#Honor in Crisis fic
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bluejaysandblackbats · 7 months ago
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Oh dude almost forgot Honor in Crisis
My Masterlist of Background Info About The Fic
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unfinishedslurs · 5 months ago
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The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?
“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.
He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.
She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.
Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.
She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”
“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”
“Then what is it?”
“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”
Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.
The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”
Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.
He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.
“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.
Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.
Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.
In an instant, Leia understands everything.
Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.
Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.
Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.
“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”
“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”
“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”
“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”
He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”
“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”
“Yes it is.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.
“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”
“But—“
It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.
She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?
Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.
It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.
Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“
She makes a decision then and there.
“We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.
“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”
He salutes and scurries off.
“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”
“And you trust this person because…”
“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”
It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.
He squints at her. “That’s not it.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”
“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.
“Well?”
Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.
“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”
He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.
“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”
What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.
“So there’s good news and bad news.”
“Bad news first,” she demands.
“They know there’s a mole.”
“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”
“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”
Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”
“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”
“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”
“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”
“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”
“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.
Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.
Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.
Unless he didn’t.
It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.
But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.
The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.
Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.
Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.
Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.
Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.
“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”
“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.
“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”
A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”
“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”
More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”
“I figured it out.”
“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.
“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”
“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.
“What?”
“Stand back. Please.”
Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.
“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.
The TIE explodes.
“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.
And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.
“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.
As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.
Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.
Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”
“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”
“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”
“Should I be offended?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”
“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right.”
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#luke skywalker#han solo#leia organa#imperial luke skywalker#exactly when luke was taken by the empire is totally up to speculation it could honestly be anywhere from newborn to 5#as for why luke has his dad’s blue lightsaber here instead of like a red one or smth- well you see your honor I thought it would be a slay#but also when you think about it for more than 5 seconds you’re like actually yeah that’s sick and twisted of palpatine and vader actually#you’re carrying your fathers most treasured weapon#you don’t know your father once fought the rise of the very empire you stand to inherit with that blade. you don’t know who he defended#you don’t know your father brought about the end of the republic with that same weapon#he killed the younglings with it. he fought his closest companion with it#you’re carrying what was once your fathers most treasured weapon. you are your fathers most treasured weapon#just as your father is a weapon now#also I didn’t make it clear but obi-wan has his ‘strike me down and I become stronger’ moment like he still dies on purpose to cause proble#but when he saw luke he couldn’t look away. he had to see him with living eyes one last time#can u tell I had So Many Thoughts on everyone else’s perspective in this fic too#han is having a constant crisis in the background because 1) force is real 2) princess is annoying AND pretty which sucks for him#in particular and 3) pretty princess is learning to use the force and is hot while doing it. Chewie is laughing at him. life is hell#good lord did not mean to put an entire essay in the tags. i love their super special twin powers (cosmic entity that binds their souls)#edit: GUYS I FORGOT TO NAME THE FUCKING AU#AND WHEN I TRY AND FIX IT IT GLITCHES OUT ON MEEE 😭😭😭
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sunlitriddle · 4 months ago
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On That Day, Five Years Ago
This is based on OG more than anything, using updated Remake visuals. But, since I haven't finished Rebirth, any spoilers are from the original game. I have no idea what shenanigans they have for the climax of part 2 and all of part 3.
I always loved Mideel and finding out the True Flashback of what actually happened in Nibel. This moment, where Cloud is Just a Guy filled with a righteous fury, he has the strength to wield the Buster Sword, avenge his hometown (including everyone who didn't think much of him) and kill* Sephiroth.
I wanted to contrast just how weak Cloud is, how average, how utterly human; and how heavy the Buster Sword is... and duty, and honor, and sacrifice, and all the other meanings it's accumulated through time. And somehow, he has the strength to wield it.
I also wanted to give a twisted, holy vibe to the Nibel Reactor, with bundled wires hung like a vaulted ceiling leading to the altar and the sarcophagus of a false god.
*death doesn't seem to inconvenience him much, let's be real.
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necrotic-nephilim · 5 months ago
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there is not enough femslash in batcest circles. the girls deserve to be just as weird about each other as the boys are. if BruDick gets to be weird father/son/brothers/lovers/friends/rivals/soulmates then it is only fair that Babs/Cass get to be mother/daughter/sisters/lovers too. Something about that deep intrinsic but undefinable love that is born out of trauma, especially if you consider Cass not knowing what healthy love looks like in the first place. i think it's fun and deserves just as much fandom content.
besides that, you can get even more niche with rarepairs like Helena/Steph. Huntress/Spoiler: Blunt Trauma is already a fantastic comic and even though it's their only real canon interaction it has so much potential. very comparable to TimJay in how Helena tries to get Steph to understand her morals and the corruption you could play with it.
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batman: huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma (1998)
that comic also highlights on how both Steph and Helena are outcasts of the Batfamily and don't have the approval of Bruce to be doing what they do in "his city". I think there's so much Potential in Helena taking Steph under her wing because Bruce won't let her in and it becomes a weird codependent toxic sapphic mess. I think the protectiveness Helena feels over Steph from the get-go is so clear and the way she wants to look out for Steph, wants to make sure Steph understands the real world? I love them. Helena should be allowed to steal Steph, actually. I think it'd be fun.
there are a lot of other possibilities too like Babs/Steph or even getting weird with Helena Bertinelli/Helena Wayne and the existential question of "is it selfcest or not." But these two specifically live in my head rent-free, especially Helena/Steph and one day I'll convince everyone else to ship it too.
#batcest#necrotic festerings#how do i tag ships that are almost non-existent#helena bertinelli x stephanie brown#cassandra cain x barbara gordon#as resident huntress fan my answer to the is helena w/helena b selfcest depends entirely on which version of helena wayne you're using.#pre-crisis!helena wayne/pre-flashpoint!helena bertinelli? yes i agrue is selfcest adjacent at least#because helena bertinelli was meant to be an adaptation of helena wayne#if it's jsa (2022)!helena wayne then it's *not* selfcest because they co-exist in the same universe#and according to current lore helena wayne was named after bertinelli and took the name huntress in her honor#which is a *choice* for sure but that's a different post#i still think shipping them is super fun in a “don't meet your heroes” sort of way with helena wayne time travelling#and then potentially running into bertinelli and realizing she's not what wayne thought she was and it being weird toxic shit#as for new-52 helena wayne. i do not acknowledge her and will not comment.#*god* I hate new-52 huntress.#(imo it would be selfcest tho bc they tried to make helena wayne a bertinelli clone. so. there's that.)#i'm going to write a helena/steph fic some day and none of you bitches can stop me#yeah yeah we have stephcass but y'all have sanitized the fuck out of that to convince yourselves it's not batcest and that made it boring.#and helena/babs is neat and all but i prefer helena/zinda when it comes to BoP ships#i should've included panels for cass/babs but it's been a while since i read batgirl (2000) so none immediately came to mind#i have a *lot* more helena/steph thoughts but no braincell to word them. know i will talk about them again.#they got one whole comic and now i won't let them go#also cass/helena is fun for combating morals and the complicated batgirl mantle#cass wears the batgirl suit *helena* made y'all think i can't make that romantic bc i can and will#if we have robin pile then give me batgirl pile#babs/helena/steph/cass hell throw in bette too.
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moonilit · 1 year ago
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Aww the side story of the barbie (not date) but from Shouta’s POV, this is the cutest by @cyanoscarlet
Alliance in Pink - Side Stories, First art
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irregularbillcipher · 1 year ago
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another one of those "a square is an ignorant tool" moments to me is the way he describes isosceles adoptions. like specifically, how he says that the parents are all "proud yet sorrowing" but all willingly give up their child to be adopted by equilaterals if said son has 60 degree angles, because absolutely not. i'm not saying there aren't any isosceles couples who bought into circle propaganda, or even ones who knew this was wrong but figured that their child would be given a better life if they let the board take them, but that cannot have been all parents. there have to have been isosceles parents who realized their children were technically equilaterals and tried to hide it, tried to run away with their newborn baby, or tried to make some sort of stand. there had to have been isosceles families who kicked and fought and bit and screamed to be able to keep their infants, who were probably jailed or killed for doing it, but who wanted to keep their baby and did everything they could to keep their family together. and a square doesn't even think about that possibility, because he cannot conceive of someone who would love their baby more than they would love the laws of configuration
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catboyidia · 6 months ago
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https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320070
This one doesn't include cloud but I thought you'd like it!
omg ahhh!!! i just finally got the chance to read it and asjakjajs that is just… so on brand for genesis! i don’t think i could imagine that situation going any differently! i loved it! tysm for sending it to me! :D
heres a clickable link to the fic, its a short one shot and i definitely recommend checking it out and leaving kudos!!!
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wistfulforstars · 5 months ago
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I Want More, More
Crosshair x Reader Oneshot
WOW, I broke 20 followers! Thank you, thank you for reading my little fics, it means the world! Have a Crosshair battling with his feelings oneshot!
