#at any given moment I’m thinking about him

[gingerteafairy]

𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 masterlist

𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐢: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Dave would be the cute, silly boyfriend with you. For sure, his idea of going to the gym came from wanting to get strong to keep you safe and not look like a wimp if he saw any threats. He’d take you to the gym to workout together and ward off the attention of other guys. He’d love you playing with his hair, even if you made it all messy. He would wear his Kick-Ass costume in front of you, pretending he was fighting, just because you said he looked hot in it. He definitely has a thing for you in cosplay.

𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Tangerine's an impulsive man, but beyond that, he’s decisive and does everything with intention. If he found a girl worth it, he wouldn’t waste time with the nonsense of dating for years or stringing you along. He’d jump right into a casual “Want to be mine forever or get lost?” in the middle of the night. He’d grumble when you told him to stop hurting himself in dangerous situations, but secretly loves when you care for his wounds and are gentle with him when he’s in pain, thinking about taking even more risks just to have you take care of him.

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢 𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲: 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

Whether single or not, he can attract attention wherever he goes, including from you, even if you’re already promised to someone from the nobility, whose name he wouldn’t even remember. He’s complex and passionate, and would seek you out at the most inconvenient times to satisfy you, entertained by your innocent yet sinful ways. Fascinated by danger, he’d provoke even in front of authority, only to apologize later, claiming it was a stress-related mishap at the barracks.

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Friedrich is a respectable man, given his title, but when it comes to you, all the etiquette goes out the window. However, he would try to be discreet, not wanting to offend you or tarnish your public image, as he didn’t care about his own. Your opinion would be the only one that matters. He’d give you expensive gifts, not that it was essential, but it was his way of showing that you were worth more than every damn penny he had. He’s a fantastic father, but he would dedicate most of his time to you, sometimes wishing the kids would grow up faster so he could have more intimate moments with you.

𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

Tom is a jerk, that’s obvious, but it seems the dirtier he is, the more attractive he becomes. Tom would be your contact, always calling you on lonely nights, and vice versa. It would be strictly casual, but some nights, he’d catch himself wondering if he should change to see if you’d give him a chance. He could pretend to be your boyfriend at a party if some annoying guy was hitting on you (he’d also pretend for a free lunch at Burger King).

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟: 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

Pietro’s nature is carefree and easygoing; a serious relationship would interfere with this moment in his life, where everything is rushed and he needs space. From the little he knows about physics, he’d casually say, “Two bodies can’t occupy the same space unless it’s on the bed, and I’m up for that.” Deep down, he’s a lover boy, doing anything for you, but always using the classic excuse, “Pffft. I’m a hero, that's literally my job.”

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

James is endearing, sweet, and intimate, like an open book. He’s definitely the perfect husband. He’s funny, fascinated by you, and would always give you books as gifts since you looked so charming when focused, which was his favorite view of you. He’d let you wear his glasses because you looked beautiful, but would quickly ask you to take them off, worried you might develop vision problems. If you liked a specific food, he’d try to venture into the kitchen to make it for you. If it went wrong, he’d just add a little magic and keep it a secret. And if you found out? Well, it’d be hard to complain to James Potter—he was handsome and made your favorite dessert.

[lazysoulwriter]

In the Quiet Moments - Drew Starkey.

She hadn’t realized how long it had been until she saw the calendar on the wall. Almost a month. A whole month since she’d felt Drew’s touch, heard his laughter echoing in her apartment, or seen the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. The constant whirlwind of interviews, photo shoots, and events had swept him away, and she tried to convince herself she understood. His career was booming, and the attention he was getting was deserved—he worked so hard for it. But that didn’t make it any easier.

She sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, but the truth weighed heavily on her heart. She was fine on the surface, managing work and life just as she always had, but underneath it all, there was this ache. A quiet loneliness that had crept in, something she hadn’t felt before when he was around. Drew had always been a constant—his presence, his voice, his smile. Now, it felt like he was slipping through her fingers, no matter how hard she tried to hold on.

She knew the game. She knew how it worked. Drew wasn’t the first person in her life to put their career first. But with him, it felt different. There was something unspoken between them, a bond that had never been just casual, even though they weren’t officially anything. Yet.

The pain of the distance between them didn’t come from lack of affection; it came from the lack of him. She missed the way he’d brush her hair from her face as they laughed about some silly thing, or how he’d reach for her hand during those quiet moments when they didn’t need to say anything at all.

Her phone buzzed with another notification, but she ignored it. The screen blurred as her thoughts wandered to him again. To Drew. She hadn’t heard from him in a few days—no surprise, given the hectic schedule he’d been navigating. But as much as she tried to bury the feeling, a part of her longed to hear his voice. To be in his arms. Just to know he was still there.

She took a deep breath, convincing herself she was being ridiculous. He had his reasons. She would wait. She could be patient.

But then, the sound of the doorbell rang out, sharp and unexpected.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, not at this hour. Hesitantly, she stood up, her feet carrying her to the door. She opened it without thinking twice, and there he was—Drew. Standing on her doorstep, his face softer than usual, eyes slightly downcast. He wore that familiar pouty face, the one he always did when he knew he’d messed up or let something slide. But now, it felt different. It was almost as if he was apologizing without saying a word.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She just moved aside, silently inviting him in. Drew stepped over the threshold, but neither of them said anything at first.

The silence in the room felt heavy, thick with all the things they hadn’t said, all the emotions they’d kept buried. Drew shifted, running a hand through his hair, his gaze lingering on the floor, not sure how to begin.

“I know I’ve been… distant,” Drew said, his voice low, but clear. He didn’t need to say more. She already knew. “I just… I got caught up in everything. And I know that’s not fair to you.”

She stayed quiet, watching him with a mix of sadness and understanding. She could see the way he was struggling with his words. He had never been good at expressing his feelings, but this time, it was different. She could tell.

He stepped closer, closing the gap between them, and when he reached for her hands, it felt like an unspoken plea. His fingers brushed against hers, his touch tentative at first, almost as if asking for permission.

“I love you,” he said, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I know I haven’t shown it the way I should have. And I’m sorry for that. But I love you. And I want to do better. I want to be better… for you. For us.”

His words hit her harder than she expected. Her throat tightened, and her heart swelled. She could feel the sincerity in his voice, but there was also the sting of the last month—the distance, the silence. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was hard.

“I love you too,” she whispered, barely audible. Her voice cracked, betraying the hurt she’d been trying to hide. “But I’m hurt, Drew. I needed you here. I needed us.”

Drew’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “I know. And I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice filled with regret. “Please… let me make it right. Let me take care of the hurt I’ve caused. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. He was here. He was here, and that meant something. It meant he hadn’t given up on them, even if he’d been lost in his world for a while.

Without another word, she let herself be pulled into his arms. Drew wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his warmth flooding through her. She could feel his heart beating against hers, the steady rhythm grounding her. They stood there in silence for a moment, just holding each other, as if they could undo all the hurt by being together again.

And then, Drew leaned in, his lips brushing gently against hers, soft at first, as if testing the waters. But she responded immediately, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if they were both trying to make up for the time lost.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise. A promise to love, to be there, to make things right. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of everything they hadn’t been able to say until now.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Drew’s voice was low and full of emotion. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I promise. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter Three: Unraveling

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

| Part 1 | | Part 2 |

I pinky promise there will be smut in the next part🤞 I just felt like making this one a bit of a slow burn

Taglist: @shadowqueen1322 @secretsideofbree @lillyrob

It started with nights at the manor.

At first, it was just a casual thing—Bruce would send a car, and you’d spend an evening talking over expensive whiskey, letting the world outside the Wayne estate fade into irrelevance. You still worked at the bar, still went to class, but somehow, Bruce had become a fixture in your life.

And it wasn’t just the money.

Yes, he still tipped you ridiculous amounts when he showed up at the bar. Yes, the black card he’d given you sat in your wallet, burning a hole you had yet to fill. But more than that, he was there.

The texts started coming more frequently.

B: You still alive?

You: Barely. My professor is trying to kill me with this assignment.

B: Send me the prompt. I’ll have my team handle it.

You: Absolutely not.

B: I don’t like seeing you stressed.

You: And I don’t like billionaire academic fraud.

B: Fair point.

He called, too—not often, but enough that you found yourself waiting for the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

The nights at the manor got longer.

At first, it was just drinks and conversation, but then there were the quiet dinners Alfred started preparing for two instead of one. The slow walks through the grand halls of the estate, the firelit nights spent sprawled on the couch in the library, his arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you.

And then, of course, there were the kisses.

God, the kisses.

They started slow, teasing, an extension of whatever sharp-witted conversation you’d been having before he inevitably leaned in. Bruce kissed with purpose, with intent, with the kind of control that made you dizzy.

