#I never figured out the Around the World thing so snip snip get cut out

[theagentmoo]

Tfw you decide to start another project on top of the 50+ projects you have half written and unfinished but maybe this time I can finish it!

(Note: Will likely drop the idea after a week)

[kmlaney]

WIP questionnaire

tagged by @coffeewritesfiction and I am so sorry to take this long on a reply. Thanks for the tag!

Tagging @fallenscintilla (if you want! No pressure!) and @waywardwizzard and anyone who wants to!

1. What is the first part of your WIP that you created?

The very first line was: “D’ya think I care how it tastes?” I posted an edited version here. There's a snip of the original here.

For the record, it started as a character background for a TTRPG. In fact, it wasn’t even going to be the character I was going to play. Harrowed (undead/revenant) gunfighter? *eyeroll* Too cliché. I even made a homebrew archetype to play: a “spiritualist” in the late 1800’s sense. But that first line kept bugging me so I figured, okay. Fine. I’ll write this one scene and then work on my spiritualist. 

Yeah. No. I never played the spiritualist.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

I did all the fan stuff for Phil and Skyfallen, like playlists, faceclaims, all of that. I never did that before. I selected music for the theoretical TV show: main theme, a rotating list of outro/credits roll music, pieces for certain kinds of scenes. So if Skyfallen were a TV series, this would be the theme:

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

That’s like asking which of my pets was my favorite. I love them all. I guess I loved Phil enough to make them the viewpoint character. They’re a more-mature version of the kind of character I wrote when I was a kid, now with serious problems I can explore as an adult. I like Phil’s father, whom I was determined to fridge in the beginning because fridging is usually a female character. Ha Ha! Then I went and gave him a character arc that could only end in his death so he’s not fridged after all. 

I like Travelling Sam for being a conniving, money-grubbing jerk, but he’s fun to write. I like Eva as Carnival Mom; Maury for being a flamboyant, fun-to-be-around person hiding a serious drinking problem that everyone knows about. I like Doc Butcher for his name, for actually being trained as a vet but caring about everyone, and trying to do his best when he’s in over his head because he can’t do nothing. 

I like Maker Lewis for his change of heart, though he was already on the fence and just needed a shove. And I like Miss Warren for being a nosy reporter whom Phil doesn’t want to like but ends up liking anyway. She also lets me play at muckraking reporter. Choosing words to specifically slant a piece is a load of fun.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

Skyfallen has its roots in Westerns, so people who like cinematic westerns are a potential fanbase. I include horror, steampunk, and gothic elements, so if your venn diagram of interests includes those things then it might be for you. 

Things I like that influenced or feel like this story: Silverado, The Magnificent Seven, RIPD 2 Rise of the Damned (movies. I hate to admit that last one but it was fun). Deadlands (TTRPG game. I created Phil for this setting). The Dark Tower novels--primarily Wizard and Glass but any of the parts dealing with Roland’s world. 

There is zero romance. Phil’s ace, there is no main love interest, and anyone who gets together does so very off-screen. 

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

When writing the draft, the individual scenes flew out of my brain. I could hardly write them fast enough. In deep editing, though, it’s the big-picture stuff I find challenging. Which themes do I want to emphasize and which are less important? Do I really need all this buildup or should I start later? I need to show certain things so the later ones make sense, but that makes it even longer. It’s already very long; shouldn’t I be cutting things down? Argh. It's frustrating.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are animals. Most are utilitarian: Horses, dogs, cats, chickens, cows. There are monsters also (for certain values of “monster”) all along the continuum from “non-sapient animal” through to “self-aware human intelligence.” 

The way they figure into the story is more interesting. In life, Phil liked animals in general and had a special fondness for horses and mules. After dying and coming back reanimated, animals can’t stand to be around them. Phil doesn’t figure it out right away, and it hurts when they do.

7. How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

For the area the characters are in for the bulk of the story, most people walk, ride horses, or ride in wagons, carts, or coaches pulled by horses or teams of horses. There are a couple of trains but they are rare. In other areas, trains are common, as are ferries and lake boats. Airships exist; they are novelties and considered simultaneously luxurious and dangerous. In larger cities, along with the horse-drawn vehicles, people have bicycles, rickshaws, pedal-powered rickshaws, and palanquins. Automatons in a variety of configurations may be subbed in for horses or people in any of those conveyances. 

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve identified some specific foreshadowing that needs to happen. So I need to add that in. There are a few names that aren’t consistent; they’re flagged so I can fix them. I need to put in a few encounters so later ones make sense. It’s not exactly foreshadowing so much as worldbuilding. So editing stuff.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

I have a hard time identifying tropes in my work, probably because I’m in the trees, so to speak, and can’t see the forest. Or groves, to push the metaphor. Having said that, here’s an attempt:

Portal/isekai

Found family

Unlikely group of heroes

Humans can be evil; monsters can be sympathetic

Religion, Magic, and cults 

Monsters dwelling among humans

Enemies to not-friends (don’t push your luck)

Things get worse

Everyone has secrets

Lost memories, memory tampering

Weird West

Steampunk and Gothic Horror

Gunslinger/trick shot

Noble Demon/antihero

Good is not nice

I did come up with one of those taglines that you might see on the bottom of the cover of a book: 

“Every Skyfallen has something they want to forget. And everyone in the Mistlands is Skyfallen.”

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

Originally I was hoping for traditional publishing. I might still try to go that way. I’m also looking into self-pub, and websites that host serial stories. I think this story fits better into a serial format than a traditional book format. I need to make it more coherent (hence editing phase)

[buttered-baguette-writes]

Fascination, Determination, Obsession

An eighth year fic where Harry learns the Dark Arts (also on AO3)

Harry didn’t look too closely at the walls as he made his way through the school. It had only been partially repaired, and the mess that was Hogwarts made his skin go cold. There were quite a few workers still bustling about, trying to finish their jobs before the new school year started in a few days. Harry kept his head down and moved quickly towards the headmaster’s office. He fiddled with a necklace he had wrapped around his wrist.

“Mr. Potter, glad you could make it. Thank you for coming in early.” McGonagall greeted from behind her new desk.

Harry gave a polite smile in return, but he was immediately distracted by the other student in the room.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

McGonagall cleared her throat, gaining their attention again. “The reason I called both of you in here is because, due to the circumstances, you two will be sharing a room for the year.”

Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes while Harry tried (and failed) to keep his eyes trained on the professor.

“I’m afraid others have a stronger resentment towards Mr. Malfoy, so this is the best option,” she said rather matter-of-factly. Sensing rebellion, she added, “All the eighth years are in pairs. No exceptions.”

The professor then went on to explain some of the general rules for their returning grade.

As Harry rubbed his eyes, Malfoy took the opportunity to look.

Potter held himself differently, though he still slouched into the chair. Horrid posture as always, Draco thought. But overall, Potter looked healthier, fresher. Even his unruly hair had been tamed – it was longer and still messy, but not terrible.

Though it was his eyes that took Draco by surprise. They were still framed by those hideous glasses. They were still that (stupidly pretty) vibrant green, yet they were dimmer. There was none of that overbearing fondness towards the headmistress like he had seen before the final battle. Potter was politely acknowledging her and nothing else. There had been more emotion in his eyes directed towards Draco.

And Draco wanted to discover whatever it was that caused that change. As always, he was immensely curious about the other boy, though he would never admit it out loud.

Potter suddenly looked at him, and Draco was able to see it clearer. There was a darkness attached to the boy-who-lived, swirling around him, and seeping into his being. It was as if it was trying to attach itself to Potter’s magic.

Draco held the gaze. He was certainly going to figure out what had happened.

“Is that all, professor?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent,” Draco cut her off, rising from his chair. He hurried out of the office and down the halls, hoping he could get to the room first and have a few minutes to himself. However, he and Potter had this fun little thing going on where they practically stalk each other. And Potter had a well-known habitat of following him around.

“What, Potter?” Draco snapped, abruptly stopping in the corridor.

“Do you know what this is?” Potter asked, holding up his wrist.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. Wrapped around the other boy’s wrist was a black leather necklace that hung a small stone that was half covered in silver. And it exuded ancient, Dark magic. The small amulet used to be a common thing for Dark wizards to carry with them. However, they were now extremely rare thanks to the prejudice against the Dark Arts.

Having never seen one in person before, Draco longed to reach for it, to feel its magic thrum in response to his. But he stopped himself. He wasn’t daft.

“Why?”

Potter huffed. “A simple yes or no,” he snipped back.

“Of course, I know what it is,” Draco admitted, turning his nose up. “Do you?” he asked despite already knowing the answer. So what if he missed getting a rise out of people and that the wizarding world’s golden boy was the closest person? Besides, his favourite pastime used to be making those green eyes spark in irritation.

Before Potter had the chance to respond, his name was being shouted from down the hall.

With an eye roll, Potter turned to face the young-looking man that was rushing down the hall towards them. Though Potter never fully turned away from Draco. Draco who the young man ignored entirely. As much as that annoyed him, it gave Draco the chance to observe the entire conversation, uninterrupted. He did not miss the way green eyes became almost dead, looking the newcomer up and down, completely disinterested.

“Mr. Potter! I was hoping that after our class ends, you’d stop by the younger years and help me with a few demonstrations.”

“I am not taking your class, Professor,” Potter said, voice cold and distant.

Draco almost shivered as he watched green eyes grow dark with anger – proper anger compared to the slight irritation he had directed at the blonde. And he marvelled at the fact that this random professor was somehow ranked lower than him to Potter. It got Draco wondering about who else was subjected to the icy look Potter was giving the other man, and why he wasn’t one of those sods.

Oh, he was most certainly going to be keeping an eye on the golden boy this year. It seemed he would be more interesting than originally believed.

“There’s still time to change your schedule,” the man insisted.

“No.”

And with that, Potter spun and walked down the hall, dragging Draco with him. Picking up the pace as the turned the corner did little to deter the professor as they could hear heavy footsteps following. But before Draco could protest, he was being shoved into the wall – except, he went through an opening in the stone that silently shut as Potter came in after him.

Draco was disappointed that someone else know about the secret hallways, but more importantly, he was annoyed at being manhandled.

Yanking his arm back, he hit Potter on the arm.

“What.” Another hit. “The.” And another. “Fuck.” And another as he hissed out the words. He was seconds away from strangling the idiot, fingers twitching to do it.

And then Potter spoke up. “Sorry, that’s the new defence teacher.”

Draco’s anger quelled only in favour of his curiosity. He quirked a brow, crossing his arms as he started leaning into the other boy’s space. “The class you love so dearly? The one you taught yourself when Umbridge plagued the halls? Why, I thought you’d be dying to teach it, with your famous hero complex and all.”

Potter shook his head, loose curls bouncing along (not that Draco was paying attention, no).

“That class is rubbish, and that professor just wants to kiss my arse. He tracked me down to a muggle food store!” Potter threw his hands up before stuffing them into the pockets of his horrible pants. “I just wanted to buy stuff for brekkie.”

“My, my, what terrible problems you have. Fanfare, the horror.”

Potter glared at him. At least that was still normal. “They’re not even teaching them actual Dark Arts.”

Draco’s mind skidded to a halt. “And what do you know about the actual Dark Arts?”

It was fleeting, but Draco saw it. Saw the danger in those green eyes, the darkness, the hunger for knowledge and power. He felt the power that dripped off the other boy. And, oh, if that wasn’t an exciting idea. The Harry Potter, golden boy-who-lived and defeated Voldemort, with untouched power, messing about with the Dark Arts.

But if Draco was ever going to believe such a thing, he would need solid proof. Proof of what the other boy was doing, and that he had done it of his own free will. Because as enticing as it would be to watch the Gryffindor explore the Dark Arts, he wasn’t going to willingly give the ministry a reason to throw him in Azkaban with his father.

Well, not until his probation was over. Then he’d tell everyone where to stick their wands.

As the pair made their way through the hidden walkway towards the new eighth year area, Harry constantly shook out his hands. He was angry and his magic wanted to be used as an outlet. As relaxing as that sounded, he didn’t want to blow a hole through another wall. Besides, Malfoy was with him, and he didn’t want the other to get hurt – it wasn’t like he was mad at the blonde.

He had almost regretted coming back to school, leaving the safety he had created for himself at Grimmauld Place. But seeing the recognition in Malfoy’s eyes when he showed him his amulet made him realise that a person might be more helpful than all those books he had been reading.

He just needed to get Malfoy to trust him enough to talk about it.

He also needed to ignore that defence professor’s existence and he’d be fine – have less anger to manage.

Probably.

Still not fully calm once they made it to their room, Harry enlarged his trunk, dug out a book, and left.

He found himself wandering around the lake, dropping onto the grass closer to the forbidden forest than the castle. He let the warmth of the sun soak into his skin as he soaked up knowledge from the heavy book for the remainder of daylight. The new dorms being the closest building to the forest made it easy for Harry to make his way back, whenever that was going to be.

He knew he was being watched, on and off the entire time he was lazing in the grass. He knew without looking up to the eighth-year dorms that he would find Malfoy’s gray eyes gazing curiously down at him.

Part 2

[norcalbruja]

Odd but generally good development

So I've been busy job-hunting for the past week, but around that time, I had a really odd development with Haik Number Four and then one more development with the Water-Spirit.

Behind the cut for spiritual sex/birth, but it actually wasn't that painful or traumatizing when it was happening.

Not sure if I've made things coherent enough, but I tried to figure out where I started losing focus/rambling and I snipped those bits out. Recent developments SEEM to be a much better sign than the problem with "the Not-Children demons constantly shit-talk me and disrupt my meditations with pain/depression," so… yay, I guess?

--

So you know how I've mentioned that my dead-end of a life tends to overwhelm me, so I sometimes lose my shit in the Spirit-World and start screaming for someone to help? And sometimes that involves asking to have sex with them because of the various reasons stemming from "I'm broke," the two main reasons are that 1) I can't risk making a physical altar in my Catholic mom's apartment, and 2) I already give the gods some food from my normal meals, so… more lunch/dinner just doesn't seem like enough?

Anyway, so I was having a bad time and I just asked both the Water-Spirit and Haik Number Four if they could help me or at least get me to stop focusing on my shitty life again, and about halfway through the desperation-sex, a weird sort of jelly-ish mass came out of me and turned into a fucking FULL GROWN Tyrannosaurus rex.

So the T. rex just nudged me and went "hello, mother."

And I was like "um… hello?!" because that is literally all that happened. No pain, no screaming, out she comes fully-grown???

The Irish gods were fucking ecstatic to see her and collectively went, "YAAAAAAAAY, YOU BIRTHED A LIVING CREATURE THIS TIME!!! HELLO, REXY!!!"

Lola Buwaya just sighed and went "Well, this IS a good sign, but remember the Irish gods are too loud. Try not to do that again, anak."

And I was like "…I don't know how this happened to avoid it, though??? I'm not even sure who the father is, because I don't know if spiritual beings gestate or not. Is this Haik Number Four's dinosaur kid, or the Water-Spirit's???"

Technically Spirit-Me has "given birth" to a living/known creature before. This one time, I gave birth to a beluga (also full-grown after about five minutes), but that was so long ago that I think it happened back when I still thought the Water-Spirit was Haik.

The Water-Spirit's main response was "oops, that was my fault. Let's not do that again."

I never mentioned the beluga before because birth from a different species aside, it's just a normal whale. Like, it's wild, and like many nature-spirits, it doesn't tend to talk a lot. The beluga just swims around the spiritual Arctic, occasionally it pops into my meditations and says hi because I'm its Blood Relative, and that's all. I don't even know what sex/gender it would be, because it doesn't consider that kind of stuff important.

