#this ended sappier than i intended but here you go!

[wanderersbell]

If requests are still open , how about the reader inviting Scara to their teapot (could be traveling companion reader who also owns a teapot, but do whatever you want, i love your ideas!!!) and the reader furnished an entire room for him? it's suited to his likes too :o tysm!!

a realm for him

wanderer x gn! reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2528

a/n: okay listen i may have gotten a bit carried away with this and made it way longer and sappier than i was intending, but i spent forever decking out my whole teapot for him so i loved this idea sooo much (❁´◡`❁) tysm for the wonderful request, enjoy!

getting the state of your teapot to be as lively as it is now was no small feat. 

day by day for weeks on end, you’ve slowly worked at filling each empty corner with little towns and lush scenery, all of which are based off of your traveling companions favorite spots in sumeru. one island is reminiscent of a small fishing village, fenced off and framed by local shrubbery and flora, as well as some small crop gardens already growing with tiny seedlings. the second island is decorated as a beautiful scenic forest, with trees and plants and gazebos and fountains all connected by a subtle stone path that lead through to the third island. 

and the third island, after much contemplation, is decorated as a tiny inazuman shrine, bordered with towering cherry blossom trees and eye catching blue glowing flowers that create an almost mystical ambiance. you weren’t sure if reminding him of the place where he came from was a good idea, but figured having a small piece of home away from home might be the one way he can actually enjoy the view of inazuma. the sights here are much different from what he saw in tatarasuna, much more welcoming, so you figured it was worth a shot and swore to yourself that you would take it down immediately if he doesn’t like it. 

and, your personal favorite part is the main building decorated as a tea shop on the inside, with a tasteful mix of interior inspiration from every region you’ve visited thus far, all mushed together to create an eclectic little space for him to come and enjoy the different teas you’ve started collecting in secret. 

in fact, all of this was a secret. the wanderer had yet to catch on to the actual reason behind your insistence to collect extra materials while you travel together, and the time you spent in your teapot was time he spent off running errands and assisting lesser lord kusanali, so nothing was out of the ordinary as far as he was concerned. 

but, after a few finishing touches like street lamps and wildlife to make everything feel less lonely, you were finally done. it was finished. every square inch of your teapot fully furnished with things you couldn’t wait to show the one you had in mind when doing it all. 

when the time comes for you to finally bring him there, you’re way more nervous than you were expecting to be. what if he doesn’t like? hates it, even? what if your design choices are wrong and the vibes are off and-

“well,” the wanderer’s voice drags you out if your thoughts, smooth and grounding. “are we going in or what? how does this thing even work?”

right, it’s too late to turn back anyways. the golden teapot hovers in the air between you from where you stand on a riverbank together, and the man next to you has his arms crossed with an unimpressed frown as he waits for you to respond. it’s cloudier than usual today, the sky a soft shade of gray in the background, and you shiver a bit both because of nerves and the lack of sunlight before clearing your throat. 

“it uh- transports me in as soon as i open the lid. just…” you trail off, contemplating whether or not you want to say anything before you bring him in. “just grab onto my hand so we’ll both go together.” you blurt out instead. it would take you both in regardless, but this was the first excuse out of your mouth, and you want to curl up and become invisible at the odd look he gives you. he can tell you’re up to something, but hasn’t figured out what quite yet. 

“okay.” he agrees easily, slotting his hand against yours. his skin is cool to the touch and his grip firm, and you’re reaching out to rip the lid off of the teapot before you can start thinking too much about the way it makes your heart jump into your throat. the both of you are transported to the inside of the device in the blink of an eye, arriving right before the main building where tubby dozes away inside of her own pot. 

his first thought it that it’s… big. bigger than he was expecting. his eyes automatically go to the structure behind him and he wordlessly goes to grab the handle of the door but you’re quick to tug the back of his shirt to stop him, shaking your head softly when he turns to give you a questioning look. 

“we’ll do this last, let’s go take a walk first.” 

his eyes follow yours in the direction of the other islands that are just visible in the distance. he can’t make out any details yet, much to your relief. 

“what’s out there?” he asks with poorly concealed interest while following you down the steps of the building and towards the first island. you give him a sly smile that you hope masks the way you’re freaking out on the inside. 

“you’ll see.”

he raises a brow at this but stays silent. this island is the small fishing village, based off of the one you both visit regularly, the one where you first met the mysterious wanderer and your journey with him began. he feels a sense of familiarity as you lead him over to the straw hut in the middle, noticing the crop gardens off to the side and giving an approving hum at the sight. 

you watch him closely the entire time, zeroing in on every minuscule change in his expression and feeling your chest swell with pride at the way his eyes soften. he can’t help but to remember the day he met you, the way you would flat out ignore him every time he tried making a dig at you then turn around and be as sweet as ever to the local kids at the village, and he has to bite back a fond smile at the memories. 

“well?” you peer up at him hesitantly. it’s more than obvious that he likes it as he looks around like he’s already trying to familiarize himself with where everything is, but still, you want to hear him say it. 

“well?” he parrots, meeting your expectant eyes. he pretends to think for a moment, just to leave you hanging for a bit longer, and then, “it’s nice, but there’s no fish.”

you instinctively frown and open your mouth to tell him to stop being so picky but pause just as the first word dies on your lips. with a sinking feeling of realization, you look around you and confirm that yes, there is indeed no body of water, therefore no fish. 

“oh.” you say dumbly, and the stumped look on your face has a laugh bubbling up in his chest. you can’t fight back the smile that creeps up on you even though he’s laughing at your expense and give him a lighthearted shove before leading him away to the next island. 

“how did you manage to forget the most crucial part of a fishing village?” the wanderer teases, catching up to you in a few long strides. 

“i didn’t forget, that’s just not a furnishing option in here.” you explain. 

when you reach the second island, you remain quiet again and wait for him to take it all in and make a comment himself. his eyes widen a fraction in awe as you both step underneath the canopy of trees and wildlife, the bright colors of flora and fauna and the blue accents on the towering gazebos on each side all working together to make a botanical haven that he can’t tear his attention away from. 

within only moments of being in there he’s already spotted a handful of his favorite plants and flowers, ones with meanings that stuck with him throughout his life, ones that you held onto and remembered and planted here. 

you watch with baited breath as he absentmindedly reaches a hand out to brush his fingers against the low hanging leaves beside him, eyes flitting from place to place and noticing something different each time. there’s a look akin to childlike wonder on his face, and when his attention finally falls back to you there’s a tiny genuine smile playing at his lips that makes you ache to reach out and hold him. 

he’s so, so beautiful standing underneath of the lush trees and flowers, and unbeknownst to you, as he holds your gaze, he’s thinking the same thing in return. your excitement to bring him here and show him this leaves him with a warm feeling blooming in his chest, an appreciation for you that he fears he’ll never be able to properly express. 

“ready to keep going?” you ask softly, as if speaking too loudly will ruin the peaceful atmosphere. 

“there’s more?” the look of surprise on his face has you chuckling breathlessly while you continue the path forward. 

this is the part you’ve been looking forward to and anticipating the most, and as the final island comes into view, you can feel him stiffen beside you. the giant cherry blossom trees are visible even from the distance, but his step doesn’t falter and he keeps up next to you so you take it as a sign to keep going. 

his presence beside you stays strong as you approach the shrine and step into the field of glowing flowers, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as he takes in the familiar pink trees and red painted wood with a complicated emotion swirling around in his irises. he doesn’t look angry though, so you finally feel your shoulders relax and allow yourself to enjoy the scenery as you walk along the path. 

in his own head, the wanderer is… puzzled. this island is so out of place inside of your sumeru themed teapot, and yet, the care and effort you put into it makes the other ones small in comparison. the shrine is grand, sleek, and high quality. the trees are placed perfectly so that the breeze carries soft pink petals down with it, dancing around you two in a beautiful airborne waltz. 

the flowers, the same ones that grow in chinju forest, cast everything in a gentle azure glow, one that when he looks at you is reflecting an ethereal light over your features. somewhere deep down inside of him, he feels a bit of sorrow clinging onto him, bringing with it the memories of a place he left behind long ago. 

but next to that is the all consuming feeling of happiness that he tries so hard to convince himself he doesn’t feel when he’s with you. in this special place of yours, filled with your hard work and thoughtfulness, he can no longer deny himself the truth of how wholeheartedly he cares for you. you, who’s staring back at him with a kindness he’s never known as you give him new memories to associate with the sights of his homeland.  

you still can’t decipher the emotions on his face, but you can tell they’re good ones and that he’s contemplating something deeply, so you let the silence hang comfortably in the air as you walk side by side all the way back to the entrance and to the main building, the part you’ve been saving for last. he says nothing the whole way back, granting you the chance to appreciate the comfort something as simple as walking with him brings you. 

when you finally make it to the main island and ascend the steps of the building, he snaps out of his reverie and raises a brow at you questioningly. “what’s inside?”

“it’s nothing much,” you lie with a mischievous smile adorning your face. when you open the door and let him in he realizes he really, truly has fallen hopelessly for you. 

it’s a tea shop. for him.

there’s no denying it, there’s no other explanation he can give himself because he knows you don’t care much for tea. that means-

this whole teapot, every single island, was for him.

you watch with a huge grin on your face as the wanderer splutters and blushes when it all finally hits him. nobody has ever done this much for him, not without a price at least, but you never ask for anything in return from him so he’s almost literally short circuiting while trying to figure out the proper response. 

“why did you- what…” he takes a grounding breath before trying again. “why do all of this?”

you smile softly and shrug. “because i wanted to.”

he opens his mouth to say something else, likely to prod you for a legitimate reason as to why, but you cut him off before he gets the chance. “look around first, i want to know what you think.”

he wants to argue, but bites his tongue at the clear eagerness on your face and clicks his tongue in fake annoyance as he takes in the contents of the room. he walks around for a few minutes, observing the things on the walls and shelves, scrutinizing the chinaware, poking the souvenirs you’ve collected from other regions, until finally he stops at the cabinet that houses the tea collection. 

“open it.” you say hurriedly. he gives you a fake suspicious raise of his brow but complies and tugs the door of the cabinet open, a sharp intake of air following immediately afterwards as he instantly recognizes the labels. 

“this is…” he trails off in disbelief. 

“the tea from the shop you keep staring after longingly in sumeru city? yep, sure is.” you confirm mirthfully, skipping over to stand next to him and watch him take a container down to turn around in his hands. he’s struggling to process this, to accept this much kindness from you when he knows he doesn’t deserve it, not in the slightest, but the proud gleam in your eyes doesn’t get lost to him and he knows you’re anxiously awaiting his response. 

“i don’t know why you would bother with this, and go through all of this effort,” he starts tentatively, placing the tea back in the cupboard so he can turn to fully look at you. “but i can acknowledge the work you put in and promise i will put it to good use.”

your expression falls slightly at his formal tone of speech. “and?”

he frowns hesitantly and averts his eyes. “and… i like it. or whatever. it’s really nice.”

your triumphant grin is almost blinding when he meets your gaze again and he shakes his head in silent exasperation. though he doesn’t know how, or when it’ll happen, he swears to himself that somehow, someway, he’ll repay you for this. he’ll find a way to show you how much it really means to him, how much you really mean to him. 

but for now, sitting together in your shared realm with some freshly steeped tea, for the first time in centuries, he feels at home. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #my writing #requests! ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

[absolutebl]

Reveal your watch, rewatch & excited about BL list

@iankuea thanks for the taggage 

CURRENTLY WATCHING:

 Minato Shouji Coin Laundry (Japan) - Shin is my PRECIOUS baby stalker seme edgey honeychild and Minato is going to break that desperate 17 year old need open like a balut egg. I just hope we get at least some kisses before THE PAIN. 

Triage (Thailand) - OMG SO GOOD, the tension, the twists, the flips, the acting the CAN THEY END IT HAPPY???? 

Love Mechanics (Thailand) - messy cheating chaos queers of epic stupid but SO WELL ACTED - can’t stop the YinWar 

KinnPorsche (Thailand) - I like 1/5 of it more than I should and the rest of it less than I ought 

Unforgotten Night (Thailand) - for a kinky BDSM there is not enough kink, B, D, S, or M sadly, still it marks the return of the trash watch! 

Senpai, Danjite Koidewa! (Japan) - my least favorite dynamic but watchable 

Love in Spring (Korea) - rumors of no kiss/bromance abound, it’s dumb, I love the psycho character... of course I do... I AM the psycho character

Check Out (Thailand) - messy cheating chaos queers of epic stupid

Star and Sky: Sky in Your Heart (Thailand) - yawn fest 

My Secret Love (Thailand) - it’s absolutely terrible

Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai (Japan) - I magically got ahold of it but haven’t had the courage to watch it yet 

Not BL... 

Alchemy of Souls - it’s CW level Kdrama historical craptastic and I have been waiting for this all my life. 

Love the Way You Are (China) - NOONA ROMANCE! basically China doing a remake of Something In The Rain only sappier, softer, and probubly with a better ending 

REWATCHING:

DNA Says Love You (Taiwan) 

Love Class (Korea) 

My Esports Genius Brother (China) 

Long Time No See (Korea) 

Old Fashioned Cupcake (Japan) 

LOOKING FORWARD TO THAILAND:

609 Bedtime Story - OhmFluke but not sad, I hope. 

Bed Friend - I’ve wanted James to get his own BL since Oxygen 

Between Us - of course

Chains of Heart - new premise, intriguing 

City of Stars AKA Fueangnakorn - An actor falls in love with a programmer and the narrative intends to “explore the ramifications of being public figure in the social network era who must endure critics, bullying, and defamation.”

Coffee Melody - Pavel MY LOVE 

The Eclipse - First + Khaotung at a sinister boarding school, haze the one you love, good boy/bad boy, suspense & horror elements, self acceptance themes, a curse, enemies to lovers

Fahlanruk The Series - one night stand, friends with benefits, pining seme, high heat

I Feel You Linger in the Air - from the producers of Lovely Writer. This is a time travel historical romance. FROM THAILAND!  H I S T O R I C A L ! ! ! 

My School President - It’s Love Sick meets the whipping boy trope. How exciting. Yes, I know, we’ve seen it all before. But this is me. I never met a high school set BL I didn’t want to grant a fair shake (even one that centers around singing). And I love me some whipping boy. 

Never Let Me Go - PondPhuwin in a decent show? Sign me up: mafia, attack dog (whipping boy + bodyguard), love triangle, obsession, suspense

Vise Versa - proud member of Jimmy nation here and this is alt reality, bodyswap, soulmates. Soem trope I love, some I don’t 

FROM KOREA 

Eul's Love - Reunion romance office set.

The Circumstances of Pungdeok Villa Room 304 - Same pair as Kissable lips - Korea’s first example of this kind of casting. Rich kid lay about meets poor nerd, cohabitation. 

Heesu in Class 2 - high school shy unpopular boy with a secret crush on best friend. 

Comfort the Boy adaptation of Dongmul's manwha webtoon A Shoulder to Cry On. Teasing confident gay, fake dating, rich/poor, school setting, homophobia/gossip puts scholarship in jeopardy. Stars idols Jaehan & Yechan BOTH from Kpop group OMEGA X, 12 eps. MADNESS. 

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner 

Love Tractor asame production house as Semantic Error, stressed-out law student meets hunky young farmer. This is a very underused romance trope in BL.

Oh My Assistant - sexy one for Korea about an artist who draws adult webtoons and spends most of his time horny because of it, who hires an assistant that turns out to be his biggest fan. We’re gone see how Korea handles thirst.

PT is Love - friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER.

Love is like a Cat: A new star, called the Cat Prince for his cold arrogance, goes up against a charismatic puppyish director. Korean Thai colab project will feature Mew Suppasit. 

Space Bakery: A spaceship crash-lands into and destroys a small bakery shop. Of course this means the alien and the baker end up living together. At the same time, other aliens-in-hiding all around the city start hunting for them.

FROM TAIWAN

I Secretly Fell in Love with Student Council President (let the dumb titles continue) - director of H2: Crossing the Line; Love Is Science with possible alternate title: About Youth. 2 high school boys with different backgrounds, personalities, and values compete for student president, but have more attraction than animosity.

My Tooth Your Love (from Result Entertainment - We Best Love peeps) with script by Lin Pei who loves VERY traditional yaoi tropes, she’s the writer of mush HIStory stuff. 

FROM JAPAN

Bokura no Shokutaku AKA Our Dining Table - I LOVED THIS MANGA. Lonely salaryman (talented cook) gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his baby brother. They build a family together. This is a sweetly gentle and cozy manga and it will make a GREAT live action piece. 

Kabesaa Doujin Sakka no Neko Yashiki-kun wa Shounin Yokkyuu wo Kojirasete iru - starring Matsuoka Koudai (I know him from Five) and Nakao Masaki (Kakafukaka, Bow Then Kiss - he’s a BIG DEAL ya’ll) slated to be released in October. 

Copy and paste and play if you want. 