Word Count: 4605
Summary: Crosshair is made aware that he has not been treating you like he should. He has a crisis about it before talking to you like an adult, kind of.
Warnings: Here there be smut, minors begone, Crosshair struggling with his feelings is its own warning, Crosshair is a dick until he's not, he's a moron your honor, slightly desperate Crosshair, rough sex into talking into gentle sex into rough sex again, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, language, some derogatory pet names, talking during sex, reader is afab, there's porn here I promise, you just have to get through Crosshair's angst
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This wasn’t fucking working.
Crosshair was near madness, and he was sure you were reaching a point where you needed a break. You’d never let him fuck your mouth for this long before. But there you were, topless, tears streaming down your face, knees probably scuffed or even bleeding from the durasteel floor, nevermind that you still had your pants on. And yet you pushed through, voicing not a word of complaint as you gagged on his persistent cock.
And he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.
You should be complaining, he decided. What had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifty? Crosshair couldn’t keep track of anything except his own frustration, and that was making him a terrible lay. And if there’s one thing he would be loath to be terrible at, it was sex.
His cock throbbed, his balls ached, and you kept moaning. He growled.
Sooner or later, you’re going to hurt her. She’s going to get tired of this, and she’s going to leave. Hunter’s words from earlier in the week creeped back into his mind, and any hope of salvaging this situation dissipated into thin air.
Crosshair abruptly pulled you off his length and backed away, tugging his pants up as he went. Still you knelt, breathing heavily, awaiting what he’d do next. It was the arrangement you’d both worked out months ago. You allowed yourself to be used as he saw fit, and he made sure you left satisfied and ready for dreamless sleep. No feelings, no complications. It had worked well for a long time. But he looked at you then, your face a mess, your curled legs trembling, and for the first time, he couldn’t stand the sight.
She deserves someone who cares deeply about her, Echo’s voice, well, echoed in his head, as unbidden as Hunter’s had been. His nosy brothers had held an intervention of sorts a few days ago while you were out getting supplies. It had started with Tech’s “We want to know what you are doing with our medic,” gone through Wrecker’s “You know she likes you, right? Like, a lot,” and ended with a long speech from Hunter about how “One day Crosshair, you’re going to wake up and realize that she’s moved on. For some reason, she really cares for you. And you’re treating her like a meaningless one night stand, except you keep doing it over, and over and-”
It was stupid. You both liked what you were doing. You were both consenting adults with the power to walk away at any time. You were both happy and fulfilled with that. It was enough.
Except for the past few days, it hadn’t been.
Crosshair began to really notice certain things since the talk with his brothers. Like how you always met him with a cheery good morning, and how you didn’t expect an answer in return. How you’d sit next to him while he cleaned his rifle, content to do all the talking if he just listened. How you always ran over after a close call on missions, frantic about his safety and never expecting him to inquire about your wellbeing, even if you were covered in soot and limping away from an explosion. 
He realized you were giving more, much more to your…friendship, than he was. And that didn’t sit well with him. Your relationship was supposed to be transactional, and here you were, giving him attention and assistance and contact without expecting one damn solitary thing in return. Always giving, never receiving, and he…
He was a fucking prick. 
Horrible, awful scenarios started coming to mind after that. For two days, he thought about what would happen if you got transferred, or completed your service and left, or, stars-forbid, got shot. A concept he’d never considered before. You were always there, always constant as Tech’s pointing finger and Echo’s whirring attachments.
The idea of you leaving him - and he was completely arrogant for never seriously entertaining the thought - was frightening. And Crosshair didn’t do frightened.
The worst part? While he was drowning in inner turmoil due to his asshole brothers and your own damn sweetness, you were waltzing around, perfectly fine. You had never given any outward indication that you wanted something real from him, something more than a smokescreen of orgasms and sharp banter. Now that he knew how much you cared, now that he’d heard that you liked him no matter how hard you tried to hide it, he couldn’t let it go.
You’d been contenting yourself with his hands on your body and his lackluster personality for months, when, according to his brothers, you’d really wanted something deeper. Did you think he would reject you, or that he wasn’t capable of anything more to begin with? Both possibilities stung, a lot deeper than he’d ever supposed they would. Especially as he realized that neither of them were unreasonable of you to assume. Suddenly, he was furious.
That’s how he ended up with his cock down your throat in the back of the Marauder, while everyone else was out on the town. Not in his bed, never in his bed. That was one of the rules he’d made, to stop things from getting too intimate. Instead he’d had you kneel, and you’d done it with a wry smile and no questions. He’d planned to fuck these thoughts out of his head, but as it turns out, his brain was thinking the fuck out of his dick, so to speak. 
So instead, he leaned against the wall, gazing at you. You still kneeled, still waited patiently while he’d stared for who knows how long. 
You deserved better. 
The thought was pounding against his skull, incessant and refusing to leave. And Crosshair knew there were only two ways to resolve it. He could walk away, wish you well, and hope that you found someone who could give you a true relationship, no matter what it might cost him.
Or…he could try to be worthy of you.
The first option entailed less risk, and was definitely more his style. He couldn’t be bad at a relationship if he never tried to give you one. But the thought of someone else seeing you like this, or worse, someone else seeing you in ways he hadn’t yet…on a beach, walking down a colorful city street, riding a speeder bike, in the snow…
He stood abruptly and crossed over to your languishing form. He had you in his arms in less than a second, and had you laying on his bunk in less than five more. 
“Cross, wha-?” you protested. You knew the rules, knew his boundaries, and tried to sit up and leave. 
He grasped your shoulders and gently pushed you back, “Please.” Was all he said, whispered and hoarse. He worried at his lip without realizing it. Your eyes widened, and you let him lean you back on his pillows. He fidgeted with them, trying to make them fluffier than the GAR issued sacks of foam they really were, and you quirked a brow.
“You fucking with me, Cross?” you asked, and he could tell you were putting real effort into keeping the trepidation out of your voice. “Because this is a real weird joke.”
Okay, he deserved that one. But his words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How was he supposed to know how to tell a woman he liked her anyway? If the Kaminoans included a class on charm somewhere in their training programs, he definitely didn’t get an invite.
Maybe you would be better off with someone who didn’t spend their days getting up close and personal with other people through a fucking scope. 
But all this staring was starting to freak you out. You were sitting awkwardly, legs open, tits out, under his genetically superior gaze. Crosshair didn’t know what kind of face he’d been making, but it clearly wasn’t one you were used to. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to the side, away from him.
“Are we done?” You ground out through a set jaw, a slightly trembling lip. “Is this…ahem…is this over? Because you could just tell me, you don’t have to try and make it easier. I can just go back to my bunk and…and…”
He caught the sheen in your eyes, the catch in your throat. Fuck. Fuck.
“I-I want you…” stars, he can’t even talk. Damn you. Damn him. He cleared his throat. “I. want. you. to stay… there.”
Well, it sounded like it was being tortured out of him, but at least it got your attention. You turned back to look at his face, “You want me to stay here.” You said evenly, jerking your head towards his shabby pillows. “In your bed. Where I’m never, ever supposed to be.”
He swallowed, mouth dry as hell, and nodded. You were so much better at this, so much stronger than he was. He couldn’t do anything but spill his guts in what was probably the least romantic way possible. 
So he did, “I want to try…something else.”
Your lips parted just a fraction, and something seemed to click behind your eyes. But you were tough, tougher than he ever gave you credit for, and you never gave him any ground. Oh you were gentle about it, cool satin to his rough burlap. He suspected it was the healer in you. But you always demanded communication from him, demanded that he explain his behavior, even if it took him a while.
“Something else,” the hitch in your voice had disappeared. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me, babe. You know I’ll try something new, and we have a safe word, but this violates your rules, and I don’t know how to act now. I don’t know what’s okay.”
Babe. It slipped out of your mouth every so often, usually in a teasing lilt over comms during a battle. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it, but it always brought a sudden heat to his face. He felt the tips of his ears burning.
“I…” c’mon, bastard. You can get this out, you have to get this out. She’s waiting. “I want… toforgettherules.”
“I’m sorry? One more time?”
Brat. In any other circumstance, he’d have you over his knee for something like that. But he took a deep breath, like the ones he’d take before making an impossible shot. And maybe that’s what this was, “I want to forget the rules.”
Your eyes alighted with something like hope, “Why?”
Yes Crosshair, you stupid prick, tell the lady why. He needed to get his head examined. He was talking to himself more than usual. And now he’d started to sound like Hunter.
“Because,” he ground out, teeth clenched. “You deserve…better…than what I’ve been giving you. But I…I don’t want anyone else to deserve you.”
You sat with that for just a moment. And then you brought a hand up to your mouth and giggled. It was such a happy sound, he was almost completely unoffended. 
“You like me,” you murmured, eyes full of mirth and pure, honest delight.
He let out a shaky breath. It was almost a chuckle, “I like you. You’re a little shit, and you give me a heart attack half the time. But I like you.”