Which seriously contrasts with the T. rex, who came out with a sentient mind and calls herself female, so I just call her "Tyrann" for lack of another name.

Tyrann considers the Water-Spirit her father because he's my MAIN husband (explanations in the next post, because I'm pretty sure I've also mentioned Dionysus my least formal "husband" ever), so that's good enough for her.

The Green Man heard the news, laughed his ass off, and went "Aquaman can't have sired this big lunk! Who she calls father is one thing, but she's a creature of the earth, same as you! I wouldn't be surprised if she had no father at all. Remember, love--sex in the Otherworld isn't literally sex. You don't need two people's DNA for spirit-birthing."

And I was like "Can someone tell me how spiritual births DO work, though???"

So the Green Man said to me, "The closest way you can understand it is when your ideas grow up. The beluga came out of nowhere, like your man did, and it doesn't help nor harm anything. Miss Lizard is old and earthbound, and she has been a long time coming."

And I asked him, "Well… what kind of idea IS Tyrann?"

He answered, "I'm guessing she's just your career goals and whatnot. She's not complicated, just big. And she has nothing to do with the spirits, or decolonizing, or any of the Tagalog men hanging around."

---

A couple days after that, I accidentally birthed/laid a fucking giant bird-like egg, and while I was wondering who's the spiritual "father" again (I do not know any wind- or bird-spirits!), and why I'm constantly birthing things that are my size or larger, Hera stepped in and just… chiseled a hole in it.

She told me gently that while it is a good sign that my spiritual uterus is getting better from the Not-Children constantly invading it, I'll probably need to "abort" some of these in the future. Like, I'm already dealing with way too much spiritual issues like "where are the anito?" and the Not-Children to handle more "actual children" running around, and I barely have a clue about how this even happened to start with.

And I'm like, "Well, that makes sense. Thank you for the advice, Hera."

She also cautioned me that just because I'm getting better doesn't mean I'm EMOTIONALLY ready to deal with more spiritual "children," and the fact that I'm healing up pretty quickly is actually a double-edged sword. Which gave me even more vibes of "just because you're healthy enough to pop a kid out doesn't mean your SITUATION is right for being a parent."

Especially in my case, where I'm looking for day-jobs that I detest just so I can scrape up the cash to get the fuck out of my Catholic mom's apartment.

Regarding how Tyrann is "big but uncomplicated," she is pretty fucking eloquent for a dinosaur. She saw one of my spiritual meltdowns a couple days ago and remarked that "you ask for so little, Mother. A house and an art career. I don't know why anyone hasn't helped you yet."

And I told her, "Art in general is hard to get off the ground. Nobody tells you how to DO ANYTHING. People hate paying for art or supporting their artist friends."

Tyrann said, "No. I don't know why the ANITO haven't helped you with it. So much of your work deals with THEM. You are one of their people, and you beg them for love through your work. You ask for anyone to help with your mouth, but you keep writing about the anito, how to get away from Catholicism, of the terrible creatures in the islands. This is not a prayer that an Irish or a Greek god can really step in for, even out of love for you."

I was like, "That is EXTREMELY grown-up talk for someone who was born last week. And no, Tyrann, nobody knows why the anito aren't here. I got a reading that said the anito abandoned me because my work and my blog are both blasphemous, and they left me to my own devices because I'm begging them for help too much. The problem is, almost all of the Tagalog spirits reacted like that would be the ultimate dick move if they're right, so… clearly, SOMETHING is wrong with me, but people don't know what it is."

And Tyrann just grumbled and went, "I don't like it." So she went off somewhere, annnnnnnd I don't know what a T. rex is capable of in the Otherworld, but I hope she doesn't try to bite anyone???

[makeowndestiny]

⏳ aisa?

FOR EVERY “⏳” I RECEIVE, MY MUSE WILL OPENLY TALK ABOUT A BIT OF THEIR BACKSTORY. | accepting

“You know what? I’m in a giving mood, I’ll give them the truth about us. With so many different depictions and with so little time in the actual myths, they need to be set straight. So, forget everything you’ve ever read or seen. This is the story of the Fates and how the Eldest came to live among the humans.

I am one of three. I am the Eldest of the Fates, Atropos if you don’t recognize the more common form of my name, the thread cutter. And my sisters and I were created around the same time that the humans first came on the scene. It was our job to help keep an eye on them, to help them grow, to help them live, to help them die. So we could never leave the spinning room. We’re weavers, you see. Clotho, the youngest spins the threads, creating new life. Lachesis, the middle sister, measures the threads, watching over their choices and guiding them to their fate. I, as I mentioned, am the thread cutter. I decide when they die and how they die.

Things were going well for awhile until Lachesis thought that my desire to actually go out and experience the human world as all the other gods and goddesses did meant that I would go back on my duties. It didn’t, for your information. I knew how fragile life was and how easily it could end. With just a snip of my shears life ceased before it went on to join what most call Heaven and what some call Hell. 

But she didn’t think that I should go and enjoy what we helped create because I did nothing but destroy. Things started getting worse when I finished for the day and we were meant to build a nation next. Instead of listening to me about how if I were to cut anymore threads that day it would cause panic among the humans, Lachesis created the first murder. She changed two brother’s fates. Abel was taken too soon and Cain became a murderer whose punishment was to bear this new nation on his shoulders.

After this, I met Apollo, and I admit I was too free with my heart. He said that he didn’t see me as a destroyer, as a harbinger of destruction and I fell for it. For six months we were together and I thought I was in love but Apollo had other plans and he tricked me and my sisters into extending the life of a beloved king. This went against our rules and so as you can imagine, when the truth was revealed, because the bastard ended things the moment we did what he wanted, things between Lachesis and I weren’t exactly getting better.

So to teach me a lesson, she did it again. She cut a life short and I cut her thread in return. I didn’t kill her, her thread grew right back, we are immortal after all but when you kill your sister you get into an even bigger fight and create the great flood. When my sister and I finally stopped fighting, I left the spinning room where I ran into Hermes. 

Well, Hermes had a message for me. We took a trip down to Hell and he told me that if I killed my sister again, that I would be sent out of the Silver City and placed in Hell where I would not be able to roam freely even if I was better friends with those in the underworld than with those in the Silver City. (Hell and Heaven, come on keep up.) So I went back to the spinning room and I figured out a way that I could talk my way into remaining on Earth. I told the head honcho that I wanted to go live among the humans so I could get a better understanding for their deaths. I was given the green light and here I am over 330 years later setting the record straight.”

[night-market-if]

Paper Lanterns Part 23

Paper Lanterns is a community based IF game here on Tumblr.  I need something to fuel the creative fires while I chip away at The Night Market demo, and I want to give you all a little something in the meantime.  Here’s how it will work.

I will post a snipped under the cut every few days.  At the end of the post will be three options.  Comment below or send me an ask if you would rather be anonymous, over which route you would like to see.  I will tally them up and write the majority option and post it in the following days. From there, we repeat the process until we, as a community, have crafted our story.

Please reblog and share this with others.  The more people we have participating, the more fun I think this can be for us.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 under the cut

Winner of last vote: Stay down and listen to Hazel. Rat is still unconscious behind you and not out of the woods yet.

The front door shut, leaving you in a dim light with only the faint sound of a bubbling cauldron in back.  You stared at it. As if it would open again and Hazel would come through. But it never did.

You don’t know how long you sat, starting at the front door and trying to figure out what had just gone wrong. You were doing the right thing by bringing the kid here.  If you had gone after the assailant, you know he would have died.  But Hazel would be safe, and you would have a key in your hands to give to the Baron. As it was, you were left with nothing but a shaky knowledge of what it meant to watch over Rat and keep him stable.

Letting out a shaky breath, you lean your head back against the wall, watching the steady rise and fall of the boy's breath.  You felt paralyzed with inaction.  The world around you had begun to spiral so quickly, and what you could even do about it felt nearly meaningless.  

Closing your eyes, you let yourself slip into near paralysis for a moment. Just one small moment where you could feel absolutely all of it. Where the terror could consume you and panic could strike you down. Where your mind raged at the world and how unfair it had treated you. Treated her. Treated the small boy struggling for his life behind you. 

Then, you opened your eyes and rose to your feet.

You didn’t know what stabilization meant for a patient that had been on death's door and had been healed by magic.  Rat was breathing, and that was about all you could really hope for.  You needed to figure out how to get Hazel out now, and you needed to get the key to the door before the Baron lost her patience.  You knew if Hazel had her way, you would stay here until the boy woke, so he wouldn’t be scared upon waking in the witches shop.  You didn’t have that same moral quandary, though. Hazel always did say your lacked empathy at times.

Writing a note, you explained the situation as best you could and put in on the boy's chest.  Grabbing a sleeping draught from behind the counter, you forced a bit of it down the kid's throat, praying he would sleep most of your absence away.  You just needed to get to the Night Market proper.  Send someone down here. Granted, the people you trusted didn’t even fill one hand, but you couldn’t be picky at a time like this.

Grabbing a few herbs from the back of Hazel’s shop, you pocketed the things that you know would help you in a pinch. Healing tonics. Smoke orbs.  Small bits of poison in case you needed to coat a knife.  You pause at a picture Hazel still kept behind the counter. It was of you, Malcolm and Hazel.  Right before the big fire. Arms slung around each other, waist deep in the creek out back.  You three had been so young then.  The fat of youth full and flush on your face, while little lightening wisps circled above your head.  You missed those days.

Not bothering to look back at Rat, you left the shop.

The first stop was Neve’s.  She was serving up kafe to a pair of broken tusk orcs when you paused by her side. “I need help.”

She eyes you for a moment before nodding once, walking out of ear shot of her customer.  Customers, that you couldn’t help but notice, looked eerily interested in what you had to say. Or perhaps you were paranoid. “Rat is at Hazel’s.  He was dying and she had to use her magic. So I need to now get her out of the hands of the Velvet Guard.”

The woman took the quick explanation in stride, only pause for a singular moment to make sure she heard it right. “And what exactly is it you need me to do?”

“The kids unconscious. I need you to go and watch over him.”

She looked as if she were about to protest. You didn’t get involved with the Albright’s.  But maybe it was the look on your face that made her change your mind. Or the clear fact that you had been crying at some point.  She nodded, turning to her customers.

“Alright, clear out! I’m closing early for the day and I don’t need your asses breaking my stools until you’re ready to go.”

You smile a little, feeling relief as you turn to slip away again.  God, you owed that woman more than she’d ever know.

Next was the Velvet Guard. The docks where the bails took place.  You knew Hazel would be processed by now, set for bail at some point during the next gathering.  You didn’t want her to sit in the cells that long.  You walked past the rickety saloons, only dribbling with life today.  Past the sand covered pens. The moans on the wind were low, so you doubted the flesh pits were all that full. A shiver went down your spine about someone making an example of her. Of sending her there just because of who she was.

You walked towards the cave's entrance. Not the one guarded up top, but the small alcove near the base of the cliffside.  Two guards stood blank faced outside of it and when you shoved by them without preamble, they barely seemed to care.

Behind the desk was a stout woman, her pink hair coiled in tight braids around her head.  “Can I help you?” she had deep green eyes and an angular face where golden olive cheekbones sat high and prominent.  

“Hazel Albright. I want to buy her bail now.”

She didn’t even look down at her ledger. “I’m afraid Ms. Albright is not up for bail.”

“What do you mean she’s not up for bail? She’s been processed, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” the woman stated. “But she is not eligible for bail.”

You felt rage settle across your shoulders. They weren’t even giving her a chance.  “I’m going to ask this of you, nice and slow, and you’re going to answer me, alright? Why the fuck is she not eligible for bail?”

“Because she’s a witch. She is a threat to our community.  Placing such a menace out on the streets again to wreak havoc is not something the Velvet Guard is willing to do.”

“She saved a boy's life,” you grit through your teeth.

“She used unauthorized magic  that was not sanctioned.  Magic that has specifically been forbidden from her after the likes of her mother.  It is a shame that a child was involved in all this.  We will be collecting him as well to make sure she did not taint him in the process.”

Your fingers wrapped around her throat.  You didn’t remember reaching out, but you had her out of her chair and pressed against the jagged wall behind her.  She reached for a blade at her hip but you had it tossed across the room before she could raise her hand.  Leaning in close, your eyes darkened as you tightened your grip.  “I think the Velvet Guard needs to rethink their position, don’t you?”

Behind me, I could hear the guards from outside, rush in.

Voting is closed! Part 24 is here

Use the front desk woman as leverage. Threaten to kill her without the release of Hazel Albright.

Fight the guards around you and see if you can storm the cells and get Hazel free.

Release the woman and put your hands in the air in peace.  Your threat was made, now you needed to go find help from someone with more power.

Well this one went a different turn than I expected.

If you haven't seen, Chapter Two of the Night Market is now out! It is linked below if you're interested. Reblogs and feedback are also love! Also, there is a Paper Lanterns discord now. Click the link below to join.

Patreon || Ko-fi || Demo || Discord

[vrishchikawrites]

You know what would be interesting?

JC never lost his golden Core.

And Wei Wuxian did not lose his.

But he still gets dropped into the Burial Mounds. And like I dunno how, but he comes out of there having mastered the new form of cultivation.

Jiang Cheng acts like a dick that's par for cannon. And this Wei Wuxian who has survived the burial Mounds with his golden core intact has no time for his drama.

He definitely confesses to Lan Wangji o ce he is out of the burial mounds.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the Sunshot campain would be brilliant. Cultivating and * *wink wink nudge nudge* * dual cultivating.

JC is seething with jelousy. He has everything. The gentry name, the money and sect leadership but the whole world is only speaking about Wei Wuxian and his like awesome cultivation. Both the sword style and with his flute.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning- Wen Ning convinces his sister to join the war. Wen Ning wants to be on Wei Wuxian's side.

What would JC throw a tantrum over if he doesn't have anything to throw a tantrum over??

Like for example he blames Wei Wuxian for Lotus Pier burning. Obviously it's not his mistake. But one day he is yelling at Wei Wuxian about it and sect leader someone maybe XiChen, maybe Sect leader Nie. Whoever. Comes and like defends Wei Wuxian.

What would he do then faced with the facts? Cling all the more to his warped world view? Or apologize?

It will be interesting to see.

You don't have to take this prompt if it's too messy or whatever. I love you and your writing.

Also, thank you for choosing to write my previous prompt.

XOXO.

(this is a little similar to trapped and patient but also quite different. Hope you like it! The format is a bit different because this is a lot of time to cover in a short prompt)

When he stumbles out of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian is stunned. He can't believe he made it, that he was able to survive it, without his sword.

Wei Wuxian walks forward shakily, one unsteady step at a time, putting distance between him and that wretched place.

He feels weak, drained, devastated in small ways.

But he is free.

---

Yiling offers shelter in unexpected ways. He's able to hide in a temple to recover. His condition is wretched enough that he's mistaken for a beggar. A few people take pity on him and offer fruits and buns.

It takes him a week.

That's all it takes for him to recover.

Wei Wuxian washes all traces of Burial Mounds off him, soaks in icy river water for hours on end until he feels purified and reforged.

Now, he's ready for revenge.

---

Wei Wuxian has only tried his cultivation method on the dead. He has used it to repel the fierce corpses, fierce ghosts, and spirits soaked in resentment.

When he tests the method on the Wens, it proves to be even more effective. They scramble like mindless beasts, driven by fear and confusion. The sounds of his Dizi pierce the air and induce madness.