#tag game #reveal your watch and rewatch list #thai bl #kdrama #kbl #k-dramas #kBLs #watchlist #currently watching #korean bl #k-bl #japanese bl #japan drama #jdrama #jbl #Old Fashioned Cupcake #adapted froma manga #live action yaoi #strongberry #Long Time No See #My Esports Genius Brother #chinese bromance #chinese BL #Cdrama #Love Class #DNA Says Love You #taiwanese bl #Love the Way You Are #noona romance #Something In The Rain

[dreamofbecoming]

ough ok this is a rough rough rough draft, but i have a migraine and i can’t sleep so writing - yes, editing - no, lmao. it’s altogether sappier than i intended and the tone is wildly different from part 1 but i started writing and this is what came out, so what can i say? i just work here lol. feedback greatly appreciated, this is a huge departure from my usual repertoire so i’ll welcome any and all suggestions. the banshee/siren hybrid!jaskier saga continues. enjoy!

og post part 1 here ao3

wc 2500

—

It’s vaguely surprising to open his eyes at all, expecting as he was to end his days on the dusty road beside the men he killed, another monster never to terrorize the Continent again, courtesy of the great White Wolf.

But open his eyes he does, blinking blearily in the low firelight of what appears to be a generic room at a generic inn, judging by the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy blankets tucking him in. Geralt is in a chair by the hearth, patching a hole in what looks to be one of Jaskier’s socks, of all things.

Jaskier would prefer to lay here silently for a while, watching the way the light flickers and dances across Geralt’s handsome cheek, but he isn’t fool enough to imagine that his waking has gone unnoticed, or that such attention would be welcome. And, apparently, there’s a conversation to be had, given that the witcher hadn’t slain him where he stood when he revealed himself, and Jaskier would rather have that bit over with, at least.

He tries to sit up, only to grunt embarrassingly and fall back against the pillows when his elbows give out on him. He feels weak and wobbly, like a newborn foal. How long has he been out?

“Easy, don’t hurt yourself. Here,” Geralt rumbles, crossing the room to help lever Jaskier upright, propping pillows behind his back. He looks like he’s physically holding himself back from fussing over the blankets, but that’s absurd. Geralt doesn’t fuss. Geralt would never. Jaskier must still be fuzzy from sleep.

In a desperate attempt to regain some footing, some normalcy, Jaskier decides to be the first to bring up the fiend in the room. “Going soft in your old age, witcher? You don’t normally fluff the monsters’ pillows for them before you slay them, in my experience,” he says, forcing out a chuckle in the hopes of lightening the mood.

It doesn’t work. Geralt’s expression would be flat to the casual observer, but Jaskier, with his years of practice deciphering the minute twitches and shifts of that beloved face, sees the hurt and resignation in the creases around his eyes. Something that feels a lot like shame burns in his belly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re no monster.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Besides, I don’t kill anything with sentience or intelligence, you know that. Intelligent may be a bit of a stretch, sure, but you’re definitely sentient.”

Jaskier takes the teasing for the olive branch it is and makes an appropriately outraged noise, swamped with relief and reveling in the pleased little huff he elicits when he reaches out to thwap the witcher across the arm.

Unfortunately the effort involved in moving brings him right back to where he started, and he falls back against the pillows with a hiss. Geralt is back at his side and—there really is no other word for it—fussing over him in an instant.

“You need to be careful, Jask, you lost a lot of energy. You’ve been out a few days, so your muscles are likely to be weak for a while.”

“A few days? How? What even happened, I don’t…” Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to end that sentence. It isn’t remember, he remembers perfectly well, right up until the moment he collapsed in the dirt. Understand, maybe. He doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why Geralt is here, how he was able to do those things to those men...there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand. He isn’t sure he wants to.

Geralt sits awkwardly at the foot of the bed, perching on the edge in his effort not to disturb Jaskier’s position. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with one blanketed toe, pointedly shifting his legs over to make room for Geralt to sit properly. The witcher huffs, looking vaguely sheepish, and settles more comfortably.

“You...you used too much magic at once, Jaskier. It drained you. We’re lucky the innkeeper here let us stay as payment for getting rid of the bandits. They’ve been plaguing that stretch of road for months, apparently. Meant they didn’t ask too many questions about the bodies, at least, just figured they got what they asked for, attacking a witcher.” At this, he looks up from where he’s been staring a hole in the floor between his knees, glaring at Jaskier. “Why did you do it, Jask? I had them under control. You didn’t need to—you never should have killed for me. I never asked you to do that.”

“You didn’t, though.” His voice comes out quieter than he means.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Didn’t what? Ask? I know, Jask, that’s my point.”

“Have them under control. You didn’t.”

Something in Geralt’s expression softens, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “I was fine, Jaskier, I can handle seven men. My injury from last week isn’t even that bad, it would have been fi—”

“Eight.”

“What?”

Jaskier finally makes himself meet Geralt’s eyes, determined to make himself heard if this is the last time they speak. “There were eight men, not seven. There was a man in a tree with a crossbow behind you. You didn’t see him, he was about to—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard against the memory of the foul taste of Geralt’s death Song flooding his mouth, of that crystal moment of knowing the person he loved most in all the world was Doomed, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help—

But he had helped. He had stopped it, despite not even knowing his powers were capable of something like that. Against all odds, Geralt was safe, he was here and alive and gazing at Jaskier with unmasked concern.

“Alright, eight, then. You still didn’t need to enchant them, Jaskier. Siren powers shouldn’t even work that strongly this far from the sea, anyway! You burnt yourself out! You could have been seriously hurt, throwing magic around like that. You should have gotten on Roach when I told you to, you should have gotten to safety. I would have been fine.”

“But you wouldn’t have!” It bursts out of Jaskier, far louder than he’d intended, tinged with desperation. “You wouldn’t have been fine. I’m not just a siren, Geralt. My sire, my matka, is a siren, yes. But my mama, the mother who bore me? Was a banshee.”

Geralt’s brow furrows in confusion. Dam broken, Jaskier continues in a rush.

“My powers have never been good for much of anything. I was a disappointment to my matka and her kin, because even though my Voice comes out as a Song, all it’s ever done is foretell death, I’ve never been able to use it to compel anyone, and what use is a siren without a Lure?

“I don’t have a proper Shriek, either, but my mama always said my Shriek was as good as any other, just prettier. That’s what it’s always been, a Shriek disguised as a Song. I look at someone, I can feel that they’re slated to die, and the Song wants to be sung, but I never bothered because what’s the point? What good is a warning when you can’t escape the inevitable? Better to let people live freely until their last, that’s what mama said. She never used her Shriek, either. It’s why her people cast her out, why she married a human man when her siren mate grew tired of her. She hated death, too.” Jaskier swallows against the tears building behind his eyes.

“Hers was the first Song I ever Sang all the way through. The only one I ever Sang, until now. My father began to suspect I wasn’t really his, and flew into a rage. I was only thirteen, I couldn’t save her. I could only hide in the closet and Sing while he killed her. I left for Oxenfurt the day after the funeral and I haven’t Sung since. Useless.”

A warm weight on his foot pulls him out of the memories, Geralt’s thumb swiping gently back and forth over his ankle while Jaskier dashes the angry tears from his eyes and tries to get his breathing back under control.

It’s Geralt who breaks the silence.

“You’re not useless, Jaskier. Never that.” There’s another long stretch of quiet, before Geralt seems to settle some internal argument and looks up to meet his eyes, molten gold shining with unnamed emotions. “Help me understand. Why Sing for those men? Why risk yourself? You’ve held in your...Shriek, all this time. Why let it out now, for them?”

Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. “You’re not listening, Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to be their Song. I don’t...I don’t know what I did. It’s never happened like that before.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve never...I changed it, Geralt. It was supposed to be you.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the foot of the bed, but Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom taste of rot and barrels on. “I felt it. The man in the trees, he wasn’t going to miss. The Song was meant for you, but I— gods, Geralt, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I—I just knew I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I—” Between one breath and another Geralt has moved up the bed to his side and gathered him into his arms. Jaskier buries his head into his chest and clings.

When he stops shaking, he unclenches his fingers from where they’re fisted in Geralt’s shirt and starts again. “I don’t understand what I did, Geralt. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never had a Lure, no matter how my matka and her kin tried to beat one into me.” A low growl rumbles beneath his cheek, and he pets Geralt’s arm consolingly. That pain is long past, there’s nothing to be done for it now.

“I didn’t even mean to, really, the only thing in my head was that you couldn’t die. I never meant to—Geralt, I never wanted to kill anyone. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again for you, but I—” Geralt’s hand strokes softly through his hair, soothing the frantic pace of his heart.

“I’m scared, Geralt.” His voice is small to his own ears, thin and frightened. “If I can do that when I’m not even trying...what’s inside me, Geralt? How can I be sure I won’t hurt anyone else? Someone innocent this time?”

There’s a long moment where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Jaskier’s own hitching sniffles, and Geralt’s slow, measured breathing beneath his ear.

“Hm,” comes the eventual response, almost startling a snort out of Jaskier at the sheer predictability of it, until Geralt continues. “We’ll figure it out together, then. There may be someone out there who can help you learn to control your powers, we just have to find them. We can start at Kaer Morhen. Come home with me this year, we’ll talk to Vesemir and figure out where to start.”

Jaskier sits up, gaping in shock. “You’re inviting me home? To the witcher keep? When I’m—”

“If you say you’re a monster again, I’m not buying you a single honeycake the entire trip.” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, still stunned. Geralt’s face softens, and he sighs. “I should have invited you a long time ago, Jaskier. Human or not, you’re my friend, you’ll be welcome.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking suddenly uncertain. “Unless...You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I know it isn’t...it won’t be what you’re used to. I understand if mmph—” He stares, golden eyes wide over the hand Jaskier has clapped over his mouth.

“Foolish witcher, of course I��m coming! Are you mad? A chance to meet your brothers, your mentor? To see the majesty of Kaer Morhen with my own eyes? Gods, the songs to be sung! The stories that must be waiting to be told! Can we go now? Let’s go! Come on, up! Let’s get packed before you change your mind!”

The wondering look is gone from Geralt’s eyes, which are back to familiar flat annoyance. He pointedly grasps Jaskier’s wrist and removes the hand from his mouth, before standing up and manhandling Jaskier back under the blankets.

“Majestic isn’t the word I’d use, and the stories in those walls are hardly the kind of heroic tales for writing songs. It’s not there for—for—material, bard, you really will piss them off if you try that.”

Seems their equilibrium isn’t quite back, that or Geralt really is really, properly nervous about this invitation, if he thinks Jaskier is serious about picking over his home for inspiration alone.

“Geralt.” He waits until his witcher stops fiddling with the blankets and meets his eyes again. “Darling, I know. I’m only teasing. I wouldn’t exploit you, or your family, that way. Whatever songs I write there, they’ll be just for my own memories. And yours, if you like. I promise.”

Geralt deflates a little, shoulders slumping. “I know. I—I know.” He straightens up, and Jaskier can see the mask of The White Wolf, Stoic Scary Witcher descending back into place. “We’re not leaving today, anyway. You’ll need a few more days to recover, and we’ve a few weeks besides before we need to start heading north. Stay there, don’t move. The innkeep said she’d have some broth waiting for when you woke up. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He glowers threateningly at Jaskier, who sticks out his tongue in response, before leaving, apparently satisfied his bard isn’t going to make a break for it in the next ten minutes.

Jaskier settles back against the pillows with a sigh, reeling internally from so many new developments at once. Today has been nothing like he expected. He’s still somewhat surprised to be alive at all, and a tiny part of him is still waiting for the moment Geralt realizes he’s made a terrible mistake and Jaskier can’t be allowed to live, though he realizes now, with some chagrin, that that was never a realistic outcome.

He’s still terrified of the power lurking inside him, all the more ominous now for having been used with only the barest consent from his own mind. But for now he can breathe deep and set that fear aside, at least for a moment. Geralt has promised to help him. Geralt will keep him safe.

He’s alive. Geralt is alive. Geralt knows the truth and doesn’t hate him. They have the beginnings of a plan. Geralt called him his friend, out loud, on purpose. He’s been invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Soon he’ll have dinner, or something resembling dinner, anyway. He has altogether more blessings than he was strictly prepared to count, under the circumstances. So for now, he supposes he’ll allow himself to rest, and hum, and wait for his witcher to return. They’ll sort out the rest together.

#the witcher #twn #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #siren!jaskier #banshee!jaskier #creature!jaskier #my writing #spot the tad lyric lmao #genuinely don't know how i feel about this one please be honest #might end up getting scrapped and rewritten before it's ao3 ready #i can feel this one wanting to become a longfic aaaaaaa i don't have spoons for another longfic!! #help! #also this one doesn't have a title yet feel free to toss out suggestions

[controlofwhatido]

Chris being slightly horrified when Darren comes home from ACS filming without all of his blood splatter makeup totally washed off.

Darren is beyond exhausted. His body isn’t used to long days of filming anymore – how quickly twelve, fifteen hour days catch up to him. He feels old. He is old, according to his boyfriend. 

Today had be rough. He’s been really enjoying this role – it’s been the most challenging one yet, but the murder scenes aren’t easy on him. Mentally or physically. He’s lucky Chris has been home recently, because all he wants to do when he gets home at night is curl up in bed and have Chris help him remember who Darren is. 

The stairs in their house seem like an insurmountable feat but that’s where their bed is and that’s where Chris is, so he trudges up them once he double checks that he closed the garage door. It’s dark – Chris had sent a text over an hour ago saying he was falling asleep, but for Darren to wake him when he got in – but he’s been living in this house long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom by feel with no problem. 

What he wants to do is just collapse into bed and fall asleep immediately but all he did before he left the studio was a perfunctory wipe down to remove the caked-on fake blood. He’s sure he smells pretty fucking rank, too. Before he can tiptoe his way over to the master bathroom, Chris’s bedside light turns on and Chris is leaning up on his elbow, squinting at Darren. 

“Hey, welcome home. How was – oh my god, are you okay?” Chris hops out of bed, only wearing his tight little boxer briefs, and is over beside Darren in a shot, hands cupping Darren’s face. “You’re bleeding, what happened?” 

Before Chris can work himself into a panic, Darren pulls Chris’s arms down and presses a quick kiss to Chris’s lips. “Relax, it’s fake. They changed their minds at the last minute this afternoon and wanted to shoot one of the murders. This is just…” he trails off, gesturing at his face. “I was covered in it. I feel fucking disgusting.” 

“Don’t scare me like that,” Chris says, kissing the corner of Darren’s mouth while he wraps his arms around Darren’s shoulders. “God, you look like you’d been in an accident or a fight or…” 

Darren pulls Chris closer by the waist, body suddenly aware that his boyfriend is just about naked but fuck, he really is too tired for sex. He is getting old. “I would hope you know by now that if anything like that were to happen to me, you’d be the first one I’d call. I just need to take a quick shower and then sleep for maybe five days straight.” 

Chris makes an affirmative noise but doesn’t let go of Darren yet. “You do smell pretty bad and I just washed the sheets.” 

“Hey!” Darren say, leaning back just enough to give Chris an affronted look. “You’re supposed to love me no matter what – stinky or smelling like roses.” 

“As long as you don’t scare me like that again. I was half asleep and then saw blood on your face – my brain went into overdrive,” Chris says, brushing his thumb against Darren’s cheek where Darren assumes there is still fake blood smeared. “Now, go. You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.” 

Darren nods and steps away, giving a longing look to their bed before heading toward the bathroom. “Wait up for me?” 

“As long as you scrub that blood off, of course,” Chris says, already getting back underneath the covers. “And… Darren?” 

Darren turns back to look at Chris once he’s flicked the bathroom light on. “Yes?” 

“You’re the first one I’d call, too” Chris says with a slight smile before turning off his bedside lamp. 

#control writes fic #crisscolfer #alittledizzy #this ended sappier than i intended but here you go! #crisscolfer fic #fic prompts

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We���ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

[marvels-writings]

Can you write a Carol x R imagine with prompts: 92, 39, 15?

92: “I can’t believe that I’m snowed in. With you”39: “The older I get the more conflicted I feel about snow. On one hand it's snow, on the other hand it’s really inconvenient when you have adult things to do.”15: “Please tell me that we’re not stuck out here in your piece of shit car.” A/N: Ngl I’m not sure what you were expecting for this, but I hope you like it

Driving was supposed to be a relieving experience, at least that was what everyone, especially Tony told you. Driving through snow, with your girlfriend who was currently pissed off at you was not relieving, at all, whatsoever.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You demanded, slamming the steering wheel angrily while trying to get your car to turn.  “Of all the times it could snow, it snows now?”

“How is it my fault?” Carol asked, her arms crossed as she looked out the window to see others cars stopping in the middle of the road as it snowed heavily around the car.

“Never said it was.” You muttered, frustratedly pressing the accelerator pedal of the car, it stopped and made a large noise that scared you and Carol both.

