#anyways this wasn’t supposed to be a full fledged fic just an idea i’ve had for a while

[pwurrz]

what if.. childe knows that dottore is experimenting on children? what if he knows, and is utterly horrified by it and vehemently against it, but he can’t say or do anything about because he doesn’t want to put his own family in danger?

he discovers one of the kids by pure accident. he was looking for dottore, but couldn’t find him or any of his segments, so naturally he headed towards the doctor’s lab. and that’s when he finds one of them.

cowering in the corner of what could only be described as a jail cell, begging childe not to get any closer for fear of being hurt. he quickly reassures the child that he’s not going to hurt them, and he immediately starts concocting a rescue plan. if he tried hard enough he could cut through the bars of the cell with his hydro daggers, or-

“tartaglia.”

a pit settles in childe’s stomach, more severe than the usual one that accompanies dottore’s presence. childe stutters out the excuse that he was just looking for him, but given his proximity to the cell and his dimming vision, it’s obvious what he was planning to do. dottore knows this, and he’s decidedly unimpressed with childe’s attempt at a lie.

the air of the laboratory is uncomfortably thick with tension, and anyone could sense the danger of the situation. but childe, ever bold and stubborn (and perhaps slightly stupid in this moment) decides to be blunt and ask outright:

“what are you doing, dottore?”

“that’s none of your business, now is it, eleventh?”

“why does it involve kids?”

“ah, yes. the countries we have friendly relations with so generously decided to donate their youth to our.. various causes. some believe their children are simply joining our military program, others handed them to me specifically under the impression i could cure whatever ailment they’re suffering from.”

the thought that these poor kids, already suffering so severely that their parents thought they had no choice but to give them up to the fatui, were suffering even more purely for dottore’s amusement was a thought that made childe’s blood run cold.

desperate escape plans formed in his mind, like a cornered animal moments before its inevitable death. he couldn’t beat dottore in a fight, he definitely wasn’t strong enough for that. could he distract him and give the child enough time to escape? but what if there were more children? sacrificing himself to save one child would end up dooming countless others.

almost as if dottore could read his mind, the doctor simply said “you know, if something were to happen to all of my test subjects, i would have to find replacements from somewhere.. closer to home.”

it was obvious what he meant, but the sinister tone of his voice and the leer he sent childe solidified it; he was directly threatening childe’s family.

the kid in the cell next to childe was around teucer’s age, and it was so easy to imagine him in there instead, facing torturous experiments while childe was helpless to save him, knowing his reckless actions put him there in the first place.

for the first and last time in his entire life, childe took the cowards way out. that decision, and the desperate cries of the child begging him not to leave, continue to haunt him to this day.

[robininthelabyrinth]

sequel to A Sick Thought (aka the Mo Xuanyu & Wei Wuxi-cat fic)

-

“Did I do something to make Hanguang-jun not like me?” Mo Xuanyu asked.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t expecting the question, so he reacted as usual – incredulous glare with a side order of ‘who are you to dare talk to me directly?!’ – which to nobody’s surprise was massive overkill for a shrinking violet like Mo Xuanyu, who quailed at once.

“I’m sure he likes you fine,” Jiang Cheng said hastily, trying to make up for it. He hadn’t had much practice at trying to be not scary in years. “What makes you say that?”

He wasn’t really good at making conversation, either, but he was the only one here right now. They’d all been taking shifts to support Mo Xuanyu with spiritual energy per the doctor’s recommendation for treating the mercury poison that was still affecting his mind, and Jiang Cheng usually volunteered to take the late night-early morning shift because Lans simply weren’t properly functional at those hours until their official wake-up time hit.

Also, it was the one time he could generally guarantee Wei Wuxian would be either busy or napping and he wouldn’t have to deal with – any of that.

He knew he’d eventually have to deal with Wei Wuxian, but…not yet.

Right now, he turned to look at Mo Xuanyu, who was lying very still, covered in acupuncture needles to the point that he resembled a pincushion; he had very large eyes that suggested trembling even when he wasn’t, and that irked Jiang Cheng, somehow, when he’d already made an effort not to be scary.

“He doesn’t seem happy when I’m around,” Mo Xuanyu explained.

“That’s not about you,” Jiang Cheng said gruffly. “Hanguang-jun just doesn’t like anyone. You wouldn’t believe it based on his righteous reputation, but he can be a real ass to people.”

Jiang Cheng supposed that the ice-block must like someone, given how often jokes were made about him looking as though his wife had died, but he’d never seen it in person. When they were young, Lan Wangji had already been stern and cold, with occasional bouts of being snappish – especially towards Wei Wuxian. There’d been a few months during the Sunshot Campaign when he’d been a little softer, during the time they were looking for Wei Wuxian together, but he’d gone straight back to asshole right after, sticking his nose into everyone’s business and harassing Wei Wuxian for his demonic cultivation. And once Wei Wuxian had died, he’d gone into seclusion for years on end, only to come back as his current glacial self –

“No, that’s mostly just to you, I think,” Mo Xuanyu said. “He’s very polite to all the juniors, everyone in the Lan sect…even Jin Ling.”

Jiang Cheng really hated that his first thought was at least I’m unique because being the only man Hanguang-jun is consistently rude to was a stupid prize to be happy to win and he knew it. He didn’t even like Hanguang-jun enough to care what the man thought!

“But I really do think it’s something about me in particular. Recently I’ve noticed that he seems to scowl when I’m around –”

“There’s a time when he’s not scowling?”

“…I mean, actually scowl, as opposed to being expressionless?”

Jiang Cheng tilted his head to the side, reviewing instances in which he’d observed the two of them, then nodded. “That might be the case, actually.”

Mo Xuanyu sighed, sounding almost relieved by the confirmation. “I don’t know why! I didn’t think I behaved all that badly when we first met, and I never met him at Koi Tower before –”

Jiang Cheng didn’t like to think of Mo Xuanyu and Koi Tower.

He’d only ever seen Mo Xuanyu distantly, a wallflower even when decked out in Lanling gold, and Jiang Cheng hadn’t been in Lanling for very many visits during the short time Mo Xuanyu had been there – a few years, maybe, half a decade at most, and most of that time Jiang Cheng had been focused on his sect or his nephew to the exclusion of everything else.

Still, his first up-close view had been truly disturbing.

All the more so because Jin Ling clearly hadn’t realize that it was so disturbing, because Jin Ling – his Jin Ling – thought it was somehow normal for what had once been a perfectly ordinary, if shy, man to suddenly become a lunatic, raving with fits and terrified of everyone dressed in yellow…

(He’d have to have words with Jin Guangyao about it, whenever he found the time. Had they done something wrong in raising Jin Ling? And who was it that had so tormented Mo Xuanyu while he was there? Surely Jin Guangyao would know something…)

It was all extremely uncomfortable, and doubly complicated by the fact that Jiang Cheng himself had been driven to the edge of a nervous breakdown when he heard Wei Wuxian’s voice again after all these years. He’d dreamed of his shixiong coming back, back the way he used to be before the war had ruined everything; he’d had nightmares of him coming back, too – not again I don’t want to have to kill him again please no – but somehow the idea that he’d come back as a cat had just been…too much.

They said only the worst sort of people reincarnated as animals.

Later, of course, he learned about the body sacrificing array (he’d nearly been sick at the thought of Wei Wuxian’s familiar gaze looking out at him from Mo Xuanyu’s big trembling eyes, the actual man’s soul gone who-knows-where), and the fact that someone had taught that and only that to Mo Xuanyu, intending on squeezing him dry and then discarding him to use the shell…

It was sickening.

He should have paid more attention.

“- and anyway I can’t figure out what it might be.”

“Well, think over what the instances that you saw him scowling were, and figure out what there was in common,” Jiang Cheng said. Circulating spiritual energy into another person was tiring, but not necessarily mentally stimulating – it wouldn’t be too much to devote some time into the puzzle of the mysteriously scowling Hanguang-jun. “Were you at a particular location?”

“No. Once I was at the dining hall, once walking through the field, a few times in here…”

“Were you doing anything in specific?”

“I don’t think so? I don’t really – do anything.”

That was certainly true. Maybe they should be encouraging Mo Xuanyu to pick up a hobby.

Jiang Cheng thought about it a bit more. “Would you say Hanguang-jun scowls at me?” he asked.

Mo Xuanyu was caught by surprise and failed to hide his smile – it was a surprisingly cute smile, broader and more full-fledged that Jiang Cheng would have expected from such a shy person. It transformed his whole face: his eyes crinkling at the sides, his cheeks dimpling, his nose scrunching up.

Really, surprisingly cute.

Was that what Mo Xuanyu would have been like, if it wasn’t for the poison and the abuse?

“Yes, Sandu Shengshou,” Mo Xuanyu said, his eyes twinkling a little in his amusement. “Hanguang-jun always scowls at you.”

Jiang Cheng felt a stupid little spike of pleasure, which, damnit, he does not care. Stupid prizes were not worth winning – he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

“Well, that’s something, then,” he said, deciding not to think about it. Much like he was not thinking about Wei Wuxian: very purposefully. “That means it’s not you he doesn’t like, because then he’d scowl every time, instead of just sometimes. Is there anyone with you during those times?”

Mo Xuanyu pursed his lips when he thought. “I don’t think so?” he said doubtfully. “It’s usually just me and Wei Wuxian…it couldn’t possibly be Wei Wuxian, though. They like each other.”

“You think so?” Jiang Cheng asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, they’re always together, aren’t they? Unless Wei Wuxian’s with me, Hanguang-jun is always keeping him company – in the library pavilion, in the dining hall, in the cold spring…”

Jiang Cheng was starting to get flashbacks to his teenage days. “Surely you mean that Wei Wuxian is the one keeping Hanguang-jun company?” he said, because that sounded much more likely. “Or, well, pestering him?”

Mo Xuanyu shook his head. “Hanguang-jun brought him a little bit of meat from the town outside,” he said. “He must have gone there especially to get it, since there’s no meat in the dining hall here. And he even let him have a jar of some wine.”

That – did not sound right. Whether from the perspective of what Jiang Cheng knew about Lan Wangji, or about Lan sect rules, or even, well, general guidelines for what was appropriate to feed to a cat.

“You’re sure?”

“Mm. Here, come to the window, I’ll show you.”

Somehow Jiang Cheng found himself on the bed next to Mo Xuanyu, shuffling around carefully so that he could look out the window without being too obvious about it.

Just across the way, Lan Wangji was standing guard at one of the central areas of the Cloud Recesses – judging the time, he would have just finished up the last leg of his patrols, having presumably utilized his considerable willpower to stay awake until this hour. As they watched, a faint wind picked up, ruffling Lan Wangji’s hair and causing the ends of his forehead ribbon to gently flutter.

The picture would have been one of the classic cultivator, lonely but righteous, standing sentinel on behalf of others, except for the fact that Wei Wuxian was crouched right behind him, red ribbon and black tail and all, trying his level best to leap up high enough to catch the ribbon.

Jiang Cheng briefly closed his eyes. “That idiot.”

Mo Xuanyu elbowed him lightly. “Open your eyes, you’ll miss it!”

Jiang Cheng felt absurdly proud over the fact that Mo Xuanyu had apparently gotten over his fright well enough to do as much as that, and opened his eyes.

His eyebrows went up as he watched Lan Wangji – still stone-faced as always, but (and it was perhaps a trick of the light) a little softer than usual – lean down to rub behind Wei Wuxian’s ears, and to pull out a bit of dried fish from his sleeve where he’d clearly been keeping a stash.

He even crouched down to better speak to him, taking in account that Wei Wuxian was, while moderately porcine for a cat, now much smaller than him.

There was a great deal of staring happening.

It took nearly the length of two incense sticks for Jiang Cheng to actually process what he was seeing.

“Hanguang-jun likes…cats?”

“No,” Mo Xuanyu said, his lips twitching. “He likes Wei Wuxian. Isn’t it obvious?”

It was, in fact, a little obvious.

“When you say like –”

Mo Xuanyu reached out his own paw and patted Jiang Cheng’s arm in sympathy. “Trust one cutsleeve to know another,” he said, and then he left his hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“But when did they even start?” Jiang Cheng asked, honestly bemused. “They were always at each other’s throats before! And – and he’s a cat now. Don’t tell me that Hanguang-jun has some sort of – some strange – I’ve heard things about catboys –”

Mo Xuanyu burst out into giggles. “Where did you hear about that?”

“An old acquaintance with bad taste and a penchant for sharing it,” Jiang Cheng said, since obviously Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t know who Nie Huaisang was. “It’s not that, though, is it? They must have – before.”

That would explain Lan Wangji’s decade-long mourning for a dead wife, he supposed. Also his seemingly inexplicable resentment of both the Jin sect and Jiang Cheng personally.

“I think so.”

Jiang Cheng was going to murder Wei Wuxian for not telling him that he’d apparently run off to have a whirlwind romance with Lan Wangji during the time he’d been the Yiling Patriarch – that was the only time when it was possible, since Jiang Cheng had been there all the other times, and he was pretty sure they didn’t get together before that.

If only because Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have been able to resist boasting about it.

In fact, it was a little strange that he hadn’t done so now, cat or no cat – it wasn’t as if everyone didn’t know he was planning to cultivate towards a human form as quickly as possible, so why wouldn’t he –

A horrible thought crossed Jiang Cheng’s mind. “Does Wei Wuxian know? Does he – does he like him back?”

Mo Xuanyu pursed his lips. “You know, I’m not sure?”

“I thought you said cutsleeves could tell.”

“Well, the whole cat thing has been throwing me off a bit.”

