#anyone who's read the wings au tell me every thought you ever had about it right now (joking)

[bookwyrminspiration]

i'm over 2/3rds of the way through the wings au :)

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Growing Pains CH2 (MWC Day 8!)

Pairing: RE2 Leon Kennedy x Male(Intended) Reader Summary: College AU/Meet-cute(?) The cute guy that Claire hangs out with finally works up the courage to talk to you. Words: 1,662/200 Warnings: a few curse words but that's to be expected. Notes: Leon is super shy and awkward, I haven't read through it but when I was writing the dialogue and the text between it felt pretty chunky so if anyone has notes about that please let me know, I'm experimenting a little with the paragraphs, let me know if you liked the smaller ones better.

Navigation | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Friday felt like it would never end, like you’d never be able to catch a break. You had to feel grateful, though, it hadn’t rained yet and your weather app told you it would be sunny all day. The extreme difference in the weather kept you reeling, back home the temperature and weather were usually consistent with the month, but after moving closer to school you'd noticed that the weather was a lot more sporadic here; yesterday it had been freezing and pouring for the majority of the day, getting as low as 10 °C with a warning for hail. Today was the complete opposite, the temperature had been between 26 and 32 °C with absolutely no clouds in sight. The extreme (and unwarranted) differences in the weather had left you staggering to catch up, you’d woken up that morning absolutely drenched in sweat and blinded by the sun. Having set your thermostat to keep up with the freezing temperatures outside and the poor insulation of your cheap apartment, since it had been cloudy all week you never bothered with your curtains or blinds but clearly that was a mistake. 

You probably shouldn't say you hated Chicago, it was nice sometimes and the students here were pretty respectful. You could count on one hand all of the times you’ve actually had a bad customer experience and all of them centered around finals or exams. You look up as the bell dings and a customer enters, he’s huge, completely dwarfing you in size. As soon as he steps up to the counter you recognize him, his pale skin, and the weird markings on his face. You’ve heard Claire complaining about him time and time again, he was apparently so strict that no one in his classes has ever passed. 

You highly doubted that no one’s ever passed but since she never gave you his name, and only referred to him as the Evil Tyrant of the West Wing, you could never fact-check her. Evil tyrant or not, you still had a job to do and money to make so, you put on your best smile and greeted him politely. He orders a black coffee and a triple shot of expresso, you’re a little intimidated by his voice, and maybe his order but you know plenty of guys with his stature and intimidating aura who are actually sweethearts. The order is simple, youve made it so many times for the poor professors who used to come by in the dead of night, it's pure muscle memory at this point. Getting his order made and totaled up on the register takes little to no thought, he waits like he's got better things to do, and before you can tell him he tosses the exact total onto the counter, paying without thanking (or tipping) you. 

He scoops up his two drinks before marching out of the shop. His footsteps are loud and heavy, clunky boots dropping down hard onto the linoleum like you used to do as a pubescent 16-year-old throwing a tantrum, you think about how every time you did that your mom would call you disrespectful and she’d take away your phone. At that thought small smile forms on your face, you can't help but feel a little amused at the image of your tiny, 5’4 mother disciplining a man about as tall and wide as a skyscraper. “What an ass.” You huff and glance back down at the tip jar, it was a measly four bucks and some change, mostly quarters. You’ve had worse tips, at least this could buy you a water and maybe some peanuts or sunflower seeds if you chose right. 

You lean against the counter and cast a glance out of the big windows at the front, the guy Claire eats with is out there looking like a terrified puppy, he’s gripping the handles of his bike tightly as the tyrant guy chews into him for something you can only imagine. You watch as the tyrant storms off, pretty dramatically, Claire's friend puts up his bike and locks it to the pole before coming inside, he flinches when he sees you watching and shakily pulls off his (stupid-looking) helmet. “You- uh… Did you see all that?” His voice shakes slightly and he fidgets with the helmet nervously “Maybe.” You shrug wanting to cut the guy some slack. “Was it something you wanted me to see?” He shakes his head and you go back to the register, “Then I guess I didn't see anything.” He visibly relaxes but his steps toward the counter are a little shaky, you’re already tapping his order into the register by the time he gets up to the counter. “I didn't even order yet…” He sounds a little flustered and you look up to see that his cheeks have gone pink. “You get the same thing every time.” You counter, tapping the green total button on the register, “What if I wanted something different.” His voice evens out like he's getting more comfortable. “Did you?” - “No.” You chuckle at the absurdity and shake your head. 

“2.95 big guy.” There's a pause and you look up expectantly, he's looking at you star-struck but as soon as you make eye contact he fumbles for his wallet, dropping his helmet in the process. “Um- im so sorry…” He apologizes quickly, handing you a five and bending to pick up his helmet. “S’fine.” you pause to put his cash into the register and pull out his change. “Two-oh-five is your change.” You hand it back only for him to drop it into your tip jar, he smiles and takes his cookie when you hand it to him. “Is- uh. I mean- is Claire not here today?” He fumbles a little, tearing off pieces of his cookie. 

You shake your head “Nah, not yet. Summer’s always slow.” He nods along with you, it's obvious he knows Claire isn't here. You look over at the windows again and check your watch, it's just about closing time. “Why is that?” He breaks the silence as you log out of the register, you look up at him a little caught off guard, “Hm? Why what?” His cheeks go pink and he fumbles for words- “Um… I mean- uh. Why is summer always slow?” You nod, understanding what he meant, and go back to the register with a shrug, “Luis says it’s ‘cause of the heat, no one wants hot drinks.” He nods slightly and finishes off his cookie, crumpling up the napkin as he lingers. It's not hard to see that he wants to keep talking to you and you almost feel bad for him, you finish logging off and nod in the direction of the trash can. “Bet you a free drink you can't get that into the trash from here.” You know you shouldn't be handing out drinks but he's too cute and it's the first thing that pops into your head. 

He visibly lights up, his eyes get wider and his back straightens “Alright.” He looks back at the trash can by the door, taking his attention off of you. You can't help but admire him while he lines up his shot, he's got a cute side profile, he's pretty tall, and his hair looks nice and soft. He raises the napkin over his head and tosses it in, you tear your eyes away from the muscle in his arms to see the balled-up napkin bounce off the window and into the trash. He looks back at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, you shrug and smile back while turning to grab a cup. “I was on the basketball team in high school.” He says sounding more confident than he had earlier, you snort as he reveals this crucial information after he wins your little game. 

“Guess I set myself up then, huh?” You get a cup and turn back to him, “Whatchu want?” He looks proud of himself, his shoulders relaxed and held back confidently. You can't help but think he looks handsome when he’s confident like this, the worry lines on his face disappear, his brows unfurrow, and he actually looks his age. “What if…” He trails off, his demeanor turning anxious again. He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, “uh- w- what if… I got your number, instead of a drink?” A smile forces its way onto your face, he looks so nervous he might give himself an aneurysm. You huff playfully, unable to resist, this has to be the highlight of your week. 

You turn away from him to brew an iced coffee, It might be a little mean for you to draw this out, to make him worry more. “You want milk and sugar?” But you’ve always struggled with self-control. There's a long pause, before- “Ye… um yes please.” His voice is small and there's a slight shake if you listen close enough. You feel a little bad for doing this but you continue, you never pussy out. You finish brewing his coffee and in a smooth, well-practiced motion, you slap a sticker on the side and mark it with your name and number, putting a little x underneath. 

You hand it to him and without giving him time to think or breathe you herd him out of the shop. “Gotta close, call me later.” You shut and lock the door as he stands in front of it bewildered, his brain takes a while to catch up and you see him look down at the coffee in his hand and start to turn around but you’re faster; turning off the open sign and closing the blinds with a speed that you should be using for more important things, like getting dressed when you’re late to class, or finishing an essay that's about to be overdue, not being mysterious to the cute guy who still hasn't given you his name.

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A/N: it's getting easier and easier to write already, it didn't take half as long as yesterday's did to get 1,000 words. It feels so much good to actually feel happy writing. I can't help but feel worried it's not going to last forever with my fluctuating mental health but I've been looking up a few books to help improve my writing, grammar, flow, and punctuation and I've been seeing a lot of these writers saying that it's okay for you to be worried about that and to just push through.

[abyssal-ali]

Fic Showcase Game

Thanks for the tag @river9noble!💕💜💜❤️

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

Oh boy~

-> First Fic Published: Ice to Meet You

Maribat, Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • A short and sweet meetcute inspired by my parents' story.

-> Last Fic Published: There Is Just No Stopping This Thing Called Love

(I'm not counting my half-a-fic JaySteph dating alphabet headcanons)

DC, Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown • It's a Gotham by Gaslight AU I wrote in about two days (JaySteph really gets my fingers flying across the keys😆) that I'm pretty proud of. I did a lot more research than I thought I would because I'm a perfectionist who wanted historical accuracy.

-> Fic I Wrote for a Ship/Fandom Once: Hard Right to Greece

MLB, Luka Couffaine x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • This was a co-write, but so far it's my only Lukanette/MLB-only work. It was my first collab fic and I really enjoyed the process. My co-authors (who I'm sure did most of the writing) were lovely and it was a great experience overall. (Check out the lukanette server hosted by @/quickspinner). Road trip plus mutual pining? What's not to like??

-> Favourite Fic Written In My Largest Fandom: toss-up between Burned my Wings and The Best Bat(?)

DC, Gen • Can you tell I like hurting my already traumatized blorbo? I enjoy exploring character's reactions to what Jason has been through, because we all know DC is a coward.

-> Fic I Wish More People Read: Rival Mob Boss Jasonette Series

Maribat, Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • I don't go into my stats expecting large numbers so I don't get the no-dopamine crash. That said, I did think the series would be more popular.

-> Fic I Most Agonized Over: Hmmmmm maybe The Very First Night?

Maribat, Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • The agonizing is usually over getting the motivation to write than struggling what to write. I tried a new writing style in it (non-linear narration), so I was unsure how it would turn out. I'm happy with the end result, though.

-> Fic Sprung Forth Fully Formed With No Effort: Long Live all the Magic We Made

Maribat, Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • I had been plotting a bit more of this fic every tike I listened to Long Live, so by the time I sat down to write it, it only took 2 or 3 days.

-> Fic I'm Proudest Of: Invisible String or Stars Around My Scars

IS: Maribat, Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • My first songfic and probably my longest fic (only about half is posted; the epilogue is as long as the main work😆). I got some absolutely lively comments that I will forever cherish, which makes me proud that people liked what I wrote so much.

SAYS: Maribat, Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng • This was originally a short 2k fic I wrote to get out of my head. A couple years later, I dusted it off and polished it up, and then the ideas wouldn't stop flowing (I still have several outtakes and bonus scenes to write & post). I'm proud of myself for sticking to it (it was my longest fic on ao3 for a while) and not rushing it when the dopamine high faded. I think it's a testament to my improved writing skills and it's special to me, as it was my first long fic for the Maribat Fandom that I posted. I also became close to the absolute love of my life @sarcasticbambi, who was my beta for the fic and gave me some lovely, absolutely heartwarming and forever-remembering-worthy compliments that really boosted my confidence in my writing.

No-pressure tagging @boldlyanxious @velveteenshadow @wildbookcat @the-coffee-fandom and anyone who wants to play, consider yourself tagged!💜💜

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

🌤️ 🌩️ ☔

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

Published or unpublished? Because have so much favorite dialogue from all of the published chapters. And not much to choose from for Ch. 8. So I guess I'll do one of each.

The first is from Chapter 5, where Erik has just played her an excerpt from his new composition and Christine is feeling quite inferior to him, as an artist. She says that she has no genius of her own. Which Erik is of course very offended by:

"You must never forget that skilled as I am, though I say it myself, I am not so powerful as to be able to imbue talent where there was none before. I am only able to foster what nature has already gifted you. Do you understand me? And please say that you do, Christine, for you must know—know—that it is not in my nature to lie about music to spare anyone's feelings; even yours."

And then I don't have much dialogue at all written for Ch. 8, but this kind of connects to the above incident:

"Father always said he wasn't really talented," she sobbed quietly. "He said he simply practiced well. When he would tell me of the Angel of Music, I asked if he'd ever heard the Angel, and he shook his head and told me that he'd never been so blessed."

And Erik connects this with the fact that Christine did the exact same thing earlier in the evening.

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

OK its not terribly funny, per se. I've been forced to confront today that I just don't do a lot of comedy in my writing. Except perhaps for the passage in chapter 5 where Erik mentally calls Carlotta a "contemptible cow" and then considers making her "moo" instead the next time.

But this is a scrap I have written for a future chapter:

Only Meg Giry had made any effort in those first few months to befriend her, and that had been an exercise in understanding when Christine required her solitude. That must have been quite an effort for little Meg, curious and nosy as she was. More than once he'd had to hold closed some hatch or panel which Meg had sniffed out to prevent her from confirming her discovery. She was a chronic pebble in his shoe.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Ah okay this is actually excellent. Yes.

So I've been reading Driven by the wonderful and lovely TryingNotToLoveYou, where each chapter is named after and accompanied by lyrics from a different Depeche Mode song. Now I LOVE Depeche Mode. Every fic (published or WIP) that I've ever thought of for poto has a title taken from a DM song. It's just such PotO music.

One song in particular has always stood out to me: A Question of Time, in which the narrator expresses his fear and concern for a young girl and how it won't be long before "They" (this can be interpreted to mean men specifically or society in general) start to take advantage of her. He says "I've got to get to you first, before they do". The song also contains the lyrics "I'll take you under my wing; somebody should" which of course brings to mind "The Angel of Music has her under his wing".

This song was released in 1985 and my idea is for a movie based 1985 AU where a young Christine is an aspiring singer who gets signed to Erik’s record label.

I would love to write this fic. The problem is, its more of a vibe, an atmosphere, than an actual story in my head. I don't think I could write a story for any time period after 1918 to be perfectly honest.

In some ways I feel like I have a better understanding of life-patterns older periods. And the 80's would be particularly tough for me because its kind of in the middle as far as history goes. Its not far enough back to feel like fantasy-land but just far enough back that I wasn't alive yet and I don't even have a firm enough grasp of life in the 90's to fall back on (I was born in 95). So even though I'm probably the most familiar with the 80's out of any period in the mid-20th century pop-culturally, I still feel unqualified. And as for plot? Beyond this starting point, I have no idea where I would even start. I can't imagine writing any kind of long-fic, especially a modern!AU one. When the Longing Returns is actually just a short fic that has been stretched out by my excessive wordiness 😅😂

[glitt3r-litt3r]

Betty

Alex Summers x Hank McCoy

Babe wake up I have a new hyperfixation with X-men!!! This is gonna be multiple parts and is inspired by Betty by Taylor Swift hence the title so I recommend listening to that song and reading the lyrics!

Pairing: McSummers ( Alex Summers and Hank McCoy)

Timeline: Highschool AU but still with the cast of X-men first class

Summary: While professor X is helping everyone control and use their mutations an unlikely pair find comfort within the mansion walls. 

During the long days of training there was hardly a moment of silence in the mansion, between Sean’s actual screaming and Mystique insistent pestering of her brother no one ever had to wonder if there were people inhabiting the house. They spent almost every moment together, the team. This was the most socializing Alex had done in years and it was draining at first. When the summer was just beginning he barely said anything that wasn’t a sarcastic remark or a scoff. This is so stupid.

Get out of my head Charles.

Yes Hank you’re still a bozo!

No Mystique that skin doesn’t make you look fat but it does help you look like a blueberry if that’s what you were going for.

She screamed about that last one for at least 3 days telling anyone who’d listen how small Alex’s feet looked. 

By mid July they were moving better, each person had a role and they could help each other out in case they ever needed to. They weren’t exactly a well oiled machine but it would do if they ever got caught up. Everyone had spent a couple days on bedrest and luckily it was Hanks turn to play nurse with Alex after Sean accidentally dropped him while testing out his new wings. 

He was as the first to run out to the field and apologize about how there must be something wrong with the wings design. Alex looked like he couldn’t care less about his apology he just wanted to lie down or throw up or both.

“You should really let me help you back to the house. Head injuries are really dangerous there’s a number of things that could go wrong like internal bleeding, aneurisms-” Hank began

“Well are you going to help or are you just going to list out all the shitty things that could happen” Alex said while hunched over his head began to spin the moment he stood up but it got worse as he spoke.

“Uh. yeah sorry. Just hold onto my arm and walk slow. Sean get his other arm”

Slowly they made their way back to Alex’s room. It was not as easy as originally thought with Alex needing frequent breaks and his constant grumbling. When they finally got him to his room he dropped onto the bed trying to sleep immediately. 

“Actually Alex you shouldn’t sleep, just in case you have a concussion...” Hank whispered. He stood by the door making no further attempt to enter his room.

“Wonderful.” muffled by the pillow resting on top of Alex’s face. This is the longest they’ve been forced to interact. Hank wants to leave and return to the comfort of the lab where there are no rude comments or handsome boys in need of assistance but part of him feels responsible for what happened and it wouldn’t be right to just leave him there. 

“We have some pain killers downstairs. Try not to fall asleep while I'm gone.” He says. Before Alex can even register what was said he's alone. The only reminder that Hank was ever here was his smell which Alex only now realizes he can recognize. He always thought it might've been someone else but now he's sure that it's Hank that smells that good. Not that he'll ever tell him it's just a nice distraction from his head. He hears footsteps approaching his room again and forces his thoughts on Hanks smell all the way out of his head. 

“Took you long enough Bozo” 

“I don’t suppose you’d appreciate it if I threw these out the window then?” he replies

“You wouldn’t. Now hand them over” Alex says sitting up and reaching out toward Hank who was still not through the door of his room.

“What’s the magic word?” he says laughing lightly at Alex’s grabby hands. He never had the upper hand in this dynamic making this the most pleasant time.

“You’re kidding...god dude! just please” Alex mumbles out still reaching toward him. Underneath the teasing Hank was watching Alex delicately to see if he was really in need of help.

“Make sure you drink all the water and when you feel better, come to the lab. You’re natural body temperature should burn these off pretty quickly so when you come in I'll start an IV” he says as he hands him a glass of water and painkillers, leaving the snacks on the nightstand. 

Their hands brush against each others momentarily before Hank makes his way out of the room. It’s too suffocating to be this close to him. 

Hank walks briskly down the corridor and hopes he doesn't run into anyone on the way to the lab. His cheeks were definitely ablaze from the small interaction with Alex and he knew he'd never hear the end of it if anyone saw. He really needed to let off some steam, only seeing the same people everyday for weeks was starting to take a toll. Obviously he knew about his sexuality before Alex was welcomed to the school but things were different with the blond around. 

Later, as Alex was hooked up to his IV Hank sat in his chair looking at something under a microscope.

