#anyway this game feels like three different ones had to get stitched together with fabric glue

[thebookworm0001]

I have some thoughts about why some of veilguard’s writing is the way it is and it comes down to development hell and corporate meddling which is perhaps too generous for some problems but also feels right for a Lot of the things I think

Thoughts in the tags

[peralta-guaranteed]

Would you do any early peraltiago just hanging out being all new and scary but also comfortable and defintly end game.

Two weeks.

It's been two weeks since that chaos of a first date.

And, okay, he has to admit he doesn't have many relationships that ever passed that timemark to compare it to, but he's pretty sure none of the few who did ever felt like this. Or went to this level after less than fifteen days.

Amy was already in her pyjamas as she opened the door for him when he knocked on it after his shift, and he quickly shed his jeans and flannel for the comfort of shirts and boxers while she divided up the take away he brought on their plates. They'd chatted about their days at work, as if they hadn't sat across from each other when everything happened anyway, and Amy excitedly told him that the new book she'd been waiting on had finally come in the mail today, so that's what she pulled out when they settled on the couch and started the tv up. Her plate perched on her thighs as she scooched back on the cushions and started reading, and he was sure she didn't even notice half of the food she was shovelling into her mouth as her eyes stayed glued to the pages, so he kept a few bites of all the dishes on his plate to the side in case she'd later complain about not getting 'that perfect gyoza bite' she'd been craving all day.

And then the silence had started.

Well, it wasn't exactly silence. The tv was running some property show, and his phone would occasionally bling with a new message or twitter notification, and Amy had this habit of scratching along the pages every time she turned them. But it was quiet.

And quiet wasn't good, not in his mind. Quiet meant the suppressed rage after an unfinished fight hanging in the air, or soft sobs from another room while the cartoon laugh track from the tv tried to distract him. Quiet meant 'I'm done', in every bad sense of that phrase.

Quiet made him want to fill the empty space with as much noise as he could to drown it out.

But he knew how much Amy hated to be interrupted while reading. And what would be even worse than quiet would be her fiery stare up from those pages she was lost in, that piercing look that made him tremble long before they were even friends, when he'd receive it a lot more.

So he'd stayed quiet, too, set his attention to the new house the tv was currently showing and how absolutely horrid it was for that price range, while his mind worked overtime to convince him that maybe quiet wasn't so bad.

Quiet could be comfortable. There was no need for chatter between them anymore, and thinking back, it hadn't been needed for quite a while even before those two amazing weeks. They could sit and just be, enjoy each other's presence while doing their own thing, sometimes breaking through with a little Hey or a nod and a showing of a phone screen, or even the soft touch of fingers on arms to get the other's attention.

Amy's feet shuffle against him as if to prove that point, while she puts her finished plate on the side table without taking her eyes off of the book. He lifts them up when they hit his thigh, stretching her legs out straight across his lap and hearing the involuntary sigh of relief as her muscles unclench. She turns another page as his hands wrap around the fuzzy warm socks, press into the arch of them and start massaging.

Quiet can be good. Quiet lets him hear the soft noises she makes with every new press of his thumbs, sounds she herself probably doesn't hear. He knows them well from lying next to her in bed, when she's deep asleep and starting her little routine of whistles and peeps that are too adorable to be described.

Two weeks, and he recognises the sounds of her sleeping better than some police codes he's been learning for almost a decade. Two weeks, and they're just sitting there in silence, a whole evening spent on nothing but being together.

He looks up from her fuzzy feet to her face, still deep in the world of her book. At her usually perfect ponytail turned into a messy bun, no trace of makeup on her face, her lips being chewed on while she seems to hit a very tense part of the story. The light brown stain on the shoulder of her NYPD sweatshirt that he knows is from some coffee from ages ago and that she's been fighting to get out, but it's probably burned into the very DNA of the shirt by now. The soft curve of the thick fabric around her - knowing all about the even softer curves that hide underneath it too - down to that little tear in the side-stitch of her yoga pants, turning them from actual workout clothes into sleepwear.

No one, he thinks, not at two weeks or any other time frame, has seen her like this. Her family, maybe, parts of it - she wouldn't dare wear broken or dirty clothes in front of her mom, that he knows for sure.

She looks so beautiful without any pretense, he thinks. And something else, something that's been stuck in his throat for two weeks and needs to be swallowed down a whole lot longer if he wants to make this work.

Three little words that absolutely terrify him.

He’s not Rosa. He’s said it to more than just three people.

But not that many more.

His Nana and mom, of course, got to hear it a lot. Gina too, even though she sometimes rolled her eyes at it and scoffed. Charles, in a buddybuddy way. He’s dropped it as a joke or an oversimplification a lot, but that’s different, isn’t it? That’s not what it really means, when you say them like that, like a single statement.

Claire, the clever girl from NYU he met during his academy training, who Gina later ‘ruined financially and emotionally’ when they figured out she’d been cheating on him pretty much the entire relationship.

Sofia.

He knows now that that one maybe doesn’t count, either. It had felt wrong the second it had left his lips, even as he repeated it. It wasn’t really a feeling - it was a sense of panic, realising that things were going wrong, things were breaking, and he had to fix it, stop it, patch it up somehow, and the only thing he could think of was that. But it wasn’t true. That’s not how it was supposed to feel.

This. This, he thinks as he looks at Amy’s tongue slip out just a tad as she turns another page, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Like lying in a warm bath, feeling the water slip over your face as you slide under completely, every bit of your skin being heated. Like the complete absence of nerves, feeling like you could fall back at any second, because there’s always, without question, someone there to hold you up. Like that excited glimmer of joy in your chest, feeling like you’re embarking on a journey you’ve been planning for ages when all you’re doing is seeing someone you see almost every day.

I love you, he thinks and swallows it down quickly again. I love you and it’s crazy, it shouldn’t make sense, it’s been two weeks and also five years and also forever. I love you and I didn’t think this is what it feels like, I didn’t know it, I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel it like this. I love you and I know that is never going to change and I know there’ll never be anyone else, but if I say it now it will break and the quiet won’t be comfortable anymore. It will just be deafening.

-*-

She doesn’t consciously notice him starting to massage her feet - something that’s become too much of a wonderful constant already to be acknowledged every time - but she does notice when he stops.

She looks up, then, and notices Jake is staring at her with half-lidded eyes and a smile on his face, a smile that’s so soft and, as of yet, still slightly unfamiliar to her. She knows his grin too well, remembers all his guffaws, even knows about his truly excited smile, and by now also the soft turn of lips reserved for his mom and Gina sometimes, but this smile is still so new.

She doesn’t think anyone but her has ever seen it, either.

A realisation that makes her heart leap, then, completely pulled from the fantasy world of the book she’d been diving into back to reality. A glorious reality, really. Sitting here with Jake, her feet on his boxers, his soft cotton shirt clinging to his shoulders while his fingers press into her skin. That smile on his face, the smile for her, only for her.

Two weeks, and now that she thinks back, she’s seen that smile every day. Hitting her like a sledgehammer during her awkward stammers at the first few dates, making her stumble while walking through Central Park hand in hand. Caught in a funny selfie of them in front of some weird statues they found there.

They’d quickly shed the date-routine of outside and traded it for the comfort of their homes, though, and she’d excused it with the fact that they were more often than not exhausted from work, and spending time together was just easier in PJs and with trashfood than planning an outfit for a fancy restaurant. But maybe it was something else, too, something that didn’t need all the extravagance and facade of special dates. Something comfortable and sheltering and good.

Still, it maybe shouldn’t dissolve into completely ignoring him in favor of some stupid book.

“I can finish this some other time.” She says, softly, and watches the smile slowly fade from his face. “If you want to chat?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, but also climbs over to settle against her side, his arms around her ribs and his head fitting perfectly into the curve of her shoulder, and that’s a mixed message if she’s ever seen one. “Keep reading. You’ve been waiting for that book for weeks.”

“It’s still gonna be here tomorrow.” And so will you, and the day after that, and the day after, and hopefully forever, she thinks, but she knows what’s more important as her fingers start carding through his hair.

“Read, Santiago.” He mumbles in a deep voice, and it makes her laugh, but she does reopen the book she’s been holding closed with one finger slipped in between the pages.

And so she continues, only half diving back into her fantasy world, the other half firmly locked in place by his hands sliding up and down her waist, his breath trailing over her skin down into the opening of her sweatshirt, his warmth radiating from her side all over her.

She can feel his warmth growing, and the breath calming, slipping down into that soft rhythm she knows well from her bedroom as his hands still. And when she looks down next, Jake’s eyes are closed, his face gone slack and his mouth open in a little pout as he starts those little rumbling sounds from his throat that she knows mean he’s far, far gone already.

She’s seen him asleep before their two weeks together, all balled up on the break room couch after a few overnighters, slumped into a chair or spread out over the uncomfy single bed in their stakeout holeout. She’s always been fascinated about this over-animated, noisy creature turning all soft and pliable and calm, his face morphing into an even younger impression of himself, if that’s even possible for a baby-faced adult like him. But it hits differently when it’s so much closer, when she knows she can make his eyebrows scrunch up and slacken again with her fingers scratching behind his ear.

They’ve only had two weeks, and she already knows aspects of him she never knew existed. She’s seen him at his best and his worst, and found both sides perfect.

Two weeks with anyone else, and they’d often not even seen her apartment yet. Two weeks, and she was still dressing up in outfits she didn’t even think about in her normal life, watching makeup tutorials online to perfect a smokey eye, making sure not to whine too much about her day at work and check off those interesting talking points she’d mentally collected instead while they ordered at whatever nice restaurant she’d picked for them.

Yet here she is, two weeks in, in the most ratty outfit she could find, her hair in desperate need of a wash and the feeling of a pimple making itself known on her chin, Jake in his shirt and boxers pressed against her side, softly snoring after the tough day they’ve both had.

She wonders why it feels so different, and yet not wrong at all, from all the other relationships she’s had to this point.

Maybe because it’s not as new as they make it out to be. Sure, their official relationship started almost exactly two weeks ago, but everything they have started so much earlier.

He was there when she created the coffee stain on her sweatshirt, dropping her head down with a grown on her table after they’d gone over the possible alibis after hours at her place for the hundredth time. He’d poked his finger into the tear on her yoga pants after a Sergeant-mandated work out with a laugh before she’d even noticed it herself. He’s held her hair back in even grodier states while she was kneeling over a toilet at Shaw’s, glad for their unisex approach for the dinky, dirty little closet they called WC that meant he could follow her when she stormed off from the bar.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel nearly as freaked out or anxious about their settling of the relationship as she would have if it happened with anyone else. He was already settled into her life, a comforting constant she could rely on. It wasn’t much of a leap from that kind of partnership to a romantic one, she reasons, obviously it would need less of an adjustment time.

And maybe that was just one of the reasons why it felt so right. Maybe there was something else, too, bubbling up her throat and slipping out into the safety of their silence right now, with him deep asleep on her.

“I love you.” She whispers, and she knows she’ll have to wait a lot longer to say that to his conscious self. She knows he’s difficult with emotions, and closes up faster than any wild clam if threatened with ‘seriousness’. And she also knows, with a twinge to her heart, that he has more than valid reasons for that - that he’s barely ever heard or said those words without them immediately crumbling in his hands.

“I love you.” She repeats, carding through his hair one more time to a soft sigh from him. “And it’s safe. I promise. It’s safe with me.”

His head turns, digs a little deeper into her shoulder, and while she knows she shouldn’t tell him yet if she wants this to work, she hopes he hears it at least a little bit. That it settles into his mind while he sleeps, makes him feel as comfortable and sure as she feels whenever she’s with him. Makes it a little easier for him to take that step and say it back some day, when she dares to try it out loud for real.

Whenever that is, she’ll be there. It’ll be worth waiting for, she knows, just to hear it again and again after that.

Hopefully for the rest of their lives.

[bonteris]

hold on, i still want you.

redcrackle through the years through carmen’s eyes + the ending we deserved :)

The first time they meet, she’s still Black Sheep and he’s still Gray, and she nearly breaks his neck pulling him over the back of the chair he’s sitting on.

Coach Brunt is initiating the newest class of students, and for the first time, Black Sheep is among them. She’s a few years behind them, and already a head shorter than half the people in the room, so she opts to sit under the cover of darkness in the back and pretend she’s new like everyone else.

Then Coach Brunt announces that they’ll have to earn their codenames, and her gaze turns to Black Sheep. “Ain’t that right, Lambkins?”

Any hope of going unnoticed turns null as forty heads swivel in their seats and eighty eyes scrutinize her. Her insides turn to slush and she sinks deep into her seat.

“Lambkins?” the boy in front of her scoffs. “Who knew VILE had a mascot?”

Indignation moves Black Sheep’s arms for her, and before the kid can even try turning back around, she has her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. In the first second, she sees his eyes widen with surprise. In the next, his head is only a few inches above the floor and she’s glaring down at him.

“Only my friends call me ‘Lambkins’,” she snaps. “My code name’s Black Sheep. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

By the time she’s finished, he’s nodding vigorously, and she feels certain she’s established a healthy bit of dominance over the class. Coach Brunt laughs, moves on, and she forgets about the kid, whose name she still doesn't know. Why shouldn’t she? He’s just another reminder of how different she is to everyone here.

She’s settling into her dorm when she hears footsteps behind her. It’s the boy from earlier, sheepishly running a hand through his muted brown hair. He holds out a hand, wincing. Out of the dark initiation hall, she can see he has two dimples that widen when he smiles. Now they seem to burrow into his cheeks. “Uh, Black Sheep, was it? The name’s Graham.”

She studies him, wondering if this is another joke. But any response she might make is cut off by another girl—Sheena, she thinks her name is?—standing by her dolls. “This where you hide your pearls, little girl?”

Black Sheep instantly stiffens. “Please don’t touch my stuff,” she says, careful to keep her voice calm but firm. Her hand curls into a fist involuntarily, but she can’t help it. She doesn’t let anyone near the nesting dolls that came with her to VILE. Anger pricks at her fingers, daring her to throw the first punch.

“What, these?” Sheena replies innocently. Her hand lingers dangerously close to the dolls now, and she knows it.

“I said,” Black Sheep starts, voice low, “keep your paws off.”

The blonde’s smile deepens, eyebrows slanting with the glee of someone who knows they’ve got leverage. Black Sheep readies her stance. She’s better than half the class already; she can take her easily.

Surprisingly, it’s Gray who cuts in, subtly pushing Black Sheep behind him. For a second she wants to barge forward, but then she realizes: he’s placating Sheena, distracting her from Black Sheep’s obvious aggression. “Play nice, princess,” he says, and though his voice is cheerful, the warning is clear. “We all have to room together.”

Sheena mutters something and walks away, but Black Sheep watches Gray. As if he can sense her, he turns, smiling, and flashes her a wink that says, Friends?

Black Sheep smiles back. Friends.

Over the next few months, she and Gray become inseparable. He’s there when they start their first classes together, and he’s there when she aces all of them. He’s there when introduces him to her monthly pranks on Cookie Booker and drags along the others to join them, and he’s there when they get caught. She’s there to see him reinvent himself in Crackle, and she’s there when he passes… without her.

And then, suddenly, he’s gone.

Black Sheep spends most of her time alone now, and she hates every second of it. She hates Shadowsan for failing her, because she knows, she knows, she knows that coat was empty. Tigress isn’t better than her. No one is.

So she follows them. Leaves the globe she grew up with under her pillow in place of her head, yanks the sewage door from its hinges and stows away in the helicopter’s closet. They’re not going to see the world and leave her behind to be failed by Shadowsan, again. He doesn’t get to do what she can’t.

She likes the surprise on his face when he sees her barrelling towards him out of the shadows. It glints brighter than the stars around them as they go sprawling over the side of the helicopter and down towards the ground below.

“Black Sheep?” he yells over the sound of the wind in their ears.

She clutches him tighter. “Don’t let go!”

It’s there, in the ruins at Morocco, that she realizes what stealing really means. It’s there she watches him raise his weapon and aim for an innocent man. It’s there she realizes what kind of person he is, what he’s willing to do.

But all she sees on his face is determination, and the knowing look that comes right before you’re surrounded, and then the Cleaners are behind her.

All of her former friends look angry. Le Cheve and El Topo’s faces are taut with annoyance. Tigress adjusts her now-broken scanner, glaring. But not him. No, Crackle—that’s who he is now—just looks sad. Pitying. She hates him for it.

I will never forgive you, she thinks as his face drags her down into the dark.

...

The second time they meet, she’s now Carmen Sandiego, and she’s just escaped the smarmy Interpol agent she left face down against his own car, still struggling to get up. The high that comes from outsmarting VILE is still following her, and she smiles as she opens the door to the cabin Player booked for her. “First class? Sweet.”

“My treat, Red,” he says through her earpiece. “You earned it.”

Carmen sets her bag down and takes out the black-fabric satchel inside, not wanting to break anything. She’s just about to open it and revel in her prize when she hears the doors slide open behind her.

“Well, well.” Carmen straightens at the familiar voice, turning.

Gray looks exactly as he did when she last saw him—give or take a few years. But the smirk he gives her is all boyish charm as he says, “Blast from the past, eh?”

He shoots the bag out of her hand and it falls to the floor. But Carmen refuses to let any emotion show; she won’t let him see how nervous that makes her. “Dude, seriously? Static cling?”

“Side effect of the directional EMP,” he responds smoothly. “So you can forget about reaching for your phone or fancy toys. They’re dead.”

Resentment shoots through her. “I know how an electromagnetic pulse works, Gray. You aren’t the only one who passed Dr. Bellum’s class.” The satisfaction she gets from seeing his jaw work when she calls him Gray is fleeting, but she keeps it close as she sits, gesturing for him to do the same.

“And you didn’t really think I’d take any of your bait without checking for a tracking device, did you, Gray?” The shock that comes over his face is completely real, and Carmen grins. “That’s right. I wanted you to find me.”

She doesn’t say any of the things she’s been dreaming about for years, such as (but not limited to) How could you almost kill someone? How could you think this is all a game? How could you be okay with hurting others?

How could you be okay with hurting me?

But if these last three years have taught her anything, it’s patience, so she lets him ask her questions, all the while gloating that he’s caught the elusive Carmen Sandiego. She winds him up, allowing him to think he’s won this round.

When she’s finished recounting where she’s been, his face softens. “We miss you, Black Sheep. VILE wants a truce.”

The way he won’t call her Carmen grates on her nerves. “They want me stealing for them, instead of from them,” she counters.

Unbothered, he taps the crackle rod absently. “You’ve proven yourself. It’s all you ever wanted, isn’t it?”

Isn’t it?

Maybe once, but not now. Not when she knows what stealing can do to others, what it can take. He still doesn’t see. Maybe he never will. Maybe all they’ll ever be is two people on two different sides of a war.

She leaves him wrapped in Cookie’s coat (it was high time she got one that didn’t stink of crime, anyways) and breaks the rod. The Interpol agent will come after her soon, so she might as well leave a mark.

Goodbye, Gray, she thinks as she watches the officer realize it’s not her underneath the hat. Then she disappears into the night, leaving the last of her connection to him behind.

...

The third time they meet, a few months have passed, and she’s in Sydney, scouting the Opera House that Dr. Bellum is supposed to be targeting. The intel Player has sent from the files she got him has been impeccable so far, but she has no idea what Bellum is planning tonight. Carmen feels blinded. Nervous.

“Nothing suspicious so far,” she tells Player under her breath, pushing back the plush crimson curtain so she can get a better view of the stage. “If a VILE operative’s here, they have yet to show their face.”

“You there!” someone yells. Carmen jerks to attention, lowering her opera glasses long enough to look up and see him. Gray.

“Scratch that,” she says automatically, surveying him. He’s in an electrician’s uniform, the kind someone working in an opera just like this would wear—some kind of disguise? A cover the faculty created?

Gray looks her up and down, mouth set in a hard line. “What are you doing back here?”

Carmen frowns. “You first.”

That seems to confuse him. She watches his face switch from shocked, to dumbstruck, then to angered until he finally says, “What? I’m working.”

“I know,” she deadpans. “‘Lights out, baby’? Come on, Gray. What job are you pulling tonight?”

The anger has bled from his face, but now he looks oddly… not-evil? She can’t place it. Her bewilderment only grows as he points to the name tag stitched to his uniform. “First, it’s Gray-ham, and second, since electricians don’t seem to intimidate you, I’ll be more than happy to have security escort you out.”

“Wait, what?” Carmen asks. “You don’t expect me to believe this innocent act, do you?”

He reaches forward and takes her arm, grip surprisingly strong for someone who relies so much on tech. Carmen is too surprised to do anything but be dragged along. “No wristband, no backstage access,” Gray informs her as they walk. “I don’t make the rules.”

She gives him an appraising look as they round a corner. “You really don’t remember me.”

It’s only half questioning, but he stops and examines her anyway, dimples amplified in the shadowed corridor. “Fashion statement aside, mate, you’d be hard to forget. If there is a next time, I promise not to make that mistake again.”

Flattery, she thinks, full of wonder. Or… flirting?

“Guess you just, uh, remind me of someone I used to know,” she lies weakly, but he seems to believe it.

They reach the door, and he says goodbye, and the door almost shuts, but she races through it as he walks away, head reeling. Le Chevre arrives, they fight (she wins) and all is well.

Except.

When she doesn’t see him exiting with everyone else, Carmen scours the famous Opera House’s grounds until she spots him in the distance. She lands her glider before he can notice it, but the moment her heels hit the ground he turns and smiles. “Hey, I remember you. Ol’ Red Sneakeroo.”

“Good memory,” she says lightly, trying not to think of how strange this all is. He doesn’t remember her. She remembers the best of him. They’re at an impasse, but he’s unaware. It’s odd, being the only one who knows the whole story. Carmen isn’t sure she likes it.

“Not really,” he sighs, and for a second he looks so impossibly sad she’s not sure what to say for once. Then it passes, and his eyes are back on hers. “So, looking to get backstage for an autograph?”

The corners of her mouth tug upwards. “No. To the outback for some sightseeing. Thought you could be my guide.”

“I wish,” he says regretfully, taking out a slip of paper to write something down. “Something fried the soundboard tonight. I have to pull an early morning shift to troubleshoot.”

Le Chevre, she thinks, annoyance lancing through her, but tamps it down. “You mentioned having a bad memory. Why is that?”

For the first time since they’ve spoken today, he falters. The pen slips in his hand. “Well, I—I kind of messed up on the job a while back, got a little ‘jolt’, as we sparkies say. Complete blackout, long hospital stay, blah, blah.” He laughs ruefully. “There’s more than an entire year of my life I can’t remember.”

“A whole year,” she marvels. That’s enough time for her to be gone. That’s enough time for VILE to be gone.

He’s still talking. “I’d say I’m lucky to have my job back, if ‘electrician’ weren’t such a dangerous occupation.”

“Oh, I can think of worse ones,” Carmen quips. He finishes writing and hands her the slip of paper. “Is this the address of an outback guide?”

“A good guide’s easy to find online. This is the address of my favorite café in Sydney. I’ll be there Friday night at 8 p.m. You?”

Carmen ignores the ache in her chest. She has him back. The Gray from before. Her Gray. “Let’s see if I make it back from my tour in one piece.” She starts walking away.

“Hey!” he calls from behind her. “I never got your name!”

“Carmen,” she replies without looking back.

That Friday, at 8 p.m. on the dot, she stands across the street from the café written on the paper he gave her. The ache that formed in her chest the night she left him standing on the Opera House’s steps has widened to a crack. She has so many questions. So many things she wants to say. How is it fair that she gets to know everything about him, and he doesn’t? Who did this?

Even as she thinks it, she knows the answer: VILE. Carmen hates them for ruining him, molding him into a killer that she cannot believe he is at heart. It’s not him, not really.

Across the street, Gray looks up, eyes lighting up when he sees her.

She can’t do this.

