#100 different paths trying to bounce between them

[pencil-merchant]

"Fuck it we ball" has done so much for my mental health its unreal.

[myuntoldstory]

HP prompt request(James/Lily AU where they live): “how was Harry’s first day in kindergarten?”

don't lose the way that you dance

doing a "two birds, one stone" type of thing by, finally, answering this ask. my sincerest apologies, anon, for the grossly late reply. things happened between when you sent this and now, and things have been tough.

and also, putting this in for @jilytoberfest's 31 prompts 2024. seeing my fic on their bingo card gave me a burst of inspiration big enough to finally finish this story and contribute.

and finally, i'm, posting this to celebrate your love thawed out being so close to 100 kudos. really cool. thank you to everyone who've read and gave it some love, i really do appreciate it.

Prompt 6: Making food together | Prompt 27: "what if it doesn't work" "what if it does work" (sorry, i know the 27th is 2 or 3 days away but i'm doing a pre-emptive thing; knowing myself if i hold onto it for too long it won't ever go out)

Death never fazed James, especially not during the war. But little does he know it has different faces—that loss is not just about losing life but also about living it. Within the landscape of grief are winding paths and forked roads. No, James has never feared losing his life—but losing Harry... losing what was once was to make way for what will be, for what is supposed to be, well… That fucking terrifies him.

A short story set after "your love thawed out". James and Lily accompany Harry for his first day of kindergarten and reflect on this new stage of their lives.

Based on Taylor Swift's song "Never Grow Up".

read on ao3 or under the cut

warnings: a loose interpretation of the prompts

“Out cold, Macdonald.”

“Hmm.”

Sirius approaches as Mary pulls a blanket over Harry’s prone form, tucking him in as he dozes off. He watches her remove his glasses, folding them and placing them on the coffee table. The gentleness in her touch is obvious as she brushes messy locks of hair from his eyes.

“Crashed about, what, five minutes of playing?” she murmurs playfully.

Sirius snorts, nudging her with his foot. “Join us when you’re done.”

“Yep—don’t frost everything without me.”

“Never.”

With a parting grin, he makes his way to the kitchen, where James and Lily stand by the island. Plates of naked cupcakes, bowls of frosting, and piping bags filled with different-coloured frosting cover the surface. Little containers of toppings, from candied fruit to lollies, fill what space is left. Lily pipes a gradient of red and yellow icing in a perfect swirling pattern on top of a cupcake before passing it to James, who decorates it with the toppings.

“So,” Sirius drawls, taking a cupcake and piping bag filled with solid Ravenclaw-blue frosting. “How was Harry’s first day of class?”

“Oh—”

Sirius focuses on piping, fully expecting James to answer without even looking up. He patiently waits, shooting furtive looks at Lily to try and copy what she’s doing. He squeezes, and an amorphous blob comes out. His brow twitches in annoyance before trying again, this time mindful of the pressure he puts in—what comes out instead is a fat dollop. Sighing in irritation, he glances up expectantly when James takes too long. His best mate hastily schools his expression to that of overly bright optimism.

“It’s…”

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

How long have they been standing there?

Seconds ago, it was bright— too bright. And noisy. So cacophonous that every sound had solidified; it no longer bounced around in echoes but absorbed… somewhere. Children everywhere—each unique in shape and size, but all with the same loudness, the same jittering excitement, anxiety, and curiosity. Parents everywhere, too, all wrapped up in goodbyes—warning teachers, giving hugs and kisses. The emotions on display fit a varied spectrum from excited to devastated—but all proud. All of them relieved—probably because they’ve gained some independence back.

Against the wall, James sighs—against his chest, Lily breathes in shakily. Her shoulders shake. He glances at the top of her head, combing his fingers through her tresses. Safe to say they are on the “devastated” end of the spectrum. He tips his head and stares at the ceiling. The cool fluorescent light burns into his retinas, but he barely notices. He sinks into his thoughts.

They’ve been preparing for this moment for years. That it’s over in an instant is almost insulting—more so when he realises they’re still ill-equipped for it.

A door creaks open. He senses movement before seeing it. He straightens, holding Lily closer and bringing his arm higher around her head to hide her away from the view of whichever curious onlooker decides to barge in on them. Laughter and chatter spill from the gap, filling the hallway with brightness and echoes. He realises then that the door leads to a classroom. A woman pokes her head out, gazing at them with polite but wary curiosity. James smiles tightly. The silence in the hallway tenses, but he doesn’t deign to break it. The woman hesitates, realisation dawning on her expression.

“Er…” she says, breaking the ice, voice lacking any real authority. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” James answers, smile turning more sheepish. “Yes—sorry, we just dropped our son off, so...”

Wary curiosity melts into sympathy. “Oh, I see.”

“We’ll be on our way soon.”

“No, no, please. Take your time.”

With a warmer smile, the woman pulls back and closes the door.

Silence again.

James blows out a heavy sigh, his cheeks puffing, thumping his head against the wall. He squeezes Lily, rubbing her back to get her to look at him. A hairline fracture runs across his heart. Seeing Lily is like dropping weight on it, causing it to branch and score deeper. His wife is all redness and tears, though, somehow, still practically glowing—from the rims of her eyes to the tip of her nose and the arch of her cupid’s bow.

With a sad scoff, she pouts miserably. The corners of his lips can’t help tugging up. He allows the smile, but it’s tinted with sympathy and understanding. He kisses her forehead and pets her hair.

“Come along, Mrs Potter.” He lets go, except for her hand. “Playground’s at the back.”

“Playground?” Lily sniffles, wiping the tears away.

“Harry’s waiting.”

He leads the way, and she follows easily.

The playground is like any other. It has the typical equipment: a jungle gym, slide, swings, seesaw, spinners, and climbers. A giant sandbox sits at the centre. A garden of herbs, vegetables, and flowers sits closer to the classrooms. Benches dot the area, covered by a canopy of branches from the trees around it. James barely notices all of this as he leads Lily toward the swings. There’s a subtle poke, a niggling at the back of his neck. He looks towards the building, at the glass double doors, and the scores across his heart almost splinter apart.

Harry.

His little face and hands pressed against the pane, all red the same way as Lily—eyes, nose, and cupid’s bow. There is a suspicious shine to his gaze, but no tears have fallen—yet. Not like before. Before, it was like a waterfall when he realised they had to leave him.

James remembers how each drop is a stab in his gut, in his soul. No matter how much he wiped them away, they kept coming and coming until they pulled the most heart-wrenching wails out of his son’s mouth. The force of it pushed Harry’s little arms out, clutching at him and Lily, tiny hands gripping with all his strength. James didn’t want to let go—wanted to hold his son close and take him home. With his wife. Together as a family.

But he couldn’t.

The memory fades. James waves it goodbye as he waves his son hello.

Harry sniffles, eyes becoming dangerously wetter.

“God, look at his face.”

Lily’s wavering voice is a welcome distraction, but not by much. He holds his breath and glances at her, seeing her wave at Harry, too. Her eyes are glassy again, her chin and lower lip trembling as he leads her to sit on the swing. He sits beside her, never looking away, breathing easier again as her eyes take on a more solid shine and her chin and lips steady. Her breathing evens.

James feels safe looking away and turning his attention back to Harry. He’s still plastered against the glass, pressing himself so hard he can stumble through it if he really wants. With magic manifesting in weird and wonderful ways during childhood, the thought makes him worry. Just their luck if their son exposes himself on his first day. The corner of James’ lip quirks up, and he chuckles as Harry’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. He waves again.

“All right?” he says, holding onto the chains.

Lily sighs deeply. “I will be.”

“Okay.”

“Hey.”

Their gazes meet. She reaches out, curling her hand around his.

James smiles, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I will be too.”

Silence falls, occasionally broken by the creak and grind of metal. They swing idly, hands clasped tightly, legs gently pushing them to and fro. James’ thumb caresses the back of Lily’s hand in comforting strokes. His attention returns to Harry, and never leaves. The teacher successfully pulls him away, but even as he obeys and sits with the class, he continues looking at them.

James makes sure to wave each time, not missing the anxious look on his son’s face—because it’s his. Harry looking exactly like James is like a conduit to his son’s emotions—a mirror and a trip to the past at the same time. Because he recognises it; he’s seen it before on himself. It’s as helpful as it is heartbreaking, especially during times like these when he would rather Harry wear a happier face.

“We spoil him too much.”

James turns to Lily, sees her stop mid-wave.

“He spoils us too,” he squeezes her hand. “Look at us.”

Lily chuckles and smiles defeatedly at him. The amused sparkle in her eyes is a relief. She squeezes back, smile fading as she looks to the classroom again. James’ hazel eyes trace the line of her profile. The redness has begun to fade, leaving behind her natural colouring—a gentle sort of rose-pink, gradating into her skin. A gentle breeze blows by, carrying threads of her hair into the air, glinting fire into the morning light.

“He hasn’t left our side since he was born,” she muses, voice low.

He nods slowly. “We’ve left him alone plenty.”

“No—I mean, yeah, with family and friends…” she trails off into contemplative silence before breaking it with a sharp sigh. She meets his eyes. The amusement has vanished, replaced by a much more concerned glint. “But we’re leaving him with strangers. That’s different—we barely know these people.”

“True.” Not helpful, something Lily doesn’t want to hear.

But he can’t lie to her—he doesn’t want to.

“They don’t know him like we do.”

“They will… eventually.”

Her brows draw together. “What if they get it wrong?”

“He will tell them.” James pauses. Sighs. “We will. They’ll learn.”

“And if he gets hurt?”

There’s an insistent note in her voice. Suddenly, anything he says will bear a lot of weight. It’s not that he’s been careless, but he senses the challenge, the bait appealing to his arrogance, his need to have an answer for everything—to be right in everything. It reminds him of when they were younger, back when they were rivals, and everything was a source of annoyance and challenge—well, for Lily, anyway. Half of the time, James just did things to get a rise out of her because he found her cute. 

“Then he gets hurt—Lily,” he adds hurriedly at his wife’s incredulous, affronted look. He squeezes her hands to get her to stop and listen. Her hackles calm, and she watches him with narrowed eyes. “Lily, love, we got hurt. Our parents were in this position once—they still are. You know they wished for the same things; still, none of us got away unscathed.

Lily huffs a sigh, but she blinks in acknowledgement—and displeasure.

“I know, love, I’m sorry… but this is how it will be from now on.”

Lily still looks unhappy, but that’s not what James is trying to do anyway.

“We will be here for him—all of us. Always,” he continues, taking the challenge with certainty he doesn’t feel right now but knows will be as inevitable as today, as any other days like this in the future. “He will be okay.”

“... But it won’t be that easy.”

“No…”

He rises from the swing and kneels in front of her. Lily’s hands rest in a tight ball on her lap, and he covers them with his own, holding them firmly. He looks up, gazing into her eyes. They’re as vivid as the greenery surrounding them but deeper, revealing an endless depth only reserved for Harry and their family. She meets his gaze, searching desperately, no longer challenging him to be right but hoping he is.

He squeezes her hand, asking for that trust, asking for a chance, as he always does, because when has he ever been wrong before?

“This is how it’s always been,” he murmurs, nodding. “It’s life.”

Lily hesitates and nods in return, looking down at their hands. “I know.”

“It’s… terrifying. Horrifying. We—” he hesitates, swallowing hard, “—we know that better than most.”

Lily audibly swallows hard. James knows that in that instant, the same memories flicker in her mind—barely adults waging a war that wasn’t theirs yet dumped unceremoniously on their doorstep. Children had to make choices that weren’t their own. Shattered innocence still hoping for a brighter future. Lily’s back carried the weight of survival, while James carried the weight of protection. Determination did not push them to stay alive every day—it was this. Exactly this. That hope was like a hearth in their hearts, keeping the fire ablaze and angry.

Now Harry carries that hope, that fire.

He’s even more precious now, making them feel even more wretched about letting go.

“But,” he continues, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles to bring her back to him. She looks into his eyes again, darker and more haunted. Seeing him brings back their usual colour—the forest under a cloudless day. He smiles, brilliant and handsome. “It’s beautiful too. Kind. Lovely. Like you.”

Lily’s shoulders sag, and her eyes soften. The corners of her lips tug up in a warm, gentle smile before they set in a more permanent, wry slant. She rolls her eyes. He can tell she’s trying not to be swept away by his compliment. He grins, smug and pleased with himself. He kisses the backs of her hands, her soft chuckle filling him with warmth.

“Look, I wish that’s all he’ll ever know.” James leans away and looks back up at Lily. This time, she’s the one nodding. “I want him happy all the time. God, I want nothing more, and I know we’ll do our best to make it so… but life. He’ll learn that, just like we did.”

“... I know.” Lily bites her lip and looks away, avoiding his piercing look as she finally admits: “I just… I’m so scared it won’t work out for him. That something will go horribly wrong.”

“I know, love. It’s paralysing, I get it. But that won’t happen, yeah? Life will work out fine for Harry—again if it doesn’t, we’re here.” Another squeeze, as if to prove the truth of his words—ensure that they are alive, and so is Harry. Though apart now, he’s only a short distance away—they’re never truly gone from each other. “We will be here. For him. To help. To guide. Comfort. Love—”

“And that’s enough.”

James pauses before sighing in relief, beaming at Lily’s addition. “Yes.”

Lily meets his eyes, smiling back. “Better than if we weren’t here.”

“That’s right.”

“At least it’s not the war anymore.”

“Precisely.”

With a sigh, he kisses her hands again. He takes on a more comfortable position, crossing his legs but still staying by his wife’s feet. He senses the change in her mood, the return of her usual light. When it was time to let go of Harry, she had been so inconsolable that he worried about whether she’d be okay. But he should’ve known he never had to worry; Lily’s resilience is unmatched, a fact he had gotten to know intimately in school and during the war. But when the weight of everything became too much, he made sure to be there—to hold her up. To keep the light shining in her eyes, he’ll carry the weight of the world for her.

“That’s my girl.” He smiles wider at her chuckle.

Silence again. James glances towards the classroom, half of him expecting Harry plastered against the glass again—but no. He remains with his class. James catches his eyes, though. Anxiety flashes across Harry’s face for a second. James waves, smile softening in relief when Harry waves back this time, albeit reluctantly.

It’s only now, separated by glass, that James realises just how much his son has grown up—how much time has passed. He remembers when Lily gave birth, how that was the singularly most terrifying thing he’s ever experienced. Because of that, his family has been his life for years. He swallows hard, a lump forming in his throat as a strange, overwhelming sense of loss washes over him.

For a time, it seemed that Harry would remain a baby forever—that the days of him being so small, so chubby, so theirs would go on for eternity. But he turned one. He grew out of so many clothes, each outgrown outfit marking a moment of change—quicker than they could even keep up with buying replacements. Parts of him took on more shape; the greens of his eyes started looking familiar, reminding James of a forest under a cloudless day. Every day, James sees the mirror of him growing before his eyes until one unexpected moment, he realises that his own expressions are no longer his, but Harry’s.

But… still. Still a baby. Still theirs. They were all he knew, all he ever called upon—kept them at night, gave them his firsts and received theirs. The world belonged to them, their lives inextricably theirs. But he turned two. He shot up and lost all the chubbiness. More clothes to discard, but now containing versions of him, changing old parts for new ones. Within the ever-deepening green of his eyes, awareness and consciousness lit up like something inside him flicked it on. Harry manifesting as himself. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again.

It never stopped. Another year. Another version—more Harry than their son. He saw more of the world and saw less of theirs. He made friends, liked things, didn’t like things, loved some, and hated others. Spilling from his lips were words and sounds that sounded like them but painted with his colours. In his unique way, he let them know who he was—Harry as himself but still so painfully theirs in some sparkling moments. In their cottage, they lived a dual life: raising a child who came from them, while also raising the person he was meant to become.

And it was wonderful.

But also alarming.

Death never fazed James, especially not during the war. But little does he know it has different faces—that loss is not just about losing life but also about living it. Within the landscape of grief are winding paths and forked roads. No, James has never feared losing his life—but losing Harry… losing what was once was to make way for what will be, for what is supposed to be, well…

That fucking terrifies him.

“It just feels so fast.”

Lily’s soft voice grounds him. He realises his heart is racing, trying to run from a reality they can’t escape. James swallows hard and turns from the classroom to his wife. He caresses her hands, trying to assure her and himself.

“I know.” His voice cracks.

Lily smiles at him tightly. “The past few weeks, my mind’s been on a loop about how one day… he’ll be gone.”

“Lily.” He squeezes her hands again. “He’ll come back to us—”

“No, I know—”

“By law, he has to.”

Lily snorts. Within the next few seconds, her expression shifts and twitches in an obvious effort not to laugh. But she snorts again, and something breaks. Full-bodied laughter bubbles from her lips—beautiful, like her, and so lovely. It’s lighter than the breeze blowing by, dancing with her fiery hair; within the trilling notes are hints of Harry’s laughter. James can’t help joining in—his is a little lower, slightly sombre, but still full of love and amusement.

He tapers off first, watching her ride the wave of her joy. The darker red of her lashes glints copper in the sunlight as little gems of unshed tears cling on, making them sparkle. James isn’t sure if they’re from laughter or more grief, but he doesn’t push anything about it. His wife is laughing, and for now, that’s enough.

“Well… one day he won’t.” Though she continues to smile, she gives him a pointed look.

“Then we go to him just like our parents do now.”

“James.”

He shrugs—always, always, he has an answer ready for her. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as he doesn’t leave her hanging. Lily knows that—it’s evident from how her smile becomes indulgent and longsuffering, but the edges remain soft and loving. Her shoulders sag defeatedly in such an obvious way it’s like she’s been fighting a battle all this time. James laughs when she makes a show of sighing.

“All right, you persistent prat,” she concedes. “You win—as always.”

“It’s going to be okay, Lily, I promise,” James grins. “It’s change.”

“I know.”

Lily leans in. James quickly rises on his knees to meet her halfway, happily receiving the kiss she presses on his lips. They linger, reluctant to break the bubble of comfort and assurance around them—James more than Lily. He cups her cheek with one hand, holding her in place as he deepens the kiss a little—mindful that they’re in a preschool and not in the privacy of their home. He breaks it eventually, but Lily doesn’t move away.

“Change is fine, I suppose,” she mumbles against his lips. “As long as it’s with you.”

He chuckles, pressing another kiss. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

“No, suppose not.”

Another chuckle. One last kiss. And James on his feet. As he does so, his gaze turns to the classroom—and a smile lights up.

“Look,” he breathes.

He doesn’t check to make sure she’s looking—it’s obvious from her happy gasp. The class seems to be doing an activity now. Harry sits at a table next to another child. They’re talking and shyly sharing crayons as they scribble. James watches, pride filling him to the brim, elation fluttering like butterflies in his body as he sees the delicate confidence in how Harry holds himself, the concentration on his face, and the tentative way he moves around his new friend.

This must be what his parents felt when he was going off on his own. And here he is now. Hope whispers, assuring him Harry will be okay. Eventually, that hope morphs into a quiet wish that Harry would glance back for reassurance, just one more time. But he doesn’t. Along the flutter of happiness within James is now the sting of melancholy and disappointment.

Yet, his smile widens, and he shakes his head at himself. He looks at Lily just as she looks at him. It doesn’t surprise him that the same disappointed but happy smile graces her beautiful face. Raising his brows inquisitively, he inclines his head towards the exit. She nods. He offers his hand, and she takes it. With one last look at Harry, James and Lily start making their way out.

�� · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“—Fine,” Lily says at last.

Sirius blinks and glances at her. She doesn’t offer any more, too casually keeping her attention to the cupcakes. She hands the freshly frosted cupcake to James, who takes it, reaching for the toppings and focusing on decoration as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever done. Eventually, Lily looks up to acknowledge Sirius’s scrutinising stare.

“It was fine,” she insists with a tight smile.

Sirius grins slowly. “You cried, didn’t you?”

Lily immediately looks indignant and opens her mouth to retort—

James sighs affectionately. “As much as Harry did—”

“Oi!” Lily picks up the spatula from one of the bowls and smears frosting on his cheek. “So did you!”

“Whoa—hey!”

He takes Lily’s spatula and covers her left cheek with one firm swipe. And then, it’s like a free-for-all. Noise erupts, followed by chaos—frosting flying, laughter and yelps filling the kitchen. It’s like being back in that preschool. Mary walks in, sees the chaos, and tries to slip out unnoticed. It doesn’t escape their notice. Sirius, the closest to her, drags her into the fray. Lily and James scoop frosting from the bowls as Mary struggles, but with Sirius holding her firmly, resistance is pointless.

“No, no, no—!”

She stops protesting the moment the frosting lands. With a sigh, she sags against Sirius, hands raised in surrender. Her eyes squeeze shut as she takes the impromptu make-over from her friends: Lily drawing a heart on her cheek, James adding more on her forehead, and Sirius finishing off with his signature amorphous blob on her nose.

“Great,” Mary deadpans, nodding with a conceding expression. She opens her eyes and sees the three looking very pleased with themselves. “Perfect. Thank you, very lovely.”

Sirius winks. “We believe in equal frosting opportunities, Macdonald.”

At that, they all laugh, including Mary, but she sobers up quickly with a hastily put-together disapproving look.

“Well, I’m here to frost some cupcakes.”

“Oh, shit, right,” Lily gasps.

Covered in frosting, they return to the island, which remains clean. Lily and James go back to what they were doing while Sirius picks up a cupcake from the plate and hands it to Mary after she picks up a bag of frosting. With a murmured word of thanks, she takes the cupcake and starts to frost it—perfectly. Sirius’ eyes can’t help twitching at that.

“Why are we doing this again?” Mary mumbles.

“Gideon’s coming around with his nephews tomorrow,” James answers.

“Oh, nice!”

[sunnysviolin]

Sunny hums when he zones out sometimes, like some random melody, it’s a rare occurrence since most of his “zoning out” times are just him off in another world

Haha this is cute nonnie! Okay this does bring me to my ‘who do I think are good singers’ headcanon! I’m going to bounce off of that idea and combine it with yours a lil bit! 