He watches from a distance, indifferent as the Wens turn on each other, swinging their swords, shouting at phantoms, all sense and intellect gone.

He turns away.

---

Jiang Cheng's arms wrap around him and the fog around his mind starts to slowly recede. He stands stiffly, blinking a little before looking beyond his martial brother.

Lan Zhan is there, staring at him with wide eyes. There's so much open concern on his usually stoic face that Wei Wuxian wants to turn away.

"Wei Ying,"

It is only then, under the power of that golden gaze, that his fugue state dissipates. He sees Lan Zhan step forward, almost reaching out only to pull back at the last moment.

Jiang Cheng pushes him away and punches his shoulder, "Where have you been? How dare you abandon us and just frolic off somewhere?"

Wei Wuxian swalllows with difficulty and answers their questions with his habitual dismissive charm.

But that honest expression of open concern on Lan Zhan's beautiful face doesn't leave.

He meets those golden eyes and feels something shift within him.

Shaking his head, he dismisses the feeling. There's no time for sentimental reunions. He turns his attention towards Wen Chao, unsheathes his sword, and kills him in one clean strike.

There. Done.

---

The war is already in full swing by the time he joins it. His martial brother and Lan Zhan are quick to take him to Qinghe, not even letting him ride his own sword.

"Wei-gongzi, I'm happy to see you safe," Lan Xichen greets, running a discreet eye over him. The older Lan brother's concern is well hidden but Wei Wuxian senses it nevertheless.

The man looks like he's just about ready to banish him to the healing halls.

He opens his mouth to reassure Lan Xichen but Nie Mingjue intervenes, slapping his back solidly, "I hear you're responsible for the devastation at Yiling. Good work!"

Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, hoping to banish that increasingly familiar look from Lan Zhan's face. "Thank you, Nie-zongzhu." He smiles up at the man, "I can give you a full report of what happened if you wish it."

The Chifeng-zun's expression shifts into one of approval and he nods, "I do wish it."

"I would like to know as well, if you don't mind," Lan Xichen says and Nie Mingjue nods before he glances at Lan Zhan.

He chuckles, "Lan er-gonzi can join us as well."

---

Wei Wuxian doesn't realize he's been spending more time with the Lan brothers and Nie Mingjue until Jiang Cheng angrily points it out.

"You're too good for us, are you?" He demands, "Abandoning us in favor of your new friends! Even in the battlefield, you and Lan Wangji are inseparable! Have some shame! How dare you abandon your responsibilities and mess around with that man?"

"a-Cheng," Shijie reprimands gently but her voice is weak.

"Aiya, Jiang Cheng, who keeps track of such things amidst a war? They're all our allies. It's not like I have abandoned everyone." He still trains with the Jiang disciples and leads them in battle after all.

"Wei Wuxian!"

"Jiang Cheng," His voice makes his irritation clear, "Is this really the right time to worry about such trivial matters? Who cares about appearances during war? Are were not all one when on the battlefield?" He asks, narrowing his eyes on the furious Jiang, "We don't know whether we'll live or die when we ride out and you're concerned about who fights alongside me? Just who are you speaking of?"

"Who I am speaking of?" Jiang Cheng snaps in return, "Your obsession with that man is unseemly and reflects poorly on the sect! You know it and yet you carry on shamelessly-"

"My obsession?" He demands, "Just what are you trying to imply, Jiang Cheng? You're going to be a brat just because Lan Zhan happens to be the only one able to keep up with me?" It is no secret that his three month stint sharpened his cultivation in ways people find hard to fathom. He didn’t just develop a new cultivation method, he grew. Surviving the Burial Mounds is a feet beyond the skill and endurance of most cultivators. 

Wei Wuxian has earned his already formidable reputation.

Jiang Cheng reels back at the reminder, his face twisting with rage.

Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian takes things lying down. He has spent a lifetime appeasing Jiang Cheng and dealing with his insecurities.

He no longer has the patience.

---

He reaches out instinctively, pulling Lan Zhan out of a blade's path, spinning around to block the strike with his bare arm.

His thick leather brace manages to minimize the damage and he doesn't lose his arm but it is a near thing.

With a hiss, he crowds against Lan Zhan and brings Suibian down in a sharp slash, cutting the Wen before him from left shoulder to right hip.

"Reckless." Lan Zhan says later as he carefully stitches the cut.

"I couldn't let you get hurt." Wei Wuxian says softly, peering down at the kneeling figure before him. He has seen Lan Zhan in various states of indignity, covered in blood, robes soaked in the disgusting sludge of a war-torn field.

Nothing diminishes his beauty.

Wei Wuxian's heart races, his head spinning as he smells the scent of sandalwood. He swallows as Lan Zhan shifts closer, carefully snipping the excess thread and studying his neat stitches.

This close, he feels overwhelmed and realization dawns.

"I love you," He breathes, stunned.

He loves Lan Zhan. The knowledge strikes him now, suddenly, without warning. "How did I not know?" Wei Wuxian feels strangely dazed. How could he not know? It is so obvious to him, his constant need for Lan Zhan's attention, "I hate it when you ignore me." The feeling of those snapping golden eyes on him when he finally manages to gain Lan Zhan's attention, "It's thrilling when you don't."

He has never met anyone more beautiful, "I find you better looking than any maiden." Lan Zhan's proximity now makes him feel-, "Breathless," He says, "When I'm close to you I feel- how did I miss-"

Lan Zhan grip is like vice around his wrist.

Wei Wuxian stops, going pale as he realizes how brazenly he had just confessed love to a man. If Jiang Cheng were here, he'd definitely gut him with Sandu, "Lan Zhan, I-"

Lan Zhan surges forward, eyes blazing and expression dark.

Warm lips slide over his and his mind goes silent.

He doesn't think a single thought that night.

---

War doesn't wait for anyone and Wei Wuxian doesn't say anything in protest when Lan Zhan pulls away from him. He watches with heavy eyes as Lan Zhan shrugs on his discarded outer robes and glances at him.

"Is your body alright?" He asks and Wei Wuxian feels a blush crawl up his neck.

“No! Of course it isn’t,“ He complains even though his body is buzzing with lingering pleasure. He pouts up at Lan Zhan, who studies him with careful golden eyes, “Really, going on and on, taking your pleasure without any care for my virgin body.“ Lan Zhan’s ears are delightfully red, “Who knew er-gege could be so bold?“

“Wei Ying,“ Lan Zhan’s expression is flat but his voice carries a hint of a waver. Wei Wuxian just grins in response, “Be serious.“

In all honesty, his body is already back to its regular state of being. His Golden Core is still spinning furiously and the lingering energy from Dual Cultivation has healed any aches and pains he might have. 

“Fine,“ He says in a petulant tune, inwardly delighted that Lan Zhan is now his, “But er-gege must kiss me to make me feel better.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate, leaning over him and gently tipping his chin up for the demanded kiss. 

Wei Wuxian sighs, sinking into it as a curtain of silken black hair forms a private cocoon around him. 

---

The war ends but Wei Wuxian’s problems don’t end with it. Three issues stand before him; helping the Wen remnants, helping rebuild YunmengJiang, and figuring out how to marry Lan Zhan. 

One obstacle stands in the way of two of these three goals. Jiang Cheng absolutely refuses to lift a finger to help the Wen remnants, even though Wen Qing’s assistance helped them win the war. Jin Guangyao may have killed Wen Ruohan but Wen Qing prevented thousands of casualties.

Wen Ning was also responsible for rescuing Jiang Cheng from the Wen capture before he lost his Golden Core. It was fortunate that Wen Zhuliu had been called to visit Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao had to wait to enact that punishment. 

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian managed to steal Jiang Cheng away just hours before Wen Zhuliu returned.

And yet, Jiang Cheng chooses to side with the Jins on the matter instead of listening to Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian knows it is partly because their sister is marrying into the Jin clan and they can’t afford to make things difficult for her, but still.

Jin Zixuan will obviously protect shijie. There’s no need to be so cautious, especially if three out of four sects oppose imposing any sort of punishment on innocent people. 

On a personal front, Jiang Cheng’s disapproval of his relationship with Lan Zhan is blatant.

Jiang Cheng can’t really stop Wei Wuxian from marrying whoever he wishes. He doens’t need the sect leader’s permission as he’s not really the member of the family. But his shidi is making things difficult with his sneering disapproval and contemptuous comments in public.  

He has already alienated Lan Xichen completely by calling Lan Zhan’s honor in question (boy did he earn the punch Wei Wuxian had leveled at him - sect leader or no). Nie Mingjue will never side with some upstart over Lan Xichen. 

Lan Zhan himself doesn’t care. He has never liked Jiang Cheng and he never will. He only retaliates when Jiang Cheng tries to attack Wei Wuxian. 

His protective er-gege as no tolerance for anyone trying to harm him.

Which is what, ultimately, breaks Wei Wuxian’s ties with YunmengJiang. 

The confrontation is embarrassingly public. He doesn’t mind Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue being present but feels upset about Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao being there as well. 

“Twin Prides of Yungmeng, isn’t that what you promised me?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “Where will your pride be if you break all of your promises and get into...” He waves his hand at Lan Zhan in disgust, “Is this how you intend to repay us? My father raised you to be the Head Disciple of the Jiang Sect and you would rather be some sort of deviant?“

“Jiang Cheng-“

“And you would side with the Wen dogs too! Was this always your intention? Did you always want to bring down my sect and support its enemies?” 

“The Wen remnants have helped us. They’re not our enemies.“

“They’re not our enemies now,“ Jin Guanyao interjects calmly, his voice soothing and patient, “But surely you see that it may not remain so? We cannot risk another war.”

“They’re barely a few hundred people and we have already taken most of their resources. They’ll live as poor peasants. How can they be a threat to us?“ Wei Wuxian asks. 

“You’re indeed naïve, Wei-gongzi,“ Jin Guangshan says in a gentle, placating tone, “Perhaps your fondness for Wen-guniang is making you turn a blind eye. Beautiful women have a tendency to do that.“ He chuckles indulgently.

The sly implication in his tone isn’t lost on anyone. Lan Zhan’s expression turns frosty and Wei Wuxian feels a surge of fury strong enough to make his blood boil. There are so many things wrong with that statement that Wei Wuxian, for once, is rendered speechless.

“You question the honor of Wei Wuxian of all people?“ Nie Mingjue demands, taking a step forward, “I have stayed silent because Jiang Sect business isn’t my business but I will not have you slander and belittle a proven warrior in my presence!“

“Indeed,“ Lan Xichen says calmly but there’s no mistaking the sharp look in his eyes. Lan Xichen rarely reacts to provocations or interferes in sect matters that don’t concern him. But he’s not going to let anyone upset his younger brother carelessly, “The matter of the Wens is easy to resolve. Let us give them a small piece of land, let them set up a village, and forbid cultivation among them.“

“Er-ge,“ Jin Guangyao begins but Lan Zhan is out of patience. 

He steps back and bows to all assembled before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s back, “Wei Ying will choose his own path. Wens will remain free. Wei Ying and I will marry.“ He meets Jiang Cheng’s furious gaze, “Jiang-zongzhu must decide whether his brother’s happiness matters to him.“

Wei Wuxian winces. 

“My brother’s happiness?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “All everyone has ever cared about is his happiness! What about me? What about our Sect? A sect he nearly destroyed because of his loyalty towards you.“ Jiang Cheng looks at him, “Did you forget my mother? My father? How do you intend to repay the enormous debt you carry, Wei Wuxian?“

Wei Wuxian stares back at him, “What is my repayment, Jiang Cheng?” He asks softly, “What will it take for you to consider that debt repaid?” It has been over five years since the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian has bled and slogged through war to restore that place to its former glory. He has kept Jiang Cheng safe, helped renegotiate shijie’s marriage, and used his name to draw skilled cultivators to YungmengJiang. 

What more can he give? 

“Loyalty.“ He stills, “You devote your life to YungmengJiang and nothing else.“

Lan Xichen makes a faint, alarmed noise while Nie Mingjue huffs in disapproval. 

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, feeling Lan Zhan’s fingers flex on his back. He levels a flat look at Jiang Cheng and thinks on the matter of debts. He thinks about Madam Yu’s refusal to bend, of Jiang-zongzhu’s passivity and lack of planning. He thinks about the Wen’s unprovoked attack on Cloud Recesses and the inevitability of war. 

He thinks of his Lan Zhan and shijie’s Jin Zixuan, without swords and facing an armed group of Wens under Wen Chao’s orders. 

He thinks of love. Of what it means to be truly, unconditionally loved. 

No sorrys and no thank yous. No debt owed for simply being a part of someone’s life. 

He thinks of acceptance that comes with an older brother’s amused smile. He thinks of an uncle’s gruff admonishment to behave followed by a stiff reminder to eat, you’re skin and bones already. 

He takes a deep breath and decides. 

“No.“

[luxwritesfanfic]

400 LUX

Sherlock wants to cut things off but the reader thinks he should really think it over. Or, the one where Sherlock isn’t one for saying “I love you”, but he has always offered you a sword. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You could hear the water running in the bathroom as you slipped down the hall to make coffee, your phone in one hand pressed against your ear as Mary went on and on about all the things that you two needed to do today and the other hand held your shear kit that you barely used. It was a few days  before the wedding and things were in full swing for you as Mary’s bridesmaid and Sherlock as the best man. Mary, God bless her, was having a breakdown every other day and it was all you could do to not to set her off by picking the red velvet with buttercream over the vanilla cupcakes.

“— and we need to go by the florist today, too, and I probably should stop by and speak to the DJ... and John, he’s not worried about any of it! He’s asking for tea and biscuits as if I’m not already balancing the most important day of our lives!” Mary was talking at a mile a minute and as she continued the never ending list of tasks she had set for the two of you, you began situating all of your supplies to cut Sherlock’s hair. He had insisted you do it before the wedding, and not even your lack of experience was enough to convince him to just go to the shop with John. Sherlock’s hair was something he took very seriously so you were unsure as to why he’d even ask you to do this.

Speaking of the devil, you rounded the hallway and started for the bathroom.

“One second Mare.” She didn’t miss a beat and continued right on talking once you muted her, and you wondered if this is how John felt talking to Sherlock. Knocking on the door before walking in, you fought through the steam to find a comb on the counter.

“If we’re going to be in here at the same time, you might as well join me.” Sherlock’s head popped out from behind the shower curtain, his hair and face sudsed up and glistening from the water. The longer you realized you had actually been thinking about taking him up on his offer, the quicker you knew that you had to get back to your task at hand and get out of the line of fire. You pulled open some of the drawers and rummaged through them.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that.” Hoping that the steam was thick enough to hide your growing blush, you turned back to the vanity and opened the mirror cabinet. “I need you to hurry up. Mary’s having a-“

“You would, too.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and that was enough to make you roll your eyes. Luckily for you, the mirror door was hiding your face from his prying eyes. Smug and darling as always, your man was. You snuck a peek at him and realized he’d moved back from the curtain and resumed washing his hair.

“Seriously, Mary will probably have a heart attack if I don’t leave within the hour. If you love me, five minutes.” You shut the cabinet and slipped out of the room to finally return to your phone call.

“Sorry M, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sherlock is being Sherlock.”

“Now you’re really starting to sound like John. How’s his suit fit? Does he need any adjustments? That reminds me, I should call the tailor! Be a doll and bring something to eat on the way? Love you!” With that she hung up, leaving you in the dust trying to comprehend if she actually was speaking words or Simlish.

—

“Four minutes, fourteen seconds.”