Carol’s hand went to protect you out of instinct, but stopped her hand halfway and pulled it back when you raised your eyebrow at her. She put her hand back on the armrest and looked at you in a questioning look, you turned around and changed the gears, doing anything to try to get the car to work.

“Shit.” You declared, throwing your hands back in exasperation and leaning back in your seat.

“What the hell happened?” Carol demanded, turning to face you, a bit of worry on her face which she hid quickly

“Oh nothing, just my car refuses to work.” You shrugged, still hoping turning the key over and over would work.

“Please tell me that we’re not stuck out here in your piece of shit car.” Carol muttered, trying to open the door but the entire outside was covered with snow, if Carol opened it your car door would probably break. She didn’t want you more pissed off than you already were.

“I’d love to tell you that but we are.” You retorted, crossing your arms and pulling your seat back, knowing you were going to be here for awhile.

“Just great.” Carol commented, following your action and leaning your seat back, trying to think of a vague apology.

The entire argument was really her fault, you’d happily taken her out to lunch after coming back from a mission after a month. You were just happy to see her, but Carol was pissed you’d taken a mission for a month without telling her. Carol pointed it out, saying you’d forgotten about her, big mistake.

“Honestly this day can’t get any better,” You thought aloud, reaching your hands up to cushion your head. “I can’t believe that I’m snowed in. With you” you practically sneered.

“I’m having a hard time believing it too.” Carol retorted, rolling up her jacket to rest behind her head, fidgeting with the heater so it would actually help.

After Carol had pointed it out, you were offended, and rightfully so. Carol went on missions for weeks on end, sometimes being back once a month for the missions but you’d never complain, she covered more territory than you. You called Carol out on it and Carol just said random small mistakes you had been doing to try to cover up for the fact she was wrong.

“Look about what happened earlier.” You started, thinking this entire situation was your fault. You took in a deep breath, feeling some of the tension in the air thicken.

“Y/n, it’s not your mistake to apologize for.” Carol confessed, turning slightly to look at you, to find your face scrunched up adorably in confusion as you looked at her, tears welling up in your eyes a little as you did so.

“It’s mine,” Carol confessed softly, reaching over with one hand to stroke your cheek softly, wiping the tear that had made its way down your cheek.

“I didn’t realize how much you were already giving me,” carol spoke softly, “I just wanted more, I’ve just never had anything like you. I just have to constantly remind myself that you’re mine. I feel like if we’re apart too long I’m gonna lose you.”

“Love isn’t the time you spend together,” you answered softly, a smile making its way onto your face. “It’s the trust and care for each other, and I can guarantee you it’s not gonna fade.”

“I love you,” carol whispered, grinning from ear to ear as she softly stroked your cheek.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, leaning across the seats to kiss her, seeing Carol’s hazel eyes water when you said that.

“Despite your sappiness.” You joked, Carol laughed but pulled you in for a soft kiss which you returned.

She pulled away, looking at you softly before setting back in her seat, the two of you rambled over small things for some time, just trying to fill the hours for some time. You found some Doritos which you shared with Carol.

“The older I get the more conflicted I feel about snow. On one hand it's snow, on the other hand it’s really inconvenient when you have adult things to do.” You thought aloud, eating a stale dorito.

“Adult things?” Carol joked, taking the last Doritos from the bag and putting the empty bag in the backseat.

“Spending time with my gorgeous girlfriend outside of my car.” You stated, turning to wink at her slightly.

Carol laughed before looking at the roof of your car before settling into a comfortable silence. She thought about what you said, and you were right, as usual.

Love isnt the time you spend together, it’s the trust. She trusted you to be hers, and likewise. She loved you, more than anything and Carol knew everything would be okay, as long as you loved each other.

A/N: this was sappier than intended and I cut it a bit short cause I can’t leave a drabble halfway done but I needed to sleep. So, sorry if it’s bad and feedback is amazing thanks!

Tag list: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan , @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx, @ophelias-heart let me know if you wanted to be added to any of my tag lists!!

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x female reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader #captain marvel x you #captain marvel x y/n #captain marvel imagine #captain marvel one shot #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers x y/n #carol danvers imagine #carol danvers one shot #brie larson #brie larson x reader #brie larson x female reader #brie larson x you #brie larson x y/n #brie larson one shot #brie larson imagine #my writing #my fic

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 74: 10 Short Films about 1-A

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

“What’re you watching, dork?”

Toshi looked up from his desk to see his sister, Hana, standing in the doorway.  “Oh, just a video Shota sent over.  He wanted to know what I thought.  It’s Sequoia Rose and Kestrel fighting some of the Sons of Stain… Looks like they were planning some kind of raid on the local Agencies before they routed them out.”

It was a pretty impressive fight.  But the Sons of Stain were no joke; they were followers of the late Hero Killer, who still believed Hero Society was corrupt and worked to bring it down.  There was something very satisfying about seeing them get beaten.

Hana rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how you can just watch all that stuff in your free time.  Dad’s a Hero.  Mom’s a Hero. More than half the adults we know are Heroes.  You’re studying to be a Hero and so are all your friends!  Don’t you get tired of it?”

“No?” he tried. “It’s just all… so cool!  Besides, Rose and Kestrel are still pretty young!  There’s a good chance I might get to work with them someday, so it helps to know about…” She rolled her eyes again and Toshi trailed off.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“You know,” he said, “just because you pretend you’re too cool for this kind of stuff doesn’t make you cool.  We used to watch videos together with Dad!  You used to run around in a Froppy onesie!”

Hana looked him dead in the eyes.  “Meh.” He actually felt a chill go down his spine, but pressed on.  

“Oh, come on!  You wanted to be a Hero when you were little! What changed, Hanners?  Your Quirk’s way stronger than Grandma’s! It’d be perfect for Hero work!”

“Maybe I don’t want to spend my life beating people up, dork!  You ever think of that?” Hana looked annoyed.  He’d known for a while now her interest in Heroes or in being one had been waning, but her disinterest seemed to have picked up speed since she became a teenager.  She did want to be a doctor, which was still helping people, but…

“But you could be a Rescue Hero, like Mom!  Or a Medical Hero, like Aunt Eri!  Your Quirk would be great for that!  You could move rubble or people, maybe even help with injuries....”

Hana pointed at him and he felt a slight shove in his chest, nearly knocking him out of his chair.   “Tosh,” she said. “Let it go.  Not everybody wants that life.”

“Even with a punch like that…” Toshi began, but the fire in her eyes silenced him.  “Okay, okay.  I’ll let it go.”   He smiled. “You know we’ll all be proud of you, no matter what you do, right?”

There was another eyeroll.  “Could you be any sappier?  I’m surprised you aren’t crying.”

“I don’t cry that much!”

“Suuuure….”

“But you know, though,” he said, “Aunt Eri and Katsuma got through med school way faster with way less debt…”

***

“You’re what?” Katsumi growled, staring at Dad.

Dad looked up from where he was packing his suitcase.  “Going to the Training Camp,” he said.  “The other teachers think it’ll be a good idea if I go and get an idea of what you kids can do.”

She threw up her hands in irritation.  “And you were planning on telling me this when?”

He shrugged.  “Didn’t find out until a couple days ago.”   He’d been commuting back and forth to U.A. a lot lately, getting things set up so he could start teaching the next term.  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that or how she felt about having him around and in her space that often.  “And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Scratch that.  She was relieved to still have him around after his injuries.  But she still wasn’t sure how she felt about him being their teacher.  Aunt Itsuka was a homeroom teacher, not a subject teacher, so it probably wasn’t as bad for Kana as this would be, but maybe she’d talk to her and see how she dealt with it.

She crossed her arms. “So you’re leaving Tai alone with Papa to eat take out the whole time we’re gone?”

He gave her a look. “I’m not that dumb.  Tsukushi’s given them a standing invitation to dinner while we’re gone.  She’ll make sure they’re fed.”  

Leaving Papa and her little brother to the Monomas?  Dad was desperate.   Well, Papa and Tsukushi got along.  And Tai loved Takeru.  It was really only Dad and the elder Monoma who fought, usually over stupid stuff like hedges and an ever escalating “niceness” war that probably wouldn’t end even when they moved.

“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “I’ll give you your space.  I’m not going to be looking over your shoulder the whole time or anything.”

She held his gaze, then shrugged.  It wasn’t like she had anything to hide anyway.  It was just the principle of the thing.  “Yeah, all right.”

He grinned after that. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on any of you, though.”

“Wasn’t asking you to.”

“Not even Izumi.”

The words caught in her throat.  She could handle All Might pushing them.  His jocular demeanor meant that even when he was driving them the hardest, it was hard to get mad at him.  Even Aizawa’s pushing was a serious, focused thing.

Dad would push as hard of any of them, probably harder.  It was, she admitted, what they all needed, how nuts things were right now.  He’d force them to go beyond their limits, because he knew no other way.

Could she handle seeing her best friend pushed like that?  She’d been trying hard to let Izzy face her own challenges and not step in immediately to protect her.  Even since the Sports Festival, she’d been more acutely aware of how Izzy could take care of herself.  Dad knew that about her.

“She’ll appreciate that.” She’d have to try and do the same.

***

KA-BOOM!

The device exploded, leaving a large scorch mark on the opposite wall of the testing range.  Automated systems activated, with arms extending from the wall and spaying fire-suppressant foam over the flames. Later, a cleaning robot would emerge and take care of the mess.

Flipping up her protective mask, Mother let out a laugh.  “Aw, I thought for sure that baby was going to work!  But didja see the size of that explosion!  Wowee!”

Sora joined her in the laugh.  “Most spectacular!” she agreed.  “Perhaps we should adjust the fuel to power ratio by twenty-percent for the next version?”

Her brother shook his head. “If we are intended to make a rocket-propelled gauntlet for our costumes, then we will require sufficient force to do any damage.  Better to reinforce the material to survive the forces involved.”

He was incorrect about that. “Material strength will only go so far,” she told him.  “And reinforcing the material will add additional weight, which will diminish speed.”

The incorrectness persisted. “Incorrect,” he said.  “The advancements being made with lightweight alloys should prove sufficient to…”

Both of them frowned, then turned to face Mother.  At the same time, they began, “Mother tell him/her that I am correct!”

Mother let out another laugh.  “Babies, babies, babies,” she said.  “I think it’s adorable when you have a science fight.  And as much I’d love to weigh in on this one…”   The clock on her design desk chirped with an alarm.  It was loud, shrill, and impossible to ignore.   Father had insisted on her having one like that.  It would even trigger back-up alarms if not silenced with the correct passcode.  It was ultimately necessary to allow Mother proper time-keeping.

She silenced the alarm. “I promised your father I would have you both in one place so he could talk to you.”

At that, the door to the lab snapped open and Father walked in.  He had his projector laptop under one arm.  Sora looked at Tensei nervously.  It was rarely a good sign when he brought that out.  It would mean he had a topic for discussion that he considered important enough to require slides.  

Father regarded them seriously and set his laptop up.  He pushed his glasses up his nose.  “As you know, you will be leaving on Monday for the two week Training Camp.  While I trust Aizawa and your other chaperones to maintain order, I also still remember the third year camp my own class undertook.   Denki and Kyoka were somehow able to sneak away to go skinny-dipping.  The resultant pregnancy scare that resulted a few weeks later is not something I wish to see repeated with either of you or your class.”

Tensei brought a hand up.  “Father, seeing as how Takuma and I are both male, that would be a highly unlikely outcome, should we choose to engage in such behavior.”  He went a bit red.  “Even though we will not.  May I be excused from this discussion?  It seems as though it would be better focused on Sora.”

The traitor!  She made a mental note to hide his soldering kit later.

Mother, however, just shook her head.  “Let him have this.  He spent all of his last day off making these slides.  I tried to distract him, but he resisted my feminine wiles.”

“Mei!” Father erupted. “That is not an appropriate thing to say!”

“I thought it tied right in, Tenny.”

Father went a bit red, as he often did when Mother teased him.  “Regardless,” he said, “as you are both now in relationships, I feel this next stage of talks to be highly necessary.”

The presentation projected from the laptop’s holograph lens began with Relationships: How to Make Smart Decisions That Will Ensure a Successful Future for You and Your Partner.  Looking carefully, she could see the slide was numbered as one of one hundred fifty.

It was going to be one of those presentations then. Father certainly did love to lecture. Takuma, she understood, but how could he not trust Toshi?

“Perhaps we should be taking notes?” Sora ventured.  “But I believe I left pen and paper in my room.  I should go and get them!”

“As should I!” Tensei agreed quickly.  

Father seemed to be searching their faces for signs of deception, but nodded.  “Very well,” he said.  “Ten minutes, then we will begin!”

More than enough time. She ran out of the lab as fast as her legs would carry her, Tensei hot on her heels.  

***

Carefully, Kimiko closed her suitcase.  She had enough clothes to get her through the Training Camp and a few of the medical textbooks Doctor Izumi had provided her with.  According to Doctor Izumi, since she was progressing well with her studies, she’d be able to receive additional medical training at the camp.  The studying was often long and arduous and cut into her gossip-wrangling time, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t also rewarding.  It was an application of her Quirk that didn’t involve sneaking around, didn’t make being invisible the be-all and end all of what she was.

There was a knock on her door.  “Come in, Daddy,” she said.

Her door slid open as Daddy padded inside.  He smiled. “How’d you know it was me, ‘miko?” As always, he was able to look her right in the eyes, something almost no one else could.  Even Kenta had trouble with it sometimes.

“Pretty distinctive knock,” she told him.

Daddy smiled again. “You’re getting good at observing,” he said.  He nodded towards the shelf where some of her medical books still were.  “You’re getting good at lots of things.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “You’re going to make me blush!”

He chuckled at that. “You’ve got everything you need? Sunscreen?  Extra changes of clothes?  Reflectors?”

“Yes, yes, yes, …wait, no!”   Kimiko ran to her dresser and pulled out her reflective headband, armbands, and gloves.  They were useful when she was going places in the dark, otherwise it was very hard to see just her clothing.  They stood out when she couldn’t.

She stashed them in her suitcase.  “Whew! You’re a lifesaver, Daddy!”   She threw her arms around him in a hug.

“Offf!”  Daddy grunted, returning the hug.  “I still need to breathe, ‘miko!”

She let go, but gave him an affectionate punch on the arm.  “Oh, Daddy!”

“Smart, pretty as your mother, and a heck of a right hook,” Daddy said, beaming.  “No wonder you’re going to make a great Hero.”

“Daaaaaddy!” she wailed, arms flailing.  “You’re too much!”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

He always did believe in her.  When she’d told her parents she wanted to be a Medical Hero, get her paramedic’s license, they’d both been supportive, but Mom had been more cautious, telling her about all the hard work that would be involved.  But Daddy, Daddy had immediately thrown his full support behind her.

She gave him another hug. “Thank you.”

After the hug, he crossed his arms.  “Now, you’re going to behave yourself on this trip?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“You’re going to pay attention to Aizawa and the other teachers?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“Not going to hit your friends too much?”

“…I’ll try, Daddy!”

“Not going to spend the whole time shipping your classmates and friends?  Or trying to arrange a ‘summer romance?’”

“…I’m only human, Daddy.”

“’miko…” he began, a chastising tone in his voice.

“Fine,” she said, stomping her foot.  “I’ll try and keep it to a minimum.”

“That’s all I ask.”

***

Shopping in the upscale boutique, Takiyo reached for the designer shirt. Another hand did so at the same time. Wrapping his glowing fingers around one side of the hanger, he tried to take it.  But the other hand, ending in sharp looking claws, wrapped around the other side and tugged too.

He looked to his right and shot them a glare, finding a boy his age, with a mane of purple hair and a feline-ish cast to his face.  He was very pretty, with a style that suggested the kind of trying too hard to look like he wasn’t trying hard to look that good. “Pardon,” Takiyo said, “I had it first.”

“Oh, please,” the boy said.  “I saw it first.  It’ll look better on me anyway.”

Takiyo wondered if he could distract the boy by using his Quirk like a laser-pointer, but he doubted he was cat-like enough for that.  “There must be something wrong with your eyes if you think that’s true.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, his yellow, vertically-pupiled eyes moving quickly.  He tapped a finger against his chin. “U.A. student, right? First year?  I do remember seeing a glowing boy during the Sports Festival.”

Takiyo’s thoughts darkened at that.  He hadn’t stood out nearly as much as he would have liked and he was certain he’d only ended up on an Internship with Cellophane because the class’s parents had arranged for no one to be left out.  Still, if he had made enough of an impression for someone else to remember, even someone infuriating…

He put his free hand on his hip.  “If you remember me, then you should remember how stunning I am.”  He almost regretted his words.  He had told Koda he was trying to be nicer to people.  She would be disappointed in him and he hated to think of that.  He could already see her disappointed face in his mind…

The boy shook his head, sending his mane waving in what had to be a practiced motion.  “You keep telling yourself that.”  He snapped his fingers, then licked his lips. “Now the boy who took first… that’s a different story.  Though my friend was rather partial to the girl who took second.  But nobody was talking about you, honey.”