Hero is good at so many things. Hero is smart, talented, handsome, and has so many different skills

Hero can’t sing. Can’t sing to save his life. Boy can’t hold a tune whatsoever

Aubrey can sing, but she doesn’t really like to. She has a nice voice and when she’s alone she rocks out, but other than that she isn’t really inclined to just randomly start. She doesn’t even hum

Basil is shy babby. No one even knows if Basil can sing (I can tell you secretly he’s not half bad but none of the gang has really heard him) 

Basil likes to hum though, and he does it a lot. 

He hums when he waters his flowers, and if he’s alone (like double checked doors locked absolutely 100% alone) he will sing to them because he read somewhere once it helps plants grow if you sing to them

Kel can sing, and Kel actually isn’t half bad. Not only that Kel actually really enjoys it. He sings to himself a lot, and he makes up a lot of tiny songs

I could totally see during-game as you’re running around town Kel makes up a bunch of tiny jingles that narrates what they’re doing. He’s done this ever since they were little, and it’s usually when it’s him and Sunny doing something

Sunny isn’t super emotive, but he always gives one of his tiny half smiles when Kel sings his little ditties, so Kel keeps coming up with them

*We’re going to finnnnd Basil’s photo ALBUM! Yeah!*

Was this stolen from me making up tiny jingles for myself as I played Omori? Maybe but yk what it’s a Kel thing so I’m giving it to him. LMAO 

Now nonnie this is where your ask comes in :D

So Sunny is another one of those who can sing, but Sunny doesn’t normally at all

They know Sunny has a good voice, but unlike Mari he was never really inclined to sing at all

And then Mari died and Sunny stopped speaking altogether let alone singing. I’m of the headcanon that the first time Sunny speaks after Mari’s death is at the end of the true ending when he says I have something to tell you 

But!! Post-canon his journey has taken a new path

So when I got this ask I had a scene of it in my brain immediately and this is that scene

So post-canon the group of five are spending the night together at Hero and Kel’s house. Their parents went out for the weekend for a long date, entrusting that Hero would keep things under wraps. They put Sally down to bed awhile ago, and now they’re all lounging around the living room. 

Kel and Aubrey are playing Mario Kart, trying to keep their bickering at a dull roar but needing pretty constant reminders from Hero to keep it down so they don’t wake Sally

Hero is chatting with Basil who is telling him all about the aloe plants that Polly helped him to repot. Aloe is apparently the plant that Basil has chosen to represent her.

It is both patience and harmonious strength. Aloe grows slowly, but the plant lasts for generations and becomes part of the family. 

Sunny is reading in the corner of the couch, sitting in the middle between the groups of two. The house is warm from the summer heat, but not humid, his belly is full from the pizza, and his book is reaching an especially interesting point. He’s with his friends, and everything is okay. 

Sunny’s mind drifts away from his novel, sinking into the pleasant calm of being around those he loves. A whisp of a song that Mari used to play on the piano lazily swirls through his mind and he catches onto it, letting it play out in full. 

Slowly the conversations stop and the game is paused. They all turn to look at Sunny who is still lost, humming in his own world. He has an uncharacteristic smile adorning his features, and his book is slipping from his fingers. Hero slowly reaches over, carefully lifting the book out of his friend’s hand and placing it on the coffee table. 

Sunny dozes off before he can finish his melody, but he doesn’t need to. Kel and Aubrey go back to their game, and Hero and Basil continue their conversation, but they all make sure to keep the volume low so as not to wake Sunny.  Everything is okay now. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging. 

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here. 

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story. 

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield​, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me. 

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this. 

“What’s so funny?” Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk. 

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.” 

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.” 

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?” 

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?” 

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?” 

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.” 

“You’re on.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp. 

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks. 

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.” 

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.” 

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red. 

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type. 

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path. 

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat. 

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers. 

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.” 

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.” 

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?” 

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise. 

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.” 

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily. 

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down. 

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back. 

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple. 

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.” 

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms. 

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own. 

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin. 

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve. 

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.” 

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head. 

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?” 

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him. 

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.” 

She’s not fucking kidding about that part. 

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan. 

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear. 

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up. 

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle. 

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.” 

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily. 

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.” 

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word. 

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles. 

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.” 

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?” 

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?” 

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now. 

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this. 

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair. 

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.” 

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?” 

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.” 

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart. 

“Poughkeepsie.” 

“Gesundheit.” 

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.” 

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I trust you.” 

“Really?” 

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.” 

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.   

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”  

“I’m not.” 

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.” 

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.” 

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.” 

“Tryna be a tough guy?” 

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.” 

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…” 

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.” 

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something. 

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark. 

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close. 

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest. 

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless. 

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human. 

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick. 

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks. 

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.” 

“Tell me what you want, Faith.” 

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm. 

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…” 

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”  

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains. 

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone. 

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent. 

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly. 

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it. 

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?” 

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.” 

“Faith.” 

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.” 

“What do you think I want from you?” 

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?” 

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.” 

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button. 

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue. 

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?” 

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.” 

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.” 

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.” 

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *  

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely. 

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. 

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter. 

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?” 

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.” 

“It does. I picked the lock.” 

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly. 

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins. 

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.” 

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable. 

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away. 

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks. 

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.” 

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.” 

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up. 

“Faith?” 

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?” 

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling. 

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line. 

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs. 

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?” 

“No, I’m busy.” 

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream. 

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in. 

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?” 

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand. 

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.” 

There’s a long, weighted pause. 

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.” 

“Faith…” 

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.” 

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?” 

“Dorchester.” 

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms. 

“Good girl.” 

“Well?” 

“Be patient.” 

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily. 

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.” 

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles. 

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt. 

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing. 

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans. 

“Harder,” she grits out. 

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs. 

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him. 

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?” 

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?” 

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake. 

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him. 

“Need you,” she pants. “More.” 

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet. 

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place. 

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.” 

“What did I say?” 

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain. 

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke. 

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table. 

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —” 

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries. 

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out. 

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too. 

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists. 

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.” 

“Anything you want.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge. 

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks. 

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.” 

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?” 

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.” 

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.” 

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…” 

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth. 

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer. 

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his. 

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.” 

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.” 

“At your service.” 

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy. 

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there. 

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time. 

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability. 

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *  

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this. 

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief. 

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy. 

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic. 

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine. 

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll. 

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp. 

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers. 

“Little bit. I like it.” 

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that. 

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead. 

This feels like a form of worship. 

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers. 

“More?” she murmurs. 

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit. 

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.” 

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes. 

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time. 

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight. 

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.” 

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.” 

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers. 

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths. 

“Gorgeous like this.” 

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“ 

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.” 

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows. 

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too. 

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her. 

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back. 

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.  

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful. 

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?” 

“Yeah.” 

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here. 

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles. 

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?” 

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed. 

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.” 

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress. 

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.  

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops. 

“You know how to get back from here?” 

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising. 

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.” 

“If things were different —” 

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.” 

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ” 

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?” 

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”  

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go. 

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.” 

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong. 

.

.

.

[bluegarners]

dick + jaw wired shut ???

hiii anon!! sorry this took awhile to get out there, but here it is! ao3

Jaw Wired Shut

It happens quickly. A bit too quickly, really. One could say it happens in a flash, but neither Wally nor Barry are really here to appreciate that, so it just happens quickly.

He’s on his bike, a slightly older model of the same one Robin rides, just larger and more loved (well-used is another kind term, but he really means beat-up), and they’re both reaching speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour. One hundred and twelve kilometres if he’s using the correct measurements, but no one really cares. Either way, the point is that they’re going fast and only getting faster as their high-speed chase takes them down long streets filled with trash and night-walkers alike.

Robin is slightly ahead, his smaller bike a bit better at maneuvering around the sharp angles and narrowing roads, and Dick is trying his best not to think about how one pot-hole could spell the end for both of them at the speeds they are currently keeping. Of course, they’re both wearing helmets with more padding than standard (thank you, Bruce), but it does little to reassure him as he keeps one eye on the perpetrators they’re tailing and the hardly fourteen year old boy handling a motor-bike like he’s been at it for a lifelong and fulfilling career as a Nascar driver.

It’s not raining, Gotham in some sort of mid-fall drought, and Batman took the car in the opposite direction to try and cut off the gang before they reached the city limits, so there are small mercies. Very small, but Dick is used to relying on slim chances so it’s fine. Fine, really.

The thing is, though, is that they’re only getting faster. Later, Dick will wonder how in the world the gang managed to fix an engine onto the old van to make it go so fast, and later Dick will shake his fist at the sky for his inattention or his too divided attention, but for the moment, Dick is only pushing his bike to keep pace with Damian’s, and going back and forth between glancing at Robin’s wildly flapping cape and watching for civilians that got in the way.

They’re hardly forty feet from it when the van doors kick open and two men crouch at its opening, shouldering what looks to be a machine gun (holy shit, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of weaponry) and a few hand-guns. Immediately, Dick is calling into the comms with the new development.

“Fall back, they’re armed!”

Robin cooperates, lessening his speed and coming to ride along Dick’s flank.

“Weaponry?” Batman asks.

“Hard to say,” Dick shouts, wind screaming in his own ear. “Definitely a few 9mm and maybe a GPM. They’ve got more than a few rounds in there too.”

“Copy. Stay back. Do not engage and keep distance. I’m closing in on them. Keep civilians out of the way.”

“Like we weren’t just doing that,” Robin mutters, the feedback in the comms a glimmer of humor despite the intense situation.

“Got it, B,” Dick responds, a grin marring his serious tone.

He’s hardly got the words out before the first lash of bullets is hitting the rough pavement, metal clashing against stiff cement and slightly more malleable cars. They’re lucky that these thugs just seem to want to put more distance between themselves and the vigilantes because the bullets are only hitting the path in front of their bikes. Still, the ricochet is violent, metal casings bouncing up and pelting anything even remotely close, and it pushes Nightwing and Robin back further. It’s the middle of the night, somewhere close to three a.m., so there aren’t too many civilians out, but it’s still Gotham.

It’s just a normal Tuesday for most of them.

“Maneuver five?” Robin asks, swerving to the right as a slurry of bullets hits a sewer covering. “Or seven?”

“Seven,” Dick decides, grimacing a bit as his front wheel wobbles against the pavement. “Push it up to a Scenario B, and,” he adds, taking care to emphasize the stress in his voice, “minimum engagement.”

Robin doesn’t respond, a blow of air into the comms all that Dick gets in reply, before Robin is suddenly speeding up and launching his bike onto the civilian pathways and gliding by store displays and carefully made signs.

A maneuver seven typically involves three people; one to distract, one to enact, and one to take care of whatever other obstacles there are. Seeing as their only backup was about twelve streets away, the plan adjusts to a Scenario B; meaning that now there is only the distractor and enactor. Being the distraction is more dangerous in this scenario as there is no one to ensure that they aren’t instantly put into a direct line of fire, so that role is automatically deferred to either the older or the more experienced. Both of those apply to Dick, so he takes it upon himself to do his best to keep the attention of the machine gun and 9mm on himself while Damian builds up enough speed to intercept or figure out a way to crash the van itself. Thus, the enactor.

It’s a difficult maneuver but not impossible, and both of them have trained and even done the maneuver a few times. Of course, other variables like speed, location, psychology of the criminals, and the vehicle itself all play major roles in the outcome of maneuver seven, but thinking on one's feet isn’t as difficult to do when it’s either do that or die standing still.

Not as reassuring as it sounds, but it works. Most of the time.

Robin is waiting for the signal to increase his speed, riding parallel to Nightwing’s bike, and Dick fishes for a wingding out of one compartment. He snaps it open, sharp metal edges clicking into place, and with a slight head-tilt, both Robin and the wingding are flying towards the speeding van.

Dick’s accuracy hasn’t failed him in years, and the (essentially) metal boomerang collides against one of the legs supporting what he thinks is a modified GPM. He slings another one, flicking his wrist in a motion that guarantees a slight curve, and a second wingding buries itself into the lower bumper of the van. This one is different though as Dick presses down on a button and a flash-bang goes off, a miniature flare emitting smoke and blinding the gang members inside. Robin is getting closer, a little further than twenty feet from the van off to the right on a sidewalk, and Dick readies a third wingding when he sees a commotion interrupt the panicked flailing of the men.

Previously, Dick had only counted two men in the rear of the van, both armed, but now a third one appears, wielding another gun and some unknown object in the other. They’ve got a gas mask on, goggles too, and they’re staring right at Dick.

“Third assailant,” he hurries into the comms, reassessing. “Armed.”

“Got it,” Damian grunts in reply, engine revving slightly as he pushes his bike further and rapidly gains pace. “Batman, update?”

“Encountered some civilians. Five blocks away. ETA thirty seconds.”

Okay, good, good, Dick thinks to himself, throwing the wingding still in his hand. It knocks out another leg on the GPM and he hears the shout of surprise. “Robin, what’s it looking like for engagement?” he asks aloud.

He veers to the left suddenly, pops of one-two-three as one of the 9mm sounds off. He curses as a stray casing impacts against his back tire and he wobbles for the second time.

“Preparing to board.”

What? Dick thinks as he turns his attention to Damian, who is slowly inching his feet upwards onto the seat of his bike. It’s a risky choice, one that is never 100%, or even 80% guaranteed to work, and Dick feels his heart leap into his throat as Damian continues to accelerate, all the while getting closer and closer to the speeding van and bunching his legs together.

Trust him, a voice whispers in the back of his head, but Dick can’t help but divide his attention by watching his little brother, and god he looks so small, gather his feet underneath him, one hand still controlling the bike, and jump into the screaming air, aiming for the front windshield.

The impact is going to hurt, Dick knows from experience, but he can’t help but feel that sting of pride as he hears the shock of the gang members, the van swerving momentarily before regaining its momentum.

And this is where things begin happening too quickly. Where things happen in a flash.

A lot is going on at the same time. Robin is clinging to the front of a van filled with armed gang members. Robin’s bike is currently still rolling on the sidewalk, slowly, very slowly, coming to a stop and falling on its side. Batman is hardly one block away, Dick can just barely hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine against the wind tearing at his arms, but it’s out of reach. The two gang members are still rubbing magnesium and smoke out of their eyes and the GPM is tilting out the van, the slightest push away from it tumbling into the street. The third member is elbowing past their blinded partners, dropping the gun in their hand and fumbling with whatever was in the other.

All of this is happening at the same time, and all of these requires Dick’s attention, his direct action, but he’s still half-way between his heart seizing as he thinks about bruised ribs beneath Robin’s tunic and trying to correct the unexpected and severe quaking of his back tire. He’s always been good about juggling multiple things at once. Give him an orange, a spoon, a bowl, and a paper weight and he’ll put on a show. Give him a week to commute between the Titans, Gotham, Bludhaven, and three new case files, and he’ll get it done a day early. He’s good about handling multiple things at once, but it’s a maneuver seven, a Scenario B, and Dick is slightly more harried than he normally is with it all.

So the grenade being launched out of the back doors and the GPM crashing and splintering into the pavement, parts of it hurtling at Dick’s bike upwards of eighty miles per hour, goes unnoticed. Dick is distracted and misses it. Misses those precious few milliseconds of time and pays for it.

The sound of the GPM practically exploding on impact is what alerts him, eyes zeroing in on first the metal pieces and then the rounder object that just seems to… float, mid-air, gray-green and twirling and heading straight for him.

It’s all Dick can do but break. Hard. A jolt so severe the handles jut into his sides and he’s practically leaning over the front of his bike, before he’s swiveling around, desperate to put some space between himself and the ensuing explosion. From the distance he’s at, the grenade and shrapnel coming from the GPM, he’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with some charred flesh. Who’s he kidding? He’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with his life.

There’s nowhere to go but back because even though it’s Tuesday and most of the shops are closed, it’s still very much Gotham, and Dick just can’t take the chance of diving behind a car or swerving into a shop window without the risk of injuring innocents. His back wheel, dented and more than likely missing some rubber, squeals against the asphalt as he lurches forward, away from the van, hand coming up to hastily, hopefully, patch into the comms to alert Robin, warn Batman, about the explosive.

It happens too fast though. Too quick. He’s barely got a finger onto the side of his helmet before he feels the heat burning into his back, the shock-wave of sound following closely behind. The force of the detonation brings the rear of his bike shooting up, his body pushed out of the seat and flying, arms outstretched and ears ringing.

He thinks he screams. It certainly feels like something is being ripped from his throat, loud and fearful. It’s a distant thought though because even though his arms are spread out before him, his head slams into the ground first, the smack comparatively silent against the roar of everything and nothing in his ears.

He’s not too sure what happens immediately after. Dick thinks he might’ve passed out, lost consciousness as he (presumably) rolled and rolled and scraped his body against asphalt and hard Gotham tar before finally coming to a stop.

All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, it is an enormously difficult task.

There’s feedback going off in his ears, a static cling to it that leaves him nauseous. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes, and some part of his brain is screaming at him that that’s not a good thing, but the other part is relieved. Moving is an impossible task and Dick is glad for the shock.

The world is a tinted mess of shadows and yellow shop lights through the visor of his helmet. Half of it is shattered, the enforced glass fractured and in some areas missing altogether. It filters through to his eyes and Dick is tempted to close them, avoid the pulsing brightness that stabs into his brain. He doesn’t though, an ingrained piece of him knowing that to close his eyes would mean to possibly lose the battle and Dick’s not willing to give in just yet.

There are other noises in the background, piercing and violent, metal screeching against metal, but all Dick can really focus on is the sound his breath makes as his lungs expand and deflate. He can’t decide if he’s breathing through his nose or through his mouth, erratic and chattering throughout his helmet. He doesn’t think breathing is supposed to sound like that, echoey and clunky, but he takes what he can get.

There’s also something against his lip. A few somethings. Small and smooth, and there’s a few just sitting in his mouth. His tongue tastes like iron, like he’s been eating nothing but metal for the past few days, and the sensation of it alone makes Dick want to vomit. He tries that, throat working and muscles in his cheek convulsing, but the immediate pain, the prompt resistance, stops him. Again, he’s not sure how, but he doesn’t vomit even though he badly wants to. Instead, he just lays there, allowing his body to take over the reflex of breathing, and trying his best not to succumb to what he’s sure is a comforting darkness.

His right arm is squashed under the weight of his body, a distant part of him acknowledging that it’s probably been dislocated, but he has no energy to move himself to lay on his back. There are a thousand protocols running through his head, ones he’s known for years and could probably recite backwards if need be, so he knows instinctively that laying on his back or moving from whatever position he’s managed to crash into might mean further damaging his spine. His neck. Not that he’d notice the difference if he were to, the shock from his propulsion slowly ebbing away to the point where awareness of his own predicament is poking at his brain.

For now, though, he just lays there and breathes, maybe even bleeds as well, and tries to fight against the urge to scream and vomit. The pain is getting worse, throbbing and burning at his jaw, his cheek, his entire face. He hopes the helmet has done its job and prevented something worse than a concussion.

Suddenly, there’s movement in his peripherals and Dick spots green boots and black laces.

Robin. Damian.

He’s okay. He made it out. Alive.

Dick finds himself sagging a bit at the relief of that. It had only been a barely second thought to, ‘Oh shit, that’s a grenade,’ but the worry for his little brother’s safety had definitely been pounding away in the background. Now that he can more or less see for himself that his littlest brother is unharmed, Dick relaxes enough to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to be making an effort in staying awake. Gray tickles at the edges of his vision, drifting in and out of focus, before a sharp “Nightwing!” snaps him out of it.

Robin is crouched down to his level, elbows digging into the hard tar as his pensive little mask peers through Dick’s broken visor.

“Nightwing, are you awake?” he asks, a fine tremble lurking behind those words.

Dick tries opening his mouth to reply and instantly regrets it, a shout of agony ripped from him instead. Okay, yeah, that’s a broken jaw. A bad one. And… oh god, those are teeth in his mouth. Loose teeth. As in, teeth that are no longer fixed to his skull and are sitting like popcorn kernels on his tongue.

Panic grips him for a moment, the sudden urge to spit out the tiny pieces of not-really- bone violent and driving. His shoulders move, anticipating the reactionary need to pucker his cheeks and convulse his stomach at the same time, but a small yet firm hand pokes at his arm.

“Stay still,” Robin orders, the only sign of alarm being the slightest twitch of his lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nightwing. Batman will be here soon and we will take you back to the Cave.”

Dick wants to nod, signal he understands despite the dread that’s beginning to curl around his chest, but even that tiny movement is sending jolts of fire throughout his jaw and neck. He settles on a low grunt that comes from the depths of his sternum, and the tone vibrates in his teeth. He’s never taken such special notice to the small things before but it’s all he can think about right now. All he can focus on, the feeling of many hard objects just swirling around in his mouth, slicked in his blood and metallic in their taste.

Popcorn.

Something gnawing at the edges of a frenzy poke at Dick’s composure and it is with concerted and severe effort does he scrunch up his left hand and move it back and forth against the road. Damian can only frown at the movement but understanding creeps in as Dick repeats the motion again, visible strain shaking at his arms.

Damage?

“I don’t believe you knowing the extent will do you any good, Nightwing,” Damian answers, chin crumpling the slightest bit. It’s a new tic of his that Dick has picked up on. Damian only does that when he’s stressed. Anxious.

Dick wheezes in reply, fisting his left hand again and moving it against the rough terrain. He taps the ground for emphasis, another dimmed whine involuntarily escaping from his lips as it jerks his shoulder, traveling upwards to his neck. Knowing the extent of his injuries will at least take his mind off of the fact that there are teeth in his mouth. Teeth that aren’t where they are supposed to be. Loose little kernels that taste like flesh on his tongue. Drool sliding down and out of his mouth like he’s some starving animal with a gaping maw. The stench of his own breath and the smells of bodily fluids and blood smearing within the helmet.

He slams his fisted palm into the ground again. It’s more like a plea than it is a request at this point. He’s freaking out and the pain is starting to get to him. Black spots blur in and out of focus and Robin’s green gloves are all he can pay attention to.