“What are you working on? New wings for Sean I hope” Alex questioned 

Without looking up, 

“No actually, I’m trying to help Raven. She asked if I could make her something that would help keep her physical appearance normal without altering her mutant abilities. It’s quite interesting really, her cells regenerate like crazy” 

Alex’s head turns to the side slightly. “Why would she want something like that?” He asks

There’s a pause. 

“Some people with physical mutations just want to look like everyone else. She spends a lot of energy disguising herself, this should help her be stronger.” he says jotting something down

Hanks feet shift uncomfortably in his shoes, he wishes Alex would leave the lab so he could take them off.

Alex doesn’t reply immediately and instead chooses to stare at Hanks side profile as he writes.

it never occurred to him how hard it might've been to hide as kids, when you didn't know any better than to be yourself. He was too preoccupied with trying not accidentally kill one of his foster parents to care about how he looked, then again he didn't turn blue.

his gaze shifts towards Hanks feet and then back up like he was caught doing something wrong even if Hank had barely looked over toward him.

"Is that why you always wear shoes even though we've already seen your feet?" Alex asks

Seeing the look on Hanks face, he immediately wishes he didn't. It winces slightly as he begins to chew on the inside of his cheek. Alex really feels like an asshole now.

"I didn't mean for that to sound bad but you should be comfortable around us, at least as your...friends" He spoke trying to sound compassionate but it ends up sounding unsure, like he doesn't know if he wants Hank to be comfortable around him at all.

"we're not friends Alex, You make that clear everyday." he says finally making eye contact

There's a heavy pause and Alex's mouth hangs slightly open. his first instinct is to fight back and tell Hank how wrong he is. Once that feeling subsides he realizes he's right. They don't talk, or help each other, the most interacting is when Hank reminds Alex to eat and he calls him a Bozo.

When the pause is over Hank breaks first, looking back towards his research.

"Maybe we're not friends but you shouldn't hide from us. Especially not me, I've had enough shame for 3 lifetimes. They're a part of you, even if you don't like it. I'm sure girls would love to see you do the monkey bars upside down" he smiles.

"Yeah I'm sure they would love that. That along with my habit of kissing guys should really seal the deal" Hank says with a scoff.

This shut’s Alex’s mouth immediately. There wasn’t anything he could say to make the situation any less awkward. He leans back in the chair, looking over at the clock. The IV was almost done and then he was cleared to lay down. This whole day felt too long, there was too much to think about and Alex preferred to flee when feelings were involved. 

Hank didn’t stop working for another 20 minutes going back between his microscope and notes. When he was done he turned to Alex to help remove the IV.

“You should be good to lay down now, it’s almost dinner you should eat if you can” He said in a low voice. It had only just occurred to Alex that Hank always reminds him of mealtimes, him and no one else. Like he needed that help, like a prisoner. Anger flared up inside of him like a familiar friend.

“I don’t need you to tell me when to eat and shit, I can take care of that myself thanks” Alex cuts

He wishes he didn’t but the words were already out of his mouth with a scowl to match. His arm was stinging, his head was still fuzzy, and he couldn’t handle the way Hank was avoiding his gaze. That’s not what Hank meant he just knew that Alex was still convinced he was still in prison sometimes especially after a hard day. Hank makes a point to not speak again in their brief time, when he’s alone in the lab again he takes off his shoes and cries. 

Things were different after that night. Hank was convinced that Alex was weirded out by his random confession and Alex didn’t want to make anything worse so they just decided to stop talking all together. Not that they were exactly besties before, but now they were practically strangers. Weeks went by with this dynamic. One would accidentally make eye contact the other would quickly leave the room. No one said anything if they noticed and figured that they had gotten into another fight or something and it would blow over, 

Hank had finally finished his formula for Raven. it had taken entirely too much time to make due to the complexity of her genes but he enjoyed the challenge nonetheless. The only thing now was to test it. Being the good scientist he was, he decided to use himself as the test subject. It should only take a moment to work and then he could go out and show everyone his feet, which was not something he would normally be fond in doing. But he trusted his theories and was confident in his abilities. 

Alex was the last person to show up in front of the lab door. There was a chorus yelling out for Hank to open the door.

“What happened?!Why is everyone yelling?” he asked

Darwin was first to answer, “ We heard a bunch of noise from the lab but Hank won’t open the door and it sounds like someone's in there with him.” 

Turning to the Professor for answers was no help, he looked like he was in great pain, presumably reading Hanks thoughts. 

Alex’s breath caught in his throat as he heard a series of painful cries behind the door and joined the rest of his friends in trying to coax Hank out of the room. Something was very wrong and it made Alex’s stomach turn in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Come on Bozo open the door!” 

“Hank please! We can help, just let us in” said Mystique. Followed by yet another round of pleas.

Nothing.

The odd shower of noises continued and their cries fell on deaf ears as Hank continued to ignore them. Finally Charles put his hand up effectively silencing everyone in the corridor. 

“I’m okay. Just go to bed, I’m sorry for waking everyone up...I’m sorry” Spoke Hank through the titanium door. Everyone looked at each other before shifting toward the door once more.

“We’re not leaving until we can see that your okay” Angel spoke softly. 

“Come on Hanky show us that face!” Said Sean laughing lightly

“Really guys, I'm fine I just want to be alone for now.” Something was off in his voice. 

Even as he tried to sound reassuring and calm there was an edge. Alex knew that voice very well, the one used for hiding, for when you’re terrified and no one can know. He had used that voice with Scott when they were five and his foster dad came home drunk looking for a fight, he used it again when he was 15 and someone threatened his life for the first time, he used it everyday since he found out about his mutation. He used it three weeks ago in the lab when Hank had gently reminded him to eat.

Hank, who was as dorky and kind as they come, was horrified in this moment and Alex didn’t like it at all. Waiting for everyone to clear out Alex stood, standing, unmoving with his back pressed to the door. He waited, listened, for any noise that would indicate Hank was hurt. 

“Hank. Everyone went to sleep. It’s just me, open the door.” Alex said in his kindest voice. 

It didn’t sound like Alex at all frankly. Hank had never heard him call him by his name or sound so sincere. 

“No. Something happened and I need to fix it before I come out” he replied

“Yeah and exactly how long will that take? I can wait here all night but I’m not leaving from this spot.” He replied, sliding down the wall to sit in front of the door.

If he was gonna be here all night he could a least get comfortable. They made small talk on other things besides what was goin on. It was jagged at first, they interrupted each other and sometimes Hank wouldn’t respond cuz he was too busy. Slowly they talked more freely, they talked about anything they could think of. Like how Alex was gonna try out for the football team in the fall, Hank in delirious exhaustion promised he’d be at every game. Alex fell asleep just as daylight started to seep into the sky after thinking about Hank and football. 

He did in fact, stay where he was. The sun was rising though the stain glass window when he decided to get up and stretch.

“You know Bozo sleeping on the floor isn’t exactly doing wonders for my back so this solution better show up quickly.” He said stiffly. Despite this, his night was pleasant enough. They were talking, like actually talking in a way neither of them has the pleasure of doing in too long. It was simple, and so human. 

“You didn’t have to stay. And you’re right, sleeping on the floor is not very fun but you get used it.” Hank replied, “ I’ve spent a lot of nights in this lab..”

Before the mood turns sour Alex smiles and replies,

“Yeah well maybe next time you don’t have to do it alone, I make great company when I’m trying to annoy someone.” 

That day Alex brings Hank food, his favorite snacks. Each time he turns the other way when Hank comes out to grab it. And they go on talking through the door. Each sentence flowing out easier than the last, each pause less tense. There was something about Alex’s lack of social skills that refreshed the brunet, there was no lying or hidden meanings just the words Alex spoke. On the second night Alex brought Hank a full meal, he was “starving” apparently. 

Alex turns back toward the door when he thinks it’s safe and catches what looks like a furry blue hand retrieving the plate. His mind can’t keep track of al the thoughts racing through his head as he tries to convince himself that what he just saw wasn’t real. And if it was real then what exactly was hidden away behind the walls of Hanks sanctuary. How could he even go about asking about what he just saw? Would Hank tell him the truth? 

He settled for his usual, blunt casual.

“You mind telling my why you’re hiding a giant blue.... uh,” what even could he call that hand he saw? “ ..beast in your lab? Anything you’d like to share with the class?” He asks still facing the now closed door.

Hank backed away from the door slowly. His pulse was getting faster and faster as he found it hard to remain calm. This would ruin everything. There was no recovering this and there was no way Alex would even look at him like this. 

“You said you wouldn’t turn around until you heard the door close! Why didn’t you wait? God you just.... just leave” He angrily pushed away the food, he felt like he was going to be sick. 

Alex glared at his own reflection in the door. This is the part he isn’t good at. He wants to curse and scream and bang on the door like a child. 

What a way to treat a friend.

“Leave? After all this you want me to just walk away? Not a chance. Now come out of that fucking lab before I burn it!” It was Alex’s turn to be angry. Hank felt assured that his door was locked but slowly realized Alex really could melt his way through the door. It was now or never, and if it were up to him it would be never.

“If you come in,” his voice was smaller now,” you have to promise me something” 

There was a pause where Alex took a deep breath.

“Promise me you won’t run away.”

Fuck. 

“You’ve asked me to do one of the things I do best. Sure, I won’t run away.”

The door opened a sliver, a crack, and finally a blue hand grabbed Alex’s forearm and pulled him though the threshold. 

At first all he saw was blue. 

The most brilliant shades of blue were everywhere, he couldn’t tell where Hank started and ended. For a moment, he looked like a blue flame, burning bright holes into Alex’s vision. 

But when the blur cleared into crystal, he saw Hanks eyes, dazzling and yellow, but still his own. They were bright and unsure now, tears streaking down his face. He hadn’t even realized he begun to cry until he heard the tears drip onto the floor. There was nothing but the sound of breathing and tears. 

Hank wishes Alex would say something and get it over with. But he promised he wouldn’t run away, he promised. They begin the waiting game now, seeing who will break and make the first move. 

It’s Alex. Reaching out to touch the fur where Hanks shoulder meets his neck. Its soft, and thin. There’s a heat radiating off his body and he can feel it now as their skin touches. Like predator and prey they study each other, the movements, the heartbeats, looking for a sign of danger. Hank studies Alex’s eyes as they roam over his body. 

The moment breaks again when Hank realizes how vulnerable he feels now in the open. He assumes Alex will have questions.

“It was an accident. This was supposed to disguise my mutation but instead it enhanced the genes that made me have mutations in the first place. If I can find out what went wrong I can fix it, have it return me to normal. This is why I didn’t want you to come in here earlier.” He moves away now, pretending to look at something on the other side of the room. 

Alex still can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s Hank talking to him. 

“I thought I was a freak before but this is something much worse. If I can’t fix this I’ll be stuck in this room forever. There’s no way people will want me around like this... I just wanted....to not be me for a bit.” It worked he thought bitterly. 

“I made you a promise. Sadly my little brother Scott says that people who break promises are poopoo heads and I have no intention of getting that put on the back of my football jersey.” He laughs, it comes out a little rough but it’s a laugh.

The thought of that makes Hank smile a bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if Alex as here to help.

They spend the next three days in the lab working. Well, one of them working, one of them fetching snacks and talking about how boring this all was. Despite that, he still listened and asked questions with intensity. If Hank didn’t know any better he would say Alex was enjoying the science of it all. 

After that they were inseparable. Everything happened together. If he wasn’t training Alex was sitting in the chair just right of Hank in the lab. And Hank let him. He integrated himself into Hanks routine with ease only making miner changes. Instead of staying inside all day after dinner they walked around outside waiting for the sun to go down. During breakfast they sat together Alex always grabbing food off of Hanks plate. On the weekends they drive through the town with the windows down blasting music too loud. It’s safe to say they were obsessed with it all. The feelings of new. New everything, like the sun hadn’t looked this bright three weeks ago. New gazes, lingering in the haze of sunset and those calm eyes in the late evenings hidden behind books. Newness seeped onto their tongues, on their fingertips, settled in their cheeks and the lining of their stomachs. It was intoxicating.

Everyone noticed but never said anything. There was still a world outside the castle gates that didn’t take kindly to boys who spent so much time together. 

They hardly remembered a time where they didn’t meet up before breakfast and only separate before bed at night. 

Almost like falling asleep there was no exact moment when Hank realized he was falling for Alex. He remembers the way his eyes would look in the sun, the golden hairs that trailed Alex’s neck, the way after a long day Alex’s words would slur from exhaustion, the way he had a special name for Hank even if it was mean. That’s the way it went, and if he could remember that one moment when it went from crush to love then it would blend into the million other moments when Alex made his head spin. 

Alex however, feared this new thing and kept every memory like an oath. He memorized it, repeating the small touches and laughs over until they were burned clearly into his head. He remembered the exact moment he realized that he wanted Hank. To be near him, to be the one who made him laugh, to be the one who kept him company, no matter the consequences. He wanted it all and he only knew the night of his 17th birthday, when they hadn’t talked for 3 weeks and Hank showed up hammered and still as beautiful as ever. Only then did Alex realize he didn’t know anything but how much he missed Hank. 

[disenchantedif]

Either 27 (fluff) or 17 (general) for Cameron? Whichever you think fits best, sorry I couldn't choose lol.

"Are you blushing?" and "Are you jealous?" for Cameron.

Early relationship and M!Cameron. Also, AU where MC's university experience doesn't immediately go to shit.

This probably got way too long so I broke it up some, read the rest under the cut.

The university cafeteria is packed as always. You're certain it looks the same as most like it around the country except this one...well, one table is full of Nephilim lounging with their wings out and another has Basilisks partaking in a venom shooting competition.

Maybe it's a bit unique.

You're sat in the back corner with your laptop propped open, a document on magical politics open on one side of the screen. Your homework for Advanced Lightning Manipulation occupies the other side, though it's more doodles than any actual work so far.

You absentmindedly begin to pick at your sandwich when-

"Hells!" You jump, feeling a hand on your shoulder.

You twist around to see none other than Cameron with his hands up in surrender, smiling sheepishly. You also notice that all eyes are now on your previously secluded corner, and the whispers are already beginning.

They say kids are vicious, and you can attest to that better than anyone. Everybody always fails to mention that a shit ton of young adults crammed into a cafeteria can feel like facing down a pack of hyenas, though. They thrive on gossip, and what's juicier than a fling between the Chosen One and the Unchosen One?

Nothing. Nothing is the answer. Or it appears to be, at least, when every pair of eyes follow you both around every corner. You had just started to fade into obscurity, then Cameron had to come along and fuck it all up.

Again.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He says, keeping his voice down and out of range of prying ears.

"I wasn't scared." You huff, pushing your plate away.

You had already lost your appetite.

"It's no good?" His nose scrunches sympathetically as he sits beside you, "If you want, we can go grab dinner-"

"I don't have any money." You interrupt him, "Besides, it's fine. I'll take it back to my dorm."

"It probably tastes like cardboard." He jokes, but you see the way his eyes dart around, making sure no one approaches.

"Maybe, but it's food." You shrug, "I need to finish this anyway."

You nod at your assignment and his eyes light up when he recognizes it, "For Professor Karlin's class, right? I'm in another section of it, and the assignment is super easy. I can help if you want?"

You almost snap, say no and tell him to get lost. It's your gut instinct when it comes to Cameron; just get him to leave you the hell alone. Except you don't really want that anymore.

Which is the absolute weirdest feeling ever, to want Cameron Fletcher around. Theo would be laughing his ass off at you right now, and you're sure Viktor would give you his patented disappointed eyebrows.

"If you want." You say instead, still stiff but slowly relaxing as people grow bored of your apparently normal conversation.

If they wanted to see you throw a glass of Sprite in Cameron's face, they're about six months too late.

He twiddles his thumbs for a bit as you work, occasionally piping up in assistance, but his nervous energy is overwhelming.

"Is there something you're wanting to talk about?" You say, pretending to be uninterested as you read the same question five times over to look busy.

"Oh." He startles, "Um. Yes, actually."

It's silent for a moment, so you continue to prompt him, "About?"

"Um, this weekend." He glances down at his hands, "A bunch of the freshmen are going to Inferno."

You know Inferno well. Every supernatural person with even a slight social life in New York knows Inferno well. It's the only club around town that's hidden from mortal eyes; you have to be supernatural to get in...and twenty-one.

"Most of them aren't even old enough." You say, "They get fakes?"

"Yeah. Apparently, Theo knows someone." His face sours as he says his name, "That's actually what I wanted to ask you about."

"What? Inferno?" You raise an eyebrow, "I'm not going, if that's what you're wondering."

He gets what you're saying without you having to actually say it. You might enjoy parties or clubbing, getting a fake ID, living it up with friends.

You'll never know, though.

Your presence is like a sedative to any social gathering you attend. Usually, things just end up awkward and you leave early to go home and cry in the shower. At worst, someone mentions your reputation that so often proceeds you and you have to beat off a panic attack with a stick.

"I know." He says quickly, "I'm not asking you to go. I was actually going to suggest a movie night."

"Movie night?" You say, more than a little shocked, "You're that nervous about suggesting a movie night?"

"No." He twists the edge of his shirt between his hands and you almost feel sorry for the cotton, "I was going to ask if anyone else asked you to go?"

You blink at him, incredulous for a moment, "Cam, who the hell would ever ask me out?"

He frowns momentarily, "Off-topic, but you're a catch."

"I'm a walking bad luck charm." You scoff, "The question remains."

"I overheard Theo and Penelope talking in Alchemy." He explains, "Apparently they were both going to ask you to go."

His face lights up like a stoplight, the dark flush hard to spot against his tan but certainly there.

"Are you blushing?" You ask, eyes wide, "Cameron-"

"I just wanted to know if they did ask you." He frowns.

"They know we're...a thing." You say, unable to call it dating, "They knew you were listening and wanted to fuck with you."

His mouth drops open slightly before he closes it, lips pursed. He doesn't say anything for a moment, leading you to draw your own conclusions.

"Hold on, are you jealous?" You question, "Why would you be jealous?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He responds, catching you off guard, "Barely a year ago you couldn't tolerate me and everyone thought you and Theo were already dating."

"So?" You ask, "I never dated Theo. I've never wanted to date Theo. And, don't get me wrong, Penelope is gorgeous-"

"You're not helping."

"Like, drop-dead stunning-"

"Now you're just being an asshole."

"I would totally let her step on me kind of hot-"

Cameron groans and you finally take mercy on him.

"But she hasn't asked me either." You confirm, "As of now, I have movie plans with this annoying kid I used to go to school with."

He smiles hesitantly, "If they did ask you, would you rather go with one of them? I mean, I guess I'd understand."

