#and then I can answer the many asks rotting in the inbox with more ease

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

It boggles the mind how not yet finishing something so egregiously unasked for, which has been going on for nearly two months, manages to bottle neck even something as simple as answering asks. My ineptitude is powerful ( "〠_〠)

[vulturv0lans]

If it's not too much to ask, can we have a soft dom diluc gently guiding a shy sub reader through her first time? (In desperate need of tooth rotting fluff and diluc being sweet lmaoo [with lots of praise ofc])

ok you know what anon i have been looking for something like this but i haven't found too many,,,thank you for the request!

word count: 2,960 (i got carried away again oops) tags: first time, references to diluc’s father/backstory/official manga, soft dom diluc, lots of love and affection and just overall sappy, porn with plot (lots of it), me crying (also lots of it)

m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox

the air is salty by the lake and his door rusty, yet you’re sure you’ve never need anything more.

when diluc brought you back to the winery for the first time, this was not what he had in mind. he had simply wanted to show you more, parts of him he had long hidden beneath the layers of his clothing and layers of walls he built up. but you are his lover now. you meet the maids that have been with him since he was a child, browse through the volumes that his father left behind, breathe the same air that he has always breathed inside the estate.

he was not planning to take you right there, on the four posted bed he claims but seldom occupies, on the second floor of the winery.

diluc was hesitant at first, leading you into the one place he holds closest to his heart. the master bedroom has not seen a visitor in ages. even the maids rarely enter except when they are asked to, because within these gilded walls and draped curtains is where diluc can truly feel at ease, no “mondstadt wine tycoon” or “master of dawn winery” or even “darknight hero” attached.

and before your eyes, he feels just as bare.

you had taken a seat at the edge of his mattress, arms supporting your weight as your eyes take in the surroundings. the wallpaper is a dark crimson red, damask patterns painted in black. the thick velvet of the curtains match the crimson in colour, yet the light seeping through the fabric and reflecting off of the golden tassels that touch the floor. the furnishings are simple, the large room otherwise empty save for a mirror, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and a desk filled with books.

yet it’s the paintings on the walls that catch your eye. one of them can easily be discerned as an exterior sketch of dawn winery, its signature red roofs a stark contrast to the rows of green underneath. off on the other wall is a portrait. a tall, greying man poses in the middle with two younger boys to either side of him, one with hair as blue as the twilight skies, and the other with hair red as blazing fire.

diluc follows your gaze to the painting, and suddenly the room feels too hot. before he can open his mouth to change the topic, you have already turned to him with an inquisitive look in your eye, and his heart softens. he cannot say no to you.

“that’s your father, isn’t it?”

he nods, choosing to offer no further explanation.

“what was he like?”

your voice is gentle, yet he is still taken aback. seldom anyone wants to know what crepus was like as a person, beyond just his title and position. for a few moments diluc is silent, pondering his answer. how could he summarize the greatest man he’s ever known into a couple simple sentences?

“he was kind. and very, very brave.” he says at last, “he made me the man that i am today.”

“i’m sure he was a great father,” you say quietly, not wanting to press further. diluc must have his reasons behind not wanting to tell the full story yet, and you’ll give him time. as much time as he needs.

“he was.”

when he looks at you again, your frame so small against the posts on his bed, he feels an unnameable emotion surging through him. you’re studying the painting with such an intense focus, as if trying to hear the voice of a man you’ve never met, trying to understand what others fail to even notice.

and in that moment, diluc is sure he has never been more in love.

he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, and you look up at him in surprise. he intertwines your fingers before pulling you up to your feet, your body pressing flush against his as you find your balance.

“can i kiss you?”

you smile at his question. diluc, ever the gentleman. even several months into your relationship he still asks for permission, and still kisses you like it was the first time.

it’s your turn to close the gap between you now, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. his hands find their way down the small of your back, then up your spine before settling on your cheeks, fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you even closer, until you can feel every beat of his heart on your skin.

“i love you.” he whispers against your lips when he finally breaks the kiss for air.

“i love you, too,” you echo, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, hands clutching his arms for support. diluc feels his skin burn wherever your hands have been, and his love and tenderness suddenly becomes something more.

deepening the kiss, he backs you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before your entire person falls backwards into the plush mattress. you pull him down with you, until barely any space is left between his large frame and your own, smaller one.

he smooths out the stray baby hairs on your forehead before resting his against it, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. you both know where this is leading, but diluc wants to be certain, absolutely certain that you're okay with this.

"are you sure?"

you nod before you have time to think. this is a step you're willing to take, and there's no one else you'd rather share it with. even so, small bubbles of anxiety rise from your stomach. will it hurt? will you be able to enjoy this? will he be satisfied, even with your lack of experience?

if diluc could hear your thoughts right now, he would be quick in dismissing them as the most preposterous ones he's ever heard. it would pain him to know that you’d ever fear of not satisfying him, even when he would put you and your pleasures before so much as thinking about himself.

you could never disappoint him, this he knows.

his lips find yours again and your doubts dissipate like the dark clouds after a storm. wandering hands begin unbuttoning and untying every piece of fabric in your way, desperate to reduce the layers keeping you from feeling his bare skin. your clothing clatter as they fall to the ground, diluc barely separating from you to discard his shirt before lowering back down to kiss you, not wanting to part from you for a second longer than necessary.

he's hungry for more, for you.

your hands find purchase on his toned arms, his skin almost too warm under your fingertips. he mumbles something that remotely resembles "off" into your mouth, and you comply almost too quickly, lifting your arms so he could take off your shirt and your bra.

diluc forces himself to hold back when your skin is fully exposed to him. lips glistening and chest heaving, you have never looked more beautiful to him, and he makes sure you know it. dipping his head to your neck, he trails a line of hot kisses down to your breasts, words of praise between every kiss permanently etched into your skin.

"you're breathtaking."

your face heats up as he slots himself in between your legs, hand lowering to your waist. your heart beats too loudly now, focus glued to his fingers hooking into your belt loops before quickly undoing the button on your pants. fiery eyes, hooded by lust and desire, search for confirmation, and you grant it. how could you not, when you burn for him so much?

diluc can’t help but groan out when your bottom half becomes exposed. his attention is quickly taken away by the thin material of your panties, damp and clinging to the wetness pooling between your legs, and he feels the sudden urge to bury his face there.

he runs a finger down your clothed folds and you jump, legs clamping together to relieve some of the pressure. with a hand on your knee, he holds your legs open to allow himself better access to where you need him the most. gently, he moves the soaked panties to the side, and the man fully has to sit back on his heels to drink in the sight before his eyes.

you’re so pretty, so sweet, so vulnerable for him, legs spread and pussy glistening with your arousal, all for him and him only.

he curses under his breath, heart swelling at how lucky he feels to be the one admiring your naked form. ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants, he dives in like a man starved, flattening his tongue against your pussy to get his first real taste of you.

your back arches off the bed at the sudden contact, diluc’s moan of satisfaction sending delicious vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. his tongue works fast magic on your cunt, licking and sucking and kissing like you’re a five course meal, the slurping sounds in perfect harmony with your soft pants of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

the satin of his bedsheet is wrinkled and twisted in your palms as you grip onto it, diluc’s hands quickly reaching up to find yours, your fingers interlacing as he eats you out, the moment so intimate that for a moment you forget the vulgarity of it all and just enjoy being so close to him, physically and emotionally.

you’re growing close, and diluc knows it. despite his pussydrunk state, he forces himself to pull away, his chin now coated with your wetness, before shifting his body up to kiss you again. you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, obediently granting access to his tongue when it swipes across your bottom lip. the room feels ten degrees hotter and it becomes harder and harder to breathe, until your need for oxygen finally overpowers your desire for him.

diluc’s eyes are alert when you gently push on his chest, his first thought being he’s done something you did not like. gently cradling his face in your hands, you say with a blissful smile the words he’s been longing to hear for so long.

“i need you, diluc.”

his last line of defense snaps and he lets his primal instincts take over, quickly ridding himself of his pants and undergarments before settling you against the plush pillows.

“are you absolutely sure-”

“yes.” you cut him off before he can finish, and diluc‘s ever-present confidence begins to waver. he needs this to be perfect for you.

swallowing thickly, he lines himself up at your entrance. you mirror his gulp as you notice for the first time how big he is, thick and girthy against your tiny hole.

“tell me if it hurts, please,” he asks, so much genuine guilt in his voice that you can’t refuse him an answer.

you yelp in pain when he starts to push in, his body immediately tensing up. only when you repeatedly reaffirm that you’re okay does he continue, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and whispering apologies and affirmations into your skin as he slowly sinks into you, until he’s completely buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good baby, yeah? that’s it.”

he stills for a moment to let you adjust. but selfishly he wishes to revel in your tightness and warmth for a little longer, your walls so snug against his cock like they were made just for him. he already can’t get enough, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

you’re the one to initiate the kiss this time, silently giving him permission to move. his thrusts are slow and steady, the tip of his cock dragging against every nerve ending inside you, sending electric sparks throughout your body.

“so tight for me,” he grunts as he picks up his pace, trying to control his movements as to not hurt you, even though a part of him wants to slam into you and fuck you until you’re reduce to a babbling mess begging for his cock. but one look at your face and he feels immediate guilt at his sinful thoughts. you’re so innocent beneath him, bottom lip caught between your teeth and your face scrunched up in pleasure.

he can’t ruin you yet.

soft moans tumble past your parted lips as he reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. every last cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure amplified tenfold from being in the presence of your lover, better than your own fingers could ever satisfy yourself.

you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in even further, and diluc’s honour is reduced to barely hanging on by a thread.

“you’re taking me so good. so good for me.” he praises and you feel yourself gush around him, his words turning you on even further. it seems your earlier doubts were unnecessary, after all. you grow bolder, reaching up to dig your nails into his back, leaving red marks that claimed him as yours.

the stinging pain from your nails scratching against his skin sends diluc into another wave of euphoria, and he can’t hold himself back much longer. with a low grunt, he pins your wrists down above your head, dark eyes studying the microscopic changes in your expression as your hands are suddenly rendered useless, held down so submissively and at his mercy.

his eyes are fixated on the round of your breasts, bouncing so deliciously to the rhythm of his thrusts. a sudden clench of your cunt almost sends him collapsing on top of you, the tight grip he had maintained on your wrists now faltering from the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him. he curses, the profanity soon turning into praise again at how good you’re taking him, how pretty you looks, and how much he loves you, his words almost doing more to build the knot in your stomach than his steady, deep thrusts.

he leans back to sit on his heels as he lets go of your wrists, moving to hold your legs above his shoulders. you cry out when his cock hits your most sensitive spot from the new position, the sheets once again wrinkled under your tight grip now that your hands are free once again.