“Okay,” Damian relents, one of his hands hovering just outside of the helmet’s visor, “but please. Calm down. Batman will be here soon, Nightwing, but I need you to calm down first. I… cannot touch you or offer comfort, and I am sorry, but please. Stay still.”

Dick hears him, even through the static clouding his head, and relaxes his fist, slumping further into himself. The spots are turning gray and washing over like a film in his eyes.

“Your suit managed to protect much of your backside from the brunt of the explosion,” Damian continues, settling further down into his crouch. His mask is pinched and aching. Dick does not know what to do. “You will have secondary burns, most likely, and a few lacerations from shrapnel. I don’t believe there are any extraneous pieces lodged, however.”

Something clicks, rather clinks, inside of Dick’s mouth and he feels another smooth… piece fall onto his tongue. The urge to swallow, or better yet vomit, persists. The side of his face feels tacky, like half-dried glue is clinging to his lower cheek. A million fire ants pepper his jawline and neck. It burns.

“Visibly, from my stance, there are only a few other injuries, mostly other lacerations.” Damian pauses, his chin scrunching up again. “However, I cannot see your face. I do not know-”

“Robin,” another voice interrupts, deep and controlled. Edging into a degree of certain authority in their small world of chaos.

Dick is still thinking about the clink though, can’t think of much else except the acid seeping into his bones, his entire facial structure, eating away at his skin and every cell he’s ever owned. What little adrenaline that had been keeping the worst of it to a buzz is fading, becoming a roar in his ears and a sickly, numbing ache in the concave of his right cheek. The gray is darkening, bleeding into what small consciousness he has left to interpret what’s going on around him and Dick is left with the cold sensation of undiluted fear in his chest. Icy and coiling.

There’s a long, high-pitched beep from somewhere beyond his vision and he hears the faint but gruff voice that follows it, every second or third word filtering through to his ears.

“...stable… move… secure…. Robin...”

He blinks. The gray turns darker. Knives are digging themselves deeper and deeper into his face, flaying open his skin and grating against bone.

He blinks. His eyelids are sticky. His nose itches. Something is drying on the sides of his lips.

He thinks he might be dying.

He blinks.

The world goes black.

. . .

He’s jolted from the dark to the screeching heat by his ear, and for a moment, Dick is paralyzed with unknown. Not fear of the unknown, but just an unknown.

It’s like there’s a jackhammer going off right next to him, reverberating and shaking his eardrums and brain into mush, and he’s flinching away from it when something prevents him and holds him still.

“Stop,” is what he tries to get out, a mere gurgle of syllables escaping instead as his tongue refuses to leave the dry roof of his mouth. He tastes plastic. Blood. Ash.

The buzzing stops, erratic silence plunges into his head, and he almost wishes for the noise back until he registers the fact that his jaw is no longer rattling and his teeth are no longer quaking where they lay.

Oh god.

His teeth.

His jaw.

The panic sets in immediately, a ferocious awareness that he has no idea where he is or what’s going on climbing on top of the realization that he’s in so much pain that it’s unbearable and ruthless. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Master Richard?” a voice calls to him, far away and cavernous. “You’re alright. You are in the Cave now. I have to saw off your helmet. Your jaw has been dislocated and that makes removal difficult. Please, do your best to hold still. You’re going to be alright, my boy.”

“Do as he says, Richard,” another voice chimes in, just another noise to echo in his ever shrinking head. “Stay still.”

Dick thinks he recognizes those voices, trusts them enough to try and attempt the task at hand, but when the buzzing resumes and the thundering in his own brain doubles, it proves impossible. It’s as if the Flash himself is summoning the lightning that dances throughout his face: violent, repetitive, and so, so blinding.

There’s another jolt and his mouth yawns open in a terrible impression of a roar and the world goes black again.

. . .

When he wakes up, it's to the feeling of needing to throw up. It’s that same sick-to-his-stomach feeling he got when he was younger, down with a bad case of the flu but not quite knowing it yet and being unable to do anything except lay down with an ice-pack on his face. There’s a faded memory in the very back of his mind of laying on a leather couch, watching cartoons, and then feeling a lurch in the depths of his being that had him practically yelling for a bowl to hurl into.

He doesn’t throw up. His stomach rolls around and the back of his throat is tingling with an impulsive reflex, but there must be nothing left inside of him because nothing comes up.

Opening his eyes is a chore, sticky and weighing a thousand pounds, and when he does, it’s to the cool, dull fluorescence of an overhead light that pokes at his awareness. Its electric flicker reaches his ears, like a fly hanging around his head, and he turns his eyes away from the light to drift around. Next to him is Damian, small and huddled.

There are bandages on his face, butterfly band-aids holding together small cuts that will eventually heal on their own, and greasy patches of skin where ointment has been applied to yellowing bruises. He looks up at Dick’s gaze, stowing away his phone, and frowns carefully. Damian says nothing though and a part of Dick is grateful for it. The world is still a haze, blurry and out-of-focus, and he doesn’t think the pain medication running their course through his veins will let him hold a conversation just yet.

He keeps the silence, keeps his little brother’s gaze, and after a few minutes of staring, he drifts off again, blissfully unaware of anything else.

The throbbing in his face is what wakes him up again. A pounding ache that feels as if someone is repeatedly punching him in the jaw. He reaches up a hand to touch it, the pull of an IV or some other fluid tube in his hand restricting his already sluggish movement, and a different hand comes up to intercept his inspection. Dick turns his direction from the hand to the owner of the appendage, something like a smile tugging at his sore features.

“Glad to see you awake, Master Richard,” Alfred says softly, holding the younger man’s hand in his own. “Before you do anything else, however, there are some things you need to know so you do not… fret… later on. Do you understand?”

Already feeling the dull emotion of anxiousness, Dick nods anyway. He’s tired.

“Good,” Alfred amends warmly, releasing Dick’s hand. “Your jaw has been wired shut,” he continues. “You will have difficulty talking for the time being, but for now, you will not be able to open your mouth at all.”

Now that it’s been pointed out to him, the sudden need to yawn or say something pulls at Dick immensely, practically an instantaneous reflex as his muscles twitch to open his mouth.

“Your jaw was fractured on the right side of your mandible, as well as dislocated,” the old butler continues, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, your face had become so swollen by the time you were brought back to the Cave, your helmet couldn’t be moved without it being cut off of you. Do you remember that?”

Dick nods, somewhat shakily, as the urge to speak pesters him further. He can feel the restraints though, feel his limitations and taste the metal plates and wires in his mouth. On his teeth. Oh god. There are gaps. There are gaps.

“Yes, you woke up as I was cutting away the sides. I am sorry for that, Master Richard. We had thought you would remain unconscious long enough for us to remove your helmet, which, I am unbearably grateful you were wearing. Your injuries would have been considerably… worse had you not been wearing it.”

Dick wants to make some joke or mockery of the lessons ingrained into him about wearing a helmet since he was nine, but the staunch reminder of his limited capabilities leave him mute and horrifyingly silent. He can’t… He can’t even smile properly. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

“Just as well, the impact that led to your jaw dislocation also popped out your right shoulder. It was put back in without any trouble, it will just feel sore for a spell. You have some minor burns on your shoulders and upper back, and a few lacerations on your arms, but otherwise nothing else.”

Dick wants to ask about his teeth. Wants to ask how many he’s missing, how many are in his mouth, how many are on the side of the road, how long it’ll take to get new ones or be fitted for some replacements, if any of them are salvageable, but he remains quiet. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to try and find he can’t at all.

He flexes his lower jaw, desperate for the tiniest bit of leeway, but his jaw remains in place. His mouth remains welded shut.

“For the next few weeks, the wires will remain in place and you’ll be given a largely liquid diet. I, or someone else, can help you with that and the cleaning process required to maintain the wires.” Alfred sighs then, reaching up a hand to ghost over Dick’s hair. It lacks the warmth Dick is desperate for. The touch is too light. Too far away. It makes him feel like he’s not truly there. Transparent. “You were tremendously lucky, my boy. Had circumstances been different, I fear we would be having a much different conversation.”

Just as he’s only found himself capable to do, Dick merely nods, crinkling his eyes in what he hopes looks like a light acceptance. Having his jaw wired shut isn’t a first for him. He’s been knocked down enough in his life to have fractured his face more than once, has experience dealing with getting food from a syringe and trying to suck down things he knows would taste better whole rather than in a puree. This isn’t… new.

And yet, something tight is gathering inside of his chest. Something cold and choking, wrapping around his rib-cage, tighter and tighter. Squeezing.

He just nods though, watching as Alfred walks away to get Damian and Bruce, announce to them that the eldest is awake.

And he doesn’t even need to open his mouth to talk coherently. Sure, some of the enunciation might be lost, but he can move his tongue and his lips just fine. He’s fine. It’ll only be a few weeks, and then after the wires and the plates are out, he can be fitted for new teeth. Get the dental work done. Yeah, just a few weeks. No time at all. He’s fine. It’s nothing new. Nothing new.

He’s fine.

Dick hears the quick succession of small feet before he sees Damian enter. There are still butterfly bandages on his face, still sickly bruises on his cheeks, and still a slight pull on his brows. Dick does his best to smile as the boy approaches but his own face still feels like it was rammed with a semi-truck, and he’s yet to look in a mirror or take in his predicament properly, but he’s sure he isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Good evening, Richard,” Damian says, stilted and unsure. He hovers, just as he did when Dick was still looking through broken glass.

“H-” is all Dick can get out before he stops, feeling that constriction around his chest further tighten. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say ‘Hello’ and attempted to open his mouth to do so. He can’t though. He can’t. He can’t do that.

His hand trembles as he raises it to his forehead, pushing outwards in a mock salute. Damian’s brow creases further.

“I see,” is all the boy says, easing into the same chair he had sat in before, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. “No matter. I imagine you would like a report of everything that has happened since… then.”

Dick just blinks at his younger brother in response, trying his best to breathe around the weight in his lungs. He knows how he’s breathing now. It’s through his nose. How silly of him to think otherwise.

“The grenade used for the gang’s attempted escape was essentially a homemade device. Thus, the explosion resulting from it’s release was not as potent as a military grade grenade would have been. Batman was able to successfully stop the gang’s departure near the same moment the explosion went live. I was not caught in any crossfire,” Damian adds, glancing upwards before settling on his fingers again. “Once the suspects were secured, Batman and I assessed you before taking you back to the Cave. I presume Pennyworth has already briefed you on the extent of your injuries?” Damian’s chin crumples at that, one of his eyebrows twitching in a similar manner.

Dick nods. It’s all he can do. All he can do but breathe. Barely. His chest hurts. He’s not… He’s not getting enough air.

“That’s good,” Damian says, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s been approximately twenty-eight hours since their arrest. There were no other severe casualties than your own. Bat- Father is attending a meeting of some sort. He will be back shortly and will expect a report now that you are coherent enough to give one. Of course, seeing as incapacitated as you are now, it will prove to be difficult for you, so I will see to it that you do not make any mistakes and will help- Richard? Are you alright? Richard?”

Dick stopped listening half-way through Damian’s brief, too focused on getting enough air to his lungs. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack so severe, so debilitating, and he knows how to control it, knows how to calm down again, but that involves taking deep, calming breaths, something he is incapable of doing seeing as the easiest way to do that is through the mouth and he can’t fucking open his mouth and he’s not getting enough air-

He can’t suck in oxygen fast enough, each intake of breath through his nose like breathing underwater through a straw; too slow, not enough. His hands are gripping the sides of his cot in an effort to strain himself further, lungs working overtime as he inhales and exhales in the same breath, struggling to get any of it to his brain. If only he could open his mouth, breathe through his mouth. If only he could articulate what he’s feeling, force the words out of his mouth, and even though he knows he can do that without opening up his jaw, it is a task much too difficult for him.

His face is on fire and his lungs are following, consumed in his deprivation. Somewhere off to the right he can hear the sounds of someone calling to him, begging for his attention, but he’s not getting enough air and that’s all he needs. Just a little more air. Just- just a little more air and then he’ll be okay.

There is none though. No oxygen for his starved lungs, no salvation for his leaking brain. The pain, the hurt, pulses through him like his own furious heartbeat, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard it feels like it’s breaking, fracturing, all over again.

Just a little more air. Come on. Come on.

There’s a quick succession of snaps, one-two-three-four, and suddenly his jaw is falling open, and Dick gasps.

Great, heaving breaths fall into his lungs despite the absolute anguish in his relief, the gaps in between his teeth whistling as he sucks in breath after breath- greedy, starved for air.

They stutter in his chest, lungs inflating properly and expanding so much it hurts. He trembles in his cot, overwhelmed with the ability to finally breathe, and as he continues to wheeze and gasp, he falls back, releasing his death drip on the metal bars. The sudden release of tension leaves him light-headed, and his vision spots, graying in and out as he calms down.

A figure stands in his peripherals and Dick recognizes it as Damian, tense and clutching a pair of wire-cutters in his hands. His eyes are wide, watchful, and the creases that line his face betray the stress, the fear, building inside his small body.

Dick raises a hand, still gasping as he presses it to his lips and lets his hand fall back down in a sloppy ‘Thank you’. Damian only jerks his head in response, mouth pressed tightly into a thin line.

It continues on like that for some time, Dick continuing to wheeze and Damian continuing to stand over him, wary and strained.

Dick can feel the jagged ends of the wires poking into his gums as his jaw bobs up and down with each breath. Can still taste metal and blood. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. It’s not new. He’s used to this.

But not really. Not truly. Yes, he’s had his jaw broken before. Has had wires holding his upper and lower jaw together. Has been faced with the ordeal of liquid diets one too many times. None of this was supposed to be new, he’s done it all before, but there is something new he didn’t consider. Didn’t think of immediately as being the cause. Of creating the entire experience “anew” again.

Damian.

He’s never been injured in this way, so humiliatingly, in front of the boy. Broken bones are one thing. Cracked ribs and toes, fractured arms and dislocated shoulders. Long gashes and concussions. Par for the course, Damian has been witness to all of these injuries before and Dick has faced them with the same level of casualness as any other.

But this was different. This was… debilitating. Feebling. Near disabling.

Damian was going to have to watch him get fed through a syringe. Watch his muscle mass shrivel away, even if just minutely, because a liquid diet is not the same as rich, solid food. Watch as Dick struggles and fumbles over basic, normal things like talking. Watch as simple, little things become unbearably painful, as the urge to laugh or cough overwhelms him to the point where he needs to sit down.

And even now. Even just then. Damian had to watch Dick hyperventilate, nearly strangle himself to the point of unconsciousness all because he couldn’t breathe through his mouth well enough. Couldn’t regulate his breaths the way he wanted to. Needed to.

And it was so humiliating.

To struggle so much in front of the child he’s tried so hard to be strong for.

Because he can’t talk his way out of what just happened. Can’t reassure Damian with an easy grin that doesn’t turn into a grimace. Can’t wave away the pain, the bruises, the metal contraption in his mouth. Can’t hide effort in remaining natural, just as he always has before..

He’s supposed to be Richard Grayson. Steadfast and loyal partner to Damian Wayne.

And right now, he just feels…

Wrong.

Dick can’t take his eyes off of the white-knuckled grip Damian has on the cutters. Can’t ignore the way every muscle is stiff and rigid. Can’t not realize that it’s his fault Damian is so shaken, so unnerved, even with all of his own injuries and fresh trauma to care for. And now it’s a different type of pain in his chest that makes Dick feel light-headed. The shame, the guilt, that shrouds his head at the knowledge that he’s no good like this. No good for Damian. No good for Bruce. No good for Alfred.

No good for even himself.

It all just… it happened too fast. Too fast for him to do anything about it.

He can’t even catch his breath anymore.

[felassan]

Highlights and insights from the MELE launch cast & crew reunion panel

[rewatch link] [highlights & insights from the N7 Day 2020 reunion]

In case a text format is better for anyone (in terms of accessibility for example). Cut for length.

Some paraphrasing.

If anyone’s interested in just the line-reading session, it starts at timestamp ~1:04:45.

In addition to the cast and crew from the N7 Day reunion, at this reunion also in attendance were: 

Mac Walters (Project Director for MELE, Lead Writer of the og MET)

Melanie Faulknor (Lead Producer for MELE)

Crystal McCord (Producer for MELE)

Fred Tatasciore (Saren)

Seth Green (Joker)

Kimberly Brooks (Ash)

Ash Sroka (Tali)

This was the biggest reunion / meetup of the cast so far, and some of the cast and crew were meeting for the first time here.

It’s been so long since the og MET that PW & KW are getting to watch their kids experience playing it for the first time

JHale doesn’t play but since MELE she’s been sneaking around Twitch jumping into peoples’ MELE livestreams to lurk, watch and comment a bit

What drew Seth to the character of Joker? The whole concept of the game. He likes games and MET’s mechanics (different trees of adventure, stacking reputation, choices carrying between games) at the time were the most sophisticated that he’d ever heard pitched. He thought this was new and exciting and wanted to be a part of it. For the character they cast him based on his personality traits (i.e. he sounds quite similar to Joker personality-wise)

Would Seth ever want to play Joker again if the opportunity presented itself? Sure, he loves the character, and if the writers ever had more things to explore/expand with Joker he’d be down for it. 

Seth said that it’s a different kind of fan that approach him about this project. The fans have spent many many hours in an intimate exchange with “him” that he hasn’t been a part of, but they experienced it nonetheless. “I’ve hugged a lot of strangers, you know what I’m saying? It’s great, you get an interaction with fans that you never get as a performer in any other experience”

Seth has been a space guy since he was little, it inspires him

With the state of the world the way it is now [covid, masks etc], does Ash think Tali’s story will be more impactful now than it was before? Ash hopes so, and that anything they do here will have a positive impact on a bigger level. Ultimately that’s why most of them do what they do, they want to reach people in deep ways. She hopes Tali is an inspiration in courage, bravery, standing up for what’s right and thinking about the greater good

The [MELE I think] dev team had a last team meeting with Greg Zeschuk, one of the founders of BioWare, who they had invited to it. He was regaling them with stories of the inception of Mass Effect. “You would imagine this sort of well-laid out, drawing boards everywhere... [but] it was basically just a napkin sketch in a Greek taverna with him and Casey going ‘We wanna do a space opera’, and then it took off”

The process of creating lore through development is very organic. A lot of it comes from character and story development. It builds up over the course of the game’s development. They did the codex entries at the end, the idea being that if they saved them for as late as they could, then they could pull from the story, characters and meaningful moments, and build them from there

PW wrote a bunch of the codex entries, elevator banter & lots of little bits of lore. They describe their time on the og MET as being a “baby writer”. They originally came in after Mac had back surgery and a junior writer was needed to fill in. “It was really fun, it was us sitting in a room together going ‘What do you think a hanar or a krogan thinks about this or that’?” For a first project for them this was an amazing experience - the world building itself creatively with all these awesome people

They tried to add multiplayer in every game but only got it to work in ME3

They had a lot of plots laid out in ME1 that they called “global plots”. These were outside the core critical path and would take players from planet to planet, and were sprawling stories. They pulled out a lot of really interesting concepts and ideas from these that did make it into the game, but all of the global plots ended up getting cut due to time. Mac still has old diagrams and spreadsheets which detailed how all of these would have come together

Q. If you all had to take a long-distance road-trip with two squadmates, who would you take and why? PW: “Jack and Mordin. Mordin because the drive would never lack for things to talk about at length quickly, Jack because you know you wouldn’t pay for the room. You wouldn’t know how you’d get the room, but you wouldn’t be paying for it.” Courtenay: “I’d take Mordin because there’d be singing, and FemShep just to have this thing - happen. In the room that I get for free.” JHale at this point fistpumped while saying “Yeess” [then I think what she said was “steaming hot”]

Seeing as asari are long-lived, how open is Ali to one day reprising her role as Liara? “She’s a character very close to my heart, it was such a great opportunity. In some games that we work on the character has already been created or voiced by someone else, but this was really a group effort. When I first went into the booth, the only thing I’d seen of her was a sort of like, rendering, and we slowly kind of came to her voice and presence. I would love to bring Liara back any time... hey, she can live a really long time guys. :D”

Caroline and people who do what she does (Creative Performance Director) are so critical to the quality of games. Caroline: “This group of people are extraordinary. We were lucky to have such an extraordinary cast. Every [recording] session was new and challenging. It was a labor of love. I’m tearing up right now thinking about it. I’m remembering my last session with Jen, she was the last session, just sobbing and sobbing”. When JHale was trying to say the lines of Shepard’s goodbye with Garrus, a line hit her like a tonne of bricks and she was in tears and was like “Shepard does not cry”. “It took me a second, I got it out and took another run at it, it was in there but stuffed down as it should have been, and I finished the line [and there was silence in the booth when usually Caroline would have been talking to give direction or instruction] Did we lose her? Did Skype crash?” and it transpired that what had happened was that Caroline was in floods of tears

ME was the first time Keythe had ever come across branching dialogue. “Normally when we work on a script and it’s from page 1 to 100. In this it was get to page 5, then go back to page 2 and play it a little differently. The skill and the fun and joy of it was to be able to go back and play a scene in a different way, with different writing, with different outcomes. This was not only a challenge but a real treat. So to all the writers who dreamed up how this build-your-own-adventure plays out, you have my undying respect. It was a real pleasure”

VEDA is a proprietary system that BW use to record the dialogue, which is the closest way of having it feel like having people in the booth together (it’s all digital and VAs get to hear the line someone else has done in that scene). Caroline really pushed for this because of the amount of time etc that was wasted due to lack of this sort of thing on ME1. William: “It was a god send for me, thank you, getting to hear a cue from Jen or Mark.” Ali: “Us being able to bounce off each other helps make it more real. This for me was the most real acting experience on a game I had ever had - the writing being so good, Caroline helping us through, being able to hear each other.” JHale was always early coming in to record relative to the others so only got to use VEDA a few times - a bit of Liara content and the scene with Anderson towards the end. “Those two times, oh my god it was amazing”. VEDA being a thing also helps from a scheduling standpoint

Seth and Tricia Helfer (EDI) only got to be in the booth actually together 1 time, to record/shoot a piece of promotional video. “We actually got to record a scene together and we were like ‘oh my god this is the best thing ever’. It was great, even though I had to stand on a stool. She’s the best”

Seth: “As an actor, the kind of opportunity to do this kind of material in games just didn’t exist.” Fred: “Oh, never! I had never had a villain part that was complicated like that. In a game? Never before, it was really interesting”

Raphael always goes back to the fact that ME brought more women into gaming than any other game before it. “The writing and the complexity of the relationships gave us so much ballast”. “This set this apart from running, shooting, gunning, looting”

JHale: “What I noticed in the times before when I got to be around fans, there was a huge hunger among women in the gaming world for something they could really jump into. They were starving for something which fed them what they deserved and needed”

Mac: “[praising Caroline] Caroline would often come to us as writers and challenge us and say, as an example, ‘Do we really need another male character to do this? Why are we writing another male character for this?’ She pushed that very early and to the betterment of everything we created”

PW: “Karin and Cookie and all of the editors across the trilogy, [were critical in] making sure that Shepard sounded consistent - [especially since] we had a large writing team, writers came and went, Mac is the only one with a significant writing contribution on each of the games”

PW: “[on game dev] It’s a process of getting hundreds of people pointed in the same direction, all believing that this is something worth doing”

Ash: “Having all the different possibilities and avenues, going back to play them all out in the different ways [really helped to round the character of Tali out and make her feel like a natural person]”.