Jiang Cheng covered his eyes with a hand. “I don’t think I can deal with this. The cat thing was bad enough…at least it explains your issue.”

Mo Xuanyu, who’d finally removed his hand, blinked. “What?”

“Wei Wuxian is a perpetual headache that exists for the sole purpose of tormenting me,” Jiang Cheng explained because really it was the only logical conclusion at this point. He wished that he loved the man (cat) a little bit less; it would make every bit of it much less agonizingly personal. “But apparently Hanguang-jun like that sort of thing, so whenever Wei Wuxian is spending time with you...”

“…you think he’s been drinking vinegar? About me? Hanguang-jun?”

“Why not? You’re open about the fact that you cut your sleeve, Wei Wuxian is already protective of you, and it’s not as if you’re not cute – it make sense that he’d be worried, especially if he’s been pining all these years.”

Mo Xuanyu had turned pink. “Cute,” he said dazedly, reaching up and pressing his hands to his cheeks as if that would help cool them down. “Uh –”

“Don’t do that,” Jiang Cheng said irritably, reaching up and catching his hands. “You’re covered in needles that you really shouldn’t be moving around – here, lie back down already.”

Mo Xuanyu obediently shuffled back into place, and Jiang Cheng returned to his previous place as well.

“I’ll need to talk to Wei Wuxian about it,” he said mournfully. Even after everything that had happened between them, it was his duty as Wei Wuxian’s only living relative to make sure the idiot wasn’t getting involved in something he shouldn’t. “I don’t want to talk to Wei Wuxian. He doesn’t even like me anymore.”

That was the problem, too.

“Uh, Sandu Shengshou –”

“Just call me Jiang Cheng. Everyone else does.” He was pretty sure he hadn’t even heard his courtesy name without a heavy dose of sarcasm or cringe-inducing toadying at any point in the last five years, and his title was far too formal if the goal was to be less intimidating. “What, do you have an idea on how to make it easier?”

“It’s just a thought.”

It couldn’t be worse than any of Jiang Cheng’s. “I’m listening. What is it?”

“Have you considered…catnip?”

[mishasminion360]

Space Age Love Song, Ch. 1

A Mandalorian x O/C Fic

Warning: Language

Notes: I’ve had this idea for awhile now and decided “why the hell not?” It’s been quite some time since I’ve written a full fledged fic, but I’m going to try to remain committed and complete this one. I already have a good idea of where I want it to go, so that’s a plus. Readers, you’re in for plenty of Mando romance, fluff, angst, action, and suspense. I hope you enjoy!

He crashed into her life like a falling star. The brightest star in the cosmos.

Ch. 1: Crash Into Me

The world was always a lonelier place at night. Rural Kansas appeared much more desolate in the dark; the roads and the land seemed to stretch on forever, both leading to nothing. The whistling of the evening breeze was the only voice to be heard for miles.

A half-drunk glass of whiskey in hand, Sara craned her head skyward to gaze at the stars. At most times, it seemed, they were her only friends. At least there were plenty of them to go around.

Her shift at the Hillsboro Community Hospital had been a grueling one this evening. She had just managed to drag her weary bones home a little more than an hour ago and already the night was creeping into day. Though exhausted, she’d suddenly found herself wired the second she’d pulled into her driveway at nearly 3 a.m. Now coming up on 4 in the morning, she downed the rest of her whiskey in hopes of calming herself long enough to drop into dreamland.

She had no reason to be awake so late, or early, rather. Sara had no one to pass the wakefulness with. The last of the only family she’d ever known had vanished from her life nearly a decade ago, leaving her with nothing but an old country house in the middle of nowhere that was far too big for a solitary woman such as herself. That house and memories.

There shouldn’t be any joy in the thought of coming home to an empty house. No happiness at the thought of eating alone, sleeping alone, living alone. But, as it began to happen more frequently, Sara came to realize that this rush of adrenaline she felt upon returning to her solitary homestead night after night was from the hope that she wouldn’t be lonely for long. One night she’d come home and there’d be someone worth coming home to. Someone waiting for her.

For now, though, Sara pulled herself to her feet, blinked the stars from her eyes, and prepared to head inside where she’d climb the stairs to her room and finally sleep the sleep of the dead.

She had just yanked open the finicky screen door when she heard a peculiar thoom! Her tired eyes returned to the sky to see that it was ablaze with light. A star, like a white hot ember, arced through the night, tumbling, tumbling down. So bright. So fast. So BIG.

That is not a star, she thought.

Sara watched the object’s decent with her heart in her throat. What if it was a meteor? Or a guided missile gone astray? Should she take cover? Would there be enough time? Would it even matter? The time she could’ve spent moving was lost to an endless string of “what if’s” playing on a loop inside her head, and by the time her brain managed to squeeze a logical thought about running into the mix, the object was crashing to earth in the field behind her barn.

She felt the impact from her porch; wobbled unsteadily on her feet as a tremor passed through the ground below. She could see the glow of flames in the distance. With the threat of a wildfire from space igniting the field beyond, with her house and all its memories in danger, she sprang into action.

Sara darted inside and made a beeline for the kitchen, retrieving the fire extinguisher from under the sink. Then, opting to take the back door, she darted back out into the chilly pre-dawn and ran as fast as her legs would carry her toward what she could only assume was Fox Mulder’s wet dream.

***

So, it definitely wasn’t a star. It wasn’t a meteor or a missile either. Nothing in her wildest dreams could have prepared her for what she was seeing. It was in pieces and it was on fire, but even partially destroyed Sara could positively identify (having watched enough cheesy sci-fi movies with her gramps to do so) an alien ship when she saw one.

“What kind of Superman origin story bullshit is this?” she wondered out loud.

The flames licking at the wreckage weren’t too big, and the small extinguisher did the trick for the most part. The dented silver exterior was still smoldering in some places by the time the canister was empty. Tossing the empty red cylinder aside, she stood and stared at the UFO in a mix of wonder and fear as another round of incessant questions bombarded her brain. Should she call someone about this? Who the hell was she supposed to call anyway: the cops, a scientist, the news, or all of the above?

With a startling groan of metal and a hiss of pressurized air, a large door at the rear of the ship (or was it the front? She had no fucking clue) descended, assuming a new role as a ramp, or so it appeared. It was almost as if the ship were inviting her inside.

Sara took a moment to peer into the vessel’s dark innards, then shook her head. She’d seen enough Ridley Scott movies to know that going inside was a terrible idea. Blindly investigating a mysterious extraterrestrial ship is how people ended up dead or, at the very least, pregnant with an alien baby. She wanted no part in either one of those scenarios if she could help it.

The rationalist inside of Sara urged her not to take another step farther; practically shouted at her to turn around and run the other way. But the nurse in her wouldn’t, couldn’t allow her to abandon someone who might be aboard and may be hurt, human or...otherwise. Damn. Sometimes she felt like she’d chosen the wrong profession.

Taking a cautious step up onto the ramp, jumping a bit at the echoing of her own footsteps, Sara called out to the darkness.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

When she got only silence for a response, she decided to forge on ahead into the belly of the great metal beast.

“Okay, I’m coming in so please just...don’t eat me and keep your tentacles to yourself.”

The cavernous ship was as black as night. In the distance she could see lights blinking, like stars in the night guiding her way. Sara felt along the walls blindly and inched forward with small, cautious steps.

“If anyone is in here be warned. I do not like surprises and, so help me, if you jump out at me here in the dark I will punch first and ask questions later.”

As she drew closer to the flashing lights, she began to hear noise. What sounded like about five different alarms were blaring, but still nothing resembling a voice.

Suddenly, the floor seemed to rise by a foot and she stumbled at the sudden change in elevation. Her arms flailed dramatically as she desperately reached for something, anything to grab onto. Sara hit the ground hard and loud, her cry of surprise cut short as her head thumped against the cold floor.

Disoriented from the blow, she looked up and took in her surroundings with blurred vision. The alarms screamed at her from every direction, which was doing absolutely nothing to help her gradually building headache, and the lights blinked furiously in sync with the shrieking sirens. She could make out other objects now, what looked like buttons and knobs and levers and screens all illuminated by the incessant flashing of the warning lights. Damn her shit luck. Alone on this alien ship and she’d managed to stumble (literally) into the freaking cockpit. But where was the pilot?

Okay, maybe whatever had been flying this saucer never heard her, had no idea she was here. Maybe it was an unmanned craft. There was still a chance she’d make it out of this incredibly foolhardy endeavor alive. Stiffly and carefully Sara rolled onto her back, glanced up, and immediately screamed.

A face, or at least what she assumed was a face, more like a mask of some sort, peered down at her from above. Stifling another cry, she scrambled up to a sitting position and shinnied away until she felt her back hit wall. Even with that outburst, the creature didn’t appear to stir. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and vigilant observation, it didn’t appear that the alien was conscious.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Sara was on her hands and knees, creeping closer to where the sleeping being was collapsed heavily in what she figured to be the captain’s chair. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a man than a monster. A man (or a woman) encased from head to toe in a suit of shimmering silver armor. Hell, it could have been a robot.

Through the small t-shaped visor in the dome-like helmet Sara could see no traces of a face. She had no definitive way of knowing if the spaceman was truly slumbering or just waiting for her to get close enough to grab, and for a moment she hesitated to move any closer. But when she saw the small trickle of blood leaking from beneath the helmet and onto the right pauldron, her fear instantly vanished. Definitely not a robot; a living, bleeding person. RN powers activate!

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” Sara gave the shiny helmet a light tap, trying to conjure a response. “Come on spaceman, spacewoman, are you with me? Wake up!”

His or her head rolled limply to the side as the blood continued to run. Unconsciousness following a vehicular (or spacecraftular) crash was never a good sign, but Sara couldn’t know for certain until she saw the source of the blood how bad the damage was. Gripping the helmet between her sweating palms she began to slide it upward carefully. Before she could even get it past the wearer’s chin, a hand reached up and wrapped around her wrist, stopping her instantly. She flinched, in surprise rather than pain; their grip was unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t-don’t take it off,” a very male voice stammered weakly. “You can’t...”

Sara was momentarily stunned. The alien spoke perfect English, and in a voice as soft as their grasp. She shook her head to reorganize her thoughts. This situation called for the utmost professionalism. When you’re a nurse, first impressions are everything. And she wasn’t representing just herself at this moment, but potentially the entire human race.

“Sir, I...it’s going to be alright, sir. I’m a nurse. I can help you, but I’ll need to assess the injury. I need to remove your helmet in order to-“

“Please...”

Sara had entered this ship expecting to find a monster ready to frighten her. What she’d never anticipated was that the monster could be just as frightened as she was. And that’s what she heard in the spaceman’s voice: fear. He was scared. Of her. And that’s when any remaining trace of her own fear vanished. She reached down and found one of his gloved hands and squeezed it gently in her own.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to help you. You’re safe.” With her other hand she caressed one side of his helmet and tried to imagine that she were stroking his own cheek. “You’re safe.”

He seemed to relax a bit under her touch, but that may have been from the second wave of sleep overtaking him. Sara released his hand, took a step back, took a deep breath, and began mentally preparing herself for the task ahead.

Dragging a snoozing spaceman all the way to the house was not going to be an easy task, but it was one that had to be done. As a nurse, she’d be damned if she’d let a patient, even an extraterrestrial one, die on her watch.

Sara slid her arms around the limp man’s chest and began the first chore: hoisting him out of the chair.

“Welcome to Earth.”

[tedturneriscrazy]

As some of you might know, a while back I wrote this fic about @nikkydash 's OCs Kite and Sabrina (ship name Kabrina).

Well, I've written another one! I took this as a prompt of sorts. With luck I plan on making this a full fledged story with 3-4 chapters. For now this is an introductory chapter. Hopefully I'm inspired to work on this more, and ideally it won't take me an eternity to finish.

Anyways, enjoy!

Date Night

Chapter 1

It was a bright and sunny early afternoon. Kite and Sabrina were sitting on the short wall near the entrance of the park. Sabrina was able to get a lunch break right when Kite’s morning shoot finished, so they took the opportunity to meet up and hang out.

Only a week earlier Kite had helped Sabrina out of a situation where she was about to be married to an undead mobster in a shotgun wedding (They thought zombies would be reluctant to have shotguns anywhere near their weddings, but that wasn’t important). They had used their magic to get the goons off her back, but they both knew that was only a temporary measure. It was only a matter of time before they came back for her again.

So Kite had made a suggestion: they could enter into a fake marriage with Sabrina. The officials were already at the party and everything; they could just do it right then and there. Even zombie mobsters couldn’t mess with the sanctity of marriage, or at the very least have a difficult enough time doing so that they would decide it wasn’t worth the trouble.

They didn’t know how she’d react to this idea. Sure, they had been fooling around with each other before this point (and having a great time, to boot!), but sex and matrimony were two very different things. Moreover, Kite didn’t know if Sabrina had the temperament for such a commitment, even if it wasn’t strictly real. Provided she did, however, would she be okay being stuck with them?

To their surprise (and delight), she had agreed almost immediately. Enthusiastically, even. Kite wasn’t sure whether it was because she liked the idea that much or if she was that eager to solve her problem, but they weren’t going to complain.

Things moved quickly after that. The day after the party, they started getting Sabrina moved into Kite's apartment. After all, it would be suspicious to keep separate addresses if you were ostensibly married. Fortunately, she didn’t have too many things to move, and she didn’t seem all that sorry to leave her previous residence. Kite noted that, while her apartment was far from the worst (“At least it’s not a shithole!” had been her cheerful assessment of it), it did seem oddly lonely, and they were glad to get her out of there.