Neither of them had let go of the shirt in the meantime.  It was the last one left in that color and style and he was not backing down.  “Regardless,” Takiyo said, “none of it changes the fact that I had my hand on this first.  It’s mine.”

The cat-boy laughed, but did release his grip on the shirt.  “I suppose it’s the duty of the pretty to do everything they can to help the less fortunate.  And you, my friend, need a lot of help.”

Takiyo gritted his teeth, feeling his glow intensify for a moment.  “Must you be so infuriating?” he demanded.  

The boy laughed as he walked away.  “Oh, you’ll see just how infuriating I can be, honey.”

What did that mean?

***

“Up!  Up!”

Takuma looked down to see his little sister, Moji, tugging at his pant leg.  She looked a lot like a miniature version of Mom, with pinkish skin and horns, topped by dark, fluffy hair.  At only two, she didn’t have a Quirk yet, but he was sure it would be trouble, whatever it was.

With a grunt, he bent down and picked her up.  She wrapped her arms around him and he planted a kiss on top of her head, causing her to giggle.  “Did you come to see your favorite big brother? Or did you just want a snack?”

She gave this serious consideration.  “Snack!”

Takuma laughed and shifted her so he was only holding her with one arm.  “Okay, hang on, I think we’ve got goldfish crackers around here somewhere… Assuming Mom hasn’t eaten them all.”  At four months pregnant with twins (Or as Dad like to refer to them, “Players to be named later.”), Mom had developed a lot of cravings.

“Snack?” Moji repeated, more insistently.  She had a bit of a one track mind sometimes.

“I’m getting it,” Takuma told her, finding the small serving pouches.   He set her down, ripped the top off, and handed it to her.

“Snack!” Moji said again. “Thank you!” Her cravings satisfied, she walked off, leaving him alone in the kitchen.   She dodged around Mom as they passed each other in the doorway.

“Hard to believe you used to try and sell your brothers,” she said.

“In my defense, Kenta really wanted a brother.  He would have liked Yamato.”

“You’re not going to try and sell the twins, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nah.  I’ll be out of the house by the time they’re old enough to be trouble.”

“You will, won’t you?” Mom asked.  “Hard to believe you’re almost sixteen.  I must have done something right.  Tsu and Momo were so worried when I had you!  They were afraid I’d leave you at the park or something!  As if!  That only happened two times.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It was raining.”

“Meh, who’s counting.” She crossed the room and pulled a container of ice cream from the freezer.  Mom grabbed a spoon and proceeded to eat directly from it.   She gestured with her spoon.   “So how’s things going with you and Tensei?  Good?  Tell me it’s good.  In-Laws with the Iidas?  Mama’s gonna have a nice retirement!  You know, Training Camps are great for cementing relationships…”

Takuma felt himself flushing a deep purple.  “Nope, nope, nope, not having this conversation!”

Mom cackled at his discomfort.  “Oh, come on. You can’t possibly be traumatized by this.  Your dad and I have always been very frank about sex.”

Too frank, really. And with four siblings and two on the way, too often too.  “Nope, nope, can’t talk, gotta go upload my last video!”

Not entirely a lie; he wouldn’t be able to upload anything while at the camp.  Two weeks without external validation from strangers?  He was gonna die!

***

The Anivoice Agency was not a large organization, but the building was significant.  This was because the ground floor contained an animal rehabilitation center.  Most of the animals had been seized from trafficking operations.  Father was frequently called upon to rehabilitate the animals before they were returned to the wild.  

While there were employees charged with caring for the animals, Father also liked to spend time with them.  Akaya had many memories of helping and was accompanying him today.

They paused before a large enclosure holding a gigantic beast, combining the features of many animals. “How are you, Manny?” Father asked. “Feel like talking?  No?  Okay, let me know if you do…”

Manticore made a soft rumble.  He had been in Father’s care for ten years and was barely closer to regaining his humanity than he’d been the day he arrived.  Yet Father tried.  

Father turned to her. “Looking forward to the Camp?” With other people, Father often had trouble finding his words, but never with her or her mother and brother.

What could she tell him? That the words that had shattered her during her Internship still haunted her? That her classmates were all finding themselves in relationships, while no one had expressed any interest in her? That she was certain that no one would look upon her with romantic eyes?

“I am,” she said.  Not entirely a lie.  She could throw herself into being a Hero. And there would be plenty of time to spend with her friends.  It did not do to devote oneself entirely to romantic pursuits.  Father and Mother had not even begun dating until they had graduated.

She had time.  She could tell herself that.

“I’m glad.”  Father was also not one to push, preferring instead to simply listen.  

Her faith taught her honesty…

“I’m not,” she said. “I haven’t felt truly glad for a long time.”

“I know,” he said. “We were worried you would never tell us.”

“You knew?” she asked.

“You’re like me, easy to read,” he said.  “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It began during my Internship.”  She told him all that had happened.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he said. She could tell he was pushing down anger on her behalf. “The world’s filled with too many people filled with hate.  But love wins.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It did for me.  For Grandma. For her father. Our skin is stone, but our heart still feels.  We’ve all felt it.  You’ve already braver than I was at your age.  Stronger too. I know someone will see you for the amazing person you are.”

“Would that I could be so certain.”

“It will get easier.  Someone will see you and just go ‘wow.’”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know it.”

She wished she could believe it so easily.  Something about the way Father said it made it sound possible.  “Okay.”

For a moment, the world was all right.  Manticore cooed encouragingly.  “Thank you, Manny,” she said.

***

“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Daisuke said, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea.  Mom sat across from him, likewise drinking tea, a nervous look upon her face.  Dad was at work.  

Mom was a tiny woman, dark-haired and serious.  She had an arm-stretching Quirk and had been a graduate of U.A.’s General Education program. She worked in finance, well away from the world of Heroes.  And she was worried.  It didn’t show on her face, but he could tell by the subtle way her teacup shook in her hands, the way her arms kept ever so slightly lengthening and then retracting to their normal length, the way she was blinking too much, her breaths quick and shallow.

“The first time your dad went away to a training camp,” Mom said, setting her cup down, he lost a hand, most of his classmates were injured, Bakugo was kidnapped, and Fumikage almost was too.”

“The hand…”

“And don’t say the hand grew back!”

“…Yes, Mom.”

Mom frowned.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just…  I’m not like Tsu or all the other spouses.  I’m not a Hero.  I worry enough about your dad when he’s out there.  Haru gets it, Mei a little, but… I remember how worried I was when the news broke about what happened at the Training Camp… I don’t think I slept a wink until he called.”

“It’s not going to be like that,” he told her.  “One, there’s no Villains after us.  Two, even if there were, Tokoyami’s Quirk isn’t like her dad’s and wouldn’t go berserk no matter what else happened.  And three, anyone who kidnapped Kirishima-Bakugo would return her within the hour.”  No offense meant to his explosive classmate, but she would be far more trouble to kidnap than anyone would want to deal with.

Mom frowned at that. “I know.  Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right?  Even with your teachers watching out for you, you’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere.  If somebody gets hurt…”

Mom worried a lot.  It was easy to forget sometimes, how many people didn’t have powerful Quirks, how many people weren’t Heroes.  At U.A., it was a bit of an insular bubble for his class, the children of so many Heroes who’d not only grown up as friends, but were all concentrated in one place.  People like his mom had to worry more about Villain attacks, about who would help if something went wrong, about who would get hurt.

His Quirk and his strength made him a frontline fighter and a brawler.  She would worry about him getting hurt no matter what.  But how could he not put his skills to use?  His Extendo-Arms might not have been as flashy as the majority of his classmates’ Quirks, but he had the right skills and the right Quirk to be the right person for someone who needed a Hero.  He didn’t seek fame or glory.  He just wanted to help.  It was enough.

“I promise, Mom,” he said.

***

“Can we have Mighty Burger for dinner?” Taki asked.  Asuka’s dark-haired younger brother was the only one in the family to look entirely human. Though the eleven year old’s shadow never quite seemed to match his movements.

“Yeah!” Nanami added. Her nine year old sister’s wings flapped furiously, though not quite enough to get her off the ground.  

“That would be good,” Asahi said.  Her frog-faced brother, all of thirteen, had not picked up the moodiness that some teens seemed to.  If anything, he was too well-behaved.

With Mom at sea and Dad at work, it was left to her to manage her younger siblings.  Normally, Asahi would be in charge since she’d started UA, but as long as she was there, she was drafted into the role of caretaker.  Not that she minded.  She had already done so before attending U.A and had been doing so for much of the Summer break.  They’d spent much of the afternoon at the library, so that Nanami could check out books and so that Asahi could begin to do research for a project he would have in his next school term, and were now walking home.  

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Mighty Burger!” Taki insisted.

“Mighty Burger!” Nanami said.

“Mighty Burger!” Even Asahi was joining in now.

Asuka felt the familiar sensation of Frog-Shadow leaving her body.  “Mighty Burger!” Frog-Shadow insisted, joining in the now repetitious chorus of wanting to get take out.

“We have food at home,” she said firmly, using the same tone of voice her mom used to manage them. “I’m making pasta for dinner.”

Frog-Shadow zipped and around and hovered right in front of her beak, eyes wide and pleading.  “Pleeeeeease,” her familiar begged.  “They’ve got Hero Babies toys in the kids’ meals!  I wanna get Baby Ground Zero before they discontinue it!”

“…Why do you know any of that?” Asuka demanded.

“Because Toshi told you about it and I know everything you know.”

Asuka squeezed her eyes shut tightly.  Ever since she had almost lost her, she had made a greater effort to include Frog-Shadow, allowing her to roam freely and speak to her more often.  It had, by and large, been going quite well.  Being included more often had tamed some of her childish impulses, though it seemed that it was still an uphill battle.

“I’m pretty sure you’re outvoted, Asuka.” Taki said.  The shadows around him rippled a bit.

Asahi just laughed, a low, croaking sound that flared his throat pouch.  “Hey now, Mom and Dad left her in charge.  If she says we’re having pasta, then we’re having pasta.”

There were now four pairs of eyes staring at her.  She should be strong.  She should be tough.  She was the responsible adult here.  If she could wrangle her classmates as Vice-Representative, then she should certainly be able to handle her family as eldest child.

And perhaps if she flapped her arms hard enough, she could learn to fly without Frog-Shadow.

“Fine.  Mighty Burger!”

***

“Hi!  Welcome to the Nice Guy Convenience Store!  Let me know if you need help with anything!”  Isamu said to the customer who had just entered.  Ever since he’d returned from I-Island—and he still couldn’t believe everything he’d become privy to during that time—he’d been working in his dad’s store, pitching in where he could.  It was nice and normal and grounding.  The woman grunted and nodded in acknowledgement.

Weird. The dark-haired woman looked familiar.  Where had he seen her before?  That was going to bug him until he figured it out.  She headed to the back to pick up a handful of ready-made frozen meals and a six pack of energy drinks.  

The woman seemed to be eyeing him as well when she returned to the front.  As he was ringing her up, she asked, “U.A. kid, right?  One of Eraserhead’s brats?”

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” he said. Was she a Pro-Hero?  He didn’t think so, though she could have been an Underground Hero.  But not that many people would know who Aizawa was, even if his own face had been on practically every television in Japan during the Sports Festival.

That, mercifully, had started dying down.  The U.A. Sports Festival was a major event, but compared to daily Hero fights and premieres, it was easy to get forgotten by anyone who wasn’t a diehard fan.  

Was he in danger? He let one of his hands behind the counter.  Slowly, he began charging up an energy pulse, just in case he needed it.  He just needed to keep his face neutral…

“Thought I recognized you,” she said.  “You’re the zippy kid who tackled me at the last second.”

Isamua’s eyes went wide. Shadow-Thief?  She was on parole, right?  Aizawa said they earned their paroles…

“Yeah,” he said.  Should he apologize?

She shrugged.  “Just didn’t expect to see any Hero kids working a regular job.  I thought all you Hero types had rich families.”

“Not a Hero family,” he said.  “Just me.”

“They stuck you with all those Hero kids?” Shadow-Thief asked.  “What the hell?  That ain’t exactly fair to you, is it?”

“I’ve already learned a lot from them.”  Isamu shrugged.  A sudden and rare burst of confidence filled him.  “And besides… I think I’m doing all right for myself.”  Sports Festival winner, Intern with Deku, “Hero” of I-Island, even if he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that last one, especially the paycheck that had shown up from the Mighty Agency for “services while deputized” with way too many zeroes in it.  At least that adventure had been kept out of the news.  

Shadow-Thief laughed at that.  “You, you’re all right, kid.”  She took the bag with her purchases in it and headed for the door.  “Stay in school kid.  I wanna get to say I was your first take down someday.”

What did it say about his life that getting encouragement from a former Villain was not the strangest thing to have happened to him?

#my hero academia #their hero academia #toshi midoriya #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #sora iida #tensei iida (tha) #takuma sero #kimiko ojiro #daisuke shoji #isamu haimawari #asuka tokoyami #takiyo aoyama #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

[tangle-of-ivy]

The Sweetest, Sappiest One of All!

Hello! I was challenged by @canna-change-the-laws-of-physics with a few prompts off a list (feel free to check it out and send me some more!). My prompts were:

- Jim Kirk

- 111 - "Is that a challenge?"

- 231 - "Just hold me."

This one-shot turned out WAY fluffier/sappier than I'd intended. But that's where the prompts led me. Get ready for some tooth-rotting sweetness!

Let me know what you think! :)

Words: 2,892

Jim/Reader

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

"There's no way!" Hannah scoffed.

Jane shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Y/N. But I have to agree with her on this one. I mean, have you seen those two together? My teeth rot just looking at them!"

Y/N put her hand dramatically over her heart. "Jane, how could you! I thought you were my best friend!"

All three women laughed. They had commandeered the comfiest couch in their favorite lounge. The best feature was a window that allowed them to gaze at the beautiful galaxies and planets as the Enterprise flew by. The room was fairly full, Beta shift having just ended. Many officers were standing or laying about, grumbling about their shifts or playing board games.

"Jim is very sweet! I don't know what you guys are talking about." said Y/N.

Hannah raised one eyebrow. "I'm not saying he isn't. But he does seem to be the kind that gets straight to the bedroom as soon as he can."

"He's not!" Y/N cried, trying to defend her boyfriend. "Do you think I'd be with him if he were."

Jane nudged Hannah with her elbow. "She's gotcha there." They both knew their friend's preferences when it came to relationships.

"We're taking things really slow. We want this to mean something and not just be a fling." Y/N continued, "He's very respectful of women. His playboy persona is all bluff. He just likes to flirt."

"And exactly how many girls did he sleep with at the academy?" Hannah asked shrewdly.

"Less than the rumors say."

The other woman rolled her eyes. "Still, my Henry is the most romantic, chivalrous sap aboard this ship. He brings me flowers from the botanical lab. He leaves me little notes all over my desk just to say how much he loves me. He kisses the back of my hand like a knight in shining armor. I'm sorry, but there's no way your Jimmy can beat that!"

Y/N huffed. "He does lots of sweet things, he's just been very understanding about my desire to go slow, especially in the PDA department. If I told him I was ready, you'd see right away that my Jim is just as sweet if not more so than Henry."

Hannah leaned forward with a Cheshire Cat grin. "Is that a challenge?"

Y/N blinked. "Well, I didn't mean it like one…"

"So it's all just talk?"

"No."

"Then prove it." Hannah nodded to the door where the captain had just entered with his arm around McCoy's shoulder. The doctor was rolling his eyes at something Jim said. Chekov approached them and started a conversation.

"Prove it how?"

"A bet! Y'all saw Henry come in during my shift today?"

Both women rolled their eyes.

"Yes. We saw." Jane sighed.

"He brought me coffee." Hannah gushed. "He picked me up and spun me around like a Disney princess. He gave me eskimo kisses and whispered that he loved me more than the moon." She sighed dreamily as the others pretended to gag.

"So what is the bet?" asked Y/N.

Hannah shook herself from her starry-eyed stupor. "The challenge is for you to prove, right here, right now, that Jim is capable of being a total sappy sweetheart when it comes to you and your relationship. Even more so than Henry and me! Jane will be the judge."

Jane groaned. "You're really gonna drag me into this?" she whined.

"Yes." was the unsympathetic reply. "You get to declare which of our boyfriends is the winner. But no cheating!" She turned and pointed a finger at Y/N. "You can't tell him what's going on. You said he would willingly be all cute and touchy with you the moment you said you were ready. Well, do it now. You have one hour to convince us."

Jane frowned. "Are you okay with that, Y/N? I don't want you to push your relationship into something you're not comfortable with just for a silly bet."

Y/N thought for a minute, and then shook her head. "No, it's okay. I've been meaning to talk to Jim about being a bit more public anyway. Now's as good a time as any." She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. "In one hour, you'll see how wrong you are." she said, smiling at the girls as she strode over to her oblivious boyfriend.

