#I think I prefer her with green skin I think partially because I like her more plant than human

[sparkling12]

I'm curious, in general do we prefer Poison Ivy with Green Skin or Nah?

oh reblog for more responses please lol

[wingedcat13]

Siren Call: 3

[We’ve had past and present Minerva, but what about future?]

One day, Minerva will be familiar with the island’s crags and shelves. She’ll know the way the shore slope becomes a drop off and where the sandbars are, the color and density of all the coral, the migratory patterns of the species who pass by.

Today, she knows enough to avoid triggering the sensors. Even pauses to adjust one that’s started sagging out of place.

Minerva chooses not to walk up the beach, not wanting to track sand into the - house? Facility? Building? - not wanting to get sand caked to her feet and legs. Jumping straight up to the roof in a waterspout is also unnecessarily dramatic when there isn’t a fight to get to. So she just gathers herself, waits for a wave, and urges it a little higher, placing herself at its apex.

It gets her high enough that she can reach the railing of the overlooking balcony, with enough momentum to curl and tuck her body, cartwheeling over the rail partially just for the joy of motion. Even the smooth tiles feel rough compared to the water, strangely unyielding, and she wobbles just a little as she catches her bearings. Belatedly, she realizes she almost kicked the crap out of one of the balcony’s chairs. The little swerve she does is automatic. At least there wasn’t an audience-

“Minerva.” Says Synovus, sitting on the table because they’re deranged. There’s a surprised tilt to the end of her name, like half a question answering itself. They’re wearing civilian clothes again, and some part of Minerva’s mind can’t help noting that their arms are bare. “Welcome - back.”

One day, Minerva won’t scowl at them on reflex.

Today, she demands immediately, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Y-es?” Synovus hedges, not moving. “But also no? I was - I thought you’d be coming up from the shore.”

They sound almost abashed. But that’s too close to ‘embarrassed’ and Minerva is well aware that Synovus has no shame. She may have genuinely surprised them - they’re perched on the edge of the table, and had leaned away slightly. Synovus wanting to be a problem would have chosen a much more… blatant posture. Or at least to sit further back in the shadows. The absence of either a gaudy attention grabber or deliberate stealth indicated this middle ground was not an act. Or perhaps that’s what she’s meant to think.

One day, Minerva will not have to consciously pick aside the paranoia to see what is in front of her.

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

With a sigh, she closes her eyes, and focuses on each part of her body, bringing herself down from the mild surge of adrenaline. One hand draws back the wet strands of her hair. The other removes the mask that was a gift. She leaves her eyes closed while she rubs the red marks out of her skin.

With her eyes closed, it’s easier to skip past the defensive retort, and say instead, “You could’ve at least had a coffee waiting for me.”

“I don’t actually know your preferences in that regard.” Synovus admits, and for a heartbeat Minerva is worried this will turn into a far too blunt conversation about homecomings, but - “Do you take it black? Iced? Green?”

Minerva scoffs, but it might have just been a laugh. Even she’s not sure. “White chocolate mocha.” She answers. “One shot espresso, oat milk.”

“Ah,” Synovus says, as Minerva opens her eyes. They seem to have had a revelation. “So that’s why Alexandria likes those Unicorn frappes so much. Hm. And here I usually go for the cider.”

A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at the thought - Synovus, dread assassin, going to a coffee shop and ordering hot apple juice with whipped cream.

Minerva sets her mask on the table. “Stand up a minute.” She tells Synovus quietly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves below.

“I don’t take direction well.” Synovus replies, even as they slide off the table and to their feet, turning to face her. There’s a caution to their movements, but also curiosity, written far more liberally across the unobscured face Minerva once never thought to see.

If Minerva meets their eyes too long, she’ll lose her nerve, so she winds up staring somewhere around Synovus’s collarbone instead. There’s a scar there, hidden for now by a high-necked top, and Minerva knows that because she put it there. It had been a targeted move: Synovus had broken her collarbone the fight before.

She wants to be better at giving back things other than pain.

“Just - give me a moment. Don’t move, please.” She’s pretty sure it’s the ‘please’ that gets them. Synovus goes so statue-still that Minerva’s not sure they’re blinking. But they don’t protest. And they certainly don’t move as Minerva steps forward.

And in one of the most awkward movements of her life, slides her arms around Synovus’s ribcage, setting her chin gently on their shoulder.

This is instantly easier when she no longer has to look at Synovus’s face. Well. When she can’t look. Can’t fixate on finding and parsing the smallest of expressions, assigning meaning to the specific tilt of a chin or speed of a blink. She’s still bad at it - hugging - because she usually just lets other people hug her, and initiating it is weird, but she can’t imagine Synovus is particularly good at it either.

After all, they’re still standing stock-still, and if Minerva wasn’t currently very aware of their breathing, she might even think they were panicking.

“Not a trap.” She mutters, and feels as much as hears Synovus’s responding huff. But their arms slowly, cautiously, hesitantly come up to return the embrace, hands resting lightly on her back. The side of Synovus’s head tips gently into hers.

One day, Minerva might not feel awkward about body contact and physical affection. One day, she may find herself as familiar with Synovus’s scars as she is her own. And she just might reach a point, eventually, where one of them could make a joke about this just being an excuse to get Synovus wet and not immediately both perish from the agony of an accidental allusion to arousal.

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

Minerva probably won’t ever see a crowd as something other than a threat to be monitored.

Large groups have always made her tense, and that instinct had only gotten worse over the years. Most villains respect the ad hoc agreement about making an entrance, but there are a distinct few who would kill from a crowd. And there are those who are not villains in the distinct, identity sense, but would wreak havoc nonetheless.

So she scans the mall’s sheltered internal colonnade from behind her sunglasses, and listens to her daughter tell her about her day.

“- I just told him that I’d come from further South, and he didn’t ask me any more questions after that, but then freaking Brad asked me if I was an ‘illegal’ and I know what you mean now, about temptation to cram people into lockers. He’s lucky he’s so tall; I couldn’t fold him up to fit without taking some limbs off.”

Alexandria huffs, taking an aggressive pull from her milkshake. The stress of her life is getting to her - no teenager should have worry lines, or bags under their eyes that deep - but she insists this is what she wants. Even if Minerva sometimes wonders whether Alexandria sees herself as a member of the school’s attendees, or just a spectator who sometimes catches a stray ball.

“Did you tell Brad that?” Minerva asks mildly, mostly curious.

Alexandria sighs again, “No.” She says sullenly, shoulders slumping. “I asked him if he thought the government should determine who gets to live where, and then when he started to argue with me I told him I hoped his yacht sank with him on it.”

“Alexandria.” Minerva was still learning to find the right tone. The right amount of reproach, without exasperation or accusation. She must’ve gotten close, because Alexandria just lifts one hand in a ‘not me’ gesture.

“Specifically so he’d wash up in Mexico or Hawaii and get to be illegal himself.” She clarifies. “I don’t think that convinced anyone I wasn’t an immigrant, though. Til Seanna pointed out my grades in Spanish would probably be better.”

Minerva’s sigh is more restrained, but she points out, “There are other languages in South America. Brazilian Portuguese, for example.”

She’s not sure why she’s entertaining this, really.

“That’s true.” Alexandria ponders that for a moment, drinking more of her milkshake. “I mostly just meant to imply I was from one of the towns that got fu- uhhhh, screwed up by the power grabs.”

Minerva briefly leaves the conversation, remembering that shell of a place. The layouts, the dressings of a town, not quite abandoned yet but with nothing else to bleed.

Judging by the nudge she receives under the table, Alexandria isn’t totally oblivious to her distraction. She’s also changed the subject.

“So.” Alexandria is saying, drawing one syllable into three, “How are you and my godparent getting along?”

‘Godparent’ has become Alexandria’s favored way of referring to Synovus in public. It’s a joke on multiple levels, some of which Synovus seems to appreciate. But Minerva thinks it also makes them slightly uncomfortable, in a way they refuse to express to Alexandria.

“It’s fine.” Minerva replies, on rote. Her eyes flick to Alexandria, then back to the crowds. “What is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

“You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want something in particular.”

Alexandria’s mouth twists down, “Can I just get an answer without fishing for it, for once?”

Startled, Minerva looks at her again. Takes a better assessment of her daughter’s body language, the tension there. She knows she’s also gone tense.

Anger creeps into Alexandria’s voice, replacing the annoyance. “I’m not going to lose control. I’m not-“

She cuts herself off, abruptly looking away. Her fingers relax around the plastic cup, deliberately demonstrating that her strength won’t get away from her.

Minerva has a suspicion of how that sentence might have ended. I’m not like you and dad.

Reaching out physically feels like the wrong move here. So does stiffening up further and refusing to talk about it. Be better, she thinks to herself desperately, her mind flicking back to an image of a person with one foot in the water, one on dry land.

“We still… disagree, on some things. Some major things.” Minerva makes herself say. She still doesn’t like that Synovus kills people. She doesn’t like that Synovus has ostensibly killed for her, or for Alexandria. But she also feels relief that Synovus did, and a sense of gratitude she can’t quite smother. It makes her feel dirty, oily, and she hasn’t found it’s root.

Taking a breath, Minerva continues, “But… I don’t think they mean either of us harm.”

Alexandria has relaxed a little, absorbed by what Minerva’s saying. And probably having to pick through it for what she isn’t saying either.

“Would you say that you, I don’t know, maybe, trust them?” Alexandria prompts.

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

“It’s complicated, Alexandria.” She says, but it’s not the abrupt conversation-closer it would have once been. More… beseeching.

“Do you trust anyone?” Alexandria asks, “And like, I don’t even really mean me, here, but like. Anyone?”

Minerva remains silent.

“Do you trust yourself?” Alexandria asks, sounding a little alarmed.

Minerva hesitates - but she can’t really answer that one either.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just the background roar of the mall’s crowds between them. Minerva hates this. She hates feeling like she can’t actually control herself, can’t master the emotional impulses she’s forcibly crammed into a box for years. She hates that Alexandria is having to pick up the conversation, make the overtures, do the work.

But any time she tries to think of a way to do it herself, her mind shies away from it. The words wilt and die in her throat. Because what if she gets it wrong?

What if she has more to lose?

Eventually, Alexandria looks at the melted remnants of her milkshake, and asks, “Can we stop at the Hot Topic before we leave.”

One day.

———————————

A week later, Rosie pokes her head into the common room Minerva’s reading in. “Minerva?”

She’d finally been asked point blank by one of them what she wanted to be called, because Athena no longer seemed accurate. Committing to Naiad hadn’t felt right either, so she’d given up her civilian name. Synovus already knew it, what was the point?

(It had occurred to her, later, that the small thrill she felt at being addressed by it was possibly what Alexandria felt at being addressed by her chosen name.)

(Also, it would’ve made Albion furious.)

“What is it?” Minerva asks now, letting one finger hold her place in the book as she sits up.

“There’s a fight drifting our way - Zephyr and a few others against the Eye. He’s made another floating platform again.” Rosie rolled her eyes, providing her professional opinion.

Minerva tilted her head, hesitating. Zephyr was a hero she’d worked with before, though they had never gotten along. He’d offered to take her flying, she’d taken that as flirting and shut it down, they’d never really overcome the resulting awkwardness. She had no idea who he’d be working with.

Eye, in contrast, was Eye in the Sky - a villain obsessed mostly with surveillance, and not being observed himself. He was a center point of several conspiracy theories involving the NRA, CIA, and a number of international organizations. She’d never fought him before, just heard the stories.

“What’s the protocol?” Minerva asks, rather than offer any of that information. She was certain this group of people knew far more about everyone involved anyway.

Rosie smiles, “Not much of one, just a lower alert status. Doll and I will make the rounds and check on everyone, Synovus is going to suit up just in case, but we won’t get involved unless territory agreements are breached.” She added, “Alexandria’s still on the mainland, we’ve made sure she knows to be suited if she makes her own way home.”

Minerva taps at the cover of her book, thinking. She feels adrift, still. This isn’t an actual fight, unless she wants to go and be Athena, and the idea of that is physically uncomfortable. It would also invite too many questions. Naiad would-

Hm. “Does Synovus want me in uniform?” She asks, sardonic.

“I didn’t ask and don’t plan to.” Rosie replies flippantly. “If they want you to do something, I imagine you’ll hear about it directly.”

Somehow, that isn’t the response she wants. “I don’t-“

“They also haven’t given any orders that you’re to be stopped.” Rosie points out, cutting her off. “The rest of us will be either in the operations room or up on the roof to watch. Klaxon if there’s trouble.”

She gave Minerva another smile, twiddled her fingers, and withdrew. Minerva shifted, and opened her book again.

She made it through two more paragraphs, then left it unceremoniously on the floor.

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

In a way, that’s reassuring, because even Minerva knew by now that if there was imminent danger, Synovus would be stock-still. The sun glints off the dark helmet, and threw the matte black of the rest of the suit into stark relief against the sandy-colored rooftop. Wind off the sea ripples through the cape, keeping it blown back, perpendicular to the path Synovus is walking.

The sun is kinder to Minerva’s costume, and there is no cape to blow. The dark mask helps keep her from being blinded by the sun. Athena wouldn’t be of much use here; Naiad might be.

Doll - the larger, Russian man who Minerva thought of as Synovus’s second in command - stood up here too, a viewfinder raised to cover his face. He’s looking into the direction of the wind, angled out and up, and Minerva follows that direction.

There it is - flashes of distant, shimmering silver in a cloud bank that’s thinning. Some masking device, most likely, now disabled. There’s tiny flashes of what must be powers or weaponry at use, but she can’t make out more than that.

“How bad is it?” She asks anyway, brisk and businesslike.

“The wind isn’t in our favor.” Doll comments. He’s always answered her as if she’s a coworker, and she appreciates that. “I can’t tell how much of it is powered and how much of it drifts. If there’s been damage to it -“ He lowers the viewfinder to make a hand gesture. “It might not be able to control its direction anymore.”

“Sloppy.” The comment is out of Minerva’s mouth before she can stop it. It draws Doll’s attention, if not Synovus’s. At the slightly raised eyebrow, she sighs and continues, “Disabling propulsion or navigation creates unnecessary risk to everyone involved. The only time it becomes necessary is when there’s weaponry that absolutely must be disabled, and you don’t have either the training or the time to sort out different power systems.”

Doll nods, offering her the viewfinder. “It could be self-inflicted,” he points out.

“Possible, but suicidal. That would require an exit strategy. Do you think Eye has one?”

“He’ll have three, only two of them will work, and none of them will be enough to keep him from getting captured.” Synovus breaks into the conversation abruptly, annoyed. Or perhaps professionally offended. “They’ll be personal craft.”

Meaning the rest of the platform’s crew would be left to die. Incentive for the heroes to try and rescue them rather than pursue, but what a waste.

The viewfinder lets Minerva get a better sense of the platform’s size, and also an estimate of its height and distance. She can make out a glimpse of a gray-shaded costume, diving through the clouds: Zephyr.

“If you interfere,” She asks, while her view is disconnected from her surroundings, “What would that look like?”

There’s a hesitation. A gust of wind snaps at Synovus’s cape. The distant battle continues.

“If they cross the boundaries, there must be consequences.” Synovus says reluctantly. “I will destroy the platform. Survivors will become my prisoners. If the heroes protest, I’ll fight them.”

Minerva lowers the viewfinder, and returns it to Doll. Synovus has stopped pacing. “You don’t have the facilities for a mass casualty event.”

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

Rosie has come out to join them on the roof by the time there’s significant change. The wind has died down some - likely a marker of Zephyr changing it, finally reaching their shores. The air feels thick and dead without it.

They’ve mostly stood in silence, watching. It feels longer than it has been, and Minerva knows it’ll be worse for those actually fighting. She’s surprised she hasn’t felt more of an urge to intervene.

Though she has been keeping watch for anyone falling to the water below.

It’s hard to say which of them notices first - their attention is collectively on the sky platform, and not each other. But there’s a decided tilt to the mostly-exposed metal monstrosity now, and in very short order, it begins to fall.

“Catch it.” Minerva finds herself murmuring. “Catch it. At least slow it-“

But no one does.

The platform hits the water at the full speed gained from a several thousand foot drop, slamming into the ocean. Those watching know that the metal will crumple on impact, water at that height and velocity worse than slamming into concrete. The surface area only makes it worse; tilted in at a slight angle, it displaces the water in a specific direction.

Towards the island.

Minerva had studied the ocean as much as she could. She knows this phenomena, and can cite times in the past it’s occurred. Not caused by the shifting of the ocean floor or tectonic plates, but by a sudden mass displacement.

They call it a super-tsunami.

Synovus is a statue beside her from the moment the platform starts to fall. Doll catches on once the surface of the water rises - and then doesn’t fall again.

“Three minutes.” Minerva calculates, based on distance and the probable speed of the wave. As many miles to cross. Much taller. “Evacuation?”

“The Jet is under repair, we can’t get it into the air in time.” Rosie answers, grim.

“Seals on the inner portions of the facility might hold, but we don’t know how long we’d be underwater.” Doll says, hitting the klaxon anyway. “The fridges?”

“Only as good as long as the power lasts.” Rosie replies. “Alexandria?”

“Still on the mainland.” Doll growls, running a hand through his hair. “Even if she could reach us in time, we’d have to get everyone onto the plane-“

Synovus has, so far, said nothing. Minerva is the only one close enough to catch when they choke out a strangled, “-fucking submarine -“

Minerva had expected Synovus to have a plan. A power, a strength, a defense mechanism. The realization that they don’t is like a fire’s been lit at the base of her spine.

She doesn’t remember grabbing Synovus’s collar, or dragging them to face her. She does remember saying, “I can stop it.”

Synovus doesn’t hesitate. “What do you need?”

There is no questioning of if she’s sure, or recommendation that she go into the waves to ride it out. No suggestion of running.

“Get me in front of it.”

Immediately, Synovus has one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and they’re running. Off the edge of the roof, not quite flying, flickers of shadow beneath their feet. Minerva doesn’t have time to question it, because her attention is on the big damn wave.

