#dozens is a stretch perhaps. at least one dozen though!

[ahsokahearteyes]

bf got ipad with pen for school. eyeing her (ipad) like 👁️👁️👉👈 let me draw pls

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

——

“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

[hotheadedhero]

hey so how do you think 2003 or 2012 Leo would deal with a super sweet yet fiesty s/o? Like he is in their house and he apologises for breaking in, he just needed a safe haven to relax and s/o is like casually “If it was anyone else I’d beat them up, but you can break into my house any time you want. I actually trust you”?

AN: We going with 03! The wheel has spoken :P

Exception

Leonardo x Reader

What a week. As far as cleaning the streets of criminal activity goes, it’s been one of the hardest to date. At every turn, there are muggings, burglary, vandalism, all around chaos. You name it. Pure, unbridled chaos and every time the boys think they’re safe to rest up for five minutes, something else pops up and they’re back at it. By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense. New York isn’t without its delinquency but these rates are bizarre even by their standards. If this is all part of a bigger picture then they’ve got some big fish to fry.

As it would turn out, it was: a large-scale operation by a nameless syndicate, orchestrated in the hopes of tiring out the turtles beyond their threshold. If they’re too overworked to engage in their usual vigilante-ing, thieves and rogue punks alike could swarm the streets without having to worry about capture. It would have worked, too, were it not for one of the crooks and his blabbermouth. They can thank Casey and his questionable scare tactics for that one. Who’s to judge when it gets results?

Regardless, the boys couldn’t wait to settle down back home. Leonardo more so than anyone else. He’s ready to sit down with some candles and mentally scrub himself of this strenuous endeavour. The problem with that, however, is that his siblings have their own unique choices of downtime and they’re not exactly the quietest. Machinery hums on one side of the room, occasionally accompanied by shrieking metal. The other side of the lair vibrates with the heavy boom of hip-hop. Even the gentle click-clack of knitting needles just across from his is grating on the ears. He can typically drown out the sounds of his brothers but he’s worn to the point that even meditation won’t do the trick. There’s only one thing for it: he needs to get some air. Better yet, he needs to see you. It’s been far too long. 

Before dating, you both knew there would be nights and even stretches of such where you would go without seeing one another. Plans can change last minute if trouble is afoot. Dates cancelled for the sake of pedestrian safety. That being said, these last half a dozen days have been the longest length of time you’ve endured without each other. Maybe he could surprise you with his return. You’d think he learned from the times he and his brothers have unexpectedly crashed April’s that, that would be a bad idea. This is you, though. Arguably, you’re a bit more temperamental at times but he knows your soft spot for him could trump that. Probably.

Without thinking of the possible ramifications, he trudges along to your apartment. Albeit, it’s taking a lot longer to get than normal. He’s aware of how drained he is but walking through the sewers shouldn’t be this difficult. He’ll be thankful when he finally reaches you. Perhaps he’ll even be lucky enough to lay dead in your arms if he hasn’t pushed his luck by barging in unprompted. He quietly chuckles at himself, knowing you’d call him out for being such a sap.

Leo finally makes it to the manhole cover and pushes it off with some strain. The weight of it burns his muscles, nearing the point of shaking. Nonetheless, he drives through and lets out a breath when it clangs against the tarmac. Not his most graceful of exits but he supposes he can be excused at least this once. The extra ache is worth it for the sweet wave of serenity that washes over him when he sees your window. It’s a dim light. No doubt it’s from your living room lava lamp - the one with the orange wax that emits this gentle, pink-amber glow. It’s reminiscent of a sun-kissed sky that you can enjoy in the sanctuary of your own home. He likes that one. You always turn it on when the city enters night; when you want the sunset to last just that little while longer.

Without wanting to lose another second, he carefully positions the manhole cover back in place and advances up your fire escape. He peeks through your window on the off chance he might catch you. When you’re nowhere to be found, he slides the glass up and climbs through as quietly as his irritated legs will allow him. He’s about to call your name when something suddenly hits him on the head.

“Ow!” he yells out and rubs on the sore spot. The main lights flick on and there you are, standing in a readied pose with your bat raised high. “Couldn’t you do that in a batting cage or something?”

“Leo?” Your eyes gape wide as your stance falters.

In the dully lit room, all you saw was a figure. A figure sneaking into your home. It could have been anyone or anything. Obviously, your first port of call was to take action. Befriending and even dating one of the city’s self-proclaimed saviours means potential for a target on your head. There’s no telling who or what could come for you should they want to lure the turtles in with live bait. What you hadn’t anticipated was your loving turtle in blue to be the one tiptoeing into your apartment. You prop the bat on your shoulder and lean on the wall with the other.

“Ever heard of a phone?” you ask through a playful murmur.

One corner of his lips turns up into a coy smile and he laughs sheepishly, “Sorry, it’s been a long week.”

You have half a mind to remind him why breaking into someone’s home in a crime-infested New York is a recipe for disaster but he looks beat enough as is. Whilst you haven’t had much of a chance to talk this past week, you’re more than aware of what he’s had to deal with. If he’s here now, that must mean it’s been officially dealt with and taken care of. Good thing, too, because it seems like he could drop at any given moment. Oh. The baseball. Your boyfriend has been working himself to the bone and you’ve just whacked him in the face with a baseball. 

Bashfully, you click your tongue and glance away. There are definitely better ways to greet your significant other. It’s likely he’ll use this against you when he’s feeling particularly cheeky in the future but you won’t worry about that now. You push your body off the wall and point at him with your baton.

"If it was anyone else, they'd be a bloody pulp by now." You prop the bat on the wall and turn away to your kitchen with a shrug. "But, sure, break in any time you want. You're lucky I trust you."

Your words hold a sarcastic nature, almost satirical, but he knows you mean well. The meaning behind them holds a sweetness. An apology wouldn’t have gone amiss but he did technically break in. He’ll hold his hands up and admit fault. Permission has been given at least. Not that he thinks he needed it before but if it saves him another bruise, it’s a win.

You truly love your friends to pieces but, if you’re being honest, they have their individual set of havocs they’d thrust upon your home were it them in place of your boyfriend. Raph the least, ironically enough, but his sai have a nasty habit of poking holes in your couch any time he sits down. Donnie often has a gadget on him you'd be too fearful of setting your furniture on fire. As for Mikey? He’s a food fiend who can and will deplete you of all your snacks. Let's not forget Casey but he’s a walking health and safety hazard if ever you met one. His visiting rights have been revoked after what he did to your Christmas ornaments and it’s the last time you’ve ever and will host for the holidays. You don’t like to talk about it. So, yeah, if there's any one person who can freely invite themself to your home, it's the turtle you love most.

When you’ve finished packing a cloth with ice, you sit Leonardo down and hold it to his head. His face scrunches up before easing and he smiles at you softly. This may not have turned out to be the romantic surprise he thought it would be but he’s glad to be back in your presence - in your home surrounded by personifications of your selfdom. 

“That was a good shot, by the way,” he compliments, sporting that impertinent grin you’d expected.

Your teeth clasp down on your bottom lip, fighting an annoyed smile. “Don’t give me an excuse to use your shell as target practice,” you warn but the following kiss to his bruise reveals your empty threat. “But, thanks. Sorry for hitting you in the first place.”

His brows raise at you. “I’m sure you could make it up to me.”

You hum in response and shove the ice pack in his face. Your choice to tend to his wounds after he impolitely infringed on you is you making it up to him. Ungrateful pinhead. He’s lucky you love him. Very lucky indeed.

[mediumgayitalian]

“You need to leave.”

The glare the physician levels at him is slower than usual. He takes a moment to process the stiff words Nico directs at him, blinking several times — his normally clear blue eyes look almost cloudy — before huffing and rolling his eyes.

“This is not your House, Your Highness. And further it is not your infirmary. The only one with authority to order someone out would be me.”

Now Nico is the one glaring. That is a lie, and a bold one. He could name at least a dozen people who could order Will out of the infirmary, and he says as much, thankful he wore his heeled boots today so he has an extra inch of height on Will today with which he can stare down his nose disdainfully.

“Feel free to call them, then, Your Highness,” says Will irritably, “but in the meantime, get out.”

The doctor is swaying on his feet. There are bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his hands shake. His normally full, glossy hair is limp and lifeless. He’s as grey as the stone floors. It takes him four full seconds — Nico counts — to react to the retching of one of the dozens of bedridden, green-faced patients, and another four seconds to will himself to move towards them. He doesn’t even bother looking back at Nico before he turns, let alone bowing or even ordering him out one last time. On his fourth step, he stumbles, barely managing to catch himself before sprawling on the ground. His feet drag with every step.

Nico turns around and walks out.

———

“My Lord — a word?”

Immediately after asking, Nico begins to spiral. He is not sure, still, what his place is in House Apollo. He has asked for asylum — Lord Apollo has granted it. Graciously, even, perhaps also fielding tensions from his father. He has provided for Nico suites for high ranks, preserving his title despite his asylum, and seems, on the whole, to be a rather laidback man.

But Nico has read his history books, and has studied politics his whole life. He knows the danger that can rest behind the King’s eyes, know to what extent he is capable. Knows how his pride drives him and offense makes him deadly.

To Nico’s great relief and in credit to the gods, the King only smiles brightly.