And now here they were, one week later, spending time with each other as spouses. Well, spouses in the eyes of the law, anyway. Emotionally was another matter entirely.

Personally, Kite wouldn’t have minded if the marriage was real. Hell, maybe they’d like it to be. Sabrina was cute, passionate, funny, and surprisingly tender when she wanted to be. Besides, she seemed particularly susceptible to their teasing, and she gave the best reactions.

After they had finished talking about their respective days at work so far, there was a somewhat awkward silence, with neither of them seeming to know what to say next. Between the events at the party, figuring out the new living situation, and wrangling with legal affairs from the wedding, this was the first time the two of them were able to have a conversation that didn’t involve any of that. Now it was just a matter of finding something to talk about.

Finally, Sabrina piped up with a question: “Soooo…uh, what kind of fruit do you like?” She was clearly grasping for a topic, but Kite didn't mind; the important thing was that she was trying, which they appreciated.

Without hesitation, Kite replied, "You."

An annoyed look crossed Sabrina's face, which had also turned bright red. "Come on! You know what I meant!"

They took a moment to relish her reaction before continuing, "Well, I'd have to say I do enjoy a good apple. Sweet. Tart. Crisp. Juicy. Just about the perfect eating experience." They wondered if she would pick up on the subtext. Probably not; metaphors were not her strong suit.

Sabrina laughed loudly and said, “Wow, Kite! We both like apples! We have so much in common!” She then turned her head toward Kite, attempting to adopt a smooth, sly expression. “We might be soulmates. We should totally date.”

Kite gave their wife a somewhat puzzled look. “Sabrina, we’re married.”

Sabrina looked away and laughed nervously. “Right! Right!”

More awkward silence. Kite was still wondering what led Sabrina to ask them--her spouse--on a date. Perhaps she was just trying to be funny. This seemed to be the most likely explanation, but they couldn’t help but think that there was an element of sincerity to it.

As if to confirm this, Sabrina spoke back up: “Y’know, I just remembered an article I read a while back.”

“Yeah?” Was she grasping again? They were curious to see where she was going with this.

“It was about how married couples managed to stay together after so many years. One of the things I read about was how they would schedule ‘date nights’ outside of anniversaries or birthdays. It was supposed to reaffirm their commitment to each other, or whatever.”

“That sounds so sweet!” Kite exclaimed, and they meant it.

“Uh yeah, I guess,” Sabrina muttered. “Anyways, I was thinking, maybe, we could have a date night like that?” She looked away as she said this, tapping her fingers together nervously. “I mean, we’ve only been married for a week, but I think it could be fun?” After not receiving an answer right away, she blushed furiously and hastily added, “O-only if you want to! I mean, if you’re too busy or don’t want to or whatever that’s fine!”

Kite looked at her for a moment, a sense of warmth coursing through them. It seemed like she wanted to spend time with them outside of the context of everything else that had been going on for the past week. They had to admit, they felt the same. Smiling, they replied, “Darling, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Sabrina turned back around to look at them, wide-eyed. “Really?!” In that moment she looked and sounded like an excited little girl, and it was possibly the most adorable thing Kite had ever seen. Quickly she cleared her throat and said, “I mean, uh cool. Let’s do it, then.” Kite couldn’t help but giggle a little bit; her play at nonchalant coolness after her display of childlike enthusiasm was cute, too.

For the rest of Sabrina’s lunch break they worked out the details of the date: Kite would make a reservation at their favorite seafood restaurant, while Sabrina declared she would take them to her favorite miniature golf course from when she was a kid. Perhaps an unorthodox combination, but Kite wouldn’t have had it any other way.

As fate would have it, the night would, indeed, prove to be unorthodox. Just not for any reason either of them could have anticipated.

[shintorikhazumi]

Yet Again (5): “Is dinner ready yet?”

A/N: I think y’all had the wrong idea about Diana’s words and Kotone and being with Akko. Everyone means everyone y’all. Kotone included.

I’ve been buried in school, so I definitely can’t do my long fics ;-; rip. Been trying tho.

Anywho, Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

"I never really understood why we didn't move back sooner, mum." Kotone carried a box down the mansion's hall towards the guest rooms, walking in step with one of her mothers.

"Can you really say that when you've only just graduated from the academy? I've also had my share of responsibilities at Luna Nova. There was never really... a good enough reason to come back and stay. Except for the usual maintenance checks for the property."

"Hmm..."

"Anyway, Kotone,"

The girl turned her head to Diana, silently telling her to go on. Diana didn't know why it was suddenly so difficult to speak. Maybe it was Kotone's nonchalance at the moment, her innocent reaction? towards the situation they were in? Was it her calmness that contrasted all Diana's worries that unnerved the Cavendish matriarch?

"Mum?" Kotone reached a hand out, shaking her mother by the shoulder in concern.

"Bringing you here with us..." Diana finally spoke. "-you really don't mind?"

She knew her face was an open book, revealing to her daughter all her troubled feelings and thoughts. When she told Beatrix that she would stay, and that 'everyone' would be a part of this experience with Akko, she had immediately decided in her mind to bring everyone involved in this situation to the manor to make things easier. But "immediately deciding" for everyone had meant that she planned on stringing everyone along, her own daughter included, without due knowledge and consent.

Only now had she begun to wonder whether or not this was selfishness on her part. With those thoughts in place, it made it all the more surprising to see her family and friends' willingness to join Akko and herself. It moved her in ways unimaginable.

Yet... she still wondered if it was alright for them to go along with them. This wasn't something that directly affected most of them. If anything, it was more of a problem of Diana's and Akko's. Why would they...

"I was- no... I am happy. That you brought me home, Mum." Kotone placed the box down on the ground before wrapping her arms around her mother, and Diana wondered just when did her little girl get so big. She was almost as tall as Diana. “And Home is wherever you and Mama are.”

Diana willed the tears away. ‘Kotone... who raised you to be so wonderful?’

Still, Diana’s anxieties had the better of her.

"But... What about your friends? What about the things you'd like to do? Leaving all of the things and people you've known for so long... the plans you must have already made. You're a full-fledged adult as well. Surely you had other things in mind and I-... Oh! Didn't you say you wanted to study further at the-"

"Mum."

"Y-yes?"

Kotone sighed.

"First of all, my friends and I... we all know that we wanted to do different things with our magic. We have different dreams and that's okay. Wasn't it the same for you all too? You working at Luna Nova while Aunt Han and Aunt Amanda applied as attendants to the royal family. Aunt Lotte has her boutique, and Aunt Barbara is an ambassador for the witches."

"I suppose... you are correct."

"I am."

Diana found herself chuckling at this confidence, ruffling her daughter's hair. Oh, just where had she gotten this prideful trait from? This sureness in herself?

"As for what I want to do, well..." Kotone hummed as Diana waited nervously. "I haven't really decided, haha." Kotone gave her mother a squeeze. "I just said I'd study further because I didn't really know. Is that so bad?" She looked up at her mother, eyes questioning.

"No. It's not bad at all. Everyone has there own story, dream, and path to walk. You have only just begun in your journey." Diana smiled tenderly. Kotone so easily put her worries to rest, comforting her just like that.

"And anyway! If studying is what I've chosen to do, wouldn't it be the best to study under- and alongside- one of the best professors in the industry?" She grinned at her mother, and Diana had to roll her eyes at that, pinching her daughter's nose.

"Sweet talker."

"Chariot du Nord! Also Professor Croix. I never got to attend her classes since she stopped teaching. The older students said her class was so cool!"

Cheeky little-

"Also, it's not everyday you get taught by one of the Legendary Olde Nine! Mom, you never really let me meet Great Grandma Beatrix before!!!"

"...g-great grandm-"

"I met her yesterday after we unpacked! When I went to see Mama."

"You've already gone to see Ak-... how did you even find...?"

"The succession ceremony shrine."

Diana flinched. Had it actually already occurred? Did Diana just miss an actual milestone in her daughter's life yet again-

"It's not what you think, Mum. I didn't have it. Not yet, at least." Kotone stepped back from the embrace, holding onto Diana's hands. "I plan on following in your steps, Mum." She stated, determined.

Diana felt joy and pride swell up within her at the sight of her child. Serious, sincere, and very much worthy.

"I just don't think I'm ready for that yet." She gave a little laugh. "Oh, but if you're wondering how I found it, Ivory took me there the other day for some reason."

Ivory. Kotone's unicorn summon and familiar. One of the guardian’s of the Cavendish Household, and a symbol of their lineage.

Maybe that succession ceremony wasn't as far off as they'd assumed.

"I see."

"Oh, there you are. Thanks for helping out with our things, Diana, Kotone."

"Hi, Aunt Lotte!" Kotone turned to greet the new arrival before handing Lotte the box with the woman's belongings.

Diana hadn't realized they had arrived outside the guest rooms, mind having been preoccupied the entire walk there.

"It's no trouble. I was the one who asked for your help, after all. And really," She chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her daughter's hair. "I have a healthy sidekick to do all the heavy lifting for me."

"Hey!"

They all shared a laugh at that, only interrupted by a loud grumbling stomach.

"Kotone..."

"Wha-That wasn't me!" The youngest flushed, pouting at her mother's teasing.

"My bad." Sucy suddenly came out into the hallway, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "Is dinner ready yet?"

"Sucy!!!" Lotte pinched her cheek. "Could you at least be a little more courteous in other people's homes?"

"It's fine Lotte." Diana laughed. "I'll admit, it's getting a little late. What do you say we head off to the dining room? Afterwards, I'll-"

"Bring food to Mama? Can I come?" Kotone suddenly exclaimed, excited. Really, for how big she'd already gotten, she still could act like the most precious little child in Diana's eyes.

"Of course." Diana smiled. "I wonder if that private session has finished yet..."

//-//-//-//-//

{Atsuko. Please focus.}

"I'm trying."

{I know.}

"I can't-"

{You have to.}

"Hey Beatrix?"

{Speak.}

"...H-How long do you think we-"

{That is not something I can answer yet.}

"...I didn't even finish the question..." Akko muttered, opening her eyes with a sigh and looking to her current mentor staring right back at her. But really, Beatrix had read her worries as though she were an open book. 

{We've only just begun, Kagari Atsuko. Do not assume the worst until you've exhausted all efforts for the best.}

"...right."

{Now. Focus.}

“Okay.” Akko closed her eyes once more, running the spell through her head a few more times. Actually, she had another question. “Hey, Beat-”

{Focus.}

“I just-”

{Atsuko.}

“Okay! okay! Sheesh... I was just wondering...” Akko grumbled, eyes squeezing shut again, feeling a familiar churning in her stomach.

'Ugh... Is dinner ready yet?'

{Focus.}

"...hai."

[monaownsmyass]

Pineapple Jacket

Requested fic by @playallthechoices. (If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: Queen B

Pairing: Zoey x MC (Bea Hughes)

Genre : Angst/Fluff/Humour

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1,925

A/N: What’s this? A @monaownsmyass fic that’s less than 2k words? Impossible! Anyway, Zoey and MC get into an argument but it doesn’t last long cuz Zoey can’t take MC seriously. This was so fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard @satrinadia @toalltheboysididntlove (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

"Hey, babe?" I heard Zoey call out from the living room. "Have you seen my jacket?"

Oh shit.

"Which jacket? I asked nervously even though it was obvious which one she was talking about.

"What other jackets have you seen me wearing?" she laughs. "The pineapple one, duh!"

I took a few deep breaths and stepped out of my room, preparing myself to tell her the truth.

"Uh, hey, Zo."

"What's up, babe? Did you find it?"

"Well, not really, I mean yeah I know where it is but," I scratched the back of my neck. "It kinda... shrank..."

She just looked at me and blinked. Once... twice...

"What do you mean it shrank?"

"Um, it got smaller..."

Zoey sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, I'm aware of the concept of shrinking, I mean how?"

“Uh, well, you see," I stuttered, trying to word it in a way that was the least embarrassing for me while simultaneously in a way so that I wouldn't get yelled at. I was failing miserably at both. "I may have threw it in the dryer..."

She stared at me again but this time with her arms crossed. She looked at me for so long unblinkingly, I swear I could see her eye twitch which did nothing except made me even more nervous.

"And why did you throw it in the dryer?"

"I accidentally spilt something on it," I said hesitantly while raising my hands in front of my as if it would magically stop Zoey's wrath that was currently being directed towards me. "In my defense, I was just trying to help you get it clean!"

"It wouldn't have gotten dirty in the first place if you didn't spill anything on it! And how many times have I told you that that blazer must be hand-washed and hung dry?!"

"I panicked and I completely forgot! Baby, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't 'baby' me!" Zoey fumed.

She stepped closer to me and I had to forced myself to not move back.

"Where. Is. It?" She whispered each word in a low menacing voice and if I wasn't shitting myself from how terrifying she was right now, I would've been very excited.

I gulped and tried to reply but the words didn't come out.

"Bea Hughes."

Uh-oh, full name in that tone isn't a good sign.

Wordlessly, I pointed to my room. I honestly have no idea why I kept it in my room 'cuz I knew she was gonna be looking for it eventually and leaving in my room wasn't be the best move. I guess I was panicking too much to think properly.

She stormed off into the direction I pointed at and not long after, I heard her scream.

"OH MY GOD!"

She came out holding the shrunken jacket.

"What the fuck is this?!"

"Your jacket," I pointed out lamely.

"It shrank this much?!"

"Hey, on the bright side, it can fit Cutiepie now," I joked, trying to lighten the mood but as soon as I said it, I realised I shouldn't have.

"Bea! This was my favourite jacket!"

"I know! And I can't tell you how sorry I am!"