You turned back to him while you gestured for him to sit down so you could wrap the towel around his shoulders. His hair was still pretty wet so you wouldn’t have to spray it much.

“What are you talking about?”

Sherlock only smiled to himself in response, and you figured he’d just moved on from that conversation already. Combing out small sections of his hair and clipping the rest up, you asked again.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I really don’t mind going to your usual stylist with you. I don’t want to mess you up for the wedding.”

“Y/N, I told you already, if I’ve asked you to do it it’s because I want for you to do it. It’s only just a trim. Come on with it.

So you began at that, snipping away little by little. You had cut John’s hair for him a few times right before a date but his was much easier than Sherlock’s and it grew like a weed so even if you did mess up, his date could hardly tell. You told Sherlock all about your plans with Mary for the day and he seemed to be listening intently but you could tell his mind was wandering. You knew him better than you knew yourself.

Moving to stand in between his legs to trim his face framing pieces, you asked him about his plans for the day.

“Hm,” he started, resting his fingers tips lightly on your hips in front of him, tapping away as he thought out his answer. “Mycroft insists he has words for me, despite my telling him to keep them to himself, so I suppose I’ll be seeing him at some point. John is coming here to talk wedding...” which you were almost certain really meant a case, “and I want to tell Mrs. Hudson you’ve decided to give up your flat entirely to live here.”

You had just finished trimming his hair when he had said that and luckily so because you were sure you would have chopped off a lot more than needed being caught by surprise like that. Running your fingers through his hair to be sure you didn’t miss any sections, you contemplated what exactly was happening between you. You had never really brought up completely moving in even though it was true that you practically already did. You hadn’t slept in your own bed in months because you always chose the opportunity to sleep with Sherlock. Moving in seemed like a dream but you always had it in the back of your mind that one day Sherlock would have a change of heart and change his mind on whatever the two of you were, and you didn’t want to be without if that happened.

When he realized you still hadn’t replied to his request, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at you. “Is there really that much to think about? John said you’d say yes if I made it clear I was the one asking you to. Had I not done that?”

You couldn’t help but smile, because seriously, what could you have possibly done to deserve the opportunity to love someone as... well, Sherlock, as Sherlock. He was everything everyone said he was, but he had shown you willingly that he was also so much more. You’d choose the life with him, whether it was one of a house and kids and a white picket fence or if it was one that consisted of running around London in the rain because Sherlock swore he saw something suspicious and the only viable option was to run after it. You would choose him. Every single time.

Even with all of your declarations of love, you two had never said talked about the fact that you were definitely exclusively dating which often hindered a conversation of the future. You had told him you loved him more times than you could count but he had never said it back and you were okay with that. He didn’t have to reciprocate it for it to be true. But, it did leave room for doubt that this might not always be what Sherlock chooses.

You thought of all the ways you could bring it it up and realized that straightforwardly was the only way to go. You brought your hands from his hair to hold his face and rubbed your thumbs in slow circles and he relaxed on the spot. He was putty in your hands, as much as he hated to admit it.

“I just don’t want you to feel stuck with me. It’s a big step. And if it ends up making you miserable, I just- I don’t know. I don’t want to be the one to make you miserable.” Your voice was soft as you spoke and you realized that with Sherlock’s bangs being much shorter now, you got to see more of his pretty face. Although, currently, it was contorted as he worked through trying to comprehend what you were saying to him. Blinking away at you for what seemed like forever, Sherlock cleared his throat and took your hands from his face and into his own instead.

“I’m... not sure I understand. I don’t mean to be rude at your expense but if I wanted to leave you, I would. I could rather easily. Just as easily as you could leave me. But you won’t. And I won’t... I’ve tried to show you in all the ways I know how. So would it not make sense for us to live together?”

It slowly started making sense for you and you could slap yourself for being so blind. Sherlock had let you take the lead in a lot of aspects in his life recently that you couldn’t explain what for. He urged you to pick out the next case he would work, allowed you to pick out his new microscope (Y/N, they’re the same color. Pick one. I don’t know Sherlock! I feel like this one is cool grey and this one is light grey, it makes a difference!), and now you were cutting his hair, the most important part of his appearance from his point of view. He trusted you to make the right choice every time and there really was no right choice, your choice was the right choice.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you phone began to ring with Mary’s picture posted on the screen.

“Shit, I’m so late! She’s seriously going to kill me.” Your gaze drifted from your phone to Sherlock who surprisingly patiently awaiting your answer. “Tell Mrs. Hudson as soon as John gets back from holiday that you two will start moving my stuff over. And make a little space for me in your closet, okay? I need more than just a few drawers.”

Sherlock smiled at you like you like he did when you called him brilliant and that was your highest honor to date.

You expected the usual slick remark but he simply said, “You’ll have what you want. Mary will be calling again in about 30 seconds. You should really be hailing a taxi right about now.”

And there he was, the Sherlock you wouldn’t change for the world. You wished you had time to tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine but alas, duty calls. You kiss him like you mean it- because you do, and rush off to your friend’s rescue but not without stopping in the doorway.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. But even more importantly than that, I trust you. I’ve had the time of my life fighting dragons with you and I’d happily spend the rest of my life doing it if you’d let me. It’s nice to know that you will. I just thought you’d like to know.”

Just like that, you turn his world upside down as you rush down the stairs, leaving him speechless. He thought his story was one that would be written about him and him alone and as sure as he used to be in that, he’d come to the realization that he was just as sure that two was better than one.

“And I, you.”

[insaneasgardian]

Haircut Of Love - Sambucky

Summary: Confessions are made, and lives are changed the day Sam gives Bucky a haircut.

Genre: FLUFF

Warnings: Bucky being slightly sad while thinking of Steve, Bucky thinking that his feelings for Sam are unrequited (they're not), Idiots in love.

A/N: I have actually worked on this for longer than I should've XD A big thank you to @cassiecasyl and @aixabi for being such great friends and helping me out by proofreading, and making suggestions!

He knew he should've stopped Bucky tagging along, but the moment that infamous, "I'm coming with you!" so eagerly left the super soldier's lips, Sam knew it was pointless to persuade him to stay behind.

Not that he really minded, the mission he'd been assigned with was a tough one, and it would've been lonely if Bucky hadn't been so adamant about accompanying him.

Sam stared into the fireplace and focused on the embers as he let his thoughts wander. There were some terrible people to be stuck with in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, but Bucky certainly wasn't one of them. He was an interesting character for sure, and Sam was sure he still didn't know a whole lot about him, but their relationship had developed all the way from 'a couple of guys' to 'almost best friends'.

"Hey", came the voice of the man Sam had so deeply been thinking of. He turned around with that signature smirk he reserved especially for Bucky, and watched with delight as the White Wolf turned a light pink color, and it wasn't because of the cold.

"I thought you might want to catch a shower, the water's nice and warm" the brunette said, and Sam nodded as he noticed his friend's damp hair from his own shower.

"Man, you need a haircut" Sam remarked, and much to his pleasure elicited a chuckle from Bucky.

"Do I?"

"It has gotten kind of longer..."

"Well, it's not easy to find a hairdresser in the forest"

"I could cut it for you"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he didn't miss the way Bucky's widened ever so slightly. Sam internally scolded himself, feeling that he'd made things awkward somehow.

There was a slight pause in the atmosphere, but the ex Winter-Soldier eventually smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine nonetheless.

"I'd like that," he told his friend, "would you mind?".

Sam shook his head, a bit too enthusiastically, and that made Bucky raise his eyebrows

“I can do it now if you want, so I don’t get your greasy ass hair all over me after I’ve gotten out of the shower”, Sam casually slipped in to look less ecstatic than he really was.

Bucky scoffed and crossed his arms at the statement, but his grin only grew wider.

“So… are you gonna give me something to cut your hair with?” his friend asked him, making a scissor snipping motion with his fingers.

The brunette’s lips tugged downwards into a frown and bit his lip as he often did when pondering. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the bottom lip in between those pearly white teeth, but he forced himself to snap out of it.

After a brief moment, Bucky snapped the fingers on his vibranium arm and turned to walk towards the room he was staying in. “Wait there!”, he had instructed Sam, who had no intention of getting up from the comfortable position he was in anyway.

Promptly, Bucky had returned, clutching a pair of scissors that Sam immediately identified as a pair of Captain America themed kiddie scissors he had recently bought for his nephew, AJ. He burst out cackling.

“What’s so funny Samuel?” the White Wolf pouted, plopping next to his friend who was dying of laughter.

“You stole that from AJ didn’t you?” Sam pried, inwardly dancing at the thought that his secret crush would want something with his face on it.

“Psh, no… I permanently borrowed it, that’s all”, Bucky insisted, moving from the couch to sit on the floor in front of Sam’s legs so that the other man would be able to cut his hair with more ease.

“Mhm”, Sam hummed, already weaving a piece of Bucky’s hair between his fingers, and snipping it off, just like that. It seemed easy enough, so he kept on going, chopping bits of hair here and there, trimming the areas which really needed it, and taking care not to overdo the cut and end up making Bucky look bald in certain places. He was doing quite well considering that he was equipped with nothing but a pair of small, blunt kiddie scissors, which Sam was certain professional hairdressers did not use

A lovely period of pure silence fell in between the two men. The only sounds were the scissors delicately doing their job of cutting the brown locks, accompanied by the gentle crackle of the fireplace, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

“Steve used to cut my hair, you know… Used to do it all the time in the 40’s” Bucky said, breaking the silence. Sam froze in his movements, but only for a second. It was rare for this man, who had been through so much to talk about his past like this.

“We’d sit outside on the street in the summer, he’d be on a chair with his scissors and I’d sit down in front of him, punk gave a damn good haircut to be honest”, he continued, and Sam chuckled.

“People would give us dirty looks as they walked by, it wasn’t uncommon for people to think Steve and I were a couple, but it was frowned upon to be in a same-sex relationship back then… sometimes still is of course”, his tone was now sad, as if he wanted to admit something, but was refraining from doing so. Sam stopped what he was doing, and set down the scissors, obviously sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

��Still, Steve and I were just friends, that’s all he’d ever wanted to be anyway”, Bucky finally finished.

Sam got off the couch, and slipped down onto the floor next to the 107 year old. “And what about you? Did you ever want to be more than friends?”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, which donned a neutral expression, “It’s complicated Sam… I’d be into a girl one second and thinking about Steve the next”.

Sam gently nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own, and gave him a small smile, “Bisexual then?”, he questioned.

The other man nodded, and looked at Sam with a grin now gracing his features, “Yea, but you know what? I forgot all about Steve…” he paused to dart his tongue out his mouth and wet his lips, “The day I met another guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about”.

Sam’s world shattered the moment those words left Bucky’s lips. The thought that the man he had pined after for so long was yearning for another made him want to burst into tears right there. However, Sam Wilson was not the kind of man to be salty over the choices of others. So he kept on the smile he had been wearing the entire time his heart broke over and over again. Yet, he had been so absorbed in his own mind that he failed to notice the longing glances Bucky was shooting at him, the ones he had been giving Sam ever since he first met him.

“Happy you could get that sorted out for you man!” He said brightly, patting Bucky’s back and climbing back onto the couch to resume the haircut.

The ex winter soldier was dumbfounded. Had Sam not noticed how he felt? What if he had? What if he didn’t appreciate the advances?

There was stillness once more, but this time it was incredibly awkward. The two sat absorbed in the silence, no longer so focused on their own thoughts, but on every movement and action the other did.

“All done,” Sam finally said, and gestured towards the large wall mirror in the living room. Bucky looked into it, and nodded.

“You’ve done a nice job, thanks”, he mumbled.

“No problem” Sam told him, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to go take a shower now”, and with that, he rose and climbed the stairs to get to the bathroom. The footsteps faded away and when Bucky heard the bathroom lock click shut, he leaned his back against the couch with a sigh. He ran a tired hand over his face.

What had he done wrong? He’d watched all the movies, read all the books and listened to all the music Sam had suggested. He’d come to see Sam’s family as his own, he cherished Sarah, AJ and Cas with all his heart.

Hell, he’d even taken dating advice from Zemo…. Maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong.

Bucky wasn’t sure. He may have lost the charm he had back in the 40’s, but Sam had always accepted him for who he was. He never questioned Bucky’s past, or forced him to be more social and open. That’s the reason Bucky developed more than platonic feelings towards him. He was so easy to be around.

However, the white wolf figured that if Sam didn’t want anything to do with him romantically, the least he could do was to maintain the relationship status they had now. Not to mention, he had the perfect way to do that.

Mac and cheese. Sam’s favorite food.

A grin grew on his face as he scrambled to the kitchen. It was a tasty and easy thing to cook and would be done before Sam even got out of the shower. Bucky proceeded to locate all the necessary ingredients they had brought to the cabin, and got straight to work.

It wasn’t a difficult job at all. With his swift speed, and his mind set only on the task before him, he was done within minutes. He even managed to get two servings plated beautifully, and just in time too, because as he finished setting the table, Sam descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. A smile was drawn on his face at the smell of the meal, and all the previous tension seemed to have dissipated.

“Smells good in here!” he exclaimed, his eyes then landed on the beautifully presented plates of mac and cheese. He gasped and clapped his hands like an excited child, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He thought it was adorable.

“Alright, alright, take a seat Sammy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the bar stools next to the kitchen island which the food rested on.

Both of them rushed to sit down and dig into their dinner. Bucky watched his friends expression as he took the first bite of his food.

Sam’s eyes closed in pure bliss, as his taste buds thanked him. “Buck, this is heaven in my mouth, tastes even better than what Sarah makes”.

Bucky blushed, but quickly tried to hide it with a chuckle, “Sarah’s my teacher, I owe it to her”.

Sam nodded at the statement, but commented no more on the topic. Instead, he took another bite and made eye contact with Bucky. “So… who’s this guy you’ve been crushing on?” he inquired.

Bucky was taken aback by the question, he blinked rapidly, “huh?” he mumbled, earning an eye roll from Sam.

“Listen man, I’ve never pressured you to tell me anything before, but we can’t pretend like that conversation didn’t happen” Sam said gently, setting his cutlery down, and reaching a hand over to place it on Bucky’s vibranium one.

The brunette gulped, closed his eyes, and took two deep breaths. He’d have to get it out. Or else it would slowly kill him to watch Sam find someone else. Even if his feelings were unrequited, the man had a right to know.

“It’s you” he said quietly before he could chicken out.

Sam slowly blinked, and shook his head, “Sorry, repeat that?”.

Bucky groaned and looked up from his plate which he’d been staring at the entire time. He gazed into Sam’s doe brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones, “It’s you! You’re the guy I’ve been crushing on!” he agitatedly replied.

Once more, there was that silence that seemed to be consuming the two of them so much lately. Bucky wanted to cry, to hide the humiliation. He was certain that Sam’s lack of words meant he didn’t feel the same, because Sam always had something to say.

“Forget it,” Bucky choked out, getting up from his seat, but Sam’s hand tightened its grip on his wrist, stopping him from getting away. The super soldier turned around slowly, trying not to make eye contact with Sam so that he wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, Sam rose from his seat and his lips met Bucky’s in what was a tender, loving kiss which shocked the latter, but he readily returned it. They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other as their arms snaked their way around each other's torsos. It was a moment neither of them wanted to break, but were forced to. Eventually, when they pulled apart gasping for air, they looked at each other in surprise, but merriment. Wide beams adorned both of their gorgeous faces, and their eyes glinted with excitement.

“So…” Bucky began, “you were desperate to get a piece of me, why, is it the new hair?” he said teasingly.