“And… I’m allowed to like you back?” This question was tentative, small. Not how he wanted to see you. You should be bright, confident, unafraid to show your brilliance. A fierceness crept into his heart.
“You get to like whatever you damn well please,” he growled, then softened slightly. “But…it would be nice if you liked me.”
You hummed, and dropped the arms covering your gorgeous breasts to cup his face in both hands. Your fingers moved in his cropped strands of hair, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the peace it brought him. 
“I like you, more than I ever thought you’d want me to,” you almost-whispered. Then you grinned that same grin you got when Wrecker offered to let you press a detonator. “But if you want in on this, babe, if you want some kind of commitment, I’ve got some rules of my own.”
Strangely, the thought didn’t concern him nearly as badly as it had a day ago. He didn’t know shit about real relationships. He wanted you, and if you gave him some kind of guide to go off of, well, at least there was less of a chance of him fucking it up. 
Crosshair nodded, and your smile grew wider, joy sparkling in your eyes.
“First of all,” you began. “You have to say good morning and good night to me. You also have to hold my hand every so often, and let me kiss your cheek. I promise not to embarrass you…too much.”
He huffed a little, but conceded, “Agreed. Anything else?”
“Oh this is an ongoing list. There will be amendments,” you chirped happily. “I require actual conversation daily, and I get to sleep next to you after we fuck.”
“What do you take me for? Of course you get to-”
“No getting jealous of my guy friends, including your brothers. Like when I give them hugs or candies or-.”
“The regs absolutely cannot be trusted-”
“Ha! I knew you’d be a jealous boyfriend. Oh yeah! And I get to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on.”
Crosshair’s mild disgust must have shown on his face, because you laughed outright, “What about partner? Lover? Fuckbuddy?”
He rolled his eyes, “I’ll make ‘boyfriend’ work. Can I kiss you now or does the princess have more proclamations?”
That shut you up. Despite all the other parts of him you’d had in your mouth, one of his rules had been no kissing on the lips. Your eyes glazed over, and he smirked and leaned forward.
Your lips were so soft, plush and sorely neglected. A vague sense of regret and longing overtook him. How the hell had he managed to avoid kissing you until now? It didn’t really matter. He decided, as you let out a little hum of surprise, that it was about to become his new ritual. Every morning, every night, every time he could drag you into a private little alcove, he’d do it, just to get a chance to press his lips to yours.
He pushed forward, his tongue licking at the line of your lips, and you whined. His cock pulsed, and he began steadily rocking it against your clothed thigh. You opened your mouth eagerly and he dove in. Oh this was divine.
“Never thought,” he mumbled into your mouth. “Never thought it’d be like this.”
“Like…what?” you gasped.
“This…this fucking… brilliant. Stars, your mouth…”
You groaned, and he moved to sweep his deft tongue along your jaw, up to your ear. He bit at your earlobe, and your hips began doing some involuntary rocking of their own. Crosshair growled in your ear, satisfied when you shivered.
He stopped though, when he felt your stealthy hand cup his balls through his pants, “No,” he rasped, taking your wrist in hand and bringing the misbehaving appendage up to nip at your squirming fingers. “I told you, doll. I want… to try… something else.”
“Letting me call the shots would be something else,” you whined, still wiggling in his grasp.
He shook his head, “Not tonight,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Tonight, you just lay there. Look pretty. Look fucking gorgeous because that’s what you are, and keep making little noises for me.”
You whimpered at that, and he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual cocky, infuriating twist of the lips. This was an adorable half smile, part disbelieving, part alive with anticipation. 
Your pants were hastily removed, and while your shoes caused a bit of an obstacle, Crosshair simply wrenched them off and tossed them over his shoulder. One landed with a thump on the durasteel floor - a place he swore you would never be kneeling unprotected again. He was pretty sure the other ended up in Tech’s bunk. 
Crosshair traced his hands down your legs and slowly, ever so slowly pulled your knees further apart. You were pressed back against the pillows, open and waiting for him, and his heart rose to a furious din in his ears. He was almost positive you could hear it. 
He was seized with another fit of insecurity. How was he supposed to know how to cater to you like this? He knew how to grasp your throat just hard enough that your eyes would roll back into your head. He knew how you liked to be tied down and spanked. This wasn’t even the first time he had held your legs apart and let you squirm under his attention. But tenderness… communicating one’s feelings with one’s body… he didn’t even know how to begin. 
His eyes flicked to your face, flushed with shyness and lust. Your kind, welcoming eyes, more open in every breath than he was in his entire lifetime. You bit your lip.
You have to try to be worthy of her, he thought to himself. And he turned his attention to your pussy.
Still clothed in your thin, basic panties, the solid color was stained dark with your wetness. Crosshair cursed, and slowly descended between your legs.
First, he kissed your knees, not bleeding but definitely scraped, and the gentle touch of his lips had you sighing. You’d never made that sound before, that exhale of pure contentment. He wanted more of it. 
You flinched and squirmed as he ran his tongue down your inner thigh, but he held you fast. You weren’t getting away from him. Not now, not when he was finally ready to really try. 
Crosshair knew where you wanted him. You weren’t exactly subtle with the canting of your hips and the nervous fluttering of your fingers over the sheets. Your breaths were coming in short bursts of want. Stars, how were you this sensitive already? He’d seen you in a state of pre-orgasmic distress plenty of times, had made you beg for him past the point where you could speak in coherent sentences, but never had he seen such simple, sweet touches electrify you in this way.
Instead of lowering his mouth to your pussy, though, Crosshair moved to lick and nip at your hip bone. You squealed and moaned, and he decided he’d never heard such an addicting sound.
He brought his tongue across your belly, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth before teasing your other hip. Your whimpering was a constant symphony in his dark bunk. He pulled back and chanced a peek at your face. Your eyes were shining with yearning. You had one hand in your hair. He reached up, tugged your abused lip from between your teeth, worried that you’d draw blood, and glanced back down.
The wet spot on your panties had grown, and finally, with a lighter touch than he’d ever directed towards you, Crosshair ran a knuckle up and down your clothed center. You keened, and threw your head back on his feeble pillows, which had flattened almost completely under you. 
I need to get new ones, he thought absently as he tugged your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core. She deserves to be fucked on real pillows. 
He lowered his head, and you were both gone. 
Crosshair had tasted you before, often as a tease while you were tied up and helpless. But not often, and not thoroughly. He usually enjoyed watching your face while taking you apart with his fingers, snarling demeaning pet names into your ear. But this…this was transcendent. You tasted like home, like he could live his entire life and die between your legs. He drank from you slowly, meticulously, lapping at your entrance and circling your clit before closing his lips around it and lightly sucking. Your legs were trembling within minutes. Every few seconds, garbled, meaningless sounds escaped from your throat and spurred him on. He gently, reverently pushed a finger into your hot center, caressing the spot you both loved. You seized up…, and let go.
He rocked you lovingly through your orgasm, fingering you slightly and keeping his mouth clamped around your clit. Your pussy spasmed, your hips jerked, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. 
But he didn’t stop. 
Crosshair began again, stroking your throbbing clit with his tongue, refusing to allow the fire in your abdomen to subside. Now that he’d really tasted you, now that he’d felt you fall apart on his lips, his only goal was to make it happen again.
“C-cross!” you yelled, hand flying down to his hair. You tugged hard, and he groaned.
“More,” he mumbled into your cunt. His fingers pressed at that tender spot inside you, and your head flew back. You shrieked and writhed on his bed, dripping onto the sheets. 
You were moaning with every breath, tensing your legs and frantically thrusting your hips towards his waiting mouth. Your toes curled repeatedly in the corners of his vision. Your pussy was red and swollen, your slick arousal running down his hand and wrist. 
Crosshair curled his fingers inside of you and allowed his teeth to gently catch against your begging clit, and your second orgasm hit like a lightning strike. You seized up, screaming your release to the ceiling of his bunk. He gently lapped at your clit as you came down, your yells turning to sobs. Tears spilled down your face and onto your chest. You reached for him, and he encircled your shaking body with his arms.
“Shhhhh,” he hushed into your hair. “You’re alright…you’re alright…I…I’ve got you, mesh’la.”
You pulled back, tears tracking your cheeks as you stared into his eyes, “Y-you’ve never called me that before.”
Crosshair knew you understood the word. Echo called you mesh’la on occasion, Wrecker too. “I felt left out,” he said. “I should get to remind you of how beautiful you are more than anyone else.”
You sniffed, and threw your arms around him, “You’re beautiful too,” he heard you mumble, and his heart swelled. “But…”
“But what, doll?”
Your voice took on a fierce, desperate tone, “If you don’t get inside me right now, we’re going to have our first fight.” 
Crosshair was stunned, but only for a moment. This was why he lo…liked you in the first place. 
He took on the domineering tone he usually had with you in these situations, “Demanding girls don’t get what they want.”
But you just grinned, and lifted your chin, “Girlfriend privilege.”
He threw his head back and laughed. What had he gotten himself into? 
He couldn’t wait to find out.
“Just this once, mesh’la.”