Your brows furrow, studying the weight of the words before you respond, "If I wanted to be with someone else, I would. I want to be with you, though, so that's where I am."

He grins now, a full-on beam of sunshine glowing on his face, "I want to be with you, too."

"I hope so." You say, "I spent a lot of time convincing Viktor and Theo not to break your kneecaps. I'd hate to have that hard work go to waste."

He just sighs in response.

[hermits-that-craft]

Homebound - Deya’s childinnit au

This oneshot is for the amazing @deyageka ‘s hotel arc childinnit au! Go check it out, please! This is long, 8 page or 2,641 words, long, please note!

Sam walked home that day, humming to himself. Really, he wasn’t going home per say - just to the small house that Puffy, Foolish and himself had built after they found Tommy. Sam was calm as he could be, he walked instead of using his trident in an attempt to calm himself down after how long the day was. Dream has pulled at his strings early in the morning, and Ranboo sent him on a wild goose chase the second he left the prison. 

Sam hoped that Ranboo’s alright, his message didn’t sound right, even in chat. Why would Ranboo need a totem?

Sam walked into the house, and felt mounting dread as lights didn’t turn on. They should have already been on, the only reason why they would be off is if Puffy had taken Tommy out, but she had sent him a message asking him to come home as soon as possible. They weren’t in danger, she had said, Tommy had just wanted him back.

“I’m back!” Sam called. He smiled as he hoped that the pair were just napping as he shut the door.

False hope can only last so long.

“Puffy!” He screamed, looking at the woman as she lied on the floor. Blood ran down her face, unconscious. Almost like she was dead.

Sam doesn’t remember much of what happened next. Of course, he knows what happened. 

Dream escaped, stealing Tommy. At least, thats the basics. He knows Ranboo was there, he knows that Ranboo was - is - possessed. He knows that Tommy woke up as he was teleported away. He knows that some of the toys that Tommy had were taken.

He knows that Puffy hasn’t woken up yet, even though it’s been three days.

Phil and Techno came around, Techno helping Sam track down Dream and the boys. Tubbo moved Micheal into Sam’s base, hoping that it would be safer. Quackity, Karl, Sapnap and George also joined the search party. The groups split up, scouring the land. Tubbo joins, looking through places he knows Ranboo frequents.

Sam has been banned from searching after Phil found him, half dead, in the snow. 

Ponk helps him heal, but it isn’t enough. Sam can’t - won’t, he’s too much of a coward - voice why he won’t rest. It’s his fault that Tommy’s gone. It’s his fault that Dream got out. He is - was - Tommy’s father, and his was - is - the warden. He failed his jobs. He let not only Tommy, but the entire server down by letting Dream out.

Dream was right, Sam can’t protect anyone, let alone Tommy.  This is his fault.

“Hey, Sam.” Ponk says softly, carrying in some warm soup. “You up to eat now? I’ll eat some too, it can be a real date.”

There’s kindness in Ponk’s eyes, love and sympathy and caring in the brown eyes. Sam doesn’t deserve it. Sam’s hurt too many people, Ponk shouldn’t-

“You’re thinking too hard.” Ponk smiles, handing Sam the soup. “Stop blaming yourself for Tommy’s kidnapping. You couldn’t have known.”

“He’s gone because my prison failed.” Sam whispers. “I failed everyone. I was supposed to be the warden, I was supposed to protect-”

Sam breaks, sobbing. He can’t keep being strong, he can’t keep up this facade. It’s dragging him down, pulling him under the water. Vines wrap around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. The void would be a kinder death, he’s falling apart and-

And Ponk wraps his arms around Sam, letting the creeper hybrid sob into his arms. He holds Sam together, as the world falls apart.

----

“Tommy, settle down.” Dream rolls his eye, not that Tommy can see under his mask. The child is still annoying, but he follows orders easily.

“I want Papa.” Tommy protests, clinging to the Sam Nook toy that Ranboo had stolen for him when Dream took him. “Where’s my Papa.”

“I’m right here.” Dream says, cooing at the child.

“No you’re not.” Tommy glares, tears forming in his tiny eyes. “I want my Papa and Big Q and Karl and Foo’ish and Mama Puff and Sap and George!”

George.

“Do you like George?” Dream asks quietly, shock filling his chest. He could have George back, his best friend.

“Yeah! He reads to me and is safe.” Tommy smiles, tapping the Sam Nook toy around. “Makes me sleepy, though.”

“How would you feel if I asked George to come around?” Dream offers, taking out his communicator.

“Will he?” Tommy looks up, happily. 

“I’m sure he’d love to.” Dream says, and Tommy cheers, throwing Sam Nook to the side as he gives Dream a hug. “But now you need to go to bed.”

Tommy whines, but doesn’t struggle as Dream picks him up. The small child - only two or three years old at most - yawns, snuggling in to sleep as Dream places him in the bed. Dream smiles from under his mask, shutting the door slightly as he leaves. Dream walks down the stairs, watching through the door as Ranboo tidies up the living room. 

Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: Would you like to come around, I haven’t seen you since I left prison. Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: You can bring Sapnap as well, I guess. But I’d like to catch up with you - and tommy’s missing you i guess :/ Georgenotfound whispers to Dream: What are your co’ords? I’ll come now. We can bring Sapnap once he’s calmed down.

Dream smiles, sending through the coordinates without a second thought. Of course George would agree to come around. George is his best friend, he’s Dreams other half. George - and Puffy, a traitorous part of his brain whispers - would do anything for him.

Ranboo stops cleaning for a moment, looking up the stairs. Dream frowns, following his line of sight. No one is there, but he notices the small sobs that emit from the higher floor. Tommy. The child must be crying, maybe a nightmare. He’s too young to remember L’Manburg, the disks or the wars. He only remembers some people, after all.

Sam is one of them. Tubbo was not. A child's mind is a strange place.

Dream walks up the stairs, pausing outside Tommy’s room. He knocks before he enters, warning the boy. Dream turns on the light, not knowing what to expect. 

Tommy sits up in his bed, his eyes screwed shut as he sobs. Tommy hugs Sam Nook close, but no words fall from his lips. Dream sighs, scooping the boy up and gently rocking him. Tommy blinks his eyes open before he screws them shut, crying again. Dream frowns, sinking to the ground as he tries to settle the boy.

“Please stop crying.” Dream mumbles, rocking Tommy. He’s so small, so fragile. Dream can feel every shake of Tommy’s tine body as the child cries himself back to sleep. 

Dream sets the boy back into bed, tucking him in gently. He’ll wait with the boy until Ranboo is done, and then he’ll go to greet George.

----

“Dream sent me a message.” George says, casually leaning against the doorframe. “I have his coordinates.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Eret gasps, covering their mouth. Bad and Phil stand up, looking over George with carefully concealed confusion. “How long ago did you receive the message?”

“About fifteen minutes?” George frowns, checking the time. “Yeah, around fifteen minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t tell us until now?” Techno glares, an axe summoned into his hand.

“I couldn’t find you until now. Are you guys coming or what?”

“Have you told anyone else?” Phil asks, pulling his wings out of his cloak.

“Quackity, Karl and Sapnap are halfway there.” George says, walking towards the coordinates.

“Sam?”

“Doesn’t need the stress.” George says. “He’s too sick.”

“What’s the plan?” Bad asks quietly.

“Karl, Sapnap and Quackity stake the house out from a distance. I go in, distract Dream and Ranboo, and then grab Tommy and run.” George says.

“Where do we come in?” Techno asks.

“I dunno, we didn’t think that far ahead.” George shrugs. “Work it out when we get there.”

And with that, they walk.

----

Dream stands in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil as he waits for George to arrive. He’s boiled the kettle twice so far, waiting for his friend, but he doesn’t want the water to go cold before George can have some tea.

A knock sounds at the door, and Dream cautiously walks over, opening it. White clout glasses and brown hair appears, and Dream relaxes, opening his arms for a hug. George hesitates for a split second before he sinks into the hug. Dream doesn’t - wont - think about it. The hesitation.

“Hey.” Dream breaths, and George smiles. 

“Hey yourself. How are you?”

“Good. I’m a father now.” Dream smirks, and George pulls out from the hug. “Do you want some tea?”

“The gosip type or the good type?” George jokes, and Dream steps aside, showing George the kitchen bench, where two cups are laid.

“Guess.”

----

“Why did George hug him?” Techno whispers to Eret.

“They’re best friends, he’s keeping up the persona.” Eret replies. “Letting Dream’s guard down.”

“Will it work?”

“Well, we won’t know unless George either gets Tommy.” 

“Or he starts screaming.” Phil says darkly, his wings fluttering nervously behind him.

“Dream wouldn’t-” Bad shakes his head. “No, this Dream isn’t the same one who played with Sapnap as a kid. Dream would hurt George, wouldn’t he?”

----

“Is Tommy sleeping alright?” George asks, trying to sound casual. “Sam used to complain that he’d only ever sleep peacefully if I was there.”

It’s a lie, but George and Sam had both noticed that Tommy would sleep easily in George’s arms. Nightmares would still happen, but Tommy would calm down faster.

“He’s been having so many nightmares.” Dream admits. “He also cries a lot, even during the day. I think he needs you around. Familiar faces and all that.”

“What about Ranboo?” George asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Ranboo hasn’t been Ranboo since I escaped.” George can hear the self centered smirk in his voice, the proud lilt of admitting that he’s controlling the teen. “I think Tommy can tell that. It doesn’t seem to bother him all that much, he’s seen my face and isn’t scared.”

George’s stomach drops at that, fear lacing his insides. There’s a reason Dream wears the mask. He doesn’t look safe to be around, he looks like if the void had a neon green eye and a glowing, neon green hole gaping where his mouth and nose should be. But George knows better than to mention that, only raising his eyebrows with surprise.

“I would have thought that would make him cry.” George jokes, lightly elbowing Dream. “Is he sleeping?”

“I hope so, do you want to check?” Dream cocks his head to the side, not too unlike a puppy. George nods, and let’s Dream walk him up the stairs. 

Now’s his chance.

---

Sapnap nervously paces, the treeline hiding him from Dream’s watchful gaze. He’s far enough away to see everything, but not be able to hear anything. It’s safer this way, watching from a distance. Karl and Quackity won’t get hurt if he’s caught, this way. He doesn’t trust the silence, and from the nervous looks on his fiancees’ faces, they don’t like not being able to hear either.

An ear piercing scream tears the silence in half as Karl makes eye contact with Sapnap.

“GEORGE!” Sapnap screams, running towards the house. Snow melts under his feet, he can’t contain his anger. “George!”

Sapnap slams open the door to the house, his hand melting the door handle. George lays on the ground, his glasses under Dream’s foot. Blood. There’s so much blood. Too much blood. George is curled around Tommy, who wails at the top of his lungs. George isn’t moving. Why isn’t George moving? Why isn’t he struggling.

Duck.

Ranboo’s punch misses.

Sweep your opponents leg out from under them.

Ranboo falls to the ground, his head cracking painfully.

Keep your eyes on the room.

Blood pools under Ranboo’s head. Dream laughs.

Don’t let your guard down.

“Did you really think that George could take Tommy from me?”

Don’t let your opponent see any fear.

“I trusted you both. You’re my friends. I can’t believe you would betray me like this.”

Focus on the fight.

“I thought you cared about me, all I wanted was for us to be a family again.”

Dream stands on George, and Sapnap can hear the pained weaze that George breaths out. He’s still alive.

“Eyes on me, Snapnap.” Dream taunts, and Sapnap’s eyes jump back to his once-best friend. “You’ve got to work on that.”

Don’t make the first move.

“Not going to talk to me?”

Go on the defensive.

“That’s rude.”

Duck.

“Let’s dance.”

Duck. Sidestep. Block. Jab. Punch. Duck. Owch, was that his eye? Duck again, keep focusing. Get to the door. Duck. Open the door. Punch. Step outside. Block. Run backwards. Duck. Throw a punch

Sapnap is thrown through the air, landing with a scream on the ground. Snow melts around him, and he lets out a gasp of pain. There’s blood underneath him, staining the snow red. It’s pretty, almost.

Sapnap can see Phil and Techno fight Dream, out of the corners of his eyes. Eret and Bad run into the house, carrying out Ranboo, Tommy and George. They’re safe. Everyone is safe now. Sapnap did good.

“Stay awake Sap.” Karl says, and Sapnap forces his eyes open - when did they close - to see his fiancee’s. Quackity cradles his head in his lap, and Karl fumbles with his pockets. “Keep your eyes open, yeah, that’s good. Keep it up.”

Sapnap groans as Karl pours a healing potion directly onto his torso. It wont help much, there’s something in his back, but he can’t speak. It hurts too much.

“Open your eyes.” Quackity says, and Sapnap feels warm fingers on his cheek. “Open your eyes. BAD! BAD SAPNAP’S-”

----

Sam watches out the window of his room as birds flit around tree branches. Ponk had left the room half an hour ago, just after he served breakfast. Ponk hadn’t said much, simply kissing Sam’s forehead and telling him to relax.

Sam can’t relax. He shouldn’t be allowed to, pneumonia or not. Not while Puffy suffers, while Tommy suffers. 

“Hey Dad.” Quackity’s voice doesn’t surprise Sam, who sees his son every morning.

“Hey duckling.” Sam smiles. “How are you this morning?”

“Good. Sapnap and George are in a bad shape though. Bad kicked me out of their rooms.” Quackity laughs wetly, tears in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sam says, opening his arms out for Quackity. The man smiles, but shakes his head, wiping away tears. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Quackity says, and apparently thats a cue for something, because Jack opens the door to his room.

Niki wheels Puffy into the room, the woman sitting on a wheelchair, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She’s still got a bandage on her head, but there is colour in her cheeks and a knowing smile on her face.

“Puffy.” Sam gasps, happy to see his friend better, if not up and running. Sam tries to stand, to give Puffy a hug, but Quackity just pushes him back into his bed.

“If you’re that happy to see me, you’ll need someone to hold you back with who Foolish has.” Puffy jokes, though her voice is hoarse.

Foolish walks into the room, gently holding a wiggling Tommy. Sam gasps, and true to Puffy’s prediction, it takes Quackity and Jack to stop Sam from getting out of his hospital bed. Foolish passes Tommy to Sam, and the man holds onto Tommy gently, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s here. He’s safe, finally.

“How-”

“We’ll explain later.” Quackity says. “Just relax for now. Everyone is safe.”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

i.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Relic Coffee Shop

Prompt

.

.

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Prompts:

1: Lemm finds an odd fellow at the Blue Lake. Normally he wouldn’t bother to approach a stranger out of nowhere, but something in his gut urges him to take action. Quirrel, feeling the effects of age on his body, stares incredulously at the bearded face of a stranger who apparently wants to have him over for coffee. 2: Lemm sets up shop in an abandoned cafe. It’s roomy and pleasant at first, but there are _stacks_ of these disgusting old bitter coffee beans clogging up the rooms. It doesn’t help that bugs keep coming in to order a drink even though he’s posted signs to _KEEP OUT!!_ However, once they start offering Geo be begrudgingly takes it as an opportunity to achieve funds to pay for relics. 3: At first, the coffee was just an excuse to get Geo to pay for relics, but Lemm’s begun to notice that bugs who wandered into his shop with the telltale early symptoms of infection no longer have them on their return visits. He tells himself he’s not an altruist. He’s _not._It’s just a waste to throw out old coffee when someone just needs a pick-me-up.

By @bluwails​

------------------------------- By @hydrochlorinate​

“Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Else.”

Those were the words that came out of the grumpy barista’s mouth that fateful day. One’s that you completely ignored, as you had already been drinking what could only be the drink of HIgher Beings, with just how heavenly it tasted.

Grinning like a lunatic, you give him 45 geo, not a small sum. If anything though, it was hilariously cheap for a drink that was this good. The bug doesn’t complain about the amount though, so he’s probably fine with it. Wings fluttering in excitement, you leave the shop, ready to tell any remaining survivors about the amazing drink shop you just found.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

The next time you come in, the store is absolutely packed. Denizens from all across the ruins of Hallownest are here, ranging from some uninfected moss knights to that one ladybug that you had a dance off with a while back. There's even a noble here, and- is that a mantis?

Anyway, it looks like your very subtle method of giving publicity to this cafe by talking about literally nothing else to whomever you talked to over the following week paid off. Good, this place deserves all the atte-

“You.”

Oh? You snap out of your thoughts, and look towards the counter, where the barista is levelling a glare at you that could instantly wither those delicate flowers that have been spreading around recently.

You stroll on up to the counter, a grin stretching across your face. The barista narrows his eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep this a secret? Why is my establishment filled to the brim with bugs? Who are these people?!”

...huh. Did he tell you to keep it on the down low? It seems in character from your limited interactions, but you don’t remember exactly. Oh well, time to play it off. You tell him that, well, what can you say except you’re welcome.

You’ve never seen a bug go from “Irritated” to “Ballistic” as fast as this barista. Usually they make a stop at “Angry” or “Absolutely Livid”.

“YOU’RE WELCOME?!?!”

No, see, he’s supposed to say thank you.

“THANK YOU???”

You tell him he’s welcome, before laughing. No, really, you tell him, look around, the place is packed! Business is booming! The barista (you should really ask for his name) manages to bring his volume under control, taking in a deep breath.

“That’s part of the problem. I’m a relic seeker, not a-” He gestures around the cafe, as if looking for the right words to use. Barista, you suggest.

“Exactly. I’m not made to brew coffee-” Oh, that’s what it was called. “-or to be dealing with customers all day long.”

Sure. That’s why he decided to allow people to keep purchasing coffee, or why he decided to put on a cute green and white visor.

You didn’t just come to check in on your new favorite bug though, you have coffee to order! Taking out a sheet of paper from your bag, you begin to read out both your order, and those of your companions. Even with the end of the infection, the leftover damage to hallownest’s caves and architecture makes it dangerous to travel alone.

As you begin to read out your order, the barista shifts from crotchety old bug to attentive worker. You really wish you had come back earlier, instead of letting some of your other traveling buddies pick up the coffee for you. Something about the atmosphere here is… relaxing, despite the amount of people.

After your order is finished, you leave the cafe. Back to the real world bucko, as an old friend of yours would always say.

...Wait a minute you never got the barista’s name.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

It’s been 3 weeks. You think. Time gets a little funky down here, what with the sudden influx of void. Sure, most of it has cleared out by now, but every so often your exploration party comes across a tunnel that hasn’t quite been fully illuminated, the shadows just a bit too thick to be natural.

