#Idk why. I mean I was earning so little for the first nine months I might stay under the threshold?

[crowley1990]

Ooh money tomorrow and I appear to be almost untaxed?

[anxi-aashi]

one hit wonder

zuko x reader

words: 3.4k

warnings: cursing, blood (broken nose)

summary: an adventure into the fire nation capital with his friends turns more eventful than zuko expected

a/n: yes i am aware this is not the r&r one shot but i wanted to write something for yall and im pooped for ideas about that so,,,,,,,,,,,,, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh heres some more zuko content. also full disclaimer, ive never had a broken nose so idk how it actually goes but i didnt feel like researching it so if its not accurate........................... shhhhhhh again :) thank and enjoy

It was supposed to be a relaxing day. Zuko swears on Momo’s soul that he wanted it to be that way, too. 

He just… didn’t see them coming. And he means that in the most literal sense of the phrase.

It was rare now that Zuko got to see all his friends at once since everyone had their own responsibilities to take care of in different parts of the world, but after about a month of back and forth letters, everyone was able to carve out a week to get together in the Fire Nation.

Zuko’s council advisors didn’t get the memo, though.

The entire week, he had been frantically running in between meetings and trying to spend time with his friends as they had planned, but the amount of running he was having to do was stretching him thin. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and eventually, his friends decided to do something about it. 

In Sokka’s exact words, Zuko “needed a break from stinky old men with opinions” for at least one full day, which would also give them all a chance to hang out. Zuko found himself caving and before he knew it, Aang was dragging him by the wrist around the capital, Sokka trotting behind Zuko to give him a push when he was moving too slow.

Zuko was careful to wear normal street clothes, forgoing his hairpiece as well in order to keep interactions with the public at a minimum. Today, Zuko was not the Fire Lord; just Zuko. And he intended to keep it that way. Even a few close calls regarding his scar left him ending the conversations with “No, his scar is on the other side, but I get that a lot,” and even one, “Fire Lord Zuko has a scar?” though the last one (rightly) earned him a weird look from the stranger. He walked away before they could think too much about it.

The boys had split from the girls about an hour into their excursion. Toph wanted to look for a specific item to bring back to the Earth Kingdom, but Sokka had kept whining about how starving he was, so the three set off to the vendors and restaurants to find food while the others venture off with Toph.

Which meant that every time someone Sokka deemed even remotely attractive, Zuko would get a poke in the back and a motion towards whatever random person Sokka had found next. 

At first, Zuko thought Sokka was pointing them out for himself, which he thought was weird, considering he was ninety-nine percent he and Suki were still together, but he didn’t say anything. But it was clear these random people were for Zuko’s benefit whenever Aang started agreeing with Sokka because Zuko knew Aang hadn’t looked at anyone romantically since he’d met Katara. And he knew this because Aang had told him himself.

Zuko had no clue why they decided to spend their time trying to set him up with someone, but no number of dismissive answers from him got them to stop, so he accepted defeat.

He didn’t want to say it, but their badgering was a little irritating. It was bad enough that he had all his advisors breathing down his neck about his marriage predicament-- the predicament being that he didn’t have anyone to marry-- Zuko thought that he was going to be able to get away from all of that when he was with his friends, but it seemed they were just as obsessed as the “stinky old men with opinions” that Sokka has so easily made fun of earlier.

His advisors seemed to have it in their head that just because he hadn’t dated anyone since his break up with Mai, that meant that he was never going to again and that he would spend the rest of his reign spouseless, depressed, and with no heir. Time was ticking for them, and every day he didn’t explore his options was another day older and another day closer to death. 

He would date eventually… probably. He just hadn’t met anyone who he liked like that-- certainly not enough to spend the rest of his life with. And he wasn’t interested in anyone they most likely had up their sleeve, either.

And he knew they thought it was because of his breakup with Mai. He knew they avoided her name because they thought it would bring him pain or whatever, but he was fine and he didn’t know how many times he was going to have to say that. The break-up was mutual for Shaw’s sake-- neither of them were feeling the relationship anymore so they called it off. End of story. Mai was even seeing Ty Lee, and despite their contrasting personalities Zuko had to be honest-- they were oddly perfect for each other. 

He just didn’t know how many times he was going to have to explain to the same people that he had more important political matters to worry about than marriage.

But today was his off day. So, for now, all Zuko could do was listen to Sokka point at some random person whose hair was apparently nice and try to refrain from strangling the two of them whenever Aang enthusiastically backed Sokka up.

They were standing in line to get the aforementioned person a bowl of fireflakes when Zuko overheard a conversation behind him.

“... doing. Sometimes I wish I could just go to the palace and see what Fire Lord Zuko really does up there, you know? ‘Cause it’s definitely not ‘run a nation.’ Probably just sits around throwing treats to his pet lizard while the council does all the work.”

Now, it had taken a bit, but Zuko had learned to control his temper over the years. It was a skill he learned from his friends and most of all, his uncle, and he prided himself on this improvement very much. But he had had a rough week, and sometimes, there were people that just pissed him off too much to care about self-control.

Zuko worked his ass off for his country; so much that it almost ran him into the ground most of the time. His advisors were just that-- advisors. And Zuko knew that there were obviously some people in the Fire Nation that still didn’t like him, but he would be lying if he said hearing some asshole shit talk his work ethic didn’t make his temper flare a bit.

“I thought the Fire Lord had a dragon?”

“Dragon, lizard-- same thing. Don’t know why he hasn’t just killed it like the rest of his family. Do you know how many chickens I have to deliver to the palace every day for that thing? I’m gonna have major back issues when I’m older.”

Zuko’s shoulders tensed and he forced himself to take a calming breath even though he could feel his blood start to boil. He didn’t even try to conceal his glare as he turned around to glance at the mouth-breathers. He began to hope they would see him, or even better-- say something worse and give him an excuse to jump in.

Zuko faintly heard Sokka say something like “Hey man, you alright?” to his right, but the question was shuffled to the back of his mind as he stared down the guy that apparently had an issue with him and his dragon.

“Maybe he’s waiting for it to get bigger so it’ll be more impressive of a kill,” the burlier one suggested to his shrimper friend.

The shrimpy one, and Zuko’s number one hate-mail sender, apparently, scoffed. “What, like he’s ‘waiting’ for someone to come along for him to marry? Yeah right. Probably still pouting that knife girl left him. Honestly don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be associated with such a half-assed world leader either. Agni, he’s even worse than the Earth King that didn’t even know about the hundred-year war.”

Zuko liked to think that he could’ve eventually calmed himself down and walked away. But the moment he brought Mai into the slander, all hope for that was gone. 

Zuko whipped around and barked out an aggressive “Hey,” before swinging his fist directly at Shrimpy’s face.

However, Shrimpy’s reflexes were better than Zuko anticipated. He quickly swerved out of the way, his friend doing the same out of instinct despite not being Zuko’s target, leaving Zuko’s momentum to carry him past the now-empty space where Shrimpy had been and directly into you, who had been standing behind him.

Zuko registered too late what had happened and without being able to stop himself, landed a solid punch to your nose.

 A sickening crack sounded from your nose, followed by a grunt of pain from you, and the scuffling of feet on stone and you stumbled back in shock, hands flying up to your nose.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed at the same time Zuko hissed out a “Shit,” both in regards to the situation and the pain now prickling in his knuckles.

“I’m so sorry!” he fumbled out, all traces of anger leaving his body just as quickly as Shrimpy and Burly had left the scene of his crime. “I’m so fucking sorry. I did not mean to punch you, that was meant for someone else.” He could feel Sokka and Aang gaping at his back, but he kept his eyes on you-- who he now noticed was wearing a restaurant uniform of some sort-- the person he’d just punched in the face. They would get their answers later.

A short, weak laugh left your lips, but Zuko couldn’t tell if it was weak from pain or because you were trying to hide the fact that you were actually really, really pissed. 

“Do you try to punch every stranger you meet?” you huffed out, tilting your head to look Zuko in the eye while still delicately pinching the bridge of your nose with one hand.

Zuko was coherent enough to register that you were really cute, but that thought was immediately interrupted by a waterfall of blood pouring out of your nose and splattering onto the pavement. 

An alarmed squeak left your mouth and Zuko rushed in front of you to shove his hand under your jaw and tilt your head back. Blood trailed down your mouth and chin, and you winced at the sharp taste of it as some got in your mouth. 

Zuko kept his hand on your jaw, bringing the other one up to cradle the back of your head as he walked you over to sit on the lip of a nearby fountain. “Keep your head tilted back like that-- don’t move,” he instructed while slowly removing his hands from you. “I’m gonna get some supplies really quick.”

You directed a thumbs-up at him with your unoccupied hand so as to not move your head and sat quietly, focusing on breathing through your mouth so you wouldn’t sniffle up blood on accident. Something itched in the back of your mind from when you glimpsed at your attacker, but the pain throbbing from your nose prevented you from thinking too much about it.

Zuko returned after a few minutes with some cloth, a bowl with water in it, and a pool of guilt in his stomach. Sokka and Aang trailed after him and stood awkwardly to the side as Zuko set down his supplies and began dipping some cloth into the water. 

You glanced over to the side while Zuko busied himself to look at Sokka and Aang while they stood there, earning a sheepish grin and wave from both in unison. From what you could tell, since you were still mostly looking at them out of the corner of your eye, one of them had something blue on his forehead with orange robes on, the other dressed in a Water Tribe outfit that looked to accommodate for the weather of the Fire Nation instead of the Poles. You briefly wondered for a second if you had acquired a concussion along with a broken nose, or if the Avatar was really watching you try to not choke on your own blood until a cool sensation on your neck brought your attention back forward.

Zuko gently dragged the wet cloth up your throat, acutely aware of the lingering presence of his friends and the awkward tension that built while he caught a trail of blood that had escaped past your chin, before suddenly pausing in the middle of his movements.

“What,” you cautiously asked, eyes automatically flitting down to look at the top of the mop of dark brown hair that you could see.

Zuko looked up at you even though you couldn’t see his face with the angle your head was tilted at. “Nothing,” he rushed out, moving to hastily wipe the blood off your mouth and chin. “I just realized I could’ve used the fountain water instead of wasting time looking for a bowl. Sorry.”

You choked on an astonished laugh and leaned away from him as much as you could. “Please don’t clean my wound with water that people have most certainly peed in,” you begged, hoping that he hadn’t actually just gotten a bowl and stuck it in the fountain.

This confused Zuko, so he stood up, making it possible to lean over you and look you in the eye when he asked you his question. 

“People pee in the fountain?” he inquired, surprisingly genuine. His head blocked out the sun for you, his eyebrow sloped up in concern so adorably that you had to physically stop yourself from staring, or worse, smiling. Instead, you took the moment to calculate-- and appreciate-- how handsome he actually was. Not that this changed the fact that he’d decked you in the nose, but it was worth noting at least a little bit. The scar that covered the majority of the right side of his face in an eerily similar fashion to the Fire Lord’s was also extremely worth noting. The itch in the back of your head vanished as you realized the possibility of who you could be talking to.

Your eyes briefly flitted up to his hair to check for the Fire Lord’s distinctive gold hairpiece and came up empty. So you quirked an eyebrow and challenged his remark. “What reality do you live in where people don’t pee in public fountains?”

A look somewhere in between horror and disgust dawned on his face as his eyes flicked to the fountain water in the pool behind you. He leaned back to stand up straight, recoiling at the image his mind conjured of someone openly peeing into the fountain completely naked and was about to respond to you when you suddenly snatched the cloth out of his hand.

He thought he heard you grumble something along the lines of “Mother of ozai, if you won’t do it, I will,” while gingerly resting the cloth against your nostrils to stem the flow of blood, but before he could do anything to make you not mad at him (or at least try), he was interrupted.

“Hey, what’s-- oh my Shu, what happened while we were gone?!” Katara exclaimed, signaling the return of her, Toph, and Suki from their excursion. 

Zuko whipped his head over to the girls and backed a couple steps away from you to catch Katara stalking over to where you sat on the fountain ledge, tending to your nose the best you could. 

“Uhhh... ” he attempted to explain, but Aang caved in the presence of his girlfriend and beat him to it.

“Zuko punched them in the face.”

Katara’s head snapped to look at Zuko accusingly over her shoulder from where she stood in front of you to examine your face. “What?!”

Zuko’s mouth flapped open and closed as he stammered to defend himself before Katara could get super mad at him. “Wha-- wait, it was an acc--”

“You punched some rando in the face in public? Damn, Sparky, gotta admit, didn’t think you had it in you,” Toph commented.

“It wasn’t--”

“Eh, it kinda was,” came Sokka.

Zuko fumed. “Are any of you going to let me finish? At any point?”

Sokka snickered slightly. “Sorry, it’s just too fun seeing you mad. It’s harder to piss you off these days.”

“Guys,” Katara interjected, still observing the interaction over her shoulder before turning back to you. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking,” she muttered, then kindly smiling down at you as you listened to the conversation, already having concluded from hearing your assailant’s name that you were, indeed, spontaneously punched in the face by the leader of your nation. “My name’s Katara,” she introduced.

You half-heartedly raised your hand that wasn’t busy holding the blood-soaked cloth in acknowledgment. “(Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you,” she returned. Katara then bent the water out of the bowl Zuko had brought you and covered her hands in it. “This may sting a bit.”

Katara got to work healing your nose and any other miscellaneous cuts that were formed as excess damage, and Zuko, finally freed of the bickering with his friends, took the opportunity to sit on the ledge next to you and observe you fully.

If Zuko had known someone as attractive as you had been living in the city all this time, he would’ve been visiting way earlier and way more often. You wore an apron with a restaurant name painted on it, so he assumed you worked somewhere nearby. Then with the realization that you were probably heading to work when he punched you settled over him and guilt pooled in his stomach again. He didn’t want you to get in trouble for being late or anything, seeing as the entire situation was his fault.

Zuko studied you and wracked his brain for possible ways to see you again, preferably while also not dooming his chance for a possible relationship with you any more than he already had. By the time Katara was finished with you, he had a few fragments of an idea put together.

You were feeling around your nose, easing the residual pain of having it set after Katara had fixed it. You still hadn’t looked over at him, even after Katara had left to talk to Sokka and Aang about what had happened, so Zuko decided to make his move.

He cleared his throat, catching your attention. “Um… I, uh, I’m really sorry. About.... punching… you.” Zuko winced as he finished his apology. 

You raised an eyebrow at him and opened your mouth to say something.

Zuko sensed that this was going to be a bad thing and quickly beat you to the punch (pun not intended). “I, uh, I’m sorry if I made you late to work or anything,” he began, gesturing to your apron. “I can go talk to your boss or something and explain the situation so you don’t get in trouble.”

You stared at him. The thing was, you had been planning on holding your grudge for quite a bit longer, but having the Fire Lord vouch for your lateness would definitely save your ass from getting fired. And the utter guilt that molded his face into the puppy eyes you were faced with now was making it very hard to stay mad at him.

You sighed and dropped the stern façade you’d been keeping up. “That would be nice, thanks.”

Zuko nodded enthusiastically. “No problem,” he reassured. “And um,” he started, growing bashful again, “If you want to, of course, you don’t have to say yes, but if you’d let me, I’dliketotakeyouonadatetomakeituptoyou.”

By some miracle, you were still able to catch what he said. “You want to take me on a date?”

“Like I said, you don’t have to say yes--”

“Okay.”

Zuko paused. “Okay, like ‘Okay, I’m not saying yes,’ or--”

“No, okay, as in I’ll go on a date with you,” you interjected, rolling your eyes. “If you mess it up, though, I get to punch you back. It’s only fair.” you proposed.

Zuko, thankfully, was able to detect the slight hint of playfulness in your tone and laughed quietly. “Deal.”

You nodded, a smile beginning to creep up on your face, and call him naïve, but Zuko got the smallest feeling that his advisors wouldn’t have to worry about his love life for much longer.

~i didnt capitalize ozais name on purpose. he doesnt deserve a capitalized name.

~taglists~ (let me know if you would like to be added or taken off!)

zuko

@sorrythatspussynal @firelady-jay @dixie-chick @akiris @lucas-kun @kaylove12 @duh-dobrik @irohs-teapot

[stanzoeywade]

Tiptoe - Poppy x MC

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings

Summary: Poppy and MC meet in summer and they were dating but broke it off, not related to free falling dhaisja don't ask about ch3 idk either.

A/N: uhm hi I've been a ghost for like months lol but I heard from a little birdie that queen b is coming back in September and I'm so ready to clown for my wife Poppy again. Based on song below which is a bop. I also did not check my spelling or grammar I die like a dumbass. My one braincell would like to thank u all and Gabi for this fic 💗

There's hardly anything in this world that captivates you, until you see her. Her flawless skin, her blonde hair and those deep chocolate orbs that you just want to stare at and drown in forever. Who knew such a beauty existed? It boggles you to know that the Min-Sinclair heiress is perfect. One might say that you're jealous but deep down you know that's not the case. Jealousy? No, it's not jealousy, you're enthralled by her. It's not even because of how fucking gorgeous she looks, it runs deeper than that. There's just this weird sense of kinship that you feel when you look at her. She's more than the ranking, she's vulnerable and actually cares, something you saw when you went to the animal shelter.

The way her eyes sparkled when she saw the rescue animals, the way her mouth curved into that gentle smile. Who knew the queen bee of Belvoire had a heart? Her vulnerability is further shown when you realise that the golden girl of Belvoire has her own scars, her pride a by-product of the hurt caused by family and so called friends.

Having seen the forefront of it all, Belvoire is cutthroat. Everything matters, the clothes you wear, your family name. It's a free for all, no one cares who gets burned, low blows exchanged, it's all a big mind game and those who fall under pressure lose not just their reputation but everything they have worked for. But apart from all of that, she's still the first thing that makes you smile.

It's damning, the way your mind and heart races at the thought of Poppy. The way her eyes light up when she flashes that gentle smile, where one look is all it takes to make your knees weak and the blood rushing up your cheeks. You've never seen such a beauty, her smile is like a soft ray of sunshine, warming you up. However, she's also as mysterious as the moon, especially since she acts so sweet and the next minute she's as cold as ever. It's enough to give you whiplash.

Such gentle and delicate features, yet her personality is as fiery as the sun, I guess it's true what they say, the sun is beautiful yet staring at it can become painful.

It's confusing as to why Rosie's fallen so hard for Poppy, they've been rivals from the start, with each other's goal to come out on top. Things have definitely changed after the night they slept together, Poppy's words have no actual bite to them. If she were brave enough Rosie would've called Poppy out on it, but she's so confused on where they stand that she doesn't want to risk this newfound "friendship" if one can even call it that.

It suddenly hits Rosie like a brick. 'Wait, has Poppy been courting me in her own weird way or am I imagining shit?' She becomes more confused as Poppy seems to stare at her longer than she ever did, sometimes Rosie would meet eyes with Poppy who seems to have a longing stare as if she has so much to convey yet has no courage to do so. Sometimes it gets to the point where Poppy blushes after she realises that both of them have been staring at each other for too long. Both of them being a flustered and blushing mess, looking away as if they've been burned from getting too close to a fire.

Most people in Belvoire would argue that its not longing and wistful glances that the two are exchanging, they'd say that those were intense glares formed from the ongoing rivalry that the two have established in public, but anyone who personally knows Poppy and Rosie would say differently. There's also an ongoing bet between the students of the school. Some argue that Poppy and Rosie are secretly dating whilst the rest argue that they absolutely loathe each other and the ongoing stares are to intimidate each other to give in and leave Belvoire.

Zoey and Veronica are secretly in cahoots in which they bet that the two are definitely dating or in Veronica's words "those two are definitely fucking" which earns her a fond smile as well as a roll of the eyes from Zoey. Chloe suspects something between Poppy and Rosie, considering they genuinely don't seem to put energy behind the insults they throw at each other. She doesn't think that the two are lovers but she definitely thinks that they're secretly friends.

It's not until Veronica sees Rosie wink at Poppy when she thought nobody was looking, and she was certain that the blonde would glare at Rosie but imagine her surprise when Poppy flirts back by winking back. In which she's all too excited to text Zoey about. "Omfg bitch, you won't believe what I saw today, like holy fuck the two gays were flirting when they thought no one was looking." All she gets in response from Zoey was "show receipts pls."

Rosie can feel herself falling for Poppy, both of them know that things have changed. Neither seem too interested in fighting and when they do argue, it's all for show, after all no one knows that they're secretly pining after each other. She suddenly remembers how they met.

-Flashback-

Being relatively new to New York, Rosie was eager to meet new people and what better way to start off than hooking up with strangers from a random bar? After all, the city was big and it's been a while. As soon as she arrived someone immediately caught her attention. One Poppy Min-Sinclair, dressed to the nines, she was definitely Rosie's type. Not really expecting anything Rosie struts towards her, in hopes of beginning a conversation.

At first Poppy seemed uninterested, scoffing and she felt a presence near her. She didn't really want to deal with anyone considering they're usually just random guys who wanted to hook up in the bathrooms or worse they're drunk as fuck trying to flirt with her. However, imagine her surprise when she looks at the person that dared to sit by her. Poppy would be lying if she said that the girl in front of her wasn't her type. She seemed sweet, and had a gentle smile. It was also a bonus that the girl seemed to know how to dress herself.

When their eyes met, there was this lightning spark that just fit into place, the two had chemistry. It was undeniable, the two just knew how to push and pull. The banter was there, so was the attraction.

Poppy wasn't shy about showing her attraction, obviously checking Rosie out, which earns her a low chuckle from the other girl. "At least buy me dinner first before you undress me with you eyes?" said Rosie with mirth dancing around her eyes, whilst Poppy just laughs, soft and languidly slow. At which point Rosie knew she was screwed, the blonde in front of her looked like she just walked out of the runway, and her laugh was definitely something Rosie wanted to hear more of.

She's pulled out of her epiphany once Poppy speaks, voice sultry and pulling Rosie in like a siren. "My name is Poppy Min-Sinclair, and I do what I want sweetheart." The confidence she exudes is shown in her voices. It's addicting the way the blonde presents herself, every move calculated and poised. Every word that leaves her lips is deliberate and elegant in her own unique way. If she was in her right mind, Rosie would've been terrified by how enraptured she was by this girl in front of her.

Rosie wasn't one to back down from a challenge therefore she decides to tease the girl in front of her. "Is your name supposed to be important? I've never heard of it. Anyways, since you've introduced yourself so nicely, my name's Rosie." Poppy just raises an eyebrow at her semi-surprised that the other girl hasn't heard of her. "Sorry babe, the whole world doesn't revolve around you." said Rosie with a cheeky smile and wink and before Poppy can retort Rosie finishes off by saying "but it definitely should revolve around you, I mean look at you, you're mesmerising."

If it were any other person, Poppy would have definitely rolled her eyes and walked away, but Rosie seemed to mean it. The other girl definitely looked like she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was just so damn endearing that Poppy, against her usual M.O., she decides to stay and talk to the other girl. 'She looks cute enough, but if she's gonna be annoying then I'll just ditch her later.' thought Poppy.

Both women were intrigued by each other, and one thing led to another. Before they knew it they were together in a hotel room. Neither of them cared about who made the move first, all they knew was that they had to have each other one way or the other.

Despite her pent up desire and lust, Poppy still cared about her reputation, after all even if she was on break it didn't mean she can be careless, plus she didn't exactly want to expose Rosie to Belvoire's dirty laundry, the girl seemed nice enough and Poppy wasn't about to mess with this girl. Sure she's a fucking bitch but that doesn't mean she wants people to suffer because of her unless they've wronged her or any of her friends in some way. She's petty but she's not that petty.

God knows Belvoire is a shithole.

They're definitely closer than what should be conceived as acceptable, considering Rosie is literally one step away from kissing Poppy. Not like either of then cared considering they were too focused on each other to pay attention to their surroundings. It's only when the bartender coughs that the two pull away from each other as if taken out of their seemingly lulled state.

Rosie's about to say goodbye, considering the blonde seems like she's torn between leaving or staying, but she's caught by surprise when Poppy yanks her arm back. "Where do you think you're going, little lamb? I didn't say I was done with you yet." The way it was said was enough to make Rosie shiver. The way the Min-Sinclair heiress said it so confidently, it didn't help that she looked to be the epitome of lust and desire at that moment, but from then on Rosie knew she was fucked, both literally and figuratively.

Before she knew it she was pulled into a car headed to the nearest luxury hotel, which just so happens to be a presidential suite at The Ritz. Rosie didn't show but she was shocked. She knew the girl was rich, I mean come on her clothes are fresh off the runway and the blonde exuded power and wealth. But this was like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Rosie's head, this was definitely something she wasn't expecting.

NSFW AHEAD

She's taken aback by the inside of the hotel suite, she expected it to be fancy, but nothing could prepare her for the plush king sized bed, as well as the overall layout of the room. It looks like something straight out of an IKEA magazine, Rosie can't help but think.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are we actually going to fuck?" says Poppy. Rosie is taken aback from how bluntly Poppy put it. Speaking of which, the blonde girl is already half way through removing her clothes. She couldn't help the gasp that escapes her as she gawks at Poppy and the way her body looks so perfect, unblemished milky white skin that looks so soft, all Rosie could think of is leaving marks in her wake. She licks her lips in anticipation as Poppy gives her the come hither gesture, and Rosie is immediately lured in, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Her hands immediately raise up, helping Poppy out of her clothes, until all that remains is Poppy's underwear. Her eyes scan Poppy's body and out of the corner of her eye she can see Poppy's satisfied smile. Rosie is pulled in, her body pulled in flush against Poppy. Her eyes dart over to Poppy's lips as she leans in to kiss Poppy. A hand covers her mouth as she hears "Not yet Hughes, it's unfair if I'm the only one in my underwear."

Rosie's ears are definitely bright red at this point and she's pretty sure that her whole body is flushed, but she gives Poppy a show as she takes each article of clothing slowly, piece by piece as if testing Poppy's already short patience. As she takes her blouse off, Poppy's staring at her so intensely she can feel her legs wobble. The look conveying an unspoken promise. It's enough to make her a little self conscious, but her confidence is regained as soon as she sees how flushed Poppy is. It also helped that she saw Poppy gulp, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world. "See something you like, Min-Sinclair?" she can't help but tease and the blonde rolls her eyes.

"You were doing so well until you started speaking. Just get your ass over here. I'm not used to waiting for things I want." said Poppy. Rosie struts over to Poppy.