“The next time I give you a haircut, it’s gonna be turned into a mullet”, Sam threatened, making the other man raise his hands in surrender.

The mac and cheese was long forgotten as they clutched each other once again. Their hearts were bubbling and overflowing with love for one another, and it was not a love that was going to fizzle and die out. They fit perfectly in each other’s arms, like it’s where they belonged.

Two men, who had their own individual problems denying them a place to be truly content in the world, had finally found their refuge in each other.

Finit

[the-darklings]

“ you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to. ” Jean + Clara/V 🥺

prompt: “you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to.”

pairing: jean x v (coa verse)

wc: 2.3k+ (aka I don't have an off button when it's them regardless of setting/verse)

notes: so while I'm obsessed with jeara in npfh verse, something about exploring them in coa where jean is almost a rogue figure in v's life and is near entirely removed from the overall dramas of her life is just so... (makes a vague, distressed sound). guess i'm just a sucker for "no matter what, life keeps drawing us back together" energy, also I just love their antagonistic, sexually charged banter : )

It’s the soft cocking of a gun behind you that alerts you to someone’s presence at your back.

It’s a split second, a whirlwind of gripping your own weapon, but it’s all too slow. Far too slow, John and Cassian and the Elder would have reprimanded you. Disappointing after years of work and training you’ve done. Sloppy at best, life-threatening at worst.

For priding yourself on speed as your greatest physical weapon, you simply react too slow. It’s not because your instincts are dull anymore — no, if anything, after the dessert you’re an even sharper version of yourself.

But there’s is a singular hole in your instinctive wall. One person who — unfailingly, and irritatingly — seems to slip behind every single one of your guards. More of a snake than you are. More deadly, more deceptively charming and coy.

"Well, well — look who the cat dragged in."

Jean’s voice is still silk. With the gentle roll of his accent, the ice in his eyes shifts and morphs — cracking at the sight of you; always, a match and a fuse — when you level your pistol on his face. Unflinching. A slight, indulgent twitch of his mouth greets your clinical action. He appears so infuriatingly unconcerned to have a fully loaded weapon trailed on him you have to bite back a snarl. Arrogant bastard.

But you’ve seen what his mouth is capable of. He would no doubt make an innuendo if you brought up the said mouth but he’s stopped entire gunfights with his wit and tongue alone in the past. Has stood beside you plenty of times, trying to weasel you both out of serious trouble.

You have a habit of running into each other every time the other needs backup the most. Neither of you would ever admit to needing one another but you’ve served each other’s self-interests plenty of times.

"What are you doing here?" you demand.

The Frenchman doesn’t move, dragging his stare over your body with curious, probing intensity. It’s near lazy, bordering on sexual perusal and instinctively your skin warms under the examination. Prick.

"Lovely to see you too, chérie,” he greets, his voice honey yet always just tantalisingly teasing the idea of more. He’s learned to present himself as the devil’s biggest temptation long ago; a temptation very few resist. His arm finally lowers with those words, followed by a click of safety coming back on but you’re not so quick to follow his lead. “You look positively alive," he adds, a touch sardonic.

Your lips twitch. "Sorry to disappoint."

Last time he saw a mess, not an assassin.

His broad frame is clad in a stitch-to-stitch perfect tailored suit. Dark and sleek. Not dark enough to be outright black but an odd, shimmering material that indeed reminds you of a devil in disguise. Prowling around and passing around favours and information but at a price — always a price, and never one you want to pay in the long run.

"Hm, yes,” he hums thoughtfully, a melody of rumbling deepness that is his voice settling in your gut as he draws closer. Strolling forward without a care in the world, as if you don’t have your pistol still raised. Still aimed at him. Your finger on the trigger. As if there isn’t a pinch to your features; a warning, venomous gleam in your eyes. “While you disappearing is no novelty. You disappearing for seven months to a point even I can't locate you certainly is."

With the sheer vastness of his web of information, you can only imagine how profoundly irritating he found it. Jean doesn’t like losing. Doesn’t like not being in control, in the know. Never has. Others dance to his tune. Losing is a language he doesn’t speak. If there is no way to get his way, he makes one. He cares little for the collateral damage left behind. His ruthlessness alone has always put you at odds though he’s always been quick to point out how hypocritical you are for your wry comments. How every enemy of yours has oftentimes been left spluttering on their own blood, robbed of life or a future.

You burn everything, chérie, he told you once, years ago now, to destroy so thoroughly is a curious talent for one so invested in life and greenery to have.

"I'm touched by the concern," you say eventually, your expression still sour and your mouth curved downwards.

Jean’s face creases at that, an eyebrow quirking, and lips stretching further back. That stupid little dimple in his left cheek appears again, and it’s a rare sight — one to always makes you wonder if this is genuine amusement or just another mask he wears.

"Actually I needed you to kill someone for me, vipère,” he rebukes, dismissive of your notations of sentimentality. A small sound whistles past his teeth, his eyes narrowing down on you when he halts in front of you, his chest bumping into the muzzle of the gun. The pearly white of his dress shirt cuts for a bleak contrast to your sleek, black pistol. “Your sneaky ways have proven to be... most useful."

His voice lowers, dripping towards a lulling, beguiling thing. He slants his head lower, near blending into the shadows of the room where you were searching for more information about your current mark just moments prior.

"Yeah, right," you huff, unimpressed.

"Does it surprise you?” he wonders curiously, his cologne tickling your nose when he slants even closer, still towering over you. And you know his cologne — so damn well, you know it in your marrow — know how it smells when it’s faded and muted. When you nudge your nose against the juncture of his throat, burying yourself in him. Greedy or not, you always stole his warmth. And for some reason he always permitted it. Perhaps he found some begrudging amusement in moments of lingering contact and intimacy between you. For a man who might as well be carved from ice, he knows exactly how to make you burn. “The idea that I think you're my person? A trustworthy contact? You'll always be the one I go to."

Your arm lowers at long last, making you peer up at him from under your lashes. Consider him. Jean’s mouth rests slightly agape, his breaths slowing, slowing, slowing — matching yours, you realise suddenly, ignoring the pinprick of desire at the base of your neck. His proximity chips at your guard and you lean closer too. Alone in this dark room, alone in this world, two solitary figures occasionally passing by each other. In these rare instances of proximity, it’s easy to forget your loneliness. Easy to pretend you’re one and the same.

Your fingers slither up his chest and towards his neck. To kiss him you would have to stretch your limbs and muscles. This you know intimately. If only because you know exactly how his body fits against yours. And what an odd thought it is — to know that where there is fear and unease with others, there’s only need to be closer with him. Every cell in your body seems to hum at the mental image; eager to agree, eager to indulge. The idea of sampling more of him, tangling yourself further in the spider’s web is too tempting. Too enticing. Jean inclines into you. Your escape, hideaway, so dissimilar to how the dessert felt. Like a gilded cage. A makebelieve. With him though it feels…

Your breaths mingle, intertwining, neither of you breaking the eye contact first. He doesn’t allow you a single inhale without devouring every micro quiver of your lips.

"Nice try,” you exhale knowingly before your mouths can touch, leaning back with a saccharine grin. Your fingertips tease over the heated skin of his neck despite the broken spell. It thrills you, the tension of strong tendons you feel there, pulled tauter by your prodding. “Now why are you really here?"

For a single instance, you think Jean will continue his pretence, his unending fictitious act. Mock you further with yet another agreeable mask he shows everyone else. But a flicker, and then his charm melts into something more cunning, crueller, yet somehow — impossibly — even hungrier and darker than before. He’s still too close, too physically there; next to you, in you, like a splinter you can’t get out. Or want to.

Unravelling of a facade packaged in a span of a second, a heartbeat.

"I need him alive, V."

His voice drips from honey to dark velvet. Teasing, seductive promise. Jean’s fingers drag against the curve of your jaw as he speaks, his touch inveigling but you’ve danced this dance before. He should know better than to expect easy prey by now.

"And I need him dead,” you snip back, cupping his cheek in return, scraping your fingers against the dark stubble against his jaw with an innocent tilt of your head. Sometimes you hate it — the way he’s able to rip out something darker in you, more chillingly untamed. Jean is a paradox, a tempest blowing against the ruleset. So often being beside him makes you recklessly want to do the same. “So if you're after something, I suggest you work quicker, Jean."

There’s a split second in which you think he might flip on you the way he’s done on so many others. A warm, inviting smile — all charisma and magnetism, toothy and wide — seconds before he plants a bullet in your body. You’ve seen him do it so many times in the past your head spins. In part from wondering if he will give you one last kiss before he pulls the trigger, or if he really believes you will not take him down with you if he attempts it.

"If I get the information I need by sunrise, have dinner with me tomorrow."

His thumb nudges against the curve of your bottom lip. Rough yet gentle, sensuous yet treacherous. He’s so used to getting his way you want to refuse him out of principle alone if nothing else. It’s rather enjoyable — in a dark, cruel way — to deny him, to see how many masks he can flip through until only his own face remains. You've yet to see such a day.

"There's a distinct lack of a question mark in that statement," you note coolly.

The tension between you sits like a physical weight. Overbearing and thick; you glimpse all the things he’s doing to you inside his mind already. His fingers digging into your hips, hoisting you into his strong arms. A hiss of searing breath against your ear, teeth against your neck, animalistic, skin against skin. Sweat and filth and passion. You’ve healed during your stay at the dessert. He can see it in you. A part of you has transformed, shed your old, torn skin — he’s certainly coaxed and encouraged this change in you prior. It had become a particular interest of his once John departed.

Bury your past, vipère, it doesn’t serve you anymore.

Glaciers of his gaze thaw and spark into a sapphire flame the longer you gaze at one another, hungry and wanting. Jean’s angular, virile features tighten with restraint but he doesn’t crack, a faint grin still lingering in place.

"I'm not going to grovel at your feet, vipère,” he says, his words ringing deeper and sultry, near gravelly. A knife’s edge, really, razor-sharp against your fragile pulse. His fingers trace the contours of your parted mouth, and you sense his breath when he nudges close. The scent of tobacco and red wine still lingers on his own lips muddying your honed senses. “It's not in my nature to do so. If I want something, I go for it."

And for some reason it’s him — him you lean into, him you don’t shun or snarl at when he touches you. So intimately. Painting you with his hands anew — bloody hands of a murderous man, a liar and a cheat.

Your lashes flutter. "And here I thought you liked games."

"Only the ones I win,” he breathes hotly, his teeth gleaming, a wolf’s jaws open for devouring. His large palm slips to cup your face, bracing against your cheek, steadying you. Your mouths are almost touching, almost kissing, almost biting. “And you... are... most certainly a game I'm happy to play every time, ma vipère.”

The last part — wanton and just a touch possessive, throaty with a heavier accent — scrapes against the shell of your ear. Hot, wet exhales of oxygen skitter against the curve of your neck and it leaves you shuddering against him. Jean grins into your skin at the small victory, his mouth flitting over your beating pulse in reward. Once, twice. He’s not touching you further, and you grind your jaw to prevent yourself from touching him in return.

Always the game of who will give in first.

When he realises you’re not about to hand him his victory as he no doubt hoped you would, he pulls back, a flash of teeth visible in the darkness. Lights from the street outside illuminate his handsome features when he moves back. His eyes drink in your form, from head to toe, his thumb swiping over his own mouth slowly. It coils your stomach when you realise it’s the same hand he touched your mouth with.

An indirect kiss to taste you. Despite your controlled expression, you feel that distant kiss as if he were smearing your mouth with his until your edges blurred with his.

“Dinner will be at 8 pm sharp. Don't be late,” he instructs, low and smooth, his voice still scratchy with hunger. He pivots to go but pauses midturn, glancing at you over his shoulder while his hand slips into his slacks. “Oh, and do wear red. You always look so fetching in that colour. And it looks ever-so pretty on my bedroom floor."

[bosmermage]

Whumptober Day 6

Touch and Go (Bruises, Touch Starved)  Characters: Green, Blue, Grandpa Smith, Vio  

But they didn't notice. Well. That was a lie. Blue noticed. But Blue noticed everything.

They should have known something was wrong when the bruises started to appear. They littered up and down his arms and legs like freckles, peeking out in the evenings from under his nightgown. But, after all, he had been training harder and a few extra bruises were hardly anything to pay any mind to.

They should have known something was wrong when his tunics seemed to get a little snug and then suddenly too loose again. He was so busy though, always running around. Everyone brushed it off as a natural consequence of being a knight. He'd surely gain it all back on his summer break, right?

They should have known something was wrong when, on quiet nights when everyone else slept soundly, they would find him in the morning curled around his pillow like a life line.

But they didn't notice. Well. That was a lie. Blue noticed. But Blue noticed everything. He noticed how Red would get careless with the cooking fire on rough weeks, always seeming to be nursing some sort of burn. He noticed how Vio's eye bags were slowly creeping across his face, and his hair was becoming unkempt and long from his many study sessions littered through the week.

He noticed how Red had become so close with the princess, and how his hair had begun to shift to match hers and how he spent more and more time at the palace. How excited the king was to have a son. He noticed how Link's father doted on him for things he didn't think were all that impressive, with the air of expectation that he should eventually “come home” from Grandpa's house. He noticed how Vio withdrew from society, preferring the company of the minish, eventually even retreating so far that the only time he saw the others was for weekends.

Not that Grandpa seemed to mind too much. He noticed too.

He noticed how Link's father hardly ever spared a second glance to Green. And he noticed how Green put everything he had into his facade of normality and cheerfulness and left nothing over for himself. And he noticed how Green really didn't seem to spend much time with anyone, always busy, or kept home with studies. Hollow eyed and doll-like when he did move his ass to hang out. Always preforming perfection.

And it frustrated him.

The strain on their friendship was intense, they were constantly snipping at each other. Well, Blue had started it but he sure as hell wasn't going to finish it. Green, patently (stupidly), refused to ask for help. He wouldn't bend his dumb-ass pride for a single second to reach out or even just vocalize that there was anything wrong to begin with. It had been hard for Blue too but you didn't see him moping about it! So if he wanted to be a big baby about whatever the fuck was making him so unhappy than that was fine by Blue. He was too busy dealing with his own shit to play mind reading games with the miserable crew.

Of course, it did all eventually come to a head. It came to a head on a mid-july day when he came home to find Green curled up in bed, clutching at his pillow with his face buried in it like it was his girlfriend or something.

“Hey would you quit that it's gross,” Blue stuck his tongue out at the dozing figure. Green mumbled into the pillow in response and Blue rolled his eyes.

“I said cut it out geeze Green,” Blue snatched the pillow away and Green contracted into himself.

“Hey, give that back, I was trying to take a nap,” Green reached up pitifully and Blue held the pillow away.

“Why do you even do that Green, it's fucking nasty, why not just go get a plushie like a normal person?”

“Shut up Blue it's none of your business.” Green pouted at him “And anyways that's mine so give it back already.” Finally Green got up to his feet.

“What's the big deal anyways? Huh? It's just a stupid pillow, you have two of em.”

“Just leave me alone! What have I ever done to you??” Green swiped for the pillow again and Blue rolled his eyes at the display.

“Stop being such a baby!”

“If it's just a pillow then why not leave it be?” Vio's voice cut in from the doorway, heartless as ever. Blue didn't have to turn around to know that the stupid prick was glaring at him with his little hypocritical holier than thou act plastered all over his face.

“Shut the fuck up Vio like you know so much about precious things.” Blue barely got the words out before Green was stomping on his foot. He let out a yelp and dropped the pillow that was promptly snatched up by the other colour. He noticed the tears threatening to spill down his face, and the way he shook while he clutched the dumb fucking pillow to his chest.