“fuck y/n, i’m so close.”

you lift your hips to meet his thrusts half way, all the thoughts in your head replaced by your blinding desire for your release. diluc shifts his weight to hold your thighs open instead, leaning down so he can be close to you before he reaches his impending high. he wants to hold you, to hear you, to see you chase after your high.

your moans and cries are growing more frequent, each more high pitched than the last. they are music to diluc’s ears, music reserved only for him to hear, his own low grunts a perfect harmony.

“i’m so close- gonna cum- please-” you babble, tears dotting your lashes, and diluc has never seen a more beautiful sight.

the sudden warmth of his hand on your neck makes you jump. he doesn’t close his fingers around your throat (though you secretly wished he would), instead his touch is fleeting before moving to cup your face. you lean into him almost immediately, his thumb wiping the tears that escaped, down the smooth skin of your cheeks, and across your bottom lip. he’s hovering so close to you that you can see every freckle on his skin, lips mere centimetres from yours that his every exhale becomes your next inhale, so intimate that you find it hard to believe that he’s kissing you so sweetly while maintaining a relentless pace.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t hold back.

“cum for me,” he breathes into your parted lips, “i want to hear you.”

and you don’t need to be told twice. with a loud cry of his name you come undone around him, your slick quickly forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as he rides out your high, his pace becoming erratic and sloppy at the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“fuck,” he lets out a deep grunt as you repeatedly clench around him, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. his hands pat around the bed looking for yours, and soon after he locks your fingers together again he cums too, head buried in your shoulder and his cock shooting hot ropes into you, painting your walls white.

your legs are shaking as you come down from your high, your pussy so sensitive to any tiny movements that you almost cum again when he tries to pull out from you. the satin beneath you is soaked with a mix of both your essence, drops of white leaking from your sobbing hole when diluc finally pulls out.

he admires you in your post-orgasm glow, and not just at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and your pussy now moulded to the shape of him. it’s as if a soft silk has been draped over you, painting your features in glorious moonlight.

“you’re so beautiful.”

he breaks the silence that has enveloped you both while your breathing returned to normal.

you still find it foreign, the feeling of his compliments even as you’re spread out naked under him. as if sensing your disbelief, diluc repeats his words again, this time between wet kisses on your collarbone, etching his love for you into your body.

“so. beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his heart swelling, “and all mine.”

note. me and who WHEN >:( also i hope you enjoy my subtle taylor swift reference at the beginning hehe m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox ♡

© vulturv0lans 2023, do not copy, repost, or translate without permission.

[goldenshrikecomic]

Hello, this is gonna be a long one and I hope I don't bother you too much with it but you have something great going and and I think maybe some advice for someone like me who wants to do a longer comic and I took heart in that one ask you recently answered were you said you are plenty of pages ahead of the readers to not get paralysed by a deadline which seems like a no-brainer now that I read that with my own two eyes black on white but I had not thought to maybe go about it that way and I needed to have someone spell it out for me apparently. So to my question.. see, I have a skeleton of a story I have key scenes that need to happen and that I want to happen and I am sure in between things will shift and change and grow and a part of me can't wait for it to happen but- How do you start. How do you get going. It is in my head I have some written notes but most is in my head and I do not want it to remain there and rot I want to draw and tell the story I had in mind but I feel.. paralysed on the starting line of this journey and I am unsure how to go from there because my mind gets caught up in estimates of if I post one page a week that is "only" 52 pages. That seems so little. How many years would it take. Can I do this. And then my mind fires up in passion because I am willing to commit I want to do this I need to do this and I have a good idea of how to pace myself and how to go about it. I have the beginning of it on the back of my tongue and the tip of my fingers I can imagine it so vividly I wish I could animate it (if that wouldn't take up even more time and be insane I would) But somehow I still feel stumped on how to start. How to get over this first hurdle. It might be the executional dysfunction playing a huge part in it, maybe I am overthinking to much and stand in my way because of it, but like... How did you start your comic. How did your journey on GS begin? I know this was a bit of word vomit I am sorry but you are an inspiration and you seem to go about things (from what I could gleam from the asks) in a way that feels like it could work for me too and the way my brain functions but I do not know how to start? I dunno if it makes sense I am no english native and my thoughts are hard to put into words.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while because it's such a loaded question. I have plenty of asks in this tag about my comicing process, so check them out maybe. This reply got lengthy! The more I wrote the more I noticed I feel very inadequate trying to give people tips on making comics. It's such a trial and error process.

I've seen plenty of advice for people wanting to start out comics to just start small, come up with a smaller story to get a feel of it before you go big. And I absolutely understand it in hindsight because I would've done many things differently if I had just tried it out first, but it's not what I did. I wanted to make a big comic, and a big comic I made, as my first project.

I don't think about the years these things take, but it'd absolutely ease your worries if you could come up with a simple style and be able to make pages faster. I've stripped my comic of shading and gotten more lenient with myself when it comes to backgrounds. You absolutely need to cut some corners if you want to make more than one story during your lifetime. It's a limited time afterall! Being able to turn your sketch into a lineart without having to redo everything with a careful hand would help a lot already. And colors, they take a lot of time.

This is not how I went about it in the beginning, but I'd love to tell you to write those things in your head down before you start. Leave holes, just write in what you know because you will forget some cool details if you keep them in. Write the starting point, middle and the end, even with just couple of words. Add things that interest you in the middle of those points. Do you want a sad arc for your character at some point? Write it in. Come up with what makes it happen. Weave it into the other scenes. If you know what's to come, you can add foreshadowing to the earlier scenes. Even if you didn't know what would come, you can take something from earlier scenes and make it foreshadowing. Writing is a fluid process. You can jump around and add things, you don't have to approach it by putting one block next to the other. Once you have the elements you want, you just have to tie those things together. It's the hard part. And you will change your mind about many things when you get to draw your characters and see them doing the things you've written.

The start! I always say it's the worst part, but I've started to think it might be the second worst. I think the worst part comes after you've started and worked for several ten pages on fumes and you finally run out of juice. Picking up after that is hard, for me at least. But if you can manage, it should get easier. You know your characters better by now, and they carry some of their own weight.

Make a canvas. Think about the scene you want to start your comic with. Night or day? Calm or busy? Just doodle, BIG and loose. Add some frames by just drawing lines, move things around, resize. What do you want to portray with the first page of your comic? I like to establish some of the world or atmosphere, and only then move on to the characters.

Don't try to be perfect, in fact leave that first canvas completely unpolished and move on to the next one. What should this page tell? Will you show the character? I'd leave the establishing shot of them as the last big panel. The rest of the page should build up to it. The last panel is important, it's a hook to turn the page.

Come back to polish those pages more only after you have a few of them done. The most important thing is to get yourself away from that first page, because the first page is scary. After five pages you can move things around and start adding ears to your spheres. You've started a comic now. You can go back to the first page and make it nice, because you already have opened the path to continue.

IT'S HARD. But it's rewarding. It's not for everyone but it's awesome if you can make it yours.

[s-neymessi]

Can you pls write a small scenario or fic where leo calls ney pretty several times, and makes ney shy and blushy,

this ask has been dusting in my inbox for a while so i decided to finally answer it today... sorry for the wait! i wrote it right after i woke up, so i hope its good enough! (also, i meant for it to be tooth-rotting fluff but for some reason it developed into lowkey horny. my apologies.)

"Pretty"

There were many instances where Leo called Neymar pretty. 

Like when he said his new pair of cleats looked good.

Or when he said his new hairstyle suited him,

Or when he joked about his clothing choices,

Or when he'd gaze at him, devouring him with his eyes, while Neymar was too busy directing his attention at something else.

In all of these circumstances, "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty," echoed in the back of his head.

But Leo was sure he said it at some point. He thought about it so many times– so it was impossible he'd been so careless not to say it out loud, right?  

Well.

Leo wasn't known for his talking abilities.

But still– he really thought he said it out loud. 

So he was surprised at the way Neymar's face flushed into the most beautiful hue he'd ever seen.

"Really? You think I'm pretty?" the brazilian looked at him sheepshfully, studying Leo's eyes to find any indication of a lie.

"What?" he looked at him, disbelief swaying in his eyes, "Of course. You look very pretty."

Neymar winced at the remark as if he received a punch to the face.

He tried forcing a smile, tried straightening his posture, but he only mustered a pitiful giggle and wave of hand. He looked like an utter mess. 

Leo couldn't hold back a cheeky grin from tugging his lips up. "That's cute" he thought to himself, his own cheeks flushing wildly.

It was a sight to behold, two adult men acting like teenagers flirting for the first time.

But you couldn't blame either of them for that; Leo was always too stoic and bad with words, so anyone would turn into jelly if he looked at you like you're the most precious thing in the world and called you pretty. Not handsome, like friends call each other, but pretty. 

And well– Neymar was really a sight to behold. He was both handsome and pretty– he was gorgeous, the most beautiful man Leo's ever seen. He looked even more beautiful in his natural state; shirtless and fresh from the shower, his long dark curls hypnotizing by the way they shone under the soft locker room light. 

And his eyes. Leo almost lost himself in them. The way green waltzed on top of light brown, absolutely mesmerizing. 

And his golden skin, richened by many long hours under the hot sun…

And his muscles. Neymar wasn't ripped– no, he was slim but defined. His arms, torso, thighs… Leo just couldn't look away. And as Neymar struggled to compose himself, Leo striked again.

"You're very pretty." he leaned in the younger one's direction, placing a hand on his thigh, "Really… Really pretty, Ney." his voice came out in a soft whisper, a hum from the back of his throat.

Neymar's eyes snapped to Leo's face. 

His eyebrows were furrowed. His mouth slightly agape. 