“My Prince!” he greets, clapping Nico’s shoulder enthusiastically (so much so that Nico would be sent sprawling, if he had not begun to accustom himself to the…enthusiasm, of House Apollo as a whole). “Please, come sit with me, no need for excessive formality.”

Nico inclines his head, taking the chair to Apollo’s left — he would never dare the right, aware enough to be wary of the implications. As soon as he sits, though, the carefully-practiced script he planned vanishes from his mind, and the minutes stretch, silent and uncomfortable.

“Your physician overworks himself.”

He blurts it just as Apollo opens his mouth, and then immediately wants to crawl under the table. He is thankful, not for the first time, for the length of his hair, knowing it hides his flaming ears.

What a foolish thing to say! Apollo must think he has no decorum.

Luckily, Apollo only laughs; a great, loud sound, one Nico can only describe as merry.

“Who, William? You needn’t worry yourself, dear boy. He’s been married to his work since he was a child, long before he was old enough to stitch a suture. I’ve not seen him outside of the East wing in months, and still it will be a few more before I catch even a glimpse. He is more reclusive than he realizes.” Apollo frowns. “Why have you brought him up, son of Hades? Has he offended you?”

Yes. He is always offending me. I believe ‘offensive’ may very well be the most natural setting for him — how, again, is he a doctor?

Nico swallows the thoughts down, and instead assures, “No, no, of course not.” His hands twitch. It takes another long silence for him to admit, “I only mean that I saw him this morning, and he appeared — well, frankly, he looks ill, My Lord. Sickly.”

Apollo hums, glancing down at a stack of letters in front of him. He must have been working before Nico interrupted him.

“I confess that I haven’t spoken with the doctor in some time, but I trust his judgement, my boy. He knows his craft. If he is unwell, he will handle himself. It is sickness’ season, after all. He’s likely only tired.”

Nico bites back a response. Clearly, the King does not understand the gravity of the situation. Does he not realize how dire things may be for him if his head physician falls deeply, truly ill? Nico is loathe to admit it, but Will is among the most talented men Nico has ever met. Whatever skill Nico knows in his swordfighting, Will knows tenfold in his sciences. The kind of healing he provided for Nico should not be possible. He’s beginning to understand that Will does not care what is and isn’t possible.

Including, he thinks, what is within his own limits.

“Very well, My Lord,” he says, bowing his head. “Thank you for your time.”

Apollo waves him off good-naturedly, returning to his letters. Nico leaves with a deeper frown on his face than when he came in.

———

The next time he braves the infirmary, it’s significantly less crowded.

It’s been a couple days. (Not that he’d intended. He’d walked by the infirmary doors no less than twenty-two times after speaking with King Apollo, at a complete loss for what to say, genuinely considering writing to his friend at House Athena to get her strategic input. In the end he’d refrained.)

By now, most of the beds are once again empty. A few ill people rest, either sleeping or entertaining themselves quietly. The general air of panic and chaos seems to have finally ceased as the sick season approaches its end.

Will, tending to an older patient — one of the senior maids, if Nico is not mistaken, who frowns at him in worry — sways on his feet.

“William,” he calls, all trepidation immediately fleeing his mind. Alarm bells ring in his head. When Will spares him a glance, he looks ghastly.

“Doctor William,” he corrects belatedly. There’s none of the usual annoyance in his voice, absolutely no bite. He doesn’t even roll his eyes.

Nico’s throat goes dry.

“Will,” murmurs the patient, placing a wrinkled hand on his arm. “Darling, you look unwell. Perhaps you should rest.”

Will hesitates, and for a moment Nico’s heart swells with hope. He won’t listen to Nico, but this woman acts familiar with him. Maybe she can convince him to sit, to breathe, to sleep.

(In the back of his mind, a voice screams at Nico to turn around and walk away. What is he doing? Will is the closest thing Nico has ever had to an enemy. He is stubborn, he thinks he knows everything, he kind of does know everything, he has horrible manners, he smiles at everyone, all the time, except Nico, whom he huffs at and rolls his eyes and yet touches very gently, even when Nico wrenches himself away. He is confusing and odd and yes, reclusive, even moreso than Nico. He constantly addresses Nico with the kind of sarcasm and disregard for status that would get him killed in stricter Houses — stricter houses like the one from which Nico hails. He is the pinnacle of impertinence.)

(And, yet.)

“Will.” It is genuinely worrying how slowly the physician responds. Nico’s heart begins to pound, and when Will lurches suddenly forward Nico darts out to steady him. The maid watches them with wide eyes. “Will, when was the last time you rested?”

Will doesn’t respond. His grip on Nico’s arm is worryingly loose, and for someone his height, he rests lightly against Nico’s frame. His eyes are glassy and far away.

“Will? William, answer me.”

“‘M — fine,” Will slurs, and then his eyes roll back into his head, and he slumps into Nico’s arms.

———

Thankfully, some of the colour comes back to Will’s face as he sleeps.

Nico had ended up putting him down on one of the infirmary cots. He hadn’t know what else to do — he has no idea where Will resides, whether it’s inside the palace or out, or whether King Apollo was being serious and he really does live somewhere in the infirmary. He had no idea whom even he could ask. As it was, he was barely able to lay Will down in a cot with the maid’s help, weakened with illness as she was — Will was limp as a ragdoll. For a moment, even, Nico was terrified he was dead. He certainly looked it.

In the thirty some hours (not that Nico has been counting), some colour has returned to his cheeks. His breathing is less laborious, quick, tiny puffing snores making his curly hair flick up and down with every breath. Sometimes he mutters in his sleep, to mumbled and quiet for Nico to make out.

He has stayed, for the most part, in a rickety wooden chair by Will’s side. He’s not sure why. His backside aches. There are nurses on duty, far more qualified and competent than he, who can monitor him easily. One nurse, even, with strangely coloured hair, walks into the infirmary five hours after Will passes out and immediately notices him on the cot, sighing loudly.

(“You need to take better care of yourself,” she’d whispered, running her fingers through his hair. Nico squashed down the sudden onslaught of bitterness that drowned his heart for no reason, nodding as she looked up and flashed him a small smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

There was no sarcasm in her use of the title. It startled him, which was disturbing. When had he come to expect it? And worse still, when did he come to accept it, Will’s mouthiness?)

When Will finally wakes, it is slowly. It matches the rise of the sun, Nico notices, in the languid way he stretches his limbs, the lethargic blinking of his long eyelashes. His brow furrowed when those blue eyes finally make contact, tilting his head as if he’s not sure he’s truly awake.

“…Your Highness?”

The sudden surge of rage is as frightening as it is comforting. He doesn’t know where it comes from. It’s familiar.

“You,” he seethes, “have endless nerve.”

He’d meant it as an insult, evidenced by his scathing tone. But Will preens.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“That was not a compliment! You collapsed in my arms, William! You were — greyer than stone! You slept for thirty hours!”

“Oh, good.”

Nico falters. (Which is unfortunate, because he had a good lecture rolling, something his tutors would have been proud of.)

“Good?”

“It was forty-two, last time.” He has the gall to look offended, huffing in Nico’s direction. “I wish you would leave well enough alone, Your Highness. I’m certain I would have persevered through the end of the season’s peak.”

“Through the end of the — you were dying!”

To his great distress, Nico finds himself choked up at the idea. He allows himself, fleetingly and privately, to acknowledge the fact that he does not want Will to die. In fact, he never wants to see Will close to that unwell ever again. He much prefers it when the doctor is rolling his eyes at him, turning away before Nico can see his smile, or pacing the infirmary floors as he rants about sanitary practices and organisms too small to see. He prefers Will when he is intense, in anger or in passion or in that bright, beaming smile of his, not…whatever he was. Dull. Worn down.

And then he takes those thoughts and stuffs them far into the recesses of his mind.

“I was not dying,” Will insists, but he has the grace to appear at least a little chagrined. “Good gods, Your Highness, I’ve been studying medicine since I could read. I know my limits.”

“Do you.” Nico’s voice is bitter, and he glares at Will until he looks away. “Because I could have sworn that you lost consciousness mid-sentence. I barely caught you.”

Will coughs. The tips of his ears turn red. Nico ignores it.

“William,” he says instead.

“Doctor William.”

Despite his anger, Nico’s lips twitch up into a smile. There he is.

He refuses to correct himself, if only to deepen the lovely (oh, no) scowl on Will’s face. “William, I don’t believe you’re to be trusted alone in your infirmary. I shall be staying to supervise you.”

Several emotions flit across Will’s face at once.

First is annoyance. Clear, plain, and simple, it’s almost an old friend to Nico at this point. Will was annoyed with him the first day they met. He was annoyed the second time, seething, really, dragging Nico back to the sterile surgical suite to fix his torn stitches. He was annoyed when Nico first shouted at him, bewilderment at this random physician treating him like he was another resident of the palace, not the only son of Hades. He was annoyed, notably, the one time Nico came to the infirmary after spraining his wrist in sword fighting and, in Will’s words, “breathed too loudly.” The annoyance he expected.

The next is fear. This, he takes much less pleasure in. There’s something disturbing about the look, not just because Will seems, to him, fearless, but because it seems so out of place. What about this situation does Will have to fear?

The third emotion is puzzling, and Nico can’t quite determine what exactly it is. His first thought is trepidation, but that’s not exactly true. It’s gone quick enough that he doesn’t care to linger.

The final emotion — and this one he has no trouble identifying — is pure, incandescent rage.