VAs only get paid for the original recording sessions, not again (as in they don’t any royalties or anything from something like the remaster)

In MELE, they left all the original credits at the end of each game in

Fred: “It’s creating in five dimensions [because of all the outcomes and relationships etc]”. Seth: “The cool thing is that the audience feels that. They’re immediately struck by how dense, thought-out, prepared and planned the entire universe is”

How was it for the new MELE devs coming onto this? Crystal: “I knew it [the series and fans’ love for it] was big, but I didn’t know it was BIG! Working on MELE there was this infectious excitement. Being part of it was so exciting.” Melanie: “I came on at ME3, I had a 3 or 4 year honeymoon period with BioWare. Coming onto MELE, I’m getting really emotional. One of my first meetings originally was going into a cinematic review for an epic Tali scene in ME3”. Crystal: “On MELE, we had an hour or 2 every day where the team came together to play the game. In those reviews, a lot of the devs who worked on the original would tell all these stories. It was really fun to hear all the inside stories on ME’s creation and be a part of that”

DC: “Should this unit get vaccinated?” Ash: “Of course”

How do they think ME will be viewed in the next 10-20 years, what do they think its legacy will be? A piece of history, ground-breaking. It broke down some barriers and opened doors for people. It’s a powerful, powerful community. It’ll continue to age quite well and be enjoyed by a new generation, it’s original and evergreen and there’s a lot in it that people go back to. There’s a lot of universal things in it (personal experiences, like there will always be love, people fighting to belong, trying to make sense of their pasts etc)

JHale and Alix did the “I love you Shepard, now go save the world again” Shep-Sam exchange and both got teary. It was then Seth’s turn to line-read: “Jesus Christ, now that I’m good and choked up, fucking mess”. Ali was also actually crying from it

Seth: “It can’t be overstated, this community is so large and global, it is one of the most powerful fandoms that I’ve ever been greeted with. Thank you”. Ash: “It’s the most amazing group of fans ever. We’re all so grateful”

Some funny anecdotes/stories:

PW didn’t realize that Alix could do different accents. They remember a time when they were listening in the booth and an Alliance soldier was complaining about the gear had been given. They said “Wow that’s really good, who is that?” and the VO producer said “That’s Alix, Patrick”, “because she wasn’t doing her [normal British accent but was doing a Californian accent instead]. Alix roasted me later for not recognizing her voice and never let me heard the end of it”

Alix: “[on Sam’s toothbrush] Caroline’s like, ‘So then she pulls her toothbrush’ and I’m like ‘What? Sorry? A toothbrush?’ and obviously it’s funny now as everyone knows that Sam’s thing is her toothbrush. Caroline’s like ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta like, flirt, over the toothbrush’ and I’m like ‘Who wrote this - a frickin toothbrush, are you kidding me? Really guys?’ ANYWAY. I was wrong and it worked. :D”

Fred: “I remember a 12 year old kid coming up to me and being like [flat tone] ‘Oh yeah. I killed you’.”

Keythe: “The other assasin I play is Kellogg in Fallout 4. People come up to me like ‘Omg. I love you so much. And then I fucking KILLED you!’”

Courtenay once went out to dinner in NZ with a few prominent people from the Game of Thrones cast. “Everyone around was making a big deal out of it like ‘Omg, it’s so-and-so from GoT’. I was feeling a bit like ‘Hi, I’m here, just nobody’. And I looked around in the restaurant and there's one guy in the corner and he’s got an N7 shirt on and he’s just looking at me like [knowing look, does a peace sign]. And I’m like ‘I got one! I love you guys!’”

PW: “I have a question for the cast members, because I don’t know if JHale has done this to all of you or if she just does it to the devs. Show of hands if Jen has ever made you do push-ups.” JHale: “It’s just you guys”

Karin: “One of my favorite editing files that I ever had was a ME file. It was before Seth was coming in for a session. I opened it up and it was just 20, 25 lines with the word ‘Shit’, over and over again, and I was like, ‘This file is perfect, I don’t need to do anything to it, have fun!’”

Seth: “Didn’t we do a track that’s like 60 seconds of laughing? Escalating laughing? I don’t know about other actors but for me getting into a laughing fit is kind of like trying to get into a crying fit, it takes the same level of commitment, you start to follow a path until like you’re hysterically uncontrollably laughing. I remember looking through the glass, and I’m deep in it at this point, and I make eye contact, and I can see from the other side of the booth and they’re like [making ‘okay you can stop’ now gestures] - ‘Like that’s plenty, we got it’ and I was like ‘okay, okay [dying]’”

JHale: “The craziest thing Mark and I had to deal with was how many times we had to say ‘I should go’”. Mark: “We also, Caroline and I tended to use that as short hand when I needed to go to the bathroom”

The panel host: “The first time I interviewed Ali was a decade ago. She did the ‘I’ll flay you alive with my mind’ line halfway through, it was my first interview and I literally fell out of my seat [from being star-struck]”

Ash line-read Tali’s drunk omni-tattoo scene and in response DC said “I totally get why people wanna romanticize all these characters :D”. Karin: “We’ve had more than one person come up to us and show us actual tattoos that looked like that”

[source]

[epicmusicplays]

Happy 100 followers!! For the promt: 🦋Willex🤫

thank you lea!!! this one Really made my creative-ness start flowing so 👀

also i know literally nothing about butterfly exhibit thingies but according to google there’s one in LA

wordcount: 1147

also on ao3!!

“I am not paying twelve dollars just to look at some weird bugs,” Alex declares.

Willie turns a pout in his direction. “Butterflies aren’t weird. They’re cool! And really pretty and I promise to love you forever and ever if we go!”

Their eyes are wide and pleading and damn him for being so adorable.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

The way his boyfriend bounces on the balls of their feet while they wait in line for the butterfly exhibit almost makes the twelve dollar entrance fee worth it.

Almost.

He fishes out his wallet to pay as they get to the front of the line, wrapping his other arm around Willie’s waist to keep him from wandering off. They’re practically buzzing with excitement, pulling at the key around his neck to keep his hands busy.

An employee stops them just before they enter, a soft smile on her face at the sight they make.

“I hope you two are enjoying your day today,” she says. Willie’s eyes dart between her and the windows into the atrium, obviously just barely paying attention to what she’s saying.

“We are, thank you,” Alex answers, smiling back at her. “Even if I’m not too excited about being in a room full of bugs.”

Willie reaches over and tugs on Alex’s ear without even looking. “I should have come here with Reggie. He would have been excited.”

Alex gapes in (mostly) mock offense.

“We’re on a date. You can’t bring Reggie on a date.”

His boyfriend turns with a grin and presses a quick kiss to Alex’s nose. “I mean, I could. Bobby probably wouldn’t be happy about it, though.”

The young woman coughs to hide a laugh, drawing their attention back to her. Alex blushes.

“As I was saying,” she continues. “Have either of you been in our exhibit before?”

They both shake their heads.

“First time! How fun. Well, we do have a couple of quick rules to go over before I can let you in--”

Willie pouts again and leans backwards into Alex’s chest. Alex rolls his eyes but wraps both arms around them and rests his head on their shoulder, nodding for the lady to keep going.

“They’re fast, I promise,” she says with a teasing smile. “First, please stay on the marked path. In addition to housing our famous butterflies, this atrium is also home to several native plants and flowers, so we need to be very careful not to trample them. Second, please refrain from eating or drinking anything while you’re inside - that includes outside food or drink, and anything you may find within the atrium. And finally, please try to keep your voices down, so you don’t startle any of the butterflies.”

She smiles brightly.

“And that’s it! If you’ll follow me, I can let you inside to walk around.”

She heads down the short path between the front desk and the atrium, glancing behind her to make sure they’re both following, and opens the first door.

“Go ahead and wait until this door is closed before opening the second one, and enjoy your visit!”

Willie pulls Alex forward, barely giving him enough time to thank the woman before they’re inside the small room between the outside world and the atrium.

“Ready?” Alex asks as the door swings slowly closed.

“I’m ready,” Willie answers. His eyes are focused on the door behind them, and as soon as it clicks shut he pulls the second one open and darts inside.

Alex follows, trying to push back the fond smile that comes to his lips at the expression of pure amazement Willie adopts as soon as they see the inside of the atrium.

“Okay, I was joking earlier, but I definitely have to bring Reg here sometime,” he whispers. “And Julie. And maybe Carrie.”

“I have a better idea,” Alex murmurs, still entranced by the face Willie’s making. “We’ll tell Bobbers, Luke, and Flynn that this is a great date spot for those of you weirdos who like bugs.”

There’s a winding path stretching out in front of them, cobbled like an old forest road, and the trees on either side are stretching up and out to cast the path in shade. In between the trunks are dozens of different types of flowers and bushes and grasses, ones Alex doesn’t even recognize, and flitting about through the leaves and petals and in the open air are dozens of beautiful butterflies.

Most are blue or orange, and Alex vaguely recognizes them from the butterfly unit in third-grade science class, but there’s also green and red and purple and a few that look pink, maybe, and some that are white or beige and holy shit they’re all stunning.

And then--

Alex sucks in a sharp breath when one of them, a blue one, starts drifting closer to the two of them. Willie hasn’t noticed it yet, still looking almost straight up at the ones flying around far above, so Alex takes a single slow step closer to them and takes his hand.

“Look,” he whispers, pointing with his other hand at the butterfly that’s now barely two feet in front of them.

Willie gasps, quietly, and freezes so still that Alex is almost concerned. The butterfly comes closer, and closer, and Alex can hear the exact second when Willie starts holding his breath, and an instant later the butterfly has settled in their hair.

“Oh my god,” they breathe. “Alex, you have to take a picture of this or I’m breaking up with you and I’m only half joking about it.”

Alex takes a slow, careful step back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Just when he raises it, camera open, and goes to snap a picture, a second butterfly - this one orange, maybe a Monarch? - lands beside the first. He huffs a quiet laugh and takes several pictures, capturing Willie’s flapping hands and his crossed eyes as they try to see the top of their own head.

The butterflies fly off after another minute or so, and Willie turns a sad, betrayed look in Alex’s direction.

“They left me,” he says.

“They have things to do,” Alex comforts them, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And it was really nice of them to come say hi to you. You looked really pretty.”

He blushes, reaching up with one hand and hovering their fingers just above where the butterflies had been, and gives Alex a small smile.

Ten minutes later, as they’re getting ready to follow the path back out of the atrium, a small purple butterfly lands on Alex’s shoulder. Willie just barely has time to snap a picture before Alex shudders and sprints out the door.

He spends the entire drive home complaining about little tiny crawly legs, only shutting up when Willie rolls their eyes fondly and presses a kiss to his lips.

[crashingmeteorz]

rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

[mylordshesacactus]

An Exhaustive Blow-By-Blow Analysis Of The ‘To Catch A Jedi’ Warehouse Duel That Was Definitely Asked For And Desired By People Other Than Us: An Essay By Alex And Jo

Or: It Is The Year Of Our Lord Two Thousand FUCKING Twenty, And Yet Here We Are, At The End Of All Things, Still Analyzing Barriss Offee’s Terrible Life Decisions.

Yes we’ve been saying we’d do this for the past five years minimum yes we’re girls what about it.

Before we begin, a moment of acknowledgement. Of all the people she’s faced, with all her skill and cunning and strength in the Force, the one and only character we have ever seen completely get the drop on Asajj Ventress--take her out without even giving her time to go for her lightsabers, stone cold, no duel no banter no challenge—

Is BARRISS FUCKING OFFEE. DEPENDABLE BARRISS™. LUMINARA UNDULI’S KID. THE NERD WHO MEMORIZED THE ENTIRE INSIDE OF A GEONOSIAN LABYRINTH, YOU KNOW, JUST IN CASE.

WITH A PIPE.

In the library.

And once she’s done that, this happens:

...and Jo and Alex spend the next seven years going absolutely feral. 

A brief moment now where we drag Ahsoka for failing to notice that in the last ten minutes Asajj Ventress has somehow managed to lose about six inches of height. But of course she doesn’t; the entirety of To Catch a Jedi is spent establishing that Ahsoka is firing on zero cylinders. She’s exhausted—she’s probably been awake for over 24 hours at this point—she’s confused, she’s scared, her entire world is crumbling all around her and she doesn’t understand why. So we see her make slip-up after slip-up, making a lot of stupid mistakes that get her noticed by the Coruscant police, and also briefly forgetting how elevators work.

“I, uh, guess I’m not exactly on my game these days.”

So...yeah. She doesn’t notice Asajj’s height loss or the real damning difference: Barriss is completely silent the entire fight, and Asajj never shuts the fuck up.

Of course, Barriss doesn’t need this deception to be perfect. She just needs to make it believable enough. This little Makashi salute—a duelist’s formality, something that screams Dooku—is the first little Ventress-y quirk she throws in, and that’s relevant, because it’s central to her entire motivation for this fight.

Barriss isn’t here to kill Ahsoka.

Barriss is here to save her life.

...Like, she’s bad at it. She’s making horrible decisions that keep getting worse. But there’s a reason she’s disguising herself as Ventress—Ventress is the perfect catspaw, and Barriss desperately needs a catspaw right now, because Ahsoka was never meant to take the fall for the bombing.

Letta went off-script and came within inches of naming Barriss—who, going by the timing, was almost certainly already infiltrating that secure facility (which...gotta respect the skill that took, at least) to silence her—or free her, we don’t know what Barriss intended but we’re not giving her that much benefit of the doubt right now. If she hadn’t called for Ahsoka as quickly as she did, Letta would have died alone in her cell, killed by a nameless Force-user, and the trail would have gone cold.

Instead Ahsoka was there, and when Barriss was faced with a choice between her actions being exposed and letting Ahsoka take the blame, she took the latter. But then Barriss breaks her out, with every indication being that something...went very wrong, as the situation spirals out of control. It’s obvious that Barriss is in the vents during that escape because the clones in Ahsoka’s path keep mysteriously dying and their wounds are fresh, and also there’s no more convenient interference once she gets outside. So now Ahsoka’s free but the subject of a planetwide manhunt that makes her look even MORE guilty…which wasn’t meant to happen.

Remember that Ahsoka is the one who contacted Barriss for help, and Barriss clearly wasn’t expecting it. She spends most of this episode desperately flailing for something, anything to do to fix all this, and she’s lost until she discovers Ahsoka is now with Ventress.

Ventress. Ventress is a darksider. If Ventress is linked to this at all, people will believe it. Ventress could easily have gotten into that prison—through the vents, someone would inevitably have suggested, and probably discovered whatever lightsaber sabotage Barriss used to get in. Case closed. 

So all Barriss has to do to fix this without coming clean is frame Ventress believably. Then the person being executed will...well it’ll only be Asajj Ventress, and she deserves it, right? 

(Asajj Ventress--and all those clones Barriss killed in the breakout. And that’s very telling. Barriss who memorized 800 junctions of a Geonosian labyrinth for one singular mission, because “other people’s lives” depended on her success, doesn’t seem to have factored in the lives of those clones. They don’t seem to be registering in these calculations.)

The point is that Ahsoka’s name will be clear and Barriss’ will never have been in danger.

If you watch that short opening bout, before Ahsoka kicks her away, it’s...well, in Luminara’s words, amateurish and sloppy. All the blows, including that ostensibly fatal double-overhead strike, are DRAMATICALLY telegraphed. In a few cases, she is visibly missing on purpose:

This strike right here? This strike is HILARIOUSLY transparent in slow motion. She has an opening and instead sweeps her lightsabers ALL THE WAY back on the opposite side; and when she brings them down again…

Apologies for the motion blur but—Ahsoka moves to block and MISSES, which doesn’t matter because the blades were like a full foot away from actually making contact with her body. Barriss is striking at her lightsabers half the time for this first flurry of action, before letting Ahsoka break away for that salute. And this is not an animation error. TCW has plenty of those, but they know how to choreograph a lightsaber duel.

So the goal of this fight is very clearly not to kill Ahsoka. It’s to LOOK like she’s trying to kill Ahsoka, while mostly just trying to attract attention and act as much like Ventress as she possibly can.

As a result, Barriss spends a lot of the fight creating space. She pulls a sheet of metal down at Ahsoka, while gesturing dramatically to telegraph her intentions and give Ahsoka plenty of time to dodge:

And then she runs away to a higher level, letting Ahsoka pursue and then hiding.

This fucking pipe trick is NOT a Ventress thing, mind. This is 100% Mirialan using-the-environment bullshit and also, Barriss, a massive bitch move. We’re pointing it out mostly because of how dramatically Ahsoka JUMPS here. Because...listen, she’s better than this. She’s a wartime Padawan. She’s Anakin Skywalker’s wartime Padawan. She has way more duelling experience than a Jedi of her age normally would, and in a vacuum—in a normal sparring situation, where they’re both rested and prepared for it—Ahsoka would probably beat Barriss nine times out of ten in a duel.

This is anything but a vacuum. As we established, Ahsoka is firing on zero cylinders, she’s exhausted, she’s in the midst of a complete mental breakdown, she’s lost her offhand blade, and she doesn’t know the layout of the area like Barriss does. Ahsoka may be a more skilled and experienced duellist, but in this situation that means exactly fuckall. So Barriss runs rings around her.

So after the pipe trick—again a “cinematic” detail, something to ramp up the tension and sell the deception that otherwise has massive holes in it—Barriss gets in ONE solid blow.

Ahsoka’s off-balance, she’s blocking with both hands, Barriss could use her primary to slice under her guard—

At which point she does a FUCKING CARTWHEEL over the point of contact, which is not REMOTELY a Ventress thing, that is all Luminara Unduli all the time. That is the Mirialan Unnecessary Acrobatics Bonus Action.

And then again, a sloppy midsection slash that was nowhere near connecting and serves entirely to create space. A few more standard telegraphed blows.

And then what we generally refer to as the first turn in this duel.

Barriss roundhouse-kicks Ahsoka in the ribs hard enough to send her flying through a stack of boxes and bounce off the wall behind it. And that was an actual, solid injury. Ahsoka takes a moment to get back to her feet, clutching her side like she’s broken ribs, and her already-poor form takes even more of a dive after this. If Barriss wanted to, she easily could have killed Ahsoka here, but instead...

She backs off. Slowly and deliberately, making what’s very nearly a come-hither gesture with her offhand lightsaber. 

And again—Ahsoka is better than this. She is smarter than this. This is such, such glaringly obvious BAIT. She’s being drawn deeper into the factory; Barriss is absolutely herding her, and she falls for it, because she’s not doing great right now.

(And of course Barriss is herding her. Thus far, there’s no actual evidence that Ventress was here except for Ahsoka’s word. For this deception to work there have to be witnesses. She has to attract attention.)

So she does a bunch of flippy bullshit (#Mirialans) to knock those barrels off, slowing Ahsoka down and tiring her out some more.

And when Ahsoka’s done playing Donkey Kong, she COMPLETELY crits on her spot check and does the exact thing that will get Anakin brutally dismembered in about a year. She flips onto the upper level, right past Barriss, who’s just sort of politely waiting for her to land and get her feet under her.

It...is genuinely heartbreaking, honestly, how out of it Ahsoka is during this fight.

And this is actually the second turn, because while it’s impossible to get a high-quality screenshot, this is the first moment where Barriss begins to show that she’s...getting a little too into this. Ahsoka flips onto the platform, and for several seconds she’s slashing wildly around herself while Barriss dodges...completely unarmed.

There’s a few more halfhearted exchanges of blows, culminating in Ahsoka’s only near-hit in this episode. And it comes CLOSE, too; she’s still Ahsoka Tano, after all. Barriss dodges this blow by inches, and Ahsoka impales her saber to the HILT in that support column.

At which point Barriss dodges around the other side of the column and, again, just...waits, for Ahsoka to come at her again.

(We honestly have no idea how so much of the fandom misses how INCREDIBLY staged this whole thing was, because it’s not subtle. The animators are brilliant. It’s fast-paced enough that it’s believable that AHSOKA would believe it, but when you actually watch what’s happening...)

Barriss does ANOTHER FUCKING backflip and they exchange a few more strikes, at which point Barriss pulls what’s actually the bitchiest move she pulls in this whole fight. But it’s also...one of the most interesting and lowkey AWFUL things. Because right now, she is still trying to be Ventress.

She slashes the gas canister open to set up the upcoming explosion, but she also times it so that Ahsoka gets blasted in the face with hot compressed gas that staggers her and briefly impairs Ahsoka’s vision. And that is...a move that we have seen Asajj Ventress use, onscreen, before.

Against Luminara.

The only possible way Barriss could know about this little compressed-steam trick of Ventress’ is through her master. 

Barriss was not there for this fight. Barriss did not see this happen. But Luminara has, out loud, credited Ahsoka for saving her life in this fight—and rightly so, because Ventress came within inches of killing her multiple times during that fight and this was one of them. And Barriss would have to know that. And she just used it against Ahsoka.