Jim was leaning over Chekov's shoulder pointing out something on the pad they were reading from. Y/N stood by his shoulder and said in her best, no-nonsense, work voice, "Hey, Jim, hold this for me, will ya?"

Jim didn't even look up from the pad, "Uh yeah, sure babe." He held out his hand and Y/N placed her own hand in his. The group went quiet as Bones and Chekov stared at her. Jim didn't seem to notice. He was still reading until he found the part he was looking for. Y/N looked over her shoulder and winked at the girls who were watching closely. Jane stifled a giggle and Hannah elbowed her to get her to hush.

"Yeah, it was that one." Jim said, pointing to the list. "Make sure we add that to our travel log." He waited until Chekov nodded awkwardly, still looking at Y/N. Only then did Jim turn towards his girlfriend. Surprise spread across his face as he saw their entwined fingers. He looked from their hands to her face and back again. "Umm...did I miss something."

"Excuse me, boys. But could I steal my boyfriend for a while?" asked Y/N.

Bones raised an eyebrow. "Sure, darlin'. Keep him outta trouble."

"Never!" Y/N sassed, pulling Jim towards the couch. She stopped a little ways behind it so that they could have a semi-private conversation but still be within hearing distance of the girls.

Jim looked curious as Y/N turned to face him. "What's up, sweetheart?"

Looking up to meet her boyfriend's vivid blue eyes, Y/N hesitated, slightly nervous all of a sudden.

"I… Well I think it's time we had a talk. I'm ready for a change…? Err, I'm not saying this right. Sorry, it's my fault, not yours. I mean, I wanted to maybe talk about...our relationship."

Jim's face morphed into one of shock, maybe even a hint of fear. "Y/N, what did I do wrong?"

She looked up at him, startled. "What?"

"Are you unhappy with the way things are going? Have I been moving too fast? Did I forget a birthday or anniversary or something?"

"No, why-"

"Wait, it couldn't have been a birthday because I know yours is in four and a half months. And our anniversary isn't for another six. Did you want to celebrate our half-year anniversary? Is that it? Or did I say something-"

"Jim, stop! Stop." Y/N gripped his shirt collar, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were almost wild with fear now. "Nothing is wrong. Why're you so scared?"

"Nothing's wrong? You mean you're not breaking up with me?"

"What?! No! Of course not!"

"Oh, thank God!" Jim gasped, sweeping Y/N up in his arms until her toes didn't touch the floor. Stunned, she soothingly ran her fingers through his hair as he shook slightly in her arms. "I don't mean to seem smothering." he mumbled into her shoulder. "You probably think I'm some overbearing boyfriend now who is so insecure that he can't even-"

"No, no, Jim. Hush. It's okay. It was completely my fault." said Y/N, pulling back as he let her slowly slip to the floor, though he didn't let an inch of space separate them otherwise. She cupped his face in her hands as his eyes darted back and forth between hers. "I didn't mean it to sound that way. But I totally see how it did. I'm the one who's sorry. Please forgive me. I swear, the last thing I want right now is to break up with you."

Jim held his breath for a moment more, searching for the truth in her expression. Then he let his forehead come to rest against hers with a sigh of relief. "I think we're more than even between my overreaction and your...less than ideal choice of words."

"Tactfully put." Y/N giggled softly, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of his warm, minty breath on her face.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Jim asked.

Y/N leaned back to look at him again. "I actually wanted to talk about our PDA."

Jim looked down at how close he was holding her and quickly took a step back until there was quite a bit of space between them. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know we said we'd keep it to a minimum. I just got caught up in the moment."

Y/N laughed and moved forward to wrap her arms around his neck again. "No, no! Stop jumping to conclusions, you ding-bat! I actually want to talk about being more open with our relationship."

Jim blinked at her. "Really?"

"Really." She bumped his nose with hers. "I'm proud of my boyfriend. I'm proud of you as a captain, and even as a constant pain in the ass of the Federation." Jim smirked. "But I'm also proud of you as Jim Tiberius Kirk. The man who almost burned down the kitchen trying to make me homemade chicken noodle soup when I was sick. The man who curbed his natural inclination to show affection through touch just so I'd be more comfortable in public. I'm beyond proud and honored to be your girlfriend, and I want everyone to know how proud I am of you."

A smile started to grow on Jim's face. "So what are you saying?"

Y/N blushed a bit and looked down, nervously smoothing the front of his golden uniform. "I'm saying that I want to show our affection for each other whenever and wherever we want. I don't mind if people see us. I don't give a damn about what they think. I only care what you think." Y/N looked up at him again. "Everyone already knows you're the best captain in the fleet. I want people to know how lucky I am to have you as the best boyfriend in the galaxy."

Jim's smile was brighter than a supernova as he gently cradled her face in his hands. "You have that all wrong you know." Seeing her confused look, he said, "Everyone already envies me for having such an amazingly beautiful, smart, and snarky girlfriend. I might have to start fighting off the competition."

Y/N smirked. "You might have a point. Just the other day Spock gave me an approving eyebrow raise when I managed to break that Klingon code missive."

Jim fake gasped. "Both eyebrows? Or just one?"

"Both."

"Oh no!" he groaned. "I'm going to have to fight off a Vulcan, and soon Romulans and Klingons too, just to keep them from stealing my love away from me!"

Y/N tried and failed to suppress the smile that spread across her face. "Your 'love'?"

"Of course." Jim placed his hands on her waist and pulled her close again. "And now I'll make sure everyone knows that I'm in love with the goddess of the stars. And I'm definitely the lucky one in that situation."

Y/N laughed. "Goddess of the stars? A bit sappy, don't you think?"

"Is it sappy if it's true?" He winked at her. Then his expression softened. "In all seriousness though, we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, sweetheart."

But Y/N shook her head. "We express our feelings for each other through touch in private. I'm not ashamed to let others see it. At most I was a little shy, or to be honest, a little selfish & want to keep you to myself for a while at first. But I'm perfectly comfortable with some PG to occasional PG-13 shows of affection."

Jim leaned forwards and pressed a lingering kiss to Y/N's forehead, making her eyes close and a shiver run down her spine. Y/N heard Jane whisper, "Damn! He went for the forehead kiss. Instant point bonus!"

"How did I get so lucky to have you?" Jim murmured, completely oblivious to their audience.

"I always figured you lost a bet." Y/N joked.

Jim chuckled and pulled back. "So what should we do? Now that the world is open to us?"

"Drama queen," Y/N snarked affectionately. She looked around. "C'mere." she said, and she led him to a large, comfy armchair that was close, but not too close, to the couch where the girls still watched breathlessly. With a nudge, she had Jim sit and she sat beside him, pulling her legs up and draping them over his lap as she cuddled into his side. "Just hold me." she murmured.

Jim was more than happy to oblige. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed another kiss to her temple.

They stayed there for a long time, cuddling and talking softly about anything and everything. At one point Jim started reciting all of the corny jokes he could think of just to get her to laugh. Y/N kept a semi-straight face for a while, but finally broke at "What did the tomato say to the other tomato during a race? 'Ketchup!'", "Why are frogs so happy? Because they eat whatever bugs them!", and "An apple a day really can keep the doctor (*cough* Bones *cough*) away… But only if you aim it well!"

Her laughter made Jim want to hear more. So he started tickling her in her sides and neck, the two areas he knew were her greatest weaknesses. Y/N squealed and wriggled, trying to escape, only to slip out of his lap and tumble down onto the floor, still laughing. Jim was still snickering as he carefully picked her up and placed her back on his lap.

They settled down a bit at that point, just talking and holding hands. Jim asked about her shift, and when he heard that she'd been rushed off her feet all day he pulled off her shoes and started to massage her feet. Y/N was pretty sure she heard Jane sigh with envy at this point, but she didn't look up to check. After he was done, Y/N rewarded him with a kiss. His eyes sparkling with love and mischief, Jim decided to up his price. Pulling her close he kissed her long and deep until her head was spinning and several people around the lounge started to applaud and wolf-whistle. Y/N was blushing when they finally surfaced, but she didn't pay the others any mind. She simply pressed soft kisses to each of her boyfriend's cheeks, his nose, chin, forehead, and then lips once more. Jim let out a soft moan as she subtly traced his bottom lip with her tongue. When she pulled away he blinked up at her, dazed and breathless.

"You're perfect. You know that?" he whispered.

Y/N smiled. "I love you too."

Jim groaned and pressed a kiss to each one of her fingers and then each palm making her shiver pleasantly.

When his wrist watch became snagged on her hair, he asked if she had a brush with her. Y/N pulled the small, fold-able brush she always kept in her bag out and gave it to him. He had her sit on the chair between his legs as he tenderly combed out the snarls left after a long day (plus a tickle fight and several passionate kisses). Once the tangles were all out he continued to run the brush through her hair, knowing the sensation was like a drug to his girlfriend. Y/N all but melted against him as he continued, stopping once or twice to massage her scalp. Finally he put the brush down and had her sit on the ground in front of the chair. He ran his fingers through her locks a few times before starting to braid the strands together to keep them out of her way.

Yeah, Jim Kirk knew how to braid, and he was not at all ashamed of it. He'd learned from his mom a long time ago. He once showed Bones how to do a French braid so that the doctor could help his daughter Joanna with her hair.

Completely content, Y/N couldn't stop herself from literally purring under his administrations. Jim smiled proudly and leant down to press a kiss to her neck and whisper a soft "Love you." into her ear before resuming his task.

Y/N's eyes had closed in bliss, but the thought occurred to her that the hour must be over by now, so she forced her eyes open. Glancing towards the couch, she found that Hannah was in full pout mode. She'd gotten herself a drink and was taking large swigs as she pretended to read from a magazine. Jane was beaming at the couple, ignoring Hannah's sulkiness. When she caught Y/N's eye she gave her a double thumbs up and mouthed "Winner!". Y/N suppressed a grin as she let her head fall back once more, enjoying the attentions of her perfectly sweet and sappy boyfriend.

#jim kirk #kirk #jim #captain kirk #captain jim kirk #jim / reader #jim x reader #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk / reader #jim/reader #jimxreader #jim kirkxreader #jim kirk/reader #kirk x reader #kirk / reader #star trek #star trek one shot #one shot #star trek fic #star trek fanfic #star trek fanfiction #prompt #story prompt #prompt challenge #james tiberius kirk #jim tiberius kirk

[crqstalite]

pt. 2, orbits (andronikos && mierrio)

andronikos drives mierrio insane, whether together sexually or together raising their son, or training her apprentices. however, he’s getting soft on her. lucky for him, she likes her pirate husband as sentimental as he’ll come.

written : 7.10.19. published to tumblr : 7.10.19. word count : 3,102

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

character song: trouble, parov stelar ft. nikki williams

character file: darth mierrio revel, andronikos revel

-

andronikos had heard children were the things of nightmares, the literal end to your relationship with someone if you got saddled with one. it had been a couple of days since they’d brought the baby aboard, and it seemed anyone who told him that was lying to him. it seemed mierrio liked to topple expectations, and this was no different.

he was quiet. he never cried while he was with anyone, and he saw mierrio smile more than he ever had at anyone other than the immediate crew and himself. neither were sure how old he was, but they planned to register him with the empire within the week. he remained in oversized sweaters for now, and mostly spent his time with mierrio. while outwardly no one would connect the two as mother and son, but andronikos was beginning to pick up on his habits. the twi'lek baby was much quieter than any kid should be, like his mother before she’d met her now husband, he didn’t smile a lot but showed his affection by snuggling against you instead.

just like mierrio.

he could be grabbing at straws, of course.

“i think we’ll be done for today, andronikos.” ashara says, helping him up from where he sat drinking water. “thanks again, you don’t have to help me.”

“don’t particularly like sittin’ around ‘till a new assignment comes in. anytime, zavros.” he says, as she takes a drink of water herself. “when are we supposed to eat again?”

“mierrio didn’t say. i guess it’s a fend for yourself kind of night again.” ashara shrugs as he tosses his shirt on. his wife, while captain of the ship as well as darth to the sith council had trouble remembering basic survival, such as eating and sleeping. given their near-death situation with the ghosts, he could understand that. some nights, they ate together, and sometimes, they didn’t. very rarely did anyone leave the ship to get any sort of take-out, but it seemed like tonight was going to be one of those nights. “i’ll tell you if talos and the others want something else.”

he nods, and leaves the training room on the fury. the togruta…sith? jedi? she’d said she was neither, but somedays she seemed fiercely jedi and other days strictly sith. confused him, but he enjoyed her company. well, maybe enjoyed was too strong a word, but they tolerated each other. as she had only experienced being a padawan, she wasn’t world-weary just yet, so he took advantage in showing her the less favorable, more fun ways of embracing piracy. it didn’t always stick, but she was more fun to be around because of it, cracking jokes here and there and helping with his more…say dark-sided pranks on the others of the crew. while not the greatest shot with a blaster yet, she’s definitely getting there.

opening the door to his and mierrio’s quarters, he smiles a bit. he’s getting sentimental, something he promised his wife he wouldn’t do, but it’s just a touch too cute not to smile at. mierrio must’ve fallen asleep a while ago, one hand above her head and the other over their son, who sleeps quietly on her stomach. it’s becoming nearly natural to see her sleep peacefully again, without fits and nightmares. possibly, the baby is calming her as much as she’s calming him.

he sits on the bed across from her before laying back himself. it seems he wasn’t as stealthy as he’d first believed, because just as he gets himself somewhat comfortable, he hears the unmistakable gurgling of his son.

his son.

it’s a weird thing to say, really. he’s a pirate, through and through. a real scoundrel, but somehow, just like he promised her, he was still here. still in each other’s orbits 'till the stars went cold.

carefully picking up the child from his previous resting place without waking mierrio, the baby has one of his fingers in his mouth as he attempts to grin up at his father. settling him down so he’s laying against him, the baby cooes. “you and your mother are turning me soft, you hear?” those lavender eyes stare up at him in questioning, as if asking why. “thought i’d be a pirate 'till i died. that was until your mother crashed into my life, lightning and all. terrifies me to this day, but,” he takes his eyes of him for a moment, mierrio rolling over to face the wall, sleeping on, “knowing she can throw me through the bulkhead if she really wanted to just makes it worse.”

the baby coos again, as if in agreement after the past five or so days he’d been with her. “sure as hell never thought i’d be married to a sith lord, or married at all. dunno what came over me when i told ashara i wanted to bring you back with us.”

“but you did anyways.” he hears that soft, sleepy imperial accent answer his ramblings as she shifts to face him. a smile ghosts over her lips as she props herself up on her elbows. “all of those things, are true.”

“i know, sith.” he says. “have a nice nap?”

“of course. i didn’t intend to fall asleep, but then he did, and then i did.” she sits up completely now, sidling up to lean against him. “your son is infatuated with electrocution.”

“…what?” he can’t even form words. she goes to pick up a discarded ball on the ground next to the bed, maybe the size of a marble or two, and places it in her palm. “i love you sith, but even with context that still sounds crazy.”

“watch.” she has the baby’s attention, as a small jolt of lightning goes through the marble, using the force to leave it just out of reach of their son. it sounds as if he’s laughing as he watches it, grabbing at it with his small hands. it’s fascinating, but andronikos wonders whether their son will ever know what else she’s done with the lightning that flows like water out of her fingers.

he wonders if any child they ever have would wield force lightning like her. she and ashara had already confirmed that the baby wasn’t force sensitive, no presence to be found. he couldn’t help but linger on the thought of his biological son or daughter being just as powerful or more so than his wife.

she’s losing his attention, so she puts it out by rubbing it between her fingers. “did you finish with ashara?”

“gettin’ stronger by the day. i’m gonna die one of these days by one your hands if you make her much better.” he answers. he hadn’t been hit too hard today, but it still definitely hurt every time she hit him with a training saber.

“that is ashara. she’s a quick learner isn’t she?” she asks, as she presses her index finger against the baby’s nose, eliciting a giggle from him. “i do adore training sessions with her.”

yeah, because you’re force sensitive and have a leg up on her. he thought sarcastically. i’m just the pirate you picked up on tatooine.

“beyond that.” he says, shifting so that he has one arm around her instead of pressed against her shoulder, “have you thought of a name for him?”

“not yet.” she says, pursing her lips as he grabs one of her extended fingers in his small fist. “whenever i try to get his attention i just call him nikky.”

his face falls. “mierrio, you can’t name him after me.”

“and why is that?” she raises an eyebrow. “i can do whatever i want.”

he wasn’t about to deny that. “andronikos is a real mouthful for a kid, mier. give him something meaningful.”

“it is meaningful. it’s the name of the only man i’ve ever loved.” she says. god, they’re both getting a lot sappier than they ever wanted to, and it’s showing. from the way she doesn’t outright murder people anymore to how he catches himself turning down an opportunity for credits if it means he gets back to her quicker.“does it offend you that i want to?”