“You will do no such thing,” Will says, voice clipped. “I believe I have already informed you about the mechanics of this infirmary, Your Highness. I will not be intimidated.”

Nico rests his foot on his knee, leaning back into the chair. He adopts his favourite expression he often uses to enrage his father — eyebrow raised, smirk quirking the corner of his mouth, smugness practically dripping from him.

“I’m surprised you even remember that, as dead as you were.”

“I remember just fine,” says Will coolly, “and I especially remember removing you from the premises, so frankly I am unsure why you’re here again, Your Highness. Not unlike a wart one has already had removed.”

Nico refuses to laugh.

“I’m here because you collapsed into my arms. Like a damsel.”

Finally — third time is the charm — Will’s face erupts in a fiery blush. His freckles practically glow, and satisfaction ripples through Nico from head to toe. He looks murderous. Nico wishes to freeze him in time long enough to commission a portrait, perhaps to hang right over the physician’s desk. To remind him of his idiocy.

“I am no damsel —”

“Regardless,” Nico interrupts, standing. He reaches out when Will attempts to stand after him, pressing his palm flat to his chest and pushing him back against the cot. A strange sound escapes Will’s throat, and he doesn’t attempt to move again. “I will be taking my leave. I’ll be back before dinner to make sure you’ve not left your bed until you’re cleared by your nurse.” He glances over at the nurse who’d walked in earlier, finding her already watching with a wide smirk. “And then I’ll be back again tomorrow, to supervise.”

“I hope you choke on your dinner,” Will spits. He looks positively venomous, moreso when Nico laughs at him. “I mean that, Your Highness.”

Nico leaves without a response. When he returns as promised, hours later, Will attempts to lob roasted zucchini into his hair. In House Hades, he would be arrested for his behaviour. In fact, should King Apollo witness the total disdain in which Will regards Nico’s authority, he might still be arrested. It is appalling. No one has ever gotten away with so much insubordination in Nico’s life.

And yet, strangely, he’s not sure that he minds.

———

more in this au

[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: 16 months “Body dysmorphia”

“The mimic octopus, Thaumoctopus mimicus, the thing that has, in some way, become a part of me. At least it’s the thing mixed into my slime medication. It’s been about a week since I turned into a cocoon. Which, even the doc still doesn’t know why exactly that part happened. And while I'm glad it's over, I’m worried there's something else in this treatment that no one knows about. Last time I checked, cocoons have nothing to do with slimes or octopi… octopus? Oh this is going to bug me all day.”

“It's funny I don't consider that cocoon to be the strangest part. It’s that I’m oddly calm about the whole thing. It’s not like the calm before I started taking normal hormone replacements, that was like a film over me that left me unable to express emotions. Now, I just feel calm. Complete. Myself. I suppose I can no longer consider myself a slime, though I am still similar. I've been told that thanks to me, Mimic HRT is now being perfected and stocked for others as a type of shapeshifter medication. I really didn't expect to become a patient zero for something like this. I can’t complain too much, this body really is everything I could have wanted. I should probably explain. It’d be a good idea to go over all the new parts of me.”

“Alright, from the top… actually I don’t know if that works, I’m not exactly humanoid, not always at least. Oh, I guess we can start with that actually. Shapeshifting has become nearly second nature. The brain isn’t human anymore, so it’s not really that surprising that it’s become so easy to take different shapes. Everytime I enter a new room, the first thing I think to do is copy the appearance of the wall or some furniture, it’s just this predator ambusher mentality that feels so correct to morph into something else. Mimicking people or objects in motion is incredibly tiring, but inanimate objects are so much easier. It’s probably because Mimics don’t spend much time moving so it exerts way more energy. Like, you know how most video games you see mimics as treasure chests right? Well I’m sure there’s an answer about game design, but no, seriously, it’s because you get to just be a simple square shaped object without worrying about how many fingers or teeth you’re supposed to have or worry about how to move convincingly. I already know I’m convincing, I am a box! Look, sometimes you just gotta turn into a ball and do nothing for half the day and it just feels nice. It’s those times where I’m too exhausted to do anything so I spend the entire time pretending to be a couch. There are also times where I can’t help but move. When I know I’m safe in my bed, for example, I let all my extra limbs move on their own to find crevices between the mattress and pillows, it’s like I’m trying to find a hole to slide into for safety. Sometimes I also shift color and texture on my own without realizing, which has led to some awkward moments where I’ve jumpscared Abi about… pretty much every time she picks me up for a date."

“I did say mimicking living things was difficult but that doesn’t mean I'm constantly just a pile of goo and eyes on the floor. I have a humanoid form that I can enter with ease. It's a bit more cloudy than the normal sky blue of my previous form though. My hair has changed a lot too. It's still the same material and texture, but it's become flattened to something more ribbon-like. It's much longer too, reaching out to my back. I can move it now though. I can stretch them, widen, flatten, turn them into tubes, they can curl and soap up, and with just a little water, I basically look like I did before, just, with a bunch more, teeth and eyes.… Ok so yes, I might be missing a face where the typical one is and I just shift colors and textures to pretend I still have one. And maybe a few of these limbs are just weirdly shaped mouths, with teeth that snap at anything that gets too close. And perhaps I have dozens of eyeballs all over my body- Ok, ok, this is a lot actually, let’s go over this one at a time. Teeth first I guess. I've been finding them in various shapes and lengths all across the body, and they move around too, I think in total I've found seven. There might be an eighth, it's hard to really count, especially when they move and bite automatically. At least they know well enough not to try and eat anyone I like. Hear that Dr. Erian? Better be careful! Ha! Anyway, eyes have been easier to deal with. There's dozens that swim around my hair and body, they usually stay closed until a vibration hits one and then they all suddenly open up. 360 degree vision isn't something that's easy to describe. It feels… spherical? That's the best explanation I have. At least they blend in with the body so I don't have to worry about people constantly being terrified of me. As long as I can hide the teeth under clothing, and keep most of my eyes closed, I look like a normal slime. Hm, normal. Kinda lost normal from my vocabulary somewhere along the way. Normal doesn’t involve a month long metamorphosis”

“About the cocoon… I… no, we don't need to talk about it. We can talk about something else…”

“Oh! The brain, it's… unique, it's doing fine though. No more headaches for the most part. Abigail and I have been studying this thing a lot. It's kinda hard to call it a brain. It siphons out nutrients melted down in the goo and sends it throughout this body with what I call its root system. They're kinda like nerves, but I'm naming them roots, because it just sounds better and also cause it looks like there’s a giant potato growing in my head. Besides, I don’t think they help move the body like nerves, the roots pull and push through the body, rearranging themselves to where I need some nutrition or where there’s an injury. I know other slimes have a core that they can move around and even remove for a bit. Never heard of one moving on its own, and I'm pretty sure if this was removed, I'd die on the spot. It's so weird to think this thing is a brain and a stomach. It's definitely a brain. If the core is hanging out near my leg, that's where I feel the headaches. Oh right, it moves more than just the roots around. I don't think I can control it? Control it… ha, yeah like a human can control their own brain, why should I be so different…”

“Uh… so, the thing is… I uh, I have something to say, about… how I don't have anything to say right now. But I will later, when it's important! Because it isn't important right now. Let's talk about something actually important, like, like… Actually yeah. I do need to talk about something. Because I don’t know how to bring it up to Abi, or you Erian when we last met.”

“I'm, not acting right. I mean, I am acting right, for a mimic. But I don't know, I thought I'd be acting like a cute slime that was curious and ditzy and cute and someone who… people still liked. Abi hasn't said it, but I know she doesn't like the new me. It's understandable, I'm a lot less cute and a lot more, eldritch. That’s not fair to her, we still love each other, it’s just this change is, a bit much. I already mentioned hiding with camouflage and biting things automatically. But there's the fact I'm still missing my memories, and I think at this point it's clear I'm never getting them back. Not to mention making human memories isn't possible anymore. Everytime I think back on things. I don't look at memories like how I used to. I used to look back on them with emotions and feelings. But now, I can only view memories as things that tell me if something is dangerous or food. When it's neither, when it's family or friends, I feel nothing. My brain is animalistic, it's a solitary predator for a social life. Is it even possible for me to adapt to that? Maybe… maybe I should stop taking the medication. Stop here when I still can. Is that wrong of me? Am I less of an otherkin for wanting to cling to the remainder of this humanity? I don't know. I don’t know anything!”

“…I do know something. I know how I cocooned myself- Shit! I didn't mean- it’s ok, I'll just start a new record- I… no I need to talk about what happened at some point. It’s hard but I need to get it out of my head somehow. I just need some time before I can talk about it.”

“I need to talk about something happy. It's probably not coming across well but I am happy. I am truly, genuinely happy. Being a mimic hasn't stopped my soapy journey. I'm still a soap slime at heart and my slipperiness has only gotten more hilariously troublesome. Now that every part of this body is made of materials crafted to slip around, it's been fun to learn new ways to not bang my head on every wall. I'm actually being serious, it's kind of fun to slide everywhere, I feel like a kid again. Not to mention that sometimes Abi will just stick random aromatics in my hair and the whole room starts to smell like orange peel and pine. I know slimes are a more fantastical species but sometimes I do wonder how a soap slime would evolve in the wild. What would I do? Is the scent thing to lure in prey? To socialize with others of their kind? Maybe if I did fully become a slime, I'd get a nature documentary made about me. Being a slime is cool but mimics aren't bad either, there are some upsides to it. With all this control of my body, I finally feel like myself, when I need a different body type for my human form I don't need to think about it, it just happens, if I feel like being purple that day it just happens, different hair, different voice, different anything. I finally don't have to be forced into one thing. It feels like… it just feels, I feel everything better, from how sweet Abi's voice is, to the wind blowing through Hyper city, to the vibrations of the soft sounds of the night life. I am happy. I am really truly honestly happy.”