You enter the coffee shop again. It’s gotten a lot quieter as time went on and bugs started coming in on a schedule. There’s still plenty of other customers here, but it’s nowhere near as packed as the first couple of days. Lemm (yeah, you finally got his name) stands at the counter, still slightly disgruntled, but a lot less so than he was at the beginning. In fact, he’s actually talking to someone right now! An actual conversation too, not just an exchange of witty remarks. You can’t see their face, but they appear to be a pillbug wearing a blue hood. 
As you step up to the counter, you can hear their conversation a bit better.

“...of course, I couldn’t just leave it sitting there right? So I move to pick it up, only to find out that the desk I dropped it on was magnetized! So here I am, trying and failing to pick up this one plant hanger for a solid 10 minutes.”

They both laugh at this, before noticing you. The unknown bug turns to face you, allowing you to see his mask.

“Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve met before!”

You greet him back, introducing yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Quirrell. I’m… well, I can’t really call myself an explorer, because I’ve already been everywhere! I’m more of a wanderer, really.”

Ahh, a free spirit, you see. You point out that just because he’s been everywhere doesn’t mean he’s seen everything. After all, who knows what could’ve gone down during Hallownest’s peak. Both Quirrell and Lemm get amused by this, for some reason. Seeing your confused look, Lemm decides to speak up.

"He probably knows more about Hallownest than everyone here, having lived here since before the infection and all."

Your eyes widen, and your wings begin to flutter. Truly? An original denizen, and not someone else trying to piece together its history? Quirrell waves off the words, though.

"I wouldn't go that far…" He begins, but Lemm cuts him off before he can go any further.

"Hah! Next you'll be telling me that you weren't the head assistant of the kingdom's best scientist!"

Giving off the equivalent of a blush, Quirrell rubs the back of his head. Lemm turns back to you.

"I'm sure you didn't come in just to chat, though. What can I get for you?"

It's nice to see him making friends.

------------------------------- By @schyrsivochter​

Lemm wasn’t a sociable person. That was a fact. He wasn’t good at talking, or at being friendly. (It wasn’t like he needed it, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed conversing with another bug.)

No, Lemm was much more of a person for reading. Deciphering the journals of the long dead, the writing and languages, was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Other artefacts spoke differently: the materials from which they were made, the way they were worked, the artistic style. It was a different kind of reading; some might say a more figurative one. But it was just as interesting.

Of course, architecture was part of that. It had not been a coincidence that Lemm had set up camp in Hallownest’s abandoned capital. When he’d arrived, he hadn’t dared to think that he’d ever finish exploring and finding new things. And it was true; he’d only explored a little bit before he’d realised that collecting and gathering relics was no use if he never took a proper look at them, instead letting them gather dust on the shelves, the tables, and the floor of the long-abandoned shop he’d moved into. So he’d decided to stay there, poring over his collection. His picture of the world of Hallownest in times past grew ever more detailed, more complete.

He’d opened the shop because people did not seem to stop wanting to sell him relics, and it never hurt to appear a little professional. And it had been a reliable source of new artefacts; new knowledge. He’d never sold anything, of course. His collection was his, and his alone.

And then came the dark. The cleansing void. It had taken him by surprise; he’d been working, and only noticed that anything was amiss when the light dimmed and he was finally bathed in darkness. He must’ve fallen unconscious at that point, and there’d been no telling how long it had been until he’d awoken. It hadn’t been until later that he’d learned that this was what had obliterated the plague, leaving in its wake hundreds of confused survivors and thousands of dead. No, the next thing to happen that told him things were not as usual was that a bug had come in, asked if he was open, and, upon his affirmative answer, asked for a hot drink, holding out a piece of ten.

Taken by surprise, he’d offered to make tea. He’d immediately regretted it, since it meant the bug would be staying for a while, probably without selling him relics, but it was easy enough to do and would get him geo, his supply of which had been running low. So he put a kettle on and took the money. The bug had thanked him profusely, while he had elected to remain quiet.

Not long afterwards, the same bug and four others stood in the doorway. Whether they had relics for him, he’d asked. They’d looked amongst themselves, and one had asked, ‘Is this not a coffee shop?’

‘I suppose it might’ve once been,’ he’d said. ‘Now it’s mine.’

More confused looks and standing around, and then the bug he’d seen before asked if he’d make more tea. He’d said no, not unless they paid him twice as much as the last time and stayed quiet and didn’t disturb him in his work. To his horror, the five bugs had agreed, and so he’d dug out cups from the coffee shop’s former stock and afterwards found himself a little richer in geo but with a significantly worse mood.

He had his peace afterwards, though. At least for a while. Now a bug had arrived, taller than the others, wearing a headscarf. Lemm had mentally prepared for the bug to ask for coffee, but the bug had halted in front of one of the tables that Lemm had repurposed for his collection of relics.

‘Admiring my collection?’ Lemm asked.

’Yes, quite!’ the bug answered, chipper and friendly. ‘I’m curious how you managed to get a hold of so many texts in such diverse languages! These are journals, are they not?’

‘They are,’ Lemm acknowledged. ‘From all over Hallownest.’

‘But most of them aren’t any Hallownest language.’ The bug put a hand on his mask. ‘I suppose they’re from travellers that came to the ruins and perished?’

‘Quite right,’ Lemm said. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that the bug standing before him was sharp and knew his history. A trait not many others shared.

‘Can you read all of them?’ The mask turned towards Lemm, inclined in question.

‘No,’ he answered truthfully, making his way around the counter to stand next to the bug. ‘I haven’t had the time to decipher all of them yet. But I’ll get around to it eventually.’

‘Interesting,’ the bug said. ‘I can—huh?’

He turned towards the entrance, and Lemm followed his gaze. Lemm was about to ask what the problem was, when a bug appeared in the entrance. The one that he’d made tea twice for. Ah yes, he thought. A customer. Two of them, in fact; one of the others from before had joined the one who’d taken a fancy to paying Lemm to make tea.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Lemm said, ‘there is any way to convince you to find tea somewhere else?’

The bugs shook their head.

Lemm sighed, and muttered an apology to the tall visitor. Time to get it over with.

He went to the back room to prepare the tea, and overheard the two visitors conversing in the front.

‘What’s this, anyway?’

‘Historical documents. Journals of travellers.’

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘I think the shopkeep collects them.’

‘That’s correct!’ Lemm called. ‘I’m always buying, if you have anything of historical value.’

He grabbed the cups and walked back to the front. ‘That’s fifty geo. Unless you have relics.’

The bugs complained under their breath, but paid up, and Lemm could direct his attention back to the visitor.

‘So is this what you do?’ they asked. ‘Opened the coffee shop again and collecting relics in your free time?’

Lemm was dumbstruck for a moment. Then he remembered to be outraged. ‘No! I am not opening this place as a coffee shop! People just keep coming and demanding tea and I cannot let an opportunity to earn easy money go to waste!’

‘Relic business not exactly booming, then, I assume?’

‘I’m—’ he spluttered, ‘It’s not a business! I don’t sell my relics, they’re mine!’

‘So you wouldn’t have any income if you weren’t selling tea?’

Lemm had the distinct impression that the bug was making fun of him. He didn’t answer, but simply walked up to the table, grabbed a random journal, and took it to his desk to try and get some work done.

He had not yet prepared his quill and ink when he was interrupted yet again.

‘You know,’ the visitor called, ‘that one is from a traveller from Greynest. Came here looking for his brother, never found him. No doubt said brother also perished in the ruins.’

Lemm turned around to see the bug standing in the doorway, having followed him halfway. ‘And how do you know this?’ he asked.

The bug shrugged. ‘I read it.’

Lemm regarded the bug. They didn’t seem to be joking.

‘You mean to tell me,’ Lemm began, slowly, ‘you know this language?’

‘Yes,’ they said nonchalantly. ‘I think I’ve been to Greynest? Must have been a while ago.’

‘Are you a traveller, then?’ Lemm asked. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

As soon as he’d spoken the words, Lemm became aware how utterly ridiculous it was of him to make observations about people. He didn’t like people, he wasn’t interested in people—

The bug laughed. ‘I am, in fact. I have travelled far and wide.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lemm, unsure what else to say. He turned back to his work, looked at the angular shapes carved into the stone, but now it seemed senseless to try and make sense of it when he knew that it was no mystery to the bug standing behind him.

At some point, he looked up and found that he was hungry and the visitor was gone. Oh, well. Time for a meal, then, and afterwards he might be able to find something else to do.

* * *

The next time the tea-drinker returned, they asked for tea and then asked Lemm about the relics, and he was in a favourable enough mood to talk about them. They asked some fairly stupid questions, but it seemed to come out of a genuine interest in the topic, so he indulged them. Plus, he had to admit that he enjoyed having a reliable source of geo. Not that he needed it much for buying relics, these days, but he supposed that his supplies of food – and of tea – would not last indefinitely, and he didn’t particularly fancy having to go back to scavenging, now that there were actual people living in the vicinity again. No, he’d rather find some place where he could buy what he needed fair and square.

The traveller with the headscarf returned, and it was an odd sort of feeling Lemm had about them. Like he actually liked having them in his shop and talking to them. And the perplexing thing was that the bug also seemed to enjoy conversing with Lemm. Which one one hand was absolutely preposterous, on the other … it was a refreshing change.

The bug introduced himself as Quirrel, apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, and Lemm could hardly believe it. Monomon the Teacher, one of the most brilliant minds of Hallownest? It couldn’t be! And yet it was not all too difficult to imagine. He’d seen stranger things in these lands.

Quirrel also was the one who later suggested Lemm officially open the shop as a coffee shop again. Lemm had thrown him out at that and gone back to work.

Now, a short while later, he looked up and Quirrel was back, standing at the counter, watching Lemm silently.

Lemm rose and went to the front, choosing to stare back equally silently. Lemm was good at that. Probably.

‘So,’ Quirrel said at length, his voice still as annoyingly friendly as ever, ‘have you thought about it?’

Lemm kept staring.

Quirrel held up his hands. ‘You need money, you don’t have much else to do, and besides’ – Quirrel shrugged. – ‘people like your tea.’

‘I certainly have enough to do,’ Lemm started. ‘These texts don’t decipher themselves. What’s so funny?’

Quirrel stopped his giggling and said, ‘They sort of do. Have you forgotten who stands before you?’

‘You don’t read all of these languages.’ Really, Quirrel’s ego was getting on Lemm’s nerves.

‘But most of them,’ Quirrel said, shrugging, ‘and most of the Archive’s records are intact. And we do have a nice section on language and writing.’

Lemm was silent for a moment, mostly because he could not think of a good comeback. Quirrel had a point, and Lemm did not like that in the slightest.

‘Let’s make a deal,’ Quirrel said. ‘I help you translate your texts and catalogue your artefacts, and you’ – Quirrel jabbed a finger in Lemm’s direction – ‘you sell your tea officially.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘You’re already doing it.’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are.’ Quirrel said this with absolute certainty and no anger, and there was a voice at the back of Lemm’s mind that said: You really sort of are. And you could use the help. You don’t like the busywork anyway.

‘All right,’ Lemm grumbled. ‘Deal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Quirrel, audibly grinning.

‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’ Lemm asked under his breath.

‘I don’t think so,’ Quirrel said. ‘I’m curious – what else can you make? Tea alone is a bit boring, don’t you think?’

‘Shut up,’ Lemm said, ‘or I change my mind.’

* * *

Lemm did not change his mind, even though Quirrel didn’t shut up. It had been a while, and Lemm hated to admit it, but he enjoyed doing something different for a change. Customers were now plenty, and Lemm had a menu with more than one item, and his relic collection was no bigger, but more orderly and better understood than it had ever been, thanks to Quirrel’s – and the Archive’s – help.

Another thing that Lemm was not quite ready to admit was that people could be nice. The more he talked to customers, interacted with them, observed them, the more he began to appreciate them. He used to be content in reading historical texts and artefacts, preferring to learn about people that were dead and gone. Living bugs had never really interested him.

Nowadays, however, it seemed that people could be just as interesting to read as anything else. And, as Quirrel entered, greeting him, and he could not help his mood being lifted just by the prospect of learning something new and interesting that Quirrel learnt on his last trip to the Archive, Lemm supposed that sometimes, very rarely … people were something he could enjoy.

------------------------------- By @gardening-clown​

------------------------------- By @buglife​

Lemm was five seconds away from throwing someone through the window.

His shop was now occupied by five bugs of various species, talking, laughing, and sitting around when he could be in the back doing literally anything else. It took weeks of bugs thinking that his relic shop was a coffee one before he simply gave up and made peace with it. At least he got some geo from it to pay adventurers that did come by to sell legit relics. How they mistook his shop for a coffee one, he would have never guess.

All he had was a little brewer that was barely put back together that he scavenged from some random shop, but other bugs seemed to like it, for some strange reason. It wasn’t even good coffee he was making, but they seemed to accept it. After all, who else in this dead kingdom was even selling coffee? He had looted plenty of shops and took as many sacks of beans as he would when he first arrived, and there was no way he could drink them all, so he might as well do something with them.

But he was steadily losing his patience with the amount of bugs around him. They were talking and loitering. Loitering was probably the worst of it all as it made the loner bug feel his shell crawl with the forced social interaction. He just wanted them to leave. He couldn’t stand the feeling of a crowded space, which is why he went to a dead kingdom in the first place.

Hell, he had to take his beloved odds and ends down from the shelves to keep some curious bug from touching them all up with their dirty fingers and breaking something.

He found himself dreading the sound of the bell above his door, and when it rang he wondered if someone else was coming to ask him for some random drink or be an annoying thorn in his side.

To his hidden delight however, it was the little wanderer. They looked like a grub, to be honest, with a black body and a stark white horned shell for a head. The nail on their back seemed to be a little put together the last time he saw them, perhaps they visited the Nailsmith? He never asked for their name, he didn’t want to learn it to avoid attachments, but he found them oddly endearing. They liked to listen to him ramble about his theories on various relics they bring him, so they can’t be too bad. Plus they were quiet and polite, something he was immensely grateful for.

They bounced inside the door and came to a stop, looking at the five other bugs sitting around and chatting. They tilted their head to the side, watching the bugs for a moment before looking at Lemm. They stretched out a stubby arm from under their cloak and pointed at him.

Lemm sighed. Of course, the little Wanderer had been gone for a while, and obviously didn’t know what had become of his beloved shop. He gestured for them to come over, which they did and looked up at him expectantly.

“Bugs keep thinking that this is a coffee shop.” He explained. “So here they are, drinking coffee that I make on a terrible little brewer. I gave up trying to kick them all out all the time, it stopped being worth the effort.”

The little wanderer blinked a few times, looking somewhat confused. They pointed to the cup being held by the beetle on one of Lemm’s chairs and mimed the action of drinking it.

“Yes, that’s coffee they are drinking.” He raised a brow as he looked down at the grub. “Haven’t you ever seen coffee before?”

They shook their head.

“Really now? Hrm…” He wasn’t sure where the little wanderer had come from if they never saw coffee before. It was a fairly common drink besides tea. They must have grew up in a rather isolated place If they never saw it. He decided he might as well explain it, it would be better to do it now than later.

“Coffee is a drink that bugs like to drink to give them energy.” He saw them perk up a bit at the ‘energy’ part. “It’s rather bitter, so some like it with sugar. I like it plain. It keeps me awake when I am working.”

They somehow made a face when he said it was bitter, tilting their head and angling their eye holes to look affronted. Lemm squashed down a laugh at the expression and decided to get to business.

“Anyway, they trade me geo for it, which lets me compensate bugs that get me relics. Do you have any for me today?” He hoped they did, he needed something to brighten up his day.

The wanderer nodded, reaching under their cloak to pull out a black orb. Lemm recognized it immediately to be an arcane egg. He loved working with those. Peeling back each layer revealed new information and new discoveries. He was in fact, still working on the one he got weeks before. He needed to be careful with them, and he reveled in the intense focus and work it needed to discover it’s secrets. His day instantly got better.

“Very nice, I’ll be glad to take that off your hands for the usual price.” The old beetle held out his hand and the wanderer gently placed the egg it in. They held up a hand once it was free and shook their head, pointed to a cup sitting on the counter.

“Ah, you want to trade this for a cup of coffee?” He wasn’t going to say no to that. If the wanderer was okay with it, it was a perfectly reasonable business transaction. His suspicions were confirmed when they nodded and bounced in place, looking as excited as they were able to. “Well I can certainly do that.”

Thankfully, the two bugs occupying the chairs in front of the counter left, leaving behind their dirty cups and a few geo for the mess. They thanked him and he grumped out a ‘have a good day’ as they left, seemingly indifferent to his mood. Oh well, at least it brought down the occupancy to a more manageable level for his social batteries. He pushed the dirty cups out of the way and gestured to an open seat. “Here, sit down and I’ll get you a cup.”

They bounced upwards to take a seat, swinging their legs back and forth as they waited. It didn’t take Lemm long to throw some ground up beans and water into the grinder, watching the brewed coffee pour into a clean cup. He carefully carried the hot cup down and set it in front of the wanderer. “Be careful, it’s very hot. I’ll bring you some sugar, you didn’t seem to like the ‘bitter’ description.”

They nodded and watched as he pushed over a bowl of honey sugar and a spoon. It was the least he could do after they got him another arcane egg.  “There you are, help yourself.”

They bowed their head in thanks and took up the spoon, poking it into the bowl.

“Excuse me,” One of the bugs by the window got up, the one with a bent antenna and holding their empty cup. “Could I get a refill, please?”

Lemm held back a sigh and nodded, taking the cup and heading back to his brewer. He had to smack it a couple times for it to start working again, but in the end he got a passable cup of coffee out of it. He returned just in timed to hear said bug exclaim, “Woah there buddy, you must really like sugar!”

He looked to the wanderer, who had added so much sugar to their cup of coffee, that he could hear the sugar that couldn’t dissolve scrape against the ceramic as it was stirred. It looked like fresh cement, there was only a bit of brown to denote that once, it was indeed a cup of coffee.

He wordlessly handed the other bug their coffee, who took it and retreated back to sit by the window. He was about to say something to the wanderer, when to his horror, their head tilted backwards. A maw of sharp black teeth opened wide, and he watched, astonished, as the mix of sugar and coffee oozed into their mouth and to who knows where. A long black tongue lashed out to get every last bit of sugar out of the cup, before the mouth closed with a quiet click. They must have felt him staring, because they turned to look at him with their fathomless, dark eyes. He stared back, wondering what the hell was actually sitting in front of him.

They then bounced in place and gave him a thumbs up. They made a shape of a heart with their hands, a way that they say ‘thank you’. They seemed rather happy.

“Um…you’re welcome?” He managed, after he gathered his composure again.

They sat still for a moment, seeming to ponder on what they had just consumed. He figured that they were probably trying to figure out if they liked it or not. He doubt they even managed to taste the coffee from the sheer amount of sugar in that cup.