I pouted and approached her cautiously. She brought her lifted arm with the jacket down to her side and let out a huge sigh.

"There's no point staying mad at you."

She gathered me in her arms and I felt myself immediately relax into her, unbelievably relieved. I rested my head on her shoulder as she spoke, "Not like I could stay mad at you anyway."

"I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise. I feel so bad."

I felt Zoey shake her head. "No, it's okay babe."

Then, she said something that took me aback.

"I have a spare in my closet anyway."

I broke out of her grasp and took a couple steps back.

"You have what?"

"Yeah, I have another."

I could feel the rage boil within me, making me red in the face.

"If you had a spare why did you make such a big deal out of this?!"

Zoey looked at me and scoffed. "Don't turn this around and blame it on me! In case you forgot, you're the one that ruined my favourite jacket!

"Right, your favourite jacket that you have another of! So I don't get why you had to yell at me about it!"

"'Cuz you still ruined my favourite jacket!"

Our banter continued on, back and forth and back and forth for who knows how long, the other not wanting to give in.

"But you didn't have to throw it in the dryer!"

I groaned and slid my hand down my face in irritation. "God! Not this again! I told you it was an accident! Why don't you believe me?"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you, I just think you should be more careful!"

That's it, I couldn't take it anymore.

"AND I'VE APOLOGISED AT LEAST 50 TIMES!" I shouted so loud I was sure the entire dorm building could hear me. "What do I hafta do to get ya to forgive me?! Ya want me to get on my fuckin' knees and beg? Goddamn! Want me to grovel at ya feet, maybe a lil' smooch while I'm at it real quick? 'Cuz this is bloody ridiculous, Zo! Jeez!"

I threw my hand up in frustration and glared at her.

She looked at me, long and hard. We stared at each other for a good minute before I saw the corner of Zoey's lips quirk up.

"What?" I asked.

And that's when she lost it.

She let out a full-fledged grin and burst into laughter, clutching her stomach and doubling over.

My scrunched up face instantly relaxed at the sound. It was impossible to hold a grudge and stay angry when I heard Zoey laugh. It was like sunshine on a dark, cloudy day and I couldn't help but give her a smile of my own when I heard the most beautiful sound known to mankind.

"What?" I questioned again but I was grinning this time.

"Your accent!" she managed to choke out between giggles. "It's so cute!"

As soon as she said that, I realised what she was talking about and I laughed along with her, feeling heat go to my cheeks as I covered my face with my hands.

"Oh my god," I said, embarrassed but still smiling.

"Aww, no need to be shy, baby," Zoey cooed and moved in to wrap her arms around me. "I think it's adorable."

"How am I supposed to scold you and be mad at you now?" I buried my face in her shoulder.

"You don't!" she replied, laughing.

"At least I know our arguments won't last too long," I muttered.

She chuckled and lead me to the couch. She held up her shrunken pineapple jacket and sighed.

"Might as well take your suggestion and put it to good use."

She called Cutiepie to her and scooped him up in her arms. She put the jacket on him and set him back down. He stumbled and waddled around a little, trying to get used to the foreign object on him.

"At least Cutiepie can match with his other mama now," I joked.

We giggled at the sight and then Zoey turned to me. She cleared her throat and spoke to me in an accent that made me groan.

"Now tell me, darlin', what in tarnation were ya doin' with ma jacket?" she mocked, trying to hold back her laughter.

"First of all, I do not sound like that," I clarified, raising a brow at her even though I was trying to hold back my smile. "Second of all, I'm not gonna tell you."

"Aw, why not?" she pouted.

"'Cuz you're making fun of me," I sulked. "And also 'cuz it's embarrassing."

"Okay, okay, I'll drop the accent and I promise I won't tease you."

"Promise?"

She held out her pinky. "Pinky promise, babe."

I hooked mine around hers instinctively and took a deep breath.

"Alright, so, maybe, sometimes when you're out, I wear your jacket around the dorm when you're not using it 'cuz I miss you," I admitted shyly, looking away from her. "Then when you texted me saying you were coming back early the other day, I panicked and accidentally knocked some wine over onto your jacket. I tossed it into the dryer, completely forgetting I wasn't supposed to, I’m sorry."

She took too long to respond so I turned back to her to see her wearing a shit-eating grin on her face.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit," she said with a country drawl and I scrunched my nose, groaning again.

"Zoey! And I'm Midwestern, not Southern, jeez!"

"Okay! I'll stop for good this time," she laughed and placed a peck on my blushing cheek. "I think it's really cute that you wear my jacket. And for the record, I knew you did that."

I gave her a look, mouth slightly agape. "You knew?"

"Mhm," she responded and now it was her turn to look shy. "I knew 'cuz when I wore it, it always smelt like you, which is partly the reason why I wore it so mucht too. Which also explains why I was upset when you told me you ruin it."

I was about to correct her, saying I didn't actually ruin it but I didn't want to get into another argument. So I ignored it and only focused on the beginning part.

"You wear it 'cuz it smells like me?" I said in a small voice. She only nodded. I jumped on her and attacked her with kisses.

"Bea!" she giggled but didn't try to push me away. Instead, she brought her arms to encircle my waist, pulling me closer. I kissed her lips, cheeks, forehead, nose, neck, any part I could reach.

Eventually, I pulled back. She sighed and frowned. "Now I have to wear the spare that smells all new and stuffy."

She got up and went to her room to retrieve her other pineapple blazer.

"Can you wear it?" she asked me with doe eyes. "Please?"

How could I say no to that? Scratch that, why would I say no to that?

Without wasting another second, I took the jacket from her and draped it over my shoulders, inserting my arms into the arm holes. I loved the way her jacket was a little too big for me. The sleeves went past my hands and the seams at the shoulder drooped down. It was perfect.

I pulled her down into me  to give her a long, sweet kiss on the lips. I wrapped my arms around her neck and felt her slide onto my lap, kissing her as if my life depended on it. Kissing Zoey was always an event and this time was no exception. I could feel the butterflies in my tummy stir and my heart beating as loud and hard as a drum in my chest.

When we pulled back, I took in her gorgeous face, both of us breathing hard. She grinned at me and I smiled in response. She was a spectacle.

But then she opened her mouth and ruined it.

"Well, I'll be darn," she whispered breathlessly in a midwestern twang.

I shook my head. "That's it, no more kisses for you!"

She threw her head back laughing, arms pulling herself closer into me as her laughter filled the room and me up with joy.

(More fics!)

[faejilly]

tag game

Fic Writer Edition (tagged by @silver-latin-and-salt​, tagging, idk, whoever is writing atm? @twistedsinews​ @leahazel​ @junemermaid​, anyone who’d like, no one who doesn’t, etc.)

Fandoms: atm, primarily Shadowhunters. But also BioWare: Dragon Age and Mass Effect and maybe someday I’ll post some Jade Empire.

Also the occasional other game or TV show or Yuletide inspired one-shot. It’s a wide and ridiculous range of things, from a Georgette Heyer regency epilogue to Code: Realize and #7kpp to Firefly & even some Sleepy Hollow ficlets from back in s1 before we realized how terrible TPTB were going to be.

Number of fics: I have 158 works published on AO3.

This includes a couple of fanmixes that are linked on there to companion fics/series, two collaborative fics which are not just mine, even less so than most writing that is, and four WIPs: two of which I am still working on, one of which will absolutely 100% NEVER ever get more, and then that last one will probably not get more but who knows, maybe in ten years we’ll do a reunion and try again (it’s one of the collabs).

AS WELL AS: forty-seven different ficlet collections, sorted by fandom and pairing(s), because otherwise I would honestly have almost 1000 things and never be able to find a single damn one of them when I wanted to (and neither would anyone else). Like, ten of them are just for Shadowhunters because I split up the coda-fic by season and then also I put the porn in its own thing and Clizzy is kind of a post-canon AU so they’re on their own too and spin-offs of a particular fic setting get their own collection so they’re all together and etc. etc. etc.

Fic I spent a lot of time on: Do we count time actually writing? Or just the amount of time it hung out in my head before I finished it? Because I probably spent the most actual physical writing time on Lost For Words, which is a frothy cotton-candy experiment in long-fic for Mass Effect that I posted chapter by chapter as I wrote it and actually finished. (I have never successfully repeated the experience, tho I suppose a couple of my Shadowhunters fics will sort-of qualify in terms of length when they’re done, but they didn’t get posted semi-regularly and in progressive chapters in at all the same way.)

In terms of time between debut and completion, that would probably have to go to Cruel Intentions, which took over five years between initially going up on the Dragon Age Kink Meme and actually getting a conclusion.

i am for you and if broken hearts were whole have both been lingering WIPs for over two years at this point now, though, and a couple other DA2 fics were pretty close to that five year mark as well. 😅

Fic I didn’t spend a lot of time on: ashes of angels because I was coming up on my bingo deadline so I just pounded it out in a day. (It’s actually quite good tho! I think so, anyway! I am very proud of it! Read part one first, if you haven’t yet!)

also Impossible, (DA2, Bethany/Sebastian, confessional!porn) which mostly wrote itself in pretty short order, which was delightful. (Tho I also had a very astute beta for that one; don’t think he’s on tumblr anymore tho, or I’d yell at him in thanks again.) I told y’all I had a priest!kink problem. Not that you hadn’t all noticed on your own, anyways...

Longest fic: Finished? The aforementioned Lost for Words at just over 62k.

In limbo? Persephone Rising is literally three times longer than my next longest fic (and still not done!) but it is also a collab fic with three authors, so I suppose that sort of evens out?

Active WIP? i am for you at 59k. I’m not sure how much more is left of that one, tbqh... it will probably end up a bit longer than LfW, tho maybe not by much.

Shortest fic: I have no fucking clue, 47 ficlet collections, remember? In terms of a thing that I forgot to collect, apparently it is Consequences, which is my Brosca after the Landsmeet in DA:O.

Most hits/Most kudos/Most bookmarks: ALL THREE FOR i am for you! (Wonder how it’ll do when it’s no longer marked as a WIP?)

Total word count: On AO3: 1,137,609 !!!

(Sorry, you can see why I had to make that big tho, right?)

Fic I want to rewrite/expand: Except for the revisions to what is now Maleficar, I much prefer to leave fic as is, once it’s up there, so nothing on the re-write front. It was what it was when I did it, and it’s important to remember that, even when you move on to new stuff, imo.

But! I have potential/hopeful sequels in the WIP folder for and breathing is wishing, out of some dreaming tree, with an if in its soul, and several assorted ficlet collections & prompts I’ve sort of teased over the years. 

Favourite fic of mine: At the moment, they have hung the sky with arrows because it’s a thing I’m not sure I ever really thought I was going to write, and then I did and I surprised myself a little, but it was fun and it ties together a lot of my thoughts on the Shadowhunters finale in a way I really enjoyed. (Also it has an actual plot! I don’t do that terribly often, I’m usually very introspective in my fic.)

Sneak peek of a WIP/Share an idea? I started a Shadowhunter!Magnus fic for a bingo square, but then scope creep! so I made a moodboard, but there is maybe a fic on the way... eventually. After my Bangs. 🤞🏻

The first time Magnus Bane met the High Warlock of Manhattan it was during his "travels", the two years after graduating from the Academy when most Nephilim wandered from Institute to Institute, seeing how things were done differently around the world, how they were still so often the same, learning about all the things you couldn't see in a classroom.

He wasn't actually in New York City in order to meet the High Warlock, of course, not as a 17-year-old foot soldier, that was well above his pay grade, as the mundanes put it. But when all the full-fledged Shadowhunters had work to do, he was assigned escort duty when the High Warlock showed up to do his yearly wards inspection. 

Magnus met High Warlock Lightwood at the main entrance, and almost swallowed his own tongue at the sight of him, a broad shouldered, long-legged white man dressed in a conservative but very well-tailored suit, with heavy eyebrows, even heavier eyelashes, and a complete and utter lack of anything resembling an expression on his face. 

A shiver went down Magnus' spine as he met the High Warlock's gaze, and he refused to think too much about why.

Magnus managed to introduce himself reasonably coherently, he thought, offering a hand to shake, but the High Warlock just raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd talked them out of this nonsense last year."

"Uh." Magnus swallowed. The man was both terrifying and ludicrously attractive, and Magnus resigned himself to being a slightly stuttering idiot for the next four-to-six hours. "Not my call, I'm sorry to say. Sir."

The High Warlock rolled his eyes, and stepped forward. Magnus barely managed to dodge out of his way, and followed along behind him as he stalked towards the Angelic Core, where all the Institute Wards were anchored.

He never once acknowledged Magnus' presence as he worked, never asked for directions, or needed any sort of assistance. Magnus followed him anyway, and couldn't even bring himself to be upset about the waste of his time because damn, that view. He could see the shift of Lightwood's shoulders beneath the line of his coat, the tension in the muscles in his arms as each tiny motion correlated to whatever he was doing with his magic. There was so much power there, constrained and under his complete control.

The High Warlock never took so much as a wasted step in his clearly perfectly planned spiral of a route through the Institute's halls, circling out from the Core, stopping at each node, hitting all four corners of the building, before reaching the main doors again several hours later. 

Once there he finally turned and looked at Magnus directly. He dipped his head in some slight acknowledgement, straightened his cuffs, and his face shifted into something that was merely neutral and professional rather than granite. "There were no concerns to note, Mr. Bane. The wards have been refreshed, and the contract terms have been met."

"Thank you," Magnus managed, though he had to cough to get his voice to cooperate. 

The High Warlock's face softened, a hint of something that wasn't quite surprise in his eyes, but Magnus wasn't sure what to call it instead. "You're very welcome."