When she had said she could stop it, she had spoken with a bone-deep certainty. But she’d never actually tried to divert a tsunami before, let alone one of this size. The largest amount of water she’s worked with has always been as much as she needs to accomplish her goal, and nothing more. Diverting some rain-induced flooding is nothing compared to the power of the tides.

But she can feel the ocean beneath them, as Synovus clears the island’s coast. She can sense the oncoming wave, so fast to them, but to the ocean like a flinch in slow motion. The ocean doesn’t know how to control a fall.

But Minerva does.

The trick is in grasping the majority of the wave without over extending. She doesn’t need every droplet, every molecule, but she does need the vast majority of them.

It’s like trying to get a grip on something flat with only the pads of her fingers. It’s like misjudging a stair and finding herself both plummeting and ramming into an outside force. It’s like taking the first breath of rain-rich air in the early morning, and feeling life enter her lungs again.

Minerva twists the top back over itself, breaking the wave in the wrong direction. She cuts it down the middle, diverting it off to the sides. She forbids it to go forward, as though it’s met a cliff. And as the water falls, the wave collapsing, so does she.

It takes a brief second to put together that the body that had been holding her aloft is now limp, twisted slightly as though to put itself between her and the wave. Synovus is unresponsive, the shadows gone, only the cape whipping around them as they fall. Minerva is able to catch them, now, grabbing on before they can drift away.

She reaches for the water below them, calling it up to catch them with less than bone-breaking force. It’s easier, somehow, but also harder, and she’s having trouble fixing a direction in her mind for where the wave was and where the shore should be. Hot air, harsh wind, cool water and the dimming depths as they’re both drawn down.

And she remembers, finally, that Synovus can’t swim.

—————

The disorientation has mostly worn off by the time Synovus wakes up.

Minerva had managed to follow the upset currents, but hadn’t wanted to risk trying to shape and change them. Or to fight them overmuch, with her cargo. So they’d wound up washed not to shore, but to a small opening into one of the partial lava tubes at the island’s base.

Outside, saltwater rain is still falling, though it will stop soon. The ocean’s roar sounds, to her ears, slightly confused. The sun is still shining, and the wind has picked up again. ‘Calm’ is a subjective definition, but they’re approaching it.

Minerva had been relieved to find that Synovus’s helmet was intact, even with the impact to the water. She’d managed to find its clasps, and to remove it, making sure the seals had also held and that Synovus wasn’t drowning in their own personal fishbowl. They’re propped up against her legs, which are folded beneath her, and she’s prepared for a violent awakening.

But Synovus’s eyes blink open, and Minerva is able to watch their facial muscles work as they come to terms with their surroundings.

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

Synovus squints at her, but doesn’t immediately protest. They also don’t try to move much, other than a slight squirm that Minerva recognizes as a full body check. Do I still have my appendages? Do my fingers and toes all work?

“Yeah.” Synovus concedes. Their voice is raspy with saltwater, even though they didn’t get much of a chance to drown. This time.

Minerva should probably start somewhere else - like making certain they’re okay, or assuring them about the conditions outside, that the wave had been averted. Instead, she all but demands, “If you’re so terrified of water, why in the hells did you build on an island?”

She can see the balk in Synovus’s expression: a furrowing of their brow, a twitch of the nose. Synovus lifts a hand to consider covering their face, eyes the sand on their glove, and lowers it again.

“I already know you can’t swim.” Minerva says flatly.

“I can swim.” Synovus shoots back, annoyed. “I cannot swim well, there’s a difference.”

They sigh, and move to sit up. Minerva doesn’t stop them. She doesn’t expect an answer, at least not without further prompting, but Synovus continues:

“It’s… easier. The isolation. Clearly defined borders. This is mine, everyone else fuck off. And it…” Synovus shakes their head. “It serves its purpose.”

Once, Minerva would’ve accused them of grandstanding. Of the island being a show of wealth and status. She knows better now - knows that while that is true, there’s other reasons, layered beneath.

And she thinks about everything Synovus has ever told her about self control.

“It contains you.”

Synovus hesitates, partially grimacing, but nods. “Serves its purpose.” They repeat quietly.

The two of them sit in silence, in the dark shadow of the cave. They listen to the water, and the waves as they return to normal.

“Thank you.” Synovus says, into the silence.

“I don’t require thanks.”

“But I feel you deserve it, and it’s mine to give.”

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

Minerva has the uncomfortable feeling that they are not discussing only gratitude. Rather than address that, or continue the discussion, she says instead: “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Synovus doesn’t reply. They tilt their head, studying her in the dark. Minerva’s dragged them into a cave and confronted them with truths after they passed out from fear doing something on her word, she should give them a break. She doesn’t.

“I should be out there looking for survivors, or recovering the dead. I don’t want to. I should’ve involved myself in the fight, reminded them to be careful of the platform’s vulnerabilities. I didn’t. I don’t feel guilt. I feel… annoyed. Angry. Because they should’ve known better.”

Synovus just turns a bit, to rest their back against a rock. “And that in turn makes you feel..?”

“Foolish. Arrogant. A bad hero, and a worse teacher. I should be patient. Forgiving.”

“They nearly killed you.” Synovus points out dryly. “You’re allowed to be angry about that.”

“And more would’ve died if the wave had reached the coast.” Minerva grits her teeth. “But that anger should be - I can’t control them. I cannot fix them. But I didn’t even try to intervene until it was almost too late.”

“But you did intervene.”

Minerva gestures, attempts to pinpoint the logic fruitless and frustrated. “Am I a hero or not?” She demands. “Do I act for others or only my own skin? I’ve spent years - decades - so sure of the answer but now -“

She raises her hands, half-fisting them in her hair. The sensation provides a little bit of grounding, enough of a distraction she doesn’t think about the words before she says them. “- now you make sense to me, and the things I thought I believed in enough to die for are - are hollow or gone or dead. And I let you kill them. I let you kill him.”

Abruptly, she draws her knees up, burying her face in them. “I let - I made - my child - our child -“

Minerva can’t tell if she’s crying or not. Her breath is coming in gasps, and her face feels hot, and this was always the part of weeping that she hated the most; the lack of control, the inability to communicate. Her eyes burn. So does the center of her chest, her stomach.

And Synovus is here, as her witness. Why not? They’ve seen every other ugly part of her, every other failure. She’s spent a good portion of her adult life fighting this person, exchanging scars, only for them to pick up the pieces and try to protect her. She’s finally had the upper hand, proven that she does have power, that Synovus now owes her in the brutal calculus of lives, and instead of reassuring her it’s broken her.

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

“Do you wish I wouldn’t have killed Albion?” Synovus asks quietly.

The answer is as simple and certain as the water. “No.” She says honestly. “No I - I don’t.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Do you wish I would’ve killed you too?”

That answer isn’t as clear to find. “I - some days.” She says hoarsely. “I committed the same crimes.”

Synovus exhales, across from her, and it isn’t quite a sigh. “Alexandria feels differently.”

Minerva stops breathing.

Of all the answers Synovus could’ve given, that’s the one she can’t counter. She can’t afford to do this. To wallow in self recrimination. Her daughter is out there. And while maybe - maybe her morals are falling to pieces, and she doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that whoever she is loves Alexandria.

“Is it pathetic?” She asks Synovus, in the dark she can’t see through and Synovus can. “To need someone else to determine who I am. What I believe.”

She can hear the twist in Synovus’s expression as they reply, “That’s… inherently not a question I can answer. But, Minerva?” Synovus doesn’t hesitate, so much as pick their way across uncertain footing, “I don’t think you would’ve been able to turn back that wave if you weren’t… as much as you are.”

It’s clumsily phrased. Wavering and uncertain. But Minerva, whether because she’s reading what she wants to from it, or because it’s actually Synovus’s intention, understands.

She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she stands, and offers a hand in Synovus’s general direction. Her voice is much more certain, calm, when she says, “I need to go organize a search party.”

——————

Minerva may not ever come to terms with her role in her ex-husband’s death, or the harm she caused her daughter. She might not ever find the rock-solid beliefs that she once thought she had.

But she might - just might - come to terms with that uncertainty. The ocean doesn’t have roots either.

She’ll have good days and bad days. She’ll need to make decisions about who she wants to become, and how she feels about who she is. But as both Naiad, and Minerva, she has that freedom.

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

And one day, while she’s working on a laptop in one of the common rooms, Synovus on one of the other couches and Alexandria sprawled on the floor, Minerva will say, “I have an idea. Something I’d like to do about the Pacific garbage patch.”

And Alexandria will roll over to look at her, and Synovus will glance up. And Minerva will add, “It’s not precisely legal.”

And Synovus will say, “I’m listening.”

——————————

[And so ends Siren Call! This took much longer than it’s other pieces, and there were things I debated including and things I wanted to cut, but in the end, this was the flow the story took. I’m not saying I’m *done* with Synovus and co, but I will say that I’m glad to have this chapter closed and tied off.]

[As per usual, a copy of this will go up on Ao3 soon, and I’ll find out how long it is, because I’ve once again written directly into tumblr drafts. It’s where the Synovus muse lives, apparently.]

[call-me-double-trouble]

Double Trouble Headcanons

--LIZARD-RELATED HEADCANONS--

Double Trouble is a cross between a gecko and a chameleon, but mostly chameleon.

Double Trouble can climb on walls like a gecko, but they have to be barefoot. They don't wear socks, and they slip their shoes off and carry them with their tail, mouth, or shapeshift an extra arm to carry them while they flee from danger on a wall or ceiling.

Being cold-blooded, DT prefers to share a bed with someone warm or use a heated blanket, since regular blankets don't really help when they don't have their own body heat to insulate.

DT has a diet of insects, fruit, and leafy greens like an actual chameleon. They can also extend their tongue and catch insects with it. They and the others develop a game where someone holds a piece of food as far as their tongue can stretch, and Glimmer stands at the same distance and teleports to them to see if she can get there faster than they can catch the food. She hasn't bested them yet, but keeps trying.

That said, they had chicken once and LOVED IT. It's their guilty pleasure. If promised chicken, you can weasel a few favors out of them.

Also like a chameleon, DT used to change colors when they were angry, sad, frightened, and happy, but they taught themselves to stop so they wouldn't give away their emotions.

Being a reptile and not a mammal, DT is lactose-intolerant and avoids dairy entirely. The closest they can get to enjoying dairy is vegan substitutes.

DT sheds their skin like all reptiles. And just like a gecko, they immediately eat it. It's so natural to them that they don't even think about it and don't understand why non-reptiles find it gross.

DT used to be self-conscious about their more reptilian traits, but learned to love themselves and stop caring what others thought and started delighting in making others squeamish by licking their eyes and eating bugs, but deep-down, it still hurts a little. They feel so loved when someone is accepting of their traits and even accommodates them, such as offering heated blankets or a meal that fits their diet.

In a similar vein, some of DT's characteristics are from them overcompensating from past insecurities. They were born without eyelids, without external ears, and without hair or eyebrows.

--RELATIONSHIP/FRIENDSHIP HEADCANONS--

Double Trouble has favorite people and makes it REALLY obvious who their favorite is. They snuggle up to their favorite person/people, are nicer to them, always trying to cheer them up or make them laugh, and are constantly seeking affection and validation from their fav. They're also willing to do things for free or at a reduced price for their fav.

Despite the fact that DT is very affectionate, they seldom say "I love you" because it feels too revealing to them. If they do say it, though, they mean it.

DT is polyamorous.

DT was betrayed by someone dear to them at one point, and this gave them trust issues. They betray anyone who gets close to them first, always fearing that they themselves will be stabbed in the back at any moment if they're not the first to do it.

DT sabotages any meaningful relationship, platonic or otherwise, they have because they believe they're safer alone. This is partially what motivated their betrayal of Catra. After the war, they start to work on this side of themselves and allow themselves to trust a friend again.

DT saw a bit of themselves in Catra, hence why they bonded with her and then read her so well during the infamous vibe-check.

DT had a crush on Catra and got jealous that they'd always be second-best to Adora in Catra's eyes.

DT reconnects with Catra after the war, and they rebuild their friendship. DT has a harder time befriending the others, but they do eventually. Without a war going on, they don't have a reason to betray anyone in the Princess Alliance, so they're able to maintain a friendship with them.

DT rarely ever opens up since they operate under the assumption that others will view that information as a weakness to be exploited, since that's how they view others. Opening up to someone is the biggest show of trust DT can give.

DT never lets themselves cry in front of others. They try not to let themselves cry even on their own. They see it as a weakness others could take advantage of, and they also refuse to let other people make them feel upset because they don't want anyone to have that kind of power over them. If they find themselves starting to cry, they try to hold it in, often resulting in bursts of crying separated by chunks of silence or frustrated groaning.

On the rare, rare occasion that DT gets drunk, they infodump about things NO ONE wants to know. They'd sooner die than tell you their favorite color, but they WILL tell you about the weird shit people have paid them to do (and about how, instead of doing those things, they knocked the client out and stole their money).

DT loves giving makeovers and shapeshifting into their friends in different outfits and hairstyles to help them decide when they want to try something new.

--MISC. HEADCANONS--

"Double Trouble" is a name they picked for themselves.

They knew they were nonbinary at a young age and explored various ways of expressing themselves with their shapeshifting until they settled on what they liked.

DT doesn't have earrings, tattoos, or wear makeup because they can't shapeshift those things away. They can shift a hole in their ears to make an impromptu piercing to wear earrings when they want, such as at Princess Prom, but when they're out and about and need to shapeshift at a moment's notice, it's easier not to have any jewelry.

Despite not doing makeup on themselves very often, they're good at putting it on other people because they understand facial structure very well.

DT is a cat person.

DT is an extrovert, but can be just as quiet and unnoticeable as they can loud and attention-grabbing. They are a SPY, after all.

DT doesn't hate kids, just thinks it's funny how stupid and clumsy they are.

[shatteredvioletnuzlocke]

Chapter 4: Turo's Dragon (Patch)

After trying their best to keep up with Nemona’s footsteps, the two escaped the dangers of the cave and made it to the comfort of the outside.  Patch was too caught up in the recent of events to process what was happening in the present. Those Houndour nearly killed me! If not for Nemona I would have been dead by now! Why was I so close to the ravine? Why did I follow that weird Pokemon into the cave?! If I hadn’t fallen I would have been safer! 

“Alright Patch… time to stand by yourself,” Nemona huffed as she let go of the trainer’s arm.

Patch plopped onto the ground, the weight of their thoughts making them heavy. I almost died… and it was my first day as a trainer. Was this a mistake? I am meant for this? They just lay staring into the cerulean sky, squinting against the glare of the sun; only isolated with regret. Until they were met with the face of their fiery companion.

“Fuey?” Tamarind warbled, tilting his head with concern.

“Tamarind…” Patch murmured.

Relieved to see their fire croc safe, the trainer scratched the underside of his snout. This pleased Tamarind who thanked their trainer with delightful purring.

“Thank you…” they sighed, trying to speak in longer sentences.

“You feeling better Patch? You just kind of froze down there, did one of the Houndour bite you?”

Patch rubbed one of their legs, knowing they could’ve been brutally attacked. They only got lucky because Nemona reacted faster than they did. Could they ever be as skilled as her? They certainly couldn’t be a champion. 

“No…” The trainer tearfully admitted, “I just get stuck when so much is happening around me. I know that’s bad … but I…I.”

Patch became too choked up on their tears, their face squeezed and their teeth clenched together. It was embarrassing to be so emotional in front of a champion and Patch could tell that their sudden sadness phased Nemona greatly. Nemona must think I’m such a child! They pressed their palms against their face, hoping to shield any dignity they had left. Why am I like this?! There’s no way I’d make a good trainer now! Tamarind put their little arms around their trainer and they could sense immense warmth coming from the little crocodile. Thank you, Tamarind. They wondered if their unworthiness as a trainer meant they would have to return Tamarind to Clavell. 

  Then Nemona sat beside them.

“Hey it’s okay,” she spoke softly, “You’re safe now that’s all that matters.”

“B-but,” Patch’s anxiety began to leak out of their mouth, “does this mean I’ll… be… be a bad trainer?” 

“Oh please, not everyone can be an expert trainer on their first day!” Nemona smiled, “If that were true, everyone in Paldea would be champion rank!” 

Her words rang sour in Patch’s mind, did that mean they couldn’t level up to Nemona? She seemed like a beacon of everything the new trainer wanted to be: confident, adventurous, strong, cunning. Maybe if they became a champion too, they could look at themselves in the mirror and see someone exceptional. Yet they knew that it wasn’t meant to be, they couldn’t even muster up the courage to battle another trainer. 

Nemona got up, threw their bag against the green grass, and unzipped it. She pulled out a plastic container of Oran berries. 

“Here,” she handed a berry to the distraught trainer.

The berry was big enough to fit their hand and a vibrant blue shade, it was perfectly ripe. Personally, Patch never ate Oran berries but they want didn’t to be rude. They bit into the berry’s soft skin and saw that it had white inner flesh. Yuck! The trainer was met with a flavorless, watery sensation. It was good, but it wasn't for them, especially since it felt a little slimy. They preferred bitter flavors like Nanab or Rabuta berries. 

The trainer noticed that Tamarind was staring fondly at the partially bitten oran berry, his stumpy tail wagging with intrigue. As to not seem wasteful, they were happy to give the rest of the fruit to the little crocodile. They held the oran berry to the Fuecoco, who immediately scooped up the whole thing with his jaws and devoured it in just one chomp. Blue juice began to smear and drip from his white mouth. Tamarind’s eager appetite made their trainer cheer up. I may be a bad trainer now, but at least I have this little guy.

“Argggghhh!” a booming voice groaned from the cave’s depths.