She's immediately back at Poppy's side, the Min-Sinclair heiress looking her up and down which makes Rosie nervous as the way Poppy stares is intense. Her doubts are quickly quelled as she's soon tugged harshly the collar. Poppy pulls her in roughly for a kiss, as their tongues dance and weave against each other, battling for dominance. They both step forwards towards the bed, and the noises that come out of Poppy is irresistible and music to her ears. She sounds incredible and Rosie can't get enough and with a flick of her tongue Poppy is putty in her hands.

They both fall towards the bed, Poppy ending up under Rosie. They pull away quickly to catch their breath, and Poppy's eyes are blown so much so, her pupils are dilated like a cat ready to catch its prey. Her lips parted and bruised, taking in oxygen as if all of her breath has been taken away. If Rosie thought she was in charge, she's got another thing coming. Their position is switched, as Poppy expertly flips them over, landing her on top of the other girl. Rosie ending up with her back against the bed as Poppy straddles her. "You're a good kisser, Hughes." she says and Rosie smiles mischievously "I try." she replies.

Poppy's quick to kiss Rosie again, as if she's her only lifeline teetering her to the world. Every kiss shared feels like sparks flying, the intensity and passion leaving them both breathless. It's not like Rosie's gonna give in and let Poppy top her, she quickly pull Poppy by the waist, bodies completely flushed against each other before rolling over so that their position is once again switched. This time Rosie comes out on top.

Before the other girl can complain, Rosie's quick to shut her up but trailing kisses from lips to her neck. Poppy smells like fresh cherries and vanilla, which for some reason is very fitting. After all cherries are sweet but the fruit itself can be dangerous, however there's a hint of danger. After all cherries do have cyanide in the seed. The whimpers and moans that come from Poppy's mouth are sensual and spurs Rosie on even more. She can't get enough of the blonde.

She can feel Poppy's nails taking across her back, and she's sure that those are definitely going to leave marks, not like she minds considering she's too far gone from the sound of Poppy's moans and whimpers.

Rosie looks at Poppy and she can't help but admire how beautiful Poppy looks under her, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. "You look better when you're quiet, Princess." said Rosie, but instead of reporting Poppy just pulls her back in and their lips are clashing against except this time its rough. Poppy pulling and tugging at her hair, while leaving small nibbles on her lips. Rosie knows that her lips are going to be all sorts of red and bruised the next morning.

Rosie's hand finds their way to the waistband of Poppy underwear, and she can feel the wet patch. She slides her hand inside and moves her fingers to find Poppy's clit, where she rubs small circles, and she feels the blonde jolt from the sudden contact and Rosie is about to apologise until she hears Poppy's breathy moans. "I swear to god, if you stop I'm going to fucking kill you." whimpered Poppy.

Rosie just smiles against Poppy's skin as she continues teasing Poppy until the other girl is a panting and whimpering mess. "I need your fingers inside me Hughes, stop fucking around and actually start fucking me." It's said so desperately Rosie finally grants the blonde her wish and starts pumping her fingers in and out until the blonde cums, back arched away from bed and a loud and filthy moan is all the can be heard. Rosie helps the other ride out her orgasm by cooing gentle words and leaving kisses that are definitely going to leave marks on the Poppy's unblemished skin.

-NSFW END-

-FLASHBACK END-

The casuak hook up turns into dates and outings, and both of them start to catch feelings for each other. As much as it surprises Poppy she genuinely enjoys the time that she spends with Rosie. The other girl always making sure to make Poppy smile. It doesn't help that Rosie had this weird way of knowing when Poppy was upset or stressed in which she'd always do something to help the blonde feel better. Rosie's become a constant, a home away from home in a sort. Always there even on Poppy's worse days, not giving in even when Poppy's relentlessly cruel and bitchy. If she weren't so fucking smitten Poppy would have thought that Rosie was a Saint considering how patient she is. However, she refuses to confess her feelings to the other girl first, after all she's a Min-Sinclair and they don't confess ever. People confess to her.

They're both stubborn, therefore they both refuse to even acknowledge their budding feelings for the other. Though there have been too many times where Poppy has gotten jealous when people stare too much at Rosie, though it's reserved and usually subtle. Poppy quietly stakes her claim by always having some sort of physical contact with Rosie. It could be something as simple as a hand on Rosie's forearm or wrist. But the real warning comes from her passive aggressiveness when others get too close to Rosie or the glares that are given if anyone is dumb enough to try and flirt with the other girl.

It's not like Rosie is any better. Whilst Poppy is subtle with her jealousy, Rosie is not. She's always quick hold Poppy's hand as if to signify that the blonde is hers and it's even worse if anyone ignores that. She becomes more physically affectionate. She hugs Poppy as if her life depends on it. There's also been a few times where if Rosie's patience was tested she'd get really jealous and the next time they're intimate she always leaves marks where no one but her or Poppy knows. It's also when she becomes quite dominant in the bedroom and it genuinely entertains Poppy so much so it's become her second favourite past time. The first definitely being their intimate moments.

It gets to the point where both of then get so frustrated they confess how they feel that the same time, which becomes one of their inside jokes considering they both felt like idiots for not confessing their feelings sooner.

However, it's not like summer lasts forever and both of them end up breaking it off, since Poppy actually likes Rosie and she refuses to put her through the shit that goes on in Belvoire. "It was fun while it lasted, Hughes, but I'm sorry. I have to go back and I'm not sure I'll ever see you again." said Poppy, voice cold as ice as if the whole thing didn't matter. Poppy would be lying if she said that it meant nothing, considering she's never been happier. The other girl definitely had a special place in her heart but as they say if you really live someone you have to let them go. She might be cruel but she's not about to fuck Rosie's life up by involving her in the stupidity of Belvoire, she deserves better. Maybe after unibersity she can find Rosie and they can try again.

Rosie's quite sure that she's never going to find anyone that makes her feel the way Poppy does, but she's not one to make things more complicated. "I'm glad I met you Poppy Min-Sinclair, it's been fun while it lasted. Maybe someday we can meet each other again."

Imagine her surprise when it turns out that Poppy attends Belvoire, both of them shocked to see each other again. The only difference being that Poppy seems much colder than the one she met before. Her eyes didn't have that shine or hint of mischief. It looked too detached. "What are you staring at?" said one of the girls following Poppy. Her eyes widened in surprise as the person her roommate Zoey warned her about was Poppy. She's barely acknowledged by Poppy as she just walks away without a word.

Things start to get more complicated as both of them are put against each other, as they compete for the top spot. It's not like Rosie really cared about the fucking thing, in all honesty she didn't even want to compete with Poppy but it's not like she had a choice considering no one cared that she didn't want to compete with Poppy. It gets to the point Rosie avoids Poppy altogether, not really wanting the unsolicited drama with the other girl.

It becomes even worse when rumours start that th reason why the two girls avoided each other like the plague was because Carter was cheating on Poppy with Rosie, and this gets blown out of proportion during the football game in which the screen shows a poorly photoshopped photo of Rosie and Carter kissing.

The way Poppy looked at Rosie broke her heart. Poppy looked tired and upset. She looked like she was betrayed and worse of all the look was directed at her. It's made even worse when Poppy wordlessly looks away, tears on her eyes as she runs to get away from the stadium.

Things change when Rosie chases after Poppy. It's the first time she sees Poppy cry, and it breaks her heart because how can she be so foolish. This was the person she fell for, and it sucked because she was the reason why Poppy was upset.

She approaches Poppy carefully, and as soon as she's noticed. Poppy's eyes narrow into a glare. "What do you want Hughes? Haven't you done enough already?" she yells, her voice full of venom. The words sting, but Rosie marches on, as she apologises. "I know I'm the last person you want to see, but I wanted to say I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that." She reaches out to try and comfort Poppy but she stops as remembers that she's the reason Poppy was crying in the first place. They both stand there in a tense silence, both not wanting to speak until they both say something at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me that you go to Belvoire?" they both say in sync.

Rosie lets Poppy speak first. "If you said that you were going to be attending Belvoire, maybe things would have been different." she says and this catches Rosie's attention. "Different how?" she asks and Poppy looks at her eyes softening as she says "I would have admitted that I was falling for you."

That's how they got back together.

[moonlightlullaby]

Joining the call, we’re welcomed by the amigops, Brooke, Karl and Bretman.

“So, everyone, this is my older brother, Dylan!” 

“What’s up, guys? Nice to meet y’all!” variations of hi’s and hello’s hit our ears all at once.

“Hey, Dylan!” Karl chimes after them “Good to see- well, talk to you again, man!” 

“Oh yeah! Thanks for helping us the other day.” Corpse sounds much more relaxed now - I mean, eveyone does… Bottom line is that streaming, however authentic and open you are with your viewers, does put a strain on you, so hearing everyone - myself included - more loose doesn’t really come as a surprise.

“Yeah, wish I could’ve done more. It sucks that you still lost.”

“Hey!” I elbow his side, causing him to dramatically gasp and fake cry and everyone in the call to laugh.

“Yeah, about that, you shouldn’t mention it around Alex. He’s still super bitter about it.” I giggle at Karl’s remark and, on cue, none other than Alex joins the voicechat.

We keep chatting as more people join us, introducing themselves to my brother - and Dave to both of us since it’s our first interaction ever. I’m really intrigued to see how he plays.

Dyl and I have decided to megazord today and play as one - not without some whining from Alex. He’s claimed it would be unfair and disproportional - even though no one else seemed even slightly bothered by it - and has only agreed with it after I’d exposed my brother’s pathetic skills in among us - earning me a glare and a light punch from Dyl - and reminded him of how much better a victory would feel knowing he didn’t trick eight people, but nine.

With Tina’s arrival, we all agree on who will be playing the first round and get the game started. CREWMATE flashes on the screen. Alright, let’s try and stay alive.

Yeah, that didn’t work out. 

For some reason - read: lack of functioning braincellls -, Dyl wanted to do simon says first and, since the universe loves screwing us over, of course Ludwig would walk in and shoot our astronaut just as we’re about to finish the task - after having already failed twice, may I add. Both of us just stop and stare - I, at the ceiling; Dyl, at the white little guy flopped over - before we burst into laughter. 

“Of course this would happen!” he shakes his head and, being his persistent self, opens the task to start all over.

And just in case you’ve ever doubted Murphy’s law, you should definitely reconsider it because guess what happens next: right before Dyl presses the last button, an emergency meeting is called. 

“Alright, fuckers, who did it? Who would hurt my baby girl Y/N like this?” although I feel very honored to see Brooke defending me with so much passion, I can’t contain the giggles that escape my mouth at the contrast between how threatening and intimidating she’s trying to sound and how she actually sounds.

The meeting is not productive at all. No one is sussed and everyone skips. “Don’t worry, D and missy Y/N, we’ll get whoever had the audacity to do this. I promise!” Sweet, Bret, sweet!

When “No one was ejected. (Skipped)” takes over the screen, a low, soft sound fills my ears. However, by the time my brain catches up, the sound’s stopped. Corpse was humming ‘cheater’! Yes, the infamous 2008 nightmare of a song I was stupid enough to share with him!

“Did you show him?” my wide-eyed brother whispers to me. I immediately shush him while muting ourselves at the speed of light. “Dylan!” I whisper-shout, turning to face him. This asshole is smirking! 

I narrow my eyes and furrow my brows, mentally throwing daggers at him and setting his body on fire. I open my mouth, but, before any sound can leave it, a notification pops up: a private message from the one and only boyinaband. A glance at my brother tells me his mind is somewhere else already as he pets Fiyero - I mean, our family’s never been known for our impeccable attention; who would’ve expected it to be any different now? -, so I open his message.

hey, y/n!

don’t mean to make things awkward at all, but i’d like to thank you for whatever you’ve told corpse

yk, he tends to shut off when things get hard, but he reached out the other day for help and company

so thanks

Why is he-? How does he-? What-? I’m…

Has Corpse said anything about me to Dave? Why would he do that? 

No, no... No, Dave might have just guessed it since Corpse and I are constantly talking

...right? 

Yes, yes, it has to be it.

oh also, it’s great getting to meet you and play with you!

you’re really cool indeed :)

Y/N: oh there’s nothing to thank me for, really

but i’m really glad we’ve met too!

i love your content btw and you’re funny af

Dave: thx! 

so it’s lud and...?

he killed me so gracefully idk how to feel

Y/N: jshdfgjhdgfkwfgjewv

fuck idk either

Speaking of imposters, all of our tasks are yet to be done, I should get back to them.

After that round - in which, by the way, Brooke was the other imposter and carried the entire thing after Lud vented in front of Tina, wasn’t able to catch her and got ejected -, the afternoon went on pretty smoothly.

Dylan and I arguing every 2 minutes about what strategy we should follow and ending up with a no-strategy approach. Friends killing - and being killed by - friends, lying to friends, throwing friends under the bus… you know, very friendly things. Dylan and Bretman basically ignoring everyone else and isolating themselves in their own bubble for half of the time. Everyone just vibing to miscellaneous tunes - from Dolly Parton to Wilbur Soot, from CORPSE to BLACKPINK -, and chatting, laughing and having a good time as Toast had proposed.

Without the distraction of an audience and the pressure of being funny or 666 IQ, I got to actually talk to and learn more about Leslie, Dave - who (I was right) is a sweetheart and with whom I hit it off instantly -, Sean, Toast himself and, well, pretty much everyone. 

It’s so crazy how, in a little over one month, you can connect so much with these many people! Some who were complete strangers to you until then and others who you already admired and looked up to… and now, you can call them all your friends. It’s insane!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

🐝 bee-girls are ruining my life 🐝

chapter 12: what friends do

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Masterlist   Previous   Next

A/N: Hi! I wasn’t sure if I’d post today, but, quite frankly, writing’s the only thing I can get myself to do lately and knowing that there are some people out there who want to read what I have to offer really warms my heart 🤍 Sorry for the sappiness and for any typos heheh See you on tuesday hopefully!

Taglist: @callmemaeve-y @victoria-a567 @the-thighs-of-betrayal @tclegane  @hydrate-tion @neenieweenie @clubfairy @cherry-piee @summerbbygirl @officiallyunofficialperson @a-dot-dev @that-chick212​ @bellomi-clarke

[toglidethroughlife]

Brighter Than Any Star:

An intimate look at everyone’s new favorite bass player

(or the blades band au that nobody asked for)

*inspired by @iaraiumi‘s STUNNING guitarist tyril art (here)

tyril-centric and tyril x mc bc this would be 7k+ words if i didn’t focus on just one of them but i tried to give everyone a moment in the spotlight. credits to a fic i read from the 100 fandom years ago for the format

used my f!elf mc ryllea graywater for this (though i guess this is kind of a modern au idk asjdla); also i don’t play any musical instruments i’m sorry in advance for butchering any of the technical parts 😬

Tyril Starfury — with his red silk shirts and slicked back hair — looks every bit the part of a rock god on stage with the rest of BLADES; but here, in the confines of their tour bus, he is a quiet presence, calmly sipping tea in the corner with a notepad and pen in his hands, his mind far away in the early hours of the morning.

If you had told me eighteen months ago that I would be shadowing Broadway darling Tyril Starfury as he traveled cross-country with his new rock band, I would have laughed and called you preposterous.

And yet, here I am, witness to the madness.

Nia Ellarious, the band’s youngest member and resident pianist, offers me a cup of the same tea as Starfury’s, telling me to enjoy the quiet with an almost apologetic smile.

I understand what she means not long after.

(There’s no such thing as a quiet morning in the world of Mal Volari.)

Every bit as charming and flamboyant as his on-stage persona, Volari greets the entire bus a good morning with flourish, throwing both me and Ellarious a magnetic smile before slipping towards the coffee machine with exceptionally light feet. (More on that later.) He taps on every available surface while he waits for his coffee to brew, humming softly as if figuring out a melody right there on the spot.

If Starfury is bothered by Volari’s banging and humming, he makes no show of it, paying him no mind as he continues to scribble in his notepad.

Ellarious beams as the scene plays out in front of her. “It’s not every day that they don’t get on each other’s nerves,” she explains. “Especially in the morning.”

It’s around this time — almost noon now — that Ryllea Graywater, lead guitarist and vocalist, wakes and joins the group, heading straight towards Volari and the cup of coffee in his hand.

“Thanks,” she winks as she takes the cup from him, shooting Volari a shit-eating grin that he returns easily, already procuring another cup for himself.

It should be noted that Graywater doesn’t seem to talk to anyone until she’s had at least one cup of coffee, choosing instead to slide in beside Starfury in the dining booth, eyes darting towards the notepad he’s writing on. They kind of just... sit there, minding their own business amidst the chaos that is the rest of the bus.

(Volari’s launched into an animated story about the inspiration behind last year’s summer hit, “Contessa, Contessa”, but I can’t help being drawn to the more quiet story unfolding behind him in the dining booth.)

Slinging one arm against the backrest of Starfury’s seat, Graywater casually invites herself into his space, a thoughtful smile on her lips as she looks over the notepad in his hand. There’s an openness between them that tells me that this isn’t a new occurrence, a comfortable ease in the way they seem to be engaging in a wordless conversation.

“He’s kind of really private,” I recall the younger Starfury sibling, Adrina, telling me about his creative process years ago, at the release party for his collab album with then rumored girlfriend and writing partner Kaya Duskraven. “He’s always been a perfectionist. Doesn’t really let anyone other than Kaya hear anything until it’s finished.”

But there’s no trace of that here, in this quiet moment with Graywater, bright, almost triumphant smiles on their faces as she picks up a pen and scribbles something on the pad too, immediately tapping out a melody against the table as if to test-run it by Starfury.

The smile he gives her is glowing.

I look away — suddenly feeling like an intruder in their private moment — catching the tail-end of Volari’s Contessa story, right before Imtura (no publicly released surname) accidentally slams me against the wall when the bus makes a rocky turn.

“Oof, sorry there little guy.” She raises both hands in apology before heading straight for the coffee machine, haphazardly dumping its contents into a generous-sized mug before immediately proceeding to consume said coffee as she plunks onto the other end of the dining booth.

And that’s how the first morning of me shadowing BLADES goes.

Ellarious tells me I’m lucky it was a good one.

-

With over 16 years of experience under his belt, Tyril Starfury has been in the music and entertainment industry far longer than the rest of the BLADES members combined. At the tender age of nine, he won his first piano competition, regarded highly for his precision at such a young age. He would continue to play competitively until he discovers a new love — musical theater.

It’s no surprise that Starfury ends up on Broadway — he comes from a long line of revered artists, all of them regarded as geniuses of their time. Though some would argue that his family name opened doors that would otherwise be unavailable, no one could deny that it was his clear, soaring baritone and unrelenting work ethic that kept him on stage.

It’s on this stage that he met young Kaya Duskraven, an understudy in one of his shows, prompting a fruitful five-year partnership spanning two EPs and a mini-concert series, Stars in the Dusk.

(The name was a little on the nose, but the critics loved them all the same.)

The two shared such a comfortable rapport, on and off-stage, that they naturally sparked dating rumors — Starfury was always quick to deny them.

No one could have expected the partnership to end on such a bitter note.

To this day, no one knows the real reason behind their fallout — Starfury walked out in the middle of their televised performance without apology or explanation — though there have been no shortage of rumors and theories, a lot of them involving one Eleryn Rosecoven, better known in the industry as Shadow Court bassist dXenia.

I tried to bring it up once, after several bottles of beer have been consumed and the band is swapping stories over s’mores made over the tour bus stove.

I’ve never been shut out so fast in my life.

There’s an audible crack from the s’more now crushed in Imtura’s hand, her piercing amber eyes seemingly driving a death sentence into mine. Volari sighs disapprovingly (and dramatically) at me, and even Ellarious — friendly, cheery Nia — looks at me with a pointed glare, turning off the stove, signaling the end of s’mores night.

“I would prefer not to comment,” Starfury nods at me, years of practiced courtesy showing in his tone and all I want in that moment is for the earth to swallow me whole.

Graywater follows when he excuses himself from the group. Everyone else avoids me like the plague.

It’s hours later when Starfury and Graywater return to the bus — I pretend to have fallen asleep in the dining booth in hopes that I can avoid their fury until the morning — but Graywater approaches me with two cups of tea in hand, an unreadable expression on her face.

She slides over one cup to me — if the scalding temperature of the tea is intentional, she makes no obvious show of it.

“Look,” she begins with an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re only doing your job here. And we did agree to this article, so I’m sorry if things got a little tense back there.” She pauses, as if considering her next words carefully. “We’ve all lived moments in our lives that we’re not proud of. Tyril’s had to live his in front of the public eye. He’ll talk about it when he feels ready to... but his past doesn’t define him, none of ours do.”

I nod, understanding that this is the last we’ll speak of the subject. She smiles as if in truce, telling me that I don’t have to banish myself to the dining booth and that no one will pull any pranks on me if I sleep in the shared bedroom.

I barely catch any sleep anyway.

There’s a ferocity in the way they protect each other that I didn’t notice at first — it could be subtle sometimes, like in the way Volari always checks in with each of the band members every night before going to bed (even though Starfury usually brushes him off); or in the way Imtura always makes sure every one stays hydrated (feel free to interpret that however you wish, whichever way is true); or in the way Ellarious always has some form of baked good running in the oven, more often someone else’s favorite rather than her own.

(I learn the hard way that no one is allowed to get in between Imtura and her cupcakes. No one.)

It’s also plain as day whenever they’re on stage together, their set list a carefully curated show that highlights each member’s strengths without anyone getting overworked. Everyone’s always quick to catch each other whenever they hit snags along the road — there’s a moment in one of the shows when Volari’s mic suddenly gets cut off and Starfury swoops in without missing a beat, a small nod of the former’s head seemingly the only cue he needs, the trust between them implicit.

When I had asked earlier why he’d joined BLADES, Starfury simply shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

“It was by accident. I happened to be at one of their shows and they needed a bass player. We kind of just… worked and we’ve played together ever since.”

But this kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen by accident. No, this is the product of months and months of hard work, of opinions clashing and arguments spanning days before sitting down and realizing it’s not impossible to see eye to eye; it’s battles won and battles lost together, respect earned and trust merited.

To call them just another band seems too small a word almost. Insufficient.

They’re kind of like a family.

(If your typical family involved regular knife and axe-throwing contests, that is.

... it’s best not to ask.)

-

Tensions are high backstage at Deadwood Festival Grounds.

Volari has been pacing around non-stop. Ellarious looks like she’s using every bit of her willpower not to bite her fingernails. Imtura keeps violently tapping her drumsticks together. Starfury’s got his arms crossed in a corner, brows furrowed.

Graywater is doing a handstand for no apparent reason.

The anxiety is understandable — tonight’s a crucial moment for the band.

With only one more show before the grand finale at Whitetower Stadium, all the bands are doing their best to retain the crowd’s favor, each playing well-established fan favorites, saving the riskier song choices for the finale.

That is, everyone except BLADES.

They’re planning to debut two new songs tonight, both of which written solely by Starfury.

It’s a ballsy move on its own — no one’s exactly itching to drop the ball on their fans this close to the end — but add in the fact that Starfury hasn’t released any solo-written music since the Duskraven fallout and you’ve got the makings of a battle that could either go incredibly right or disastrously wrong.

Let’s back up a bit.

After the Duskraven breakup, Starfury had gone into something of a hiatus (if that’s what you call disappearing off the face of the entertainment industry) before dropping the 13-track self-written album, “Honor,” without prior notice or promotion. Fans were ecstatic to hear from him after his sudden break, but critics were less enthused, calling the album ‘a brash, arrogant attempt at flipping the metaphorical finger at Duskraven that ultimately falls short’, noting the clear absence of Duskraven’s touch in his music — all technicality, no soul.

Starfury’s penned a couple of songs with BLADES since, spanning genres as colorful and diverse as its writers, but there hasn’t been a solo venture since Honor, leaving long-time Starfury fans anxious to hear him take lead again.

Graywater calls everyone into a circle, locking eyes with Starfury as she gives his hand a squeeze.

She makes a speech that I‘m not privy to — but everyone is visibly more resolute after she speaks, each raising their fists to meet in the middle of the circle.

“I’m honored to be on this journey with you all,” I hear Starfury share, a glittering smile spreading on Volari’s lips at the statement.

“I knew you liked us!” he says, crossing the circle to throw an arm around Starfury’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Group hug!” Ellarious laughs and Imtura closes the circle into a solid embrace.

Starfury appears to be in shock — as if this is the first time this has happened — but he recovers quickly, a quietly contented smile on his face.

The last streaks of daylight have disappeared by the time they’re called to stage, the crowd restless from a long afternoon under the blistering heat.

Darkness has fallen.

But then the opening chords to fan-favorite “Murderous Masquerade” cut through the evening air, a flurry of flashing lights bursting through the sky, and the Deadwood comes alive.

Volari takes center stage in his flashy black and gold ensemble, working the crowd with such ease that it’s no question why he’s been dubbed the band’s de facto showman — he’s frankly just mesmerizing to watch.

Next up is “The Priestess and the Warrior,” an epic tale crammed into four and a half minutes of heart-racing drum beats — provided by the insanely talented Imtura — with a tender piano-driven bridge near the close, Ellarious’ heartbreaking vocals driving the whole thing home.

Graywater takes lead in the third number, “Flirting with Monsters,” a delicate neo R&B number that sounds nothing like the title suggests, her earnest, airy vocals lulling you into a comfortable, almost dream-like state as she entices her lover to stay.

The one thing common between the seemingly weird mishmash of genres is Starfury’s steady bassline, providing a much needed thread of cohesion to the set list. Where Volari, Imtura, Graywater, and even Ellarious tackle their music with the raw aggression of fresh blood on stage, Starfury attacks with quiet, seasoned finesse, his expertise evident in tracks like “Watch your back (or I’ll watch it for you)” and “Drakna Queen” — two unconventionally energetic numbers that would be difficult to listen to live if not for Starfury’s sure hand bringing them harmony.

“Alright, we’re gonna slow things down for a bit,” Graywater announces, eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks at Starfury. “Tyril’s got a new song and we want you guys to be the first to hear it.”

By now, I’ve seen enough of Starfury’s performances to say that he’s not a nervous performer. Even in the earlier stages of his career, there was always a quiet assuredness about him — which could have also been easily called arrogance — and while that’s still present now, there’s something different about the way he interacts with the crowd, a sense of humility present in the way he put his hands together and gives them a brief bow before he sits himself in front of the piano.