He nodded again, slightly more sincerely, perhaps, though there still wasn't enough of an expression on his face to properly qualify, in Magnus' opinion, and then he turned and left. 

Magnus blinked at the doors as they shut behind him, and let out one long slow exhale. His shoulders relaxed, and it was only now that his posture sagged that he realized he'd been extra tense the entire time, as if waiting for an attack that had never come.

[xlady-saya]

take what you want [fic]

Relationships: laila/alvarez 

Summary: Laila has come a long way from her freshman year, past all the worries and pressure to behave a certain way. She never thought she’d realize it here, lounging poolside with her girlfriend.

The urge to seduce Alvarez is just too good to let go.

Tags: fluff and smut, inappropriate use of tanning oil, written for the aftg summer event on twitter

Read on ao3!

"You're too polite."

The voice is smooth, and sends a shiver down Laila's spine. She's not sure why. Maybe it's because it sounds like it's right next to her ear, the clearest sound she's heard in the last forty-five minutes.

She forgot she was a person for a second there. No one has bothered to address her as one.

The registrar's office is a cramped, square room with one way in and out—and to make matters worse, the AC decided to take a day off on this excruciating Los Angeles summer afternoon.

The office is packed with students in the same boat as Laila, flowing in and out to retrieve their ID cards and USC lanyards. She'd been excited at first; she'd settled into the dorms, and her first Exy practice was later in the evening. It had only been a few days of walking around campus and finding her classes, but she already felt like a full fledged college student.

The excitement of getting her ID, a true symbol of this, had died upon entering the office. The line had been long, but it was also hardly a line.

It seemed more like giant clusters of students broken up by the occasional space, and over time, she no longer knew where it started and where it ended. Several people walked in and cut the line completely, and others who had waited less time than her would walk out with their IDs in hand. Laila's aggravation has been steadily growing, but she remembered her manners, her respect. She wasn't sure how any of that translated in a big city like LA, but it was how she'd been raised in the midwest.

Her parents would be disappointed if she caused a scene, and how embarrassing would that be, anyways? She told herself she could wait, that she had plenty of time.

Then, the voice jolts her out of the haze of squabbling students and staff members, and she jerks in the direction of it. She doesn't know it in that moment, but any hope of having manners in the future and preserving that polite attitude are dashed and spat on with the introduction of this girl.

The first thing Laila notices about her is how tall she is. Laila cranes her neck upwards, and is met with big, brown eyes. They go lidded in that moment, picking out something in Laila's green ones that Laila isn't aware of yet. She blushes anyways; she knows when she's being teased, made fun of. The girl's got a few inches on her, at least, with dark brown hair and skin that's already well acquainted with the strong California sun. Not pale like Laila, not ghostly. She doesn't seem like the type to wait here all day and let people cut her in line, judging from her ability to criticize complete strangers out of the blue.

Laila sputters indignantly, biting her tongue before any comments can come out. Not like they'd be well formed. Her mind is swimming, and she feels like a stereotypical jock then. Absolutely no brain cells.

The girl chuckles from the reaction, watching Laila's mouth open and close like a puppet. Laila can tell when she's being sized up and scanned, but she doesn't get the purpose. Normally, she'd never say no to attention from a hot girl (and yes, she begrudgingly can admit this rude ass is hot), but there's nothing impressive about her today. That's not what this is. All she has on her is a duffel bag with her Exy equipment haphazardly sticking out. She's wearing USC lounge pants that she already managed to stain with her ramen noodles earlier, and a ratty tank.

If it's the Exy the girl is fixated on, Laila wants to reassure her. It's a violent sport, but Laila's a goalie. She's not the one to start fights, so there's no reason for this girl to be looking her up and down like this.

Part of Laila feels like she has to return the scrutiny, like maybe it's some kind of local ritual, but she can't get past the girl's neck for one reason alone.

She already has her red and gold lanyard, with her photo ID hanging right off of it.

Gabriela Alvarez.

Goddammit.

Finally, she finds her voice.

"Excuse me?" she forces out, strained and a touch too bold for her tastes.

Alvarez doesn't respond right away. To add insult to injury, she instead looks over to where another freshman walks into the office, casually bypasses everyone waiting (including Laila), and is handed their ID and lanyard two minutes after giving the receptionist their name.

The. Fuck.

Sighing, Alvarez looks all too happy to have made a point.

"You've been standing here for ten minutes, and I've watched three people cut you in line like that," Alvarez says, inspecting her nails. They're cut short and neat, Laila's mind tells her, rather unhelpfully. How she didn't notice someone like Alvarez prior is beyond her.

Regardless of that, the truth of the statement irritates her further. She knows it's pathetic, she knows it's not fair, but—

"What would you have me do?" she asks, huffing. She jostles her duffel over her shoulder and hits the wall, making her jump. And all the while, more people walk out with their lanyards.

Alvarez's lips turn into a frown, like she can't figure out if Laila is serious or not. Laila hopes being new in town is an excuse, but she has a feeling it isn’t. Alvarez shrugs one shoulder, and to demonstrate, barrels through the throng and back again. She makes it seem effortless, and ignores all the perturbed stares she receives for it. Then, she's in Laila's space again, towering, tempting. "Shove them, tell them to piss off, I don't know," she says, a clear challenge. The insinuation is there: whatever it takes to not be pushed around.

Laila sputters, mostly to get her mind off the fact that her body quite likes this idea. She's always had a bit of a temper, but she’s managed to keep it under control whenever it chooses to flare up. She never once considered the possibility of not holding it back. "That's so—"

"Rude?" Alvarez interrupts, voice sickeningly sweet. Laila glares harshly, but it doesn't stop her from waving her lanyard in Laila's face. "But which one of us got what we wanted, huh?"

And what is Laila supposed to say to that? She wants to spit 'fuck you, bitch,' but even she knows when she's been had. Laila's anger and pettiness deflates, and unbeknownst to her, a piece of the old identity she'd been forced to cling to has already fallen away.

Alvarez taps the kneepads poking out of Laila's bag, and this time, her smile is a tad sympathetic.

"See you at practice, small town," she says, and promptly walks out. It's only then Laila realizes she's wearing an Exy team jacket, name printed in large gold on her back.

Laila looks down at the buttons on her bag to figure out how Alvarez knew about her home, but promptly realizes it's simply written all over her.

Whatever, she thinks petulantly. This interaction will mean nothing in the grand scheme of her years here.

But as she thinks about it for the rest of the day, that statement feels less and less secure.

--

Staring at the bare skin of Alvarez's back calls the memory to the forefront of her mind, for whatever reason. Maybe it's the weather.

The heat of the California summer doesn't go away, regardless of where they are. But here, inland, it's practically desert country. It's so much worse. That's why Laila had been adamant about waking up early to go lay by the water, dragging her girlfriend with her at the crack of dawn to go lounge while the rest of their teammates slept. The nights spent in motels for away games are some of her least favorite, but at least there's the pool access. It's significantly cooler and empty on top of that, but the humidity begins to tease the air. It'll be scorching in a matter of hours, but Laila loves to fantasize about the mild climate she was promised all those years ago.

She groans as she spreads out, and her bikini doesn't even feel like it's doing the job of making her less heated. She curses as she slouches, not a trace of manners left in her.

Nothing ever turns out as expected, she reasons. But it's not all bad. Climate aside, she managed to turn a beautiful, unruly rebel into her beautiful, unruly girlfriend.

And perhaps she's a bit of a rebel herself now—something she can pin on Alvarez only a little. As a result of too many rowdy friends and teammates, and the gradual erosion of her capacity to give a fuck, Laila has come quite a long way.

It's satisfying to know that these days, no one would dare call her a push over. It feels comforting, and much truer to herself. Alvarez usually doesn't allow it, but Laila wishes she could thank her more for that. For the last push.

Honestly, there's probably a lot of reasons she recalls their first meeting right then, apart from her genuine feelings for Alvarez and the threat of the sun above.

She certainly doesn't feel polite right now.

Alvarez is sitting on the end of Laila's lounge chair, hair pushed to the side. The haphazardly tied bikini string is something Laila often nags her about. One wrong move and it'll come undone completely, but right now it just seems to taunt her. It wouldn't take much, she thinks, to lean forward and grant herself more of a view.

She brings her foot up to rest on the middle of her girlfriend's back, and Alvarez doesn't even flinch. It's common for them to drape themselves over one another for lack of anything better to do, but this time Laila's mind has a less than innocent agenda.

She uses her heel to follow the path of the faded moles on Alvarez's back, dipping down until she reaches the beginning of silvery stretch marks. She always says they look like the branches of a tree, and Alvarez has thought more than once about getting a tattoo for the purpose of pronouncing them with clean, inky lines. Laila thinks of them dotting her hips, disappearing beneath the low riding sweats Alvarez likes to wear around the dorms.

There's a heat already coiling in Laila's abdomen, and the thought doesn't help to diminish it. Bringing her girlfriend with her wasn't the best idea for cooling off, but it's too late now.

She bites her lips and thinks back to her old urges to not rock the boat, to not put herself in situations that could cause a scene. Oh, she's come far indeed.

She’s drunk on the feeling, and she throws a look back at the row of motel rooms. All the blinds are closed, and it's certainly too early for anyone else to be awake...

Shivering, Laila scoots her butt to the edge of the chair and begins to feel the fabric of her swimsuit more than she should. She's hyper aware of the material, of the stretchiness as it rides up against her.

Alvarez is still staring out at the water, the morning exhaustion not quite shaken off yet, and Laila takes the opportunity to rub herself through her swimsuit. It's a brief, light touch, and it doesn't do much for her. But there's a thrill of excitement at her idea, at the stupidity of it. They're basically out in the open, but...

If she knows anything about her girlfriend, it’s that she has even less self-control.

"Gab," she says finally, and tries to keep her tone innocent. She must not be very good at it, because her girlfriend turns to her with suspicion written all over her face. Yes, the squint is not from lack of sleep anymore. Still, Laila bites her lip to keep her smile at bay. She taps her foot playfully against Alvarez's lower back, and adjusts herself just so in the seat. She knows it makes her suit ride up, and Alvarez's eyes track the stretch of the fabric deliberately. "Come here."

A sweet, normal request, but Alvarez's expression sharpens. Like that day in the office, her eyes find something in Laila's that tells her all she needs to know. She's always had a weird knack for reading people. It used to be unsettling.

Now it's the exact opposite, and Laila meets her gaze confidently. Alvarez's eyes flick over her, then back up once more, and she effectively comes to the correct conclusion based on something in Laila's body language.

"You're poking a dangerous animal, you know," she warns, but there's amusement drenching every word. She looks up at the rooms behind them, narrowing to follow any sign of life or indication they're being watched. Then: "You're aware that there's hotel rooms right behind us?"

Laila nearly rolls her eyes; after three years, Alvarez has to know her likelihood of feeling ashamed is dismal. She's more jealous than anything. She doesn't want anyone seeing Alvarez like that, but the idea that if someone did see, all they'd see is her ability to absolutely take Laila apart—

That's too appealing to pass up.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answers, sighing as she leans back. She spreads her legs a little more for good measure, and Alvarez tries her best to avoid staring. It's too bad her alternative is Laila's chest. "Maybe I just want to hold your hand."

To emphasize, she reaches out, and Alvarez meets her instantly. Their hands lace together, and she feels the roughness so indicative of a backliner. Okay, so she wanted to hold her hand too.

"Sure," Alvarez huffs, but swings their hands a little anyways. "You're not that discreet anymore. What happened to my innocent small town girl?"

It's Laila's turn to laugh; she has a feeling she was never innocent deep down, but Alvarez brings the mischievous side of her out now more than ever.

"You're still just as infuriating," Laila throws back, but it's all smiles and maybe even a little dreamy. It's embarrassing, but she's never been ashamed of her feelings. They've been called disgustingly sappy by just about everyone on the team (minus Jean and Jeremy, who definitely have them beat and they're not even dating yet), and Laila's proud of it.

Sensing it, Alvarez crawls forward between Laila's legs. They both ignore the worrisome creak of the chair as their lips meet for a kiss, and allowing herself to be pulled into Laila’s scheme is Alvarez's fatal mistake.

Alvarez smells a little like chlorine from the jump she took when they first arrived, and her lips are salty when they stick to Laila's. She's not sure what it is about today, but the feeling of bare skin in front of her, radiating warmth, sends her back to messy dorm room kisses and tentative touches in the dark. She doesn't waste time opening Alvarez's mouth to hers, and Laila's tongue slides against the metal piercing in Alvarez's. She sighs from the coolness, and reaches up to hold Alvarez's chin in place while she plays with it. She loves how the piercing feels; it's like it glides along her tongue, and she's reminded of all the other places it's been. Alvarez, ever impatient, coaxes Laila closer until her nose is pressed into her cheek, kissing her deeply enough to evoke the whimpers the backliner adores.

The moan it manages to pull out of Laila is wispy and faded at the edges, like a stream traveling straight into Alvarez's body. Laila feels Alvarez's shiver flow from head to toe.

The heat between Laila's legs is getting impossible to ignore, and her abdomen tenses from the need to do something about it. It's at that point Alvarez tilts away, keeping Laila at a distance with her hand.

She really stands no chance now.

"I try," Alvarez pants, clearing her throat. The usual confidence is gone, replaced with blown pupils and a strip of red over the bridge of her nose. Laila enjoys the conflicted look on her face too much, the furrowed brow as she weighs all the variables. It's awfully considerate for someone who gets into fights every single game.

Alvarez throws her a playful glare and snaps the string of Laila's bottoms. "Someone really could see us..."