You practically went limp in his arms as his straining, red cock breached your entrance. He stilled for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of being inside you. When you looked up at him, eyes shining with something he dare not name, not yet, he felt complete.
Crosshair grabbed hold of your hair and yanked, and you squealed from the pull of his hand and the push of his cock. This much he was sure of: he knew how you liked to be fucked, and he didn’t have it in him to be gentle any longer. And though he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, no one could accuse him of not being a giving lover.
“Just like that, good girl,” he growled. You whined and writhed, impaled on his cock and unable to even think. “You just lay back, and come for me one more time.”
“Cross…I-I can’t.”
“You can,” he assured you, and his thumb went down to ever so gently move on your clit. “You’ve done it for me before, and you’re going to do it for me again. Scream, bite me if you have to, but you are going to give me one more.”
You wailed, hips thrusting up, frantically trying to match his rhythm. Crosshair released your hair to grab your throat. He leaned in, a hair's breadth away from your ear, and whispered, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”
You tensed, and he grinned, “You like that? You like knowing you’re mine? That this mouth, these tits, this pussy all belong to me?” He started moving faster, keeping that pressure on your throbbing clit. He bit at your ear, “But remember, mesh’la, just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut we both know you are.”
That did it. Your cunt clenched around him, and you let out an ear-piercing scream. Your release came in strong, crashing waves, wiping your mind of anything else and soaking both of you. Crosshair couldn’t hold out any longer. He buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you, and you shuddered with the aftershocks, so full and sated Crosshair swore you’d fallen asleep.
He was wrong. You lifted a trembling hand to his face and smiled gently at him, “Thank you, Cross.”
He scoffed, “Nothing to be thankful for. Not like we haven’t done this a hundred times.”
But you shook your head, “We’ve never done this before.” You gestured at the mess you’d made in his bed, at your tangled limbs and the invisible closeness that still existed between you, even after the amazing sex. “Thank you for trying.”
Crosshair felt his strength leave him. He gathered you up, and buried his face in your chest, taking deep, calming breaths, “Don’t let me coast on it.” He murmured. “Don’t cut me any slack. I’m bad at this.”
He heard your giggle from above, “A little unpolished, maybe, but I’ve never seen you fail to excel at something you were determined to accomplish.” You stroked his hair. “We’ll be fine, babe.”
“We need to talk about that nickname.”
“I can think of others,” you teased. “Honey, sweetie, my little tooka-”
He made a gagging noise against your breasts, and you were outright laughing, “Babycakes, darling, love-”
Crosshair knew he’d tensed up at that last one, had let a little gasp escape in his contentment. He blamed the recent orgasm. But you’d heard it, and you stopped laughing.
“Oh…” he heard your voice take on a strange tone, and finally looked up at your face. You looked…shy. Shy and happy. You nodded, “Love, then. I can make that work.”
He felt his ears burning, and he turned his face back into your chest. A sudden possessiveness overtook him, and he gathered you closer, “You can’t…” he mumbled. “You can’t call anyone else that.”
You were quiet for a moment, probably remembering all of the interchangeable nicknames you liked to use with his brothers. Then he felt your hands grab his face - still hiding in your breasts like a coward - and turn it toward your own. You smiled down at him. 
“And that, love, is what we call boyfriend privilege.”
Crosshair gazed at you in amazement, then felt a rare smile break out over his face. He hugged you close, took his time kissing your lips again. He knew, in a moment, he would tell you to stay where you are as he got up and did something he’d never done for you before - clean you up himself. It’s something he would insist on doing from here on out.
Because, he decided, that’s what your boyfriend would do. And, as he was realizing rather quickly, he did not want anyone else to earn that title. 
It was his. And he was yours. 
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lenakluthor · 8 months ago
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totally random question but do you read supercorp fics? and if yes, which ones are your favorites?
i absolutely read supercorp fics! i've been devouring ao3 basically since i finished the show. here are a few of my faves: people will say we're in love by AKAWWJJD - this was recommended to me by a friend and was the second ever supercorp fic i read. it's angsty, but it's BEAUTIFUL and it's one of my favorite fics from any fandom, ever. it's basically a rewrite of crisis and the aftermath of that (with a heartbreaking, post-reveal beginning), and it's just so, so good. it really set the bar for me in terms of supercorp fics and i still think about it to this day. it's heartbreaking and poignant and just. perfect.
the banks of certain rivers and ever more light by @i-am-robie - these two go together, but if you only read one, read ever more light (although i highly suggest reading both). i found this one through a gifset based on the fic, and i am SO happy i did. this is the fic that made me believe in fluff again. i'm not kidding, before i found this fic, if it wasn't tagged as angst, i was not reading it. this one? completely changed my opinion. it's so soft and sweet and it gives you the same butterflies and good feelings kara gets around lena. i actually love these so much that i am in the process of binding them into a book.
same old blues by @searidings - this one is, in my opinion, hands down the best portayal of lena i've read so far. it captures her anger and hurt and emotions so well and it just feels exactly like lena. it picks up after the end of season four and is exactly how i imagine lena's reaction to kara being supergirl. obviously it's canon divergent, but this one just really nails lena. it's angsty and emotional and just SO good. the author describes it as "horny enemies to lovers" in their note and that really sums it up pretty well.
you're in my blood, like holy wine by @jazzfordshire - this one is one of my favorite AUs. it's a loose practical magic AU with witch!lena, but much more developed and fleshed out than in the show. not only does it have really well written supercorp, but it also showcases a really well done friendship between lena and sam. i'm gonna be real i'm very picky about AUs, but this one GOT me. i definitely recommend it.
i also highly recommend checking out all four of those authors' other works. robie has an AU that i really enjoyed, searidings has a fun little competitive supercorp one shot, jazzfordshire has one of my favorite smutty one shots, and AKAWWJJD has a mxy rewrite that is just wonderful.
i've read so many more that were really worth reading, so i highly recommend scrolling through the supercorp tag on ao3 and filtering out the results to find ones you might be into. i could've mentioned a bunch more that i enjoyed, but i figured i'd keep it to my top four and the honorable mentions because the authors all happened to have multiple i love. i've also got like, more than 40 open ao3 tabs currently, so i know my favorites list will definitely be growing.
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cyberwhumper · 27 days ago
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        Imran feels like he’s training himself just as much as he is Horus.
        He might as well have a goddamn clicker on himself, redirecting every time he catches himself thinking about how much of a failure he is, how much of a disaster Horus is, just how badly everything has gone wrong. He even has little reminders taped up around the house. They’re stupid, trite things from psychology textbooks, but he knows they’re true. Recovery isn’t linear. Slow progress is still progress. Keep moving forward. The time will pass anyways.
        He sighs, dishing out the wet food. WORDS ARE FUN, declares the fridge. He and Horus are still working on that—him spending hours at a time coaxing the animal to speak, rewarding him for each time he uses a word to ask for what he wants or needs, though Imran hasn’t exactly figured out what treat to give him when he says “please don’t hurt me.” Those words are less fun.
        “C’mere, Horus,” he says, keeping his voice light and soft. “Dinner time!”
        The animal pads around the corner, cautious. He doesn’t seem to like the tile floor of the kitchen, too cold and hard on his paws, but Imran keeps encouraging him. Pets eat in the kitchen, and Horus will adapt eventually.
        “Good boy. Good puppy.” He shakes the bowl, wafting hopefully-enticing synthmeat fumes across the room. Horus’s ears flick, nose twitching, and he sits, curled against the fridge, pressing his back into the corner where it meets the cabinets. His eyes are huge and white-rimmed, fixed on Imran as he licks his lips. Imran mostly suppresses another sigh. The body language is infuriating. The licking, is that hunger or anxiety? Is the eye contact obedience or a threat display? He’s making himself small, not hostile, which should mean vulnerability, but will he lunge if Imran gets close and he feels cornered? It’s maddening just how many variables there are at play.
        “Horus, come.” Imran tries adding a little bit more command into his voice. The pet is lower than him in the family hierarchy, so Horus should have to come to him for food. That makes sense.
        Horus doesn’t move except to quiver and lick his lips again.
        Imran doesn’t hold back the sigh this time.
        Recovery isn’t linear.
        Fine.
        He sits down on the tile himself, despite the way his knees protest, with his back to the dishwasher, then sets the bowl down and slides it across the floor to the animal. Horus’s eyes flick down to the bowl, then back to Imran.
        “Well, now that I’m down here, I’m not getting up any time soon,” Imran says, trying to make it a joke. “So you might as well go ahead and eat, puppy.”
        The time will pass anyways.
[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]
[OC INDEX]
COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!
Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn // @hunterjumperhoe // @menstrual-blood-feeding // @defire //
If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!
