest of the locks fell majestically on her back and shoulders, and Harry could almost feel their softness on his fingers. 

He wanted to be able to get up, go to her and make a complicated bow to make her laugh, before taking her out to dance, putting his hands around her waist, feeling the fabric on his fingers and rolling it around the tent as if she was the most important person at the party, not Fleur or Bill.

He wanted to be able to tell everyone that they were together, too. 

He wanted to know how to dance. 

 ''Barny?'' The melodious voice called out to him, sitting across from him at the table and tossing her hair behind the shoulders, before raising an eyebrow and biting a smile. So beautiful it hurt. 

 "Ginny, how are you?" Harry smiled, happy to see her up close, and to smell that characteristic scent of flowers. There were rings on her thin fingers, and her nails were painted white with gold and violet sparkles. Everything made her so…gorgeous. It was unfair that Ginny was beautiful like that. 

 ''I haven't seen you in a few years ... so, have you been to the lake? Dad did a great job of gardening in those parts’’. Of course he had gone there. In fact, he had seen it closely for the past two summers, and really, it was quite serene with all the flowers, cut grass and nearby stone path. 

 ''I didn't see,'' he joked, ignoring when George or Bill looked twice at their interaction. 

"Oh! I'll have to show you then.'' She stood up, smoothing her dress before looking at it again, those eyes that looked like they had been dipped in chocolate, looking radiant and excited by the escape. ''Come with me?'' Ginny offered an arm, and Harry couldn't help but laugh; it was hard not to say no to her, even when there were all those other thoughts lurking around him. War, his mission, Voldemort, Dumbledore's true story ... Ginny always gave him peace. 

We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

 ''Do you want a drink before we go?'' He offered as they passed a plate that levitated with glasses full of glimmering liquid. 

 ''Sure, why not?'' Ginny approached, and in her high heels, she could easily reach his ear to whisper. ''Don't tell my mum. She won't be pleased.'' Harry nodded, taking two before heading out of the tent, knowing that only the Weasley brothers were looking at him. 

 He would deal with them later. 

 The night was lovely, with bearable weather and stars dotting the sky. A wind swayed the trees and Ginny's dress slightly, but nothing that required a cape or warm clothing. Which Harry liked, because the redhead's legs beside him were too beautiful to be hidden by pants. 

'’You look beautiful,'' he commented, sipping the drink. He didn't know exactly what it was, only that it was bubbly, with a hint of sweetness and a refreshing aftertaste. 

 ''Thank you. Fleur has good taste.'' The two continued walking in companionable silence, without many intrusive thoughts, just enjoying what seemed to be the last night of peace. ''I didn't give you a birthday present.'' They finally arrived at the lake. The moon shone in the reflection of the clear water, the night glittering on the surface, making Ginny's skin glow even more gloriously, her eyes shining just like her dress. It was breathtaking. 

 "No need. I'm happy just being a part of things.'' The music was just an unknown, almost imperceptible noise, and Harry liked that silence. 

 ''You look good, too, by the way.'' 

 Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you Oh damn, never seen that color blue

''Even though it's kind of weird to be talking to you in that way'' He laughed, nodding awkwardly and blushing, hating that his skin was so clear that body and showed too much of his blush

''It'll be over soon ... we have more ... fifteen minutes before I go back to being Harry Potter'' His voice sounded like he said it wasn't that important, but Ginny didn't favor it, as her chin and eyebrows advanced smiling corner

''I will wait fifteen minutes before I can kiss you then'' And as if it doesn't include anything here, she bent down to take off her heels and sit on the grass, sinking her feet into the water ''Come on, I don't want to be alone'' He followed, rising like pants to the knee and taking off shoes and like stockings, sitting next to you and feeling the skin cool when you sank it, sighing with regretful temperature change

"Hm .. about the kiss .. I .."

''..I'm not going to kiss someone who looks like my brothers'' Harry laughed, biting his lip and looking back at his feet, feeling some moss on his shin

''I don't think I would like to kiss you while I'm like this'' Was it sincere, looking at her ''Do you want to swim?'' Where had this idea come from?

He blamed her, as well as that strange drink and all this feeling that it was the last time.

''Yes​​'' Ginny seemed to hesitate a little before speaking ''But you'll have to take care of me later, you know, making my hair dry and everything back in place, because Fleur and my mom will die if they see me dripping water and all blurry''

''At your service''

Then they started to undress, and Harry had already swam a few times with Ginny, but seeing her in a swimsuit was quite different from seeing her in her underwear, and his mind seemed to find the pieces highly entertaining, creating very specific scenarios that made him thank that he would soon dive into icy water

Just think of the fun things we could do 'Cause I like you

The minutes passed quickly, between laughter and meaningless conversation, plunges into the placid, icy water, and lovely silences. Until they were floating, Ginny's body unlike Harry's and their heads meeting, foreheads on each other's jaws and uneven breaths

''You're back to normal'' she pointed out, and Harry had barely noticed that he was showing his own body again, blaming Ginny's body for it. As if reading her thoughts, the redhead licked her lips, sinking her body into the water again and pulling his face to hers, kissing him so hard that Harry almost drowned, half lost when his feet scraped at the bottom of the lake, before repaying with all your fervor as well.

She held his face with a certain territoriality, sucking on his tongue and approaching their bodies, smiling when Harry grunted at the contact, not even the icy water being able to stop him.

His heart was pounding in his ears when he pressed the redhead to a rock, holding her a little higher, lining up their heads and managing to sink the touch as he wanted.

They had some kisses like that at Hogwarts, but that one looked different, as if ... as if it was loaded with lack, fear and worry, as if the world was going to end tomorrow and they just had one more chance to kiss.

Harry thought that could be true.

''Ginny'' He sighed, anxiety eating him alive, as he managed to use all his strength to get away from the redhead, looking her in the eye, and almost moaning when he saw her red lipstick smeared all over her face, wondering how he was ''I like you. Really'' Harry wanted to say that, wanted to affirm just in case ... just in case he died and she never knew.

He very much doubted that he would make it out alive

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Instead of answering, or blushing, as he imagined she would, Ginny pulled him in for a kiss again, even more in need, looking much more sentimental and sensitive than all the years Harry had been around.

''This is my gift'' She murmured against his lips ''For you to remember me'' They finally opened their eyes, winking at each other in a daze ‘'You know If you have some Veela wherever you are, doing whatever’' Ginny swallowed, and when he was older and remembered that day, Harry would remember seeing a touch of fear and jealousy running through her eyes, as if that girl, who turned his head and beginning to almost fall ill with all that whirlwind of feelings, it could be left aside by anyone else in the world.

''I will be busy enough to think about veelas,'' he assured her, hoping she understood behind his words. 'I will never be able to see anyone other than you'

''Good, that was the good side I was looking for''

The two swallowed again, and the sensation of her bare skin (in parts) on his fingers almost made him pass out, thinking how that was his life, how he could be so lucky to touch her intimately and devastatingly.

Harry could never be the same again.

And he didn't even want to.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

They kissed for much longer than Harry could remember, hands wandering and stumbling until he was the one who was pressed against the rocks, groaning when she sucked on his neck and bit his skin, looking territorial as at Hogwarts. He would never complain about that.

His hand went down her spine, feeling the delicious sensation of his fingers discovering her soft skin that is usually hidden by the shirts, before finally squeezing her ass, shielding the moan in her mouth, while dropping her head slightly back, leaving let him delight in all his flesh.

''Harry'' Ginny sighed as his fingers dug curiously to that spot hidden in the middle, which even under water was hot as hell. ''Do you have your cloak?’’ As if he had woken up, he looked at her, stopping his fingers on the fabric of her panties.

''Yes​​'' And as if by magic, they were dry, and hidden, walking hurriedly to The Burrow again, laughing softly every time their feet tripped or that they saw some guests seeming to enjoy the party too much.

But the laughter ceased when they went up to her room, especially when she took off the cloak and looked at him a little hungry, vaguely pointing at the door with one hand, hoping he would protect them from the world.

For just a few hours, he needed to forget everything that awaited him.

Harry finally locked the door and put on the protection and muffling spells, before having his neck wrapped around Ginny's arms and his mouth occupied with hers, calmer than at the lake, but still hungry as a hungry man

They fell on her childhood bed, moaning softly when the horizontal position made them comfortable and very close.

''I was tired of standing up'' He declared

''Me too'' Ginny laughed, on top of Harry and looking like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, with her makeup a bit smeared and her hair not too dry, as well as messy. Messed up by him.

His ego inflated when he thought he was the first boy to leave her that way, and yet, the first to be lying in her bed.

She was also the first to leave him like this.

And Harry knew it would be the last.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

Soon the clothes came off again, not to the point of being totally naked, but Gin's underwear looked much thinner now that they weren't submerged, and Harry could feel it hot on top of his erection when her hips turned, which caused a loud groan from both.

''Merlin, this is good'' She did it again, and this time, he can't control the thrust of his hips upwards, which caused much more than Ginny's subtle movements. The two looked soft after the shock on their bodies

Harry kissed her again, running his hand down her entire body, enjoying the sensation of her breasts supported by the simple light pink bra, groaning when he pressed his pelvis even closer to her. Her hands went to her back, unbuttoning the piece and freeing soon after, blushing when Harry's green eyes reached the flesh, seeming to live a dream.

''You are beautiful'' was all he managed to say, running his fingers over the hard nipples of her creamy breasts, mesmerized by the freckles that covered part of her skin, feeling their weight and how perfect they were. Harry made her move closer to finally catch one of them with his mouth, sucking as if he had been doing it for years, and almost enjoying hearing his name coming out as a cry from her lips.

Suddenly, his underwear started to get slightly damp, and for a moment, he thought he had really come without even realizing it, until he noticed that it came from Gin, the proof that he was doing everything right. And more eagerly now that he was being encouraged, he massaged the other breast, while still using his mouth there. The vague hand went down her side, half shaking with all the growing lust, until found the fabric wrapped around her hip, playing for a moment there, not quite sure what to do.

''Do it'' Ginny forced him, taking her hand and leading him to her middle, finally touching her, and heavens, she was soaked ''Please'' The request came out so needy that Harry almost moaned along with her when he removed that piece and slid his hand to cover the bare area, losing the senses when it feels so hot and slippery, using the fingers as a guide, exploring the entire area

"I'm going to need you to help me," he admitted, a little embarrassed. They never made it that far, just once he put his knee in the middle of it and Ginny rubbed it like it was the best thing in the world. But that, it was absurdly better.

Long night, with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Ginny guided him, and to her delight, Harry learned quickly, which was a blessing, because her moans and hips rotated over his erection were so wonderful it was like being in paradise.

Confident, he slid a finger inside her, moaning and tensing when he felt her crush him inside, much softer and hotter, while his palm got incredibly wet and the moans grew louder and louder. Harry turned them over, getting on top to get more control, using his thumb to touch that knot that seemed to take the redhead in another dimension, while carefully placing another finger and watching him disappear into her

He had dreamed of it a few times, imagined how it could all be, but his mind was nowhere near as detailed with that, just believing it would be too good, ignoring the rest. But it was exciting to see her, getting more and more red and noisy, riding his fingers like the was the best broom in the world, whimpering his name and scratching his skin.

It was wild.

His cock inside his underwear throbbed in pain, his balls seeming to compress each time Ginny swallowed him more, and when he increased his pace and saw her lift her back while squeezing it until it was almost impossible to take his fingers off, Harry knew they were progressing to something more

''AAAHHH'' She dug her nails into his shoulder, pulling him in for a hungry kiss, biting his bottom lip and furiously moving her hips ''H-arryyyy'' Ginny moaned as her brown eyes dilated and looked like two black holes in her face, her vagina milking him and then wetting him completely with orgasm, her clitoris swollen and looking highly sensitive at that moment.

His ego inflated to the heights.

Seamus talked a lot at times in the dorm, and commented at times about making witches come, and as he heard from a girl that they usually didn't do it easily because the guys were horrible. But Ginny didn't seem to think it was bad, and Harry almost screamed and jumped in celebration..

Daring, as fuck, he bent down until he reached the middle of it, seeing everything up close and feeling salivated at the idea of ​​sucking it, but his confidence had a limit and he didn't think he could succeed in that too, so he contented himself with just licking it to suck all her excitement, feeling his hair tug and the screams starting again.

Harry sucked on his fingers as soon as they left her, and pulled back a little more to suck in her entrance, trying not to touch the clitoris that seemed to be too sensitive.

When he came back up, Ginny was a red mess and out of breath, very much like a hungry animal.

It was sexy

''You were supposed to win the gift'' She said after a few minutes staring at him, running a shaking hand over his cheek and smiling

''Ah, I loved this gift, make no mistake'' His cock throbbed, but Harry really didn't care much, thinking it was much sexier to see her that way because of him, than wanting to deal with his erection now. ''How did I do?'' Seamus had said that some witches lied, but that didn't seem false, even so he questioned

''Do I have to say?'' Gin laughed, flushed and looking like the most beautiful work of art in the world, and he cursed Voldemort once again for stealing it from him. Not even enjoying your girlfriend was allowed. The world has never been so unfair.

Harry didn't want to leave her, and he wasn't thinking about just having to leave her room and go back to the tent.

She seemed to realize this

''You'll be back, and then everything will be fine'' She said, looking much less radiant than before, even so smiling and caressing his skin.

Harry wanted so badly to be hers forever, because no doubt there would never be another one for him, but Ginny would still live, marry, still enjoy the many years that he had left. It was almost unfair to want to declare his love for her again, now that he was about to run away to know Merlin where, and possibly die at the hand of a psychopath

"Are you tired?" He wanted to change the subject, feeling bad for being aware of it.

Harry wanted so much to have more time with her. Maybe a lifetime.

But his life wouldn't be that long, so he would have to be content with that.

Better little than nothing, he thought irritably.

''More or less'' The two made themselves on the bed, she lying beside him, facing his direction as she ran her fingers over his chest, boldly down to his stomach, then down to his navel ...

''No'' Harry stopped her ''No'' He said again, a little breathlessly when her fingers touched him. He wouldn't be able to leave her if he knew what it felt like. ''Sleep, it was a busy day'' The music was being drowned out the windows, as well as the conversations, and inside the world seemed just theirs, with nothing to interrupt them. The boy smoothed her face, also on his side, while also playing with her hair, memorizing every bit of it.

It would never be enough.

''I didn't want you to go'' Her voice was a little shaky, but nothing that passed over her face. Her brown eyes seemed to weigh and the darkness of the chosen room made her look like a goddess, taking Harry closer and closer to paradise before throwing him up there. Not that he complained.

''Neither do I Gin, now go to sleep'' His girlfriend's (?) soft hand  stood over his heart, while finally giving in to sleep, closing her eyes and breathing lightly, looking at peace, and much more fragile than he never thought it was possible.

He couldn't have her in danger, let Voldemort use her like he did Sirius, he ... he wouldn't be able to live if Ginny was killed, not even a minute. And that was why he had to go, that he would have to leave her. That perfect and happy life, the sunny days by your side, never belonged to him.

''I love you'' His dick didn't hurt anymore, sad as he got up from the bed and kissed her forehead, covering her with a plaid blanket and memorizing her face before putting on his clothes, ready to leave her forever.

It was for her sake, he think, so that she had the opportunity to live a life, to have a marriage as beautiful as Fleur's, so that she could be totally happy alongside any other man who didn't put her in constant danger.

Even though, Harry completed it alone, closing the door to her room and sliding down the stairs, he never had a chance to be that man.

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time ('Cause I like you)

#hinny #harry x ginny #hinny smut #hinnyprompt #hinnysmut #Harry Potter #ginnyPOTTER #hp and the deathly hallows #hp fanfic #hp couples #reputation #delicate

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Five

Summary: College is kicking Nesta’s ass, so she goes to her T.A., Tomas, for some extra help. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Bittersweet Masterlist  Warnings: N/A

October

It was only a couple weeks into the fall semester, and it was already hell.

Nesta was drowning in schoolwork, whether it be essays or presentations or hour-long projects. She had exams every damn week, so she was at the campus library nearly every day – typically until the sun set and the stars emerged. But even then, her night was far from over. Nesta returned home only to catch up on the work she’d put off for her paid internship. Elain got in the habit of making Nesta tea and cookies when she returned from the library on those ruthless nights. And every damn time, Nesta would wrap her arms around her sister with thanks.

This was her routine for at least four days of the week. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Needless to say, she was fucking exhausted.

The worst part, though? Nesta’s grades were precariously low despite the countless hours she’d been putting in. And she knew exactly what was causing it.

It had been a month since her father’s death, yet Nesta was still waking up in her own sweat every morning after a nightmare involving him. Of him hanging on the edge of a cliff, begging Nesta to save him. Of her dad screaming at her to kill herself. Of her mother dragging Nesta into the other room as he watches idly by.  

Nesta had cursed herself for letting her father’s death affect her in this way. She’d never been one to grieve, especially not for so long. She preferred leaving it in the past. It was easier that way.

Thanks to her merciless professors, Nesta was forced to dedicate nearly all of her time to school, which forced her to neglect her internship. They required she edit ten pieces of work every week, whether it be self-published books, college publications, or online articles. Even though the internship was entirely online – a convenient bonus – she still didn’t have enough time to fulfill the weekly goals. Instead of editing ten works, she was barely scrapping by with five. She’d already received several angry emails from her boss threatening to fire her if she didn’t get her shit together.

And, well… Nesta didn’t get her shit together. On the last day of September, she received that fateful email.

Nesta Archeron,

I regret to inform you that we’ve made the difficult decision of letting you go from Scribner Editorial. While I understand you’re in the midst of earning your Master’s degree, we are looking for editors who can reach – or exceed – the necessary requirements. Unfortunately, you have been lacking in the past few weeks. It has caused other editors to pick up your slack and do more than what we ask for. We are sorry to see you go.

Sincerely,

Ressina Laurent Scribner Editorial

Nesta read and reread the email dozens of times before closing her laptop. Her head fell in her hands, her shoulders trembling with the weight she carried.

She stared out the window, the world a flurry of red, orange, and yellow. Nesta had worked so hard for this, and all for nothing. She couldn’t believe she’d fucked up such a prestigious internship. It’d paid surprisingly well, and that had been the only income she was receiving. Even with the paychecks from Scribner Editorial, Nesta’s financial situation was holding on by a thread. She had used the money her father had passed down to her to pay off the remaining student loans she owned. Her family never had much money and when it was split in three, it didn’t make much of a difference.

Just like that, Nesta no longer had a job.

Fuck.

Within ten minutes of receiving that email, she was already browsing online for job opportunities. Nesta didn’t care what it was, as long as it put steady income in her pocket. There was no way she would be able to finish school without a job.

But unfortunately, after an hour of job hunting, Nesta came up empty handed. The only person who was hiring was the large grocery store downtown. They were looking for a cashier. And there was no way in hell Nesta would even consider working there. She’d seen the crowds they got on weekends. The work were incessantly forced to talk with rude, invasive customers. Nesta was far from the realm of customer service.

Nesta was down to her last resort. She didn't give herself another second to overthink it as she picked up her phone from her desk and texted Feyre.

I was just fired. You know of any job openings in the area?

Nesta sat by her phone for a couple minutes until Feyre deigned to respond.

The only one I know if is Rita’s, the local bar. They’re looking for a bartender, have been for months.

Nesta nearly snorted out her coffee when she read the text. Feyre had to be kidding. Nesta, bartending? There was no way in hell she could be a halfway decent bartender – anyone who’s ever met Nesta knew that. She didn’t possess the charm nor the patience, and she certainly couldn’t deal with drunken men who leered at her all night. In Massachusetts, she'd had her fair share of hook-ups, men and women alike. It was night after night of mindless, drunken sex. But then she'd grown up.

Nesta looked back at the soft glow of her computer screen. There had to be something, right?

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

Wrong.

After scrolling through hundreds of websites with job opportunities (or lack thereof), Nesta collapsed on her bed. She checked the time to find that it was nearly one in the morning. Rubbing her face, she let out a low groan. Tomorrow was Monday. Gods, why did tomorrow have to be Monday? She was so exhausted that she was feeling physically ill: sore throat, cough, stuffy nose. The urge to skip classes tomorrow was tempting.

But Nesta knew she wouldn't skip. What would she do? A whole day to herself and a head full of intrusive thoughts. The perfect ingredients for a panic attack or two.

Her gaze fell to the small stack of bills she had yet to pay – that she couldn’t pay. Bills that would only grow.

With that thought in mind, Nesta cursed Scribner Editorial as she grabbed her laptop and searched ‘Rita’s’ on an open browser.

Then, she composed an email.

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

The next day, Nesta finally got around to contacting her Fictional Techniques teaching assistant. It was by far her most challenging class, and she despised the professor. A big chunk of her studying was dedicated to that course alone. And since she no longer had a job – for now – she finally had the time to meet with him for extra help.

His name was Tomas. He was notoriously known as the “Hardass T.A.” Nesta had heard her peers complaining about his grading on more than one occasion. It was common knowledge that he rarely gave students any feedback on their essays but when he did, it was brutal. It was practically unheard of to receive higher than a C from Tomas.

Nesta never got below a B+, though. And though she’d never spoken with him, Tomas always gave her detailed feedback on her papers, more so than any student.

So that afternoon, she emailed him.

Tomas –

           My name is Nesta Archeron and I am a student in a class you T.A. in, ENG-403 Section 003. I have a couple questions regarding the paper that was assigned on September 28th. Are you available to meet after class? It would be much appreciated.

Nesta –

           Thank you for contacting me. I would love to help you one-on-one. I’ve noticed the work you hand in, and it is spectacular. Your writing is sophisticated, and you have such potential. Coming from someone who has been in the publishing business for years now, I know several companies who would publish your work. Perhaps I can mention your name the next time I meet with them. How does tomorrow work? We can walk to the library together, maybe grab a cup of coffee (on me). Let me know.

Tomas –

           Thank you. That works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.

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

“Don’t forget to finish up those essays! They’re due on October sixth, and I won’t be accepting anything that’s turned in late. Yes, Mr. Vanserra, I’m looking at you.”