Laila leans back, arches a brow.

"Yeah, and couldn’t you just tell them to piss off?" Laila fires back, and Alvarez stares up at the sky as if asking the universe for guidance. She's the one who's always been brazen, yet she hesitates with things like this. It's cute, but Laila has enough experience to know it doesn't last long. Her girlfriend is easy to seduce, easy to rile up. After all, she's got the sex drive of an athlete, and Laila is all too happy to match the enthusiasm. Plus, it's fun to push when she knows Alvarez wants her just as much.

And that's when she notices the bottle of sun tan oil lying on top of her towel. She hadn't needed it yet, had brought it as a precaution, but now she's grateful for the foresight. She smirks slightly as she reaches for it. She and Alvarez had been dorm mates for a few months before dating, and Laila had the accidental pleasure of seeing the porn history on her computer more than a few times. Her girlfriend is not the most tech savvy.

She could poke fun at Alvarez for years, but in the moment her pervy tastes are a great advantage. Laila grabs the tanning oil and waves it in front of Alvarez's face, adoring the way her eyes widen. "Help me?"

Alvarez looks like she wants to whine in frustration; she can't win in this situation. Laila's smirk widens, knowing they're both about to get exactly what they want, and Alvarez snatches the oil out of her hand.

"Give me your towel," her girlfriend says roughly, and Laila's in no position not to comply. Alvarez's voice has already taken on that heavy, low tone she loves so much. It's like a scratched record, clearing and jumping ever so slightly, and every single one of Laila's nerve endings fire just from the sound. Laila wriggles as Alvarez stuffs the towel under her, dragging her hands along the underside of Laila’s thighs for good measure. Laila jumps from the touch. She wishes Alvarez had just pulled off her bottoms already, but per Alvarez's sharp, authority laced stare, she keeps her hands at her sides. Alvarez likes to start wherever she pleases.

Laila does tug at the towel though, tilting her head just so as her girlfriend smears her hands with the oil a little too quickly. The bottle slips out of her hands a few times.

"Feeling confident?" Laila asks, gesturing to the towel, and expects the usual glare.

The look she gets instead makes the warmth pool inside her even more, burning worse than the sun. Alvarez's stare is dark and mocking—like she's looking at freshman Laila again, all innocence and manners. Not the girl who is soaking her bathing suit without even being touched, not the one asking to be fucked poolside. This is the Laila with only high school hookups to call back on for experience. This is the Laila who spreads her legs wider in anticipation of feeling things she's never felt before.

"I can tell when you're going to be messy," Alvarez whispers, and with the need for her bravado gone, Laila scoots forward excitedly. "And you call me the dirty one..."

Laila snorts, but it dies as soon as Alvarez's hands are on her. The oil is slightly warm, and she shivers when Alvarez starts with her thighs. She disregards Laila's arms and shoulders in another act of predictability, which are arguably the more important places to shield from the sun.

"You are," Laila sighs, but her heavy breathing doesn't help her teasing. "Tanning oil? Really?"

Alvarez shushes her by digging her thumbs into the thick muscle of Laila's legs, rubbing slow circles and inching towards the edge of her bathing suit. Her pale skin, tanner now from years of sunlight, is already glistening.

Alvarez's fingers dip just under the edge of the swimsuit, following the curve of the string to Laila's hips. It makes Laila whimper, because she's sure Alvarez can feel it. The heat radiates off her, and she knew she was wet, but she wasn't sure just how wet until she feels Alvarez's fingers graze the slickness. Laila's abdomen jumps and she scoots forward, hands gripping her thighs to keep herself still.

She loves the wait, the anticipation, but it's a killer sometimes. Part of her just wants to push Alvarez's face against her, feel the flatness of her tongue as it strokes...

Alvarez licks her lips at the reaction, and Laila catches the glint of her purple tongue piercing. She's glad it's staying in; it's so good against her. When Alvarez takes her clit into her mouth and sucks, it's an extra jolt.

Alvarez, not content to end her teasing just yet, moves her oiled hands up Laila's body. She tugs at the front clasp of her bikini, narrowing her eyes in the delayed realization that Laila picked this one on purpose. Laila bites her lip to hide her smile, and grabs her girlfriend's wrists to guide her hands under the thin cloth. The top falls to her side, and it adds to Laila's overall excitement.

If anyone opens their window, if anyone comes out here, there's no way Laila would be able to put herself together fast enough.

Alvarez groans, probably thinking the same thing. It doesn't stop her from squeezing Laila's breasts in her hands until they're just short of shiny. Laila adores her girlfriend's hands; the palms are large enough to cup each breast, to take them into her hands whenever she feels like it. During movies when no one is paying attention, when Laila sits in her lap and reads, at night when they're spooning...

It's a good pastime.

Here though, Alvarez isn't trying to be cute or cheeky as she leans down to circle one of Laila's nipples with her tongue. She flicks at it a few times, and Laila shivers from the cool air, arching forward in a silent plea.

Her mind is just repeating itself over and over: I want your mouth, your mouth, your mouth.

And Alvarez obliges. She pulls Laila's nipple between her lips and sucks, drawing out every breathy sigh she can. Laila knows she has to be quiet; it echoes here, but it feels too good to be completely silent. She sits up more fully, pressing Alvarez's face forward. It's probably borderline suffocating for her to be pressed against Laila like this, but they both love it. Alvarez alternates between sucking and licking while she tugs on Laila's other nipple, kneading the sensitive skin between her fingers until Laila is moaning low and sweet. The soft, wet sounds are enough to drive Laila mad, and she hates that it's getting brighter.

They can't take their time with this, though she wishes they could. This is her favorite way to come—completely untouched, with Alvarez's attention solely on her pleasure.

Her girlfriend is predictable in that she can't keep her mouth shut, but in these moments, the words pull Laila apart.

"You're so cute," Alvarez whispers when she pops off of Laila's breast, feeling along her abdomen for the particularly big scar she has there. It’s from a rough accident on the court, but Laila can't say she's insecure about it when Alvarez always strokes it like that. It's almost like she burned it there herself.

And no, Laila has never been called cute. She's a brash goalkeeper, and not sheltered in the slightest. But Alvarez makes her feel small and desperate, and she loves falling into that feeling, that role.

"You're going to come hard, I can tell," Alvarez says, and despite the deepness of her voice, it's laced with excitement. Laila might roll her eyes at the arrogance any other time, but now she just nods, delirious with the feeling. She guesses with how well Alvarez knows her body, the arrogance isn't undeserved.

She scoots forward and Alvarez pushes her back down on the chair, undoing the strings of her bikini bottoms.

Well, if there’s already no hope of them saving face if someone sees them, there’s no point in being worried about shedding more clothing. Alvarez smirks as she tosses them on the concrete, leaning down to level her face with Laila's pussy.

It might almost make her laugh; here she is, completely bare by the pool, with her girlfriend's face between her legs. She far from hates it, but it's a lot different than Alvarez pulling down her ratty sweatpants at the dorm and having Laila sweat through her hoodie.

It feels the same, though��it feels just as fulfilling in every way.

Laila grabs Alvarez's hand where it rests against her abdomen, locking them together and tightening when Alvarez takes her into her mouth. The first swipe of Alvarez's tongue has her nearly biting her tongue to keep the moans at bay. Laila is panting harshly a few seconds later, all too exposed as Alvarez looks her fill. Always watching, always admiring.

Laila has never gotten over it, the attention is embarrassing in the best way.

Her girlfriend's other hand glides between her wet folds, smearing some of her slick onto her inner thighs. Alvarez hums, and Laila chances a glance down at her when she feels her girlfriend's palm rub against her.

"I have to indulge into the entire fantasy, you know," Alvarez says, and Laila watches as she rubs the last of the oil through Laila's sparse hair. Laila sighs as Alvarez rubs her thumb over her clit, thick and just as ready for Alvarez's tongue.

The comment is supposed to be teasing, funny. But Alvarez sounds way too fucked out to add any of that; her voice is lost at sea like Laila's mind is. Laila tries to say something witty back, or maybe just a demand for Alvarez to get a move on, but then Alvarez is sucking her back into her mouth, and Laila is gone.

She throws her head back as Alvarez continues enthusiastically, like she always does. Laila can feel each warm breath, the pressure of Alvarez's face pressing against her without care for how messy it'll leave her. Her fucking tongue piercing.

It slides over her clit, following the curves and folds enough to make Laila sigh. It's so familiar, but she's never sick of it. She grabs the back of Alvarez's head and bobs her up and down, moving her just so against her.

Her girlfriend's face is a mix of drool and Laila, and when those eyes dart up sharply to her own, there's nothing but heat there.

Laila whines long and hard, and then Alvarez's tongue is inside of her, massaging as deep as she can reach. She rolls her entire neck into it, making sure to pull every sound she can manage out of Laila.

Laila wishes she could spread her legs wider without hurting herself, but it's not an option. Instead, she whispers nonsensical encouragement over and over.

"You're so good. It's so good, babe," Laila stammers, tripping up over her words. To emphasize, she pushes Alvarez into her even more, and the groan she gets is not pretty, not delicate. But fuck, if she could replay that sounds over and over she would. "Oh, shit..."

Alvarez hums, and she must be able to tell how close Laila is from how she's tightening around her tongue, from how her hips are barely able to stay pinned to the chair. Laila's legs freeze up, and she darts a hand out to grab her thigh. She's not letting a cramp ruin this, but goddamn. Alvarez's stronger, less shaky hands grab Laila's legs and throw them over her shoulders, and Laila squeezes. Alvarez moans, nodding against her, and Laila watches as her girlfriend's tongue glides over her clit, not willing to stop. It must be straining at this point, but seeing Alvarez so determined to please her, to make her come...

It sends Laila over the edge, and in the next few minutes she's tensing, trembling as the orgasm rips through her. As her girlfriend predicted, she feels herself squirt a little against Alvarez's face, and it drips onto the towel. She can't be too concerned about it when she's like this; she's hardly aware of anything at all. Her surroundings, her name...

Her entire body quivers, and she's vaguely aware of Alvarez's forearm pinning her hips in place as she eats her out through it. Alvarez is never grossed out by the sloppiness—she takes everything Laila has to offer.

Laila wasn't used to her girlfriend's ways at first, but now she gets it. Alvarez is a pleaser; this is what does it for her, what gets her so satisfied deep down...

Knowing she made Laila come so hard, that she made Laila crave her in such a revealing setting.

Laila shivers when she thinks of how turned on Alvarez must be, how badly she wants to return the favor.

Laila's clit throbs through the aftershocks, and she reaches down to rub at it, catching the end of Alvarez's tongue as her girlfriend pulls away. It's raw, empty…She misses the feeling of her girlfriend, but the cooling wetness makes her sigh.

She doesn't want to know how blissed out she looks, but she's sure Alvarez regrets not being able to snap a photo.

Alvarez leans back, wiping her mouth as if it helps. Despite being outdoors, the smell of sweat and sex is thick, and Laila fumbles for her swimsuit. When they both glance at the blinds for the hotel rooms, they're all still closed.

"I win," Laila comments breathlessly, and grins big and bright when Alvarez smiles at her. It's lazy, drunk almost, and Laila's gaze sweeps over the way Alvarez squirms.

"Ah—later," Alvarez says, reading Laila's mind as she stands up to adjust her shorts. Figures; Alvarez will eat out Laila in public, but when it comes to herself she's shy. "In the room."

Laila smirks, and it's a promise. "You're too polite."

Alvarez processes the words slowly, her brain still in a haze. Her pupils are blown wide, and yeah… Laila can't say her mind has moved on either. She's eager to get back to the room now.

But she needed her revenge.

"Coming from you," Alvarez scoffs, helping Laila up to tie the sides of her swimsuit. When she's done, she pinches Laila's thigh. "But I guess you're far from it now, you rebel."

Laila lets herself be proud of that for the hundredth time.

She adjusts her suit and grimaces when her hands glide over her own skin. Ah, right.

"Gross, I'm all sticky," she says, which is yes, way worse than being covered in sweat and other unmentionables. The tanning oil isn't the nicest, and it feels like it's starting to dry in patches. She does not approve.

Alvarez throws up her hands. "When you let me act out a porn fantasy, you can't exactly blame me for my actions," she comments, and absolves herself of all blame. Right. Laila can understand that her girlfriend is a perv, but it's her fault for provoking that side of her.

It was fun, though, minus the need for a shower.

Laila sighs, lacing their hands together as they walk towards the motel elevators. The sun has already begun to reveal itself through the clouds, promising a hot, miserable day that Laila can't wait to avoid. Still…If it means more days by the pool, she can't complain.

"Was it everything you dreamed of?" she asks with a small grin, and laughs when Alvarez jumps at the sound of the first door opening.

Alvarez nudges her, but her scowl is fake as can be. She's smiling deviously in the next moment, leaning forward to kiss Laila by the ear.

"Better."

They speed walk the rest of the way to their room, and thankfully no one is around to see.

[lisatelramor]

A Sip of Liquid Courage (No Way to Take it Back)

AN: In December I took a trope list and a random number generator and tried to make myself some short fic prompts. This is the result of one of them ^_^;;; Not quite my usual sort of fic setup, but it works!

***

Kudo Shinichi was not drunk. In fact, he was entirely sober. The funny thing about having a group of people try to kill you that went by alcohol names, it kind of put you off alcohol for life. Although watching Mouri Kogoro make a fool of himself over the years had kind of helped that aversion along. So no alcohol to numb him to the ridiculous behaviors of people around him at events.