“I would like to dedicate this to a person very special to me,” he begins, his fingers gentle on the keys, a soft, lilting melody dancing in the air.

(He’s not even the least bit subtle about the way he looks at Graywater.)

“She has reminded me, time and again, that hope and love, when we allow it, can shine the brightest light in the dark.” Graywater shakes her head as if to shrug in nonchalance, but she meets his eyes dead on, her smile beaming with pride.

Turning to the crowd, Starfury adds, “I hope this gives you as much joy as you’ve given me. This one’s called ‘Kilvali.’”

For the next minute, it’s just Starfury and the piano, the world quiet as his voice fills the air. If there was ever any doubt that Starfury had lost his vocal prowess, there wouldn’t be any now. His voice is clear and strong — reaching even the farthest row of people on the music grounds — albeit with a softness now that I’ve never heard from him before, his attachment to his music feeling infinitely more personal.

“All my moments with you are worth whatever pain that came before,” he sings, his voice soaring as the rest of the band join him in the second verse. The performance is even more powerful with the added instrumentation.

Tiny cellphone flashlights illuminate the crowd as they sway their hands in time to the song, the emotion in Starfury’s voice rolling out in waves.

Twitter user @notmxwllbmnt13 sums it up nicely:

SJSKJSJSK TYRIL STARFURY KILLED ME TONIGHT!! ALL!! THE!! FEELS!!

(It really was beautiful.)

The crowd cheers as the song draws to a close, but the battle’s not over yet (as Starfury would tell me himself later) — the true test lying in whether or not his second song proves a testament to his newfound voice in songwriting… or if it’s just a one-time stroke of luck.

“If it’s alright with you, we’d like to play you another new one,” he says and the applause is deafening when he turns over the mic to Volari, the latter pulling him into a one-armed hug before taking to the crowd.

If Duskraven’s interviews post-breakup are to be believed, Starfury has never — not once — written a song that wasn’t intended for himself. (She claimed to have co-written plenty of solos for Starfury, but he allegedly never returned the favor.) A quick glance at his repertoire would make this allegation appear true.

“It is true,” he tells me simply when I bring it up later in the tour bus. (Despite the coolness of his voice, I notice him shift a little in his seat.) “I was... unconfident, extending my words to other artists like that. I was also prideful and arrogant — afraid to face the judgment and criticism of my peers, and for that, I truly am sorry to Kaya. She deserved better from me as a partner.”

It seems Starfury has taken that incident to heart. Listening to “Purple Dreams” with Volari’s teasing falsetto on the forefront, it becomes clear that Starfury wrote this with the former’s vocals in mind, the flirtatious mix of his sassy vocal riffs and playful onstage antics giving the song a delicious, intoxicating energy.

It’s probably the most experimental I’ve heard from Starfury as a writer, both in terms of lyricism and melody.

“I’ve learned a lot this last year, creating music with BLADES,” he explains. “Not only did I find a new perspective on songwriting thanks to them, but my bandmates also gave me the courage to try things outside of my comfort zone and to allow myself to make mistakes. They inspire me.”

Years ago, he was dubbed as stiff and awkward outside of the theater stage, with Duskraven providing all the charm in their partnership, but now, on stage with BLADES — as Volari points his sultry gaze at him, singing his own lyrics to him — Starfury smirks, leaning ever so slightly against the showman as his hands tease along the guitar strings, driving the crowd wild.

It’s clear by the end of the song that Starfury has won over the crowd, and for once, he actually seems to revel in it, his smile beaming as he takes in the applause.

The rest of the band are even more thrilled for him, each leaving their posts to engulf him in another hug.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, allowing the fond gesture in front of their adoring crowd, each of them savoring the quiet moment, and I think, out of all the times I’ve seen Starfury on stage, this has to be my favorite version of him.

In the company of his friends, lifting and supporting each other, Tyril Starfury shines brighter than any star.

“We haven’t talked about what we’re doing after yet,” Starfury admits when I ask him about the future of BLADES after Morella Fest. (Each of the members are also solo artists in their own right, after all.) “But whatever happens at the end of the tour, we’ll always have each other, regardless of whether the band continues or not. I can’t imagine my life without these people now and I hope I never have to.”

He’s smiling as he says this, watching his bandmates fight over the last levenfruit before he excuses himself to join them, Graywater and Ellarious easily making space for him in the dining booth, Volari and Imtura rounding out the little world that now seems completely their own.

-

This article also appears in BLADES: The Most Ambitious Crossover Event in Morella Music History. You can find the full feature on www - kadethebard - com.

-

tagging: @sophie-summer ✨

[derryhawkins]

what did you say?

summary: there are five times richie says those three little words to the love of his life, but it takes six for eddie to actually hear him and say it back. warnings: none?? i think word count: 7.4k a/n: this is set within canon so get ready for a tad bit of pain & angst. i’d put a spoiler warning for it ch2 but i haven’t seen it yet & idk how the final battle actually goes down so,, yeah. also this is the longest thing i’ve written under nine hours & sorry for any typos! x

i.

It wasn’t necessarily out of the blue for anyone in the Losers Club to say three special words to one another. They were a group of best friends who fought a demonic entity together – they almost died. After the oath, and once things settled back normal other than a few nightmares they had once in a while, the group of seven told each other ‘I love you’ more often than not, probably everyday if one were to count how often.

And of course Richie said it to Eddie – if anything, he said it to the smaller boy the most. It had started out as the Tozier boy joking around long before they fought a clown in the sewers, but, eventually as time went on, that changed. Richie wanted to say he didn’t know when it changed, because he knew the exact moment it did: with Bill, Beverly, Eddie and himself in that godforsaken house, the clown coming towards them, Eddie’s arm broken, everyone yelling but Richie shouting the loudest to get Eddie to look at him. Because – fuck. Fuck, Richie couldn’t lose Eds. His Eds. A boy he’s had a crush on for what seems like forever now. It had been in that terrifying moment that Richie realized with an equally terrifying realization that he loved Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. And, with time, he started saying those words to him less after everything ended. Not drastically so – he didn’t want to make it obvious.

But those three little words, the meaning of them more like, had shifted into something more, and saying them not in that way felt wrong.

It was some day random Saturday afternoon. The seven of them were lounging at the quarry, soaking up the warm sun the best they could with autumn just around the corner. Mike was with Bill in the water, and Beverly was nearby on a rock smoking a cigarette, Ben not too far away as he tried to get a radio to work so they weren’t in complete silence. Stan attempted to help, but between getting frustrated that they couldn’t get it to work and Bev’s cig smoke, he soon ventured into the water with Bill and Mike. Richie and Eddie were sitting on a towel together, both in swim trunks and the heat of the sun was making their shoulders turn the slightest bit pink, but as they ate some snacks Stan and Bev brought along, neither particularly cared just yet.

“Hey!” Richie exclaimed suddenly and turned to Eddie. “Lets stuff our faces and say something and see if the other can guess what we’re saying!”

Eddie made a face of pure disgust. “Ew, why would- that- how did you come up with that?! That sounds so fucking disgusting, Rich, oh my god, I don’t wanna see half eaten food in your germy mouth!”

“How can it be germy if your mom kisses it?”

“Richie, I swear!”

Richie busted out laughing. “C’mon, Eds!” He pleaded and stuck out his bottom lip, leaning towards the boy. “Please?”

“Get your face away from me!” Eddie grunted and put his hand on the side of Richie’s face, pushing him away, and Richie grinned some more, hoping the pink on his cheeks would come off as a sunburn or something. “Your stupid puppy eyes don’t work on me, fucker, not anymore!”

“You’re so lame.”

“I’m lame?!”

They went back and forth as they ate a couple more snacks. Occasionally, Stan shouted at them to shut up, and Bev once in a while egged Richie on, earning a death glare from Eddie as Richie, Ben, and Beverly laughed. Finally, Ben got the radio to work and turned it up load enough for everyone to hear. It wasn’t long after that when Mike came over and forcibly dragged the two outs away from the snacks, claiming they were going to eat all of it they didn’t leave right then.

At some point, they all got in the water. For a while they played together – chicken, splash attacks, fake drowning, sharks – but eventually they all drifted to do their own thing. Mike and Bill were racing one another and Ben was timing it. Beverly was seeing how far she could swim below the surface and for how long she could do it, but Stan stayed close by her in case something went wrong, and Eddie was floating on his back, basking in the sun some more. Richie was just swimming around randomly, annoying his friends when he felt like it, and talking everyone’s ears off even if they weren’t listening, but in all honesty he was mostly just speaking to Eddie.

Richie stopped swimming and splashing around for a second, eyes landing on Eddie. It was a blurry sight – he left his glasses in the grass so he wouldn’t lose them in the water – but it was sharp enough for him to see who it was. He squinted to make the sight better, wiping water from his eyes, and a fond smile formed on his lips. He sunk down to hide it with the water in case any of the losers were watching. The sounds of Mike and Bill shouting as they raced faded out, same with Ben’s enthusiastic yells as he cheered both boys on. Stan’s laugh mixed with Beverly’s became background noise. The birds chirping simply became nonexistent. Eddie was just floating. He looked decently relaxed, a content smile on his features. Brunet hair floating in the water and stuck to his forehead, and from what Richie could see, the other boy’s eyes were closed.

A garble of words and bubbles came up as Richie spoke. It took Eddie out of his relaxed state and he looked at Richie with quizzical eyes. “What the fuck was that, Trashmouth?”

Squinty eyes turned wide. He pushed himself above water. “Um- I like blue! Like the sky, and water, and the bra your mom wears when we-.”

“Beep beep, Richie!” A chorus of six voices sounded, paired with Eddie splashing Richie.

The boy laughed. He backed away once Eddie splashed him, thinking instead of voicing the words he had said underwater that Eddie thankfully didn’t understand.

I love you.

ii.

“If I knew you were going to be even more annoying, I would’ve fucking threw that joint in the trash – or better, not have come along at all! But no you and Bev just had to get high for the first time and bring me along in case any serious and bad shit happened- will you stop laying on me?! You’re not a pet, Richie!” Eddie went on, mouth moving a mile per second it seemed like, complaint after complaint escaping him.

He had been studying for end of semester finals like his other two friends should be doing, but the redhead and the trashmouth wanted to try getting high for the first time at fifteen. Ben was sick with the flu, and was only just now on the road to recovery, so he had been out of the question when the two wanted a friend to supervise them in case it somehow all went to shit. Bill claimed he always studied better alone, and Mike, as much as he wanted to join the two on their high journey, declined because he needed to help his granddad with something. Stanley at first had agreed but backed out last minute when he realized he hadn’t done a single thing for an important essay due in three days. So, it had been down to Eddie, who wanted to say no it all, but figured it would get him away from his mom for some time.

The boy now wished he had walked away when he had the chance.

While Bev was munching away on some chips as she looked at a fashion magazine, occasionally speaking so deep and meaningful that even Eddie had to remind himself he was perfectly sober. Hopefully. Could you get high from second hand weed smoke? He wondered if it were possible, considering they were confined in Richie’s bedroom, the boy’s parents out of town for work. But hopefully that wasn’t the case.

Once the weed had started kicking in for Richie, it was if a switch had been flipped. He wasn’t talking as much as he usually was. He hadn’t completely shut up, but he had gotten quieter the more he got high. And clingier, too. At first he had cuddled Beverly and told her he loved her. She didn’t mind until she had to run off to pee, and that was when Richie moved onto Eddie, causing the boy’s endless complaints because he was unable to study, let alone move. He was on Richie’s bed, study notes, papers, and books all around him until Richie not so neatly pushed some away and crawled into Eddie’s lap. Usually, Eddie could care less. He loved cuddles. But he needed to pass this one class in particular and Richie’s high-clinginess was preventing that.

“I should’ve gone with Stan,” Eddie said. “Fucking Stan, at least he would be letting me study!”

“Calm your tits, Eddie, the science exam still isn’t until next Friday,” Bev told, waving a hand dismissively as she flipped a page of the magazine.

“You promised I’d be able to study!”

“I did, yeah.”

“Meanwhile, I didn’t,” Richie said, sounding proud of himself. 

Eddie smacked him on the back of the head, muttering a few cuss words, and leaned back on his hands, Richie almost full on koala-ing him. Richie’s arms were wrapped around his torso and his head was nestled in the crook of Eddie’s neck, both legs on one side of Eddie in a bit of an awkward angle. Richie started talking again about one thing or another, but Eddie just tuned him out and let his head fall back, eyes staring at the ceiling. He gave up on complaining. It wasn’t getting anywhere and he didn’t want to annoy Bev too much with how unhappy he is about the situation.

“---ove spaghetti.”

Eddie blinked and looked at Richie. Well, Richie’s hair. “Spaghetti?” He repeated, confused.

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I love Spaghetti.”

The shorter boy snorted and half-heartedly rolled his eyes. “I know you like spaghetti, Richie, you brought it as your lunch for a solid week last month,” he said. “But I’m not making you any, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s ten thirty at night.” Eddie added the last bit after glancing at the digital clock by Richie’s bed, and he heard Bev make a sound at the back of her throat, agreeing with Eddie.

“No. That’s not-,” he stopped himself and let out a sigh. Eddie tensed and hunched his shoulders, the breath of air causing chill bumps to form all over his body. “My Spaghetti, dumbass. My Eddie Spaghetti. Eds Spagheds. Spaghetti Man. I love you.”

Eddie blinked. He looked to the ceiling, then to Beverly who had sat up from her position in Richie’s bean bag. Her blue eyes were stuck on the two. Then finally, Eddie looked down at Richie again. He let out a little laugh. “Dude, you’re such a sap when high!” Eddie exclaimed in amusement. “First Bev, now me, who’s next? Stan? You gonna call him, or what?” He giggled some more at the thought of Richie calling Stan up so late just to say ‘I love you’.

Richie scoffed and shifted his weight. “I dunno. No,” he mumbled. “I really do love you, Eds.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but a smile tugged on his lips, ignoring the feeling of his face becoming just the slightest bit warm. He then laid back; his arms were getting tired from holding both his weight and Richie’s, and seeing as he wasn’t going to get any studying done, he let Richie full on cuddle him. “Whatever, Tozier,” he whispered.

They ended up falling asleep like that: cuddled into one another with Eddie’s study papers strewn around them, and Bev had fallen asleep in the bean bag. When Richie woke up the following morning, he was extremely yet pleasantly surprised to find Eddie fast asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together. Richie slipped his glasses on after grabbing them from their spot beside his head, and wrapped his arms tighter around Eddie, soaking in the blissful moment the best he could.

iii.

Richie Tozier believed he truly fucked up. And it wasn’t the type of fuck up that he could easily fix with a joke or a Voice, or anything of the sort. In a high daze he had confessed to Eddie Kaspbrak that he loved him, and it wasn’t masked as a joke. He didn’t mean to - well, he did but he didn’t - and he has learned he has even less of a filter when high, and that’s saying something considering he barely has one when sober. After that blissful morning, the dawning realization of it all hit him full force later that afternoon when he was home alone trying to get the smell of weed out of his room. 

Fifteen year old Richie Tozier had called Beverly, insisted she come back over, and he spilled the beans the moment she stepped into his house with a puzzled look. It had taken over two hours for Bev to calm the boy down. She insisted Eddie most likely brushed it off as nothing more than Richie being Richie, and insisted that even she took it that way considering he had continuously told her, “I love you,” as they cuddled minutes before then. It calmed him down, somewhat. But that paranoia of Eddie knowing when Richie doesn’t want him to know just yet was still there. Even after exams were over and they were spending Christmas break together, it was still there.

So, he did what any logical fifteen year old would do at the time.

He just stopped saying those words. To Eddie. No one else. If anything, he probably amplified the mention of those three little words to his best friends, excluding the literal love of his life. Other than those times Richie would say, “I love you guys,” he never said them to Eddie specifically. And it stayed that way for a while. A year and a half, specifically.

During that time, Mike had actually questioned him, a bit taken back by the amount of times the Tozier boy had shouted those words at him within a week. Richie had easily explained that he just had a lot of love in his heart at the time. And he said the same thing when Stan confronted him. When Ben asked, Richie had simply asked in reply, “Can I not tell my best friends I love them?” Bill gave him odd looks once in a while but never said anything, chalking it up to be Richie just being his odd self. And Beverly never asked or confronted him because she knew why.

At some point, he made a game: whenever he felt the urge to just blurt, “I love you,” to his best friend, he would instead just tell one of the other Losers, or stated that he loved the tree they were passing or a candle he saw in a window of a store.

“That’s a nice ice cream parlor, I love it there.”

“We know, Richie, we’ve been there a thousand times.”

“I love that cake your mom made the other day, Stan!”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Love your new hair cut, Bev!”

“I got it cut a month ago?”

“Still looks good! Ain’t I right, Ben? C’mon, agree with me!”

Those days turned into months, and those months turned into a year, and then a few more months went by and then it was a year and a half since that grand idea of his came to be, and Richie truly believed everything was going well. Those words hadn’t slipped from his mouth for a good bit of time, and he was honestly proud of himself.

Until a furious Eddie barged into his room one afternoon after school.

“You lanky piece of fucking shit!”

Richie shrieked when the door flung open, and fell off of his bed into a heap on the floor with a blanket, a text book, some papers and his walkman. He scrambled to stand up, only to trip a few times over the blanket tangled at his ankles, and the wire of his walkman got tangled around his neck and arms. He struggled to get out of both, tossing them to side the harshly once he freed himself. He straightened himself posture wise but his wild and messy hair stayed the same, as did his crooked glasses. A smile formed on his blushing face as he looked at Eddie.

“Eddie, my man! What a nice surprise-.”

“I fucking hate you,” Eddie seethed as he stepped farther into the room, marching over to Richie. The smile Richie wore fell instantly. “You are such a dickhead, did you know that?”

Richie held his hands up as Eddie poked his chest. “Whoa, hey, what’s- huh?” He was thoroughly confused, to say the least. And, a little bit scared. Eddie may be shorter than most guys their age, but he packed a good punch and was the feistiest out of all the Losers. Richie used to just laugh when Eddie got mad, claiming such a short boy could never be intimating. Now, years later, Eddie was taller and more well built though he still looked awkward being a teen and all, but he had more a bit more muscle than when he was six and a better choice of fowl words as well. Richie had no choice but to admit Eddie could be intimidating.

Eddie scoffed harshly. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m getting on about!” He yelled. 

“No, I don’t!” Richie yelled back. Both of his parents were home, but he didn’t care and it seemed as if Eddie didn’t either. The teen only hoped neither came up to check on all the yelling, and he was honestly surprised they didn’t with Eddie furiously stomping in.

“Jesus, Rich, I know you do! I also know you don’t wanna be my friend anymore! You hate me.”

“The fuck I do. Who fucking said that?”

“No one, but they don’t have to say anything!”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You don’t tell me you love me! You’re always saying it to the others in some way or another, and it wasn’t until I was studying with Ben and Stan when I realized. They took a break and talked about how you’re always saying ‘I love you’ to them, and then I’m sitting there feeling like completely fucking shit because you stopped saying that to me! You used to say it all the time when we were kids, and after...that summer, you said it less, but I didn’t think anything of it, but now you’ve completely stopped! You could’ve just said you don’t wanna be friends anymore with me rather than just drifting away. We don’t even fucking hang out one on one anymore!”

Oh, shit. Richie’s fucked up. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he lowered his hands. “Eds, that- that’s not...” He trailed off, unable to find any words that would make the situation better. He felt his gut churn with guilt as he noticed that Eddie was crying. The tears started to fall mid-way through his rant and he hadn’t made an effort to calm down and stop them.

Eddie sniffled and wiped the tears on his cheeks away. “Look-.”

Richie bent down and wrapped his arms tightly around Eddie’s waist, and picked him up. “I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Rich, get off!”

“No!” Richie squeezed his eyes shut and held onto Eddie tighter, the shorter boy doing his best to get out of Richie’s grasp. “No, Eddie, okay, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m a dumbass, I wasn’t thinking straight at all, you have every right to hate me but I could never hate you. Okay?”

Eddie stopped fighting. “...What?”

Richie continued, “I just thought you got tired of it, y’know? Annoyed and all. You never really said it back when I did say it to you, so I thought you didn’t want to hear it, so I stopped. You’re my best friend and I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, I didn’t meaning to, I just wasn’t using my brain. I do love you, please believe me.”

Silence fell over them. No one spoke for the next few minutes, and at some point Richie set Eddie back down and let go, taking a step back to give him space. He picked at his nails as he waited for Eddie to say something, avoiding eye contact.

Eddie sucked in a breath of air and let it out. “You’re a dick.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah.”

“But I don’t hate you, either. I mean, I probably should, but...” He trailed off and shrugged.

Richie looked up with a wide smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really, I don’t think I could hate you even if I tried,” Eddie admitted, a smile of his own forming.

Richie went to say something, but a knock on the door frame kept him from doing so. The two teens looked over to see Maggie Tozier standing there. The woman looked the slightest bit concerned as she stared back at them. “Everything okay in here?”

Eddie nodded, cheeks a bit pink, as Richie answered, “Yeah, just some mixed signals, Mags.”

Maggie gave her son a look.

Richie sighed. “Sorry, sorry. Mom.” He smiled, and so did she.

“Your father’s making spaghetti, by the way,” she told him. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Eddie, you’re free to join -- always will be.”

Eddie shook his head. “No, it’s fine-.”

“What? No, you’re staying,” Richie protested. “My Eddie Spaghetti eating spaghetti! It’s oddly poetic.”

Eddie made a face. “It’s weird.”

“So, you’re staying?”

“...Yes.”

“Yay!”

iv.

"You’re learning...Russian?” Mike asked hesitantly.

Richie nodded, holding the Russian dictionary like it was his pride and joy. “Yep! Latin’s too hard, Spanish is too basic, French is too...uh, French, and I couldn’t think of anything else, so Russian it is, Mikey! Care to join me?”

“Uh... Not this time, no.”

Richie beamed. “Perfect.”

Mike snorted out a laugh as he started to walk away. “You’re a weird one, Rich.”

“You love me, though!”

“Debatable!”

They laughed, and Richie reopened the book he had closed, going back to studying how to say ‘I love you’ in Russian. Of course, he was going to teach himself a few other things, but that was the main goal. The reason he chose Russian and none of the others was because it’s the least likely one where Eddie might too easily piece everything together. French would be the logical route to go considering that’s an elective he’s currently taking at school, but so is Eddie, so that completely rules it out. Then the others are taking Spanish. So, if he wanted everything to not come to light so suddenly, he had to go with something no one else knew, either.

“Hey, I can help you with that if you want. It’s hard.”

Richie’s stomach dropped. But he forced a smile as he looked up. Stan stood there, the sun shining behind him as if he were an angel. Right then, Richie thought he was the devil. “Stan the Man! Why aren’t you with Mike and Ben over there?” Richie asked. He pointed over to the large rocks the other two boys were on as they looked at a bird book Stan had brought along with him. For a split second, Richie glanced over to where Beverly, Bill, and Eddie were as they sat under a tree for shade, and then quickly looked back up to Stan, forcing another smile.

“Offering my help for once in your lame life,” Stan answered. “Really, it’s not that easy to learn. The Russians have a completely different alphabet than us.”

“No, thanks, I got it.”

“Richard.”

“Stanley.”

“Stop being difficult.”

“Do you even know me? I’m difficult every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year!”

An unpleased look came over Stan’s face and before Richie knew it, Stan was forcibly hoisting the dark haired boy to his feet. “Rich and I are going for sno-cones! Give us your money if you want one!” He kept a firm grip on Richie’s elbow and turned to face him as their friends fished for money. “We’re talking. No funny business, got it?”

Richie nodded quickly. His heart was hammering in his chest from nerves, and he could feel his hands start to sweat -- and it wasn’t from the Spring heat. Stan must have noticed something, because his look softened and his grip loosened.

“It’s nothing bad, Rich,” he assured in a whisper as the other five started hurrying to them. “I promise.”

Richie could only nod again as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Then, they were grabbing money from their friends, and soon enough walking away from the barrens and to Richie’s new but beat down truck parked at the road. Stan took the money and stuffed it in one of his pockets, and then took the book from Richie as they got in the truck. His hands were shaking and he felt as if he was about to puke or pass out. Stan and him...they were close, almost as close as brothers, and if Richie had to make a list of his favorite people, the Jew would be directly under Eddie, maybe tied with Beverly.

Stan was someone Richie could have serious conversations with when he was tired of being the annoying and funny guy. For years, it’s been like this. Despite how often Stan says, “I hate you, Richie,” it wasn’t true in the slightest, and sure he got annoyed more often than not, but they were still as thick as thieves. Which was why Richie was a jittery mess. Stan didn’t have to say a word. Richie knew Stan knew; he didn’t know how, but he did, and that terrified the dark haired boy to no end. Because out of all the things that could make Stan hate Richie for real, it’s the fact he likes boys.

“Rich, pull over, you’re already going twenty over the speed limit, and I don’t want you to crash while we talk,” Stan said.

Richie nodded for a third time. “Y-Yeah. Um, g-good idea, Stan.”

Stan smirked. “Leave the stuttering to Bill.”

Richie cracked a smile but it went away as fast as it came, and then put the truck in park. He didn’t move, though. He stayed facing forward and his hands gripped the wheel tightly. “How long have you known?” Richie asked.

“That you love Eddie? I dunno... A while,” Stan admitted. “I don’t think the others know-.”

“Bev does.”

“Okay. I don’t think the boys know,” Stan corrected. “I’m just observant. Plus, we’ve grown up together, Richie. If I had to pick a specific moment, it would be sometime in sophomore year. We all went to the arcade one weekend. Eddie got absolutely pissed at one of the employees and screamed at him. We almost got kicked out! But the entire time you looked...fond. Proud, even. We almost got kicked out of your favorite place in the world but you didn’t care because it was Eddie. That’s love. You would’ve reacted differently it had been anyone else.”

Richie half-smiled. He remembered that day. “So... You don’t hate me? Find me disgusting?” Slowly, he looked to his friend.

Stan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I find you disgusting because you’ve worn that shirt for the third day in a row. Not because you like boys.”

Relief flooded through Richie.

Then, “How long have you loved him, anyway?”

“Since we were twelve.”

“We’re seventeen.”

“Yup.”

“That’s five years!”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit.”