Students snickered as they filed out of the lecture hall. Nesta grabbed her backpack and made her way down the stairs to the front of the room. Tomas had his own desk in the corner where he chimed in during class discussions.

He was already smiling at her when she approached.

“Hi, Nesta,” he greeted her. He was in the midst of packing his things. “Are you ready to head out?” She nodded.

Tomas had the charm of the boy next door. His dirty blonde hair was cropped short, eyes crystal blue, and he wore an easy smile. It was hard to imagine that this was the guy who gave students Fs for not having a cover page for their essay.

"Did you want to grab a cup of coffee?" Tomas asked her as they made their way out of the classroom. He shot her a smirk "Like I said, I'll pay."

Is he flirting with me?

Nesta prayed to the gods he wasn't. Sure, he was cute and all, but she had no interest in a relationship of any kind. Including a one night stand.

Perhaps I can use that to my advantage...

Nesta dismissed the thought immediately. There was no way in hell she would flirt with her T.A. to ensure a high GPA. She wasn't going to sleep her way to the top. That's not how Nesta did things.

A little flirting never hurt anyone.

She groaned inwardly and shut out that train of thoughts.

Tomas and Nesta chatted while they trudged to the library, backpacks full of textbooks in tow. Much to Nesta’s dismay, he fired question after question at her. Tomas asked about her family to which she miraculously deflected, about her journey to become a writer, and her ambitions. Luckily, Nesta was a pro at this sort of thing, so she simply responded to every question with a question of her own. Not the most subtle approach, but it worked.

The library was teeming with students when they pushed through the doors. Pryth U’s library was a sight to behold. Its foyer was ornate with hand-painted murals, the ceiling stretching far above them. They hopped on the elevator to the third floor. When the doors opened, Nesta inhaled the sweet scent of old books. The bookcases reached the ceiling, thus requiring a rolling ladder in every stack. When Nesta and Elain had toured the campus before the semester began, Elain was quick to jump on the ladder and sing “Be Our Guest.” Her voice was horribly off key. They both burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs until the librarian found and scolded them.

Nesta was pretty sure Elain hadn't stepped foot in the library since.

“Okay,” Tomas said, setting his belongings on a corner desk. He grinned at her. “Ready to be tortured?”

Nesta offered a less than enthusiastic smile. “Let’s do it.”

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

After a couple hours of grueling studying, Nesta hurried to the coffee shop on campus. It was five o’clock and she hadn’t had a cup of coffee since the morning. If she didn’t get caffeine in the next ten minutes, Nesta wouldn’t function properly.

The meeting with Tomas went well; he was certainly a helpful resource to have. He'd even offered to meet with Nesta again to prepare for the next big assignment, to which she graciously accepted. There may have been batting of the lashes involved.

Nesta pulled her wool scarf tighter around her neck. Even with a peacoat and a hat, she was still freezing. She let out a sigh of relief when she entered the coffee shop, grateful for the inviting warmth.

That gratefulness disappeared when she looked at the line.

It was at least a dozen people long. Nesta let out a frustrated groan, managing to put a tamper on her anger and hauled her ass to the back of the line.

After a couple minutes of drooling over the scent of fresh coffee beans, she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind.

“Nesta?” a sultry voice asked. The familiar husk in her words had Nesta turning around to see Amren standing behind her. She was staring up at Nesta through her long lashes, a smirk playing on her face. Nesta couldn’t help but admire her feral beauty: chin length hair, angular face, dark and smooth skin, and exquisite makeup.

“Hi, Amren,” Nesta said blandly. “I didn’t know you attended Pryth U.”

“I don’t,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t last one week in college. This is the best coffee around, and I don’t mind driving twenty minutes out of my way.”

Another coffee snob. Interesting.

“I’m impressed that you even remember my name. I thought you always zoned out during the dinners.”

Nesta huffed out a laugh, and a hint of surprise flashed on Amren’s face. It was gone a second later.

“It’s tempting whenever Rhysand opens his mouth, trust me,” Nesta replied dryly. “But I have my ways.”

Amren’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

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

That evening, Nesta strolled back to her apartment with a steaming cup of coffee and Amren’s phone number.

It was quiet when she unlocked the door, but the living room light was on. As Nesta dropped her heaving backpack and padded to the kitchen, she noticed Elain sprawled out on the couch, her nose buried in her phone.

“Did you eat already?” Nesta called out as she rummaged through the cabinets. She dug through a shelf for pasta, which was buried under Elain’s many baking ingredients.

When Elain didn’t answer after a couple seconds, Nesta poked her head into the living room. She was still scrolling through her phone, the faintest smile on her rosy face.

“Hello? Earth to Elain?”

Silence. Nesta groaned in frustration. Rounding the overstuffed sofa, she assaulted Elain’s feet with her hands.

Elain’s entire body jerked as Nesta tickled her, pained laughs escaping her mouth. Elain was easily the most ticklish person Nesta had ever met. It made it easy to get information out of her.

“Stop!” Elain gasped breathlessly, laughing all the same. “Please!”

Nesta ceded and raised her hands up in surrender. Elain scrambled off the couch and narrowed her eyes.

"What the hell, Nesta?”

“I was calling your name for a good five minutes,” Nesta crossed her arms. She nodded her head at Elain’s phone. “Anything interesting?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Nesta gasped.

“Is it a guy?” Her voice was threatening. Nesta had always been protective over Elain.

“A guy? No! That’s… that’s just ludicrous. Why would a guy… I mean -"

Nesta let her sister stumble over her words with amusement. She raised a brow. “Show me what you were looking at then.”

“That’s none of your business!”

Nesta gave her no warning as she leaped at Elain.

Elain squealed in surprise, trying her best to deflect Nesta's tickling. They wrestled on the couch, Elain trying desperately to get her phone out of Nesta's reach. But Nesta was taller and stronger.

“Gerroffme -"

“Just gimme -"

“Argh!”

"Ha!" Nesta stood up and held Elain’s phone in her hand triumphantly. Elain was glaring at her from the couch, her hair sticking every which way.

Nesta looked down at the screen to see the Instagram app open. Then, she read the name of the account.

“You’re stalking Azriel?”

“No! I was just following him.”

All Nesta had to do was give her a stern look.

“Okay, fine," Elain threw her hands up. "I think he’s cute. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Nesta glowered, “I’m not happy. He’s basically Rhysand’s brother. I'm not letting another one of those boys seduce my sister.”

“Seduce?!" Elain choked. She shook her head. "They’re best friends! And what does it matter anyway?”

Nesta shot her a leveled stare. “Rhysand’s an asshole.”

“He’s just protective over Feyre,” Elain explained incredulously. “Like you are of me.”

Nesta considered that for a moment. “Touché. But if Azriel hurts you -"

“Nesta!” Elain exclaimed, an exasperated laugh leaving her lips. “We’ve barely talked. I just think he’s handsome.”

“Does Feyre know?”

That got Elain's attention.

“You can’t tell Feyre.” Elain broke out her puppy face: wide eyes, pouty lips, knitted brows. No one in history had been able to resist her puppy face. Including Nesta.

She huffed out a laugh. “I may be a bitch, but I’m not that cruel.”

Elain threw herself at her sister and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you!"

After promising Elain she wouldn't tell Feyre about her crush for the tenth time, Nesta retreated to her room. She was just about to pull out her notes when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

I’m supposed to go on a date with this guy tonight, but I just met a hotter guy on my way home. Will you judge me if I ditch the first one?

Nesta looked at the phone number.

Amren.

She could help but let out a small laugh.                              

When in doubt, pick both.

Both?                                                                                        

Both.

Damn, Nesta, I didn’t realize how savage you are.

A couple moments later, another text came in.

Both is good.

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

tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged):

@sjmships @sleeping-and-books @sirgwaines @books-for-sure @blowing-mikey @b00kworm @wineywitch202 @drielecarla @liquifyme @gisellefigue08 @iammissstark @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @loysydark @superspiritfestival @stardelia​ @sayosdreams​ @maastrash​ 

#nessian #bittersweet #my writing #masterlist #nesta archeron #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Amusement Park

Part 11 of the Guardian fanfic (and we’re almost to the end)! If you would like to read this in chronological order and don’t feel like tag surfing, this is also available on AO3.

Not everything my humans do ends in tragedy. Occasionally, they have something resembling fun.

Digging in the Archives led them to one of those traveling amusement parks that sometimes took over parking lots for a week. I'd seen it at a distance but frankly, the screaming and the smell of cotton candy hadn’t instilled much confidence.

You'll hate it, the house informed me. It had given me a pendant through which it talked, sometimes. I was still getting used to the mansion’s constant presence.

For once, the entity was uncharacteristically wrong. I didn't totally hate the amusement park.  The place was loud and there were far too many people, plus it all smelled vaguely of vomit. But my humans had a good time, and that somehow made up for the rest of it.

Arada and Overse held hands and bought themselves giant hot dogs. Baradwahj kept stopping to doodle in her sketchbook. Even Gurathin, who as far as I knew didn't like anything that entailed having fun, was having a good time as he argued air resistance and thermodynamics with Volsecu.

I was walking alongside Dr. Mensah, on two legs at that.

"Have you ever been on a Ferris wheel?" she asked.

I shook my head. If wolves had been intended to leave the ground, we'd have wings. And seeing as how we didn't, I didn't want to chance it. It must've shown on my face because Mensah laughed and touched my shoulder.

"You look like I suggested an execution."

"Yeah, maybe."

"It's perfectly safe."

"It doesn't look safe." How was I supposed to protect my clients if they were going to get on something that rickety?

The house offered unhelpful information, starting with when Ferris wheels were invented and the statistics of accidents and injuries.

Mensah shook her head, clearly amused at the whole thing, and stopped in front of a food vendor. Money exchanged hands, and suddenly she had this puffy ball of sugar on a stick. It was a hideous shade of pink.

"Want to try a bite?" she asked.

"Hell no!"

She snorted. "You could use more meat on your bones, you know."

"That... thing isn't food."

The rest of the group was up ahead, stopped in front of a small building that read "Fun House of Mirrors." These words didn't look right together, but fuck it, I don't understand humans and I couldn't care less what they considered fun.

"Over here!" Arada yelled, waving her hands.

Mensah waved back and started walking again. Normally, I do at most a half-assed version of my job. A decade in, I've come to the conclusion that humans are somehow drawn to danger, and frankly, stopping them is a waste of breath. But these humans... I didn't want anything to happen to them, so I'd been paying attention.

So, when a clown walked between me and them, I growled at the weirdly-dressed human. Except, it didn't smell human at all. It smelled... like me, like another were-creature. I didn't see a collar, so it wasn't a guardian. Just a free were-creature, one that hadn’t been caught by the department.

We’re supposed to report unregistered users of dark magic to the department. But, my binding almost never picked up when such a creature was around—it certainly wasn’t reacting now—and I had no plans of telling the department a damn thing.

The clown planted itself in front of me. "Oh wow," it—correction, she—said, suddenly excited. "Oh my god, you're like the only other shapeshifter I've met. Shit! This is awesome. Oh, god, can I...uh, take a picture?"

The team noticed my absence and came over, and then, there was nowhere to run. I stood around awkwardly while they chatted with the other were-creature, whose name was Tasha and who turned into a bear but had started as a human. And then they exchanged phone numbers. And I was just standing there, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt.

"You OK?" Tasha wanted to know all of a sudden.

"Fine."

"You look about a mile down the road from fine," she pointed out. "I can practically see you trying to crawl out of your skin."

"So?"

"So, you need to relax a little," she told me, oblivious.

Mensah carefully explained that I was currently working. Tasha patted my shoulder, and I almost jumped backward. It took effort to stay still and not bite the were-bear's hand off.

"Stop that," I growled.

Tasha handed me a balloon, one of the many she was holding and giving out to kids. I just stood there, string in hand, and tried to puzzle out what the fuck I was supposed to do with it. You can't really kill anyone with a balloon, and you can't eat it.

Ratthi said, "It's very purple."

I looked up at the floating ball. "What do you do with it?"

"Hold it for a while and then let it go and watch it fly away."

"What for?"

Humans often engage in rituals that bring them joy. It doesn’t always have meaning, the entity told me like I didn’t know. I wished I could glare but there was no one to glare at.

"Fun." Tasha was in my face. "The whole purpose of this place is to have some fun. It makes living a little easier, a little lighter."

I looked at Dr. Mensah like I needed rescuing all of a sudden.

"Come on," she said quietly. "Let's go see if we can find you something that's actual food." She smiled at the were-bear. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Tasha. Feel free to reach out to us anytime."

After lunch, we entered the funhouse.

I know humans are supposed to be delighted in things that bend the mind, but the house of mirrors gave me the creeps. I felt sufficiently unnerved to switch back into my wolf form. On the off chance that we got attacked three steps past the front door, I was ready.

I walked ahead of the rest of the investigative team, using my superior senses to seek out our target. But, frankly, I doubted the sanity of any creature that would make its home in this horrible place.

I stopped in front of a set of mirrors that distorted human proportions. Standing on four feet and only half as tall as the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I could still mostly identify what I was looking at. Trust humans to enjoy something as convoluted and mind-bending as this place.

And then a shadow walked straight out of the mirror and past me toward the investigators. It was a silhouette of a person, outlined in gray and green sparks of light. It sang as it moved, each word visible in the fog-shrouded room.

The words were literally spilling out of its mouth like confetti and falling on the ground.

I decided that this monster had bigger problems than a group of curious investigators to deal with.

"Indeed," said the strange spirit and the word plopped on the ground like a meatball. "This is what you might call a curse."

I yipped at it softly. "What kind of curse?"

It, of course, had no idea what I was saying. The mansion helped translate, somehow able to communicate with the creature just because of the pendant's proximity to the monster.

"The kind born of ill intentions," the spirit answered just as the humans caught up.

I placed myself squarely between them and the spirit, moving so that, if it tried anything, it would have to go through me.

Mensah put a hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, as a heads-up that she was standing beside me. I shivered at the unsolicited touch. Baradwahj was taking notes, and in the brief silence I could easily make out the sound of her pencil scraping against paper.

"I wondered why so many beings of light were suddenly in my domain," the creature said, and the words floated away, carried by an unseen breeze. "But now, I understand. The humans beyond these walls never cease to surprise me."

Overse, whose magic also had a connection to words and writing, stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"A difficult question, human." The cursed being rose above the floor on bare feet and twirled before us. "Once, perhaps I was human. But then I was cursed, for speaking the words that needed to be said. And the curse is renewed with each passing moon. For fifty years now, unceasing and unfailing."

"Can you tell us who cursed you?"

"I never knew her name. But she was... beautiful. Like the light of a new moon falling on a still, silent lake."

I heard whispers among the group. Finally, Overse said, "If we could find the one who cursed you, perhaps we could convince her to lift it."

"Perhaps."

The spirit flittered past me and between the humans. It passed through them untouched and didn't appear to cause them any harm. Sparks of green light landed in her wake.

I knew the humans wouldn't leave this alone, so I shapeshifted and became human. The spirit turned to face me now that there were eight people between us, haphazardly arranged and staring.

"So you're more than a wolf."

"And you're more than a prisoner," I countered.

"A curse is a curse." The creature shrugged.

"Not every curse is the same. Why the mirrors?"

"So that I might remember the importance of the human shape, the wonder of what it means to be born a human being." She spit the words out.

I had a sudden, inexplicable moment of clarity. "The head of the department did this, didn't she?"

"You're a smart one, little wolf."

No, not smart. Just good at remembering terrible things at inappropriate times. Mensah did this complicated thing where she got a little closer but didn't touch, like just existing would somehow prop me up. I don't know why. It's not like I cared what happened to this spirit or the uptight asshole of a human who chaired the department.

Overse and Arada grasped hands. Ratthi looked so very, utterly sad.

Mensah made a decision. I like how she thinks hard about her choices but once she's chosen, it's full steam ahead. I hate humans who waffle about things.

"We're leaving," she told the team. "There's nothing more we can do here. The Archives got it wrong this time. Guardian, we have some things we need to do tomorrow. So you have the day off."

#murderbot #fanfiction #werewolves #guardian #ao3 #words

[sidhelives]

2020 Fics in Review

No one tagged me, so I'm tagging myself. Tagging @hezjena2023 as well.

I wrote a bit this year. While I technically started writing in October of 2019 all of WolfHunt was rewritten and reposted in 2020. Which means everything I have written on AO3 was written in 2020. For this I'll only be using works posted on AO3 not things written which have not been posted.

Sounds good?

Good.

Overall Stats

Total Words Written: 194,992

Total fics completed: 32

Average words per month: 16,249

Average words per fic: 6,093

Ongoing Fics/Series:

WolfHunt - Dragon Age; 14 chapters/59,425 words

Pathfinder Chronicles - Mass Effect Andromeda

Relocation - 1,401 words

The Scars - 1,995 words

Ill Fortune or (The Unfortunate Birth, and Subsequent Lamentable Life of Hypetia Amell) - Dragon Age; 5 chapters/11,399 words

Ill Fortune - Supplementary Works - Dragon Age; 3 chapters/1,813 words

Listen Closely - Skyrim; 4 chapters/9,459 words

Harlequin Eyes - Dragon Age; NSFW; 5 works/12,280 words

A Chance Encounter - Kinktober; 1,715 words

A Test - Kinktober; 1,175 words

This is How it Starts - 2,830 words

The Inquisitor's Intentions - 2 chapters/4,366 words

It Seems the Game has Changed - Fluffcember; 2,538 words

Completed Fics/Series

Dance Lesson - Dragon Age; 268 words

Reunion - Mass Effect; 3,564 words

Momentary Distractions - Dragon Age; 1,458 words

A Cool Harvestmere Morning - Dragon Age; 1,180 words

Anders in Over his Head - Dragon Age; NSFW

Fraternization - 5,642 words

Party of Three - 5,153 words

Four's a Crowd - 3 chapters/7,734 words

What's in the box, Shepard? - Mass Effect; 1,987 words

Pride and Humility - Collected Solavellan Shorts - Dragon Age; 25 chapters/27,256 words

Solavellan Tarot Challenge - Dragon Age; 22 chapters/22,296 words

A Dark Ritual - Dragon Age; NSFW; Kinktober; 4,472 words

A Late Night Visit - Dragon Age; NSFW; Kinktober; 1,095 words

A Clever Ruse - Dragon Age; NSFW; Kinktober; 1,715 words

You're Going to Love It - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 1,166 words

Take My Hands - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 1,164 words

Of Course I Remembered - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 2,019 words

Don't Look at Them. Look at Me. - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 1,983 words

Well Worth the Travel, and the Snow - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 1,558 words

This is el Aperitivo - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 883 words

Leather and Lace - Dragon Age; Gift for Jukkari; 2,036 words

Oh Good, You're Here - Dragon Age; Fluffcember; 2,591 words

New things I tried this year:

Everything really. Prior to 2020 I had only written WolfHunt so new things included:

Lavellan/Blackwall

Amell/Zevran

Anders/So many damn people

Solvelyan

Femslash (just a little at the end)

Smut

I hadn't written anything explicit in 10+ years and back in the day I focused primarily on M/M. I jumped in with both feet though and people seem to like the stuff I write so huzzah.

Fic I spent the most time on:

Long Fic:

WolfHunt for sure. Almost 60,000 words is a lot of time and I kind of go cross-eyed when I think about how much is left in the story I want to tell.

Honorable mention goes to Ill Fortune, not because of how much time I spent writing but because of the time I spent plotting out the timeline. I know where Pet, Aria, and Des are basically through their entire lives.

Short Fic:

Four's a Crowd for sure. Writing two people having sex is an arduous process for me, but four?! There are so many bodies to deal with. It became super overwhelming and I could only work in it in short bursts.

Fic I spent the least time on:

Long Fic:

Pathfinder Chronicles. I got super inspired and then it just dropped away. I'd love to write more Sara! I have a lot of fun with my slowly self redeeming fuck-up, I just need to figure out how to format it and keep motivation up.

Short Fic:

Weighting length with time (so I don't just automatically say the shortest one) I'd go with A Clever Ruse. It was goofy and comical and disconnected from anything that mattered and it just moved very quickly, even accounting for the smut part slowing me down as they do.

Favorite thing I wrote this year:

Long Fic:

Listen Closely for sure. I'd never even considering writing outside my BioWare bubble when the idea occurred to me and I fell in love with the idea. Also it's incredibly fun writing crazy people.

Short Fic:

It might be cheating but Anders in Over his Head. The series reminded me how much I love Anders, and I really do, I also love writing him. Tortured male POV is kind of my jam and Anders fits there so we'll while also being a snarky ass which makes for good banter (my favorite thing to write).

Favorite thing I read this year:

Ashamedly, I don't read much. I want to get better about it in 2021 but for now I'll just list my favorite things I did read (all on AO3:

Flemeth's New Look by attack_on_feels

How Loud Your Heart Gets by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard

Like Veilfire by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard

That Girl Is Like A Sunburn by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard

Eyes Wide Shut by queenofkadara

Fall Into The Tide by queenofkadara

I just realized those are like all porn. Oops.

I also started reading The Keening Blade by Arsinoe de Blassenville which is on fanfiction.net. It's very long so I haven't finished it but I am really enjoying.

Things I want to work on in 2021:

Finishing WolfHunt is a top priority. I don't feel like I can fully commit to another long form DA fic (like the world I'm building out in Ill Fortune and Harlequin Eyes) until I get that one done.

Expanding more into other fandoms. Mass Effect primarily but also exploring other fandoms that I have a lot of love for. Dragon Age is my wheel house: I know it well and I'm comfortable with it, so I'll never leave it behind but the fun I've had with Listen Closely has made me consider branching out.

MORE FEMSLASH. I love ladies and I love ladies loving ladies but I've barely touched f/f relationships. I am planning a Femslash February event so that will open the door.

I have a whole to do list to get to as well 😅

In Conclusion

I can't believe how much I accomplished in 2020. It feels like I've been writing for years, not just the one. I've found a community in fic writing that I never dreamed of, friends and support I never thought I would have. Most of all it makes me so happy. Writing is one of the few things I do for myself, my personal life very much revolves around other people, and knowing that other people find joy in the things I create is the best feeling in the world. So if you read my stuff, if you comment or give kudos:

Thank you.