But that’s all it was.

Kissing.

He never pushed, never let things go further than you could handle, and part of you wondered if he knew.

If he had already pieced together that you had never done this before.

Not this—not just the kisses, but the way he made you feel.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

Bruce knew you.

He listened when you ranted about your classes, when you muttered about your deadlines, when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite books or movies. He remembered, too—casually dropping facts about your life into conversation, surprising you with small gestures that proved he had been paying attention.

“Tell me something real,” you murmured one night, curled up next to him on the oversized couch in his study.

Bruce glanced down at you, brow raising slightly. “Something real?”

You nodded. “Something not in the tabloids.”

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your knee.

“I never sleep for more than three hours at a time,” he admitted finally. “It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

You frowned, shifting to get a better look at him. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You know why.”

You did.

Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne—the billionaire philanthropists gunned down in an alley, the grieving son left behind.

“I dream about them,” Bruce continued, voice quieter now. “Not always in the way you’d think. Sometimes it’s just… glimpses. My mother’s perfume. My father’s laugh. I wake up before I can hold onto any of it.”

Your chest tightened.

You reached for his hand without thinking, threading your fingers through his. Bruce blinked, as if surprised, before his grip tightened around yours.

He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, deliberate pattern over your knuckles. “I just—”

“I’m glad you told me,” you interrupted softly.

He exhaled, eyes flickering toward your lips.

That night, the kisses were softer.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just there.

Something real.

—

It was a few weeks later when you finally asked.

You were sitting in Bruce’s bedroom—an indulgently large space that still somehow felt distinctly him. There was a fireplace crackling in the corner, the low golden light casting shadows across the room.

Bruce was on the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his phone. You had a book open in your lap, though you weren’t really reading it.

Instead, you were watching him.

“Bruce.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Mm?”

You hesitated. “Are you… waiting for something?”

He set his phone down, eyes scanning your face. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the book. “I mean, we’ve been… this for a while now.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “This?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

You exhaled. “So, are you waiting? For me?”

His expression shifted, something fond passing through his features.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Bruce sat up, moving closer. One of his hands found your knee, fingers brushing against the fabric of your leggings.

“Because I know you,” he said, voice low. “I know you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real for you.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His thumb traced slow circles against your leg.

“And I want to take my time with you.”

You felt yourself flush, warmth spreading through your body at the implication.

Bruce smirked slightly, tilting your chin up with the crook of his finger.

“You deserve more than rushed decisions,” he murmured. “I don’t need more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You inhaled sharply. “I—”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and coaxing.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered against your mouth.

And for once, you didn’t.

—

It didn’t happen that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

But somehow, the waiting didn’t feel like waiting.

Masterlist

[goodlucktai]

so then i took my turn

in stars and time pairing: isafrin (onesided) (but not really) word count: 2k title borrowed from yellow by coldplay alternatively—if you don't have your own north star, store-bought is fine :)

read on ao3

x

You don’t connect the dots right away—as a matter of fact, you won’t connect these particular dots for years—but one night you look up at the starry sky and you make a wish. 

You’re tired and your legs are sore from a day full from end to end of walking. The road is long, and the end of it looms dark and inevitable ahead of you. You do your best to be a bastion of optimism for Mirabelle and Odile, but you don’t know how well you do. You don’t know if your best is enough on its own. Shamefully, selfishly, you think it would be nice to not be the only one determined to make a bleak day brighter just because. 

There isn’t a Favor Tree there to catch the wish when you make it. There’s no ritual behind it. You don’t even know you’re going to do it until the second you do. 

You look up at a curtain of tiny twinkling lights, not fully understanding their place in the family of things but appreciating the stubborn, knife-like way they pierce through the night and shine anyway. 

Maybe they’re the ones you’re praying to when you whisper, “We could use a little help.”

The next morning, your group crosses paths with a traveler. 

The traveler appears out of nowhere, dispatching a Sadness three times their size without even losing their floppy pointed hat from its place on their head, a curved dagger in hand that, much like its wielder, seems entirely too small to pack the punch that it does. The encounter starts before you even realized a Sadness was creeping behind you and ends before you can jump in to help. 

The traveler looks as surprised by your thanks as you were by his sudden arrival. He tucks his knife away, hides his hands beneath his voluminous darkless cloak, and peeks at you through a curly cloud of hair. 

In that moment he resembles nothing more than a tiny tidepool creature retreating into its shell. You think, absurdly, about scooping him up. 

Mirabelle will tell you later that she had almost let first impressions get the best of her, assuming that the mysterious rogue would be unfriendly or standoffish. Odile chimed in that she knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but found herself surprised by the vibrant personality their new friend revealed as the hours went by on the road with nothing to do but get to know one another. 

You, on the other hand, were a lost cause from the second Siffrin opened their mouth. 

“You looked like you could use a little help,” they say. “Just a stab in the dark.”

A joke is the last thing any of you were expecting and maybe it wasn’t a joke but the emphasis was so pointed that you open your mouth before you can overthink it and say, “And you were right! You’re pretty sharp.” 

Mirabelle looks politely confused and Odile looks like she can not believe this is her life. The traveler’s dark eyes turn wide and bright and they lift their chin out of the collar of their cloak enough that you can see the stretching corners of their grin. 

“Would you say I’m a cut above the rest?”

Oh, yeah. You’re in trouble. 

——

Siffrin is still very new to the group the first time your quest comes to a temporary stop in a friendly little town resting alongside the natural bend of the road, tucked away in the hills. It’s lucky timing to be certain, because the four of you are in dire need of a restock of pretty much everything and you don’t have a ton of daylight left. 

Odile makes the executive decision that it would be the most efficient use of their time to divide and conquer. Mirabelle goes to secure lodging, you’re tasked with tracking down a general goods store for blankets and tarps or a tent if you can find one, Odile is taking charge of tonics and medical supplies, which leaves the food to Siffrin.  

He’s given a specific list of purchases to make and pointed in the direction of the market. You find him there a little more than an hour later. The late afternoon sun is burning low in the sky and Siffrin is drifting aimlessly with exactly none of the items on his shopping list and, inexplicably, a handful of ripe carambolas. 

It’s the end of a long day at the end of a long walk, and Odile, to her credit, manages not to outright snap at your new friend. But her tone is distinctly impatient when she asks, “Should we write you a note next time?”

She clearly isn’t expecting Siffrin to take her seriously, or for them to nod so eagerly that the wide brim of their hat flops with it. She blinks, surprised, sharp eyes flicking over their face. And then the whole of her softens, that blink-and-you-miss-it compassion she likes to pretend doesn’t exist just on the inside of her prickly exoskeleton. 

“Noted,” Odile says. Her voice is still brisk but not irritated anymore. “It’d be better for us to buy fresh when the market opens again in the morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, good thinking, Sif,” you say, immediately jumping on board this mission of banishing the awkwardness still clinging to your friend’s hunched shoulders. 

You would be the first to tell anybody who asked—or anybody within your vicinity who wasn’t even interested in hearing about it, really—that Siffrin is more than capable. He’s quick-footed and clever and a menace with his scissors craft and also with his wordplay. You know damn well that Siffrin doesn’t need a bodyguard or a cheerleader. 

Sometimes you wish you could be those things for him anyway. You wish you could pluck him right out of every situation that makes him feel uncomfortable or self-conscious or small. It’s better when he’s laughing, doubled over and hugging his stomach, noisy and taking up all the space he needs. 

But instead you settle for nudging him conspiratorially, tipping your chin toward the fruits he purchased, and adding, “Berry good thinking.”

He goes absolutely still at the touch of your hand, eyes like lamps. You have the sense, for just a moment, sudden and nerve-wracking, that you did something wrong. Then he smiles. 

“A-pear-antly,” he says, smile only widening when Odile groans. “My ideas are one in a melon.”

But you catch them rubbing their arm where you touched them. You can only tell because their cloak falls open for a second as they turn, revealing their fingers buried in their own sleeve. And you kick yourself for just assuming that Siffrin is as tactile as Mira and yourself are just because he laughs as readily as them. Odile doesn’t like to be touched, either, and you’re easily capable of respecting her boundaries. You can just as easily respect Siffrin’s. 

And it’s totally fine!! you think, dashing away every lived-in daydream of holding Siffrin’s hand or burying your fingers in his darkless hair. His hair that probably feels as downy soft as rabbit fur. You would probably never know but that’s so fine. 

And if it feels like your crush just got a million times more hopeless, well. That’s your personal business. 

——

The written reminders become a common thing. Mira likes to draw little animal faces or hearts on the notes she writes. You doodle along the edges of yours, looping patterns or jokes that it makes your heart warm to imagine Siffrin reading to himself and snickering over. 