His eyes traced down Leo's face all the way to his lips. Leo felt himself turning to stone. 

Neymar cracked a shy smirk, his expression easing as he placed his hand on top of Leo's. He got a hold of it, guiding it up his body, dangerously close to his crotch, to his stomach, to his chest, to his neck, to his cheek. 

Maybe he was aware of how that affected Leo, because he sported the cheekiest, most delighted expression an embarrassed man could muster, after noticing how the argentine was left panting from feeling his body. The brazilian turned to face him properly, propping his right leg on the bench while the left dangled on his side. Leo instinctively copied him.

"Say it again..." Neymar whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned in and put his forehead on his shoulder.

"Pretty. You're so pretty, Ney." Leo tripped over his words, answering as if he'd been commanded. The air was so heavy.

"...Again?" Neymar pleaded, squeezing Leo's hand.

"You're the prettiest I've ever seen…" Leo gulped, taking a deep breath, "Gorgeous… Stunning… Mesmerizing…" he brushed his thumb against his cheek.

Neymar backed out, breathing heavily. He bit his lower lip, – which took all of Leo's attention – and got up, grabbing his towel from the bench, throwing it over his shoulder. 

"It's funny hearing that from you– Leo Messi just called me pretty." If it was possible, Neymar's face would be completely bright red. 

Leo smiled sheepishly, rubbing his own thighs, "I'm just telling the truth." he looked up at the brazilian, noticing how his gaze lingered on his hands, "You're used to it though… You've been called pretty so many times. Don't be silly."

Neymar ran a hand down his stomach, "Yes." he hummed, looking anywhere but at Leo, "But it's different. It's you. And– you chose such a great time to say that, huh?" he gestured at his and Leo's half naked bodies.

"...It's you who's thinking too hard…" it was his turn to look away in shame, "Is there a right time to say that, anyways?" he looked up at Neymar. 

He wasn't too sure if there was some kind of rule for when to call Neymar pretty.

"Uh–" apparently defeated, Neymar waved his hands around and turned away to leave, "Hum– No– Well– See you at practice tomorrow!!"

Well. If Neymar wasn't going to tell him the right time to call him pretty, Leo would have to find it by himself.

So he'd call him pretty at practice,

In the middle of matches,

In the locker room,

At important events,

Always whispering, muttering, as if it wasn't anything too important, as if it was trivial gossip.

Until Neymar got too fed up with it and slammed him against the wall, shutting him up in the best way he could.

Well.

Now, Leo would never forget to call Neymar pretty.

[hyunsuks-beanie]

Come With Me

Culinary major! Soobin x food vlogger! reader; just some teeth rotting fluff

Word Count: 3.35k words

Mellow speaks: So I finally completed this long overdue and super fun request!!! Honestly, writing this was just so amazing, and I kinda drew Y/N based on my own self, so I hope you enjoy reading it!!

Rushing into his apartment, Soobin didn't waste a single minute in discarding his bag on the floor, rushing towards his laptop and turning it on. As the screen booted, the final-year culinary major prayed to the gods for the livestream to not have started yet. The winner of the contest from last month was to be announced at the beginning of the stream, and even though Soobin didn't have any hopes of him winning, he couldn't help the tiny voice at the back of his head saying, "What if?."

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard a voice, sweet and velvety as always. There you were, on his screen, the biggest of smiles plastered on your face, making him feel warm all over. Y/N L/N, his favorite food vlogger in the world, ready to start another livestream. Soobin had always been more of a silent supporter, his introverted self being too shy to even post a comment under any of your videos, partly because you had a habit of replying to as many of those comments as possible, and he knew for a fact that he would combust on the spot if you were to ever reply to his praises of you.

You see, he greatly admired your love for food and your wanderlust. He was also a great fan of the way you spoke, and the way you articulated your ideas and thoughts. Truth be told, he genuinely liked you, and not just your voyager self. Watching your videos over the years, he had found himself developing a small crush on you, knowing full well that it was probably just him being starstruck. So, gathering all the bravery he had, the boy had finally pressed "Send" on the application form for the competition on the last day, after contemplating it for God knows how long.

There had been only one question on the form, asking respondents to describe what food meant to them. A smile had graced Soobin's lips as you answered it, pouring in his most sincere thoughts on everything culinary. What had pushed him to participate, you ask? It had been the prize, of course. A chance to hang out with none other than you yourself, through a one-on-one video call. He had always wanted to see you in person, to tell you how much your vlogs meant to him. How they had helped discover his own love for food, had helped him find his happiness in the kitchen.

And that had brought him to right now, biting on his fingernails as he listened to your regular introduction, one that he knew by heart and repeated after you, subconsciously. "Hey my food-holics! How are all of you doing today? Hale and hearty, I hope!," you said, following up quickly with a brief overview of the contest, before announcing the winner, as Soobin waited with bated breath. "All your answers were amazing, and I could relate to so many of them! It really sucks that we can only have one winner, since you're all winners to me!," you smiled, and he caught himself copying your expression. "So now, the winner of the contest, and the person who gets to be my new friend, is @aglio_olive!!," you exclaimed, clapping your hands as your eyes crinkled up in joy.

The fact that you had just announced him as the winner of registered belatedly, as Soobin was busy gushing over how adorable you had looked while clapping. He felt his mouth drop open, finding it hard to focus on what you said next. "I'll be contacting you via email shortly," you had said, and that was all it took for the rest of the livestream to go by in a blur for him, as he waited for your mail, checking and re-checking his inbox every two minutes. But it wasn't until the next day that he finally received what he had been peeling his eyes out for. An email from your official account (or that's what he figured), informing him that the meeting would take place on the coming Saturday, at 6:00 pm. Now all he had to do was wait three days, but it was easier said than done.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Soobin was equal parts bubbling with excitement and panicking with nerves. Reluctant to trust his own fashion choices, he had called over his best friend, Yeonjun, hoping to get some much needed guidance. "Should I wear this suit? Or will simple tracks be better?," he had asked, making the older boy shake his head as he patted him on the back. "My friend, Y/N's neither your professor, nor your friend. You're meeting them for the first time, so why don't you just wear something comfortable, that would make them feel at ease too?," he smirks, throwing a plain blue hoodie his way.

As the clock struck 6:00, Soobin found himself seated at his study table, ready to start the meeting. He had even prepared cue cards to help him if he got stuck, and they were propped conveniently next to the laptop. He reached out for them, but just at that moment, his screen came alive with someone waving at him with a smile on their face. Awestruck, he simply waved back, too tongue-tied to say anything. "Wow," he thought to himself, "They look so much better without makeup." A couple seconds later, a new kind of panic set in. "Am I staring too hard? Is it creepy? Should I look down? No but I need to keep eye contact!"

Little did he know, you were having similar, if not identical thoughts. "Wow, no one told me he was gonna be this cute. Blue suits him so well! I'm no staring, am I? Should I speak first? Or should I wait for him to say something?" This finally resulted in the both of you speaking at the same time, something you would later smile about. Because saying "How are you? I'm Soobin," and "I'm Y/N! How are you?," helped you crack into laughter, breaking the ice and easing the awkwardness. Once you had gotten past the niceties, it was time to get to know each other better. The cue cards lay unused, as Soobin just spoke about whatever came to mind, praising your vlogs and thanking you for teaching him more about cuisines. You, on the other hand, took the time to get to know him better, asking him questions about what it was like to study culinary science, something you had never gotten the chance to do.

The hour-long virtual meeting flew by in the blink of an eye, or so it seemed to the both of you. Talking to you, Soobin didn't once feel that you were a stranger or that he was just a fan. You seemed like a genuine and warm person to him that he couldn't help but admire you even more than he did before. To him, somewhere during the meeting, you stopped seeming like a famous vlogger anymore, and instead, all he saw you as was a friend. You, on the other hand, had made up your mind about him being the most interesting person you had ever met, and couldn't stop a sad sigh from escaping your lips as you looked at the time. "Well, Soobin. It's been a pleasure meeting you," you had said, making him smile wistfully.

The moment he had logged out of the meeting, he found himself missing you. He thought back on how nice you had been, smiling when he pictured your face, your hair slightly messy but not too unkempt, an oversized hoodie thrown over your body. To him, it had honestly felt like he was conversing with a friend, and he couldn't bring himself to let such an amazing person walk out of his life. So, without thinking, he began typing out an email to your account, his finger hovering just above the "Send" button. He stopped short though, realizing that your official account wasn't meant for personal mails, and realizing that he had no other means to contact you. Pouting, he fell face-first onto the bed, his energy going down all of a sudden.

He woke up to a "ping," indicating an email on his phone. Unlocking it, he noticed a mail from an account he had never contacted before. Clueless, he clicked on it, the phone nearly falling out of his hand as he read through it. It had been you, after all, reaching out to him through your personal account, and telling him that you had loved talking to him, and would like to be his friend. And thus began the most beautiful friendship either of you had ever forged, full of memories even though you hadn't met each other.

Late night video chats and good morning calls became a ritual, and Soobin found himself busily typing away on his phone every free second he got. You told him all about your escapades and trips, sending him photos and urging him to try cooking whatever you ate and whatever you liked. He, on the other hand, would teach you to cook, sending you tips and giving you suggestions on what to eat. Food was an intergalactic part of the relation you shared, but it was far from being the only thing.

When things got hard for him, you were there to push him towards his dream, reminding him day in and day out that he would have to give in his all to achieve it. "You'll be the greatest chef one day, Soob," you'd giggle, causing him to let out a whine as he said, "How would you know? You haven't even tasted my cooking yet!" He too, was there to provide you a taste of what it felt like to be grounded to one place, to have everything you wanted right next to you. He was there for you to cry to when someone posted a nasty comment under you video, and he was there to virtually feed you when you missed a home-cooked meal. Inside jokes became a thing, as did bitching about classmates and complaining about managers.

Over time, your friendship started blossoming into something more, as Soobin found himself catching feelings, real feelings, for you. The way you smiled, the way you would bite your nails just like him as you went through what people had to say about your videos, the way you cracked stupid jokes and laughed at them alone, he found himself loving them all. He had given his heart out to you, and he didn't want to take it back. You, meanwhile, had been a bit more careful of your feelings, wary of harboring any hopes for a long-distance relationship. But over time, you too, found yourself drowning into the oceans that were his eyes, watching the way his lips moved through the screen, imagining them on yours. Over time, you too, felt your feelings grow, but being your stubborn self, you didn't act on them.