Richie sucked in a deep breath and then let it out. “Yeah...” He paused. “I thought it was nothing, honestly, at first. Then we almost died, and then the feeling never went away and...here we are. I want to tell him, but not now, but I can’t hold it in much longer either, so that’s where the Russian comes in.”

Stan nodded, motioned for Richie to start driving again, and thought for a moment. “Lucky for you that’s the one phrase I do know in Russian.”

A grin formed on Richie’s lips as he drove. “Perfect.”

He didn’t learn the phrase within one day like he wanted. Stan decided to make Richie learn the entire alphabet for the Russian language first, a few basic words, and then he would teach Richie the phrase. It took a few days to do the first part, and then another couple for the next. By the time the next weekend rolled around, Richie had the entire alphabet memorized and could say hello, bye, fuck, and I love you in Russian all thanks to Stan. Richie didn’t have the guts to say it that weekend, but waited until Monday when he had to drive Eddie to school that morning.

“Hey, Eds?” Richie spoke halfway through the drive.

Half-asleep Eddie hummed. “Yeah, Rich?”

“Я люблю тебя.”

Silence. Then, “I have no idea what the fuck you just said,” Eddie paused as he yawned. “But that’s pretty cool, Rich. Ya lebyuh te-blah blah to you too.”

“You totally just butchered that.”

“Fuck off.”

v.

The Losers Club were officially high school graduates. Mike actually graduated earlier than everyone since he was homeschooled, but now that didn’t matter. The summer of freedom started out fine, perfect even. They had more fun than any of them could imagine, and none of them wanted it to end. Unfortunately, college was a thing for most everyone involved, and soon the Losers would be leaving Derry to tackle their adult lives. Soon -- meaning one more night. The summer flew by faster than any of them believed. It was as if one moment they were taking a picture with their caps and gowns on, and the next they were about to leave their small town and best friends. 

It was why they were getting together one last time the night before they left. Drinks were involved. The sucky radio Ben always had to fix was playing some song. The stars were out. The only thing lighting up the barrens were a few flashlights they laid out around them. Richie sat on a rock by the shallow lake, back facing it as his eyes were glued to Eddie. A beer was held in one hand and the other had a half burnt cigarette. It had gone out a while ago, Richie too stuck in place to relight it.

Eddie had a cup of something alcoholic in his hand, his fourth one of the night, and he was shout-singing along to the song that was playing with Ben and Mike, dancing too. He was happy and carefree and glowing under the lights of the flashlights and stars, and with each passing moment Richie could feel his heart just swell with love as he watched the other boy. Richie took another swig of the beer and smiled as Eddie and Ben clung to one another as they dramatically sang the next lyrics, putting Mike into a laughing fit.

“You gotta tell him,” Bev said as she walked up. She sat beside Richie and took the cigarette, relighting it. After, she offered it back but Richie declined. “Rich, sweetie... You have to.”

Richie motioned towards Eddie, still smiling albeit it was a sad one now, and turned to face Beverly. “Look at him,” he said, and she did. “He’s having the best time of his life over there! I can’t ruin that.”

Bev gave him a sad look. “You won’t.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s been fine the way it is-.”

“He kissed a girl as a dare four months ago, and you sobbed in your pillow for the rest of the weekend.”

“I was being overly dramatic. You know how I am! Besides, I still got his mom, don’t I?” It was a lame attempt at a joke. A failed one, too. Because Bev neither laughed or reprimanded him. He sighed and took the last gulp of beer. 

“You have to tell him,” she repeated. “We’re going to be busy because of college, and we’re not exactly going to the same one.”

Richie pursed his lips. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. “We made plans to meet up every weekend if we can. Our universities aren’t too far away.”

“Rich-.”

“Bev,” he interrupted her, pleading, “Just stop. Okay? I’ll tell him when I want to.”

She looked at her best friend, studied him. Then, she nodded solemnly. “Alright,” she whispered.

The next few minutes were spent with the two sitting on the rock as Beverly finished the cigarette. Neither spoke after that and it wasn’t until Bill ran up to drag them tot he others when they left their spot. Richie grabbed another beer after throwing the empty bottle into the trash bag Stan brought for, well, trash. Richie made a few jokes of putting himself in it considering they call him Trashmouth, and Mike at picked him up and acted as if he was going to do just that.

“Put that fucker where he belongs!” Eddie shouted, grinning.

“At least put him in recycling,” Ben said.

“He doesn’t deserve to be recycled,” Stan teased.

All the while, Richie was laughing in Mike’s arms, a few drops of his beer getting on the both of them. Mike eventually set him down and put an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “Nah, I’d never throw out the Trashmouth,” Mike said. He smirked and backed away, feigning a look of disgust as he waved a hand around. “Only because you stink too much!”

Richie gave a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not the one who works on a farm!”

“Oh, he’s g-g-got you there,” Bill laughed.

“Which makes it worse,” Bev joined in.

“Trash the Trashmouth, okay, ha ha, very funny!”

“You started it, Rich,” Eddie reminded him with a slight slur as he walked up to him.

Richie rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I know.” Subconsciously he put an arm on Eddie’s shoulders, and then he looked down at him, a bit surprised to already find Eddie’s eyes on him. Richie’s eyes lowered to the shirt Eddie was wearing and lifted a brow, smiling knowingly, trying not to react to the arm resting against his back and the hand messing with his own shirt. “Love your shirt, Eds.”

“Of course you do. You gave it to me a few years ago, I’m actually surprised in genuinely fits me well.”

“A little oversized but you’re still cute, cute, cute!” Richie snaked his arm further around Eddie’s shoulders and neck, and pinched the other’s cheek. “But, may I remind you, I never gave it to you. You stole it.”

“...No, I don’t think I did.”

“You did.”

“Nope.”

“I literally watched you take it from my closet.”

“It was a dream.”

Richie scoffed. He gave in, “Alright, fine.”

Eddie grinned, proud of himself.

The next few moments they just stood there. Beverly’s words flooded Richie’s mind as he looked down at Eddie. For a solid minute, he had an inward battle with himself about what to do, but as Eddie laughed at something Stan said to Ben, the winner of that inner battle was clear. 

Richie tightened his grip around Eddie’s shoulders for a split second to get his attention. “Hey. Eds, can I tell you something?” Now or never, Tozier, he told himself, you can do it. You gotta. This has been six years in the making so just fucking do it.

“You know you can, Rich. C’mon, tell me.”

Now or never, you piece of shit.

“We’re going to be busy because of college.”

Я люблю тебя.

Muffled confession under water.

“I don’t think I could hate you even if I tried.”

“Eddie, I-.”

“Guys!” Mike shouted in excitement and turned up the volume. “Listen!” A familiar tune met Richie’s ears. It was the song all of them loved to jam out to, one they vowed to never not dance along to no matter where they were. Eddie was quick to leave Richie’s side to join the others, not hearing the last part of what Richie had to say.

“-love you.” Shit.

+ i.

Richie could cry- no. No, he was crying. Tears steadily streamed down his face, mixing with the dirt and mud and blood from the final fight with It. They should be celebrating. They should be happy. They should be basking in the glory of finally having that piece of shit defeated after 27 years. But that wasn’t the case. Eddie got stabbed and it didn’t look good at all. Richie rid himself of his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Eddie’s eyes were shutting, head lulling.

“No, no nonono,” Richie muttered through some tears. He patted Eddie’s face to stir him awake enough to open his eyes; a sound left Eddie’s throat and Richie didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing as Eddie shut his eyes again. “Not you. C’mon, please not you, I can’t lose you. You’re too important to me. Eds. Eds! Eddie, hey, stay awake for me, alright? I can’t lose you- I can’t- fuck, I love you so much, please, I’m so in love with you. Don’t die on me, please.”

“Richie,” Beverly spoke from her spot, equally as dirty as the rest of them. “Sweetie, I don’t think...” She trailed off, unable to finish her own sentence.

Ben moved forward quickly. He bent down and watched Eddie closely for a second. “He’s still breathing,” he whispered. Frantically, he started pulling off his belt.

“Guys, the house is falling apart!” Mike shouted at them.

“He’s still breathing!” Ben shouted back. 

He gently pushed Richie away to put the belt around Eddie, securing Richie’s jacket tightly over the wound. Mike was then walking over, and so was Bill. The sounds of the house falling down filled their ears as they picked Eddie up. Richie had his shoulders, Ben stayed by his abdomen to make sure the belt stayed, and Mike had his feet. Bill made sure they didn’t need any help before looking to their redheaded woman.

“Bev, go ahead and go! Make sure Stan knows we’re coming back and tell him about Eddie!” Bill yelled.

Beverly nodded and ran off, and Bill led the rest of them through everything. It was hard and more than a few times did they think they were about to be crushed by everything, but they made it out just in time. They didn’t stop there. They carried Eddie to Richie’s very new truck and set him in the bed of it, Stan in the driver’s seat, the engine already running. Beverly was in the passenger’s seat, and Bill and Ben got in the back while Richie and Mike stayed with Eddie. To everyone’s surprise, Stan sped down the Derry roads as fast as he could but also as safely as he could. 

“Rich...” Eddie croaked out.

Richie bent down further and smiled through the tears, hand clutching Eddie’s. He did his best to ignore much he looked like death. “We’re getting you to a hospital,” he said. “Hang on, okay?”

“I gotta...’ell y’somethin’.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You keep those fucking words in you mouth, Eddie. Tell me when you aren’t bleeding from a stab wound.”

“He’s losing a lot of blood, man,” Mike whispered, as if trying to say something.

Richie looked at Mike, glaring, and blinked back more tears that wanted to fall.

“Rich, I...” Eddie trailed off. Then, the grip on Richie’s hand weakened and Eddie’s eyes shut completely as his head lulled to the side for a second time.

“No. Shit. Fuck, Stan!”

“His pulse is weak-.”

“Mike, I love you, but shut the fuck!”

Mike, instead of arguing, nodded and hit the back window of the truck. Bill opened it. “Hurry up!”

“I’m already speeding!” Stan shouted from the inside.

“Speed faster!” Bev yelled. He did.

“Two more miles!” Ben told them.

“I just called, there’ll be someone waiting for us,” Bill said.

One minute later, Richie’s truck was zooming into the parking lot of the hospital and coming to a surprisingly steady halt by the entrance to the emergency room. Doctors and paramedics came rushing out instantly, taking Eddie away, the losers following them inside as far as they would let them. Richie stood at the double doors and stared through the window. He sucked in a deep breath. Then, he found the nearest trashcan and puked.

It seemed as if the next couple of hours went by slowly on purpose, taunting Richie and the others. During those hours, Richie scrubbed Eddie’s blood off of hands while sobbing in the men’s bathroom, and when he came back out to the waiting room he got tackled in a group hug which just caused him to cry some more. Stan shed a few tears and Ben wiped away a few that slipped out. Mike and Bill were refusing to cry just yet, while Beverly started to but stopped, telling herself and the boys that Eddie was still alive. The amount of tears increased when the doctor came in and told them that Eddie miraculously made it, but he wasn’t awake just yet.

They visited Eddie as much as they could. Someone was always in the room at all times, waiting for their favorite fireball to wake up. Richie stayed there the most. He only left to clean up and change clothes. He didn’t want Eddie out of his sight too much, not after what happened.

It was the morning of the second day when Eddie finally woke up.

“Wake up, fuckface,” Eddie said at noticing Richie, the man sleeping in a chair beside the bed, head using Eddie’s legs as a pillow.

Richie sat up almost instantly. His eyes were wide with joy at first until he realized he had no glasses on, and suddenly he was squinting to see Eddie better. He fumbled around for his glasses and slipped them on once he found them, and his smile grew ten times at seeing the other man clearly. “Eddie!” He exclaimed happily, and koala-ed him the best he could without causing any more harm or pain. He was laughing, then he was crying. “Shit, I thought I’d lost you.”

Eddie placed a comforting hand in Richie’s hair, and he closed his eyes as he rested his cheek on Richie’s head. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m okay now, though... Hey, Rich?”

“Hm?”

“Я люблю тебя.”

Richie froze. He slowly moved away and sat back in the chair, staring at Eddie with pure shock. “What did you say?”

Eddie smiled. “I think you know.”

Richie blinked. He was stunned. He ran a hand through his hair and slumped back. “I thought you didn’t know what that meant?”

“I didn’t. But, uh, that’s the first thing I remembered when I got back here. I asked Siri what it meant.”

With lowered brows, Richie’s jaw dropped. “Siri told you that I loved you before I fucking got to properly? What the fuck!?”

Eddie busted out laughing, holding his side with the stitches. “Oh- fuck, this priceless!”

“I’m killing Siri.”

“Aw, no, babe! Don’t, she helps me with driving,” Eddie said, nearly pouting.

Richie snorted, almost completely missing the term of endearment. “I’ve been in love you since we were fucking twelve, and a piece of shit technology tells you before I get the chance. Unbelievable!”

“I mean... You could tell me now.”

“Tell you what- oh. Oh.” He scooted closer to the bed and leaned forward. For a moment, he thought about making a joke about his mother, but decided against it, even though it would have been hilarious. He smiled, taking one of Eddie’s hands. Nerves coursed through him, but he fought against them. He wasn’t a terrified teenager anymore. “Eddie -- my Eds Spagheds -- I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

Eddie beamed at him. “I love you, too.”

If Richie’s grin could grow anymore, it would. And maybe it did.

Because in front of him was the love of his life alive, saying he loved him back.

Richie then leaned all the way forward and kissed Eddie, and Eddie kissed back. Bill barged in then, ready to announce that breakfast had arrived, but stopped himself at seeing Richie and Eddie. He froze, stared, and then backed up, smiling slowly as he shut the door. He turned to the other losers, who looked confused. 

“Well,” Bill said. “It took a little over two fucking decades but they’re finally together.”

[euphoricethan]

Bubbles - G.D

Summary: After Grayson comes home from a very late shift, he offers Y/n to take a bath with him to reveal some news to her.

Warnings: so much fluff. So much.

Word count: 1.5k

Why do we get blessed with the earths greatest gifts? We may never know.

Or maybe, the earth, or the universe knows what we need or when we need someone / something most.

All she does know, is that whoever is in charge of what goes down, has blessed her with Grayson. And she couldn’t be more grateful.

Grayson is a combination of things.

Kind, well-mannered, loud, very overprotective, she could go on, but overall, he was just, Grayson.

She knows that twins can be thought of as being the same person just split in two, but there are so many things different between Ethan and him.

Their personalities are beyond different it’s crazy.

Ethan isn’t much an extrovert as Grayson. He likes to stay inside most times where it’s cool and not hot. Grayson on the other hand will be by the pool taking in the sun while he can.

Ethan isn’t as loud, (sometimes) and he can manage his anger a lot better than Grayson.

Grayson gets frustrated when something inconvenient happens, or when he tries doing a task and he doesn’t get it spot on the first try, he yells like a maniac.

He’s got patience, but not much.

But, when it comes to her, patience is his middle name.

He tries not to yell at her, ever, and makes sure to give her a fighting change when he does get upset so she can reason with him.

There has only been one time where his temper had gotten the best of him.

It was Christmas Eve, and her, Grayson and E where back in New Jersey for the holidays.

The two of them were bundled up in the recliner, just relaxing with the rest of his family after they had just finished dinner.

Everyone was playing white elephant, a Christmas game that they have played for years. And Y/n didn’t quite understand fully on the rules.

So, she grabbed ahold of a small box that had a neatly written: #4 and started unwrapping it.

Grayson watched her carefully, as, he wanted to see the look on her face when she was faced to see the diamond studs that he had saved money for for months.

She smiled at the gift, totally blindsided by the fact that Grayson had specifically gifted them to her and made sure no one else had chosen it.

Sure he could have given the gift to her the next morning when they opened the rest of the presents, but it was her first Christmas with his family and he wanted to make it special.

“Here, lets trade.” She said to his younger cousin, handing her the small box and reaching for the stuffed animal she had gotten.

“No, Y/n—” Ethan said trying to tell her that that’s not how the game worked.

“Really?!” She screeched, gladly taking the earnings into her hand and smiling at them with excitement.

“Wait, what did I do?” Y/n asked, now looking up at everyone who was staring her down.

No one said a word, afraid of ruining the surprise that Grayson had planned for her.

He had a matching necklace too. And he was going to give it to her the next morning right before she woke up.

She finally turned to see Grayson, who was red at the face and his eyes darting to his little cousin who had her small greasy fingers all over the diamonds.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something? Wait, what did I do?” She quickly spoke, looking around all Ethan and Grayson’s family members who where in shock.

Ethan sat back in his chair, looking over at his brother who was contemplating so many things.

He couldn’t take the earnings from Riley because she would be completely heartbroken, and even if he did Y/n would be confused and he didn’t want to make her feel bad for giving them to Riley when they were actually hers.

He was torn between the two.

“Y/n, I uh, gotta talk to you.” He told her, gently pushing her off his lap and gripping at her arm to pull her into the family’s kitchen.

“What did I do?” She asked again, trying to find the answer in his eyes that he refused to give her.

He only sighed, looking down at the floor before running his hands through his soft hair.

“What didn’t you do?”

He didn’t mean to snap, and he should’ve have; since poor Y/n didn’t fully understand the concept of White Elephant and was just trying to be generous.

She furrowed her brows at him, completely confused and trying to figure out what she did to upset him.

“Gray, I’m sorry I—”

“Just forget it Y/n,” his hands were balled up at his sides, the anger that he was trying to hold back slipping out in the tone in his voice.

“No, Grayson, really. I’m sorry. Whatever I did to make you upset I didn’t mean to—”

“I said forget it!” He now yelled, turning heads of relatives that were secretly eavesdropping from the other room.

Ethan shot up from his placement in the living room, coming up behind Y/n to see salt water pooling in her eyes as they both watched Grayson exit the house with a loud slam to the front door.

He had never yelled at her like that. Not ever.

And that was the last time it happened.

As of now, this very second, he gently closed the front door to their apartment in Los Angeles from a long hard day at work.

Or, his last day you could say.

It was around four am, —one of his longer shifts that started at nine— and proceeded to quietly walk into where Y/n was sleeping.

Or so he thought.

She sat up as soon as the light flicked on, watching his buff figure stand still in the frame of the door scared that he woke her.

“Did I wake you?” He asked her gently, a soft whisper rather.

She shook her head at him. She never got good sleep whenever he worked graveyard shifts.

“How was work?” She now asked him, watching his movements with her eyes as he stripped of his heavy work boots and white shirt that had been demolished and covered in dirt.

“It was, uh, good. Same old same old.”

“Hm. Well, are you gonna come to bed or take a shower first?”

Grayson placed his hands onto his hips, then ran his hand through his hair before he sighed.

“Well uh, actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to take a bath with me,”

Y/n was astonished, she was surprised that he would want do what they had called their zen time at at least almost five am.

But even if she wanted to say no, his wondering eyes made her question if it was something more just wanting her to join him.

“Is there something wrong bear?” She asked now sitting up fully in the bed.

“Well, um, kinda.” He reached for the back of his neck, tugging at the tight skin that had formed a knock due to quick stress.

There Y/n and Grayson sat, backs to both ends to the tub, bubbles practicing overflowing and surrounded by warmth.

“I got laid off of work.” He bluntly told her, catching her mid sentence asking if the water was too hot.

He didn’t mean to cut her off but it had just been bothering him ever since he got the news and it had been viciously eating him alive from the inside.

She glanced over to him, now looking into the depths of his eyes that carried small specks of green in them when in the right angle.

“Oh,”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner when it happened but I didn’t want to wake you and give you bad news but I also didn’t want to wait until tomorrow in the morning because, well— you know, you’re busy and I thought this is the only time we would be able to—”

“Woah, woah, woah. So down; breathe.”

She reached forward, gripping onto his hand that was just above the surface.

“Do you need your inhaler?” Y/n asked.

He just shook his head while taking in a deep breath.

“Now. Talk slowly.”

Grayson took another deep breath in before he started up again. “Well it’s just, your so busy with your own stuff and I’m nearly at work all night we never get to see each other. I know this is for special occasions only but it was kinda important.”

“Kinda? Grayson, this is important shit were talking about. Like, our relationship.” Y/n sighed. “I didn’t realize it was getting you so worked up.”

“Are you mad?”

She scoffed. “Why would I be mad? Just because you lost your job? Which first of all, why in hell would they fire someone like you. You’ve got great leadership skills, jacked as shit, and have an amazing work ethic! I mean I just—”

“I’m not mad. And I never would be. This just shows that it was meant to be I guess. Now that your not taking the late shifts because no one else would, means we can see each other more. Maybe even go on dates. Ouu.”

Grayson let out a small wheeze, catching a few pieces of spare bubbles that he had on his face from making a beard.

“I’ll get your inhaler.”

-

Here’s another something from March :). This ones for @peachydols bc she’s a pain in my ass tehe.

Also whoops idk the difference between a blurb and whole imagine so sor.

[justmewoo]

Legacy [ Avengers x Male Reader]

Male Son Reader x Steve x Wanda x Tony

A/N: So this is about steve having a son with peggy lets just pretend they did it before steve got frozen and not knowing about it until decades later. I just came up with it today so idk if I should make a second part or continue it. So please comment or message me and let me know if I should continue it or not. Enjoy!

Unedited because dont know if people will like it.

____________________________________

I never expected in meeting my father ever. After all I was produce from a wonderful love that both had for each other. At least that's what my mother used to tell me. That I wasn't a mistake but a blessing because she now had a little piece of HIM. 

 Not to mention how much I look like my father. She told me about having similar interest as him. But when I uses to ask her about him she said he had disappear before she ever got the chance to tell him about me in 1945. I wasn't born till XX XX 1946.

She had given birth to a little blond baby boy. My grandparents had helped her raised me. Due to her job in S.H.I.E.L.D it was a bit difficult because she was always busy attending work and traveling.

Sometimes she would take me with her to work and meet the people who worked there. I became close with Howard Stark the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was like a father to me. 

"[Male Reader] can you please stay still like a good little boy while mommy  goes to a meeting with Howard?" I was only about five years old when I got a chance to go with her that day. 

I nodded. "I promise i'll be a good boy mama." I said giggling as she gave me a kiss on the cheek. 

"I won't take long so please finish doing your homework so we can go back to your grandparents house." She opened the door of her office and left me sitting alone. I grabbed my school bag from the floor then went to take a seat in her chair. 

I opened my bag to take out my school supplies and homework. I read through the paper to realize it was math and history homework with some coloring drawings of Captain America. I clapped my hands in happiness as I decided to work on my dad's homework first. "I'm going to color you Papa." I said outloud smiling. I suddenly got up and walked over to the corner where she had a small radio and turned it on to hear music. Then returned back to continue working on my homework and trying to whistle on my own. 

Once I finished doing my homework I had an idea of going to look for mom and show her my drawing of dad. I quickly got up from my chair with paper in hand and opened the door. 

I left the door half opened and ran down the hallways looking for her. In one hand I had the drawing while the other one I carried a picture of dad that my mother gave me. I turned a few left and right before finding the room where they have their meetings. I opened the door to find it empty. "Where's mama." I asked to myself before shutting the door and continue to run looking everywhere for her. 

It wasn't till I accidently bumped into something hard. It caused me to drop the picture and homework on the ground. I had landed on the floor with my knees injuring them. "Ouchie that hurts." I murmure to myself. I looked up and saw a figure standing in front of me. 

He was wearing a black jacket with black pants. He's left arm was made out of metal. He had a red star on the same metal arm. He bent down to my height and extended his hand out to me. I took his hand in mind and stood up. I stared at him for a few minutes feeling a bit uneasy and confused because I have never seen him before.  

"I'm sorry I didn't see you there you alright bud?" The stranger said. I nodded my head before turning around looking for the pieces of papers but, I could only see the drawing and not my dad's picture. "Looking for this." I turn around to face the man again to see the picture of my dad in his hand. 

I tried jumping to grab it from him. "That's mine give it my papa." I said as tears where on the verge of falling. I retreated the picture from his hand and protected it on my chest hiding it from him. He smirked before retreating and walking away leaving me alone I could only watch as he disappeared that day. 

I never told my mother about that day. It's not that I didn't want to tell her it's just something about him made the guy look dangerous. Growing up I tried my best to distract myself and forget about that memory. So as I continued to grow up. I got more and more involved with S.H.I.E.L.D at age twenty four in the year 1970 I was able to sign up for the military. But my mother wasn't very found of the idea that her only son would join the war. She simply didn't want me to disappear in the middle of a battle like my father.

"Come on Ma, nothing bad will happen to me." I said talking to my mother inside her office. 

"I don't want you to put your life in danger [Male Reader] why did you go behind my back and join the military." She yelled back. 

"THIS. This is the reason why I went behind your back because I knew you would react this way. Nothing bad will happen to me you i'm twenty four years old for crying out loud." I turned around walking towards the door turning my back to her waiting for her to say something. 

"If you walk out of this office in this very instant you can't forget about having a mother young man." She yelled once again. 

I glanced behind my shoulder before opening the door taking a step forward. "Then I guess you just lost a son... I apologize for following my father's steps, have a good day agent Carter." I said closing the door after me.

I'm furious that she doesn't support my idea of wanting to follow my father's steps. I'm a Rogers it runs through my blood. I walked in silence passing by people with my hands inside my pockets. I ignored people's stares and walked out to find Howard Stark holding flowers and a can of something with Jarvis getting inside the car.

"What's the matter [Male Reader] did your mother find out?" I walked feeling annoyed not making eye contact with him. 

I made my way over to them nodding my head. "Yes Sir my Ma, found out about it I mean Agent Carter because she no longer has a son at least according to her. You think I can be adopted by you and your wife. I promise to be a big brother to your baby." I said joking around. 

"Real funny [Male Reader] but you know she doesn't think that. She just doesn't want her only son to leave and have something bad happen to you. You will understand what a parent has to deal with when you have your own kids some day. But you're welcome to come visit and meet the baby when my wife gives birth." He patted my shoulder and got inside the car. I closed the door after him. 

"Hey Jarvis, take good care of Mr. Howard and his family. And take care of that baby too who knows maybe if it's a girl i'll date her in the future." I laughed earning a slap from Jarvis. "Woah, I was just kidding." 

"I heard that [Male Reader]" spoke Howard. "Win that war against the Vietnamese." I nodded. 

I watched as the car drove away.