Odile doesn’t embellish the pages but she sometimes folds them with a few crisp, practiced presses and presents Siffrin with a note in the shape of a bird or a cat. She rolls her eyes when her friends gasp in delight but sometimes isn’t quite quick enough to hide her smile behind her journal. 

Siffrin is silent so much of the time that it’s easy to forget that he’s actually very silly, and very sweet, and achingly sincere. You watch him cross tasks off his list as he completes them, shimmying his shoulders to a victory tune inside his head, and you just—Change, you like him so much. Too much. It’s a lot to carry. Where are you supposed to put it down?

“When should we start to worry about that, do you think?” Odile surprises you by asking. She’s looking where you’re looking, at your forgetful rogue double-checking where he’s supposed to go next. Even though, like, you just discussed it as a team, and he’s not even all the way down the street yet. 

“What? Sif?” You frown. “They’re fine. They just—they just have a hard time remembering stuff.”

Odile gives you a look that makes you feel uncomfortably seen. Which is not out of the ordinary for her. This particular look says I know about your dumb crush and thus far I’ve done you the favor of not detailing for you just how much it stands to potentially complicate my life so you can do me the favor of not playing stupid. 

You might be projecting. It makes you straighten your shoulders anyway, like you’re still a Defender on the job. 

“Last night at dinner, Mirabelle asked them about their knife, and Siffrin said that it originated in their country as a tool for raking and farming,” Odile recounts briskly just to drive her point home. “And then Mirabelle asked what it was called, and Siffrin disassociated mid-word.”

That’s the best word for it, but also not, because it’s too clinical to do justice the way it made your heart plummet into your stomach. 

Siffrin’s eyes had turned vacant, expression faraway. They sat there with their fork hovering above their plate like a sleepwalker, like someone had reached into their soul and turned the light off inside. It lasted about six seconds but it felt like as many hours—long enough that Mira started to lift her hands, as if there was something in front of her that she could heal, and Odile moved her chair back to get up for help, and you said his name twice, louder the second time, heart lurching anxiously. 

Then Siffrin blinked, and smiled, and said, “Sorry, Mira. What was the question again?”

Yeah, you remember. And you didn’t sleep a wink all night because of it. You laid awake and stared at the tuft of pale hair peeking out from the bundle of stolen covers on Siffrin’s side of the bed the two of you shared and wondered what happened to them. What their mind could possibly be trying to protect them from, that even a little history lesson about Siffrin’s faithful dagger was enough to trigger its defenses. 

Let me in, you think at him, desperate with wanting it, with wanting him to hear it. Let me help. 

The space between you sometimes feels like an ocean between two countries. It would be so easy to touch him. You’re very careful not to. 

“He’ll come to us when he’s ready,” you say, hoping that by saying it out loud you’re making it true. “If we can trust him to lead us through danger, we can trust him this much, too, right?”

Odile sighs, but not as though she disagrees. It’s a little like the way she sighed when she first met Mirabelle, and learned about her quest, and said, “And you’re how old?” She sighs like that a lot. 

——

Mirabelle is your leader but it’s Siffrin you all follow, Siffrin who leads the way through mazes and certain dangers. He’s always a step ahead, sniffing out traps and picking his way around them, light on his feet and as weightless as a bird when he perches over this or that trigger and warns his friends to step carefully. 

“Fix your face,” Odile mutters, smirking, when you spend a second too long admiring his form. 

“MADAME,” you say, totally normal, totally not a shriek. 

Mirabelle turns and looks curiously back at you, too far ahead to hear, thank Change. 

Siffrin told you once about something called Polaris. He said it was the brightest star in the Ursa Minor constellation, and always led true North. He beamed at you, safe in the knowledge, easy in his element, and said, “I can find my way home from anywhere.”

He didn’t remember telling you, and looked politely confused when you asked him about it later, but you never forgot. 

Polaris. Nonsense to you, a made-up word that doesn’t mean anything, but you relive the way he said it over and over. He said it like someone who belonged somewhere. Someone who could never get lost, because there was a map in the stars that he knew how to read. It sounded like a fairy tale. 

But sometimes you catch him glancing up at the sky before picking a new direction to walk in, and it always ends up being the right way to go. You watch him run ahead to find a safe way forward for the rest of you, his pale coat a beacon in the dark, and think about something he called the North star. 

——

“It’s getting dark,” Mirabelle frets, clutching her hands together anxiously. 

“Frin’ll be fine,” Bonnie scoffs, as if they hadn’t adamantly and at the very top of their lungs refused to start dinner until Siffrin arrived. 

“Are you sure you put where we were meeting on their reminder note, Mirabelle?” Odile says wryly. 

“Oh no!!” Mira says frantically. “I don’t think I did, oh no!!” 

Your group is one missing part away from whole, and none of you are inclined to go inside yet. You linger out in the yard as daylight dwindles into nothing. 

A few of those lights in the sky begin to shine through the dusk. They catch your eye. 

They’re pretty, and you’re a deeply romantic person, so you don’t hate the idea of there being some kind of design up there that you just can’t seem to ever see properly, no matter how much you squint or tilt your head. You like to believe it’s there anyway, that one night it’ll just click and you’ll be that much closer to understanding the mystery wrapped in tragedy wrapped in fantasy of your favorite person. It’s enough that Siffrin believes it, when he remembers he believes it. 

But as pretty as they are, they’re not very reliable. You can’t always see them. Some nights aren’t good for stargazing. Sometimes the sky’s cloudy. 

Good thing there are other lights to see by. Warmer and brighter lights, more dependable by virtue of being placed by loving hands. You left lanterns on the path to the clocktower for Siffrin, beacons to guide him the way he’s always guided you. You will never, for as long as you live, let Siffrin get lost. 

You don’t say it out loud but you’re worried about them. They looked tired today. In front of the Favor Tree, they seemed one harsh wind from blowing completely apart. Trembling in front of you as if you both weren’t standing in full sun, in a way that reminded you of the day after they lost their eye. 

He had been in so much pain that his limbs all quivered with it, but he still managed to carve out a smile. He still managed to scrounge up a joke. You learned then that you’re not really certain you can trust him when he says he’s okay. You can trust him with everything but himself. 

Siffrin said he was okay earlier. He kept looking over at the Favor Tree like he had something to do. You wanted to touch his trembling shoulder so badly that your hand ached with wanting it. You know better, so you left him alone. 

You hope he gets whatever it is he wants badly enough to actually ask for. 

[wickerwax]

to wit -- too witty (Codywan First Kiss Bingo #5)

(Shout-out to @panravenc who made a post about sick codywan headcanons that got me thinking about how I would play it! ^^)

Cody strode on deck with his helmet already in place and precisely on time, and Obi-Wan’s attention snapped onto him like a piqued nexu.

Item One: Cody was, until now without fail, a minute or two early at a minimum.

Item Two: Cody tended to prefer his helmet off when they were having this sort of intra-ship meeting, especially in hyperspace, and especially when he had more reason to glare people down than he needed access to his in-helmet comms.

Item Three: His dear Commander had the very slightest unsteadiness in his gait, which was practically screaming something is wrong.

He nodded to Cody, who signalled him to start. His suspicion went into the stratosphere and onwards immediately. When he reached out to get a sense of him, Cody’s shields felt wobbly, and there was a throbbing sort of discomfort leaking through.

Still, he wasn’t about to have an argument about it here with witnesseswhen Cody was clearly trying to fly under the sensor-net.Obi-Wan went through the updates they had – reiterated the ETA on the drop into sublight, the overview of the supply list, and requests for changes to be passed on the the Quartermaster first. Consolidation helped avoid mistakes.

Also Quartermaster Cross (apparently short for I Will Be Cross-Referencing This And It Had Better Match Or I’ll Be Taking The Difference Out Of Your Bones) was a dedicated and extremely efficient man, and Obi-Wan had no interest in making his life harder so – to him, first.

Cody sent text-comms to his ‘padd a couple of times, and nodded along, but did not speak, did not remove his helmet. He had clearly locked his knees to keep from wobbling. Obi-Wan wanted to offer him a seat but no one else was sitting and, given the entirety of the situation, the likelihood of being not only ignored but getting Cody’s active and monumental disapproval had him hesitating.

He wound the meeting down neatly, incredibly relieved that it was a short thing today, and requested (face in his ‘padd, voice deliberately absent, nothing odd about today!) that Cody stay behind for a quick conversation about a small incident in the training rooms.

Since the training rooms were the only place where incidents happened on a semi-regular basis and mostly consisted of ‘someone got elbowed in the nose again, please remind the men to be aware of their surroundings’ it was neither an unexpected nor interesting request.

The deck cleared but for the nav’ staff, and Cody, and Obi-Wan gave him a friendly gesture and said, “Office?”