Days turned into months, and soon enough, you were keeping Soobin company through his late night study sessions, talking to him in the hopes of keeping him awake. Helping him prepare flashcards, and letting him teach you a full four-course meal so that he could practice for his practical exams. "What are you gonna do once you graduate?," became a regular question you posed towards him, and every time, it was the same reply. "I don't know yet, Y/N. I want to do something like you. I want to travel the world and learn about different cuisines first-hand."

As Soobin's exams drew nearer, you found yourself bring just as worried as he was, worried about how he'd fare in the examinations, worried about what he'll do when he gets his degree. But keeping your concerns aside, you did your best to push him to do his best, study that last chapter, practice that last technique, memorize that last recipe. "I just wanna sleep, Y/N," he'd whine, only to have you let out a giggle at how adorable he looked. "It's for your own good, bub," you'd reply, your smile somehow managing to give him the strength to put in just a little extra effort.

Seeing him work so hard, you couldn't help but want to give him a surprise by congratulating him in person when he graduated. So, you decided to plan a trip to Seoul, shooting a film vlog just an excuse to finally meet your closest friend, and the person you had a crush on. You had initially wanred to keep the plan a secret, but soon realized what a waste it would be to not use it to your advantage. And so started your ingenious way of getting Soobin to hit the books. "I'm coming to Seoul after your exams, but I'll meet you only if you put in all your effort," you'd tell him, repeating it like a mantra day in and day out.

In response, the boy would pout and whine about how he "hated" you, but started putting in double the effort, just to make you proud. Your tactic seemed to work, but Soobin was still nervous. Nor about the theory, but about the practical exams. "What if I don't do well on the exam? It happens all the time on Masterchef," he said one day, looking into your eyes as you attempted to calm him down. "I know you'll nail it, Binnie," you replied, smiling at him through the screen. "Just think about what makes you happy while you cook, and you'll be good to go." As if on a whim, Soobin muttered out a soft, "You," causing your breath to hitch as you asked him to repeat. "You make me happy," he said again, looking down as he felt his cheeks growing warm. You couldn't help but smile at his sudden confession, sending a virtual kiss his way. "Now go study, you idiot," you giggled, proceeding to tell him about your day as he pored over his books.

The day of his practical exam rolled by, and as you had said, Soobin decided to cook while thinking of something that made him happy. He thought back on the day when you had told him about a delicacy from a city you had visited, and had convinced him to teach you how to make it. The memory alone made a smile appear on his lips, reminding him of how happy the two of you were. And so, that's what he cooked, passing his exam with flying colors. He was so happy he could have kissed you if you were there, and he told you that, causing a laugh to escape your lips. "I'll be there soon," was all you said, fighting to control your excitement.

Soobin passed with flying colors, earning his degree fair and square. And the one person he wanted to thank for it, was you. As you had promised him, a week later found you roaming the streets of Seoul, as you hurriedly made your way towards his college, ready to finally meet him at his convocation. Climbing up the stage to accept his degree, his eyes were busy scanning the crowds, eager to see your face. When he couldn't find you, however, he felt his smile falter, as he took in a gulp.

"Where are you Y/N?," he thought to himself, hand itching to check his phone that was lying in his back pocket. You had told him you'd be here on time, so then, where were you? Just as he feels himself falling deeper into his thoughts, he (like everyone else in the hall) hears footsteps running down the corridor, finally revealing you standing at the entrance, out of breath and with a huge smile stretching across your face. "You're here," he mouthed, his smile matching yours, as you replied with a simple nod and a "Congratulations," your eyes brimming with tears of joy for the boy.

Accepting his degree, Soobin walked off the stage to sit with his classmates, eyes meeting yours every so often as he tried to fight the urge to rush to you and hug you. Once the ceremony ended, neither of you wasted a second in finding each other, throwing yourselves into a hug long overdue. It didn't feel weird as you snuggled your face into his convocation robe, and it didn't feel weird as he did the same into your hair. Pulling away, you just couldn't hide the smiles that threatened to take over your entire face, taking each other's hand as Soobin left you to his parents. "Mom, Dad, this is my friend Y/N," he introduced, and his mom didn't miss the spark in her son's eyes as he looked at you.

Once you were done with the niceties, the two of you made your way out into the city once Soobin had handed his robe over to his mom. Walking the streets with him, with you cracking jokes and him pointing out tourist sights to you, you felt something you had never felt, no matter how many cities you visited. A sense of comfort, a sense of belonging. You felt like you were home for the first time in ages, and it was all because of the guy walking next to you. As if on a whim, you whipped out your video-camera, switching it on and turning it to yourself. Soobin belatedly realized what you were doing, when he heard you recite you introduction. Looking at you in shock, he felt his mouth fall open as he heard you say the words, "Friend," "Soobin," "Featuring," "Guide," in quick succession, piecing the sentence together in his brain.

"Y/N! What are you doing??," he whined, looking down to hide his face. "Awww Soobinnie is shy!!! Sorry guys, it's his first time," you cooed, a giggle escaping your lips as you turned your camera off, trying to convince him to feature in your vlog. "But I won't know what to say!!," he retorted, making you snicker. "Just take me out to eat somewhere tell, and tell the camera why you like the place you like and the food you like. It's not that hard!," you replied, and after much convincing (and some borderline begging), he finally agreed.

He showed you all his favorite eateries and restaurants, gawking at the insane discounts you got him, and just enjoying watching you eat in person, sharing his food. By the time evening rolled out, the two of you were full to your throats, looking out over the river from the bridge. "Thank you Y/N," Soobin said, turning to look at you. "For today, and for everyday. For being there for me, and for being the best friend I have ever had, and more." "Thank you too, Soob," you replied, your eyes stinging as you looked up at him. "Thank you for making me feel at home. Thank you for becoming my home." You hadn't noticed just how close your faces had become, both of you having leaned in subconsciously. Finally, Soobin closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that's full of the pent-up love and emotions.

His lips were soft against yours, molding with yours like two pieces of the same puzzle. Pulling away, a smile graced your lips as you looked up at him shyly, whispering an "I like you," causing him to repeat your words and adding a "too," cheeks rising up in a smile. Biting you bottom lip, you say, "Come with me," making him tilt his head in confusion. "You said you wanted to be like me. To learn about cuisines first-hand. Then come with me. I don't want to be away from you, I want to be with you 24/7, and not virtually. I want to talk to you in person, to hug you, to kiss you." You notice his smile growing wider, and so you ask, "So, what do you say?," as he replies by placing his lips back on yours.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Can we see what happens when Zedaph is finally found after being left in Evil X’s lair?

okay so this is the newest ask in my inbox but i’m sorry, i couldn’t resist doing it now lol i’m on a Zedaph angst hype train asdfghjkl

Requests are still open! Please read pinned post before requesting. 

This one is a sequel! Read the first part here.

...

  Zedaph’s stomach is churning painfully, aching for food. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here but he does know it’s been at least a whole day. His mouth and throat are dry and scratchy; there’s nothing for him to drink in here either. And after having spent most of his energy crying his eyes out in the first hours of his confinement, he’s becoming dangerously dehydrated. 

  His hands are pale and bruised, and his knuckles are even bleeding in a few places, from his various attempts to break down the door. But without a pickaxe, he can’t even make a crack in it. He left most of his stuff behind when he came on patrol with EX, so he has nothing useful. 

  His heart aches when he thinks of EX. He trusted them so much. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for them, but clearly, they never felt the same. They just used him and tossed him aside when they had to, leaving him to rot in a place where his friends will never find him. Or, at least, it will take a very long time. 

  Wincing, he wraps his mask around his actively bleeding knuckles. He feels sick at the sight of the reminder of how naive he’d been, but he has to admit, using it as a makeshift bandage is helping ease the pain a little. 

  He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Maybe it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. Time is passing weirdly here. And he certainly loves food enough that going only a day without it would cause his stomach to hurt this much. 

  How much longer will he survive…?

  In the distance, he hears a voice. But does he actually hear it, though? Or is it just a hallucination? It must be fake, because it’s someone calling his name and there’s no way anyone has found him here after only a day. 

  But then he hears footsteps too.

  “Zedaph! Are you down here?! Please, answer me!”

  Zedaph blinks weakly. “Tango…?”

  The footsteps stop. 

  “Zed! Is that you? Say something else!”

  Zedaph jerks to his feet and almost immediately falls over again, weak from lack of nutrition. Thankfully, the noise he makes when he hits the door is enough to alert his best friend to his whereabouts, and Tango’s worried face quickly appears in the barred window in the door. “Oh my God! Zed! You really are down here! Are you okay?!” 

  Zedaph’s sudden movement has drained all his energy. It’s all he can do to force himself to stay awake and not pass out. 

  “Zed!” Tango calls again, desperation audible in his voice. “Gah, there’s no lever or button or anything…!”

  No lever? EX must have taken it with them, Zedaph realises. 

  “Zed, get away from the door! I’m gonna break it down!”

  Zedaph weakly pushes himself to the side, safely out of the way. 

  Outside, Tango takes a deep breath and throws his entire weight against the door. It creaks, but doesn’t break or even crack. 

  “Damnit, I need a pick,” he mutters, taking out his communicator.

  One quick message and five excruciating minutes later, Tango hears footsteps on the stairs. He automatically tenses up but relaxes quickly when he sees Impulse burst into the room, pickaxe in hand. 

  “He’s in there,” Tango says worriedly, pointing at the iron door. “I didn’t bring a pick.”

  Brow furrowed with worry, Impulse rushes over to the door and attacks it. Thanks to his netherite pickaxe, the door breaks within seconds, allowing Tango to squeeze past Impulse and dash into the cell.

  Zedaph is lying propped up against the wall, still dressed in his superhero outfit. His skin is pale and he’s noticeably thinner than the last time Tango saw him, but that’s no surprise. He’s clearly unconscious, his chest slowly rising and falling as he takes shallow breaths. 

  “Zed, can you hear me?” Tango kneels down beside his best friend, trying not to panic. “Zed!”