Ma bal'venhan serannas.

#fanfiction #2020wrapup #2020 wrap up #boy that's a lot of words

[whumpernickel]

witcher fic number two! also on ao3

still not super confident in my writing, but im a lot happier with this one than with the first.

so here, have some jaskier with the flu and geralt trying not to confront his own emotions.

It had been four hours since Jaskier had last spoken - or at least since he’d said anything more than “shit” for tripping over his own feet - and Geralt was beginning to worry.

Not worry. Geralt didn’t worry, and especially not about Jaskier who was a grown man and whose prolonged, uninterrupted silences were no one’s business but his own. But this was the first nice day after a miserable stretch of cold, dreary, drizzly ones, and Jaskier, hopeless romantic though he was, hadn’t said or sung a word about the frolicking birds or the dancing sunlight or whatever his personification of the hour was.

And Geralt was on edge – that's what he was. Anything out of the ordinary had him like this, because, more often than not, out-of-the-ordinary meant imminent peril. Silence was horribly out of the ordinary for his usually animated, usually singing, usually noisy shadow. The last full sentence he’d heard Jaskier say was, “She’s still mad at you for making us travel in the rain all day yesterday, and, frankly, I don’t blame her,” which Geralt had all but guffawed at him for, for presuming he knew Geralt’s mare better than he did.

So, when Roach headbutted Geralt once again, catching him off-guard and nearly tumbling him headlong into the rain-sodden road, Geralt eyed Jaskier expectantly, bracing for insufferable levels of I-told-you-so smugness and deepening his frown when none was forthcoming. He was surprised to find the tiniest itch of disappointment at this lack of banter, but more prevalent than that was his mounting concern. Something was obviously wrong, and there was a reason that Jaskier wasn’t telling him.

Jaskier flinched as if startled when he caught the sour look directed at him. He scowled to match it, clearly clueless as to why they were scowling at each other, but lending admirable commitment to the act, nonetheless.

"What?" he croaked.

"...You're quiet."

Somehow worse than a smug Jaskier was this halfheartedly-smug one that emerged as he responded:

"You sound disappointed-"

"I'm not."

Geralt cringed inwardly at how quickly the denial came out, but Jaskier barely glanced up at his response. He seemed more than content to take Geralt at his word, for once.

"Wonderful," he said, too cheerful, "then neither of us will mind if it remains that way."

It was an enthusiastic invitation to leave it the fuck alone, but Geralt was nothing if not contrary. He found his attention drawn to Jaskier and his unsettling Jaskier-less-ness even more, now that he knew Jaskier was avoiding it. Every little thing stole his focus: a stumble, there, when Jaskier normally would have been sure-footed on even ground; a shiver, here, when the midday sun ought to have been enough to banish any lingering morning chill.

For the thirtieth time in half-as-many minutes, Geralt's eyes darted back to his quiet travel-companion, and apparently this was just one glance too many.

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh and stopped in his tracks. He didn't say anything, but there was a clear and demanding What? in the hands-on-hips posture and dead-eyed annoyance he aimed at Geralt.

Geralt stopped, too. He frowned at Jaskier critically – appraisingly – and watched as Jaskier's attitude from moments before shrunk back within him, the bard’s arms folding over his chest in an attempt to maintain his image of stubborn petulance while also making himself a lesser target. It wasn't working.

Geralt hadn't been entirely oblivious to Jaskier's condition - he could never completely drown out his constant presence, however hard he tried - and so he'd been noticing (and disregarding) little things all throughout the day: the tired bowing of Jaskier's back and shoulders when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, the uncharacteristic irritability in his normally-playful jabs, the purposeful shallow breathing in an attempt to avoid coughs that occasionally slipped past anyway, the way the pallor to his skin had worsened whenever the trail steepened or whenever their unusually-minimalist conversation had shifted to food, the stagnant scent of cold-sweat and stress underlying Jaskier's usual familiar one whenever he stepped into Geralt's personal space and the slightly elevated heat radiating off of him along with it, the shudders intermittently jolting his shoulders in spite of the warmth of the day, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes that Geralt was sure hadn’t been so stark just a day ago.

He'd dismissed all of this in favor of basking in rare, blissful silence. But the details had continued compiling in some recess of his mind, building up into a great, nagging, restless-leg kind of feeling that he could no longer ignore.

"Are you ill?" Geralt finally asked.

"Pardon?"

Geralt waited sternly for his answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, then hiked his lute higher onto his shoulder and resumed their trek.

"I'm not ill," he said, the harsh crack in his voice on the word "ill" belying his stalwart conviction. "And since when would it matter?"

"It matters when we run into the beast, and I have to waste precious time and concentration saving your useless arse because you're delirious from fever."

It came out a little harsher than Geralt intended – well, no, it came out exactly as harsh as Geralt had intended, but much harsher than he wanted, and he found himself frustrated not for the first time at how often his intentions and desires so poorly aligned. Jaskier kept his attention forward, but Geralt still saw a strange look overtake his companion’s face for a brief moment, equal parts stung and calculating, before falling comfortably back on annoyance.

"Good thing I'm not feverish, then.”

"You're warm," Geralt prodded.

"It's a warm day."

"You're shivering."

"You're scary."

"You're not afraid of me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

And he did. From the moment the bard’s eyes had lit up with a giddy, “Oh, fun,” after first realizing Geralt was the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, it had been clear that Geralt didn’t scare him in the slightest. It was one of the many things about Jaskier that frustrated and confused him.

Also among these things were his seemingly boundless social energy, his unflappable confidence (no matter what gaudy outfit he wore or what godsawful thing he said), and his insistence on denying that he was sick when he very clearly wasn't well.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt," Jaskier grunted in a mockery of the witcher’s tone – a surprisingly decent one, to be true, but that was mostly owing to his illness-roughened throat.

"We're stopping here."

"Hm, then I guess we're not saving and-or slaying our beast tonight, yeah? You said we couldn't make any extra stops if we wanted to make it there before nightfall."

Geralt stifled a huff of frustration.

It was true. This particular curse reversal required that they find the animal at dusk, so they were pressed for time. Geralt had said so, earlier, when Jaskier was complaining he wanted to rest because he was tired. Geralt hadn't realized, however, that "tired" was apparently the new slang for "ill and grievously stupid,” and he'd been actively trying to ignore Jaskier for... well, for as long as he'd known the bard, really, so it had taken him longer than it should have to start taking the warning signs seriously.

He felt guilty for that, now.

"We can spare ten minutes," Geralt grumbled, leaving little room for objection as he followed Roach to a decent patch of shade off the path.

Jaskier shrugged and trailed behind them. "Well, I usually require a full eight hours’ beauty sleep, but... okay."

He sat himself and his lute down gingerly against a tree, while Geralt browsed Roach's packs for whatever he could scavenge in the way of a human-grade fever-reducer and similar herbs, and Roach snuffled at the ground and ignored the both of them. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a taut line. It was a worrisome thing to see the usually-so-expressive human with such an actively restrained look on his face.

Geralt considered this and added another small phial to his handful before walking over. He knelt in front of Jaskier.

"Jask."

Jaskier cracked an eye open. "Yesk?" he responded, then snorted tiredly at his own half-assed attempt at humor.

Geralt didn't laugh. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier's forehead, briefly noting the way Jaskier recoiled, first with surprise and then with a shiver, before becoming wholly preoccupied by the intense heat beneath Jaskier’s skin.

"Your hands are freezing, Geralt!” Jaskier complained. He shuddered and hugged himself, looking three shades more miserable than before. “Gods, I’m starting to wonder if that sylvan had a damned point about your dad being a snowman..."

"You have a fever."

"Hm," was all Jaskier had to say to that. The irony of this was not lost on either of them, nor was the annoyance it elicited from one witcher, who maybe understood a little bit, now, why others found his noncommittal grunts so damned frustrating.

"And a cough."

Jaskier at least had the decency to look guilty for hiding it. The slight edge of accusation to Geralt's voice may have helped, too.

"Pain?" Geralt continued his verbal checklist of Jaskier's symptoms.

"Just a bit of a headache," he half-admitted.

Geralt hummed. He placed a waterskin and a small pouch into Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose when he uncinched the pouch and realized it was food: dried berries and a little leftover bread from their last inn-stay. He started to push it away.

“I’m good, thanks-”

“Eat,” Geralt commanded, “You haven’t eaten. You need to eat something.”

Nausea colored Jaskier’s face a papery grey just at the idea, and the silent plea in his eyes was just pathetic enough that Geralt almost caved and took the bag away from him. But thirst and hunger were an added stress that the bard’s body didn’t need right now.

"Try," Geralt urged more gently.

Jaskier grimaced, but he tore off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly and reluctantly.

“Happy?” he spoke around the meager bite.

Geralt smiled encouragingly. This must have been the right response, as Jaskier seemed to yield to the approval, and his next bite was much less hesitant. Geralt made sure he’d drunk some water, as well, before standing to set about gathering what usable wood he could find in the immediate vicinity – not much, but he only needed enough to boil a cup of water.

It was quiet once again as Geralt worked, heating water and steeping herbs, but it was a little more comfortable and a little less foreboding this time around. Perhaps because Jaskier’s silence had a clear explanation, now, no longer the faceless monster lurking in the shadows that it had been before. He didn’t speak up again until Geralt walked back over, cup in hand.

“Oh, did you make me tea?” he quipped. “How domestic.”

“It’s an infusion.”

Jaskier traded Geralt the pouch and waterskin for the cup and stared into its steaming contents. “It looks like tea.”

Geralt gave a snort of impatience to put Roach to shame. “Drink it,” he said, before turning back around to clean up.

Behind him, Jaskier made an exaggerated gagging noise at the bitter herbs. "That is just... vile– Geralt what the devil have you given me? Are you trying to put me out of my misery? I mean, I appreciate the gesture..."

Geralt huffed out a sound that may have been amusement or may have been exasperation – even he wasn't sure.

"It's mostly catnip. Some ribleaf and melissa and a small amount of beggartick,” he answered truthfully, though he knew the plant names meant fuckall to the man.

"It's disgusting, is what it is..."

"Just drink it."

Jaskier all but pouted as he did what he was told, pulling an inordinate look of disgust for just how small of a sip he took.

Geralt sighed and mentally cursed himself for having become so soft as he went rummaging through his bags once again.

“You owe Roach,” he said, dropping a small cube of sugar into Jaskier’s cup.

Jaskier stared dumbly at the ripples in his cup while the words caught up to him. He blinked.

“Hey, I gifted those to her so she’d stop trying to chew my sleeves- I owe nothing,” he argued, but there was a warmth that had crept into his expression at the gesture, and it softened any bite his words might (but most likely wouldn’t) have had. Geralt had to pretend like he didn’t notice it for both of their sakes. Or so he told himself.

There really couldn’t have been much the small amount of sugar did for the bitter drink, but Jaskier seemed to have decided it fixed the problem just fine, and he drank the rest quickly without further complaint. By the time he was finished, Geralt had everything stowed away in Roach's saddlebags. Ten minutes had already turned into twenty, and Geralt was itching to get back on schedule.

He looked between his mare and his bard. Both seemed to have sensed Geralt’s antsiness, Roach scuffing at the dirt impatiently and Jaskier already halfway to his feet.

Part of Geralt told himself that he was only about to let Jaskier ride Roach so the ill man wouldn’t have the chance to slow them down any more than he already had, but another part of him was panicked when he saw Jaskier’s eyes widen and lose focus, and he rushed forward to grab the man as he tilted dangerously forward.

“Jaskier.”

“‘M alright,” Jaskier said, though he was clinging to Geralt’s forearms like he wasn’t so sure. “Jus’… Just stood up too fast. Just need a second...”

It was a strange contrast, the harsh heat that poured off of Jaskier and overwhelmed the space between them compared to the weak, clammy chill of his fingers on Geralt’s arms. Geralt silently willed the herbs to take effect and watched Jaskier’s eyes shift as they began registering his surroundings once again. He waited until his companion was able to support his own weight before moving, but he continued to hold onto Jaskier, anyway, as he steered him over to Roach’s flank. 

“Up.”

Jaskier frowned at him, and Geralt sighed.

“Do you doubt my horse, bard?”

“Never! Not Roach. I doubt you, no offense.”

The witcher huffed.

...Maybe just a little taken.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“Look, you were already wrong about her once today, need I remind,” Jaskier protested, even as he complied and climbed up into the saddle with Geralt’s help. “I just don’t want her mad at me next because of you.”

There it finally was, the I-told-you-so Geralt had expected from earlier. As much of a relief that it was to have that little bit of normalcy back, he still felt no small amount of irritation at being reminded that he’d managed to piss off his mare and also be wrong about it. He opened his mouth, a retort stinging at the tip of his tongue, but then he caught the softly murmured, “Thanks, old gal,” as Jaskier patted Roach’s neck, and Geralt wasn’t quite sure where that irritation fucked off to all of the sudden.

The remainder of their journey was a quiet affair. Neither of them spoke much, and Jaskier was still stifling his coughs, not for Geralt’s sake but for Roach’s, this time, as he spent most of the ride resting against her neck, drifting in and out of sleep.

It gave Geralt little room to ignore the question that had begun to itch at his temples. They were finally nearing civilization again, muddy-ash buildings cropping up gradually over the hill, and Jaskier was stirring awake from another fitful few minutes of rest, so Geralt decided to ask it.

"Why did you deny it?"

Jaskier turned his head to blink at Geralt, hair plastered against one side of his face.

"What?"

"You knew you were sick – Why lie?"

Jaskier sighed. He sat up in a wilted imitation of alertness.

"I dunno Geralt," he deadpanned, clearly knowing. "Supposing I had told you that I might be sick – Would you have let me come along, or would I still be in Dregsdon right now, while you get to have all the fun breaking curses and saving the fine folk of the kingdom and disappearing for weeks-stroke-months-stroke-years at a time?"

Jaskier’s voice sounded worse, now, despite the medicines, and there was a trembling weakness to his posture at the effort of just keeping himself upright. No, Geralt most definitely would not have let him come along.

"Hm."

“Right, that's what I thought."

The bard faced forward with an air of self-satisfaction. Under any other circumstances, it was an expression that would have grated on Geralt’s nerves like metal on stone, but the present context made it one of the most effective guilt-trips he’d ever been dragged along, and Geralt found himself floundering for something - an excuse, an explanation, a deflection.

What he came up with was:

"I would have come back.”

There was about a collective half-ounce of confidence behind these words, and they both knew it.

Jaskier rolled his eyes mightily.

“Oh, would you have?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, glanced away, shifted stiffly in his armor, readjusted his grip on Roach’s reins.

"...Most likely," he appended.

Jaskier’s laugh was a short and less-than-amused thing, and it caught on a coughing fit halfway out that made him see spots. He waved Geralt’s hand away when Geralt reached out to steady him, and continued to talk through the tail-end of the fit.

"Look,” he rasped, “not to go and play long-suffering wife to your sea-beguiled sailor, but there really is never knowing when you're going to leave or come back. It’s aggravating."

Geralt could read enough subtext to guess that “aggravating” really meant “disappointing and lonely,” and he couldn’t help but agree. He must have been looking as guilty as he felt, because Jaskier seemed to take pity on him, his expression lightening to something a little more reminiscent of his usual playfulness. Geralt found himself scowling preemptively at the bard’s smirk.

"The children are beginning to ask questions, Geralt."

Geralt glared.

"Think of the childr-"

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but not without a snicker.

They were lucky enough that there was a hamlet not far from where the possessed waterfowl was alleged to be stalking. Daylight was near-gone by the time they made it there; Geralt would have to move fast, but he reckoned he should be able to get everything settled here and still make it in time to apprehend the beast. The inn he’d found was hardly an inn - really just some person’s home with a sign tacked onto the door declaring it to be one, but Jaskier’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope, anyway, when Geralt woke him outside of a building instead of halfway back into the wilderness as he’d been expecting.

“So, do we get Roach put up and head out now, or are we waiting ‘til tomorrow evening?” he asked as he climbed down from the mare in question. His body-language screamed, Dear gods, please say ‘tomorrow.’

Geralt shook his head.

“You’re not coming with me. You’re staying behind to sleep this off.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off before he could get started.

“Keep an eye on Roach while I’m gone.”

It was as close as Geralt was about to get to saying, “I promise I won’t disappear this time,” and it was by no means a guarantee that the same could be said for any future excursions, but Jaskier seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but she and I are gonna talk about you while you’re gone.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have lost your voice by the time I get back.”

#the witcher #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt #whump #hurt/comfort #flu #or something; i mean hellifino i just needed a sick bard #fever #wrudy writes #im committing to the tag ok

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Bedside Stories ch.4 (baon)

Summary: Stretch is on a quest and just because it’s on a bus and not a steed, doesn’t mean it’s not noble.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury,

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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CH1 | CH2 | CH3

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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When Stretch jerked awake his first panicked thought was that he’d missed his stop. But no, the Embassy dropoff was coming up next, looming up through the bus windshield. Guess he had some latent directional sense buried in one of the dusty corners of his psyche.

Not like he’d meant to fall asleep, but Edge’s insomnia seemed to be contagious. He’d started out the ride browsing on twitter, trying to think of something noncommittal to say that also wasn’t too lighthearted, given what was blaring about Monsters lately on Fox news.

He'd been strictly forbidden from discussing anything surrounding the bombings with his followers and normally restrictions like that made him bristle, his nonexistent nerves going full porcupine. In this instance, he’d only meekly agreed, but that didn’t keep his followers from doing their math. No Humans actually knew how few skeleton Monsters there were, but then, most Monster species were a little on the sparse side. Some clever bloggers had linked pictures of Edge’s boots from Stretch’s twitter to the shots the press released of the bombing aftermath. Stretch hadn’t looked at those pictures too closely, but he’d seen the zoomed in shots with the boots circled with Microsoft paint.

Without him saying a word, it was suddenly an ill-kept secret that his husband was hurt and the messages were pouring in, asking for confirmation, offering condolences, donations, even sending prayers which was weird, but sorta kind. Sorta.

Twitter was less a distraction and more an unwanted obligation this week, and he’d finally put his phone away. He wasn’t the only Monster on board, not on a bus route that went past the Embassy. At this time of day, there weren’t many others. They’d offered smiles and murmured greetings, then pretty much left him alone.

That was fine by him. But with no one to chat to, he must’ve drifted off and it was nice to see he’d managed to scrape together enough good luck not to end up all the way downtown. Hopefully, he had enough leftover to take him to the end of this mission.

He was still a little bleary as he got off the bus. The sight of the protesters lining the sidewalk, all bundled up and sitting in their lawn chairs with their signs woke him up pretty damn quick. Eh, shit, he’d promised Edge he’d teleport right into the lobby, but he hadn’t called ahead and popping in when they were under high alert seemed like a poor life choice. Instead, he shortcutted to the front door, hey, he was following the spirit of the promise which was to keep safe and scaring the shit out of the security guard wasn’t it.

The guard on duty didn’t much look like he’d be surprised if Stretch shortcutted in on his lap. Murray was a huge, hulking Monster, with curling horns and a thirst for crosswords. He barely looked up at his current one, mumbling a greeting as Stretch swiped his card to push through the turnstile. He’d done pretty much the same thing every time Stretch stopped in, including when he’d shown up in just a bed sheet. There was one Monster who wasn’t worried about current events, almost had to admire that kind of skill in blatantly ignoring a crisis.

Stretch stepped into the elevator alone and pushed the button, vaguely humming the theme song to ‘Mission Impossible’. Not that it was, but eh, life could use a soundtrack from time to time.

It was too damn bad he didn’t have time to visit Andy while he was here; he hadn’t even seen his office yet and was planning to get him something for his desk. Maybe a Newton’s cradle, that seemed traditional, but a Nerf gun was a good way to build a community. He made a mental promise to come visit Edge for lunch someday and stop in bearing gifts.

The elevator dinged and Stretch got off, heading down the hallway. He’d only been here a couple of times, but he knew right where he was going.

The slim Monster sitting at the desk looked up as he came in, his cheery smile fading into something a little more forced. Asgore’s assistant, Kevin, was probably an okay guy, but none-too-fond of Stretch’s approach where his boss was concerned and Stretch was never exactly excited to spend any time with Asgore’s biggest fan. “Can I help you?”

“yeah. is ass-gore in or is he busy glad-handing his way down the hallways.” Really, Stretch couldn’t fathom why Kevin didn’t like him.

That forced smile iced over. “I beg your pardon.”

Slowly and deliberately, Stretch said, “is. asgore. in.”

“I’m afraid he’s not taking appointments today.” If Kevin got any colder, he’d be spitting ice chips across his desk and mess up all that important paperwork.

Stretch gave him a thin smile. “look we both know i’m in your office as a courtesy, so let’s go ahead and keep it courteous, yeah? i don’t want to play dodge-ums today after i scaring the shit out of him popping in, and he could probably do without any fresh surprises.”

He was pretty sure he was about to be told in very polite and courteous language to get fucked with the intercom crackled, Asgore’s voice booming over the line.

“Let him in.”

It was probably petty to smirk smugly at Kevin as he walked past him. It definitely was to give him a little backhanded finger-waggle of a wave. But eh, it served his purpose to use up a little of his distaste before he stepped into the office where Asgore was waiting behind the desk.

He started to rise and Stretch could almost feel the cheerfully ‘Howdy’ start to vibrate in the air before he choked it back to a more sedate, “Good afternoon, Stretch, won’t you sit down?”

Asgore gestured to a large, overstuffed sofa and Stretch almost said no, less out of ingrained spitefulness and more because he was agitated, already fidgeting with his lighter as he took a seat.

He waited while Asgore did the same, settling across from him in a chair that’d probably had to be specially made. Not many Humans hit Boss Monster sizes and those that did probably wished for a shorter inseam. It was hard enough for Stretch to find pants.

Asgore laced his hands comfortably over his belly and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“i need a favor,” Stretch said bluntly, ignoring Asgore’s visible surprise. He didn’t much have the time or inclination to draw this out, “i need you to let edge come back to work.”

The surprise on Asgore’s expression only deepened, leaving him distinctly taken aback, his furry caterpillar eyebrows drawn downward. Yeah, Stretch got that; him not only asking for a favor but for THAT favor was worth some eyebrow gymnastics.