Pierce entered from the cave, her maroon and white fur completely unscathed from any new bite marks or burns. It made Patch wonder what became of the Houndour, did Pierce give them any wounds to remember… if any of them made it out? Then out of the cave’s hollow, the large, metallic dragon treaded out with its head lowered. Only something was different about it, it changed. When Patch first encountered the mysterious Pokemon it walked on all four of its legs. Before they entered the cave its back legs became jet engines that allowed them to hover off the ground and they were glowing. Now they were back to walking on all fours again, but they didn’t seem as lively as they had been before. 

The dragon came to a halt when it couldn’t keep its balance any longer, like Patch they fell onto the grass. 

Nemona ran to the strange creature.

“Mon down!”

“Wait, Nemona!” Patch stood up and hurried to the champion, “We still don’t know what it is!”

The black-haired girl knelt beside the dragon, placing a hand on its odd glassy head. The dragon bore a prominent crack on its casque and a piece of it was already chipped. It resembled the shape of a lightning bolt and seemed to extend down to the dragon’s silver jaws. No wonder it’s in so much pain. Patch imagined if they had a similar scar they would be in the dragon’s same position. 

“I saw it in the cave,” Nemona explained, “When it looked different, it was protecting you from the Houndours and the Houndoom.”

Protecting… me? Patch could only remember loud barking, their heavy breathing, and their fast heartbeats. Everything they saw was blurry, It all happened so fast, even though it was a few minutes ago.

Nemona rubbed her left hand against the dragon's head, being just as careful to avoid touching its wound. As she gently petted it, Patch noticed that stands of her black hair began to stand up. The dragon’s eyes weren’t like any other Pokemon they were familiar with, they were a deep black with blue flashes flickering in them. That can’t be normal. Patch studied the dragon further, there were light purple lines along its hindquarters. Along those lines, white particles flowed like bubbles in a lava lamp. Could… could that be its blood?

Patch looked back to Nemona, now even her ponytail stood up. It was like she was under the effect of static and the dragon was generating electricity. The champion went to touch the Pokemon’s weird spikes, only to nearly get shocked by a small bolt of energy. 

“Yipe!” Nemona jerked her hand back, “It’s okay… it’s okay.”

“Are you hurt?” Patch panicked.

Nemona’s ponytail fell back down, and she held her left hand tight, “I’m fine… a small jolt like that can only sting ya!” 

The champion reached into her pocket and pulled out her Roto Phone. She almost got electrocuted and she calls that nothing? Patch took the precaution of recalling Tamarind back into his Pokeball before something else could happen. With the day they were having a volcano might as well erupt. After a moment of scrolling Nemona turned back to the trainer. 

“I… might know what it is?” She handed her phone to Patch. 

Her phone was set to the Pokedex app, on the page of a green Pokemon leaping through a field. They tapped on the image to read its dex entry.

Cyclizar, The Mount Pokemon, a Normal and Dragon type. 

It can sprint at over 70 mph while carrying a human. The rider's body heat warms Cyclizar's back and lifts the Pokémon's spirit.

The dragon’s black head and tail somewhat resembled a Cyclizar, but that was the only two traits it shared. Instead of having green scales, its body was bluish-violet with silver accents and metallic skin. They doubted that it was any smaller than five feet and three inches, if not bigger. While it was a dragon, Patch doubted it was far from a normal type. 

“Do Cyclizars know electric attacks?” Patch asked.

“A lot of Pokemon learn all kinds of moves,” Nemona shrugged, “I can’t tell for sure. Maybe this is just a convergent species…of Cyclizar? Whatever it is, we should help it!”

Nemona rummaged through her bag once again and retrieved a cubed spray bottle of green liquid. A full restore potion, they thought, People spend more money on those than they do for the Hospital! Nemona sprayed the potion on the dragon’s head, making sure to spritz the directly on the crack. Tiny potion droplets slid off but the crack remained at the same size. The champion sprayed it again and the same happened.

“Maybe it’s expired?” Patch chimed in.

Nemona turned the bottle around, “It can’t be I just bought it.”

Patch thought back to the beach, Before the dragon changed it ate something… My sandwich. What was in it? Bacon? Lettuce? Pickle? Can pickles secretly cure the weak?! 

“Uhh,” Patch bashfully improvised, “Do you have a sandwich, Nemona? Something for them to eat?”

“No… I don’t,” Nemona furrowed her brow, “I have some extra Oran Berries thought.” 

Nemona placed an Oran berry in front of the beast, purring noises could be heard even though it wasn’t moving. The blue flashes from its black eyes then stood still and formed into blue rings and they were oddly pixelated. It nudged the berry and swallowed it one bite. 

“I wish I had something bigger,” Nemona sighed, “it would need to eat at least a thousand berries given its size.”

Despite this, the supposed Cyclizar managed to pull itself up feebly.

“Woah!” Nemona was astounded, taking a step back to give it some space. 

The beast attempted to raise its neck but jerked back once more tiny sPatchs emitted from its head. 

“Arrrrg!” The dragon winced in a roar.

“Calm down!” Nemona cried. 

She offered the dragon her last Oran berry but it didn’t seem to respond as it shook about. As Patch heard the Pokemon’s cries, they recognized it sounded helpless and afraid. While all Pokemon spoke in only growls and chirps, Patch felt could only communicate in non-verbal moans when they were the most vulnerable. They’re stuck.

The brown hair trainer, gestured to Nemona to hand them berry, “Let me try.”

The champion had a worried look on her face, “Patch, are you sure?” 

Patch was aware of the perils they had been through that day. They couldn’t retrieve Tamarind before falling off the ravine. They couldn’t be quick enough to run from the Houndour in the cave. Worst of all they couldn’t even deal with two tiny Tarantula’s on their own. This could be the chance where Patch could turn their terrible day around. 

“I’m sure,” Patch nodded.

With an Oran berry in hand, they held it out to the crouched Pokemon. After a few moments, the dragon’s growling turned to purring in Patch’s presence. Its throat was so raspy its voice mimicked the sound of a revving engine.  

“Shhh,” they hushed the dragon, “You’re okay now, just have another bite.”

The blue rings in the dragon’s eyes became larger and padded closer toward the trainer. Titling its head, it licked the berry from Patch’s hand with its tongue being stiff yet oily. They knelt to wipe their hand against the grass.

“Arg!” The dragon nuzzled Patch’s shirt.

“Aw… you’re welcome,” Patch petted it back gently.

Patch became fond of the mysterious Pokemon, I wonder if this means if I should catch it? It's already so friendly to me. Before the new trainer had the chance the violet dragon began to slowly tread down the dusty road. 

“Wait where are you going?” they tried to catch up to the dragon.

Nemona and Pierce followed soon after, and the four of them walked along down the road. Passing by mounds of terracotta rock, with the sounds of Houndour howling in the distance which made Patch a little nervous. The dragon’s footsteps eventually became faster as the group neared toward a lighthouse by the edge of the ravine. 

“Agrias!”  the violet Pokemon bellowed.

Patch caught up to the dragon, who was whipping its tail against the ground. It seemed chipper about something but what? Was it going to beg the lighthouse keepers for food? Out of the lighthouse’s doorless entrance, a young man peered out. 

The young lighthouse keeper had long, well-brushed blond hair with hints of brown streaks. His locks covered the right half of his face, and so a single teal eye was exposed, giving the man a sense of mystery. His outfit was the same shade of purple and white Patch was wearing indicating he was an Uva student.

“There you are!” He hurried to the dragon, “Did you walk all the way here?!”

The blond-haired man seemed to recognize the mysterious Pokemon, but the metal dragon only backed away as he approached. So that’s its trainer, Patch thought disappointedly. 

“Arggg…” the dragon anxiously growled. 

 “Hey, I know you!” Nemona spoke up, “I’ve seen you around… Arnold! Is this your Cyclizar?”

“Arven!” he turned to the champion, “And just what are you doing around Kapheria? Because if you-”

Arven turned back to the Cyclizar, his teal eye drew back as he noticed its wound. His hands trembled, his mouth gapped open.

“YOU BROKE HER!?”, The young man’s voice boomed like a Loudred.

Oh shit! 

“No!” Nemona corrected him, “She broke herself.”

“Kapheria belongs to my father, she can’t be broken!” he yelled at the champion.

Patch sympathized with the dragon’s shrunken body language and knelt to pet her. Kapheria… that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful Pokemon. Kapheria’s metallic body was smooth and slightly warm from the Paldean sun. She uncurled her tail and purred softly as the brown-haired trainer rubbed her back.

“So?” Nemona became tense, “Just take her to a Pokemon center!” 

“That wouldn’t work! Her body is of a completely different genetic material STOP PETTING HER!” Arven redirected his anger toward the unassuming trainer.

 Patch’s eyes shrank, and their now red face became just as cold as their frozen body. They placed their hand behind their neck awkwardly trying to hide it. I didn’t mean to I’m sorry They felt like crying even though their eyes were dried out from before. 

“The point is…” Nemona raised her voice, “She got the crack when she crash-landed on the beach, all we’ve done is try to help her! Just ask Patch.”

Arven kept his gaze on the nervous trainer, squinting his single eye with suspicion. Why put me on the spot like that? They quickly thought back to first seeing Kapheria on the beach, but they were too afraid of her at the time to pick up on the finer details.

“Well then,” Arven sighed as he dug into his pants pocket, “Come Kapheria!”

He pulled out a common Pokeball and went to retrieve the dragon. But as the pale blue beam of the Pokeball neared, Kapheria scampered away and hid behind Patch.

“Agrias!” the dragon winced. 

“It’s okay Kapheria,” Patch pleaded.

Arven pushed the trainer away and tucked the Pokeball back in his pocket. 

“Kapheria,” he spoke softly, “What’s wrong? It’s me… Arven.”

“Maybe she hit her head hard,” Nemona muttered to Patch. 

Arven held his hand out to touch Kapheria’s head, but she ran back to Patch with her tail between her legs. The metal dragon relied on the brown-haired trainer like a shield. 

He went back to scowling at them, “Why is she following you around like that? She barely knows you!”

“I don’t know!” Patch shook under the pressure, “but if she belongs to your dad maybe we should get him?”

There were still so many questions the young trainer wanted to ask. What was Kapheria? Why wasn’t she listed in the Pokédex? Why couldn’t she be healed? Why did she fall out of the sky? Avren quietly grunted to himself as he pulled out his Roto Phone, its case was decorated with a pattern of flowers. Then a flat voice spoke through his phone’s speaker.

“Arven?” the voice asked, “Why are you calling me? Is Kapheria with you?”

The violet dragon began to perk up with its tail slapping the ground. Wait, his dad isn’t here? Then why was Kapheria all by herself? It seems like anything close to an answer brought up another question. 

“Well, she flew in just like you said,” Arven began to blush, “but she only made it as far as the beach and crashed…”

Arven’s dad took a moment to process the information but remained silent.

“She’s okay now!” Arven went on, “But she… cracked her head.”

Patch sympathized with the blond-haired man, they knew that a father’s temper was harsh. 

His dad finally spoke, “Show me.”

Arven clenched his teeth, tapped the screen, and turned it horizontally. He pointed his phone camera at Kapheria who was creeping toward him very slowly. Suddenly his phone slipped out of his hands and began to levitate. It swished around in the air, oogling the dragon. 

“I see,” Arven’s father observed, “Quite a large fracture… already lost a good chunk…”

“Excuse me?” Nemona cut in.

“Who is that?” Arven’s phone turned its screen around.

An older man was depicted on the screen, he looked to be around his early forties. He had the same broad face shape as his son and the same brown hair color in Arven’s streaks. His hair was styled back with the sides of his head shaved but he let his beard grow out around his structured jawline.  

“I’m Nemona,” the champion introduced herself, “you are?”

“Professor Turo Morales,” the man on the phone replied.  

“Well…” Nemona eyed Arven smugly, “My friend Patch found her on the beach. But then we both tried to heal her! And this weird static keeps coming out of her head.”

“No wonder why  she looks like that…” Turo explained.

Kapheria pranced over to the phone, over the moon to see her trainer’s face. She lashed her silver tail happily against the dusty road, rubbing her body beside Patch. 

The professor had an astonished look on his face, “Patch was it?”

“Uh…yes?” Patch asked confused. 

“It seems as though my Pokemon is fond of you…” he pronounced, “She’s usually flighty around new people… yet she's instantly attached to you.” 

Patch felt a sense of honor, it was easy to bond with a Pokemon but not one as mysterious as Kapheria. It made them all the more excited about the Pokemon they could potentially catch.

 “I know this might seem sudden, given I just met you,” Turo proposed, “But would you be interested in looking after Kapheria for me?”

“What?!” the three trainers said in unison. 

“But why? Patch stammered, “Wouldn’t you-”

“Father!” Arven glossed over Patch’s words, “I thought you wanted me to take care of Kapheria for you? This stranger has only known her for less than a day. I’ve known her much longer to understand her.” 

He tried to prove to his father by trying to grab one of the curved horns on Kapheria’s shoulders. While she tried to pull away from the blond hair trainer, he managed to wrangle a single horn which made her wail in distress. It was only when Arven let go of her that the violet dragon began to settle down. 

“Arven… the whole point of sending Kapheria out was for her to integrate into society. She’s been cooped up in the lab for years. Now that she’s been damaged, I want to make sure she’s comfortable and safe without me.” he clarified to his son, “If she feels comfortable around Patch, then let it be.” 

Patch was flattered to be thought of so highly, yet they felt the need to decline Turo’s request. They already had enough going on with learning to be a trainer, looking after their own Pokemon, and beginning their semester at Uva. Taking care of a large, metal dragon seemed like an extra chore. 

“But, Dad!” he pleaded desperately.

Arven’s phone flew toward Patch before they could get a say in the matter.

“Patch, you have nothing to fret over,” Turo explained, “Now that she’s already warmed up to you, caring for her will be very low maintenance.” 

They took a moment to think, Low maintenance sounds good, but what if I catch more Pokemon? Would I favor my own Pokemon over someone else’s? The worried trainer turned to Kapheria, empathizing with the pain of her crack. It would be hard to ignore Pokemon that’s hurt.

Patch nodded, “Alright..”

“Magnificent,” the professor rejoiced in the most monotone way, “Arven will give you her pokeball, I’ll check in with you now and then, Salutations!”

The screen changed to black, and Arven’s phone dropped to the ground. What does he mean he’ll check in with me? Patch felt a vibration in the pocket of their shorts. Upon pulling out their phone they received a text from a contact labeled “Turo”. This can’t be him, we didn’t even get the chance to exchange numbers! 

“Looks like you got yet another teammate!” Nemona congratulated. 

A mix of excitement and anxiety filled their head. They had a feeling that taking care of Kapheria would help them become a better trainer. Then Arven turned to them, looking more aggravated than before.

“Listen,” he began to scold, “You are only watching Kapheria! She is not yours to boss around! So don’t you dare send her into battle!”

The blond-haired student spoke in a very patronizing tone, but Patch couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his temper.

“Wouldn’t dream of it…” they smiled anxiously.

Arven crammed Kapheria’s Pokeball into their hands and huffed as if he was holding back the rest of his frustration. He stormed away from the trainer, kicking against the road with each step. 

“You know if you want your dad’s dragon that badly, we can battle for her!” Nemona called out to him.

Patch panicked, “Nemona!” That’s the last thing I need! 

“I’ll fight on your behalf,” Nemona whispered to them.

“Violence doesn’t solve anything as much as you think it does!” he grumbled.

“Woah okay,” she laughed it off, “you at least want to join us, we’re heading to campus?” 

Arven didn’t answer and stormed into his lighthouse. Patch began to feel bad for the grumpy student. Perhaps they got in the way of his plans, but he did seem eager to look after Kapheria. Maybe I should give her to him next time I see him again? 

For the time being, Kapheria had been through a lot so she deserved a good rest. Patch eased the dragon with some scratches on the back.

“Kapheria,” they said softly, “I’m going put you back in your ball. I promise I’ll let you out later.”

“Agg…” the dragon hummed. Kapheria’s Pokeball seemed to be an older model. It resembled your typical, common Pokeball but it was a little heavier with a chromium sheen; it had to be a least ten years old. Patch gently pressed the lock button against Kapheria’s head and the light of the Pokeball absorbed her. Within an instant, she was gone. Welcome to my team… for now.

<- Chapter 3 - Chapter 5 ->

[dandunn]

Multiples of 5 for all of them or as many as you want to do!

Magdalena cause she's in my brain:

5. how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

I think... comfy more than practicality, jeans, big sweaters, her long flowing green cardigan/robe thing. I designed her wardrobe with the idea of her being someone fashion conscious but not with a terrible amount of time or money to really dress up much.

(art is a commission from quilfish-swan, not me. not tagging u bc i dont wanna bug you but if ur reading this hello!)

10. if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

As illustrated above i picture her liking gold because it matches her skin tone and the green of her outfit nicely. Gold rings, maybe malachite or tiger's eye for stones (not projecting cause thats one of my faves shut up). Dangly fine chain earrings, probably gold green or blue nail polish. She'd be the type to wear a family heirloom ring or necklace from her mum for sentimental reasons i think.

15. how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

I feel like she has a lot of family out there that she never gets to see being so freaking busy, lots of chaotic gatherings and visits with grandparents and cousins running around the place. She lives with her mum and dad and partially caregives for her dad after he was in a work related accident that left him disabled. She's the breadwinner for the family basically.

20. if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

Uhmm I'm still puzzling out the vehicle side of my worldbuilding since it's a bit beyond cars but since she lives in London erm. No. Public transport is the way to go.

25. how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

About average with both I think. Tho I might get back to you on the eyesight thing because I just pictured her with a set of rockin circular gold frames and it's a cute as hell look.

30. do they smell like anything notable?

Some kinda mid range perfume/bodyspray like bodyshop brand, since she works with magic in a factory setting I imagine it having a weird scent if it backfires like when you burn plastic-based fabrics. It doesn't smell good I'm sure but that's the hazards of the job.