In a fight, Luminara is a graceful Lady of War. Barriss Offee, on the other hand, is a stone-cold fucking bitch.

By the time of this arc Barriss is convinced that all of the Jedi have fallen, that they’re all in service to the dark side and just don’t see it, and in a lot of ways she’s right. But the fact is that Barriss Offee herself has fallen to the dark side personally in a way that most individual Jedi have not, and what happens next shows it.

Barrels Offee over here uses the Force to shove a bunch of explosives over the red-hot wounds left by her lightsabers and gets the pyrotechnics she was looking for.

And this is the final turn. Earlier, we noticed Barriss getting a little too into this fight, toying with Ahsoka, taunting her with that unarmed dodging; but she was still focused on her objective, still laying a stage for the most part.

And this is it. This is the objective.

By creating that explosion, she caught the attention of local authorities. There will be witnesses any moment now who will see her, wearing Ventress’ mask and holding Ventress’ lightsabers, standing in a munitions factory that Letta Turmond can be tied to. Ahsoka will testify that she went to investigate and Ventress came from behind to kill her, and suddenly everything will make sense.

Ahsoka...is out of the fight. She’s barely stirring, she’s not getting up. She doesn’t even have the strength to lift that sheet of metal; the only reason she’s able to BARELY get onto her hands and knees is that Barriss uses the Force to lift it off her.

Barriss got what she wanted.

And then she keeps going.

This is Barriss in the FULL grip of the Darkside Tango over here. She’s angry and scared and angry and something about that explosion was cathartic, and this is the point where the duel takes a sharp turn. Something...has changed, about Barriss’ demeanor, here.

She doesn’t appear to be thinking anymore.

This is the point at which this fight is...honestly, just hard to watch. It’s a beatdown. Barriss is now hurting Ahsoka on purpose, and for no other reason than to hurt her. She puts her ALL behind flinging a ragdolling, half-conscious Ahsoka into the wall so hard it shakes some of the steel loose. It’s brutal, and Barriss’ body language is cold and confident the whole time.

She is completely lost in the sauce on the Dark Side at this point.

The absolute worst thing from here on in is the way Ahsoka just…Keeps. Getting. Up.

She can barely stand at this point. She’s got her saber up trying to hold a guard position and she physically can’t. This is legitimately the worst Ahsoka’s ever gotten beaten in a fight in her life, and she knows it. She’s staggering. Her eyes aren’t even fully in focus.

Barriss doesn’t bother with actually fighting, because she doesn’t need to. She hits Ahsoka with a casual Force push to knock her back off her feet, and Ahsoka just cringes in anticipation of it because she knows she can’t defend herself properly.

And then there goes her lightsaber, tumbling over the edge, and she never holds it again until the Siege of Mandalore. That Weapon Is Her Life, and we never see it in its current form again.

And Ahsoka GETS UP AGAIN.

Ladies and gentlemen, our hero.

She is DOWN. She’s dead on her feet, she can’t even walk; she just sort of stumbles across the floor with her own momentum. But she is still SOMEHOW trying to square off with “Ventress.”

And this, right here? This is how we know exactly what Barriss’ mindset is right now, because Ahsoka never gives up. She just doesn’t. She’s the biggest cockroach in a universe containing Darth “Just A Flesh Wound” Maul. Ahsoka doesn’t just lie down and accept her fate. She doesn’t just let people win.

And Barriss...has.

There’s a viciousness in the way she ends this fight. Like, it’s Barriss—all of her fights are a little bit vicious. She is a BITCH when the chips are down. But this is...vindictive. From the moment Ahsoka trembles to her hands and knees after that explosion, the overwhelming cold cruelty Barriss shows from that moment until she spin-kicks Ahsoka down like two and a half stories of broken slats onto solid concrete is raw, bitter:

Will you just STAY DOWN for once in your FUCKING life?!

And we want to take a moment to give Ahsoka the dignity of acknowledging that she still doesn’t.

And then the GAR shows up, and Barriss really shows her true colors. Because the moment she hears Republic forces arriving...

Barriss runs.

We worry sometimes that because Barriss is our favorite character, people will think that means we think she’s justified in her actual actions in this arc, or that her worst actions are somehow not her fault. But let us be very clear: Barriss Offee fucked up royal and is entirely responsible for that. 

The fact that it’s very clear she didn’t come into this fight with intent to kill, the fact that her actions are calculated to clear Ahsoka’s name, is the FURTHEST thing from absolution. Even as she tries to find a solution throughout this episode, it all stems from her original decision to frame Ahsoka for Letta’s murder rather than let Letta spill the beans. There’s a very, very simple solution to this mess, a simple way to clear Ahsoka’s name and make amends for the attack that Barriss regretted almost the moment it happened. But she consistently refuses to even consider it as an option.

Barriss Offee does not want to face the consequences of her actions.

She came into this to fix things, but when push comes to shove—she wants to save her own life. She wants to be a radical dissenter and still get to be the Jedi Padawan poster girl, and the security that comes with it. She doesn’t stick around to make sure she’s seen by witnesses because as evidenced by that brutal beatdown, she’s...stopped caring, that much. She doesn’t value Ahsoka’s life enough to risk her own anymore.

So when this fails, when the clones don’t see her and there’s no evidence to back up Ahsoka’s story that Ventress was the one behind it, when three words from Barriss would save her from a death she doesn’t deserve, Barriss says absolutely nothing until she’s compelled at lightsaber-point.

At the end of the day, this whole elaborate deception was only ever about one thing, and it wasn’t Ahsoka. It was the fact that Barriss Offee doesn’t want to get caught.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies: Chapter Three

Okaaaay I am so fucking sorry it's been awhile, you guys. But you're not here for my life story and personal bullshit, I'm sure (though please do feel free to ask). So here's chapter three. Enjoy... I hope?

Thank you, as always, to @edward-or-ford for being an excellent beta!

Chapter Three: Sex on the Brain Feel you under my skin; middle of the night, wonder if you feel it, too.- All Time Low, Trouble Is

There was a warm body atop Mabel’s, and lips pressed against hers. There were hands grasping her breasts, then one of them traveled down between her legs.

“Mabel,” gasped a voice as the lips traveled down her neck. A pleasant voice. Deep, but not alarmingly so. It was soothing, familiar. Comforting and arousing all at the same time.

One hand pinched her nipple while the other stroked her, and she gasped out quietly.

When she opened her eyes, Dipper leaned down to kiss her again, and-

Mabel woke with a start, disorientated. Her eyes flitted around the dark room, and she remembered she was at Candy’s. Recognizing Grenda’s sleeping form on the floor and Candy’s even breaths beside her, Mabel sighed quietly.

Well. That was certainly disappointing. Those types of dreams were the worst because she hated waking up from them.

She hadn’t always had so many sex dreams. It was a recent development. And frankly, she wasn’t a fan. Yeah, Dipper was sexy, but like. She knew that already. She didn’t need her subconscious waving a big ol’ flag with “REMEMBER HOW SEXY YOUR BRO IS?” emblazoned on it. She could do without that, thanks ever so much.

It was half an hour before she managed to fall back asleep. She definitely didn’t fill her friends in on the details the next day, even though she probably would’ve if the dream had been about literally anybody except her twin brother.

She was quite sure that when Grenda and Candy thought of “sexy” vibes in relation to Mabel, Dipper was the last person on the face of the earth who might be considered for such things.

————

The following morning, Mabel tried her absolute hardest to seem as normal as she possibly could. Y’know, talk without changes in her voice or tone or speech pattern. Gesticulate some but not too much. Talk about non-Dipper things. Definitely not because Mabel was having a great deal of difficulty thinking about anything but Dipper and what his lips and hands and teeth (oh god his teeth) would feel like on various parts of her body. That had zero to do with it.

Of course, normal for Mabel was… odd for other people, to say the least. And that suited her just fine. Really, it did. She rather liked it that way, actually. Normal people were kinda lame.

Still, there were, of course, some aspects of Mabel’s life that she sometimes wished were a bit more normal, she pondered as she brushed her hair in the bathroom mirror. Not entirely, just a bit. She wished she didn’t have to live separately from her sibling. She wished she’d found her soulmate the same way as everyone else rather than having it be a big mystery.

But most all, she wished she’d never developed these stupid feelings for Dipper. They really were stupid. Who gets feelings for their twin, anyway? Like, where did that even come from?

When Mabel thinks of the word “incest”, she pictures royal families trying to keep the bloodlines pure and stereotypical hillbillies and rednecks. What she did not picture was a modern day middle class Californian teenager.

Not that it had gotten to incest levels, of course. Obviously not. In order for anything to happen, Dipper would have to return her feelings, which he decidedly did not. Why would he?

You’re the weirdo, she reminded herself as she set her hairbrush down.

Well. It is what it is, she supposed. No reason to dwell on it.

And on that note, Mabel skipped out of the bathroom, doing a rather excellent job of pretending she was definitely not dwelling on her romantic-but-very-much-unrequited love for her brother.

Not even a little.

————

They didn’t ride in the same car. Of course they didn’t. They never did. She knew, intellectually speaking, that her and Dipper couldn’t be in the same car for the half hour drive from Candy’s to the mountains. Even five minute drives, though, her parents refused.

“What if you get stuck in traffic?” They’d demand whenever she asked if just once, Dipper could take her in his car. It didn’t seem to make a difference that the odds of a traffic jam in a town as small as Gravity Falls were minuscule at best. Eventually, she stopped asking, stopped trying to reason with them.

She wished she could text him during the drive. She couldn’t stop staring at his last message. She didn’t mean to, it was just that she sometimes got into these moods where whenever she stopped looking at his texts, she’d immediately get the irresistible urge to look at them again, even if she knew full well that all she’d see was the fifteen minute old see you in a bit.

Mabel felt bad about the whole thing sometimes. It wasn’t that she’d meant to fall in love. She truly hadn’t. But… Dipper was just so goddamn sweet. He was considerate and kind and he always asked about her day. And when she told him, he actually listened! None of the guys at her school ever did that. They just stared at her boobs while she talked.

It was suuuuuuuper guilt-inducing, though. Like, somewhere near her (it had to be near her or she’d have been going through withdrawal symptoms all her life) was her soulmate. Emotionally healthy people developed crushes on their soulmates even before they turned seventeen and felt the pull.

Evidently, Mabel wasn’t an emotionally healthy person. She’d developed a crush on her twin brother. And then it had developed into this suffocating, desperate, agonizing, all-encompassing consuming love and adoration that she just couldn’t seem to shake.

It was hard not to see him, she mused as she stared at her phone (still black because he hadn’t texted her, obviously; get a grip, Mabel). But then, it was just as hard to actually see him. The urge to touch him was even worse lately.

Sighing and leaning back in her seat, Mabel stared out the window.

She completely missed her father’s solemn gaze flickering to her briefly in the rear view mirror.

————

Mabel liked visiting Gravity Falls in the winter. She probably wouldn’t get to see snow otherwise. It was beautiful.

It had snowed in the mountains the night before, and there was frost on the ground and snow on the tops of the trees, the sun bouncing off them and making them shine. The cold air bit her face when she opened the car door, but Dipper’s smile in her direction as he stepped out of his own beat-up sedan made her forget about everything else.

Buzz buzz buzz, said the bees.

Mabel resisted the urge to dance when she saw him.

Or slap her stomach a few times. Maybe the sting of it would numb the stupid fucking bees and their stupid fucking buzzing, for god’s sake, would you shut up already-

She did neither, however (good job, Mabel girl!), instead opting for a definitely-not-nervous-in-the-slightest-so-just-shut-your-mouth smile.

“Why hello, Sir Dippingsauce!” She ambled over to him, telling herself she was doing an excellent job of not being awkward.

How long did she have to keep that up for again? A week? That was… that was fine. She could do a week. She could totally do a week, no problemo (Note: Mabel could not do a week. She could possibly do 2.5 days, and even that was most certainly pushing it, but to suggest as much is incredibly rude, as Mabel was doing her very best to make her mind into a 100% Doubt-Free Zone™).

He put an arm across his stomach, the other rigid at his side, and bowed deeply at the waist with a decidedly snooty expression on his too-attractive-to-be-legal face. “Lady Mabelton,” he greeted. “I trust your carriage ride was pleasant?”

“Indeed, milord. You may rise,” she lifted her hand in a dainty gesture, her nose (which was red from the cold) in the air. He did, grinning. “So, what d’you have planned for me n’ the ‘rents today?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Just a fun little nature walk, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

Mabel shot him double finger guns. “Coolio, bro-lio.”

Their parents were just climbing out of the car. They always took forever. Why did people over the age of twenty-eight always take forever to emerge from a vehicle?

Mabel fiddled with the empty space her right forefinger left in gloves she wore. Gloves were always too big for her as far as finger-length went.

“Soooooo…” she drawled as her parents rounded their car. “Lesgo!”

Running off in a totally random direction, she skidded to a halt at the edge of a clearing. “Yeeeah… might wanna let me lead the way, Mabes. I know my way around pretty well, since I... y’know... live here,” Dipper said with another one of those heart-stopping grins.

Ugh.

Suddenly feeling tremendously uncomfortable again, Mabel laughed awkwardly. “Indeed you do, bro-bro. Indeed you do.” Chill chill chill it’s fine, it’s fine, totally fine up in here.

Dipper walked around Mabel and started down a winding gravel path, definitely neglecting to give her anything that could remotely be classified as “enough space to not have a heart attack”. She followed behind him after several seconds, trying very hard not to stare at his butt.

Again. Dammit.

Mrs. Pines even scolded him a bit. “Careful not touch your sister, Dipper!”

Her voice carried through the trees, and Dipper called out a quick, “kay,” over his shoulder before continuing on. It had been perhaps five minutes. Ten, maybe? Who knew? Time lost meaning when she stared at Dipper too long, and he was walking directly ahead of her. Besides, she had to pay attention to where he was going! She couldn’t really be blamed for staring at him, right?

The path widened significantly after awhile, allowing Dipper to fall back a bit, frosted gravel crunching beneath his sneakers.

“Is it okay if we walk ahead of you, Dipper?” Mr. Pines asked. “Your mother and I would like to look at the scenery a bit more clearly than we can behind you and your sister.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty straightforward from here.”

Mr. and Mrs. Pines smiled at him and stepped around him, Mr. Pines patting Dipper’s shoulder affectionately as he walked past.

Dipper fell into step beside Mabel, walking in silence. Mabel inspected her shoes. Some of the frost had gotten on the rhinestones she’d glued to them.

Glancing up in front of her after several minutes, she noticed that their parents had gotten further and further away, far out of earshot.

For the first time in as long as Mabel could remember, they didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to her and Dipper’s interactions.

Blushing furiously at the very idea of being alone with her twin, she looked down at her shoes again. Thank god for the cold. Nobody would question her red face in the cold.

“So,” Dipper said haltingly. Mabel’s head whipped up to face him, her eyes wide. She hadn’t really been expecting him to actually speak, but then she couldn’t very well have not expected it, either. It had just… never occurred to her that he might.

“So?” Mabel said back. Don’t be awkward don’t be awkward don’t be awkward-

“Well, there’s this… thing.”

“Very specific,” Mabel nodded indulgently. “Say no more, brother dear. I know of what you speak.”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Y-you do?” He stuttered.

Mabel snorted. “Uh, no. Doi. Why would I know?”

He blinked at her. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Guess you… probably wouldn’t, huh?” He looked away and muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” She asked, pushing her hair back behind the ear closest to him, some of the strands catching on her glove.

“Oh, uh. Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Mm...kay?” When he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at her, she spoke up again. “What were you gonna tell me?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah. That. Right.”

“Right. That,” Mabel agreed with a nod, as if she had the slightest idea what he was talking about (note: she did not, in fact, have the slightest idea what he was talking about).

“So, there’s this thing,” Dipper said again.

“Right,” Mabel repeated.

“This thing… that I’ve been kinda meaning to tell you for… well,” he laughed hoarsely. She’d never heard him laugh like that before. “For a few years, actually.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Errhm. Okay. What is it?”

“Okay, so it’s like this,” he started, then stopped and looked up at the sky. “Why me?” He muttered, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him again.

“Okay, Dip, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

He sighed and stopped walking. So did she. His eyes were closed, which was probably a good thing because they really were terribly distracting and whatever he had to tell her seemed pretty important. He turned his face to her again, opening them, something… different in them. Something she’d never seen before. Something she didn’t recognize.

Something urgent and terrifying and nerve-wracking in a way she didn’t entirely understand, and then-

“Kids!” Her dad called out, both parents jogging over to them. Well, okay, it was more like running. Why would they be running? They hadn’t been that far behind, yeesh.

“Shit,” Dipper muttered again, and Mabel turned to him in surprise. He’d tried to talk to her before, too. Before she’d left for Candy’s. Why? What was going on? Was he sick? If he was sick, why couldn’t he tell their parents? Oh god, what if he’d gotten an STD? What if he’d gotten somebody pregnant? No, wait, pregnancy didn’t last “a few years”, which he had said very clearly, so not that. Oh, fuckity fucking fuck, what if he’d found his soulmate?

“What’re you guys talkin’ about?” Their mom asked with a smile that was a bit too tight and didn’t reach her eyes.

Dipper shrugged. “School and whatnot. Just catching up.”

Mabel didn’t understand why he was lying, but, well. Mabel Pines ain’t no snitch, so she nodded and said, “yeppers yeppers Johnny Deppers! The usual, y’know.”

Mr. Pines inclined his head. Mrs. Pines was clasping his hand.

Her knuckles were white.

Their parents didn’t let their children out of their sight for the remainder of the hike.

Mabel could barely speak. She couldn’t even think much of anything.

What if he’d found his soulmate?

The bees never shut up, either.

[ssfghfrrggf]

Down is Faster than Up Chapter 4/ the final chapter

“Hey! Look who’s back!” Herrmann cries, as his gaze meets Stella’s

She’s greeted with whoops and cheers from everyone else as she walks into the common room for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s picked up her fair share of shifts at Molly’s the last week or so, but it still feels like it’s been forever since she’s seen everyone; it’s different seeing everyone at Molly’s than it is seeing them here at the house.

“How are you feeling Momma?” Mouch asks, standing up to give her hug.

“Good as new and ready to be driving 81 again,” she says cheerfully and hugs Mouch back.

“Aw! Right off the bat she’s reestablishing her dominance!” Casey jokes from where he’s standing next to the counter sipping his morning cup of coffee.

“You’re sure I can’t drive one last shift?” Mouch asks, his tone playful and teasing.

“You’ve had a month and a half to drive that thing, I’m taking my seat back,” Stella laughs. She’s missed the swing of things, driving the truck, the banter with the crew… all of it.

“Are you sure you still know how to drive?” Gallo asks, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Excuse me, what’d you say candidate?” Stella says and puts her hands on her hips.

“Nah-ah-ah. Not candidate anymore, old lady,” Gallo replies, grinning from ear to ear.

“You wanna repeat what you just said?” Stella demands, pinning him down with a playful glare, and making a side mental note to congratulate him on completing his candidacy.

“Why? Did you forget your hearing aides?” Gallo asks, with a victorious smirk.

“Nah, it all sounded like gibberish baby talk to me. Little baby Andy can form better words than you,” Stella retorts, and Gallo opens and closes his mouth a few times trying to find some witty clap back. Ritter gives him a comforting pat on the back.

“It’s okay man, no one wins against Stella with these things,” Ritter says quietly, and hands his friend a cup of coffee. “Drink this.”

“That’s right,” Stella gloats. “Drink the bitter taste of defeat.”

“Alright,” Casey says, chuckling to himself. “How are you?”

“100%, Captain,” Stella replies. “The doctor gave me the all clear and I’m ready for full duty. I got the paperwork in my bag.”

“How’s Severide?” Cruz asks hopefully. She can’t help but wonder if he’s been the acting lieutenant this whole time; she knows everyone here, except probably Matt and Sylvie, are expecting Kelly to make a push to come back, but she’s pretty sure he won’t. He seems pretty committed to the idea of being a stay at home dad, which after everything that happened she’s more than okay with. She’s just sure if he’ll really be happy; he’s not a sit around and doing nothing all day kind of guy.

“He’s walking on his own two feet again,” she reports. “The physical therapist is impressed with how quickly he’s turning it around.”

“Any idea when he’s coming back?” Capp asks. “We miss having him around.”

“Not really sure, guys. He’s still got a lot of recovering to do, and not just physically,” Stella replies. There’s times she worries about him; what happened to him produced a real shock to his system.

“You have paperwork to give to Boden, right?” Casey asks, interrupting the conversation about Kelly.

“Yes, I do,” Stella replies, grateful for the shift in discussion. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay on that conversation path without accidentally saying something about Kelly thinking about retirement.

“Let’s go get it filed and make sure he knows you’re here.”

“Thanks for the save, Casey,” Stella says once their a little ways down the hallway.

“He’s still thinking he’s not going to come back?” Casey asks, sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, he really hasn’t even talked about doing any of this physical therapy so he can come back here, it’s all just for Andy and being able to do things with him,” Stella replies with a smile. She’s always known Kelly would be a good dad, but she never really imagined he’d give up squad for it. Thinking about him retiring is a bitter sweet thought, she’ll miss him being at work with her, but knowing he’s safe at home is more than she’d ever even let herself hope for.

“You don’t think he’ll get bored?” Casey asks as they reach Boden’s door.

“I’m really not sure. He seems content right now,” She says before opening the door to the chief’s office.

A look of pure joy floods across the battalion chief’s face as she opens the door, and he stands up grinning ear to ear. “Kidd! I thought I smelled something stinking up my house!”

“Happy to see you, too chief,” Stella replies with a laugh and offers him a hand shake. He skips her hand and goes straight for a hug instead. After a couple seconds he pulls away and straightens himself up.

“I’m glad you’re back. The house isn’t the same without you around,” he says clearing his throat. “The place wasn’t the same without you around.”

“Glad to be back, sir,” Stella replies and hands him her papers. “And I’m cleared for full duty, here’s all the paperwork.”