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bluejaysandblackbats · 2 years ago
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Honor in Crisis (This is where I'll put all my updates, links, previews, trigger warnings for this specific fic so you guys can reference it until I update my blog layout)
Polls 1, 2, 3 (Inactive)
Playlists (TBA)
Previews (TBA)
Chapters (Links & Trigger Warnings & Where They Are in the Recovery Process)
Jason Todd ( TW // Suicide Attempt , Gun Violence , Police Arrest Mention ) - First 72 hours
Kole Weathers ( TW // Eating Disorder Mention ) - 2 months into treatment , first visit
Eddie Bloomberg ( TW // Self-harm , Suicide Attempt , Explosives Mention ) - 2 months in burn unit, 2 weeks inpatient
Michael Jon Carter AKA Booster Gold ( TW // Self-harm Mention ) - no specific time mentioned, but he's been in inpatient for nearly 2 months
Charley Parker ( TW // Suicide Attempt Mention ) - nearly 3 months in inpatient
Grant Emerson (no trigger warnings for this chapter, but I will eventually allude to his history of CSA in future chapters) - 3 weeks even though it wasn't stated outright
Joseph Wilson ( TW // Self-harm , Suicide Attempt , Drug Abuse Mention ) - 2 weeks in inpatient
Thaddeus Thawne II ( TW // Suicide Attempt , Self-harm , Domestic Violence Mention , Kidnapping / Child Abduction ) - less than 24 hours in inpatient
Todd Rice (no trigger warnings for this chapter & none planned so far) - starting transition to outpatient
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epicbuddieficrecs · 2 months ago
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Weekly Recap | September 23rd-30th 2024
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Spooky season is upon us friends! Are y'all buzzing after that premiere? 😅
if you know anyone who's not tagged, please tag them in the comments!
Complete
these hands not fit for holding by justhockey (S8E01: Buzzkill Coda | 3K | Teen): “Can you look at me, please?” Eddie asks so sweetly that Buck doesn’t have the heart to deny him. He turns his head to the side so he’s looking at Eddie, and he lets his eyelids flutter open. He’s instantly met with Eddie’s warm, chestnut gaze, and it soothes some of the panic in Buck’s chest. Eases some of the hurting in his bones. “They you are,” Eddie whispers. “I don’t like it when you hide from me.”
Nothin' But A Little Shut Eye by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Pre-Buddie | 4K | General): Buck and Eddie accidentally nap together. And then keep napping together.
a sweetheart (to hold when i'm alone) by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (S8E01: Buzzkill, Cat Dad Eddie | 4K | Teen): “You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Buck asks, just as Tommy calls out, “Evan, the Uber’s here.” “Go, Buck,” Eddie says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The door closes, and Eddie comes so, so close to running to throw it open again, to calling out after them. To saying please stay. But he doesn’t. He stays on the couch, party hat strapped to his head, laptop closed on the coffee table. He stays, and he stares at nothing, and he wonders whether six thirty is too early to go to sleep. Probably.
Helping Hand by Inell/ @inell (PWP, Established Buddie | 5K | Explicit): When Eddie arrives early for their date, he catches Buck in a compromising position and offers him a helping hand.
🔥 stay here honey (i don't wanna share) by prettybegins (Post-S7, Getting Together | 14K | Mature): “Look,” Chimney’s back to a frantic whisper and Eddie can hear the sound of metal clanking together in the ambulance. “You gotta promise you’re not going to tell anyone I told you this. Promise me, Eddie.” “Tell anyone what?” “Eddie,” he groans into the phone, dropping his voice low. “Buck is going to go with Tommy. To New York.” or, amidst his son leaving for Texas, a sexuality crisis in his 30s, and the possibility of losing his best friend, Eddie can’t seem to catch a break.
🔥 the wayward son by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-S7 Spec, Sex Club | 56K | Explicit): Eddie misses his son, grows a mustache, pines after his best friend, and becomes a regular at a gay sex club. That last part is either an indulgence or an inevitable, somewhat self-destructive conclusion to several decades worth of compulsory heterosexuality and catholic guilt. Don’t ask him which.
& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (80K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.
(you should totally read the whole thing but I'll recommend a couple of specific chapters!)
Chapter 2: fuck josh russo (Post-S5E11: Outside Looking In | 4K) Chapter 6: diaz parents we fight at dawn (Sick Eddie, Hen POV | 2K) Chapter 7: guess i'm broken by design (Post-S4E04: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance? | 2,7K) Chapter 9: you can let it go (Adriana POV | 11K) Chapter 11: dumb and dumber (Post-S5E01: Panic | 2K) 🔥Chapter 12: evergreen (Canon Divergent, Buddie Break Up, Shannon Lives, Angst | 13K) 🔥Chapter 13: made of honor au (15K) Chapter 17: let me sit this ASSSSSSS (Post-Poker Date | 3K | Explicit) Chapter 19: not talking fic (S8, Getting Together | 4,5K)
WIP
🔥 how come everybody's dancing but you? by showedupatyourparty (Post-S7 Spec, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 2/4 | 19K | Mature): Buck feels guilty. Everyone he loves is going through something painful, difficult, or unexpected right now. And Buck is just…bisexual. It’s great that he’s figured it out, and it’s great that everyone has been so supportive, and Tommy is—Tommy is fine. The sex is good, at least. Consistent. When Buck gets a call from Eddie’s phone late on a Tuesday night in June, it’s cause for concern. * Buck unpacks his own feelings about his recently-discovered bisexuality. Eddie gets adopted by drag queens. They're both just trying their best to be happy.
🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 16/18 | 154K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.
🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 136/? | 434K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.
Podfics
[podfic] I'll be the ship, I'll be the shore by All_I_Ask/@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove //fic by  farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (Canon Divergent, Post-Ladder Truck Bombing, Dad!Buck, Nurse!Eddie | 1/2 | 2-2.5h | Mature): in a world where Buck has a daughter Christopher's age, he first meets Eddie at their kids' school. Things progress from there
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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 4 months ago
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Same anon from last time, but skskfjd I have so much to yap about?? Especially about my personal favs
The last Ritsu fic just make me think of Leo version, for some reason. Because like, this man, this guy, this Satan spawn if he was sent to the future and somehow, miraculously ended with Leo, he straight up the type to go into denial.
Like, him?? Leo?? The 600k influencer?? Where all of his fans is dying to be with him and a much better option (dramatic ass) somehow ended up with the NPC?? He's having an identity crisis because did he lose his taste in people already?? He blame Darkwick for not allowing to leave all the time because he ended up settle down for the "Honor Roll" or the "Useless NPC"
He probably think or believe he ended up with MC because she must've been desperate to be in a relationship. Of course, he's the Leo after all, everyone would wanted to be with him, even the basic NPC themselves. (Spoiler alert; he's the one who fell first and hard. Who's the one into the chick now, Leo?)
The diabolical streamer gets married?? (No click bait)
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Leo wakes up in an unknown yet familiar room where he discovers some things about the future
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Wc: 2,1K
Notes: it's implied you two were about to have sex.
No beta, if I have to close the document again I will die. Who would have guessed rewriting the same thing three times would make you fed up with it? /S
If leo is kinda ooc let's just say the anomaly made him more mellow jsjs
The thumping pulsation of his heartbeat inside his skull, pushing against the bone seeking to burst, does an unsurprising better work at waking him than any alarm clock, the pain ripping the sleep away from Leo in each of its quick waves.
One of his hands falls between his eyebrows, applying force against them that rolled down his temporal to the occipital where it pooled as honey-thick pleasurable pressure, even though it did an underwhelming job at soothing the ache to say the least. It's unlike any hangover he had ever gotten.
“Why in hell does my head hurt so fucking much?” It isn't like he has been drinking lately, ever since coming to darkwick the only chance at getting drinks was when he gets an R&R accepted, which Alan hasn't done in a good few days. At one point he thought that obscuary’s bar might sell him booze, given Romeo's complaints about a ‘drunk’ Haru, but they were just anomalous drinks that mimicked it so he wouldn't get a hangover either way.
Extending his hand towards the nightstand Leo starts patting around trying to find his phone to call Sho so he gets him some aspirin or something. After a few failed attempts he reluctantly starts opening his eyes slowly only to see that his phone wasn't there. Did he forget it at the bar? Or maybe sober designated driver Sho decided to take it away so he wouldn't embarrass himself?
Before he can even start cussing his friend out a whiff of sweet chocolate catches his nose. Could it be that he finally caved in and made him the trendy chocolate pastries shaped like dachshunds he has been asking him to? He always refused to, saying things like ‘cooking isn't the same as baking’ or ‘it’s really precise, I can't just throw things in a bowl and hope it works out’ but it seems he is humoring Leo again.
Now in a better mood, he peeks a leg under the unusually nice and heavy comforter and starts looking for his slippers still laying down. When he finds one he sits up and follows the smell.
Dragging his feet across the tiled floors Leo doesn't notice how different the floorplan -or everything really- is to Vagastorm, the white paint on the walls pristine rather than dirty with dubious substances and the hallway has a lingering scent of bergamot and sage clinging to clean AC cooled breeze, totally different to the drowning rust and oil hanging in suffocating hot air. Strangely enough he doesn't notice either how naturally he navigates without even one though forming, almost as if he was familiar with it.