Then, to his horror, they began to vibrate. At first it was a few twitches, and then it steadily became more and more severe, until they were a literal blur. The chair rattled under the stress and the bugs that remained in the shop turned to look at the commotion.

It was then, Lemm realized he fucked up.

They suddenly dashed away, slamming into the shop door with such force that it caved outwards. There was only the short sound of shattering glass and the scream of metal before it flew off it’s hinges and rattled down the hallway. He could hear the hurried pitter-patter of the wanderer’s tiny feet, now fast enough to blur into one continuous sound, race down the hall and out of sight and hearing.

He just stood there, looking at the wreckage of his shop door, wondering where the hell is he going to get a replacement, if there even was a replacement. He looked at the three shocked bugs, standing and looking at the wreckage, and then he got himself an idea.

“Hey fellas,” He said, as he turned and looked at the bugs next to the window. “How would you all like some free coffee if you find me a door?”

------------------------------- By @radical-mudkips​

------------------------------- By @unregisteredcookie​

Lemm's 'shop' was empty.

Actually, no, that… that wasn't right. Lemm's shop wasn't a shop in the first place--it was a haven for relics and ancient knick-knacks, and the shelves were filled to overflowing with stone tablets and peculiar eggs that held unimaginable information. Not that Lemm was ever able to crack into the eggs' shells, but he knew--he knew there was more treasured information sleeping beneath. If only he were able to open it up without risking that information being damaged.

And that wasn't right, either. The shop being empty, that was. Right now, the shelves were empty, but that was less because of the absence of relics and more because they were all stowed away in the back room to be sorted. He had a notebook he was combing over, quill in hand as he scribbled out little bits of information that might relate to one another.

'Might', because Lemm wasn't really from Hallownest. So he didn't know for sure whether this smooth L-shaped contraption was a door handle or a piece to a lost work of art.

It was while Lemm was scribbling about in this journal bound in parchment (hand-made and flimsy, using the paper he found around the area that was clean and allowed to dry) that he heard it: The distant clattering of the elevator. There were about seven options he could think of off of the top of his head, each more dreaded than the last. It could be that scarcely-seen Nailsmith who seemed to know more about the history of this ruin than he let on. It could be the peculiar little silent bug that stared up at him now and again, the one that sometimes passed by with a relic to sell. It could be that talkative windbag, droning on and on in his droning voice, so grating and persistent that Lemm struggled to ignore him. He was probably the worst.

Lemm stopped writing, tilted his head, and listened for the telltale sound. The rattling stopped, and all that he heard for a while was silence. And then.

Ding.

He sighed, getting to his feet. A customer it was, then. How delightful. Here's hoping that the customer wasn't 'Zote the Mighty'.

He had a small moment of dread when he saw the horn, a critical blow of dismay that tempted him to retreat back into the back room and pretend to be out for a walk, but then he saw the second horn and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, it wasn't the Zote person after all. It was… them. The other little one.

They looked up at him as he approached the register and looked down at them. Their eyes were vacant as ever, face impossibly unreadable. Lemm doubted that he'd ever get used to it.

Lemm liked this little bug, if for no other reason than they were quiet, kept their hands to themself, and brought him relics to purchase. They were the only one willing to sell these relics, and they were the only reason Lemm often said what he said next.

"Cup of coffee, or looking to sell?"

He never had much company in this place until the Nailsmith (Lemm never caught his name, never bothered asking, really) first came in looking for materials for his smithing. Almost took one of Lemm's Pale Idols from under his beard while he was noting in his journal. After the initial yelling that followed and a cup of coffee, the Nailsmith apologized by paying for the cup. And he did it again. And again. Until the mapmaker came in, saw, and bought a cup himself. Until the hooded pillbug came in, hummed, and bought one for himself. And then--

Well. And then he had a coffee shop.

Lemm wished he could say that he hated it, and he did, at first. But over time, he found the company rather pleasant. Besides, the geo paid for this little bug's relic collection well enough, so he wasn't complaining.

So. Did they want a cup of coffee, or did they want to sell their relics? Lemm didn't get an answer. Instead, they looked around at the empty shelves for a moment before turning their empty eyes back onto him, tilting their head to the side slightly.

It took Lemm a moment.

"Oh, I moved the relics into the back room," he said. "I've been needing to work on sorting them out and writing notes about them. Never would I have thought that I would have so many to study."

Satisfied, they reached into the confines of their cloak. Lemm leaned forward a little, watching as they rummaged about for a moment, heart skipping a beat as he pondered what sort of relic they were going to sell this time.

And then they withdrew their small hand, reached up, and dropped a fist full of geo onto the counter.

Lemm blinked and stared at the geo for a moment. Something wispy and thin clung to them, and when he picked it up and opened the register, it was sticky. Was this webbing? Lemm wasn't aware of there being any spiders in Hallownest, aside from maybe that red-cloaked bug he saw very rarely flitting about outside his window.

So. No relics today. Fine, at least he'd have more money to buy another one later.

"One coffee coming up," he murmured, rummaging around behind the counter. Underneath the register was where he kept the coffee pot, which he refrained from moving just so he could be prepared if a 'customer' came by. He busied himself with it for a few moments, filling the filter and checking the water, before clicking the button and letting it steep. Granted, he didn't know what kind of coffee they'd drink, but they didn't make it clear anyway, so he doubted that it mattered.

Besides. They seemed a little preoccupied by something else at the moment. After a few minutes, the coffee was finished, and Lemm poured them a cup. He chose a caramel-like flavor, because they seemed about the size of a child and a little bit of sweetness never hurt anyone. Lemm reached over the counter and held it out to them, which they took in their hands and stared down at for a moment. Lemm was about ready to head back into the back when it happened. A crack. It almost sounded like something breaking, but when he turned to look behind himself at the small knight, they still stood there. Another crack, one that made his fur stand on end and his body stiffen, and Lemm caught the glimpse of something sharp and white shifting beneath the bottom of their mask.

A mouth?

They tilted their head back. A jaw opened. Many layers of teeth glimmered in the dim light, cracking as they did so, the noise chilling him through his chitin and making his hemolymph freeze. Lemm stood there, stock still, as they lifted the cup up to their face, jaw extending outwards to drink it, and then-- --they set the scalding hot coffee in their mouth, cup and all, closed it, and crunched.

Lemm had never seen a bug eat a cup of coffee before. He could still hear the crunch, crunch, crunching, muffled and quiet and growing quieter, noise sounding like a particularly crunchy tiktik being eaten.

Lemm shuddered. When the knight looked back at him, he turned around quickly and went into the back room.

Okay. Suddenly they weren't the second most welcome sight for sore eyes. Suddenly Lemm wished that it was that talking, yapping Zote fellow who came in instead.

------------------------------- By @doodle-chris​

------------------------------- By @payasita​

There was no shortage of open real estate as far as the City of Tears was concerned. But that certainly didn't make every option an equally viable living space.

First, Lemm wanted something enclosed away from the rain, and insulated enough to stave off the humidity. That discounted anything open to the outside, as he wouldn't risk his relics to even the threat of exposure. A leaking roof dripping down onto crumbling tablets or fragile spider silk could devastate hundreds of years worth of history, so that also discounted any room without a few protective floors above it.

Next, it had to be out of the way of any and all shambling husks and infected critters. They weren't the brightest of creatures, so a room only accessible by elevator was ideal. He'd never seen anything plague-cursed have enough wherewithal to operate one, and the noise of it would give him plenty warning of visitors otherwise.

Lastly, he wanted someplace with plenty of shelf space. He needed little in the way of actual living space, so long as he had ample storage room set up in such a way that things could easily be organized.

All of these qualities described, in his opinion, the ideal relic storage and research dwelling. And in the end, he was lucky enough to find it.

Unearthing the previous tenant's belongings informed him that it also, apparently, described the ideal setup for a small café. On his first day in his new residence, he'd uncovered an antique coffee machine and a few other ancient tools, kept miraculously free of rust and wear. The room's conditions must be far better than he thought.

He'd dusted his findings off and set them back up on the counter, having quickly deduced where they'd once been put to use through old nicks and rings left on the shellwood by years of service. Lemm had felt a small swell of pride at finding this small bit of the city's history, and began a set of notes on his theories about this tower complex and its surrounding culture from everything he found around. Perhaps the whole place had been a shopping centre.

On the second day, he pried open the crates in the back room, and they had spilled forth bags upon bags of beans and teas. There were so many of them that he was able to rationalize cutting one open and examining its contents without much guilt. The beans were coffee, that much was obvious at a glance.

Biological samples weren't exactly his area of expertise, but smell and texture alone all but convinced him that they'd been perfectly preserved in their airtight prisons, well dried and perfectly edible.

Most likely.

For the sake of research, and because the bag was already open, he put them through the machine. He committed some time to studying the machine beforehand, as he was afraid mishandling it may destroy it. But an hour of trying to figure the damn thing out was frustrating enough that he finally reasoned that if he did break it, he could at least take it apart and examine its insides for anything interesting. Lemm was a relic keeper, not a tinker. So he winged it with a bit of rainwater and the beans, and got wet beans and hot murky water all over the counter to show for it. He figured out the grinder and filter after his second attempt, and by the third, he had a mug of fresh coffee to show for his efforts. The scent that filled his shop and the outside corridor must have been nothing Hallownest had experienced in centuries. Lemm had little taste for the stuff himself, but in his experimentation he'd gone and made a whole pot. So he supposed he needed to acquire a taste for it rather quickly.

Luckily for his health, that turned out to be unnecessary. The smell, perhaps amplified in the ever-present petrichor, quickly attracted guests of the still-living variety. There turned out to be far more travelers and treasure hunters bumping around this old city than he'd initially expected, prone to tucking himself away in solitude as he was. Introverted or no, he happily gave the coffee away rather than waste it or risk giving himself a coronary. There were even a great deal of disposable mugs stacked away that just made it all the more convenient.

Just over the course of an hour, Lemm was graced with a fair amount of odd characters intruding on his doorstep. There was a surly fellow wielding a metal shield of some foreign make, who announced his intentions towards finding and conquering Hallownest's old colosseum. He was convinced it was still in operation somewhere. Lemm decided that if it was, the place was more than likely not populated with the sorts of honorable warriors this poor bastard was looking to prove himself against, but he kept his thoughts to himself and sent the boy off with a steaming cup of acrid bean water. Next came another traveller who gave off a more scholarly air than the first had, and who carried a more conventional weapon at his hip. The pill bug certainly acted more like a student than a warrior, all bright-eyed and curious and talkative. But no doubt he must know how to use that nail of his to have survived this far down and still be so cheerful. His stay wasn't entirely unpleasant; the two actually talked a short while about Hallownest's history and their shared learnings. The bug even tried to insist on paying, but Lemm was adamant that his reliquary wasn't a damn breakfast nook, thank you, keep your geo. But if he really wanted to pay, Lemm would certainly take any interesting artifact or trinket the bug happened to pick up on his travels. They eventually came to an agreement: A journal pilfered from a shrine somewhere in Greenpath for an extra cup for the road. Lemm's next visitor was, of all things, a cartographer. This one was far too involved in his work for much conversation, which was fine by Lemm. But he did manage to barter a cup for a map of the city. It was incomplete and bare of any landmarks, much to Lemm's disappointment. Finally, an odd little wanderer walked in almost soundlessly. They did not speak to Lemm, nor did they give any indication that they were here for any specific reason. But they had acquired an old city crest and a King's idol on their path, and Lemm had a more typical exchange of geo for relics with them. And then because it was the last of the coffee in the still warm pot, and because the little wanderer did not refuse, he sent them off with a cup on their way out. Thankful to be rid of all the blasted coffee and done with the uptick in social interaction, he then washed the pot and continued with his normal studies. It was nice and quiet, now.

But then the next morning, the pill bug returned. And he was surprised (and clearly disappointed) to see the coffee pot empty. It was a shame, he'd said. For he'd gone and found himself another journal, and considered a relic he couldn't use for a hot morning's drink to be a fine deal indeed. Lemm was inclined to agree, for how it saved him his geo in case of a more potentially significant find down the line. He turned the machine back on at once at the prospect. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to brew just one cup, and was still rightfully intimidated by the old, fussy contraption, and not inclined to mess with what worked. So he made another full pot, and talked shop.

The pill bug wasn't the only one to return that day. The would-be gladiator came back, still not having found his destination, and had the gall to just expect another drink. After the deal he'd just made, Lemm was feeling markedly less generous than he had been the day before, and informed his nasally guest that he'd have to barter something old and interesting for it.

The ant grumbled and left, but returned a few minutes later with a guardsman's crest. He'd apparently seen old treasures all over the place, but had found it beneath him to go and pick them up." A warrior has no need to weigh himself down with baubles," he'd sneered over his cup. Lemm privately thought that the plague-crazed beasts who were doubtlessly running the colosseum now would soon show this haughty kid what they cared for his warrior’s creed in due time, so he said nothing.

The silent wanderer came later. This time when they held up an ancient journal, they made no move to take the geo held out to them. They only stared at Lemm, with their little mask so perfectly unmoving he could easily think them a sudden corpse. Then his hand drifted towards the pot, and the creature set the journal down on the counter.

"...News of a relic keeper bartering goods for coffee has already spread among your lot, then? I suppose even wanderers must have a rumor mill," Lemm talked to himself while pouring their cup. Predictably, they padded away without an answer, drink in hand. Lemm would soon learn how right he was.

- The coming days were more lucrative than his business had ever been. All the travellers he'd met before all came back with various oddities found around Hallownest, as did anyone new. Though not everyone quite understood what constituted a relic, and Lemm had to turn down more than a few shiny rocks and petrified lake detritus. But they all got the routine down soon enough. And, well, Lemm did have an extraordinary amount of coffee that'd just go to waste for another thousand years otherwise, so, may as well.

The pill bug, Quirrel, came to be his best "customer", though Lemm would be twice damned before he ever said the word aloud. Either way, Quirrel often stayed long enough just chatting to warrant a second cup.

"I ought to have you bring double the treasure," Lemm griped once while handing that second cup over. Quirrel's response was a good natured laugh.

"Perhaps elsewhere, that'd be fair. Coffee was a luxury in some lands, and remains so to this day, but by my understanding it was quite in abundance here. Though I couldn't tell you where in the world they must have been growing it," he mused. Lemm raised a brow, wondering once again where in gods' names this bug was educated. But as asking would be an invitation to hear his life story, Lemm deferred.

"Is that right?" he asked instead, "I don't care for the stuff myself, luxury or no." "Really? Not an uncommon opinion, I suppose. I picked it up as a habit at one point... Though, I couldn't tell you when, now that I think of it," Quirrel trailed off, adjusting the oversized mask over his head. Lemm found it an odd choice of protection from the rain, though he supposed it was better than nothing. He only shrugged, "I hear many students do make a habit of caffeine. Your sorts can never get enough hours out of the day."

Quirrel stared at him for a brief moment, and then huffed a laugh again. "Student? You mistake me, sir. I've only ever been a traveller for as long as I can remember."

Lemm didn't bother to mask his surprise, and Quirrel's eyes crinkled. "You're right on that second part, though. So much to see, and never enough time." He took a sip.

-

The mapmaker came back one day with an order for two drinks. He had no relics, but offered an extra inkwell and quill instead. Lemm found equipment for keeping good notes was lucky to come by, and reluctantly made the trade, much to the old bug's gratitude.

"Thank you, the second is for my wife running our shop surface-side. It was her suggestion you might want materials for your research."

Lemm cleared his throat, blustering slightly under his beard.

"Ahh. Hm. I can appreciate that, then."

"Oh, on that note, have you any sugar you can add in for her?" The bug peered over Lemm’s shoulder, which rankled him for some reason.

"...I did find a jar back here somewhere, I think." Though he couldn't promise it was good. Could sugar go bad? It still just looked like white sand.

"Thank you. ...Err, actually, is that a box of tea on the shelf, there?"

Lemm paused in his rummaging, and looked back at the open storeroom door. The room now made a good home for his relics, though he never bothered unpacking the open crates.

"...It is," he eyed the bug neutrally.

"Ah. Iselda enjoys her coffee, though I quite prefer a good cup of tea myself. ...Erm, if it isn't too much trouble, of course," the bug grinned politely over folded hands.

Lemm, to his credit, did not sigh. There was indeed a kettle back there, too. And at least he knew how to brew tea without making an entire day's worth of it.

He brought up the jar of sugar, and leveled the bug with a grumpy look.

"Fine. But next time, you bring relics."

The cartographer acquiesced immediately, and that was the point where Lemm realized he'd invited them both to expect a "next time".

-

The silent wanderer came back again, on the tail of a group of treasure hunters who came in and left up the elevator. Shortly after, there was the sound of struggle above them.

This had become commonplace. Anyone who showed up had to contend with the violent husks above and beyond the shop, and some were more prepared to deal with the dangers of Hallownest than others. Lemm only poured the wanderer's cup in bored silence, tuning out the thumping and shouts above. "You know this stuff stunts your growth, right?" Lemm asked flatly. The wanderer only ever stared.

"Dehydrates you, too. You active types probably ought to stick to water. Imagine having to deal with the horrors of rotting sentries and whatnot with a diuretic sloshing about in you." Unbothered, they leaned forward and took their cup in both hands, still staring up while he spoke. Lemm honestly had no idea if they even understood him, and considered the possibility that their muteness was compounded by a language barrier. But they at least always made the effort to appear attentive.

There was a thundering crash above them that made Lemm flinch, and then a silence that kept him tense. The voices started up once again after a few seconds, and the sound of footsteps hurrying away as fast as they could. By his guess, his last customers had just had a very close encounter with a belfly. He'd likely not be seeing them again.

He turned his attention back down to the wanderer with a sigh.

"...Let me see what you have, then."

The tiny thing set their cup carefully down by their feet, and fished a genuine void egg from the depths of their grubby cloak. Lemm was struck with the brief impulse to give them the entire coffee machine for it.

-

There was a new visitor one morning, just as Lemm brewed the pot for his regulars. He rarely got anyone so very early, and was guiltily nursing his own cup of acrid sugary heart disease before anyone would be around to see. Alright, so he'd acquired the taste for it. It was hardly unreasonable with how much time he spent around the smell, and it helped him make up for lost time studying his relics later in the night. Perfectly understandable, and so he definitely did not freeze mid sip like he was caught in a crime when the door opened unexpectedly. The red-clad stranger who walked in wore a wicked-sharp needle slung across her back, and fixed him with an even sharper gaze.

"...I hear you sell tea." Her voice was quiet enough, but cut clear without the normal hesitant lilt of a question.

Lemm slowly put down his mug, and the soft thunk it made against the countertop sounded awfully loud in the morning lull.

"...I don't sell anything. I buy," he insisted.