___________________________

Dear Mom, 

I know the last time I saw you was over a week ago. But I just had to come and fight in the war. Maybe I shouldn't had been harsh on you. So I apologize I didn't mean to hurt your feelings mom. The situation here has become difficult with the new orders from Nixon its going to take a while to get home. There's a pair of dog tags I recieved please give them to Howard's kid I want them to have it. But I promise to get home save I love you Ma.

"Rogers! Hurry up we need you in the front lines. Finish writing that letter later come on son!" The sargeant yelled. 

I quickly put the letter away and placed it inside the envelope. "Yes sir!" 

The war against Vietnam lasted for the whole month of July. At least that's what we where told but in reality it lasted for five years. It was complicated in the beginning because it took a lot of time to get used to been out in the woods. It was hard seeing innocent people killed when we passed through the villages. The first time I had to shoot someone took a lot of me to be able to pull the trigger. Not having anything warm to drink or eat during the winter was something I had to get used to. Not being able to sleep was the one thing that I wish I wouldn't have to adjust too but it was a must. Slowly though I was able to get used to it. 

As each year passed I continued to write letters to my mother. Each month I would also recieve her response with a care package. I left for the war at twenty four now after five years i'm now twenty nine. But the conditions in the jungle made situations worse. Sometimes it would rain or the conditions in the jungle where to much to bare. Seeing many soldiers die has opened my eyes and made me realize how precious life can be. And also left me thinking about the things my dad had went through.

The second year my mother continued to sent me letters and care packages. From cookies to a small piece of my favorite cake. She even sent it me my favorite snacks as a kid. What suprised me was when Howard had sent it a big care package with a letter to me. 

"Woah, look at that fellas Rogers ove here got a package from Mr. Stark himself." Evan a soldier who became a good friend of mine over the past two years shouted grabbing the attention from the rest of the group. Everyone gathered around me looking at what I had recieved.

I had to use all my force of in order to open the big box. Once I opened it tons of good food was placed in clean silver plates. Some contain good amounts of fancy food. Some that I haven't seen in my life. Underneath where pairs of socks and combat boots. 

I grinned. "Looks like there's good amounts of food for everyone come dig in." I shouted. Everyone gathered each grabbing their own food. While everyone ate including the sageants I looked inside the envelope to find a letter from him. 

Dear [Male Reader] Rogers. 

I haven't heard from you for quite a while now. Your mother has told me about the situation of the war so I decided to sent you some supplies along with food you can use and eat. I have also recieved your military dog tags but I can imagine you getting in trouble for losing them. Not sure if your mother has inform you but your a big brother to my son Anthony Edward Stark. So make sure to get back safe here's a picture of him. 

See you soon Rogers. 

I looked inside the envelope to find a picture of a little boy who looked like Howard and Maria. "This must be him Anthony." I smiled to myself. I folded the picture and put it inside my pocket. I digged in to the delicious food and ate with the group. 

________________________

As the years continued to pass by we where slowly winning the war. But unfortuately many soldiers where taken hostage by the Vietnamese or dead. During an operation to rescue them a lot of them got wounded or killed. I was fortuante to be alive and carried out the plan But thankfully when we where able to get them out we had already won. 

It was the longest five years of my life. We where on our way home on April 30, 1975. Five years of my life was spent out in the battlefield. What finally felt like ages we where back in New York. Our air plane had finalled landed. Evan and I where some of the few who made it out alive. We took our bags and exited the plane along with the rest of the troops.

As I walked the small stairs from the plane I could see my mother along with Howard and his wife standing with her. And a little boy being carried by Jarvis. They slowly began to speed walk towards me. I ran until I had finally reach my mother and hugged her. Tears of joy where spilling from my eyes. Feeling the warmth of my mother gave me the feeling of secure and safety. I kissed her on the cheek. "Welcome back son I've missed you so much." She said in between sobs. 

"You're a giant [Male Reader]." Mrs Stark said from behind us. My mother and I pull away from the hug. I looked at Maria and Howard and hugged them. Maria gave me a kiss in the cheek while Howard gave me a hug. 

"It's good to have you back son. You've gotten taller and stronger look at all those muscles." Howard joked around. 

"Thanks. But both of you look great as well everyone does. Even you Jarvis come here and give me a hug." I yanked him and gave him a huge hug. He was carrying a little boy in his arms. 

"Big brother [Male Name]." The little boy clunged to my neck. I carried him into my arms and ruffle his hair with my hand. "We finally get to meet Anthony. I'm guessing you told him about me after all." I said turning to them. 

"Of course. You made a promise don't you remember. Plus Tony show him what your wearing under your shirt." Howard said. Anthony took something out from his shirt. It was the dog tags I had sent the first year I was away. 

"It looks like we are brothers little Tony. Big brother [Male Name] is going to always keep you safe I promised. Now let's go home i'm starving I can really go for some cheese burgers." Everyone laughed and made our way to the car. 

"It's good to be back."

______________________________

Should I continue it and do part 2?

[limesicle]

5 times Haiji didn't cry and 1 time he did

Ao3: link

Chapter: 1 of 1

Words: 2954

Pairing: Kakeru x Haiji (KazeTsuyo) 

Rating: T

Tags/notes: angst, injury mentions. I didn’t read the source material so idk that much about backstory whoops. Also, not super /shippy/ but I mean Haiji looks at Kakeru like he’s worth more than the entire solar system from day one sooo

Summary: Title says it all.

=======

The first time is when he realizes his body is breaking.

His father pushes him to train, and he pushes himself. Again. Again. Until he can feel his joints that are hardly a decade and a half old start to pull apart. His tendons strain to bind him together. His veins pump equal parts oxygen and agony.

Haiji looks around the team. At the other boys, legs free of braces, shoulders free of the weight of having his father be coach. Most of the time, he clenches his teeth and does what he needs to do. He looks at the team and sees some looks of pity, some of contempt. He hears the doctors warning him that if he keeps going, he won’t be able to walk by the time he’s thirty, but he can’t listen to them—he can’t quit yet. All he has ever known is running. (He squashes down the fear that it’s all he’s good at.)

He misses practice. Once. Twice. Then three days in a row because the inflammation is so bad he can barely crawl to the door of his bedroom.

It’s worse when he gets back—the looks of pity, the looks that seem like they’re just waiting for him to fall. And then there’s Fujioka, who still looks at him like he can make a comeback—like he’s more than broken pieces held together by fraying threads–like he’s strong, when he’s just too weak to show the world he’s breaking.

The second time is at the end of high school.

Fujioka wants him to go to Rikudo instead of Kansei. Haiji knows there’s a part of him that wants to follow Fujioka, that believes in miracles and happy endings. He could let a dream like that seduce him, but he won’t. He made his choice.

Haiji stands in the middle of the path. Fujioka is a step or two behind him. He can feel the barest hint of late afternoon sun setting, and the breeze that lifts his hair reminds him of what running feels like. For a moment, he closes his eyes against the dimming light and thinks of miracles. Then he thinks of the way his leg is shaking even when he’s only standing still. And all the reasons he made his decision in the first place.

His lip trembles, but he turns to Fujioka with a smile and shuts the door on a future he doesn’t dare to dream of. I’m not strong, he says and wonders if someone who has never been anything else has a chance at understanding.

The third time is after surgery.

By now you’d think he would be used to it. For years he hasn’t been able to take as much as a single step without the pain reminding him that he isn’t whole.

But he’s not used to it.

Haiji clenches his teeth and carefully does the exercises the physical therapists describe. He tries not to get frustrated at the days and weeks of months of sitting still. But every time he fails to take a step, every time he hits the floor for trying too hard, every time his body screams in agony as it strains to meet his demands, it gets harder to keep the tears from his eyes.

As he sits on the floor, head bent to rest between his knees, arms clenched around his body, he learns to regulate his breathing again. Steady his heartbeat. His body learns that growth takes patience and not just hard work. His mind learns to fill the empty hours with his university work.

And there’s a new dream brewing. Something that comes from deep inside his soul.

It’s then that he decides on Hakone, and the fire that’s been long gone from his eyes starts to return.

Hakone.

Because he can’t run, he throws himself into researching and planning. He finds the people he needs one by one. He gathers them until they’re just one person short.

And then, as if by red strings or the winds of fate and things he didn’t used to believe in, Haiji finds him. Number ten. He sees salvation in the way a petty thief runs away from the convenience store.

Kurahara Kakeru is a name he recognizes, because he spent the past years scanning through anything related to running—high school, college, or otherwise. Kakeru runs by, and the breeze that follows causes his heart to skip a beat. He feels the touch of the wind god, Fujin, in that breeze and sees the wings of Hermes on his heels.

Hours later he can still see Kakeru running. Kakeru is a shooting star and his feet light the path that Haiji has so desperately been trying to follow. He has dreamed of the Hakone Ekiden for years, and for the first time, he can see exactly how he’ll get there.

It’s not easy to get Kakeru, or anyone else, really, to agree to his plan. But in each one of them, he knows there’s a soul that wants to run. He just needs to find it. As he struggles to get them to agree—one by one—and struggles to get them to get along, to train, to run, he realizes that maybe he’s not so weak anymore.

At first, he finds himself turning to Kakeru, because he’s the most experienced runner on the team—other than himself. And then he finds himself turning to Kakeru just because he can. Kakeru who is blunt and stubborn and selfish in ways he probably doesn’t understand. Kakeru who runs on a path of starlight. Kakeru who is honestly brusque and righteously short-tempered and awkwardly charming.

Haiji finds himself as the team comes together as a team—watching each one of them find their own path to run. He is still looking for an answer for why he runs. How can he love a sport that breaks his body and wears down his mental stamina? It’s exhausting and infuriating and each step along the path is a battle. Sometimes he wonders. Sometimes he thinks he settles into the pace of his feet against the track and thinks he already knows.

The fourth time is the moment Prince finishes his race just fast enough to let them go to the qualifier.

They have a chance. It’s a dream that is four years in the making, and they’re still only at the start line. But they’ve earned the right to try.

Fujioka stands by his side. Steady in his presence and solid as always. Their paths are different now, but he always did love running with Fujioka at his side.

This time, his lip trembles, and he takes an extra minute to make his way to the rest of the team.

The fifth time is when they qualify.

The race is crowded with people trying to win, showing months or years of hard work in their steps. As they move forward, they spread out, finding their own pace within the pack. Haiji runs beside Kakeru near the front. He waits until the right time, and then with a tap on the back, he tells Kakeru to fly.

The mess by the water tables is unexpected, but he makes it by. He feels a shift in his leg as he lands and nearly stumbles the next step. As he runs, all he can think is don’t break, don’t break. He finishes the race thanking his body for holding out. Kakeru isn’t far from the finish line. As the minutes tick by, the rest of the team joins them until only Prince is left.

And then the race is over. And they wait to hear which schools made it. With each school announced, the tension rises. By nine, the pressure is so high he can barely think. Haiji stands with the men he’s spent the past ten months making into a track team, and waits as they all hold one collective breath. And then ten is announced.

Kansei University.

It’s another goal passed. The finish line is almost within sight. His heart soars, full the bursting point with happiness. He turns to share this elation with the team and catches just a glimpse of Shindo sobbing into Musa(also sobbing)’s shoulder, the twins piling onto Nico-chan, King unplugging his ears with disbelief written across his face, and—Kakeru fills his field of view, blue-gray eyes practically glowing. For a moment, they stare at each other, hearts beating to the same tune of joy. Haiji leaps forward, ignoring a twinge in his right knee and any doubts he would usually have about jumping into Kakeru’s arms.

(The one time.)

They train hard in the time they have before New Year’s. They deal with the twins’ doubts and struggle with the limited time. Haiji spends more time in the hospital than he has in a while, checking and double checking. He still thinks of himself as broken pieces and wonders if the glue holding him together now is just as weak as it was before. He thinks of four years of planning and doubts that it was enough.

Haiji silences thoughts about himself and turns instead to thinking about the team. (He still wonders what he’s running for, too). He offers encouragement where he can, support where needed, and a reminder or two that rest is important.

And then the day comes.

The first day is difficult. Prince starts them out well, and Musa follows up. But then there’s the drama with the twins and romance of all things. In the middle of a race. Haiji ignores the temptation to say a variety of things to instill fear into their souls instead of sparkles and hearts. Instead, he opts for a gentler approach.

Kakeru, sitting next to him in the car, doesn’t seem surprised at all. When asked, he mentions something about Musa, dark baths, and Hana-chan. He says it with flush darkening his cheeks and his eyes dart away from Haiji’s. Haiji lets himself be distracted for a moment. And then he turns some of the things he thought of directing at the twins toward himself.

Shindo’s section of the race is the most difficult to watch. Haiji watches him stumble and stand again a hundred times. If Shindo stopped, Haiji wouldn’t blame him, but there’s a part of his soul that’s begging him to keep going. It’s selfish, he knows, but a part of him needs this race—to heal, to move on. So he watches the screen, hands stiff with tension, and tries not to let the guilt set in.

The vice grip around his chest eases a little once Shindo is done with his section and back inside. Be shares a look of reassurance with Kakeru, as they finish pulling the blankets up around the figure of their now-sleeping teammate. Yuki hangs back just a moment. Haiji reads a kind of frustration and guilt in his expression. After a moment of thought, he steps out of the room pulling Kakeru with him.

The rest of the evening passes relatively uneventfully. Kakeru passes in and out of sight. Shindo wakes before too long and they videochat the rest of the team. It’s not the same as physically being in the same place, but there’s a kind of peace that comes with unity, even if it comes in the middle of a race.

As he tries to sleep, he can feel a ringing in his bones, the sound of something that’s not quite in the right place. His knee doesn’t hurt—not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. In the morning, he wakes with a start, shaking off the tendrils of dreams of times past. His doctor arrives bright and early, right on time. He can see the sense of resignation in the man’s eyes—a sense of something that’s almost pity. Haiji watches silently as the doctor gives his old injury one last check and hands him the painkillers.

He doesn’t expect anyone to have noticed the doctor, but perhaps he should have. Kakeru’s voice, in particular, is loud. Worried. Haiji tells them about the visit and assures them that painkillers are just in case. Kakeru’s eyes settle on his own. Haiji sees a kind of acceptance there—it’s different than the doctor’s resigned worry. He’s not sure if he’s reading more into Kakeru’s expression than he should, but to him he sees a look that speaks understanding.

As the race begins again, the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightens. It’s the second and last day. It’s the day the race ends. It’s the day his dream ends. It’s a day of endings. There’s an unsteadiness in his chest as he watches Yuki head down the slope, snow swirling in the background. Yuki flies down the mountain like a blizzard.

He watches Nico-chan senpai and King. He shares a short phone call with Kakeru, wondering what Fujioka could have said to make him sound like that. In the end, all Haiji can think of is the truth. The adrenaline of the day is already pumping through his veins, but his heart picks up a notch. To me, you are the greatest runner. (He only finds out from Joji later, much, much later that Kakeru says he’s in love after hanging up.)

When he watches Kakeru run, even just within the confines of his phone screen, he sees starlight like he always does. But this time, he sees something else too. There’s an air of tranquility. There isn’t a smile on his face, but Kakeru looks content, like he’s glowing with the kind of radiance that can only come from inside.

It isn’t long before he stands at the relay point. Waiting. His heart picks up its pace. The painkillers in his bloodstream silence any inklings of pain. He takes a deep breath in. It’s almost over. He exhales and Kakeru comes into view, the glow in his eyes a hundred times brighter than it was from the screen.

Kakeru runs, and he looks like something heaven sent. His form is beautiful and his speed is hardly human. Haiji blinks and he can almost see wings sprout from his back. (It doesn’t take him long to learn that Kakeru broke the record Fujioka set only eleven minutes prior.)

When Kakeru passes him the sash, he doesn’t say a word aloud but the smile on his face says enough. He passes Haiji the sash, and with it a wish of good luck. The sash is warm from Kakeru’s hands, and it feels heavier than just a piece of cloth. It’s the weight of the hopes of the other nine. But it doesn’t feel like weight. It feels like wings.

Haiji runs knowing this is the last time. He knows his body well enough, by now. He has heard the doctors tell him again and again that it’s only a matter of time. But as he runs, his chest feels light. It’s the final stretch of his dream. He only has a few more minutes left before he wakes, and it flies by. Even as he pushes his body toward the breaking point, he feels complete. Haiji runs toward the finish line. His broken pieces have been put back together and bound with veins of gold. He is whole. For the first time since long ago, he feels whole. And as Kakeru’s face comes into view once more, he knows why.

He smiles as he hurls himself forward. His leg is done for, and there’s some kind of comfort in knowing there’s no way to save it now. Even with the painkillers, his tendons are screaming in agony. He can feel the grinding of gears that no longer fit being forced to work. And yet he runs with a smile on his face. Runs straight forward, right across the finish line. Forward, forward, because he has finished one dream, but he sees the future in front of him—in the starlight at Kakeru’s feet, in the worried lines of his brow, in his arms that steady him as he finally comes to a halt.

It seems like mere instants. It seems like hours. The time he spends clinging to Kakeru passes in a whirlwind of emotion. There’s the elation of having finished the race. He had expected to be lost after he crossed the finish line, but he has never felt more at home than he does huddled against the cold pavement. His leg that he spent so many hours of torture to run with once again is in pieces, yet he has never felt more complete.

Tears sting the corners of his eyes. He blinks the first few back, but Kakeru murmurs you’re strong and you’re my reason for running within the same short breath, and the rest can’t be stopped.

Bonus:

The way home is long, and he spends most of it next to Kakeru. They’re all exhausted by the time the doors of Aotake are in sight once more. Nira greets them with an enthusiastic bark, and the most any of them can muster is a smile and a couple pats on the head. The building that’s usually bustling with activity during waking hours is quiet as they make they’re way to bed.

Kakeru dutifully brings Haiji to his room, unhooking his arm from around his shoulder as they reach the door. He mutters something about an ice pack and hurries out of sight. He appears again a minute later, this time with an ice pack in hand. Even after handing it to Haiji, he hesitates, making it obvious with his body language that he doesn’t want to leave. After a moment, Haiji takes pity on him. The door swings shut behind the two of them.

[kiangreyback]

❝ He tore the beauty from his face, and called it terror. ❞

AVAN JOGIA? No, that’s actually KIAN GREYBACK. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this RAVENCLAW student is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as CISMAN and is a UNKNOWN ( WEREWOLF ) who is known to be CUNNING, TEMPERAMENTAL, and BRUTAL but also RELIABLE, ADROIT, and ADAPTABLE.

links: pinterest

triggers: child abuse, child abandonment, kidnapping, drugs, alcohol

CHILDHOOD.

!! CHILD ABUSE TW, CHILD ABANDONMENT, KIDNAPPING TW !! The most that Kian can remember about his childhood is abandonment. Perhaps the cruelest thing to him was his parents deciding to carry him for nine months, bring him into this world and leave him for it to devour. –And devour it did.  The story is that his parents just didn’t care– they had lives and he wasn’t a part of them. The most they’d done for him is stuff his pockets with a couple galleons and leave him behind in Knockturn Alley ( because who would go around asking ‘who’s kid is this’ there. )

However, he didn’t have to suffer abandonment for very long. Fenrir Greyback had an eye for those who ‘needed’ a pack and knelt down with a hand offered. It came with a price but what wouldn’t Kian give for a home– a family. Perhaps if he could go back he would have refused that offer…only perhaps.

Fenrir was a cruel man..and that was putting it mildly– but Kian wonders if he’d take his own parents over a monster of a man because at least he’d given him a home. ( Not that home meant comfort but it did, eventually, mean FAMILY. )

His ‘father’ was hard on him. He was pushed to his breaking point again and again. He was taught how to endure cruelty, how to get his vengeance, to bleed but not be weakened by it. The lessons were vicious – but in Kian’s eyes necessary. He adapted well, fought until he couldn’t catch his breath and held up his siblings when it was their turn. Even though he was scared, Kian would approach everything in control– because that’s what he was taught. His ability to look Fenrir in the eyes and say NO earned him the most hated and most favoured spot in ragtag group of his siblings. ( standing up to his father only had a punishment at the end– though it seemed as if Kian had made his own mark with his stubbornness. ) Get knocked down, you get back up and you swing.  !! End TW !!

SCHOOL DAYS.

Kian was sorted into Ravenclaw. A strange house for someone who’d seem more fit for Gryffindor or Slytherin. But it came down to his cleverness and craftmanship that stuck him in with the eagles. He was smart– or rather a smartass – found unconventional solutions to problems and had a cunning way of adapting to even the worst of conditions.

He isn’t very popular with the others in his house or year– a little bit of an outcast because who doesn’t know that GREYBACK is synonym for WEREWOLF. HE tended to be a target for the upperclass peers to dig into when they were feeling bored. Though it ended with someone hexed or cursed or sporting a split lip or broken nose. But such was his life and he wasn’t too bothered by it. –As he grew older and stronger and word got back to those scaredy-cat pureblood parents that it was a Greyback throwing said spell/fist– things quickly quietened down for fear of retaliation from Fenrir. ( Not that the bastard actually cared but it’s the… thought that counts.)

HE doesn’t really spend time in clubs or extracurricular as he feels it’s a waste of time. Besides he has one band of dumbasses he doesn’t need to join any others. However, he did pick up quidditch from an early age and was quite a talented flier. His postion is naturally a beater– though he’s not fond of being led by a weasley.

His grades are above average and had once been considered for the position of prefect because of them but ultimately wasn’t offered it because of the fights he’d been involved with. smart but not friendly nor helpful enough.

OTHER STUFF.

Uhm, he doesn’t believe in all this ‘purebloods are superior’ shit. He’s just mostly here for the fight– at least that’s what he believes his ‘father’ is in it for because Merlin knows they aren’t fucking purebloods no matter how you spin it. There’s no money. No real parents. No hoity-toity clothes. No nose so far up his own ass. – IN fact i think he believes the Purebloods are a disgrace and can’t hold their own and that’s why people like him have to fight their battles. ( He doesn’t really voice this but he definitely thinks it even if it isn’t particularly true— just he’s real dumb? arrogant? idk? about this mess of a war )

He’s actually quite calm??? ( I KNOW?? WHAT?? ) He doesn’t mess with others unless he’s messed with and he tends to keep to himself. Kian isn’t out there being a social butterfly because he really doesn’t fucking care what you do or say or whatever. Life is dumb as hell, in his opinion, and he thinks dealing with his own is enough without someone elses involved. HOWEVER, if he is messed with this boy is gonna throw down. LIke he’s gonna go for the throat because that’s how he was raised. It’s either you or them there is no BOTH.

with that ^ said— he does have friends ( hallo plots ). he can be quite charming if he puts in the effort and perhaps his ‘life sucks, do what u want’ attitude tends to draw in people who may need stress relief from the war or you know normal things like last nights essay.

!! DRUGS TW, ALCOHOL TW !! Kian does smoke. Cigarettes and pot– never been one for anything harder than that. If he really wants to let go he’s out here for a couple rounds of firewhiskey. This is probably to the best way to see his true personality.   !! END TW !!

Loyalty is important to him ( though he isn’t past using it as a toss-around word for the DEs because he just really doesnt give a single fuck about them ). His lays with his siblings– though not biological he is very protective of his sisters but not enough to stand in the way of danger for them ( unless lethal. he will definitely step in ) After all they should know how to survive by now ANYWAYS. ( okay he does step in more often than that ;) a pack is a pack. )

There is some light at the end of the tunnel with him. He is quite funny when he wants to be– he can have a laugh and smile ( no, i mean an actual smile ) but it seems to be reserved for those he can trust and let down that massive guard he has up.

MORE RANDOM THINGS.

Probably would love baseball in the muggle world.

The name Kian was given to him due to that being the first word he spoke to Greyback. ( OR at least that’s what Fenrir believes he said ). Kian would be the name his father had and somehow it had stuck in his mind. ‘Why are you out here all alone?’ ‘Kian.’ SOOOOOOO he has no idea that’s his real father’s name….but yeno I guess you do get some things from your parents ha.

He doesn’t really remember anything about his birth parents. He only remembers Greyback. Greyback is gross and likes to hold things over your head so -- his parents leaving him is something that is usually brought up in order to take kian down a notch-- though it doesnt work how Greyback anticipates.

Doesn’t really have an opinion on being a werewolf other than it’s time consuming and therefor irritating to deal with. Pain is pain. Its an inconvience he wishes he could cure but not one that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to cure it, if u get me.

His favorite food is probably something dumb like mashed potatoes with gravy or roasted chicken with cous cous. – Favorite drink would be something equally simple like apple juice. Basically the palate of a two year old. Meaning he’s also here for things like lollies and popcicles, general summer time sweet treats. Not much for hot drinks like coffee or tea tho..go figure.

He has SEVERAL tattoos…..and  none of them really mean anything? They are mostly just  a series of lines/designs/patterns that he doodles on his parchments and, you know, since Papa Greyback don’t care about anything except himself this boy’s been getting them since summer before sixth year.

Tends to favour clothes that are flowy or breezy. Oranges and reds…blacks and whites mostly when outside of uniform. Doesn’t mind tighter jeans but the shirts gotta be flowy.

He cuts his hair every so often. Like real short then lets it grow out…currently like mid-length and usually pulled up out of his face either in a pony or half-up-half-down.

PRetty damn good at wizard’s chess ( eat your heart out ron weasley! ) and most anything that requires quick-strategy. He’s pretty good at figuring out the other’s intention which leads to a win.

He does draw– not anything too complicated but enough to know he has a mediocre talent in it? ( ie. his tattoos/doodles. )

His favorite classes are probably transfig, charms and probably astronomy. Most hated is herbology, comc, divinations and History or studies of anything.

UMM VERY UNSURE of what he’s gonna do when he graduates?? He doesn’t really have a certain goal for right now but….hopefully he can figure it out before the end of the semester tbh.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Best Friends. I SAID IT!!! i know i mentioned lone wolf but listen-- he needs a bestie or two  to fuck things up with or at least someone to treat him like he isn’t just, yeno, a wolf.

‘Bullies’.  This tech could be any blood status but i think, particularly, purebloods would be fun for this. basically when they were younger they picked at him for assorted reasons and eventually told to leave him alone by his parents because of Fenrir Greyback. Probably holds resentment to him because of that. also probably still takes abs at him. --kian being on the edge of chilling and ready to throw a curse at you, some could be fun enemies and/or frenemies at this point.

Hookups. basically fun hookups, angsty hookups, any genders. there isn’t a particular reason just that he likes to hookup -- this is probably something that is just physical. he’s not emotionally available and most likely doesn’t know how to be.