  But Zedaph doesn’t respond.

  “We need to get him back to his base,” Impulse says shakily from behind him. “I’ll call the others and get them to help us.”

  “No, not his base,” responds Tango immediately. “I want to take him to mine. I need him somewhere I know he’ll be safe.”

  Impulse hesitates, before reassuringly gripping his friend’s shoulder. “Okay.”

…

  When Zedaph opens his eyes, he finds himself in a room he knows well: the guest bedroom at Tango’s base. He’s stayed here many a time, sometimes when he and Tango have a sleepover, sometimes when he has a nightmare and doesn’t want to be alone. 

  Letting out a quiet groan, he pushes himself into a sitting position and notices that not only are his hands bandaged but there’s a weird kind of glyph around his wrist. As soon as he registers this, he realises he doesn’t feel hungry or thirsty anymore. That must be related to the thing on his wrist. 

  As he’s inspecting it more closely, the door opens and he glances up sharply. 

  “Oh!” Tango yelps. “Zed, you’re awake!”

  He and Impulse dash to either side of the bed and sit down; the former on the side of the bed and the latter on a chair next to it. 

  “Hey.” Impulse’s pale face holds a wide smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Um… weird,” replies Zedaph truthfully. “What’s this thing on my wrist?”

  “That’s a command bracelet X gave you,” says Tango. “You were in such a bad way when we found you that X had to use it to get your nourishment levels up. He said you might have ended up in a permanent coma if he hadn’t.”

  “Wow… I can’t believe I managed to get so malnourished in only a day,” Zedaph murmurs. 

  Tango blinks. “A day? ONE day?”

  “Y-Yeah. Why...?”

  Tango and Impulse exchange a glance.

  “Buddy…” Impulse clears his throat. “You were missing for just under a week.”

  Zedaph’s eyes slowly widen. “Wh-What?! A week?! H-How could I have been gone that long…?!”

  “I don’t know, but Xisuma said it’s a miracle there’s no permanent damage to your body or code from going that long without food or water,” says Tango shakily.

  After a moment, Zedaph squeezes his eyes shut, releasing fresh tears. “Why did it take you a week to find me?”

  Tango flinches, while Impulse takes his hand and grasps Zedaph’s shoulder with his other hand. “We got a message from your communicator,” Impulse replies slowly. “Saying you would be busy doing stuff on your own for a while and you didn’t want anyone to disturb you for at least a week.”

  Zedaph takes a moment to digest that but when he does, his heart skips a beat. EX said they had taken Zedaph’s communicator. They must have sent that message so that it would take even longer for him to be found. How could EX be so cruel to him…?

  “Th-That wasn’t me,” he rasps. 

  “Well, luckily, I’m super bad at following instructions,” says Tango with a weak smile. “I came over to see you after four days but I found your base empty. I dunno why, but I got a bad feeling so I looked for you in all your normal places and when I found nothing, I alerted the other Hermits and we started a server-wide hunt.” His smile drops. “I-I’m so sorry it took us this long to find you. We never expected to find you in a place like that.” 

  “If you feel up to talking, how DID you end up in there?” Impulse asks slowly. 

  Zedaph hesitates, his stomach starting to churn again. “I… I’m not ready to tell anyone what happened yet. I’m still… processing it, myself.”

  “Of course.” Tango takes his best friend’s hand. “You should get some rest.” 

  “But first, I gotta ask you a really serious question,” says Impulse sternly.

  Zedaph gazes at him nervously. “O-Okay.”

  “Are you… Worm Man?”

  After a moment, Zedaph spots the sparkle in Impulse’s eyes and has to laugh. His friends join in, and for a minute or so, the three just laugh together, taken by the overwhelming relief that Zedaph is back safely. Those seven days may have gone by in a blur for Zedaph but the last three days were the longest and most painful of Tango’s and Impulse’s lives. 

  But now, it’s finally over. 

  Zedaph is home.

[kaeyasaki]

new game! ship your mutuals and assign them a au

sorry this took me so long, i’m a slow typer sometimes 😿

@amourdite semi x venus — idol!au — semis a celeb and venus is his hot pinterest model gf, nobody knows anything about her because semi is super protective over his private life, but there’s pictures of them everywhere and they always come out good,, semi is always asked questions about venus but he always answers so vaguely and never gives any hints, it’s not so much for her own safety because venus can handle herself, but it’s more so to do with the fact he doesn’t want anyone else sliding into her dms and taking her away from him because not only is venus his twin flame, but she’s also the main source of his song inspo

@omisluvr kiyoomi x mina — model!au — they meet on set and at first mina doesn’t want to work with kiyoomi because he seems super uptight and hard to work with, but they end up getting along really well after kinda finds out kiyoomi only look agitated because the clothes he’s been assigned to wear are uncomfortable,, the two go on to be well known together and end up signing to the same agency where they become a well known duo and two of the highest paid and sought after models in the country,, they’d do so many shoots and interviews and slowly force us all to accept the fact that this is their world and we’re truly just living in it

@kzukens kenma x myra — roommate!au — myra’s already told me this concept but i’m totally obsessed,, kenma would be so picky about picking a roommate for college, he’d choose myra because he’d know them from school and the two of them would’ve been pretty good friends,, things would start off slow, but slowly as they fall into a more domestic lifestyle, they’d both start acting more as a couple and kenma would decide this is the way he wants to live long term minus the college apartment,, final year before graduation and he’s mustering up the courage to ask myra to move in with him permanently where the two of them live together and grow old aw

@churochuu iwaizumi x chuu — bestfriends to lovers — this is more of a troupe than an au, but seeing and chuu and iwa are basically canon in my head, i see the two of them as bestfriends who are completely oblivious to each other’s feelings and it’s PAINFUL for onlookers to watch cause they already act like a couple but they deny dating !! one day, the two of them would be walking home from their own practices and oikawa would ditch iwa to encourage him to confess to chuu to which he would (awkwardly but it fits him) and when the two of them come in the next day as an official couple, everyone is more than relieved

@ats4mu oikawa x jae — socialmedia!au — oikawa and jae woukd definitely have mutuals and start playfully flirting under each other’s posts and start getting friendly with each other,, people would start to speculate a relationship between the two of them, but neither oikawa or jae would admit to it because the two of them love messing with the media and reading the dumb tabloid conspiracy theories that come up under their names,, eventually the two of them would announce themselves as a couple after a good few months of harmless flirting and from then on their instagram feeds are nothing less that immaculate

@sunasbabie sachiro x chloe — school!au — see chloe used to be a cheerleader and she’s always telling me these insane accidents and events that happened when she’d practice and stuff,, so cliche but i can imagine her as a schools cheerleader and sachrio would definitely take a liking to her but not just because of how pretty she is, but because she’s so funny and definitely easy to be around,, he had a stressful time when it came to staying at a consistent standard and expectation so chloe would definitely hype him up before games and keep him at ease, they’d end up dating by the end of the second term after getting to know each other more and sachrio would always find comfort and value in her cheering for him during games

@s9turn kuroo x hanna — enemies to lovers — both the type to constantly receive high grades in their classes and they’d constantly be compared to each other,, kuroo would definitely make studies a competition and insist he does it efffortlessly because he knows hanna puts in effort and makes pretty notes, he only riles her up to get attention for her though,, they’d 100% end up stuck next to each other as seat mates for the year where kuroo would be forced to accept that hanna is just sexy and intelligent and she does it as effortlessly as him, hesitant and more of a slow burn romance, but of course they’re gonna end up together as soon as kuroo stops being so stupid and admits he doesn’t hate hanna for her high scores but rather likes that she’s able to keep up with his intellectual conversations and stupid banter

@bellesowl atsumu x isa — fakedating!au — atsumu is tight about who he really lets into his private life and nobody in the media counts, so when his pr team suggest him fake dating someone to try and throw the media off his case a little he runs to isa to ask for a favour because he refuses to use just any old instagram model with weeks worth of dm requests rotting in his inbox,, isa would def insist she wants something in return but of course she forgets about this because when the two of them have to get into their act it flows too naturally to be fake,, after a while the media lay off atsumu’s back and he begrudgingly tells isa they can plan their break up now but obviously the two of them are genuinely in love at this point where they confess this and end up dating for real

@sunakissses suna x val — exes to lovers — these two are twin flames for sure but something dumb like schedules probably got in the way of their relationship the first time,, they stayed on good terms as friends and it’s frustrating to see them be friendly because it’s clear to everyone they’ve still got love and time for each other,, slow burner but slowly the two of them start to see that they have so much unfinished business with each other but of course they’re oblivious to how to other one feels,, it’ll take time but eventually the two of them spontaneously confess they’re still in love with one another where the nations fav couple reunite and all is right with the world once again

this was actually really fun to do, i’d love to do more with other mutuals sometime because i have so much to say about all my mutuals and their selfships (i know hanna doesn’t selfship with tetsu but i saw the opportunity to push this agenda 😼) sorry if you weren’t included in this one, wbk my brains forever short circuiting but i’d love to do this again sometime <3

[annerbhp]

So, quite a long time ago, I had a WIP. It was called Down Here Among the Wreckage, an SG-1 Sam/Jack darkfic angst-overload story that I always had every intention of finishing, but am very sure now I never will. So I am liberating the partial, but nearly finished next part of the story as I promised I would to some people over on twitter. Very un-beta’d, very unfinished, and probably not the shippy resolution you were hoping for, but maybe some small smidges. There was to be a fifth part, but that is pretty much just a couple of sentences and one final ending scene. So maybe I’ll come back and post that too. For you, my wormhos and Jomantha fans. ;) As always, my inbox is open if people have specific questions about this fic or any of my fics. Yes, even the SG-1 ones.  

Down Here Among the Wreckage – Part 4 – Aftermath

Kiras is going to die.

He sees the truth of it in every face he passes on his journey three levels up and two sectors over. People who would normally never give way to him seem to melt out of his path in deference, and to anyone ignorant of the situation, this might seem like a mark of Kiras’ status, that he is a fierce fighter no one would dare to waylay for even a moment. That couldn’t be further from the truth, Kiras thinks with the sort of wryness only a dead man walking can muster. To block his way would be to risk associating oneself with the taint of the doomed, or worse, open up the possibility of the death mark being passed off to them. Not that Kiras has the cards to play, the clout to work with to make that even a possibility. There is a reason, after all, that this task has fallen to him. But debts and bloodpacts have a way of appearing from the place least expected, and the others respect that enough to step out his way, to give him that one honor.