The altogether frightening lass glanced between him, the full coffee pot, and the kettle sat next to a stack of assorted loose leaf teas. Then back at him.

He grunted, hiding an inane flush of indignation behind another swig of his drink.

"...I seek artifacts. Relics of this place's past, and anything that may help me understand it, for geo. ...Or for a cuppa, for those who'd rather." He shifted behind the counter, nearly trailing off into a mumble. But at this point, there wasn’t much use in fighting his reputation.

The girl just scrutinized him until she seemed to come to a decision. She then turned and left without saying anything else, opting to hop down the elevator shaft rather than waste a moment calling the lift.

Lemm rolled his eyes and gulped down the dregs of his coffee, vaguely annoyed. By this point, he was used to the rude and half feral sorts of vagabonds that only came by out of curiosity. At least she was quick about leaving.

All the better for him, as far as he was concerned. He doubted such a young thing would have anything of note to share with Hallownest's foremost historian.

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 2 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Read Part 1 Part 3

Rhys returns to the fields of the Spring Court the next evening. And the next, and the next, and the next, true as the moon rising. He teases and grumbles about it sometimes, but if he's honest, Feyre has become the very best part of his day.

The breeze that ruffles the wildflowers surrounding them is easy and soft, and so is Feyre. She is generous with her touch, letting her fingertips touch his shoulders and stroke in his hair like leaves landing. Rhys can’t get enough. Because it is always Spring, the evenings are balmy and warm, and by nightfall Feyre goes back to the manor on the hill. Feyre likes to tell him that she tires of him, but Rhys realises eventually that she has a curfew.

“Let me come with you,” he says one evening. It’s been a month and Rhys has just made a particularly good bargain: a story for a kiss.

“Okay,” Rhys had said, lying back amongst the flowers. Feyre remains sitting up, and is threading a daisy crown for the High Lord. “I’ll tell you the story about how I met my two brothers, Cassian and Azriel. Hopefully you’ll get to meet them one day.”

Feyre snorted. “Not while my father’s still alive.” Rhys smiled gently and continued.

“When I was a child I was put into an Illyrian training camp, in the heritage of my mother’s family, and the only ones who fit in less than I did were Cass and Az.”

“What’s an Illyrian?” Feyre interrupted.

“A warrior race from the mountains of the Night Court.”

“And your mother was an Illyrian? You look like High Fae.”

Rhys smiled then, and did something that he never thought he’d do. He didn’t know why he felt so at ease with Feyre. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time he came to see her here, it was only the two of them in the field, and that made it feel like it was only the two of them in the world.

He rolled onto his stomach, arms folded under his chin, and unfurled his bat-like wings. He spread them lazily and gracefully, and watched her face change from shock to awe to delight as they stretched to be as tall as she where she was sitting.

“Rhys they’re beautiful,” she breathed, reaching one hand forward. Then she pulled back as if remembering herself, and glanced sidelong at him. “May I?” she asked. And again, Rhys surprised himself by nodding his assent. The only time his wings had ever been touched was when they got bruised in a brawl.

Feyre very gently stroked her fingers down his left wing, and Rhys shuddered beneath her touch.

“Sorry,” she said. Rhys’s mouth quirked.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“It… it looked like that wasn’t very comfortable for you. Does it hurt?”

“No it doesn’t hurt,” Rhys laughed, bumping her with the talon at the top of his wing's arch.

She smiled her relief, and stroked him again, and Rhys’s laugh choked off into a moan that had him biting down on his lip. Goosebumps rolled down his arms, and he tried not to let Feyre see how much her touch affected him.

“I’ll take that kiss now,” he said, and before she could argue he rolled around and pulled her into his arms. Feyre landed on his chest and smiled as he kissed her. His wings curled lightly around them both, making her feel even closer. Rhys licked at her lips in askance, and she let him sweep his tongue across hers before she pushed him off, laughing and landing back in the grass with him.

“No,” Feyre says. She places the crown delicately on Rhys's head, and looks pleased with the effect.

Rhys runs a finger from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Please let me. I’d love to see where you live.”

“Where I live, or just where I sleep?" Feyre challenges. Rhys flashes her a wicked grin.

“That too.”

“No.”

"I'll owe you a favour."

"You already owe me a favour."

"For what?"

"For making you king of the daisies." Feyre gestures, and the flowers nuzzle their heads against his elbows. Rhys nods magnanimously at them, then fixes his amethyst eyes on Feyre.

“Why not?” he asks softly.

“Because my father would skin you the second you walked through the front door.” Feyre nips the skin of his neck with her teeth to make a point.

Rhys huffs. “My father's been dead over a decade. Old men can hold a grudge.”

Feyre shifts. “It’s not just that. He… he doesn’t like anyone, Rhys. I told you. He’s very protective, and he gets upset when people come too near me. I’m not supposed to cross the forest line.”

“But… we’re on the other side of the forest.”

Now it’s Feyre’s turn to grin. “The flowers miss me," she says. She runs her fingers through the stalks. Then pokes him in the chest. "And they'd miss you too if you were a rug in my father's study."

“Well then come visit me,” Rhys presses. “You’d love it at the Night Court. The stars have as many secrets as the flowers do.”

It's a thought Rhys can't get out of his mind. As long as Feyre stays in this field, she's just a daydream. But then he gets home and nothing feels as real as Feyre does, and he's been sleepwalking through Velaris.

“Rhys.”

“And you could actually meet the people I tell you about.”

“Rhysand.”

“And you wouldn’t have anyone telling you what to do or where to go or who you could see.”

Feyre waits. “Are you done?”

Rhys sighs. “Yeah I’m done.”

“Rhys you know I can’t.”

“I know. Look just… promise me that you’ll come one day, okay? Even if you have to wait till ol’ Tambourine’s dead and buried." He gives her a smile to sweeten the deal. "Promise me you’ll come see the Night Court.”

Feyre's smile is so sad Rhys feels it under his ribs. “And what will you give me, young Kingling?” she asks softly. “What will you offer in return?”

“Everything,” Rhys whispers, much more serious than he had intended. “Anything and everything you want.”

Feyre looks at him with leagues in her eyes, and says, “Just a kiss will do.” And Rhys obliges.

“Do you know,” he tells he between kisses, "every time I kiss you I think I'll feel relieved. But the wanting just gets worse. How are you so soft?”

“How are you so hard?” Feyre asks, then blushes deeply when Rhys gives her a look. “Your chest. I meant your chest, you’re like a solid wall.” Rhys stares at her.

“The latter, because my father too was a glutton for punishment. I’ve trained everyday since I was eight years old.” He traces the shape of her cheekbone, and then her lower lip. “The former, well, for that I blame you.”

Rhys shifts his hips and indeed he is hard all over, from the muscles in his abdomen, and lower. Feyre shivers a little as she feels the press of him between her legs, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders. “So are we friends yet, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks her, the words blowing hot against her lips. Feyre laughs huskily, and the sound makes him twitch under her hips. Now that he has drawn attention to the evident pressure between them, he’s sure Feyre feels it.

“Do you think I do this with my friends?” Feyre asks him, and presses her next kiss under his jaw. Rhys groans and slides his hands around her waist, heels sliding in the grass.

“Probably not?” Rhys gasps, feeling every inch of her body on his.

“Just kidding,” Feyre says. “I don’t have any friends.”

Rhys can’t think of what to say to that. “Kiss me again,” he tells her.

“What will you give me this time?” Feyre asks, still very much on top of him. Rhys stares into her lovely eyes, and tries to see what she’s keeping behind her smile.

“A kiss in return,” he says quietly, because the best way to pay for a kiss is in kind.

Feyre folds her fingers with his, and leans down. And Rhys finds himself thinking that he wants this, of course he wants this, but he does also want to be her friend. That he wants her to have friends.

And then he thinks very little at all because now Feyre is straddling his lap and she’s got her tongue in his mouth and his blood is singing in his veins.

Rhys slides his hands up Feyre’s back and under her hair. He flips them smoothly so that she’s on her back and his wings are flaring, and when he finds her hands again, stalks of flowers brush their entangled fingers. Feyre is liquid and pliant beneath him, and although they’ve kissed dozens of times before, this is something new between them.

"You're making the daisies blush," Feyre whispers, and she looks like an angel beneath him.

Rhys makes a shaky exhale. He is half hungry, and half scared that she’ll push him away at any second. Touching Feyre is like catching a sparrow- sometimes she’s flying so sure and fast he can barely keep up, and other times she’s skittering away from him. He can never be quite sure of her, but then again, he’s rather enjoying the chase.

Feyre’s hands tangle in his hair when he kisses her again. They pull at the roots and Rhys begins to lose it. He’s only got so much careful in him, and if she keeps going like this…

At that moment Rhys is grabbed from behind. Rough hands seize him by the wings and throw him off of Feyre. Rhys hits the ground, then immediately rolls up into a crouch with his teeth bared. He’s already in a rage from the contact with his wings, half feral and looking for his attacker.

He does not expect to see the High Lord of the Spring Court snarling right back at him.

“You little fuck,” Tamlin growls. “You come into my land and assault my daughter. You have exactly three seconds to be gone before I tear you limb from limb.”

“Father!” Feyre says sharply. He rounds on her.

“And you. I gave you very clear instructions on where you are to be at any given time. I’ll deal with you later.” He waves his hand and Feyre is winnowed, with time only to meet Rhys’s eyes before she’s gone.

“Fuck you,” Rhys spits.

“Leave, pup,” Tamlin tells him. “This is my Court and you are in violation of my rules. If I see you again I will kill you, and I will have no qualms about doing so.”

Rhys growls, but he knows Tamlin is right. He can’t attack him in on his own land without starting an all out war. Rhys kicks at the ground savagely, then winnows.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod

[youarejesting]

Sly like a... ? Part 2

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 2.1k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Next]

It was your dream to convert a large warehouse on the outskirts of town into a home and education center for Hybrids. Somewhere they could learn to be self-sufficient. You would have professors and volunteers, teaching and fundraising, all for the day you could buy another warehouse on the other side of town. You wanted it to become the norm that these Hybrid facilities would build and grow in every city. Allowing the Hybrids to become an independent race no longer looked down upon by society.

You were on the last day of your heat and craving something savory. As it was late your best option was the convenience store that was always open late.

Things were falling into place as you received an email earlier that day confirming that all the items you had requested were acquired. That meant school books, equipment, and more. You were also granted the first loan for the Hybrids, a loan you would receive every term. The board wanted no less than five and no more than ten participants for an adequate examination of results.

You assumed for the program to be officially approved, you would have to show successful results from Hybrids with different backgrounds during this trial. That meant different ages and different upbringings. Wondering if it was worth visiting the adoption agency or perhaps a Hybrid store, it wouldn’t hurt for more variables.

Shaken from your thoughts by a shadowed figure rustling through the garbage, in a dark alley between the antiques and postal office. Your ears picked up the sound easily, feet scuffing to a halt on the pavement catching the Hybrid’s attention. Their eyes searched the dark for any sign of threat before falling upon you, a deep growl resonating on the wind. It was best to not get involved with stray Hybrids, they tended to be more violent. This is what you were doing the program for, to stop Hybrids from ending up homeless and on the streets. To prove that they aren’t dangerous and are capable of learning.

Struck by an idea, if you could get a Hybrid from the street to join the trial program, you could prove they weren’t violent and show that given the opportunity they could all learn and grow into members of society.

“Can I buy you dinner?” You called out, voice cracking from the cold. Your breath puffed out like smoke visible between you both. The night brought you more energy, it made you feel alive.

Cars passed, their headlights illuminating the entire alleyway and reflecting in his eyes a blood-red. He stalked forward, his body moving gracefully but you could see he was hurt, his shirt ripped and there was a strong scent of blood in the breeze. That was a downside to having heightened senses. You tried to control the disgusted look on your face, “I will pay and there is nothing else to it, just sit and have dinner with me, so I don’t look like a woman in her mid to late twenties eating alone at a convenience store”

He looked you up and down, it was then you noticed his features, he was a feline, not a common house cat. No, he was a big predator.

“Do I look like some charity case? Some pathetic creature who needs help from a human?” His words rumbled from his chest in a growl. You wanted to correct him that you weren’t exactly human yourself but decided against it. Stuck somewhere between Hybrid and human you didn’t fit in either category.

“What’s it to you? My reason is my reason, just take the free meal. Hell! Exploit me for a free meal, anything you want, go crazy.” You shrugged, trying desperately to charm him. He seemed to contemplate his choices for a moment before turning to walk away. You scrambled for your wallet and grabbed out twenty dollars, holding it out to him.

“Wait! At least take this; if you don’t want to eat with me, get something warm, and here is my card if ever you need help.”

He eyed the money but didn’t move to take it. Hoping he wouldn’t rip your arm off, you grabbed his hand. You knew it was risky. His fingers were cold, but you didn’t want to linger and make him mad, quickly placing the money on his palm with your business card.

“Have a good night, mister,” He nodded confused about the whole encounter, before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving. It seemed even if you tried your best, it wouldn’t be enough to persuade him. He was too defensive, the best you could hope for was that he would stay safe in the cold.

What trials and tribulations must you go through to have these Hybrids trust and confide in you? Hopefully, it wouldn’t be this hard to get through to the group of Hybrids you were soon to obtain.

This was going to be a rather difficult experiment and you weren’t sure if it was going to go well but you hoped with every fiber of your being that you would see this through for the sake of the Hybrids.

That night you dreamed about the group of participants being hostile and unresponsive to the program, it did little to soothe your nerves the next morning. When you received an email about the new house. Jimin would have the key and would meet you outside later that day with the other Hybrids. No matter who they were, you were going to make sure they were achieving the best result they could.

The government had registered two Hybrids in your name, their files attached to the confirmation email. The two participants were so contrasting, Hoseok was a deer Hybrid, from a small farming family. The other was a Lion Hybrid by the name of Namjoon. He was from New Zealand and had participated in another government program regarding genius Hybrids.

Altogether, there were four: Namjoon the genius, Hoseok the country bumpkin, Taehyung, and Jimin. You decided to look for possible participants within the Hybrid store, and rehoming center. That would give you a wide variety of variables for the experiment; each would have a different background and would require different tools to help them.

You started at the nearest Hybrid shop. There were several rooms each with an observation window, a photo card, and a brief description of the Hybrid sitting, reading or playing video games inside. It was such a small space, how could they live in these tiny rooms every day until someone adopted them. Reading their descriptions by the windows you analyzed each of them, your attention caught by one playing video games. He had dark ears that stuck out from his dark hair. He seemed fun and you thought it would be easy to connect with him.

Hello, My name is Jungkook, I am twenty-three and I am a fully vaccinated Melanistic Jaguar.

You didn’t bother reading the rest, thinking you would like to learn about him properly, “Sir, I would like to adopt this Hybrid,” You declared, whilst walking towards the counter to begin the paperwork. Once everything was signed the young Jaguar boy was led from his small room. He looked nervous holding a small store backpack filled with all his essential items.

On the drive to the next location, you were the one doing most of the talking, receiving quiet one-word answers and small fidgets. He seemed excited when you finally parked the car, you guessed he was eager to see his new home.

However, as you walked towards the menacing rehoming center, he grew quieter and quieter, slowing to a stop before the entrance. Looking at his feet crying profusely, you realized how this must look. He must have thought he had done something wrong, how could he think you would buy him and rehome him on the same day.

“Jungkook, I am not abandoning you, I am picking up a brother for you to play with.” It took a few moments to console the young man. Wiping his tears and giving him a few pats on the head careful of his ears.

Deciding anyone younger than Jungkook would be too much to handle. “You have to help me find a big brother, someone you think will be really nice and that you like to play with, what do you think? Can you do that for me?”

Jungkook nodded, sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay, I can do that,”

The inside of the rehoming center smelt like disinfectant, you explained you were looking for another Hybrid and were led to a large room. There were Hybrids of all ages all playing and entertaining themselves with different activities.

It was overwhelming even for you, so you grasped Jungkook’s hand and encouraged him to look around, “Hey, what about ping pong?” You grinned at Jungkook who smiled playing a few rounds with you, the two of you giggling.

“Have I told you I am the ping pong master,” an older Hybrid grinned, he had a striped tail. You handed over the paddle and stood near Jungkook. “Do you want to play a game?”

Jungkook nodded, was this boy unable to say no. Either way, the two were getting along quickly, the older Hybrid was very playful and funny, even as he lost you were holding your sides from the laughter and Jungkook seemed to grow really comfortable with him.

Talking to one of the volunteers she explained that Seokjin was a raccoon hybrid and the oldest in the center. She explained that he often took the younger hybrids under his wing. It was an easy decision to adopt him. While you were filling out the paperwork, Jungkook was telling you all about his match with Seokjin.

“And I got the winning shot,” He grinned, swinging his arm like he was hitting an invisible ping pong ball.

“He seems really fun, would he make a good big brother?” It was cute how he nodded wholeheartedly. “Jungkook why don’t you go tell him that he is coming home with us?”

He grew embarrassed again, his dark ears twitching but followed the volunteer nonetheless. You were quick to finish up the last of the paperwork before the two came back laughing volunteer in tow.

“Unbelie-Bubble” Seokjin said before squeaking in laughter. He had all of his things and like Jungkook was nervous, but he showed it through talking.

You felt good with your selection, there was a Hybrid for every walk of life and socio-economic background. This would be perfect for the trial. They all seemed like lovely young Hybrids and you could already see them forming friendships.

It was on your way out that you saw a familiar face struggling against Hybrid control. “This is your last time, you know what happens to strays.”

“Wait!” You shouted, everyone in the lobby froze turning to look at you, the cold room felt quite warm with all of the attention “He is mine”

They froze looking between you and the hybrid before letting him go curiously. The injured Hybrid staggered over to you, knowing this was his best chance at survival, “why didn’t you tell them my name?” you asked him curiously but he kept his head down.

“This white tiger Hybrid is yours?” The handler spoke in disbelief, practically accusing you of lying. “why is he not microchipped, or registered in our system?”

“I was supposed to register him last week when I got him but I had been busy with work, I would like to properly register him under my name today,” You didn’t break under this man's pressure, you could notice the more he held eye contact the more he seemed to falter himself. “so that you will stop taking him in when he is harmlessly walking the streets”

The man opened his mouth to argue but you blinked up at him, watching him lower his hand.

“I am so sorry miss, we didn't mean to cause you trouble?” It wasn’t exactly odd behavior, you often found your arguments nullifying this way. You liked to think that your self-confident stare was what made people give in.