That ONE Person. you know that quote? ‘When is a monster not a monster? oh when you love it.’ I think it’d be nice to have someone that treats him softly-- on equal grounds. Like not scared of him or not here to make fun of him but to be gentle towards him. LIKE YOU KNOW the ones taht are saying ‘well your feelings are important. you are important. you aren’t trash’ ( even tho he is trash sometimes lmao )

Qudditch Buddies. Kian is usually abrassive but when it comes to this sport he is probably the only one in the school with good sportsmanship. he doesn’t care if they win or lose ( he still plays well though he’s not lazyyyy ) he’s just there to have a good time!! I think that’d make him quite likable on the pitch-- probably, as funny as this sounds, a breath of fresh air.

[shadowsong26fic]

The Handler AU

As requested by @tigerkat24.

(I do also have fulltext for one scene in here, which will be posted and linked here in the near future, probably tomorrow, after I clean it up some.)

Right. So. A couple of notes before I get started:

1) This AU prominently features Lavinia, and also super self-indulgent. Gonna say that straight-out. This is me and my OC and a bunch of tropes I adore. It is not the most self-indulgent piece I’ve ever put together, but it’s probably up there. I say this because, while I am pretty much past the point as a fan/content creator/whatever where I’m ashamed of my self-indulgent BS, I understand that it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, especially when it’s as obvious as this piece is. And I like people to know at least in general terms what they’re getting into when they open a piece of mine. So, you know, bear that in mind as you move forward.

2) Because of the way I work/develop AUs/OCs/etc., there are certain personality traits/satellite characters/plot points that are common to all/most of Lavinia’s storylines (...yeah, it’s a Thing I do, with OCs yeah but also with OC-free AUs and AUs of AUs and ‘hey what if I changed this plot point here, or put OC B in this situation instead of that one, or stuck Canon D in...look, y’all have seen my Distaff variants, you know the kind of thing I’m talking about; I don’t always stop at a single layer of canon-divergence, but then there has to be a thread connecting everything, or it becomes a totally different story/character, right? ...I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well. ...anyway, back on topic). As a result, despite being an AU of a completely different AU, this outline is therefore somewhat spoilery for a future Precipice arc. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve hinted at where I’m going with her in the fic proper and/or bonus content, or at least I’ve tried to, (plus, I know I’ve mentioned some things here on tumblr about particular narrative/character tropes I like), so it’s probably not too surprising? Or, at least, I hope it’s not. If it is, I need to get better at foreshadowing… Anyway, it is still technically a spoiler. To the point where I considered sitting on this (and a couple related AUs) at least until a particular event from Arc Seven that makes said future storyline about as clear as it can be until it actually happens. But…I decided ehhhhhh, why not (plus this was requested). But, you know, if that is something you want to avoid, might be best not to read this outline until after Arc…nine, I think? Just as a head’s up.

3) This is essentially a Kallus-centric Rebels fic (though, as mentioned above, also prominently featuring one of my OCs). And, other than that one bit in the Valdemar AU I wrote a month or so ago, this is the first time I’ve actually written Rebels content. (…granted, I’ve plotted more things--the closely-related Pellaeon AU features Rebels stuff pretty heavily, as does the middle arc of the Valdemar AU, which started as ‘Anakin would do really well as a Herald actually’ and has now turned into a massive three-part kudzu plot of a niche crossover and I should really redo that outline properly at some point, plus a few other things…) Anyway, the point is, I’m not necessarily super familiar with the conventions/etc. of this part of the fandom, and I apologize for any off-voice bits.

Okay! Now that I have warned for spoilers, inexperience, and self-indulgent BS…welcome to the Handler AU.

Oh, one more thing I want to mention—because this is, as stated above, super self-indulgent, Kanan is still alive because I said so. He got pretty crisped in that explosion and therefore missed the final battle, but didn’t actually die.

(Imperial records may have listed him as dead for a while, because No One Could Have Survived That, but he did survive.)

(How? IDK, maybe Ezra actually was able to do something from the between-place in this version.)

(Point is, we still have Kanan.)

(Ezra and Thrawn are still on a road trip with a bunch of space whales, though.)

ANYWAY. On to the good stuff.

It all kicks off like two months after Yavin.

Some timeline notes:

Because timelining anything in Star Wars is A Project, I am making some executive decisions here.

We’re approximately a year after the Rebels series finale.

(Meaning Jacen is like 3-4 months old, depending on exactly how pregnant Hera was at the time.)

This is also about how long Zeb and Kallus have been explicitly dating.

(There was SO MUCH PINING going on for a while there.)

(But it took that long for either of them to actually do anything about it.)

(Kallus figured out pretty early on that he was interested, but didn’t really think he deserved this/had earned it yet/that Zeb could possibly be interested in him, and therefore decided to bury his feelings Like A Goddamn Professional Okay.)

(Zeb took a while longer to clue in, and then couldn’t figure out if this was just him or what--see above re: burying things; worked a little bit too well--plus he has his own issues to work through.)

(And then there were some frantic Confessions and so-glad-we’re-alive sex and…)

(Yeah, this is a thing now.)

(Exactly zero people who have spent any time with these two dorks at all are surprised.)

(As is so often the case, the last people to clue in that this was A Mutual Thing are the two idiots involved.)

(There may or may not have been a pool or three going.)

(Hera won at least one of them.)

So. Kallus has made himself useful wherever he can since openly defecting, really, but generally works analyzing intelligence reports and training field agents for potential undercover missions. Even if his specific information is getting more and more out of date (few, if any, of the codes, etc. that he knows are still valid at this point), some things aren’t going to change that quickly, and his background is useful here.

Anyway. He gets called in--

“We’ve been approached by a would-be double agent deep in Imperial territory; received three transmissions in the past few weeks. So far, everything we’ve been sent checks out/has been useful, but.”

“But you’re wondering if this agent is an ISB plant.”

“Exactly. She calls herself Vector.”

“She?”

“Yeah. The scrambler she’s using is doing its job, which means we can’t actually use a voice print to ID her, but vocal pattern analysis got us that much. And that she’s likely Coruscanti, Human, and under thirty. That’s about all we know.”

He goes over the data and the recordings from the first three contacts and nothing jumps out as a red flag/any of the tricks he’s familiar with.

On the first call, there’s some dancing around; as if Vector’s trying to make sure of who she’s talking to. What he’d expect from either a plant or a genuine defector, really. Not particularly helpful.

The other two are fairly brief/straightforward, and start the same way each time--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it. Also not particularly enlightening, given the question he’s been asked to answer.

The data itself, though, is--interesting. Not easy to access, for the most part, and not necessarily all from the same source. Parts of it are the kind of thing ISB would use as bait, but just as much of it is not. Some of it provides useful context for intel the Alliance has received from other sources (some covert, some not), which is not the kind of thing an ISB plant would send.

So, he goes back to his superiors and tentatively reports Vector as probably genuine. He wants to be on hand for her next transmission, though, to be sure.

(He wonders, idly, who they had evaluate his initial transmissions like this, or if using an established codename and protocol was enough…)

(He’s Concerned it might be the second.)

(There are some worrying gaps in Rebel Intelligence’s security that he can only do so much to patch.)

Of course, there’s a slight problem with that. Vector’s transmissions haven’t exactly been regular--the second one came four days after the first, and then it was nearly two weeks to the third.

And when they do come, they’re very brief, so if Kallus is, say, busy with a training exercise on the opposite side of the base…

(Or otherwise occupied in a supply closet.)

(He does have, y’know, a life when off-duty.)

(...which is something that still sends him into weird brainspirals of “how did this happen” and “i don’t deserve this” and “when is it going to blow up in my face” on occasion, but that is a separate problem. One that he buries. Like A Goddamn Professional.)

(no that’s not a habit of his why do you ask.)

IN ANY CASE, this means that it ends up being her sixth message, close to three weeks after Kallus is initially brought in, before he’s able to listen in live.

(Transmissions four and five, after he reviews them, don’t really change his analysis, but still.)

Transmission six comes in while Kallus happens to be in the tiny corner of the current base that Intelligence has claimed.

It starts like the others did--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

Once the file transfer initiates, he responds.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

(Okay, technically, he probably should be using a different handle now, since it’s really supposed to be for field agents only and he isn’t one anymore. And there are similar shared code names for Intelligence agents primarily on base duty, or he assumes there are, but even after over a year of not using it, it’s still the first one that comes to mind. Reflexive, almost. And now it’s going to stick.)

There’s a beat of silence from the other end, and Kallus is briefly concerned that he misjudged the situation, that she’d going to panic and cut the transmission.

But, “I can’t leave the link open long,” she says.

(Part of him thinks she sounds...almost relieved? Like she’s been waiting to be challenged like this, and the longer things went on without a test, the more nervous she got.)

(He can understand that worry. That sense of just waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

(And, yes, other Rebel Intelligence agents probably could have tested her like this, and if he hadn’t been around as a resource they almost certainly would have, but given that he knows exactly what to look for, the Powers That Be had decided to leave it in his hands.)

“Of course,” he says, and asks her a few questions, rapid-fire.

(He’s less interested in the specific details of her answers--and he’s not really asking her questions about her identity--then how she approaches answering him. Not necessarily something he can explain, which is part of why he didn’t coach any of the other officers and get this taken care of on transmission four or five, but just trying to get a sense of her.)

(One thing he does is privately revise the estimate of her age--he thinks she’s younger than the previous guess, probably twenty or so. Sabine’s age, maybe, at the oldest. Which makes her even less likely to be a plant in his opinion; ISB wouldn’t put this much effort into setting up an agent that inexperienced, not on a mission this sensitive, even if she was inconceivably talented and precocious. As an in-person infiltrator, yes, absolutely; but for this many layers of intrigue...no, they’d want someone Experienced.)

She ends the transmission somewhat abruptly, after about five minutes, but he was more or less expecting that and anyway he has what he needs.

“Well?”

“She’s genuine,” he says. “I’m as sure as I can be of that.”

“Good to hear.” A pause. “...you’ve run undercover agents before, correct?”

Kallus shuts down the knee-jerk paranoid response as fast and hard as he can.

(There are almost certainly people in the Alliance who still don’t trust me but none of them are in this room. I know that. Calm down.)

“Yes, once or twice,” he says, cautiously. “For short-term assignments.”

“Congratulations. You just volunteered to be Vector’s handler.”

(Hence the name of the AU. AKA the one where Kallus adopts a baby spy who JUST HAPPENS to be Palpatine’s daughter.)

(...yeah, he didn’t really see that one coming.)

(...at some point, I should probably go through and outline Lavinia’s politics and her reasons for defecting in detail, but in the interests of focusing on Kallus’s end of things, which is much more interesting, a (hopefully) brief digression on the subject:)

(Lavinia was created and trained to be a spy/manipulator, to perform the kind of tasks and access the kind of information that Palpatine could as the avuncular Chancellor but cannot as Emperor, now that he’s thrown that mask away.)

(...apart from very specific, carefully staged moments, like with Ezra.)

(So, part of manipulating people means understanding them, which means Lavinia does a lot of research to put her targets into context, and in so doing comes across a wide variety of cultures/forms of government, at least in an academic context.)

(And that means that, once she starts thinking beyond “how can I survive until tomorrow” and starts thinking about broader impact/more long-range plans, it doesn’t take her very long to realize that her father’s government is...well, let’s call it deeply flawed.)

(What she does when she comes to that conclusion varies, depending on other circumstances--but she doesn’t necessarily defect right away. Mostly for practical reasons; in Masks!Verse, which this AU is a variant of, she has no Rebel contacts that she’s absolutely sure of.)

(Meaning, in this case, both “absolutely sure is an actual Rebel and not just sympathetic to their aims/politics” and “absolutely sure would be willing to work with me despite my parentage.”)

(And if she approaches anyone she isn’t sure of, it’ll get her or her contact or both of them killed. Defecting from a distance, while she can better protect her identity, has a much bigger risk of interception, which, again, would get her and/or her contacts and possibly a lot of other people killed. Or worse.)

(Basically, she doesn’t think defection is a viable option for her--there are some other reasons for this, but those play a distant second to these concerns.)

(But then Alderaan happens.)

(And these concerns carry a lot less weight.)

(It takes her a couple months to figure out how to make contact with Rebel Intelligence, let alone how to do it safely, but she starts working on it at that point.)

(...I think that’s the salient points here. Like I said, I have a fair bit more about Lavinia’s politics/etc. and the ways/extent to which she’s willing to defy her father in various AUs, but that’s enough for this one, I think.)

So, Kallus can’t really argue with the assignment (even if part of him kind of wants to? Not because he thinks he can’t do it, but because he’s concerned that being another deep-cover informant’s handler is going to dig up a lot of stuff he’d really, really rather keep buried.)

(Look, he feels like he’s finally found his equilibrium. He’s even, somehow, approaching happy with his life for the first time in what feels like forever which, guilt-induced brainspirals aside, he doesn’t want to give up.)

(Besides, handling Vector wouldn’t be his only responsibility, and if he does start losing that equilibrium, he’s not sure how much his other work will be affected.)

(On the other hand...)

(On the other hand, there are very few people who have done what he did and survived long enough to make it back to Rebel lines.)

(Oh, there are other deep-cover informants, sure; but the majority of them are plants inserted by Rebel Intelligence.)

(And while, even leaving aside the technicalities involved with Senator Mothma and others among the leadership who had previously served in the Imperial Senate, there are plenty of defectors--up to and including General Madine and some other persons of very high rank--for the most part, once they make that decision, defectors grab what they can and run.)

(The ones that don’t usually don’t survive as long as he did.)

(Or, alternatively, they don’t identify themselves to the Alliance or even necessarily work directly with them; they perform internal sabotage rather than espionage.)

(Those embedded defectors tend to last longer, but not by much.)

(Which means that he’s probably the only person--certainly the only available person--who has been where Vector is. Who better to help her?)

(As for his own issues...well, he is a Professional, dammit. He can damn well compartmentalize. He’s very good at that.)

(...yeah, this is kind of a running theme for him. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it’s...very much not.)

(It remains to be seen how much it’ll help or hurt when dealing with Vector.)

So, he accepts the assignment, and goes back to his quarters to tell Zeb and collect a few things--given the irregularity of Vector’s transmissions, until he can talk to her again and set up a better protocol, he’s going to basically have to camp out in Intelligence.

(Which he’s not looking forward to, but it is what it is.)

Zeb is already there when he gets back--their current shifts don’t entirely line up, which is fine; they have at least a few hours overlap most days which is better than some pairs can say.

After several minutes saying hello...

“Did I miss anything interesting?” Kallus asks.

“That Skywalker kid came by a bit ago,” Zeb tells him. “Looking for Kanan.”

Kallus blinks, halfway through fixing caf for the two of them. “...aren’t he and Hera off investigating a potential supply line?”

(Which is, of course, far below Hera’s current paygrade, but she volunteers for that kind of mission on occasion. An excuse to spend private time with her family, while still technically being useful and not taking actual time off.)

“Yep,” Zeb says. “Apparently, this is the third or fourth time something like that has happened. They keep missing each other.”

"Well, I’m sure they’ll link up sooner or later,” he says. “Especially if Skywalker’s actively looking for Kanan.”

(He hasn’t actually met Luke yet at this point, but he’s heard the rumors. He has no real doubt of this fact.)

“Yeah, probably,” Zeb says. “I think Kanan’s been trying to track him down, too. He’ll be sorry he missed him.”

(...yeah, we’re going with Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence to keep those two from actually meeting for a while.)

(Partly because it’s easier than figuring out all the timeline/plot implications that might have (and I’m lazy, and that is the focus of another story), but mostly because I think it’s funny.)

Kallus nods. “...did he and Hera take Jacen with them, or...?”

(He hadn’t seen any evidence the baby had been left with them, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.)

But Zeb shakes his head. “Nah, Sabine has him this time. Why? Something going on?”

“I have an assignment,” Kallus tells him.

“Huh. Extraction?”

(Logical assumption--the bulk of the fieldwork he does now, all-hands-on-deck situations like Lothal aside, is extractions. Occasionally helping sell an insertion, but generally the reverse.)

“No, not this time,” he says. “The agent who reached out, the one I told you about--I’ve been assigned as her handler.”

(He has long since gotten permission to discuss at least surface generalities of his work with Zeb, and they both know where the line is.)

Zeb’s ears flick a little, and Kallus can practically see him weighing the same pros and cons that he himself did earlier--and probably several others he hadn’t thought of.

“So, I guess that means you’re camping out in intelligence for a while?”

“Unfortunately,” he says. “Of course, there is a difference between being on-call and being on duty. And my schedule technically won’t change.”

Zeb perks up at that and grins before kissing him. “Well, I’m sure I an find an excuse to be in the area. Sometimes. Just in case. You know.”

“Mm.”

Fortunately, call number seven comes less than a week later.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

A brief pause. “Yes.”

“I’ve been assigned as your handler.”

(He figures the best way to deal with someone who’s probably twitchy and paranoid and otherwise on high alert is to be as scrupulously honest as he can. That doesn’t mean telling her everything, of course, but it does mean being straightforward, difficult as it is, and not outright lying.)

(If he can. So far, he can.)

Another pause. “I understand.”

(She’s hard to read on this one, whether or not she finds it suspicious. She might even be relieved again, that she’ll have a set contact point, rather than a whoever’s-available sort of situation.)

“There are some protocols I’d like to establish, for further contacts.”

“I can’t call at a set time,” she says immediately. “Or at set intervals.”

"I understand,” he said. “But I’m going to give you a more specific frequency to call.”

“Yes,” she says, and that definitely has a faint note of relief.

“Can you, if nothing else, send an all-clear transmission every two weeks?” he asks. “It doesn’t need to be at a set time, but so we can gauge--” whether or not you’re alive and uncompromised “--how concerned we need to be after a long silence.”

She pauses. “...I think so. Yes. I can do that.”

(Definitely young, he thinks, maybe even younger than Ezra--would be.)

“That’s all for now,” he says. There are others he wants to establish, of course, but those are the most important and her file transfer is nearly complete. 

“I’ll be in touch,” she says; hesitates a second; “Vector out.”

(...well, she’s signing off officially now, rather than just abruptly terminating the connection. Progress. I think.)

He goes back to his quarters, and life settles into a new routine.

He keeps up his old duties--analyzing reports, training potential undercover agents, etc.--and also keeps track of Vector and her reports.

That last one proves...well, his early optimism wasn’t entirely misplaced?

Vector is very, very good at what she does. Her files are varied in their content, and sometimes not as useful as she might’ve hoped, due to timing or other resource concerns, but the quality of the work she does never comes into question.

But part of being a double agent’s handler is assessing how they’re holding up under the incredible stress of the position. And she is frustratingly vague when it comes to anything approaching anything personal about herself.

In addition, there are two additional protocols he wants to set up early on--first is a way for him to reach her.

“Just because I have access doesn’t mean I have influence,” she says. “I can’t seed disinformation for you. Not without getting caught.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

(Though, of course, he had considered the possibility--as well-positioned as Vector seems to be, how could he not?--but while he doesn’t completely rule out the idea, he files it away under “only as a last resort.” Better to leave her in place as long as possible.)

“But if there’s something specific we want you to keep an eye out for--or if we need to warn you about something...”

“Right,” she says. “That’s fine, then.”

The second, though...the second is where they run into real problems.

“I also want to establish an emergency signal. If you need extraction, or if you end up captured by Rebel agents.”

(He still wonders, sometimes, if staying behind when Ezra came to extract him was the right decision. It had seemed so at the time, but...)

(He’ll probably never know. And fretting about it doesn’t do any good.)

(knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to stop.)

“No,” she says.

“Vector--”

And she hangs up on him.

Exactly why she’s so reticent to establish something like that, he isn’t sure--he has some theories, but...

It’s frustrating, to be sure. Makes it harder for him to do his job.

(And it makes him worried about her--if she’s working without any kind of exit strategy, that likely means she doesn’t think such a thing will be possible. Which, on the one hand, shows her dedication to the cause, but on the other hand...on the other hand, if she thinks getting caught is inevitable, she might get sloppy with her own security and that might well turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

(The other alternative, that she doesn’t trust him, or the Alliance, with her safety if things do go wrong, is...well, probably more distressing, in all honesty.)

(Though not, perhaps, altogether surprising.)

He decides to seek Kanan’s advice on the problem.

(Kanan, after all, knows best what to do with unruly teenagers.)

(...well, so does Hera, but Hera’s advice would probably be less applicable/harder to apply to his specific situation. Also, she has better things to do than help him do his job.)

(Which is the other frustrating thing, that he can’t handle this by himself.)

Kanan’s advice is pretty straightforward--be patient, and don’t push her too hard. You can’t help her if she won’t let you.

(This is part of why I wanted him still around, incidentally.)

(Because there is something utterly hilarious about Kallus going to Kanan for parenting advice.)

(And that’s exactly what he’s doing.)

(Even if he hasn’t quite figured that out yet.)

So, taking this in mind, he backs off. A little bit. Decides to start from square one, and build a rapport, and go from there to get some of the other basics that he wants established.

Standard interrogation technique, technically. Not one favored by ISB, obviously, or really encouraged, but even they knew it had its uses.

Vector is still cagey about personal details, but she does start to soften a little as several weeks go by.

He brings up the idea of an emergency code phrase again, after about two months of this kind of sporadic contact.

This time, she says she’ll think about it.

Things hold in this pattern for about a year, and then Vector makes a call, as usual.

Or, it starts like a normal call, anyway.

“You probably won’t hear from me for a while,” she says, as the file transfer is wrapping up and they’re about to sign off.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. And nothing related to the work we’ve been doing. But things are going to be...difficult. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get an all-clear message out for a while.”

He doesn’t like this at all. “How long?”

“A month,” she says. “Probably. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. I’ll contact you as soon as I can safely.”

It is one of the longer months of his life.

But, as promised, the dedicated comm he has for her lights up eventually.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum,” he says. “Good to hear from you again. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she says. And she seems fine, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

When he tells Zeb about it later, though, is where it gets...interesting.

“Glad to hear your kid’s okay,” he says.

“My--she’s not my child, Zeb,” Kallus says.

“Really.”

“....”

“Look, you talk about her the same way Kanan talks about Sabine, when she’s off blowing things up on Mandalore.”

“I...wait, really?”

“Yep,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “I mean, it’s not a problem. S’kind of what we do in this family, isn’t it? Take in strays. ‘Bout time you got in on it, really.”

Kallus just stares at him. “I...what.”

Zeb waves a hand in front of his face. “Alex. Babe. You all right in there?”

He shakes himself. “Yes, of course. Sorry."

“Ehh, don’t worry about it. I mean, it’d probably have been nice for the two of us to talk about kids in general before we started adopting our own strays, but--”

Really, sometimes Kallus thinks that Zeb likes the expression he makes when utterly poleaxed like that.

(He does. He thinks it’s adorable.)

(Also, Zeb figures this is a conversation they maybe should have, because they’re clearly both in this for the long haul and he saw this opening and...look, no one ever said Zeb was good at broaching delicate topics gently.)

“...do you?” Kallus asks, when he recovers. “Want children, someday?”

“I mean...yeah,” Zeb says. “If you do. I mean.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he confesses.

(Because long-range planning is hard; because they’re at war, because he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he doesn’t deserve any of this and planning for a future he doesn’t deserve is just--a little much for him sometimes.)

“But...yes,” Kallus says. “I think so, yes. I would like to raise children with you. Someday.”

Zeb’s response to that is positive and enthusiastic and leads to things they will definitely not be discussing with their hypothetical children ever.

It’s a month or two after that that Kallus finds out who Vector is.

(…well, for a given value of ‘finds out,’ anyway.)

He and Zeb are babysitting--Sabine is back on Mandalore; Hera is on duty; Kanan was supposed to be finally meeting Luke but there was an issue at the spaceport and he’s stranded for the next few hours.

(Like I said. Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence.)

Zeb has just put the kid to bed, and Kallus is watching the news.

“You’re still watching that?” he asks, nudging Kallus to make room for him on the couch and drawing him to lean on his shoulder.

“I’ve told you before, dear, knowing what the Empire is saying, no matter how different that is from what they’re doing, has its uses.”

“Especially if you know how their propaganda is constructed, I know,” Zeb says, and nuzzles his ear. “Just thought you were almost done.”

Kallus smiles faintly and leans into the caress. “I am, I promise. I’ll shut it off in a minute. I just want to--”

He pauses. Rewinds the feed. Pauses it--pre-recorded coverage of some public event the Emperor’s kid had been at, with the newscaster commenting on the progress of whatever “public works” project it was supposed to kick off.

“…what is it? Something she said?”

(...something to do with whatever this “project” is covering up?)

“Hush,” he says, fiddling with a few buttons and calling up a printed transcript and skims through it before sinking back against Zeb, letting out a breath.

“Babe?”

“I think I know who Vector is,” he says.

Zeb stares at him for a minute, then stares at the paused footage--frozen on the Princess’s face, icy and composed.

“…her?” 

“Her,” he confirms.

“Why…?”

“Little things,” he says. “The way she talks, some unique turns of phrase. And she fits the profile--young, Human, Coruscanti, close to someone powerful but essentially a civilian herself…and…when Vector disappeared on me last month, that coincided with a period where the Princess was more visible than usual.”

“Karabast,” he mutters. “When you put it like that…”

“It’s all conjecture,” Kallus points out. “I can’t prove any it. Not without digging deeper--which, if I’m right, risks compromising her cover--or asking her straight-out.”

(Which, of course, would also be a bad idea. It would probably seriously damage the trust he’s spent the past year and more building, and it might not even get him an honest answer anyway.)

“Right,” Zeb says. “…any chance someone else could put this together?”

Kallus makes a face. “Unlikely,” he says, though he doesn’t sound totally sure. “The recordings of our conversations are kept as hard copies only, for security. Not uploaded onto any networked drives. And a very small set of people have access to those copies. I doubt anyone could put it together without that access. Still…”

(Someone dedicated enough, who managed to access one of those recordings, or intercept a transmission along the way, or compromise the lines of communication from the other side…)

“Kriff,” he says. “Anything you can do about it?”

“Not really,” he says. “Other than brief Draven and keep doing what I’ve been doing.”

“Yeah,” he says, and studies the picture again; glances over at the morose look on Kallus’s face; feels his ears twitching. “Huh. Never would’ve figured the Emperor’s kriffing daughter to defect.”