35. do they ever return home?

every day after working 9 til five. what a way to make a living

[petri808]

If you're open for nalu requests, can you write a smut fic where nalu goes to a lingerie store because lucy wants to try on some lingerie and natsu ends up getting aroused? But if you can't it's fine just ignore this ask😊

Hi Nony, this is the last request I’ll do. Decided to save this for @thenaluarchive Sinfully Nalu event Mirror prompt. What did Lucy expect by dragging Natsu lingerie shopping?

“I’ve just got one more stop to make.” Lucy pointed towards the other side of the mall.

“Ugh…” Natsu’s shoulders dropped, “but we’ve been here for 2 hours already, Lucy, and I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll spring for lunch. Anything you want.”

“I’m holding you to it,” he grumbled, but allowed her to pull him forward.

Natsu knew the mall well enough to know that the section they were heading towards were mostly women’s clothing stores— definitely not where he wanted to be. All these fancy clothes, and accessories, and… stuff that his girlfriend loved to wear. Sure, he didn’t complain cause it made her happy, he just didn’t wanna shop for it. Forever twenty something, Cache or Channel— whatever, “oh, uh-uh, no way,” he jerked them to a halt. “I ain’t going in there.”

“It’s just Victoria’s Secret.”

“Well Victoria can keep her secret. Lucy you’re crazy if you think I’m going in a women’s lingerie store!”

Lucy turned to face, then grabbed both of Natsu’s hands, holding them together close to her chest. “Please,” her eyes begged. “I need you to tell me what you think will be nice on me.”

Thinking about his girl, in lingerie, while standing in a mall was *not* the image Natsu wanted conjuring in his mind. But between the soft, puppy-dog expression, and her whimpering pleading— he was powerless to turn Lucy down. He sighed with a whine. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Yay!” She giggled, kissed his cheek, and took his hand again, entwining their fingers together. “I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

Yeah, uh-huh, right… Painless.

As they walked down the rows and racks of lingerie, Natsu hummed in his head as a distraction. Bras, panties. Low cut, high cut, thongs, g-strings. Sets, individual pieces. Lace, satin, cotton. So many choices! He let the colors blend in his vision, the scents of brand-new clothing mixed with perfumes sold, or miscellaneous accessories. How do women pick anything when there’s so many options? Give him a t-shirt and jeans and he was good to go.

Every so many picks, Lucy would ask his opinion. ‘Yeah, that’s nice. No, that looks itchy. I like that color. Eww, it doesn’t match you.’ Finding her size in the styles she wanted wasn’t always easy, but after 30 minutes, Lucy had half a dozen or so items to try on. So, they head towards the fitting rooms.

Natsu stopped in front of the doors, and readied himself to stand around and wait—

“You’re coming in with me.” Lucy tugged on his hand. “I need your final opinion.”

Up until now, Natsu had managed to avoid thinking about anything even remotely related to sex, but now?! “Uh-uh, no way!”

“Please…” Lucy turned on the pouty lip-action and puppy-dog eyes again. “It’s not like you won’t see me in them later.”

Natsu gulped hard as the naughty images were unlocked. “Are you trying to kill me in public?”

“Pfft, no,” she giggled. “Stop exaggerating this.”

‘You have no idea, woman…’ “Alright, fine. But don’t blame me if anything happens in there.” Because if the twitch in his pants and slight bulge growing was any indication, it wouldn’t be what she’d be expecting.

“Tch.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine, Natsu, you’ll see.”

The dressing room was a lot more spacious than he was used to seeing. Men’s fitting rooms, at least the ones he’s been in are like closets with just one full length mirror, and maybe a small bench inside. This one could easily fit them both, with wrap around mirrors to catch every angle. It had a small, cushioned bench along one wall, and a couple of hooks on the inside of the door. But most noteworthy was the fact it was a fully enclosed room— not those partial-length doors at lower-quality stores. It was very, very private.

Natsu sat down on the bench and closed his eyes while Lucy fiddled with her options. He could hear the plastic and metal hangers going up on the hooks, as well as the sounds of his girlfriend shedding her clothing. His mouth suddenly felt dry… Lucy’s voluptuous body bared for him to see with only her regular panties left on— he squeezed his eyes tighter shut. ‘Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it!’

“Ready— Natsu, silly,” Lucy giggled. “How are you gonna tell me if it’s good or not if you can’t see?”

“No.”

Lucy threaded her fingers gingerly through his hair. “Just one peak…”

‘Fuck…’ he groaned as the tightening in his shorts grew uncomfortable. “One peak.”

Natsu opened his eyes and immediately slammed them shut again from the screaming bra and panties glued to her frame. A sheer red with solid fabric only over the nipples and a strip covering her crotch. So much flesh revealed in these outfits, was there even a point to wearing anything at all?

“Great!” His voice squeaked out. “Looks fine.”

Her giggles only added to his demise. The sounds of more fabric rustling, and the twitch in his shorts… Natsu shifted in his seat trying to get comfortable, but he couldn’t. Lucy had grabbed about six of seven different pieces to try, and this was only the beginning. She was too damn sexy, and he swore, derived pleasure out of torturing him like this! Ugh, his cock was so hard right now…

“Okay, next piece,” Natsu heard her say. “I’m not sure about it, cause the color doesn’t seem to look good on me.”

Tch, it could be multi-colored polka dots and Lucy would still be a man’s wet dream. He cracked open one eye. It was a dark green, combo with frilled lace along the waistband. Natsu gulped hard as she did a turn around to reveal a thong and curvy swell of her backside.

“You do realize I’m biased, right?” Natsu blurted out. “Everything looks good on you to me.”

“Awww,” Lucy bent down and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I still think I’ll add this to the maybe pile,” she spoke as she started removing the pieces. “I think you’ll really like the next one I found; it has these cute flames on them.”

“You know what I’d prefer to see?” Natsu questioned, for he was done holding back.

Lucy stopped mid-way, bent slightly over with the thong down to her thighs. “What?”

Without answering her, Natsu got off the bench and started helping her take the thong off.

“Natsu, what are you—”

Once off, he moved onto her regular panties down.

“Nat— s-stop!” Lucy grabbed for his hands, but she couldn’t do much without twisting or tripping. “What are you do—”

“Keep your voice down.” He tugged those off too leaving her exposed from the waist down.

“Natsu this isn’t funny!” She seethed in an exasperated whisper.

“Neither is this,” he gestured at the bulge in his shorts. Guiding her against the mirrored wall as he spoke. “You said I could choose whatever I wanted for lunch, and I’ve decided to put you on the menu.”

Lucy whimpered when she felt the cold mirror against her bare skin. “But we’re in public.”

“I warned you didn’t I…” Natsu leaned in with a whisper, cheek to cheek. “Then I suggest you not make any noise,” his words wisp out, warm breath fanning down the barren skin as his lips burn a trail over her neck. Lucy dug her fingers into his hair, holding on but not stopping him as he moved lower.

His stops were brief, lips ghosting burning marks along her chest, a mountainous journey over the pillowy bosoms, a few licks against the pert nipples, and lower… down … snaking over her torso to what he was truly after. “Breathe, baby,” Natsu teased at her halted, bated breathing. “Just look forward and watch.”

She sucked in a gulp of air and stared forward at the mirrored image of Natsu going down on her. It was strange to literally watch every move he made like a voyeur living through another’s body. Lucy’s fingers tightened their grip on his hair in anticipation as he spread her legs a little wider…

“Mmm,” he mused in thought on how to get the best angle. “Hold to me,” Natsu suggested, and before she could reply, lifted Lucy’s left leg, and rested it on his shoulder. “Perfect…”

Natsu dove right in, latching his mouth onto the moist folds he knew so well, humming at the quick squeak his girl couldn’t catch in time. But he knew from the pull on his scalp exactly what she was experiencing. He kept one hand on her raised hip, while the fingers of his other toyed around the edge of her wet opening. His tongue pressed and circled around her clit, sucking, palpating, interspersed with soothing flicks and long strokes to lap up the growing sap gathering in the area. He closed his eyes as he relished in the warmth oozing over his face from her beautiful sex.

Heaven help her, Lucy couldn’t stop staring at that mirror… her gripped fingers to his hair and nails digging into his shoulder for dear life from the seasoned oral ministrations that slowly undid her sanity. Just his tongue alone… but the teasing fingers… Oh! Oh— Her thighs clenched to the sides of Natsu’s head as she felt one, then two fingers slipped through her walls. Lucy’s body arched slightly, and head tilted back as those fingers began swiftly pumping.

“Natsu…” Lucy moaned softly through sealed lips. She could feel his grin against her flesh, hear the squishing sounds, and smell the light scent of her extreme arousal. Damn him…

In a race against time, Natsu pumped fast and hard while his mouth and tongue devoured Lucy’s sex and sanity with an intensity to rival any known battle for supremacy. Each passing second, drawing the heated coil at her core closer to snapping. Her legs trembled, yet clenched and stiffened as his fingers pummeled, bumping the swollen sex being driven to his knuckles reach. He could feel Lucy start unraveling and held firmly to her hip bone as the jerky spasms rocked her body in orgasmic euphoria.

“Stop, stop, stop—” Lucy clawed at his back and neck as she whimpered from the immense pressure boiling in her body, and radiant moisture pooled in her eyes. “Please… enough, Natsu my legs are gonna give out.”

After giving her pussy a few more licks to clean up the excess juices, Natsu finally obliged and put down Lucy’s leg, then stood up while still supporting her as she caught her breath. He licked around his lips and cleaned off his fingers. “Best lunch in the world,” he grinned.

“Oof!” Lucy playfully slapped his chest with a short laugh. “Not what I’d meant. And now I don’t have time to try on the rest.”

“Why not?”

Lucy started putting on her regular clothes. “We’ve been in here for too long, it’ll be suspicious.”

“Tch, then just buy all of it if you like them, cause I’m telling you they’ll all look great on you.”

She glared at him. “Fine, but after pulling that stunt, now you owe me lunch!”

Natsu shrugged and grabbed all the hangers of clothing. “Okay, since you’ll need your strength later.”

“Later?”

The widest seedy grin bloomed on Natsu’s face. “You’ll see…”

[atinyidea]

Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

[liquid-luck-00]

My Life is One Complication After Another

Inspired by this post by @dolphin-ghost

Happy New Year everyone

Some cursing 🤬

Ao3 ~~~ Part 1 ~~~ Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette has always been willing to give everyone a second chance. That may have been why she still had people to consider them as her friends. That is why when Lila started yet another lie about some celebrity she, Adrien, Chloe, and Juleka were holding their laughter and rolled their eyes.

"Honest Alya I'm like this" Lila crossed her fingers "with Bruce's kids." Alya must not have recognized the name as the liar gave a small laugh "oh, right Bruce Wayne, he prefers to only go by Bruce."

"Oh my God, Girl you have got to give me an interview for my blog!" Alya lapped up the story.

"Of course" Lila smiled, then looked over at Marinette "Anything for my best friend."

At this point, Marinette wasn't paying attention to the liar. Instead Mari was talking in low voices with her actual best friend, Adrien. They sat on the very back bench and Juleka and Chloe on the bench in front of them.

That was their normal, it had been since their eighth year. Now two years later it was routine, her classmates shunned her only talking with her for class assignments. Otherwise they ignored her and that may just have been the best outcome.

She, Chloe, Juleka, Luka, and Adrien were in the park working on a photoshoot. Adrien was behind the camera while Juleka and Luka were modeling. Marinette and Chloe were changing for the next set. When they came out Mari noticed several reporters around the perimeter. Security had them handled and she focused on modeling her creation.

However this wasn't the last she saw of the reporters. They were always at the school questioning the students. What they were asking she didn't know as she was never questioned.

Three weeks of spotting and avoiding reporters, with them swarming the school she needed to get creative in order to transform. Lila was of course bathing in the limelight and attention.

Mari was the last person out of the school as she was getting the homework for her three friends who didn't come today. The first thing she noticed coming out of the courtyard was the purple limo. Her honorary uncle came to pick her up. As soon as the door closed said uncle was crushing her in a hug.

"It's Rock' n to see ya Nettie" Jagged spoke, the hug muffling his voice slightly.

"Same here Jagged," wiggling out of Jagged's hug she reached over to hug Penny. "so what's with the escort?"

"A close friend of ours wanted to meet you and He and his son's are waiting at our room," Penny explained.

"Okay..." she hesitated exiting the car to head inside "but why? Is this a commission or what?"

After a silent elevator ride, Penny hesitated at the door before speaking. "We are hoping you could clear something up actually," as she opened the door.

Mari stepped in and noticed them. The eldest looked to be around mid to late thirties, black hair and bluebell eyes, dressed in a dark charcoal suit.

The youngest of the boys seemed to be a couple years younger than her, shorter than her by a head, tanned skin, short black hair, and jade eyes. A scowl on his face partially hidden by the collar of a black peacoat and slacks as he sat on the arm chair.

A boy around her age with chin length black hair and azure eyes, a red hoodie under a grey bomber jacket and black pants. He looked like he hadn't slept in at least a week, and if how he was holding the travel mug in his hands it was probably true.

Next to him was another boy who looked a couple of years older, black messy hair about 5 cm at the longest and a white tuff in front, cerulean eyes, a brown leather jacket and distressed jeans. He seemed familiar but couldn't place it.

The last boy also had long black hair but seemed to be layered and shorter in the front, sky blue eyes, a blue varsity jacket and jeans. He would either be the eldest or second, he had a bright smile but kept shooting a glance at Fang.

Speaking of which once she was in the room and she saw him, he charged at her, knocking her over. Mari was giggling as Fang rolled over and she was lost to the world as she doted on the crocodile.

"Nettie" Penny finally managed to get her attention.

"Sorry," she stood "but if it wasn't done we wouldn't be able to talk. Hello I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng it is nice to meet you." again she smiled.

"Bruce Wayne" the man introduced himself, "and my sons. My youngest Damian." he gestured to the boy with green eyes. "Next is Tim" gesturing to the boy with the mug who rose it in acknowledgment. "Jason is the second oldest" the boy with the white tuff gave a lop sided smile. "And my eldest Dick" whose smile seemed to become brighter.

She smiled nodding at everyone before realization hit. A quick snap of her fingers before pulling out her phone, opened up her texts and started typing, ending with a quick picture of Jason.

I think I just met your idiot friend

She put away her phone. Not even a minute later another went off.

The ringing stopped once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth Jason, spoke up. "Sorry I should take this."

"Go ahead this can wait a moment." Mari smiled.

As soon as Jason answered the phone "What the hell are you doing in Paris!?" everyone heard the caller as Jason was holding the phone an arm length away.

"How did you know... you?!" it dawned on Jason.

"Guilty," she smiled. "I guess you're not as big of an idiot as Roy made you out to be."

"Hey!" Jason called before turning to the phone. "What the hell did you tell her Harper!" By now Roy was on speaker.

"You can't prove what I said, ya know," she could practically see Roy's smirk.

"Video's however," she was now smirking.

"What!!" Jason seemed to freeze.

"Bug! No!" Roy was sounding like he was going to start panicking.

"I think I have a few saved," she tapped her chin.

That was when Bruce cleared his throat. "As amusing as this is we have business to discuss."

"Talk to ya later Mari." Roy bid her farewell. "Oh and Jason don't underestimate her." the call ended.

"Okay so how do you know Roy?" Dick finally asked.

"Oh. It was at a charity ball hosted by Oliver Queen," she replied nonchalantly.

"Was it the same one where a baby elephant ended up at the event. Following you the whole time." Penny asked exasperated.

"I still don't get how you think we had anything to do with that." Marinette finally sat down. She ended up sitting on the ground leaning against the couch next to Jagged, Fang resting his head on her out stretched legs.

"I have so many questions,” Tim finally added to the conversation.

"Tt. can we stop beating around the bush already," Damian was irritated and it showed. "Are you or are you not my biological sister."

He seemed ready to pounce, unfortunately that was dangerous in Paris. Especially as she saw an akuma right outside the window. The question asked now forgotten as she focused on the corrupted butterfly.

"Nope, Nope. I am not dealing with an akuma today." she stood up. Took a deep breath and let her anger and frustrations to the surface. The smile fell from her face. "If you want a puppet have a marionette" Kwamii Adrien is rubbing off on me.

The butterfly changed targets and was heading towards her, finally gaining the other's attention. She vaulted over the couch and made a beeline to her backpack. By then the akuma was close so she tossed the backpack over to everyone and rolled out of the way.

"Glass jar, unscrew it" she called out.

"How pathetic running from a bug." Damian moved quickly to catch the butterfly but it moved and found something in his pocket. He was engulfed in purple and then he stood there in evergreen armor with golden accents. A red and yellow cape and a pitch black sword in his hand. Pocket knife, the sword is where the akuma is.

"Screw it" she turned and with two quick jabs his two arms went limp. A third knocked him to the ground.

She picked up the sword and went to Dick who was holding the jar. She took the jar, broke the sword, and went to catch the butterfly. As soon as she screwed the lid on the butterfly began to turn white.

She let out the breath she was holding as she compartmentalized her emotions yet again.

"What the fuck was that!" Jason screamed and so did Dick, minus the curse.

"Where and why do you have one of those," Jagged asked.

Finally Damian shouted "Why can I not move? What did you do?" he accused.

"Okay so the butterfly was an akuma used by Hawkmoth, Paris’ villain, to manipulate anyone with strong negative emotions. These champions or Akuma are used to attempt to retrieve magical jewels from our heroes. The jar was given to me and a few others in my class, because our class is a hot bed for akuma, by Ladybug, one of the heroes." she gave a short and simple run down. "As for Damian, those were a series of pressure points,” infused with magic to-take down people easily, "it should wear off in a few minutes."

"Teach me please!" Tim begged.

"I dunno." she started to chew her lip and shift her weight.

"Roy's warning now makes a lot more sense," Jason hummed.

"Tt. adequate," Damian muttered softly, Marinette is sure she is the only one who heard.