Stopping just under the arch leading to the dining room, his enthusiasm falters as the white plate on the glass table was holding, disappointingly, not his pastries but cut up brownies with some red flakes over, maybe chili flakes? It would still be a spicy dessert so curious he reaches a hand over but before his fingers even graze it a playful voice scolds him like a little child.
“They are still hot! I don't want you whining about stomach ache”
If ghouls weren't more sturdy than humans Leo is 100 percent sure he would have gotten whiplash with the way his head snapped towards the right, surprised at your presence. Despite what he might have normally done, going on and on about how much of an obsessive fan you were for hanging out around his room and how he would make Darkwick get a restraining order on you, something inclined him to do nothing, almost feeling like it was obviously natural for you to be here.
It isn't until you start walking towards him, a playful smirk on your face, that he notices that there is a baby no older than ten months hanging on your hip.
Now beside him, your hand combs his bed hair, raking his scalp with the blunt end of your nails, the few times his ashy gray hair tangled around your fingers and got pulled, his nerves and spine trembled slightly. Even if he reasons pulling away –He cares so much about his hair, spending a good amount of money and time on it only for a nobody NPC to spread skin oils on it?!– the surprising ease that came with your touch urged him to stay and rest against the warmth
“Did Emmy wake you up? it's unusual for you to wake up so early” looking through his eyelashes, the black minimalist asymmetrical clock with cherry red arms points to 7:30. How come he woke up so early? When he spends the night editing or doxxing he barely can stand at 12:45. The sleep still hanging to his yellow eyes reminds him of when Alan bangs on his door to force him to train “were you editing that video up late?”
“Video?”
Putting your daughter in the highchair you start tinkering inside the kitchen, cutting some berries and fruit, grabbing a plastic bowl shaped like a panda and putting a dollop of yogurt before sprinkling chia seeds “weren't you doing a summary video for our anniversary? Your fans are kind of pushy about it, and I know you defend them saying they are mostly teens but…”
Tuning out the rambling as background noise, Leo's yellow eyes meet matching ones on the high chair, looking up to him with such an innocent love he can feel awkwardness seeping out of his bones, seeing something so small and weak put so much trust on someone who regularly scams rich old men.
“But I guess it's whatever” coming back to the table you settle the bowl in front of the toddler and face him again, now slightly worried “are you feeling alright, Leo?”
“I must be missing too much sleep lately” the words leave his mouth before he can even think about them
“Sho mentioned sending you some things for it if you wanted them”
“Hmm… guess I should see if I can finish it already” Leo reaches for his phone that was laying on the table and unlock it as he walks to his study, a big desk with a three monitor setup and a green screen. Throwing himself on the couch Leo opens his Whatsapp and sees that his chat with Sho has a bunch of notifications, most if not all videos.
Leisurely scrolling through the miniature one of them catches his eye.
It's an off centered video inside his Vagastorm dorm, very obviously taken as a prank on him.
Both of you are laying down on his bed and seeing something on his phone.
“I don't like that one, you look weirder than usual” without giving you a chance to refuse he scrolls to the next picture.
“We have gone through 45 pictures, what is the fuss about?”
“A makeup brand wants to send a PR package for Valentine's so you need a proper headshot” scrolling away 5 or more photos in rapid fire he sighs into your shoulder.
“Why don't we take a few in my phone?”
“No way, your camera sucks”
“If it's so much of a drag why not just decline? It isn't like you need some spare cash ”
“If I don't post -anything- for Valentine's my fans are going to think we are going through a hard patch and you already saw how weird they can be” it is very obvious for you that he means last Valentine's when a swarm of fans chased after you two like paparazzi. Even then he digs his head deeper in the junction of your neck and his arms hug you closer.
“Is that all?” You ask teasingly and he mumbles something into your skin “hum? I didn't catch that”
“I want all those bastards to know you are mine”
For a second it almost seems like the video froze but suddenly the half of his body he can see is dragged off screen to the right side of the bed.
“Aren't you too sweet to be the demonic influencer~~?” The phone's audio managed to catch some soft mwahs.
“Stop slobbering over my face I have to meet-! Oh~ I don't mind this too much actually”
And the video cuts to black.
A curse towards his friend slips from his mouth before wondering why exactly he has a slight memory of the event like staring at a rock under muddy water.
Sighing and turning off his phone Leo's devilish yellow eyes turn to the monitor displaying the screensaver. It isn't even one second before his natural curiosity takes over and wants to start snooping, wanting to see any future trends or blackmail he could use -would it even be snooping if it's his own computer?- and as soon as the wireless mouse moves the oh so famous video pops on the editing app.
The frame he left it at was the ending of the wedding ceremony, just after the telling of vows. At the beginning it is quite far away, just enough to distinguish who they are by rough features but as the couple -or some reason it's less embarrassing to say couple than say you and him- get closer to kiss so does the camarographer, quickly panning closer until both of your faces are encased in the frame. His caramel eyes dripping with such sweetness it reaches out from the screen to his tongue and makes him sick.
“Aww, looking kind of sour over here” your hands smooth the shoulders of his pajamas before digging each thumb under his shoulder blade attempting to undo years of hunching over work and making him sit up straight “feeling kind of jealous I haven't been paying much attention to you lately?”
Sliding a hand up the column of his neck, the nails softly scraping the skin making him sigh and almost inaudible “NPC” Through half open eyes Leo sees your face getting closer and how your lips curve into a smile.
“Back to that stupid name like back at the academy? Last time I checked I was LI” hot lips climb up and around his neck and behind his left ear “reminiscing about those times now? How about we reenact something else from back then?” slowly he moves his head to the side, Instigated by the thumb pressing on his cheek. Instinctually he opens his mouth.
Something wet enters his mouth and his hair is pulled up dragging his head above water.
“dude, are you okay?!” Sho yelps, patting him harshly on the back to get the water out of his lungs “I knew this wasn't a good idea”
Roughly Leo elbows Sho let him go and he sits on the floor feeling his lungs and nose burn each time he breathes in.
As his sight stops being obscured by thick black fog his surroundings get clearer. It was supposed to be an offhanded mention by their teacher but, after the class insisted, he took them to an exceptionally big marble bird pond he claimed a person could see their future in if they dipped their head in yet he refused to allow any of the students to do so.
Unsurprisingly Leo's curiosity got the better of him and Sho fell alongside him, sneaking in to see if it was true.
Just behind Sho someone he wishes didn't have to see in a while appears, you.
“What is the NPC doing here?”The question fell from his lips almost like a hiss.
“Alan saw you two leaving Vagastorm after curfew and asked me to check” given how Leo seemed still too winded to stand sho tells you to help him drag him back to their dorm. As you hunch besides him and slide his arm behind your neck you notice something under his shirt “Leo, you have a cut there!” it isn't weird noting how he was positioned and the somewhat sharp edge of the birdpond.
Your fingers dance over the thin but long cut just above his clavicle, the white skin irritated red.
Regardless of how innocent this touch around his neck was, it was impossible to separate it from the previous sight into the future with the current one.
Now with newly gained strength he swats your hand away “don't get so handsy so quickly, NPC” and slides both arms over Sho's shoulders who just sighs and carries him princess style.
“Bye, senpai” Sho shoots you a quick goodbye before going away with Leo who he notices is far too quiet than usual but as he looks down he finds him blushing and even his ears dusted with cherry red “why are you even red faced? It isn't even the first time I hold you like this… Oh don't tell me-”
“Shut the fuck up”
“First bet you lose”
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sirellas · 7 months ago
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post canon ds9 fic i won't write for real, in bullet points:
story starts with jake sisko, pondering and writing. he got a commission from some federation news service to do a fluff piece on "the soul of the klingon people" now that the war is over and they have a new chancellor, essentially a "look federation people, klingons are still chill. maybe chiller, even. so everybody be cool" deal (i'm imagining they have to do an article like this for every group of aliens that were a major combatant in the war) but jake takes it seriously and refuses to phone it in.
first he goes to alexander, who's visiting the station while between KDF assignments or something idk. but he says look buddy i wanna know what's up with klingons, you get me? alexander does not get him and also would like to know what's up with klingons, so he says hell yeah human friend let's figure this out.
then it becomes a series of vignettes of these two kind of out of touch young people learning about the klingon spirit and also themselves as they seek out someone who can tell them the secrets of life and honor etc etc. jake has a warped sense of normal from growing up on ds9 and alexander has never felt right in solely klingon or human spaces, so they have some gaps in their knowledge to fill.
i'm thinking they start with worf and martok, who are busy on qo'nos building their credibility and new government. worf isn't great at talking about feelings and martok's being pulled in a lot of different directions, so they're not much help. hanging around on qo'nos is interesting, but ultimately not what jake and alexander are looking for either.
then they start thinking outside the box. order isn't important but they start hitting up all relevant klingons and klingon adjacent folk: darok, sirella, ezri, nikolai, kurn, maybe a duras sisters cameo for equal representation of shitty klingons.