There isn’t a point in wishing things different, so Kiras just walks with whatever dignity he has and tries to pretend the message in his hand is anything other than what it is—a death sentence.

As he nears the upper chambers, the hallways rapidly depopulate until there are only two guards at the entrance doors. They don’t look at Kiras or the message in his hand, but merely open the door, their eyes carefully riveted to the ceiling.

Kiras summons whatever small cache of courage he has and enters the room.

Netan is not alone, twelve of his most powerful lieutenants sitting with an arrogant sort of ease around a heavily laden table as Kiras enters. They are smug in their conviction that Kiras will pay for their sins. Which he surely will.

Kiras doesn’t bother hating them. What was the point?

“Read it,” Netan commands.

It takes Kiras a few tries to start, to get the words out, the numbers of casualties, ships lost, the mere pittance that returned from the doomed run against Anubis.

Netan’s face darkens as Kiras reads, the lines of his face impossibly hard, but he does not bellow or rage. Like maybe he already knew the numbers. Perhaps the point is not the numbers, but what Netan will do to Kiras because of them. An example.

There are worse things to be.

“An explanation?” Netan asks.

The lieutenants rumble self-importantly about the Tau’ri and the Valedin, playing lip service to Netan’s prejudices until he lifts his hand for them to stop.

Netan holds out his cup to Kiras. “Would you hold this for me?” he asks, voice almost…gentle.

Kiras feels a shudder of revulsion travel down his spine, even as he reaches for the cup. “Yes, sir.”

There will probably be a little money. No large sum, but some form of payment to his family back on Yartan for his loss. It is the way of children traded to the Lucian. (He has long since learned not to use the word ‘stolen’, even in the privacy of his mind. Mind-words too easily become tongue-words, and death comes readily enough without thoughtless speech.)

With his hands now free, Netan reaches for his weapon.

Kiras squeezes his eyes shut.

There is a rapid succession of blasts, and Kiras only has enough thought to be thankful that death doesn’t hurt as much as he imagined it would. It’s only when he cracks one eye open in the succeeding silence that he realizes there were twelve shots.

Netan stands nearby, rubbing casually at his hands with a cloth, dabbing away the oil his blaster left on his skin, the burn of ozone still heavy in the air. After nearly a minute of careful, methodical grooming, he turns to Kiras and holds out a hand.

It takes Kiras a moment to realize what he wants, nearly stumbling with haste to hand back the cup.

“You may go,” Netan says.

Kiras nods, bowing almost to the waist like they did to the ancient kings centuries past, not letting his eyes stray towards the table and its damning bloody silence. “Yes, sir.”

Kiras is not the quickest or the smartest, but it occurs to him as he unashamedly flees the room of death that the only reason Netan let him live was for the story to be spread, growing larger and larger with each retelling.

Kiras dutifully complies, stopping to whisper the horrors into every ear he passes, but does not bother to exaggerate.

The original story is horrifying enough as it is.

*     *     *

Cam stares down at the dubiously smudged glass slammed down on the bar in front of him. The scent emanating from the slosh of liquid that follows makes his eyes water, but at least comforts him that whatever might have been living in that glass before certainly wouldn’t be anymore.

He can only hope the man who served him makes a better informant than he does a barkeep.

"Bottom's up," the scruffy guy says.

Cam glances down at the bar, noticing a distinct lack of a second glass. "None for you?"

The barkeep laughs. "Are you kidding? That crap'll rot you from the inside."

Cam frowns, but doesn't answer as another patron sidles up to the bar and is cheerfully poured a generous serving of the rotgut in question.

Can this really be the guy Reynolds sent him to collect intelligence from? He has the air of a burned out hippy to be completely honest. The only thing that makes Cam think this guy could have anything legitimate to offer are his eyes. They are dark and beady and make Cam think of cockroaches and that old saying about the end of the world. This guy seems like he would land on his feet every damn time.

Deep in his thoughts, Cam accidentally takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He sputters, nearly spitting it out before he remembers he's not supposed to be drawing attention to himself, especially here of all places. With great effort, he swallows it down, his eyes stinging. Hell, he supposes he should just be thankful he hasn't gone instantly blind.

Down at the other end of the bar, cockroach man throws back his head and laughs.

It's nearly dawn by the time the crowd empties out, making it safe for them to talk.

The bartender doesn’t even bother waiting for Cam to ask, just a slides a slim data device towards him. "Rumor has it that Netan finally lost his shit."

Cam raises an eyebrow, trying not to imagine just what the normally self-possessed-to-the-point-of-ice Netan would look like in a temper. The stuff of nightmares really.

The barkeep nods, leaning in as if to share salacious details. “Personally killed all twelve of his lieutenants if the stories can be believed. With a sword.”

Jesus. “Doesn’t like having his ships blown up much, does he,” Cam surmises. Like they hadn’t all equally strolled into a trap. Netan had lost ships, yes, but they were the ones to lose lives.

A lot of lives.

The informant shrugs. “Personally, I would have at least taken the time to interrogate them first,” he says, sounding as if torture is just the logical first step.

“Yeah?” Cam says.

The guy’s eyes narrow. “You understand that you were betrayed, right? How else could Anubis possibly have known?”

How indeed. But that is a worry that is far above Cam’s pay scale. If he were actually still getting paid. He’s got other things to worry about.

“Any final word on just how many ships made it back to the Lucian Alliance?” Cam tries to sound as casual as he can, like it doesn’t really matter. If Netan is losing his shit as much as this guy says, they’d be fools not to assume he will turn on them next. Knowing exactly how many ships he managed to snatch back from the fight with his hidden recall technology is vital.

“Enough that you should worry.”

“Yeah?” Cam asks.

The guy shoves the data device towards him again. “It’s all there.”

Cam palms the device, knowing it’s time to get up and walk away. He picks up the glass again. “Hypothetically, what would happen to someone taken prisoner by the Lucian?”

A bushy eyebrow lifts above a flinty eye. “You mean other than being tortured and killed for information?”

Cam fights back a wince. “Yes. Other than that.”

He shrugs. “Well, you know where most of the wealth driving the Alliance comes from.”

“Naquadah,” Cam says.

He nods. “Someone has to work the mines.”

Cam spins the glass between his palms. “You happen to know any of the locations of those mine?”

He laughs. “Now that is information worth more than both of our lives.”

Cam gets up to leave, the drive disappearing into his pocket.

“Hey.”

Cam turns back. The bartender seems to be struggling with something. “I hear Jack O’Neill is alive. Is that true?”

“You know O’Neill?”

“A couple of lifetimes ago,” he says with a wry grin that almost looks nostalgic.  “So…it’s true?”

“It is,” Cam says. “Or it was.” Is being frozen in ice with a brain overloaded by Ancient knowledge more dead or more alive? Cam doesn’t know. “It’s complicated.”

The guy nods. “Things always were with him.”

Somehow, Cam thinks that’s the understatement of the century.

*     *     *

Jason Reynolds paces his office, the small victory they managed to wrest already fading in the face of the odds shifting against their favor yet again.

The Lucian Alliance aren’t quite the allies dreams are made of. They still need to neutralize Anubis once and for all, if the written ramblings of Jack O’Neill are to be believed, and now they get to look back over their shoulders, always wondering when the Lucian Alliance will make their move.

Earth is vulnerable. Prime for the picking. They need whatever intel they can get their hands on. A job he would dearly love to give to Jack O’Neill, if he weren’t locked away in a block of ice. Instead he sent Cam, whose restless energy since the battle has been only growing. Something about the battle rattled Cam in a way the loss of Earth had not. Or maybe, Reynolds thinks more likely, something was finally the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Netan believes we were betrayed,” Mitchell announces upon his return, sliding a slim data device across the table towards him.

Jason shakes his head. “There are a million ways Anubis could have discovered our plans.” Not to mention that he’s beginning to suspect that Anubis was moving the pieces towards that showdown for a lot longer than any of them realize. Netan can take his paranoia out on whomever he wishes. The past is past. Jason is more concerned with their rather shaky future.

“We need to focus on what Netan is planning next.”

Mitchell’s jaw clenches. “I think you were right. I think we have to assume that Netan knows.”

Jason wishes he could say he was surprised. “You’ll take care of it?”

Mitchell nods. “I can be on Earth in two days.” Jackson isn’t going to like it, but Jason has bigger concerns than the scientist’s pangs of conscience. He’s trying to save an entire race.

“There’s one more thing, sir,” Mitchell says, lingering in front of the desk.

Jason sighs internally, knowing what is coming and really not looking forward to it. He’s indulged Mitchell so far, but it’s time for that to end.

“If there were survivors, your contact seemed to think—”

“If there were survivors, Colonel,” Jason interrupts, voice hard. “That’s a giant if. And we have more pressing certainties ready to bite us in the ass.” None of them can afford to have Mitchell continue to be so distracted, to have his focus split. It’s going to get people killed. “You need to let this go.”

Mitchell stiffens, mouth open and face outraged, ready to push on forever if Jason gives him so much as an inch. So he doesn’t.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Jason barks.

Mitchell looks like he might fight for a moment, his face eventually smoothing to a sort of emotionless mask that may have disturbed Jason under any other circumstances. “No, sir,” he says, voice clipped.

Jason nods. “Then get gone.”

Mitchell turns on his heel and stalks out.

*     *     *

Daniel shivers, burrowing his face deeper into the furry lapel of his coat. Despite the obscene amount of gas generators they have down here, it is still an ice cave. He warily glances up at the ceiling, his mind calculating the sheer weight of ice and rock above their heads. He’s far too aware of what can happen when the slightest foundation shifts.

Shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, he shifts from foot to foot as the rings in front of him whine into life. Cam materializes out of the light, cursing roundly as he does.

“Goddamn, it’s colder than a—“

“Welcome to Antarctica,” Daniel interrupts what would no doubt be a colorful colloquialism. “You were expecting bikinis and tiny little umbrella drinks?”