"Okay so where were we?" she smiled turning and sitting back down with Fang.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @dolphin-ghost @unabashedbookworm @bookgirl14 @laurcad123 @mochegato @vixen-uchiha

[failedintsave]

🥶 for any couple you please! I'm terrible at picking ships for other people to write, lol (Gointothevvater)

[Send me an emoji and I'll write a drabble]

Picking a ship probably took longer than writing this haha. I didn't know what canon character ship you'd prefer so I tried my hand at some Ceelie x Pickles, hope you don't mind me borrowing your OC again, I adore her!

🥶- Cold

The multicolored swirl of oil skimmed the surface of gray puddles gathered in the gutter, dirty runoff washing from London's busy roadways even as the rain finally let up. Exhaust and petrichor filled the air outside the sold-out Hammersmith Odeon, but Pickles smothered the scent of either, lighting up another in a series of cigarettes and trying not to let the weather completely ruin the brand new red boots he wore. He hopped to the side, cursing as a bus pulled away from the curb, splashing filthy water onto the sidewalk next to him.

Ahead, laughter echoed off the concrete curve of the overpass as St. Cecilia rounded a corner, the sound like silver striking crystal stemware. Readjusting the hood of his sweatshirt to shield what was left of his melting hairspray, Pickles quickened his pace to catch her. He'd grabbed the jacket off the floor thinking it was his, but the length of the sleeves and the smell of perfume as he slipped it on told him otherwise.

"Tell me again why we couldn't jest get drunk in tha'hotel room? Why're ya draggin' me out in this creap?" He groused, turning sideways to dodge a man hustling past with an umbrella.

Snakes n Barrels' first global tour had taken them to a myriad of distant locales; from Tokyo to Toronto, Auckland to Amsterdam, they'd performed in every corner of the globe and burned down the house at every stop. Once, quite literally. He wasn't sure New Orleans would be hosting them again soon, but it had been one hell of a show and an even better after party. The French Quarter had certainly seen bigger disasters.

"Because," St. Cecilia called, spinning around to walk backwards so she could catch his eye. "I want a proper pint while we're here, and so should you!"

Truth be told, she always had his eye, from the first moment he'd seen her. Her honey brown gaze sparkled with amusement under shaggy, blonde bangs made slightly frizzy by the humidity. A coquettish grin curled lips painted purple, not by the late November chill, but with her favored lipstick. Pickles could almost feel their soft press on his palm, transferring the vibrant shade to his skin for the thousandth time before curtain call. It was fast becoming one of his favorite colors, second only to the lighter version that graced Ceelie's lips after he'd kissed most of it off.

She led him a few blocks further, through lingering mist and past shop fronts just beginning to adorn their windows for the Christmas season, stopping finally at a heavy wooden door. The lower half of the building was painted cream and trimmed in a deep green, the red brick of its upper story streaked with sooty marks and capped with decorative stone balusters. Square panes of lead glass flanked the door, obscuring the interior but for a warm yellow glow within. No signage named the building a pub but there was a murmur of voices and laughter beyond the walls.

"This should do." 

"Thank Christ, I'm freezin' my nuts off." Pickles tugged at the hem of his hoodie, trying to cover his partially exposed midriff. He crowded in behind her as she reached for the door handle.

Rather than open it, St. Cecilia turned and placed her back against the wood, effectively blocking the entrance and quirking one dark brow at him.

"I thought the winters were terrible cold where you're from? Shouldn't you be used to it?"

"Jest cuz it's familiar don't mean I gahtta like it." He reached past her to open the door but she caught his hand, her slim fingers remarkably warm as she held his frozen digits.

"You poor thing. Alright, a quick round, then back in time to warm up." She pressed her lips to his fingertips, a mischievous sparkle glinting in her eyes as she gave one a tiny kitten lick. "The boys should be ready for soundcheck by the time we've finished, yeah?"

Pickles grinned crookedly in return. "Oh, I dunno. Might take me a while ta' thaw out after this lil' adventure."

"Not like we haven't made them wait before." Ceelie purred, dragging him inside by the hoodie's drawstrings. Even in a blizzard, that tone would always make Pickles melt.

[alyssadeliv]

The Forgotten One

First      Previous

Chapter 5

Ladybug and Chat Noir made their debut on a sunny Monday of September. Just as her master had feared that intense energy they felt was only the beginning. Hawkmoth started his reign of terror, releasing his akumas on unsuspecting civilians, using their strong negative emotions, and creating his champions. It was a vile move, attacking someone when they were vulnerable. But Marianne had to admit that he was good. She was trained to do exactly the same thing, to manipulate and exploit someone’s weakness, but at least she had the decency to never use her abilities for personal gain unless extremely necessary. She was a soldier, everything she did was by the order of someone. Her whole training so far had been preparing her for this moment. 

So when Stonehart appeared, she was ready. 

She knew everything she needed to do, she had been trained since birth for this. Her Master was confident that she had what it took to take down these akumatized people, and allied with the one he had chosen to wield the Cat Miraculous they would be unstoppable. He didn’t tell her the identity of the person he has chosen, but she knew he wouldn’t. For safety reasons, only the Grand Guardian would know the identities of the wielders. But she didn’t need to know his identity in order to work with him. 

Chat Noir surprised her a lot. She knew he couldn’t possibly have the same training she had, but he still knew how to fight. He’s trained in fencing from what she can tell by his style of fighting, and he’s very good. After some time they became the perfect duo, always in synchrony and ready for anything. It’s nice to have someone on her side, in the League she mostly acted alone, so having someone that had her back full time was new. 

It took two years to defeat Hawkmoth. In those two years that she lived in Paris, a lot changed. First was her name. In order to live completely off the radar of the League, she needed a new name. They had lost contact with the League after the attack, so they never discovered what exactly happened, or who won in the end. She was glad the Mayor of Paris decided that it would be better to ban any rumors of a supervillain in the city from the outside world, fearing that that would cause the tourism to diminish. That allowed her some security, but one could never be too careful, the League was known to have spies everywhere. So she changed her name. In the documents that her godmother forged, she was called Marinette Dupain but preferred to be called Mari because that was closer to her real name. Daughter of a kind baker and his traveler wife, her backstory was that she spent most of her childhood traveling the world with her mother, but now her parents decided that it would be good for her to stay in the same place for more time. She would be homeschooled by Sabine, which was enough for social security to allow her to be kept from attending school. It was kind of funny that she lived so close to a school but didn’t study there. 

Another thing that changed was that for the first time she had people she could rely on. Before it was only Damian. He was the only one that she ever told about her fears and insecurities, confiding in him was something she missed in those years apart. They were very close before the attack, and after two long years of thinking she was dead, she wasn’t sure what would happen when they finally reunited. But she hoped it would go well.

When she first transformed, she felt invincible. It was something she would never forget, feeling that kind of power was memorable. It was normal for the suit to incorporate traits of your personality, but it still was a surprise when she saw herself as Ladybug for the first time. She wore a black skin-tight suit that covered her entire body from the neck down, in her torso making the illusion a corset, a part of the suit was red with black spots. She also had boots and a jacket to complement her look, also in red with dots. Her hair tied back in a ponytail was rather practical and allowed her better motion. On her right leg strapped to her tight was a knife holster with a small dagger that served for surprise attacks, her specialty. Around her waist was where she tied her yoyo when she wasn’t using it. To conceal her identity, she wore a domino mask also in red.

In the beginning, she wanted to use another name for her superheroine self, one that paid tribute to her Arabic roots, but Master Fu thought it better to go with a more generic name, that way it would be harder to obtain any type of information about her. In the end, she relented and went with Ladybug. 

When Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared, most of Paris newspapers and tabloids started to question the origin of their superheroes. Some believe them to be aliens, which her Master thought hilarious. Others were certain they were metahumans, born with their powers, and their Miraculous just served as an amplifier, and Hawkmoth wanted all Miraculous to increase his power to the maximum level, in Mari’s case they were partially right about the part of the powers. The one that came closer to the truth was the writer of the Ladyblog, the amount of research she had was impressive for someone so young. She discovered that the Miraculous were older than they thought, dating back all the way to the ancient Egyptian Empire, other than that she was way off. She had this theory that the Miraculous holders were a group of immortal entities that always appeared in ties of need, but recently one of them must have gone bad, tired of centuries in hiding, and the others are trying to defeat them and restore peace. It was a good theory that had some truth behind it, but still very exaggerated. It didn’t help that Ladybug was obviously experienced and that only served to fund this theory even more.

It became a game for Ladybug and Chat Noir to find the funniest theories and share them during patrol. Chat was really good in that, normally he just asked one of his friends what they thought. Mari, not having friends to ask just bought stuff the media printed. These kinds of games helped them relax a little after a tiring battle.  

After two years of fighting evil forces, it was impossible for the two superheroes not to be close. Their kind of relationship always reminded Mari of her brother, and she often felt guilty for not being able to reach him. But that only motivated her more in defeating Hawkmoth. Only then she would be able to leave Paris. 

Living in Paris was nice, for the first time in her life she created a routine for herself. She had training with Master Fu in the mornings and she helped at the bakery during the afternoons. Every other day there would be an Akuma attack and she would step into her role as Ladybug. Other than that her life became pretty calm compared to what it was at the League. She even got the time to explore her creative side, drawing and sewing became her favorite hobbies.

But nothing ever stays the same for long, not for her. 

It was about one year and a half after the attack on the League, just as her Master was getting close to discovering the exact location of origin of the source of evil energy. They knew the owner of the Butterfly Miraculous knew how to read energies, being that what alerted him of the Ladybug Miraculous being activated after Mari was brought back from the dead, but they weren’t expecting him to be able to track them. Her Master energy was easier to locate, even with him being the Grand Guardian, because of his old age. 

To this day she wasn’t sure what exactly happened, only that one afternoon she felt as if the energy around shifted and became unbearable. Fearing the worst she went to her Master in search of guidance, but when she was nearing his house she saw him. Hawkmoth in the flesh. Around him were five Akumas previously defeated.

He was at a rooftop engaging Master Fu, who at the time had already transformed with the Turtle Miraculous, in a heated duel. At the side was Mayura, trying to reach the Miraculous Box that was secured inside a green dome. Not wasting one minute she transformed in a nearby alley and went into action attacking the Peacock wielder. She was ruthless in her blows, never leaving space for the other woman to attack. Chat Noir arrived a couple of minutes later and went for the akumatized people, but at that point it was already too late. Master Fu knew that would be his last day on earth, he didn't have the strength to fight and maintain the Box inside the safety dome, so he did the only thing he thought possible. He relinquished his position as the Grand Guardian of The Miraculous to Ladybug. 

The box immediately disappeared from the dome and appeared in Mari’s arms. Without wasting a second she used her hidden weapon and stabbed her opponent in the thigh in order to subdue her. Her cries of pain were enough to attract Hawkmoth's attention from Chat Noir, with whom he had just engaged in battle. He immediately went to comfort his partner, using his champions as a barricade to protect them. He escaped. Or rather Mari let him escape. Because she couldn't stop looking at her Master’s body. He was dead. Died protecting the Miraculous. Inside her she felt some piece of her break. Death wasn’t new for her, but it felt surreal to believe the man that saw her grow and taught her almost everything she knew was dead. But there was no time to mourn, a soldier only mourned after the war, and this war was far from being over. But at that moment, looking at the lifeless body of her Master she made a vow to herself. 

She would not rest until Hawkmoth perished.

And she would make sure that before he did, it hurt

Next

Another fresh capther for all of you. To be honest I had planned this chapter to be compleatly different, but I was inspired and just lost myself, and when I realised I couldn’t finish this chapter anyother way. Hope you all liked it! Fell free to leave a comment with your theories of what’s going to happen next! (Also, the taglist still open)

WARNING: Major character death; description o violence.

Ladybug suit was inspired by this drawing from Eden Daphne 

Taglist:  @macncheesemonster @jumpingjoy82 @silversaphire12 @jinx-jade @swiftie-miraculer13  @greatcatblaze @megaafangirl @ramos123 @theamityislife @maskedpainter @toodaloo-kangaroo @nyx-in-line @ketchupqueenboiiii @blackroserelina @lozzybowe @user00000003 @kashlyn @msshadows97 @ira-sairain @stackofrandomstuff @myazael @frieddonutsweets @asrainterstellar @our-preciousss @laurcad123 @nyaabinch @rverfades @thefangirlwholiterallydies @astoriaandromeda @unnamed2357 @little-lady-bird @imdaqueenie @meismu @dorkus-minimus @a4-machete @arty-shadow-morningstar @catthhay @sizzling-fairy-oil @poodapup @charme-de-malchan @jayjayspixiepop @fusser90 @adrestar @iloontjeboontje @buginetye @macncheesemonster

[rose-of-oz]

“How is my partner more badass than me?” for Genesis x Kirk, please? @dancingsunflowers-ocs 💛

(SEND ME OTP PROMPTS!)

Thanks for this!!

Gen was never coming down to a planet's surface with Jim again. Never. She didn't care if he tried to pull rank for once and order them, she wouldn't do it. Because if this was what happened every time a landing party went down, they were pretty sure she didn't have the patience to constantly deal with it.

When Dr. McCoy had first informed them that the Enterprise had recieved a distress signal from a remote planet, long thought to be uninhabited, and that Jim wanted her to go down with the party to treat any potential injured parties, Genesis hadn't thought anything of it. They, like the rest of the Enterprise crew, had assumed the signal was coming from a ship that had crashed on the planet, and that the crew of said ship just wanted to get off the desert wasteland on which they'd found themselves.

That was not what it was. Not even close.

As it turned out, the small desert planet wasn't as uninhabited as everyone had thought. There was, in fact, a race of people who had been living under the dunes for centuries, humanoid but having adapted to the limited water and dry, arid atmosphere. Only it turned out that, after centuries of only having each other to reproduce with, these people needed some fresh blood to help bring up their birth rate. And Genesis, of frakking course, was the only female-bodied member of the landing party.

Which led to their current predicament - backed up against a tall sand dune with a group of sand people surrounded them, pointing weapons that, while not as sophisticated as blasters, were very sharp and deadly-looking. The landing party consisted of only Gen, Jim, and a young freckled crewman whose name she unfortunately could not remember, but there was four sand people, all with sand-colored skin, bald heads, and fierce, determined expressions on their faces. As well as, of course, those pointy weapons.

"Give us the woman," growled the sand person who appeared to be in charge, "and no one will be harmed." The lead sand person appeared to be female-bodied as well, and had golden thread stitched into her dark green tunic that the others did not. Her voice, like the voices of the other sand people that Gen had heard, was rough and scratchy in a way a voice only is when the speaker has gone a long time without water.

"You won't take them," Jim said firmly, shifting his stance so that his body partially blocked Gen's own from view. He hadn't drawn his own blaster yet, though the young crewman had, but it hung from his belt in clear view of the sand people, an obvious warning.

"She will be well taken care of," the sand woman said to Jim, as if to reassure him, though her voice became no less threatening. "Our child-bearers always are. She will be given first pick of whatever our hunting parties bring back, and she will not be required to work. All we ask in return is that she reproduce as much as possible, so as to boost-"

"You. Won't. Take her," Jim repeated, his voice closer to a hiss.

And Genesis appreciated his willingness to protect her, really they did, but as she continued to gaze at the blaster hanging from Jim's belt, a plan began to form in their head. It wasn't a great plan, and really she would have preferred to have more time to think it through properly, but it was all they had right now, and she probably wouldn't have a lot of time to come up with anything else.

Well, here went nothing.

"Actually," Gen spoke up, stepping out from behind Jim and making eye contact with the sand woman, "that doesn't sound too bad."

The sand woman looked surprised, and her eyes, containing irises of pure black like some kind of rodent's, lit up. "You would consent to becoming a child-bearer?"

"Well, I don't see why not." Genesis started to walk towards the sand people, making sure to slow down as they passed Jim and praying that he would do what she expected him to. "You make a very tempting offer, after all."

Blessedly, Jim did just what Gen had expected and gently grabbed their arm as she passed him, meeting their eyes with an expression that was pure confusion.

"Genesis?" he asked quietly, barely hiding the hurt beneath the confusion in his voice, and oh, Gen's heart squeezed at that, but she couldn't make any kind of move to tell him the truth without risking the sand people seeing. So they kept her face stone-cold and impassive, checking out of the corner of their eye to make sure no one was watching her hands as they reached forward and gently eased Jim's blaster out of the holster.

One advantage to spending most of one's childhood in the company of those who made their living stealing other living beings: you got to be pretty quick with your hands.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Gen said in a purposely cold voice, then turned away from her captain and boyfriend, making sure to quickly tuck the blaster into the back of their belt as she made their way toward the four sand people. If Jim or the crewman noticed the blaster, she could only hope against hope neither of them gave it away.

Stopping directly in front of the leading sand woman, Genesis squared her shoulders and looked into the woman's black eyes, trying to look confident in the descision the sand people believed they had just made.

"I will go with you and reproduce for you," she told the sand women, fighting hard to keep the nervous tremor from their voice. "But you have to let these others leave immediately, without harming them. I am valuable to them as a medic, you can't blame them for not wanting to give me up."

There was a moment of silence in which the sand woman appeared to be mentally arguing with herself; clearly, she wanted to punish Jim for trying to keep Gen from her. But eventually, her shoulders slumped just slightly in reluctant concession, and she nodded once.

"Alright," the sand woman said, not even noticing as Gen's hand slowly reached around her back to grasp the blaster's handle. "If you come with us now, your friends may leave unharmed."

"Good," Genesis replied, giving her sweetest smile - then yanked Jim's blaster from their belt and slammed it into the sand woman's head.

The other three sand people let out a collective yell and charged forward as their leader crumpled to the dunes, out cold, but Genesis hadn't excelled in her hand-to-hand combat course at Starfleet for nothing. With a few well-placed punches and only a single shot from the blaster, the remaining sand people lay on the ground around Gen's feet, their weapons lying unused beside them.

Brushing hair out of their face, Genesis turned back around to look at Jim and the crewman, her forehead stinging where one of the sand people had managed to slice them with his weapon. She couldn't help the smile that broke out on their face at the two men's expressions: the young crewman was staring at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, and Jim was beaming at them, his eyes full of pride.