So when the bus drives by, she lets it take her, too.

“I can’t let VILE see me with him,” she explains to Player, once she’s a healthy distance away. Her hood is over her head and her hands are shoved deep in her pockets. Her voice wavers. “But not for my safety, for his.”

“What? Why?” Player asks, confused.

The reality hits her like a kick to the stomach. “For whatever strange reason, Gray has a fresh start now. And having Carmen Sandiego back in his life would… only complicate that.”

Carmen shuts her eyes against the cool night air and imagines she’s back at school for the first time since she left Gray on that train. I’m sorry, Gray, she thinks as she watches him get up from his seat at the table and leave.

...

The fourth time they meet, she comes to him, and it’s because she needs help. A caper involving dangerous EMP technology is worrying her, and he’s the best person she knows for the job. But the idea of dragging him back into all of this is scarier than facing off with Coach Brunt again.

It’s a perfect day, cool and sunny, and Gray sits sipping a cup of coffee as he reads a book. His eyes flick up as she approaches, and a small smile forms on his mouth. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably, I hope.” She takes the fact that he hasn’t thrown his coffee at her as a sign that it’s safe to sit. “I’m sorry I stood you up, Gray.”

He holds up a finger. “Um, it’s—”

“Graham,” she finishes, sighing. She has to get used to calling him that. “Right. Look, I was called away on business at the last minute.”

At that, he puts the book down and turns to her. “What kind of business?”

“I run an international charity for abandoned children,” Carmen says. The lie slips past her lips easily. “In fact, that’s the reason I came to see you today.”

“Oh?” He says, angling his head the way he does whenever his interest is piqued. It’s somehow both familiar and completely foreign on his face.

“I am sponsoring a big fundraiser in Auckland, New Zealand, this week. Selections from Swan Lake.”

His face shows the barest hint of recognition. “Tchaikovsky. I’ve lit a few Russian ballets at the old Sydney Opera House.”

Carmen leans back. “Fortunately for me, our lighting technician dropped out, and I’m hoping you can help.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “On one condition.” She waits, and he points a playful finger. “You have that cuppa with me afterwards.”

Carmen raises a brow in answer. “I’ll have the foundation book you a flight.”

Things go well—she has VILE’s agent trapped and gets through the grids easily, thanks to Gray’s help. For a moment, she even imagines it’s like old times, her taking the lead and him backing her up. “Player, I’m warm. How’s the ballet?”

Then she hears Player’s voice in her ear. “On indefinite intermission. Our lighting tech walked.”

“What?” she hisses, voice low despite being the only one in the room.

“Zach and Ivy are combing the grounds for him,” Player says.

“Find him,” she says. “I’m too close to turn back now.” And too close to save him if they realize he’s involved, she thinks, but leaves that part out.

She makes it to the EMP sphere, hands hovering over the control panel, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Carmen?” Gray asks, bewildered, at the same time Bellum yells, “Sandiego!”

She doesn’t wait to see what Bellum has planned. Carmen runs.

“What kind of concert hall is this?” says Gray as they round the corner, him keeping up easily.

“Experimental!”

They hit another corner and a gaggle of VILE guards—Neal included—look their way. But Carmen has Gray behind her before any of them can even see there’s a second person there, and she shoots forward.

Neal effortlessly sidesteps her punches, sliding out of reach the harder she tries to hit. Carmen rears back, foot swinging up, but he has a hold on her shoulders before her foot can hit its mark. She thinks he says something, but the words start to muddle together as he pushes her head farther than it should go. Her breathing turns ragged. Carmen sags—

And is released. Neal’s body crumples to the floor next to her, and she looks up to see Gray, holding a crackle rod in two hands.

Fear spikes through her, hot and bright. Does he remember?

Then his face contorts with disgust and he tosses the rod. “You… don’t run a children’s charity.”

She smiles. “I’ll explain over that coffee.”

Together, they sabotage Bellum’s sphere and step off the platform, Gray holding tight to Carmen, who ejects her glider. She has a sudden memory of her being the one holding tight as they fell, Gray’s eyes on hers as the ground rushed up to meet them.

Now, she hugs him tight to her as the glider loses altitude. At the last second, it retracts from her back, and they go sprawling, her head hitting the ground hard.

When she comes to, Carmen looks around, panicked, and sees him lying a few feet from her, completely silent. The woods loom around them, shielding them from VILE’s eyes, but Carmen forgets everything at the thought of him being hurt. “Gray? Gray?”

His eyes crack open. “It’s—Graham.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been happier to hear him argue with her about something.

Later, they sit at the café he first mentioned, watching the opera house in the distance. Carmen likes the way the moon reflects off the water, a line of milky light that traces its way over the bay.

“Carmen, I have to know,” Gray confesses. “Are you a spy? Part of some kind of… secret service?”

She mulls over what to tell him for a moment. “I do provide a service, and it is secret, so… yeah, something like that.”

“But we are the good guys?” he asks cautiously.

The crack in her chest yawns open. There’s so much she wants to say. So much she wants to tell him. But would he listen? Would he care, if it turned that awful part of him back on, the part that nearly killed that man that night?

I will never forgive you.

“Absolutely,” she says, full of surety that she doesn’t feel.

Gray says something else, but she’s only half listening, and when he looks back, she’s gone. He laughs to himself, seemingly unbothered, but Carmen watches him get clear their table, wiping their meeting from the café’s memory.

I forgive you, she thinks, and though he wouldn’t understand, the crack in her chest closes over a little.

...

The fifth time they meet, she learns that he’s in Iceland from Player. He tells her the tab he’s kept on Gray was tipped off, and her heart does a little jump. It’s been so long since she last saw him. So long since they spoke. She misses the way his dimples deepen when he smiles, the way his head tilts to one side when he’s interested, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. But, still. Iceland. Player tells her he’s been arrested.

She tries working through what might have happened. That dangerous game of What If. What if VILE has found him? What if he’s reawoken some part of him… No. She won’t go there. Carmen refuses to hand him back to VILE, not when he’s been given a second chance.

When she gets there, it’s easy to remove him from their records, easy to read the file.

Easy to see he’s in jail because he robbed someone.

Her mouth tightens, but Carmen is too focused on getting him out, away, to do anything but continue on. Even when Devineaux arrives, oddly complacent considering the last time they spoke he was screaming at her as she ran away. (It seems that’s how most of their meetings go, nowadays.)

Gray sits in his cell, bent forward far enough that she can see the crease of his brows easily. He pinches his nose as if trying to remember something, and he almost looks like he’s going to cry.

Sharp as always, he hears her coming and looks up. “Carmen? How did you know I was here?”

I’m a spy, she thinks bitterly. And I can’t even keep you out of trouble. All I can do is watch.

What comes out instead is “All in good time, Gray. We need to get you out of there.”

She holds up the keys, dangling them for him to see, and he shakes his head fondly. “It’s Graham—” Then he cuts off, eyes widening. “Look out!”

It’s the cleaners. One’s hands snake around her arms to hold her in place, terribly familiar. She realizes that this—the cleaners knocking her out, Gray watching—is just a replay of that night in Morocco, and that thought forces her to bring her heel down, hard.

Instinct shoves the one holding her back, kicks the second in the chest. He spins back into the wall, and she raises her fists. She’s not losing this time. She refuses.

She staggers back and the room spins. Her hands close around the mop nearby and she levels it at the cleaners. She barely holds on to her consciousness as the world turns to a blur of red and grey. Carmen manages to fend them off, keeping her back to Gray, but before they can advance further, they get a call and retreat down the hall.

The mop clatters from her hand. “Carmen!” Gray pleads. “Are you okay? Do I know those guys? Who were they?”

“Guys who never leave before the job is done,” she says, voice paper-thin. She starts trying the locks, the sedative the cleaners gave her finally wearing off.

That’s when something cuts through the ceiling.

Gray scrambles back as a neon-green light slices through the stone. Carmen’s senses are still too slow, too slow, too slow, and Gray is stuck, and he’s yelling something that she can’t understand, and why aren’t these keys working?

The severed ceiling hits the ground with a thud, almost loud enough to conceal the metallic one that follows. But not loud enough.

The robot stands, surveying the scene before it with mechanical disinterest. Carmen’s hands move without her needing to think, flying over the lock as she tries key after key. Come on, Come on—

The robot takes Gray in one hand, ignoring his struggles. Carmen’s voice shakes, and she wonders if Gray understands why as she screams, “No!” She fires her cable towards him, but the robot catches it instantly, yanking her forward.

Pain explodes up Carmen’s arm. Nononononononono—

The cable is ripped from her hand, and Gray calls her name. There in one second, and then gone in the next.

Her voice is drowned out by the helicopter. I’m sorry, Gray, she thinks, but there’s only silence greeting her where he used to be.

...

The sixth time they meet, they’re in the Himalayas, at Bellum’s lab. She hates it here. Hates the way everything is so drained of life and color, so muted. Scrubbed of emotion. She sneaks past the robots, easily overtaking the guards, but her mind is elsewhere. Gray. What if he’s not the way she last saw him? What if he remembers? Worse, what if he doesn’t?

Carmen heaves against the door with all her might and it gives under the pressure. “Gray? We have to move.”

He doesn’t turn. “The name is—”

“Gray-ham,” she finishes, fondness bleeding into her voice against her better judgement. She’ll never get used to calling him that. “I know, I know.”

“No,” he says slowly, and stands. The click of a crackle rod being turned on registers in her mind, and Carmen’s confusion only deepens. Then she sees the look on his face, devoid of warmth, and dread starts to settle in her stomach. “It’s Crackle.”

Her mouth drops open, but she can’t bring herself to say anything. Didn’t she know this was coming? Didn’t she think over what she would say, hour after hour, because she knew at some point VILE might not want him to be so oblivious anymore?

She has no idea what to do.

“I assume you prefer I continue to call you ‘Carmen’?” he asks, raising the rod in her direction.

“Gray, no matter what they told you, you’re not that guy anymore,” she croaks.

His face, illuminated in the green light turns pitying. She remembers when he used to look like that. She remembers that night in Morocco, when the last thing she saw was his sad face before she was pulled into unconsciousness.

“But I am that guy,” Gray whispers, shaking his head. “I’ve always been that guy.”

Carmen can’t seem to make sense of this. Graham. Gray. Crackle. She’s losing him to VILE, and everything is muddy, and this is worse than Reykjavik because he’s choosing this, choosing them, and she can’t save him because he doesn’t want to, and—

“No,” Carmen says forcefully. “Sydney, the café, we’re the good guys, remember?”

He scoffs a little, but there’s no malice in it, just resignation. “When you finally had that cuppa with me.” Then his eyebrows furrow. “Being good only mattered to me because Bellum rewired my thinking, programmed me to be some sort of… innocent fool.”

“It’s never too late to change,” she insists.

He hasn’t lowered the rod, and somehow Carmen knows that he won’t hesitate to use it. “I’ve had time to reflect. Piece together the fragments. And there’s only one thing I’ve ever regretted doing for VILE.”

Carmen’s eyes flick from the rod to his. Suddenly, he powers it off.

“Trying to hurt you,” he whispers.

Her lip quivers, and she knows he sees it, because he continues before she can say anything in response. “I know you won’t come back to VILE. We’ve had that chat, on the train to Paris. But I’m begging you: give up trying to stop us, because I don’t ever want to be put in a position to hurt you again.”

The breath is gone from her lungs.

The hope is leeching from her.

She’s losing him.

Maybe he’s already lost.

“Then, apologies,” she says shortly, voice miraculously steady. “Because I won’t stop trying to take down VILE. Not ever.” Her hands tighten around the table. “And definitely not now.”

She holds up the fuse for him to see, and feels a terrible kind of satisfaction from seeing his eyes widen in realization as she presses it.

The bombs she set on her way in explode in a flurry of sparks and ash, and alarms start to ring before she’s even gotten up. Behind her, Gray pulls himself up, forward, face smeared with soot. Pain flashes across his face, but she doesn’t think it’s because of the rubble around him.

Despite the alarms ringing around them, when the words come out, they greet dead silence. “Goodbye, Gray.”

But all she can think is, Please forgive me.

...

The seventh time they meet, Carmen watches through someone else’s eyes as he smiles and flirts and acts as if everything is normal. Does he know? She wonders. Does he know I’m not in control?

She watches, as if underwater, as she takes and steals and moves on. She’s always been good at thievery, but with everything she’s learned since she left, she’s devastating once she’s fully on VILE’s side. Carmen pounds against the cage around her, but it only seems to get tighter the harder she tries to fight. A vice she’ll never be able to escape. A hold she’ll never be able to break.

She sees herself back with her old friends, not content but restless, wanting out of the easy life that’s been handed to her by the faculty. This Carmen wants a challenge, a fight. She relishes the way people resist when she comes after them. She sees only a chance to prove herself worthy in everything.

She watches this Carmen leave her friends. Watches her trick Zach into following her to the ferris wheel, the hope shining on his face. He thinks she has control. He thinks she needs his help.

She screams as she realizes why she’s brought Zach to the top of the wheel, the lights shutting off around them.

She pounds against the control they have over her as she lands a roundhouse on him so strong he barely manages to hang on to the ledge.

And as Carmen turns away from Zach’s sharp yell, she crumbles, unable to do anything about it.

She’s only half paying attention, huddled in a dark corner in her mind with her arms around her knees, drawn in tight, when she hears that familiar cry behind her.

Carmen’s eyes snap open and Gray’s shut and both of them struggle as he brings the device down on her head.

“Please come back,” he’s murmuring into her hair, even as her elbow digs into his gut, even as she slams the two of them back into the wall, even as she pulls him over her head and levels the rod, the device broken, control restored, even as she pulls off her gloves because she has to do this herself—

“You sold me out, Gray,” she hears herself say, voice gravelly with pain.

His hazel eyes widen. “No! I’m trying to help.”

Underwater, she’s underwater, she’s—

She raises the rod.

“It’s finger-print activated,” he says hoarsely. “It won’t work for you.”

“It’s finger-print activated. It won’t work for you.”

The memory hits her, unbidden. They’re standing in a train. She has the rod against his neck in warning. He’s watching her as if he’s never seen her before, because in a way, he hasn’t—Carmen is as foreign to him as a stranger. Darkness closes in—

She staggers, trying to regain control. But in real time, Carmen has barely moved. She smiles at him pityingly, mirroring the look he’s given her so many times over the years. The look of someone who knows they’ve won. “Won’t it?”

Realization dawns on his face at the same time she opens the rod, turning up the power. “Being VILE faculty has its perks.”

Underwater, Carmen screams.

“You’re a dirty traitor like Shadowsan,” she says.

“This isn’t the real you,” he pleads.

She doesn’t care. No, she does. No—

“Goodbye, Gray.” Carmen smirks. “No, wait. You prefer Crackle.”

The last hope of reaching her in his eyes dies as he reaches out a hand. “Please, Carmen—”

The rod fires.

Gray flies back, head cracking against the floor.

His hand goes limp.

His body stills.

And as Carmen walks away, she’s not thinking anything at all.

...

The eighth and final time they meet, Carmen is walking through the corridor of a train, hands rubbing her arms to ward off the cold. She’s wearing her usual red sweatshirt, and her hair is tied up in a knot on her head. The dark jeans she wears are warm enough that she’s not cold, but the breeze coming from one of the cabins is very much trying to undo that statement.

Her hands shake and she absently checks the note Chief gave her, even though she’s already memorized where she’s supposed to go. “Just in case,” Chief had said, handing it to her with a wink. ACME’s fearsome leader, it turns out, has a weakness for meddling. Figures.

Still, Carmen is grateful. Chief has been nothing but helpful regarding her true parentage, and her own side of the story from the night of her father’s death gave Carmen a sense of fulfillment she’s never felt before.

She stops in front of one of the rooms, a smile curving her lips. “First class? Sweet.”

“My treat, Red,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “You earned it.”

“Is it weird that I’m nervous to be back in Paris?” she asks absently, setting her bag down. “Be honest.”

“I don’t think so. You have a lot of history here.”

Carmen laughs. “Understatement. But you’re right. I guess I’m just thinking about him.”

“Gray?”

Her mouth droops at the mention of his name. She knows he’s fine, Chief told her so weeks ago, but the courage to visit him still eludes her. “Yeah. I wish things had turned out differently. Maybe I should ask Chief about where he is…”

“You might see him sooner than you think.”

Carmen’s brow furrows. “What?”

But the device has gone silent in her ear. Player is gone.

And the door behind her slides open.

“Well, well.”

Carmen pauses, afraid that if she turns there will be empty air. That she’ll be imagining things.

But then she sees the reflection in the window.

“Blast from the past, eh?” says Gray, and his smile is still the same: all boyish charm, now mixing with something kind, assured.

He seems to realize she doesn’t know what to say. Those dimples reappear. “In case you were wondering, you can call me Gray.”

And as the crack that has followed her since the night she saw him at the Sydney Opera House begins to close, Carmen finds herself smiling. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Carmen.”

[pain-somnia]

ssm 2k20 day 1: stuck with you Title: us and these walls Rating: M (for sexual content) Disclaimer Day’s Notes: this prompt was selected by my patrons on Patreon and I decided to make it a modern au...a quarantine au lmao so here’s a smutty quarantine au for y’all I hope it’s enjoyable. As a heads up SasoObi is mentioned often throughout the fic and it’s a minor pairing...well it’s Sasori/Obito/Third Kazekage but they’re background. I mostly put them in there for Kitty who made me fall in love with SasoObi lol this is super late but I hadn’t planned on any of my entries to be long and I failed ‘cause this is long. This fic was almost longer than it is.

us and these walls

It started with a couple of White Claws. And it ended with Sakura in the wrong bed and severely under dressed.

Sakura woke up with a start, giving an unattractive snort before clutching her aching head. The throbbing around her eyes delayed her in realizing that there was an arm slung around her waist and something hard poking at her ass.

No, Sakura grumbled inwardly. No no no no.

She already knew exactly who was in bed with her. There was only one person that she had been stuck with for the past two weeks in her cousin Sasori’s house.

Obito, Sasori’s husband, had a younger cousin that she was always grouped up with at family events because he was the closest to her age, only being eight months older than her. Other than sitting next to each other at brunch or at holiday meals, the both of them didn’t really talk much to each other. Not that Sakura didn’t want to.

Sasuke Uchiha just made it so difficult to get to know him as anything other than Obito’s ridiculously hot cousin.

Two weeks ago, Sasori had asked Obito to call Sasuke over to fix the sink in the kitchen. Sakura wasn’t sure what it was exactly that Sasuke did for a living, only that he had remodeled parts of the house before Sakura moved into her cousin’s house and he may or may not have also been the bartender in the blurry photos Ino had sent her one night many weeks ago.

Because Sasori was the way he was, Obito had called Sasuke at eleven at night and for some reason the man had responded and was awake at the time. Instead of letting him go home, Obito begged Sasuke to stay the night in the guest room.

And then the quarantine order was issued.

Somehow, Obito was able to convince Mikoto Uchiha that it was best for Sasuke to remain at his house for the quarantine. Somehow it had worked and of course Sasuke had no choice but to listen to his mother. And somehow the two of them ended up stuck living together alone because Sasori had packed his and Obito’s bags and took off.

Whoever the fuck the man that went by the moniker “Third” was, Sakura had to assume he was loaded. The morning of the second day of quarantine all she had was a note left by her cousin about where he and his husband went off to and three days later there was a post to his Instagram about how he and Obito were living it up by the pool at their boyfriend’s mansion.

It was no wonder Sasori had ditched her. She wasn’t that surprised he had. Sakura felt more betrayed by Obito.

Warm breath fanned against her temple and the arm slung around her waist pulled her in closer. Sakura adjusted herself so Sasuke’s cock nestled between her thighs instead of digging into her behind and Sasuke released a content sigh, curling around her more.

God.

This wasn’t like her. She didn’t have casual sex. Sakura had been suffering from a three year dry spell ever since she had ended her last relationship. Sakura wasn’t the kind to go out and find someone just for the sake of hooking up. She could almost hear Ino and Karin chanting in her head, “One of us. One of us. One of us.”

“Anything we need to do today?” Sasuke mumbled into her hair. Sakura tensed up. She hadn’t noticed that he had been awake.

“We already went shopping yesterday for groceries and the essentials.”

She and Sasuke tried to stock up on everything they needed the day before. They had almost ended up going home with nothing when a middle aged man without a mask on got too close and Sasuke opened up a disinfectant spray they were going to buy and sprayed him in the face.

They had also stopped at the liquor store because nothing said essential like alcohol.

Which is exactly how they ended up in their current predicament.

Sakura wasn’t sure how to take Sasuke’s behavior. He didn’t seem to mind that they had woken up naked and spooning and was even nuzzling her hair. She wasn’t opposed to the bit of affection but she would have preferred it happened when she wasn’t feeling nauseous and had a headache.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Sakura mumbled, disentangling herself from Sasuke’s hold and rushing to the hallway bathroom.

She was dry heaving and spitting up bile for all of a few seconds when she felt Sasuke’s presence next to her on the floor. He stroked her hair, pulling it back away from her face until her heaving stopped.

“Thanks for putting pants back on.”

“Yeah. Here.” Sasuke handed her a black shirt that must have been the one he had been wearing the night before. Sakura pulled it over her head and tugged it so it covered her until midway down her thighs.

Sakura was grateful that Sasuke had the mind not to turn the light on in the bathroom; the open bathroom door casted a strip of light from the hallway.

“So…” She opened the conversation, not entirely sure what it was that she was trying to say. She blanked out, not having an actual thought beyond her ass being cold from the tile floor and so she shifted so she was sitting on the fluffy bathroom mat.

“Do we, uh, need to get anything?”

Sakura scrunched up her nose in confusion. She was too hungover for conversation. Sasuke looked at her pointedly, raising a brow and it finally dawned on Sakura what he was getting at.

“Oh, no. No. I’m on the pill.” Sakura averted her gaze, chewing on her lower lip in discomfort. “And I’m clean.”

“Same.”

The both of them sat on the bathroom floor in silence for an awkward amount of time before Sasuke cleared his throat and said he needed to make a call.

Well, this is shit, Sakura groaned inwardly, pulling her knees to her chest and running her hands down her face.

.

.

Sakura kept herself busy with preparing orders for her online store. She was fortunate enough to be self-employed but there was going to be a delay with her orders because the mailman kept missing her scheduled pickups.

“Do you think Sasori would kill me for this?” Sasuke asked her, putting down his drill.

Sakura looked up from her sewing machine and up at the racks Sasuke had made for her bolts of fabric. He wasn’t able to go to any of his jobs and ended up using his free time on small projects in the house. Sasuke had helped her organize everything by creating a proper work studio in the spare room that was originally Obito’s exercise room. Sasuke had moved all of the equipment into the garage.

“Oh, definitely.” Sakura went back to stitching the pair of tulle panties with an embroidered butterfly motif. “But you put a nifty set of cubbies in his mud room.”

Sasuke moved around her to measure for a set of shelves she had wanted.

“You’re making panties?” He raised a brow at Sakura’s current project.

“Yeah they’re a parallel set to that dress.” She pointed at a mannequin with a tulle sundress with the same butterfly motif. “My shop’s name is Naughty & Nice. That’s the nice and this,” she lifted the finished pair of panties, “is the naughty.”

“Those are too cute to be naughty,” Sasuke scoffed.

“Well I also have those.” Sakura pointed to a different mannequin dressed in a custom leather harness.

“Huh.”

“Yup.”

That was how the past two weeks had gone. Sakura would work and Sasuke would exercise or keep busy making improvements to Sasori’s house. Sometimes Sakura would find him playing video games, speaking to his friends over his headset.

Sasuke had to break his lease with his landlord. It was the loudest Sakura had heard him as he argued with the man about granting him an extension to pay his rent the following month. It hadn’t sounded good and the man couldn’t be reasoned with.