“You want him back to work,” Asgore repeated slowly.

“i don’t actually, not really, but he needs to come back.”

“Is everything all right?” Asgore asked delicately. Looking into his concerned face was making his anxiety give the mambo a try; Stretch didn’t want to discuss Edge with Asgore, not as his King, his boss, or that fatherly role that he tried so hard to step into. He looked past him instead, at the picture on the wall between two bookcases. A painting, not a very good one, but recognizably of golden flowers. They didn’t transplant well from the Underground, a lot of Monsters mourned easy access to their favorite tea and Stretch wondered if Asgore had painted it. Maybe Frisk, the kid was fond of their adopted dad and--

Asgore was nothing if not polite and didn’t say anything while Stretch woolgathered long enough for enough yarn to make to make a sweater.

Shit or get off the pot was one of Red’s favorite idioms, not one of Stretch’s faves and kinda ironic considering that none of them had asses, but sometimes it was the truth. “i know you think you’re doing him a favor but you’re not. he’s stuck at home on our sofa, he can’t go running, can’t clean, can’t even cook, and he’s being forced to watch all this shit go down from the buzzfeed angle. you can’t take away his reason for living like this.”

The chair creaked ominously as Asgore shifted his weight. “I’d like to hope his job isn’t his reason for living.”

“it’s not the job. it’s helping people. he needs to help people,” Stretch took a deep breath, he was doing a shit job explaining this and Asgore didn’t look very convinced. “look, i know depressed, okay, and he’s verging on it. you have to give him something. i know him, better than you, better than anyone. he’s been glued to the boob tube all week, writing notes, making plans. let him help a little, it’ll calm all those protective instincts down if he thinks he’s helping.”

At least Asgore seemed to consider that. He propped his head up on a hand the size of a meatloaf. Or a chicken. “He hasn’t scheduled his mental health assessment yet.”

“i know. skip it for now, he’ll get it done later.”

Asgore frowned, his face creasing with concern. “The assessment is for his own good. It’s not simply bureaucratic nonsense, it is for his well being.”

Stretch was already nodding, absently noting the click-click-click of his lighter weaving in and out through his fingers. “i get that, i do. can you trust my assessment? look, i’ll get him into the head shrinker if that’s what you want, but don’t make his job conditional on it. i’m a big proponent of mental health care and i’ve got vested reasons for making sure he’s doing okay. but he needs this.”

Asgore was obviously thinking hard, looking at nothing over his steepled fingers, but Stretch wasn’t sure which side of the teeter-totter he was gonna come down on. Being able to read people’s intent and souls was a skill Stretch still had, but he was hella out of practice and didn’t really want to train back up.

“All right,” Asgore said at last. “On three conditions.”

“three!”

He spread his large hands. “This is not a small favor.”

Stretch sighed and slumped back. He wasn’t wrong and Stretch knew from personal experience that when Asgore had you by the balls, he knew how to give ‘em a good, firm twist. It was kinda chuckilicious, really. “start talking.”

“First, I tell him it’s my idea.”

“why?” Stretch said immediately. He had an inkling, but better to not take anything for granted.

Asgore was ready for him. “Because he will appreciate my trust in him and his skills, and because he will not appreciate you interfering like this. Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t. “deal.”

“Second, you promise me that you’ll get him in for that assessment. I’ll give you until the end of the month, but if it hasn’t been done, I‘ll suspend him.”

“promise.” There was a sour taste on the back of his tongue as he waited for the last ticky box.

“And last, you shake my hand.”

“what?” That one got him sitting forward, sputtering out, “why?”

“Because you’re asking a favor,” Asgore said serenely. He laced his hands over his soft middle again. “And those are my terms.”

Stretch glared hotly at him, but Asgore was unperturbed. Probably had lots of people scarier that Stretch giving him the ol’ death glare.

Welp, it was hardly the worst thing he’d ever done.

Stretch held out his hand and Asgore leaned forward to take it.

The loud whirr of the joybuzzer made Asgore jump and jerk his hand back, but he only laughed heartily, slapping his knees as he rose. “All right, I’ll have his access restored by this evening. I trust you’ll keep him from overdoing it?”

“yeah, i got it,” Stretch stood hastily and tucked the joy buzzer back into his pocket. He resisted the urge to scrub his hand on his pants. Asgore would take it wrong and he wasn’t that much of a dick, even if that furry palm made his bones tickle something fierce. He headed for the door, relief already seeping in. “thanks.”

“Stretch?” he paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m glad you came to me.”

“don’t make this into some bonding moment, okay?” Stretch gave him a side eye. “it’s not like i had a lot of other people to ask.”

Asgore’s smile twisted wryly. “Of course. Be careful on your ride home.”

Stretch didn’t say, ‘thanks, grandma’, but it was a close thing.

Simply walking past the daggers Kevin was glaring at him was exhausting and the second he was out of the office, Stretch shortcutted down to the elevators.

In no time he was safely back on the bus, slumped down. He was ready for another nap, but there wasn’t time for that. The main story line on his adventure was was done, but he still had a side quest to finish.

He opened an app on his phone and tapped in an order, and by the time the bus trundled to a halt at the bus stop outside the Golden City, it was waiting for him with one of their drivers, bundled into a warm jacket with the goods in hand. The young man who handed in the bag filled with cartons of yumminess only grinned at him, but he took the hefty tip Stretch offered without complaint.

Stretch plopped the heavy bag on the seat next to him and slumped back again, “home, jeeves,” Stretch mumbled to nobody and he hoped if he zonked out again one of the other Monsters on the bus would be kind enough to give him a nudge.

By the time he walked through his front door again, feeling worn and jelly-wobbly , Edge was awake and dressed, with an opened book in his hands.

“hey, babe,” Stretch called, kicking off his shoes and leaving them piled on the mat. “sorry i ditched on you, but my cooking skills have been tested to their limit and it’s a little late to hire gordon ramsey for the night.”

“Yes, I saw your note.” He set the book aside and his warm smile was like an infusion, easing some of Stretch’s weariness. “What treasures did you bring us from the shores of Ebott?”

“arr, matey,” Stretch laughed. “except i didn’t get any fish. hope chinese sounds good.”

“Golden City?” Edge said slowly and something in his voice made Stretch hesitate.

Shit.

They hadn’t been back there together since the whole thing with Andy. Stretch hadn’t even thought about that in a while, he’d gone over it with his therapist and that’d been crap, but honestly, he liked to put that one into the win category. Andy was okay and had a new job, the shitbags were in jail, and public opinion ended up on their side. Plus, he wasn’t about to let any assholes ruin Chinese food for him, thanks, but Edge didn’t look like he’d gotten that memo.

Stretch’d gone back on his own a couple times for the lunch special, had he ever mentioned that to Edge? He couldn’t remember, he hadn’t been hiding it or anything, it just never came up. Until now, and the last thing he wanted to do was get Edge to relive any other shitty event highlights.

“yeah, um,” Stretch forced cheer into his voice. “i had them bring the takeout bags to the bus stop, saved myself a walk.”

Whatever Edge was thinking in that head of his, he didn’t let it out to play. He only nodded, looking back at his book as he said, “Clever. It does sound good.”

“great!” Stretch said brightly, maybe not a firework, but he could try for a sparkler. “i’ll go get some plates.” With dismal humor, he thought that if he injected in any more manic cheer, he’d start to sound like his bro. He set the bags down on the coffee table next to the pile of pillows and headed for the kitchen, since Edge had very strong opinions on eating out of cartons that he wasn’t shy about sharing.

By the time they were settled in with their plates, whatever concerns Edge had about Stretch revisiting the scene of a crime, as it were, seemed to have been banished. He ate hungrily and that alone was a relief. He’d been picking at his meals for the past day or so and Stretch didn’t think his cooking was entirely to blame. Just added data to his hypothesis that with proper application, sex was a cure for many ills. Worked for him, anyway.

Halfway through the last carton of chop suey, Edge’s phone pinged. Stretch kept his attention on his plate, slurping up noodles with an impressive amount of noise for someone who lacked lips. Out of the corner of his socket he saw Edge frowning at the message.

“Asgore is restoring my Embassy access,” Edge said slowly. “He said that with everything that’s happening, they need my assistance, and he’s asking that I work half days for the rest of the week.”

Okay, here was where he put his acting skills to the test and if he couldn’t go for an Oscar, he at least needed a Golden Globe.

Stretch worked up what he hoped was the proper amount of indignant anger and said, “seriously? you got one week off to recover from almost getting blown up and ass-gore can’t even give you that?” And before Edge could say anything, he threw his hand up, dumping his empty plate on the coffee table hard enough for his fork to clatter. “you know what? never mind. go ahead, help out, at least it’ll be for a good cause and not him using you as an extra security guard.”

“No,” Edge set his phone aside, “I’m not doing it.”

Um, what? “what?” Stretch said blankly, fuck, he was going to get a razzy with this performance, must’ve chewed the scenery too hard.

“No. I was thinking while you were gone and I’ve been acting appallingly since we got home. I’ve been sulking like a child while you’ve been trying so hard to care for me.” He touched Stretch’s cheek bone gently, his glove velvety soft as he ran his thumb across it. “Considering how things were between us when I left for California, I think I need to focus more on you than paperwork.”

Well, this was some modern-day gift of the magi shit, now wasn’t it? Last week he would have been thrilled to hear this and now that he’d made a special trip and begged for favors he was getting hoisted by his own fibbing petard.

Okay, nope, his hard work was not going to be in vain, damn it, this chapter of his life was going to end with happiness and accolades all around. Edge might be the strategy guy, but Stretch wasn’t half-bad on the fly, and his plans might be a little loose, or chaotic as Edge put it, but he could plan.

First, he gave Edge a kiss, made sure to linger, made it sweet, soft, trying to pour his love into it, until he was almost distracted himself.

Next step, bullshit.

He leaned back, cupping Edge’s face in his hands and gave him the best smile he had left on the shelf. “that’s really sweet, babe, but how about a compromise? you can spend a couple hours in the afternoon working while i take a nap. that’ll let you get all your ‘save the world’ energy out in time for dinner, yeah?”

Ooh, might have a winner here. Edge was visibly wavering, probably thinking of all the luscious paperwork he could get through in a couple of hours. Time to go for the throat, “beside, janice is probably going nuts without you. if you help out, maybe she’ll be able to get home in time to see her kiddos before bedtime.”

Direct hit, winner winner, no chicken for dinner, “That...would be helpful, yes.” Edge gave him another toe-curling, shivery kiss before he murmured, “Promise me that you don’t mind?”

Stretch twitched back, grimacing. He’d been making an awful lot of promises lately. “i promise.”

He stood up to clear away the plates and leftovers, and by the time he got back, Edge already had his laptop out and was typing away. Stretch was about to put a movie on and let him work, but before he could even steal the remote, Edge said, “My access is also conditional on my getting that assessment.”

Um, wow, okay, they were actually talking about this? Cautiously, Stretch offered, “i take it you’re not a big fan of the idea.”

He tried to say it as neutrally as he could, but Edge set his laptop on the side table and took his hand, tugging him down into his lap. Stretch settled gingerly, watching his husband’s face carefully for any hint of discomfort. There was none, and he let Edge tuck his head against his shoulder, his hand smoothing down Stretch’s back.

“Stretch, i don’t mean to imply that there is anything wrong with therapy or that it’s somehow beneath me. I’m not that much of a hypocrite and I can see that it’s been helping you,” Edge hesitated and Stretch held his breath, remembering when Edge told him it was easier to talk sometimes if Stretch wasn’t looking at him. He kept his head down, snuggling into Edge in what he hoped was an encouraging way. “My issue is that it’s difficult for me to open up to anyone and this is a colleague. I see them in the hallways, in the cafeteria. I’m struggling with the idea of answering the kind of questions they might ask me.”

“okay,” Stretch said slowly. “so see someone else?”

Edge jerked and when Stretch lifted his head, he looked so surprised that Stretch couldn’t help smiling. Trust his baby to be looking for the answer to a complex puzzle when the easiest route was staring him in the face.

“i could talk to my therapist?” Stretch offered. “see if she could recommend someone.”

“A Human.”

“yeah, probably. would that be a problem?”

“I..no,” Edge said slowly. “No, I think that would be better. Perhaps I should simply talk with your therapist, I already know her and she’s done well for you and Sans.”

That made him feel a little squirmy inside; he told things to Doctor Lee that he’d never told anyone, not his own brother, not Edge. It was only an assessment, not like a weekly commitment, but--

“can i think about it?”

“Of course.” No concern, no anger, only another gentle kiss. He slipped off Edge’s lap before they got carried away, no double-dipping on afternoon delights while anyone had a cast. Stretch settled down on the sofa, the top of his skull leaning on Edge’s femur, and flicked a movie on, the volume low and subtitles running. Edge was typing away on his laptop, but occasionally a hand would stroke over his skull, helping to lull him to sleep.

Stretch couldn’t say how long he lay there drowsing, and he murmured a faint protest when Edge eventually pulled away and stood.

“I’m only getting a drink, love and I need to work out the kinks.”

“i can help you with any kink, make a list,” Stretch mumbled.

An amused sound close to his skull and a rough kiss pressed on top of it. “We’ll try that when I’m back on two feet.”

Vaguely, he heard Edge crutch his way to the kitchen, the door swinging open then shut, listening to the faint murmur of the television. The sudden crash was almost deafening, even through the kitchen door, jolting Stretch awake. Before he could do more than look around wildly, Edge called his name, and fuck, fuck, he’d never heard Edge like that, called his name, no, no, he yelled it, screamed it. Not hurt, no, he sounded scared when had Edge ever sounded scared?

Before he shortcutted into the kitchen, his magic running hot, ready to deal with what the fuck ever dared come to their house, his last darkly amused thought was that he shouldn’t have used all his good luck that afternoon.

-tbc-

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AO3 | FF.Net Prompt: Arrow

This began as a 5 Sentence Meme for the prompt Arrow. 5 Sentences, that's it. How hard can it be? When my mind starts to go off, pretty damn hard apparently. I think I’ve mentioned I never do anything half-assed, even failing!

@grayserigala even though I botched the attempt I hope you still enjoy this madness. It was kinda fun to write. I’ve gifted it to you :)

The title was picked by my daughter and although I don't love it, it amused me because this is a rather long one shot ;)

Long Shot

Summary: Sting is scheduled to be executed in two days, and it's up to the dragon slayers and their friends to try to rescue him without getting caught themselves. Also Gray is a dumbass

Natsu Dragneel was the leader of a group of outlaws who had made their camp deep in the East Forest of Magnolia. The group consisted of seven teens who had been orphaned as a result of the current King of Fiore’s unfair laws and extreme taxation. They called themselves the Dragon Slayers.

The Dragon Slayers were determined to fight against the cruel injustice of the monarchy, and to this end, they stole riches from the wealthy and gave them to the poor so they might stand a chance of paying their taxes and avoiding incarceration. Any carriage that passed through the East forest was deemed fair game to their advances, and so far they’d managed to remain relatively unscathed.

All seven were mighty fighters, but Natsu was the best with a bow and arrow, being able to hit targets his friends could barely make out, which was why more often than not he was tasked with being the lookout. It was a tedious job most of the time, but not today.

Natsu heard the rustling first, alerting him to the presence of an intruder. He quickly grabbed an arrow from his quiver and placing it on his bow pointed it towards the noise, half expecting to see a forest animal come sauntering out. He waited patiently for whatever it was to get closer, only to smile widely when he saw someone he was well acquainted with.

“Ah, Good Sheriff of Magnolia, how kind of you to visit,” Natsu eyed the man who was walking up to him with an amused grin, “and wearing my favorite outfit no less.”

The Sherriff looked down at himself and was annoyed to find his shirt had disappeared, “Damn it, every fucking time! Couldn’t you live somewhere easier to get to?”

“That would rather defeat the purpose of being an outlaw, Sherriff,” Natsu reminded him, adopting a playful tone and giving the man’s chest an admiring glance before adding, “Plus I rather enjoy the view.”

Gray Fullbuster, the Sherriff of Magnolia, rolled his eyes at Natsu’s blatant flirting and pointed at his bow, “Put that thing away, you’re going to put someone’s eye out one of these days,” he grumbled.

“That depends on what brings you here,” Natsu responded, the carefree smile never leaving his lips but his eyes had hardened in wariness.

Gray sighed, “I already told you I was sorry about what happened with Sting, I have to keep appearances too, you know. If my father knew I was still involved with you, I might as well live here.”

“Why don’t you? I’ve certainly asked enough times,” Natsu slowly brought his bow down and set it aside, placing the arrow back in his quiver and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Natsu, don’t start that again,” Gray groaned not wanting to get into their usual argument already,” you know it’s not that simple. I can’t betray my father like that.”

“Why not? He betrayed you long before by forcing you to live a life you don’t want. Or is this really what you want to do with your life? Arresting people for not being able to pay their taxes when you know damn well there’s no way they could ever raise the number of jewels the King is demanding of them,” Natsu protested heatedly before adding much more quietly, “Or forcing you to live with her just to keep you from me.”

“Natsu--.” Gray began, but there were no words to explain his inner conflict, so he settled for grabbing the outlaw by his vest and pulling him into an embrace.

Natsu resisted at first, but when he felt the first brush of Gray’s lips against his own, he couldn’t help but yield to him. It had been too long since their last joining.

“You are the one I want, but I’m not like you, I can’t just leave everything behind to fight for a cause, no matter how noble.”

“Leave everything behind?” Natsu blinked at him in disbelief, “You act as if this was a choice! Tell me, what would you have had us do? You know damn well if we’d stayed we’d be behind bars now, even Wendy. This was the only way.”

“Damn it, Natsu, it’s not a game anymore!” Gray took a paper out of his pants pocket and held it out for the other to see, “Look at what came into my office this morning! The King has put a price on all your heads and with things being the way they are every marksman in Magnolia will be out for your heads for the reward. Please just go somewhere else, this isn’t a fight worth dying for.”

“It was never a game, Gray,” Natsu grabbed the paper and crumpled it before tossing it on the ground behind him, “I knew this would happen eventually, it changes nothing.”

“What’s he doing here?” An angry voice startled them as it approached.

“Stand down Rogue, he only came to warn us that a bounty has been placed on us.”

“How’s Sting?” Rogue asked, the lack of sleep and constant worry reflected in his features.

“I had a doctor tend to his wounds, he’s pissed at me but otherwise fine,” Gray reported, but he refused to look Rogue in the eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Natsu immediately asked.

“The bounty wasn’t the only reason I came today,” Gray finally said with a resounding sigh, “Sting is scheduled to be executed in two days.”

“Executed, but why?” Natsu tuned out Rogue’s ranting and focused his attention on his lover, “We’ve never killed anyone!”

“Because you guys hit the Heartfillia family and Jude Heartfillia is demanding justice,” Gray muttered unhappily.

“Sting wasn’t even on that job!” Natsu protested.

“You think they care about that? You Dragon Slayers have gotten too popular for your own good, especially you, Natsu. Word of your deeds has stretched far and wide sparking the imagination of many, and now the King wants to take you out before you can grow to become an actual threat.”

Gray could almost see the gears turning in Natsu’s head, and he began to panic, knowing whatever his boyfriend came up with was bound to be dangerous and ill-planned, “No, whatever is going through that pretty head of yours the answer is no. You need to stay as far away from the castle grounds as you can. Promise me, Natsu.”

Natsu refused to meet his eyes and Gray tried to get him to see reason, “Natsu, look at me,” Gray waited patiently for Natsu to comply, “They’re trying to draw you out so they can kill you, please don’t hand yourself over to them on a silver platter.”

“So this is your dad’s plan, huh? Kill the boyfriend so you can live happily ever after with the Lockser princess?”

Gray nodded miserably, “Please don’t try to rescue Sting, I can’t stand to see you get hurt.”

“You know that prison better than anyone, with your help we could get Sting out,” Natsu pleaded, “For once in your goddamn life, pick me!”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always picked you, you idiot, why do you think you’re still alive?” Gray huffed, squeezing his hands into fists even as he growled, “Do you really think if anyone else had my job, you wouldn’t be caught by now?”

“Then pick me one last time, once we get Sting back, we can run away, somewhere so far they’ll never find us,” Natsu begged, “We could have the life we’ve always dreamed about.”

“I’m all he has left, Natsu,” Gray looked away, not wanting to see the hurt he knew would be in Natsu’s eyes, “It would kill him, I can’t be responsible for that.”

“For God’s sake, just let him go, he’s never going to love you the way you want and you know it, “ Rogue interrupted, tired of all their back and forth, “But know this Fullbuster, you’re the one who got Sting into this mess, and you are going to help us get him back, you owe us that much.”

“No, we don’t need his help,” Natsu assured Rogue with a smile, “we’ll go in on our own as we’ve always done.”

He studied Gray carefully for some time, thinking about Rogue’s words and feeling the truth in them as he never had before.

“Go back to your comfortable life and forget you ever loved me,” Natsu’s words were like arrows piercing straight through his heart, but Gray couldn’t deny the wisdom in them. “Goodbye, Gray. I thank you for the warning, but don’t ever come back here again.”

Natsu turned around and walked away from him, not once looking back. But Gray could see the slight shaking of his shoulders which he knew from experience meant Natsu was crying and he instantly regretted his words.

“No, Natsu wait!” Gray yelled, but he knew it was too little too late, Natsu had asked him to run away with him, and like a fool, he’d turned him down.

He started to move towards where he knew from previous experience Natsu’s tent was located only to be stopped by Rogue.

“You heard him, he’s through with you,” Rogue’s red eyes were practically glowing, his katana already trained on him, and Gray knew he was barely holding himself back, his hatred bursting out of his glare as he’d been given yet another reason to dislike him.

“Please tell him I love him?” Gray requested before turning away sadly and starting the long trek home. He knew it was unlikely Rogue would do as he’d asked. Things had not gone at all the way he’d hoped, but maybe it was for the best.

If he wasn’t willing to leave his life, what right did he have to keep Natsu waiting? Natsu deserved better than that, better than him, he thought glumly. Gray did love him, always had from the moment he’d realized what love was.