The brightness in his voice and his narrowed eyes – facing only Cody – was as close as he could get to calling Cody on his bluff without making anyone else similarly suspicious. Here, anyway.

Cody paused for a long moment, then nodded slowly. Obi-Wan, with a smile like a bantha-heeler on a good day, herded Cody into the halls and towards their joint office.

He deposited Cody in his chair, keyed the door shut, and headed over to the kitchenette with his suspicions locked and loaded. “Helmet off, my dear.” he said, setting the jug to boil. “I’m quite sure it won’t be doing you any favours.”

Silence behind him.

Obi-Wan pulled out preferred mugs for the two of them, opting for comfort. “I’ve only those terrible fake-citron splemsip packets unfortunately, but they do help. Can’t expect a fresh citron-anything with supply lines being what they are.”

He twisted around to find Cody hesitating over his helmet, hands hovering. “My dear,” he said, gentle as a summer twilight, “I know you’re not feeling well, Cody. Let’s see what we can do about it.”

The release hissed, and Cody’s face appeared. Colour burned too bright across his cheeks and forehead and he was visibly sweating, his short curls lank with it. Shadows made hollows of his eyes. “Can’t – throat hurts.” he croaked. Sniffed. Congestion made it horribly bass-note.

Obi-Wan took him in and paused. “I think we might need more than splemsip.”

Cody made a sharp negative sign.

He huffed through his nose. “You have my solemn word vow to only forage through my personal supplies for flu relief.” Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, then added, “If it gets worrying, I will be telling Helix. I’m not losing my Commander to some common cold.”

He finished making the drinks and carried them over, delivering the splemsip directly into Cody’s hands. “Force, Cody, being in full armour can’t be comfortable. Or helping.”

Cody gave him one of his favoured blank-adjacent looks. This one said, I did what I had to do. Obi-Wan poked him gently in the shoulder and watched him sway far too heavily from very little provocation, then raised a slow eyebrow.

His Commander faltered briefly, then settled into the glare of a mantled hawk as he sipped at his medicinal citron drink.

Heaving a beleaguered sigh at his stubbornness, Obi-Wan investigated the state of supplies in their office. First, he unearthed a spare robe which he deposited on Cody’s lap with a suggestion that it might prove more comfortable than armour for the time being. Rustled up some mild painkillers – drew a complete blank on decongestants, but hopefully the drink would help with that.

When he excavated himself from the tiny ‘fresher with the pills, Cody had managed to remove his armour – stacked rather more messily than his wont – and was swathed in Obi-Wan’s spare robe over his blacks.

“Well done for seeing sense, Commander,” he said, amused. “Can I also tempt you to relocate to the couch?” It wasn’t sleeping length, but any amount of reclining had to be better than the hunching currently occurring. Poor Cody’s spine was in danger of getting stuck like that should the winds change. He was stoically refusing to make a face for the old adage to apply to, after all.

“Undressing wasn’t enough for you, General?” Cody rasped, though at least less painfully than earlier. He was smirking, but the lines around his mouth still read like aching.

“Anything you wish to do is enough, Cody darling, though I believe that conversation is best left for when you aren’t actively running a fever.” He fetched water, offered it and the painkillers. “These should help.”

“Is that true?” Cody asked, not moving to take them.

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Well, strictly speaking they’re for pain, but they do tend to reduce fevers when those symptoms are happening in concert-”

“Anything I wish to do, Kenobi.”

He drew in a slow breath. “Ah. Commander, I-”

Cody stood up abruptly – and wavered, wobbling on his feet as his body objected to the motion. Obi-Wan moved without thinking, ducking under his arm and looping his own around Cody’s waist to take his weight. The metal cup clattered loudly on the durasteel, covering the much softer rattle of the pills in their soft tabs. The water was a loss, of course, although he was more concerned about it being a slip hazard. He tightened his hold.

Even through two thick layers, Cody’s skin was notably warm. “This is really not – Could we get you situated before -”

Cody’s fever-hot palms closed around his shoulders. He stopped speaking. He – well, he hadn’t meant to bring up the bantha in the room – hadn’t expected Cody to feed him so blatant a line, if he was honest. Had been playing his part according to Cody’s lead for months now, wary of crossing lines without invitation.

The weakness this cold was having on Cody’s balance and ability to reliably keep his knees locked hadn’t extended to his hands it seemed, for he had pulled them flush together and – while it was a very pleasant thing to be pressed against his very attractive Commander, now wasn’t the best time for it. Obi-Wan would have made like an eel except he was the only thing keeping either of them upright.

“I feel dreadfully manoeuvred, darling.” he tried to joke, and lost it to a wheeze when Cody dropped his face into Obi-Wan’s neck and clutched hard at him.

“The things I want to do to you, General.” he growled. At least half of the growling was congestion.

Obi-Wan patted his back consolingly.”As I said, my dear. Post-fever?”

Cody made a noise that, in a healthier man, would have taken him out at the knees. As it was, his knees were the only ones responsible for neither of them being on the floor, and his poor Commander followed it up with a nasty coughing fit.

“Right. Cody, if you don’t let me set you up on the couch at least, I am going to carry you through the halls to a bed and let your brothers’ gossip chain do what it will.” he said firmly.

“I will never forgive you, sir.” Cody choked out, breathing all rattles and lost bolts.

“I will accept your enmity if you are well enough to perform it.” Obi-Wan shot back. “Can you even stand unaided? Cody? Would you let a single one of our men get away with that?”

To his credit, Cody gave standing a valiant try. He unpeeled himself from Obi-Wan and planted himself like a reed with particularly flimsy roots, but the intention was admirable. If foolish. He wobbled dangerously.

Obi-Wan watched with steely eyes and lowered brows. “Now, let go of my tunic.”

Cody’s eyes were brilliant with frustration. His mouth curved downward. “I don’t think I should.”

“He can be taught!” Obi-Wan ran his hands along Cody’s arms and stepped back in to brace him. “Sitting down while I comm Helix, or am I parading you across the ship with as much style as I can muster?”

“I have quite literally dragged your ass out of your horrible little womp-rat nest when that dodgy-”

“Yes, yes, sometimes the biology gets knocked about unexpectedly but we still see the medic-”

“That is not-”

Obi-Wan took a moment to brace himself properly, then hauled Cody up into his arms. Cody yelped, then groaned. “High noises still bad.”

“Why, what a shock that a bug capable of overwhelming your robust immune system should be resistant to the vicious medicinal efforts of splemsip.” He shifted Cody’s weight slightly, then nodded. “If you pull the hood up, perhaps everyone will just think I am transporting a very lost fellow Jedi.”

“Sir-” Cody squeezed his eyes against the throb of his headache and slumped into him, arguments subsiding.

“Cody, if you want to have the conversation you implied earlier, I am going to insist on you using my name when we’re off-duty. And you, my dear, are so deeply off-duty.”

He nudged the keypad with a little bit of Force use, and slipped into the hall. His senses were on high-alert and he thanked the Force that their office wasn’t so far from his rooms. He only had to duck into a side-hall to avoid being seen the once, and he tucked Cody’s head against his gently while waiting for the coast to clear, worried over the thoroughly crackly breathing.

Jabbing at the door control to his rooms, he swept Cody in and got him situated on the bed. “Don’t move,” he said, pointing threateningly at him as he clicked his comm off his belt and sent off a message to Helix to request assistance for flu symptoms in his quarters. “I’m going to get water again, and this time you’re going to behave and drink it.”

“Behave is not-” he broke off to cough again, then resumed doggedly, “-not what I thought I’d be doing in your bed, Obi-Wan.”

“Post-fever, Cody, so you’re already not behaving.” He brought one of his stashed hydro-packs over. “I should have thought of these earlier really, the straw will be easier.”

Cody took it, nearly pouting as the fever got hold in earnest and his reticence slipped. “I’d rather suck something else.”

“Have you been storing these up?” Obi-Wan asked, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching to press the back of his hand to Cody’s forehead. “Oh, darling, that’s definitely Helix territory. Drink your water.”

Bright-eyed, and in the process of glazing over, Cody gave him an awfully endearing attempt at a sultry look as he stabbed his straw into the bag. “Don’ need to store anything. Look at you.”

Charmed, Obi-Wan ran his hand through Cody’s sweat-damp curls. He leaned his head into the touch as he drank, eyes sliding closed. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His door chimed.

Slipping away for a moment, he returned with Helix grumbling behind him. “Of course it would be you, Cody.” he said, “Half the battalion gets sniffles from some lurgy incubating since our last campaign and Sir Never-Gets-Sick over here drops like a ton of duracrete.”

“Your morning has been busy then?” Obi-Wan said, “With any luck, that other half is immune or threw it off before it took, and not just taking longer about showing symptoms.”