Unfortunately for Sasuke, his parents thought it would be better if he continued to stay at his cousin’s house. Due to the kind of jobs his parents had—police captain and nurse—they thought it would be safer for Sasuke to stick to the house where the only other occupant didn’t leave unless she absolutely needed to.

Sasuke had placed a majority of his belongings in storage and brought over his cat and anything he thought he would need and the guest bedroom became his.

At some point Sakura became curious about his finances. He had no job that she knew of that he could do from home, but he still had money for all of the takeout that he had been ordering until Sakura had put an end to it and told him that she would cook enough for the both of them as long as he helped provide the groceries. She was used to cooking for three anyway and Sasuke ate enough to make up for Sasori and Obito.

They were the only two occupants of the house and had to work around each other. It forced them to communicate beyond the uncomfortable small talk they were accustomed to.

Sakura found it easier to carry discussions without the presence of their family members, especially that of Mikoto Uchiha who always gave her soft yet sly smiles whenever she stood or sat closely to Sasuke. It was a calculative expression she was used to seeing on her older cousin whenever he wanted something and knew he was going to get it.

As much as she wouldn’t have minded to get to know Sasuke better, Sakura was sure that whatever his mother wanted to happen wasn’t what Sasuke wanted. They had worked well together and cohabitated amicably, but the closest they got to anything beyond that was a drunken tryst that she wasn’t even sure was going to be repeated sober.

.

.

He fucked up. He had fucked up.

It started with simple boredom. Sasuke had been stuck living with his cousin’s husband’s pretty cousin because Sasori couldn’t be bothered staying in his own house during a quarantine and had blackmailed Sasuke into playing babysitter.

They had been watching a marathon of slasher films and decided on turning it into a drinking game. Sakura curled up on the small extension of the L shaped couch with her pack of White Claws and Sasuke laid out on the other end with a pack of Ithacas. Somehow that had ended up with Sasuke joining Sakura on the extension and his fingers curled inside of her panties, stroking her as she clutched onto his arm and released high pitched cries of joy.

He’s not sure how they got to a bed, but he wouldn’t doubt it if he had just thrown her tiny body over his shoulder and carried her to the guest room that had become his temporary room.

That wasn’t how Sasuke had planned on dealing with Sakura and his ridiculous crush on her that wouldn’t go away.

It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to come fix the kitchen sink in the middle of the night. Besides Sasori blackmailing him because of his OnlyFans account, Obito had sweetened the deal by mentioning that if he stayed over he would be fed a free breakfast. Obito was a mediocre cook but free was free and he would be able to spend some time in Sakura’s company without his mother hovering with her knowing smiles.

He hadn’t expected to wake up to the smell of something cooking and walking into the kitchen to find Sakura wearing nothing but a baggy cream colored button down cable knit cardigan that hit mid thigh and a pair of black thigh high socks.

Sakura hadn’t expected him either. She had thought she was home alone because of a note from Sasori explaining that he and Obito had taken off to their boyfriend’s place. Sakura had called Sasori immediately for answers, but he didn’t pick up his phone.

At least, that’s what her flushed face and drawn down brows made it seem like. He hadn’t been paying attention to the phone calls she was trying to make but to the curve of her pert breasts that peeked from the v-cut of her cardigan. Sakura hadn’t been wearing a bra and he just wanted to drag his tongue up her sternum.

He was distracted from those dangerous thoughts when he received a phone call from his mother about the quarantine orders and how Obito had already told her that Sasuke was staying at his house. Sasuke didn’t have much room for an argument, especially considering his landlord Kakuzu wouldn’t give him an extension for his rent and Sasuke had had enough and broke his lease.

He cursed Kiba for moving out to live with the blondie he had been dating for the past few months and had only made it official a month ago. Kiba had been mostly staying over there and using Sasuke’s and his place for storage so it had made sense for him to officially move in but that had left Sasuke with paying the full rent on his own because he refused to move.

That decision was biting him in the ass now that he couldn’t bartend or go do some jobs as a contractor. He was heavily relying on his not safe for work accounts where he posted nudes for pay.

And speaking of not being safe for work…

It was three days after the drunken bedroom incident and Sakura needed help taking photographs for her online shop.

When Sakura had told him what she did for work he had been impressed that she had owned her own business and at how talented she was. When she told him that usually Sasori modeled her prototypes and she took the photos for her site, he was slightly disturbed. Looking at Sakura wearing her dresses and her lingerie, he couldn’t imagine Sasori wearing the same things and it looking as well as it did on her.

There may be some bias though. He was actually attracted to Sakura and he and Sasori were more enemies than they were friends and unfortunately related because Sasori was married to Obito.

“Move your arm back like this,” Sasuke instructed Sakura as she posed in a tulle panty and bra set that left nothing to the imagination. The butterfly patterns tastefully covered her nipples but didn’t do much to completely hide the small, pink thatch of hair between her thighs.

He was supposed to be focusing on showing off the lingerie to advantage, but his eyes kept drifting to the small bruises scattered on Sakura’s inner thighs and the red blooms of kiss marks that made her body look well loved.

“I can edit those out,” Sakura remarked shyly when she noticed where his gaze was directed. “I do it for Sasori for my site. He prefers keeping them though for his personal collection of photos.”

“I didn’t need to know that about Sasori.”

Sakura laughed at his discomfort and took her camera back from him. “Thanks again for the help.”

“Any time,” Sasuke muttered, watching her walk through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom.

.

.

Sasuke had the terrible━wonderful━habit of going without a shirt and exposing his tattoos when he was stuck inside all day.

It had been barely five days since their drunken mistake and the hickeys all over her body and bruises on her inner thighs and hips from the rough pounding she must have taken had yet to completely heal. Which also meant that the scratch marks on Sasuke’s shoulder blades, the hickeys all over his neck, and the bite mark on his left shoulder were still visible as well.

They hadn’t discussed what had happened. They spent the first day in an awkward state of avoidance and kept to their respective areas in the house. The second day had them going back to normal and just silently agreeing not to mention it.

But the curiosity was there now. It was there when they shared meals. It was there when he walked in from the garage after working out. It was there when he lazily strummed his guitar aimlessly. It was there when she finished her yoga routine and he was waiting to use the living room to watch or play Call of Duty.

It was there when they sat around reading in the living room and drinking tea. It was there when he made sure she took proper breaks instead of keeping herself hunched over her sewing and embroidery machines. It was there when she randomly heard his drill or hammer or the dragging of planks of wood and other materials into the house when he found something to fix or improve.

The curiosity became a yearning when she found him laid out on the couch, watching some aquarium building show. Sasuke just looked so cozy and she just wanted to curl up with him. Or straddle him.

Straddling him was definitely a favorable option.

Sasuke was immediately on alert, body stiffening under Sakura as she settled herself over him, straddling his hips. His hands slid across the sides of her bare thighs and over her small cotton shorts, until he gripped her hips through her thick oversized pullover.

He watched her warily as she pressed her hands on his stomach. His abdominal muscles twitched under her fingers as she slid her hands up his stomach.

“I was thinking…” Sakura’s cheeks heated up as Sasuke’s hands slid under her sweater and he took hold of her waist, his thumbs massaging circles on her skin. “Do you want to try it sober?”

Sasuke sat up faster than Sakura had expected him to move. In lieu of an answer to her question, he gripped the back of her neck, fisting her hair still damp from her shower, and pulled her closer to slant his mouth over hers.

There had been heated stares and what Sakura had hoped were looks of longing. Here was proof that she had been right.

Sakura sighed contently as Sasuke palmed her breasts, squeezing and fondling her with his large hands. Pulling back for air, Sasuke laid his forehead on hers, looking her directly in the eye as he continued to massage her flesh and tug at her nipples and roll them under his thumbs.

“You sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” Sakura cradled the back of his neck with both of her hands and pulled his mouth back to hers. Using her hold as an anchor, she fell back slowly, guiding Sasuke to follow her and nestle in the cradle of her thighs.

Sasuke pulled back, giving Sakura room to remove her sweater. It had barely been tossed aside when he returned to her, pressing kisses to her stomach and trailing his mouth up to her breasts, sucking on the underside of them before rolling her nipples with his tongue.

While Sasuke laved at her nipples and sucked on the flesh of her pert breasts, he worked on sliding her shorts off. When he didn’t find anything under them except for skin he looked up at her, head cocked quizzically.

“I planned to be out of them so why bother putting on undergarments?”

“Next time,” Sasuke pressed a kiss to her knee and then the other, “let me take them off.”

“Next time,” Sakura’s breath hitched as he gave her clit a flick of his tongue, “huh?”

The look Sasuke gave her was all heat as he sucked one of her nether lips into his mouth before working her with his tongue. Sakura sank her fingers into his thick, black hair and wondered if he had done this for her the other night. If he had it was a shame she couldn’t recall it or had a heads up to just how wonderful Sasuke’s tongue was. Her fingers tightened their hold on his hair, keeping him in place as her thighs trembled around his head. She cried out, high and sharp, when Sasuke pressed deeper into her, his tongue working harder as he alternated between strokes and suckling on her hardened little nub as if it was his reason for existing.

Sakura’s ankles locked behind Sasuke’s shoulders as her hips grinded against his mouth to chase the wave of her orgasm. With a keening cry she collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving from exertion. As she tried to control her breathing, Sasuke made his way back up her body, pressing kisses and nips to every bit of skin he could. Humming with satisfaction, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him back up so she could kiss him hard, tasting herself as she rolled her tongue against his.

“Take off your pants,” Sakura panted, sliding her hands down to the waistband of Sasuke’s sweatpants.

Sasuke shook his head and licked up her sternum with one sure lick, pressing his tongue hard between her breasts. “Turn around.”

His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against her breastbone, and causing a shiver to run down her spine. He used a hand to guide her to turning around until she was stomach down on the couch. With her back exposed to him, Sasuke pressed open mouth kisses down her spine. She flinched when he reached the center of her back, the spot surprisingly sensitive. He palmed her ass with both hands, massaging the cheeks before biting down on a fleshy area.

“Hey!” Sakura squealed at the sensation. He chuckled against her, sliding a hand between her thighs to where she was softest.

“I think you liked that.” He stroked her with his fingers, spreading her folds and dipping his middle and ring fingers inside of her. “I know you liked that.”

“Hmm, maybe I did.” Sakura pressed her cheek to the couch cushion and lifted her rump higher in the air and rocked her hips from side to side teasingly.

Sasuke sat up on his knees and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her closer to him. He pressed his hips against her and rocked back and forth, his clothed, hardened length digging against her core. Sakura moaned softly against the couch cushion as Sasuke grinded against her in alternating rhythms.

“Just put it in already,” Sakura pleaded.

“Fuck,” Sasuke hissed as she rocked back against him. “Do you want me to go get a condom? I think Obito has some in the master bedroom.”

“Don’t bother,” Sakura panted. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Alright.”

Sasuke stood up and pulled his sweatpants and boxers off. He helped her turn back around and settled himself between her legs. Bracing himself on one forearm, Sasuke licked his fingers and rubbed the tip of his cock before taking himself in hand and gave himself four quick pumps before guiding himself inside of her wet heat.

Sakura moaned at the fullness as he stretched her pleasantly. She cupped his face in her hands once again and kissed him wherever she could reach with her mouth—his chin, the corner of his mouth, his upper lip. She hadn’t realized how empty and aching she was feeling until this moment.

“You good?” Sasuke asked, keeping still but adjusting her legs around his hips for her comfort.

Sakura nodded, wrapping her arms under his armpits and clutched his shoulders. She tilted her hips up and rolled them until he began to thrust.

She didn’t know if this was how they did it the other night, but she was enjoying it. Sakura expected him to grope at her breasts and her ass as he pounded into her, but Sasuke kept to a steady pace and with his forearms caging her head, he wrapped her hair around his fingers and kissed her languidly. It was so warm and affectionate she almost forgot that it started as her just wanting a fuck on the couch to figure out if it was as good as she had thought it would be and to make up for being robbed of the experience by her inebriation.

“Harder,” Sakura demanded and without missing a beat Sasuke gave her exactly what she asked for.

He sat up on his knees and lifted her legs straight up so that her ankles crossed behind his head and he thrust harder, holding onto her knees to keep her in place. One of his legs slipped onto the ground so that he could brace himself with his foot and make sure they didn’t fall off the couch.

“You feel so good,” he praised her, kissing her left inner ankle.

“Yeah?” Sakura smiled mischievously up at him and squeezed the muscles of her core, causing Sasuke to falter in his movements. She giggled at his expense but choked on air when he readjusted his footing and thrust particularly hard into her.

Sasuke pushed her knees up into her chest and held her there as he set a punishing pace, hitting her repeatedly in a spot she liked. Her staccato cries of joy filled the room, drowning out the sound of the television.

She fell apart again and Sasuke slowed down his thrusting in favor of feeling her flutter around him and kissing her lazily. They lay like that, him still inside of her, and they exchanged kisses.

“Your turn,” Sakura murmured against his mouth as he stroked her side, brushing her ribs with his knuckles.

“Flip over,” Sasuke ordered, voice low and causing her stomach to clench in anticipation. Settling behind her, Sasuke chased his finish, his chest pressed to her back and panting in her ear.

They both collapsed on the couch and Sasuke turned on his side so that he could pull Sakura against him. They lay in a boneless sort of manner and sated, intertwining their legs and their bodies slick with sweat.

After a moment of silence, Sakura spoke up.

“Well that was definitely better sober.”

Sasuke snorted, his silent laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating against Sakura’s back.

.

.

He was supposed to be getting some water. Somehow a trip for water turned into him making out with Sakura. She was seated on the kitchen island and he stood between her legs, one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other cradling her face.

“I’m supposed to be making dinner,” she whined but made no move to pull away. She gasped when Sasuke slid his hand between her thighs.

“We can order pizza.”

.

.

She couldn’t remember what her question was. Not with the way Sasuke moved underneath her, breaking her rhythm and holding her hips down to meet his every thrust. He had her crying out and collapsing onto him, weak to his relentless pounding.

Sakura panted, struggling to catch her breath after they both came, as Sasuke rubbed her back soothingly.

“Yeah, I’ll change the bulb in the hallway closet.”

That was the question? Sakura frowned against Sasuke’s clavicle. Well, alright then.

.

.

“Shut up!”

Sakura hid her face in her hands, trapping the heat radiating off of it with her palms.

“Tell us everything,” Ino insisted. Karin nodded vigorously in agreement from her window on Sakura’s monitor.

The three of them were using Zoom to video chat and it was supposed to be wine and movie night, but it had instead turned into a gossip session now that Sakura admitted to them that her three year dry spell had ended during the quarantine.

“We keep fucking,” Sakura whined, pulling her knees up to her chest and falling sideways on her bed. “He’s like the fucking energizer bunny: just keeps going and going.”

Karin snorted, earning herself a glare from Sakura. “How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not.” Sakura chewed on her lower lip. “We hang out and do other stuff too.”

“Like what?” Ino asked, blowing on her nails. She had taken out her nail polish and had given herself a pedicure as she waited for Karin to pick their movie and their change in plans hadn’t stopped her from continuing.

“We watch movies and take care of Obito’s garden and his plants. I’m teaching him how to cook.” Sakura sighed and groaned softly under her breath, “We take naps together and just...cuddle.”

Besides sex being added to the list of their activities, the only change to their cohabitation was that sometimes they curled up in Sasuke’s bed just to sleep together or hold each other as they lay in the comfort of the blankets. It sometimes led to sex, but that wasn’t the goal. They simply liked being together and exchanging kisses between the sheets and listening to music.

It was sometimes more enjoyable than when he was making her come like a train. Sometimes. Alright, always. Coming was nice but she had a drawer of toys for that. She couldn’t cuddle and joke with her vibrator.

“Now that you’re boning him,” Karin smirked at her, “do you think you can introduce me to his older brother?”

The three of them burst into laughter, Sakura burying her face into her pillow to drown out the sound.

.

.

When Sasuke had remodeled Sasori’s master bathroom, he had found a bath to install that would fit his cousin’s tall frame perfectly inside. It was for that reason he knew he and Sakura could both fit comfortably, considering he and Obito were the same height.

“This is nice,” Sakura sighed, settling between his legs and resting her back against his chest. “I thought Sasori had locked his bedroom before leaving to Third’s.”

Sasori had in fact locked his bedroom, but Sasuke had picked the lock so that he could use the master bedroom for the setting of his photos for his OnlyFans. Sasuke had money to make and he needed privacy and also didn’t want to get into Sakura’s way while she worked and took care of the house.

Things had been good so far between the two of them. They hadn’t discussed what they were doing, but Sasuke was enjoying being trapped in the house with Sakura. Her affection for him even traveled outside the walls of Sasori’s house. She would hold his hands as they walked down aisles when they went shopping for things they couldn’t order or when they went for walks around the neighborhood.

Now they were taking a bath together. Sasuke had used the large bathtub for some photos, carefully placing bubbles to cover his penis, but then making them dissipate with a flap of his hand to take uncensored shots for his Patreon tiers that involved full nudity.

It was as the water cooled and the bubbles became flat that he thought about Sakura and if she would want to relax with him.

When he suggested a bath to Sakura, her eyes lit up and she found all of the candles in the house, played some soft music, and prepared the bath with scented oils and bubbles.

“This has got to be a fire hazard.” Sasuke gestured around the room at all of the candles. Their flames reflected against the tiles of the bathroom, creating a nice ambience.

“Shhhh.” Sakura kissed the inside of his wrist, and snuggled into him more. “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Sasuke leaned back and closed his eyes. This would probably be a little better if I were high, he sighed inwardly. He should have rolled a joint before they got into the bath.

“Would this be considered a date?” Sakura asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Some people would consider it a date. I would rather be clothed during most of a date.”

“I don’t mind,” Sakura chirped. “You’re exactly how I would want you to end up anyway.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the bath traveled up the back of Sasuke’s neck and settled in his ears.

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up right now, where would you wanna go?”

“Hmm…” Sakura hummed one thought, her knees swaying from side to side. “For a walk in Old Town to get some ice cream. Maybe check out the hibachi spot and then watch the boats on the river.”

“I don’t even like ice cream and that sounds good. Just to be outside.”

Two months had passed since the quarantine had begun and Sasuke was beginning to feel restless. He didn’t usually care about going out, only really went out for work, but now that he was forced to stay inside all day, every day, he just wanted to go out and do something.

After the quarantine was over, he and Sakura were going to need to take a road trip just to feel normal again.

“My friend Karin got tested and her results were negative so she’s going to come over and give me a haircut.” Sakura tugged at the ends of her long hair. “I procrastinated getting one and then everything was shut down.”

Sasuke huffed air out of his mouth and blew at his bangs. They had grown long enough to fall to his chin. “You think she’d mind giving me a haircut too?”

.

.

Sakura couldn’t stop giggling. She rubbed the back of Sasuke’s head, right at the nape where Karin had shaved his hair so it was a close crop. She had buzzed him into an undercut before Sakura and Sasuke could say anything about it.

“I just needed a trim.” Sasuke scowled. Karin had done a really good job and the hairstyle looked great on him, but Sasuke had only wanted to take care of his unruly bangs. “If I put my glasses on, I’ll look like a wannabe Skrillex.”

Sakura snorted, curling up in his lap. “His undercut is on the side like Karin’s. Yours is on the back.”

“Whatever. Don’t you dare give her my brother’s phone number.” Sasuke ran his fingers through Sakura’s new bob cut and kissed her forehead. “Anything you wanna do before bedtime?”

For the past few weeks they had tried to make sure they were preoccupied so that they wouldn’t get bored. Sakura was still attempting to teach him to cook but she has better results teaching him yoga.

“We could have a Lord of the Rings marathon?” Sakura wrinkled her nose in thought. “I can work on some crochet crop tops while we watch.”

They had settled into a comfortable, domestic routine. Sakura was enjoying living with Sasuke and didn’t care about Sasori and Obito having ditched her. She was kind of glad they did. She was especially glad for it the week before when Sasuke made her ginger and honey tea and always had a hot water bottle ready for her when the cramps got really bad. Sasori had the weird idea to feed her liver whenever she was on her period. He never cooked it, always handing it to her raw.

It was nice living with Sasuke. Sakura wasn’t looking forward to when Sasori and Obito returned and ruined the tranquility they had.

She prayed things wouldn’t change when they were around other people. That they wouldn’t go back to how they used to be when they sat awkwardly next to each other at holidays.

.

.

Usually a morning person, Sakura was always first to wake up out of the both of them.

She woke to the feeling of him pressed against her back, erection settling against her ass and warm breath puffing against her nape. His arm wrapped around her body and held to her chest as her fingers were laced with his.

“Sasuke.” Sakura attempted to separate their limbs. “Sasuke. We fell asleep on the couch again.”

Sasori’s couch was ridiculously comfortable and with the wide extension sticking out to make its L shape, Sakura found herself falling asleep on it often. During the quarantine she always lay there when watching TV or movies which was pretty typical from pre-quarantine life, but now instead of selfishly taking up the best spot, she was sharing it with Sasuke who was surprisingly cuddly.

“Sasuke,” Sakura whined. The more she tried to pull away, the more he clung to her. She disentangled their legs and he bit down softly on the back of her neck. “I have morning breath and, dude, I definitely need a shower…”

“Like I care.”

Sasuke was talented at distracting her. One moment she wanted to get ready for the day and in the next all she wanted was to roll around in bed all day. Sakura made no protest when Sasuke helped her remove one of the shirts she kept stealing from him and pulled off her sweatpants and tugged her panties off. Thanks to Sasuke, she was spending an incredible amount of time naked on Sasori’s couch.

“I was supposed to,” Sakura’s breath hitched when Sasuke bit the inside of her left thigh, “be making breakfast.”

“This is preferable,” he murmured against her folds, burying his face between her legs.

During the weeks of their cohabitation, Sakura had discovered that Sasuke liked going down on her more than he enjoyed when she returned the favor. He apparently liked to take advantage of the fact that she could have more than one orgasm in a single round of sex and even though getting blown was nice, he didn’t like the recovery time or how sensitive he became afterward.

Sasuke was in the middle of getting her to the first orgasm he wanted to give her when the front door opened. Not that Sasuke or Sakura had noticed.

“Oh my God,” Sakura sighed breathily, sinking her fingers into Sasuke’s hair.

“Oh my God!” Obito cried out, snapping Sakura out of her pleasure induced daze.

“My couch!” Sasori hissed, eyes narrowed in distaste.

Sakura sat up, almost kicking Sasuke in the face, and saw both her cousin and his husband and a giant man almost half a foot taller than Obito on the other side of the couch.

“Oh my God,” Sakura moaned softly in horror, grabbing the throw she kept on the couch and wrapping it around her body. Sasuke straightened himself and took a seat next to her, bare as the day he was born, cock hard and hair mussed, with a shiny smear on his chin from the activity that had just been interrupted.

“Holy shit, Shisui was right.” Obito stared in awe at Sasuke’s crotch, only snapping his attention away when Sasori slapped his arm and shot him a look of disgust. “What? I thought he was exaggerating how big it was. Oh, fuck. I owe him one-fifty now.”

Sasori rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen, calling out behind him, “Please tell me you mean a dollar and change.”

Obito rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “No. Hundred fifty.”

“Hello.” The giant man waved at Sasuke and Sakura, flashing them what in a normal situation would have been a charming smile if it weren’t for the severe lack of clothing and what he had walked in on. “I’m Third, It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. He put it down as soon as he realized they weren’t going to shake his hand. “We came over because Obito has been raving about your cinnamon chip scones and Sasori said that you could teach me to make them for him.”

“You could have called first,” Sasuke drawled, bending over at the waist to reach for his sweatpants and boxer briefs.

“You could have not been fucking on my couch!” Sasori’s voice carried in from the kitchen, followed by the slamming of cupboard doors.