Kallus jumps a little, drawn out of his thoughts, then rolls his eyes and gives Zeb a fond, exasperated smile (which was really the point, honestly; to needle him into a better mood), and rather dryly points out, “There was a time you would’ve said the same about me.”

“True,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “Guess it just goes to show, people surprise you all the time.”

“Indeed,” Kallus says, then reaches over to shut off the feed and changes the subject.

Six weeks after that, Vector goes quiet again. This time without warning.

When her two-week check-in goes by with nothing, he’s immediately concerned. She’s never missed a check-in before, not without warning. He decides to give her a day, and then ping her himself.

(He generally avoids doing that--only when he absolutely needs to speak with her about something time-sensitive that can’t wait for her to reach out.)

There’s no response to his message, either.

He reports the missed check-in, of course. Tries again the next day. And a third.

Still nothing.

(He knows a rescue won’t be authorized--technically, they don’t actually know for sure who or even where Vector is, and if his theory is correct, they cannot make a run on Coruscant for one agent, especially not one as visible as Princess Lavinia.)

(He keeps telling himself that. Over and over again. As he tries a fourth and fifth time to reach her.)

“Zeb,” he says, after a third full week has gone by since the last time he heard from her. “I need you to talk me out of doing something stupid.”

“Uh, sure, babe. What’s going on?”

He explains the situation as briefly as he can. “And I am this close to staging a half-assed unauthorized raid on Coruscant to extract her.”

“...nah, if we’re doing an unauthorized raid on Coruscant, it should be a full-assed thing.”

That...that wasn’t really the answer Kallus was looking for.

(In hindsight, he thinks, as he tries to redraw building plans from memory and plan this stupid, stupid venture, he probably should have gone to Hera if he really wanted someone to talk him down. Or possibly Kanan. ...no, Hera.)

(...it could be worse, though.)

(he could’ve tried asking Sabine.)

Fortunately, before they can actually run off and get themselves killed--

(or court-martialed)

(or in trouble with Hera)

--Kallus’ dedicated comm chimes.

“All clear,” he breathes. “That’s the all-clear. She’s...she’s alive.”

It’s nearly another week before he hears anything else, but finally a real call comes.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum. Are you all right?”

(she doesn’t sound all right; it’s hard to tell through her scrambler, but she seems strained.)

“Everything’s fine,” she says. “I apologize for the delay, but things are settled now. My cover is intact.”

Which is good to know, but not what he asked.

“And what about you?” he says.

She doesn’t answer right away.

“Vector?”

“I’m here,” she says. “And everything is under control. You don’t need to worry about me. Nothing that--it wasn’t anything to do with this, I was caught on the fringes of something unrelated. It won’t interfere with my work going forward.”

Which still isn’t an answer.

(He’s pretty sure the non-answer is his answer, though. Damn it.)

(He knows the risks. Better than most. And he knows she knows them, too. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear, especially knowing that there is kriff-all he can do to help her.)

Into the silence, she says, “I’m your asset, Fulcrum. Not your friend.”

“......”

“I’m just--” She sighs. “I’m your asset. Not your friend. It’s...we should both remember that. It’s probably better, in the long run.”

And part of him is hurt; part of him is annoyed that he is being lectured on professionalism by a damned child; part of him is worried again--he did finally talk her into an emergency code phrase, in case of capture or other disaster, but here she goes again, hinting that she doesn’t have an exit strategy.

(Not like I did, either, he reminds himself. Can’t plan that far ahead. Not when you’re doing this kind of work. And even when Ezra came for me--)

(He buries it. Because he is a goddamn professional, Vector’s reproof aside.)

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says. “And I’ve had worse.”

“........”

All right, that he likes even less.

“Vector--”

“I have to go,” she says. “I’ll be in touch when I have something else. And I’ll do my best to warn you if I have to disappear again. Vector out.”

And, in the interests of “good Lord this thing is close to 6k already,” we’re going to skip ahead quite a bit, about a year and a half, to just after the evacuation of Echo Base.

For the first time in a while, the whole family (minus Ezra) is back on the Ghost together.

(Kanan, Hera, Chopper, Sabine, Zeb, Kallus, Rex, and Jacen.)

(They’ve all been in touch and met up fairly frequently, but they’re no longer a discrete cell and they all have their own, often separate, duties with the wider Rebellion. So, while the circumstances leading to it are awful, it’s nice to have an opportunity like this.)

Orders are to lay low, and make their way by a prearranged roundabout route to the fleet rendezvous five days later.

The first night, they mostly spend catching up and letting Sabine fleece them all at cards.

(Except Rex. Do Not Play Sabaac With Rex.)

(They had all forgotten that rule.)

Hera is sending occasional messages back and forth to Command, to confirm/make adjustments/etc., but otherwise things are fairly quiet after the frantic rush of the evacuation itself.

(Fortunately, none of them were injured in the escape. It’s happened before, when they’ve had to leave a base in a hurry. That was a week no one wanted to repeat.)

It’s their second night of drifting, and Kallus is just starting to fall asleep (Zeb is snoring beside him; the noise honestly probably should have been annoying but is genuinely comforting at this point, to the point where he has trouble sleeping without it) when his comm beeps.

It’s Vector.

More accurately, it’s her emergency signal.

He extracts himself from the bed and slips out into the hall to talk the call.

“Fulcrum.”

“It’s Vector,” she says, unnecessarily. She’s not using her usual scrambler this time, but a more standard vocoder, probably cannibalized from a stolen helmet. She sounds drained, and slightly breathless. “I’ve been burned. I got...I got away. I had more..." She stops, clears her throat. “I got away. I was able to remove my tracker and I’m as--I’m as sure as I reasonably can be that I’ve lost anyone following me by other means. I-I pulled as much raw data as I could onto a couple of portable drives on my way out, but I’m on a...I’m on a sliced public terminal right now, I don’t want to keep the line open long enough to send them in the usual way and I...I don’t know what the protocol is now. Please advise.”

“Where are you now?” he asks. There are so many other questions he wants to ask, needs to ask, both from a personal and a professional standpoint--is she all right; how did she get caught; how did she escape; how long has she been compromised--but they can wait until she’s been located and brought in safely. He sets them all aside, and focuses.

(Like A Goddamn Professional.)

“Ixaly,” she says. “I’m on...I’m on Ixaly.”

He closes his eyes, mentally traces their route through hyperspace. Ixaly is in this sector, it shouldn’t be far...yes. If he’s counted right--they’ll be doing a navigation stop shortly, and dropping out of hyperspace. From there--a few hours to Ixaly, unless he’s completely turned around.

“There’s a cantina,” he says, “in the Diira district in Central City. The White Shale. Can you be there in six hours?”

A brief pause; he can hear her breathing. “Yes,” she says, at last. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“That’s the fastest I can arrange a pickup,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

(If he’s right about how close they are, it might not actually take him that long, but there’s a balance between getting to her as quickly as possible and budgeting in time for something to go wrong. He doesn’t want to risk being late and having her move on because she thinks he’s not coming. He may not be able to contact her if something goes wrong; not if she’s relying on sliced public terminals to reach out to him. And he has no idea when she’ll be able to make contact again, or how long whatever data’s on her drives will stay viable...so, six hours. He’ll have to trust her to stay alive that long.)

“I’ll be there,” she promises. “White Shale cantina, Diira district, Central City, six hours.”

“Exactly. You know how to reach me if there are any problems.”

“Yes,” she says.

“It’s almost over,” he says. “You’ve done well, getting yourself this far. Just hold on for a little while longer, all right?”

“I will,” she says; takes a breath. “I’ll see you in six hours. Vector out.”

The line goes dead.

Half a heartbeat later, he feels the familiar rumble of the hyperdrive cutting out, switching over to sublight engines.

He’s in his window now, he doesn’t have time--

As he heads for the Phantom, he runs into Kanan.

“...what’s wrong?”

“Vector,” he says, clipped. “She’s had to run. She’s not far--”

“Go,” he says. “I’ll let Hera know. ...take Zeb with you. In case you need backup.”

(Which he doesn’t really need, and it might well spook his contact if he brings a team--he has run extractions like this before, after all, and Vector is particularly cagey--but he nods.)

“I will. Thank you.”

“How long do we wait before sending our own rescue party?” Kanan asks.

Kallus does some quick mental math--six hours to the meet; going by Vector’s history, she may need some convincing to come along (like I did, until it was too late; but it’s already too late for her, isn’t it?); she might be wrong about having a tail; they might run into unrelated trouble...

“I’ll send word once we leave the system. If you haven’t heard from me in twelve hours, that’s when you worry.”

“Got it,” he says, and starts off towards the cockpit to update Hera, when Kallus realizes--

“Wait,” he says.

Kanan pauses, half-turns back to him.

“I don’t know who Vector is, not for certain,” he says, “but I have considerable circumstantial evidence that she’s Princess Lavinia.”

Kanan takes that in, then nods slowly. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll pass that along.”

“Thank you,” Kallus says again, and the two of them separate--Kallus goes to wake Zeb and then get the Phantom prepped and underway; Kanan goes to tell Hera what’s going on.

(...and corral his son.)

(Jacen has developed this habit lately of hiding on the Phantom when he thinks it’s going somewhere Interesting.)

(Which is usually whenever someone other than Mamma is driving.)

(He likes going on Adventures with his various uncles and Auntie ‘Bine, okay.)

(They go on the best Adventures.)

(But retrieving one of Kallus’s deep-cover agents whose cover was blown like a week ago at most is maaaaaaybe not the best Adventure for a three-year-old.)

Fortunately, Zeb isn’t hard to wake and grasps the situation quickly. The two of them head for the Phantom--

And find Sabine sitting there waiting for them, spinning idly in the pilot’s chair.

“...Sabine--” Zeb starts.

“Whatever it is that’s got you two running around frantically when we’re supposed to be lying low,” she says, “I wanna help. You might need backup.”

On the one hand, Kallus is pretty sure they won’t. And his prior concerns about spooking Vector if he comes in with a team still apply.

On the other hand, Sabine is one of the best people to have beside them in a crisis, if things do go all to hell. She’s creative and generally carrying an array of weapons that defies the very laws of physics.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to argue with her.

“Fine,” he says. “But you follow my lead--both of you. Neither of you has been on an extraction like this before, and this is what I do. All right?”

“All right,” Sabine says. “Who is it we’re extracting, exactly?”

“A spy, working under the code name Vector,” he says. “She’s been feeding us intel for close to three years now. Her cover was compromised, and she had to run.”

Sabine nods. “Got it,” she says.

“And, if I’m right,” he says--because if he is, Sabine will have to know before they get there, “she’s the Emperor’s daughter.”

“...all right, then,” Sabine manages, after a moment of stunned silence. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They detach, and the Ghost disappears behind them back into hyperspace as Kallus sets a course for Ixaly.

And now, since I’m sure y’all are wondering the same thing Kallus is--i.e., how did she get caught/how did she escape--let’s backtrack and leave Kallus’s POV for another brief digression--

It all comes down to a man named Vedric Greer.

Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard. He’s been in that elite unit for over fifteen years at this point, selected more or less straight out of the Academy.

He’s been the head of Lavinia’s detail since she was twelve.

(Before that, he had a variety of assignments; he never got stuck with Vader, for which he is profoundly grateful, but he guarded a few valuable objects/locations, and he was on Tarkin’s detail for a couple of years.)

See, here’s the thing about Royal Guards. They’re put through a lot of conditioning, both physically and mentally, to become living weapons who are absolutely loyal.

And he is. Vedric Greer is an absolutely loyal man.

The thing is, to be a Royal Guard assigned to any living being other than Palpatine himself--Vader, Tarkin, Mas Amedda, Lavinia, a few others--means to be equal parts bodyguard and prison guard. Such a Guard is at least partly there to protect his principal from external threats, of course, but if said principal steps out of line or he’s given certain orders, he becomes their jailer. Or executioner. Or worse.

When he’s assigned to someone like Tarkin, of course, that isn’t much of a problem.

But a lonely, precocious twelve-year-old kid like Lavinia? Who, whatever traits she may have inherited from her father, has them tempered by an actual conscience?

...yeah, it doesn’t take a whole lot for him to bond with her, just a little.

(Throw in the fact that he has a lover, an Imperial Archivist who survived Scarif by being transferred to Coruscant days before Tarkin blew it up...well. Maybe the cracks in his armor aren’t only to do with the little girl he’s been made responsible for.)

So. Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard, and that means he is a living weapon, and absolutely loyal.

But over the past seven years--and especially the last three--maybe, just maybe, that loyalty has started to shift.

(He doesn’t even realize it, at first; and when he does notice the traces of affection, of tangential loyalty in himself...well, he reasons that Lavinia is all but an extension of her father’s will, anyway. Right? And if he conveniently fails to see certain signs...)

(Reynard, his lover, knows way before Vedric does where this is going, of course.)

And then, one morning, his orders change, and all those little things come crashing down.

(It was such a simple thing that screwed her over; Palpatine seeds bait among his minions constantly, little nuggets of information so that, if there is a high-placed leak, he can track it back to its source right away. Standard counter-intelligence, really; and everyone, everyone, is under suspicion. Everyone is tested.)

(Lavinia is normally very good at spotting this sort of thing--she has a natural aptitude for espionage, she was trained by the best, and she puts just as much effort into surviving her father and completing her mission as he did into taking over the galaxy. How else would she have lasted nineteen years as her father’s daughter--let alone three as a deep-cover Rebel spy?)

(But this time--this time she missed it. And now he knows.)

And Vedric Greer has a choice to make.

It’s surprising, in the end, how simple it is.

“My lady,” he informs her, “you are undone.”

He helps her cut out the tracking device implanted inside her ribcage (which is also fitted with a killswitch, of course, in case she ever tried to slip her leash); she asks him to come with her; he refuses.

(He is not a Rebel. He is not disloyal.)

(What he is, is her protector. What he is, is--hers.)

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“So am I,” he says, and, “Go. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“Goodbye,” she says, and disappears.

He sends a brief message to Reynard--hoping he’ll know what it means (he will; he always knew this might happen), and prepares himself to meet his death.

(Or, at least, that’s what he believes is going to happen.)

(...look, as I said before, this is Self-Indulgent BS(tm). Like I’m really gonna let Greer die. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have no earthly idea how he survives but he does. Because this is my self-indulgent BS, dammit.)

Okay. Back to Ixaly, and the actual rescue/extraction mission.

(…by which I also mean forward, since it’s like a week later.)

Our Heroes reach Central City about an hour ahead of schedule. After a brief discussion, Sabine disappears into the district to be on-hand for immediate help, if needed; Zeb, who doesn’t blend in as well, will stay with the Phantom; Kallus of course goes to the cantina to find his contact.

He heads there more or less directly, taking in as much detail of the city and the specific neighborhood as he can.

He’s been here before, but it’s been several years; there is a garrison in place, but the occupation seems comparatively light.

Which means there’s a not-unreasonable chance that this will go smoothly.

(Of course, as soon as he thinks that, he starts coming up with all the potential problems that could still happen. For one thing, he or Vector or Sabine might be recognized…)

Security on the cantina itself; mostly local talent, just as it was on his last visit. This is a fairly middle-of-the-road place; just dishonest enough that he and Vector should blend, not so dishonest that they’re likely to get caught in the middle of any…unpleasantness. Part of why he picked this place. That, the fact that it isn’t particularly difficult to find, and is fairly close to his ideal landing site.

(Not the official port, naturally; while Kallus doesn’t doubt that they could bluff their way through, he’d rather not try it on such short notice. They’d landed the Phantom on the city outskirts, about fifteen minutes away by foot.)

In other words, things are about as well-situated as they could be, under the circumstances. He has three separate exit routes at least tentatively mapped out, of varying efficiency and difficulty.

(And, if it came down to it, Sabine or Zeb could create one for him, of course, but he’d prefer to avoid that if at all possible.)

(In any case, best to have backup plans; he’ll pick the best route of the three once he has a better idea of what Vector’s capable of at the moment.)

(He’s almost certain she’s hurt, and he doesn’t know how badly, and she’ll never actually tell him, so that’s the best he can do.)

Inside, the cantina is fairly crowded--which is a mixed blessing; on the one hand, more cover for their activities/conversation, but on the other, more people to see them.

It’s a varied crowd; mostly local shift workers, a few semi-legitimate traders and mid-level bounty hunters. Most importantly, though, there are no troopers that he can identify, even off-duty. Excellent.

He gets a drink (to blend in, primarily) and finds a table in the corner where he can keep an eye on the other patrons and watch the door without being obvious about it.

He’s not kept waiting long.

She blends in pretty well--she’s managed to dress herself in a slightly-outdated local fashion, one that helpfully comes with a cowl that doesn’t quite hide her face, but does enough to keep her mostly anonymous from a distance and make dodging any security cameras easier.

(A few other women in the cantina are dressed similarly; not many, but enough that she doesn’t really stand out.)

She doesn’t head straight for him. She weaves through the crowd for a minute, hesitates by the bar as if she’s considering something, orders a drink. Her attention drifts over the crowd; she doesn’t linger on him, but her hand twitches a little.

(Ah. She spotted him, then. Good.)

(He isn’t really surprised that she figured out which Fulcrum she was working with. And it does make things simpler--there are a few signals he could have tried, but there wasn’t time, when she called, to pick one of them and be sure.)

(An advantage, if a counter-intuitive one, to using the legacy code name with her, he supposes.)

She starts moving again; doing everything right--wandering as if she’s looking for a seat, gradually making her way to a small empty table next to his.

(The whole thing takes probably less than two minutes. It feels longer. Then again, it always does--this isn’t the first time he’s met a contact like this, and that never changes. Doesn’t matter whether he’s the first or second to arrive.)

He taps out a quick signal on his commlink--contact made, everything’s on track so far--and waits.

“I have a data file for you,” she says softly. “Several, in fact.”

He smiles faintly into his drink. “Well done.”

The way the tables are laid out, they’re sitting next to one another, both with their backs against the wall. It’s a simple matter for her to slide the two drives over to him, and just as easy for him to make them disappear.

(Leaving together discreetly will be a little harder, but he’s been doing this for quite a while. They’ll manage.)

“I have transport off-planet,” he tells her. “We should wait a few minutes, not get up right away, but it’s best if we leave sooner rather than later.”

She shakes her head. “I'm not coming with you.”

(He wishes he could say he was surprised.)

He doesn’t turn to look at her, as much as he wants to. “If you’re concerned about reprisals…”

“I’m not,” she says. “Not really. It’s just…not a good idea.”

...and in the interests of “good Lord this thing is probably pushing 10k and it’s not even the full fic it’s an outline,” I’m going to skip the rest of this conversation. Suffice to say, he’s right and she’s wrong, though she takes some convincing, but they leave the cantina together like fifteen minutes later. Also, he confirms that his theory as to her identity was correct somewhere in here.

Anyway, like I said, he talks her down, and she agrees to leave with him.

Once out of the cantina, he can get a better look at her, assess how badly she’s hurt.

(He knows she is for certain now; she’s breathing carefully, shallowly, and a little too fast--but he could only see her hands and the vague shadow of her cowl before.)

“Are you all right?” he asks; even though the answer is obvious; she’s favoring her left side and very pale.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says.

A characteristic non-answer, but a step above denial. He supposes.

“All right,” he says. “Let me know if you need help.”

(There’s not much else he can do here and now, anyway; they have some supplies back on the Ghost, and she can get proper medical attention once they rendezvous with the fleet.)

“I will,” she says, which is something at least.

They make it two blocks before they run into a squad of stormtroopers.

It’s a routine patrol; and, even with a wounded asset  to escort, it wouldn’t have been a problem under most circumstances. He could avoid the confrontation, or talk his way past.

But the squad sergeant stiffens in a particular way, staring at him.

“Karabast,” he mutters.

(You’d think, after all these years, this would stop happening so often. But, no, it’s still even odds that, out in the field, someone will recognize him.)

Lavinia takes half a step back. “I can--”

“They’re not here for you,” he tells her, then drags her behind cover a split second before the troopers start firing.

Then takes a minute to take stock.

This is...not an ideal position for a standoff. And while they might be able to fight their way through...

Best plan is to stay put, hold them off as long as they can, and call in Zeb and Sabine for backup.

Good thing I listened to Kanan, he thinks.

He takes out his sidearm, then pulls his holdout pistol from his boot and offers it to Lavinia.

But she shakes her head. “Father kept my focus narrow. I’d do more harm than good.”

“...right.”

Even less ideal. But it’s all right. He can handle this.

He takes his comm, switches it to the voice setting.

“Specter Four, this is Fulcrum. We’re going to need a slightly more dramatic exit than I planned for.”

“Copy that, Fulcrum,” Zeb says. “Could use an opening, Specter Five.”

“And to think you boys wanted to leave me behind,” Sabine says.

“Yes, yes, can we save the ‘I-told-you-sos’ until after we’re clear?” Kallus says, firing off a handful of shots to keep the squad at bay.

“She does have a point, babe.”

“Not on open comms, dear, how many times...”

(Honestly, the little bit of flirting is at this point half an inside joke, after the one time they legitimately forgot to switch channels, and half a way to quickly gauge how serious the situation actually is.)

(Plus, it’s fun. They like flirting.)

“Thirty seconds,” Sabine cuts in.

“Right,” Zeb says. “I’m headed to your position. ETA two minutes.”

“Copy. Fulcrum out.”

Two minutes, under these conditions, is a long, long time.

But, right on cue, thirty seconds later, there is a magnificent explosion, which gives them some breathing room, and then Sabine slides down the wall to land next to him.

“Not my best work,” she says critically, watching the cloud on the horizon, “but it’ll clear a path. Hi,” she adds, for Lavinia’s benefit.

“Hi,” she says, softly.

“...she doesn’t have a blaster,” Sabine says, turning almost accusingly to Kallus.

“Because I’ve never had one before,” Lavinia answers for him. “And this really doesn’t seem the time or place to learn.”

“Well, we’ll fix that later,” Sabine says.

“All right,” Lavinia says, then ducks down as Sabine positions herself better to start shooting back.

The next ninety seconds go much quicker, and then comes the welcome sound of the Phantom’s engines on approach.

It’ll have to be a quick exit, and for a split second, Kallus wonders about getting Lavinia up the ramp fast enough without Zeb actually landing--

But then he sees that Sabine has her jetpack.

(He has never been so pleased to see it in his life.)

“Take her,” he says, once the shuttle is in sight. “I’ll cover you.”

Sabine catches his drift right away, and nods. “Hold on,” she tells Lavinia, who blinks, but does.

And then they’re off.

Kallus just keeps firing at the troopers until, based on the noise it’s making, he judges that the Phantom is close enough that he can make the jump.

He’s--almost right.

He comes within half an inch of missing, then Lavinia’s hands shoot out and grab one of his wrists; Sabine grabs the other and the girls haul him on board.

“We’re good, Zeb, go!” Sabine shouts, while Lavinia drags Kallus the rest of the way in and slams the hatch shut.

We did it.

He takes a minute to catch his breath--he knows it isn’t really over; there’s still a great deal of work to do once they get back to the Ghost and then to the fleet proper.

But for now--they’re all alive, they’re all safe, they’re all at least as intact as they were when they got to Ixaly; the extraction was successful.

Kallus decides to let the rest of the problems wait, and take the win.

He picks himself up and heads to the cockpit, to give Zeb a quick hug and send word to Kanan and the others.

For all the drama and the worry when it started, today turned out to be a very good day.

And I think that’s a good stopping point, don’t you? There is definitely more, featuring (in no particular order) the worlds most #Awkward Road Trip; Kanan and Lavinia meeting; Kanan and Luke finally meeting; Zeb and Kallus adopting a kid or three; Lando; Jacen being precious; and so much more.

But, uh, see all my notes above about “how long is this thing now?!”

(And, again this isn’t even fulltext.)

(This is just the outline.)

...so, uh, yeah, if you made it this far, thank you and I hope you enjoyed my Self-Indulgent BS(tm). <333333333

[bigskydreaming]

I don’t mention it much, but you better believe one of the things I hate most from TW is Isaac’s backstory. Nothing but contempt for shows that give a character an abusive backstory for the sake of Drama and are happy to use it as tragedy porn, but have zero interest in ever truly examining what that means for a character and how it affects them.

Things A Show That Actually Has Sympathy For Its Abuse Survivor Character Rather Than Just Showing A Character Being an Abuse Survivor To Milk Viewer Sympathy would never do:

1) Have Isaac’s love interest be the girl who stabbed him a dozen times with ring daggers and only ever gave him a half-assed apology for it because ‘its not like he would have accepted anything else’ (because that’s totally the point of apologies) without anyone ever acknowledging maybe a kid with a history of being abused by his loved ones deserves more than to have this quickly glossed over because Uh Oh, Inconvenient.

2) Have Derek, the adult figure who initially approached Isaac with the means to change his situation and in doing so voluntarily took on responsibility for him - use imagery and violence he knows to be reminiscent of Isaac’s past to drive him away ‘for his own good’.....without anyone ever acknowledging maybe a kid whose father was shown physically abusing him while telling him it was for his own good deserved an apology or an honest conversation about that before moving on to treating their later interactions as though nothing had ever happened.

3) Have Scott, the character who earned Isaac’s loyalty by being the first one to treat him with compassion, use physical violence with him while framing the scene as a joke, complete with light hearted soundtrack....without anyone ever acknowledging that the one character who otherwise never carelessly vents his negative emotions on innocent people ONLY displaying this behavior with Isaac without acknowledgment or apology basically forces Isaac to accept that nobody can be trusted period and the best he can hope for is to settle for people only hurting him a little.

3b) Followup for fandom, who loves milking this moment purely to demonize Scott - the same things I condemn the show for with this post, I condemn fandom for here, because if you only care about onscreen violence against a survivor for your own purposes, rather than because of how that affects that actual character, you are LITERALLY doing the exact same thing I hold against the show. I LOATHE that moment on the show because I feel its very OOC for Scott AND because of what it does to Isaac and says about his character at this point that he’s able to get over that like its no big deal. If you’ve only ever focused on the former and never spared a thought for the latter, screw you, this post isn’t for you to use just to justify hating Scott. Show me the posts where you condemn Allison, Derek and other characters’ actions against Isaac with the same intensity, and then maybe I’ll believe you actually give a fuck about survivors and are sincere in that being why you hold this against Scott. 