“ok, I'm ready to talk about it. About the cocoon. I can do this. I. Can. Do. This. It was just a day before it happened, that's when the pain started. I don't mean the pain of my brain being rewritten, or the pain of my skin dissolving. Those were bad, but what I experienced. It was indescribable. This started in the middle of the night. I couldn't sleep for the past two days from an aching body except for the brief moments of unconsciousness. Then all of a sudden, I felt a searing pain in my chest. I was delirious from exhaustion and the sudden jolt of fear wasn’t helping. I somehow got the idea that something foreign was growing inside my slime body, like a mold, and just like a mold, it spread. I could feel the misery move throughout my body into my limbs and neck. I think what I was feeling was the exposed nerves of my new teeth forming surrounded by solidified lye, but no, what I felt had no explanation. Nothing could ever fully rationalize what I felt that night. The torrent of agony eventually crawled into my head, I thought it was a nightmare. I did, things, in my panic, that I don't want to remember for this recording, and I don’t want anyone to learn about. Turns out mimics can get scars, that’s all I’m going to say. It felt like I was about to recede into nothingness, or disintegrate completely, either one would have been preferred over what actually happened. It just continued. It felt like different layers of pain where eventually I'd start to dissociate only for some new sudden jolt of pain to bring me back. Like every single one of my cells was popping one after the other. I couldn't even scream, I forgot I had no lungs and didn't remember how slimes even talked, I just laid there, unable to move, hoping somehow a doctor or witch would arrive to stop the pain. Eventually thinking became too hard. Every single micrometer of my insides and outsides were screaming, and I couldn't pass out. You could simply say it hurt and call it a day, and you would be wrong. Getting a scrap when you fall on the sidewalk hurts. This was hell. That's when it happened. I still don’t understand it. I mean it was probably the pain and exhaustion causing hallucinations and… I heard a voice. In my head I mean. It was so clear despite everything and I was struggling so hard to listen, but the voice was gentle. It taught me what to do to ease the pain. I followed its words. The next thing I remember was waking up next to Abi and my mother rushing in with a doctor. I think you were informed about the rest. Looking forward to the call I get from you about this one. End recording.”

* * *

“Good morning Ms.Mulberry, pleasant to see you in higher spirits than our last meeting.”

“Hello Theo. Let's make this meeting quick, Abi and I are going out in half an hour.”

“Blunt as ever. Fine then, I wish we could have had this talk sooner, but I believe we need to discuss the crossroads you've entered. I'm sure you've already heard about it and if you wish to skip right over I understa-”

“Tell me. Please.”

“Beg pardon? Well… ahem. There's a point in every transition that we refer to as a crossroads. What can best be described as a choice, we can put you on a much lighter dosage of your medication until your body is producing the correct chemicals to remain stable on its own. This would be the end of your transition. On the other hand, with your written consent, we would continue with your treatment's normal dosage until you fully become a mimic. This would most likely entail complete identity loss, and losing any part of you that could be called human. Depending on your sentience and level of aggression, you would be given over to the proper authorities to make sure the rest of your life is handled properly as per the agreement on the paperwork you signed.”

“...I.”

“You’ll have to make this choice soon, from your latest recording you may have already gone past your crossroad, but you still can turn back from here. I promise. If you wish, there are other things we can discuss. You mentioned a voice that appeared inside your head. Have you heard it since?”

“No, I haven’t. Sorry I’m not feeling great, could I go soon?”

“You’ve undergone a great deal of stress Ms.Mulberry. You look like you’ve barely slept in days, despite your claims to the contrary, you don’t appear to be very happy. You should probably seek a listening ear. I can get you in contact with a therapist who specializes in therian traumas.”

“Dr. Erian?”

“Yes Ms.Mulberry?”

“Am I a coward for wanting to turn back? Am I not actually otherkin? Am I just a leech for people who need this treatment more than me? I should want to continue right? Why do I suddenly care about the little of me that’s human? I don’t even remember when I was human! Why should I care? Why do I care? What am I?”

“You're brave Mayday. You're very brave.”

“I’d like to move to a lighter dosage.”

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

Mention list: @a-shramp, @calliecwrites, @be702, @respectfulevil, @hyacinthdoll1315

Start - Prev - Next

@aster-is-confused, @bloodandbrandywyne, @glitchgloop

[pavus]

PROMPT : Vhenadahl. DRAGON AGE 2 ERA. Words: 2535. Characters: Anders & Merrill. Note: This is a very Anders-focused piece. A little navel gaze-y, but I'd just finished DA2 when I wrote this and I was chock full of feelings.

For his first few years in Kirkwall, whenever Anders felt himself at his most panicked and desperately overwhelmed, there was nowhere for him to go. There was no escape from the crushing weight of his work in Darktown or the deep shadow of the Gallows, which coaxed the suffocating fear he felt in his chest into his starving lungs instead. 

In those moments, Justice did not lift an ephemeral hand to help him. 

Instead, when he reached for the comfort of his only remaining friend, Anders felt a cresting wave of judgment that left his breathing even thinner, ears burning with embarrassment, heart aching in response when even pleas failed him. The word weakness rose in the back of his mind every time he took a turn for the worse. Whenever he was still capable of thought, at least. 

Sometimes, the hysteria darkened to black, and only then did Justice truly intervene and only ever to keep him from hurting himself – from damaging his vessel.

But those years were a half-forgotten thing.

Hawke changed everything by leading him out of the haze of desperation that surrounded his clinic, not only reminding him of the sun’s warmth, but introducing him to others who worked – willingly – beside him.

Of their half-dozen, he had not expected the blood mage, Merrill, to be the one who extended her hand most willingly. It was a skinny thing, her hand, with long fingers and painted nails and mail gloves with a fraying, knitted orange fabric beneath. Her skin was covered with jagged little scars that ranged from the fresh to the faded, and despite his perhaps occasionally hypocritical stance on her magic, he couldn’t ignore the rush of relief that filled him upon seeing them.

All it took was one visit into Darktown along with Hawke for her to scuttle over to his side, flushed cheeks full to bursting with her offer.

“You ought to visit the Alienage sometime,” she said with a decisive nod, as if she’d accepted the request on his behalf in an instant. “There are loads of people who could use your magic there.” She must have noticed the way he paled at the admission, as she quickly added: “But it isn’t just that! There’s a tree and a bit of the sun and the food isn’t half-bad, even if there aren’t many vegetables.”

Anders could not help but laugh at the time – a husky chuckle that tugged the perpetually downturned corners of his mouth into something reminiscent of a smile.

‘You deserve better’ wasn’t something he could swallow.

‘You need better’ was.

There was only so much drowning he could take before the satisfaction of healing the destitute would only pull him farther under. His cup had been emptied of water and replaced with bile, with blood. And so, he took Merrill up on her offer sooner than he ever anticipated, taking the walk up from Darktown to Lowtown one afternoon after leaving the clinic in a pair of somewhat capable hands.

He remembered with startling clarity the freedom of leaving Kinloch Hold for the first time – the icy waters, the sky that stretched out every direction and its sumptuous blue, the thrill of escape and the promise of adventure and the brilliant explosion of promise in his belly. A similar feeling took hold of him again, though it was much more subdued… and more than a little guilty. Leaving the men and women of Darktown due to the stress they laid upon his chest felt cruel.

Anders had taken up the mantle of caretaker willingly, thrusting himself into an unfamiliar role to bury the man he’d been. The runaway mage was not the sort of man to heal the poor for free, but he had not been the sort of man to put his heart into mage liberation, either.

He slowed to a stop on the side of the path that snaked between the lath and plaster buildings that lined Lowtown’s cramped streets. Pressing his hand flat against his chest, Anders felt his heart hammering against the cage of his ribs, thrumming up against his sternum with concerning speed. He exhaled, waited, then inhaled, repeating the process a dozen times before he felt the guilt leave him like smoke. The scent of it clung to his threadbare robes, to his hair, but when he took another breath, the tension in his breast had faded.

How long would he have to survive this? If he didn’t, if he gave in to the pressures that threatened to crush him, how long would Justice carry his corpse?

His thoughts lingered upon Kristoff as he turned the corner and picked his way slowly down the crumbling stairwell that proved to be the only entrance into the Kirkwall Alienage. Only once he looked up and opened his eyes did the landscape in his mind change.

Slowly, piece by piece and bit by bit, his mind cleared itself of his worries, replacing each errant thought with a new sight, a new sound, a new smell. 

While the buildings were made from the same materials as the rest of Lowtown, the homes that surrounded the square were stacked on top of each other like a treacherous tower of books, each of them with their own painfully obvious flaws. One home’s face was missing its windows, leaving its patched curtains to be flicked limply outside of the empty square by the faint breeze that teased the otherwise stagnant air between the buildings. Another home was covered with a mural he did not quite understand – an elf woman, a thrice-painted seed, a river of tears from under closed eyes. The paint had been cracked and worn by the hands of time. Right beside that building stood one that did not even have a door. Instead, a blanket hung from the rectangular frame beneath lashes of scorched black that spoke of a fire.