Sakura rolled her eyes and stood up, careful to keep the throw wrapped around her body. Leave it to her to be caught by her cousin, his husband, and their boyfriend getting eaten out in the early morning in the middle of the living room.

“Come back in one hour and I’ll teach you how to bake anything you want,” She told Third, craning her neck to be able to look him directly in the eye. “But you gotta take them with you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Much faster than she expected someone of such great bulk to move, Third was escorting Sasori and Obito━who had already found her homemade yogurt and was eating it━out of the house.

“Are you really going to be teaching their boyfriend to bake?” Sasuke asked, yanking his pants up and following her as she walked to her bedroom. Sakura snorted and shook her head.

“I can teach him over FaceTime. We’re changing the fucking locks.”

.

.

Day’s Notes: There’s a high chance I may revisit this AU because I used some AU ideas of mine and mashed them up to make this fic and I’m very attached to my OnlyFans Sasuke AU. I have so much to write for it.

[capricornus-rex]

A Legacy Begun (5)

gif not mine. found and saved in pinterest

Chapter 5: The Child | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Other prompt/s in play: Anon 1′s prompt, Anon 2‘s baby prompt + their follow-up prompt & fic idea

A/N: Don’t worry, no one died of sadness after giving birth.

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

The months flew by, it only felt like yesterday when you told the news and now you’re currently in the ninth month. Any day now, the baby would be due. But you haven’t felt the signs yet.

The feeling of not holding a lightsaber and seeing action for a while was perhaps the biggest adjustment you’ve ever made; recalling the years where you’ve kept yourself low from the Imperials’ radar and having to limit the times you held your saber, this was far different than that.

To pass the time, you and Cal often strolled together just to keep yourself active. The Mantis continued its travels from time to time, but it would always find itself home in Cerinda and would occasionally return to Bogano for old time’s sake. The two of you stopped by the stream that branched out of the lake, something about that part of the forest became like a magnet to the both of you. Even in your expectant state, you were still the same sprightly girl who would dip her toes into the cold water at any given chance.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. Beaming brightly and excitedly as you spoke, “I want to have our baby in this one planet that my master and I used to go to for a campaign.”

“Oh?” Cal propped his cheek against his fist, dreamily gazing at you while you pluck flowers by the shoreline and set them floating into the gentle current.

“The planet, Ilaro,” you craned your head to him. “It’s a neutral planet by the Outer Rim, but it’s very peaceful there. No Imperials, no fighting,”

He heard you sigh as you daydream about the planet in your mind. He kept smiling as he listened.

“If only you’ve seen it, Cal—oceans clear and bright blue like the sky that they almost conjoin, the city that Master and I went to was so extravagant yet quaint, much like Reema here but a bit bigger,” you trail off, and then smiled as the last, finishing thought entered your mind and turned to your husband. “And oh, I know the perfect place for us: by the hillside north of the city. There’s another town there, it’s small but I think it’ll do for us,”

He hummed in reply, enamored by your idea but mostly at your radiance. You couldn’t stay mad at him for only half-listening. You’re endeared by his droopy, dreamy eyes and the smile that still stood out even through his stubble that he personally kept to a certain thinness of his liking.

“What is it?” you giggled.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he cooed. “I just can’t help but stare even while you talk, I’m sorry.”

You caress his scruffy jaw, he willingly inches to you as he comes in for a kiss. You secretly chuckled when his stubble tickled you and you liked it when he did.

“I can’t stay mad, darling,”

That afternoon, you tended to the plants in the terrarium, shearing the weeds and other overgrowth that crowded the soil bed. It sooner became half a flower garden and a half a medicinal herb garden, you and Merrin shared sides of the terrarium respectively; Greez was cooking up some lunch while Cere continued her favorite pastime of splicing and hacking Imperial communications, but also found out about how to trace long-range frequencies as far as two to three parsecs.

“Have you ever thought if they’re a boy or a girl, [y/n]?”

“I have, but my mind changes every now and then—one day I’ll think it’s a boy, and then the next it’s a girl,” you chuckled. “Cal and I have been debating the same thing.”

“You’re at your ninth month, anyway. I’m sure it’ll come soon,”

“Yes, soon,” you trailed off echoing the Nightsister’s words.

Later, Cal came back with game that he had hunted in the forest’s inner meadows. One of Cerinda’s fauna that you’ve found a taste for was the Chorcap—a medium-sized, horned quadrupedal animal, it was slightly shorter than a Nerf in height and less hairy too, but it was stocky in build, making it prized for their meat. Merchants in Reema would buy for the horns, butchers would get portioned cuts, and Cal would haggle with those butchers for the portions.

“I’m back,” Cal chirped as he entered the ship. “Got some extra Chorcap on the road.”

“Oh finally! I thought this stew would never be done if it weren’t for you,” Greez grunted.

“Relax, Greez, here—the seasonings you asked for,”

Cal tossed a pouch to Greez to which the captain expertly caught with his bottom right arm and continued to stir the pot. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as you tended the little indoor garden and seated himself by the dining table.

“That smells good!” your husband exclaimed.

“Without these spices, my stew would be as bland as unfermented Merenzane Gold!”

From time to time, you’d conceal your expressions whenever your belly contracted. You’ve pretty much anticipated the baby’s due, but it was the pain that you tried to hide—not wanting to disturb everyone at your expense.

Minutes later, Greez called everybody for lunch, you helped in setting the table and serving out the helpings for each plate. The aroma of the stew wafted around the Mantis, making all the stomachs rumble, and come running towards the table. Lunch became more animated as conversations and topics volleyed here and there. You turned to BD-1 perched over the rim of the table between the lounge.

“Say, BD, do you still have the scan of the Binog?”

“What for?”

“Oh, you’ll see, hon,” you ended it with a smile.

After lunch and helping with the dishes, you retreated to the bedroom with BD-1 perched over your shoulder. You seated yourself by the workbench, producing spools of thread, buttons, filler cotton, and fabrics of different colors—all coming from the business district in Reema. You produced a holodisk and held it close to the droid

“Can you transfer the Binog’s hologram scan here, BD?”

“Wooo!” the little droid whirred out its splicer and connected itself to the holodisk’s port. Seconds later, the hologram of the great creature of Bogano flickered above the holodisk’s projector.

“Thank you, BD,” you rewarded the droid with head pats before starting with your work.

You drew patterns for each part of the animal and then sheared them piece by piece. Holding them together with pins, you started sewing the main body first—leaving an opening for the stuffing later—and then moved on to the legs and tail. Your slender fingers gracefully twisted, curled, and threaded with the stitches as you went on—pushing the needle and then pulling the thread—until it was starting to take shape. Glancing at the projection every once in a while to check if you’re getting the likeness correctly.

“Booo!”

“That’s right, BD, I’m making the Binog—though a smaller version, for the small one,” you cooed.

When the limbs and tail have joined the body and head, the next step was to sew in the fins that lined its spine all the way to the tail and its ears. You had the patterned fabrics at the ready, you just needed to stitch them. Cal walked in to the bedroom, finding you sitting back relaxed while sewing together a toy Binog.

“That’s actually pretty cute,” he beamed.

“Thank you, but it’s not finished yet,”

The finishing touches were the button eyes. A pair of solid black buttons were secured in an X-like stitch on its head. Two tiny white triangles were sewn along the mouth for its fangs that peeked out even with the actual creature’s mouth closed. Finally, BD-1 helped you stuff the toy with the cotton since his little claws could fit the openings you left for each body part.

“Thanks for your help, BD,” you sealed the filler openings and held it in your hand. “There we go!”

“That’s adorable,” your husband commented.

Even if it was never your intention to worry everybody—your husband, especially—you just couldn’t control the instance where your knees buckle and your muscles felt like tightening with a great force. As you struggled to stand up, everybody in the ship was alarmed by your cry of pain. All of a sudden, the swirling in your stomach started to tense up.

“The baby’s coming…!” you struggled to calmly breathe.

“Cere! Merrin!” Cal cried, scooping you up from your seat at the workbench and carefully settling you down on the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening!?” Greez was infected with the same panic and alarm as the two ladies. The captain definitely heard your cries, he just didn’t think the baby was coming now.

Your ankles jerked as your toes curled tightly, your hand gripped the sheets as you tried to fight off the contraction pains. Cal ignored the hard grip that’s crumpling his sleeve as you broke down sobbing in pain.

“I know a place!” Cere exclaimed. “Captain, set a course to Polis Massa! Grid coordinates K-20, NOW!”

“It’s two parsecs away via jump to hyperspace!” Greez argued.

“Captain, just do it!” the woman snapped back.

“You’re gonna be okay, [y/n], do you hear me?” Cal’s voice cracked while squeezing back your free hand.

“[y/n], breathe,” Merrin calmly chanted, it became her mantra to you as the minutes went on.

The jump to lightspeed felt like an eternity as you battled the excruciating pain. Your body tossed and turned, finding a position where the cramping hurt less. Your legs thrashed, your vision blackened around the edges as you struggled to breathe in a slow pace—it only lessened the cramping to an extent but you don’t know for how long you could hold it.

Cere came barging in the bedroom.

“We’re near our destination. How is she holding up?”

“She’s trying to breathe calmly, I strongly object in using my magick on her,” the Nightsister reported.

“My head is burning!”

Cal pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, “She’s having a fever! How much farther until we reach Polis Massa?”

Before Cere could reply, the feedback of Greez’s microphone crackled through the speakers.

“Hold on, folks! It’s gonna be a bumpy ride!” the Lateron announced.

Cere sprang back to the cockpit, swerving and catching her balance as the ship rumbled. The turbulence didn’t help much, but you kept holding onto Cal’s hand.

“Cere, you didn’t tell me that we’re running into an asteroid field!”

“Because Polis Massa is on the asteroid field!”

“And this is a medical station we’re talking about!”

Greez steered closer to the largest asteroid until he found a cluster of silver infrastructures sticking out on the largest rock in the field. Cere had no further qualms about that, she turned and tapped the buttons and knobs on her communication station in the ship to send the urgent transmission.

“This is Jedi Cere Junda, we are in need of urgent medical assistance! A crew member has gone into labor and is about to give birth, please!”

“Transmission verified, you are allowed to dock. We’ll have a ward and medical droids ready for her,”

The medical droids stationed there were on full alert, a couple of the wardens came out of the building with a gurney prepared for you as they anticipated your arrival. The ship maneuvered and hovered carefully by the landing pad.

“We’re here,” Cal whispered to you, hoping to console you.

“Where are we?” you murmured.

“Polis Massa,” he scooped you up from the bed, carried you all the way out of the Mantis and then laying you down on the gurney waiting for you.

The female wardens briskly pushed your gurney towards the medical bay and then to the available ward that was ready for you. The human nurses cooed and whispered to you in comforting, melodic voices; coaxing you and telling you everything down to the littlest detail.

“We’re going to carry you to the next bed, alright?”

“Okay…” you replied, your eyes were too heavy to direct your vision to whichever nurse was speaking to you.

The nurses traded diagnoses with one another and then relayed them to the medical droids, reflecting your vital signs onto their computers and holographs.

“Vitals are fine, no remarkable findings,”

“Blood pressure is stable,”

The nurses helped you lift up your knees as a midwife droid hovered slowly towards you. The entire crew watched through the glass wall of your room, they all leaned against the opposite wall but it was your husband who eagerly stayed behind the glass.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked the one nurse who exited your room.

“Yes, it’s good that you’ve brought her here on such short notice,”

“We were only two parsecs away from here,” Cere added.

The nurse had allowed Cal to enter the ward—for only one non-patient was permitted to accompany the patient—he sat by your side, close to your head. He stroked your hair as you take deep breaths before pushing.

Cal watched the red fill your cheeks as you tried to push, following the pace of the midwife droid that’s coaxing you. He ignored your screeching cries, he wiped away the tears that rolled away from your eyes as you breathed through clenched teeth, preparing for the next.

An infant cry filled the room, Cal’s head instantly turned to the end of the bed where the midwife droid held your newborn—he watched the droid clean the infant on the spot and swaddle it in a soft, white sheet. He stood up and held the tiniest human being he’s ever seen in his entire life. A tinge of orange strands adorned the little one’s head.

“It’s a girl,” he gasped.

He approached you with your daughter in his arms, he held her close to you so you may look at her crumpled, crying little face.

“Cassidy,” you whispered.

Cal heard you utter the name. You traded glances and he smiled. A teardrop glimmered at the edge of his eye.

“Cassidy.” He echoed. The baby’s tiny hand hooked around his finger and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart burst out of his ribs, “My little Cassidy.”

He held his baby daughter right in front of him. Dark, round, shining eyes blinked back at him as Cassidy’s stubby arms squirmed, lightly hitting his cheeks and jaw with smooth, soft hands.

“She has your eyes,” Cal choked.

“She has your hair,” you manage a chuckle.

“You did great, darling,” he sat down, level to you and planted a kiss on your forehead while the Mantis crew watched the little family have their greatest moment yet.

[just--clownin-around]

Dear Arthur

Summary: Reader throws Arthur a birthday party. Fluff ensues.

Warnings: None, I think. It’s kinda long. If I miss a warning please just tell me! I’m new to this

A/N: Hey guys!! This is my first fic ever on tumblr, and the first fic I’ve written in quite a while. I plead your patience :P I hope you guys like it!!

      Today was a special day. A day worth celebrating, by all means. It was one Mr. Arthur Fleck’s birthday, and you had every intention of showing him how extraordinarily happy you are that he was born all those years ago. You knew he had never had a birthday party before, not a proper one at least. Hell, most people who grew up in Gotham never had birthday parties, considering that money to spend on things that weren’t necessities was hard to come by. You had managed to save up your own money months in advance, taking away from your weekly pay little by little, not so much as to alert him to the fact that you were saving money or make the two of you miss out on rent or food. And, despite it all, you had thrown together what you considered to be a pretty freaking awesome birthday party. You had gotten him a cake, clown themed- just to make him laugh, put colorful banners on the wall, and even set up games like darts and twister. 

     Your favorite part of the whole thing, though, was the presents you had gotten him. ‘Made’ was a better word to use, but it was all the same because you had poured your entire heart into them. There were three different gifts. The first one was a stack of cards you had put a ring through so he could flip through them, and each card had one of the never-ending reasons you loved him on it. The second was an old jacket of yours that was too big on you and was a men’s jacket anyway. You had gotten some embroidery thread and a needle and had stitched a heart with yours and Arthur’s initials, paired with a plus sign. It was uneven and the heart was nowhere near perfect, but you knew he wouldn’t mind. You figured that maybe if he could carry a little piece of you with him or keep it in his locker at work, maybe the bad days would be a little easier. The third and final gift took more work than the others, but it was worth it. You had taken a shirt of yours and made a small pillow, having taken the stuffing from some other old pillow of yours and filling a small square you had stitched together with it. This too was uneven, but it would give him something to hold onto when he got home from work before you, or if he needed some alone time but still needed something to remind him you were real, that you were his. 

     The only thing that was left now was for him to come home. You sat excitedly on the couch, waiting for him. The tv was on Murray, you were wearing the outfit you knew he loved, and you had a red and yellow party hat on your head. Finally, you hear the front door open, a very glum-looking Arthur walking in the door. “Surprise!” You exclaimed, making his head raise up to see you. A confused look spread over his features as he looked from you to the apartment around you. He started to chuckle, but out of surprise, confusion, and admiration this time. “What is this?” He asked, completely dumbfounded. You grinned at him. “A birthday party!” you said excitedly. “For me?” he asked, not being able to comprehend that someone would go through all this trouble for him “Yes, for you! There’s no one else in the whole world I would do this for!” At this, he started laughing again, a smile growing on his lips. He walked over to you and enveloped you in his arms, hugging you tightly as his shoulders shook a little bit, and you knew he was feeling a lot of emotions right now. You gave him his time to process all of it. 

     Once he pulled away, he looked up at everything.��“What do we do first?” he asked, looking around in awe. “I was thinking we do cake first, then presents, then games!” You say, grabbing his hand and leading him to the counter, taking out some candles and putting them around the cake before lighting them with a match. You smiled at him as you began to sing. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, Dear Arty! Happy birthday to you!” You were bouncing with excitement as you passed the party hat from your head to his. “Now make a wish!” You cheered. He grinned at you and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “What could I possibly wish for when I have everything I could ever want right here?” He asked, leaning down to blow out the candles anyway. When he stood up, you threw your arms around his shoulders. “I love you so much!” You whispered into his shoulder. “I love you more than anything.” He whispered back, savoring the feeling of you in his arms with your arms wrapped around him. You pulled away after a few moments, going to get presents and bringing them back. Everything was moving so fast that it hadn’t registered to him that you had said ‘presents,’ but it was registering now as he held the first box in trembling hands. He sat down on the couch and began to unwrap it carefully, imagining you delicately folding the wrapping paper over it and taping it down with. Once he had all the wrapping paper off, he carefully opened the box. You bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet as he pulled the cards out of the box, turning them over in his hand to see your handwriting and the words “52 Reasons Why I Love You” scrawled across the front. He hid his face in his elbow for a moment, a breath getting caught in his lungs. He took a breath to pull himself together, he had two more presents to open, but he was already so overrun with emotion. He flipped through the first few, and had to put it down so he could take your face in his hands and give you a kiss. “I don’t deserve all this...” he muttered. “Hush,” you say, “You deserve the world. And unfortunately, the whole world is a bit out of my price range, which is why I’m giving you my world. Open the other two!!” 

     You place the other two boxes in Arthur’s lap. Arthur looks up at you in disbelief for a second, then trails his eyes down to the boxes, and picks up the smaller of the two. With the same amount of deliberation he used with the last box, he carefully takes off the wrapping paper, slowly opening the box. He picks up the pillow, taking a moment to register what it is, but when he recognizes the fabric of your shirt, you see his face light up. He lifts it to his face, staring at you with a grin. “It smells like you still!” He exclaims gleefully, like a kid on Christmas morning. “Open the last one!” You say excitedly. He gently sets the pillow down next to him, shifting his focus to the last box remaining on his lap. He opens the last box and gently pulls out the jacket. He looks at it a bit confused. “Look at the inside of the collar,” you explain. He shifts the collar inside out, and sees the crooked little stitched heart. He looks at you with adoration, and you feel prompted to explain the jacket in full. “It used to be my jacket. But it was always too big on me anyway, and I figured it would make your bad days slightly better if you could keep part of me in your locker at work or something.” In a flash, his arms are around you again. You hugged him gladly, As you held him, you knew that this night was going to prove to be an emotional one. But you intended to show him tonight, and every other night, that he meant the world to you, and that he deserves to be loved. With a kiss on the cheek, you lead him over to the games. This party wasn’t over yet.  

[eleventhdoctorsangel]

Can’t we be seventeen

Summary: This is the story of the future king ben’s little sister. A princess who is quite different from the others. While the other princess's would wear pastel colors she wore dark colors. While the others trying to find their true love she was worried about the future of the kingdom. Not that she didn’t want to find her true love because she did. She just wasn’t sure if her true love was in the kingdom or the isle of the lost.

So it’s been a couple of days since Ben confessed his feelings for Mal at the tourney game and today was the day that they were going on their first date. I looked at the time and guess that they probably have left by now as I made my way to Mal and Evie’s room so I could ask Evie something. The door to their room was closed so I knocked on it and waited on her to answer it if she was even in their room that was. I let out a sigh of relief when she opened the door. “What can I do for you Y/n?” Evie asked as she let me into their room. “I know this might be super last minute but I was wondering if you could make my dress for Ben’s coronation?” I asked. Evie let out a squeal as she clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “So I’ll take that as a yes.” I said. “Of course I would love to make your dress. I might already have an idea of mind.” Evie said. “I’m guess that you probably need some fabric so would you love to come with to get it?” I asked. “I would love to.” Evie said. Evie and I walked out of the room and made our way to go get the fabric for my dress. Evie told me how she wanted to make an updated version of the dress my mom wore when she first danced with dad. Which I absolutely love the idea. Once we found the right shade of gold that Evie thought would look the best on me I brought the fabric and we headed back to her and Mal’s room so she could get my measurements so she could get started on the dress. Once she got them I stayed with her to talk for a few hours before I had to leave so I could start helping with the set up for family day that was on Sunday. I felt bad since Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay’s parents couldn’t come so I let her know they should come anyways and have some fun. She smiled at me telling me they might come they haven’t decided yet. I was about to leave when Mal walked back into their room wet and wearing Ben’s jacket. “Mal are you okay?” I asked. “Um yeah I just kinda fell into the lake and Ben helped me.” Mal said. “Well I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer but I have to go help with starting to set up for family day. See you girls later.” I said as I got up from my spot and left the room going to where the most of family day was going to be happening. 

Thankfully Audrey wasn’t help with setting up so I didn’t have to hear her complain about what happened between her and Ben because I was sick of hearing it. We only got the tables and chairs set up for just right now since we had to get through one more day of school before the weekend so we could get more done with the set up. I went home after that was said and done. I debated whether or not to eat in my room again in case something like what happen the other were to happen again. But in the end I decided to end with everyone else and just hoped that it won’t happened again. Luckily it didn’t. After dinner I went and took a bath then got ready to go to sleep.

It was Sunday before I knew it and it was family day. I had picked out a yellow dress with black flats that had spikes on them to wear. Ben and I went ahead before mom and dad since we were singing be our guest at the start of the day. Ben and I were the main people who sung as the others mostly sung back up. At the end of the song Ben spun me around resting his hand on my hip then we made our way over to mom and dad. “That was so lovely.” Mom said as she gave each of us a kiss on the cheek. Then we were ushered over to take a picture. Ben and I were in the middle with Ben closer to dad and me closer to mom “Ready?” The photographer asked lifting up his camera. “Just stand still against me sweetie.” Mom said as she put a hand on my lower back knowing all to well that I was never the biggest fan on having my picture taken. Even as a baby I hated it. “Oh by the way I have a new girlfriend.” Ben said. Oh this is about to get fun I just know it. Both mom and dad looked glad. I knew that was going to change when they see who it was. “Oh.” Dad said. “Yeah.” Ben said. “Well I never wanted to say anything but I always thought that Audrey was a little self-absorbed with a fake smile and kind of a kiss-up.” Mom said. “Thank you.” I said under my breathe hoping she didn’t hear me. “Do we know your new girlfriend?” Dad asked. “On the count of three. One two” The photographer said. “Well sort of. Mal!” Ben said as he waved her over to us. “Three.” The photographer said as Ben and I looked at him smiling while mom and dad looked at Mal. Oh I’m so getting a copy of this picture solely because of their reaction. Does that seem bad? Because I think it’s kinda of funny. “Mal? I wanna introduce you to my parents.” Ben said as he walked up to Mal to meet her as she made her way over to us. “Hey.” Mal said as she hugged Ben. I looked over to see both mom and dad trying to keep it together. Ben grabbed Mal’s hand as they turn back to look at us. “This is Mal. From the Island. My girlfriend.” Ben said. “Hi.” Mom said. “Hi.” Mal said. Dad just gave Mal an awkward wave. “I was thinking maybe she can join us for lunch.” Ben said. “Of course any friends of Ben’s.” Dad said. “Um I actually came with my friends.” Mal said as she pointed back to where Evie, Carlos and Jay were. “Well you should invite them. Because the more the merrier!” Mom said as we looked over to them. Jay and Carlos were at the chocolate fountain and Evie was holding dude. “Yeah. I’ll go grabbed them.” Mal said. “How about a game of croquet before launch?” Dad asked. “Of course.” Mal said. “Game on.” Ben said as he and dad fist bumped. “I’ll come with you guys.” I said. “Have you played before?” Ben asked as we walked away. “No.” Mal said. “Don’t worry Mal croquet is an easy game.” I said. 