“You’re feeling ready to be back?” Boden asks, thumbing through the papers. “There’s no rush. You’re spot on 81 is safe, if you want to take a few more weeks.”

“Top of my game chief,” Stella reports confidently.

Boden looks from her to Casey and nods. “What’s the word on Kelly?”

Stella glances sideways at Casey who nods and closes the door.

“He’s not sure if he’s coming back,” Stella says, clearing her throat. Kelly had given her permission to tell Boden if he asked. “And he’d like for that to stay between the three of us until he decides for sure.”

The chief nods understandingly. “I never thought Kelly Severide would retire before me. How serious is he?”

“He seems to mean it, at least right now. There’s no saying he won’t get bored down the line and want back in; but this was a real reality check for him, chief,” Stella replies. It was a reality check for both of them. “He wants to make sure he’s around for Andy.”

“Tell him to take all the time he needs, and that no matter what he decides he’s always welcome here, and that 51 is his family.”

“I will, chief. Thank you,” Stella replies, and Boden looks like he’s about to say more, but the bell rings and interrupts him. Stella can’t help but smile a little, everything works exactly the way it used to.

***

Severide can’t remember the last time he saw the station empty; it’s strange and unnatural walking into the station and finding the bay empty and the squad table desolate. 

“Well, Andy, we were going to say hi to mom at work,” Kelly says adjusting his son’s position in his arms, as he turns taking in the empty apparatus floor. It makes him nervous and antsy, like he shouldn’t be here like he should be out on the call with the rest of 51. It also makes him nervous for Stella, whatever call they’re out on, it’s a big one if everyone is out of the house. “Guess we’ll have to do a tour instead.”

He casts one last glance over his shoulder at the empty bay before letting himself inside the main building. The only sounds inside are the noise of air coming in through the ceiling vents and the sound of the TV still playing in the common room. Kelly sighs and makes his way to the couch; he’s half tempted to turn back around and go to the squad table, but the thought of doing that feels wrong somehow. If he’s quitting, then it’s not really his squad table anymore… just like this won’t really be his house anymore- his home away from home. Out of respect, he doesn’t sit in Mouch’s spot on the couch even though the old firefighter isn’t there.

He’d always imagined becoming an old firefighter in this house, hoped for it really. It had always seemed so right, but now he’s not sure. Everything has changed so much for him so fast; being a firefighter was all he’d ever wanted, but now he’s a dad and it seems to be the only thing he wants now.

It’s not long before the sound of the trucks pulling back into the station startles Kelly out of his thoughts and brings him back to reality.

“Now that’s not a sight I ever thought I’d see,” Mouch says coming into the common room shaking his head happily. “Kelly Severide with a kid.”

“What are you talking about?” Herrmann declares with a mischievous tone his voice. “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner with the amount of-”

Mouch cuts him off with a scolding glare and Herrmann just shrugs innocently.

“You wanna hold him?” Kelly offers, ignoring Herrmann’s comment.

“Of course I do!” Herrmann says reaching out his hands to take Andy. “Come’er big guy!”

“Hey! Lieutenant!” Cruz dealers gleefully, obviously thrilled to see him, as he comes through the door followed by Casey, Gallo, Ritter, and finally, Stella.

“See, I knew you couldn’t survive more than a couple hours without me,” Stella teases lovingly and scoots past Cruz to get to him.

“No, I just knew you couldn’t survive a couple hours without me and Andy, so i decided to come down to the house,” Kelly replies softly as Stella wraps her arms around him and rests her chin on his shoulder. He didn’t realize until now how much he really needed the hug from her.

“So when are you planning on making your triumphant return?” Cruz asks, walking over to the counter to retrieve an apple.

“Yeah, the house really isn’t the same without you around,” Herrmann adds, bouncing Andy gently on his hip.

Kelly pulls himself out of Stella’s hug and rests his arm over her shoulder as he looks around the room. For the longest time, this place was home, the single balanced constant in his life, and in many ways it always will be. And all these people are his family. It feels wrong to walk away from it, but in many ways it also seems so right. He glances to Stella, who sadly doesn’t hold the answers he’s looking for only the key to his heart, she and Andy are the only things he needs.

“I don’t think I am, Cruz,” Severide finally says. Telling them he’s not sure would’ve been easier, but they’re his family and they all deserve to know the truth. There’s a shocked silence. “I haven’t decided anything for sure yet, but I almost died before getting to meet my kid so it gave me a lot to think about. I don’t want to miss a second of watching him grow up.”

Herrmann is the first one to break the leftover silence after Severide finishes his explanation, and he has a big smile on his face as he does so. “I never thought you’d retire before me and Mouch. And I feel inclined to talk you out of this because you’re the best damn firefighter I’ve ever seen, but I’m not gonna. If it’s what you feel the need to do for your kid, then you go right on ahead and do it. We’ll all have your back no matter what you decide. Besides, looking at this cute little face, I can’t say I blame you.”

“I’ll drink a toast to that after shift!” Mouch agrees and gives Kelly a pat on the shoulder. “Retirement with a nice family is the best thing you can hope for in this job. We’re happy for you.”

Cruz still looks stunned and confused, but he nods his head in agreement. “You do what you have to do lieutenant.”

“Thanks man,” Kelly says and gives him a firm handshake. If he decides to go through with this, after all, he’ll have to recommend Cruz for a promotion to lieutenant. He can’t think of any better hands to leave squad three in.

Then he looks across the room to Casey, who gives him a simple affirming head nod. It's a simple gesture, but it says everything that needs to be said as they reach a silent understanding. A long time ago he, Casey, and Darden had joked about running the house together someday; one of them as chief and the others as captains, and then eventually retiring together. They were young, dreams were dreams, and ambition was everything. Then things had changed. Darden had died. Sev had still hung onto the idea of running the place with Casey someday, and he’s pretty sure Casey did too. But there are some things worth letting go of ambition for. Family is definitely one of those things, and Casey understands that.

[chocolatequeennk]

The Full Christmas Experience, 1/3

The Doctor and Rose are on their way back to London to celebrate Christmas with Jackie. But they make a few stops along the way...

Ten x Rose, post Doomsday fixit, telepathic bond

This is part of True Things, and comes after Lesson Learned

This is for @doctorroseprompts​ 31 Days of Ficmas. This is for Day 3: Shopping.

AO3 | FF.NET

The Doctor moved slowly around the console, shifting each dial deliberately. Rose rolled her eyes; he was purposely stalling, and they both knew it.

Still… She stuck her tongue out slightly while she thought.

“You know what?” she asked, after making up her mind.

The Doctor looked at her hopefully, his hand stopped in midair halfway to the dematerialisation lever.

“There’s one thing we’ve forgotten—presents!”

He blinked owlishly at her. “Presents?”

Rose bit her cheek to hold back her laughter. “Yeah. I mean, if we’re gonna go to Mum’s for Christmas, we should bring presents, shouldn’t we?”

The Doctor stared at her for a few more seconds, then his face brightened and he spun away from the lever, moving back to the navigation controls.

“Right you are, Rose Tyler! And if we need Christmas presents, there’s really only one place to go: the holiday market on Noel.”

“Noel.”

“Yep!”

“There’s a planet named Christmas?”

“Well yes, but we’re going to Noel. We can visit Christmas next year.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “All right, fine. Tell me more about Noel,” she said.

The Doctor finished setting their new coordinates and then shoved the lever into place. Holiday music started playing as the TARDIS shifted into the Vortex.

“Noel was settled in the 34th century.” He hopped up on the jump seat with Rose and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “A group of human explorers landed on Christmas Day, and for some reason beknownst only to them, they decided to name it after the date.”

“Like Easter Island,” Rose interjected.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Anyway, they didn’t really intend to become a holiday destination, but with a name like that, it’s hard to avoid. Eventually, after two centuries, they quit fighting the inevitable. Now, the entire planet becomes a massive Christmas market during the winter.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Unless their star system is different than ours, the entire planet doesn’t experience winter at the same time,” she pointed out.”

He rolled his eyes. “All right, fine. The main city on the main continent becomes a massive Christmas market during the winter months.” He huffed. “That just doesn’t sound nearly as dramatic.”

Rose laughed, just as the TARDIS wheezed and dropped them onto Noel with a gentle thud. “Come on, I think this is going to plenty impressive, even if it isn’t a planet-wide market.”

She hopped off the seat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. The Doctor darted past her and opened the door for her.

Rose started smiling when she heard the merry strains of Christmas music floating into the console room. She jogged up the ramp and stopped stock still at the door.

The entire city looked like something out of a fairy tale. There were hints of a modern society if you knew where to look—hover carts, etc—but the buildings and the streets looked incredible.

Garland was strung between the buildings on the narrow street. A light dusting of snow covered the cobblestones, and the sun shone down on it, making everything glisten.

A familiar scent teased her nose, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Smells like cinnamon and clove,” she said, without opening her eyes.

“And apple and roasted chestnuts and mulled wine.”

Rose opened her eyes and looked at the Doctor, taking in the broad grin on his face and the way he bounced on his toes. “You think you’re so impressive,” she teased.

The Doctor had to swallow a giggle, he was feeling so giddy. He rocked back on his heels, his hands in his coat pockets. “I mean… I did bring you to the perfect Christmas market,” he said nonchalantly. “I think that’s a little impressive.”

Rose closed the door and walked towards him, her tongue teasing him from behind her teeth. He watched her, holding still as she placed her hands on the lapels of his coat.

“Maybe a little,” she allowed. “So… what’s next, Doctor?”

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her close. A Christmas kiss, to start the day? he suggested as he bumped his nose against hers. She giggled, and he quickly shifted and pressed his lips to hers.

Rose leaned into him for a moment, but too soon for his taste, she pulled back, ending the kiss. “Come on,” she said. “We can find mistletoe later and continue. Right now I want to find out what smells so good.”

The Doctor took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Excellent idea,” he agreed.

He watched Rose as they walked down the narrow street. She’d been impressed by her first sight of Noel, but she had yet to see the true beauty of the market.

Rose’s eyes widened as they stepped out into the open town plaza. The space was as large as Trafalgar Square, and it was absolutely packed with holiday booths and people doing their holiday shopping.

An enormous tree stood in the centre of the market, its boughs decorated with red garland and gold bows. High on top sat a star that lit up the square every night.

On the town hall stairs, a small group of carollers were singing. Shoppers rushed by, but no matter how hurried they were, every one of them stopped to drop a few coins in the bucket placed on the street in front of them.

“Doctor, this is…” Rose turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.

The Doctor let her soak it in, then tugged on her hand. “Come on, food is this way.”

They followed their noses and were very soon standing in line at a concessions booth selling pastries.

Soon they were walking away from the stand, pastries in hand. “This is amazing,” Rose said around a mouthful of food. “Is it apple, or something like apple?”

The Doctor took a bite of his own pumpkin scone and hummed before answering. “Close enough to not make a difference,” he answered once he’d swallowed.

While they ate their pastries, they did a full circuit of the market. The Doctor was surprised when Rose grabbed his hand and pulled him in a very determined direction as soon as their pastries were done.

“Come on,” she told him, sensing his confusion. “I saw some places I wanna check out.”

He understood then; Rose had paid attention to the shops and booths as they’d walked and made a mental map of the path she wanted to take.

The market was busy, but Rose wove her way in and out of the crowd, intent on returning to the clothing booth she’d spotted. Several sellers tried to catch her attention, but she didn’t stop.

“I thought we might find something for Mum here,” she told the Doctor when they reached the booth.

The Doctor reached out and touched one of the tops, and nodded approvingly. “Excellent idea.”

“May I ask who you’re buying for?” the vendor asked.

Rose smiled at her. “I need a Christmas present for my mum. Do you have anything that might be especially appropriate for someone living in a city where it rains all the time?”

The seller brightened. “Of course!” She walked straight to a rack of jackets and coats. “These are all 100% waterproof,” she told them.

“Oh!” Rose walked over and looked at the jackets. “They’re pretty, too.”

“Thank you. My family makes them.”

Rose felt the Doctor come up behind her. He reached around her and touched one of the jackets. “Is it rezista?” he asked.

“Yes, it is.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “You’re more familiar with our native fibres than most visitors.”

The Doctor flashed her a winning smile. “Well, when a world has a truly waterproof fabric, that’s pretty appealing to travellers,” he pointed out.

Rose tuned them out for the most part, browsing through the rack of jackets looking for one she thought Jackie would like. There were some that appealed to her, with sleek, slim lines etc etc. But she knew her mum—if she offered anything with a style too different from her own, Jackie would get upset and think she was trying to change her.

When she got to the last item on the rack and still hadn’t found anything she thought Jackie would like, she sighed. The shopkeeper, attuned to the sound of a disappointed customer, turned immediately.

“I have a few other items that I haven’t put out, plus some of last year’s items that didn’t sell,” she said. “Would you like to see those?”

Rose bit her lip. There was nothing on this rack to indicate that the shop had anything that would appeal to Jackie, but she really didn’t want to walk away empty handed.

“Yeah, all right.”

The woman nodded and hurried to the back of the booth. Meanwhile, the Doctor moved closer and wrapped an arm loosely around her waist.

Nothing that you think Jackie would like? He asked.

Nah, everything so far would make her rant about airs and graces again, and how living on the Estate was always good enough before and why did we need to change?

The Doctor grimaced; he’d overheard that argument more than once since meeting Rose. It never made any sense to him that a parent wouldn’t want their child to have a better life than they’d had. But, he supposed it was the implication that the old life hadn’t been good enough that grated.

He felt Rose tense slightly when the saleslady came back with an armful of coats. “Here we are,” she said, draping them over her table.

The Doctor and Rose both spotted the right one immediately.

“That one,” he said, pointing to the puffy jacket.

“Yeah, definitely,” Rose agreed.

The woman smiled. “I can give you a discount on this coat,” she said. “This is the one I spoke of, the style we tried last year that no one seemed to be interested in.” She set the coat aside. “Is there anything else you would like?”

Despite knowing it was a sales tactic, the Doctor still felt interested in looking around the shop some more. The benevolent gesture of the discount had done its work once again.

“What about you, love?” He gestured at the coat and warm tops. “You don’t really have a good coat to wear in the rain.”

Rose rolled her eyes. A raincoat would be more helpful if we knew it was going to be raining when we left the TARDIS, she pointed out.

The Doctor tugged on his ear. It was true that most times when they got caught in bad weather, it was because their landing had gone a bit south. Or north, or early, or late… Anyway. If they landed when he expected, they rarely ran into foul weather.

Still…

I can keep it in my coat pocket, he reminded her. Stashed away for a rainy day.

Rose rolled her eyes again at his ridiculous pun, but she did move back to the first rack of jackets. The Doctor wasn’t surprised when she pulled one out without needing to browse the rack again. The deep blue, knee length coat had caught her eyes when she’d looked the first time.

“We’ll take these,” he told the shopkeeper, handing over their credit stick.

Two minutes later, they were leaving the shop with a bulky package in hand. Without needing to consult each other, they wordlessly went back to the TARDIS to drop them off.

“All right, what’s next?” Rose asked the Doctor.

“Don’t you have other shops you want to check out?” he asked.

“Well yeah, but why don’t we just roam for a bit? See if something catches our eye.” She winked at him. “See if maybe there’s some kind of dangerous alien activity that needs our intervention.”

The Doctor pouted. “This trip has been perfectly—”

Rose slapped her hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his words. “Don’t you dare,” she said, laughter in her words. “Don’t you dare jinx us like that.”

She felt his lips move, but the sound was still muffled. With one more warning glare, she pulled her hand back.

“Fiiiiiine,” he said, with an exaggerated pout. “Let’s go walk through the market and see if we can find any nefarious aliens looking to overturn the holiday fun.”

Rose nodded once, sharply. “Better.”

She slid her hand through the Doctor’s arm as they walked back to the main part of the market. There were a few other booths she wanted to explore, but honestly it was enough to just be here, on this magical planet, exploring it with her Doctor.

The Doctor hummed when he picked up on that thought, and a moment later, he let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist instead, pulling in close.

I love you, he told her as he brushed his lips over her temple.

Love you too.

They stopped in front of the city hall again and watched the new group of musicians. This time, it was a brass ensemble. Thankfully, they weren’t dressed as Santas. Rose didn’t think she could have stood there watching a group of trombone playing Santas.

The Doctor laughed. “Quite right,” he agreed.

She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth. The Santas had brought back another memory from the previous year.

“Could we take Mum a new tree?” she asked. “I mean, she thought we sent her a new tree last year—that’s why she accepted it.”

“And you’re thinking that maybe she’d actually appreciate a new tree?” the Doctor said.

Rose nodded. “She’s had hers since I was… God, I don’t even know. Since I was a kid,” she said. “Maybe she’d like something new.”

The Doctor looked down at her, and Rose bit her lip to hide her excitement. He had a plan.

“Is she set on having an artificial tree, or would she maybe be interested in a real tree?” he asked.

Rose put her hands over her mouth. “We never had a real tree,” she said. “I always wanted one, but we never could.”

He nodded. “There’s a Christmas tree farm outside of town. We can go later this afternoon, or maybe tomorrow if we end up spending the whole day shopping.”

Rose clapped her hands. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Doctor.”

Shouts of laughter drew their attention to the large park that ran along one side of the market square. “Come on,” Rose said, pulling the Doctor in that direction. “That sounds like something I want to be involved in.”

As they wound their way through the park, Rose noticed the wide swaths of pristine snow covering the ground. Tall evergreen trees towered over the park, their branches weighed down with snow.

“It’s like something off one of those old Christmas cards,” she said.

The Doctor nodded. “It’ll nearly be like a picture print by Currier and Ives,” he sang.

“These wonderful things are the things we’ll remember all through our lives,” Rose replied.

The Doctor grinned at her. Despite the cold, his hearts were warm as he walked through the park with his wife. As far as ideas went, this was one of… He paused. One of Rose’s better ones.

They drew to a halt suddenly when a snowball whizzed by them. The Doctor looked around and realised they’d walked right into the middle of a snowball fight.

“Mind if we join in?” he called out.

A second later, a snowball hit him on the shoulder. The buzz of giddy amusement and exhilaration he felt over the bond told him exactly who had thrown it.

“Oh, you will regret that Rose Tyler,” he growled as he spun around.

But Rose wasn’t standing next to him anymore. He spotted her red coat disappearing into the trees and took chase. Snowballs flew through the air all around him, but he ignored the rest of the party.

Another snowball flew out of nowhere, and the Doctor only missed it by ducking and rolling. Rose laughed, and he leapt to his feet and chased after her as she ran from one cover to another.

Rose darted from one tree to another, trying to hold back her breathless laughter. She could feel the constant tug on the bond as the Doctor used it to keep track of where she was. However, that advantage worked both ways, and she was easily able to stay one step ahead of him.

But skulking in the bushes wasn’t really her style. A large snow fort stood on the opposite side of the clearing, and Rose was itching to reach it.

She peered around her tree, looking in both directions. At the same time, she tried to pull back from the bond as much as possible, hoping it would temporarily make it harder for him to find her.

And then she ran. Halfway across the clearing, she heard a familiar shout and footsteps crunching through the snow. She stretched her legs, trying to run just a little bit faster, but about ten feet from the fort, the Doctor slammed into her from the side, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to the ground.

Rose rolled, trying to get out of his hold, but the Doctor rolled with her, pinning her to the ground every time. “Gotcha,” he growled.

The rough voice sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the snow going down her back. “Yeah, you do,” she said breathlessly. “What are you going to do about it?”

The Doctor didn’t need any other invitation. He swooped down and pressed his lips to hers.

Rose sighed and tilted her head, letting him deepen the kiss. It might be cold and wet, but there was still no place she would rather be at that moment than on her back in the snow with the Doctor kissing her.

Finally, though, the jeers of the kids around them penetrated their private world. The Doctor pulled back and smirked down at Rose. “I suppose we’ve given them enough of a show.” He rocked back on his knees, then jumped to his feet.

Rose accepted the hand he offered and let him pull her up. She shivered when the air hit her wet back.

“I wish I was wearing that waterproof coat right now,” she said, rubbing her hands briskly over her arms. “I hate to take time to go change, but I think we need to.”

The Doctor shook his head and twirled his sonic screwdriver around his fingers. “Nah, I can dry us off in a jiffy,” he said.

Rose sighed in relief. “Come on, let’s get out of the way first.”

The Doctor nodded, and they walked away from the main snowball fight back to the path that led around the park. Once they were no longer in danger of being smacked in the face with an errant snowball, he stopped walking and started waving the sonic round her in circles.

“The sonic is creating molecule excitation,” he explained. “The water molecules in your coat are vibrating in tune to the frequency of sonic waves, and that’s causing them to evaporate.”

Rose sighed when he was done. Before he could start waving the sonic over himself, Rose took the device from him. “Like this, yeah?” she said, waving it over him in slow passes.

She was fascinated by the steam rising out of the brown wool coat. “That is amazing,” she murmured.

“Faster than a laundrette,” the Doctor said as he turned around to face her.

Rose laughed and finished drying him off. “Much,” she agreed. The Doctor took the sonic back and offered his hand, and they strolled through the park the way they’d come.

They were almost to the entrance of the park when Rose started shivering. Even though the Doctor had dried them off with the sonic, now that she wasn’t running across the park trying to avoid being hit by a snowball, she could feel how cold it was.

The Doctor pulled her close. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time for some Christmas cheer.”

Rose hummed her agreement. Some kind of hot beverage was exactly what the Doctor ordered at this point.

Thankfully, the beverage stand was one of the few that was completely enclosed. Rose sighed in delight when they stepped out of the cold wind. They still had to wait in line, but even that just gave them a chance to warm up.

“What do you want?” The Doctor pointed at the menu on the wall behind the person selling drinks.

Mulled wine was the first item on the list, and Rose almost selected it without looking further. She kept going though, reading past the various hot chocolates, coffees, and hot toddies.

The last item on the list caught her fancy. “Hot buttered rum,” she told him.

“Ooh, I like that. I haven’t had that in… er, ages,” he said.

Rose giggled. Well done, she told him. Not spouting out that you’re well over a thousand years old.