He was disgusted with himself, Natsu might be an outlaw living in the forest, but he’d never had any trouble following his beliefs, regardless of personal consequences. He had no problem showing his love for Gray in front of others, or going after the monarchy if that was what he felt was the right thing to do. Natsu’s life might be more primitive, but it was genuine.

Gray’s entire life was a farce. He had never wanted to be Sheriff, had only taken the job once he’d realized it would allow him to keep Natsu safe from harm. He didn’t want to marry Juvia Lockser either, she was pleasant enough, but she was just some girl his father had picked for him, someone to divert what he called Gray’s unnatural obsession with Natsu towards someone he deemed acceptable.

Juvia was a beautiful girl, but she’d never stood a chance. It was Natsu he’d always wanted. His brilliant smile and expressive eyes, his hands that brought Gray so much comfort, his lips that Gray loved to kiss, his body that gave Gray so much pleasure. But more than all those things it was Natu’s unwavering love that Gray counted on and wanted to be worthy of. And he had tossed it away because he was too afraid to let go of what he was used to.

He entered his office and sat down at his desk, glancing over at Sting every now and again before focusing his attention back on his desk. He’d had him moved to the holding cell days earlier, with the excuse it would be easier to keep an eye on him before the execution.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sting groused from his cell, “You’re making me dizzy.”

Gray looked around to make sure there was no one else that could hear him, “I saw Rogue and Natsu today, I told them about your execution.”

“I figured, “ Sting smirked at Gray’s bare chest knowingly, before narrowing his eyes, “Wait! Why would you do that? Are you trying to get them killed too?”

“Of course not! We both know they were going to find out about it anyway, I planned to try to talk them out of coming for you, but if that didn’t work, I figured they’d at least have longer to plan something, instead of coming in half-assed like you guys always do.”

“You should have kept your mouth shut, they might not have found out about it at all.”

They remained quiet for a few minutes before Sting couldn’t hold his question any longer, “How did Rogue look?”

“He looked,” Gray thought about it for a moment, “tired and worried. I’m sorry, if that one guard hadn’t shown up I could have let you go.”

Sting waved away his apology, “Nah, you’ve let us go plenty of times, it was bound to happen eventually.”

“What if I let you go now?” Gray wondered out loud, “At night while most of the guards are sleeping, you’ve healed enough to make it back to camp. I can alert people in the morning that you escaped.”

He could hear Sting chuckling knowingly, “Have another fight with Natsu?”

“He told me to forget I ever loved him,” Gray whispered glumly, his face reflecting his misery.

“Seriously, dude, you need to grow a pair and get the hell out of this place,” Sting advised, placing his hands behind his head as he lay on his cot, “I haven’t seen you crack a smile once since I’ve been enjoying your hospitality. You used to laugh all the time, we all did.”

“I don’t want him to get killed trying to rescue you,” Gray fretted, “If I let you go, he’d never be in danger.”

“If you let me go and stay behind, you’ll either be executed in my stead or remain locked in some cold tower like a princess for the rest of your life. What do you think Natsu will do then?” Sting looked up at the ceiling of his cell stoically, “We either both get out of here, or we wait for them to come for me.”

He thought about Sting’s words knowing he was right. Was his father’s happiness really more important than his own? He’d spent his entire life trying to please the man, but no matter what he did, he always managed to fall short of expectations. Why shouldn’t he go with Natsu? They could run away together as Natsu had suggested, start over somewhere. Hell, it’s not like he even agreed with what the King was doing, he’d rather fight against him than continue to whittle away at his soul by working for him.

The more he thought about it, the more determined he became to put their happiness first.

“We’ll leave tonight before they can come up with a plan,” Gray informed Sting before leaving the prison and heading for his home to get some things together.

“About fucking time,” Sting muttered, looking forward to seeing Natsu’s face when he glimpsed the two of them arriving together. He’d been waiting for Gray for a long time.

O-o

“We need to go tonight,” Natsu insisted, “They’ll be expecting us to do something on the day of the execution.”

“Well yeah, it makes more sense, they’ll have to take him out of his cell, it would be easier.” Laxus pointed out.

“I agree with Natsu, the sooner we get Sting out of there, the happier I’ll be,” Rogue chimed in.

“You’re not coming, no arguments,” Natsu declared much to Rogue’s dismay, “You’re way too tired to be of any use, Wendy stays too.”

“We need to take a small group that can get in and out quickly without being detected,” Natsu explained, “Gajeel, do you think you can pick the lock on Sting’s cell quickly if we can’t find a key?”

“Should be a piece of cake, “ Gajeel assured him with a grin.

“Cobra can be the lookout, with those ears of his he should be able to hear anyone coming,” Natsu continued, “You in, Cobra?”

“Sure, why not? It’s been boring around here anyway,” Cobra shrugged disinterestedly, “What about Laxus?”

“I need him to stay here and watch Rogue and Wendy, make sure they don’t do anything stupid like try to follow us,” Natsu glanced at Laxus hopefully, knowing he wasn’t going to be pleased with a babysitting role.

“Fine, I’ll make sure those two behave but don’t turn this into a thing, Natsu,” Laxus grunted.

“I won’t,” Natsu agreed, grateful that the older man wasn’t giving him a hard time. He looked at the others and said, “Get your stuff ready, we’ll leave as soon as it gets dark.”

Rogue walked up to him as he was getting his supplies together. “Listen Natsu, I wanted to say I was sorry for earlier, I shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of your argument.”

“It’s fine,” Natsu waved him away, “You were right.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Rogue avoided Natsu’s gaze, “he tried to go after you, but I didn’t let him. He asked me to tell you that he loves you.”

Natsu felt the words go through him, to the place in his heart that hurt whenever he thought of what could have been, and he sighed, “Thanks for telling me, but it doesn’t change anything, he’ll never leave, and I can’t wait for him forever. As soon as we get Sting back, we’re going to leave Magnolia and find someplace safer to continue what we’re doing.”

Natsu grabbed the rest of his supplies and went to say goodbye to Wendy and Laxus. Wendy hug tackled him and held on for as long as Natsu allowed it. He ruffled her hair gently before pulling away.

“Be careful,” Laxus warned them, “if anything feels off just come back, we can try again tomorrow.”

Natsu, Gajeel, and Cobra nodded and took off, moving silently from tree to tree.

O-o

“You’re really doing this?” Sting peered at Gray from his cell, noting with surprise the travel bag he was carrying, “I’m proud of you, man.”

Gray didn’t answer, too terrified to come up with anything suitably flippant. He knew the moment he opened that cell he would be labeled a traitor by the Crown. There would be no going back, the life he was used to would be closed to him forever, and he would be running for the rest of his life.

But you will be running with Natsu, he reminded himself, and at that thought, he began to breathe a little easier. If he could be with Natsu, then everything would be worth it.

Gray managed to smile at Sting as he shoved his bag under his desk. “I’m going to go get your dinner, the guards have already begun their rounds.”

Sting nodded absently, too nervous to really be hungry but happy for the distraction nonetheless. He’d been surprised to learn some guards were sympathetic to their cause. They had apologized to him for not being able to help, telling him about how the Dragon Slayers had helped out some of their relatives. They had a job to do, and Sting respected that. They weren’t the enemy, the King was.

Ever since he had come to power five years earlier, he had doubled and in some cases tripled the amount of taxes they were expected to pay, leaving everyone but the incredibly rich to live in a kind of indentured servitude.

The older subjects had tried to keep up as best they could, but it had proved too much for their feeble bodies. Many of them died. That had happened to all their caretakers, leaving the Dragon Slayers to fend for themselves as best they could at a reasonably young age. It had been Natsu who had decided they had to go while they still could, and the six of them had followed, ending up deep in the woods, a place Natsu knew well.

Sting couldn’t wait to get back there, already looking forward to surprising Rogue and showing him that he was alright. He was thinking about his boyfriend when Gray returned with two trays filled with food. He passed one to Sting and sat at his desk, ignoring his food in favor of wringing his hands back and forth.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sting reminded him, sounding concerned.

“Yeah I do,” Gray disagreed, knowing if he didn’t, he would regret it for the rest of his life, “It just feels like everyone’s staring at me like they know what I’m going to do.”

“Oh that,” Sting smiled, “It goes away, we all felt it when we went after our first carriage. When are we going to go?”

“Right after the change of the guard, at that point, they should be the farthest away from here, it should buy us some time.”

“Sounds good,” Sting started picking at the food on the tray, “We might as well eat, it doesn’t taste any better cold.”

Gray grunted in agreement and began to eat. He was almost done when his father walked in.

“What is this about you going on a trip?”

“Wh-what?” Gray stuttered, his fork clattering to the floor as he startled from the unexpected visit.

“Your girl came to see me in tears,” Silver Fullbuster stared his son down looking displeased, “said she had seen you pack your belongings in a bag.”

“She’s not my girl, and she has a name,” Gray snapped, but inwardly he was freaking out at his father’s presence. He stole a glimpse at the clock, cursing his luck and Juvia’s habit of watching everything he did. “Considering how determined you are for me to marry her, I’d think you’d remember it.”

“I’m a busy man, Gray, I don’t have time for your wit,” Silver chastised, “Are you going somewhere or not?”

“Of course not Father, I have an execution to plan,” Gray fought the childish urge to roll his eyes, somehow managing to keep his gaze level with his father’s as he shrugged his shoulders, “I have no idea what she thought she saw, she lives in a fantasy world. Perhaps you should have picked someone better to force me to marry.”

Silver raised his arm in a striking motion when he was interrupted by Sting.

“Hello, Lord Silver,” Sting greeted from his jail cell with a mock bow, almost laughing at the disgust on Silver’s face when he realized who was addressing him.

“Don’t presume to act so familiar with me criminal,” Silver spat, he looked into the cell and when he was sure he had Sting’s attention his lips curled into a cruel smile as he casually added, “the world will be a better place once you have left it.”

Sting chuckled and waved at Silver cheerfully not letting his words affect him in the slightest.

Gray, however, could only gawk at his father, Sting’s father had been Silver’s friend for many years. Hell, his father had watched Sting grow up over the years as he’d played at their house along with all the other dragon slayers throughout his childhood.

This was the man he’d held in such high regard? Gray found himself thanking God for letting him see this side of his father. It helped remove any doubt he had left. He had to get out of this place, he had no desire to risk ending up like him.

He watched his father leave in a huff and turned to Sting, “Thanks for the save.”

Sting just shrugged it off, “No offense, dude, but you’re already a better man than your father.”

Gray could only hope that Sting was right. He looked up at the clock again, only one more hour to go. They settled down to wait and reminisced about their past.

O-o

Natsu, Gajeel, and Cobra crept up to the large castle as quietly as they could manage with the tools they were carrying. They marked guard placements to see how they had changed in their absence. They’d never attempted to infiltrate the castle before, and they were nervous, but it was the only way they could rescue Sting.

They had a relatively good idea of where things were having spent much time inside its walls as children, but they’d never needed to visit the prison, although they had a general idea of where it was located.

“We have to wait until the change of the guard, Gray’s mentioned that’s the best time to sneak in,” Natsu whispered.

Cobra started to laugh, “Is that what you guys talk about while you’re getting each other off? And here I thought you’d both found religion.”

“Shuuuut up,” Natsu hissed even as his face changed colors from Cobra’s teasing, “You’re an asshole.”

Cobra smirked, amused by Natsu’s response as well as Gajeel’s ridiculous gihis, but he saw both their shoulders had lost some of the tension they’d exhibited just minutes earlier. Good. He strained to hear anything he could. He frowned at one particular piece of information.

“I don’t know if this is good or bad but it sounds like Sting isn’t at the prison anymore he’s in,” but before he could finish his thought Natsu completed it.

“Gray’s office. Oh man, this is gonna suck,” Natsu groaned.

“What are you talking about?” Gajeel looked puzzled, “Why would it be a bad thing? I mean he’s on our side.” He scratched his head, not getting what was so bad about it, but when he received no answer, he added, “Isn’t he?” The way he looked at it that should make everything simpler.

“Yeah, he is, but think about it,” Cobra explained quietly, “If we take Sing out from under him he’s going to lose even more credibility than he already has. He might find himself in jail. So he’ll have no choice but to go against us.”

Natsu took a deep breath hating himself for what he was about to say, “We go in as planned, Sting is one of us, and we’re not going to let him be executed. Gray made his bed, now he’ll have to lay in it.”

“Are you sure?” Cobra pressed, knowing this was likely to go badly.

Natsu nodded curtly, and when he noticed the guards had left their positions, he ordered, “Let’s go.” They immediately threw up their grappling hooks and began to climb the castle wall.

O-o

“Here, put this on,” Gray threw a guard outfit at Sting that he had packed in his bag.

Sting hastily put it on over his own clothes, exiting the cell as soon as Gray unlocked the door and declaring “Let’s go home.”

Gray could only peer at Sting anxiously as he contemplated the enormity of what he was about to do.

Sting came over and patted him on the shoulder, “Relax, dude. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t breathe. Everything will either be fine, or we’ll die. Either way, we’ll be out of here.”

“That’s meant to be comforting?” Gray complained, taking some slow breaths to steady himself as Sting laughed at him.

“To know me is to love me,” Sting shrugged even as he grinned excitedly, “You good?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Gray muttered, grabbing his bag and draping it over his shoulder. “When we get out there, make sure to walk slightly behind me, you’re a guard, not an equal. And look around for intruders or something, but don’t look anyone in the eye, and don’t talk to anyone.”

“Got it.”

They walked out of his office and headed for one of the lesser used entrances of the castle, Sting walking a few feet behind him.

They had been incredibly lucky, only bumping into a few other guards. Gray nodded at them curtly and continued on his way. They had just made it outside when they heard the first cries.

“Intruders!”

Sting and Gray looked at each other, both facepalming as they grumbled, “Natsu!”

Gray started walking back when Sting grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, “What are you doing?

“What does it look like? I’m going back to get Natsu,” Gray shook Sting off and continued on his way.

“You can’t do that idiot, he’s here to get me out. He’ll see I’m not there anymore and head back to camp.”

“No Sting, he won’t, because he’ll get himself captured or killed. There’s a bounty on all your heads now, Dead or Alive. The only reason we got out so easily is that I was with you and no one thought to give us a second look. I never thought he’d be bold enough to try something tonight.”

“You can go home if you want, but I have to go get him, or all this is for nothing.”

Sting looked towards the woods with longing, but he knew Gray was right, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Natsu died and he could’ve done something to prevent it. Besides if Natsu was here odds were Rogue was also.

“Fuuuuuck!” Sting cursed, knowing he might be walking back to his execution, “Fine, what’s the plan?”

“We go back in and act normal until we get found out, “Gray shrugged while trying to ignore his growing apprehension, “What else can we do?”

He grabbed a sword and a bow and a quiver of arrows out of his bag. He kept the sword as was his custom and handed the rest to Sting. “I hope you’re as good with that as I remember.”

“Second only to Natsu,” Sting assured him, and together they made their way back in.

Gray stopped one of his guards who was running in the direction of his office, “Where are the intruders, how many are there?”

“Three, Sir, They were seen heading towards your office, we believe they’re attempting to rescue the prisoner. What are your orders?”

Three of them, but which three? Natsu for sure, this screamed of his terrible planning, Rogue probably, but who else? If it was Laxus, they were fucked. “Can you tell me anything else?” Gray asked before sending the guard as far away from his office as he could by asking him to fetch the outlier guards.

Sting and Gray shared a glance before rushing back to Gray’s office.

O-o

“What do you mean it’s empty?” Cobra hissed from his spot by the door.

“Just what I said, there’s no one here,” Natsu replied crossly. What the hell were they supposed to do now?

“Well, we’re fucked,” Gajeel pointed out as the first cries of intruders rang out, “Anyone got any ideas?”

“I say we just run out of here as fast as we can and hope for the best,” Natsu suggested.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?! How the fuck did you end up being our leader?” Gajeel sputtered, hands going to the hilt of his weapon.

“What the fuck else are we supposed to do? We can’t stay here,” Cobra pointed out, “Someone’s coming. Forget that, everyone’s coming!”

All three men gave frantic looks to their surroundings, looking for another way out or anything that might help them.

All of a sudden they heard cries of “They went that way, hurry. They’re getting away!” that sounded very much like Sting.

The hell? They all thought at the same time.

Steps were still heard coming closer, but it sounded like only two people now. They hid as best they could so they wouldn’t be visible from the door and waited with weapons drawn. The door opened and closed quietly.

“You fucking morons,” Sting launched into a rant, “We had gotten out! We were headed home until you dumbasses got yourselves seen and we had to come back to get your sorry asses.”

“Sting!” Cobra, Gajeel, and Natsu converged around their friend and examined him, making sure his wounds had healed before attacking him with effusive hugs.

Natsu was the first to respond, “Wait, we? We who?”

Gray stepped out from where he’d been studying Natsu, suddenly feeling shy after their last conversation. “Hey.”

“You broke him out?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be here anymore, I wanna be wherever you are,” Gray smiled tentatively as he waited for Natsu’s response.

“Are you sure? Once you do this, there’s no going back,” Even though he sounded muted, Natsu was thrumming with excitement at the possibility.

“I’m sure,” Gray opened his arms and Natsu rushed into them and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, I should have gone with you from the very beginning, I was a stubborn idiot.”

“Damn, I never thought I’d see the day he actually admitted it,” Gajeel muttered while Sting only smiled at his two friends.

“This is all wonderfully romantic and all but let’s not forget we still have to get the fuck out of here,” Cobra was once again acting as a lookout, “Anyone got a plan?”

Natsu went to open his mouth when Cobra amended, “Anyone who isn’t Natsu.”

Natsu was about to protest but looking at where they were decided, maybe Cobra was on to something.

‘You could pretend to take me as a hostage?” Gray suggested still holding on to Natsu.

“That might work,” Sting agreed although he didn’t like it, that would make anyone not holding on to Gray an easy target. “Anyone else?”

“Are there any other ways out?” Cobra asked, “We can’t stay in here much longer.”

“Not that we could get to easily or quickly,” Gray said after some thought, “What about if we split up? It might confuse them. I can see if there are more guard outfits in here.” He rummaged quickly and found only one other, it looked like it might fit Cobra, so he threw it over.

They all studied Natsu and Gajeel, neither one would be easy to disguise when much to their surprise Sting took off his guard uniform and handed it to Gajeel.

“Let’s see how this looks on you,” Sting muttered, and they soon realized it should be good enough to pass for as long as they would need to get out. “Okay, so the way I see it Natsu and I are the most recognizable targets out of the four of us so Cobra and Gajeel will be guards escorting me to the prison on the Sherrif’s order. No one should question it, and we’ll try to go out the same entrance Gray and I did.”

Gray nodded in agreement, seeing the value in Sting’s plan. “That just leaves Natsu and me, he’ll pretend to take me hostage in exchange for getting out safely. It could work, remember not to talk to anyone unless forced to, and say as little as possible.”

He grabbed a pair of handcuffs and tossed them at Gajeel, who turned and grabbed Sting’s hands roughly, looking almost giddy as he put the cuffs on and announced, “You’re under arrest!”

Sting groaned, “Great, I forgot how he gets when he gets any authority.”

He could hear Natsu and Cobra snorting at Gajeel’s antics and muttered, “Idiots, all of them are idiots.”

“Alright go, we’ll follow in a few minutes,” Gray urged, hoping against all hope that they all managed to get out of this unscathed, “When you get out don’t wait for us just head back to camp. We’ll do the same. Good luck.”

The three men nodded, and Sting told them the general direction they would be going, two minutes later they were gone.

“I love you,” Natsu said suddenly, “you know, in case I don’t get to repeat it. And I’m sorry for screwing everything up.”

“It’s okay, you had no way of knowing, I only made up my mind a few hours ago,” Gray grabbed Natsu’s hand and laced their fingers together squeezing them tightly, “Here, for luck.” Gray pulled Natsu closer to him, using his free hand to caress Natsu’s cheek before leaning in and pressing his lips against his boyfriend’s, eager to make up after their fight.

Once they separated, Gray smiled, “I love you, too.”

Natsu was too scared to be happy, for the first time since he’d taken this path he really did have something to lose, and he didn’t want that to happen.

“Hey,” Gray encouraged, noting his distress, “Everything’s going to be fine. We just have to get through the next few minutes, and then we can forget all about this place.”

Natsu nodded, grabbing the sword Gray offered him before taking a deep breath and saying. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Gray smiled at him one last time before opening the door and stepping out. They managed to get halfway through the first courtyard before being challenged. Gray had been holding his breath the whole time, terrified that someone would attempt to take a shot at Natsu from behind for the reward money.

“Sherrif?” A guard approached them, and Gray quickly held his hands up in front of him.

“Don’t do anything hasty, he’s promised to let me go once he gets out of the castle,” Gray lied, trying to sound as convincing as he could manage considering his heart was halfway up his throat.

“Show them the sword, Natsu, you’ve got to sell this,” Gray muttered under his breath.

Natsu held the short sword up for the guard to see and placed it against Gray’s neck. “Let us be on our way, or I swear I’ll cut him!” He couldn’t bring himself to say kill.

The guard looked from Natsu to Gray nervously, not knowing what to do. He let them go, but as soon as they had gotten past him, he screamed out, “The Sherrif has been taken captive by one of the intruders.”

“Shit!” Gray cursed, “We need to hurry, there’s an exit not too far from here.”

They heard a multitude of steps running in their direction and decided to forego the farce and just run as fast as they could towards the exit. Gray would never know what possessed him to look back.

At the front of the ever-growing group of guards chasing after them was his father, looking angrier than Gray had ever seen him. He held a bow in one hand while the other reached for an arrow from the quiver that hung on his back. His face was contorted into a mask of hatred directed at Natsu who was still running, unaware of the danger that lurked just behind him.

Time seemed to slow down as Gray saw his father stop running, loading the newly acquired arrow into his bow and aiming it at Natsu. Gray stopped running as well, he turned and flung himself in front of where Natsu was standing just in time to feel a sharp pain in his chest as the arrow pierced his flesh.