Ben, Mal, and Jay mostly play croquet while Mom, Dad and Evie talked. I was running around with Carlos playing with dude. We were stopped in our tracks when we heard Queen Leah shriek. “Oh no.” I said as I rushed over. “How are you here? And how have you stayed so young?” Queen Leah asked Mal thinking that she was maleficent. “Queen Leash it’s okay. Maleficent is still on the island. This is her daughter Mal. Don’t you remember my proclamation to give the new generation a chance?” Ben said as he wrapped an arm around Mal I stood on the other side of her. “A chance to what Ben? Destroy us? Come on you remember don’t you? The poison apples. And the spells. Spells. My daughter was raised by fairies because of your mother’s curse. So her first words her first steps I missed it all! You mustn’t trust her.” Queen Leah said as she crossed her arms turning to fairy godmother. “Hey I’m so.” Mal said as she reached out to comfort her. “Go away! Stay away from her!” Chad said pushing her arm away and standing in front of Queen Leah. “Don’t don this Chad.” Ben said. “What? They were raised by their parents Ben. What do you think villains teach their kids? Huh? Kindness? Fair play? No way okay? Uh-uh. You stole another girls boyfriend.” Chad said. “Shut up Chad.” I said. “Hey Hey!” Ben said. Chad stepped away from us to look at Jay and Evie. “You enjoy hurting people. And you you’re nothing but a gold digger and a cheater.” Chad said. Evie stepped towards Chad taking out a mirror. “Mirror mirror in my hand who’s the biggest jerk in the land?” Evie asked as she turned to show the mirror. The mirror showed Chad’s reflects. “What?” Chad said as he shoved Evie’s arms down. I rushed over and shoved Chad. But he ended up shoving me back making me fall backwards and I hit my head against something. I held my hands against my head as Mal helped me sat up. I looked to see that Jay had grabbed Chad by the front of his shirt. Then Evie walked up to them spraying something in Chad’s face and Chad fell to the ground asleep. Evie pulled Mal back from the scene. I pulled my hand from my hand to see that there was blood on it. I looked over to mom and dad. Dad saw the blood on my hand and he and mom rushed over to my side as he helped me up from the ground taking his handkerchief from his suit pocket holding it against my head. I watched as Mal, Evie, Carlos and Jay running form the scene. “I feared something like this would happen.” Dad said. “This isn’t their fault!” Ben yelled. “No son. It’s yours. Now your mother and I have to go get your sister help.” Dad said as he ushered mom and me away. “Mom? Y/n?” Ben asked as we walked away. 

Thankfully I just needed a few stitches and that was it. After I was done I wanted to go check of them but I knew mom and dad wouldn’t let me so I would have to do it later when they couldn’t stop me. Mom, Dad and I went back home after I got the stitches in my head. I went to my room to change out of my dress to the check if it had any blood stains. I grabbed a long sleeved shirt and shorts to change into. Once I took off my dress and put on the clothes I check all over my dress and there wasn’t any blood stains on it thankfully I knew that if there was it would have been a pain to get out. “Oh you are so lucky Chad.” I mumbled under my breath as I put the dress in my dirty clothes hamper. At the same time there was a knock at my door. “Come in.” I said. I heard my door open and I turned around to see Ben. “How bad was it? Neither mom nor dad would tell me.” Ben said. “Just a few stitches is all. How are they?” I asked. “As you would expect upset about what happened.” Ben said. “Are mom and dad in their room?” I asked. “I think so why?” Ben asked. “I’m going to go check on Mal and Evie I was wondering if you could cover for me I promise I won’t think long.” I said. Ben nodded. “Thanks.” I said as I put my flats back on and leaving to go see how they were. 

I knocked on their door and waited on one of them to answer. Mal was the one who opened the door and she was relieved when she saw me. “So how bad was it?” Mal asked as Evie came up to join us. “Just a few stitches nothing to worry about.” I said as Mal let me into their room. “I’m sorry Y/n it’s my fault that Chad pushed you.” Evie said as she looked at the ground. “I don’t blame you at all. That behavior from Chad didn’t surprise me at all so don’t blame yourself.” I said. Evie slowly looked up at me and nodded. I knew how to turn the mood around and that was to ask about my dress. “So how’s my dress coming along?” I asked. Evie immediately had a smile on her face. “I just finished it.” Evie said. “Really?” I asked. “Yes do you wanna see?” Evie asked. “I would love to.” I said. Evie led me over to where the dress was and it was really beautiful. It looked almost like mom’s but it was mom in my style.  “I love it really.” I said. “Really?” Evie asked. “Yes I absolutely love it.” I said as I hugged her. “I’m glad you love it.” Evie said as she hugged me back. “I would love and stay to talk but I promise Ben that I wouldn’t be gone long so I should head back home now.” I said. “Take your dress with you.” Evie said as she handed me the dress. I smiled as I took the dress from her. “I’ll see you girls later.” I said. “See you.” Mal said. “Bye y/n.” Evie said. I left their room and hurried home hoping Mom or dad haven’t noticed I was gone yet. 

Overall Taglist: @the-broken-halo-writer​

[gerbiloftriumph]

So you wanna be a king (pt3)

or maybe you just wanna cosplay one.

Continuing the cosplay semi-tutorial-semi-rambling for those who love one smol bean and wish to dress as him for funsies:

Part 3: Trousers and Boots

Okay, so, at this point you’ve probably spent at least $150, and at least enough hours to watch every Game Grumps King’s Quest LP (that's three and a quarter full games) three times. Likely more. 

It’s time to pull out your screencaps again, to remind yourself why we’re here. 

(it’s for this cute face, with all his determination and compassion and bravery and intelligence. That’s why.)

You’ve got a jerkin (pt 2) and a cloak (pt 1) but it’s indecent to walk around without anything waist down, so let’s a’stitch some trousers. And also some boots while we’re at it. 

Trousers!

When I was at the Renfest, someone asked me where I got my neat blue riding pants. Well, for starters......they’re yoga pants. And also, Goodwill. Have you noticed a trend with me yet. 

This knobbly-kneed lad is definitely not pulling a Men In Tights routine--there’s too much definition and stiffness in the wrinkles. I decided on sweatpants, though, because why not? May as well be comfy. (The more accurate fabric choice would probably be like, a khaki material, but, nah). I selected two separate pairs in the colors I wanted.

Because this costume isn’t warm enough, I attached the lighter pair over the darker rather than Frankenstein-sew two chopped parts together. It’s kind of like wearing pants and a half. Because I’m the monster. And also I was concerned that long-term wear would weaken the stitching if I pulled a Frankenstein, and this costume has been time consuming enough without risking it falling apart on me. 

What that means is this: I put on the darker pair, measured about how wide it looked Graham’s pants were vs on me, turned the lighter pair inside out so I could mark the width on them, and cut out a long and bizarre looking rectangle from the inner section of the light pair. 

The reason why we cosplay is to get into our favorite character’s pant--no, I’m sorry, the joke’s too bad, I’ll see myself out. 

I selected three inches wide on either side of the inner pant hem, so six inches wide in total, from ankle to ankle. This does mean there’s more fabric around the ankle since they naturally slim down, but the boot covers that. Since the lighter pair had an elastic stretchy cuff, I left that intact so the pants wouldn’t bunch up when walking. 

Immediately after cutting out the light pair, I ran it through my sewing machine with that herringbone stitch (the zigzag triangles) to “seal” the fabric edge and prevent fraying. It gives it kind of a bubbly textured look if you look closely, but if you’re not about that life, you could cut out an extra inch and hem it back for a straight clean line. 

I then carefully lined up all the hemlines, light to dark, pinning as flat and evenly as possible. Then, hand sewing. Bane of my novice cosplay life. 

First I stitched hemline to hemline so it would be precisely centered, then again along the edges of the light fabric. So I sewed this thing by hand three times, paying special attention to the area where the legs intersect since that’s where the most friction from walking and picking up inventory items and the like will wear. Just sew along existing hemlines. It can be sloppy; no one will ever see your stitches--unless you turn it inside out to make a semi-tutorial for strangers on the internet, and then they’ll laugh at you.

If you feel fancy, you can add the thick patches on Graham’s trousers. I didn’t bother at the time because it felt like a bit much, but I do really like those patches. Maybe someday. 

Also, you should probably handwash this piece too. Unless you trust your sloppy stitches more than I trust mine. 

Boots!

I’ma tell you a secret: my absolute favorite part of all of Graham’s outfit is the boots. I love them. I want a real pair. Like, with actual metal bits, not cheap eBay boots and shoe goo and hope. The boots are at least a quarter of the reason why I made this costume in the first place. 

And yet, the boots were the last thing I made, more than a year after completing the rest of the costume. I wore shin-high lace up boots in the meantime, and it was fine, but knee length is truly the ideal silhouette against your cloak. It does make a difference.

I’ve made boot covers before (Lynne, Ghost Trick, bright red), and it’s fine, but it’s also frustrating. I highkey recommend just modifying a regular boot. There are lots of gorgeous, expensive options out there, but in the end I settled for a bootleg boot from China (you know, the ones that are “fashion” but which all use the same stock image and are fake mimics for a fraction of the cost on eBay) for a grand total of...$25.00, with shipping. Ye boi.

According to the receipt this boot is an.....”American Rag Ada Round Toe Synthetic Over the Knee Boot.” Cool, deffo bootleg. 

Another secret: I put gel inserts in both the toe and the heel, I wear gel-ankle socks over my regular socks, and I stuff the heels with leftover plushie-making cotton fluff. Because bootleg boots are cheap and blistery, and comic con floors are hard enough even with a nice sturdy pair of shoes, so seek every advantage you can. More cotton fluff. More! Stuff it in there! And also wear your favorite patterned socks, because it’s my tutorial and I said so. 

Okay, back to the store. Get the following things: a small amount of stretchy black fabric, a small amount of gray fabric, a sheet or two of craft foam, a tube of shoe goo, and popsicle sticks or some other way to “paint” the goo. Also an audiobook to help pass the time. (can you believe no one’s recorded the King’s Quest novels into an audiobook form, how tragic.)

Using some of the boundless scrap you have from the rest of this cosplay, determine how wide you want the black pieces to be, and maybe the gray while you’re at it. That fully depends on your boot. 

Cut out your black for the front and back pieces. They won’t be pure rectangles, but have a trapezoid curve to them to mimic the shoe curve. Pin and hem.

Apply shoe goo around the whole section of the boot you’re covering, as flat and even as possible, and stretch, apply, and pin your black fabric into place. Do little detail work with the popsicle sticks, and once it’s all pinned, leave to dry for a while. Ideally, overnight, so the glue can set. 

Go play King’s Quest again or something while you’re waiting. It’s not like you have anything else to do, right?

This boot happened to already have a buckle on the back which I wrapped in gray fabric to mimic the silver on Graham’s heels--your boot probably doesn’t have this, so use this following method instead.

To get the silver cuffs, I cut out foam (you might have to look around for foam in a good thickness, or glue multiple sheets together--mine is, uh....the thick foam my bose headphones came in.....), and glued fabric over it. Then I glued the foam/fabric curve to the shoe, pinned it in place, and walked away again. I sure hope you like your audiobook. There’s a lot of downtime here. 

This method works for the anklets too. Wrap foam entirely in black fabric. Hilariously, since it’s foam, I didn’t have any trouble pushing it through my sewing machine to add the gray on top of the black. Another secret: my anklets connect via elastic, so I can get the boots on while still having a snug anklet. No, it probably doesn’t look great if you’re walking right behind me, but there’s that 5 foot rule of cosplay that means no one should see it, and who’s staring at my heels anyway, that’s weird. 

Cut thin regular plain sheet foam in the right size to fit over your toe. To achieve the curve, cut out little notches (you can just see a discarded notch in the included picture), then glue the edges together again sans notch. Bam, curve. Cover in fabric, glue to the toes of the boots like everything else, pin, and wait until dry (yes, overnight again--I did tell you about the audiobook). 

And that’s that! (At least, for me: I have not done the laces on the front, or cut out the knee guard, or anything that requires actual intensive boot modification because I was in a hurry to go meet Christopher Lloyd and on a deadline and forgot to come back to it. No, for reals. Comic cons are magic places.) It’s held up for two full years at cons and renfests and even in a light rain without trouble, tho I do need to touch up some of the edges a bit. 

Put the whole thing together: jerkin, cloak, cowl, trousers, boots. You’re looking fiiiine. All the cool cats are jealous of your sweet new kicks.

And with that, all the giant heavy pieces of your cosplay are done! It’s just accessories and details left. And the adventuring cap, one might argue the most important piece of all. But we’ll get there. Probably. As long as this is helping someone. 

[meetthetank]

Peccatum Chapter 17: Denouement

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), Jackass/The Commander (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), 6O (NieR: Automata), 21O, Jackass (NieR: Automata), The Commander (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, genre typical violence, long fic, Slow Burn, War, Chapter 13 is rated E

Adam stands on the beach just out of reach of the surf. His long, flowing white hair is pulled back with a crude tie to keep the sea breeze from blowing it into his face. Crimson eyes watch seabirds, rodents, felines, and canines scavenge the corpse of Grun, the child of the sea. Though his cold expression betrays no emotion, part of him feels that the demon deserved more than this. But it had failed in its task, and therefore must be recycled. Humans have their rituals and rites when it comes to the dead. Demons do not. It would be pointless anyway, since the fallen would simply be rebuilt or repurposed.

A lone councilor staring at a demon corpse in the dead of night would be suspicious, were anyone around to see him. The humans were busy indulging themselves, though, celebrating their victory. There wouldn’t be a human left not inebriated or seeking pleasures of the flesh. Besides, Eve was not far away. His simple brother would leap into action the moment something went awry.

Though...it might take him a bit longer than normal, seeing as how he is currently rooting around in Grun’s stomach.

It’s vile work, but necessary. To rebuild a demon in a similar way, or to pull the valuable memories of combat from their minds, the core is needed. Grun’s core especially holds great value. The memories of a demon that old and one that was separated from the Terminals are truly unique among their kind.

Grun’s open throat shifts and shudders, then gives way to reveal Eve, naked and covered in viscera. He bounds over to Adam with a wide, childlike smile on his face.

“Brother! I found it!”

He wades through the surf and presents an irregularly shaped crystal no bigger than an apple that glows with a soft, deep blue light.

“Excellent work, Eve,” Adam says, taking the Core and beginning to clean the rotting flesh from it. “Go rinse off now.”

Eve huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “Do I have to, Brother? The ocean is so cold at night…”

“Yes,” Adam snaps, but keeps his tone soft so as not to upset Eve. “What would the people think if they saw you like this?”

“I guess they’d be scared…” Eve mutters, his brows pulling together as he thinks. “Okaaaay, I’ll go I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

Adam sighs. His “brother” had his uses, but he was a simple creature. He was unmatched in combat, but when it came to behavior and etiquette he had the attitude of a human child. Fortunately he stayed silent during most interactions with the human’s governments, which allowed Adam to show his own strengths. Eloquent language and half truths were his weapons of war, and up until today they had never failed.

Idly, he turns the Core over in his hands, feeling its strange irregularities dig into the soft flesh of his palm. Cores of this nature are rare. They’re supposed to be perfectly round and free of blemishes, accentuating uniformity among the Demon Hierarchy. However, the more a demon deviates, the more deformities spread across its surface. Grun’s core is barely recognizable as one, looking more like a lump of unpolished crystal instead. Countless untold experiences of a demon who lived alone for centuries at the bottom of the ocean lie within, and Adam can’t suppress intense jealousy for whoever gets to unearth them. The centuries of memories are priceless to a relatively new creation like himself.

“I can’t believe the humans actually did it,” Eve says, lazily pulling on a set of dry clothes.

His brother’s statement causes Adam to grit his teeth. Admitting that the Apes managed to defeat his carefully deployed troop of flying demons is a blow to his pride he did not expect. He maintains his composure in front of Eve, but the internal fury burns within him, as it does with all demons. Though Homunculi like himself and his brother are designed to lead humans astray with deception and cunning, he laments his restrictive position and longs to face them in a real fight.

At least in this case he can attribute the Ape’s victory to their new weapon and their unforseen ally.

“It seems we may have underestimated them, and their Equalizer. Even so, the human’s suffered great losses today. Even with their...dragon.” Adam muses, his gaze lost in the core, “They celebrate and believe all will be well,” he chuckles darkly, “They will return to the city completely unaware of what is to come.”

“Grun did break a lot ships…” Eve stares up at the sky, oblivious to Adam’s ramblings, “But, why are they celebrating if so many of their soldiers died?”

Adam hums to himself as he wraps the core in a thick cloth, “Perhaps they are celebrating as a way of honoring the dead.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, brother.”

He laughs a little and ruffles the short white hair of his twin, “Humans are strange and fascinating creatures, Eve. One day we will dissect them and reveal their mysteries.”

“And then can we play?”

“Yes, Eve. Then we can play.”

“Three ...two...one ...HEAVE!!”

11S’ cry rings out across the beach. At his command, 9S, 801S, and 42S all pull on long hooked poles with all of their might. The steaming piles of flesh slough off of Grun’s corpse, splashing into the surf and spraying the scouts with congealed blood and seawater. They grimace and groan but do not gag, as they are already covered with gore and soaked to the bone. The morning sun does little to warm their shivering bodies.

“Ugh…” 801S moans, “This thing isn’t gonna budge. Why the hell are we doing this!?”

“Cause Jackass told us to.” 11S grumbles.

“Jackass was drunk, asshole.” 801S snaps, “She tells us to do all kinds of shit when she’s been drinking. Remember when she told us all to drain that lake? Or collect all the brown rocks in camp?”

Silence passes between the scouts as they take a moment to reflect on the futility of hauling a multi-ton rotting demon out of the ocean.

“So,” 9S says, “I don’t know about you guys, but my stitches broke again and I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“Agreed,” the other scouts respond and toss their hooks into the sand.

9S tenderly peels off his coat and sets it on a nearby log of driftwood. Sure enough there are little specks of blood on his undershirt in a fine line across his chest. He sighs, knowing the verbal beating 6O is going to give him later.

“Did the sewing break again?”

He whips his head around to find 2B, her head tilted curiously as she stares down at him.

“Stitches,” he corrects, “and yeah. I guess this stupid errend Jackass sent us on was too strenuous.”

“We told you to sit this one out!!” 801S shouts from further down the shoreline.

9S waves off 801S with a low huff before turning back to 2B, “I’m fine, it just stings a bit...11S went to go get 6O, but it’ll be a while before they get here.”

He sighs and unbuttons his undershirt, hissing as the fabric brushes across the tender skin around his wounds. Looking down at his chest he sees that they are irritated and slightly red, a sure sign of oncoming infection. With a small cloth he begins to dab away the trails of blood.

“Here.” 2B says, moving his hand away from his body and kneeling down in front of him.

“Huh? What are you- Gah!” 9S yelps and jerks himself back, almost falling off of the log, the second 2B’s tongue makes contact with his skin. “What was that?!”

“Hold still,” she commands. “Coatyl saliva has minor healing properties,” She holds his gaze for a moment, then averts her eyes shamefully, “I’m sorry. Did I overstep?”

“I-....” He wants to object, but some lewd section of his mind holds him in place. “...No, you’re fine. It’s...different. Go ahead.”

With a quick nod, 2B lowers herself back down to his chest. She licks around the outside of his wound, careful not to disturb the more inflamed portions. A slight tingle spreads across where her tongue trails. Right before his eyes, the angry swelling begins to dissipate and the slight ache fades away. It doesn’t totally heal the wound, not like 6O’s magic, but it does make it a little more comfortable. He figures her saliva might be some kind of disinfectant rather than magic, but with this woman anything is possible.

9S leans back a little, sighing with relief. However it’s when 2B shifts ever so slightly between his legs that he becomes acutely aware of where she is and what she’s doing. His shoulders tense and he inhales sharply. Suddenly it feels like his body is on fire, and even the smallest movement from 2B sends shivers down his spine. He runs his hand through 2B’s hair, feeling the soft, downy feathers hidden beneath. In return, she gazes up at him with curious blue eyes that makes his heart stop for a split second.

Something pulls at the back of his mind as he holds 2B’s gaze, something that starts out formless but turns into words. Commands, instructions, suggestions. They start to flow from his mind and pour into 2B’s when 9S catches himself. He blinks furiously, forcing those thoughts from his head. 2B shakes her head as well, clearing the hazy, slightly gold tinged, look in her eyes.

What did he…just do?

“Wow, Nines. That’s a reeeeal scary bear, huh?” 801S jeers with a wide smirk plastered across his face.

“S-Shut up!!” 9S yelps and hastily scrambles away from 2B, who looks back and forth between him and the scouts with a slightly annoyed expression.

“So ferocious,” 11S says, making mock claws with his hands, “Careful 9S, it might maul you again!”

9S’ face flushes red as he fumbles with his undershirt and coat. All the while, 2B seems nonplussed at the scout’s teasing. For a moment he’s confused, but then he recalls the conversation they had just before their “encounter” in the woods. At first he thinks its because she has no shame, but it seems more along the lines of cultural difference.

He sighs, pulling on his coat. He couldn't be too mad at them, for now at least. After all that’s happened, he could let them poke fun at an easy target.

“Oi! OI!” Jackass slurs, standing on a wobbling table that barely supports her weight, “Listen up! I’m making a speech!!”

The tavern full of soldiers and workers miraculously quiet down. 9S, the other scouts, 21O, 6O, and even 2B gather around the table Jackass stands on, setting their pints of ale elsewhere so she wouldn’t knock them over in her half-drunk stumbling.

“I cannot begin to tell you guys how amazing you are,” Jackass begins, swinging her arms wide and spilling ale over unsuspecting spectators, “We did the impossible. A bunch of nobodies went and blew up the biggest demon ever recorded!”

Cheers and the clanking of steins echo throughout the tavern before Jackass motions for them to quiet down once more.

“Without all of your hard work, this town would be fuckin’ underwater or covered in demon shit or whatever,” she pauses to take a long drink from her stein, “Without y’all, there wouldn’t be anyone to sit here and listen to me scream about how fucking cool that fight went. Sure, we lost a lot of good folk,” another pause as everyone bows their heads in a brief silence to honor the fallen, “Hell, without all of you I wouldn’t be standing up here in the first place. I give you guys a ration of shit all the time, but in all the honesty I have in my shriveled up husk of a heart, you deserve to go fucking wild!”

The tavern erupts with cheers once again. Jackass throws her arms out wide and cheers along with them spilling more ale and almost making herself lose her balance.

“And- Shut up!” she shouts. “And! White turned in early for the night! So no rules!”

A drunken soldier gets up next to Jackass, face already red as a beet. “LET’S START A FIRE!”

“There’s one rule!” Jackass hastily amends and shoved the soldier off of her pedestal.

2B fails to suppress a giggle as the scouts around her break into laughter. She had only had a few sips of her tankard but she already feels lightheaded and warm all over. 9S had told her what exactly she was drinking but she doesn’t remember right now, nor does she care. It makes her feel good, so she goes in for another sip.

Though alcohol is nothing new to her, she’s never had something this strong. Back home eating large quantities of fermented fruit would bring on a similar but not as intense feeling, and even then it would take a lot. The only time she had any was a few times in her youth and her sibling’s betrothal celebrations. Technically she shouldn’t be having any now due to her apprenticeship, but…

Oh yeah, she left and can’t come back. So she’s no longer an apprentice anyway. That’s why she let 9S put this tankard of...something...in her hand. Whatever it was that humans drank, it certainly put fermented fruits to shame.

The scouts beside her distribute small cups to each other and fill them with a little bit of a sharp smelling liquid. 11S puts one in her hand with a grin, “Come on, you’re part of the gang. By association anyway.”

The scent of the amber fluid burns the inside of her nose, making her recoil from it. Even so, she follows along with 9S and the rest of the scouts as they hold their glasses up above the middle of the table. 9S gives her a comforting smile, but it doesn’t mask the sadness lurking behind it.

“To 32S,” 801S says solemnly and gestures to the empty chair beside him. “May the gods rest his soul.”