4) Have Stiles belittle Isaac for referencing his own history as a survivor for ANY reason, without anyone ever condemning Stiles for this or acknowledging that survivors deal with this constantly from people who care more about not feeling uncomfortable than they do about survivors feeling secure enough to openly talk about their abuse and how it shaped them.

5) Write Isaac out of the show by sending him off with Chris Argent as his latest adult male role model aka surrogate father figure, without anyone acknowledging that at this point in the show, Chris has been a ‘good guy’ for a span of a few months at most, and being a grief-stricken father who just lost his daughter, his wife and his sister all within the span of a year doesn’t actually qualify him to physically and emotionally care for a traumatized teen survivor. Nor should it overshadow concerns about the fact that not even a year ago, he was completely comfortable using physical violence and threats against teenagers when he felt it appropriate (not just Scott, also when he and his goons basically made clear they were going to get the info they wanted by any means necessary in the hospital w/Stiles and Jackson in S1). 

And that until a few months ago, he considered even teenage werewolves like Isaac himself little more than animals who he was duty-bound to put down if they so much as acted a little too aggressively (which y’know, is a thing teenage abuse survivors trying to overcompensate for years of being taught not to stand up for themselves tend to do). And that none of this was behavior he’d ever been shown regretting or feeling sorry for, which might raise red flags for the nurse and teenage Alpha who’d been living with Isaac and caring for him for months. And maybe prompt a conversation or two about whether this was actually the best thing for Isaac or if, IDK, a never-before-mentioned cousin could be written as being finally tracked down and offering to take him in instead.

*Shrugs* Its almost like there are reasons not to trust sensitive content in the hands of people who clearly don’t give a fuck about writing things responsibly or with any care at all for how it’ll come across or what messages it might send to viewers who relate to a character because of that content and the representation it provides them.

And its definitely not like this has anything to do with why I express similar views about writers who include things like abuse, rape and other ‘dark shit’ in their whump or hurt/comfort fics just because those are proven to prompt lots of ‘awwww poor so and so’ comments from readers who are only there for nine chapters of hurt and one final chapter plus epilogue of comfort that magically makes everything better.

Anyway, tl;dr: society only cares about trauma, not recovery, anything that takes too long to treat can’t adequately be conveyed in a work of fiction so why bother, and survivors who keep bringing up their abuse after they’ve used up their quota for talking about it are doing Recovery wrong. 

Am I overgeneralizing? Maybe. Am I bitter? Absolutely. Am I wrong though?

Not about this show, that’s for damn sure.

[charliedoesfanarts]

IDK why, but I have been plagued with the thoughts of this AU on and off for three months so it is now time for other people to deal with this too. I can’t even play the game, what the hell am I doing???

Basics So, the idea is that each of the Astrals have a “Herald” within Noctis’ group. This does include an OC whos plot info will be at the very bottom so it is easy to skip. Slight mentionings in Luna’s portion but with no real detail The Astrals can see inside of people's “Souls” and chose a Herald based upon their role to Noctis, personality, and history. Noctis is still the summoner, with ties to all of the Astrals and able to have them lend him their powers. However, it is noted that these summons are easier and more powerful when their respective Herald is around. The Herald list is this: Noctis - Bahumat. He does not get any “benefits” from this until the final battle, but it could be considered that his connection to Magic and the crystal is the blessing. Gladiolus - Titan. The steadfast protector, Titan has granted him additional strength and endurance. Jokingly, he has noted that he has not felt any difference. Ignis - Ramuh. The intelligent advisor, Ignis has noted he feels a bit more quick on his feet after Noctis had completed his trial. Lunafreya - Shiva. She had become Shiva’s Herald long before the events of the game. The two have a closer relationship than any of the other Heralds. Prompto - Ifrit. The last to become a Herald proper, Ifrit chooses Prompto after Bahumat helps Noctis defeat him and Ardyn. OC - Leviathan. She becomes the Herald of Leviathan during the events in Altissia.They bond over a growing hatred of the situation. Each of the Astrals give the Herald access to a specific type of magic, and some abilities associated with their given element. The Heralds only have a limited amount of mana, exceptions being Luna and Noctis whos blessed bloodlines allow them their own personal mana reserve. The more intune a Herald is with their Astral, the stronger they are and the stronger Noctis’ summon is.

More under Readmore

Noctis Noctis, being the Chosen King, is born as a Herald of Bahamut. This is not terribly different from his in-game kit. He can summon weapons and use light based magic. See, not different. Honestly, this part is very boring, sorry!

Gladiolus Titan has spent a lot of time asleep because of the Meteor that he protected Eos from. Looking upon the dedicated guard, he sees this as an easy choice. This makes Gladio the first of the party to “become” a Herald. This started off subtly, since the physical benefit is great strength and heightened endurance. Gladio “The Fucking Tank” Amicita did not notice a fucking thing. He thought it was just a benefit of his working out. Then he manifests his first instance of Earth Magic Noctis: I didn’t give you a flask for that? Gladio: *Sword encompassed with a rock that allowed him to hit the MT twenty feet away* Gladio: I’m not complaining Most of his magic is used to accent his own physical abilities. Rock formations on shields for added armor The same on swords to create mauls. If he practiced at his magic, he could cause small patches of earthquakes. Gladio does not particularly like using large spells. It costs his limited mana and he trusts his skills in fighting far more. However, he had once caused rock pillars by accident in a cave, crushing their enemies at the top of the cave. That was cool and he wishes he could do it again.

Ignis Ramuh is the law bearer, and it made sense to him to give Ignis the most chaotic of the Astral’s magic. He would be dedicated enough to keep it from overwhelming himself. There is no major physical abilities for Ignis. He notes that he swears the wind is pushing him along when he runs. His benifit is in two types of elemental magic: Wind and Lightning. The wind magic is often used to help flasks and grenades fly properly. Or not, depending on who throws them. He has also figured out how to help Noctis during jump attacks. Lightning is used in a more aggressive manner. Stick daggers into the target then use them to guide the lightning. It is quite effective. And sometimes smells like barbecue He still prefers to use the flasks, and have the mana on reserve for emergencies. The largest spell he had cast was when he was the last one standing against a troop of MTs. It was a large storm, though not as powerful as Ramuhs. Still killed them all though. And it was quite terrifying.

Lunafreya While she is the third Herald in the party, she is the second to be chosen. She is chosen during her time in the Niflheim empire. Shiva knew that she needed a Herald, and she was certainly the best choice. Her compassion made Shiva certain that the powers would be used for good. Luna does not get cold. Like, she does not shiver or catch colds. It was a little amazing, really. Her magic relies upon Ice and Light She is a skilled Illusionist, but keeps this close to her chest. Wields polearms and swords, Mainly the trident or a rapier in battle. She can create these out of ice. She relies heavily upon her magic, as she is not always in a good state to fight. Being intune with Shiva and her own personal mana makes it viable for her. She does survive the events of Chapter Nine: Her friend, the OC, convinces her that protecting Noctis may be important but doing it out in the open with a pissed off Astral and the Empire attacking might not be a great idea. The OC is following Luna’s lead, with Luna switching their appearances. She is pissed when Ardyn “kills|” her friend, and rushed towards her when Ardyn departs. Soaking wet and pissed by the end of the Chapter, she joins the boys to help them defeat Ardyn and stop the star scourge. While still capable of healing the Star Scourge, it is not a magic gifted to her by Shiva. People are worried about her fighting. It’s okay, she’ll do it anyway. Noctis: You still need more training. Luna: I can use my Illusions to hide while I fight. Gladio: Not good enough, Ma’am. Stay back. Luna: (ง'̀-'́)ง She can team up quite well with Ignis for magic, creating a stronger Ice Storm. It is really terrifying for enemies, but they can’t do it often because of the Mana requirements.

Prompto Was the last of his friends to become a Herald. It was a serious blow to his self-esteem. Ifrit had thought that Ardyn was his Herald. The best possible person to reflect his intentions and feeling. The deamon side was a large part of this. When Shiva destroyed his body, it freed him from that side. While not a friend of humans, he had a vested interest in stopping the Star Scourge. However, Prompto reminded him of who he was before. Even with everything weighing him down, Prompto still tried to shine a positive light upon it. This means that for a small period of time, Prompto was in tune with Fire Magic. It did not take him long to get his guns firing stronger, fire infused magic.

OC - Mare Aecor Bit of backstory: Member of a highly stationed family in Niflheim, her father being the head of the Navy. When the Flueret family fell into Niflheim’s hands, she was brought to Luna to keep her company. If she had a friend in the Empire, she might be happy enough to keep people loyal. She specifically was chosen because of her reputation of being an exceedingly stubborn child. Her will needed to be able to match Luna’s. She trained with her father, and has self appointed herself as Luna’s guardian. Does know of Gentiana, but has never seen her. Loves the dogs very much. A very passionate woman. She was chosen by Leviathan during the events of Chapter Nine. Luna had garnered the Astral’s respect when she stood her ground, but Mare earned her title when she was able to convince the Oracle to stand down. Her Heraldhood was in effect when Ardyn “killed” her. Her body was thrown into the sea, which was the first time her magic took effect. Her magic is centered around Water and Healing. This makes most of her magic supportive in nature, but she is stubborn and capable of making it offensive as well. Uses swords and rifles in battle. Trains with Luna in their swordsmanship. Commonly a saber. Since she was raised in the Empire, she hands herself over upon discovering her abilities. She hopes that they can be used to calm the people and help cure the Star Scourge. Instead, she gets taken to a lab to study the abilities. It is at this point that she learns she can drown people. And that she can produce water from wounds. And that she can breath under water. She gets saved between chapter 9 and 10, but not after she has developed her own hatred towards mankind. Only the MTs had survived her abilities, by her own choice. Because of their shared traits, her connection to Levithan is strong. This gives her a large amount of mana. She does not use it often though, not liking to heal more people to cause trouble.

[morethanonepage]

2017 Fic Roundup Meme

Total Fics Posted: Nine. Ooof. 

Total Words Posted: 44041

Total Words (of Anything Excluding Blogs) Written: Man I don’t even know how I’d count this -- I’ve written at least ten briefs for work and those are usually between 2 - 5 pages, and I write a lot of WIPs that I don’t end up posting. So I mean it’s probably in the 100,000 range but the majority of that (obviously) is either not fandom related or not likely to see the light of day as publicly consumable or both.

My favorite fic story this year: greenwood -- written as part of an AU meme and so so random -- Maurice-AUs are hardly a fandom trope y’know -- but man that’s one I wish I could commit to writing more of. I love Maurice (both the film and the book) so much and I love John/Chas so much as a pairing that I just kind of forced it to work, and I think it mostly did. But it’s just too far from the Constantine premise to be worth expanding, beyond just for the gimmick. Like as a historical AU I feel like I’d have to incorporate some magic nonsense to it and it wouldn’t be impossible but ugh, plots. Better to leave them in that nice, tender moment with all the possibilities before them. My one regret for it was that I got a little fade-to-black about the sex (not true in the initial conception and I did a little draft of some more explicit from Chas’ POV) but in the end I felt like I’d written too much porn lately (and was trying to be in keeping with the aesthetic of the original story), so.

My best story this year: Adrift -- I’ve re-read it to myself a bunch of times, and I just genuinely enjoyed working through it and figuring out the relationship dynamics and possibilities and putting in references to so many well established headcanons of mine. And John’s SUCH an unreliable narrator/POV character that I always have a great time trying to write him as clearly feeling SOMETHING while he’s pretending he doesn’t. And idk it’s just one of my top pairings ever and I was glad to finally devote myself to writing a nice, slow developing relationship fic with just the two of them working their shit out. 

Story most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:  Honestly at this point, given that I’m writing almost entirely John/Chas fics, and otherwise for very niche pairings, I think any appreciation my fics get is a miracle. Though I do kind of wish I’d written Adrift in the Constantine fandom’s hey-day, because it’s a chaptered developing relationship fic and those are hard to come by and I feel weird saying it’s great but it’s solid and got really good reactions from people who did read it, and I’m proud of that. 

Also I’m not as proud of blended cotton with gannex twill, in terms of its actual quality (I’m not sure the POV shifts quite work as well as I wanted them to) but it took me SO LONG to finish it and it was such a goofy premise that I’m really glad I did, and again I’m a little sad some of the early-day Constantine people didn’t get a chance to read it when I first started goofing around about the possibility of a sentient trenchcoat.

I’m also kind of surprised a reasonable amount of trouble was the least popular of the historic AUs I wrote -- I joked that I didn’t really know what noir was but I think it was close enough and I tried to set a (vaguely angsty) mood of both yearning but inevitable dissatisfaction to it. Maybe I didn’t go gritty enough with it? That tends to be my flaw for any Hellblazer related stuff, admittedly -- I can’t quite commit to the bleakness I know it merits.

Sexiest Story:  Adrift has a lot of sex in it (IT’S NECESSARY TO THE PLOT, she said, not at all defensively), which was described with a fair amount of detail, and then I backed up to more subtle depictions b/c I thought all that sex stuff would get boring. There’s also a lot of John telling himself he’s pretty meh on the sex itself. So I feel like the sexiness of it was kind of neutered by it being so much about the plot (like, the shifts of what they actually get up to were to represent emotional shifts in how they were feeling about each other). Which at least made it less sexy for me to write, anyway.

I got good feedback about The (Shamelessly Indulgent) Sex Chapter in blended cotton with gannex twill [which was somewhat necessary b/c I wanted to get all manner of bodily fluids on the coat b/c in my vague headcanon/justification that’s what actively pushes it into true sentience but--], but honestly I think my truly sexiest fic of the year is mages against literacy -- to the point I was actively embarrassed writing it, and didn’t read it again for months after I posted it, and then went back and was like “w o w”.

Most fun story:  blended cotton with gannex twill. TRENCHIE NO! TRENCHIE YES.

Also a boy with a thorn in his side is....fun for me and a few very specific people, probably. I wrote another high school AU Star Wars fic in 2016 that was way more fun and goofy and idealistic -- it’s called the id fic for a reason -- but if the id fic was what I wish high school had been like for me, ABWATIHS is -- what high school was, tbh. I mean not precisely, but Cassian’s EMOTIONS and his inability to deal with them was #relatable. I wrote it so fast, mostly because I was so intrigued by the possibilities of it and the headcanons I came up with for it, which I’m still really fond of. Like if I were to ever write original fic, I’d file off the serial numbers and make a go of it there.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: In Good Faith wasn’t, in my opinion, a great fic -- I wrote it too quickly and without enough of a reason beyond ‘someone asked for it’, and some parts were very derivative -- but I did work through some things with it, about Kes and Shara’s potential relationship history, and about what Shara’s flaws might be and what her life was like and why she and Kes work so well together. Not a lot of which actually came out in the fic IMO, but at least I had that going on in my head. 

Hardest story to write: partly mors et fugacem persequitur virum, because I didn’t remember nearly as much about Roman history as I thought I did (and what was I going to do, research??? [I did do some but none of it is actually like -- visible in the fic], and I was overconfident about my ability to make it work and still be in IC. I’m.....still not sure if I didn’t fail on one or both of those accounts.

Also I wrote Anything Can Happen (On Halloween) for no fucking reason other than because I wanted to post the 100th fic in the John/Chas tag (I EARNED THISSS) and I think it shows. Again I wrote it too quickly (in about a week?? ridiculous), I was too nervous about someone else posting something else as the 100th fic instead of me and that my hardwork would’ve GONE TO WASTE wah wah wah anyway the ending was boring and I still feel guilty about it not being very good.  Biggest surprise: Anything Can Happen (On Halloween) was actually surprisingly (to me) well received -- like it got very quick positive reactions and idk why since I’m still genuinely embarrassed by it -- I mean I don’t think it’s a bad fic but it’s rushed and clunky and not terribly original.  A story I want remembered:  Someone on twitter said that Adrift made them ship John/Chas and honestly that’s all I want for it -- that and for the people who keep coming to the lil’ Constantine fandom that there is and go looking for fic find it and read it and at least kind of understand why some rando keeps flooding the tag with John/Chas nonsense. 

Resolutions for 2018: This has been a very John/Chas year for me and while I’m mostly okay with that, I do want to at least try to make my way back to finnpoe again -- I’m working on a bigbang fic so I desperately want to finish that (it’s outlined and everything and I think it may end up being one of my most personal fics) but we’ll see -- Star Wars fandom continues to push me away, and I won’t be able to post it until May, which is rough for someone like me, who depends so much on positive attention. There’s also a bunch of DamFam things I want to explore, especially now. 

I also want to keep writing the John/Chas but I want to stop feeling so embarrassed about it -- like so what that it was so long ago, people are still into it! Every few weeks or so I get someone on tumblr clearly going through my John/Chas tag, anyway. So at least I will have/still have some readers for that nonsense. 

I want to be better about prompts people give me -- I try to set expectations at the floor level for these things but I do genuinely like writing things for people, at least partly b/c I’m terrible at coming up with ideas on my own, so I want to try harder to fill memes and such. 

And idk maybe I’d like to find another ship that I like, that’s not from a dead show, where the fandom isn’t the worst. DARE TO DREAM (the impossible dream).

[jngukie]

WIP Tag

i was tagged by @floofyeol! idk if this is a blessing or a curse let’s find out.

some of these fics have been in drafts for ages? so tbh i don’t even know if i will post them but hey we’ll see. (so assume for now that none of these will be posted—except when stated otherwise with an *)

the first couple will be ships. the later ones are reader-inserts. all are still protected by the Creative Commons license.

slide it up in here: chapter 10* pairing(s): jikook, namjin, yoonseok genre: humour, crack, drama, angst tags/warnings: texting, college au, slightly filthy, innuendoes, Awkward Jeon Jungkook™, slowburn, self-esteem issues, self-hatred, implied/referenced homophobia, everyone is a mess™

SUMMARY

gguki: [image attached] gguki: what should i do with it chimothy: um chimothy: dude idk if i’m entitled to give you suggestions but chimothy: i mean you could always just stick it in the ass???????

or jungkook accidentally sends a stranger a picture of his roommate’s brand new dildo

PREVIEW

the (9)7 wonders of the world

tol: ok here’s the plan dabs 24/7: yugyeom no offence but your plans kinda suck muscle pig: ^^ what bambam said muscle pig: i don’t trust you anymore tol: wow that hurt tol: but i promise you this one will be better dabs 24/7: don’t do it kook tol: it won’t backfire in any way

untilted vhope pairing(s): vhope, namjin genre: humour, fluff tags/warnings: college au, skype dates, profanity, neurobiology/pyschology major!namjoon, ra!jin, music major!yoongi (i think), some major!hoseok, and high schooler!tae, tbh idrk bc i haven’t finished writing it lmao

SUMMARY

When Jung Hoseok signed up for college, he didn’t think he’d end up on academic probation so soon. Hell, he’d never guess he’d have friends who would use him as a fucking lab rat for their atrocious experiments. He definitely did not expect to fall in love with his resident advisor’s little brother—and then proceed to sneak into said resident advisor’s room and hack his computer just to have one more Skype date with the little brother. Without getting caught by said resident advisor. Yeah—he’s a little stressed, to say the least.

→ a continuation of It’s Burning Up in Here.

PREVIEW

He didn’t sign up for this. He thought college would be a great idea—who would pass up the opportunity for ultimate freedom and youthful stupidity? No, he was ecstatic for college—but he definitely hadn’t signed up to be the fucking victim for his resident advisor’s boyfriend’s experiments.

“Hoseok-ssi, please stay still or otherwise this will hurt. A lot,” Namjoon begged as his friend Yoongi tried to hold him down on the fragile coffee table.

“That’s not what your needle’s saying! You said it was a harmless experiment! You said I’d be fine!”

“You will be! I just need practice drawing blood once—”

“You’ve never even done this before?” Hoseok shrieked, writhing some more. Yoongi growled in frustration and flung his entire weight onto Hoseok’s body—and thus effectively snapping the legs of the coffee table and sending them down towards the floor.

His advisor ran into the room then, eyes wide in alarm while holding a skillet filled with half-cooked meat, his creased white apron reading World’s Best Dad! in pretty cursive pink. “What the hell is going on here?”

untitled taekook* pairing(s): taekook, yoonjin genre: fluff, angst, humour, crack tags/warnings: restaurant au, running away, mentions of nudity, exhibitionism, does getting caught dancing naked in your room count as exhibitionism idek, mention of mpreg, but there’s no actual mpreg, i mean it’s the sims it’s not real, many many references to the male organ, but sorry folks no smut (A/N: this is literally what i have in my docs wow i’m such a nerd for preparing ao3 tags LMAO)

SUMMARY

The last thing Jungkook expected after running away to Seoul is to score a private live viewing of Naked_Neighbour_Dancing_In_His_Bedroom.mov—and then proceed to bump into him when he’s not-so-naked. And then also manage to greet him with a slap. It also probably doesn’t help that Nude Neighbour is his new boss. All in all, Jungkook just maybe kinda wants to die. (But of course Seokjin isn’t gonna allow him, so he’s just going to suffer—for now.)

PREVIEW

He sighs, turning his head to gaze out of the window, only to freeze when he realises his view isn’t exactly the most… decent.

Because across from his small studio apartment window is a perfect view of a larger apartment in the building across, and currently, the tenant (he hopes the boy’s the tenant) is enthusiastically dancing through his room completely naked, dinglehopper fully on display. He’s mouthing the words to some song, throwing a finger up in the air as he shuts his eyes and nods his head as though the music (Jungkook thinks there’s music) blasting in his room is speaking to him on a spiritual level.

Jungkook’s face is bright red when he finally breaks out of his trance, and he wishes he wasn’t so bad at reacting appropriately to inappropriate situations so he could at least have saved himself from adding a thirty-second clip of Nude Neighbour to his collection of non-digital memories. He rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close, fingers stiff as he tries to rid his brain of such scandalous images.

At least he was hot.

His face is redder now—if that’s even possible. “Fuck me,” he whispers, and then flushes even more. “Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. That’s not what—why am I even talking to myself. Agh.”

take these words out of my lungs (and set them free) pairing(s): vmin genre: angst, fluff tags/warnings: major character death, suicide attempt, depression, body image issues, depressed!jimin, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, ambiguous original character that appears for like five seconds, high school au

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

three pounds. that’s how much he’s gained since he last stepped on the scale, the dictator that rules over his life. he stares at the numbers again, frowning at the digits glaring up at him. perhaps there was a mistake; maybe the scale is rigged or jammed or simply broken. he couldn’t have possibly gained three pounds in a span of two days. hasn’t he been walking around his neighbourhood enough?

he sighs, stepping off the scale and turning around to flush the toilet before washing his hands. even the cold water burns his skin, and he wishes he could melt through the cracks on the floor. would he slim down then? would he finally be skinny enough?

“jimin!” he hears his mother call, and he forces his way from the sink, sneaking out his parent’s bathroom and into the living room outside. their apartment is small but cozy. jimin hates it.

untitled kim seokjin* pairing(s): platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: anxiety, depression, eating disorder, negative body image perception, lapslock (lower case)

SUMMARY

honestly, he can’t remember what it’s like to live anymore.

PREVIEW

breathe in. breathe out.

three lucky charms. four cereal pieces. seven bits down the drain.

he smiles, staring at the milk-stained sink as the spoon clatters against metal, bowl turned upside down. it’s ugly—white ink staining burnt grey like liquid cobwebs feeding on rust. it looks exactly as how he feels: dirty, wasted, trash. one-seventy-nine centimetres down the drain.

untitled kim taehyung pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader genre: fluff, humour, probably angst bc knowing me tags/warnings: (sor far) nudity, profanity

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

Kim Taehyung has no regrets. Sure, he probably should’ve thought twice before he spent all of his money on BIGBANG merch just to show Jungkook that yes, he’s the bigger fanboy, and sure, he definitely should’ve listened to Jimin when he warned Taehyung that no, he shouldn’t eat three whole pizza pies by himself, but that doesn’t mean he regrets any of his decisions. Even though blowing all his earnings on people he’ll never meet did cause him to starve for a good or so month.

(Thank god for ramyeon.)

So, no, Jimin, he doesn’t regret running out of the shower butt naked when he heard her singing on her way to the second floor of their co-ed dorm, doesn’t regret shouting, “I love your voice!” before she screamed, “Oh my god, you’re naked!” And he definitely doesn’t regret yelling, “Oh, shit!” into Oblivion before sprinting back into the bathroom to resume the hot shower he abandoned.

“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung,” Jimin says to him once Taehyung’s finished recounting the story, the two of them lying side by side on Jimin’s bed. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“I should probably say hi,” Taehyung muses, blinking at the ceiling. “Do you think she remembers me?”

Jimin glances down, and snickers. “With how small your dick is, she probably does.”

untitled park jimin pairing(s): Park Jimin/Reader genre: fluff tags/warnings: (so far) blind!reader

SUMMARY

He is an angel; and she doesn’t need to see to believe. She fathoms his widespread wings as he gently picks her up, worriedly and urgently asking for her health, voice so soft it touches her skin like silk on smooth glass. His eyes must be crinkled in the corners, a smile stuttering through apologies, heart too warm for the human hand to touch. She imagines what he looks like, faintly deciding through his rapid Korean that he must be chesnut if not vanilla, not in skin but in connotation because he sounds and smells and feels like home.

Her pause is a millennia long, and she hears him repeat himself again, the sound of melting marshmallow oozing out of beautiful lips: “Are you alright?”

She produces a smile, feathery and light, eyes glassy and the world continues to remain black. “I’m fine,” she replies, and her voice is cracked from its lack of use; she hasn’t met anyone worth talking to in what feels like a century. Another smile reappears, much strained than what she’s used to, and she picks herself up from where the concrete lay, the dust falling from her voile skirt. “No damage done.”

untitled kim taehyung #2* pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader, platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: i think it’s schizophrenia?, mental illnesses, depression

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

There is a moment when time stands still. It’s fleeting, escaping the moment your fingers curl around it and pull. But it is during this moment happiness enraptures you with its warm hug as your heart thunders against your chest—the steady thump, thump, thump of a snare drum awakening. It is during this moment pain ceases to exist.

But after, everything will come rushing back.

i have more but these are the ones that are decent, at the very least.

to pass the torch on, i’ll tag @minmelly @kinky-koreans @pasteljeonggukk @haneulismykoreanname @rnjmnster and anyone else who wants to do it! (if you don’t, no pressure. good luck to you and your writing!)