"Sorry if I worried you," Gen apologized, walking back towards Jim and holding the blaster out to him. "Didn't have a lot of time to really think that plan through."

"Oh, it's alright," Jim said softly, taking the blaster back a second before he swept Genesis into a kiss.

The crewman let out a startled squeak behind them, but neither Jim nor Genesis cared; their lips moved passionately against each other, each person trying to wordlessly express their relief that they'd both made it through this okay and Dr. McCoy wasn't going to have to tell Spock that one of his partners was captured or injured.

"Did you know," Jim murmured as they finally broke away for breath, "that I regularly look at you and ask myself, 'How is my partner more badass than me?'"

"Of course you do," Gen responded flippantly. "I'm practically an Amazon from those old Greek myths."

"Yes, you are," Jim laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of Gen's head. "But we should get back to the ship; Spock's likely pacing a hole in the command centre's floor by now."

"And completely denying that he's worried," Gen chuckled. "Because he somehow thinks that the entire crew isn't aware of us by this point."

Letting out another short laugh, Jim beckoned the young crewman close while Gen took out her comm device and asked Scotty to beam them up. And as that familiar light surrounded the three of them and began to carry them home, Gen finally spoke the words that had been on her mind since they'd caught her first sight of the sand people.

"I am never going to a surface with you again."

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @raith-way, @reyofluke-ocs, @guardiansofheroes.

[kanerallels]

"There is no unspoken thing between us."

"Well, that's a Catch-22. Because if you said there was, it would be spoken, and then you'd be a liar. So by saying there isn't, you're telling the truth, and admitting there is."

Marvel quote—and you know which couple this is for 😉

Oh, you KNOW I do!!!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 3,559

Warnings/Tags: Rated G (for the fetching green vest Kanan's wearing)

Read on AO3!

Having deep cover operatives in the Empire was an important part of running a spy network. They gave Kanan some of his best information and helped him sneak the objects of the Empire’s rage right out from under the ISB’s nose more often than not.

But it could be a little inconvenient when he needed to pick up data from them. Because it almost inevitably involved him getting into some kind of ridiculous disguise and sneaking into some place the Empire didn’t want him in.

Case in point, he thought wryly, smoothing down the front of the fancy vest he was wearing over his dress shirt. “How do I look?” he asked, his voice quiet enough that none of the guests around him could hear.

“Ridiculous as always,” Kasmir’s voice came from the earpiece he wore, and Kanan rolled his eyes. The rest of the Yellow Submarine’s crew had demanded that he wear it, partially because they were bored and partially because Kasmir claimed Kanan had a habit of not giving them proper updates about what was going on. So they’d hacked the security cameras, and Kanan was set up with an earpiece. “Otherwise you’re fine. Remind me what your plan is again?”

Claiming a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, Kanan muttered, “Blend in while I wait for our contact to drop off the intel at the dead drop, then go there as soon as I get the signal. After that I get the kriff out of here as soon as possible.”

As he took a drink of the bubbly drink, Ezra said, “Sounds boring. Actually, this whole party looks boring. Just a bunch of grown ups in fancy clothing drinking alcohol and sucking up to each other.”

“Welcome to adult parties for the rich and tyrannical,” Kasmir told him, and Kanan had to stifle a grin. “They all suck.”

Unfortunately, Kanan couldn’t disagree. The Empire’s parties mainly consisted of flaunting their fabulousness to everyone else, but really just came off as self-absorbed. Luckily for him, this particular party had been incredibly easy to sneak into.

Taking another sip from the champagne glass, Kanan swept a glance around the room again-- and spotted his contact. The light-haired man, clad in a dark dress uniform, swept out of a door, his steps brisk and business-like as he passed by. He didn't give Kanan a backwards glance, but Kanan could tell he knew he was there.

“Alright, I'm on the move,” he said softly.

“About time,” Kasmir complained. “This is incredibly boring.”

Stepping through the doorway his contact had come out of, Kanan pointed out, “You're the ones who wanted to listen in.”

“Yeah, but I prefer blaming you,” the Kalleran said as Kanan moved into the room. It was some kind of sitting room, with a few armchairs here and there, and a small table in one corner.

Tuning out Kasmir, who was continuing to grumble, Kanan began searching the room. The table turned up nothing, so he moved to one of the armchairs. Dropping into it, he slid his hands down the side and into the cracks. A grin spread across his face as one hand encountered a slim rectangular shape. Bingo.

Pulling the datacard out, Kanan slipped it into the pocket of his vest. Cutting off Kasmir, he said, “I've got the intel. On my way out.”

He slipped out of the sitting room again, and a quick glance around the room made it clear that he’d been neither missed nor spotted. Time to get out of here, he thought.

Making a beeline for the door, Kanan paused to swipe a mini jogan cream cake from a waiter. He popped it in his mouth-- and nearly choked at the sound of a familiar laugh. A far too familiar laugh.

Spinning around, Kanan searched the crowd behind him. No way. No kriffing way. But even as he thought it, his gaze landed on where a handful of people were dancing to the elegant music in the background. And his eyes were drawn to a green-skinned Twi’lek woman, dancing with an Imperial officer and wearing a smile he knew had to be fake.

Some kind of makeup obscured the markings on Hera’s lekku, and she was a ways away from Kanan, but he’d recognize her anywhere. Especially that voice, which he could hear speaking in her native Ryl accent even from that distance. Who knew she had an accent? He mused.

“KANAN!!”

Kanan nearly jumped when he heard Kasmir shout his name in his earpiece. “Kriffing-- don’t do that,” he hissed, turning away from the crowd so no one would see him moving his lips.

“What are you hesitating for? It’s time to get out of there,” Kasmir urged. “We’re not even supposed to be here, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Kanan said. “I just, uh, might not be back right away.”

“What? Why not-- oooh. Mini kid, check the cams.”

“On it!” Ezra chirped in the background.

Ignoring them, Kanan turned back to the crowd, scanning until he spotted Hera again, still dancing with the same Imp, her movements graceful. What is she doing here? If someone spots her-- okay, calm down, Kanan. She can take care of herself, and you’re not technically responsible for watching her back.

No matter how much you wished you were, whispered some part of him, the part of him that occasionally told him to please forget all of the spy stuff and talk to Hera.

In his ear, there was a gasp. “I KNEW IT. Hera’s here, guys!!!” Ezra’s voice was unreasonably excited as he spoke. “What is she doing here? Kanan, does she know you’re here? Are you gonna talk to her? What do you think she’ll--”

“Kasmir,” Kanan said, cutting off his apprentice, “I’m going off coms. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You’re doing WHAT? Wait, kid, don’t you dare--”

Kasmir's voice was abruptly cut off as Kanan plucked his earpiece out and stuck it in his pocket. He had no doubt he'd be getting a good chewing out over this later from Kasmir. But Kanan also had a feeling it would be worth it.

He headed toward the dancers, weaving through the crowd and keeping his gaze locked on Hera. As he drew closer, he felt his heartbeat pick up slightly.

Hera was always beautiful, there was no denying that. When Kanan had first met her, he'd been literally incapable of speech standing across from her. And he had a feeling he was going to have a very similar problem now.

She wore a dark red dress, the short sleeves made of a dark gauzy fabric. Silver lace patterns covered the whole thing, shimmering in the light with Hera's every movement. It was mesmerizing.

Kanan suddenly realized he was staring. Kriff. Alright, try and focus, Jarrus.

Slipping past a few more guests, he stepped out of the crowd and onto the dance floor just as Hera and her partner moved up near him. “May I cut in?” he asked.

The Imperial officer dancing with Hera looked like he wanted to argue, but one glance at Kanan changed his mind quickly. He stepped back, and Kanan moved forward smoothly, sweeping Hera back into the dance.

Hera’s gaze flicked up to him, a demure smile crossing her face-- and Kanan saw the moment when she realized it was him and not some Imperial. “Wha-- Kanan?”

~ ~ ~

As Hera gaped at him in shock, she saw a grin crossing Kanan’s face. “I’d bet this is the last place you expected to see me,” he said, his deep voice low and remarkably self satisfied.

“You could say that,” Hera agreed, recovering quickly.

It hadn’t been too difficult to slip into the party. All Hera had had to do was bat her eyelashes a few times and the Imps were basically falling over themselves to let her in. While it was useful, it did also get on her nerves a little, even if she was used to the way most people looked at her species these days.

Kanan, on the other hand, didn’t exactly have the same qualifications. Frowning, she asked, “How did you get in here?”

“Does it matter?” Kanan kept his voice low as they kept dancing, and Hera had to admit-- he was a good dancer, better than she would have expected.

He was also dressed better than she would have expected-- a crisp olive green dress shirt, the sleeves pushed up, under an emerald green vest with a high collar, trousers of the same olive green, and brown boots. His hair was back in it’s usual ponytail, and he wore a slight grin.

He looked good-- which Hera would never give him the satisfaction of admitting. She would only admit to herself how her heartbeat sped up slightly at his proximity, at the feeling of his hand resting on her waist.

Taking a quick breath, she said, “Probably not. Although I do wonder what you’re doing here, I have to admit.”

“Free hors d’oeuvres,” Kanan said breezily. “Nothing tastes better than expensive Imperial wine, especially when you’re not supposed to drink it. How about you? I have a feeling you’re not here for the canapes, or whatever they’re serving.”

“Not exactly,” Hera said. “But I’m not sure talking to you about it is the best idea. After all, you’ve made it very clear you’re not interested.”

“Really? That’s what you think? I thought you knew that wasn’t true at all.”

Giving him a look, Hera said, “In the cause.”

“Oh, that.” Kanan made a face. “I liked what I was talking about better.”

“I’m sure you did.”

A slight smile curved Kanan’s mouth, and he studied her for a few seconds as they danced. “When are we going to do something about this unspoken thing we have going on?”

“What?” Hera blinked, surprised that he’d actually said something. “No-- there’s no unspoken thing between us.”

Shrugging, Kanan deftly spun her out as he said, “Well, that’s a Catch-22, because if you said there was, it would be spoken and you’d be a liar. So by saying there isn’t--” he pulled her back in, this time closer than she had been. Hera felt her heartbeat pick up again at the sheer closeness of him.

“--you’re telling the truth and admitting there is,” Kanan finished. His gaze caught hers, and he studied her for a moment with those teal eyes of his. Hera saw his eyes drop to her lips, and caught her breath, wondering for a moment what he would do, and how she would react to it.

Focus, Hera, she told herself sternly. You need to finish up here and get back to the crew. Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t really have time for your flirting, dear. I have a mission to finish, sooner rather than later.”

“What’s your rush?” Kanan asked lightly.

“Well, let’s just say I have a new crew member, and I’d prefer to get back before she destroys the ship,” Hera said wryly. “She’s a little… temperamental.”

“Sounds like fun,” Kanan said. “Alright, how can I help?”

Giving Kanan an unimpressed look, Hera said, “We just had this conversation. You don’t want anything to do with the cause.”

“You know me so well,” Kanan said, smirking. “But I’m not doing this for the cause. Trust me.”

The pointed intonation at the end of his sentence didn’t really surprise Hera. However, that wasn’t exactly about to change her answer. “That’s not terribly reassuring,” she said.

“Hey, you know I’m capable,” Kanan pointed out. “And you don’t have to trust me here. But I’m willing to help.

“Alright-- what are you asking in return?” Hera asked.

To her surprise, a stung look flashed across Kanan’s face. “Nothing. I’m not always looking for some kind of payout, you know.”

Kriff. Hera grimaced, well aware she’d put her foot in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, coming to a stop on the dance floor and making sure she had Kanan’s attention. “That was stupid of me. You’re right, and I should have seen it. I know you better than that.”

And she did, strange though it seemed.

“Thanks,” Kanan said quietly, his voice serious for once. He paused, then said, “Now where are we going?”

Hera paused, darting a glance around the room. Luckily, the owner of the house was distracted at the bar. “This way,” she told him, grabbing him by the hand. She pulled him off the dance floor and through the crowd, heading for a door on the far side of the room. Kanan followed her willingly, and together they slipped through the door in question.

The door led them into a dark hallway, and Hera led the way forward, Kanan on her heels. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any other party-goers,” she muttered. “This could be a potential awkward situation.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I hear public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Kanan suggested, and Hera let out a sigh.

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not unless I have to. What’s the plan here?”

“I’m trying to break into the main office,” Hera told him. “It should be a little ways away from here. All you need to do is watch my back. Oh, and come up with a good excuse if we’re caught.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Kanan said easily. “Just lead the way, Captain Hera.”

They didn’t have far to go before they reached the door Hera had been looking for, and stepped inside. The office was large and elaborate, with wood panelling and an extremely expensive vase on the desk.

Moving behind the desk, Hera booted up the console and pulled up her skirt to reveal the holster strapped to her leg, holding her blaster and a datacard to download the intel she needed. Pulling out the datacard, she glanced at Kanan, fully expecting him to be watching her.

To her surprise, he had his gaze fixed on the door, and was rather steadfastly not looking at her. Maybe he’s got a bit of chivalry left after all, Hera mused. Who would have thought?

She let her skirt drop and inserted the datacard into the console, tapping at the screen to find the information she needed. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” she told Kanan.

Glancing back at Hera, Kanan said, “Well, that’s good. This way, we might have time for something else. Maybe a little more dancing, that kind of thing.”

“What part of ‘I need to get back to my ship before a teenage Mandalorian tears it to pieces’ did you not understand?” Hera shot back.

“Oh, come on,” Kanan said with a sigh. “Seriously, though-- when was the last time you did anything for yourself instead of your cause? You deserve a night off.”

“And it just happens to be with you?” Hera said, feeling a smile twitch across her lips in spite of herself.

Kanan shrugged nonchalantly, a gleam in his eye. “It’s an added bonus.”

“Hmm.” For a moment, Hera let herself think about what it would be like to just spend the rest of the night out. Dancing, food, maybe a little flirting. It sounded fun. Like something she might have done in a different world, if she hadn’t been fighting the Empire, and she’d met Kanan under different circumstances. “That sounds… nice. Fun, even.”

“Can’t let the Empire stop you from having fun,” Kanan pointed out, leaning against the desk as he caught her gaze. “I’ll buy you a drink. Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself--”

Then Hera saw him freeze, his eyes going wide. “What is--” she started, and the door hissed open.

“Wha-- what are you doing in here?” demanded a brusque Imperial voice, and the owner of the house stalked into view. Hera saw a “well, kriff” expression flash across Kanan’s face.

“Wait-- are you--” the owner started. Moving fast, Kanan grabbed the vase on the desk, spun around and smashed it over the man’s head.

As the Imp crumpled to the ground, Kanan turned to Hera. “Time to go,” he said.

“Definitely,” Hera said as the console let out a beep. “I have what I need anyways.” Pulling out the datacard, she slipped it back into her holster, and she and Kanan made for the door.

They hadn’t gotten far before an alarm started going off. “Looks like we’ve been spotted,” Kanan muttered, his brows furrowing.

“Do you have a ride out of here?” Hera asked.

“Yeah-- follow me.”

Kanan headed back the way they’d come, pushing open the door that lead into the room where the party was being held. Hera hesitated for a second, then darted after him as he shouldered his way through the somewhat confused crowd.

They’d made it halfway through the crowd when the doors burst open, and an irate voice shouted, “STOP THAT TWI’LEK!!”

Hera heard Kanan breathe a curse quietly as she pulled her blaster out from under her dress. “Keep things stealthy until we don’t have to,” she muttered.

“Yeah, that’s going really well so far,” he hissed.

“You’re the one who smashed a vase over someone’s head!”

“Well, you shot down my other idea!”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Hera said, “So help me, you’re going to drive me--”

She was cut off by a hand clamping down onto her shoulder. “Here she is!” someone shouted. “I’ve caught the intrud-- ugh!”

Hera spun smoothly, twisting away from the man who’d grabbed her, and slammed her fist into his throat. As the man dropped to the ground, clutching at his throat, Kanan grabbed her by the hand and pulled her forward. “Remind me never to make you that mad,” he said.

“You’ve come very close, dear,” Hera shot back.

“Have I mentioned you look amazing tonight?”

“You’re not helping your situation. Wait-- are we heading for the window?”

“You’re about to find out how I got into this place,” Kanan said, a grim smile crossing his face.

Releasing Hera’s hand, he didn’t stop in his tracks as he grabbed a bar stool and heaved it through the window, shattering the glass. Shards of it flew everywhere, and Hera heard screams as Kanan came to a stop next to the window.

“Come on!” he said, holding out his hand.

Hera darted forward, glancing down as Kanan’s hand wrapped around hers. A speeder was parked a few feet below them. “Creative,” she observed.

“I’m a creative guy,” Kanan quipped, then ducked as blaster fire zipped past them. Lifting her own blaster, Hera shot back at the stormtroopers who were flooding into the room. “Time to go!” Kanan said, and jumped, Hera leaping after him.

They landed in the speeder in an undignified pile, and Kanan immediately scrambled into the passenger’s seat. “Get us out of here!”

“On it,” Hera said, switching on the speeder and tossing Kanan her blaster. “Make yourself useful, please!”

“Yes, Captain Hera,” Kanan said, lifting his blaster and firing at the stormtroopers that were crowding into the window. Hera let out a triumphant sound as the engines roared to life.

“We’re out of here.” Slamming on the acceleration, they leaped forward. Kanan let out an undignified yelp, and Hera suppressed a smile as they zipped away from the building and into traffic.

It didn’t take them long to disappear, out of sight from the Imperials. Leaning back in his seat, Kanan remarked, “It’s been way too long since I’ve flown with you. You’re still as incredible as you used to be.”

Hera felt a small smile flash across her face. Kanan’s real compliments were somehow much nicer than his casual flirting. “Thanks. Now, where are we heading?”