And in the very center of the square stood a tree – the vhenadahl, Anders recalled – that was altogether larger than any he’d ever seen. The firs that stood as sentinels around Lake Calenhad were narrow nothings in comparison, just silvery wisps whose smell burned his nostrils. Even the array of larch and pine trees that populated the Coastlands of Ferelden did not grow as tall as the one rooted before him. They gave off ample shadow for afternoon napping, but they only stretched so far into the sky.

Just before noonday, the vhenadahl laid a thick shadow across the ground of the Alienage, making the few beeswax stumps that were scattered around its roots the only light around the tree’s impressively broad trunk. The candles’ flames flickered just high enough for Anders to see the rich red paint that flaked from its bark and the surprised expressions on the elves’ faces when they lifted their heads in his direction.

There was so much he could have said. Explanation after explanation rose to his lips only to fall still and force him to stumble over his own tongue.

The elves closest to him stepped back with wary stares and white-knuckled grips on their children and their possessions alike. As a mage, he understood something of the panic that resided inside of them. One of them reached out with a sudden, shaking hand, intent on stopping him in his tracks.

Anders’s ears burned in a rush of awkwardness, and a single, pleading word finally broke free.

“M… Merrill?”

One of the elven men – older and weathered, likely by a lifetime in Kirkwall – stepped forward. He was not the one who lifted their hand in defense, but when he spoke, his tone was sharpened with accusation. “What do you want with Merrill?”

“What do I want with her?” Anders murmured in disbelief. The thought that he could ever be seen as just some human man creeping into the Alienage to snatch up one of their maidens bewildered him. But what was he, if not human? What was he, if not exactly what they feared? He was so tired of being what people feared. “She… invited me.”

The elves cast doubtful looks to one another, passing along the ripple of distrust from one pair of hands to the next, while Anders stood there, locked between indignation and hopelessness. In the quiet, the old man coughed violently into a handkerchief, and those around him shifted on their feet, unsure of how to progress.

“Go, child,” a woman whispered to the little boy clinging to her legs, nudging him in the direction of the door that he knew led into Merrill’s home. The child set off in a flurry of limbs, as if he was still growing accustomed to using them for speed. Children were only ever children, after all, whether they resided in High- or Low- or Darktown, whether they were human or elven or dwarven, whether they were happy or they were afraid. “Fetch her! See if she knows this human.”

They’d been traveling together for years, but Hawke did her best to keep them out of the Alienage unless Merrill needed them for a job. It’s better to keep our distance, she’d explained, at the very beginning of their time together, when Merrill wondered aloud why they never visited. I don’t want to bring trouble onto your doorstep.

Varric teased, claiming that she didn’t have a doorstep to bring trouble to, and Merrill laughed despite the lonely resignation in her eyes.

Sprouting from around the door leading into Merrill’s home were scribbles of daisies, drawn into the old wood with white and yellow and red chalk. They climbed their way up towards the home’s single, tiny window. There,  a planter full to bursting with elfroot hung, its tender leaves dripping down along with the water that had been recently poured into its pot. Similar planters – each of them different shapes and colors and containing different plants, herbs, vegetables – hung from other windows, stood in what few empty corners that remained to the alienage. 

The square was not all scars. There was color still. There was a future. There was hope, hidden amongst the wretchedness, and Anders saw more and more of it as he took in more of his surroundings.

From the branches of the vhenadahl hung ribbons of the same red that decorated the massive tree’s trunk. Many were washed out and faded by the march of time, threadbare and tattered at the ends, but not all.  There were just as many, if not more, that were the rich crimson of blood, shifting faintly with each brush of the wind. They were beautiful.

For a moment, Anders wondered what scant few beauties he’d missed out on in Darktown.

“Anders!” 

His eyes snapped in the direction of Merrill’s home just in time to see her hauled in his direction by the eager, blessedly task-driven child. She was brimming with smiles, and it did not take long for her to delicately tug her wrist away from the boy in order to hurry in the direction of the crowd. Dispersing them would – hopefully – be her first step.

“Ir abelas,” she said over and over as she approached, reaching for the arm of the old man only to draw her hand away before she made contact. “I should have warned you all that he might be coming, but truthfully, I didn’t expect him to!”

The mother drew her boy back towards her. Her four-fingered hand slid into his pale brown hair, and while the proximity visibly softened her, she did not take her eyes off of Anders for a moment. “Who is he?”

A mage, Anders thought. A runaway. A warden. A deserter. A possessed apostate.

“He is a healer!” Merrill offered as she went to his side, her hand finally finding purchase around his wrist. There was no hesitation in her touch, even after all he’d said to her in the past. He felt the tension in his chest unravel bit by bit. “His clinic is in Darktown, though… Quite a ways away, and it is very… dark, so I said he should visit us to clear his head a bit.”

Anders opened his mouth to speak, to apologize for intruding upon their space and causing them no small amount of unrest, but then, he felt her hand curl around his wrist, squeezing almost painfully tight.

“I hoped he might be able to look after some of you, as well.”

The elves bristled even before he did.

“The last time an illness spread through the Alienage, the Chantry didn’t even bother sending any of their healers to help!” The dissenting voice belonged to someone who’d been silent thus far – a young woman, broader and taller than the others, with the rounded ears of a half-elf. She stepped in front of the old man in what could only be defense. “They let that fever burn through us. Why would your healer even bother?” 

Anders’s stomach turned. The knots in his chest twisted, winding together even more tightly than before. Had this been her reason for inviting him all along? Not out of concern for him, but in an attempt to ingratiate herself with the elves who could barely stand her?

He moved to pull away, but found that he could not. Between her grip on him and the pleading look in her wide eyes, Anders was rooted in place. 

“Anders has a clinic in Darktown,” Merrill repeated herself, carefully picking over the words as if they hadn’t been clear enough the first time. Her tone fell upon displeased ears, but they still listened. They still considered the human standing in their midst – a healer, one who worked without thought towards payment. “We may not always agree, but I know he’s kind. He has to be in order to do what he does!”

Weariness threatened to smother him.

The desire to assist the less-than-fortunate was entrenched inside of him now, but deeper still, there remained a seed of his old selfishness that railed against Merrill volunteering his services without his knowledge or consent. He longed for rest. He longed for quiet and for peace and for a nap beneath a tall tree, as he’d indulged in so often when traveling with the Warden-Commander.

He missed those parts of his old life – just another version of himself that he’d shed like unwanted robes. He missed Warden-Commander Aeducan and the way Oghren made her laugh. He missed Nathaniel and all his bickering with Velanna. He missed Sigrun’s dark sense of humor and the way she snorted when she laughed. 

He missed…

Justice thrummed at the back of his skull, humming like a too-close memory. The ache that radiated through his head in response pulled him away from any pleasantness that reached for him and replaced it with a much more solid, much more painful reality.

“I will help you,” Anders said. Exhaustion marched through his words, but he spoke them loudly enough to reach each of the elves gathered in front of him. “Beginning with the old man.”

The elderly elf crumpled his bloodied handkerchief in his hand, gray brow furrowing.

“Step forward.”

Before long, he would find the rest offered to him. But, as always, he would work for it.

[secretwhumplair]

Fighting spirit

1,104 words | Izara and the serpent king (sequel to Izara's appraisal)

Content | Slavery, dehumanization, restraints, manhandling, implied: past beatings, nudity, knife whump, mention of: noncon, punishment

Notes | Yay double hit today! A little look into Izara as he properly arrives at his new master's.

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator @neverthelass

Izara was scared out of his mind as the serpent king’s guard led him through the palace, firmly gripping his arm; it wasn’t over the worst of the bruises, but it hurt regardless. Everything hurt.

He would be hurt more, he knew that. He had been hurt incessantly for the past seventeen months, passing from one cruel pair of hands to the next, all trying to break him before giving up, frustrated or bored, and selling him on; and now? He had snapped at the hand of a king. He was under no illusions that his punishment was even close to done.

A part of him wished he could simply stop fighting back, insisting it would be easier; that things would get better then, even having seen slaves getting beaten for the smallest accidental infraction, getting raped with brutality regardless of how pliant they were trying to be. Another, though, feared that day more than anything: as long as he was fighting, he was alive. He was his own person, by some definition. He couldn’t give up, even as each day it became harder to remember what he was fighting for when there was no escape in this nightmare.

He was terrified he might have finally found a master who wouldn’t care about his resale value, who would leave scars and burns over his body, or… or worse. The serpent king’s blasé offer had proven that money was not an issue for him; after having been sold a dozen times, Izara was well aware what the value of an unruly beast like him was, and it was well below.

The serpent king was, currently, leading the way. Leaving the throne room, he had said something to the guard in their language, which Izara didn’t understand a word of, and he had little hope it had been merely to follow him.

They wound up in a relatively small room with doors on both sides, which Izara took to mean it was an antechamber of some sort. There was also a window high along one wall, narrow, but easily wide enough to let his skinny body through.

Not that he stood a chance to escape between the serpent king, the guard, and the servant who had been awaiting them here, or at least awaiting the king.

»You can let go of him now, I suppose,« the serpent king said softly, eyeing Izara up and down.

The guard, miraculously, let go of him, backing off towards the door they had entered through. For a moment Izara was tempted to make a dash for the window, no matter how hopeless it was, but the serpent king was almost right between him and the sweet air outside. He just dug his nails into his palms and waited.