“Sniffles.” Helix repeated. “Hardly even worth mentioning but for the volume. Couple of the Maintenance boys have a low-grade fever, gave ‘em some reducers, they’ll be right as rain. Our dear Commander, as I hear, is well past that.”

Cody, supine on the bed, made an irritated noise. It sounded a lot like a washing unit trying to chop wood. “’m not dead, unconscious, or missing from this room.”

“Give it time,” Helix said darkly, checking his temp. “What was the plan if the General hadn’t interceded, Cody? Crawl into a vent shaft for the MSE droids to find during the night cycle?”

“Thought I’d skip right to the airlock actually.” Cody returned snidely. Coughed. “Why’s there three Generals now, I didn’t think this was that sort of dream.”

Obi-Wan dragged a hand over his face. Helix barked a laugh as he sorted through his medications. “It is not that sort of dream, Cody. Should I step out, Helix?”

His CMO shrugged, preparing his shot. “Do you want the good General Kenobi and his twins to leave, Cody?” He leaned over the bed and poked at Cody’s arm.

“I want the floor to stop moving.” Cody said faintly. “When did the General get twins? I thought we had – ow, fuck, Helix!”

“Sensitised pain reception, that’s unfortunate.” Helix mumbled, mostly under his breath. “Avoid bumping against shit, vod.” He scooped up the half-drunk hydro-pack abandoned on Cody’s chest. “Sir, I need you to take these pills and finish this pack. That’s an order, copy?”

His eyelids were drooping again. “Copy, sir.”

The pill-swallowing was an experience best left to the imagination. Cody’s very unhappy throat made it into a production that took both Helix and Obi-Wan to hold him through – the pills themselves and the coughing fit that followed.

“They really are better ingested than anything I have right now that’s intravenous,” Helix said regretfully in the aftermath. “But he should be able to sleep now, and it should get him through the worst of it.”

“That’s fine,” Obi-Wan walked him back to the door. “I’ll work from in here for the day, and I can always sleep on my couch if necessary.”

Helix gave him a slightly sarcastic salute. “I’d say don’t get sick but that would only encourage you.”

He laughed, “I’m not quite that contrary, Helix.”

“Dubious, sir, I’m dubious. Comm me if he gets worse.” Helix said, and left.

Cody was starting to drift in earnest when Obi-Wan returned to the bedside, propped up on all the pillows he could find to ease his breathing. “Back?” he yawned, wincing.

“I’m back, yes. I’m going to sit at the couch and get some flimsi done, so just tap the wall if you need anything. I’ll hear it, don’t worry.” He traced Cody’s tired, familiar face with his eyes. Every line of him was precious. “I’ll come in to bother you about drinking enough, but otherwise I highly recommend trying to sleep.”

“No- wait,” Cody flailed a hand out. Obi-Wan caught it in his. ���I don’t – Obi-Wan, I don’t want to have dreamed – before.”

He threaded their fingers together and squeezed comfortingly. “Which before? I’m happy to confirm what I can for you. For example, no twins.”

A smile curled slow and lazy across Cody’s face. He squeezed back with his too-hot hand. “The talk. We’re gonna talk, right?”

Obi-Wan found his own smile, quite irrepressibly, unfolding in turn. “Yes, darling.” he whispered, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cody’s hand. “We’re going to talk as soon as you’re not any level of delirious.”

Cody had gone wide-eyed. The fever-flush brightened across his cheeks. “Obi-Wan.” he said, longing.

“Not a dream,” Obi-Wan told him, turning his hand over to kiss his palm, to brush his lips over the sensitive pad of each finger. “I promise. You just have to get better first.”

“Suddenly I feel the urge to be a model patient,” his bedridden Commander managed, though what slipped through his shields right then was categorically not that. “You probably won’t recognise it.”

He snorted and returned Cody’s hand to his lap, patted it. “Get some sleep, Cody. I’ll be in periodically – we’ll see if I don’t give you an aversion to nurses for the rest of your life first.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo hi hello! Number Five! I used my free space as 'hand kiss' and that should be bingo twice over xD

[rederiswrites]

[read it on AO3]

It had been a week since they’d found D’Meta’s Crossing. A terrible, helpless week, in which they’d turned up no new leads, no next steps. No way to fight back against the vastness of this cruelty and destruction. A horrible emptiness and fatigue had crept into Arden’s every waking moment.

“I don’t know, Varric,” he said. “I just don’t–how can something so cruel exist? Why would any thinking creature do this?”

There was a moment of silence as Varric shifted in his cot, trying to sit up more. Arden got up quickly, arranging the pillows behind him, until Varric settled back with a nod of thanks.

“You know, I like to pretend I have a knack for words, but that’s one I can’t explain. People do a lot of evil. Sometimes they’re just so tangled up in their own hurts, they think they’re just protecting themselves. But this? I think this is something different.” Varric stopped, scratching his chin where the stubble was getting thick. “Solas said they were Blighted. Well, that’s like Corypheus. Like Meredith, at the end, given what we know about red lyrium. I think they were always cruel people. But the Blight made everything so much worse. And if that’s true–Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, they’ve been Blighted for thousands of years.”

On the floor next to Varric's cot, Arden put his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes. He leaned into his hands hard, trying to gain an inch to think. Maker, why couldn’t he just think?

“I feel so…bad!” he finally burst out. “Varric, why do I feel so bad? What’s wrong with me? I can’t sleep, and I can’t wake up. I ache! And there’s this…this burning in my chest, and it just won’t go away. It’s like I could swallow it down but I can’t.” For a second, he felt himself shake, as if he were about to cry, but as always these past days, no tears came. “Am I Blighted? How would I know?”

“No,” said Varric. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Rook, you ever lost someone? Someone close?”

Arden looked up, confused. “I mean, my grandmother.”

“The one that called you ‘boy’ and liked to tell you they should’ve left you on the battlefield as a baby?” Arden nodded. “Yeah, not sure I’d call that someone really close, then,” Varric said dryly.

“Why? What’s that got to do with it?” Arden asked.

Varric sighed. “Because I think what you’re feeling is grief.”

The two of them sat in silence, the shadows of the room wrapping around them. Arden stared at Varric, but Varric was looking into the invisible distance, seeing who knew what.

“Grief?” It didn’t make sense. 

“Grief,” said Varric, “is a terrible thing. It eats everything around it. It drains you, body and soul. You feel it in your heart.”

Arden sat with that, eyes closed, and at last he felt the bloom of tears against his eyelids. He took a shaky breath.

“D’Meta’s Crossing. All those people. Children. There were children, in the–” he couldn’t say it, and couldn’t erase it. In the pulsing, tangled masses, amidst the boils and sickened roots. In the piles of dead, heaped up by the uncaring hands of people who had once loved them. “All dead. And how many more, Varric? How many dying right now, and I’m just sitting here, and I can’t even pull it together.”

“Yeah, that’s the grief. I’m sorry, Rook.”

“How…how do you manage? How do you live with it?” There were tears on Arden’s cheeks now, but it was no relief. “It’s crushing me!”

“I know. I know, kid. I’m sorry. It–” he broke off, closing his eyes for a minute. “It gets lighter, bit by bit. You go for stretches where you forget. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and it’s not the first thing you think about. But it’ll hit you again, out of nowhere. You just…get used to it.”

“It feels impossible.”

“Yeah, but people do it every day. And it’ll teach you something, too.”

“What’s that?” Arden asked.

“To value what you have, while you have it. To make sure you love things while they’re here.” Varric sighed again. “Especially if you didn’t do that before it was too late.”

It hurt so much. Arden took breath after breath, but every time it felt like he wouldn’t be able to take the next one.

“Nothing can ever be the way it was,” Arden choked out. The burning in his chest was so strong; it was agonizing. “Can we even stop them? Can we save anything? Varric–” and he said the name like a plea; please, please tell me it’ll be okay, but it can’t. It can’t be okay. “Varric, this is my fault.”

“Hey! Hey, look at me.” Arden obeyed, looking up at Varric, vision warped by the tears. “We’ve been over this. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Well, mine and Solas’. You did what I asked you to.”

“What difference does intention make if it destroys so much!?” Arden was nearly shouting, now. “What I’ve let out–it’s worse than anything Solas was doing! At least he meant there to be a world left when he was done! This–this is going to destroy everything!”

“Okay, you want to talk about fault?” Varric snapped. “Let’s talk about fault, because we’ve been over all this before but I know you’re forgetting. Who was it that found that knife in the Deep Roads, back when it was red lyrium? Me. Who was there when we freed Corypheus? Me. Sure, I thought what I was doing was good then, too. How many people have died? Nobody can count. We’re still fighting the red lyrium. Maybe we always will be. I’m too old to pretend about this, Rook. Almost every damned time something went straight to the Void in the last twenty years, I was right there in the middle. So do you hate me?”