“No,” Cam says, “but I also didn’t think I’d have to worry about my balls turning to ice.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “It’s a bit warmer back in the lab,” he says, canting his head.

“Wait,” Cam says, and Daniel feels his stomach clench, having some idea of the sort of thing that would bring Cam all this way.

Cam glances around, canting his head off to the side away from listening ears. “The Lucian are coming.”

Daniel grimaces. He wishes he could say that was a surprise, Netan turning on them. Vala always warned them that this was a terrible idea. But he also knows that Cam would never come all this way just to tell him that. “And?”

“We need Sam.”

Daniels sighs. “Reynolds sent you to get her?” He would wonder why Reynolds sent Cam to collect her, when her own father is already on the planet, except Jacob doesn’t want her going back to Omega. He won’t stop her, but he isn’t going to talk her into it either.

Cam shakes his head. “I need you to take her. I have a few other things to take care of.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow. “Other things?”

Cam’s face isn’t giving anything away, and that is disturbing enough in and of itself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeah. Like that is going to happen.

Cam slaps his hands against his thighs, probably trying to knock feeling back into them. “You’ll get her there?”

Daniel frowns, thinking of Sam back in the lab behind him, the way she’s been since they discovered her down here with nothing but a frozen body for company.

“Idun, Daniel,” she snaps, pacing around the small space, her breath bursting out in white puffs. “Where did he go?”

Daniel’s long since given up trying to get her to sit still long enough to get medical to look her over. He steps aside as another tech swarms through the space, taking readings. “Sam, he died. His body failed and he didn’t have the resources to make a new one.”

She looks like he may have well taken a sledgehammer to her, her face paling. “And the other Asgard?”

He shakes his head, refusing to look at the frozen visage of Jack O’Neill behind him. “There are no more Asgard, Sam.”

No more miracles.

Sam turns abruptly away from him, but not before he sees the stark bleakness of her expression.

He finds her later, her hand pressed over the ice covering Jack’s face, her voice low as she speaks. “Is this why? Because you knew I’d never be able to find a way?”

Jack has no answers to share.

“Jackson,” Cam says, his hard voice snapping Daniel back to the present. “Just get her there.”

He turns and walks back to the rings.

Daniel walks back into the main lab, the hastily installed set of heavy duty doors sliding back in place behind him. He lets out a sigh at the relative warmth of the space. Shrugging out of his thick parka, he drapes it over the back of his chair, glancing at the crumpled collection of papers strewn across his desk.

The papers are covered with writing, some much more legible than others, all written in a evolving dialect of Ancient that has kept Daniel struggling for weeks to decipher. Jack’s last words, scribbled on the back of anything he could get his hands on.

The longest piece of writing is a letter. About Anubis. To be honest either Daniel’s Ancient is rusty or Jack was more than a little gone when he wrote it. It’s full of strange phrases like ‘death is not the end’, ‘not human’, and some word Daniel can’t define at all that might have something to do with non-corporeal. Ascension?

He’ll build himself a new body. He always does. Unless you stop him.

Daniel can’t make sense of it.

The only thing that convinces him that they aren’t just the rantings of a delusional man is the careful note in the margin. “Tell Carter, tell her I, just thank her for me. Thank her for saving me in every way that a person can be saved. Take care of her.”

Daniel glances up at Sam on the other side of the lab, currently lying on her back with her head stuck in an Ancient console. He’s doing his best to do what Jack asked him, but Sam has always been like a force of nature.

They limit her to ten-hour shifts, forcing her back up to the orbiting Prometheus for rest and warmth. That still hasn’t stopped her from hacking her way back down here from time to time. Daniel still hasn’t decided what is worse, the listless hopelessness she was mired in at first, or this manic, focusless rush to solve a solution to an unsolvable problem that has obsessed her since. Endless lifelessness or a bright thing threatening to burn out far too fast?

Daniel takes a deep breath and crosses the space. “Sam.”

She’s muttering to herself, what sounds like the basic conjugation of simple Ancient verbs. She’s insisted on Daniel teaching her to read and speak the Ancient language, no matter how slow it is going or how much Sam clearly doesn’t have an aptitude for it.

“Sam,” he tries again. “I need to—”

She pops out, wagging a finger at him. “Ancient.”

Daniel sighs. She only wants him to speak to her in Ancient, even if it makes all of their conversations take ten times as long. They don’t have time for games. “They need you back at Omega.”

Sam seems to consider that for a moment before sticking her head back in the console. “Too bad.”

“Sam,” Daniel says, dragging a hand over his face.

“No, Daniel,” she says. “Do you honestly think anything would make me leave--?” She abruptly swallows the end of the sentence, just enough for Daniel to know there is a lot she isn’t saying.

“Dammit, Sam,” Daniel says. “Don’t you get it? If Netan obliterates us, then none of it meant anything. Not you coming back, not Jack sticking his head in that thing again. It’s all meaningless if we let this happen.”

Maybe it’s a low blow, but she needs to understand what is at stake.

She slides out of the computer, giving him a hard look. Pushing to her feet, she walks away from him.

He paces after her. “You don’t think they’ll take this place from us as well? That he won’t want to get his hands on the weapon that destroyed Anubis?”

She stops in front of her desk, leaning her palms against the surface. He knows she’s processing something, so lets her take the time, trying not to feel a beat of hope that he is finally reaching her.

Eventually she paws through one of the drawers, pulling out a small slip of paper. She holds it out to him. “Can you tell me what this means?”

Daniel sighs. He thought he could get her to understand just how high the stakes are, but she’s too damned wired into this. “Sam,” he says.

She thrusts the paper towards him again.

He takes it. “Unam sumis,” he reads out loud. At this point, he’s used to Sam asking him questions about translating Ancient, but there’s something odd about the phrase. Like maybe it’s a dialect?

Sam’s jaw tightens. “What does that mean?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I’d really need to see it in context.”

Sam shakes her head, flapping her hand as if telling him to get on with it.

“Fine,” Daniel says, straightening his glasses. “I think it literally translates as ‘we are united’ or ‘we are one’, but it probably really means something more like, ‘We’re in this together’.”

Sam turns and takes a few steps away from him, the only sign that any of that meant anything to her the slight clenching of her fists by her sides.

“Sam?”

She turns back to him with a nod, looking more determined and focused than he’s ever seen her, not since…before. “If I help…when it’s done I get my own lab and complete access to Idun’s research for as long as I want it. No matter what else comes up.”

She’s bargaining with him. That should hurt except he never thought to see her like this again, eyes sharp and bright, her teeth dug deep into a project that is impossible by any standard of measurement.

“I’ll arrange it with Reynolds.”

“Your word,” she presses.

“I promise.”

Her shoulders lower and he supposes that should make him feel better, that his word still means something to her.

“Okay,” she says. “Then I know what to do.”

*     *     *

Jacob sighs, dragging a hand over his face. There was a riot in Alpha section today. One Jaffa and one human died, four more seriously wounded. All over an incident involving farm equipment if the reports can at all be believed.

He and Cassie have been trying to run things on Earth the last month. There are surveys to be done, populations to count, resources to be pooled. It will take lifetimes, but Cassie had only lifted her chin and said, “Then I guess we’d better start.”

A month in, it still feels an awful lot like nowhere.

Teal’c looks displeased, arms crossed over his chest. “I do not understand why this is happening.” The Earth survivors have been less than welcoming to the Jaffa, no matter how much they are trying to help, to throw in and create a future together.

Jacob sighs. “They’re afraid, Teal’c. Afraid and angry and looking for anything to blame.”

Teal’c nods. “Perhaps it would be better if we returned to Haktyl.”

“No.”

They turn to look at Cassie.

She looks up at them. “This is what their universe looks like now. Let the Jaffa teach the humans to defend themselves. Let the Tok’ra teach them to salvage their crops. Let every human know one Jaffa or one Tok’ra personally. Let them learn to be grateful for the help. It’s the kindest thing we can do for them.” She walks away, leaning down over the maps. “It’s time to go forward or just…let it all die.”

Jacob looks to Teal’c. He merely inclines his head. “I shall speak to the Jaffa.” He leaves the house.

Jacob comes to stand next to Cassie.

Cassie laughs under her breath, shaking her head.

“What?” Jacob asks.

“Nothing,” she says, waving a hand. “Just thinking about Earth’s future being decided by three aliens.”

Jacob gives her a wry smile. “We’ll let the history books have the last say on that one.”

If there’s anyone left to write it.

After a brisk knock, the two of them look up to see Cam enter.

“Hey, kid,” he says, ruffling Cassie’s hair.

She scowls, shoving him off. “You’re like, what? Two years older than me?”

“More like fifteen,” he says, “but nice try.”

“What’s up?” Jacob asks, surprised to see him back on Earth so soon.

“Vala,” he says.

Jacob’s jaw clenches. It was really only a matter of time. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Have someone watch her ship and the Stargate.”

Cassie sighs. “It’s a mistake.”

Maybe it all is.

*     *     *

Vala sees him coming, looking up from a few Haktyl women she is trading with.

Cam watches her take in the situation in an instant, her eyes tracking what he assumes are her escape routes, now so carefully cut off thanks to Jacob and a few Jaffa.

“I have to say, I expected you sooner,” she says, eyes defiant under a theatrical pout.

Cam takes her arm. “I’m sure you did.”

He locks her in the back of his ship, not speaking to her again until they are under way.

He tries to resist, but eventually he gets up, walking back into the hold.

“Yes?” she asks.

“The Lucian naquadriah planets,” he says.

Her posture shifts, Vala pulling herself up further. “Yes?” she asks, nearly a purr.

“Do you know any of their locations? The ones any prisoners of war are most likely to be sent to?”

“Are you offering to let me go in exchange for the location? My, my. How you’ve changed.”

Cam gets up to leave.

“I much prefer you this way!”

Cam slams his fist on the controls, the door sliding shut behind him.

*     *     *

Rodney looks up as the door to his lab opens. Sam strides in, Daniel right on her heels looking a little unsettled.

“Sam?” Rodney says, stepping towards her.

She ignores him, walking straight up to her quilt still hanging on the wall. She reaches out, hand tracing faintly over the stitches before she turns for the boards. She picks up a pen.