“no, but you’re naming your kid after a pirate. it’s bad enough he has my last name.”

she stops offhandedly playing with the baby, giving him a look that he hasn’t seen since the last time he said he was leaving. scared, and partially sad. “andronikos, this is not just my kid. this is our kid, and i don’t give a shit who knows.” she tries to give him a comforting look as she rubs a hand over their son’s head. “if anyone gives you hell for being the way you are, i swear i will end them where they stand.”

“that’s a little outlandish, sith.” it’s not. he can’t remember how many people she’s killed just because they look at her the wrong way. nothing is too outlandish for his sith, but defending his name against a bunch of other, bloodthirsty sith?

“i intend to be just as outlandish as i like.” she says, and then sighs in disappointment. “you may be right in one sense, i’ll just end up calling him nikky anyways.”

they stay like that for a bit, the twi'lek baby moving in-between his parents as they talk back and forth about their newer expeditions and plans for who to kill next. maybe not typical parent banter, but the trick with the marble keeps the baby entertained. she’s just about to lie her head back down on his shoulder when she almost jumps from her spot. “sith?”

“ronin. that’s his name.” she says in exclamation, a small smile cracking at their son, who coos softly as he smiles. confused, of course, but he seems to already know what she about to say. “ronin revel.”

“i mean, no complaints from me, but could you really think of nothing else but a name from mine?” he asks, as he can’t keep a feeling of pride from sweeping across him. she was going to name their son after him anyways, and he figures there was no point in trying to stop her to begin with.

“i don’t exactly bother myself with baby names daily, andronikos.” she looks quite pleased with herself, and she turned to him when he didn’t immediatly respond, simply giving her one of those smiles she’s admitted to driving her crazy. “what’s with that smile?”

“nothing.” she looks at him in confusion before taking on hand off of the newly named ronin to meet his cheek, pulling him closer to her. “i love you, andronikos revel.” she whispers.

“and i love you too, mierrio revel.” he responds, as he kisses her. maybe this isn’t a pirate’s life anymore, but andronikos thinks he’ll take ronin and mierrio over it for now.

for now.

he means forever.

he means as long as mierrio will have him.

as long as their stars stay warm.

-

“i hate paperwork.” mierrio admits. and that’s true. as much fun as it is being a darth (it’s wonderful, she knows, she is one), and being a newlywed (that’s amazing, she knows, she is one), and being a new mother (that makes her smile, she knows, she is one), the insane amount of paperwork she and andronikos have to fill out to only legally marry each other, but also to register their son for a birth certificate and then a certificate of adoption is crazy.

and she’d be damned if she spent the whole day filling it out. with ronin distracting her with his coos and rolling over every once and a while (trying to escape from her grasp), she was never going to be able to put down that damned pen.

“that’s it, i’m done and we will continue this tomorrow.” she says, nearly growling as she electrocutes the writing utensil, and it flew so far an unsuspecting talos had to dodge it. “i apologize, talos. are you alright?”

he looks at the smoking hole in the bulkhead before turning back to her and straightening out his uniform. “i will be quite alright, my lord.”

once he disappears, she slumps back against the couch. her hands hurt, and she’s itching to do something other than write. ronin’s small hands grasp as her shirt, almost begging for her attention. “you’re bored too? we’ll find something to do, ronin.”

and she knows exactly what that something will be. ashara is practicing with xalek and khem today, and talos had just returned from a mission with imperial reclamation. andronikos would be where he always was, in the cockpit. holding ronin close to her chest, she leaves her papers in a neat pile on the table and pads towards the cockpit. her husband is just where she expected, and she smiles. he hasn’t noticed her just yet, but once the two stealthy revels reach the other, ronin gives them away with a pitched giggle as he reaches out for andronikos to hold him. “hey kid.” he says, standing so he can take the squirming baby from her. “mier, you tryin’ to scare me?”

“maybe only a little.” she responds, as his arm goes around her waist to pull her closer to him. “paperwork hasn’t exactly been fun, with me being a previous slave, you a pirate and ronin with no records anywhere in the empire. i’d love a little help.”

“no can do, gorgeous. the ship needs an update, and i’m the only one capable enough to do it.” he answers, as she grimaces. “aww, don’t give me a long face like that. how about this, we give the papers a rest for a bit, you and ronin can stay in here?”

“i would like that.” she says, as she takes her son back.

he gets back to work as she settles in the chair next to the pilot’s chair. she enjoys watching him work, and a smile crosses her face. she does a lot of that lately, and it feels less like an intimidating feature and more just, her. ronin is quiet with the small toy xalek had found days earlier, chewing on it with the exactly zero teeth he has. talos, with his limited knowledge of children, estimates he can’t be any older than five or so months old. it makes sense, no teeth yet but capable of giving his parents a smile that just made her melt inside.

he makes an odd sound that snaps her out of her thoughts. he grasps a bit of her tunic, and makes movements to grab at something on the ground. picking up the damp toy, she gives it back to him. brushing his lekku back, he smiles up at her with the toy in his mouth.

she was going to love this boy until the day she died.

andronikos works for a bit longer before she begin going through the ship logs, and ronin sleeps on her chest, toy hanging from his small but strong grip. he ends up getting up and standing behind the chair she sits in, as she looks up at him. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“name something specifically.” she says. she likes it all, and once ronin is registered, she intends to spoil him like mad. “i enjoy it all.”

“drifting, i mean. instead of being controlled by some darth, we’re in control of our lives now. we could go do anything, be anyone. takin’ chances, y'know?” he asks, draping his arms over her. “that’s what i mean by drifting, sith.”

“then yes, andronikos. i like drifting, and i intend to continue drifting for a long while by your side.” she says.

“same here, mier.” flipping the tool in his hand and putting it down next to some of the other controls, he gives her a mischeveous smile. “how soon do you think we can give ronin a little brother or little sister?”

-

ashara’s not sure what’s happening when she hears a loud thump in the cockpit as she and talos are playing sabacc together. giving him an odd look that he shrugs at, she picks up both of her lightsabers and hurries into the room. “my lord-”

ronin sits among the chaos in the pilot’s chair as mierrio stands, andronikos crumpled in the corner with a shit-eating grin on his face. “yes, apprentice?”

taking stock of the situation, she chooses her words carefully. “i-came to make sure you were alright, master.”

“of course, ashara. andronikos just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” she feels waves of cold flowing over her to the point she’s nearly shivering and figures andronikos has just made his wife very angry with one of his quips as he moves to get up. mierrio has a strained smile on her face as she looks at ashara, just daring her apprentice to ask her what happened.

“you nearly send me through the ship for that!?”

“we already have ronin, how many do you intend we have?!”

“i don’t know!”

“then don’t make suggestions like that-!” ashara ushers talos back the way they came as they both sit down silently at the table, game forgotten.

khem makes his way into the communal room, and most likely picking up on the loud sounds being emitted from the cockpit, she can translate his question, “is the little sith angry?”

“khem, i have no idea and i’m not sure that i want to.” an angry mierrio means stay out of her way until she’s calmed down or killed the person who she’s attempting to murder. now, ashara highly doubted the pirate would die, he never seemed to be able to with mierrio around. he’s most likely said worse and got away with less.

or maybe, one of them had a kink in using the force for …say less appropriate things. it wasn’t unusual, apparently mostly reserved for spouses of sith lords. she’d never taken her master for someone like that, but she’d changed in ways she couldn’t imagine, and if you’d told her on taris that her master was capable of loving not only her newly adopted son and therefore also husband, she would’ve laughed.

the yelling continues, and ashara retreats to the crew quarters. she accidentally been privy to a session of love-making just before they’d left for hoth, and the things she overheard still haven’t been completely obscured from her mind.

the revels are definitely an interesting couple, and she loves them both. now she’s world weary because of the inquisitor and her husband, and somedays she wishes she wasn’t.

if only she could get the way that mierrio drawled out andronikos’ name, then everything would be about two trillion times better.

-

oh i do adore ashara. fem! si x ashara zavros i’d take everyday of the week.

#swtor #swtor oc #oc #original character #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #fanfiction #star wars the old republic #andronikos revel #mierrio revel #darth nox #lord kallig #female sith inquisitor/andronikos revel

[please-dont-hurt-me]

I’m still late but here’s the ao3 link to the first chapter of To quote Daft Punk's song 'Touch'; "Touch, touch/ I remember touch/ Where do I belong?" which uses the prompt of touch to explore lonliness and my bitterness.

In summary: its about how Jodie banner gets adopted and forgives Bruce for being sent into space.

15 seems a little too young for a mid-life crisis. But what is considered your mid-life if you don't know when you’re going to die or start to truly live. That's really dramatic but you can get that Jodie wasn't doing so great emotionally.

Bounce. Catch.

Jodie sat on the bed in the guest room of her foster parent’s house, throwing a ball at the wall. She was told by her case worker that it’s just temporary and they’ll find her a family soon. That’s a load of baloney if she’s ever heard any.

Bounce, catch.  

She was 15 years old and had given up being adopted. The only dude who wanted a black teenage girl with depression and abandonment issues had almost, almost adopted her but either fucked off or died two years ago.

Bounce, catch.

Honestly, she thought he just abandoned her the first time he left but three years later she got a call from him. He told her why he had run the last time he was in Philly and tried to adopt her. Apparently, the paperwork was halfway done when he fucking left.

Bounce, catch.

A tear fell down her cheek. She dropped the ball and wiped it away. No, it’s over. She’s over it. She’d never see him again. There’s no use crying about it. It doesn’t matter that she loved, that he had been a perfect dad, or that he almost got her out of the system. He’s gone and dead.

Bounce. Catch.  

There was a knock at the door.

She shifted her body to be upside down. “Come in.”

The tall man who was her foster dad opened the door. Don’t know his name, don’t care. He’ll get rid of her soon.  “Jodie, the agency has some people at the office who might adopt you. Come on.”

Jodie sighed and let herself fall from the bed to the floor. This was going to be a waste of time. Another disappointment. “I’ll get my shoes on.”

And she does. Doesn’t bother with anything else. She follows the foster dad to his Prius and climbed into the passenger seat. He started the car.  

The car was filled with the tail end of one of the tabloid networks. “-nner and Thor were spotted in west Philly-” and then foster dad turned on NPR and they drove with false chatter and actual silence.

Jodie’s kind of thankful that this one is so dull.

He stopped at what used to be the orphanage. She got out and nodded.

She approached the old building that was probably made in the 60’s. She pushed open the door and smelled the sterile air that was in the ‘office’ these days. The bell chimed and yelled that she was here in the lull of keyboard clicking and printers humming.

She walked in to the lobby and up to the receptionist, Matt. “Mr. Miller said someone wanted to see me?”

Matt smiled at her. “Yeah, he’s actually holding them off with sticks because he needs to talk to you first.”

Jodie blinked. “What.”

Matt looked at her, then over his shoulder, then turned back to her to grin like a cat that caught the pigeon. “Kid just hurry up. This is going to be ridiculous. I’m filming the shit out of this.”

She moved past Matt. That was weird, and Jodie has a sneaking suspicion that things aren't going to make much sense after she talks to Miller.  

She was halfway there before Miller, the social worker who was usually known as level headed at best and stoic at worst, practically ran to her. Yeah, hypothesis confirmed. Shit was gonna get stranger. “Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. You’re really not going to believe what just happened.”

“Thanos returned to earth and wants a bedazzled hot dog.” Jodie said blandly. “Look, let’s not do gossip. You don't do a good delivery and I really don’t care. Show me the people and then let me leave.”

She tried to move past him, but he put a hand over her shoulder. “Jodie, have you been keeping up with the news? Like the stuff to with heroes?”

Jodie frowned, this was going to be one of those dumb hero couples who heard about her knowing Bruce and were going to be looking for the spotlight. They were one of her least favorite group of attempted-adopters. “Not really. Just enough to know when the next alien induced apocalypse is upon us.”

Miller sighed. God here comes the lecture.

“Well you know that the Asgardians landed a couple of weeks ago.” He said.

Jodie raised an eyebrow. “Why would they do that? Don’t they have a golden palace in a universe far, far away or something like that.”

Miller blinked at her before sighing. "I know that you have an aversion to hero's but Christ. So, the planet Asgard got exploded and they are here now as citizens of earth.”

Jodie blinked before shrugging. That’s fucking weird and she’s probably going to see xenophobic shit about Asgardians in the near future. That’s just peachy. “So what does all of that have to do with us, here in Philly. ”

“They brought back Bruce banner.”

Jodie was silent before whispering, “And?”

“He’s here. In my office with King Thor.” Miller said and pointed his thumb at said office. “Come with me?”

Surprise, surprise, Bruce not actually dead. But he’s not going to adopt her right? He’s going to say goodbye in some tragic fashion and run away again. Or get her hopes up and then disappear again.

“Fine, but no promises.” She says and presses past Miller. She pushes the door to his office open and is met with Bruce. Again.

Bruce banner didn’t look as sad and haggard as when she first met him five years ago. He didn’t look better, groomed, but stressed like she had seen him 2 years ago. He was ... happy looking.  

He was wearing what some would call business causal, he had longer hair with small braids, he was holding the hand of the man standing next to him (who Jodie is just going to assume is Thor), and he looked like he had gone through a reality show makeover.

He looked up from Thor’s (probably) hand when she had come through the door and smiled when he saw her. “Jodie.”

Just like that? He left her for two years and now he’s back calling her ‘Jodie’? Like none of that shit never happened? Like he left after promising not to? That he left like everyone else and he knew it? Why the hell is he back?

She’s angry. Of course, she was. She got her hopes up about getting out of the system and then everything falls to pieces and he’s gone. She knew about the hulk and all that bullshit, why did he leave? Why is he back?

She clenched her fist. “Why are you back.”

Bruce smiled at her. It was an expression that was a killer combination of happy, fond, parently (was that a word), honest, sad, and regretful. “I’m sorry I left, I really didn’t plan on getting shot into space and stranded on an alien planet.”

She looked at him and then at the chair. “The sentiment is appreciated. Didn’t answer my question though.”

“I wanted to see you again.”

Why did you come back? Why come back now? Why not wait another three years? You seem to have a pattern going there, I’d hate to break it.

She laughed bitterly, “I’ll believe that, but why not wait another year. I mean it fits the pattern.”

He made a sigh and looked at her with the same puppy dog eyes as when she was 10. “I really don’t want a pattern. I just want my daughter back.”

She was speechless for a second. He continued speaking

“I want to adopt you and I don’t want to leave you alone again. But whether or not that happens is entirely up to you” Bruce looks at her. The combination of long hair, beard, and care bear stare is killing her.

Time to deflect emotions.

Jodie turned to Thor. “Where do you fit into this?”

Thor smiled at her and Jodie realized that Thor was going to be indefinitely sappier and more emotional than Bruce. She realized her mistake as he opened his mouth.

“Bruce told me about you.” He squeezed his hand that was melded with Bruce’s. God that was sappy. “How much he loved you, how proud of you he was, and how much he missed you. Part of my culture’s courting ritual is that we spend time with our intended family in preparation for become a part of our own. I haven't been able to do this step completely because Bruce has little family to speak of. But if you wish to be adopted, you shall have that wish granted, and I’ll spend time with you for when you become my daughter as Bruce becomes my husband. You will not only have Bruce’s small family but mine as well.”

Jodie like she had been struck by lightning.

How often had she fantasized a family taking her away? How often was it Bruce taking her and caring for her. Never leaving. Hugging her and comforting her.

How often did she wish on stars that someone would looks at her with so much love and potential love in their eyes as the pair of heroes in front of her?

She was still angry but... she almost couldn't feel it over the shock.

Jodie gulped.  “I’ll think about it.”

Bruce smiles at her, “I know. Give us a call when have an answer. Or tell Miller.”

They say their goodbyes and then leave. Well, not before Thor gives her a cookie he made. He smiles as she tries to refuse. He tells her that, “If you do call us, tell me how it turned out. I figured out how to bake a couple days ago and Loki keeps telling me it’s awful, so I have no idea what it’s like.”

Jodie headed back to the Prius with foster dad. As he drove away from the office, she reflected on her life and how it might change. For better, or for worse.

#thorbruce week #jodie banner #thorbruce #its 9 somewhere not in philly #I'm constantly angry with abandonment issues #so here is me projecting

[imaredshirt]

If you’re doing the fictional kiss prompt can I get an Imector post-cannon 12 or 3 or a mix of both? Pretty please with sugar on top? ❤️❤️

Fictional Kiss Prompts

3. kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

12. a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

You sure can, nonnie! The kiss itself happens near the end, annnnd this got much longer and sappier and angstier than I’d anticipated, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

(also sorry for taking so long!!)

It was ridiculous, she thought, to be so strongly affected by a dream. But it had been the worst kind, the kind that felt so real, she’d woken up believing it to be reality.

In her dream, Héctor had suffered the Final Death. The white of his bones had  dissolved into specks of orange, the very real weight of his body reduced to nothing in her arms.