“You can drop me off up here,” Kanan said, pointing. “It’s not technically my speeder, so you can take it wherever you need to go.” Pausing, he added, “Or we could find something to eat. Have a drink, maybe…”

Hera found herself hesitating, to her own surprise. Because part of her wanted to say yes, which she definitely didn’t expect. Maybe some of that flirting was actually starting to rub off on her.

But at the end of the day, she was working with the Rebellion, and Kanan refused to commit to something like that. And she really did have to get back. “Not this time,” she said, bringing them to a stop at the roadside. “I have work to do. Thank you, though, for your help with this.”

“Any time,” Kanan said, giving her a half-smile. “Until next time, Captain Hera.” Catching hold of her hand, he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss against the back of it.

Hera’s eyes widened, a slight flush spreading over her at the unexpected gesture, and Kanan shot her a wink. “Couldn’t let you leave without a souvenir, could I?” He vaulted over the side of the speeder and headed down the street, looking supremely satisfied.

Despite herself, Hera felt a smile crossing her face. Typical Kanan. Gunning the engines, she took off down the street, heading back to the Ghost and her next mission. Trying to pretend like a certain gunslinger wasn’t still in the back of her mind.

She had a feeling that wouldn’t work very well, though. Kanan never made things like that easy. But Hera was starting to wonder if she actually minded.

[maybe-your-left]

I know you’re not doing requests now but I want to send this just in case! Or maybe you can save it! But I love your writing and you’re hilarious! Would you please please write something with Gucci skiing with us with some wipeouts and humor and then soothing each other’s sore muscles afterwards? Or Dr Ren if you prefer! Either hottie! 🖤🖤🖤

anon... why not both?

MAURIZIO GUCCI

“I’m so excited to go skiing,” you mumbled through a mouthful of crackers. You and the rest of your group were sitting around the Resort lounge. Sharing a nice cheese board, red wine, and chatting about the lovely weather. It had been so long since you’d been on a trip with them, it was nice to get out of the city and escape to the Italian country.

You were sipping on your wine, briefly tearing your gaze from the evening snowfall. There were some families littered around, lovers smiling at one another, sharing kisses between whispers of passion. However, one table stuck out to you. A man, all alone, sipping on some whiskey. Some glasses and slicked hair, the dim light showing off his distinctive features. You were captivated, wanting to walk over and speak to him, get to know who he was, where he came from.

Another slow sip, you glanced away, chiming in with you raunchy joke. Basking in the laughter of your friends, you turned back towards the man. Stunned when he met your gaze. Unblinking, unwavering, just sipping his drink, you noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Instead a diamond encrusted gold ring decorated his pinkie, bigger than any jewelry you adorned.

You mirrored him, taking a sip of your own, he set his glass down. And from across the room, he smirked at you. Followed by a nod of acknowledgment, making your cheeks instantly flush from embarrassment.

Your friends finished quickly after, leaving you to abandon the stranger. Who was now nursing a second drink, staring at the snowy landscape. Perpetually alone, your heart ached at the sight, but you couldn’t go over. What would you say?

You replayed him handsome smile over and over in your head while laying down. Memorizing the lines of his face, the crinkle of his eyes, how they seemed to focus on just you out of anyone else.

———

Everyone got up and out the door bright and early, preparing with some spiked coffee before heading to the hills. You were buzzing with excitement, partially for the skiing but there was a chance to see him again.

Slim, but still a chance.

“Hey,” your friend snapped in your face, “You okay? You look a little out of it.”

“Oh no,” you sighed, focusing on moving over with your group. Smiling at the sweet kids learning to ski on the bunny hill, a few of them being helped by their parents. You briefly noticed a familiar head of hair as you ascended the mountain.

At the summit, all your friends gave a quick goodbye and placed a bet who would crash first. You knew you’d be fine, it wasn’t the first time on the slopes for you. To your left, someone approached you, the only reason you knew was because of the bright red suit.

A woman, covered in designer branded accessories, scowling down the mountain. You smiled at her, fixing your own fur hat, “I love your suit.”

She turned to you, cocking a brow in suspicion, eyes flashing down your figure. And then she set off, you scrunched your face in displeasure. She seemed fun.

Letting gravity do the work, you headed down, trying to bask in the scenery instead of race like everyone else.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turned to the right, stalled on the mountain was the man from last night. A white snow suit that fit him far too snug, you were surprised it even fit. From this close you could really take in his appearance, he wasn’t this enormous from afar.

“What?” you questioned.

He nodded towards the tree line, “The mountain, isn’t it lovely?”

“Oh,” you blushed, “Yes, it’s gorgeous. It’s been so long since I’ve visited.”

“Hm,” he looked down at you, a small smirk gracing his full lips, “Why not come more?”

“It’s so expensive,” you sighed, “It’s not a luxury I can afford all the time.”

“You deserve every luxury the world offers, sweet dove.”

You gaped, briefly turning to see if he was still talking to you. He chuckled a little, holding his poles in one hand and out stretching his right.

“Maurizio,” he smiled, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?”

You whispered your name, out stretching your hand which he immediately took. Enveloping in his size, he stroked his thumb over your knuckles, bringing them to his lips. Gazing at you lustfully, “A beautiful name, for a beautiful little dove.”

You whimpered at the feel of his lips, wishing for a moment they were on your own. Or trailing over your body, roaming and tasting every inch of you. “Are you here alone?”

“No, I’m with some friends.”

He nodded, “If you’re able to get away, here’s a card to my room. I’d love to see you more.”

He tucked the card into the breast pocket of your suit, another chaste kiss to your hand and he left.

———

After spilling to your friends about the handsome stranger they BEGGED you to go see him. Just to see what would happen... so here you were standing before his room. Dressed in a white turtleneck, and some tight pants. Cheeks and nose still rosy from the wind earlier.

A light knock, no answer.

You tried again.

Still nothing.

You fiddled with the card in your hand, debating if you should head back. But... he gave you a card, you could just go in and wait.

The light flashed green, and you were inside. Lavishly decorated, a large fireplace, king bed, windows overlooking the night snowfall. You poked around, seeing no sign of Maurizio... or any luggage for that matter. It almost seemed like no one was staying here.

“Dove?”

You spun on your heel, seeing him peek through the door. His concerned look dropping once he spied you, “You came.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “This is your room?”

He shrugged, “One of them.”

“What?”

Maurizio didn’t give you an answer, instead pouncing on you. His rough hands caressing your cheeks as he kissed you, at first you were confused. Wanting him to move, but he pressed on, a hand sliding down your back to wrap around your waist.

“I’ve been thinking about your lips since last night, so plush and pink,” he whispered, “How beautiful you were next to the fires.”

“Mhm,” you tried to speak, but he kept your lips locked. Tongue slithering into your mouth, coaxing yours to dance with his. You moaned at his taste, warm and rich, hints of whiskey hitting your palate.

Maurizio walked you back into the bed, knees giving out as you fell. Finally getting full breaths of air, panting as he devoured your form. He leaned over you, both hands planted by your torsos. A piece of his well kept hair falling over his forehead, “As beautiful you look in this,” he tugged on your sweater, “I would love it even more if it was on the floor.”

You melted, giving a soft nod. He slid a hand under your shirt, gasping when he touched your skin. Gripping your waistline, moving slowly up towards your bra. He leaned into you, pressing soft kisses to your cheek and jaw. Fingering the black lace, one finger slipping under the hem.

“So soft, little dove.”

As fast as he was touching you, he ripped his hand away just as quick. Standing before you, he pulled his sweater off. Tearing his glasses off with it, he fumbled with his belt, nodding at you to follow his lead.

You threw your clothes off like they were on fire, whining when he helped tug your pants off. Hooking his fingers into your lace underwear, groaning when he saw your cunt.

“Up,” he rasped, pulling off his briefs, palming his cock to kneel on the mattress. You were mesmerized by it, standing proud and tall. Long with a short hook towards his belly button. Brown hair trailing down towards the base, “So beautiful, are you soft there too?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, spreading your legs out for him to explore you. Laying back on the silk pillows, you gasped when his hand cupped your sex. Running a finger through your lips. You felt the golden ring he wore skim your inner thigh, causing a shiver to shoot through your spine.

“We must be quick, dove,” he mumbled, “As much as I want to savor you.”

You looked at him confused while he lined his cock up with your entrance, his eyes flashed from your lips to your eyes.

“I’m married.”

“What?”

He pushed inside you, stretching you wide with his length. Maurizio groaned, “So tight, I knew you’d feel amazing.”

He hitched one of your legs to his shoulder, sinking in even deeper. You felt him deep inside you, almost in your stomach, digging your claws into his bare shoulders.

“Will you scream for me, little dove? So I have something to remember when I sleep tonight?”

———

Dr. Kylo Ren

ALSO-ITS CANON KYLO DOESNT SKI HE SNOWBOARDS. ALSO ALSO ANON THIS ONE IS FUNNY BC ITS THE REN FAM ON VACATION.

———

“Mom! Did you pack my laptop charger?”

“Yes princess,” you called from the kitchen, packing some snacks for the plane. Odin was running around the living room, it would be his first time flying overseas. So you wanted him to tire himself out before you made it to the airport. Ren walked out of the bedroom, hanging up the phone, “Is everyone ready?”

You nodded up the stairs, Ren scowled, “Belle! If you aren’t down here in 5 minutes I’m taking your phone away!”

“Dad, I’m still packing!”

“Would you rather I came up there and dragged you down?”

A loud groan, and there came your daughter. No makeup, hair in a bun, still in some pajamas since your flight was at 6AM. Matching her fathers scowl, she walked over to you. Laying her head on your shoulder, “Mommm, Dads being mean.”

“I’m right here, Belle.”

“Okay,” you threw your hands up, “I guess Odin and I are going to Italy! You two morons can stay here and fight.”

———

The flight was delayed, leaving you and your family to nap in the uncomfortable chairs of the boarding area. Ren was snoring loudly, Odin was laying uncomfortably on your lap, leaving Belle who was draped on her fathers shoulder.

Thank goodness you woke up, pushing your exhausted family on the plane. It was a larger plane, giving you and Ren more space and the kids sat in front of you.

No luggage was lost, no one forgot their passport (thanks to you), and Ren even remembered to add international to your phones.

You all piled into the car, Ren demanded a Jeep from the rental company. Making it glaringly obvious you were Americans, exactly like the one you had in the garage at home. Boards on the roof, bags in the truck, both children fed and buckled, Ren only yelled at Belle once because she tried to sit up front.

The drive was beautiful, when Ren wasn’t driving like a maniac. You had to remind him several times your children were in the car. “Okay, so, when we get to the resort. You and Odin have a room together. Its connected to me and your fathers.”

Belle rolled her eyes, “Why do I have to share with Odin?”

“Because it’s either that or you sleep on our floor.”

You chuckled, Ren smiled at you, placing a palm on your thigh. This trip was more than a family vacation, it was something he’d been promising since your marriage. And he told you last night he wanted to fuck you against the window, so all the skiers could see your tits pressed against the glass. While he came all over you, so the kids weren’t allowed in the bedroom.

“Ew,” Belle gagged, “Dad stop feeling up mom, it’s gross.”

“I’m going to do more than that, so stay in your fucking room. Unless you want to see us fuc-“

You slammed a palm over his mouth, but the damage was done, Belle screamed. Yelling ‘gross oh my god oh my god you guys are old!’.

———

You all had a nice dinner in the lodge, drinking red wine and delicious food. You even let Belle have a few sips, she wasn’t a fan of Rens old fashioned. Turning green at the taste.

After kissing the kids goodnight, you locked the door connecting the two. Turning to see your husband, completely naked on a leather armchair. Stroking his cock as you padded over to him.

“Hi handsome,” you placed a hand on each thigh, feeling the muscles tense as he picked up the pace. Fist smacking his skin, precut already drooling from the tip.

“Sit on my cock, love,” he growled, “Need to feel your tight cunt.”

Soon you were bouncing on his lap, grinding down on his glorious length. Punching the air from your lungs as he pounded from below. Ren needed you to be quiet, stuffing your thing into your mouth.

You clenched around him, “There’s my good little slut, Daddy missed your pussy.” He tightened his grip around your waist, “Gonna fill you with cum, then I’m gonna fuck you on the bed. Stuff my fingers in your ass.”

You whined, “Oh, you like that don’t you? You want Daddy to fill you up?”

Ren mouthed at your neck, slamming into you completely. You spit out the garment, burying your fingers in his dark mane. “Daddy, fuck me on the bed. I need it, please.”

He groaned, swiftly standing up with you still on his cock. Throwing you on the bed, he grasped your cheeks, “You better keep your whore mouth shut, or you’ll get nothing.”

You nodded, rolling onto your hands and knees. Presenting yourself for him, Ren climbed behind you. Spitting between your cheeks, “Lube?”

“Bag, side pocket.”

“Finger yourself.”

Ren flew off the bed, searching for the lube, you gladly followed his instructions. Pinching your clit a few times before sinking in two fingers. Whining at the feeling, they weren’t big enough, couldn’t reach where Rens could. Didn’t stuff you as full as his cock could.

“I said finger,” he growled, “Not tease.”

He landed a firm spank on your cheek, lurching you forward on the bed. “Get back here,” Ren yanked on your hips, pushing a hand on your back to force your arch. You whimpered when the cool liquid slid between you. A finger curling down to your clit, wet circles over and over.

Ren tore it away, planting his left hand to the mattress. Draping over you, you could hear the slick sound of him living his cock. Wagging your ass in anticipation, “Tell Daddy what you want.”

He prodded your pucker with his middle finger, sinking it in. Its accepted the intrusion with ease, aching for more. Ren slipped in another, fucking you open with twists of his wrist. His lips lavishing your cheek and lower back.

“Fuck my ass Daddy”

———

Belle had her snowboard, along with her father, Odin was taking ski lessons, and you were there to watch him.

Everyone was safe and happy.

Ren decided to stay with Odin for a moment, so you could head up with your daughter. Giving you a big kiss that was not G-rated, even going so far as squeezing your ass and growling, “I’m tearing this off you when we get back to the room.”

You and Belle settled on the lift, she was smirking at you. “What’s up baby?”

“Nothing.”

She looked out at the landscape, “How’d you sleep?”

You shrugged, “I slept great, it’s a nice bed.”

“I’m sure.”

You squinted at her.

Belle looked back at you, “How’s your ass feeling? After your Daddy fucked it?”

———

i know this just got sent to me and i should focus on other asks BUT i was in a gucci mood and didn’t proof read bc i’m on my phone driving to oregon 😋

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads s​​​ @onlykyloscenes​​​ @candycanes19​​​ @historyandfandoms50​​​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​​​ @ghoulian13​​​ @mrs-kylo-ren​​​ @millenialcatlady​​​ @mrs-zimmerman​ @relationshipwithmybed​​ @dancingmicrobes​​​ @wayward-rose​​​ @contesa-lui-alucard​​​ @daydreamsofren​​​ @insufferablelust t​​​ @ohdamnadamm​​​ @mariesackler​​​ @caillea​​ @safarigirlsp​​ @jalexunderthestars​​​ @shesakillerkween​​​ @glassythoughts​​ @zimmermansbrat​​ @not-the-teen-witch​​ @jynzandtonic​ @roanniom​ @celestiasin @glassbxttless

Here’s the link to my Masterlist for all your stalking needs. Gucci is being added soon!

[x-lipstickstain-x]

Reappearance – George Russell

“You can’t just reappear after a month and act like nothing has happened!”

Hiya! This is one little dramatic and sappy George one shot, but I’m getting back into writing which makes me so happy! If it all goes well I’m hoping to start a little book with F1 one shots on wattpad eventually. Enjoy!! 

A month had passed, possibly being one of the toughest months of my life. I couldn’t explain how much I hated to admit, it was all caused by my own doing. I could have simply explained my worries to George that day, though as soon as he tried to change my mind, the panic made me blurt out words which still rang on repeat in my head to this day. 

“I’ve found someone else.” 

The words made him leave with a heartbreakingly hurt expression,which I had not yet seen beforehand. He was confused, shattered, it couldn’t even be compared to when he would underperform in one of the races. All of this was because I couldn’t cope with the emotions I was feeling. 

The issue was that I had never been in a serious relationship before George, I never even let it get to that point as it scared the hell out of me. How could I just let myself get attached to someone, open up to another human and trust them not to hurt me. As much as I believed George would always try his best to never do anything which could hurt our relationship, or me, there was never 100% certainty and relying purely on trust was something I was yet to learn. 

The insecurity and the overwhelming feelings for him made me act the way I did back then. When I tried to tell George that we needed space, he immediately tried to find the problem so he could help to resolve it, he wanted the two of us to work, but I didn’t want him to convince me to stay. No. I needed to get myself out of the situation, which is why I lied to his face and destroyed our three year relationship.

I really fooled myself thinking I would be better off without him, that I could simply move on and live my life as if he was never in it. I couldn’t.

Just over a month later, I found myself standing outside the circuit in Austria, praying that my pass had not yet been blocked off, though it wouldn’t be a surprise if that was the case, after all I deserved it. My hands shook as I brought the laminated card up to the scanner, a small relief washing over my body as the light turned green, the barrier opening up shortly after. 

The anxiety started rising once again as I realised I couldn’t remember which way to go, this place was huge and usually I would just follow George’s lead. I could always ask someone, though I didn’t really want to bring any unnecessary attention, since I wasn’t even supposed to be here. 

I followed signs which brought me even more confusion than in the first place. I halted, almost running into someone, the girl looked at me, clearly recognising my face faster than I could remember her name. She worked for Williams, I knew that. 

“Uhm Hi.” I spoke awkwardly. “Where can I find George?”

She stared at me for a brief moment, as if she was debating what she should tell me. “He’s in a conference right now…” 

I quickly nodded in response, biting the skin off my lip, of course getting to him wasn’t going to go as smoothly as I had hoped.

“He said you wouldn’t be joining?” The girl questioned, as I finally remembered her name as Amie. She looked rather displeased and before I could even manage to answer, she quickly shook her head. “I’ll bring him to you after, I’m in a rush.” Amie rushed off, leaving me lost once again, and possibly even more nervous for how George would react to me being here. Thankfully, I had a smart idea to check the direction from which Amie came from, eventually leading me to where I needed to be.