“No!” 

“What about Solas? His ritual. His dagger. His war, that we’ve gotten sucked into thousands of years later. Do you hate him?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so? I mean, we’ve seen what he was fighting. I don’t even know what to think, any more.” Arden swiped a sleeve across his nose, trying to stop sniveling like a child. “I don’t know, any more.”

“We didn’t create all this cruelty, Rook. We just…tripped over it, I guess you could say. Tore the wound open. And maybe I should hate myself. And maybe some days I do. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. A lot of really big mistakes.” Varric stopped, taking a deep breath. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to give up on Solas, who knows.”

“Varric, no–” Arden ached. Varric almost never opened up like this, and it was terrible to see.

“But you aren’t one of those mistakes, kid. You’re one of the best decisions I ever made.” Varric nodded to himself. “And I know that you’ll find a way through this.”

“How?”

“For now? One step at a time. Just figure out the next step, Rook. It’ll get easier once you’re moving.”

[inkformyblood]

a god to a nonbeliever (CWFKB25)

High Fantasy/DnD-esque AU; Nervous Kiss @codywanfirstkissbingo

There’s barely enough room for one adventurer to squeeze into the cupboard masquerading as a four-person room, perched at the end of an unnecessary flight of stairs that does little more than act as a display case for the pitted walls and the streamers of spiderwebs. Cody shoves the door open, adding his shoulder as encouragement when it thinks about sticking part of the way on a loose floorboard, and his brothers prop their chins onto his shoulders, one leaning around the incline of his hip to stare into it. 

“I slept on the floor the last time.”

“I died.” Cody counters Rex’s stare with one of his own, the angle all wrong but that didn’t matter, sibling injustice tasted the same no matter what it is, a begrudging heft of honey to balance the spite layering over the ribs like it’ll keep them warm. 

Fox sniffs once, scuffing the back of his hand against his nose, skin coming stained dark like tar in the gloom. He’d be a fucking nightmare in the morning once the pain kicked in, the momentary thrill of gold in their pockets failing to tip the scales against the headache of finding a temple to make him pretty once more. Cody flips him off, the metal joints of his gloves catching slightly, still bent out of shape from three jobs ago. Fox doesn’t even look at him. “I also died since we’re keeping score.”

They stare into the room, the single bed wedged beneath an attempt at a window from when someone’s elbow went through the wall, the scrap of fabric strung above it that couldn’t contain a breeze let alone a body, and the inches of floor visible. 

Boba shoves them all, a rolling wave of indignation at the back of the group like it’ll make any difference. Might as well try and pluck the sun out of the sky to light a smoke and flick it back into place for all the good it’ll do him. Cody doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to as Rex and Fox stumble and hiss against his back. “I’m getting the good blanket,” Boba insists through his teeth and Cody knows, without needing to turn around to confirm, that his arms are folded across his chest. His hands will be pressed against his ribs, rather than curled into fists beneath his elbows, fragile despite the bulk of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the magnitude of his thighs. He’s built like an adventurer, the same as the rest of them, but he’s still the youngest, the baby. 

“One of them.” No weakness or Cody would wake up stripped to his boxers for the scant warmth his clothing would provide. He scratches at the sticky cut on his jaw, hooking his thumb beneath the thin silver chain around his neck. They’re all hungry, exhausted in a way that couldn’t be described, only born, and this tavern is their only option that involves a roof and something warm to eat. 

“Two.”

“One.”

“One and I get the first bowl.”

Cody flicks his gaze at Fox, then Rex, one at his height, the other starting to slump downwards. “Done.”

Rex loses the argument to collect their food, helped out of the door by the boot angled towards his head, and he returns once they’ve finished going through their packs with four steaming bowls balanced across his arm and a smear of lipstick across his burning cheek. Cody holds his hand out for the change and gets his coins back in full. 

“Whore.”

“Shut it.” Rex drops one bowl into Boba’s hands, the next to Cody, then Fox — swerving around his open palms for a moment before Rex relents — and he tips onto the bed next to Cody to pick at his own bowl. “They had a brother down in the mines, wanted to say thanks.”

Boba mumbles around a mouthful of stew, his lower lip pitted with the orange sauce, a few herbs clinging, “Couldn’t have gotten us bigger portions too?”

“These are the bigger portions.”

Fox holds his bowl up on splayed fingers, his grip matched to the indentations in the earthenware, his brow raised to a similar incline. Nothing they have been given matches, their armour just as piecemeal as their recollections of childhood, and the bowls provide an easy enough example to point to, one clay-red and pitted, one metal with cloth tacked onto the base, one delicate porcelain, one dark and cracked at the rim. 

“Eat your stew,” Cody orders around his own mouthful and nothing more needs saying as they bend their heads to their own tasks, methodical and efficient in this like they are in most things. 

They get ready for the night in the same fashion, gazes lowered to their own hands as they loosen ties and unbuckle armour to strap it to their packs. Barely enough room to breathe between them, elbows tucked close to their ribs as they work, and Cody kneels to boost Fox into the hammock strung above the bed. The foot against his skull was unnecessary but expected, a chill accompanying their actions as Rex shutters the lantern and hooks it onto the wall, limiting their view to dark outlines and huddled shapes. Cody settles back into the bed, quickly drawing the thin blanket over himself and throwing his cloak on top of that. He turns onto his side, staring out and seeing nothing as Boba hefts himself onto the floor and partially under the bed with the minimal grumbling that it requires, Rex claiming the remaining floorspace with a groan as he relaxes back. 

Sleep comes quickly, easily when Cody closes his eyes. 

He dreams. 

“Good sleep?” Rex coos in the morning, a shit-eating grin already well worn across his features as Cody opens his eyes, blinking into the uneasy morning sunlight. 

“Fuck off.”

Cody draws the corner of his cloak up and over his face, his breath warm and fogging back against his cheeks. He has never been able to fully remember his dreams, content enough to exist with vague emotions and waking up every few weeks with tears staining his face, but he tries as he lies there, listening to muffled conversations happening just outside his barrier of treated cloth, the hammock above creaking as Fox leans forward to threaten from his perch. There’d been light, soft and gentle sunlight behind another figure, his hair burnished to copper by the glow. His hands had cupped Cody’s face, a tremor radiating through his fingers and there’s something close to awe on the heels of the memory, confusion tempering it. Cody had agreed to something he cannot recall and then, a kiss, an uncoordinated crash of their mouths together but that hadn’t mattered because the other man is—

“Cody. Who’s Obi-Wan?”

Fox scoffs, the creaking reaching a dangerous timbre as he sways. “He’s a god, Boba. Thought you would know that.”

“Not my god,” Boba snaps. Cody lifts the edge of his cloak to observe his brother’s, Boba standing with his hands planted on his hips, the emblem he carries indenting into the bone beneath the weight of his hold. “Not Cody’s either.”

“He might be,” Cody says. “I dreamt about him.”

Fox leans further forward through the spread of his thighs to inspect Cody, his eyes dark and striped by a heavy bruise. “There’s some bigger temples in the city down the road. We can swing past and check.”

“Sounds good,” Cody mumbles. In the privacy beneath his cloak as he lets the edge fall once more, he presses his fingers to his lower lip and draws them back to see something shine in the gloom, a mote of sunlight given by a kiss. 

[chrollospsychologist]

Tanjiro

This man worships the ground you walk on. No, literally, he would drop to his knees and wipe the dirt off your shoes with his haori.

He loves hugging you—he says your warmth feels like home. He’s always rubbing your arms, back, or belly absentmindedly while talking.

If anyone so much as thinks about making a comment on your body, Tanjiro will sense it before they even speak and shut that down IMMEDIATELY. His tone is still polite, but his eyes? Unforgiving.

“I don’t know why you thought that was an appropriate thing to say. Maybe rethink that before you say anything else, hm?”

Loves carrying you. You think he’s joking when he offers, but he’s not. Easily lifts you like you weigh nothing, and he’s so proud about it. “See? Told you I could do it!”

Learns how to take care of your hair like it’s breathing technique training. He watches intently when you do your wash day routine, making mental notes. The first time he helps, he moves so gently, treating your scalp like sacred ground.

“Tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” he whispers, massaging the oil in. You swear you almost fall asleep.

Scalp massages that make you MELT.

Thinks your cooking is god-tier. You made him jollof rice once, and he nearly cried. “This is better than Udon,” he says as he stuffs his mouth til his cheeks are protruding outwards, with the most serious expression. You laugh, but he’s deadass. You catch him trying to recreate it in secret, mumbling about “honoring tradition.”

Values your strength over everything. You tell him stories about growing up—how you had to work twice as hard, push past stereotypes, and stand tall no matter what. He listens.

“You’ve had to be strong for so long,” he says one night, voice soft. “You can rest with me.”