Gray felt himself falling, heard Natsu’s screams and the twang of his bow as arrow after arrow left it, dispersing the crowd of guards. He heard other people screaming, maybe even his father, but he had stopped caring. All he wanted was to look at Natsu for as long as he could, but his vision was starting to blackout.

“Natsu?” Gray called out urgently, not knowing what was happening.

“Shh, don’t talk, I’m here,” Gray could feel hands gently touching around his wound, his body arched in pain as Natsu tugged the arrow that was lodged in his chest.”

“Tell me what it would have been like if we had run away together,” Gray pleaded.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Natsu insisted.

“Please?”

Natsu talked trying to distract Gray from what he was about to do, “We’ll play pranks on the others during the day, but never on Wendy. We’ll go hunting and swimming, and at night we’ll find a field where we can look at the stars, and we’ll make love every night. Neither one of us will ever be alone again.”

He took off his shirt and waited until Gray looked relaxed before pulling the arrow out and shoving his shirt over the wound, putting as much pressure as he could on Gray’s chest to stop the bleeding.

“I love you, Natsu,” Gray managed to say before closing his eyes, his expression peaceful.

“I love you too, dumbass,” Natsu replied lovingly. He looked up and saw that a guard was heading his way. He thought about getting his bow out, but he didn’t want to remove pressure on the wound just yet.

“Is he going to be okay?” The guard asked him, his expression sad.

“I think so, he’s just fainted from the blood loss, “ Natsu explained with a reassuring smile.

“That was his father that shot him, I can’t believe it,” the guard looked shell-shocked.

“Yeah, he never did like me much,” Natsu explained, “Although I wish Gray hadn’t gotten himself hurt over it.”

“I’m going to take him now, are you going to try and stop me?”

The guard shook his head, “No reason to, it was pretty obvious he wanted to go with you, There are a few of us who would like to come with you too if you allow it. We want to help you fight against the King.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Lyon,” the guard smiled at him hopefully.

“I’m Natsu, welcome to the Dragon Slayers, you can go get your friends, we’ll be leaving shortly. Also, can you check on Silver for me? Gray will want to know when he wakes.”

Lyon nodded eagerly and scampered off, returning ten minutes later with about twenty others, all eager to leave the castle behind.

“Silver will live,” Lyon reported.

Natsu closed his eyes, thankful he had once again succeeded in not killing anyone with his arrows. He knew he wouldn’t be able to manage that forever, but he wasn’t ready to cross that line yet. He hoped the others had been able to escape without a problem.

Now that the bleeding had stopped he picked Gray up carefully and carried him in his arms, and began the long walk to their camp followed by a group of boys and men that seemed to get bigger every time he looked back. When they reached the edge of the forest, they found Gajeel, Sting, and Cobra waiting for them and they all walked home together as Natsu explained what had happened.

Maybe they’d be able to pull this off after all. Natsu looked down at Gray and smiled, hardly daring to believe that from that day forward, they would no longer be separated. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Gray by his side, Natsu knew it would be worth it.

A/N: Hope you liked it, this was insanely fun to write. I really enjoy writing the dragon slayers being friends. They're a bunch of dumbasses, but I love them all. I also loved Gray and Sting in this!

#fairy tail #gratsu #ftlgbtales #ftfanfics #humor #angst #stingue #dragon slayers #prison break #my edits

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

#dabi #hawks #bnha #boku no hero academia #DabiHawks #not necessarily shippy but you can certainly read it that way #Kate writes

[reddielibrary]

Still The One

Secret Santa: Katie | @kaspbrak-eddie

Gift for: Elmo | @ellomello16

Special Message: Merry Christmas to the sweetest member of the fandom! I hope you enjoy this lil fic and I hope you have a good day, ily ♡♡

Word count: 6,789

*click title to read on AO3

Richie Tozier had never considered himself to be a wildly successful person. In school, he’d always been above average but had never been the top of his class, putting little to no effort into homework and exams but still managing to maintain mostly A’s and B’s. It may have been impressive, sure, but he had never been exemplary, and he prided himself in that. The slight apathy he felt for his schoolwork still yielded the same outcome that most of his friends and peers could only barely achieve through long, arduous hours of intense reading, writing, revising, re-revising. He didn’t bat an eye at assignments his classmates lost countless hours of sleep over. School had always come easily to him, as most things did. He was an incredibly charming man, never failing to make even the most stuck-up assholes crack a laugh every once in a while. 

Humans he had never taken issue with, he felt most comfortable in social situations and threw himself into them head-first every opportunity he had. Meaningful human interaction, on the other hand, deep, personal, one-on-one connections, well that was one of the few items on the list of things in life that made Richie uneasy. And he had a string of failed relationships to show for it, one that was longer than a suburban mother of six’s grocery list. Richie had simply never been able to connect with anyone on that profound, meaningful level that everyone talks about--that his partners talked about feeling with him. He had simply always felt like there was something missing, something not right. It felt as if something--or someone--was pulling him away, but if there was one thing he was sure of, Richie Tozier knew that he had never been in love.

Eddie Kaspbrak, on the other hand, had. Countless times. He fell easily, and when he did, he fell hard. Lamentably, he had a nasty habit of falling for people who could not even come close to reciprocating the love he gave--the absolute, irrevocable adoration that could only come from someone who aimed to please. The household Eddie had grown up in had been built around his mother’s intense, all-consuming need to be needed. Eddie had never known her as a rational person, although he supposed she probably had been at some point in her life. To Eddie, she was overbearing, almost dictatorial. Everything he did had to be passed through her first, and she approved of almost nothing. After years and years of the constant hounding, the unremittant whining and worrying, Eddie had learned that it was easier to just let her have her way, and he’d carried with him this skill of always striving to please. And he was damn good at it. It affected every part of his life as an adult, relationships with friends, with significant others, but most importantly, it made him incredibly good at his job.

He was passionate about his career--he threw every part of himself into his work, and he loved it. Although the work was unceasing, exhausting, it was a good outlet for his energy, especially when the same tendencies that made him great at his job had a propensity to affect his relationships negatively. Everyone he’d ever dated had had one of two problems with him--either Eddie was too clingy, fell in love far too quickly and let it overtake his entire personality, often morphing it completely to become more appealing to his partner. That, or they fought with him constantly about being work-obsessed, stating that he spent too much time away, or even when he was home, that he was distant, thinking about work; they complained about his going above and beyond to be the best, never supporting him the way he needed. By the time he was in his late twenties, Eddie had decided that he was done with relationships. He was exhausted and completely fed up with pouring his endless love and energy into people who didn’t champion his goals and applaud him for reaching them. In his memory, he had never had someone like that, someone who he could be himself with, someone who wanted him to be his very best. And he assumed he probably never would.

It was a Wednesday morning when Richie had gotten the call at 7:45, jolting him awake abruptly from a deep, heavy sleep. He groaned and patted around blindly for the phone on his nightstand, brushing his sleep-kinked, floppy hair out of his face as he did so. “Tozier here,” he grumbled into the phone, his voice thick and deep.

“Rich! It’s me! Get your ass out of bed, you lazy piece of shit!”

Still half asleep, Richie groaned, “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m just kiddin’ buddy. But seriously. Great show last night, you were fuckin’ hilarious!”

“Yeah, Steven. You always say that. That’s what you’re supposed to say, you’re my manager.”

“Yeah yeah.” Richie’s manager, who doubled as his best (read: only) friend, pushed on, ignoring Richie’s humility, “So the guy from SNL called back finally. You’re golden, baby. They want you to come out next week to audition.”

Richie’s eyes shot wide open, he was definitely awake now. He scrambled for his laptop on the floor by his bed as he replied, “Steve-O are you serious? If you’re fucking with me right now I’m gonna drive to your house and murder you.” He opened his laptop hurriedly to check his email, first reaching over to the bedside table to grab his glasses, sliding the thick, bulky lenses over his eyes to bring the world back into focus. Once he got his email pulled up, he desperately refreshed the browser, clicking the ‘get mail’ button incessantly.

“Bro, I can hear you clicking from here. Relax, I haven’t sent you anything yet. I’ll get it to you once I put everything together, I literally just got off the phone with the guy.”

Richie sighed. “Steven, you really are a genius. It’s happening!”

“It’s not me, Rich, it’s all you. And I always told you it would, have I ever lied to you before?”

Richie chuckled, rubbing at his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, still in disbelief, “Stevia, baby, you lie to me all the time.”

“Hush now. You know when I do it’s just for your own good. Alright, well, I’ll let you get back to sleep… Or back to whoever is in your bed right now.”

Richie mock gasped, “Are you accusing me of having premarital sex? You know I’m waiting until marriage, Steven, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh shut up, Richie. Goodbyeee...” He dragged out the last syllable as he audibly pulled the phone away from his face and hung up, his voice trailing off as the microphone was drawn further and further away from his mouth. A few minutes later, just as Richie was succumbing back to sleep, his phone vibrated with an email containing his itinerary.

Eddie sighed as he lay down on a cot in the on-call room of the hospital he’d worked in for almost four years now. He was halfway through another long shift, it was almost 6:00 am, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that it was just a twelve-hour rather than a twenty-four. Eddie had always had a penchant for medicine, even when he was young. Growing up with a mother whose every waking moment was dedicated to her only son, Eddie had been the target of her constant and unrelenting care. Although all of the illnesses she was sure Eddie suffered from had turned out to be fake, the excessive doctor visits as a child had made him extremely comfortable in hospitals and outpatient centers. As he’d grown older, he’d taken comfort in understanding his “illnesses,” and in doing so, he had begun to understand the source of them. He’d never been a slow kid--neither mentally nor physically--and at the ripe age of eleven, he’d realized just how his mother’s protection had hurt him, and he had vowed to leave her the very second he was able.

The only support system he’d had as a kid had been the friends he had made, who, after he’d left town for college, he had forgotten more and more about every single day. He was unsure if it was due to the influx of new information and experiences or something else, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t conjure up any of their faces in his memory, not even a single name. There was something there, he knew, something--someone--tugging at him. Something that panged in his stomach every time he walked past someone on the street with dark, frizzy hair, something he couldn’t put his finger on. There was the day in college he’d gotten reading glasses, and that night just as he was turning the light out, the sight of the frames laying on his bedside table gave him the strongest sense of déjà vu he’d ever experienced in his life, so much so that he had felt light-headed for a few seconds before regaining his composure. He had not slept well that night, dreaming of his childhood, blotchy and blurry, the only clear parts he could pick out in his head were a pair of impossibly thick glasses, beat-up black sneakers, scraped knees, and popsicles melting in the sweltering summer sun.

He’d been awoken by a panic attack in the early hours of that morning, something that rarely happened anymore, only when he had these dreams. These confusing, disorienting dreams. They were trying to tell him something, that he was sure of, but after years of having them, he was resigned to the fact that he’d never figure it out.

As he curled up in the cot in the on-call room to take a quick nap he thought of these dreams, hoping against hope that someday soon he’d understand what they meant.

As Richie boarded the plane at LAX at 5:00 am, he was so jittery that he could barely stand still. Most of it was from the four cups of coffee he’d already downed that morning in the Uber to the airport, but the rest was from nerves. He was nervous about the SNL audition, sure, but he was also nervous about something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something that was in New York. Something he couldn’t remember. He shook his head quickly to rid the thought as he flashed the cute, young flight attendant a small smile, pushing his glasses up and turning to look down the long airplane cabin and find his seat.

He didn’t get much done on the flight, too distracted to think straight, his mind running a million miles an hour. Immediately after he sat down he pulled his laptop out of his backpack, searching for the hours of SNL footage he’d downloaded to watch on the way in hopes it would ease his nerves. He lost himself in the footage, even laughing out loud at some points. He’d lost track of time, but about halfway through the first episode he’d started, he felt a tap on his shoulder and pulled his bulky headphones off, knocking his glasses askew. Fixing them quickly, he looked up.

“Sir, we’re taking off. You have to put that away until the pilot gives us the go-ahead to get large electronics back out.”

Richie nodded and hastily shut his laptop, stuffing it in his bag and slouching down in his seat, looking out the window as the plane taxied the runway slowly. The take-off was excruciating, his seatmate asked him to stop bouncing his leg at least four times, having to speak up over the mechanical, monotonous roar of the engines. He apologized profusely each time, only to be asked again a few minutes later, not even having noticed that he’d started again. Once the electronics light above him lit up, he grabbed his laptop again and tried to relax, doing breathing exercises he’d learned from a school counselor while he was in college to try and ease his anxiety. It worked somewhat, and the five-hour flight raced by quickly. Once they’d landed, he rushed through the airport carelessly, almost mowing down a few toddlers on his way to the exit; airports always made him uneasy, too many people, he always felt overstimulated. As he made it to the arrivals area and found the driver he was told would be waiting for him, he broke into a near sprint, running up to the unexpecting man out of breath. “Hey,” he took a heaving breath and gestured in between the sign and himself, “That’s… That’s me. I’m Tozier.”

“Hello, Mr. Tozier. Pleasure to--”

“Just call me Richie. Please.”

The man nodded solemnly, “You got it, Richie. And is that the only bag you brought? I was told you’d have a suitca--”

“Oh, fuck!” Richie exclaimed in a hushed yell. “Be right back!” He took off, loping through the crowded baggage claim area, his backpack swinging behind him.

Richie managed to find the baggage carousel fairly quickly, and his bag was--by some fucking miracle--one of the first up. He grabbed it and rushed back to the driver, who was chuckling quietly to himself. He unzipped the suitcase to retrieve his winter coat--something he hadn’t needed in years since he’d moved to California. “You ready to go now?” The driver asked kindly after Richie had thrown the old, worn coat over his shoulders and zipped it up tight.

Richie nodded and extended the handle on his beat-up suitcase to wheel it behind him. The ride to the hotel Richie’s manager had booked for him took about an hour and a half. The hotel was in the middle of the city and traffic was, as always, an unbelievable nightmare. By the time they arrived there, it was just after noon, and Richie was starving. The car pulled up to the curb and waited as Richie paid and pulled his suitcase from the trunk. He shot the driver a two-fingered wave and turned around. Right into a shorter man, a man who looked to be around his age. He donned a set of blue scrubs shrouded by a thick parka that went down to his knees, his chestnut hair was tousled and frizzy under the hood, the guy looked exhausted. “Hey, can you fucking watch where you’re walking? Fucking touris--” His voice was cut off as he looked up to glare at Richie, and all of the breath left his lungs.  “Do-- Do I know you?” His eyes went soft as he let the hood fall off the back of his head, looking up at Richie, his gaze tracking quickly back and forth over his face.

“I don’t… uh. Maybe? You look kinda familiar…” Richie trailed off, pulling his suitcase in closer to his legs in order to avoid the looks of antipathy from passerby.

“Sorry, you just…” the guy shoved his gloved hands in his pockets nervously and took a deep breath, his exhale condensing in the air in front of his cheeks, flushed from the cold. “You look like someone I used to know… I think. I don’t know. Sorry, have a nice day,” he said as he quickly turned on his heel and hurried off down the street.

Well that was fucking weird, Richie thought to himself, I could have sworn I… He shook his head to clear the thought from it, he needed to focus. As he checked into the hotel, he couldn’t help but be slightly absent, his mind running circles, distressing over the audition, but also blindsided by the strange interaction on the street.

Eddie huffed as he replaced his hood on his head, tucking his chin into the jacket so that as much of his skin was shielded from the cold as possible. You’ve gotta fuckin’ stop with this, Eddie. The dreams… they don’t mean anything. He’s just a dude in glasses. Nobody. Focus. Forget about it. He sighed, quickly weaving through the slow walkers on the sidewalk and darting down into the subway tunnel, taking the stairs two at a time, grateful for a break from the incessant wind. When he got home and went to sleep, he had the same dream as always, but this time it was clearer than it had ever been.

The audition went fine, not as well as he’d hoped, but Richie wasn’t worried about it, he enjoyed his job in California; although Los Angeles did seem a bit lonely sometimes. He was glad to be heading back to Maine for the week to spend Christmas with his parents, who he hadn’t seen in over ten years, always too busy building his career to make it back home. This was the first year since he left for college that he was finally able to take a few days off and be home again. He thought about his childhood as he packed up his hotel room from his quick, three-day stay, pondered why he could remember hardly any details from that period of his life at all--not even the name of his best friend.  

He’d run around with a bunch of kids in those years, but there was just one. He knew there was always just one. The one that he wanted to spend all of his time with, the only one he still had any semblance of a memory of: band-aids, tears, cheeks flushed a darker red than Richie had ever seen in anyone--or had ever seen since. The one thing he remembered from his childhood, clear as a bell: the tinkling, warm laugh that echoed from his friend’s freckled, pink lips. The laugh he’d spent his entire childhood and adolescence doing anything and everything to elicit. The reason he still enjoyed making people laugh, why he’d made a career of it. He smiled to himself as he puttered around the room, his mind distracted by all manner of things, the man from the other day all but forgotten.

He gave one last look around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything then rolled his suitcase out the door behind him. The drive to the airport was slower this time than it had been three days before; snow began to fall about halfway through the drive, covering the city in a layer of pristine, sparkling powder. Richie watched out the window as the car blazed past skyscraper after skyscraper, his breath fogging up the window.

By the time he got dropped off at the airport, the snow hadn’t stopped, in fact, it hadn’t slowed at all. It looked as though there was a large possibility of his flight being grounded for the night, although he’d been refreshing his email every five minutes for the entire duration of the car ride, checking for news from the airline as well as from SNL. No news yet, so he strolled on in and through security quickly. He grabbed his backpack and tennis shoes from the scanner after they came out and sat in a nearby chair to put them back on. As he was slipping his second shoe on, a body plopped down next to him to do the same, dropping a pair of suede ankle boots on the tile floor with a loud slap. Richie could overhear him talking with someone on the phone frantically and snuck a peek up at the man. He was pressing his iPhone between his shoulder and his ear tightly, rambling so quick Richie wasn’t sure how he could get a breath between the words.

“I know, Ma.”

“Yes, I checked, it looks like it’s still going out.”

“It’s really not that bad, I pr--”

“Well, the news always exaggerates, you know th--”

“Yes, I’ll tell the pilot to be careful. Sure.”

“Mhm-- Yeah. Bye, Mom.”

He sighed loudly as he hung up the phone, dropping it onto the seat next to him then bending over to put his shoes back on. He chuckled quietly, “Sorry if you overheard any of that…” he said as he fiddled with the hems of his jeans, folding them just so and tucking them back under the tongue of his shoes, tying them up with the thin laces. He smiled over at Richie, who was still bent over working on the same shoe he had been when the other man had sat down.

“Hey… you’re that dude from the other day, aren’t you?” Richie asked quietly.

The guy screwed up his face, sitting back up. Richie followed, and he watched as realization fell over his features. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m sorry about that, I was just off a twelve-hour shift and…” he blushed and tried to flatten the hair on the back of his head, just long enough to show a slight curl. “And I was tired. But I’m Eddie.”

“Richie. Pleased to meet you, Eddie. Where ya headed?”

Eddie stood up, beckoning Richie to follow. “Bangor. You?” He asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“No shit? Same.”

“Oh that’s weird… I’d definitely peg you for a west coast type of guy.”

Richie laughed, warm, loud, “Ah, yeah. I’ve lived there for almost ten years. Born and raised in Maine though, baby,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as his laughter yielded a snort.

“Don’t call me baby,” Eddie snapped. He’d always hated being called baby, although no one he’d ever dated had used the pet name; it stemmed from something else. It wasn’t his mother, as she favored more cushy pet names for him: Eddie-bear, muffin, sweetheart. Someone else had called him baby, had used it so many times. Why couldn’t he remember? The only thing he had left of the name were the feelings attached to it: the pain, the sorrow, the grief.

Richie put up his hands defensively, “Sorry ‘bout that, it’s a habit.” He checked his watch, there were still two hours until the flight was due to start boarding. “You on the same flight as me? The 4:45 one?” Eddie simply nodded in response, looking over at him with warm eyes. “Wanna get some food? I’m fucking starving.”

Eddie, in turn, checked his phone for the time and shrugged. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“Well I don’t know about you, but dat Chili’s 2go really hits the spot pre-flight, it’s an absolute delicacy.” Eddie laughed, a sound that made Richie’s head spin, made his heart ache. He beamed, “Letsa go!”

Eddie shot him a smirk, “You know Chili’s doesn’t serve Italian food, right?”

“It does if you order the spaghetti,” Richie quipped with a laugh.

After wandering around for ten minutes only to discover--to Richie’s utter dismay--that there was, in fact, no Chili’s 2go in their terminal, they settled for a little bar that wasn’t too busy, sitting down in a corner booth in the warm, dimly lit restaurant. When the waitress came over, Eddie immediately ordered “the biggest glass of red wine you guys are allowed to serve.” As she walked away, Richie’s eyebrows shot up at him, above his glasses and into the mess of his hair.

Eddie shrugged, “I fuckin’ hate flying. Plus, it’s an airport, everyone is allowed to drink here at any time of the day, right?”

Richie chuckled, “If I got drunk I’d spend the entirety of the flight trying to get you to let me blow you in the tiny airplane bathroom.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open in horror, “God, that’s fucking disgusting. Is everyone like this in California? Do you guys not have germs there?”

Richie winked, “Sorry.”

“So, anyway, what were you doing in New York?”

“Well, uh, actually… I was auditioning for SNL,” Richie said nonchalantly, looking down at his water glass and taking a small sip of it through the straw.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling in the soft light of the restaurant. “That’s cool, what the hell?”

Richie shrugged. “I do a lot of stand up in LA, my agent knows a guy who knows a guy.”

“That’s so fucking cool.”

Richie nodded, “It was terrifying though. Did you know they don’t laugh when you audition? Like at all. They’re not supposed to.”

“God, count me out. I can’t even make old people laugh. And they don’t have the internet, they don’t see any jokes.”

Richie smiled, “Maybe that’s ‘cause they’re just distracted by how cute you are.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie replied, stifling a grin as his cheeks turned a dark, warm rouge. Richie’s heart nearly stopped beating at the sight.

They finished their meal with more expository conversation and slightly less dirty talk, although it was admittedly not much better. Eddie’s cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, Richie’s cheeks sore from smiling, they wandered to their gate quietly. “Well, we’ve still got like an hour…” Eddie yawned as he checked his boarding pass, looking around at the gate numbers ahead of them. “Ah! Over there,” he said, pointing to a sign that read 35, the area underneath already had some people milling around it.