“Miss we have just noticed some suspicious activity in your account it says you have adopted four Hybrids today,” The woman behind the desk said, “We are legally required to ask your intentions or we can detain the Hybrids from you”

Almost questioning her, you remembered the government was placing two Hybrids in your name; they would be arriving today as well. With a smile you removed a folder from your bag, “I have a grant from the government.” You said brandishing the signed document, “I will be placing these Hybrids in my care”

[First] [Next]

Tags:  @simplymemyself @lolsiiike (please make sure you have tagging setting on so you get notified when the story updates)

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[ackerfics]

hange and their best friend (reader) "platonically" flirt with one another, they use pet names for each other, making others think they're together unintentionally. until reader finds an s/o, not knowing hange actually likes them

she — hange zoe

— hange zoe x female reader (modern au)

— warnings: angst ??? the stinging feeling you get when you see someone you love, love someone else

— summary: hange's best friend found love in the form of autumn while hange associates her with all of the seasons.

— word count: 2.5k

— notes: i love hange but i hate myself for writing something that hurts them :<<< they're my first love in aot and it pains me to imagine them hurting in any sort of way (which is probably the reason why i bawled my heart out in chap 132). this little fic hit too close at home for me bc it's exactly what i felt one time during high school. it's fucking traumatizing and istg, i don't want to relive falling in love with a friend again, it's like the most satisfying way to hurt, too. happy reading tho :<<<

reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

She embodies everything positive in Hange’s eyes.

She is spring — the bursting of blossoms under the tendrils of sunlight seeping between the spaces of the trees in the woods. Every time Hange closes their eyes, they are reminded of how she signifies every single flower they ever know. She makes them feel everything at once — see every color at once in a single frame. There is no space for artistic abilities in Hange’s calloused, mismatched hands but when it comes to her, they can create a myriad of paintings encapsulating her beauty at every stroke of a brush. Her laughs, her flowery perfume that doesn’t hurt their nose, her smiles that are as radiant as the early morning Sun — are ingrained in their brain. She brings forth the butterflies that Hange carefully imprisoned in their ribs, the monarchs’ wings already seeping through the cracks at every joke she makes, reaching to their heart until every beat swayed to the sound of her giggles.

“Hange, the love of my life, there you are!”

Hange turned around with a huge smile on their lips. Their conversation with Levi came to an abrupt stop, with the shorter man mumbling along the lines of ‘here we go again’. The small smile on his face spoke otherwise while watching two of his closest friends hug each other as if they didn’t live together in an apartment right outside of campus. It was such a mystery that Hange could be so comfortable around someone to the point of playfully kissing their neck in public, followed by their best friend’s melodious laughs soon after. However, Levi couldn’t be fooled. He knew the glint in the brown-haired person’s eyes. The downturn of their eyebrows when their best friend wasn’t looking. The longing was apparent when she was talking to someone across the room.

The idiot going by the name Hange Zoe was irrevocably in love with their best friend, [Name] [Last Name].

“What is it, baby?” Hange asked vibrantly, glasses reflecting the equally excited girl in their arms. “Didn’t know your class dismissed this early. What happened?”

“Nothing. Our professor announced that we should visit a museum for our finals.” She then mimicked the haughty tone of her Art History professor, straightening her back to make herself appear taller. “Choose a painting or a sculpture and trace down its history and attach your critique in the final output. If I see anyone half-assing this paper, I will not hesitate to give a failing grade that will make you retake this class. I know you lot don’t want to see me again for another semester and I don’t want to see you again, too. So, prove to me you’re worth your standing in this course.” She cleared her throat. “What he said.”

Hange whistled. “Dang, I’m happy that I didn’t follow you to the Arts Department. Your professor sounds like a complete asshole.” They chortled the next second. “Sounds like my mom, to be honest.”

“At least your mom makes a bomb bento box.”

“Yeah, I guess, you’re right.” Hange then nuzzled their face in her hair. “But your bento boxes taste much more delicious — I could eat them all day. Can I be your partner so that you’ll cook for me every day?”

“I’ve already taken the position of your wife the moment I agreed to be your roommate in university, sweetheart. And I cook for you every single day so you don’t have to ask to be my partner because you already are.”

Hange looked smug at her reply, the heat in their cheeks traveling to their ears. “That was a rhetorical question but hearing those words come out of your mouth, it’s making me feel things.”

“Oh? What are those things?”

The brown-haired person snickered under their breath, glancing at Levi who was now looking at the two of them in that lazy way of his that might come off as him being annoyed again. In reality, he was only waiting for the two to finally stop flirting to recognize he was there. His daily job of being a third-wheel should’ve started fifteen minutes ago but Hange wouldn’t let [Name] go. Hange turned back to the expectant girl. “I don’t want Levi to hear what I’m about to say. Just expect something back at the apartment,” they joked, a cheeky smile tugging at their lips.

[Name] laughed heartily. “I’m looking forward to that, gorgeous.”

“I’m still here, you know?” Levi dryly made himself known. He huffed and turned around in the direction of the university restaurant. “Come on, lovebirds, let’s have lunch. Oh, and [Name]?” When he heard her little hum of acknowledgment, Levi slightly turned around to meet his friend’s eyes with his jaded ones. “It’s your turn to buy me a drink. Make it a venti today.” She only blinked at him, giving him no choice but to resort to that dumb thing she always asked. “Please can I have a venti this time? I got you and Hange a venti last time so this makes us even.”

“Ooh, make mine a venti, too, baby!” Hange squeezed their best friend’s waist.

“Anything for my sweetheart.”

“Again, I’m right here, you know.”

Just the thought of that little scenario hurts Hange.

But as much as the pain comes in the package, she is still summer in their eyes.

The Sun can’t compare to the brilliance of her smile. Kind smiles and gentle touches under the warm rays of the summer heat. Her scent is yellow to Hange — so bright and warm that they don’t care how long they bask in her presence, never caring if they get burned because it feels so right to be within her orbit. She urges them to feel so loved and so special, tender caresses of her warmth cascading down every vein until it reaches their heart. The cerulean waters of the sea hold nothing against the beauty of her grins, brown eyes searching for her every time of the day no matter how ethereal the world painted itself to be. Viewing the sights with rose-colored glasses is what they may call it but for Hange, it’s simply her. Someone once said that summer brings forth a paradise where blue covers everything in its wake, the cry of the seagulls reverberating in the distance, and the scent of ice cream flickers in the breeze. For Hange, summer is in the form of pretty close-lipped smiles, of late-night movie marathons on a worn-out couch, of bento boxes filled with their favorites, of a scent so saccharine, and a loyal friend.

A friend.

Of course. No matter where Hange goes, that word haunts them. Hidden beneath their smiles, their jokes, their longing, and admiring stares. It’s a reminder of where they stand in this limbo they created. At one point, they thought that line had been crossed only for it to be established again in permanent ink. And before they know it, Hange is tumbling down in a spiral, along with a change of seasons.

Fall is where everything started.

The orange glow of the leaves created the perfect view as she sipped on her tall cup of warm coffee. The blissful sigh that came soon after warmed up Hange, even though they were seated in front of each other in the outside tables of the small cozy café where Levi was working at. The chill brought by the autumn wind caused both of them to shiver in their layered clothing. The way she nuzzled more into her scarf made Hange coo, reaching out to pinch her cheek affectionately. Autumn was both their favorite season, how it made them resort to the comfort and warmth their sweaters bring, or how they cuddle in each other’s beds with the air conditioner blasting despite the cold. It was also a season where Hange could admire her in their hoodie, a piece of clothing that swallows her whole because she’s so small compared to their lanky figure.

Hange remembered being called out here because she wanted to talk about something. Now that they thought about it, her cheeks appear to be glowing more than usual and she kept glancing inside the café where Levi was busy telling his coworker how to make the new drink. Hange even went as far as following her gaze but they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary other than Levi sighing in that stressful way of his that always made them snicker. They turned back to their Sun, who was once again in a daze while staring at the clear windows of the café. “So,” they prolonged the syllable, “how’s life going, darling? I know we’re living in the same apartment but I just can’t help but ask you this because it seems like you’re always in a daze these days.”

A pause made the breeze’s call known.

“Hey, Hange, have you ever been in love?”

That spread the chill even more inside Hange’s chest. She called them by their name. Not sweetheart nor big spoon. The reality washed over Hange like a pail of freezing water.

“W-What?” Damn, they couldn’t keep the stutter off their words.

She turned her head to them, eyes so soft and smile so beautiful that made Hange breathless for one second. The butterflies dwindled, losing their iridescent wings when they realized that look wasn’t reserved for them anymore. “I thought about it,” she murmured, rubbing her numbing fingertips on the warm cup. “I have never fallen in love with anyone before. Sure, I love you and all our friends but I’ve never stopped and thought about how someone can look like starlight in front of me. But recently,” again, that pretty smile that pierced Hange’s chest, “I never knew that it could hit me that unexpectedly.”

Hange grinned despite the pounding of her chest. “So, who’s the lucky person?”

She chuckled, going back to staring at the interior of the café. “I told Levi to lay off on scolding her but he never listens, says she’ll never grow a backbone if he’s being considerate on her.”

Now, they’re confused because the only people manning the counter as she spoke was Levi (and she would never fall in love with Levi, seeing as they grew up together like siblings rather than the childhood friends that they are) and a strawberry blonde who looked like Levi’s become their worst nightmare. It took Hange a full minute to process that the person she’s been staring at was never their mutual friend, but the strawberry blonde who looked up towards their direction and waved with a pretty blush on their cheeks. She waved back with the same shyness, leaving Hange dumbfounded. “Wait, the person you’re in love with is—”

“Yeah, it’s her.”

Suddenly, Hange understands why she’s starting to like autumn.

It reminds her of the girl’s hair, which she gushes about smelling like coconut. It reminds her of the girl’s preferred perfume, how it smells so much like cinnamon, something that she sometimes puts in her autumn drinks because in her words, ‘it’s the perfect season rather than winter’. It reminds her of the girl’s hugs, the way both of them fit with each other like lost puzzle pieces.

But as the seasons change, feelings of long-term pining will always be constant.

“Are you okay, though?” Erwin asked them, blue eyes reflecting their pathetic faux smile. He pushed the plate of pasta to them since Erwin had an idea that Hange wasn’t eating that much now. It also worried [Name].

“Yeah, four-eyes, I know you’re not doing that great and I’m saying this in the friendliest way possible because we’re worried now,” Levi reminded them, sipping on his tea with slightly narrowed eyes. “You always decline whenever we want to bring you to somewhere, to the point of leaving Nanaba on voicemail. You always answer at the first ring. Look here, shitty four-eyes,” the way Levi enunciated the nickname made Hange slowly turn their head to him, face void of the smile they were known for, “shouldn’t you be happy for her? [Name] gained the courage to confess and you’re here moping when you should’ve been supportive—”

“And what of my feelings, Levi?”

That made Levi blink and feel like an asshole.

Then, the dam broke.

“I’ve been with her all this time, you’ve seen that. You witnessed how this shy girl opened up to an extroverted idiot and became one of her best friends during high school. It feels like I can’t fucking breathe because I always thought we were meant to be. When she was lonely, I was there to comfort her. When she got a bad grade on an exam, I was the one who knows what flavors of ice cream she wants or how she eats them together like a fucking milkshake. Every day, I never expected her to look my way like she looks at her girlfriend right now. It fucking hurts. It feels so empty to know that I’m not the one she fell in love with. What did I lack? Should I be sweeter and gentler like that girl? Or dainty whenever I eat like she is? Be girly and dress up like a doll? Fuck, I can’t even bring myself to hate her girlfriend. She’s so nice and kind and sweet, anything I’m not.” Hange buried their hands in their hair, making it messier than it was.

“I just want [Name] to love me and make things wonderful. Why isn’t Fate on my side this time?

“Why didn’t she choose me?”

Tears were now drifting down like snowflakes.

“Hange,” Erwin murmured.

“Look, sunshine, it’s snowing!”

A voice catches their attention. A strawberry blonde cheers the words with glee painted in her eyes. Beside her is the subject of the trio’s conversation, the subject of a brown-haired person’s affections. Her eyes are taking in the beauty that is her girlfriend. She looks so pretty in love — how her eyes crinkled at the corners and how snow clung on her eyelashes as if she is a fairy straight from a fairy tale Hange loves when she was a kid. Her girlfriend takes her hand and pulls her to the restaurant where the trio is watching from the windows. Gray and blue irises slide over a somber bespectacled person, gauging their reaction though their face never gives anything away.

“I’m right behind you, Petra. I just took the time to admire you because you’re so pretty under the snow.”

“Stop it! You’re prettier!”

“Did you know that seeing the first snow of the year together with the person you love, your relationship will rival that of eternity?”

“Then, I’m happy I get to see this first snow with you, sunshine.”

“Me, too, angel.”

Hange smiles under a steady stream of tears. “I’m happy for her. I’m happy she found happiness even if it’s not with me.”

The chill blows inside the warm walls of the restaurant the moment the door opens, [Name]’s joyous greetings for her best friends bringing smiles to two of them. Her eyes drift to brown ones before turning to Petra to ask for a pack of tissues since Hange’s tears are still visible. Hange watches the commotion with a small smile, the chill spreading through them like a snowstorm.

Winter is here.

general taglist:

@angelofthorr

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear. 

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one. 

“Who are you?”  Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened. 

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.” 

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat. 

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.” 

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute. 

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed. 

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness. 

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! I'm so slow in reading fics lately, so here are only 9 fics I read this month. All my love for the authors in this fandom. Thank you so much for still writing so many many fantastic stories ♥

A Certain Satisfaction | delsicle and creamcoffeelou | 1960s - porn stars - period-typical homophobia - smut - fluff - 52k “Sit, sit, please,” he said, so Louis sat, folding up his hands in front of him. Harry cracked up his bottle of water, looking at Louis for a long moment as he took a drink. When he was done, he set the bottle on the desk, then pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, looking at Louis over the edges of the frames. “So,” he said, “Louis. Do you have any previous experience with pornography?” Louis blinked, shuffling his feet. “I’m sorry, what?” OR: The porn au where Louis is a university student who needs money and runs across an ad that sounds too good to be true.

Better Mistakes | lovelarry10 | enemies to lovers - mpreg - unplanned pregnancy - cheating - affairs - angst - mutual pining - smut - 117k “Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world-” “Oh but it fucking is,” Louis said, shaking his head. “How the fuck am I going to tell Matt I’m pregnant with a baby when we’ve not had sex in months? He might be a bit thick sometimes, but he is gonna know there’s no chance this baby is his.” “You don’t have to, uh, tell him it’s mine, right?” Louis scoffed. “Why, are you scared he’s gonna come and kick the shit out of you?” “He wishes,” Harry laughed, looking back down at the test. “Shit, I … I can’t believe this. Louis, I didn’t mean for this. Honestly. It was just sex for me. We have great sex, and I didn’t see why I should have to turn that down, not when you clearly wanted it as much as I did. I didn’t want this to end in a baby.” »｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡« Louis knows he shouldn’t be sleeping with his boyfriend’s enemy. He knows that. But there’s something that draws him back to Harry over and over again. Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan...

Mead Of Poetry | MyEnglishRose | a/b/o - regency - arranged marriage - rivalry - angst - mild hurt/comfort - implied/referenced character death - smut - slow burn - enemies to lovers - fake/pretend relationship - miscommunication - 65k Under the pressure of continuing the Styles viscountcy line now that he is getting older, Harry sets himself three rules to finally settle down and marry: firstly, the omega needs to be reasonably attractive, secondly, they must be of great mind, thirdly, they cannot be anyone he would ever fall in love with. Enters Charlotte Tomlinson, the diamond of the first water of the upcoming season and seemingly the perfect candidate to the viscount’s plan, but her omega brother, Louis, is in Harry’s way. Louis only seeks to protect his sister and he sure is not going to let a rake play with her heart. Or. A Regency ABO AU very loosely inspired by the second book of the Bridgerton series, "The Viscount Who Loved Me".

7 Up | cherrystreet | friends to lovers - growing up together - fluff - angst - smut - major character death - 51k Very loosely based on the British TV show "The Up Series" and somewhat inspired by the song “Something I Need” by Onerepublic, we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the arse.

Violent Delights | ohpleaselarry | a/b/o - fluff - smut - light angst - 76k Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

Lies & Liability | 4ureyesonly28 | a/b/o - regency - fake/pretend relationship - royalty - enemies to friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - no smut - 34k Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season: that his sister has rented a townhouse that will provide him as many of the comforts of the country life he has grown accustomed to as possible, that he will not trip and fall when he is presented to Her Majesty the Queen, and that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

It's always darkest before the dawn | Marchessa | a/b/o - pack dynamics - attempted rape/non-com - angst - 16k The full moon was hiding behind dark clouds on that night, filling the air with something sinister. Harry lived that evening like an out of body experience, as if it hadn't happened to him. Because something horrifying like that can happen only to fictional characters and people from old-wives tales, not to actual breathing people. Or so he thought. Everything that happened after nightfall seemed surreal, and he couldn't put his finger on where it went off the track. Probably sometime during the train ride back to Holmes Chapel after a long, exhausting week of university classes. Or the one where Louis saves Harry's life by biting him, but the younger man has to pay the price for it.

No One Likes to be Alone | lululawrence | a/b/o - college/university - hurt/comfort - emotional hurt/comfort - anxiety - roommates - nesting - 6k Harry was a full-on fucking failure. Letting out a whimper, Harry pressed his hands to his face as he finally allowed himself to cry. After a few sobs, he realized that something soft was pressed to his face, catching his tears instead of his hands. Harry pulled it away to see what it was and saw it was one of his sister’s shirts. Shaking his head, he turned and placed it very specifically right where he usually tucked himself up against the wall. As he carefully shifted the shirt so he could see the faded image of Britney Spears looking out at him, Harry was overcome with a need he had only ever felt once before. He needed to nest.

I'm having your baby (make it your business) | thegirlontheblackhoodie | mpreg - famous/not famous - 6k His mother always told Harry he ought to be more careful about the choices he made after getting good news, insisted that the adrenaline rush clouded his judgement. He had always claimed that to be "motherly superstition", since those choices had taken him through some of the most exciting times in his life. Now, this one choice (and all the ones that followed in that night), sure made for an exciting time, but Harry could already see the loud I told you so that would show on his mom’s face when he told her how and why exactly he had ended up pregnant and with no way to contact the other parent.

[wildlyglittering]

A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors. 

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.  

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.  

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.  

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive.  I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

[silkling]

Of Newfound Knowledge and Truths of a Yesteryear

Of Moments in Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

Heatwave stood on his small training platform, punching the wooden dummy and trying to ignore the rage bubbling in the back of his processor. That morning, he’d read some of the data-pads that High Tide and Optimus had left, the ones Blades had read when Dreadwing first crashed on the island. What he’d learned had made him angry, and he didn’t understand how his teammate hadn’t been angry, too.