Honestly he didn’t mind too much. It’s kind of fun to know what people are like under the influence if only for hypothetical blackmail information. But when he agreed to come with Hakuba to a forensics conference, he wasn’t really expecting them to get invited out for drinks, let alone at a club. Shinichi was a bit out of place.

Hakuba knew one of the younger officers that invited them. And Hakuba definitely wasn’t as uptight or shy with a drink or two in him.

At the moment, Hakuba was flushed-faced and grinning at something his friend was saying. The relaxed smile was a nice look on him. He actually looked his age.

The song playing changed and the person Hakuba was talking to let out a whoop and grabbed someone from the group to drag toward the dance floor. Left alone, Hakuba’s eyes skipped around the table and landed on Shinichi. His wide grin became a little less wide, but no less warm as he scooted closer.

“Didn’t know this was your kind of thing,” Shinichi said when Saguru was close enough that he’d be able to hear.

“It’s not really,” Saguru said, “but I have enough friends who like this sort of thing that I’ve grown used to it.”

For a man that was more than a bit tipsy, he was still very articulate. But not perfectly put together anymore—Hakuba had run a hand through his hair at one point and his shirt was a bit rumpled from brushing up against bodies to reach the bar. Shinichi offered him a smile. “So you don’t have a secret love for dirty dancing?”

Hakuba snorted. “Hardly. Although dancing in general is nice. Do you dance?”

“Not like that,” Shinichi said with a nod to the grinding going on at the edge of the dance floor.

“How about that?” Hakuba said, with a nod for the wilder waving of arms and shimmying bodies moving in and out of each other’s space.

“Never tried.”

“Care to try?” There was something flirtatious in the way Hakuba held out his hand and tilted his head to the side, something the edge of challenging too. Shinichi was probably reading too much into it. Hakuba was just drunk and enthusiastic.

The moving bodies on the dance floor weren’t very appealing, but the genuine invitation was, so Shinichi put his hand in Hakuba’s. “Sure. Why not?”

“Lovely.”

Hakuba swept Shinichi out of their booth and to the loud crush of the dance floor before Shinichi could register how warm Hakuba’s hand was. Hakuba danced like someone with formal lessons who’d decided to throw them out the window—good posture and sense of rhythm, careful awareness of a partner, but moving however felt right instead of to any pre-set choreography. Shinichi moved with him, a laugh startled out of him as Hakuba gave them a spin, a hand still holding Shinichi’s own.

Shinichi had no idea what the hell he was doing. He almost elbowed half a dozen people and stepped on Hakuba’s foot at least once. He should have felt too sober and self-conscious to do this, but it was actually kind of fun. The room had an energy to it. The music might be too loud and the people too close, but they moved like one organism with the beat of the music and it was its own kind of exhilarating to be caught in the middle of it. Plus it was kind of hard to be too self-conscious as Hakuba had completely lost any of that a while back. When everyone else was drunk, the sober party was the least ridiculous by default.

The song changed, and the beat surged faster. Shinichi found himself pressed closer to Hakuba in an effort to not get too close to strangers, and Hakuba didn’t seem to mind.

He had a hand on Shinichi’s hip, probably helping him balance, and when dancers crushed them closer still, Shinichi realized that Hakuba was a lot closer than he’d thought. He had a happy grin on his face and Shinichi suddenly wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

He tugged Hakuba’s shoulder, nodding off the dance floor.

Hakuba went willingly enough, not taking hands from Shinichi as they somehow ended up against a wall in the far end of the room, not near their table at all.

“A bit too many people,” Shinichi said, having to speak loud to be heard.

Hakuba nodded. “This is better. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Er. Yeah.” Shinichi realized Hakuba still had a hand on his hip. Usually Hakuba didn’t touch anyone more than needed.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about going to the conference with me.” Hakuba tilted his head to the side and his body shifted a bit with it. Shinichi shot a hand out but it seemed that Hakuba wasn’t actually tipping over, just shifting on his feet. Shinichi kept a hand on his arm anyway just in case. “Kudo-san.” Hakuba looked him in the eyes suddenly serious.

“Uh, yes?”

“I’m glad to have you as a friend.”

“You too.” Shinichi hadn’t realized that Hakuba considered him a friend.  They spoke when they crossed paths on cases or Kid heists, but this was the first time they’d ever done anything together deliberately.

“And I’m glad you’re here now.” Hakuba’s free hand landed on Shinichi’s shoulder.

“…Yeah.” This was getting a bit too…intense. And Hakuba leaned in closer. Shinichi could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Uh, Hakuba-san maybe you should—”

“I’m really glad,” Hakuba said like he hadn’t heard Shinichi start speaking at all. Shinichi lifted a hand to Hakuba’s shoulders to get a bit of distance, but the next moment Hakuba’s face was right in his and lips pressed against his, messy and a bit off center.

Any words he might have found died in his throat. What the hell.

“Mm.” Hakuba hummed against his lips. Tilted his head to try again.

Shinichi unfroze. “Wait wait wait wait.” He pushed Hakuba back and Hakuba let him, blinking at him in confusion. “Hakuba-san,” Shinichi said firmly. “You’re drunk.”

Hakuba blinked again. “A little bit, yes,” he said reasonably.

It shouldn’t have been endearing, but it was and Shinichi couldn’t even feel too bad about the situation. He patted Hakuba on the shoulder, hoping it came across as friendly but not so friendly that Hakuba was going to try and kiss him again. They kind of needed to have a sober conversation about this, which wasn’t going to happen tonight. “I think that it’s time to call it an evening.”

“Oh?” Hakuba looked hopeful.

Shinichi snorted despite himself. “Not that kind of evening.” He tugged on Saguru’s hand, stepping away. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the hotel and sobered up.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to be this forward sober,” Hakuba said, following along happily enough. He was a little unsteady, but not so bad that Shinichi thought he’d have to dive closer to keep him from falling flat on his face.

“And that’s exactly why we’re going to go sober you up.”

Hakuba was silent, turning that over in his mind with a slight frown on his face as Shinichi said goodbye to Hakuba’s friends. They were halfway into the walk to the hotel when Hakuba, probably starting to sober up said, “I made a grave mistake didn’t I?”

Shinichi glanced back to find Hakuba looking at Shinichi’s hand around his wrist, still guiding him on the off chance Hakuba decided to try doing something spontaneous and potentially dangerous the way drunk people could do. The frown had become full-fledged and troubled. It was so far away from the open grin earlier that Shinichi felt a pang of guilt. Looked like he’d kind of ruined Hakuba’s evening even if he didn’t mean to.

“I wouldn’t say a mistake,” Shinichi said carefully. “You’re just more impulsive right now.”

“I did make a mistake then,” Hakuba said with heavy certainty. “Damn.”

“Hakuba, it’s fine.”

Hakuba said nothing, just followed Shinichi back to the hotel room they’d booked for the conference and accepted the glass of water Shinichi got him from the bathroom tap.

“Want to talk about it?” Shinichi asked.

“I think I’m going to be very embarrassed in the morning,” Hakuba said in a detached way that said he wasn’t properly processing emotions now. A pause, then “Kuroba is going to mock me mercilessly for having a type.”

“Kuroba?”

“A…classmate? Friend? Enemy?” Hakuba squinted at the ceiling. “Past crush? Is it really past though…? It’s a bit like those relationship lists with a check-box for ‘it’s complicated’ or ‘all of the above’.”

“Right.” There was a lot Shinichi didn’t know about Hakuba, and who Kuroba was only comprised a small part of that. “Feeling a bit more sober?”

“Unfortunately. I always have hated the crash.” He drank half the glass of water in one go and wrinkled his nose at it. “It’s so nice not to overthink everything for a while.”

Well, Shinichi could empathize with that. “Finish the water and get some sleep, Hakuba-san and we can talk in the morning.”

“Must we?” Hakuba said with a sigh, then, “I don’t suppose I could get one more kiss for the night?”

“Ask me in the morning,” Shinichi said, finding himself meaning it. He didn’t really look to men, but really, outside of Ran he didn’t find himself attracted to people in general. If he let himself look at Hakuba that way, well, he wasn’t un-interesting.

Hakuba nodded and downed the rest of the water. “Right. Apologies in advance if I try to run in the morning.”

“You’re not going to now?”

“Oh, no. I’m much too tired and not nearly mortified enough yet.” Hakuba collapsed face first onto one of the two twin beds, not even bothering to take any clothing off or get under the covers. “Goodnight.”

Shinichi snorted when he started snoring softly a few moments later. He wasn’t really sure what to do with the situation, but he honestly did find Hakuba a friend, so this wasn’t something they couldn’t work out. Shinichi took off Hakuba’s shoes without him even twitching before going through his nightly routine and climbing into his own bed. It was pretty easy to fall asleep, all things considered.

o*O*o

Shinichi woke up to muffled swearing and Hakuba clutching a stubbed toe with his eyes squinted in the light-sensitive way people had when they were hung-over. “Are you running?” Shinichi asked sleepily.

Hakuba froze. “Kudo-san.”

Shinichi sat up and stretched. Hakuba’s eyes followed the motion like he couldn’t help it. He also looked like he was terrified what was going to come out of Shinichi’s mouth next. Well, that wouldn’t do. “I don’t suppose this hotel room has a coffee maker.”

“Er. I hadn’t looked for one.”

“Hmm. Well I need caffeine. If you’re not trying to run away, we can get breakfast and talk.”

Hakuba relaxed in degrees, lowering his foot back to the floor. “…I’d like that.”

“Great. I cleaned up last night, so the bathroom is all yours.”

“…Thank you.”

Hakuba all but ran, taking clean clothing with him.

There was a restaurant attached to the hotel, so that could be their next destination. Shinichi still didn’t feel uncomfortable with what happened last night. He’d kind of thought he would, but if anything he was a bit curious how far the faint interest he’d felt during that kiss went. And, well… He sighed internally. He wasn’t in a relationship right now considering things with Ran had been more than a bit tense after he came back from being Conan. No time like the present to explore the full spectrum of his sexuality.

o*O*o

Hakuba was quiet until halfway through his first cup of tea. Then he just looked nervous. Shinichi sipped coffee—and this was good coffee—and waited patiently for Hakuba to figure out what he wanted to say.

“So,” Hakuba said finally, once the pinched look of a hangover headache was starting to smooth away. “Apologies for last night. It appears that I let myself go a bit too much and ended up inconveniencing you. And. Taking liberties with your person.” Hakuba blushed, not looking quite in Shinichi’s direction. “I assure you that such a slip of propriety won’t happen again, and I hope it hasn’t caused you any reason to regret our friendship.”

Hakuba, Shinichi decided, was kind of cute when he was shy. Not as much as when he was smiling unreservedly, but it made him look vulnerable and approachable a lot more than his usual confidence did. Not that he necessarily found confidence unattractive. “You didn’t ruin anything,” Shinichi said. “And I’m not mad. I was a bit surprised, but nothing you did upset me.”

Hakuba’s eyes flicked up and away. “That isn’t how most people respond,” he said a bit ruefully. “I admit that I’d hoped you would be interested in return, and that I invited you to go to the conference for less than pure reasons, but I honestly only intended to find out whether or not you’d even consider being interested in men last night. It’s just that I was nervous and the last time I attempted to determine this sort of thing it wasn’t…���

Shinichi blinked. “Honestly you seemed really confident last night.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Hakuba said. “I can get… tripped up by over analyzing and second guessing and a few drinks tends to turn that part of my mind off. Unfortunately, a few too many drinks and I end up overconfident and impulsive and prone to giving into whatever emotional whims I happen to feel.”

“So it was a whim?”

Hakuba still couldn’t look at him. “…Not entirely.”

“Hmm.” So in other words, Hakuba definitely thought of kissing him before that night, he just didn’t have the usual inhibitions not to. Shinichi sipped at his coffee. “Well, last night you were drunk enough that I definitely wasn’t going to respond. Just saying, a drink is one thing, but that much alcohol is a different story. Now that you’re sober…” Shinichi shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure how I feel, but you aren’t unattractive and I enjoy your company. I’d be up for trying that kiss again.”

Hakuba stopped trying to avoid looking at him and stared. “I… truly?”

Shinichi shrugged again. “In all honesty, I hadn’t kissed a man before last night or even thought of it, but it could have been a nice kiss under different circumstances, so…”

“Oh.” Hakuba blushed again, faint pink along his cheeks. “Oh.” The shy look vanished as a much more confident smile crossed his face. “Well, then I’d like that. I. Would you be interested in a date? A proper one, not just me inviting you to things and failing to reveal my motivations.”

“I’d like that.” Shinichi smiled back.

The rest of breakfast went smoothly, conversation switching over to their hobbies instead of the usual routes of crime and cases, last night’s dancing opening a new topic to know each other better. And at the end of it, once they were back in their hotel room gathering up their things to leave, Hakuba drew Shinichi into another kiss. A much more hesitant and shy kiss, but no worse than the first one.

And Shinichi kissed back.

[syncogon]

[QZGS fic] words written

For @seleneremusravenclaw

Apologies in advance; I’m posting/queueing this from my phone so formatting is completely screwed. I didn’t want the 24th to come and go with nothing, so I’m getting this out there now. The finalized version will be out on ao3 when I regain computer access and possibly a bunch of things will change… The title is also tentative…

Regardless, I hope you like this little thing. It’s a seed of an idea that I’ve had for a very very long time now. Happy holidays!