“To 32S,” the others and 2B repeat, bowing their heads.

They tap their glasses on the table twice. 2B mimicks them up until they all throw their heads back and gulp down the foul smelling fluid. She hesitated for a moment, then brings the cup up to her lips and takes a sip. The second the bitter drink touches her tongue she almost gags, but holds herself together with a grimace and a shiver.

“Oi! Don’t sip it,” 11S explains. “Open your throat and down it all at once.”

“Yeah, like this!” 42S pours himself another cup and tilts his head back in the same way as before. The boy doesn’t even flinch, just smiles broadly and presents his empty cup to the group.

2B takes a deep breath, then throws her head back and nearly launches the cup up to her lips. The drink burns as she swallows the lot of it, but it feels strangely warm in her stomach. She’s able to savor the unique oaky flavor of it before her world begins to blur even further. The warmth of the drink spreads from her gut, to her face, and out to her fingers.

“Whoa…” she mutters, wiggling her rapidly numbing fingers in front of her face.

“Ooohh boy, here we go,” 801S laughs.

9S puts his hand on her shoulder to steady her, “Easy there 2B,” his voice is laced with concern but she can see the grin just beneath, “I think that’s enough alcohol for you.”

“N...nuh,” she grumbles, waving her hand in his face. “M’ fine.”

The scouts chat amongst themselves about something that can’t hold 2B’s attention. Her eyes drift around the tavern. Her instincts tell her to scan for danger, though there’s nothing dangerous here except the rowdy drunken soldiers. She spots 6O off to the side of the main mass of people, practically draped across 21O who turns redder and redder the more 6O says. Meanwhile, in stark contrast to minutes earlier, Jackass sits in a lonely corner, surveying her handiwork with a cold gaze and a second tankard beside hers.

2B isn’t sure how long she had been sitting at the table, staring into the crowd, but a quiet sniffling next to her breaks her out of her alcohol induced daze. She looks down to see 9S rubbing his face with the back of his hand as he quietly sobs into a tankard of ale.

“Wh?” she mutters. “Wh’s wrong?”

“H-...I couldn’t...I should’ve…” 9S slurs before taking another drink. “I could’ve saved ‘m….”

“Who?”

“Thr-...2S…” he hiccups. “32S…”

“Oh…”

“He was right there…” Tears begin to stream down his face. “I could’ve done something but I just sat there. I was so useless...He died ‘cause of me…”

“No, the demons got him,” 2B mumbles. “You didn’t kill him.”

“But I didn’t save him!” he moans. “I was so helpless! I just laid there on the floor while he-...he…”

9S buries his face in his hands and sobs quietly. “He got taken...and I just sat there….”

She clumsily puts her hand on his head and runs her fingers through his hair with all the grace of a lame cow. “You did what you could... “

“Did I? What if I could have done more… What if-...” He can’t finish his thoughts as another wave of intense sobs wrack his body.

“It’s okay…” 2B mutters, putting her arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay…”

“2B…” He looks up at her with tear filled eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s okay for me to...keep going-”

“Shh, shut up.” 2B shoves her hand into his face. “Don’t blame yourself for that, you did everything you could.”

His brows knit together as he studies her face. She sways back and forth with a glazed look in her eyes. “....Are you drunk?”

“No I’m-” She tries to hold back a damning hiccup, but the pressure inside her chest turns it into a small burp. “I’m fine.”

9S’ face scrunches up. “Ugh, your breath says otherwise…”

“Dragons cannot get dr-” Another hiccup. “Drunk...I am an apprentice of temperance and...something something…. No indulgence for me, no sir.” She grumbles her half remembered creed with a lazy roll of her hand.

“What kind of apprentice has to abstain from ‘indulgences’?” 9S asks, slyly moving 2B’s tankard away from her.

“I was ah-..uuh...Ex…” She hiccups again. “Ex-....” She becomes distracted by 9S and her eyes glaze over. All thoughts leaves her mind as she becomes lost in his boyish face. “...You’re...cute.”

9S giggles and playfully taps 2B’s nose. “I know. You’ve told me before.”

2B huffs, but doesn’t resist when 9S practically flops on her lap. He looks out to the thinning crowd of soldiers and civilians as they continue to sing and drink with each other.

“You know...this is the happiest I’ve seen everyone in a while...It’s nice.” He looks up at 2B who hums in agreement, and continues to comb her claws through his hair. “I’m...I’m glad you’re here to share this with us...with me.”

“Yeah…” 2B mutters, a smile beginning to form. “I’m glad, too.”

Though the party itself was beginning to die down, 2B and 9S simply sat together in silence, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet with each other.

It would turn out to be their last for a long, long time.

[13thsongbird]

I can’t quite believe it’s nearly October – where did the summer go? And on top of that, where did September go?? That said, I’ve been glorying in the weather here in New York this past month. We’ve still been flirting with temps in the 80s during the hottest parts of the day, but it’s much breezier and less humid, and once the sun goes down the temperature drops quite comfortably into the 60s. Much nicer than the sticky humidity and 90+ degree days and nights of August! (We’re still not quite to my ideal fall temperatures, but soon… soon…)

And with cooler temps come thoughts of fall-appropriate sewing – that is to say, things with sleeves. I didn’t do this consciously, but looking back at the projects I completed this summer, there wasn’t a single sleeve in sight! These arms demand freedom in the heat of a New York City summer, what can I say. Hindsight being 20/20, this actually may be the reason I procrastinated so long on the make I’m ever-so-slowly building up to. Minds are weird and wonderful things, aren’t they?

At the beginning of August, the Instagram sewing community blew up with sewing challenges – the ones I saw the most were #alteritaugust and #BRAugust2019, but there were any number of others. Not sure why August is the hoppin’ sewing month, but it made for a flood of inspiring Instagram pictures so I wasn’t complaining! However, I wasn’t really in the mood to commit to a sustained month-long challenge. The lure of getting in the sandbox to play with my sewing community beckoned, but it wasn’t quite clicking – until I saw someone posting about #sewcialmashup and a little bulb went off in my head. The concept was simply to mash up two (or more!) patterns and share pictures of the result during the month of August, with weekly prize drawings and some big grand prize options at the end of the month, and my mind immediately flashed to a mashup I’ve had brewing since before the new year. What a great opportunity to get my rear in gear, join the fun, but also not overwhelm myself! One project, one month – easy peasy!

(And then I procrastinated for the whole month and only worked on it the literal last three days of August… and then I started writing this blog post the first week of September and only just now got around to finishing it… Shhhhhh… I blame it on the heat. Yeah. Also, big shoutout to Girls in the Garden and Inside the Hem for hosting such a fun challenge!)

Like a lot of sewists, I was entranced this winter by the release of Friday Pattern Company’s Adrienne Blouse. A simple top designed for knits, it majorly brings the drama with sleeves that are literally the largest pattern pieces on the sheet, gathered at shoulder and cuff with 1/2″ elastic, and is a terrifically drafted pattern and easy to sew to boot. The minute I got my grubby little hands on it, I was dreaming of wearing it tucked into high-waisted pants and skirts, which gave me a moment of pause. I don’t like tucking knit tops in – I feel like they often bunch and shift under a fitted waistband, plus I’m very tall with a long torso, which can be trying when it comes to keeping tucked-in shirts in place. The Adrienne is drafted with negative ease through the body, which meant the bunching was unlikely to be an issue, but it is also self-described as “slightly cropped with the hem hitting just below your bellybutton”. How much length was I going to have to add to make this wearable?? (The answer is none – I actually find the length of the torso fairly spot-on for me. Were I looking for a cropped top I’d be disappointed, but as it is I’m pleased as punch!) Then I had a surge of brilliance – I’ve posted here before about my love affair with the Nettie bodysuit from Closet Case Patterns, and one of the things I love most about it is that it provides me with close-fitting knit tops that are un-untuckable. Why couldn’t I just whack the bottom of the Nettie onto the Adrienne, joining the practicality of the bodysuit with the swoony romanticism of the blouse’s sleeves? Both patterns are very simply drafted with similar ease and stretch requirements. Only one thing to do, and that was throw it at the wall and see if it stuck!

Despite the incredibly long incubation time on this idea (I mentioned it for the first time all the way back in January when I was drafting my Pick Nine selections for 2019), once I pulled out the patterns the whole thing came together really quickly! My copy of the Nettie has an inch of length added to the front pattern piece at the lengthen-shorten line (I chose to fold out that extra length from the back piece to try and reduce extra fabric at the small of my back, which has been an issue before), so to make sure I included that I simply lined up the Nettie’s top lengthen-shorten line with the waist notch on the Adrienne. Above that point I traced the Adrienne, below it I traced the waist and hip curve on the Nettie, shifted the pattern pieces a little so the edge lined up with the fold of the fabric, and traced the leg opening with some creative fudging to make up for a little added width through the hips. Same process for the back (while Adrienne uses the same pattern piece front and back, the Nettie has differently shaped pieces to accommodate your crotch and your butt) and I was in business! Since I didn’t change anything about the armscye or neckline of the Adrienne, I could simply use the sleeve and neck binding pattern pieces as drafted, and while the leg opening did end up slightly cattywompus from the original Nettie, Heather very thoughtfully includes in the pattern instructions that the bands (which you self-draft anyway) should be 90% the length of your leg opening, so I just had to do a little measuring.

Cutting it out was simple and mostly notable for how often I had to stop to pet my fabric – I’ve never worked with double-brushed poly before, so I don’t know if it’s all this soft and kitten-like and delicious or if LA Finch Fabrics just has the absolute best DBP in the game. Either way, it’s divine, and I got 1 1/4 yard for a steal of a deal because it was an end-of-bolt piece (so no more for you, sorry, it’s ALL MINE!), which was the perfect amount to cut out my “Adrettie” without any hassle and still have some silky-soft scrappy pieces that I think I can squeeze a panties-and-bralette set out of (#sustainablesewing!!! Use up those scraps!). Construction was likewise simple and straightforward; while I own a serger it hasn’t been threaded in a few years and I have sewn everything from lingerie elastic to swimsuit lycra to chunky sweater knits using the zigzag stitch on my ever-loving Joni, so all I had to do was sit down at my machine and sew. An hour or two later, and it was SLEEVE TIME!!

I’m seriously in love with these sleeves. Paired with my buzz cut, they make me feel like I’m Fantine from Les Mis – and who doesn’t want to go about their daily life feeling like a 19th-century factory worker tragically forced to sell her hair, teeth, and body to support her beloved but illegitimate daughter by a man who took advantage of her and then abandoned her to a life of poverty??? (Fantine is one of my dream roles, y’all. I dreamed a dreeeeam in time gone byyyyy…)

Okay maybe that’s just me.

I’m slightly less in love with how far down the cut of the leg opening falls in the front – the back coverage is perfect, and one of the reasons I love the drafting of the Nettie so much, but I might go back in and carve out some of the side and front so the band sits more comfortably in the crease between my thigh and my pelvis.

I paired Adrettie with some Old Navy shorteralls, and while I’m liking the effect I’m not a huge fan of the blue-on-blue – I love a good dress-like-a-crayon moment, but I prefer a little more dynamism and contrast between shades. Still, I wore the ensemble out to a friend’s birthday and really enjoyed it, so I think the answer is clear: I need to make more Adretties to wear with my blue denim shorteralls, and I need to make some other shorteralls (and full-length overalls for the colder weather) that I can wear with this blue one! I’ve got a pair of golden-yellow thrifted jeans that I was thinking of refashioning/altering, and while they were intended to become another pair of better-fitting pants, I’m sorely tempted to chop off the legs and use the extra fabric for straps and a bib… we shall see! I also think the sleeves would look darling under a pinafore, especially as the fall weather begins to make layering more of an option again. And then of course there’s the high-waisted pants and skirts I originally envisioned this hack with!

Gratuitous cat pic!

One thing I will be doing, though, is going back and opening the crotch seam to add snaps – all this talk of layering something that I have to take off in its entirety to go to the bathroom is giving me the cold sweats, and the thought of sitting on a toilet shivering as the weather gets colder does not appeal! The mood for this autumn is dress smarter, not harder, y’all.

  We Love A Statement Sleeve I can't quite believe it's nearly October - where did the summer go? And on top of that, where did September go??

[babybluebanshee]

Heavy Rains - Chapter 2 (TF2)

Part 1

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Sniper didn’t understand why things felt so off that morning. It’s not as if things were any different from days they didn’t have to work. True, it was still bloody dreary outside, with rain pelting down on them, heavy as ball bearings, but things were - for them anyway - normal.

He and Engineer had woken up first, as always. Rising with the sun was second nature to farm boys like them, even if Sniper had felt pretty cagey all night. He simply wasn’t used to sleeping in the barracks, and had almost been itchy for the remote safety of his van. But Miss Pauling had rightfully pointed out that sleeping outside when there was a chance of flooding wasn’t too terribly smart. He’d managed to tough it out, get a decent eight hours, and wake up feeling only a little stiff in the lower back. These military beds weren’t worth a damn.

After a few hours, in which he and Engie had brewed up a nice pot of coffee and sat in amicable silence over a cup, the latter started cooking up some breakfast for everyone. No one had ever asked him to, it was just something Engineer seemed to enjoy. The smell of eggs and coffee started to draw the others out of their quarters - first Heavy, followed by Pyro, Medic, and Spy, the last three in varying orders and varying stages of wakefulness.

Demo stumbled out a little later, downing two cups of coffee he’d given an Irish twist before he even considered touching the food.

Finally Miss Pauling emerged, the only indication she’d slept her slightly wrinkled blouse. Her bun was strict and tight as usual, her glasses slightly crooked, her face not betraying one ounce of the stress she’d clearly been feeling the day before. Sniper was glad for that. Staying with them wasn’t exactly his idea of a relaxing vacation, but it seemed to do her good anyway. She was too young to always look as worried as she did.

Engineer seemed to feel the same way, smiling as he slid two runny eggs out of the frying pan and onto to a plate. He passed them over to Pyro. The firebug made a noise that Sniper supposed was appreciative, and immediately began dunking bits of his toast into the gooey yolks. He pulled his mask a bit away from his face and stuck the toast inside, presumably to reach his mouth. Sniper heard contented chewing.

For all intents and purposes, this was a normal morning. And yet Sniper couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his gut that something wasn’t quite right.

“Mornin’, Miss Pauling,” Engineer said, spooning another glob of butter into the pan. “How do you take your eggs?”

“Over easy, if you don’t mind,” Miss Pauling replied. “Any more of that coffee left?”

Spy was already on his feet as she asked, pouring her a generous mugful. “You’ll find, Miss Pauling, that this is one thing we keep a very steady supply of around here.”

As soon as her hands were around the steaming mug, she took a long drink. Sniper had never known any woman that took her coffee black. But then, Miss Pauling was not like other women he’d known.

She let out a contented sigh as she swallowed. “Gotta love that strong Mann Co. coffee,” she said. “It goes down like hot glue, but it certainly hits the spot.”

“Fortunately, for me,” Spy said, “we keep plenty of milk around as well. French coffee can be a bit strong, but it is practically water compared to this.” He took a sip from his own mug, the color of hazelnuts from all the milk.

“Agreed. It baffles me how anyone can take this coffee black,” Medic said, refilling his own mug about halfway. The rest of the room watched in silent horror as he filled the rest of the mug with milk, then dumped in teaspoon after teaspoon of sugar. After twelve, he finally stopped, stirred the concoction briefly with a spoon, and took a large swig. “Much better,” he said quietly.

“You want some coffee with your sugar, doc?” Sniper asked, before draining the last of his own coffee. Taken black, obviously. It was how his dad took it.

Medic shrugged and simply said, “I don’t tell you how to enjoy your bean water.” Then he took another long, loud drink.

Sniper heard Engineer chuckle a bit as he slid Miss Pauling’s eggs onto a plate. “Order up,” he said, handing them over to her. She took the plate and sat down on Sniper’s left, and began daintily dabbing a square of toast into the yolks.

As she stuck it in her mouth, she glanced around the room. She suddenly looked confused, and after swallowing, asked, “Where are Scout and Soldier?” She sounded like a mother who realized two of her children had wandered off.

Sniper almost laughed. He could bet money that wasn’t what was off about this morning.

“Trust me, Miss Pauling,” Engineer said, scrambling three more eggs in the pan, “you ain’t gonna see either of those two for a while. Soldier wakes up every morning when we ain’t got ass to kick and works out. Don’t even eat first. Just heads down to the training room and works himself like a dog.”

“And Scout is most likely still asleep,” Spy added, draining the last of his coffee. “Sometimes the smell of food wakes him, but typically we don’t see him before noon.”

This seemed to placate Miss Pauling. Sniper actually saw the tension ease out of her shoulders.

Engineer scraped the scrambled eggs out of the pan and sat himself, his plate, and his cup of sugared coffee across from Pyro. After a few bites and a long gulp, he turned his attention down to Sniper and said, “Speaking of when the boy regains consciousness, you still up for some poker, stretch?”

Sniper smiled and tipped his coffee mug towards Engineer in affirmation. It was a bit of a tradition they’d started. Slow days meant cards and beer. Most of the time, it was just the two of them, either in a game of gin or five card stud. Scout was the one to join them the most often, and sometimes even Demo, Heavy, and Soldier could be persuaded. He’d been looking forward to it ever since he’d heard the forecast for rain.

“Once we get the dishes done, I’ll see if I can wake him up,” Sniper said. “If not, I’ll just have to jimmy the lock on his door.”

“Scout sleeps with his door locked?” Miss Pauling asked.

“We insisted,” Medic said. “After Spy walked in once without knocking first, and…”

Spy interrupted him by loudly clearing his throat. “As I recall, we all agreed never to speak of that again,” he said. “Ever.”

After a moment of stifling silence, Miss Pauling simply said, “Ew.”

The men around her burst into laughter, and the uncomfortable air seemed to be swept out of the room entirely. Sniper shoved down that feeling of wrongness in his belly. It was probably nothing. Instincts could be wrong after all.

------------------

Everything had been fine until Soldier showed up at the door of the infirmary, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Medic actually felt much better that morning. Almost chipper. The rain still pounded mercilessly on the metal roof of the base, but a good night’s sleep and not seeing Scout for the first few hours of the day could do wonders for a man’s disposition. Along with a belly full of toast, eggs, and a large, hot cup of coffee (Sniper could pry his sugar milk from his cold, dead hands), he was ready to muddle through his day and maybe actually feel good about it.

But then he looked up at there was Soldier, standing at attention, as if he were waiting for Medic.

Soldier, in all the years that Medic had known him, never came to the infirmary of his own free will for anything that wasn’t the Uber. There was no injury that Soldier got that he wouldn’t insist he could walk off, even if that injury involved multiple broken bones in both legs.

If Soldier ever absolutely needed to get medical attention, Medic typically had to sneak a sedative into his food. And even then, it was a coin toss if Soldier would stay unconscious long enough for Medic to fix him up as needed. Once when he’d required stitches after a run-in with the enemy Scout, he’d come around while Medic was still sewing him up and punched him right in the mouth. It’d knocked one of his front teeth loose and swollen his cheek for a week.

“Did you need me for something?” Medic asked cautiously.

“My stomach hurts, doc,” Soldier said. The response was quick, and Soldier shut his mouth so quickly once he was finished speaking Medic swore he heard his teeth click together.

And wasn’t that just odd. Two men complaining of stomach ailments within twelve hours of each other, one complaint coming from a man who’d rather eat his own helmet than submit to a medical exam.

Medic tried to tell himself that this was nothing to worry about. As he recalled, Soldier and Demo had done a superb job of putting a dent in the beer Miss Pauling had brought them. For all he knew, Soldier was simply hungover.

But that nagging, persistent fact still stood - this was Soldier.

Medic sighed and said, “Very well, let’s have a look at you.”

He moved forward to unlock the infirmary doors, accidentally brushing up against Soldier’s side. He stopped momentarily when he felt how incredibly warm Soldier was. He could feel it through the fabric of his military jacket, and this close, he could see a thin sheen of sweat on Soldier’s face.

There was definitely something wrong here.

Medic’s doves cooed when he entered, but didn’t flutter or attempt to land on his shoulders. They seemed to sense that he had important things to deal with, and watched anxiously from the rafters. He instructed Soldier to hop up on a gurney, while he dug out a few things - a thermometer, his stethoscope, a box of tongue depressors. He dusted them off a bit as he told himself this was something he could handle easily. Soldier and Scout wouldn’t have the same ailment. They barely spent time together outside of the battlefield. How could they possibly catch the same thing?

After giving the thermometer a good shake, he walked back over to the gurney. “Under your tongue, Soldier,” he said.

Soldier obeyed without a word. Medic tried not to think about how that worried him as he pulled out his pocketwatch and began counting down three minutes.

He remembered, hadn’t he told Scout to come back if he didn’t feel any better last night? Obviously, he couldn’t be too sick, or he wouldn’t be sleeping in until noon as per usual. Medic blamed the sugary Bonk Scout had insisted upon guzzling down the day before. He must have had three cans by the time they were finished unpacking everything from the supply crates. He really would have to look at the lining of Scout’s stomach one day. He would be amazed if the boy didn’t have ulcers yet.

The three minutes ticked by, and Medic removed the thermometer. “103.7,” he said. “This is a high-grade fever, Soldier. You were smart to come here. Any other symptoms you’ve noticed?”

“Sore. My throat hurts,” Soldier said. His voice was quiet. He almost sounded like a child. “And I’m cold.”

That didn’t surprise Medic. Chills with a fever like this were the body’s way of trying to restore balance. He wouldn’t be surprised if Soldier started shivering soon. Combine that with the soreness, and it sounded like the flu. Medic felt some tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying release from his shoulders. The flu was easy. The flu he could deal with. Soldier would be fine with aspirin, fluids, and bedrest. True, it was still odd that Soldier had dragged himself all the way down here for something as simple as the flu, but he supposed everyone had their breaking point.

Medic walked over to his desk, to get the bottle of aspirin he kept in his drawer, ready to give Soldier the okay to leave and head straight back to bed. Sure, the other man wouldn’t particularly like to hear it, since it would put him out of commission on the battlefield for at least a week, but that was just the price one paid for their physical health.

The drawer was empty, and it took Medic a moment to remember he’d given the aspirin to Scout the night before. He bit back the irritated grumbling. He could just go grab the bottle and come back. With as puny as Soldier was behaving, Medic figured he could leave him for a few minutes.

Still, as he left, he said to Soldier, scolding like a parent, “I need to retrieve something. Stay right there.”

Soldier merely nodded vacantly, his helmet tilting a bit. Medic started walking a bit faster.

--------------

The feeling had returned to Sniper’s gut again. It was usually never this hard to wake up Scout.

He checked his watch. It was almost 12:30, and the others were getting itchy for their card game. Usually by this point in the day, Scout had shown his face, even if he was only clad in the boxer shorts and Red Sox shirt he wore as pajamas and stumbling towards the bathroom.

He rapped his knuckles against the door again, pressed his ear close to the wood. He heard nothing - no murmurings and grumblings from the kid, no sounds of him turning over, not even the light snoring that Scout swore up and down that he did not do. “Come on, Scout,” he said loudly. “Get your lazy arse outta bed or we’re starting the game without you.”

Absolutely no sound from within. The feeling in his gut tightened, like someone was giving his innards a squeeze.

He could just leave, let the lad sleep. They could always deal him in when he did wake up.

But this feeling...he just couldn’t shake it. He needed to get in there, just to check on the kid. Make sure he was okay. Scout could yell at him for being a paranoid idiot all he wanted once Sniper knew he was okay.

He started fishing about in his pockets for the small penknife his father had given him as a teenager. It wasn’t exactly the ideal lock-picking tool, and he was no expert, but it’d do in a pinch.

Hard-soled shoes strode up behind him, then stopped. The smell of an expensive cigarette wafted under his nose. He could almost feel Spy eyeing him curiously.