“Okay, what the fuck ever,” Blue threw his hands up and stalked out of the room, determined to go do something, anything, else to get his mind off it.

“Hey, are you okay Greenie?” Vio's voice was soft and even as he came closer, very practiced, and Green nodded through the panic welling up in his chest, winding him like a spring.

“I'm fine, I just, I want to sleep,” Green sighed, and Vio searched him with his gaze. He hated how perceptive their violet counterpart was at times. He knew he shouldn't be standing there lying like a hypocrite, and he knew Vio knew, but if Vio kept standing there the panic was going to bubble out into the world and then he would have to pick up the pieces.

Vio, blessedly, nodded, moving out of the room and Green let out a shaking sigh as the tears began to pour out of his eyes, in pain, and embarrassment at the way Blue had dragged his childishness out of him like that. He curled back into his bed, pulling the cover up over his head and letting the tears flow freely. He hated how pathetic he felt, how poor of a substitute his pillow was for a real hug. But it'd have to do, after all it's not like any of the others wanted to hug him, and why would they? He was the most boring colour after all. The ugliest. The others were like flowers and he was like dirt. Something necessary sure, but plain, only begrudgingly accepted. Never anyone's first choice. He was glad he couldn't hear yelling, he didn't want to have to drag himself out of bed to break up yet another disagreement gone nasty between the two others.  

He didn't hear Grandpa enter the room and when the man sat on his bedside he jumped so hard he smacked into the bottom of Blue's bunk, flinging himself back and hissing in pain as he settled into a crouch, ready to pounce. What a sight he must have been, squinting through the pain, tears dripping down his cheeks, hissing like a frightened animal at his own grandfather. He blinked through the remaining tears and settled down on his knees, ears drooping shamefully at his shoulders.

“Hey there sweet-pea, I didn't mean to frighten you,” the words stained Green's cheeks a burning shade of red and he nodded into his lap, mortified, But Grandpa's face settled into a mask of gentle determination. Grandpa snapped his fingers and Green refocused on his hands, brought out of the downward spiral of his mood by the action/

“Vio told me you and Blue had a fight. Do you want to tell me your side of it?” Grandpa's sign was gentle and soothing, but it still sent a spike of fear through Green's stomach. He nodded dutifully, and took a deep breath to steady his shot nerves back into alignment.

“I was trying to take a nap since it's my day off and then Blue came in to pick a fight, and I.. he got me riled up cause he stole my pillow and wouldn't give it back. I know it was childish but I got angry at him and made him give it back. I'll go apologize.” Green's eyes flicked down, sign nearly as frantic as the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Grandpa's hands stilled his own and his world narrowed down to the point of contact, he had to bite back the tears again when he pulled away to speak.

“Green, I'm glad you're being mature about this, but I'm not upset with you for being “childish”. You're still a kid, remember? I just want to help you two work it out,” Grandpa scootched closer and Green paused.

“Honestly? I usually forget,” the words slipping between his fingers like a gust of wind before he could stop them, eyes going wide with shock enough to match the sorrow that glinted in Grandpa's eyes. “I mean, it's just. I'm expected to be the Hero and keep everyone working together all the time and be the leader and be mature and just deal with it and not let anyone see weakness. It's just, it's hard to not work like that all the time.” His foot was already in his mouth, might as well get it off his chest. He sighed again, shoulders rising up to his ears.

“I'm sorry, it's just really hard and I don't want to let anyone down,” he was wiping away tears again. All he really wanted was a hug.

Grandpa shifted closer again and Green fought down the urge to collapse into his chest, “Oh sweet pea why would you think that?”

“It's just, everyone else gets to fall down and need help, and drop out and leave the public eye and be themselves. But I have the same favourite colour as Link so everyone expects me to be him and act like him and be the hero and be the leader. I don't want to ask the others for help 'cause I'm the one they all come to when they need help, and, I don't want to ask father 'cause he always looks so sad when he sees me, and I don't want to ask anyone else 'cause I don't want to burden them when they all have so much on their plates already and I don't want to be selfish but I don't know what to do anymore.” Green rambled on as everything he'd been damming back flooded out. Grandpa brushed the bangs out of his tears gently before pulling him into a hug. Green melted into the contact, dripping tears turning into desperate sobs as he clung to his grandfather's forge-warm tunic.

Eventually, after his tears had dried out, Grandpa pressed a kiss to the top of Green's head, making him promise to come and ask for help when he needed it before tucking him back into bed. He was dozing in moments, and he'd nearly drifted off when he heard a quiet knocking at his door.

“Hey Green,” Blue's voice was much quieter than it usually was and Green looked over balefully swallowing the urge to ask if he came to steal his blanket this time too.

“Um, I'm sorry, about earlier. I didn't want to hurt you, I just got really frustrated cause I could see there was something wrong and I didn't know how to get you to talk about it, and I know that's not an excuse for being mean,” Blue was nearly mumbling into his boots, but Green could hear the hurt in his voice.

Green considered him for a moment before scooting back up from bed and launching himself into Blue's unsuspecting arms.

“It's ok, I forgive you,” He mumbled into the hug and Blue's startled laughter, before the air was crushed out of him when Blue returned the favour, lifting him up off his feet with the force. He'd never felt better. Okay maybe he had, he winced with a yelp when Blue caught a particularly nasty bruise on his side, cursing the wooden sword that had given it to him.

“I'm proud of you,” Green's feet hit the floor to the sight of his Grandpa beaming in from the door, “both of you,”

[kaminobiwan]

inhibition

pairing: obi-wan kenobi  x  jedi!reader

summary: Fluff. Sap. Domesticity with a little bit of plot sprinkled in. Dash of sa(n)d, but that's to be expected at this point. It’s Tatooine, y’all.

a/n: Having not read Kenobi yet I actually have no idea how Obi-Wan’s demeanor is towards young Luke, but it’s fic so who cares. They get FAMILY VIBES

This one got away from me. Positively wrenched out of my grip and flew away, leading to the longest fic I’ve ever written, but I think the end result is so worth it. Requested by @snips-n-skyguy0501 and an anon that wanted breakfast in bed and forehead kisses — I hope your foot feels better, Sam! (Taglist)

In the slick of the heat of Tatooine, there isn’t much you could really do but sleep it off.

Even with tiny windows, the determined rays of the planet’s twin suns never failed to make their way into the small compound that had served as your sanctuary for the better part of the past half decade. You can feel the warmth of the dawn seeping in, lingering on your features, but you’re not ready to come back to the living just yet.

It’s not usually that you lay in bed for more than a couple hours past sunrise, but given the past few days, you definitely deserved it — repeated visits to the Lars homestead had acquainted you with some of their regular customers, other families that lived in the Great Chott. With Obi-Wan being the least inclined out of the pair of you to interact with anyone not in immediate danger (“saving his sociability for you,” as he called it), you’d been the one to volunteer some of your talents when you could in exchange for food or parts. This week had seen a favor to one of the couples that bought water from Owen and Beru, with you helping to repair a lower-end vaporizer that had seen shinier days.

The trips across the salt flat had inflicted more of a beating on your feet than normal, and your shoes hadn’t been enough to protect you from the coarse desert floor. You’d come home the night before looking worse for wear, left hand rubbed raw from tinkering and right foot split open by an unforgiving blister, but Obi-Wan had patched you up without hesitation and insisted that you let him wrestle your weary bones to bed.

Now, your lover lays ever-present at your back, but judging by the heavy unmoving arm strewn across you, he’s not fully up either.

Without raising your eyelids, you turn in his grasp, the weight upon you comforting despite the swelter. You hear Obi-Wan mutter something incoherent, but you pay it no mind as you crane your neck slightly in search of his face. Lips meet a bearded chin first, and a hum escapes him, louder now. Still determined in reaching your goal, you stretch, limbs awakening, but mind lagging as it tries to shake free of the clutches of slumber.

It’s a race to consciousness as Obi-Wan starts to stir as well, evidently joining you in your quest for a kiss, and finally, after a few minutes more of half-asleep fumbling, it happens — mouths moulding together blissfully, weak and sweaty from the blazing heat, but your heart flutters at the taste of him.

When you open your eyes, a blue gaze is waiting. Obi-Wan smiles at the way your noses touch, unwilling to separate much from your embrace.

“Good morning.”

You yawn before responding, jerking as Obi-Wan juts an evil finger in your side midway. You’re not sentient enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare, so instead, you mumble it back and accidentally smack him in the face as you move to rise. 

He stops you before you can, chin hooking onto your nearest shoulder and tugging down, and you slump back to the sheets with a subdued giggle. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you reply, and he nods, obviously pleased. “I have you to thank for that.”

He mouths at the skin behind your ear, only half-listening, but still fully fixated on you. You wonder if you’ll ever completely get used to his unbridled affection, even after more than five years living together in isolation, free to feel and show your love blatantly and unapologetically.

Not without a price that had been paid, but it was soul-healing love regardless.

“The Marstraps and their garden are doing well,” you comment absently, more to fill the silence as he lavishes you in physical worship than anything. “Maybe we should get into hydroponics.”

A sound of indifference.

“Did you know they have a daughter?” At that, Obi-Wan stills, face buried in your hair. You think his hand twitches at your abdomen, but in your groggy state, you can’t be completely sure. He never seems to know what to say when you talk of such things. Not then, not now. 

It’s not like you mean to imply anything by bringing it up, really. It’s more of...a gauge, of sorts. You’re probing. You’re not even sure why.

“Her name is Camie. She’s very sweet.”

Obi-Wan lifts his head lethargically, looking like he wants to utter a thousand words and nothing all at once. This time, he really does grip your hip, thumb grazing your ribcage thoughtfully, but you take it upon yourself to change the subject before things get too complicated.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” he rumbles, and the gravelly tone sends satisfying vibrations to where your torsos are pressed against each other. “You’ll be able to get a couple more hours of rest.”

“Hmm.” His words trigger your body to succumb to the drowsiness you hadn’t quite gotten rid of, and your eyes droop contentedly again. “Will you be joining me?” 

Obi-Wan slips his other arm from underneath your neck, languidly sweeping over your form and nudging your temple fondly with his nose. “Unfortunately, no,” he murmurs into your hair, “but I think you’ll appreciate why.”

Your eyebrow lifts at the cryptic line, but you’re already falling back asleep as he lifts himself fully from you, and you give into the tiredness as his footsteps fade from your hearing.

———

Moments later — you’re not sure if he’s made good on his promise of extra hours — you feel the pressure of puckered lips against your eyelids, the scratch of his beard poking the thin skin around your eyes as you arise for the second time. This time, however, the enticing smell of food invades your senses, and you realize with a start that it’s not the boiled mealgrain that you usually have in the morning.

“Is that — ?” You shift in bed, reclining upon the headrest, but not yet sitting upright. You’re wide awake now, blinking alertly to find the source of the delectable aroma.

“Iktotch toast,” Obi-Wan announces proudly, setting a tray stacked with plates of steaming food on the table beside your shared bed. “And my attempt at a gartro omelet. Though, I couldn’t get all the necessary ingredients.” He sits on the edge, hand finding your blanketed shin and caressing it like second nature. “Just a fair warning.”

The thin sheet falls to your stomach as you twist to get a good look at his cooking, and you’re rewarded with the sight of brightly colored eggs and buttered bread topped with carbosyrup. Compared to the monochromatic meals you’ve come to expect day to day, it’s a welcome change.

In your excitement, you forget about the abrasions from yesterday, the still-raw skin of your palm screaming out in protest when you try to prop yourself up. Obi-Wan spots the small wince, and reaches for you as you cradle your stinging hand to your chest. “Better doesn’t mean good, apparently.” There’s a teasing to his locution, if only because he knows you too well. You don’t want to make a fuss out of it. You’re bested, anyhow, when he squeezes the blistered foot and you yelp. “Here, too. It still hurts? Shall I redress the wounds?”

A shake of your head precedes your response, as you assure him, “No, there’s no need. Truly.” Still, he’s adamant on being of more assistance, and it seems today is a good day. He’s happy, playful, even — it’s instants like these where you catch a glimpse of a different man, the echo of an old friend.

“Anything I can do to ease the pain?” Obi-Wan smirks, but it’s free of sarcasm as he leans above you, his hair falling in his eyes. It’s grown longer now, not quite the lion’s mane of a mullet he’d sported so many years ago, but unrulier than the clean-cropped cut that he’d had during his last years on Coruscant.

Another life. 

Though, you suppose, the rugged desert look is growing on you.

“A kiss on the bandage, maybe,” you quip, just as light-hearted, basking in the mood — what a rarity, nowadays, but always because of each other. “Perhaps it’ll help it heal faster.”

Obi-Wan scoots downwards, ruffling the sheets and uncovering more of your pajama-clad figure to the world, and grabs for your toes —

“Not there! I meant the hand,” you cry, just short of a laugh. “Were you really about to kiss the bottom of my foot?”

He joins in your amusement, chuckling as he traces his way back up to you with light kisses that begin at your legs. One on the knee, then on your navel, and right under your breast — the tease. His hands follow hotly along the trail his mouth leaves, yet it’s a heat you’re all too willing to endure. “Darling, you’d know I’d kiss you anywhere,” he says, grin honest and eager, and you smile suggestively at him from your place upon the pillows.

The moment turns soft, though, when he takes your injured hand, touching his lips to the pads of your fingers, completely avoiding the wrappings. Instead, he marks the exposed skin peeking from the bandages, leaving warm touches where he can reach. You let him make his way up your arm, relaxing the muscle and leaving it pliant in his hold, and these kisses are tender, sincere, adoring.

His lips brush the inside of your elbow, and you catch his gaze then, eyes serious and lacking the mirth of before. He beams, nevertheless, and it takes another four pecks up your shoulder, collarbone, and neck until he finally reaches your mouth. Your lips connect in a quiet climax, tension releasing and hushed sighs escaping the both of you as hands find cheeks and jaws to hold. His beard is longer, too, and a subtle drag of your fingers along his scruff doesn’t go unnoticed as he groans into the kiss.

Sluggishly, as if he’s struggling against the pull of quicksand, Obi-Wan pulls away, your digits still tangled in his auburn locks. “Eat,” he murmurs, placing one last kiss on your bare palm. As he places the tray in your lap, you sit up properly, kicking the last of the covers aside. “Company is coming.”

———

Company was actually more of a child-sitting gig, with the Lars traveling to Anchorhead and reluctant to let their nephew tag along just yet. The four of you had all agreed it was best to shelter the boy until you and Obi-Wan had gotten better at shielding the signatures of three Force-sensitives, and while you were quickly growing used to the strain of the constant use of the Force, there wasn’t a need for unnecessary ventures outside of the community when Luke could just stay with you and Obi-Wan.

On the other hand, if you asked Obi-Wan, he didn’t see why a trip to Tosche Station couldn’t wait until next week, seeing as how you couldn’t walk much without pain. Luke would undoubtedly aggravate the blister when he begged you to play.

But you hadn’t asked Obi-Wan, you dutifully reminded him throughout his musings over the food, unconcerned at the prospect. Breakfast had been as delicious as it had smelled — your taste buds had been assaulted with the flavor, but it had been a gratuitous ordeal that had reminded you of a bustling diner and the toothy grin of a Besalisk. “Just missing the powdered Christophsian sugar,” you’d praised, and he’d barely hidden his glowing simper as he cleared the dishes. You know his apprehension at looking after Luke today is more out of concern for you, rather than lack of willingness.