She’d woken up clutching her hands to her chest, gasping, tears hot on her cheek bones. She’d turned to find the spot where Héctor had fallen asleep only hours earlier empty, and the nightmare had only felt more real.

As if the past three years had been the dream, and he had really died in her arms, and they hadn’t been together like the husband and wife they once had been.

As if he had been taken from her again to be hidden away until they found each other after so many years in some other realm, in some other lifetime, after ages spent alone.

She’d stared at the empty spot, aghast, and furious.

Imelda Rivera had been widowed once before, and she was going to fight whoever was trying to widow her again.

In the back of her mind she knew it was ridiculous to enact vengeance against something completely out of her control, but the horror of the nightmare was still fresh, and she’d needed to take action against something.

The hot tears slipping from her eyes were useless as she sat up in bed like a spring and got to her feet.

“Héctor!” She gasped, an unwanted tremble in her voice. “Héctor, where–”

“Imelda?” Came a worried response, and Héctor peeked around the curtains covering the open doorway to the balcony, where he had been standing watching the sunrise.The relief was immediate, but with the relief came tears, and Imelda left her bed to pull her husband into a hug, burying her face in the cool fabric of his shirt.

“Imelda–”

“You’re here,” she said around a rogue sob, and was immediately frustrated with herself. She’d intended to explain herself, but words spilled from her mouth without her permission. “You’re still here. Oh, Héctor, it didn’t take you. You’re still with me.”

“Sí,” Héctor said, a pained understanding coloring his voice. “I’m here, mi vida. I–I won’t leave you again, I promise–”

“No,” Imelda shook her head. He had misunderstood her. “No, amor, it was a dream. A terrible dream. I saw you fading, like–like dust in my arms. But it was just a dream. A horrible dream.” She chuckled and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Ay, I’m just being ridiculous, crying like a child–”

“No, no, Imelda,” Héctor said, and Imelda swore she could hear a tremble in his voice. Her dream had shaken them both. He ran a soothing hand down her loose hair and held her close. “You’re not being ridiculous. Dreams–dreams have very real effects on us. And the bad ones can do very real hurt. It’s ok to cry, Imelda. I’m here.”

She wondered if he knew his comforting presence and words only made her cry more. Sniffling and fighting another sob, she clung to him and let the tears fall.

Ridiculous, she thought. It was only a dream. She was a great-great grandmother. She was past crying over nightmares.

And years ago, she’d hated herself for crying over him. Every tear and gasping sob had been resented, and had felt like sour betrayal against herself. But now that he was with her again and the anger and hurt was behind them, the tears no longer brought fury. They brought relief.

It was ridiculous, but she didn’t care. She needed the tears.

Once she could open her mouth without fear of sobbing uncontrollably, she leaned back and looked up into Héctor’s worried gaze. In her dream, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open, hadn’t been able to move. Now, as he looked down at her, she could see the brown of his eyes in the hazy light as the sun rose through the mist laying over the Land of the Dead.“Kiss me,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper in the dark of the room, and reached one hand up to cup his cheek. “Héctor, please–”Hector’s hands dropped to her waist, and he leaned forward until they were pressed as close as possible, pulling a whimper from her exhausted frame as he kissed along her cheekbone, down until he reached the faux red of her lips.His kiss was gentle, but Imelda deepened it, as if the deepest kiss would wash away the slivers of horror still pressing against her mind. She clung tight to him, pulling, until he was pressing forward, curving into her. She curled an arm around his shoulders and held tight.When he moved back to nuzzle her and whisper soft reassurances, Imelda ran her fingers through his hair. She was breathless again, but she wasn’t sobbing, and the horror in her mind was all but gone. But she still held onto him until the sun finally rose, the solid weight of his body reassuring against her, knowing that at least for now, and possibly for a long time, he would not be taken from her again.

#Anonymous #coco #imector #i hope this turned out ok! #i had planned on making it a lot more lighthearted but this just happened #thank you for the request!!! #prompt

[esselley]

Kinktober #24: Exhibitionism

This post inspired me and I had pirate AU planned already so… here’s this! It is sappier and more emotional than I intended it to be sigh

Shouyou loves taverns.

It’s something about the scene, the scent of danger in the air. Doesn’t matter the kind of establishment—big or small, loud or quiet, reputable or brimming with villains, each and every one is a powder keg rigged to explode. The size of the blast, then, depends on the fuel.

There’s a particular tavern he loves most dearly, and it sits squarely in the categories of: large, loud, and villainous. The island of Torino is wretched at the best of times; add alcohol and one might light themselves a proper fire. Especially if the kindling is The Crow’s Nest.

The Crow’s Nest is the most dangerous tavern on the most dangerous side of the isle. At least one fool does something dumb enough to end up a dead man there every night, and Shouyou has almost been that fool half a dozen times. The difference is he keeps surviving; which means that over the years, he’s become one of the most dangerous people in the tavern.

The foremost most dangerous person in the tavern is currently in its back room, busy scaring up the coordinates for one of the Royal Navy’s newest trade routes. Sometimes, it seemed, pirates had to do legitimate business after all. Or at least, make dirty deals where they could to get ahead.

So Shouyou keeps an eye on things outside, making sure no one tries to disturb Kageyama or eavesdrop on the meeting to get the location for themselves. He sits at a table near the door to the back room, boots propped up, swilling his mug of rum. He drums the fingers of his other hand on the table.

He sees sudden movement, and jerks his hand out of the way just in time to avoid a wicked, rusty cutlass being stabbed right through it. He barely blinks, but does shift his rum just a little bit closer to himself. He doesn’t want it to spill.

Two figures sit down at the table opposite him, as though no stabbing attempts had just occurred. Shouyou blinks as he gets a closer look at them. Two people, same features. A pair of twins—one dark haired, one light.

“Interested in a chat?” Shouyou asks.

“Maybe,” the light haired man says with a grin, and Shouyou catches a gleam of gold. “We heard tell a certain ship had made port here just last night. We were wondering—”

“You wondered,” the dark haired twin says, “I just wanted a drink.”

“We were wondering,” his brother says again, like he hadn’t heard him at all, “if the rumors of the man aboard it were true.”

Shouyou inclines his head. “If you mean the Invincible, and you mean Kageyama, then aye, that’s us.”

“Not the captain,” the man continues, his eyes gleaming from a smile that made Shouyou feel as though he were a mouse being toyed with. He sat up straighter—he didn’t allow just any man to make him feel that way anymore. “Let me see your hand.”

“Trying to cut off someone’s hand after failing once already is embarrassing,” Shouyou says.

“You have my word I won’t harm you.”

Shouyou laughs. As though words are worth anything. “I’m afraid I can’t honor your request. Another man has already asked me for it, and I gave it to him.”

Though he has been turned down twice, the man’s eyes widen in triumph. “And what did he give you in return?” he asks. “Not a pretty blue ring, by any chance? The same color as the sea?”

It seems as though the room goes quiet. Trust the vultures to always be circling. Shouyou’s smile fades, and he covers the fingers of one hand with the other, reflexively. “How do you know about that?”

The man chuckles. “News spreads across the water. People talk.”

“What are they talking about?” Shouyou asks.

“Wasted potential.”

Shouyou feels his blood chill in anger. “What do they imagine is such a waste?”

“You know,” his antagonizer says. The other brother, the quiet one, is watching Shouyou now too, expression remorseless. “Great men belong to the sea. To be anchored by the weak is a terrible fate.”

There is a moment where either one of them might become the fool that night. Shouyou knows it might be himself; knows he might die if he takes this fight. But he’s not weak. He reaches for his sword.

The door to the back room opens. The noise of the room picks up again, like people are afraid to be caught listening. Shouyou can see Kageyama standing in the doorway, tall, filling the frame. He’s talking to someone inside.

“Give the captain our regards,” the quiet twin says, and that’s their signal to leave.

“I don’t know your names,” Shouyou replies mutinously. He doesn’t care enough to attempt to make them stay. He doesn’t want Kageyama to speak to them.

“He will,” says the one with the cold smile. “Take care.” It sounds like watch your back.

Once they are gone, out the door and into the dark, Shouyou lays his hand back on the table and stares at the ring around his fourth finger. It’s a dark, luminous blue, run through with lighter veins of clear turquoise. Getting the stone it was made from nearly killed him. It had been sunk in the depths of a lagoon Kageyama said he’d never be able to hold his breath well enough to reach.

Years later, he finally had, for just enough time to reach the bottom and grab the stone. And then, of course, he’d nearly drowned. But all in all, considering he’d once not known how to swim, it seemed a fair accomplishment. Kageyama had been the one to teach him to swim, and Kageyama had kept the stone, when Shouyou had stopped shivering long enough to hand it to him.

And Kageyama had hewn it and hollowed it and slipped it on Shouyou’s finger. And that made Kageyama his.

“Ready to go?”

Shouyou looks up. The captain now looms over him, staring down expectantly. Shouyou almost stands, almost wants to walk out at Kageyama’s side, head held high, as though all the people in the room are so much gull shit under his heel—but to a collection of killers that don’t understand dignity, what would that even mean?

There’s a better option, here.

“Not yet,” he tells Kageyama. “We aren’t leaving ‘til the morning. Let’s have some fun.” The smile he shines up at the captain is one of his most winning. “Unless you’re afraid I’ll drink you under the table.”

Kageyama’s eyes flash, and a smile tugs at his mouth. “It hasn’t happened yet, sailor.”

Shouyou shivers a little in glee. The back room deal must have gone well, because Kageyama is in a good mood—a receptive one.

On top of that, it’s never taken all that much alcohol for either of them to warm up. Soon, Kageyama willingly allows Shouyou into his lap. In fact, it’s more like beckoning—sitting with his feet apart wide, legs spread; coat thrown over the back of his chair and unbuttoning his trademark billowy black captain’s shirt steadily as the evening wears on. His continual smirking eggs Shouyou on, until he’s draining his mug and draping his arms around Kageyama’s neck, straddling Kageyama’s lap slowly, making sure to press the hard-on in his pants against Kageyama’s own firm erection.

“We can go back to the ship,” Kageyama murmurs, in a tone that almost certainly means they are not going to make it back to the ship. He’s already nibbling on Shouyou’s ear, hands snaking around to plant firmly against Shouyou’s ass.

The table they are at is in a corner, and the light from the lamps doesn’t entirely reach it, but it’s not like it won’t be immediately obvious what they’re doing. Shouyou doesn’t care. Tell him he can’t have this, try to take it from him. He’ll drown anyone who dares.

“I met some of your friends earlier,” he says quietly, as Kageyama’s calloused hands sneak under his shirt to stroke his sides and his stomach. He sighs as they trail lower, skirting his hips and below the waistband of his pants.

“I don’t have friends,” Kageyama replies, breath blowing on Shouyou’s neck. He licks Shouyou there next, and Shouyou tilts his head, wanting more tongue, more teeth, more hot and wet.

“They were—ah—” he pants, as Kageyama rolls his pants down a ways, fingers bold—and warm, as they wrap around Shouyou’s cock. He’s still being very lazy, strokes languid and slow. His other hand still roams, brushing back up Shouyou’s chest, until his fingers find a hardening nipple to tweak. Shouyou moans. Kageyama doesn’t shush him.

“They were…?” he prompts, like he’s not rendering Shouyou completely senseless, there in their corner, where everyone can see if they only look. There’s no way they won’t look.

Look, Shouyou demands. He wants me. Kageyama wanted him just as much as he’d ever wanted to sail, wanted his freedom on the ocean.

Didn’t he?

“They were twins,” Shouyou says, and Kageyama’s hands still suddenly. Shouyou looks at him, unsure about this reaction.

“They were looking for me?” Kageyama asks.

“No,” Shouyou says. “Me. Who are they?”

“Well, they aren’t friends…” Kageyama’s expression darkens. “Did they hurt you?”

Shouyou frowns. “No. I can take care of myself.”

Kageyama hums like he still doesn’t quite believe that. “What did he say to you?”

“Which one?”

“You know which one,” Kageyama says, darkly. Clearly, he does know the pair.

“He said…” Shouyou recalls, and hesitates. Telling Kageyama the words feels like admitting that they reached him more than he’d care to admit. “They knew about us. They said… it was wasted potential.”

Kageyama blinks at him. “Did that worry you?” When Shouyou doesn’t respond, he huffs, annoyed. “Idiot.”

Shouyou gasps, loudly, when Kageyama strokes a hand firmly up his shaft. He clings, arms shaking where he has them wrapped around Kageyama’s neck, as Kageyama toys with him, teases him, takes him apart—teaches him a lesson. Shouyou knows what he’s doing. This is a punishment.

Because he doubted.

It may be a dim, dirty tavern as far from private as it is possible to get, but here and now is where Kageyama has chosen to remind Shouyou of what the ring around his finger means. And Shouyou doesn’t mind if everyone sees.

“You’re going to get fucked back on the ship, too,” Kageyama growls. It’s a threat, and Shouyou whines helplessly, desperately in need of it. “You need my cock in you, I think.”

Shouyou’s breath comes in choked, high gasps. “Y-yes—captain—” He cries out and buries his face in Kageyama’s neck, as Kageyama draws him closer, pulls his cock out of his trousers to rub against Shouyou, hard and hot.

“Make me come first, Shouyou,” Kageyama says. Shouyou whimpers into his skin. Kageyama smells like salt and smoke and the sea; he could hide there forever, but Kageyama won’t let him, and neither will Shouyou’s pride. “You wanted everyone to watch us and know, didn’t you? So show them.”

Shouyou nods. He pulls back, so he can look into Kageyama’s eyes as he rocks against him—it’s too dark in the room to see the color of them, but Shouyou knows how blue they are. Like his ring. Like the water. He holds Kageyama’s face in his hands a little too tenderly to keep up the illusion that this is just a public, drunken fuck. 

But he knows how to roll his hips, hard and insistent, he knows how to make Kageyama’s eyes flutter and his breathing quicken. He knows how to make Kageyama fall apart for him, too. That’s a privilege only he’s been given.

“I want—” Shouyou mumbles, presses his lips to Kageyama’s between each word spoken, “—m-make you—come for me—”

Kageyama grips his chin and his throat with one big hand, holding Shouyou in place to kiss him firmly. It overwhelms Shouyou; Kageyama’s presence, the steadiness of him. Kageyama is used to taking what he desires, to setting his sights on something and claiming it for himself. He has done that with Shouyou.

Shouyou still comes first, as hard as he tries to wring it from Kageyama. He can’t stop it, not with how riled he is, how desperately he was seeking the feeling of Kageyama against him.

“M’not—” he pants, batting Kageyama’s hand away when Kageyama goes to stroke himself off, presuming Shouyou done, “I’ll do it—”

Kageayama’s laugh is soft, and his kiss is even softer against Shouyou’s temple. “That’s why I keep you on my crew,” he half taunts, half groans, as Shouyou works both hands over his dick, relentless. It’s cheating, a bit, because it’s easier than grinding on Kageyama but—he’s not in the business of being honorable. Kageyama shakes a little bit, the slightest hint towards how wound up he is. He pours warm over Shouyou’s fingers in no time, but Shouyou remembers the promise of what awaits when they return to the ship. Neither of them is yet satisfied.

“Now I’m ready to go back,” Shouyou tells him. Kageyama’s grin is hawkish and proud.

They toss their coin onto the table and do the bare minimum of tidying themselves up. Shouyou walks out of the tavern at Kageyama’s side, with his head held high—but his shirt is barely tucked, one of his trouser buttons is missing, his hair is a mess, and there are red blotches on his neck, dark from being bit and sucked on. He rubs his thumb against the smooth ring around his finger, and smiles.

Dignity is absent; but dignity can hang.

My pirate!au tag is here!

More Kinktober? Don’t get caught reading these in public…

#kagehina #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kinktober #kinktober2017 #kagehina fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! #esselle writes #tumblr fic #pirate au #rumrunners series #essie's hq fic

[promatter]

I saw The Last Jedi with my brother yesterday...

It was alright, don’t feel much like a Star Wars film though.

Positives first;

• That one scene with Leia (you know the one) seems to have caught a lot of people off guard, but as an old EU fan I’ve been waiting for a moment like that since TFA was announced.

• Luke wasn’t handled as badly I thought he would be, even if I don’t 100% agree with it. One scene in particular almost made me tear up (again, you know the one).

• The Force being treated more mystically again is a welcome return.

• I actually liked Poe this time around, before it felt like I was just expected to like him when he was basically fighter pilot: the character.

• Very cool inversion of the Star Wars cantina scene.

• Some of the jokes/gags were decent.

... and now the bad;

• There really were too many jokes and at less than appropriate times.

• The villains have crossed the line well over into Saturday morning cartoon territory, they’re basically parodies at this point and I can’t take them seriously anymore. Even Palpatine in ROTS was subdued by comparison.

• Just like in TFA, there were far too many small scenes and details you’re just asked to nod and accept without question. Without getting too spoilery about some key ones, I’ll just refer to a repeat offender...