The Decepticons…the pads had a lot of information on what the ‘Cons had done throughout the War. The information had definitely been censored and sanitized, probably intentionally so his team wouldn’t be exposed to the full horrors of the War through the data pads, but it had still been enough for Heatwave to understand.

Dreadwing had said that the Decepticons started as a social revolution. But they were certainty far from that, now. The Rescue Force, Praxus, Iacon…they’d destroyed everything that had stood in their way, not caring if those they crushed were even involved in the War or not. It made him angry, his rescue protocols screaming with rage and loss in his processor.

As the conflicting emotions peaked, he heard the sound of pedes behind him and turned to see Dreadwing. Heatwave stepped away from the training post, the platform lowering to the ground as he crossed his arms and frowned. He liked the former Deception. He hadn’t spent as much time with him as the rest of his time, but he big bot was never violent or mean. He was a little blunt, and seemed to be a bit overly aggressive in his solutions for Heatwave’s peace-orientated processor, but he wasn’t a bad bot. At least, he didn’t appear to be.

Dreadwing seemed to notice his internal distress, because the larger bot pinned him with a considering and slightly concerned look. “You seem troubled, little one.” he rumbled.

“I’m not little.” Heatwave answered on reflex, mildly indignant. He didn’t understand why the Seeker referred to him and his teammates like that. Well, he supposed he did. They were all little, compared to him. “And…I guess I am.” He looked up at Dreadwing, a hard frown twisting his features.

“So I see.” Dreadwing, for his part, now looked ever so slightly amused. “And what is it what is causing you such distress?”

Heatwave made a frustrated noise, his vocalizer clicking in a sort of nonsense babble as he tried to think of how to explain. “I just–I don’t understand. How could they have done…everything they did?”

“What are you talking about?” Dreadwing asked, confused.

“I read the data lads Optimus and High Tide left! I learned about some of the things the Decepticons did!” he snapped, frustration and anger bleeding into his tone in place of previous confusion. Just the thought of what he’d learned was enough to make his spark sing with rage.

“Ah, now I understand.” The Seeker stated, his gaze becoming solemn and understanding. “And what did you learn, Heatwave?”

“You know what!”

“I do not. Your data pads are Autobot records, youngling. While I have no doubt there is truth there, I am also quite sure that much of that information is highly biased or just pure conjecture.”

The fire truck scowled. “Oh? So the Decepticons didn’t destroy Praxus, which was supposed to be a Neutral city?”

Dreadwing paused. “They did. It was before I joined, but they did.”

“And you’ve probably done a lot too, haven’t you?” He demanded. “Killed a lot of innocent bots, destroyed a lot of lives?” he was angry and hurting and he didn’t understand how Dreadwing could have joined a cause that was so horrible unless he was, as the human say, cut from the same cloth. But he couldn’t be, everything Heatwave had seen from the Seeker since his crash on the island directly conflicted with what the youngling had learned of the Decepticons. It just made him confused and left his spark aching.

The Seeker in question was silent, observing for a moment before he dipped his head. “I have. I have done many, many terrible things. I never killed sparklings or younglings, but I have killed countless Autobot soldiers and slain more than a few Neutral civilians on Megatron’s command.” He said softly. “I have aided in the stripping and destruction of planets, and I have directly contributed to the death of our homeworld. I do not deny any of this. I am not trying to escape my past, Heatwave, or to deny the crimes and atrocities I have committed.”

“Then why did you do them? Why are you here? Why should we let you stay if you’ve done all of that?” He didn’t actually want Dreadwing to leave, and the knew the others would want him to either. But he had just admitted to having committed horrible acts. Heatwave didn’t know what to think.

If the harsh questions bothered him, Dreadwing didn’t show it. “I did what I did because, at the time, I believed I was in the right. You know how Cybertron was in the Golden Age. You know of the emurata, of Functionism, of the caste system and how it was structured. Don’t tell me you don’t.” he said. “I rose from a system that sought to oppress me, and I turned to the only option I saw at the time. The Decepticons. It was wrong, and I have come to realize that.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “I am here because I have little elsewhere I can go, and because I find myself growing fond of this place. I am here because Primus has granted me a second chance, an opportunity to do better and to be better, and I intend to take it.” Dreadwing took an extra moment to consider the last question. “You likely should not.” he answered. “I cannot change what I have done, all I can do it try to make amends and hope to find redemption one day.” He met the youngling’s gaze evenly. “But I would like to stay, if you would allow me the chance to pursue something better here.”

Heatwave held his gaze, then sagged and looked away. “Fine. I don’t even want you to leave anyway.” he sounded tired. “I won’t make you go. I don’t think I could. The others like you, and so do I. It’d just do more harm than good to everyone involved if I made you leave now.” he glanced up. “Just…tell me why. Why did the Decepticons do all of that? I don’t understand.” he sounded frustrated and helpless.

Dreadwing softened, his wings dipping down just slightly as his frame relaxed. “The Decepticons did not rise from nothing, little one.” he rumbled.

“What do you mean? The data pads said Megatron came out of nowhere and built them up before anyone realized what was going on.” He said, his anger abating in face of his even more confusion.

Dreadwing scoffed. “I am certain that many Autobot’s believe that.” his lips curled faintly, displeased. “That is, however, as far from the truth as you can get.”

“Then why would Autobot data pads contain that information as if it were fact?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

The Seeker hummed, tilting his head. “Perhaps, if you wish to have this discussion in its entirety, it would be best to sit somewhere?”

Heatwave paused, then nodded. “Lounge.” he said gruffly, leading the way. Once there, he dragged over a beanbag chair and settled into it comfortably, leaving the couch to the former Decepticon.

“To begin, I must ask how much you know about the Autobots and Decepticons as a whole, as well as how much you know and understand the political and social climate of the Golden Age.” Dreadwing stated.

Heatwave frowned. “I know what you told us when you first arrived.” he said, tilting his head. “I also know that the Autobot’s end goal is the restoration of Cybertron and the revival of our race. I know the Decepticons want to take control and lead Cybertron by force, and that their end goal is to put ‘Cons in charge and remove lots of freedom from bots under their rule.” he said. He crossed his arms, staring at a point on the floor as he tried to think. “I know that the Senate used to rule Cybertron during the Golden Age, and that they weren’t very fair and a lot of bots suffered, and that some of their regulations and punishments were extreme.” he tilted his head. “I know the caste system made the bots in the lower castes struggle a lot.” he seemed almost ashamed at this point. “I….I never paid the most attention to that, though. I was in the upper-middle caste, and my Function was something I already wanted to do.”

“Rescue work.” Dreadwing guessed.

The firetruck nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted.

“Then you know much of the very basics, though your knowledge lacks in the complexity and finer details of the full scope of the situation.” he rumbled. “You are correct. The Autobots fight for a restored Cybertron. But your knowledge of the Decepticons is…not entirely accurate.”

Heatwave’s engine growled with displeasure as he just grew more helplessly confused. “What?”

“The Decepticons do seek control, and they do seek to rule over Cybertron. That is true. It is also true that their goal is to see to the destruction of the Autobots. But it wasn’t always so.”

“Yeah, you mentioned they started as a social revolution.” Heatwave said, starting to calm down once he realized he’d be getting his answers, and without all the vagueness that came from Optimus whenever he tried to ask the Prime about the War.

“They did. But Megatron not rise from nothing, as the Autobots are so fond of believing. He rose from foundations that were already very deeply rooted. Functionism was a plague and the caste system was a rot that had sunk deep into the very core of our world.” he said, voice soft and somber. “It was a rot that infected only the oppressed and the beaten; it affected the lower castes and the undesirables, and those who lived comfortably in the higher castes did not feel the affects of it.”

“Undesirables?” Heatwave echoed, confused.

“Bots who did not fit into the world the Senate wished to portray. They wanted a Cybertron where every bot had a singular Function and operated according to that Function and ONLY according to that Function. They wanted a world where all those who were not of the Senate were subservient to them and obeyed them without question. They wanted a world that operated under the beliefs and celebrations and social structure they approved of. Those who did not fit into that world, and who could not fit into that world, were deemed undesirable.” He cast the youngling a meaningful look. “For the Senate, that included flight-frames. It is why they were so eager to see the spread of anti-flyer sentiments, to confine flyers, whether they were Seekers or not, to a single city. Flight-frames have a different base coding to ground-frames, and the Senate were all ground-frames. In their optics, flight-frames were a danger to their rule because flyers, by the nature of our frames, do not fit seamlessly into a Functionist society.” he paused. “It certainly did not help that the social structure, belief system, and cultural behavior of flight-frames was radically different to that of ground-frames, and that it was radically different to what the Senate was trying to enforce.”

Heatwave was silent for a long moment, considering what he was told. “But…you said the caste system was a rot. What did you mean?”

Dreadwing hummed, his fingers tapping a pattern on the couch; it was a very human gesture, one he had picked up from the Burnses without even realizing it. He had to word this carefully. Not because he wanted to manipulate the younger bot, but because it was a complex situation and a rather unpleasant one. “You said we’re were of the upper-middle caste.” he said carefully. “And that fits with your frame type and your Function. But have you never thought about the types of bots that fill each level of the caste system?” he asked.

Heatwave furrowed his optical ridges, shaking his helm. “No…” he said slowly. “I know…I know artists were considered among the lowest tier of the high castes. I know scientists and medics were high caste, and that the only bots above them were politicians.” he said.

Dreadwing smiled faintly. The young bot was starting to understand on his own. “Indeed. But those bots only made up a minority of Cybertron’s population. What of the others? What of the common laborers?”

“You mean, like, cleaners and construction bots? You’re right, they were more common than scientists, medics, or artists.” he said. “Like Boulder. He was originally a construction bot.”

He nodded. “They were indeed more common. But what caste did the Senate assign to them?”

“The…the lower caste.” Understanding was starting to bloom in Heatwave’s optics. “The lowest caste, for most of the laborer frames.” he realized. “That means…Boulder was from the lower castes.”

Dreadwing hummed agreement. “He was. If you wish to know more, then you shall have to ask him yourself. It is not my place to tell you what he experienced.” He sighed heavily. “But I will tell you that the lower castes, the bots who made up the majority of our people, did not often lead pleasant lives. They received little pay for their work, could not often afford decent fuel, if they could afford any fuel, and most of their pay would have to go to maintaining their living space. It oft left them overtired, overworked, and very, very hungry. It did not help that many of them had dangerous Functions, dangerous jobs, and after paying for their living quarters and fuel, they did not have the shanix for medical care. It meant the lower castes were forced to choose between their need for fuel and their health.”

Heatwave swallowed, his optics blown wide. “Oh.” he whispered. “But…why didn’t they do anything?”

Dreadwing looked almost melancholic at his question. “Most of the lower castes simply did not have the time or energy to fight against it. They were too tired, too hungry, to injured or sick, and were forced to focus purely on their own survival.” he stated. “And those few that did try to speak up…” he trailed off. “The Senate was not kind to dissenters, little one. If they did not use empurata on those who protested their systems, they used other means of punishment and silencing.” his tone was grim.

Heatwave chose not to ask what those “other means” were. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know. “It…it was really that bad?”

The Seeker bowed his helm. “Ask Boulder or Blades. They would know the best of your teammates.” Though, he had his suspicions about the means of Chase’s creation, and if he was right then the police bot might also know how bad the Senate could be.

“Boulder, I get. But why Blades?”

“The little flyer once told me that one of his brothers was a flight-frame. He would not have experienced the cruelty directly, as he was a ground-frame on Cybertron, but he would doubtless have experienced or seen it through his brother.”

“Oh.” Heatwave was starting to get the feeling that he didn’t know as much about his team as he thought he did. He really needed to fix that. “I guess I understand why the Decepticons rose to quickly then, if things were really that bad for so long.”

“Indeed.” Dreadwing agreed. “But there is one more thing you must understand.”

“Which is?” Heatwave was feeling a little sick to his tanks. He hadn’t been aware the situation on Cybertron had been so bad, but then again, he’d lived a good life. He’d had all the fuel he needed, he never worried about his health or safety, his living situation was pretty much always assured, and he actually enjoyed working according to his Function. He wouldn’t have experienced the rot Dreadwing mentioned, so it only made sense he wasn’t entirely aware of it. That didn’t get rid of the guilt, though.

“The Decepticons are made up almost entirely of flight-frames and those of lower castes. There are certainly some of those among Autobot forces, but the grand majority of them are Decepticon.” Dreadwing pinned Heatwave under a severe look. “What does that tell you, little one?”

“It tells me that the Autobots are mostly ground-frames and bots from the middle and upper castes.” he answered, suddenly understanding the War in a whole new light. It certainly didn’t excuse what the Decepticons had done, but now this…this made it a lot easier to understand.

“Indeed.” he agreed. “The Decepticons originally rose on the backs of bots who were beaten down and had little else to lose, bots whose only crime was to want a better life.” he said. “When the Senate, and later the original Autobots before Optimus Prime, attempted to beat them back down to their “proper place”, they fought back for the freedom that should have always been theirs.” His gaze went distant, as if remembering something from long ago. “The Decepticons were originally a freedom movement, little one. It was only as time wore on and the spilled energon between the factions soured that they lost their way and forget their original mission.”

“And now?”

“Now, because so many Autobots are ground-frame or originated from the higher castes, they do not understand why their enemy continue to fight. Certainly, many Decepticons fight because they wish to destroy the Autobots, but there are many, many more who only fight because they fear that an Autobot victory means a return to the ways of the Golden Age. It is something that Prime and his bots simply do not, and perhaps never will, understand.”

“So most of the Autobots…they weren’t bots who were hurt by the Senate.”

“No.” Dreadwing agreed. “Prime’s team on Earth is a good example. Prime himself is formerly of the lower-high caste, as he was a former Archivist. His scout was upper-middle caste, and while he was too young to receive his Function at the start of the War he would very easily have made a successful racer. The femme-bot was an Enforcer, also considered upper-middle caste. And of course, the medic. Ratchet was famed, even before the War.” The Seeker smiled sardonically. “He was quite firmly in the highest castes. All of them operated according to their Function, and all of them were content with it.” He tilted his head. “The only bot on Prime’s own team who does not fit that mold is his Wrecker, who was once a construction bot. He is the only one who might truly understand.”

Heatwave nodded, looking own at his lap. “I think I get it now. This war…it’s not going to end until the Autobots understand that stuff, is it? Because they won’t understand why most of the Decepticons keep fighting, why they started fighting in the first place.” he said, looking up to meet red optics.

“Yes. You’re very intelligent, little one. You learn fast.” Dreadwing slumped slightly, releasing a heavy vent. “You are correct. So long as the Autobots do not understand, then the Decepticons, at least those who only fight out of a fear of a return to the old ways, will never stop what they are doing.”

“You really know a lot about this stuff.”

“I am a Seeker, Heatwave. I experienced much of the Senate’s cruelty directly, as did most of my frame-kin.”

The Rescue Bot nodded, subdued. Now he understood. A part of him wished he didn’t, but he was glad he did. He sighed, meeting Dreadwing’s gaze again. “I think I owe you an apology, then. I judged you based on incomplete information.”

Dreadwing bowed his helm. “Thank you, little one. As I said, I certainly committed horrible acts, and I can never undo what I have done, but now I only make to make amends as I move forward.”

Heatwave nodded, smirking and straightening up. “I think you can. And lucky for you, we’re here to help.” he said.

Dreadwing blinked, before he chuckled, his wings lifting as the mood brightened. “So you are. Thank you, youngling.”

“We’re Rescue Bots.” Heatwave grinned. “Helping others is what we do.”

“So it is.” He agreed, looking amused. “And perhaps, I can also help you?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Me? How?”

“I have noticed you practicing with your sparring post. Your form is acceptable, and I am aware that the Rescue Force trained its Teams to have combat abilities, but I can help you improve. Your current skills will help you fight if a rescue mission were to go wrong, but if you wish, then I can help expand and improve your combat capability even beyond that.”

Heatwave blinked. “You’ll teach me how to fight.” he stated.

“I would be glad to, if you wish to learn. There may come a day when you must fight a true enemy, and if that day comes then greater combat skill may be helpful.” Dreadwing pointed out.

Heatwave narrowed his optics, considering the unsaid implications of that statement. “…you think the War might come to us.”

“Perhaps.” he said grimly. “I pray that it does not, but in the event it does I think it is better that you are prepared to fight against an enemy who truly wishes to see your spark go out.”

He nodded, gaze firming. The others would need lessons too, in that case. The Rescue Force did teach them all basic combat, in the event that they needed to fight off anything that might be threatening whoever or whatever they were rescuing, but their combat training had been pretty basic. If Dreadwing was right, and there was a possibility of Sigma-17 one day facing an opponent that wanted them dead, then they’d need to shape up. He stood, hands curling into fists as his shoulders lifted and determination burned in his spark. He stared the Seeker in the optics.

“Let’s do it.”

Dreadwing stood, a faint smile curling at his lips, and clapped a hand on the youngling’s shoulder. “I look forward to it.” he said, a hint of pride in his tone. Heatwave was so very young, but already he was shaping up to be a fine mech, a fine leader.

Heatwave himself only grinned, blue optics bright. “So do I.”

He’d learned a lot today. Not all of it had been pleasant, and a distinctly unpleasant feeling still curled in his tanks, but he was glad to learn what he had. The past was dark and violent, he’d come to realize. Cybertron’s history was steeped in shadows and darkness and Heatwave was certain that he still didn’t know everything, that Dreadwing had certainly omitted many of the worst of the details. Given all that, he really couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised that the War had happened.

Now though, wasn’t the time to focus on the past. Not Cybertron’s past, and not on Dreadwing’s past either. He tilted his helm up to turn his grin on the larger bot, leaning his weight into the hand on his shoulder and enjoying the small physical contact. Yes, he decided. Dreadwing’s past didn’t matter, not here. All that mattered was what was to come, and Heatwave was determined to meet whatever the future held for them head on.

For himself, and for his newfound family — all of them, even its newest addition.

———————————————————————————————————

Here it is, folks! The next installment in “of moments in life”! This one goes a little deeper into Pre-War Cybertron’s social/political climate. Heatwave got a massive reality check. He was sorta privileged, by the standards of the Golden Age, and he’s being forced to realize what that meant and what it blinded him to. Poor youngling, his entire worldview just got rocked.

As for Dreadwing, he now has another son! The next installment will be tHe Blades and Dreadwing one. It’s gonna be sad. They’re gonna talk about their brothers. That’s all I’ll say! I have prompts fo write for before I can get to it, so it’ll be a bit, but stay tuned, it’ll come out! Anyway, hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts!

Until next time, folks!