The serpent king stretched out a hand to the guard, without taking his eyes off him. »Your dagger, Captain.«

And just like that, every thought that had fought its way through the pain and exhaustion and the hunger gnawing at Izara’s stomach was washed away, replaced with cold, glaring panic. A better slave, perhaps, would have fallen to his knees and begged for mercy. Izara though backed away so quickly his back slammed painfully into the piece of furniture behind him. It was a table of some sort, and he scrambled up onto it.

»Stay away from me!« The words went out without thought, and upon hearing them, he wished someone at some point would have sewn his mouth shut. That would never happen to an elven slave, of course, they were supposed to sing for their masters, not scramble through a room trying to escape whatever they had in store for them.

If he made it behind the servant snake, he might get through the other door.

The guard dashed at him faster than Izara could blink, and in a moment, he was being held by his arms again. Harder, this time, on account perhaps of him struggling to get away as hard as he could, kicking into the air until the guard wrapped his body around his legs, immobilizing them. Then, for some reason, they let go of his arms.

»Easy, little thing,« the serpent king said. »I will cut your ties.«

Izara stopped struggling, half out of surprise, half because there was nothing he could do anymore, anyway. Besides, at this point even the mere moments of panicked struggle were enough to exhaust him. The bruises on his arms throbbed where the guard had grabbed on to him.

»That’s better.« The serpent king approached calmly, and Izara bared his teeth. He could snap again. It would do him no good whatsoever, but it was the one thing he could. »Easy.«

The serpent king took the rope binding his hands together. On pure instinct, Izara yanked them away and regretted it immediately. Maybe the serpent king would have cut his ties, but not now-

The serpent king took the rope binding his hands together. When Izara, this time, held his breath and his arms, he hooked his fingers behind the knot, pulling it to the side enough to slide the dagger into the loop of rope chafing his skin.

The mere feeling of the cold metal against his skin made Izara bite his tongue against a whimper, but in a moment, it was over, his hand—suddenly, unexpectedly freed—falling limply to his side.

The raw skin on his wrist burned in the air.

He could have hit the serpent king, then.

The serpent king was still holding the rope and cut it loose from his other wrist as well.

Izara crossed his arms, half-hugged himself, glimpsing down on his damaged wrists. It had been a torment on its own, the rough ties scraping and chafing and biting into already rope-burned skin when he couldn’t simply hold his arms and hands still, and he couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

Now it was gone, and there was nothing that wouldn’t heal with time. Of course not. He was too beautiful for scars.

He could have pushed the serpent king away. He would if he tried to touch him, he swore to himself.

But the serpent king merely tossed the cut rope to the servant, and then backed up all by himself.

»If I tell the Captain to let you go, will you follow me?« His golden eyes were still fixed on Izara.

It was a trick question. There was only one correct answer, and Izara didn’t even know whether it was true or not. He would try to escape given the chance.

But was this really a chance?

»No,« he heard himself say.

[stuffems]

Snacking

Contains: Accidental Stuffing Boredom was a pretty powerful thing for anyone but for Gaelor, it was utter torture. He was constantly wanting to be up and about doing something, anything, and either getting work done or simply being distracted by some sort of activity. The downside of having underlings that could and would do anything he asked them to was that he had less that he was able to do that they’d be working on by themselves. Granted, he could tell them not to do things but then it might pile up or slow and he certainly couldn’t have that either. Such a puzzling situation indeed.

The daemon was currently occupying the small research station out in the thickly wooded valley as he paced around in a huff. Usually, his underlings occupied this station when he wasn’t around or on the rare occasion that he decided to oversee their work himself but today, they were absent and at home. Even though he technically had a home of his own, Gaelor preferred to be here and working on something or just spying on the three lesser daemons that he oversaw. It was funny to watch them behave like children in class whenever he was present. Caine didn’t mind as much but Eli and Nicolai were a different case all together. They never looked up from their work and moved about like buzzing little bees checking all the data they were working with. 

Antsy talons fiddled with the braid draped over Gaelor’s shoulder while he leaned back dangerously far in his chair, watching the silly children’s cartoon that he’d been binge watching all evening. The desk itself was an organized chaos that only he really understood with papers strewn about with folders of data and the small set of medical books that he’d read probably seven times by now. He leaned back with his heeled boots resting crossed on the desktop, one hand messing with his braid while the other hung limp and just barely touching the linoleum floor. There was a half full container of brown sugar boba tea left on the far end with an opened bag of chips sat beside it. Lazily, the daemon reached over and pulled out a chip from the bag to eat. 

When there was little to do or he was distracted in his work, it was incredibly common for the doctor to snack quite a bit. He always ensured that there was plenty to nibble on in the research station even if it was meant to also share with the trio. They didn’t dip into his reserves very much so the lionshare went to him, of course. Chips, soda, candybars, and all manner of junk food tended to be what was stocked the most as they were easier to eat while working even if it was horrible lab practice to do so. It was hardly as if he hadn’t drunk or eaten whatever he was experimenting with just out of pure curiosity. 

This particular bag of chips was nearing empty and there were still many episodes remaining to be watched so the doctor finally took a break to get up, stretch, and retrieve more snacks. He allowed the credits to roll while he strolled over to the refrigerator and opened the door to take a peek inside. There were countless glass beakers and containers that held various colored chemicals packed onto the shelves beside more consumable items like soda or sugary juice. Gaelor was really the only one who understood what everything was and its effects so it was unlikely that the others would bother messing up the order he’d set up. Two cans of fruity soda would be plucked from the bottom shelf before the door of the fridge was nudged shut by his tail. With the cans in one hand, he took to looking through the cupboard for more snacks between the dozens of empty beakers and lab equipment. 

“Hmmm… Perhaps I need to get Elijah to get more stuff from the store.” The daemon hummed, his voice lightly digitized. “Almost down to just one box of nutty buddies and maybe only two bags of chips. Could ask him tomorrow or whenever he decides to slink out of his little burrow.” 

At least three wrapped peanut butter and chocolate wafers would be pulled from the shelf in one hand while he held another bag of chips in his teeth. With his snacks retrieved, Gaelor returned to his desk and placed everything down before getting settled back in his spot just as the next episode started up. The nearly empty bag of chips rested on his torso while he picked up the container of boba tea to finish that as well. Boba tea was a little favorite of his but he usually only ever got the chance to get it whenever he was out and about hidden among the mortals of the nearby town. Anything sugary was probably the best way to get his attention, really. 

Once it had been emptied, the first bag of chips would be tossed into the wastebin beneath the desk and a new bag would be opened. With his attention diverted to the cartoon, it was pretty easy for Gaelor to eat a significant amount of food without fully realizing it. He didn’t quite care about overeating considering his metabolism was usually incredibly quick and he was easily able to work it off. Of course, with the serum pumping through his veins, it was a different story entirely. But that wasn’t the case here so he could eat as much as he wanted at the moment. 

As the episodes of the cartoon seemed to blend together, the bag of chips and boba would both be finished off and tossed in the trash. The soda combined with the peanut butter wafers would take up significant real estate in his stomach as he easily tore through both. A lump in his middle was beginning to form as he ate another of the peanut butter snacks and cracked open the other soda he was planning on drinking. The waistband on his middle was fairly flexible so he didn’t have to necessarily worry about any tightness should he overeat. 

It didn’t take more than another couple episodes before Gaelor finished the wafers and the other soda he’d been drinking. With all of that food tucked away, it was very apparent that it had certainly added a weight to his stomach. The problem was, he was still at least a little hungry. There were a few things still in the cupboard he could eat so maybe that would be it. 

The daemon paused his show and hopped up to wander over to the cupboard so that he could rifle through it again. There was still at least a bag of chips left and another box of peanut butter snacks so he could just eat those and tell Eli to go out shopping later. Yeah, that was a good idea. With his mind solidified, Gaelor took the whole box and the remaining bag back to his desk to finish snacking. Of course, he did take a moment to go back and grab at least a couple more sodas. There was plenty to eat now and definitely keep him occupied while he finished the rest of the show.

—

After another hour or so, the doctor had managed to finish the whole box and bag along with the other two sodas. A hiccup escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, claws resting on his taxed middle. The waistband thankfully stretched well enough over it without any squeezing pain. Though he hadn’t finished the entire series, it was at least sufficient enough to just watch the rest with a full stomach. Likely due to the haze he was in, Gaelor didn’t notice that the door to his office had opened.

“...Uh…Sir?” A voice, Nicolai’s, came from the open doorway. 

Gaelor glanced over at the doorway and saw the small young slime daemon standing there nervously wringing his hands. A smirk crossed the larger’s face as he gave a small wave to his underling. “Ey Nico, wassup?” The doctor asked, using his tail to pause the television show he was watching. 

“Uh…” Nico’s eyes drifted to look at the larger’s bloated middle before turning his attention back to his face. “Was just uh letting you know that we’re here to work. Is there anything in particular you need of us?” He would ask, clearly nervous. 

“Hmm… mind telling Eli to pick up some more groceries later? I kinda cleaned out the pantry by accident.” Gaelor said, giving a halfhearted grin. 

The smaller would look to Gaelor before nodding slightly.

“Yessir.” Nico replied before turning and leaving the room. 

This wasn’t the first time that his underlings found the doctor in such a manner but it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t care too much about appearances when it came to his underlings but anyone else, then he’d be at least a little bashful. Now he could finish the rest of his show in peace for now while they did the rest of the work.