They found a set of chairs that was as secluded as you can really get in an airport and they both sat down, depositing their bags and coats on the chairs on either side of them. After a few seconds, Eddie looked over and nudged Richie, who was rustling around in his backpack. “Will you. Uh. Would you watch my stuff if I nap for a little? I can’t sleep on planes, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

Richie nodded, zipping up his backpack after having retrieved a book from it. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Don’t… call me…” he was interrupted by another yawn, this one bigger than the last. “Whatever.” He pulled his knees up in front of him in the chair and reached for his coat, covering himself in it completely; only his head poked out above the thick fur that lined the hood. “Wake me up before they start boarding, I’m in the first boarding group.”

“Damn, how’d you swing that?”

He looked up at Richie, his eyes already half-closed with sleep yet still somehow managing to shoot daggers, “Printed off my boarding pass in a timely manner.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, “Well alright, just call me out for poor time management.”

Eddie nestled further into his coat, closing his eyes completely, “Mhm. Night, Rich.”

Richie’s heart soared at the pet name, his stomach fluttering with warmth. He smiled to himself as he looked over at Eddie, already breathing evenly next to him.

After about forty-five minutes, Richie was abruptly pulled from his book by an announcement over the loudspeaker that their flight would be delayed by at least an hour. He folded down the corner of his page and set his book aside, turning to look at his still fast-asleep neighbor. His voice low, he placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder softly.

“Hey. Eddie,” he whispered, pressing his fingertips lightly into Eddie’s arm.

Eddie stirred, but not enough to move or even open his eyes, “Mmm?” He grumbled, curling up under his coat even more than he already was.

Richie kept his voice at a whisper, “Flight’s delayed. Another hour.”

Eddie murmured some sleep sounds, balling his fists up in the fur of his coat and wrapping it around his sides. “Good. Hndhdon’t wanna,” he let out a long, deep exhale, “dohnwandjsee my mom ahneeway.”

Richie chuckled, “That’s okay, Eds.”

Eddie, almost fully back asleep now, leaned over the armrest separating them and rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, nestling his cheek into the soft material of Richie’s baseball tee.

“Dohncallmeethat,” he whispered on an exhale, and his next intake of breath was a sleep-gurgled almost-snore. It was Richie’s turn to blush, he stifled a smile as he recovered his book and opened it back up.

After another hour, Eddie began slowly to wake back up, his eyes fluttering and a yawn breaking his lips apart as he sat up, sloughing off the coat, now too hot under its insulation. He looked at Richie, his cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth and the sleep. “Uh. Sorry for… I didn’t realize… That I’d been sleeping on you… How long was I out?”

“Like two hours,” Richie replied, a grin on his face. “I bet they start boarding soon, the snow stopped a bit ago.”

Eddie attempted to keep another yawn at bay, “Thank god. My mom is gonna have a fucking conniption.”

“Yeah, you said something about her while you slept,” Richie said, looking down to make eye contact with Eddie.

His eyes flew open wide, panic on his face. “Fuck. What did I talk about? I have weird dreams a lot… Didn’t realize I talked during them. That’s.” He paused, running a hand through the hair that was kinked on one side from being pressed against Richie’s shoulder. “That’s great.”

“Oh, not much. You just said you didn’t wanna see her.”

Eddie looked relieved. “Oh. Well yeah, that’s not untrue. She’s… A lot.”

“Sounded like it. From what I overheard when you were talking to her on the phone earlier…” Richie trailed off, the PA system in their gate had turned on, a bored-sounding woman began to drone out their flight information.

“Boarding for flight XF56G to Bangor will start in the next twenty minutes, sorry for the delay.”

“Where’s your seat?” Richie asked, still looking at Eddie, now rifling through his coat pockets for his boarding pass.

“12G,” he replied, neatly refolding his boarding pass and tucking it into his pants pocket.

Richie hastily retrieved his, folded and nestled into the back of the book he’d been reading. “Dang it, I’m 23B.”

Eddie smiled snarkily, “What I get for being on time.”

Richie glowered over at him, “Whatever, a flight’s a flight. Sucks no matter what.”

Eddie shrugged, “I guess you’re right. Well, it’s been fun, thanks for not stealing my shit while I slept.”

“All I had to do was sit here and watch you look pretty,” Richie replied. “Wasn’t too hard of a task.”

“I swear to go--” Eddie started, but was interrupted by the call for boarding group A, of which he was a part. “Well, maybe we could, uh…” He cleared his throat as he stood up, folding his coat over his forearm neatly. “Maybe we could get drinks or something while we’re in town, I’m only about twenty-five minutes outside of Bangor… God knows I’ll need the alcohol.”

Richie smiled. “Me too, maybe we could meet in the middle. Now go, or you’re gonna forfeit your precious group A standing. Find you after the flight.”

Eddie nodded, turning around and hastily pushing past strollers and bags and masses of people to make his way to the desk, turning around to shoot Richie one last grin before he disappeared behind the door.

The flight was quick, not even two hours. Richie spent most of it reading and attempting to sleep, although neither was going very well at all. He was continually interrupted by snippets of memories, playing in his head like snapshots; popping up and disappearing like old, faded polaroids. Things from his childhood he’d since completely wiped from his mind; at first, it was his parents, yelling at him for breaking his glasses, praising him for his A averages, worrying at him for something that to him was still a cloudy and nameless entity in his head. A relationship, maybe, but he hadn’t dated anyone in high school. Hadn’t he?

Then came his friends; the treasure trove of memories that opened up the moment he began to recall them was immense, it was endless. Summers spent swimming at the quarry, the years when time had had no illusion of significance, no meaning at all. The group of them roving the entire town on their bikes as if they owned the damn place, building the clubhouse in the barrens, hiding out from their bullies there. He was abruptly ambushed by memories of those boys, the bullies who’d made his and his friends’ lives living hell until one by one they’d moved all out of Derry. These memories he’d packed so far away he wondered if he’d been paying the bills for the storage space these had taken up, they surely had not been in his head all this time.

He remembered his friends one by one, Bill first. Bill. He hadn’t had a name in years, hadn’t thought about his friends since he’d moved, every attempt had ended with him left more confused, with more details forgotten. God, had he adored Bill. The leader, the coolest one of all of them by leaps and bounds. Bill’s power over them had been unmatched, they had all loved him, stutter and all. He then remembered Beverly, cooler than Bill by all standards but their own for no discernible reason. He recalled her beauty, but more than that he recalled her biting wit, her fierce loyalty, her courage. He remembered the others too, nearly all at once. Stan, Mike, Ben, their faces came up in his mind as if he was looking at photos, as if he was watching the greatest hits of his life. They came crashing into the forefront of his mind like a shattered stained-glass window being reassembled in front of his eyes.

Just as the plane began its final descent, more memories came to the surface, ripping through the others almost violently, overtaking all of his other thoughts like brushfire and flooding his mind with nothing but Eddie Eddie Eddie. Cute cute cute. How he could have forgotten him he had not the slightest notion, but those years with Eddie came rushing back, and suddenly it was all he could do not to pass out. They came over him in a deluge, swarming in his head like bees and making him light-headed. Little Eddie Kaspbrak, little in stature but never in character. His friend with the asthma that had turned out to be nothing but a bad case of worrying. His friend who had carefully and meticulously cleaned up and bandaged his knee that one day he’d fallen from the back of Bill’s bike, the only one of them able to stay calm and level-headed through all of the blood, all of the pain. His friend with the too short shorts and the too big t-shirts. His best friend. The love of his life.

Richie felt the plane land, hard and fast, felt his seat underneath his legs jostle him around as they made a bouncy impact with the ground, the movement slowing down as they taxied to the gate. He was pulled from the cavern of his thoughts, he looked up and around the plane, searching for that warm brown head of hair he’d just spent so many years without. It had been ten years, but the next five minutes were due to be the longest of his life. The moment the plane stopped moving, Richie unbuckled and jumped up, joined by some of the other overeager passengers. And Eddie. Richie caught sight of the button nose as the man turned his head, his eyes desperately searching the overcrowded cabin for the boy he’d been in love with since before he even knew what love was. The smile that was on Eddie’s face, his eyes brimming with tears, communicated exactly what they were both feeling. The rush of emotions, the inability to wait five minutes even though they’d waited years already. Richie just stared back, unaware of what his face looked like, although he supposed he probably looked like a damn slack-jawed idiot.

They held eye contact until Eddie’s seatmate exited the aisle and followed the line of passengers off the plane. Eddie tore his eyes away and reluctantly followed, flashing an uneasy, impatient smile before he moved. Richie waited patiently--as patiently as he could, although patience had never been his strong suit. When it was finally his turn, Richie moved anxiously off the plane, following the mass of people in front of him who apparently felt that it was okay to walk as slow as physically possible. On the jet bridge, he began to bob and weave through bodies, trying not to push anyone but nearly mowing down a few old ladies, hobbling at an astoundingly low speed through the wide tunnel. The moment he stepped off, his eyes found Eddie, who was waiting patiently for him, bag and coat in hand. Eddie smiled as Richie approached, dropping his belongings on the floor to reach out to him. Their bodies collided solidly, Richie also cast his bag away, their things in a messy heap on the dirty airport floor.

Richie looked down, looked closer this time than he had before. “Eds.” He fixed his glasses on his face, as if unsure whether or not his eyes were betraying him. “Eddie.”

Eddie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Richie,” he whispered.

Richie reached his free hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, letting his thumb swipe softly back and forth across his high cheekbone, still as littered with freckles as it had been when they were fourteen. Richie could feel his eyes wetting as well and blinked a few times, refusing to tear his eyes away from Eddie’s, they were still the same warm, hazel brown with flecks of gray. Richie could feel Eddie staring back up at him, boring holes into his own crystal blue eyes, cast into an almost clear aqua by the brilliant afternoon sunlight reflecting off the snow outside, magnified by the thick lenses that sat in front of them. As they looked at each other for the first time in over ten years--really looked at each other--Richie could feel every single memory of them crashing over him like a tidal wave, crushing him and building him back up again, and he could see the hurricane raging on behind Eddie’s eyes as well. He remembered the long glances, the soft touches, the warm, summer sun reflecting off the water, shining on their wet hair and their wet arms, coaxing freckles out of hiding. The bitter winters, those memories still dominated by warmth, the campfires, the backseat of Richie’s truck with the heater all the way up, the two of them wrapped up under blankets in the same bed. The hot breaths and lingering touches, tingling, warm skin covered with goosebumps. The warmth coming to a crescendo, a blaze that had destroyed everything in its path, igniting their lives and incinerating everything within reach. The fight that had ended it all, and the cold that it had left behind. Replaced again with only longing glances out the back of car windows, driving opposite directions across the country.

Richie watched as Eddie lost his battle with the tears in his eyes, letting a sob escape his chest, beaming up at Richie as the tears began to fell. “It’s been… God, it’s been so long, Rich. So fucking long. And how did we-- how did we not...”

“I don’t know… It doesn’t matter though. Because we’re here. And we remember. And… I never told you when we were younger because I was seventeen and a fucking idiot. But I love you, Eddie. I have since the moment I met you, and… I don’t think I stopped, even while I couldn’t remember you.”

Eddie smiled, laughing through the tears. “I love you too.” Just then, Eddie’s phone began to ring in his pocket, vibrating between them. He pulled it out hastily, sighing at the screen and pressing it up to his ear. “Mom. I just landed, calm down. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yes, I--”

“No, it’s fine, I can--”

Richie chuckled softly to himself as he watched Eddie’s brow furrow, and he reached in his pocket to retrieve his own phone. He read through the few texts he’d missed, deciding to deal with them at a later time. He took a deep breath as he opened his email, refreshing it slowly, ready to see nothing. When it finally loaded, there were two messages. Both from his manager. With shaking fingers, he opened the first one. His eyes pored over the screen, barely reading the words, attempting to absorb the contents of the entire paragraph at once. He scrolled to the bottom quickly, not really retaining any of the text at the top. When he got to the last line, it said this: “I know you’ll have scrolled through this whole thing and not read any of it. So, here’s the deal…”

He looked up at Eddie, who’d just hung up his phone in frustration. Eddie’s eyes went soft when he caught sight of Richie’s face. “What’s up?”

“I did it, Eddie,” he said, exhaling a short, relieved laugh. “I got the job.”

#reddie #secret santa event #kaspbrak-eddie

[hazelandglasz]

Hand Holding

I know I have a ton of prompts waiting for me, and don’t worry, I’m working on it, but “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” started playing and, well, I’m weak ^^

On AO3

5th grade

“Come on Kurt, you’ll get lost in that crowd--take my hand!”

Kurt has to admit that there is something comforting in his bestest friend holding his hand and guiding him through the sea of older people’s legs in front of them.

Blaine is so confident and so tall, he never gets lost.

“Do you have a compass in your head?” Kurt asks as they go from the manta ray aquarium to the octopus.

Blaine never drops his hand. “I don’t think so,” he replies, his voice muffled by the glass.

Kurt looks at him with a tiny frown before copying him. Blaine often has the best ideas when it comes to animals. With his nose smushed against the glass, Kurt can see all the details of the octopus’ tentacles when it slams against the glass. He lets out a shriek and jumps away, but Blaine never lets go of his hand.

“Kurt!”

Kurt swallows down on his tears. “It scared me.”

Blaine squeezes his hand and comes to stand closer. “It’s okay,” he says, his missing teeth making his voice softer, “look at it now.”

They both stay one step away from the glass, and they look at the octopus as it floats and swims, almost dances across the space of its aquarium.

“It’s pretty, ain’t it?”

Kurt nods and smiles at Blaine. “It is. Sometimes something scary can still be pretty.”

Blaine nods wisely before returning his eyes to the map. “Let’s go and see the otters!”

As they rush to play with the otters, Kurt considers the warmth of his bestest friend’s hand in his, and thinks that it is the prettiest thing.

8th grade

“Kurt, wait up!”

Kurt does freeze in the crowd, letting Blaine catch up with him. “I hate crowds,” Blaine mumbles when they are finally reunited.

“You love performing to a crowd, though,” Kurt says with a teasing smile.

“I do,” Blaine sighs, “but I hate having to get rough just to make my way. We shouldn’t have to fight to exist!”

On more levels than you think, Kurt thinks in petto, startled when Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s. “Um, Blaine?”

“We’re the same size now, but you’re more confident than me,” Blaine says as they keep walking towards the movie theater. “That way we won’t get lost!”

“Sure.” Kurt doesn’t mind, he really, really doesn’t. As a matter of fact, he loves having Blaine’s hand to hold.

But the looks they are getting from some people in the crowd--noticeably more aggressive than when they were youngers--make him let go of Blaine’s hand under the pretense of arranging his jacket.

Kurt loves B--he loves holding Blaine’s hand, but he has to be careful if he doesn’t want his weekends to look like his school days, thrown in dumpsters and knocked against the lockers.

Blaine doesn’t say anything, smiling sweetly at Kurt as he goes to get them snack without having to ask what Kurt wants to order.

They know each other so well, and yet, there is one thing Kurt can not, will not ever tell Blaine.

For both their sakes.

Because his secret is scary, and troubling, and not at all pretty.

10th grade

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, biting on his lower lip.

He will kill them.

“Kurt, it’s okay.”

“Blaine, you have a bruised up face, don’t tell me it’s okay!”

“Fine, it’s not okay,” Blaine says, voice clipped, “but you’re kinda hurting my hand right now.”

“Oh.” Kurt lets go of Blaine’s hand, but Blaine catches it before Kurt can pull it away completely.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to let go completely,” Blaine says sweetly, an answer to Kurt’s unspoken question. “I like holding your hand, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even if those thugs probably hunt you down because of it?”

Blaine shrugs and winces in one breath at the ill-advised movement. “They probably hit me because they want to hold your hand,” he says with a wink.

Kurt can feel his face heating up, surely as red as the blood on Blaine’s baby blue polo. “I--I seriously doubt it,” he still manages to stutter, flicking Blaine’s bruised knuckles. “Blaine, I--”

“Kurt, it will be alright. Next year, you and I will be Freshmen, hopefully in different classes than those …”

“Neanderthals?”

“Sure. I was going with a more anatomical description, but that works too.” Kurt laughs at that and Blaine relaxes too. “Kurt, it’s three more years and we’ll be out of this state.”

“Three more years.” Kurt gently squeezes Blaine’s hand. “We can do this.”

“Duh. There’s nothing that can stop us if we’re together.”

Kurt’s heart does a valiant effort to break from his ribs and come out singing, but Kurt manages to calm it down into an inside samba. “To--together?”

Blaine frowns at him with his one unbruised eye. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? Like Miguel and Tulio.”

“Right, like Miguel and Tulio.”

Freshman Year

Except that Blaine’s parents have decided that maybe the public school system was not the safest environment for their son, and they send him to Dalton Academy with barely a week to say goodbye to his friends.

Well, his friend.

“Blaine, let go of Kurt’s hand.” Pam is tense as she smiles at Burt. “You two were very kind to accompany us for his first day.”

Burt puts his hand on both boys’ shoulder. “I didn’t have it in me to separate them any longer than necessary.”

Kurt will hug the hell out of his dad once they’re back in the car, but for now, he needs to squeeze Blaine’s hands. Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.

Blaine who looks so small in his uniform--though very dapper, for sure, the tie is a formidable accessory and …

What is he thinking?!

Curse that tie and that color scheme, they’re taking Blaine away from him.

“I’m--I’m still going to be back every two weeks,” Blaine says, swallowing on his tears. “We can still be best friends. We could write letters to each other!”

“Letters? Like, on paper and everything?” Even through his sorrow, Kurt can see the idea has some merit. Very Paris 1930s, if anything else. He can dig the romanticism of an epistolar friendship.

“Yep. I can even make collages for you.”

“And I’ll send you pressed flowers?”

Blaine’s cheeks take a pink hue. “I would love that.”

“Miguel and Tulio?”

“Miguel and Tulio.”

Over their heads, Pam and Burt exchange a “I have no clue, you neither, alright, let’s roll with it” look.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings and fear crosses Blaine’s eyes. “You--you’ll be all right?” He asks, but Kurt can hear his unspoken question.

Will I be all right?

Will we be all right?!

“Of course,” Kurt says, squeezing Blaine’s hand one more time before letting go. “Go be a rockstar.”

Blaine straightens up his lapels and exhales deeply. “Sure.”

Pam and Blaine walk away, but Blaine looks over his shoulder one more time to wave at Kurt. Somehow, Kurt manages to smile and wave back until the massive door closes behind his best friend.

Only then does he crumple. Burt pulls him close. “It will be all right, bud.”

“I--I don’t know how I’ll manage in school, Dad.”

“You’re strong, son. And you’ll make new friends.”

Kurt sighs. “If you say so.”

Junior Year

“Kurt! What are you doing here?”

Damn. Kurt was sure he would be able to spy on the Warblers without running into Blaine. There goes his cover.

“I am, um, looking around.”

“Are you considering joining the Academy?”

“Considering all my options.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hand to pull him toward a stone bench. “Are things getting worse at McKinley?”

Kurt briefly closes his eyes and allows himself a small nod. Blaine knows about the hardships of school already--not all of it, though.

Blaine hasn’t let go of his hand, either, so that’s a bonus.

“Want to see the Warblers’ rehearsal?”

Kurt flushes bright red. Blaine doesn’t look at him, but from the corner of his eye, Kurt can see him smirking. That ass. Saw right through him. “That … could be nice. Aren’t they going to see right through me and beat me up?”

“The Warblers are more civilized than this.” Blaine stands up, holding up his hand once again. “Plus, I have an in with their leader, I’ll put in a good word for you. Now come on, it’s about to start, but I know a shortcut.”

A few months later

For the first time since they met each other, Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s feels clammy and sweaty and it … trembles?

“There is a moment where you just tell yourself ‘Oh, there you are, I have been looking for you forever.’ I have always known we were meant to meet each other, but watching you sing Blackbird this week, that was--”, Blaine pauses, tightening his hold on Kurt’s hand while Kurt is about to pass out, “that was a moment for me. It opened my eyes on what you meant to me, and this duet would have given me an excuse to spend more time with you, to build up the courage to talk to you about it, maybe sing about it?”

Kurt wetly laughs. “That’s why you picked a break-up song?”

Blaine responds with a slightly hysterical giggle. “Nah, that’s just me knowing your guilty pleasure with cheesy ballad.”

Before Kurt can reply anything else, Blaine looks at him and leans over, pressing their lips together.

In a flash, Kurt sees all the moments in their lives during which Blaine held his hand: when they met, in a grown-up handshake; at the aquarium as to not lose each other in the crowd; every time Kurt got scared, every time Blaine needed comfort.

That kiss? It is filled with all those emotions and more, a reminder of what they have and a promise of what is to come.

“Wow.”

“Wow,” Blaine echoes, beaming at him. “We should--we should practice.”

“I think we’ve practiced enough,” Kurt says in a growl, releasing Blaine’s hand to grab his tie and pull him back to him.

#sometimes i write #klaine #klaine au #childhood friends au #because i felt like it get off my back

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 15

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Chapter 15: Plot Twists

           The next morning, Will Graham crept into his house after remembering to tip his Uber driver. Molly’s bed was only a full, but it fit them both just fine. He didn’t wake up sweating and shouting. The meat with the suspicious dates sat wrapped in a grocery bag in her freezer, a testament to how easily she accepted him back into her life.

           A new Samsung charger for his watch wasn’t cheap, but that was alright. He had enough money for a charger, although he’d have to find a new wristband soon. Although he hadn’t had to rip it off, it had just barely managed to remain unscathed, and he could almost feel the Ripper’s skin pressed to the plastic –surely if he wore the same band, he’d become something like the same person? Could the two become one if they tried hard enough?

           The white van was parked in the alley just across from him, and Will avoided looking at it as he walked up the stairs and hesitated by the door. His key got stuck in the lock; he jiggled it and wondered if he was walking into a trap, if he’d overestimated his ability to read the Ripper’s intentions as they shared such close proximity and whispered dark things that –

           Will Graham paused in his doorway and stared at an immaculately clean apartment.