The Doctor tugged on his ear. “Welllll…” he said.

They finally reached the front of the line, and the Doctor placed their order. A few minutes later, they were walking out of the shop holding steaming mugs of hot buttered rum.

“I like that it comes in a mug,” Rose commented. “It’s like a little souvenir of this trip.”

She brought the mug up to her nose and sniffed. “Smells all warm and rich and spicy,” she said.

The Doctor took a big swallow of his drink and somehow managed to swallow it even though it was still steaming. “It’s delicious,” he said.

Rose grabbed his tie and tugged him down for a kiss. The Doctor flailed slightly, but managed to keep his mug upright while she snogged him thoroughly.

When she stepped back and straightened his tie, he gaped down at her. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Rose looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You had a moustache,” she explained. “I was just helping.” It sounded very innocent, but the way the tip of her tongue showed through her smile suggested otherwise.

The Doctor chuckled. “Well, feel free to kiss anything else off of me.”

It was a sentence that only six months ago would have made them both blush and start stammering explanations. Today, he leaned into the innuendo, using their bond to offer a whole host of suggestions.

Rose sucked in a breath, but somehow managed to speak. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice almost even.

Then she immediately took a sip of her own drink. “Oh, this is divine,” she moaned, licking the foam off her upper lip.

“The perfect thing to warm you up from the inside out,” the Doctor agreed.

The sun was low in the sky as they circled the market another time, drinking their hot buttered rum. There was one kind of shop Rose hadn’t found yet, much to her surprise. Finally, just as the sun was setting, she found it—a large shop specialising in Christmas decorations.

“I wanna get Mum an ornament or something,” she told the Doctor when she slowed to a stop. “Maybe something with the planet name on it? It’d be fun for her to have something that represents our travels, and no one else would bat an eyelash.”

The Doctor agreed, and they ducked into the packed store.

Unlike the first booth, here the salesperson left them alone to browse. Rose felt herself relax. It was a cultural thing, but even after years travelling with the Doctor, she wasn’t used to the overly helpful salesperson.

Left alone to browse, she slowly wandered the store, handing things to the Doctor as she found them.

“This is beautiful,” she said, carefully taking the delicate ornament off the tree. She held it for a moment before she noticed something different. “Doctor?”

He smiled. “Yep! Futuristic snow globes don’t need to be shaken for the snow to… snow. That ornament will constantly show snow falling, whether someone touches it or not.”

“I love it.”

oOoOo

It was dark when they left the shop. The market hadn’t slowed down; if anything the crowds had gotten thicker. “What are they all here for?” she said.

The Doctor took her hand and led her to the edge of the square. “Just watch,” he said.

Rose stared out at the plaza, trying to understand what she was watching for. Then she saw a light. First one, then a second. Then after that, dozens of lights floated up from the square.

“What are they?” Rose whispered.

“Remembrance lanterns,” he said, just as softly. “Every year, the city gathers on the third day of the festival to celebrate those who have been lost in the last year. The families make their own lanterns and bring them to the square on this day. The holiday lights are dimmed, and the lanterns are lit and released to the sky.”

Rose’s breath caught as she watched the spectacle. It was beautiful before; knowing what it symbolised made it absolutely stunning.

“I’m glad I don’t need to let one go,” she said, the words escaping her before she really thought them through. “I could set one off for Mickey, I suppose. It hurt to lose him. But it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as losing Mum would. And…” She bit her lip. “And sometimes I can’t help but remember that we almost lost each other.”

The Doctor shivered and pulled Rose close. The way the timelines had been pulling, trying to get Rose to leave him, he suspected that had been the primary timeline. But they had changed things. Jackie had changed things. And that’s why they could all be together.

“Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

“Happy Christmas, Rose.”

[aros001]

Going in blind: Watching season 4 for the first time. Random thoughts.

I never said anything about it before but I love Shadow Weaver's DCAU Batman eyes. They're so expressive.

Episode 1: Okay...I wasn't expecting Catra to do that. I mean, it makes sense. If she has leverage over Hordak then she's basically in charge of the Horde and that's what she's wanted (or at least believes she wants) since episode 1. It's an aspect that made her a good antagonist, that she's not blind to the evil of the Horde, she just doesn't care as long as she herself is secure. Which naturally begs the question, when the rebellion and the princesses are crushed, when the Horde is on top, when Adora is dead, when Catra finally has everything she's ever wanted...will she actually finally be happy? Somehow, I have my doubts.

I definitely feel for Glimmer in this. When you go through as big a loss as she did you need to be able to feel and vent if you're ever going to get through it. It doesn't have to be right away but everyone doing everything in their power to avoid the topic entirely can make you feel like you're going crazy. It'a especially bad for her since it unintentionally makes it feel like everyone is acting like it doesn't matter that Angela is gone when it clearly means everything to Glimmer.

Episode 2: I actually had a potted cactus plant once. Accidentally forgot about it and left it outside for an entire winter. Once the snow was gone the cactus looked like it had melted.

I kind of want to see what an interaction between Double Trouble and Clayface from the Harley Quinn animated series would look like. I'm guess Catra was just testing how good Double Trouble was as a doppelganger because it doesn't seem like she did anything while Adora was being distracted, though I suppose that could be a reveal in a later episode.

Not much to say except that I love how buff Huntara is while still clearly being a woman. Like, women can have a variety of different body types, as this series and Steven Universe show, and Huntara's build isn't just, like, Bow's body with lipstick and ponytail and the animators calling it a day. No, she looks like a freakin' jacked adult woman.

Episode 3: I didn't figure out the Flutterina = Double Trouble twist until a minute before it was revealed, so good job there. Before that I was wondering if Flutterina was some fan's original character where they won some contest where their OC got to be in the show for an episode. She was giving off some weird self-insert vibes. That twist made it all work though. It's honestly not a bad plan. Shapeshifters haven't really been a thing in the series before now so there's no reason to suspect it. Even if they did they'd probably be expecting it by way of magic or technology, while Double Trouble's seems to be a natural ability.

I like that even though Bow is definitely the goofier one of the trio he is still consistently shown as competent. That's never in question. He was very heroic and reassuring to the villagers this episode. I get why those kids idolize him so much.

Catra's having guilt over what she did with the portal and to Entrapta and her response is basically to just double-down. She doesn't know any other way to be. Not going to lie, I am kind of hoping we get another moment in the show where Adora just completely overwhelms Catra with the sheer power of She-Ra. I'm not saying like brutalize her or anything but just something where Catra is made to realize just how powerful Adora is and that she could just destroy Catra if she had a mind to do so.

Episode 4: Well, I was saying I wanted Adora to do it but I guess I don't mind Glimmer being the one to get some good shots in on Catra. Like I predicted, Shadow Weaver's moving in to become her teacher like she was with her father. Honestly I like that that was more Adora's problem than Glimmer using her as bait, which she seemed to get over pretty quick. Yeah, it was kind of a heartless thing to do but it was an understandable tactic and she clearly outright told Adora that she did it and why afterwards, which at least means she's still being honest.

It occurs to me that Glimmer and Catra may be the ones running parallel right now. Both are basically leading their respective sides of the war. They both have lost someone very important to them. And both are trusting someone they probably shouldn't. Both even have outfits that've been updated in the intro. The difference is Glimmer's just trying to deal with a bad situation while Catra's is entirely self-inflicted.

Minor thing but I like Glimmer's new outfit this season. I'm sure this is the intention but it makes her look older and more mature. A little more muscular in some shots too.

Episode 5: Heart of Etheria project. No idea what that is but assumedly whoever's a part of it doesn't like Light Hope and Mara being friends. Sounds like it's very much interested in She-Ra being just a warrior, and perhaps a tool, for the greater good. It does make me wonder though how much Light Hope remember from when she was rebooting. Even if she deleted the Mara memory she could potentially still have the memory of her and Adora watching the Mara memory, as well as Adora asking to be her friend.

Episode 6: Yep. Scorpia; definitely favorite supporting character. There is something kind of funny about her whole "Scorpions are loyal" line when you remember the story about the Frog and the Scorpion, where it stings the frog despite it meaning death for itself as well simply because that is its nature. But finally we're having someone go save Entrapta, and I can only assume at some point Scorpia's going to access the power of the Black Garnet.

The parallels between Catra and Hordak are definitely at their max here with that speech of hers to him. She's basically trying to convince herself that she doesn't need anyone, the timing of which is appropriate since she just drove away Scorpia and now truly doesn't have anyone. Not that I blame Scorpia, obviously. Like Adora before her, however good you believe someone can be and that you can help them, at some point you just have to cut the toxic people out of your life. You have the right to be happy too.

And man, Bow is just the best. He saw something was wrong between Adora and Glimmer and defused the situation like (snap) that, pushing them to talk like any sane person would.

Episode 7: I'm sure it is just because I've seen way too many TV shows and movies (both animated and live action) that don't do it but it is just such a relief to have a show where the characters just TALK and LISTEN to each other. It doesn't solve all their issues but they're at least not being stupid and freakin' petty. It helps the drama feel a lot less forced and contrived.

Episode 8: A little bit of amusement in Bow thinking at first that Glimmer and Adora didn't even notice he was gone despite them coming to his rescue very shortly afterwards, given Catra is only now realizing Scorpia has left and assumedly she did so a while ago. Bow and Sea Hawk hadn't been gone for that long so it's not unreasonable Glimmer and Adora wouldn't be worried about their absence (Bow was literally talking about "me time" when they last saw him), while Catra is only noticing Scorpia's absence now and it was because she wanted something. Like Scorpia said, she's a bad friend.

Kind of ironic given that a lot of Catra's issues are the direct result of Shadow Weaver giving her very little love growing up but it does seem this tough love is probably what'll get through to Catra the best. She might finally stop making bad decisions and lashing out if she's forced to live with the consequences of them, like Adora told her last season.

Glimmer gets a bit of slack from me since she suffered through a huge loss, that being her mother, and then was immediately thrown into being queen right after. It'd be hard for anyone to be 100% on their game and well-adjusted in a situation like that, and I buy that she was on some level resentful of Adora for coming back instead of her mother, even if unintentionally so. What definitely helps is that Glimmer very clearly and immediately regretted what she said to Adora. Like Catra she's lashing out but unlike Catra Glimmer recognizes some of the damage she's doing and knows, at least in this case, that she went too far.

Episode 9: Now that I can see the design in color I definitely prefer Mara's She-Ra with pants to Adora's She-Ra with shorts. Honestly, while the differences are pretty minor, I do think Mara's She-Ra design is overall a lot better than Adora's. Sharper shoulder guards. Bigger cape (especially the cape, I love capes). I don't know, there's just a lot that clicks with it and I wouldn't mind Adora getting a similar outfit later.

Madam Razz definitely had a Yoda feel this episode. I was very much expecting her to start wacking Mara with a stick over the sugar like Yoda did with R2. Though while that was Yoda acting crazy, for Razz it's because she experiences time out of order, and I don't think I've ever seen that concept taken to this extent, or at least done this way before. There are characters like River Song from Doctor Who, Professor Paradox from Ben 10, or even the Reverse-Flash who interact with other characters in time out of order but those characters are still on a linear path from their own perspective, even when travelling through time. Razz is just bouncing around her own timeline, seemingly not even any real reason or cause to it like Subaru from Re:Zero. Clearly she's not just remembering things oddly because her talk about things of the present are heard by people in the past and have an effect. I wonder if maybe the reason why is because Razz was at ground zero of Mara's actions and this is a side-effect of pulling Etheria away from the rest of the universe.

Bringing more Star Wars into this, it basically sounds like the Heart of Etheria project has turned Etheria into a magic Starkiller Base; storing power that'll be unleashed to destroy whole planets. And jeez, I think this was the first time I really felt creeped out by Light Hope when she was talking to Mara.

I'm looking forward to seeing what it means that the First Ones only made the sword and that Etheria made She-Ra. If that's the case, why is only the sword able to bring out the She-Ra form? Is it like MCU Thor's hammer and the weapon was just meant to help him control the power he already had? Or is what we think is She-Ra not actually She-Ra and that form that Adora and Mara take is just a stand-in for the real thing?

Episode 10: It didn't even occur to me until now but Double Trouble's capture is another blow to Catra's circle of "friends" too. They were at least able to make her laugh. One less person for her to talk to and just...really just distract her from her thoughts.

It's a good dilemma this episode presents about what to do with the Heart of Etheria. The safest and probably best option is to just dismantle it, like Adora and Bow want, since it could easily lead to the destruction of the entire planet if it goes off. Not the mention there's so little they know about it and what it was intended for and the one person who can potentially tell them, Light Hope, they were warned not to trust. But it's not hard to understand where Glimmer is coming from in wanting to use that power to fight the Horde. They're already losing the war and now she knows Hordak Prime and his FAR more powerful forces are on the way. Tapping into the Heart is a huge risk but she's not seeing any other paths for the rebels to win. It's a really good dilemma, with good arguments presented from both sides, and I buy this widening the schism between Adora and Glimmer.

Episode 11: I have mixed feelings on King Micah still being alive. On the one hand there's a lot of good potential interactions we can now have with him, primarily between Glimmer and Shadow Weaver, and he is a fun character. But on the other I can't help but wonder if this kind of lessens the impact of what Angela gave up to overcome the false reality. Part of what made it so emotional was that she had to accept the person she loved was dead and not coming back...except now we see that he wasn't dead and now he is coming back. Yeah, their family lost out on years together and that does still carry some emotional weight but I was already also half-expecting Angela to come back later in the series because she's stuck between dimensions, meaning there's a chance she could still be alive. If both Glimmer's parents come back then that really feels like it takes a lot of weight out of her story. But I guess we'll see what happens.

Also, why did the Horde exile him to Beast Island? Why not just kill him?!

Episode 12: So the Horde exiles Micah to Beast Island instead of killing him. The First Ones protect their secrets by sending their bad tech to Beast Island. Does no one know how to just destroy things in this world?

Ohhh, I am so looking forward to next episode. While it's debatable whether Glimmer should be going through with her plan she is at least being smart with how she's going about it. Double Trouble was being paid by Catra to work for the Horde, not out of any sense of loyalty. Glimmer has the resources of Bright Moon at her disposal so it's reasonable she could pay them more to switch sides. Double Trouble was very good at sabotaging even a group as tight-nit as the heroes, so Hordak and Catra are probably easy pickings with all their issues.

Episode 13: ....WELL THAT AIN'T GOOD!

I'll admit, I had a little bit of an unintended laugh. After all we've heard about Horde Prime, like this shadowy all-powerful monster, I wasn't expecting the fabulous flowing dreadlocks and smoothness. Credit where it's due, man has charisma and charm, which goes a long way in helping your big evil world conqueror not be a very flat character, because it's doubtful he's going to have the same kind of sympathetic motivation as Hordak or complexity as Catra to keep him elevated.

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Double Trouble kicking at Catra while she's down. Adora and Scorpia were honest but they never wanted to hurt Catra. Not so much with Double Trouble and they just shove reality into her face. Everyone leaves Catra because of Catra. She's the common factor. It's her fault and no one else's. Again, I don't know for certain if Adora and Catra get together at the end (Catra would have a LOT to make amends for regardless) but Double Trouble was definitely implying Catra had feelings for her with the way they put Catra's hand on "Adora's" cheek while talking about how she left her.

I like that we see Glimmer's plan actually working at first. The princesses get a massive power boost and decimate the Horde forces. But the minute it starts going wrong she immediately admits Adora was right and she tries to stop the energy flow. I imagine having her there with Catra was intentional by the writers. Despite some parallels, Glimmer can actually accept her failures and work to try and fix things. Unlike Catra, she didn't blame Adora for things going wrong.

So the sword allows the First Ones to control She-Ra and the energy she'd be absorbing from the planet. Assumedly that means there are at least some parts to She-Ra that have nothing to do with the First Ones and thus maybe Adora can still use some of those powers without the sword.

Season 4 verdict: Yeah, the show keeps getting better, though I will admit last season's finale had me more emotional, but that's a bit of an unfair comparison given everything that happened in that finale vs. this one. This is definitely the series hitting its darkest hour, where it feels like EVERYONE lost. Not just the rebels but the Horde as well. The sword and Light Hope are gone and She-Ra (for now) along with them. Glimmer and Catra are basically prisoners. Hordak's probably going to have his personality stripped away. The Fright Zone is in ruins. The only one who's gained anything is Prime.

Really looking forward to what the final season has in store, especially since there seems to be the implication that Catra just saved Glimmer's life.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o1j5gk/going_in_blind_watching_season_4_for_the_first/

[melforbes]

ask meme. what if. patching up. no I still haven’t seen source material

the way i completely forgot about this ask until i wrote like two paragraphs in this and was like oh shit lmao

the source material is getting an hbo series bb you're in luck also ignore anna whatever as tess yes i respect her as an actress yes she is talented in a bunch of things i have not seen but ms annie wersching is the only tess in my heart and also if i have to endure tess being reduced to a powerbitch stereotype i will start foaming at the mouth. but also i have no feelings about this whatsoever <3

WHAT IF: i will pick an important choice or event in my current project and write three sentences (or more?) about if it’d gone done differently

hmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMm

this is hard because i kind of had a stupid amount of confidence in the decisions i had them make in this and because i have ~a lot of experience~ in flying by the seat of my pants with writing lmaooooo a lot of the time with this ive had some degree of foresight when it comes to certain plot decisions. the only reason i have this in the first place is that with other things ive had kind of sort of plot revelations and then been like "well if i'd set that up three chapters ago it would have a huge impact i think but instead i guess it's just going in this one for a smaller impact" so i think i learned my lesson haha. also because this pairing nowadays has a small and sparse tag i really intentionally put in stuff to make it interesting (maybe the wrong word) to reread. like not Interesting interesting but i wanted there to be certain details that are more relevant on a reread than on an initial read because whenever i read stuff in small tags i tend to read it Multiple Times lmaoooooo and it's like if anyone like me is out there I Will Feed You. I Will Give You Food. you see i have this problem in which im like i dont want to act like i put thought into this because That's Embarrassing and i also dont want to seem like i take this too seriously because That's Embarrassing and also i dont want to act uppity or pompous or something But At The Same Time i do put a lot of thought into certain things and i feel like mentioning that and i dont really want to judge myself for that. it's complicated but also super uncomplicated. where was i going with this

OH right. so most of the plot decisions were made super concretely. like pre breakup arc in the nightmares chapters (which came out so much worse than i intended alkdjksjad;glksjg) when tess and joel talk about ellie Knowing (also legit it is such a trip to me that you dont know the context of that. a trip in a good way) she says we every time and he only ever says i even when she points out that this would affect both of them, and at one point i think he says that tess doesnt understand baseless violence which is 100% untrue, and then there's a bunch of window imagery i put in starting there because im a freak. so like For Once In My Life a lot of this was as planned as it could be. on occasion there's been Plot Revelations that get wedged in (the radio interlude chapter, which was a bit of an inelegant seam between prewritten things that didnt mesh well) but for the most part ive got tits out into every decision. like tess and ellie disagreeing about joel's choice was very planned though i imagine that kind of conversation could be executed many different ways i had my one way and stuck to it. so either way

where was i going with this. did i have a point.

OKAY. let's see. i think one of the big ~emotional beats~ so to speak was the ambush chapter and i think that's the favorite because that's usually where people comment if i remember correctly and initially i wasnt going to go with that tone At All haha. years ago i wrote everyday domestic scenes of mulder and scully from x files and had it all on this blog and it was plotless but largely in the same overarching universe (i say as if it was legit ever That Deep) and after writing this as a oneshot and being like you know? Kind of feel like doing that again. i figured i would just follow the same largely plotless path of legit just domesticity and leave it at that. and i think the first like five chapters are tonally different from the rest because i'd never really intended for it to have plot or really any depth whatsoever. in the end like. How do i say this in a way that wont be interpreted as uppity or something asldkjgalsdgjk like. when i did those mulder scully scenes i was very much a beginner and i think i didnt realize just how inherent that beginner-ness was to the concept itself. which isnt a bad thing! like people had fun with those so far as i remember. bizarrely enough i think people might still read those which. cringe. but you kno!!! but with a few years of distance from that kind of concept i think it was hard for me to Not try something else. especially with this universe in which it's just dense with storytelling opportunity. and also i felt as if the first few chapters were just like super super lighthearted and i wanted some angst factor. which is why in the end the angst factor plot itself is flimsy as fuck. like i did not care WHY they got attacked i just wanted that sweet sweet hurt/comfort cup of tea u feel. and after that i didnt really go for the plot too much But i did edge toward it a lot more. like i mean ultimately this is a romance like it was not intended to be plot heavy ever But it's more plot heavy than it couldve been. had i actually written it as i'd intended from the start i think it wouldve gotten old really fast. like nothing but lighthearted domesticity doesnt make sense in this context. for the first few chapters it doesnt necessarily kill the whole thing imo because like. that's the first few chapters. but after then if there was never any ~deeper thoughts~ i think it wouldve gotten reductive super fast.

hmmm what else. Because i am deciding to talk too much on the internet now.

oh in theory the whole breakup arc couldve been omitted and now in retrospect im like it's hilarious that like the next chapter after they got married i immediately peppered in hints that they would break up lkajsdglaksjgdlkj like wow. That lasted a long time. but like i mean i think with them it fits that they would do something like get married before they even said that they loved each other. like i can see them doing a massive workaround instead of doing a small and simple but vulnerable thing. makes sense 2 me. and like they definitely couldve stuck together in the end but 1 theres interesting storytelling in how maybe joel was too stubborn or maybe they grew apart in certain ways or blah blah blah and 2 I JUST LOVE A GOOD BREAKUP AND THEN RETURNING TO EACH OTHER ARC OKAAAAAAAAAY. legit. favorite trope. if i ever experienced that in real life i would claw my eyes out but in fiction it makes me FERALLLL. and also like i mean i lov these two for their dumb quirks but also like it would be a lil wrong to say there wouldnt be consequences for like. Not communicating haha. also again like the world this game is put in is so full of storytelling opportunities and im like Must Take Them All. like joel is stubborn as hell and shuts down when he's overwhelmed and there is growth in the first game (and in the second too but thats not really shown as much and is more left for the player to fill in the gaps i think) but also i think it would be super easy to regress in that sense and i had fun with putting him in those situations. and it's also super fun to have an additional person for the joel and ellie plots to bounce off of. like joel and ellie are two very stubborn people and having an extra person there to be like You Blithering Idiots has been a good time. im getting sidetracked. like it was fun to answer the question of how these two in a marriage neither of them can fully substantiate would communicate in hard times and the answer i personally found was that they both would end up breaking things. which was fun to write!!!!!!!!! but in theory couldve been prevented. maybe i just cant imagine this a different way haha. like Joel And Tess Learn Healthy Communication Skills Over Time. am i mean for saying that doesnt sound probable aldskjgalskdjgslkgj

OH LMAO THE MARRIAGE PART. that was also a big decision i guess. i wouldnt make it go differently alksdjglasdjg like. i definitely couldve written the context around that many different ways bc again this whole is full of opportunity But a frankly premature wedding just feels right to me. especially with like going from being stuck on survival to being safe for the first time in decades. and then having that sense of safety get boring and wondering why there was that super fast wedding in the first place. cant really imagine it going differently

there is later unposted stuff that could def have gone many different ways and that i tried to make go different ways but that would not be right to talk about akldsjaslkgdjsg so.

this got too long sorry <3

[visual-explorxtion]

A Date With Rebecca [Rebecca Chambers x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: Taking your favourite girl on a date. Go see her favourite movie, have a candlelit dinner, take a short stroll. What more can you ask for?