“I may regret asking this, bushman,” Spy said, “but what are you doing?”

“Looking for me knife,” Sniper said shortly. Where the bloody hell was it? He couldn’t have left it in the van, could he?

“I could lend you mine. Lord knows you are not the only one who has thought of murder when it comes to Scout.”

The morbid joke did not help Sniper feel any less agitated. “I’m trying to pick the lock, ya damn spook,” he snapped. “He’s not answering the door and I can’t hear anything but the bloody door is locked.”

If Sniper didn’t know better, he’d say that a flash of genuine concern tripped across Spy’s features, gone as soon as it appeared. “You should have said something.” Spy reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his cigarette case. Flipping it open, he took out a rake pick and hook. “If you’ll kindly step aside, I’ll have the door open in a moment.”

Spy kneeled in front of the door, and gently put the tools through the keyhole. Every click and scrape against the lock inside made Sniper a little bit more agitated. He was practically bouncing on his heels.

“What’s the hold up, Snipes?” Engineer was poking his head around the corner, looking back at Sniper and Spy in confusion.

“Can’t get the kid to answer,” Sniper said. He could hear the mounting tension in his voice.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Engineer said.

“Oh, he better damn well be,” Sniper grumbled.

“You do realize that Scout is an adult. If he wishes to sleep his day away, he’s free to do that,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from his lockpicking.

“Just get the damn door open,” Sniper said. “Then you lot can hassle me about it.”

A few more minutes of uncomfortable silence ticked by. Sniper didn’t really want to think about why the others had abandoned their attempts to just let Scout be.

Then a loud click sounded from the inner workings of the door. “Et voila,” Spy said, standing back up to his full height and turning the knob.

Scout didn’t say a word as his door was opened. Poking his head in, Sniper realized that the kid was, indeed, still laying in bed, turned to face the door, curled in on himself. His blankets were tangled around his skinny legs. One of his pillows had been tossed in the floor. He’d definitely had a rough night. Sniper was almost tempted to actually leave him alone, and take his licks for coming off sounding like an overprotective father.

And then Scout let out a pained groan. Sniper saw Spy and Engineer’s eyes go wide with shock.

Sniper forgot about being paranoid and overprotective. He quickly walked into Scout’s room and over to his bedside. He spotted a bottle of aspirin on the desk nearby. The lid was off, and a few of the tablets were scattered on the desk surface. A almost-empty glass of water sat next to them. Sniper knelt down and reached out a hand, to shake the kid a bit, and said, “Hey, you alright, Scout?”

As soon Sniper’s hand rested on Scout’s shoulder, he jerked it back, shocked. It was like touching a hot stovetop. He immediately reached back down, placing a calloused hand on Scout’s forehead. Just to see if he’d actually felt what he’d felt.

Scout’s forehead was hot to the touch.

“Go get Medic,” Sniper said over his shoulder. Spy and Engineer still stood in the doorway, not even trying to hide their concern now.

“What’s wrong with him?” Engineer asked. He took a few long strides and was at Sniper’s side in moments.

“He’s burning up,” Sniper replied. He moved his hand back down to Scout’s shoulder and tried shaking him, saying gently, “Come on, lad, wake up. You gotta talk to me.”

Scout let out another small groan, and that seemed to be all Spy needed to finally get moving. Sniper knew it’d take him a while to get to the other side of the base and to the infirmary. They’d have to do what they could for Scout while they waited.

“Help me get him untangled from these blankets,” Sniper told Engineer. “Need to get him covered back up.”

The other man nodded and began doing as he was told. The sudden movement seemed to rouse Scout somewhat, and he opened his eyes a slit, blearily looking up at Sniper. He almost looked like he was trying to figure out who the lanky, older man was.

“Hey, there you are,” Sniper said, only allowing himself to feel the slightest bit of relief. Awake was good, but feverish and confused-looking was still decidedly not. Still, Sniper continued to talk to Scout the way one would to a small child. “You’re alright, lad. Medic’ll be here soon, he’ll fix you up. Just gonna get you covered back up right quick. Don’t need you getting chills on us to boot.”

Scout didn’t respond. He simply buried his head in Sniper’s hip, letting out a tiny, pained whine. It actually broke Sniper’s heart a little. The kid had a tendency of blowing his injuries way out of proportion, but it was never like this. Despite himself, Sniper gingerly stroked the kid’s hair and said, “You’re alright, son. Everything’ll be alright.”

Engineer finished straightening out the thin sheet and tucking it around Scout’s shoulders. His eyes travelled up to the aspirin bottle on the desk. “Scout,” he said, leaning forward a bit, putting himself in the boy’s vision, “did you take any of those?” He pointed in the direction of the aspirin.

Scout’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if he were mustering up the energy to speak. He let out a small sigh when he couldn’t do it, and nodded instead.

“That’s not good,” Engineer said. “Aspirin is supposed to bring down fevers. If he’s still this hot after taking it, it’s not working.”

Sniper didn’t respond. What could he say? It was obvious the aspirin hadn’t done it’s job. But what else were they supposed to do? The extent of Sniper’s first aid knowledge was anti-venom when you got bitten by something. He barely knew how to measure out cough medicine. And fuck if he knew what Engineer could do about this, despite the other man looking positively frantic to try something, anything.

It must have only been a few minutes before they heard the sounds of boots pounding against the concrete floors in a brisk jog. It felt like it’d been hours.

Medic appeared in the doorway, and took a quick survey of the scene before coming in. Spy appeared shortly after him. Sniper could see him desperately trying to maintain an air of calm. His face betrayed him though, even through the fabric of his mask. And the fact that Spy felt that way about Scout of all people just made Sniper all the more nervous.

Engineer quickly moved out of the doctor’s way, but Sniper stayed put. Scout’s burning forehead was still buried against his side, and it just didn’t feel right to jostle the poor kid right now.

“Kid nodded when Engie asked if he took any aspirin. Don’t know how much though,” Sniper offered weakly.

Medic didn’t even look at him. “Has he spoken at all?”

“Just groaning,” Sniper replied. “Don’t think he’s got it in him to talk.”

Medic nodded briskly. He knelt down in front of Scout, and gently lifted the kid’s chin a bit. Scout’s eyes fluttered open a bit, the blurry confusion still there are he tried to focus on Medic’s face.

“Scout, nod if you can understand me,” Medic said.

Scout’s head bobbed limply, but there was no denying it was a nod.

“Did you take the aspirin last night like I told you?”

Another nod.

“Did it help?” This time, Scout shook his head. Medic flicked a glance up at Sniper, almost like he could feel the questions burning on the other man’s tongue. “Last night, Scout came to me complaining of stomach pain. I gave him the aspirin and told him to come back in the morning if it didn’t help. I hadn’t seen him all morning, so I assumed he was fine. I was actually on my way to get it from him because Soldier is complaining of similar ailments.”

“Soldier actually came to you?” Engineer asked incredulously. Sniper looked up and saw that Spy had silently come into the room, standing at Engineer's side. Both men looked on edge.

“That is exactly how I felt,” Medic said, turning his attention back to Scout. He placed his fingers against the side of the kid’s neck, gently applying pressure from the base of his chin all the way down to his visible collarbone. The doctor set his mouth into a thin line of frustration, evidently not finding anything of note there.

“We need to move him to the infirmary,” Medic said, pushing himself back up to his full height and adjusting his spectacles. “Sniper, do you think you can lift him?”

Sniper merely nodded. Scout weighed about as much as a wet napkin when he was fully awake. Sniper figured it’d be even easier to do it now, when the kid couldn’t bitch and moan about it just being a broken leg, he could limp back to base on his own, thank you very much. He gently patted Scout’s cheek to rouse him again, and said, “Lad, I gotta lift you up, okay? Just to get to the infirmary.”

Scout made no indication he’d heard other than scooting himself away from Sniper a bit to give the other man room. Sniper took up the kid’s arm and slung it behind his own neck, and he felt Scout try weakly to tighten his hold around him. Good. At least Scout was slightly aware of what Sniper was trying to do. The support of his arm would keep him from falling backwards too much and making him cumbersome to carry. Sniper then hitched an arm behind Scout’s back and under the crook of his legs, and hoisted him up with quiet grunt. This close, the heat radiating off Scout was almost unbearable.

Medic motioned for Sniper to follow after him and started walking out the door. Spy and Engineer followed close behind.

As they walked, Medic said, “I will need to look him over more thoroughly, but I have a feeling I will find similar symptoms to Soldier’s - sore throat, aching muscle. I thought perhaps it might be the flu, but this fever, and with how shallowly Scout is breathing, it makes me lean more towards pneumonia. It can be contagious if it’s a bacterial infection.”

Sniper glanced down at Scout, who’d gone back to burying his face into the soft fabric of Sniper’s shirt. Sure enough, the kid’s chest was rising and falling quickly, like all that sprinting he did on the field had actually managed to wind him. Unconsciously, Sniper tightened his grip on him.

“Hopefully, that won’t be the case,” Medic continued. “But it can’t hurt to be certain. Best to confine the disease early so it doesn’t spread further. Speaking of which, you’re going to want a shower, Sniper. Being that close to him could infect you as well.

Sniper didn’t answer. He’d worry about himself later, once he knew the boy would be alright.

Finally, they came upon the infirmary doors. Just as Medic was about to push his way in, a voice from behind them piped up. “What the hell is going on?”

All four men stopped dead, and slowly turned around. Behind them stood Miss Pauling. She held a book at her side, and a look on her face that was, simultaneously, full of confusion and demanding answers. As soon as she saw Scout, her eyes widened minutely in shock. Her gaze passed around between the four of them.

Spy sighed and said to the others, “Take him inside and do what you need to do.” He still held himself rigidly, but seemed relieved to actually be able to do something.

Sniper, Medic, and Engineer hesitated, but eventually did as Spy asked. As they disappeared into the infirmary, Sniper heard Spy say, “I swear I can explain that.”

------------------

Good news: Scout and Soldier didn’t have pneumonia. After getting Scout situated on the one bed the infirmary had, Medic had pressed his stethoscope against the younger man’s back and listened. Scout’s lungs sounded completely clear. None of the rasping that traditionally came with the mucus-infested lungs pneumonia brought on.

Same with Soldier. His fever was nowhere near as high as Scout’s, but he still looked like he’d been run over, and his movements were slow and sluggish. After he’d finished looking him over, Medic had actually let him lie down on the gurney he occupied, and Soldier had drifted right off to sleep.

Truthfully, Miss Pauling wanted to do the same.

“I suppose it could be a particularly strong strain of the flu,” Medic told her, as he inserted an IV needle to pump saline solution into Scout’s arm. The younger mercenary had been incredibly dehydrated from spending all night sweating profusely. “But the aspirin should have helped. Unless the fever came on suddenly. But the flu also doesn’t typically cause a fever of 105.”

Oh, this was the opposite of what she needed right now. Mysterious viruses that came on suddenly? She’d rather take her chances with thumb reattachments, thanks.

She kept these grievances to herself though. She knew that the others felt bad enough without her complaining thrown in. While Spy had explained the situation to her outside the infirmary, she could tell that he was fighting to keep his cool and not start panicking. He’d told her about finding Scout after having to break into his room, and the fever and the fact Scout was too weak to talk or do anything really, and she’d actually been concerned that he’d come apart at the seams, right there. So she’d capped her ever-climbing stress and let Medic do damage control.

“I will need to keep them both here for now,” Medic said, securing the IV with a piece of medical tape. “I can monitor them more closely that way, maybe figure out exactly what this is. It will also be an effective quarantine. Until I know for sure what’s happening here, I need everyone to stay out unless I ask them to come here. Understood?”

Engineer, Sniper, and Spy all nodded. Miss Pauling had never seen them all looking more miserable. They had no answers, and they were all clearly worried out of their minds. She actually felt kinda bad for even feeling inconvenienced by all this.

Medic waved them away, instructing them all to take hot showers as soon as they could, and to inform Heavy, Demo, and Pyro to keep their distance.

When they were back out in the hall, Sniper and Engineer headed towards the mess hall. Spy immediately took off in the direction of his smoking room. Miss Pauling trailed after him.

She wanted to make sure he was okay. They others would do their best to console Sniper and Engineer. But Spy tended to keep to himself, even when things got really bad. And from the way he was carrying himself now - back ramrod straight, fingers twitching in need of a cigarette, and pace harried - she knew things were bad.

They walked without saying a word, only the sound of the shoes tapping briskly against the floor filling the silence. Miss Pauling took this as a positive sign. If Spy didn’t want her around, he would surely say something.

They reached his smoking room. Spy walked in, leaving the door open. Miss Pauling followed, supposing this was as good and invitation as any. She shut the door behind her, and turned to face Spy in the dimly lit room. There was a crackling fire in the fireplace, and two armchairs facing it, a table between them. Spy was off at the sideboard, upon which was a decent selection of liquors. He grabbed a bottle of amber-colored liquid, took out the stopper, and poured freely, until the glass was nearly full. Then he tossed it back and immediately began pouring another.

Alright, it was definitely time to speak up.

“Spy -” she began.

Spy cut her off, asking, “Did you want one? I have plenty.” He didn’t even wait for her to reply. He just grabbed another glass and filled it.

“Spy, do you wanna talk?”

For a moment, her only answer was the sound of the drink being poured.

“Not particularly,” Spy finally replied. He picked up the glass and walked over to her, extending it. She took it out of politeness.

Her face must have betrayed some sort of pleading, because Spy closed his eyes a bit and sighed. “I do not mean to be short with you,” he said. “When I say I do not want to talk about things, that is partially because I don’t feel able to. I am...not used to feeling this way. About people, you know?”

He turned from her and walked to the armchairs, sitting down heavily in one. She followed and sat in the other, setting the book she’d been carrying on the table. She didn’t say anything. She wanted him to talk in his own time.

Spy heaved another sigh, and swirled his drink a bit in his hand. “You know, most people would assume doing things like this - sneaking off to hide away by myself - it must mean I don’t care.”

“You do though, don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

Spy looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and to her surprise, he huffed out a laugh and gave a wry smile. “You are correct. I do. I sometimes wish to God I didn’t care. But I do.” He took a long drink from his glass. When he finished, he continued, “Before I came here, I learned very quickly that one does not get far by caring about anyone else. Most spies view that as weakness. We look out for ourselves, and that is what gets our jobs done. What keeps us from keeping ourselves killed.”

Another beat of silence filled the room. Miss Pauling cautiously took a drink from her glass, just to have something to fill the void. It burned all the way down to her belly. She was surprised to taste a hint of caramel at the end. It was actually kind of nice.

“If this had happened four years ago, I imagine I would still feel that way,” Spy added, almost quietly enough that Miss Pauling didn’t hear him.

“Being crammed in close quarters and getting shot at every day together would probably change anyone’s mind about that,” she said.

“Indeed,” Spy replied. “I was actually afraid when I saw Scout in his bed like that. For a moment, I thought he was dead. I actually felt panicked. Then I just stood there, like a useless fool. And do you know what I said to Sniper before I offered to pick the lock for him? That I’d thought about murdering the little whelp. If ever there was a worse joke to make…”

Spy quickly drained his glass again, and stood up to get more.

“Well, it was just a joke,” Miss Pauling said, wishing she could keep him from filling his glass again, but knowing he wouldn’t listen. “Sniper and Engie know you didn’t mean it.”

Spy didn’t answer. She heard him pour more liquor into his glass.

“Spy,” she said firmly. He didn’t turn to look at her, but the pouring stopped, and he straightened up. “This isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. Scout and Soldier are just sick. It happens all the time, even to guys like you. You cannot blame yourself for this, because all you’ll do is make yourself feel like shit.”

He still didn’t turn to look at her, but she heard him replace the glass stopper in the bottle and set it back down.

“It’s good that you care, Spy,” she continued. “I know you’ve been taught that it’s a weakness, but it isn’t. It’s the reason you guys work so well as a team. It’s why you’ve all lasted this long.”

Spy still hadn’t turned to look at her. The half-filled glass was still firmly clutched in his hand.

Miss Pauling stood up and closed the distance between them. For a moment, a few inches from Spy’s back, she hesitated, her hand dangling in the air. She didn’t know what kind of touching would be appropriate, what Spy would be comfortable with. She wanted to hug him. She felt like he needed one, even if he himself didn’t think so. Finally, she settled for placing a gentle hand in the middle of his back. He only started a little, as if he’d been trying to prepare himself for contact, but still wasn't completely ready.

“It’s okay, Spy,” she murmured.

He let out a shaky breath. She didn’t dwell on that.

He finally turned to face her again, and even though he was still holding the glass, there was something more relaxed about his posture, the air around him. He was finally at ease. “Thank you, Miss Pauling,” he said. He gave her a small smile.

She smiled back. “Oh, by the way,” she said, abruptly transitioning to her Girl Friday voice. She needed, wanted, to take Spy’s mind off things. The appropriate tone help. “I started reading the book last night.”

“Really,” Spy said. His smile broadened. “And what do you think so far?”

“You were on the mark with me and Elizabeth. Especially when it comes to her mother.”

Spy chuckled a bit, and they began to drift back over to the chairs. “Yes, Mrs. Bennett is indeed quite ridiculous,” he said. “But there are modern scholars who try to give her a bit of leeway. After all, many of the things she grouses about were real fears of Regency ladies.”

“I guess. It might not bother me so much if she actually seemed like she was more worried about her daughters than who was going to provide for her.”

“Quite true. To say nothing of her behavior sabotaging her daughters’ - and therefore her own - chances.” Spy resumed his seat in front of the fire, and motioned to the glass Miss Pauling had set down. “Drink up,” he urged.

Miss Pauling took up her glass again and said, “Alright, but I don’t think either one of us needs anymore of it. I had a sip and I’m already feeling funny.”

“Ah yes, this bottle is particularly...potent, I must admit. My original intent was to, how do you say, ‘get buzzed’, after all,” Spy said. “But I refuse to allow good cognac to go to waste. Especially when it costs $2,000 a bottle.”

“Damn, I better get to drinking then,” Miss Pauling said, picking up her abandoned glass. “Make sure you get your money’s worth.”

Spy raised his glass. “So, have you met Mr. Darcy yet?”

“You mean the king of the dorks?”

Spy almost snorted his cognac right back into the glass as he laughed.

[do-u-ever-just]

All I Want For Christmas

Rated G.  2.6k words.  Sheith.  Mentioned Allurance.

Read on AO3

It had been a joke.  A funny, ironic, painfully cheesy joke. That’s all.  So, how did it turn out this way?

Shiro had seen it at the mall.  It was just one of those things he had spotted and had immediately done a double take because, seriously, could such a thing even exist?  Which, to someone who had battled in an intergalactic war and seen much, was really saying something.  

The colour, for one thing (mustard yellow and bright green?  Really?) was bad enough but the design was a whole different story.  The white stitching around the collar?  The disgusting little balls of fluff sewn in a string around the sleeves?  Was that really necessary, Shiro had to wonder.  The deformed sheep (not reindeer, sheep) dancing across the slogan wearing, what he had to assume, were Santa hats, but only looked more like odd horns coming off their heads.  Then there was the slogan, scrawled in cursive, stitched in hazardously (a design choice or the tailor was just uncoordinated, he’ll never know), reading across the chest at a most awkward angle.

“Fleece Navidad,” Shiro reads, holding the sleeve of the sweater between a thumb and forefinger, as if the sweater so ugly it might burst into flames any second, hoping to burn itself out of existence.

Shiro wouldn’t blame it.

“Wow.  That’s…bad,” Lance mutters, also staring at the sweater in wonderment, but not the usual kind of wonderment found on people’s faces this time of year.  This was stale wonderment.  A look of horror and unguided disgust.  “Coming from someone who lives for bad jokes and puns this is…this is the work of Krampus.”

Shiro laughs.

“You laugh, but it’s true!” Lance continues, now also holding the opposing sleeve of the offending sweater.  “This was obviously knit from the fur on Krampus’ back!  That’s the only explanation as to how this hellish object of the holiday exists!”

Shiro continues to laugh.

“Hang on, I gotta show this to Allura!” Lance whips out his smart phone, snapping a few photos from different angles, sending it off to his fiancé.  

Shiro adjusts the shopping bags in his hands while they wait on Allura’s response, trying to find a way to carry all of Lance’s bags, as well as the few of his own, in a way so they wouldn’t be hitting him in the calves with every step.  He couldn’t find one, so opted for just suffering in silence instead.  

Lance’s phone chimes, and he laughs at the message on screen, turning it around to show Shiro the animated vomiting cat sticker Allura had sent.  An appropriate choice.

“Haha, okay, okay,” Shiro starts to turn, rolling his shoulders.  They had been back on Earth for a few years now, yet he still found Christmas shopping to be far more strenuous than any of the training exercises Allura had put them through in the Castle of Lions.  “Are we ready to head home?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just one more stop!” Lance snaps out of his temporary state of rest, as he usually does, suddenly remembering their original task and speed-walks into the neighbouring jewellery store.  “I have a few necklaces on hold I gotta check out!”

“Are these for your sisters?”

“No, they have the cinema gift vouchers! These are for Allura!”

“Didn’t you already buy her the couch cushions? And the crystal vase? And I saw you sneaking out of a pet store before.”

Lance doesn’t hear him, however, already at the counter.  Shiro rolls his eyes, though smiles fondly as his friend looks over his options.  He can’t really blame Lance for wanting to take advantage of the festive season and shower his beloved in expensive gifts, especially when they’re so much more used to worrying about other more pressing matters than how many wrapped boxes should sit under the Christmas tree.

As Shiro waits outside, various bags at his feet, that horrible sweater manages to catch his eye again.  It seems so harmless from across the walkway, but Shiro can still remember how daring it had looked up close and how Allura had reacted to the garment.  So, with significant others in mind, he had to wonder, how would Keith react?

Keith was slow on social cues.  That hadn’t changed in the years they had grown and developed together.  He didn’t get jokes unless they were blatantly obvious, blunt and bad.  He never laughed at the more, well-crafted jokes, but give him a simple one-liner and he’d be giggling about it for weeks.  It was one of his more endearing qualities.

Yet, Shiro felt Keith would appreciate this little turn of phrase.  He liked Christmas carols after all, so was no stranger to the lyrics of the well-known folk song.  He’d hate the colours though.  Keith was a man of total habit, and black and red were still the only colours he had in his wardrobe to this day (aside from the white tux that hung carefully from a hook at the end of their closet, next to Shiro’s own).  

The little decorations would drive him over the edge the most, however.  The fluffy cotton balls would irritate him like dust irritates a cat. The fabric would itch around his neck and he would constantly complain about the impractical fit.  

In short, Keith would hate it.  He’d think Shiro an idiot for gifting it to him.  Still, Shiro knows Keith would laugh at the pun, poke fun at the design, torment over the contrasting colours, and do it all with a smile on his face. He’d grin and laugh and take the joke in stride.  

Now Shiro can’t get the image of Keith, happy and bubbling laughter pouring from his lips, out of his head.

Lance walks out twenty minutes later with not one, not two, but three jewellery cases.

“I couldn’t decide which one she’d look more beautiful in, as she’d look beautiful in them all, so I just got all three and oh my God you didn’t…” Lance trails off in utter horror as he eyes the bag Shiro is adding to the pile.  The shop’s logo plain and clean on the white paper bag.  The logo belonging to that horrible Christmas sweater’s home.

“It’s a gag gift for Keith,” Shiro explains.  Of all the people willing to see Keith suffer even for a moment, he figured Lance would be top of the list.  Their one-sided rivalry had never really faulted, merely put on the back-burner until light and benign moments like these.

“I will pay you all the money I have if you record his face when he opens that!”

“I’m sure Allura will be so pleased with her empty bank account.”

“I mean, she might be a little disappointed at first, but she’ll understand!”

Shiro hums in mild agreement as they make their way back to the car.