Just as there were good and bad days of disposition, Obi-Wan’s interactions with his old student’s son were varying. Some visits were joy-filled and vibrant with childish merriment, at the mercy of Luke’s wild imagination, but it wasn’t uncommon for Obi-Wan to retreat to your bed, floored by the striking resemblance the boy had to his father, the memories he tried so hard to forget rushing back in a dark cloud of resignation. Luke was under the impression that his favorite playmate suffered from intermittent cases of sand-fever, trusting enough to believe the excuse. Though he loved you just as much, it was Obi-Wan that Luke idolized the most, and you couldn’t at all blame him for feeling disappointed when Obi-Wan was too unsteady to come out and say hello.

But today, the promise of a happy afternoon rang throughout the air, and you allowed yourself the indulgence of looking forward to the rest of the day. At five years old, Luke was an adoring child, innocent in ways you’d never been able to see, not even with Anakin. He reminded you of a fresh snowbank, ironic as it was, pristine and untouched by the world. Your heart ached to keep it that way.

Luke launches himself at you as expected when he arrives, Owen being kind enough to deliver him instead of letting Obi-Wan make the ride over. Just as well, too — after the doting attentiveness of the morning, you didn’t want to stray too far from Obi-Wan’s side. The former Jedi catches the boy in midair, strong arms wrapping around his tiny frame and swinging him away from you to save you from exacerbating your wounds, and Luke screeches in hysterics as he’s tossed in a wide circle. He attacks Obi-Wan with energetic pokes when he’s finally set down, the older man letting out a surprised oof when he’s headbutted rather hard in the stomach. You muffle a guffaw in your elbow as Obi-Wan shoots you an accusatory scowl, massaging his middle as he assures Owen he’ll return his nephew in one piece. The farmer thanks you both, leaving without a second glance, and Obi-Wan is whisked away by the young Skywalker to entertain his latest fascination with womp rats.

———

They return before dusk, smelling like sweat and death, acrid scents practically steaming off of their robes. You cover your nose as Obi-Wan staggers in through the side door, steadying a chittering Luke as he trips over the trapdoor to the cellar. “Target practice,” Obi-Wan explains, somewhat apologetically. “His aim needs some work.”

“I blew a rat’s head off!” Luke declares boastfully, and cackles while running a victory circle around the kitchen. “It just exploded!”

You turn aghast to Obi-Wan, who ushers the boy into the refresher and instructs him to wash up. As Luke rinses off the trace of the outdoors, you stop Obi-Wan before he can come any closer. You can almost taste the sour aroma that wafts off of your husband. “Don’t tell me he means an actual womp rat. They’re twice his size. If you’re letting him near those predators, Obi-Wan, I’m going to —”

“Relax!” Obi-Wan exclaims defensively, palms raised as if to shield him from your wrath. “It was just a profogg. And we weren’t hunting in the beginning, just setting stink capsules near the hut. Poor thing got too close when we set it off and its friends decided they wanted revenge.”

The clarification does little to placate you, the knowledge that it’s most likely rodent guts contributing to the fumes only further motivating you to stay at a distance. But Obi-Wan has other plans, and a mischievous expression takes over his features as he runs at you, grabbing for your face as you squeal. “Disgusting! Obi-Wan!”

“Not even a peck for your one true love?” He asks, and you bat his hands away. “I was willing to kiss your foot this morning.”

“But you didn’t,” you remark impishly, holding in bubbling laughter. “I’m not kissing you while you smell like an eopie’s ass.”

“Language.” He seizes your wrists as you squirm, though your spirits are still high. You arch backwards, grappling to escape. “Luke might be listening.”

You catch your breath without inhaling in his direction, but it fails when you descend into snickering when a small voice protests, “No I’m not!”

“Go.” While he’s distracted, you push Obi-Wan towards Luke in the refresher, hard. “It’s time for a trim. I think you have profogg gunk in your beard.”

He stumbles back, too late to stop your words from being heard, and Luke yells, “You told me it was a womp rat!”

Another bout of laughter arises in your throat, and Obi-Wan fixes you with a withering glare you’re too perceptive to fall for. “Thanks,” he grumbles, none too grateful, and disappears into the sink.

———

“Careful of your fingers — you don’t want to cut yourself.”

After the bits of wildlife had been safely discarded down the drain and the boys had changed into fresh clothes, you watch as Obi-Wan guides Luke’s wobbly hands down his own stubbled throat. The sight of the shaving cream that covers most of Obi-Wan’s face is priceless, but you opt for appreciation rather than humour as the touching moment transpires.

“Better to cut me than you, but let’s aim for no one, alright?” Luke nods, tongue poking out in concentration as he shucks off more hair from Obi-Wan’s chin. He’s holding the razor with both hands, standing on a stool while Obi-Wan kneels to stay within reach. “Firmly, but with precision. Very graceful.”

Luke’s hyperactivity is nowhere to be found, and you admire his focus. Maybe you should have him shave your husband more often. Both the Lars and you would certainly benefit from the resulting tranquility.

But, no — you’d miss the beard too much.

“Done!” Luke leans back and throws his fists up in delight. Obi-Wan is quick to snatch up the tool to avoid any accidents, and places it back in its compartment as he turns to the boy overflowing with pride.

“Let’s check, shall we?” He rises from his knees with a low grunt and the pop of his joints — one you don’t miss, but refrain from pointing out. For a second, all you see is the back of Obi-Wan’s head as he washes away the lather, then it’s the dismayed twist of his mouth as the uneven patches of missed hair gleam in the mirror.

Luke bounces up and down, making an effort in vain to assess his work. Obi-Wan quickly readjusts his features as you hide your face, silently shaking with amusement. “Did I do okay?”

Obi-Wan squints down at him warmly, brushing the boy’s bangs out of the way. “Yes, An — Luke, you did.” Luke cheers underneath the large hand on his crown. “You did splendidly.”

In a flurry of shouts and whoops, Luke ducks out of Obi-Wan’s arm and exits the refresher, unaware of the almost-slip, but you freeze, more shocked than you have been in months. Years. Obi-Wan’s never done that before.

He meets your wide eyed stare in the mirror, all remains of Luke’s comical shaving job gone, neither of you able to verbalize exactly what you’re feeling.

But eventually, the impact of his blunder fades, and you break free from the fog of your stupefaction.

Your bandaged hand finds his shoulder, soaking up the droplets from his shower, and rubs consolingly, back and forth. You hope it conveys all that words can’t say. A pang strikes you as Obi-Wan lets out a trembling exhale, the unfinished name falling away to the empty room, and you resist the impulse to crush him into a hug.

He needs space.

The watery eyes you expect to see are dry in seconds, and all is well again.

———

You look on as Obi-Wan props Luke’s tuckered form into Beru’s waiting arms, meeting her gaze with a gentle understanding. She secures him into the passenger seat as she mounts the landspeeder slowly, seemingly sensing the hesitance radiating from two of you, uready to let the day end. When they finally depart, Obi-Wan watches them leave from the entrance of the dwelling.

“It’s alright to love him, you know.” You approach him once Beru and Luke are barely a speck on the horizon. You come up to latch around his chest, tiptoeing to kiss his back. “It’s okay to be attached.”

He shifts, rotating so that his back is to the wall after he’s sealed off the door. His own arms raise to encircle you, and you lean your cheek against his bicep before he plants a kiss to your forehead. It spells devotion as you sink further into him, muted ardor enveloping you both. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice is quiet to preserve the shroud of calm. “I worry you’re holding back, and you don’t have to. Not here.” Another kiss to his skin. “Not anymore.”

You feel the deep inhale more than you hear it, and his breathing soothes you more than you ever thought possible. It’s proof he’s here, real in your grip. You have each other. “I’m not,” he promises, lips stuck to your hairline. “Though you should know, my heart is reserved for you.”

That brings a laugh out of you, tinkling and bright. You clutch him tighter, warmth swelling inside you in spite of the cooling air of the evening. “You have room for Luke in there.”

Obi-Wan examines you closely, pausing only for a second before he speaks again. “Perhaps more than just him.”

And there it is, the admission you’ve always been curious for yet never wanted to ask. Your breath hitches — only a tad, but you know he picks up on it, and you peer at him cautiously. It’s a conversation you’ve avoided so many times before. 

Admittedly, today was the perfect day as any to prime the subject. You’ve never been sure whether Luke has assured Obi-Wan that he wants nothing to do with parenthood or if it inspires a desire to have a son of his own.

It’s not revisited until you’re crawling back into bed, back to his bare chest, and the ghosting touch of his hand smoothing down your front draws your attention away from the sensation of his body enfolding around yours. He’s trying to be discreet, you can tell.

“Practicing?” You whisper, with only a hint of knowing so as not to scare him off. There’s no need, you realize, when you feel his mouth twist into a lopsided smile against your nape and his fingers spread unabashedly across your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he repeats, and it’s enough.

[ladyyatexel]

Something that’s really getting me about the She-Ra finale is that, for what feels like the first time in my media life, the heterosexual couples were left with the ambiguity the queer ones usually get.  They had no full on kisses, they had declarations that people are saying, ‘I thought it felt platonic’ about, and some  were kind of not mutually even explicitly expressed.  

It just feels like one of the first times we didn’t have to write essays featuring an extensive list of the times they held hands or did everything that is coded romantically had they been a hetero couple.  In Star Trek: DS9, where we all spent hours raging that the sweet goodbye exchange of chocolates and cute smiles would be instantly read as romantic if it had been the male/female Riker and Troi duo the show so often trotted out in its prior incarnation, TNG.    We don’t have to ask the actors if they ‘played it gay’ or ‘thought there was something more’ or even be terrified or embarrassed to do so.

She-Ra’s last season we got one woman saying, “My wife,” when referring to the partner people were still managing to read as her girlfriend at best, roommate at weirdest.  We got ‘I love you,’ and ‘I love you, too’ and a world saving center stage unambiguous Kiss from the main characters after enduring trauma after trauma.  

Have I ever watched a queer romantic relationship become canon??  I don’t think like this.  I watched Adventure Time, and was I psyched about Marceline and Bubblegum?  Yes!  But the story hadn’t been about them and a long term complicated relationship, even though they had had that both by word of god decree and the few little snips we got as unaddressed background.  We got Marcie and PB by on the fumes of ‘this would be read as a hint if they were two different sexes’ and whoops this kiss is here annnnnnnnnd now it’s from the back and you can’t see the whole thing and we are cutting back to the world ending disaster.   They did the same getting by on fumes with Korra and Asami in Legend of Korra.  Was I astonished Korra got to have Asami in the end and not Mako?  Yeah, because I had never been given that.  But I also wasn’t even sure I was given it because it was given as, ‘we can’t give you this directly, we haven’t even been allowed to focus on it or build it up as falling in love, but you can have it be in literally the same shape as the hetero wedding that fades out before it, that’s the best we got’.   

I’m so used to  us all being ‘already established background’ or ‘developed on the fumes and desperate clinging hopes in the background only to rear a head like Nessie at the 11th hour before vanishing again’ and not several seasons showing obvious connection, obvious distress at being separated and each other’s bad decisions, obvious re connections and longings, jokes and clear joy being together when the worldwide war and abusive parental figure isn’t creeping in all around them. 

I wanted that for Pearl or Peridot in Steven Universe, I wanted ‘now here is the story of me falling in love with someone, complete with my obvious crush on them and our progression through those feelings, from start to finish.’   We got close, and that’s in no way ragging on Steven Universe because I love it and it brings me such joy, it was just still that the safest way to go is ‘pre-established relationship’, and not ‘watch these two have complicated feelings that finally get to be an explosive kiss for several seasons’.  I”m sure there are essays being drafted as I type this about toxic and problematic left and right, I’m just choosing instead to marvel at a thing that brought me great joy and more feelings about people like me look like in media than I had expected, even with how gay it had been up until this point, which was Pretty Gay.    

It’s all the stuff we write in fanfiction, and I mean that in the positive way. not the pseudo insulting derogatory way it’s often trotted out as.  What do people make in fanfic?  Long stories with lots of emotions and connections and elaborate, ‘here is how these two idiots fall in love’ scenarios.   How wild to see it in a show.  And be there and important.

 So yeah, that kiss hit me like a meteor and a mass extinction event. 

(Please don’t yell at me or throw a disc horse, I just want to have some head boggling emotions about a show I really love!)

[lordspectrus]

The Property of Hate - Thoughts, ideas and things that bug me

While we're all waiting for whatever Deus ex machina appears to get Hero and RGB out of the current quandary, I feel I need to verbalise some thoughts. Here be spoilers, obviously.

First things first: I really don't understand RGB's behaviour. Let me explain why. (Some of this is already a couple of days old, and therefore slightly outdated.)

When he introduces Hero to the World of Make Believe, he does not explain anything. You can argue that it's better for her to figure things out. But if he wants her to save the world, surely she should have some idea of the scenario that will eventually happen?

The trees. Clearly he recognises the tree in P.O.V. (since he tells the whole story later), but does actually not want Hero to do anything with or for it. Yes, he didn't know that Assok was keeping it alive. But surely he knows that restoring the sun should be a major part of saving the world?

The same issue crops up again when Hero remarks that now they have to liberate the other four trees. RGB does not seem to be aware that Hero falling onto a branch is what started the tree's regeneration and shedding of the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. But he also says that there's nothing they can do about the other ones (something that their experience with the next tree should have dispelled by now). So, again, he's not telling her what the purpose of her journey is, only what isn't.

If this is his standard way of dealing with heroes, I'm not surprised they all failed. The new update suggests he may have done this on purpose but I don't get what the point of that would've been. To stop the story from ending? The way things are going, it could just as well end despite his efforts, and setting heroes up to fail wouldn't have made a positive difference.

That said, both of the tree rescue operations so far would have failed without the help of former heroes (Assok in the first case, Melody in the second). Which begs interesting questions about their respective proximity.

When RGB arrived in this world, he failed, being the first hero in all but name, and by his own admission, he was pretty green. (Weirdly enough he already had the TV head, whereas the other heroes seemingly were only transformed after failing.) But currently, he seems to know a lot about this world, including stuff that happened long before his arrival. Where did he get that information from? Time?

If the folks from the emporium were heroes brought into this world by RGB, where did he get his shirt from? (Cell doesn't seem to be one, but Tailor...)

Why does Hate only intervene at two points so far? (First cutting Julienne and Melody out of the story, then snipping into Time's speech bubble, which seems pretty ineffective.) If she's really all-seeing and omnipotent, her lack of direct interaction is weird.

What's the point of the train in the desert? It's not sent by Hate (as witnessed by the blackout on her screen), and RGB has no idea what it's about. Honestly, it's the weirdest part of the story to me. It's captivating but feels like it doesn't really belong, and right after it, the whole story significantly loses steam (a-hem).

He traded his memories for time. But if I'm not mistaken, the iron only starts appearing after he was ironed by Tailor, so maybe we're all interpreting too much into those nightmares.

Returning to the question of his motivation. What is his goal? Going to the market was just an intermediate destination. He clearly seems to want to advance somewhere else. But again, he never tells Hero about it... who also never asks what her function as a hero is actually going to be.

Assok knew what to do with the isolator around the tree's roots, but that implies, again, that RGB must have explained the basics of the matter to them. He didn't seem like he wanted to tell Hero.

And without the liberation of the tree, he wouldn't have the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ to trade in the market. What else could he have offered? Or was going to the market only something he decided to do after that happened?