I was stopped at the entrance to get my pass double checked which was no surprise as not many people were allowed past this area, especially during preparation for a race. My arms automatically folded over my chest as I entered, attempting to comfort myself and creating a shield from all the judgmental looks I was already receiving. I did my best to avoid making eye contact with anyone, unluckily though when I looked ahead to see where I was going, my eyes met Alex’s. He immediately put his conversation on hold and he was already walking towards me, not giving me any time to think where I could disappear off to. 

He reached the spot where I was now standing as if my feet had been glued to the floor and my face was full of shame. “Y/n? Long-time no see, huh?” Alex tried to smile, though it turned out more as a sad smile. I didn’t only cut off George, but also the people who I had been friends with for years thanks to him, it seemed like that was the only way to truly remove him from my life. 

“What are you doing here?” Albon asked when the silence between us started to grow uncomfortable. 

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Just trying to fix things…” Alex wasn’t an intimidating person at all, though I knew how much he cared for his best friend, which explained why his jaw tightened while his eyes narrowed down at me. I had to prepare myself, constantly telling myself I deserved what was coming.

“You can’t just fix something like that.” He breathed out, clearly disappointed. “You really hurt him, Y/n.” 

I broke the eye contact and I bit down on the inside of my cheek, nodding my head. “I know I did, but it really isn’t what you all think.” I quickly explained, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie over my sweaty palms. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise to me.” He shrugged as if my apology was nothing to him. “You need to apologise to George, but after all that I’m not sure he will want to speak to you.”

“I was so stupid Alex, you don’t even understand.” I had to laugh in order to stop myself from breaking down. “I care about him and I care about you all, I just needed space and I lied to him, there was never anyone else.” When the words left my mouth, I realised how unconvincing it all sounded. 

Alex placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, turning his head away for a moment as his team called for his return. He gave them a quick nod before turning his attention back to me. “You know I’m disappointed, though I’m not the one to judge you, but if you really care for him then show him.” With that, the Red Bull driver disappeared. 

***

The door to the driver’s room opened and I could feel my heart stop and in turn pick up incredible speed as I watched all colour drain from Russell’s face when his eyes landed on me. The top part of his racing suit dropped from his hands and it was left hanging on his hips, his shoulders visibly tensed up. He was told someone was waiting for him in the drivers room, but I was most likely the last person he expected to see. 

“What are you doing here?” He closed the door behind him, his eyes not leaving me for a second, I was almost sure he didn’t even blink.

Before I could overthink the situation even more than I already have on the way here, I quickly pushed myself off of the wall I was leaning on so that I was standing in front of him. His face was pale, making the darker circles under his eyes more evident. I tried to reach for his hand, but he backed away, a pained expression on his face, which mine shortly matched. 

“You were gone for a month, Y/n.” He spoke bitterly, his tone shaky. “You can’t just reappear after a month and act like nothing has happened!” His head shook frantically and he turned, ready to run out the door. 

“I love you George.” Harshly, I bit down onto my bottom lip, partially because I was about to break down into tears and partially because I painfully needed him to turn back around. Luckily for me, he paused, his head resting against the cold surface of the door. “I love you so much it made me feel more than I could deal with.” I whispered, swallowing back the tears. There was nothing, but frustrating tension and silence. I tried to approach him once again, this time placing my hand gently on his back. 

I jumped as his fist slammed into the door where his head was leaning on just a second ago, his sadness suddenly turning into rage. “You can’t say that!” He yelled, finally finding the courage to turn to face me again, a single tear running down his cheek, showing just how much heartbreak I had unnecessarily caused him. “You love me so much you went out and found someone to replace me?!” 

I began slowly shaking my head, I had to pick my words wisely. “I lied, there was never anyone but you George.” His eyes softened, though he was quick to close them. He didn’t want me to see how much he was debating whether to believe me.

“You’re lying.” 

“No…” I trailed off, my face quickly becoming a mess from the tears. “I was scared of all my feelings for you, you’re gone so often and my head just races with all the worst things that could happen.”

“So, you just didn’t trust me? His eyes begged me for an honest answer. “Did I ever give you a reason not to trust me?”

I shook my head in response. ”No, never…” George remained silent as he watched me in anticipation, waiting for me to explain. “So many things could just go wrong in a relationship and I’m scared.” 

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” His tone was a bit softer now. “I would have done anything to put you at ease, I asked you to come to the races with me but you were the one to refuse.”

“I didn’t want to be clingy.”

“So you preferred to throw me out your life like I was nothing instead?” I struggled for a response. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know that now… It was the worst month of my life.” I let myself slide down to rest on the floor with my back against the wall. “You have to believe me…” I continued, practically begging him, but once again George turned away from me. I hid my face in my knees, my arms wrapping around myself as I couldn't handle this atmosphere. 

“I made such a mess and I can’t explain how truly sorry I am for hurting you like this, but I need you to know that it was always just you.”

“I trust you...” I suddenly felt his presence beside me on the floor, making me look up, only to have him take my hand into his own, giving it a squeeze as his arm hesitantly wrapped around me. “But if you don’t trust me then how would we make this work?” 

I used my free hand to wipe the single tear on his cheek, my thumb lingering on his cheekbone. “I want to work on it, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but you never know what might happen, maybe one day you’ll wake up and realise you don’t love me anymore.”

“Y/n, you left me for a whole month, not one of those days did I ever think that I no longer loved you.” He breathed out with a small laugh, making me realise how ridiculous I was being. “I tried to hate you, I couldn’t stop thinking about who the other guy was… It hurt like mad but I couldn’t just throw my feelings for you away.” 

“I’m so sorry George, I’ll never forgive myself for being so stupid.” I began to cry again when he pulled me into his chest. “Do you think we could maybe start again?”

Once again, nothing but silence. My heart was sinking deeper and deeper until I felt his lips on the top of my head. “Only if you promise to always be honest with me, you can talk to me about anything that’s worrying you Y/n.” 

“I promise.” I pulled back only a little to look into his eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”

A faint smile made its way onto his face. “I’ll love you regardless.”

[godsofhumanity]

⚝───⭒─ 30 DAY HC'S | GAIA ─⭒───⚝

okayy so i said that the prompt for this month would be GAIA soo here are some little hc's that i have for her ^-^

GAIA | her skin is a dark earthy tone, with lighter, green hues stretching over her shoulders, neck, thighs, arms and cheekbones, imitating the grass growing over the Earth. her eyes are a deep brown, like soil. her hair is a mix of greens, and it comes down to her hips, resembling thick vines. small flowers bloom across her skin, and in her hair. she has an athletic build, and is tall.

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

Gaia is, as the usual tradition states, one of the first primordials born directly from Chaos, along with Nyx, Erebus, and Tartarus.

Tartarus doesn't usually have too big of a role in Gaia's myth, so i like to imagine that he was more of a dormant primordial, i.e. he preferred to not take on a corporeal form, whereas Gaia loved to walk on the Earth- to feel the grass beneath her feet, and the wind in her hair.

i think she's a sensual goddess, one who feels a lot.. and because of this, she and Tartarus didn't really go on to have much of a relationship, at least, not in the way Nyx and Erebus did.

so, she began to get lonely, and in her loneliness, she unwittingly creates Ouranos- her first creation.

i like to imagine that Ouranos is the first "creation" made by any of the primordials... they didn't know they could do it until Gaia accidentally went and made him.

and, as Hesiod says in his Theogony, Ouranos is Gaia's "perfect size, a perfect fit on all sides".. so she really loves him a lot until all that shit with the Cyclopes and the Hundred-Handers goes down and they effectively get a divorce lol

in relation to what i said about Gaia being a sensual goddess and she "getting a divorce" from Ouranos, she's a very maternal goddess also.

i mean, she is literally Mother Earth, right? i imagine that her favourite thing is to create and to protect.. she is very defensive when it comes to her children, and she will stop at no end to protect them.

i think that after the Castration of Ouranos, Gaia creates a new consort for herself- Pontus, a personification of the seas, and i think he shares her passion for creation in a way that Ouranos did not, so i'd like to imagine that they had a much better and happier relationship!

does Gaia have favourites amongst her children? i want to say no, but honestly, i'm sure she must have been partial towards her children who got constantly picked on- like the Cyclopes and the Hundred-Handers, and honestly, her original 12 Titan kids <3

i've heard some people suggest that she particularly did not care for Cronus, but i can't disagree with this more- i think she must have really loved Cronus because he, from all the Titans, shared her ruthlessness.. and he was the only one ready to stand up to Ouranos and take the scythe and do the deed- i think Gaia must have really appreciated that aspect of him.

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━☝︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 2 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

Yanli is determined to set about evening the exchange of their gifts after she finds a little chest full of her favorite floral incense on his pillow next to her when she wakes. She would like to collect information as he does, sifting through conversation to remember errant tidbits about interests but he is as frustratingly tightlipped on the subject of himself as he ever is. Agreeable to any attempt to draw out his preferences to the point of obfuscation. “Don’t you love this color, A-Yao?” elicits a kindly, “It’s very lovely,” no matter the color in question. She thinks it might be his way of not being a bother, because he certainly isn’t doing anything intentionally. Little does he know that, in reality, it’s making things more difficult on her.

I will know you, she thinks, watching him with keen eyes as they all eat breakfast together and talk. I will give you what you want, if only I could find out what that is.

He catches her watching and tilts his head, smiling in question.

“How are your dumplings?” She asks as an excuse, gesturing. 

“Oh, very good. Would you like some more?”

This man. 

His plate holds a bit of everything on the table, including one of A-Xian’s favored spicy dishes--while it’s something, she already knows he had grown up in Yunmeng and can tolerate spice. She just doesn’t know whether he likes it or not.  

It has almost become a game, to her, if not to him--though she thinks it might be, at least a little, for she sees the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he lets her take his arm and breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the incense she had let envelop her as she dressed that morning. “You smell wonderful,” he murmurs and she feels herself flush up her neck, even though it had been the whole point of steeping herself in it to begin with.

“Thanks to you.” When she lays her head on his shoulder--partially in thanks, partially to hide her pink cheeks--she feels him lean closer.

She wants to delight him, to see him pleased and surprised into a genuine smile. But more than anything, she truly wants to know more about him. 

There is an inkling of a clue when she buys a guan for him made of graceful silver arches that form a lotus that seems to sit upon water that is reminiscent of the hair pin he had gotten her. When she presents it to him at bedtime, he seems surprised. He lets loose a soft, “oh,” turning it this way and that in his hands. Watching him, triumphant, she slides out her own pin and twirls it next to the guan, allowing her hair to begin its tumble down. “We’ll match.”

For a moment, he simply looks between the two ornaments, one hand coming out to slide his fingertips down the beaded chain of hers. Then, he smiles at her, and it’s wide and very nearly new. “We will.” 

“You like it?”

“Of course, it’s beautiful! I will like everything that you choose to give me.”

She scrunches her nose and tweaks his cheek. “Well, that’s hardly fair! How will I know if you truly do and aren’t just pretending for my sake?”

Turning, he picks her hand up from the bed and chastely brushes his lips across her knuckles. “I will like them because you are the one who gave them, A-Li.”

And at long last, it’s something! Because she thinks it’s true. Perhaps, for him, like it is for her, it is not the usefulness, or the beauty of the thing, but the loving it was given from. She has kept the little drawings A-Xian has given her since he was young, the little carved creatures of wood and soap that A-Cheng used to whittle her (though, realistically, they are little more than blobs she was told are bears and the like. Whatever they look like, they are blobs of love.) She has them lined up on a shelf in her old room, and has brought a few over to the room shared by A-Yao. They make her smile to see because they were made for her; love in a little scene she can revisit through touch again and again. Sometimes, she simply holds them and remembers how it used to be.

This, she decides, is probably what she should focus on for A-Yao--a shelf of happy memories and the knowledge he is loved. 

So, when she is sitting in her favorite pavilion one bright and breezy morning and He Si, one of the servants, delivers a gorgeous new calligraphy set to her and informs her with a barely contained grin that her husband has sent it, Yanli sets to work. After she unpacks and marvels over shiny new things, of course. It’s all sleek and beautiful and of the highest quality.

All morning, she uses his new gift to write him notes that she spends the afternoon ferreting away into places he will find them--like in his pockets or his desk drawers or under his spare boots. Some of them are little lines of poems she cherishes, one or two are shy sketches of the butterflies that had visited and twined through the fluttering, gauzy green curtains as she wrote, and more, still, are idle little thoughts she thinks will warm him. ‘I will be pleased to see you at dinner.’ ‘Remember not to work too hard.’ ‘Have a good day.’

She even gets the joy of seeing him find one while on a walkway, tucked in between 2 delivered missives with the help of He Si’s sleight of hand. The brisk, dutiful stride to business pauses and Yanli watches his slightly bowed head as he reads, the sunlight sliding down his hair like silk. When he looks up and around, she slips behind a delicately carved pillar on impulse so that he can’t see her. Then, she peeks back around. He’s looking back down at the slip of paper in his hand, his mouth a small curl of aching fondness. This one had said, ‘thinking of you.’ Warmth spreads through her when he folds it, neatly and carefully, into his fingers and presses his knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes. It is a moment of him with no mask in sight and she would feel sheepish for intruding if it didn’t bring her such happiness just to see his own. Even after he resumes his purposeful stride and disappears indoors, she is grinning, glowing, and allows herself a moment to seek out He Si to review the heist. “Did it please him?” the girl demands, excited. “What did it say?”

“It’s a secret,” Yanli teases. “And oh yes it did.”

It continues in this manner almost daily, when his gifts allow it; he gives her a parasol and she invites him on a walk under it with her; he buys rich embroidery thread and she weaves a delicate braid for him to wear or display a pendant from. He presents her with a fine silken handkerchief that she returns only days later, embroidered and thoroughly infused with the incense he had given her, draped over his pillow. Sadly, she didn’t get to witness this discovery, but she does see him slip it from his inner pocket as he removes his outer robes, that evening. As she watches him from the bed, Yanli resists the most absurd urge to bashfully pull the covers up over her nose and asks, “You...found it, then?”

Instead of answering, he slowly sits on her side instead of his and spreads it between them on the covers with deliberate care, one side of his mouth tucked up, that dimple pressed in sweetly in the lantern-light. “A pair of mandarin ducks,” he observes, voice quiet, eyes on the handkerchief as he runs his fingertips over it.

“I stitched them myself.”

“They are masterfully done and the colors are beautiful.”

“It was the thread you gave me. I wanted....” The intentions, the symbolism gets caught on her tongue and she blushes. Husband, she has to remind herself. It’s allowed! It’s expected! A long and happy marriage is what one is supposed to want. He makes the prospect of closeness and affection all at once so mysterious and alluring, almost a forbidden thing (though the thought is a ridiculous one, she admits.) “Do you like it?”

He raises his eyes to her and they are night soft. “A-Li, may I kiss you?”

Yanli’s heart jumps to her throat in an anticipatory sort of apprehension and her hands twist in her lap. Anxious without fear; she trusts this and him. “You may.”

Though she had kissed his mouth once before, he had been still, accepting the simple press and nothing more. Now, as he leans in, his hands settle lightly on her jaw, tilting her face up to him, his lips are a sure, gentle slide over hers. It’s odd to have someone so close to her face, and it’s  warmer than she would have thought--not to mention wetter. But not bad. 

Oh no, definitely not bad. 

A-Yao kisses her with the same keen attention he gives everything else; controlled and intent. It feels as if he is slowly sampling her, sometimes the pressure feather-like and almost tickling, and other times an earnest press, inviting her along. The entirety of her skin grows hot at the realization she is being experienced and she can feel her heartbeat as if her entire chest is a drum. He makes it easy, a song that sounds vaguely familiar without completely knowing the next step. She doesn’t feel lost or stupid or silly. She feels wanted. Precious.

When he draws back, her lips are tingling--who would have thought such an ordinary part of her face could produce that much sensation? One would think she would have noticed this before!--and he is watching her carefully. His own lips are slightly pinker and without thinking, she reaches out to touch them, wonderingly. His watchfulness melts at her touch and he smiles against her fingertips--his mouth is warm, like her own when she lifts her other hand to compare. 

“That was….”

“Good?”

“Oh, it was strange but I think I liked it. I--can we try again?”

A-Yao laughs and reaches out as she eagerly shuffles forward on her knees. Yanli allows him to draw her onto his lap sideways but, this time, she reaches out and draws him down. And being the good, patient man that he is, he lets her try again and again as she wishes, moving as she does.

There is no sudden revelation or awakening as she had secretly hoped there might be with such a kiss, (how easy that would have been, if all the whispers and stories and songs had all aligned with ultimate clarity and understanding within her, if it was all at once as easy as everyone else made it seem). But it is new and oddly pleasant to simply be in his arms, closer than she has ever been before, sharing with him. He pulls away and takes her wrist, eyebrows pinched. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

Oh. It seems she is. It isn’t fear, but instead a sort of deep trembling that seems to originate from her core, almost like excitement or the kind of giddy terror of a friend chasing you in a game of tag. She smiles up at him. “It’s...new. I think I’m just getting used to it. You’re my first kiss.” 

Something she can’t define as positive or negative before it’s gone passes over his face and he gathers her up, burying his face in her neck, squeezing. She curls back around him, hands stroking his soft hair. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she murmurs, the ghosts of the kisses still shimmering on her lips. “You’re so sweet and kind to me. How did I get so lucky?”

Against her throat, he sucks in a deep, shaking breath before pulling back to deliver an almost perfect smile, the slight tremble in the corner of his mouth the only thing betraying whatever depth of emotion he is feeling. “Jiang-furen,” he says with playful reproach. “You simply can’t steal my lines like that. What will I be left with?”

In response, she clasps his face and leans up to rub the tips of their noses together. "Oh, you're so very clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."