[hbyrde36]

Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)

Chapter 11

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 ao3 link

*Eddie*

Eddie had never had a morning after.

How could he, when he’d never experienced a night before? 

Until now, anyway. 

And while they hadn’t gone all the way, so to speak, it was still the most sex Eddie had ever had, because it was the only sex he’d ever had. So he figured it counted.

It might have been his first, but he didn’t think anything would ever top this morning after. Whether last night was a one time thing or the start of something more, he’d always remember the day he woke up in Steve Harrington’s arms.

They must have shifted positions in the night. Eddie now found himself playing the little spoon with Steve’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. Though his body itched to move, to yawn, to stretch, he held himself still, basking in the heat of Steve's chest pressed up against his back, not ready to give up the moment quite yet. 

With the press of a soft kiss to his bare shoulder Eddie discovered that Steve was awake too and that perhaps he hadn’t been doing as well a job pretending to be asleep as he thought. He smiled to himself as Steve’s lips continued to make trail upwards. He tilted his head back, exposing his neck in invitation which Steve gladly accepted. 

“Good Morning.” Steve whispered in his ear.

Eddie turned in the other boy’s hold. Suddenly he couldn’t go another minute without seeing Steve's face. He looked ethereal in the soft morning light that filtered in through the thin curtains that covered Eddie's window. His hair was sleep tousled and his face still had the impression of sheet lines in it but Eddie was absolutely sure he’d never seen someone so beautiful in his life. 

He settled back down on his pillow, happy now to be facing Steve. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Okay?” Steve said incredulously. He leaned in to capture Eddie’s lips once with his own, before moving on to pepper what felt like every square inch of his face with dozens of little tickling kisses. “I think that might have been the best night’s sleep I've ever had.”

Eddie giggled, high and unguarded before promptly hiding his face in the other boy's neck. Steve was being entirely too cute and his heart was full in a way he’d never felt before. 

Steve’s arms tightened around him, pulling the front of their bodies dangerously close together. They were both growing hard, there was no hiding it since neither of them had bothered to get dressed again after making a mess of themselves last night. Eddie groaned, unable to stop from bucking his hips forward, pressing himself into Steve's thigh chasing a bit of friction. Steve moved against him as well, a soft moan falling from his own lips. Just then, a door slammed loudly somewhere else in the house reminding both boys that they were not alone in the trailer. And not only was it morning, but uncle Wayne and the girls were definitely awake and only a room away.

Eddie groaned again but for a very different reason this time. Steve chuckled and they reluctantly moved away from each other in unison. 

Steve sat up on the edge of the bed, most of his lower half mercifully still concealed beneath the covers. “We should probably get dressed before anyone comes bursting in here huh?” He said, looking back at Eddie over his shoulder. 

“Unfortunately.” Eddie agreed through a deep sigh. He waited until Steve was busy rooting through the bag they’d brought back from his old house before getting up to cross the room. He quickly pulled a clean pair of boxers on and then the first jeans he could find. It didn’t matter that they’d laid together naked all night, somehow the idea of walking around in the daylight exposed made him a little self conscious. 

He felt better being at least mostly covered up, and went to the closet to pick out a shirt. He glanced at Steve and found that he was still rooting through the bag even though he was fully dressed now in his own jeans and a soft looking worn yellow sweater. 

“We can always go back. If there’s something you wanted that I missed or anything.” Eddie remarked, trying to sound casual about it as he shoved an old black sabbath t-shirt over his head. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to want your own things, Steve. What were you looking for?”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “My letterman jacket.”

Eddie bit his lip and quickly turned back to the closet, as much to hide his face as to retrieve what he was hiding in there under a box of junk.  

“See? I know it’s silly and I don't even...” Steve trailed off as Eddie stepped back from the closet and held the green and white jacket out to him.

He looked at the floor as he spoke, too embarrassed to meet Steve’s gaze. “I don’t even know why I took it, honestly. It was hanging there on the back of a chair in your room and I just, I don’t know. I couldn’t leave it there.”

Steve didn’t take the jacket, instead he tucked a finger under Eddie's chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met. 

“Hey, I’m glad you took it.” 

Eddie swallowed hard, nodding a little as Steve did finally take the jacket out of his hand. He instantly went searching in the pockets. It wasn’t until then that Eddie realized what he was looking for. Steve didn’t really care about the jacket, he just wanted what was in it. 

“Oh.” Eddie breathed, reaching for his wallet on the nightstand .He quickly retrieved the polaroid that he’d been carrying around with him and handed it over. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah.” Steve said, smiling broadly. “Thank you. It’s… it’s the only picture I have of us together. It means a lot to me” He looked at the image for a long moment then handed it right back. “Actually, could you hold onto it for a little longer? Keep it safe for me?”

Eddie nodded again, a little dumbfounded and at a loss for words as he tucked it back into his wallet. 

Steve cleared his throat. “I, um, I’d like you to keep this too. If you want to.” He said, nervously offering the jacket back to him as well.

Eddie stilled, and couldn’t bring himself to look at the clothing item in question. His throat was suddenly dry, palms sweaty. It couldn’t mean…

“Are you asking me to go steady, Harrington?” Eddie joked, or tried to at least. He expected Steve to joke back or something but instead he looked Eddie right in the eyes, expression serious. 

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Eddie said, voice barely audible at first. “Are you sure you want that? I mean… knowing what you do about me?”

“What? That you're brave, and sweet, and kind, and thoughtful, and… ”

“Steve.” Eddie grumbled. 

Steve knew damn well what he meant. Eddie was a mystery to everyone, including himself. He didn’t know where he came from or who his parents were. He had powers that he didn't understand, he might even be dangerous. He was kind of a mess. 

“I think I can overlook all that and see past it to your good qualities.”

Eddie couldn’t help but break out into a smile. “Such as?”

“Well, you’re pretty okay to look at.”

“Just okay?”

“Mhmm” Steve hummed, setting the jacket down on the bed before taking Eddie into his arms. They kissed, one, two, three times before Steve pulled back, suddenly looking nervous again.

“So, what do you think?”

Eddie marveled at how Steve could possibly think he would say anything other than a resounding yes. “I think you’ve made a big mistake here because you’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Sounds perfect.” Steve smiled and his whole face lit up with it like he’d just been given the greatest gift, as if he were the lucky one.

Eddie knew better. 

He huffed a laugh and shook his head at himself. “First boyfriend and I manage to bag Steve Harrington. Maybe there is something to all those Satan worshiping rumors.”

“Eddie.” 

“How else do you explain it?” Eddie teased.

Steve rolled his eyes, then paused, face screwed up in thought.

“Am I really the first person you’ve dated?”

Eddie shuffled his feet and fought to retain eye contact. “You're sorta my first… everything, Steve.” He knew he could have just not said anything and he probably would have gotten away with it, but he didn’t want to start their relationship with any sort of lies between them, even if it was a little embarrassing to admit.

He squirmed, watching as realization dawned on Steve’s face. “So yesterday, the kissing, and then last night… that was?”

“Yup.”

Steve slid his hands up and down Eddie’s arms eventually taking both of his hands and twining their fingers together. “Eds, why didn’t you say anything? I would have…”

The blush Eddie had been fighting off up till now rose up his face and neck. He rested his head on Steve's shoulder trying to hide it. “It's not really something you want to just blurt out in the moment. Besides, I wanted it. I wanted to take care of you.”

“Alright,” Steve murmured, kissing his hair.  “But next time–”

He was interrupted by the not nearly distant enough sound of a cabinet slamming and cups and plates being set out in the kitchen.

“If we ever get another moment alone–” Steve tried to continue, but as if the universe was intent on reminding them that their time for now was up, there came a rough knock on the bedroom door.

“Breakfast, boys.” Wayne called out.

-

“I think these are my favorite waffles so far.” El said around a mouthful of Eggo, butter, and syrup.

“So far?” Wayne asked, amused.

“She’s a bit of an aficionado.” Steve answered, grinning. “All that effort making them from scratch and I could have been buying frozen?”

Eleven giggled, nodding enthusiastically before turning her attention back to Max. The girls seemed to have become best friends overnight. It warmed Eddie’s heart to see, Steve must have noticed it too if the fond smiles he was sending their way were any indication. 

“So, what’s a guy gotta do to earn the homemade waffles, Harrington?” Eddie asked softly, lightly bumping his shoulder against the other boy’s.

Steve took his hand under the table and squeezed it. “I think we could work something out.” He said equally quiet.

Clearly the comment was meant for only his ears, and while the two girls were suitably distracted with each other (Max was explaining the basics of skateboarding to an enraptured Eleven), Wayne was peeking at them out of the corner of his eye.

Eddie wanted to kiss Steve right then and there at the table but he held back. Wayne might already be on to them and unless they cooled it Max and El wouldn’t be far behind. He squeezed back with the hand Steve was holding and reluctantly let it drop. 

When everyone was finished Wayne gathered their plates and set about washing them, refusing Steve’s offer of help. Eddie didn’t know who the old man was trying to impress, knowing full well that if it was just the two of them they’d have let the sticky plates sit in that sink all day. 

The phone rang, loud and shrill. Eddie jumped up automatically to answer it so his uncle wouldn't have to trail soapy water all over the place.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid.”