• BB-8 is WAY too capable. Why isn’t the Resista-oh I’m sorry, the REBELS’ forces made up entirely of these little droids? One can single handedly defeat, tie up and gag 3 trained armed guards with little more than a few coins at their dispense and do so, SO much more.

• Alright, another point for the “nod and accept” bit but it’s right in the opening scroll so whatever. HOW DID THE FIRST ORDER TAKE OVER THE GALAXY? It just happens through sheer force and absurdly fast, with resources which still aren’t explained but rival and possibly eclipse the Empire’s! And sorry, but if it needs to be explained via outside material then the film has failed in a major way.

• Remember all the talk about the overuse of CG and the return of practical effects in TFA? Remember that it was a load a shit and CG was thrown right into your face while practical effects we’re treated like cameos? Will here we are again, and this time there’s a particular scene that already looks like aged an e3 trailer.

• There’s one scene that’s sappier than anything I could have ever imagined. It involves chihuahua horses, child labor, and animal/implied child abuse (not the sexual kind lol). It’s just too much.

• Lots of build up to certain mysteries only to have the rug pulled out from under them leaving me feeling “that’s it?”

• The film was all about subverting expectations first and foremost, to the point that it hurts the story itself. Not just that, but it happens SO frequently that it almost becomes predictable and you can’t help but roll your eyes everytime the film tries to go “surprise!” again and again towards the end.

• The prorgs (hamster bird things) are clearly intended to sell merchandise and little more. They were even detrimental to one great scene thanks to the director insisting on distracting you from the action by having a porg being front and center so small children and Minion fans can laugh at it’s reactions before rushing out and demanding a plushie of it.

• Finn gets no character development, Rey gets little character development (and is still too much of a natural at everything, but maybe that’s the point?), and some characters got reverse development (character deterioration?).

• There’s one big plot thread that could have been averted if a certain idiot would have JUST disclosed the entire plan. It’s so fucking stupid when you find out how simple and obvious it is and if you look too closely at it then it falls apart immediately (but this leads back to “nod and accept”).

• Someone was unceremoniously killed off and I won’t say who, but let’s just say it’s a fan favorite and if you’re ruffling a loud bag while grabbing some popcorn you might miss it.

Other thoughts maybe not bad enough to be grouped with negatives or good/specific enough for positives;

• Bombers using regular ass ordinance instead of photon bombs? Which seemed to rely on gravity that far from the planet below???

• Space battles had too many lucky strikes for my tastes.

• So the Jedi Order is a straight up religion now? I always thought of it more as a group with strong philosophical leanings that was dedicated to the study of the Force which is clearly a very real thing. You may as well call Humanism a religion.

• There was a very noticeable trend of women of various (human) races being the face of the Rebelsistance while men were mostly just taking orders, and when it came to disputes between the two sexes women were mostly right while men were mostly wrong. I’m not the type to cry about it in /pol/ or /tv/ and declare “(((THEY))) ruined erryding!!! :’(“ but it got a little distracting to have such obvious politcal pandering thrown in there. Again, when the prequels handled things with more subtlety...

• Remember the “villains being parodies” bit? Wait until you hear Snoke’s dialogue, I think it was honestly intentional.

•”... moving rocks” had me in stitches.

• NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO CRITICIZE STUPID EU LIGHTSABER DESIGNS AFTER WATCHING THIS MOVIE.*

•*expect the knee and elbow sabers, feel free to continue doing so with those.

•One new character felt like they exist solely to be shipped with someone else... kinda sucks for them honestly, but character development is NOT this trilogy’s strong suit.

• There’s a certain thing that was played up early on as game changing for the conflict, but it’s never explained and is forgotten about by the end. What the hell.

• The puppet’s back, AND IT BRINGS LIGHTNING!

•The new giant AT-ATs are way too tryhard lol

•Why the fuck was Phasma brought back lmao

Despite all my bitching it’s still a fine movie in it’s own right, it’s just a lousy Star Wars film and more of a standard Marvel flick. Casual fans that only think of the Star Wars universe when a movie rolls around should enjoy this, same with non-fans that only want some good special effects, action, and a few laughs. People that wanted something better than TFA should lower their expectations and anyone that still thinks love and care is going into the lore and universe should jump ship now.

Speaking as someone that used to play the games, read the novels, collected the toys/everything, and was engrossed in the universe since he was a small child... this isn’t our series anymore, but at least we still have our memories. For me, Luke still went on to become the greatest Jedi to have ever lived instead of a lonely failure, Leia was still involved with political intrigue and occasionally had to resort to (the) force instead of constantly being on the run, Han was still torn between his responsibilities and restless nature... and the bad edgy shit that came later? Didn’t bother to read it. For me the Star Wars saga ended with the old cast’s kids still having a brighter future with the galaxy at relative peace, and this new trilogy has given me no further reason to abandon that.

#star wars #The Last Jedi #Star Wars: The Last Jedi #TLJ #swtlj #SW TLJ #it was okay #why did I bother with this many tags

[pekkarolling]

Question one out of infinity:  how would you describe us? first things first, the earth calls to both of us, so we call to each other, through chats and tumblr messages and video chats that crackle images. i don’t remember when it started, only that i don’t think it will ever stop. second things second, the sky burns blue when lunchtime calls us out to prison-like parking lots where we talk on grass that is too friendly with the sun–about everything and nothing. you already knew the weather was going to happen like this, i know, because your house is only a short escape from our school, and you predict the way the sky looks. you predict a lot of things, and think about a lot of things, and tell me about them late at night when you should be asleep. third, new york. bustling city streets and lights and cannolis and street music as we race through subways. our arms are linked as we get pizza for one dollar per each massive slice, and are the first people awake in our room  because we know the meaning of time. we watch the skyline from the highline and make plans to go back to it. one day, some day; it’s a promise i intend to keep even though the miles stretch between us too fast and too far. four. our eyes met across the room and we saved each other from certain parts of group projects. still, aggressive emails are sent by she-who-must-not-be-named and i end up crying in the bathroom because i am too much, too much. you are the only one there, the only voice of reason and the only one who hands me paper towels so the tears can catch on something other than the dirty tiles.  you, as always, are the voice of reason. i would rather have no one else to fall upon. five. we hug each other in the hallways because our schedules forsook us. sometimes, in newer, stranger places, i imagine it and miss it. (and miss you. you are amethyst, remember? you shine and hold everything in place. and yet your hugs are better than that of any rock, metaphorical or otherwise.) six. you are going to be president. this is a fact, since we were even shorter than we are now and onwards. i explain this to new people here that say otherwise, even though they don’t know you: you don’t know adiba. she’s committed and passionate and honest and organized and a leader. she is human, and she has flaws, but there is no way that she will not be standing up on that podium and being innaugurated one day. she will make a mark on the world no matter what she does. i know it better than i know the words, and they have been familiar to me for longer than i can possibly say. seven, for the seventh year we spend together: i’ve read that it takes three, four years to get to know someone completely and maybe this is why i depend upon you more than myself and tell you everything. because these six years that i’ve known you have been much better than the ones that i haven’t because of you.  i might have lost the timeline,  and i might have skipped some time, but that is what happens when forever occurs.

happy birthday adiba @emmelinevvance//an ode to our friendship//yes i’m sappier than a maple tree//from your older and wiser friend

#happy birthday!!! #i love you so much i hope you know that #thanks fave for being great poetry inspo #and just a great human #anna's notebooks #poetry #poems #poem #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #friendship #emmelinevvance

[captainwhogotthecanary]

For I Think I Still Love You (Do You Mind) (5/?)

This chapter mostly Leonard POV. I might not always do a whole chapter of one POV, but the changes should always be clear (and please tell me if they’re ever not). They get their emotions sorted out a little better this chapter, at least until a big plot point coming up later in the story.

~2k words. Read on AO3 if you prefer.

“Didn’t know the two of you kissed. Nice of you to do that while I was unconscious.”

“I still had time to save your ass,” Sara retorts, and Leonard chuckles, equally relieved and disappointed the moment’s been broken. She moves into the kitchen, leaning on the counter as she reads Mick’s additions to the list. “That’s not a lot of help,” she says, walking back past Leonard as she makes herself comfortable in the living room chair.

Leonard makes his way to the counter to read the adjustments himself. There’s not really a lot. He’s added a couple more street name changes, one of which Leonard knew but had forgotten, and he’s added a couple more details to Sara’s side of the list, only further confirming that they shared a remembered past.

At least for now. What if Sara was right? What if Leonard ends up alone because she and Mick have their memories rewritten?

He shakes his head to clear the thought and turns to Mick. “How’s Sara doing?” he asks, voice low.

Mick shrugs, eyes darting toward the living room before responding in the same quiet tone. “Hard to tell. She’s good right now, but she wouldn’t talk to the team today.”

Sara turns on the TV, and a laugh track filters into the kitchen.

“Wasn’t so much that she let people think she’s meeting someone like she said,” Mick says, a little less cautious now that there’s some noise to cover their conversation. “Was more that she didn’t say anything at all.”

Leonard doesn’t know what else to say. Mick’s obviously already keeping an eye on her, and if anyone can fix whatever’s wrong, it’s Sara herself. His jaw clenches before he forces it to relax.

They don’t need him. His world is better when they’re here, but despite what he thought he saw on Sara’s face, they don’t need him. He’s only making things harder.

“It would be better if you both just stopped coming,” he says, careful to avoid eye contact. “No need to hide things if you forget about me.”

“Doesn’t seem like you should care about a couple lies.”

Leonard finally meets Mick’s gaze. “I don’t.” He jerks his head toward the living room. “She obviously does, or at least about these lies. And there’s no reason you need to sneak out and come all the way out here.” He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “I’ll be out tomorrow, seeing whether I can find anything new. I’ll be able to finish making sure I can get food. You handled tapping me into electricity and water. I’m all set.”

Mick grunts. “Ever think maybe I don’t just come here for you, Boss? Makes me feel useful.” He jerks his head toward the living room. “Blondie comes for her own reasons, too.”

Leonard bows his head. He knows they both have other things going on. The idea that they really get anything from their visits, though, especially when he’d so like not to be here anymore, is hard to accept. He nods finally, not bothering to look up at his friend.

This stewing isn’t him, he knows, but it’s hard to shake when there’s so little he can do. He tries to pull himself back to that grateful hope he felt just minutes earlier. Sara and Mick will have to leave soon, anyway, and if he’s gonna feel bad for himself, he can do it then.

***

They end up gathered around the shitty little television, watching reruns of shittier sitcoms. Sara refuses to move from the chair, so Leonard sprawls on the floor next to it, resting against the chair as best he can without actually touching her. Mick, on the other side of the chair, leans back with his weight against his palms. The floor is hard and probably dirty, layered with years of grime no scrubbing can touch. The house is dark, by necessity as much as lack of function. The television is too small, the reception stuttering at random intervals. The family on screen, though dysfunctional enough to warrant the canned laughter from the audience, has enough love and support as to seem foreign.

It’s the best night Leonard’s had in months.

By the time Mick stands, clearly ready to leave, Leonard has been able to get his mind in order. He’s no longer teetering on the edge of implosion, not letting the self-loathing and boredom take him over. The hope he felt watching Sara has returned. It’s late, or it’s early, depending on how he wants to look at the early-morning hours, and really, his guests should have left some time ago or never come at all. Still, there’s something approaching pain at the thought of their leaving.

He stands, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes before looking at Mick, more than passingly aware of Sara getting slowly from the chair next to him.

“I oughta get back,” Mick mutters. He looks at Sara. “You coming?” When she doesn’t answer immediately, Leonard turns to look at her, too.

She’s already watching him. “I’ll be fine.” It doesn’t really answer the question, but Mick takes it as the dismissal it clearly is.

“See you around, then,” he says before leaving.

The door closes, and then there’s silence as Sara and Leonard watch each other. Sara’s eyes reflect the flickering light of the television, their blue mixing with the yellows and greens of the commercial that’s on. There’s tension again, not the heat or attraction from earlier, but something more, something that makes it hard to breathe as she looks at him.

“You should go.” Leonard’s voice creaks as he forces out the words. It breaks the moment, as he intended, and she blinks before frowning.

“You…” she starts. She closes her eyes. “You left the ship months ago. I didn’t… I ignored it when I could, you know? It hurt too much to think about, especially with Laurel gone, too. And I was okay.” She opens her eyes, looking right at him. “I wasn’t great, maybe. Didn’t really have a purpose, you know? Nothing to keep my mind off everything. I did what I had to on missions, sure, but I just… existed.”

Leonard swallows, all too familiar with the concept, and Sara continues. “And I think the past few days have kind of brought everything to a head. I couldn’t ignore any of it anymore, and trying to…” She waves her bandaged hand to illustrate the consequences of that attempt. “But I think I’m gonna be okay, maybe even good again. It’s like…” She rolls her eyes when she trails off again, looking frustrated at her frequent pauses. “It’s like I can breathe again, as stupid as that sounds, and as long as I can keep breathing, I can get through the rest. I can make everything else okay.”

Leonard nods, pulling in a deep breath through his nose. Maybe he was wrong when he decided they didn’t need each other.

“I get it,” he says. He needs to hold on to this feeling, this moment, through the long days he knows are ahead. He needs to hold on to her, but he knows that keeping her around only makes it more likely he’ll lose her altogether. If they’re seen together by the wrong person, if somebody notices her coming and going, if they just relax into each other and slip up… So many things could go wrong.

“You should still go,” he says, his voice low. “It isn’t safe.” Sara breaks her gaze and looks down, mouth pulling down to one side. “When you’re here,” he continues, “we can…” He fumbles for the words. “We can help each other be.” He swallows. That was a lot sappier than he intended. “But you can’t come more often than you need to, and you shouldn’t come early or stay so late. It isn’t safe,” he repeats, watching, waiting for her response, waiting for her to leave.

“It helped,” she says, looking resolutely at the floor, “staying here last night. Things weren’t so hard today, and like I said, I think things will keep getting better, but I just… I don’t want to go back to my room, alone, where I can talk myself out of being okay. I know I left early this morning, but that was still the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

How the hell can he send her home after that?

He sighs, fighting both frustration and affection. “Fine. But this has to be the last night.”

She looks up at him, and the relief in her expression almost breaks him. “Thanks, Len.”

“We should get some sleep,” he says, telling himself as much as he’s telling her. “I’ve got to do some more recon tomorrow, and I don’t want to make any sloppy mistakes.”

***

Leonard wakes once, shortly before dawn. Sara’s back is flush with his chest, and she’s holding his arm tightly against her middle. She radiating warmth, almost too much to be comfortable, but her breath rises and falls evenly, and as he holds his own breath, trying to decide whether he should move, she makes a contented little humming noise in her sleep before falling silent once more.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he focuses on her breath, on her soft warmth against him, until he falls back to sleep.

***

When Sara wakes, Leonard is wrapped around her, his breath falling against her neck. She knows it’s a little after sunrise, more from instinct than from the tiny bits of light that make their way through the window coverings, and that she needs to get back to the Waverider.

She stays put for several minutes first. She thought Leonard was dead, and now he’s holding her tight in a way she never knew she needed, the warm puffs of air and the heartbeat thumping against her back both proof that he’s very much alive.

Once she knows she can’t put off leaving any longer, she disentangles herself as carefully as she can, determined not to wake him. She only lets herself look down at him for a moment before she leaves, saving the image for the walk back to the ship.

He looks so relaxed in his sleep. Sara herself feels more calm and centered today, in control of herself in a way she hasn’t been in longer than she cares to admit.

The sleepy neighborhood is waking up, and she makes a mental note to leave a little earlier next time she stays. And she will be staying again, and soon, as often as she can manage. She remembers the different ways Leonard looked at her the night before.

Like she reminded him how to smile.

Like she was impossible to say no to.

Like she was the sun in his dark.

Unless he tells her not to come back and seems like he actually means it, she fully intends to see those looks again, as often as possible. Being around him helps, but she’d figured that out already. Last night, she realized that her presence is at least as much of a help to him.

They need each other, at least until everything goes back to normal, and in the soft morning light, hope filling her for the first time in ages, she’s willing to admit that she believes everything will go back to normal again, even if it takes a while.

Speaking of normal, she thinks to herself as she approaches the Waverider. Jax is standing just outside the ship, waiting for her with his arms crossed, trying for impatience. Instead, he looks concerned at first, and then as he reads her body language, he relaxes, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“We were ready to leave five minutes ago,” he says. “I hope your night out was worth the delay.” What he thinks she was doing with her night out is clear without being lewd.

Sara smirks. “You know what?” she says, leading the way up the ramp. “It was totally worth it.”

“You know what,” Jax echoes as the ship closes behind them, “I’m not sure whether I wanted to know that.”

[Note: More plotty things next chapter, and we’ll switch back to Leonard POV and see what he does with a day out.]

#captain canary #captain canary fic #alternate season 2 #fic: do you mind #sharing a bed #my fic