“Sam?” Rodney tries again, but she ignores him, Daniel reaching out to stop him from pulling her aware from the board.

“Just let her try,” Daniel says.

For a while it looks like she’s just tugging threads, the whole thing threatening to pull apart. But then it happens.

“Oh my God,” Rodney breathes.

Daniel glances at him. “Genius or gibberish?” he asks.

Rodney rubs at the back of his head. “Genius,” he says, head nodding like it’s on a spring. “Definitely genius.”

Sam builds them a sliver of hope out of nowhere.

“It’ll still take a miracle,” Rodney feels the need to point out.

Daniel smiles. “That’s Sam’s specialty.”

*     *     *

Now that Sam is on Omega and working, everything has cleared enough in his head that Daniel can finally make sense of Cam and his additional task on Earth.

“Son of a bitch,” he says.

He barges into Reynolds’ office.

“Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” Reynolds says. “This is the way it has to be.”

If he’d accepted that, Earth never would have been freed.

Vala lies in the cell, one hand pressed to her ear as if listening intently to the crystal walls.

“Netan’s turned on us,” Daniel announces.

He tries to see any reaction, but he just can’t read her. Instead she shifts, swinging her feet to the ground.

“I told Jack this was a terrible, terrible idea.” Her hand lifts to the wall, nails dragging down across the crystal.

She doesn’t press for any information, and if she was really playing them, wouldn’t she?

She leans back against the wall, arms folded up behind her head. “Well. If Netan becomes your new overlord, at least your bosses won’t have to decide what to do with me.”

“You’re right,” Daniel says. “They won’t have to make that decision.”

Stepping to the side of the cell, Daniel swipes his card, punching in his code.

Vala pushes to her feet at the sound of the cell unlocking. She looks like she’s waiting for him to assassinate her.

He pulls the door open and steps out of her way.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought that might be obvious. I’m letting you go.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

He notices that even as she’s clearly wary of his motives, she still steadily heads for the open door. “I don’t,” he says. “But I gave you my word.”

She’s staring back at him as if he’s the most mystifying creature she’s ever met.

Daniel glances at his watch. “You’ve got a fifteen minute window. It was the best I could do.”

That seems to decide her. “It’s all I need.”

“Vala?” he asks as she glances up and down the hall.

She turns back.

“Even if we can protect ourselves, deflect Netan this time…that won’t stop him, will it?” Daniel says.

“No,” Vala says. “It won’t.”

She slips out the door.

*     *     *

Netan turns as the guards escort his visitor inside his chamber. “Vala. Welcome back.”

He looks for any sign that she resents being here, once again so carefully wrapped up in the world she spent a great deal of energy escaping once upon a time. She would have known the cost though, that day she walked back into his world with two Tau’ri in tow.

Her fingers trail along the edge of the desk. “They tried to lock me away.”

Netan smiles. It was inevitable that the Tau’ri would finally see Vala for what she really is. “And yet, here you are.”

Her lips curve. “Locks can be delicate things.”

Just like people.

“The Tau’ri?”

Her disdain for them is clear in the careless flick of her fingers. “Obsessed with rebuilding Earth.”

He’s long since stopped wondering where her information comes from. It always seems to bleed into her skin, breathing it in like most beings do with oxygen.

“The Ancient weapon they used to defeat Anubis?”

She picks at her nails as if bored. “Depleted.”

“And the rest? Do they know?”

She smiles, a sinuous gesture that sends a thrill of sensation up his spine. She’s truly magnificent. And once again all his.

She settles herself in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. “The poor darlings have no idea what’s coming.”

*     *     *

Netan’s fleet approaches Omega, their secret little base no longer secret.

“There’s a shield, sir.”

Netan glances at Vala.

She is still lounging sideways on her chair, hands languid and bored. “A pathetic last gasp.”

“She’s right, sir. The energy read out is very weak.”

“Full volley,” Netan orders. It is time the Tau’ri learn their place in the grand order of things. This new galaxy they have birthed together. The secrets of the Asgard will be his.

“Are they returning fire?”

“No. Nor have they launched any ships.”

They are no doubt still protecting fragile little Earth. Strange. But Netan did not come so far by being timid. “Increase power to forward weapons.”

There’s a pulse of light, the moon seeming to shrug, the shield flying outward. At first he thinks this is their feeble protection at last fizzling out, but then the three closest ships crumble in a shatter of light, the shock wave rolling through his own ship, consoles sparking and going dark.

He turns, but Vala is gone. He feels the knife slide into his back the same moment he catches the trace of her scent—spice and mystery, seduction and betrayal.

He should have killed her the first time he ever laid eyes on her.

Her lips are cool against his skin, one last poisoned kiss. “It’s a great, wild, beautiful galaxy out there, Netan,” she whispers like a caress against his cheek. “There’s no more room for tyrants.”

She twists the knife.

*     *     *

Cam and Daniel board the disabled ship. There is no one there but bodies, the knife still sticking out of Netan’s back.

Cam picks up a small piece of paper left stuck to the main view screen. There is a series of numbers.

Coordinates, he realizes.

Good luck, it says. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

The Lucian prison camp is in disarray, Netan’s death reverberating through the galaxy, and it only takes a small force to overrun the last remaining feeble overlords.

They free the slaves, help them set up a mining operation owned and operated by the slaves, not the Tau’ri.

After a month, Cam finally has to face the truth.

Kate is not here.

“She’d kick my ass if she were here.”

“Who?”

“Kate,” he says. “She’d kick my ass and she’d be right.”

She’s dead. She died doing what she believed in, what they all believed in. And he’s not going to dishonor that by getting himself killed for a ghost.

It’s time to start to rebuild.

*     *     *

Daniel looks up as the door to the lab opens. He has no idea how she made it in here, how Omega seems to be as porous to her, but he’s long since stopped bothering trying to figure it out. It’s just part of who she is.

“Netan’s dead,” Daniel says like this isn’t something she’s already certainly aware of.

“Is he?” Vala asks, eyes on her fingernails like they are the most fascinating things in the universe. “Did he finally turn his back on the wrong lieutenant?”

Netan was notorious for not allowing any lieutenant with the strength to challenge him to survive. He never would have been so foolish.

“Not likely,” Daniel says. “After all, no one has stepped in to fill the hole. No one strong enough to hold it all together. The Alliance is in chaos.”

She isn’t giving anything away. “I suppose people will have to start making decisions for themselves then. Unless the Tau’ri plan on…” Her eyes lift to his face.

“No,” Daniel says. “We learned this lesson long ago.”

“And yet…your good intentions will always lead you into another catastrophe. It’s your race’s curse.”

Some days he thinks he would do anything to get a straight answer out of her. But the rest of the time he’s smart enough to get that he’s better off not knowing.

“You should know that we aren’t looking for you. That we won’t.”

She smiles, and Daniel realizes it doesn’t actually matter to her, one way or the other. They can come after her or not. It doesn’t mean they would ever catch her. He tries to imagine her as ever defenseless, maybe as a small child, but he thinks even then she must have taken care of herself.

She steps forward up to the glass, looking down to where Sam is working below, the archive of Asgard knowledge she bargained for finally completely open to her.

“It all makes a lot more sense now,” Vala says.

“What does?”

She slides him a look, her head canting towards Sam. “Jack.”

Daniel’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

She considers him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he’s being deliberately obtuse or not. “As long as I’ve known Jack, he’s been searching for something,” she says. “A fix it, a cure, a magic remedy.”

That doesn’t sound like Jack, but then again, the way he used to be is hazier and hazier in Daniel’s mind. His skepticism must show because she tilts her head to one side and gives him a half-smile that makes her look bizarrely vulnerable. That’s not a word he ever thought to associate with her.

“When you’re desperate enough, you’ll take hope anywhere you can.” Her eyes harden. “It’s the reason conmen exist in the first place.”

He knows for a fact that Vala is every type of chameleon, that she isn’t above using every weapon in her arsenal to get what she needs. But he also understands in that moment that the one thing she never does is play people for their hope.

It makes sense now, why she didn’t betray them, not when it mattered most. No one breathes pure, unfounded, struggling hope quite like a Tau’ri. What hadn’t they been prepared to do, just on the merest whisper of hope?

What hadn’t Jack been prepared to do?

“The tattoo,” Daniel says, something clicking into place.

Vala nods, looking back over at Sam, leaning on the railing.

“It looked Maori,” he says, trying to think back and remember the details.

Vala shrugs. “If you say so.”

Something is whispering at the back of his mind that he’s on the right track. “The Maori believe that the human body is sacred, having come from the place of the gods,” Daniel explains. “So sacred, in fact, that a pure body is dangerous to other people, can cause physical and spiritual harm.”

Vala gives no sign that she’s listening.

“The tattoos are about rendering the body less pure, diluting the sacredness, making it benign.”

Vala turns then, looking up at him. “A way of rendering oneself impotent,” she says, and Daniel gets the feeling she knows way more about this than she’s letting on.

“To keep himself from harming anyone around him,” he surmises. The placement on the back of his neck is doubtlessly anything but accidental.

Vala nods, that fragile half-smile on her face again. She looks back over at Sam, watching her for a while. “Has he always loved her?”

It actually takes a moment for Daniel to work out the pronouns, to figure out what Vala is asking him, but then it’s like a ton of bricks dropping on him. “God,” he breathes. He’s never let himself notice it before, but looking back, it’s so damn clear. “I think he has.”

Vala nods. “She won’t give up, will she?”

“No,” he says, and the faith is so damn easy to find for once. Or maybe he never really let himself give up on her. “She’ll figure it out. She always does.”

“You know, Daniel,” Vala says, fingers trailing down his arm. “You’re not half bad.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at the sincerity in her voice, but her expression shifts so fast he thinks he must have imagined it, her eyes sparkling with that wicked gleam once more. “For a worn-out, cranky Tau’ri that is,” she amends.

He crosses his arms over his chest, giving her a wry glance. “That means a lot coming from a heartless thief.”

Her smile stretches even wider. “It’s almost enough to make me feel bad about the twenty credits I lifted off you the first time we met,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder and turning to leave the room. She pauses by the door, throwing a look back at him. “Almost.”

And then she’s gone.

Somehow, Daniel knows she’ll be back.