Zenitsu

He screamed when he first saw you. Not out of fear—just pure, unfiltered admiration. “HOW CAN SOMEONE BE SO BEAUTIFUL?!?!”

This man is CLINGY. He will attach himself to you at any given moment, draped across your lap, hugging your waist, or just resting his head against your chest. He calls it his “safe place.” :eyeroll

He loves buying you gifts, especially jewelry that compliments your skin tone. “Gold/copper looks so good on you, babe!”

Compliments you at least ten times a day. “You’re so soft. You're the best girl ever. You’re literally the love of my life.”

If someone says anything negative about your body, Zenitsu goes FULL THUNDERCLAP AND FLASH on them. They won’t even have time to regret their words.

Will cry over how beautiful you are. Not an exaggeration. If you dress up for a date, he might actually tear up. “I don’t deserve you… you’re divine…”

Overdramatic but in the best way. You wear a sundress one day, and he faints. You twist your hair up? “You’re a queen.” You walk into a room? “Oh, we’re so blessed.” Sometimes it’s silly, but when he says, “You deserve to be adored every second of the day,” you know he means it.

Goes through phases with your hair. First, he’s scared to touch it. Then, he’s obsessed. Tries to “help” braid it once but gets frustrated within five minutes. “How do you do this every week? Your fingers must be blessed by the gods!” Ends up just watching YouTube tutorials and taking notes so he can at least detangle it right.

Buys you clothes he knows will hug your curves just right. He’s your personal stylist, making sure every outfit makes you feel confident. “You’re literally a goddess. We have to showcase that.”

Loves playing with your hands. He’ll trace his fingers over your knuckles, kiss your palms, and interlock fingers just to feel close to you. “Your hands are so soft… just like the rest of you~”

Inosuke

At first, he didn’t understand why you were insecure about your body. “You’re strong, right? You’re soft, but you’re still strong. That’s all that matters.”

He thinks your thighs are the best pillows. Falls asleep with his head on them all the time.

Brrrraaaagggs about you to random people. “My woman? The most beautiful woman in the world! No one else compares!!!”

Accidentally matches your energy. You side-eye a stranger? He side-eyes them harder. You start talking with your hands? Now he’s really talking with his hands. “Why you acting like me?” “You act like this, so now I act like this.”

He doesn’t let ANYONE disrespect you. The moment someone even looks at you wrong, he’s ready to fight.

Inosuke is surprisingly gentle with you. He’s loud and brash with others, but when it comes to you? His touch is careful, his voice softer. You’re his queen, and he treats you like it.

Loves resting his hands on your belly. Not in a teasing way—he just likes the warmth. Sometimes he pats it and hums in approval. “Comfy…”

Yuji

This boy is your biggest fan. He hypes you up more than you hype yourself up. “Look at my girl! Just LOOK AT HER. She’s GORGEOUS.” Hands flailing and errthang.

Has no spice tolerance but tries SO HARD. You give him a plate of pepper soup, and he’s struggling, but he refuses to tap out. “I love it,” he chokes out, sweating. You hand him water. “Admit defeat.” “NEVER.”

He’s always touching you—holding or fiddling with your hand, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. Physical affection is his love language.

Loves going out with you, could be anywhere, he cherishes every moment. He loves going shopping with you.

When you’re cuddling, he loves tracing little patterns on your arms and thighs, pressing soft kisses to your skin every few minutes.

Yuji is a lot more attentive than what people give him credit for.

Thinks your family’s side-eyes are the funniest thing ever. You don’t even have to speak sometimes; your expression says it all. He starts doing it too. “That’s not how we do it,” he whispers at a restaurant when he sees unseasoned food. You’ve corrupted him.

Takes random pictures of you all the time. Even if you think you look bad, he insists otherwise. “Nope. You’re breathtaking. End of discussion.”

Chrollo

Chrollo finds beauty in all things, but with you? He’s utterly captivated. Every curve, every dip, every inch of your skin is a masterpiece to him.

He always talks about you like you’re a rare, exquisite art piece. “She moves with the grace of a queen, and her presence alone demands reverence.”

He loves reading poetry to you while tracing slow circles on your skin. “Every poet wishes they could capture your essence in words, but they all fall short.”

Writes poetry about you. You’ll wake up to handwritten notes describing your beauty in the most devastatingly romantic ways.

Buys silk scarves for your hair like they’re artifacts. You mention needing a new scarf? The next day, he gifts you one that’s imported. “I researched the best fabric for your curls,” he says like it’s a thesis.

Buys you the most luxurious clothes and accessories. He has a particular weakness for seeing you in silk and velvet. “It compliments your figure beautifully.”

You’re the only one who can humble him. Others fear him, but you? “If you don’t sit down somewhere,” you say, and he actually does. When he gets dramatic, you just give him a look. “My apologies,” he says immediately.

If anyone dares to insult you, they simply disappear. No one knows what happened. No one asks.

Okarun

This boy is absolutely down bad for you. The first time he saw you, he nearly malfunctioned.

He blushes EVERY time you touch him, no matter how small the gesture. “W-why are you so soft…?!”

You catch him staring at you all the time, completely mesmerized. If you call him out on it, he gets all flustered. “I-I wasn’t staring! …Okay, maybe a little.”

He is your personal hype man. “You’re so cool. So pretty. So amazing. How did I get so lucky?!”

Gets overwhelmed when you wear something form-fitting. He short-circuits. Stares. Mouth open. Blushes so hard he might pass out. “U-Uh… wow.”

Loves cuddling into your chest. It’s his safe space. If he’s stressed, he’ll just bury his face there and mumble, “Five more minutes, please…”

Calls you the strongest person he knows. Not just physically—he admires your mind, your resilience.

Has a phase where he just loves your accent, slang, and language. You call him “boo,” and he’s grinning for days. You switch between English and your parents’ language? He’s trying to learn. “What does that mean? Say it again.”

Thinks protective styles are sorcery. You get braids done, and he’s baffled. “How long did that take?!” You let him touch them, and he treats them like royalty. “This is so cool…”

Loves watching you dance. At a party, you hit a move, and he’s just staring. You pull him in, and he’s awkward at first, but he tries. “Am I doing it right?” “...Bless your heart.”

[socra-time]

Socra’s Naruto Liveblog, Ep. 111-120:

Also known as “Socra grows progressively distressed as everyone gets the shit beaten out of them”

Ep 111:

-noooo Sasuke don’t take the unknown drugs these cult-y strangers are offering you-

-I liked that Orochimaru’s theme came in when Sasuke took the pill

-so like if the squad didn’t happen to include Kiba and Akamaru, how would they have tracked Sasuke? I guess Neji can track to a certain extent, but his tracking is more limited by range… in conclusion Akamaru is the squad MVP

-Shikamaru hanging onto Choji’s scarf for balance when he stopped Naruto from triggering the tripwire was funny

-I can’t believe Orochimaru’s goons are just lugging Sasuke around in a barrel

-I don’t believe Shikamaru would let himself get thwarted so easily so I feel like getting caught was part of his plan somehow?

Ep 112:

-so I get that Kiba’s attack doesn’t break the dome’s wall and shows that the dome regenerates, but couldn’t Naruto just try smacking it with a rasengan (aka the single strongest jutsu any of them have)? I feel like that could do some insane damage at least

-this is so random but istg if anything happens to Akamaru on this mission I’m gonna riot

-oh now Naruto doesn’t have enough energy for the rasengan. Almost like he should’ve tried it earlier…

-honestly these last couple episodes have made me like Choji a lot more. He’s chill, even though I think his human boulder attack looks stupid

-also I like Shikamaru and Choji’s relationship a lot

-Shikamaru and Neji are really holding all the braincells in this group lol

Ep 113:

-Naruto and Kiba highkey share a braincell (aka they’re both dumbasses)

-a lot of this fight animation is really wonky so far. I’m guessing they’re saving the better quality stuff for the more important fights

-oh shit Choji’s getting serious

-I actually quite like Choji’s dub voice when he’s speaking more softly

-Choji really pulled a Popeye by taking a spinach pill and getting stronger

-I’m sorry Choji I was unfamiliar with your game

-lmao I spotted an animation error where Kiba’s face markings disappeared for one scene

-as much as Choji has grown on me recently I will never think his ball attack looks good

-aw Shikamaru is a good friend

Ep 114:

-bruh why does this episode title make it seem like Choji’s gonna die

-Jirobo is so mean for no reason. Like yeah I know you’re gonna kill the kid but you don’t have to be such an ASSHOLE about it

-man between Choji, Sakura, and Naruto’s backstories, why do Konoha kids suck so much

-awwwwwww poor Choji he just wanted to be included :((((

-the scene of little Choji helping a butterfly caught in a web was such a good little character moment

-given how intertwined their clans are, I wouldn’t think that Shikamaru and Choji only met when they were like 5 (they don’t necessarily have to be close just because their dads and clans are, but you’d think they’d at least KNOW OF each other). I’d personally headcanon they were introduced basically as babies

-aw little Choji and Shikamaru are so cute, my hearttttt 😭

-skinny Choji is kinda uncanny-looking

-I love how defensive Choji is over Shikamaru and how seriously he takes someone insulting Shikamaru

-GOOD JOB CHOJI but also omg pls rest

-(also, assuming that Jirobo is dead, I’m pretty sure this makes Choji the first of the Konoha kids to kill someone onscreen)

-the voice acting of Choji’s pained gasping as he tries to follow the others and then as he starts crying and reads the messages the others left for him was so good, I literally almost cried

-god this arc has done wonders for Choji’s character and we stan

-NOOOO CHOJI (I know he doesn’t die obviously but still, goddamn)

-god the whole last part of that episode was really good. Honestly this episode in general is one of my favorites so far

Ep 115:

-whyyyy does spider guy (Spiderman, if you will) have six arms????? Like I still need to know what his and two-headed guy’s deal is

-the sticky spiderweb sounds are kinda uncomfy, it’s like gross ASMR

-ayyyy Neji to the rescue!