Why are there suddenly three suns? Even RGB doesn't know. And we don't see if the phoenix-tree is going to join them. (However, since that bit is set in the future, we might learn about how the three suns came about soon. (Confirmed by Mod now, thankfully.))

Maybe freeing the first sun automatically led to the next one being liberated (since the first one sets into the sea and one part apparently sunk there), but so far no explanation.

Madras is the only other character openly aware that this world is ending. But she doesn't seem too fussed, despite RGB's later explanation that if the World of Make Believe ends, all other worlds end too.

As a commenter on SmackJeeves said, most of the concepts we've seen so far are negative (pun intended). Time is neutral (and on the protagonists' side) and the tempers seem somewhat positive. If Time and Hate are the two big factors, would love be the third, and be represented by the (shattered) sun?

EDIT: Another thing. In the current part of the story, it appears RGB is telling Hero that he died. Shouldn't this be more significant? After all, she asked on page 8 whether she's dead and he says "I hope not".

Now onto the positive. While I wouldn't put it beyond Mod to subvert our expectations again, I do expect a happy ending of sorts. Why? Well, consider that the current hero is front and center of the story, while all her predecessors only get time to shine in flashbacks and supporting roles. And of course Time is on her side!

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Going, Going, Gone (Spencer Reid x Reader) Chapter 5

Warnings: Mentions of death and injury/much angst

Word Count: 2k

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-Spencers POV-

His heart stopped. There she was. Right there, if only he could climb through the screen and grab her, shielding her from further harm. He was angry, she looked so small, from what he could make out on the screen you were tied to a bed, bound by chains, blood and wounds scattered in different shapes and sizes over your almost naked body.

Spencer heard a gasp from behind him, turning he noticed JJ staring at the screen seeing exactly what he was. He didn’t have time to deal with peoples feelings, he just needed to figure out where his girl was and quickly. Emily had joined him back at the laptop.

“Oh my god.” Her voice was full of panic and hate. Then her eyes went wide when she heard Rossi’s voice travelling up the attic stairs.

“Spencer, did you find anything yet.” Spence turned to look at the man and then back at the screen, angling his body so it was in front of Rossi’s line of sight. Emily was trying to get him to go back down stairs but he was having none of it, pushing passed her to get to the source of the commotion. Spencer couldn’t bare to listen to the angry cries of his colleague, the angry, broken cries of a father. He was too focused on taking in everything he could, trying to look passed your broken and beaten down, still breathing body, to figure out if there was anything to lead them to you.

Spencer hit a button on his mobile, a direct line to Garcia who was anxiously waiting for anything back at her cyber lab.

“Go boy wonder what have you got for me.” Penelope’s joking voice faltered when Spencer informed her of their findings. He sent the video clip of Y/N over to Penelope to analyse further. Her voice quivering as she promised Spencer she’d be found.

Spencer took a look at the screen again, noticing marks up the algae covered walls. They were water marks, which told you how high the water sometimes flooded inside the building. He let Garcia know so she could narrow her search to a building that would be underground near water and it took her mere seconds to come back with a location.

“It’s an old underground bunker, the Unsubs father was some kind of doomsday preparation nut, it’s next to the Teal River, i’ve sent the exact location to your phones.” The team were out the door in seconds, hoping and praying that this is where they would find you alive. They needed to find you alive.

“Were coming for you sweetheart just hold on, were coming.” In that moment Spencer did something he never did, he prayed.

-Un-Subs POV-

“It’s almost time. Almost time to get rid of the girl. She put up a bigger fight than I thought she would. A few more stab wounds and cuts aught to do the trick, let her die slowly in her cell, die slowly just like my girl did. They will pay, they will all pay.”

-Your POV-

You coughed. You could hear that your breathing was getting worse and it felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of you. You knew you didn’t have long left. You would have liked to cry, feel sorry for yourself, for the fact that you’d never have a future with Spence, never see your father again and never see the team you called family again, but you were too dehydrated and your body couldn’t even function enough to produce a single drop. You slumped against the sticky cold wall, dry blood smeared across your face and in your hair. Your leg was still bleeding but you’d managed to stop it slightly by using some dirty cloth from the mattress you were sitting on. An infected leg was better than bleeding out.

Your eyes closed and you thought about Spencer. How his mind would be working over time trying to piece together the clues and find you before you met your demise. You wanted to believe they would find you in time but your hope was slowly fading away with your consciousness.

You thought about your father and how he’d been in the BAU for so long, founded it with your godfather Gideon, how it was basically his whole life, as well as you. You hoped that when you were gone he’d be able to move on, that he wouldn’t hurt for too long and hopefully one day he’d re-marry, god knows he could use a strong woman in his life after your mum died.

You thought about your friends.. family at the BAU. Your best friend Luke Alvez who treated you more like a little sister, always taking you under his wing and giving you advice even when you didn’t need it. You hoped he’d stay at the BAU, that if you died, it wouldn’t effect him too much and he’d be able to get back to some kind of normal life. You wish there was a way to tell him he could have your baseball card collection, he’d always wanted it. You laughed a little, a sad laugh, already grieving for the people you were going to lose. Thinking about all the things you still wanted to do in life. They say that when you die you life flashes before your eyes, they were wrong. It’s before that, it plays through your head like a movie, going over all the things you’d never get to see.

In your mind you pictured what your wedding day would be like. Spencer would want a small wedding full of close family and friends and you’d agree. The perfect setting your fathers large back garden, flowers everywhere, surrounded by the people you love. The gentle exchanging of rings and the kiss he would give you that would still make your toes curl even when you were old and grey.

Children. You wanted at least 4. You wanted so many children with Spencer because you knew he’d make the most amazing father, even if he’d be scared they’d carry the gene for schizophrenia. They’d have his curly hair and your eye colour, his calmness and his smarts while they had your artistic nature and kindness. They’d love to stay with Grandpa, who would tell them all kinds of stories of his time in the FBI, obviously leaving out the heavy stuff. Your friends would come over and you’d always have big dinners and get togethers, BBQ’s in the summer, your lives full of life and laughter and there would always be him. Right by your side. Your Spencer. You’d grow old together, still love each other as hard as you do now. Until your last breath. You pictured going out like the scene in the notebook, old and in each others arms. The world would always be right, if you had your Spencer Reid.

You could feel your breathing slowing, the sound of heavy footsteps running down the echoing corridor. It was too late. You were sure the Un-sub was coming to finish you off once and for all, leave you somewhere for your family to find, another body in another case the BAU would eventually solve. But it was too late for you. The door swung open and your eyes closed. The pain was gone and so were the chances of seeing your Spence one last time.

-Spencers POV-

The SUV’s came to a screeching halt outside the bunker. There was a gravelled path that lead towards the doors that were hidden behind shrubs. It was one of those lucky by chance things, the team arrived and the Un-sub was outside, about to go into the bunker. While Prentiss and JJ read him his rights and stuck him in the back of the car, Spencer, Rossi and Luke threw open the metal doors and made their way inside cautiously. Spencer wanted to throw all caution to the wind. Guaranteed the two other men he was with wanted to as well. All they wanted to do was get their girl back. But sometimes looks could be deceiving and more danger could be lurking up ahead. In this case, there wasn’t.

Spencer ran down the long echoing corridor, medics behind him. The cells were empty apart from one.

“Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me? Were here Darling just hold on okay, i’m here baby i’m here.” Spencers voice was full of panic as the three men used all their strength to open the tightly sealed bunker door. Spencer could faintly see through the porthole door, the grime and condensation obstructing his view slightly. You weren’t moving. He started to panic even more and when the door hissed and flung open it was if the world was moving in slow motion.

You were pale, eyes closed, dry blood across your practically naked body. Dirty cloth wrapped around your blood soaked thigh and cuts littered your body in all shapes and sizes. One of your hands was handcuffed to a railing next to the rusty spring covered bed and you looked smaller than you’d ever looked before. Spencer was on you in seconds. Luke had bolt cutters and had snipped the handcuff from the railing. Rossi was frozen in his spot, his daughter lifeless in front of him. Spencer lifted you carefully in his arms laying you on the ground.

“She has no pulse! She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing!” He started pumping your chest, 1,2,3,4…. check, no sign of breathing. He held your nose and blew into your mouth twice, Luke took over chest compressions as the paramedics set up the defibrillator. More Paramedics arrived, pushing the two FbI Agents away so they could work on you more thoroughly. Some tended to your still bleeding cute, needles attached to you for IV bags and then.

“Everyone clear!” The defibrillator sounded up. The shocking noise and the thud your body made against the cold floor seemed to echo all around. They shocked you a total of four times before they managed to get a weak pulse.

The ambulance ride wasn’t long, especially now that you had a police escort and most of the flashing lights in the city. You died and came back 3 times in the ambulance. Spencer hadn’t stopped crying since he found you bleeding and lifeless.

On arrival to the hospital you were instantly taken to surgery, some of the stab wounds too severe to be treated normally. The BAU occupied the waiting room, Rossi sat numbly staring at the floor, Spencer paced back and fourth, Luke kept on asking the Dr for updates every ten minutes and the rest of the team just waited for any news at all.

——————————————————————————————————

-Your POV-

You hadn’t remembered your cell being this bright. Maybe your captor had taken you outside. Maybe you hadn’t died in time to be spared of the cruel torture that was about to follow. What was that dreadful beeping sound? You blinked, your eyes taking their time to adjust to your surroundings. You were defiantly somewhere else and you started to panic, the beeping got louder and faster. You tried to sit up.

“Spencer! Spencer! Wake up she’s awake!” You couldn’t make out the voice clearly, it sounded like… your dad? But how? Were you dreaming. Maybe this was your body in its final stages playing a cruel trick on your subconscious.

You tried to talk, but your throat was dry and you were hit with a wave of pain. Someone pressed ice chips to your lips, slowly but surely you accepted them, the coolness coating your vocal cords.

“Please, please tell m-me this isn’t a d-dream.” A tear leaked from the corner of your eye and rolled down your cheek only to be kissed away by… your Spencer.

“Baby, it’s not a dream, I found you, we found you. You’re safe now and I’m never letting you go again.”

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Welp, There we go. The final chapter! I hope you liked this mini series! If you like Criminal minds or want me to write for anyone else.. maybe Luke Alvez... let me knowwww i'll consider it ;) Please Reblog/follow/like <3333

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[genuflectx]

Axiom’s End

This is a little review of an AMAZING book I just finished reading that exophilia lovers (and just sci-fi lovers in general) may enjoy to get in on, if not already! 

Parts of this review will have spoilers, but I will place the spoilery review under a cut (though some basic plot premises are discussed before the cut, they are not major spoilers)! So if you want a quick review read on, and for the more detailed spoilery review check under the cut. It includes a small snip of one page of the book to hopefully entice you.

When it comes to books my search for truly engaging alien novels has been... a waste of time at best. And this story here simply didn’t pop up under my searches for, er, alien human romance novels, so you likely won’t find it by searching that either. I only discovered it by seeing the sparse fanart of it on Tumblr, which made me read it’s synopsis on wikipedia and wonder how on EARTH I had not come across this yet, as a terato blog.

So, Axiom’s End is a first contact story, but it is character driven, and all the characters (especially the main cast) are emotional and well developed. However I have a warning some may want to heed; it is existential and is aware of it. If you can’t handle a heavy feeling of dread, which several chapters tend to exude, might not be the story for you.

Do you like creepy, deathly still dragon-insect-robots with questionable morals staring you down? Ohhh boy, I sure do. The main alien character, Ampersand, and his species, are not humanoid. They are in the sense of having two arms two legs two eyes, etc, but otherwise are distinctly different and alien and- did I mention Ampersand is 9 feet tall? And some of his species are even taller? Woof. There aren’t any re-colored humans with four arms and a six pack here.

Through the story the main human Cora plays as Ampersand’s interpreter, being the only one who has the means to understand him. That means they are required to be rather... close. The juxtaposition between her human inflections and idea of ethics greatly clashes with Ampersand’s own blunt way of speaking and concept of right or wrong. When you’ve lived so many hundreds of years and have advanced nearly beyond comprehension that’ll do it to ya. How she and the alien get along and what the talk about is something I’ll leave under the cut. All you need to know is I friggin’ loved it. Best thing yet, book 2 comes out this October and is open for preorder!!

NOW, SPOILER TIME:

^ Random page of the book of Cora and Ampersand speaking. ^

Ellis wanted to make this species nearly incomprehensible to human values, and god did she do it, and somehow even managed to do it while still making you love-hate them. Ampersand (and by extension his people) are so clinical and “logical” that they will lie by omission and not say sorry when found out, because if it benefited him why should he? Though we don’t dig into the other aliens’ personalities much, so I’ll focus on Amper.

Ampersand is hundreds and hundreds of years old, living through torture, surviving an alien planet, suffering the feeling of death when Cefo killed himself (and, later, when the 2nd one dies). He is, beneath a cold exterior, damaged and emotional, perhaps at first even attempting to pretend he wasn’t (through cold indifference) until Cora challenged him. He is manipulative, a walking contradiction, and at the end of it all, hiding his vulnerability. As an example, at one part closer to the end he lashes out when Cora is angry at him, and later expresses, to the best of his species abilities, a regret for his anger. So he KNOWS he has emotional flaws, but doesn’t start really admitting them till maybe ehh 75% into the book, roughly.

As we move through the story he goes from being so afraid of Cora that he keeps a ten foot distance and freezes when she looks at him, to not needing to be told twice before curling up beside her on a hospital bed. Even if he didn’t see humans as persons, he clearly did not want the planet to be destroyed by his people, and that does show a level of empathy for humans outside of Cora. Or... it could all be coldly logical to him (humans pose no real threat, thus, it would be illogical to warrant a genocide of the Earth- or is that just what he might tell himself?).

As you read you’ll begin to feel like Cora. The back and forth feeling of wanting to know more, of wanting to apply humanity to Ampersand and his people, but then getting ice water in your face when his actions remind you that he is in no way human. We may never fully understand the depth or shallowness of his empathy, and perhaps the closest thing comes in his immediate response to Cora of I do value you and his carefulness with petting her to comfort her. Though, even then, this statement does not express clear cut emotion. “Value” to Ampersand is not “value” to a human. Is she valued as a thing/asset or as a person? 

Also to make this clear since you came all this way for spoilers. Though I don’t know just how deeply it goes, or how synonymous it is to human romantic relationships, Cora and Ampersand become a thing by the end. The closest they could come to a romantic relationship, at least, with Ampersand bonding to Cora and snuggling up with her on a bed. 

I yap about Ampersand enough (he’s cool but not the only main character!!). Cora has her own traumas and issues outside of Ampersand. I imagine they will be expanded further in the second book, as in the first book her family trauma is mostly directed around she and her aunt. She had feelings and painful memories of her father, but in book 1 her father is a distant person, affecting the course of the story but she’s too far away (and busy) to have the means to confront him. And the rest of her family are in custody till the end, leaving them as a motivation for Cora, though nothing she can deal with immediately due to their distance. So while she has a LOT to go through book one is very alien-focused, with parts dedicated to Cora and her aunt, and her father as a far-off figure who changes the story but is never directly there in front of Cora. However, with the synopsis of book 2 already out, it’s clear her father may become even more of a plot point, with Cora being made to meet Nils’s informant.

Not only do I love this story as a terato fan, but it’s the only book I have devoured in three days. It kept me wanting to know what would happen next because I was so attached to everyone. Ellis is very thorough and this world is huge- a cumulation of a 10 year old story she’s had, only come to fruition in 2020. I CANNOT wait for book two! It comes out THIS OCTOBER and I will absolutely be pre-ording it!!