last we saw of kurn of course he had lost his memory but since this is my fic i'm not writing i'm gonna say bashir's not as great at brain reconfiguration as he thinks he is and it didn't take fully. so he's a little confused but getting the hang of it. a lot of "which one of you is my nephew again? i can't tell humans apart" kind of deal even though alexander is 3/4 klingon. he tells them what he's re-learned about klingons since he's been rebuilding his own identity.
nikolai also was essentially exiled but it's fine. he's got a gaggle of kids now and alexander and jake have to do the fake forehead thing to blend in while they talk to him. nikolai's got a lot of insight into worf as a brother but not much on klingons as a whole. alexander brings him some pierogi helena made.
alexander: "wow my foster uncle's wife looks a lot like your stepmom, isn't that funny?" jake: "nah i don't see the resemblance"
maybe at this point nog joins them because he's having his own identity crisis as the only ferengi in starfleet so he decides to just hop on board for jake and alexander's identity crisis.
they go see jeremy aster too, the kid from tng who became worf's brother through a whole thing, and he's got a pretty interesting view of klingons and the klingon spirit from an outsider/insider perspective.
sirella and darok are probably the least helpful but i think sirella baby-ing alexander would be fun. they're both trying to deny it and deny how much they like the attention (sirella at having a new-ish nephew-ish and one who wasn't raised klingon so she can do all the classic klingon things with him fresh, and alexander at having a(nother) mother figure to love him). jake is studiously taking notes in the corner while sirella tries to teach him how to skin a fresh kill or something like that.
anyway this whole journey ends with them finding kahless 2 (the clone of kahless) whose only occupation is thinking about the klingon spirit. but his wisdom boils down to "everyone's different and everyone has to figure shit out on their own, but together we can strive to be greater than yesterday" etc etc and jake gets his article. alexander reaffirms his grasp on his cultural identity and also gets to see a lot of his family so he's reminded that he's loved, even if everyone is doing their own thing. and nog develops a huge crush on sirella. everybody's happy.
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amethystfairy1 · 6 months ago
Note
Hey, sorry if this is a bit to dark or perhaps even triggering for you, or too much. You're free to just delete this or keep it or whatever you want to.
I just. I had one of the worst breakdowns I've ever had. An identity crisis, I suppose, that I was a terrible person and that everyone needs to leave me or they'll get hurt and burned. That I was merely placing on a mask and I was nothing underneath. I guess this is what happens if I spiral too much into my thoughts after the sun goes down (one piece of advice is to never listen to your brain after the sun goes down. I usually listen to it, but, tonight was just rough, I guess)
It was near the apex of this breakdown that I checked my Tumblr. For a distraction, a sign, I don't know. You posted the link for "Inkblot Lovely". I decided to go check it out, stay up to date to your series and all.
Scott's entry, I don't think it was the first time I saw it, but it was similar enough to my situation that I had to switch apps to calm down for a second.
It was me, in a sense. It was Jimmy's affection and sure belief in Scott that I was drawn to. I anonymously had a bit of a breakdown in a server I have with some real life friends. A friend anonymously responded that I'm not all of the things I think I am. That I'm not secretly a terrible person that needs to be cleansed.
I don't think that if it wasn't for your fic, I would've accepted the objections to my conclusions so quickly.
I want to thank you for helping me tonight. Thank you, truly. You showed me that I can be loved.
Take breaks, drink water, and eat and sleep well.
This is not dark or triggering or anything like that to me whatsoever! I promise you that! I am so happy and honored to hear that Inkblot Lovely went up at a moment where you needed it.
I'm so happy that Jimmy's affection for Scott in this AU and in this scenario helped you find the courage to talk to some friends in that server, even anonymously. I know sometimes it feels like we're all wearing masks, because we've gotten hurt, or maybe even done some harm in the past, but that doesn't define who are now, and it doesn't make us terrible. Scott's gonna have to learn that in TTSBC, and if in some way reading about him doing that has helped you feel like you can be loved, then that is the greatest and more wonderful thing I could possible hope to hear as a writer, that my stories meant something like this to someone and helped you somehow, because they've helped me a lot this past year as I've been working on them, too.
I am taking breaks, drinking water, and all those other good things, I wish the same to you and very much all the best. All the love in the world, because all of us need to see that we deserve that. 💖
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08melancholie · 2 months ago
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Patch up, Cowboy. — Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan
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tags: Tension, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gay Panic, Sexuality Crisis, enemies to whatever the fuck they are, Jealousy, Jealous Micah Bell, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Toxic Yaoi type shit i love them oh god, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Toxic Yaoi
summary: Law always finds itself around Micah and Arthur, no matter what job they do. This time, though, they get surprised by a bunch of bloodthirsty O'Driscolls and one hell of an ambush. Put your differences aside and patch up, cowboy.
a/n: my first character/character fic thats posted woah, were making history here chat
words: 3,040 | AO3 LINK
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A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.
"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.
He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.
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A nice little homestead that needed urgent clearance and robbing—deemed perfect for Arthur and Micah, by Dutch. Clearly not, by Arthur's protest to the idea. Micah gives a very offended scoff at the other man. "Come on, Morgan. You an' me, it's a perfect team." Arthurs' eyes practically roll to the back of his head, but he can't find it in himself to go against Dutch's word, no matter how much he may hate the blonde snake.
He gives Dutch a look, very obviously, before sighing and calling Micah to follow over to where their horses were hitched up. They rode mostly in silence, every attempt at small-talk between Micah and Arthur lasting a measly few minutes, if that many.
The homestead looked partially abandoned when they arrived. "This don't look good," Arthur wanted to listen to his gut and turn back, or find something else that actually looked promising, but of course, Micah was having none of it.
"Oh, don't be like that," He rode Baylock closer to Arthur and pulled on his horses reins. "thought you was one of them.. 'don't judge a book by it's cover' fellers." He mocks, trying to get Arthur to keep riding towards the homestead. With more reluctance, Arthur follows along. "That's the spirit." Micah makes sure to comment, looking over his shoulder to where Arthur is riding close-by. They hitch up a safe distance away—you never know, even if it looks abandoned. "Follow the lead, cowpoke."
Micah's got his hands on his two DAs, fidgeting with the handles while they slowly creep up the area, heading straight for the little house. Arthur puts his bandana up and places his hands on his gun belt, walking to Micah's left. They approach the front porch, making their way up the small set of stairs and up to the door. A quick glance to each other, Micah puts up his own bandana and nods for Arthur to have the honours.
The door swings open into a worrisome silence, nothing but the slow creaking of the old hinges as the door slows its pace and hits the wall. "Well, looks like nobody is home." Arthur glances at Micah at his quip, narrowing his eyes before walking by the man.
He gets straight to business; opening drawers and cupboards for anything useful. Micah does the same—kind of. He looks here and there while mostly just exploring the house. Soon, Arthur is left alone in the main room, a living room and open kitchen. He's looking through the kitchen drawers when the silence gets abruptly disturbed; a gasp, metal clanking, a gunshot. Arthur is quick to stand up from his crouching position and draw his revolver, checking the corners over to the room where the noise came from. As much as he'd love to see Micah shot, he doesn't need that right now.
One of the doors down the hall is ajar, and theres a scent of gunpowder coming from the room. A quick cock of his revolver, huff and prayer before Arthur enters the room; just to find a grinning Micah, leaned on the wall and playing with his revolver. "Didn't know 'ya cared that much about me, cowpoke." Arthur is just about to berate the blonde for the idiotic quip, before he's met with Micah's wide eyes— "Shit!" —and a quickdraw. Micah shoots right past his shoulder.
Arthur grips his gun and turns, to see a man on his front bleeding out on the living room floor. "The hell?" Both of them exit the room, Micah first.
Micah walks up to the dying man, using his boot to kick the mans gun out of reach, just in case. He crouches down and grabs a fistful of his hair, lifting the body up slightly. Nothing that could make him stand out—except a bright, neon green neckerchief. "What's an O'Driscoll 'ere for?" Micah murmurs between the two men before using his brain to connect two and two together, releasing the dead mans' hair and instantly standing to his feet, walking and shutting the front door.
Arthur catches on just as quickly, instantly readying his gun. "O'Driscolls ain't ever travel alone..." He comments, and he's very correct—proven so by the sudden gunshots that smash the house windows, glass flying over the floorboards as both of them duck, away from the view inside of the house through the broken windows. It's at least four other people shooting, against the two of them. They've dealt with worse, surely; this will go smoothly.