-Neji acknowledging Naruto and saying “sometimes your eyes are even better than mine” was nice and a good subtle nod to how their fight in the chunin exams helped Neji

-anyways I still don’t know spider dude’s name so I’m just gonna refer to him as Spiderman

Ep 116:

-GET HIS ASS NEJI

-damn Spiderman copied Gaara’s sand shield defense

-idk why but it’s interesting to me that one of Neji’s biggest moves is a defensive one

-“what kind of a freak is this guy?” says the dude with six arms and metal-emitting sweat glands

-EW OMG THERE’S SO MANY SPIDERS

-yeah no if I were Neji I would have run away from this fight screaming

-I like how shook Spiderman is by Neji’s abilities. Compared to Choji’s fight, this fight holds far less emotional weight, but it does a good job of showing off Neji’s strength as a prodigy

-this is so stupid but the pose Neji fell over in reminded me of the Family Guy death pose 💀

-damn Neji’s hair slays

-oh Spiderman’s name is Kidomaru. I’m still gonna call him Spiderman tho.

-okay Spiderman’s second stage form is pretty cool

Ep 117:

-jesus Neji is going through it

-I wonder if the squad’s headbands getting knocked off is gonna be a recurring thing in these battles

-damn I gotta give it to Spiderman, he does have incredible aim

-oh my godddddd Neji got fucking impaled. Istg these fights are doing horrible things to my poor heart

-welp rip Spiderman

-it’s heartbreaking seeing Naruto and Kiba still think Choji is coming while Shikamaru knows he’s probably dead

-POP OFF NEJI

-hm this fight was nice and all but it definitely didn’t hit the same emotional beats Choji’s fight did

-literally every fight Neji’s in makes me sad tho because of what I know happens to him. Ahhhhhhhhh I hate it here.

-also I just thought about how Neji took a BEATING from Spiderman but somehow got taken out by one punch from Naruto in the chunin exams lmao

-this is a much less convincing fake-out death than Choji’s but also awww poor Neji I wanna give him a hug (actually I think I wanna give all of the squad a hug after this tbh)

-I bet people were losing their shit over these fights back when the show was airing on TV and the squad’s fates were left unresolved

Ep 118:

-I like the way Akamaru’s ears flap when Kiba runs

-I hate Tayuya’s weird headpiece thing

-jesus Orochimaru is going through it

-also I don’t think I’ve said this before but Orochimaru’s dub voice is great

-every time I see Kabuto I instinctively start feeling annoyed, even when he hasn’t even started talking. So yeah fuck Kabuto all my homies hate Kabuto

-hearing Kimimaro refer to Kabuto as “Kabuto-Sensei” was so weird

-wow Kimimaro has only had like a minute of screentime and he’s already contemplating his purpose in life

-OOH Orochimaru’s theme abruptly starting when he revealed his face to his new vessel was so good, it jumpscared me a little tbh

-I’m getting the feeling that Kabuto WANTS Orochimaru to use him as a vessel and I’m not sure why he’d want that. Idk maybe I’m reading into things too much

-Kiba doing his drill attack straight through Naruto’s shadow clone was cool. Hooray for teamwork lol

-also Shikamaru using shadow possession to make Tayuya get in Sakon’s way was clever, I hadn’t thought about that kind of application of his powers before

-my horrible confession is that half the time when I hear “Sakon” I immediately think “Sakon deez nuts”. I hate this for myself :/

Ep 119:

- Akamaru setting off bombs was unintentionally kinda hilarious (he looked so smug about it too)

-NOOOO DON’T YOU DARE HURT AKAMARU

-welp Kiba, Akamaru, and Sakon are dead I guess (I know they aren’t but how the fuck do they survive that giant fall)

-I know it was supposed to be badass but Kimimaro dropping down behind Naruto and Shikamaru was kinda funny to me

-I like Kimimaro’s hair beads and makeup. He’s creepy tho

-I kinda hate her design but I do have to give Tayuya props for being more of a loud/brash character. This show could use more rowdy girls

-oh shit Naruto’s looking pretty feral

-I love how Tayuya summons a bunch of giant demonic-looking dudes and Shikamaru is just nonchalantly like “oh well that’s not good.”

Ep 120:

-since Orochimaru’s goons are from the SOUND village, I wish more of them had sound motifs and powers. The only people with sound-based fighting styles are Tayuya and that girl from the chunin exams

-okay Sakon’s powers are really fucking disturbing

-aw Akamaru jumped in front of Kiba to protect him despite being tiny, he’s such a good boy<3

-ah hell yeah dog piss jutsu

-BIG DOGGO

-wow okay so Kiba and Akamaru just RIPPED A DUDE IN HALF

-dog piss jutsu strikes again. Ngl if a dog peed directly in my eyes I’d be pretty upset about it too

-STOP HURTING AKAMARU HE’S JUST A LIL GUY

-okay so I said that the twins’ powers were disturbing before but OH MY GOD THEY FUCKING TAKE OVER PEOPLE’S BODIES WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKKKKKKKK (it reminds me of that one fungus that slowly takes over the bodies of insects, which I’ve always found super disturbing and scary)

-so yeah I know Kiba isn’t going to die, but if he did, that would be an absolutely horrifying way to go out

-Neji and Choji’s “deaths” both had flashback sequences, but they actually made sense and were (mostly) short enough to not distract from the moment. On the other hand, the flashback sequence of Kiba and Akamaru was sooooooooooooooooooo unnecessarily long and annoying. Like we really didn’t need to see the whole fucking Kiba vs Naruto fight again

-congrats to Kiba for somehow having the most hardcore moment in this whole arc so far. Like bro STABBED himself in the stomach and was like “time for you to die” while fucking GRINNING? Kind of iconic I fear

[firstyok]

I've been officially diagnosed with the same First Kanaphan Disease. RIP ME

GUESS WHAT?

The Disease is INCURABLE

First Kanaphan disease is REAL and I am SUFFERING from it

[wildsaltair]

one night, Maximus! one night and then a lifetime PLEASE I am begging you

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[luniviravosshipper]

POV: You’re sad and wanting comfort but the character you’d usually find comfort in was deemed unlikabled and totally undeserving of love by the narrative. So instead of feeling comfort thinking of that character now you just feel even worse. Because every time you try to immerse yourself back into the story they came from you have to constantly be reminded by it that they never got to receive any sort of affection and the story wanted the audience to know the reason was because it never felt they deserved any. Even when intentionally making them sympathetic at moments, at the end it’s clear that they were always planning on kicking the dog with them.

[dorkorder]

[raionmimi]

I love that the “There’s only one bed” trope for Symweaver would just be a normal day for them that they don’t even think twice about it. They’d sleep in each other’s beds in their dorm as students whenever they felt like it and still do the same on the Arcology. They’re at complete ease in each other’s presence that they never really thought to make it a big deal

The only differences are that Niran cuddles her a lot more because he likes how it’s a different vibe to intentionally snuggle somewhere away from home, and Satya studies his face a lot more because the environment isn’t the same and it’s comforting that he’s a universal constant to her

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Another batch or Mr. Puzzles quick sketches. I kept forgetting to draw his side pocket in the last couple ones. Random character featured in the little comic-ish Live Interview is some version of doodlesona. Can’t guarantee the dialogue will be believable/sound in character for Puzzles because honestly I’m still working on understanding his talking style and when he sarcastically jokes around or when he chooses to be serious and drop performance act. But in the off chance you wanna read it goes from left to right with reading