           No body occupied chairs that sat evenly spaced around his shabby dining room table. The decimated remains of a kitchen had been rebuilt, nary a toaster cord out of place. There was a distinct scent of lavender wax burning in a Scentsy that Will Graham most certainly didn’t own, and centered just-so on his table, a letter rested.

Dear Will,

           You handle victory and loss much the same; how many challenges are going to be thrown your way before you’re declared the winner, you wonder? Surely there is an end to this chase?

           Your readers can hardly stand themselves, can’t they? This is the most exhilarating thing that’s happened to them as much as it’s the most fun you’ve ever been able to enjoy. How would they feel to know you don’t really care about them; what would they say if they could see that it’s the hunt that excites you, not their adoration? Would their twitter tags fade; would their admiration turn to censure? How soon until you become what they most hate as opposed to me?

On wind I sit,

My voice the melody you sing,

Such shiny things I take and keep,

my secrets I hide well.

I am both as tall as trees

or as small as fists,

My grip punctures;

I lay draped in radiant hues.

What am I?

                                                                                                                       You have 3 days.

                                                                                                                       -Avid Fan

           Will wandered the apartment, letter gripped tightly in hand. A bird, it meant. A bird, and birds ate fish. Was the Ripper the fisherman, here, or was Will? He went to his dresser where every sock had been set with care, and Will wasn’t at all surprised to see that the knife he’d used to gut the man in the alleyway so long ago wasn’t there. He pressed the embroidered letters on the handkerchief to his lips and exhaled slowly against it as he stared.

           In its place, Will’s calling card had been left.

I wonder where you keep your secrets, he’d asked the Ripper. Or Hannibal Lecter.

           Both; surely both? This confirmed it. Unless the Ripper merely followed him there to observe. Unless this was all just a wild goose chase, and Will was going to find himself behind bars for breaking and entering into an innocent man’s house.

           Will crumpled the paper up and tucked it into his pocket. On his wrist, his watch beeped with victory.

-

           “You found your watch,” Abigail observed.

           She looked much the same, standing across from Will at the Subway in which she worked. Her visor was cheerful, her nametag sat perfectly straight, and she wore a small choker underneath the collared shirt. There was no scent of cigarettes on her breath or uncertainty in her stance. She could have been a seasoned worker, if Will didn’t know better. Everything smelled like mayonnaise and vinaigrette with a hint of burnt bread. Will inhaled the taste of it and coughed. He hated Subway. You could get an almost-authentic pulled pork sandwich just down the road that reminded him of Louisiana seasonings and hot summer days when he was just desperate enough, and it was half of the price.

           “How’d you know I lost a watch?”

           “Beverly mentioned it.” Abigail accepted his card and slid it through the reader, passing it back with an unnecessarily long receipt. “She said you were a pain in the ass for it.”

           Will took the Subway to-go bag and scowled. “They let you cuss here?”

           Abigail took a long, exaggerated look around the empty fast-food joint, then cocked her head to the side and smiled toothily. “I can tell you’re happy about it. You keep looking at it every minute or so. Someone dead give it to you?”

           “It’s an expensive watch,” he groused. Then, “Did Freddie Lounds talk to you?”

           “No, but I got your text.”

           Will wasn’t sure why, but her lack of reassurance didn’t do anything to settle the nervous jumping in his gut. Charlie thought he was doing footwork for Will Intentions. Beverly thought he was taking the day off. Freddie knew damn well he was hiding something, but he’d used Todd from Marketing to fend her off before he made a quick getaway. He’d found himself here before he knew why. Less than three days. He needed to get to work.

           “She won’t pay you,” he said lamely.

           Abigail didn’t seem bothered by the statement. Instead, her eyes roved over his collared shirt and coat, as though she could see every wrinkle and random thread come loose.

           “What happened to your neck?” she asked.

           “Cut it shaving.”

           She met his gaze, and he stared back unabashedly. “That’s a big cut for shaving,” she said.

           “I’m not good at it.”

           “No doubt,” she agreed, “since you didn’t seem to get any hair, just a chunk of skin. They’ve got Youtube channels for that, you know.”

           “A lesson for next time,” he replied. Ridiculously expensive twelve-inch sub in one hand and a cup of water in the other, he headed towards the exit but stopped with his shoulder into the door, a random thought striking him. “Agent Crawford knows you’re here. He asked about you.”

           It was then that her carefully constructed mask slipped, and Will was able to see the edges of the real Abigail beneath. First, it was the fear; that was easily seen, and it hit him like a waft of pungent perfume. Then, there was suspicion; it was something that lurked in the way her mouth tightened and her shoulders turned in.

           She wasn’t quite able to return to the perfect veneer of calm from before as she asked, “What’d he want?”

           Will shrugged and took a sip of water. Four waters so far into the day. He’d even remembered to mark it on his watch. “Wondered about you. Asked me to get a read on you.”

           “What’s the read?” she asked –demanded.

           “He’s not taking you in for questioning,” Will assured her. “But if you start cropping up in the spotlight, doing interviews and spouting off about things, he might. You put a target on your back leaving home to come find me here.”

           “No one leaves home unless there’s no home to leave behind,” Abigail spat back, “but thanks for the tip.”

           She was right, wasn’t she? Freddie said she lost the house to the grieving families, the checking cleared out as a meager restitution for their suffering. He didn’t know how to say it, though; how could he truly convey that he knew, he knew what she’d lost and what she’d done to get to him? That he could feel her defenses and knew why she was sharp and cruel; how else was she to survive with a father like that? There was no home because her father had razed it to the ground around them and left her to sweet up the ashes. Much like Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Will left her with the stench of too much salt in the sauce intermingling with a perpetually running air conditioner, and he marked the first stop on his phone. He had a lot of work to do.

           There were seven bird sanctuaries in the general DC area, the Washington, DC Zoo, and too many pet shops to count. Will visited all of the bird sanctuaries in the first day, the pet stores in the second, and by the third day he found himself touring through the Zoo with an ‘all access’ pass and an overly expensive pizza slice. It wasn’t barren, but he was one of maybe nine that meandered the walkways throughout the zoo, making his way to where the birds sat chirping, fluffing feathers, and being a general nuisance as they fought to be heard over one another. He traced over their beady eyes and gaping maws, and he wondered what he’d have written onto paper to convey their depth of rippling sunset hues, how their voices both clashed yet blended into a loud and raucous melody. His fingers tapped in beat on the side of his trousers. Maybe this would be written into the article, should the need arise for what Freddie referred to as ‘good filler”. Journalist Will Graham Spends an Extensive Amount of Money on Pizza to Catch Bad Guy.

           “Will Graham?”

           Will tensed without meaning to, and he managed a grimacing smile as he turned to shake hands with who he too-late recognized to be Tobias Budge from the gala. A good friend of another one of his ‘avid fans’. The one with the knowing smile.

           “Mr. Budge,” he greeted. A brisk wind passed between them, chilling. The freezing, drizzling rain threatened to turn to ice, but only just. His fingers were stiff.

           “I wasn’t aware that a journalist could find inspiration for murder in a Zoo of all places,” Tobias said with a short laugh.

           “Writers find inspiration in all things,” Will replied. “What brings you here?”

           “As a musician, I too find inspiration in all things,” said Tobias, and he gestured. “After all, wasn’t it Mozart that found the music of the birds as an inspiration to some of his most successful pieces?”

           Will’s fingers stopped drumming to the tune the birds sang for him. Something itched, but he didn’t know where to reach to scratch.

           “You’re a musician?”

           “Well, a violin instructor and shop owner in Baltimore,” Tobias reiterated with a warm laugh. It felt too rich a sound for the modest correction. “I string my own violins.”

           “How do you do it?” Will asked. The birds squawked, sharp and reminding; you’re looking for a body, Will. These niceties won’t help you do that.

           “Well, it’s far easier to show you than to tell you, so if you come by the shop one day, I’ll show you.”

           “I don’t get to Baltimore much.”

           “Just for the occasional gala attendance?”

           And the occasional, tense exchange between myself and a psychopath. “Yeah.”

           “Well, even if it’s not for my shop, you should find the time. Baltimore has a lot to offer tourists.”

           Will hummed in agreement and looked down the rows of birds in large, spacious cages, each one more vibrant than the last. Where would there be a body hiding in the zoo?

           “I’m sorry, you were looking around, weren’t you?” Tobias asked.

           Will’s laugh sounded more like relief. “Yes, I’m here for the birds.”

“The birds,” Tobias mused. “Do you mind if I trail along? This is my last stop before I head home.”

           Will minded very much, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. Could he program the watch to remind him to practice tact a little more often? Could someone time that?

           “Only if you know a little more information about birds than I do,” he managed, and it was the wrong thing to say. Tobias fell in step beside him and kept pace as Will stared at the birds. There wasn’t a zookeeper in sight, no surly teenage employee handing out fliers with maps to new attractions. He wondered where he could pry Tobias off of him and leave him behind. Whereas before he’d been a mild aid in keeping his friend from bowling Will over –what was his name? Francis? Frank? –now he was the problem, walking too close and smelling of dusty books and cold weather.

           “I sadly don’t know much about birds apart from your basics,” Tobias said regretfully. “Crows remember everything, Ravens make good voice impressions, and Magpies take shiny things and hide them.”

           “They do what?” Will asked, pausing beside the Magpie exhibit. The bird, huddled in a fluffed mass in the back, paused and considered them, head tilted.

           “The Magpies?”

           “They take shiny things and hide them,” Will murmured, and he reached into his pocket, fumbling for some spare change. When he found a quarter, he pulled it out and shined it against his coat, eyes on the bird as it hopped about on a branch, watching them. Its feathers ruffled into the cold misting rain.

           “I’m not sure if you’re supposed to do that,” Tobias said, but it was a lost statement, something far away and echoing too faintly to catch.

           Will stood just on the ledge of the cage and held his hand out, offering the quarter. No zookeeper nearby. No zookeeper, but there was a melody of birds and a magpie.

           My voice the melody you sing, Such shiny things I take and keep, my secrets I hide well.

           “Mr. Graham –”

           “Investigative journalism, Mr. Budge,” Will murmured, and when the magpie flew over to him, his heart stuttered. Its claws clung to the chicken wire that kept it captive, and as its beak clacked, wanting, Will smiled.

           “Hello, Mr. Graham,” the bird greeted kindly, in the garbled sort of voice that all birds have. Throaty. Mocking.

           Will was over the small guard rail and rushing between the cages before he had enough time to consider his actions, before he could truly recall Mr. Budge’s feeble attempt at warning him.

           The door to the employee walkway was unlocked and mildly ajar; Will stepped into the humid and enclosed space with the same trepidation that he would stepping into a lion’s den. The birds still sang, and he palmed the quarter indecisively, looking about. Where the front of the enclosures were bright and engaging to meet the needs of their inhabitants, the back of the enclosures were grey and cement-walled. He dragged a palm along the damp grey, and once he reached the entrance to the magpie’s enclosure, he grasped the handle, unsurprised to feel it turn with ease.

           Just inside was much of the same grey walls, although they’d thought to add perches, hiding holes, and a few plants for the magpie to tuck himself into. The opening that gave the birds freedom to move between the social part of their enclosure and the private part was open rather than shut; normally they were closed during open hours to ensure that the birds couldn't hide from the public.

           Will opened it, his pulse pushing through his neck with a burning sensation in his veins.

           The magpie knew; he was inside of the back of the enclosure within just a few seconds, his knowing stare so much worse off because how was it that of all the things to see, all the people to see, he knew exactly which one was Will Graham?

           “Where are they?” he asked breathlessly.

           “Hello, Mr. Graham.”

           “Where?” he demanded, a little more firmly.

           The magpie tilted his head, and he clacked his beak.

           In response, Will lifted the quarter, and he scowled back.

           “Please?” the bird asked.

           “Please,” Will agreed.

           The magpie flew to the small supply closet, and it took only a few curses and a conveniently nearby hammer before Will was breaking the lock off of it just in time to catch the dead body that dropped from the roof of the enclosure in order to land on top of him.

           “Hello, Mr. Graham!” the Magpie shrieked.

-

           He was waiting with Tobias Budge at the back of an ambulance.

           Will wouldn’t say that he enjoyed waiting with Tobias Budge at the back of the ambulance, but since he’d hit his head on the concrete and blacked out for seven seconds, the medic wasn’t letting him leave anytime soon. Jack Crawford will want to know you’re okay, he’d said. He has all information from the local police routed over to them. He’ll know you’ve been hurt.

           His watch beeped; it’d been almost an hour since he’d last taken a step.

           The Magpie in the enclosure wasn’t the Magpie that the Zoo had ‘borrowed’ from the Atlanta Zoo for a series in birds. Will had already texted to inform Beverly and Freddie of the drama that was sure to unfold at the Atlanta Zoo demanding their bird back, but he was mostly concerned about what would happen to the Magpie that’d been left behind, the one trained to say his name.

           “He will probably be taken to the FBI,” the first officer on the scene had said.

           “Evidence and all if the Chesapeake Ripper owned him,” her partner had added.

           Evidence and all. Will had come to just in time for Tobias to almost drop him with a startled shout as he tried to free him from the grotesque corpse whose stench had left a couple of cops gagging up their lunch.

           “Is this common for journalists, or is this just our lucky day?” Tobias asked. Blood was streaked along the starched white collar underneath his shock blanket, and there was still some on his neck. Rancid blood from the veins of a dead man. Will wanted to bathe until he scrubbed his skin off.

           “Comes with the territory,” he said.

           “Sounds like a stressful job,” said Tobias. He huddled further into his shock blanket, and the flash of red disappeared. “Was it like that before you started this column?”

           “Mostly it was forcing myself to eat a lot of fondant and pretend to be excited about interviewing Great Uncles from the war,” Will replied. “I can’t say which one I prefer more.”

           Tobias’ smile was pleasant. “First the Chesapeake Ripper, then the Maestro –you’ve got your hands full.”

           “I’m not worried about the Maestro,” Will replied automatically, but he instantly regretted it. Tobias’ laugh was too loud against his ear, and he leaned away from it instinctively.

           “That’s the first time I’ve heard someone say that about a serial killer,” he said.

           Will shrugged and looked down to his feet that hung off of the ambulance. His left foot swung in time with the flashing blue lights on the cop car. “I guess he just doesn’t have the same…tone.”

           “How so?”

           That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? Will dreamt of the stiffened bodies the Maestro had left behind, yet standing before them he could only focus on the Ripper and how close he pressed his mouth to Will’s ear, whispering wicked things. His watch vibrated again, and he dismissed the shoe notification whose laces trailed into a lazy ‘Zzz…’ He’d have to work harder on his step goal tomorrow.

           “He wants me to want it the way he does,” Will said at last, when he could find the words. “It’s off, it’s…showy. Not clever. I’m a journalist, not a psychopath with an obsession with music or complex anatomical modifications.”

           “Yet here you are, breaking into Zoo enclosures,” Tobias said with a laugh.

           “Here I am,” Will agreed glumly.

           “How do you know that he wants you to want it the way that he does? How do you know it’s a he?” At Will’s perplexed expression, he continued, “I’m sorry, am I asking too much? I could always wait for your column to come out.”

           “He won’t be in the column.” Will looked back to his swinging shoe. The silence after left him wanting. “It’s showy, isn’t it?”

           “Him putting it on your doorstep, you mean.”

           “Yeah, that.” Doorsteps. First work, then home. He’d be hiding them underneath Will’s normal seat on the bus if he wasn’t careful. “He very obviously wants to be in the column, and I’m not one for entertaining things like that.”

           “The Chesapeake Ripper gets that sort of entertainment though.”

           Will hummed non-committedly. How could he, with all of his vast limitations in speech, even begin to explain how very wrong that sort of estimation was? That the Ripper gave zero fucks about the column, how that was just the conduit in which they first communicated, how it was through that and that alone that Will first began to wake up?

           This is the most fun you’ve had in years.

           “Do you think he’s going to escalate his crimes if you don’t give him the attention he’s seeking?” Tobias pressed.

           “It’s not my fault if he does.”

           “Isn’t it? If he’s only doing it because you’re not giving him what he wants, I’d personally wonder about repercussions.”

           “Will Graham.”

           Over the years, Will had grown accustomed to the many ways in which he was addressed. More often than not, there was a level of exasperation to it –mostly from teachers or authority figures. Sometimes, there would be laughter in their voice at something particularly funny he’d shared, sometimes nonchalance. Most times, something pressing and prodding managed to snake its way into their voice, something that let him know that he was probably a little too far detached from reality at the moment.

           Despite the aggravated weariness, Will could honestly say that he was more than happy to be rescued by Agent Jack Crawford.

           “Agent Crawford,” he greeted, and his foot stilled the swinging motion. The lights on the cop car kept flashing, and he felt disjointed from it, out of time. He glanced to his watch. The seconds kept ticking.

           ��Walk with me, Mr. Graham,” Jack prompted.

           Will hopped off of the back of the ambulance and shot Tobias Budge a look that he hoped conveyed some sort of regret at their conversation being interrupted.

           “Mr. Budge.”

           “Mr. Graham. Best of luck to you. Your life seems very exciting.”

           They shook hands, and Will found himself casually rubbing his palm into his work slacks as he turned his back and walked away.

           “You look relieved to see me,” Jack said suspiciously.

           “Out of everything going on, Jack, I can safely say that you’re the most constant in my life,” Will replied cheerfully. “You were saving me from an apparent fan.”

           “An Avid Fan?”

           They considered one another as they paused just on the other side of the police line. The mist was becoming rain at a slow and agonizing pace. It clung to Will’s cheeks and left his nose pink.

           “An avid fan, but not that avid fan,” Will said slowly.

           “You sure about that?”

           “You could investigate him if you want. I did think it was weird to run into him here.” Will glanced back to where Tobias was giving another agent his testimony. “He lives in Baltimore and owns an instrument shop.”

           “Well unless he’s making violins out of bodies, he’s not my problem.” Jack’s brow deepened into a divot, and he glared impressively at Will. “You are.”

           “I found the body,” he protested.

           “What’d I say about leaving me out of the loop, Graham?” Jack asked in a low growl. “Didn’t I say I’d have you brought in for obstruction of justice?”

           This wasn’t happening. Will looked across the police line to the agents milling about with intent, their probing gazes not once turned his way. This was supposed to happen, his standing here with Jack. The agents knew not to wander by and interrupt.

           “You’ll never catch him that way,” Will warned. His stomach was doing something funny in his gut, wrenching tight, tight, tight. He coughed to dispel the pressure. “He’ll just bide his time or disappear altogether. You won’t draw him out that way.”

           “No, apparently all I need to do that is walk a very thin line between abiding by the law and getting in the way of the law,” Jack snarled. “If I’d known that years ago, I’d have caught him by now.”

           Will thought of his meeting in less than two weeks’ time, how close he was to seeing Dr. Lecter in person and ending this once and for all. He thought of Abigail, how she was listless and had nowhere to turn, no one to lean on now that she was so utterly, utterly alone. He thought of the column, of Freddie looking at him across the coffee shop table with the oddest expression in her eyes, like she could finally see him and both loved and hated what she saw.

           He thought of Beverly and how mad she was going to be after this.

           “You arrest me, and you’ll never find him,” said Will, voice lowering to a soft murmur. He tried to make it coaxing, gentle. “He’d think it was funny you were so busy coming after me in a blind rage that you missed him entirely. He’d laugh all the way to the bank, Agent Crawford. Neither one of us want that.”

           Jack Crawford managed a very small, sly smile. “I’m willing to take that bet. Will Graham, you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice and impeding an investigation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you…”

#LiaS scribbles #ill intentions #hannibal fanfic #hannibal au #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #will graham x hannibal #dark!will #grey!will #journalist!will #tobias budge

[librariankiss]

Where the hell have you been?

No, nobody has asked me this in exactly that way. Don’t worry. Thanks to Tumblr and AO3 I know some of the most wonderful people that I have ever met. But a few people have checked in on me after noticing that, once again, I’ve stopped updating my writing. Except this time I haven’t posted a corresponding update (even a small one) as to why.

Since I also run a couple of other blogs, and as I might not be writing anything for a while yet, I thought I’d write a quick update about where I am, what I’m doing, and when and how often I’ll be able to create content.

None of this is a big deal. I just don’t like to up and vanish without word. So, uh. Here goes, I guess.

As I’ve mentioned a few times in posts (and to a number of my closer mutuals in messages) I suffer from several health problems which occasionally effect my activity and productivity. I’m used to these and they’re nothing to be extremely worried about, but they can show up without warning and at the worst times and make things more difficult for me than I’d like. You know, like poor health loves to do.

Over the last couple months I’ve been having a bit more trouble with all this than I expected. I took a real hit due to my health and my productivity totally plummeted. For some time now I have been able to get very little done. Again this isn’t so much something to really worry about. It’s more just a pain in the ass because though most of my projects seem kinda dumb to the outside world, I do really enjoy working on them and not being to is frustrating.

As well as this, in about a month I have some pretty big deadlines for a bunch of coursework that I need to complete. I may even have to look into getting a late deadline as due to my ill health I’ve barely been able to work on this coursework. I’ve just been plugging away in small amounts feeling like I’m making no real progress towards any of it. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but you know how stress gets to you.

The upshot is that until these deadlines are past (again, in about a month) I will have next to no time to work on any of my pieces. This means that won’t be able to post any one shots, Despite the Constellations will remain unfinished, and Conflicts of Interest will receive few or no updates. Though will be/has been updated today (dependant on when this is posted) with a chapter that has plot and everything. 

Plus, since Conflicts of Interest has been my main fanfic project for more than two years now (it would have been finished a long time ago if not for my health haha) once these deadlines are past I’m going to make it as much of priority as I can to just finish the damn thing. Not that I don’t enjoy writing it, I’d just also enjoy writing other things. 

Anyway, that’s it. Nothing too dramatic. I’m just a busy sickling. I’ll be back as soon as I can with more of my whatever the hell I write, and I’ll still be around here when I can if you wanna talk to me about anything. Stay safe, nerds.

- Lou (Kiss)

#kiss.txt #update