They're ducked under one of the two windows each, peeking out to shoot. Theres a few more than four, seven instead. Which is odd, as O'Driscolls never really go out in bigger groups than of three or four, which makes Arthur and Micah assume this was very planned. That's an afterthought, for now, as they need to focus on shooing them all dead. First three go down easily, until the other four start getting closer to the door. Something Arthur and Micah don't notice, is the O'Driscoll right at the door just waiting for the right moment. When it does come, it almost ruins the entire mission. The door opens, hitting Arthur in the side and shielding him from whats happening on the other side when the O'Driscoll busts in. Micah, thankfully, has a good reaction time and manages to stand up and move before getting shot. Unfortunately, it isn't enough as he gets shot in the thigh by the O'Driscoll before Arthur can close the door and shoot him. Micah hisses as the bullet penetrates his skin, clutching it and spitting out blood from his mouth, having bit the inside of his his lip open during the small stumble to the ground. "Get up, Micah!" Arthur's back is pressed to the door to prevent anymore surprises. Micah regains his composure with a low grumble, spitting on the floor before getting up and grabbing his guns again.
Gunpowder fills the nostrils of the two men by the time the last one of Colm's men escapes for his life, rushing away on his horse before Micah or Arthur can shoot him down. "Damn it," Arthur holsters his gun and places his hands on his hips, looking over to Micah. "we can both agree that was planned, right?"
Micah is picking glass out of his boot, sitting on the couch inside the house. "Mm, yeah. Seems so." His thigh is still bleeding slightly, his chapped lip stinging. Arthur got him a towel from the bathroom to wrap around his bullet wound, try and stop the bleeding until they can get him taken care of.
"Can't stay here, might come back." Arthur comments, opening the door and checking the surrounding area before beckoning Micah to follow suit. He grumbles, getting up from his seat and putting his guns into their holsters, walking—a bit uncomfortably—around the shattered glass pieces and out the door. They're mostly silent for the walk back to the horses, given how theres little to say here. Micah mounts up on Baylock with a hum and pat to the steeds neck, Arthur soon following. It was getting dark, slowly but surely, as the sun started dipping down around the earth, deep oranges and pinks filling the sky, with faint hues of blue still present. "I say we camp out, don't trust going back like this." Micah shrugs neutrally, deciding on just going with whatever Arthur has to say. They ride a few miles away from the homestead, into a nearby forest.
With their horses hitched safely, the two outlaws set their tents up and Arthur starts a little fire while Micah tries cleaning his wounds up. His lip is absolutely busted, few smaller gashes and splits in the bottom one along with the bigger one he bit into his flesh. It's a hassle to clean, even more his thigh. One spot on the towel is fully soaked, absorbing Micah's blood like a sponge. Peeling it off brings a grumble out of Micah, turning it over to a cleaner side and dabbing at his thigh. Arthur finished up the fire and looks to Micah, who seriously looks like the doesn't know what he's doing. For a man so stubborn, Arthur knew Micah would never allow him to help the clueless outlaw.
"You know what you're doing?" He decides to speak up, getting up from his crouching position and placing his hands on his gun belt.
Micah looks up at him from his thigh with an annoyed pout. "Of course I do.." He continued to dab at his thigh, but starts slowing down. "..clearly."
Would his hatred for Micah win over, be more important than not letting him get a nasty infection? That's a million dollar question.
And here's your answer.
Arthur sighs before walking over to the man and casually seating himself right next to Micah, prying the towel out of his hand. Micah goes to protest, snarl at him, but Arthur shushes him. "Don't be an ass now, it'll get infected if 'ya don't do it right." Arthur places a two fingers on Micah'd thigh, stretching it slightly which causes some vulgarities to slip from Micah's mouth. "Ah, 'm sorry," he places the towel back down and goes for his satchel, digging out a flask-like bottle and a small rag, along with a mini-box; mystery item, woo. "Hope 'ya don't like these pants that much," Arthur draws his knife and, carefully but swiftly, cuts up a better opening to the wound through his trousers.
"These are practically all I wear, Morgan. Surprised 'ya haven't taken notice of it."
"One of the girls'll sew it up for you." Arthur replies. Micah rolls his eyes and sits back, letting Arthur work with no further quips or protests. Arthur takes the flask and pours some of the liquid onto his clean rag, removing Micah's towel. "What's that 'ya got there anyw—shit!"
Arthur presses the rag—now soaked in medical alcohol—down onto Micah's thigh, grabbing his knee with the other hand as Micah tries to jerk it away. "Don't be a baby, Bell." He keeps the other outlaws' leg close, not letting him pry it away. "You're fine, stop overreacting."
Micah grumbles again, still letting out little hisses to the burning-tingly sensation in his leg. "Could'da warned me, 'ya know?" He mumbles, placing his hands in his lap and looking away from the white rag on his leg as it slowly changes in color.
After a moment longer, he takes it away and drapes the slightly red rag over his thigh, moving to grab the box. He opens it to reveal a needle and some thread, for the stitching. Micah watches him place the end of the thin string piece in his mouth, observing the action. A little too closely, maybe. Arthur runs the thread through the hole in the needle, looking at Micah. "No snarky comment 'bout it?" Micah rolls his eyes while Arthur gives a brief huffed laugh, leaning down slightly. He places his whole hand on Micah's upper thigh, trying to use the campfire to better see what he's doing.
A few twitches here and there; a gasp or two; Micah's arm finding itself gripping onto the wood log they're sat on. He never liked getting stitches. Nobody did, to be fair, but he had an extra hatred for it. He let out a deep exhale when Arthur finally finished, relieved. "We still got that lip you chewed open." Arthur reminds him, which breaks Micah away from his moment of gratitude. "Come on, it ain't nearly as bad as this," Arthur gestures to Micah's fixed up thigh, and he just waves him off. Arthur puts the needle and thread away, thankfully, and instead gets another smaller rag out. I mean, damn, is he always this prepared? Micah angles himself slightly more to face Arthur, who dabs a bit of the alcohol onto the clean rag, making Micah grimace. "You'll be fine." Arthur sees his reaction and clicks his tongue at the man.
A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.
"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.
He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.
Despite how confident he sounds, Micah is sweating; his hands are clammy and his eyes are slightly widened, staring either at Arthurs hands or his eyes, switching frequently between the two. Arthur was mostly focused on making this less painful for Micah, surprisingly, so he didn't notice much about how Micah was reacting. Thank God.
The rag swiped over his gashes, sending little tingles through Micah's mouth, causing his slightly parted lips to twitch a few times. His eyes were on Arthurs' face, taking note of the slow flutter of his lashes every few seconds he'd blink; the crease in his eyebrows as he focused; his slightly crooked nose that's been broken a few times, something he knew of, because he was there for one of the instances before; the slightly plum-ish color of his mildly chapped lips and their mostly thin, yet soft look—stop.
He grimaced at his own trail of thought, and his lips clasped down closed—right over Arthur's thumb. The man glanced right up at Micah's face, which was getting more red by the second, his blood split between going to his face and his trousers. Arthurs' eyes flicked between Micah's mouth and eyes, just like Micahs' own two. The silence was deafening, awkward and felt so much longer than it truly was. What made it even worse was Micah opening his mouth, just for Arthur to keep his thumb there for a moment, staring intently at Micah. Both of them hadn't yet realised the very defined outlines of their erections, leaving little to imagination if any of them dared look down and check.
After what felt like years, Arthur clears his sore throat and retreats his hand, wordlessly starting to pack up the medical supplies. No words were needed, actually. Their new, little problems spoke volumes, that much was obvious. Micah slowly got up and instantly retreated to his tent, leaving Arthur to intently wait for Micah to close the flaps before hunching over and exhaling all his pent-up breath, head in his hands. What the hell was that?
He glared at his own boner when he leaned his head down, cursing at himself. The distaste he held for Micah was not strange to anyone; in fact, it was a known fact that Arthur simply did not like Micah. That's how its always been, and how Arthur planned to keep it. None of this... whatever it was, with Micah, will ever mean anything. Arthur knew what he was, like Micah did. Both of them were specifically only into women, and this was a simple reaction of touch-starvation, their bodies being confused. That's what they'll go with.
Now there's another problem to solve, in the tent right next to the culprits' own one.
The campfire had long extinguished itself by morning when Arthur walked out of his tent, instantly feeling a certain heat in his cheeks at the sight of Micah—the early-bird, obviously long awake by the time Arthur had gotten up. Micah doesn't dare look his way, the beige hat he wears covering his cheeks well enough. The mere knowledge of his presence brought color to the pale, weathered skin of Micah Bell.
The awkwardness of last night didn't even compare to the one of riding back to camp. It was quite the ride, a slow, silent and painfully on-edge trot through West Elizabeth and back to Horseshoe Overlook. Neither of the two spoke, not even small-talk was deemed possible at this point. They rode alongside each other for a few hours, silent and red in the face.
Seeing camp come into view might have been the highlight of this trip for the two of them.
They hitched up wordlessly, ready to part when Dutch's voice beamed through the campsite, making both men curse and reluctantly turn. "My boys! Tell me, how was that?"
The truth would make him lose his goddamn head.
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Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! This ship has me in the worst chokehold known to mankind, they make me absolutely sick and make me want to bite my fingers off for writing this but..... toxic yaoi. Need therapy bad.
EDIT: I honestly left this a very open ending, and technically; a part two is possible. Please do tell me, on AO3 or here, if that's something you'd like to see! <3
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