A/N: Looking for some wholesome Rebecca content? Then you’ve come to the right place. Originally, I’ve planned to make this 1.5k words or less but somehow I kept adding more and more details to the story. Is it a fluff fic? Yes. Is it filled with cliché plots? Also, yes. Sometimes, cliché stuff are pretty wholesome. Bonus content if you read the whole fic ;)

Word Count: 2.7K

Hairstyle? Check. Outfit? Check. Time? You peered up from your full-length mirror and glanced at the analogue clock on the wall. The ticking dish points to 6:15 pm. Perfect, you still got time before picking up your lovely date, Rebecca. You've planned a surprise date night for her for weeks now. Only up until recently, she finally agreed and cleared up her schedule. Joy would be an understatement to describe how you are feeling right now, nevertheless, joy is the only thing that's coursing through your body. Ping! The screen of your phone illuminated in blue, revealing a text sent by your date.

'Hey! I'm on my way to our meet up point. I'll see you in 10 minutes x :)'

The message made your heart melt into a pool of jello, she even left a little kiss and a smiley face at the end. This made you even more excited to meet her, the sooner the better. With no time to lose, you grab your old-fashion helmet from the console table, reviewing yourself one last time before exiting the apartment. Keys to your scooter in your fist, you stick it in the ignition and the little yellow hunk of junk sputter to life. You smile to yourself and pray that your only transportation doesn't fail on you tonight. Index finger double tapping on the oil gauge disk displaying petrol 3/4 of the way full, tucking your hair neatly inside the helmet then you set off.

Round the corner and through the bustling streets of downtown, you parked your bike just a couple of shops down from where you're meeting Rebecca. Every step you take seems like you're walking on air, the bounce in your steps lights up every way of your path, leading you right to her. There, she stands under the fairy lights- strung from one side of the patio to the other wrapping around the redwood columns- waiting for your arrival just outside of her favourite cafe, 'Dans le bleu'. From the moment she saw you, her sweet smile has taken over her perfectly shaped face and time slows down around you as you take in the impression of her. Her hair twinkles under the warm white glow, eyes crinkled as she beams; draped in a celadon green vintage flare dress, fitted waistband hugging against her slender waist, she is your angel at heart even if she denies it.

"Hey, you look beautiful tonight." you resist the urge to pull her into your arms even with the whole world watching.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Did you style your hair? It looks great." she praised. "Should we go to eat? I think Bleu just flipped to their bar menu and I'm kinda craving pasta right now."

"Actually...I have something else planned. It's only 6:30 and I think it's still kinda early for dinner, so I have something else planned instead." you smiled mischievously.

"Oh no. What deathly things have you got planned for me." Rebecca's face drained as you chuckled at her expression.

"I'm not telling you, it's a surprise." you flashed a smug grin. "Come on, we'll be late." You grabbed her hand and tangle your fingers with hers. The warmth of her palm radiates onto yours and you can feel the nervousness and sweat running through with each beat of her pulse. But all of that did not bother you. You held her hand tighter even with the sweat binding both hands, you love her too much that you just accept every part of her.

After 15 minutes of waltzing through the artificially lit avenue, you and Rebecca both arrived at an inconspicuous movie theatre. "The cinema? But it doesn't even look like it’s in business." Rebecca frown.

The cinema looks a little out of place compared to the rest of the street. The creamy white façade has witnessed the testimony of time and history, all cracked and shedding off little pieces. But, the neon sign still glows ominously in the shade of red, the building itself it's illuminated with a standalone rustic street lamp and a retro letterbox that's yellowing with age, only one film is showing in bold letters.

"...Roman Holiday? Oh my gosh! D-did you do this?" she's dying to know as curiosity shimmers from her eyes.

"I have my ways." you winked and she playfully slaps your arm to return the gesture.

Upon entering the building, the scenery was so drastically different that you'd almost thought you stepped back in time. Or walked into a Wes Anderson movie set. Your feet landed on the carpet that was once plush and fluffy, vermillion red and sunset orange shades of intricate patterns stretched across the main entrance. The ticket booth stands in the centre of the hall with a two-tier crystal chandelier hanging above on the high rise ceiling. The leather lounge chairs face one another on either side, beige wrinkles and creases etched onto the chestnut seats with time. The pair of you gradually take in the scenery but was soon greeted by the sweet and savoury scent of popcorn. Rebecca's eye lit up with delight.

"Wait here, I'll get us popcorn." Swiftly, you turned and Rebecca's gaze follows. She watches intently as you carry two bags full of popcorn from the kiosk. Her eyes widened in bewilderment. "I didn't know which one you want so I got both." you shrug as she shakes her head in disbelief.

"The film's about to start. Let's go."

You and Rebecca found your seats with ease, considering the fact that only a dozen of people are here for this movie, scattered across the theatre in various age groups, even though you'd thought about having this screening just for the two of you instead. The lights went dim, shading your eyes in pitch blackness, then the screen comes on. The unfamiliar brightness made you squint your eyes as you shield them and blinked several times to get used to the luminosity. Actors appear in black and white, the deliverance of dialogues flows through the auditorium but not to your ears. Your eyes admire Rebecca as she’s fixated on the film. Adoration and excitement glisten in her soul, just like stars, watching this film as if it's the first time. As the story continues to play, the protagonists tour the city of Rome on a scruffy moped, her arms around his waist, riding away in this romantic getaway. You held Rebecca's hand laying on the velvet armrest, a little shock sent up her arm and she looked at your conjoined hands then up to your rosy gaze. Someday, you'd hope to take her to Rome, under the ray of the summer sun, riding on the same vintage moped and reenact the same scene in front of our very own eyes.

"That was such a good film! I haven't had this much fun in so long, I almost forgot what it feels like." she giggles. "I bet I'm going to have a sweet dream tonight."

"You'd think our date ends here? Just after one movie?" you blinked. "Honey, I'm taking you out on a date, not a movie night. We can go anywhere and do anything you want, just say the word."

Rebecca paused. "Anything?"

"Anything," you answered.

Her stomach grumbles and she laughs. "I think the first thing I want is dinner."

You chuckled along. "I think so too. You said you want pasta, right? I know just the place."

Leaving the cinema with the night claiming the light, Rebecca's hand hasn't left yours since halfway through the film, nor does she have the intention to. Everything just felt natural, like puzzle pieces falling in the right place. As you lead the way, a darkened cobbled street came into view as both of you turn a corner, Rebecca couldn't shake off the feeling of uneasiness.

"A-are you sure this is the right way?" she stammers.

"Trust me. I am 100% sure," you reassure her.

"B-but what if-"

"Ah, we're here!" you voice made Rebecca jolt.

She peeked out from behind your right shoulder, quizzical by what she's seeing whilst tugging on your sleeve, she asked, "A hole in the wall? That was a bit anticlimactic..." a hint of disappointment seeps through.

"Dear, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I thought you taught me that." you tease. Her face pouts but you still find her cute no matter what.

You push the wooden front door which made a stifling groan. Inside, the little restaurant is rustic and oddly homey. Photographs hung on the wall, from monotones transitioning to technicolour, each photograph tells its own story and heartfelt emotions behind it. Your eyes scan each decoration as you move further into the place, bits and pieces collected from around the world and written messages left by visiting customers. The reserved table is located in a less crowded area behind a half wall, just overlooking the rest of the room, an ambience mood under the candlelit atmosphere. Quiet chit-chats and conversions turn to waves of laughter, feeling content in each other's company as dinner went by in a flash. Spending time with Rebecca is every second well spent.

"I hope you still got room for dessert."

"I think you're underestimating my stomach's capacity." she returns the jab.

Flipping between pages, indecisive, Rebecca bites her bottom lip as her finger scans through the list of desserts, unawarely emitting soft 'umm's and 'eh's from her lips, tinted with a glossy shade of chilli red. Trying hard not to laugh at her child-like indecisiveness caused by this inconvenience, to which her brows begun knitting together bit by bit, the corner of your lips can't help but slowly crawled upwards. All the dessert dilemma ended with her favourite, Baked Alaska. The snowy white miniature mountain engulfed in a sea of blue flames, it's a form of entertainment in the shape of a dessert. You and Rebecca filled your stomachs to the brim with food, thus, this concludes the dinner segment you have planned for her.

The touch of the summer breeze caressed your face under the starry night, footsteps in sync with one another as the night winds down with a stroll into empty, midnight street. Silence flows through the air, except for the distant sound of traffic and Rebecca's angelic voice. Shop windows reflect the pair of you, illuminated by neon lights, you wish this moment could last forever. Music could be heard from afar which prompted the curiosity within Rebecca as she ran ahead to listen to the tune more clearly. The playing tune came from a speaker located just outside of the entrance of the theatre. An all-time classic 'Singing in the Rain'. The cheerful melodic song takes the centre stage as the vacant street acts as their audience. Rebecca looks at you with devious gaze in her eyes. You have a bad feeling in your gut as you can almost see the thought that runs in her mind. You shook your head.

"Oh, come on! You promised that I can do anything I want. Please?"

She gave you those pleading puppy eyes, a critical hit to your heart. You battle with your internal self but the latter isn't any good with arguments. You sigh and agreed. Rebecca jumped up in celebration of her little victory and took you by your hand and lead you to the spotlight. Hands behind her back, tapping one foot out to her right; heel, toe, heel and step. Knowing your cue, you followed. With the opposite foot, she repeats the same moves, gliding in the opposite direction and you do the same. One foot at a time, she hops with airy steps with arms flutter at her sides as she glides her footwork in the figure of eight, in time with the beat. Pushing her foot out with pointed toes, her leg lightly sweeps across the concrete floor as she shifts her weight and twirls on the spot. Her matte satin dress spins in the same direction, the seams floats up in a graceful manner as it whirls around like a maypole but it's gravitational pull delays when Rebecca halts to an end with a croisé pose as the song fades.

Mesmerised by the sight of her dance, you stand on the spot and gawk with your jaw hanging wide. Before you can react with applause, she extends out a hand to ask for yours in return. You happily accepted her touch with the heat of your palm. Fingertips tenderly brushed against her shoulder blades and even the slightest touch her skin can make your heart race a thousand beats per minute. With her hand clasped on your waist, she takes the lead. The incandescent bulb echos in her emerald eyes, twinkling like stardusts; each step she takes, you follow along. Moving to the adagio rhythm, Elvis whispering softly about hopelessly falling in love with somebody, swaying side to side in front of the dazzling theatre with half the city fast asleep. You wish the city could watch as both of you dance in the moonlight, but you need no audience, as Rebecca is your whole world. Prompting her right hand, she twirls for you once more, making a long-lasting image imprinted into your memory. Hands delicately raising the edge of her skirt with the pinky finger extended out for emphasise, she dips into a curtsy bowed gracefully towards you and you do so returning the politeness also as graciously as possible.

All seriousness suddenly turns into a bellow of laughter filling up the darkness and drowning out the music. The hilarity persisted until both your stomach muscles ache with a fiery pain and eyes filled to the brink with tears of joy.

"Alright, lemme take you home."

She nodded with a soft smile, strolling together once more, hand in hand. Wasn't long until you looped back to where you've parked your transport. Rebecca eyes the yellow, barely-holding-it-together machinery with uncertainty.

"A...vespa. Can you please make sure I get home in one piece?" she jest.

"Hey! This baby is as safe as a house." you shift just out of earshot and murmur, "Don't listen to her, baby."

"You should get an electric one. You know, to help save the planet."

"Alright, alright...Dr Chambers." she huffs in response.

Tucking strands of hair back into you hat of safety, you popped open the seat, revealing yet another helmet. This one, a cream coloured shell lined with a retro red-blue stripe inspired by 60s aesthetic. You bought this weeks before the date and with the intention that she'll be the only designated passenger. Rebecca picks up the helmet and paused, eyes gazing attentively at it. Internally, you start to panic. Is it too much? Does she hate it? You swallowed hard; your lips quiver as you were about to speak, she cups your cheek as the warmth of her palm spreads before you could register it her lips are pressed onto yours, taking you in by astonishment. Your hands instinctively supported her waist as her body leaned against you on tiptoes, then she pulled away. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but the lingering feeling felt forever. Still living in a daze, she calls out.

"Are you still going to drive me home?"

You snapped out of your daydream and found her already seated on the backside of the Vespa. Gleefully, you skipped your way to the driver's side, almost crashed landed onto the seat, still giggling stupidly to yourself. Sometimes, action speaks louder than words. And that kiss was all you needed. Ignition on, goggles strapped to your face, you yell;

"Hold on tight, babydoll."

The back tire squeals as you take off. Rebecca clutches your midriff for the sake of her life as you race into the twilight full of adrenaline. Engine roaring in the dead of the night amidst the summer wind streamlining around you, streetlights began to form in a strip of fluorescent lines. Her chin rests on your shoulder, squeezing you ever so tighter as the passing signs and billboards reflect off her visor, in shades of pink and purple hue, wondering if she's existing in a virtual dream state. Even though the music had already stopped playing for the both of you, this was once in a lifetime experience that you will remember for eternity.

-----

Bonus:

Love ya ☆

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Other Kinds of Writing than “Pantsing” improvisation or “plotting” Outlining

So, usually people set up a false binary, because why not Europe the world and make everything a binary... so I’ll give other options of how Writers write. (From my vast reading of author notes and interviews and pros and cons of each...) ‘cause whatever you are doing might not be working the best for you, so why not try other ways?

How the Story is written

Improvisation

This means just start somewhere and let your subconscious take over the plot. The downside is if the readers figure this out (which there are markers for it), then they can guess ahead of you by figuring out the best gut punch for the time. The markers for it--though people don’t believe me... are excessive set up at the beginning of scenes, larger plot holes and repetition of plot points which were not caught during editing. I can tell you wrote the story this way when you keep trying to remind yourself of previous plot points in the text. Slash those when you edit. Look specifically for plot holes because your subconscious is likely to change their mind about certain things and you need to track them separately. Famously, Jack Kerouac was known to do everything on impulse and thought it was the highest form of writing. He didn’t want a single word edited. Advantages: Being impulsive can lead to some crazy ideas which can feel new. This is particularly good for character impulsive decisions. Or characters who go by their gut. The characters also tend to be a lot more willful, but it also means you need to keep them occupied with interesting events. Suspense and Thriller tend to benefit for such writing. Writing is fast, editing is slow.

Disadvantages: OMG, the editing is a nightmare. You have to write down every plot point on a separate piece of paper and then make sure you didn’t screw it up. It’s terrible for High Concept plots and where things have to come together neatly in a certain order to make sense. (Which is why Agatha Christie didn’t use it for And There Was None and it tortured her for a year since she was used to improvising everything. She explicitly said she’d write it like everyone did it and then drop the final clues to make it click at the end, which is a sign of an improviser or at most a milestone type.)

(Strict) Outlining (Separate sheet of paper)

Means you write down the plot points one by one. Sometimes writers use a spreadsheet so they can visually see what is happening at the same time. She whose name shall not be spoken, does it this way.

Sometimes it’s just a list of bullet points. The markers for it: It tends to be much neater in plotting. Things interlock neatly. If you have a large complex plot, this is one of the ways to do it. The markers for this are more spotting the way the plot comes together and also often unfortunately marked by flat characters because the event chain was thought of without the characters.

Tolkien from everything I’ve read of the man, mostly outlined his stories. I have a flagging suspicion on one story--which is my favorite, which is a bit more impulse-written because it’s much more introspective and philosophical--two things that don’t do well with outlining. Most epics, for this reason in the modern sense are done with outlines. Some, but not all mysteries are outlined.

Advantages: Having a large interlocking plot suddenly come together can be satisfying. All those desperate parts seem like it’s great. The events come back together. Less editing is always good.

Disadvantages: Flat token characters who don’t have to be there and have cursory agency merely to move the plot along. For Newbies, the plot twists aren’t that interesting and don’t interweave properly with the character’s set ups or choices. The events, then, feel like what the writer wanted to happen, rather than what would have naturally happened. (You can fix this, though, by thinking through the character and how they change and be willing to rework your outline every time the character makes a different choice than expected--don’t fall in love with the event chain--fall in love with the character agency to make change.)

Also, if you screw up one event because of lack of research, it can send your entire book into a tailspin since the point of outlining is to neatly get everything to come together.

Don’t forget to put in some “God events” on purpose. You can throw people off and make them guess it wasn’t heavily plotted by putting a few seemingly random events at the beginning that click or are red herrings which lead to dead ends.

Versioning

NK Jemisin did this... It combines a bit of the outlining with improvisation, but it tries different versions of the same events. I have a suspicion that Patrick Rothfuss also does a bit of this with his claim he also outlines... but I’m not 100% sure on that. This might explain why the books take so long to write. (Versioning and outlining don’t marry too well for speed. If you’re backing up, and then having to rework the outline based on backing up, that’s a total slow down every time.) Markers: There are very few markers. Sometimes people may spot dead end plots, but if you did a good job editing, you took those out.

Advantages: If you edit well, then no one will notice the difference. And you are 100% sure this is the best sequence of events for this character. Also helps when the character is extra bit willful for reasons you can’t crack.

Disadvantages: Time--it takes so much more time to edit the draft. Plus there are versions you have to, by nature of the project throw out no one will get to see. (Wasted paper and energy). Plus it’s super hard to edit because you have to choose which of the many paths you will take and justify it to yourself before making final drafts. How do you know you’re not doing it because you’re enamored of the idea, but it’s not the best version after all? Bad for indecision.

One sentence at a time

Chuck Palahniuk does this. One sentence, perfects it, then moves to the next.

Advantages: You are sure that sentence is perfect and therefore, the whole book doesn’t need editing by the end of it.

Disadvantages: The amount of time it takes to write the book is slow. The wording might also feel pretentious or overworked.

Milestones

I used to play this game called “Mille Bornes” which means milestone. A milestone in a person’s like are things like they were born, married, died, had children, etc. So the idea of this is that you set out things that the character has to hit in order to get to the next set of events. In order for cause A, they need to hit this event first. Because the outline is looser, it still allows them to act within the framework with agency. Also because it’s not a huge outline one has to rework every time, it allows the writer to bounce around more because they already know what their character is going to do to react to said event.

Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey all said they used this method. Markers: The plot doesn’t always have that neat clicking sound feel to it. But the character seems to hit important events in regular well-paced order despite that. You can trick the reader by spacing the events and word count for those events differently. Usually these people pick out the ending ahead of time to make sure it doesn’t wander too much. But the ending can also feel a bit flat if one isn’t careful. If you don’t trim your events, side plots can overtake your story where there is no meaning to the overarching plot. Slash those. Newbies who use this method often end up deviating hard from the main point and that’s how one catches them.

Advantages: Takes the advantages of outlining and makes it looser. Takes the advantages of Improvising and gives it structure. Disadvantages: Editing still is a chore. Pacing might also be harder if you aren’t able to predict word count well. People can get too married to their event structure without regard to how the character has changed. They can box the character in. For the reader it feels half directed, and half not. It’s a bit harder to predict, but if you run out of event chains, and the reader guesses your tastes, they will be able to plot the entire book ahead of you and then you’re dead in the water. So plot against your preferences and towards your preferences too. Flat characters for this method are your worst enemy. The events you don’t find exciting, you might skimp out on. Make sure to rework the “boring” events. And cut as many side plots as you possibly can.

Order the story is written:

Linear Forwards- Plot from beginning, start there until you get to the end. Most writers tend to rely on this method and can’t think otherwise. Mercedes Lackey in her notes, beyond making notes about scenes she’d like to include, Anne McCaffrey, Agatha Christie (from how she said she writes), Sir Conan Doyle (Who, BTW, outlined a fair bit, though not completely--you can feel a bit of his impulsiveness peak through), Jane Austen (from reports of her manuscripts etc) and the bulk to writers stick to this method.

Linear Backwards- Know the ending you need and figure out the events that led there--mysteries do this a fair bit. Also some Japanese authors play with this quite a bit.

Skip around- Usually better for thematic or tone plotting. Or High concept. When you want a certain feel for the book, sometimes it’s better to choose on themes and events, write them quickly, then edit. Editing is a pain when done this way because places and seasons can shift by accident. Watch for plot holes. Diana Gabaldon skips around by using a bit of research and then making a scene out of it, and then stringing it together later.

Mixed- Bounce around between the methods... super messy. Lots of editing. And also sometimes lots of skimping on the “boring” bits, which isn’t a good idea.

Try ALL of them in different types and orders. Find which one suits you best and which one you struggle the most with. Get good at the one you like, then try to defeat them all and find out how people react to the story being written that way and what you need to delete and edit per way you wrote it. If there are more ways people write books... then try those methods too.