---

There’s no smell of gingerbread or candy canes when Shiro walks through the door, but he can see the glow of the fire from the foyer, and hears the faint chime of the piano music Keith has playing on their record player.  There’s no fairy lights strung up through the hallway, or tinsel over the banisters, but Shiro gives their small and modest Christmas tree a fond look as he makes his way into the living room.

Keith is lounging on the couch, tapping his foot to the music, a glass of red in one hand and a book in the other.  He looks so at peace, the fire light making his skin glow, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks tiredly.  His hair braided down his scalp and ending in a little tuft at the back of his neck. He’s beautiful, and Shiro wants to kiss him.

So, he does.

“Back already?” Keith asks when their lips part, though leans in for another before Shiro can reply. Shiro smiles against his husband’s lips.

“Lance is an exhausting person to shop with,” Shiro says, straightening up and dumping his few bags on the adjacent arm chair, though makes sure to take a certain one with him to the couch.  “How do I forget that every year?”

“I have a feeling it’s something to do with his constant whining that he doesn’t know what to get Allura when, in fact, he does know.  He just can’t decide-“

“-and then ends up buying everything he picked for her anyway,” Shiro finishes.  

Keith smiles, marking his place in his book and gently placing it on the floor, his nearly empty glass with it.  “Was your own shopping trip successful?”

“I got presents for Hunk, picked up our cake for dinner with the Holts.  I managed to sneak away and get that new video game while Lance wasn’t looking.  Allura’s shoes are being back ordered but they should be here by Christmas.”

Keith nods at all this, a pinch forming between his brows.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you,” he begins.

Shiro hushes him with another peck to the lips before Keith can bury himself too deep under his own self-doubt.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter!  I know you don’t like crowds,” Shiro takes hold of Keith’s hands, silently marvelling at how small they are in comparison to his own.  “You do more than your fair share of Christmas preparation.  Shopping in a mall is a very small part of the holiday season.”

“But to leave you alone with Lance of all people?” Keith cocks his head, worry still imminent in his features, though an amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Shiro smiles back.

“I’ll admit, it’s hard. I fought valiantly.  Blood was shed.  Old wounds, re-opened.  I thought I might never see you again!”

Keith laughs as Shiro places a hand over his heart, faking deep battle wounds.  Lord knows, they’ve had enough first-hand experience.

“I’m so proud you came back to me,” Keith plays along.  He leans forward to gently cup Shiro’s face in his hands.  “Would my victor like his spoils now, or later?”

“How about both?” Shiro practically purrs as he leans in close.  

Their lips meet, and its sweet and soft and deep.  They’re both smiling wildly, their teeth clacking at awkward intervals, but as Shiro places his hands lightly on Keith’s waist and shuffles closer, he finds he doesn’t mind when Keith giggles against him and clutches his face even tighter.

When they’re done making out on the couch like teenagers, when Shiro has poured his own glass of red and settled back next to his partner, arm around Keith’s shoulders and the fire warming his socked toes, Keith takes notice of the bag sitting beside them so inconspicuously.

“What’s that?” he asks, sliding ever close to Shiro, despite being so close to him already.  Keith does that.  Again, creature of habit.

“Oh, right!  I got you something!”

Keith only looks confused as Shiro offers the bag over.  Keith is not familiar with apparel stores and what they might hold, beyond knowing the common department stores like Target or Walmart, so the logo is no giveaway to him as to what it could be.

“Do I open it now?” Keith takes the bag anyway.

Shiro had considered leaving it until Christmas day and placing the sweater under the tree alongside the rest of their gifts for each other, but figured this was too good of an opportunity to pass.

“Yeah!  It’s just something small I thought you’d like.  It made me think of you, so figured, why not?” Shiro doesn’t miss the way Keith’s fingers inexplicably tighten around the paper, crumpling it in his hold.

Keith is careful as he pulls apart the tissue paper, reaching in and pulling out the sweater. He places the bag on the ground, and unravels the travesty of clothing slowly, holding it up so he can look at the full thing in all of its horribly-designed glory.  Shiro waits with bated breath as Keith looks over the sweater, reads the writing on the front, notices everything from the scratchy wool it’s knitted out of to the fluff surrounding the sleeves and the bottom.  It feels like he could hear a pin drop in the room, even over the record still playing its soft tune in the background and the fire crackling in front of them.

Finally, Keith looks to Shiro, and grants him the largest grin ever seen.

“I love it!  Thank you!”

A record scratch echoes in Shiro’s ears, like something out of a cartoon.

“Shit, hang on,” Keith takes the sweater with him, carefully folded over his arm, as he walks over to the record player and flips the vinyl.  He takes his time placing the needle back at the beginning, so the music can continue to play.  

Keith returns hurriedly, sitting so close to Shiro he may as well have crawled into his lap.

“Shiro, you really didn’t have to!” Keith gushes again, still clutching the sweater, holding it up so he can look over it again.

Shiro is dumbfounded, left speechless, unsure of how to handle this turn of events.

“You don’t have to lie for my sake, Keith,” Shiro tries, nervously looking over Keith’s expression as his husband continues to study the absurd piece of clothing.

Keith turns to Shiro so their eyes lock.

“I’m not lying!  Why would I lie to you?  I love it, Takashi!  You said you thought of me when you saw this, that you’d think I’d like it, then went out of your way to get it for me.  How could I hate something like that?”

And Shiro can see that Keith is genuine.  It’s in the call of ‘Takashi’ that left his lips, in the light in his eyes that has nothing to do with the roaring fire.  It’s in the quirk of his smile and the hold of his shoulders.  Shiro is beginning to see how, to Keith, this is more than just a mere gift, and more a physical reminder that Shiro thinks of Keith when he’s not around.

Shiro thought he had all of Keith’s habits pinned down to the letter.  From his preferred sleeping position (spooning, Shiro the little spoon, pressed tightly against Keith’s chest all night long) to how he takes his tea (white, no sugar).  From how Keith dances when he’s sure no one is looking, to how he keeps his books, clothes and knives organised.  

Then something like this will happen, and Shiro has to relearn his husband all over again.

It’s never a bad thing, just another reminder that no matter how complacent Shiro is, Keith will continue to surprise him in the best of ways.  Even after the war has ended and peace has reined throughout the universe, even after years of therapy and finally allowing himself to settle down with the love of his life, Keith serves as a constant reminder that his life will never be boring.

“Really?  You love the sweater?” Shiro has to be sure.  Has to be certain this is not Keith playing his own prank.

“Yes!” Keith nods almost violently, his bangs bobbing and probably hitting him in the eyes as he does, but he remains steadfast in his decision of how amazing this sweater apparently is.

“Well, I’m glad.”

Because what else is he supposed to say?  ‘Haha you genuinely love a gift I was giving to you as a joke’?  He could never torment his husband that way, and besides, why would he ever want to take away the joy Keith has found in a gift Shiro gave, even if his intentions weren’t exactly pure?

Keith is standing now, pulling on the sweater over his shirt, despite it already being warm in the house.  He stands proudly there for Shiro when he’s done and has it settled over his collar, predictably already scratching at his neck.  Shiro grins, pulls Keith down next to him again, and slides their lips together again.  Keith kisses him warmly, sweetly, and when he reaches up to stroke Shiro’s jaw, the balls of fluff tickle and the wool irritates his skin, but Keith is happy, and that’s all Shiro could ever want for Christmas.

[geordiesaffer-blog]

How is everyone doing? Still hanging in there? I sure hope so... I've been keeping busy with my stitching, reading, beginning a new (non-cross stitch)  project (which I'll let you in on some day soon!), trying to limit my news intake, and connecting with family members via Zoom and Board Game Arena . Since this whole strange Covid-19 saga began for us in mid-March, the only person I've talked to face to face is my husband! Such a strange feeling...  My family met up for a virtual game night on Easter Sunday (on Board Game Arena) and it was wonderful to see everyone's smiling faces. My oldest son and daughter-in-law in California, middle son and girlfriend who live 30 minutes away, and my youngest son in the Washington, DC area all connected online for games of Yahtzee and Sushi Go. I basically just watched and coached my husband a bit in Yahtzee as only five players could play at a time.My stitching has been hit and miss--still having trouble settling, but I do try to sit down each day for a couple hours in the evening. I know you've seen these designs stitched up many times, but I hope you don't mind seeing my versions... First, is the Easter Holiday Hoopla design by With Thy Needle and Thread. I fell in love with this cute bunny the first time I saw him and am so pleased with how he turned out. I loved the colors on the chart and chose some similar overdyed threads from my stash to stitch him. He is stitched "over one" on 28 ct. ice blue Jobelan so the stitched area is a mere 2" X 2". I finished him into a circle (just traced a drinking glass to get the shape on the mounting board), padded the board with batting, and added a silk handmade cording trim. A mini-pompom gave his tail a nice fluffy look.  Easter Holiday Hoopla finishThe round piece is simply glued onto a fabric-covered piece of sticky board and placed in a rustic looking 3.5 inch square brown frame. I purchased a bunch of these frames from an eBay seller, years ago, who had used them to display his butterfly collection (no, the butterflies were not included--thank goodness!). They sure have come in handy over the years and can easily be painted. Here is another of the frames that I painted and distressed last year for a different Easter finish that resides with my oldest son and daughter-in-law in California.An Easter finish from 2019--such a cute bunny!My second finish is so bright and cheery! It is called "Easter Wreath" and is a design from Tiny Modernist. The bunnies also have white mini-pompom tails like I used in the Holiday Hoopla finish above. They, too, are stitched "over one" on 28 ct. white lugana. I used the suggested DMC colors for everything except the carrots. I wanted a darker looking carrot so I used DMC 976. And, because of a slight counting error--my carrots are just a bit longer than those charted. Oops! It doesn't affect the overall look so I just left them larger. Ripping out "over one" stitching is the worst, so I avoid it whenever possible! I kept the finish very simple as the design itself is very "busy." Just a handmade cording in that pretty shade of blue that I love so much!"Easter Wreath" finishHere are both of my new Easter finishes together--looks like we had a big party going on on Easter Sunday, doesn't it? Nope--just me and my husband. It was a quiet day, but certainly one we'll always remember due to the circumstances. I didn't even get most of my Easter decorations out this year--it felt like too much of a chore for some reason. I've been gradually learning that now is the time to cut yourself some slack--be kind to others, but also to yourself. These are unnavigated waters and no one really knows what the next day will bring...I absolutely love the pretty teal blues in these two finishes!I also got a very sweet Easter card from my friend, Gabi, in Germany. She knows how much I love stitched bunnies (or any bunny, really!) so she made me this lovely card. Thank you so much, Gabi--I always love hearing from you and being the recipient of your pretty stitching!Easter card stitched by my friend, Gabi, in Germany!Much of my Easter seemed to be spent on the phone reminiscing with my mom, exchanging old photos via text with my siblings, and looking through old photos. The photos below brought back such wonderful memories of times with my three boys--dyeing eggs, hunting for baskets, and making a bunny cake each year. Oh, I miss those days so much. These were all taken in the late 80s / early 90s as you can probably tell by all the red and blue.  I think, back then, clothing designers only made boys' clothes in combinations of red and blue! It's so nice how things have evolved. And yes--they all have the same haircuts--courtesy of my husband. He sure saved us a ton of money through the years by cutting the boys' hair until they became teens. He even cut my hair when it was longer--not sure if I trust him to cut it at this shorter length, though! What are you doing about your hair? Trying to cut it yourself, getting a loved one to cut it, or just letting it grow? And we won't even talk about the hair coloring issue--yikes! By the time this is over, I'm going to have a very wide "skunk" stripe where my hair is parted, that's for sure! Time to let it go gray? I also made a couple of masks for myself and my husband. Oh, dear! I am really  not good with a sewing machine... The first one took me two hours to create, and, although the second one was easier--I do struggle!  I used one of my husband's old shirts for the green checked one (mine) and a piece of quilting cotton for my husband's. They are "okay"--mine is a bit too loose around the sides. I found another tutorial that might work better for small heads on YouTube so I might give that one a try this weekend. Wish me luck!My two masks--pretty good, but I need more practice!Comfort foods still seem to be appearing on the menu at my house and I found this delicious recipe for apple crisp right here. When I make it again, I'm going to try about 3/4 as much sugar and maybe even take it down to half as much. It was plenty sweet!  We enjoyed this as our Easter dessert (and for the next two nights, too!). Have you been whipping up any tasty comfort foods during this lockdown period?Do the apples make this a health food--ha ha!! Watching old television shows seems to be comforting to me right now, too. My husband and I have started watching an episode of Cheers (on Netflix) each night before we go to bed--a light, fun show that doesn't upset us or keep us awake. Honestly, I think we've both been sleeping better lately... And I've begun watching Downton Abbey again from the very beginning. You see, I never watched the final season, so I decided to begin all over again. I absolutely love it-- and I really think I'm picking up on so much more of the dialogue than I did before. The Dowager Countess's (Maggie Smith's) lines are just so delightful, aren't they? "Edith, you are a Lady, not Toad of Toad Hall!" ~ "What is a weekend?" ~ "Every woman goes down the aisle with half the story hidden." I could go on an on! And the scenery, the dresses, the jewels--sigh... All so well done. I still haven't seen the movie, but plan on watching it after I finish the series.  Anyone else have any comfort watching television shows to recommend? So, how many of you have talked to friends or family using Zoom? I had a Zoom get-together with my three sisters-in-law (on my husband's side) on  Tuesday and, after some initial difficulties connecting on my end, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing their faces and catching up with them. They live in Indiana, Ohio, and Connecticut so we rarely see each other anyway. We already have plans to meet this way every other week. At the end of our session, the following question was posed to us so I've decided to use that as my "Getting To Know You" inquiry this week:  "Have you found a "silver lining" in this period of being confined to your home?" In other words, few love being stuck at home, but is there something nice in it that you've discovered? For me, that answer is easy! Yes! I've discovered that my husband and I can live together happily and quite easily (other than the occasional disagreement) after he retires. I was truly worried about that, as I was so used to being home alone,   but--so far, so good! How about you?Giveaway Time... I haven't had a giveaway in a while... so how about the chart for this lovely red house sampler? It is simply two pages removed from a magazine (sorry,  I don't know which one) and if more than one person wants it, I will draw a name. All you have to do is: 1) mention in your comment that you specifically want to be entered in the giveaway,  2) answer the "Getting To Know You" question above, and 3) include your email address if I don't already have it. You may enter until April 29th, 2020 and then I'll pick a winner and announce it on my next post. The chart will be folded and mailed in a legal sized envelope to save money on postage. Good luck to all! If you are interested in winning this pretty red house sampler chart, see above!I'll leave you with what, to me, has always been a sign of hope and comfort each time it blooms. This orchid was given to me when my father died on October 31, 2014 and it still blooms almost yearly. Each time it blesses me with these beautiful white and fuchsia blossoms, I think of him and feel like he's visiting me. And this year, that feeling is especially needed and meaningful. It's an absolute perfect time for it to be blooming with all the worries and unrest swirling around us these days, isn't it?This special orchid always brings me comfort...So, more of the same for a while--at least here in Pennsylvania. We are shut down until at least April 30, probably longer. The hardest part for me in this whole thing is being unable to visit my mom--I miss her so much. It is extremely lonely for her having no family https://www.patternspatch.com/1/bunny-stitching-as-the-days-slowly-pass/ https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/04/bunny-stitching-as-days-slowly-pass.html

[hestiaandhalcyon]

The Assassin’s Creed Costume // The Waistcoat

The waistcoat is the first thing I properly tackled since I had everything for it first. It is also one of the more straightforward parts of the get up, only requiring two pattern pieces.

I mostly based it off of Jacob’s waistcoat in basically every piece of promotional art for the game. I left an actual collar off because it won’t be seen, I didn’t feel like having it, and from what I can tell that waistcoat doesn’t have one anyway.

Yes, I did google pictures of him in the craft store and squint at my phone to try and figure out what buttons to get. I didn’t get ones that look like ones from the pictures - so I failed on that front. I just used a striped cotton that I got at H*bby L*bby (Still a necessary evil). For the pattern I just traced off one of my shirts.

To make it more form fitting there are fisheye darts in both the front and the back. I didn’t feel like making one of those little cinch things on the back. Again, no one is going to see it or even care if they do see it. I forced myself to choose my battles on this thing, because I could go absolutely wild.

Materials:

1yd cotton

A few little squares of interfacing

Buttons

Method:

- Cut 4 fronts from the cotton

- Cut back from the cotton on the fold and a facing from the fold.

1) Sew the side seams and shoulder seams

2) Sew darts

Repeat 1 and 2 for the lining

3) Plan where your buttons and button holes are going, fuse little squares of interfacing to those spots

4) Sew the lining and shell together (wrong sides together) The three pictures below are my sewing crimes on the arm holes. Because I was lazy I just sewed the lining and shell wrong sides together around the arm holes, used that stitched line to help me fold in in and then top stitched it down.

5) Top stitch.

6) Make the buttonholes and sew on the buttons (sewing buttons while watching Kingsmen with your parents in optional. This was a foolish choice on Older Brother and I’s part).

Now, I had to do some... sewing crimes... during this. Like on the arm holes. And the facing was made up on the fly when I ran out of fabric (because of my stripe matching). So I didn’t exactly follow my own instructions. Also the darts are way different than on the pattern pieces.  Oh, and I sliced a giant hole in it when opening the buttonholes and had to fix that - I’m just going to claim it makes it look more like I have perhaps fought some people.

[wellnessroutines]

Do Something You Suck At

When was the last time you did something you drew at for the pure pleasure or for your personal enjoyment? It's most likely been a while, hasn't it?

Over the last few days I have actually begun yoga exercise, like I mentioned I was going to perform in my "2015 health and fitness objectives" post. It took me half an hour of deliberation and losing time to actually begin, but I finished three days of it currently. I'm not wonderful at it, yet I am offering it a go.

On Tuesday, I drew an image in my journal/ diary as well as I haven't pulled in years. I utilized to enjoy attracting throughout my childhood and also adolescent years. I examined fine art/ art record in secondary school and have a real love for it, however I have shed strategy and also self-confidence over the last 7 years. It genuinely is something you need to do regularly to maintain method - well for me anyway.

On Wednesday, I attempted to manage. Man, I completely SUCK at juggling.

On Saturday last weekend break I played Super Hit Bros. with Jonathan. Maturing we never had pc gaming consoles, so I never ever learned ways to play them, therefore making me pull majorly whenever I play now.

Yesterday, I went out for a surf with Jonathan. I could stand on little waves, but I am not a good surfer by any type of stretch of the imagination.

DO SOMETHING YOU SUCK AT

With today's post, I want you to have a think concerning something you draw at doing, yet you appreciate doing nevertheless. I am a large advocate at doing things I might not be good at, yet doing them anyhow. In my eyes, It's all right to suck at something, actually, I assume it's actually healthy for you.

Sucking at something, or falling short at something could occasionally have you really feeling quite damn bad regarding on your own. If you ruin or "fall short" at something you instantly consider yourself as a loser and you psychologically beat on your own you about it for days at a time.

THINGS LIKE:

I attempted yoga exercise as well as could not touch my toes like everyone else - therefore I'll never ever be able to.

Learning a brand-new language, but not being fantastic at it - as a result I am terrible at finding out things

Cooking something you would certainly never tried and also currently your cooking area is a blanket of smoke (as well as half charred down) - therefore I am a horrible cook.

Chances are if you believe you messed up, you will not review just what that point was. In your mind, it is a lot simpler to get back to doing something you understand you excel at, rather of attempting something brand-new, potentially doing it incorrect and also embarrassing yourself in the outcome. We're all so responsible of being scared at misbehaving at something or somebody seeing that we're bad at something that we go out of our way to prevent it.

Who cares if you misbehave at something!? Possibly reframe your believing to concentrate on the favorable, or the enhancements you're making. So for the toe-touching, just how about claiming "I can't touch my toes, but I'm closer than the last time I tried!"

Even individuals that have actually mastered things, have actually pulled at one factor in their life. Nobody has merely woken up and also been a master at it. It's been said that it takes about 10,000 hrs to understand something. They also claim that every journey starts with a solitary step. Perhaps today's the day you make that step?

In this digital age of social media sites, social sharing, we see a whole lot of terrific artists, artists, celebrities, bloggers, wellness demons all showcasing sections of their well lived lives, but you only ever before see the completed item. I can guarantee each have undergone the "this is terrible, I'm quiting" phase, the "I'm fine at this, maybe I'll stand firm" stage, the "yeah, yeah, I'm very great currently, allow's do this" and also if they're generating income from it they have actually certainly completed up at "I love this, you love this, for that reason I'm ultimately remarkable at this" phase. Things that they all share is, even though they pulled at the start, they appreciated it a lot, they placed the hours right into whatever their trade is to get better at it. Every little stage above marked the development of their enhancement, and similar to them, you can arrive too.

Two of the inquiries I get emailed consistently or asked on Tumblr is "How did you open your on the internet store”, “How did you start social marketing - just what did you study?”.

When I finished my HSC, I had no suggestion what I intended to study - I understood I intended to do something in Journalism or Style, I simply had not been 100% on just what course would certainly fit my needs, so I put examining off and started modeling full-time. From there, I had the idea of opening up a vintage online store, where JD and also I would drive the east coast of Australia finding treasures at antique as well as op-shops, customise them and offer them over at Who Eliminated Bambi. I really did not have a business level, I didn't have a certificate claiming I was a first-rate sewing specialist, however I had the enthusiasm to obtain this company up off the ground. I could possibly've spent that whole year reviewing every book on exactly how to run a successful business, every book on marketing/social marketing et alia, when actually I simply required to get started by running my own business and developing the encounter as I went. In the brief room of 6 months, Bambi had actually been included on the front cover of Pepper mint Journal, in Frankie, different news article and even more. Because six months I had leveled up in 4 areas: client connections, advertising and marketing, picture retouching/ picture editing and enhancing software program abilities and garment alteration - I had not been truly solid in all those locations, but I agreed to advance since I absolutely loved it. Having Who Eliminated Bambi made me happier (made me seem like I had function), more imaginative compared to ever before and effective on the days I had not been modeling.

By the moment we had Bambi for a year, all the abilities I had been discovering had actually enhanced so much. Whatever I drew at, or had trouble wrapping my head around at the beginning all made best sense to me, due to the fact that I had spent the moment feeling better at it.

(source)

WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO TODAY:

Today I desire you to assume regarding something you like to do, however you pull at. Be sincere with yourself, believe deep. I want you to invest at the very least 5 mins completing whatever you have actually chosen - trust me you will be smiling from ear to ear after.

Off the top of my head it might be things such as:

Painting - suggest of something before you

Dancing (this's for me) - dance unreasonably around your house for five minutes.

Lifting weights - finish a five minute stamina training workout

Sewing - begin by getting 2 bits of fabric, stitching all 4 side with each other (inside out) and also leaving 4CM open, transform properly, stuff with filler and also hand sew the last little bit. Voila, you've made a cushion!

I want you to do this daily for 5 minutes, the aim here is to invest the time to obtain efficient something. Every person has a spare five minutes a day, so don't make excuses. You're far better than that. I do not care just how much you draw at it today, or if you suck at it in a month - if you love doing it, just continue to do it if it makes you delighted. Check in on yourself weekly to see enhancements, and continue at it, till you experience excellent at it.

MY GOAL

My objective is to discover how you can handle effectively. It's a lot enjoyable, despite the fact that I absolutely could not handle. JD is going to instruct me ... You could maintain upgraded with my progression at the beginning of my YouTube videos, from next week.

LET'S RECAP

So, to recap on every one of the above. Drawing is fine. Drawing is the beginning of being great at something. Allow's all join as well as suck at points together, due to the fact that we're human as well as enjoying is one of the most vital point you can do in your everyday life!

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS?

Would you complete a challenge like this? Enjoy, be silly and that cares if you're any kind of great! Allow me recognize in the area below, you gorgeous individual, you!