******** This was what soulmates were, in this universe: words inscribed upon your skin when you turned ten years of age, a title or epithet belonging to the person to whom fate had tied you. When Huang Shaotian was little, he bragged to all of his friends about what an incredible soulmate he would get on his tenth birthday, what awe-inspiring words would form on his skin as proof. But his tenth birthday came and went, and Huang Shaotian started wrapping his left wrist in cloth and talking even more, using his endless stream of words to deflect conversation toward other, safer topics. His peers were children content to focus on themselves; the adults, even his parents, respected the private culture that surrounded the whole soulmate business. And so only Huang Shaotian himself knew the terrible words that would forevermore mark his skin, mar his skin - <the curse>

(Huang Shaotian was never known for being a particularly diligent student, but he snuck over to the libraries when he thought no one would notice, and he scoured the shelves for information on the history and background and current understanding of soulmates. He read legends of how fated pairs were drawn together, and he read story after story of unfortunates who were persecuted for the words on their wrists. And so when people asked, he talked, and he talked, and he talked, until no one would ever understand. He fell into the world of Glory, where only your skill mattered for anything, where you could make your own destiny. The monsters there certainly didn’t care what stupid marks you had on your skin. The whole soulmate thing was dumb, he proclaimed to anyone who would listen, and he almost believed it himself.)

After your first meeting with your soulmate, they said, more words would begin to appear around the title, dark ink languidly shifting, reflecting the current thoughts of your soulmate - perhaps only a faded word or two, if they were far away or distracted or your relationship wasn’t strong yet, or perhaps even complete sentences. Huang Shaotian didn’t look at his soulmark often, for obvious reasons. If he could, he would forget the thing was there altogether. Unfortunately, the placement of soulmarks meant that the cloth on his wrist was always there in the corner of his eye, even when he tried to escape into Glory. A permanent shackle. But Glory was still Glory, and Huang Shaotian was still Huang Shaotian. The boy took to the game like he was always meant to, like a fish to water, and when one particularly shrewd guild leader invited him to a professional training camp, he leapt at the chance. This, at least, was a part of his life that he could control. The first day was amazing. The trainees were shown around the club, shown a glimpse into the lives of real pro players. For once, he listened more than he talked, enraptured by the images the coaches and the players and the captain were pairing with their introductory speeches. This was what it was to give your life to something you loved, Huang Shaotian realized, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to do the same. He would make it through training camp, he knew with full confidence that he had the ability. And he would become a full-fledged pro player, a member of Blue Rain, the best damn Blade Master there was and ever would be. By his own hands he would make this reality, and nothing would hold him back from that, least of all his soulmark. Of course, a slight wrench was thrown into his plans when he looked at his bare wrist that night and discovered, to his shock and horror, that the previously unadorned title was suddenly surrounded by new markings, new words. His mind raced to the obvious conclusion - they were here. His soulmate was here, at Blue Rain’s training camp. His own attempts to establish his own destiny had only drawn him further into fate’s machinations. Huang Shaotian could be forgiven for the colorful string of curses that followed. But despite everything Huang Shaotian was a curious creature, and his new roommate was out for the moment, anyway, so he stuck his wrist under the desk lamp and squinted at the ink, trying to make sense of what were apparently his soulmate’s thoughts. No luck. They were so faint, he couldn’t make heads or tails of the scrambled collection of markings - he couldn’t even tell where they began or ended. Even as he watched, he thought he saw new words forming, old ones fading away. Were soulmarks always this active after first activation? Huang Shaotian sighed, letting his head thunk down onto the desk. Finding your soulmate was supposed to be a happy thing, a triumphant thing, but all he felt right now was a vague sense of frustration and annoyance and maybe (if he cared to admit it to himself) fear. Did he even want to figure out who his soulmate here was? The more he thought about it, the more his answer grew toward a firm no. He refused to let this soulmate business ruin his precious opportunity. If they were cursed or something, they could deal with it themselves. He wasn’t going to let that taint him. Huang Shaotian rewrapped his wrist with renewed determination, and from then on, kept all of his fellow trainees at arm’s length. Oh, it was easy enough to do, when he was, to be blunt, the best by a long shot. Easy enough to hone his trash talk to hit where it hurt, while passing it off as the taunting typical of competitive gaming. What could anyone do to him, when he was the best? When he was always right? (No one could ever accuse Huang Shaotian of not working hard. He took every practice seriously, absorbed the feedback he was given, crushed all of his opponents ruthlessly, even those when it was abundantly clear they didn’t even have the raw handspeed to keep up. And when thoughts of the brand on his left wrist kept him awake at night, he would sneak back into the training rooms and train some more. He had to be the best. He couldn’t afford to be anything less. But despite everything he did to leave his mystery soulmate behind, the words on his soulmark were only growing clearer. He could see real words, now, when his curiosity was too much and he had to check. “Fast”? “Distract”? “Need to…” What thoughts of mine can you see, then, he wondered to his soulmate. What dark secrets form on your wrist when you stare at your mark at night? Do you know how I hate you?)

Huang Shaotian didn’t have friends, not really. Some admirers, maybe. For what it was worth, though, he didn’t really have enemies, either. The other trainees were too wise to antagonize the one who was so blatantly favored by the club and the current captain. This was completely fine by Huang Shaotian. But that kid - that one kid - he really and truly pissed Huang Shaotian off. Was it absurd to be offended by another’s incompetence? Perhaps. But how did that trainee expect to get anywhere with that handspeed? More than that, he’d been on the verge of failing out for so long now - why was he still here? How was he so calm about this all? Did he not realize his situation? Even Huang Shaotian, arguably in the most secure position, wasn’t nearly so relaxed. “You’re an insult to all of us, deadlast,” he hissed at the boy, the next time they sparred during practice. “No one wants you here. Why don’t you just scram, while you still can?” A few other trainees were nearby, could hear this, but Huang Shaotian knew they wouldn’t say anything. No one liked this boy, either, and even the current pros were coolly indifferent at best. After all, someone like this kid was nothing more than a passing visitor. But the boy didn’t react to his words at all. Nor did he react when Huang Shaotian roughly shoved him aside, almost slamming him into the wall. The boy’s expression remained as impassive as ever as he brushed himself off, hand sliding over his sleeve and across his covered wrist. “Thank you for the battle,” the boy said, not a trace of irony or mockery to be found.

Huang Shaotian pulled off the wrapping on his wrist as he prepared to wash up for the night, but no matter how he told himself he didn’t care what it said now, the dark ink of the soulmark still caught his eye. And tonight he saw, inscribed in neat and precise handwriting around his soulmate’s title, the clearest words he had ever seen there before: <aren’t saints supposed to be kind> It was nonsensical. Yet Huang Shaotian suddenly felt like his heart was twisting, and for the life of him he couldn’t say why.

[smolbeanspides]

Don’t Call Me That

Peter Parker x Reader 

Halloween Fic

Word Count: 1516

Summary: You and the gang get news of a Halloween party, to which you get overly excited when it comes to coordinating costumes. 

**Not my gif. full credit to the creator

The amount of other students at school that took Halloween so seriously came as an honest surprise to you every year. The entirety of September would fly by, Midtown’s Homecoming ending the month on a good note. Then, the monday after, banners and cardboard cut-outs of bats, pumpkins, werewolves, etc. would line the halls of Midtown High. Halloween was nothing to take lightly, and this year you planned on making it the best one yet.

“Okay,” you led by slamming your lunch tray down on the table, “halloween is only 30 days away. I say it’s time we start planning.”

Ned, MJ, and Peter all glanced up from their hot lunches, eyes directed at your enthusiastic face. You took a seat at the table with your friends, prepared for a full-fledged discussion.

“Isn’t it a little soon to start-” Ned began to question, before being quickly interrupted.

“It’s never too soon for halloween,” Michelle blurted, the subtlest bit of excitement in her words. For as long as you’ve known her, MJ has only ever expressed true excitement for two things: books and halloween.

“So what’re we planning for exactly?” Peter chimed in, raising his hand a bit to get attention from the group.

“I’m glad you asked Petey,” you perked up, opening your carton of milk.

“Don’t call me that,” Peter shook his head, closing his eyes as he cringed at the awful nickname. His stern look broke only for a moment to show an open-toothed grin, his nose scrunching as he did so.

“Okay Petey, Flash is hosting this years big halloween bash. Costumes are required, and I say we pair off and do couples costumes. Something simple while still making a statement,” you explained your idea.

“[Y/N], you’re forgetting one tiny detail: None of us are dating,” Ned was the first to poke holes in your plan, luckily you had thought ahead.

“That’s why I put my name and MJ’s name on tiny pieces of paper, and you and Petey will have to choose,” you dug two small strips of paper out of your back pocket, then held them up by propping your elbows on the table.

“Don’t call me that,” Peter mumbled, once again. Although he always claimed to hate the quirky names you gave him, his heartbeat would double in speed every time they came out of your mouth. You flashed him a friendly smile, knowing how much he loved it.

You and Peter had a complicated sort of friendship. Well, in actuality, the friendship wasn’t the complex part. It was the feelings between the two of you that complicated things. The worst part was that everybody knew about it, especially you and Peter.

“I can make this easy for all of us. Ned, you’re with me. Peter and [Y/N], you go together,” MJ quickly spoke up, pointing at each of you as she called off names. Ned turned to her with a red hue to his cheeks, she returned the look with a shy smile.

“But I cut the paper into tiny rectangles and everything,” you whined, dropping them onto your half empty lunch tray. The school bell rang, signalling the end of lunch period. “Petey, I’ll text you with details about our costumes during 5th period,” you stood from the table, Peter nodding at you as he left to put his tray away. “I’ll see you guys later,” you directed at Ned and MJ as you made your way to your locker.

When it was finally 5th period, you took out your phone and hid it in your book to send Peter a text.

Hey, Petesy. Okay, so I think I want to do costumes for the characters from ‘It’. Thoughts??

After hitting send, your phone lit up only moments later with a response.

The movie we all saw last weekend?

I wouldn’t exactly count watching from behind your hands the entire time as “seeing it”, but yeah. That movie.

I didn’t watch from behind my hands [Y/N]

Right, right. You watched from behind my hands, you were too scared to use your own ;*

It was scary...

Trust me, there are plenty of things more terrifying than Pennywise.

Like you when you wake up in the morning?

That was not only hurtful, but disrespectful :’)

I’m joking, I’m joking. But yeah, I think that’d be cool. I can get down with the 80’s look. Let me know which characters and we can go costume shopping. This weekend work for you?

Perfect. Love ya, Petesy.

Can you hear me heavily sighing from all the way across the school?

The rest of the week flew by, and by the time you and Peter went shopping Saturday morning, you knew exactly what characters you had to be. Inspiration struck as you and Peter went to the theater again Friday night to re-watch ‘It’, but you still withheld the identity of your couples costume from Peter. In fact, throughout the entirety of the film, he kept tugging on your sleeve and pointing at different characters that would pop up on the big screen. Each time he would do so, you’d reply with raised eyebrows while popping another piece of popcorn into your mouth. You were waiting until the very last second before revealing the characters to him.

“So, when are you gonna tell me about the costumes?” Peter asked, looking through the racks of the costume shop. You had met up with him for coffee before walking to the shop together, and you still hadn’t told him.

“Hmm,” you took a sip of your hot mocha, the bitter flavor leaving residue on your lips, “I’ll give you a hint.” You walked to the other side of the store where they kept the accessories, eyeing up the shelves. Your eyes seemed to grow ten times bigger in size as you put on a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Turning around to face Peter, you wiggled your eyebrows up and down. A deep, hearty chuckle came from his throat when you muttered a simple “ta-dah”.

“Okay, so you’re going as Richie? Fitting.” He sipped his latte, looking around the store with furrowed eyebrows. “Wait, if you’re going as Richie, who am I supposed to be? He’s not with anybody in the movie.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” you made your way to the pants department of the costume shop. You pushed multiple hangers aside, in search for the perfect pair of red short shorts. When your eyes landed on a bright red mesh, you side-glanced at Peter before taking them off the rack. “Here ya go, Eds.”

The purest laugh erupted from Peter as he put two and two together. The corners of his eyes crinkled from laughing so hard, making you laugh just as intensely. You loved it when the two of you could have moments like this, they were far and few between lately, making you cherish the time you did have together even more.

“Come on, let’s find the rest of our costumes,” you pushed the shorts against Peter’s chest, walking past him to search for a matching yellow shirt.

You and Peter had lucked out, finding nearly all of the items to your costumes in one place. Peter’s entire outfit was assembled, and you had somehow managed to convince him into trying it on in the shop, knee high socks and all.

“[Y/N], I can’t come out like this!” Peter shouted through the door of the dressing room. If he was reluctant to show even you, there’s no doubt in your mind he would chicken out of wearing it to Flash’s party.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you called back, scanning the area around you, “Besides, there’s nobody else around anyways.” When another minute went  by and he hadn’t come out, you started to grow impatient. Tossing both of your coffee cups in the trash closest to you, you made your way to the door.

“Scoot over, I’m coming in,” you called, waiting for him to unlock the door. Once you heard the click of the lock, you turned the knob and went into the confined dressing room. Peter had a deep blush on his face, adjusting his socks and fixing his shirt. You had been so focused on helping Peter, you almost didn’t realize how close you were to him. Almost.

“I look stupid,” he pouted, scratching the back of his neck. You had to admit, seeing Peter in short shorts and high socks made your heart giddy. The look on him was rather adorable.

You reached both of your arms out, grabbing Peter by the shoulders. “No, it’s perfect. We’re gonna knock everybody’s socks off at that party.”

He tilted his head down, playing with the hem of his shirt, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Now come on,” you patted him on the shoulder, “we have an outfit to buy, Petey.”

The last thing you heard before leaving the dressing room was a mumbled, lighthearted “don’t call me that…”