It was Hopper, and he sounded absolutely exhausted. Memories of last night came barreling to the forefront of Eddie’s mind. In his happy haze he’d almost forgotten about the lab and the fire, but before he could say anything the chief was talking again.

“Listen, tell Wayne I'm sorry but I won't be able to make our fishing trip this weekend.”

What the fuck? 

“What do you mean, what about the– “

Hopper cut him off, loudly interrupting before he could ask any questions. “Just tell your Uncle exactly what I said, okay? I gotta go.” He hung up without another word.

Eddie stared down at the receiver still sitting in his hand and had a terrible feeling he was missing something. 

“That the school calling to tell me you didn’t show up again today?” Wayne asked from across the room.

“No, it was Hopper.” He replied. “Since when do you fish?”

“Ah, shit.” Wayne cursed, dropping the dish he was holding rather forcefully into the soapy water and quickly drying his hands. “Ed, what did he say exactly?”

Eddie repeated what Hopper had said word for word. Wayne visibly paled. 

“Okay kids. You got 5 minutes. Pack what you can.”

“What?” Eddie squawked.

“Have you ever seen me go fishing? It's a code that me and Jim worked out a long time ago.” Wayne said.

Ok, well that made more sense Eddie supposed. “What does it mean?”

The older man sighed, raking a hand over his face. “In a nutshell it means we need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible… and we might not be coming back.”

“Fuck.”

It hit Eddie all over again, everything the man standing in front of him had done and continued to do to keep him safe. Wayne had known since day one that something like this might happen, and he’d been prepared to cut and run at a moment's notice with no questions asked and no concern for the fact that he’d be ruining his own future.

Steve tugged Eddie’s arm, spurring him into action. Right, no time to dwell on it now, he could be sappy later. 

They rushed to his room. 

“I got the girls covered, '' Wayne called to their backs. “Meet out front, quick as you can!”

Steve's bag was still packed and sitting open on the floor. He zipped it up and threw it over his shoulder then began to help Eddie with his own. He had an old army surplus bag stuffed under his bed. He pulled it out and they began to fill it with clothes until it seemed like enough. 

Eddie scanned around the room wondering what was worth it to take. He wasn’t even remotely prepared for this scenario. He spotted Steve’s letterman jacket still sitting on the bed and added it to the bag, along with his battered old copy of The Hobbit. He snatched photos right off the walls, a few of him and Wayne, Claudia and Dustin, the boys.

Lastly, he looked up to where his sweetheart hung on the wall in front of the mirror. He hated to leave his beloved electric guitar behind, but it seemed silly to take it when he had no idea where they were going or exactly what kind of trouble they were running from.

Steve watched him, sad eyes full of sympathy as he rested a hand on Eddie’s back. “What about that one?” He suggested, tilting his head towards the old acoustic guitar that sat collecting dust in the corner of the room. “It’s light and you can play it without an amp.”

He had a point but Eddie still felt like it wasn’t important enough. Wayne was already shouting at them to hurry. He hesitated, and Steve made the decision for him, slinging the guitar over his own back with the shoulder strap and linking their free hands together. 

Eddie took one last look around the room as they walked out, years of memories etched into the walls. He hoped that somehow Wayne was wrong and they would be able to come back here eventually, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. 

The trailer park was calm and quiet as they loaded what little everyone had collected into Wayne’s truck and Eddie’s van. Neither of the young girls had any belongings and Wayne himself only had a few small boxes and bags.

“Max, Ellie, you want to ride with me or with the boys?”

El turned to her brother before answering. “Is it okay if I go with Mr. Wayne?”

“Of course, sweetie. You two keep him company, I've got this one.” Steve said, winking at her and hooking a thumb in Eddie’s direction. 

El grinned and she and Max climbed into the passenger side of the truck. 

Wayne walked over as he threw the last bag in the bed of his truck. 

“Now, you boys follow me closely. Where we’re going ain't all that far but it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

-

They rode in silence. 

Both too scared of what this all meant to manage any kind of conversation but they kept each other’s hands in a desperate grip over the center console. It only got worse when Wayne pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt one, barely distinguishable from the unbeaten path around it. The way was bumpy and they had to go slow until eventually the trees grew too thick and they had to stop altogether. 

There was a small cabin sitting in a clearing not far off, Eddie figured they’d just walk the last few feet.

“Hopper’s cabin?” Eddie guessed out loud once they had all gotten out of the vehicles, though he already knew he was right.

His uncle didn’t question it, just nodded in agreement. “It’s been in his family for years. When you came along, Jim was the first to realize we needed an escape plan if there was ever a risk you’d been discovered. He wiped all record of this place from city hall and what-not as best as he could, and we stocked it up with supplies. I hoped it’d never be needed but I'm sure glad we have it now.”

The cabin was neat, clean, and a lot nicer than the one Eddie had imagined, though it wasn’t any bigger unfortunately. It would be a bit of a tight squeeze for the 5 of them, but not much worse than home had been really so he knew they would make it work.

Predictably, Wayne insisted that the rest of them should take the only two bedrooms.

Max and El set off right away to explore their new and hopefully temporary home.

Eddie knew it was pointless to argue with the older man but he felt like he’d cost his uncle so much already. It didn’t seem right letting him give up one of the only beds too. 

“Wayne, I think… “ He looked at Steve before continuing, hoping the other boy would be okay with what he was about to offer. He must have understood and nodded encouragingly. “You should take the other room. At your age you should really be sleeping in a bed and me and Steve will be alright out here.”

“I know you didn’t just say at my age.” His uncle said, arms crossing over his chest.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, you should have a bed!”

Wayne looked at them in turn and sighed. “Boys, look, there's two of you and only one of me, and I don’t want to assume anything…” He trailed off, raking a hand over his suddenly red face.  “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready, but I think it’d be best for everyone if you had a little privacy. I’d just like to point out that the walls here don’t look much thicker than the trailer’s, so, keep that in mind.”

Eddie felt all the blood drain from his face. “Oh my god.”

“I'm not sayin’ I heard anything! But–” Wayne tried to continue, throwing his hands up in surrender, but Eddie interrupted him mid sentence.

“Oh my god Wayne, please stop talking. We’ll take the room and whatever else you want if you just please, please stop talking.”

Eddie chanced a sideways look at Steve. He’d been purposely avoiding the other boy’s gaze for the entire exchange, but they hadn’t yet talked about how open they wanted to be about their new relationship, and he was desperate to see how Steve was taking all this. 

To Eddie’s shock he was watching the whole thing with barely concealed amusement. Clearly he was fine, at least with Wayne knowing about them. The whole thing was still completely mortifying, but he was relieved that Steve was taking it all in stride. Eddie was pretty sure he hadn’t come out to anyone yet really and he knew from personal experience how nerve wracking it could be to be seen, really seen, for the first time. 

Wayne huffed a laugh and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Eddie snatched up his own bag as well as Steve’s and began to haul them both towards the bedroom they’d be sharing. He expected Steve to follow him, thought he had actually, until he overheard hushed voices on the other side of the cabin. 

“Thank you for all this, for taking me and El in before and bringing us along now. I uh, I know how protective you are of Eddie and um, I just want you to know that this isn’t… I really care about him.”

“I can see that, son. Neither of you is very subtle, just uh, so you’re aware.” Wayne gave another breathy laugh. “I’m happy for the two of you and I want you to know I’ve got no problem with it. I've known about Eddie for a while and I love him just the same as I ever have. I support him. You too, Steve. He's got a good heart, and I'm glad he found someone who can see that and appreciate it.”

“Thank you.” Steve’s voice cracked on the short phrase and Eddie had to sneak a glance out the doorway to make sure he was okay. 

Wayne had his arms wrapped around Steve, whose shoulders were shaking slightly. The older man was rubbing his back and murmuring to him quietly. 

Eddie retreated back into the room and slowly began to unpack. He was so thankful for his uncle at that moment, for the sort of man he was, and the kindness he was showing Steve. He knew now what kind of people the Harrington's were. He wondered when Steve had last been hugged by a parental figure. It’d probably been a long time, well before he had disappeared and gotten locked up in that awful place. He had El, of course, and now he had Eddie too, but there was something different about having a trustworthy grownup in your corner. Someone who’d lived a bit. Who knew what life could throw at you and tried their best to keep you safe from it.

Eventually Steve came to find him and Eddie pretended not to notice the slight ring of red around his eyes. Steve smiled as he helped to put the last of their clothes into drawers. He seemed remarkably lighter, as if some long carried weight had been taken off his shoulders. 

-

After all the drama of going on the run, their afternoon at the cabin was remarkably boring. There was nothing much to do except worry about the others and wait for some kind of word from Hopper. Wayne seemed sure the man would show up at any time. There was a phone on the wall, Eddie had noticed, but when he checked the line he found only dead air. 

The girls had found a stack of old board games in a cupboard and were spending their time playing round after round of checkers.

Wayne busied himself in the kitchen, going over their supplies and throwing some kind of concoction together for dinner. 

Eddie and Steve sat together on the couch trying to enjoy each other's company while stuck in the hell of waiting for the next thing to go wrong. 

They all heard it when a car pulled up nearby, brakes squealing a little as it came to a stop. It occurred to Eddie as they all rushed outside that it might have been smarter to stay hidden until they knew if their visitor was friend or foe. But Wayne had been right in what he said earlier, they were out in the middle of fucking nowhere, the odds of someone just happening upon them there were slim to none.

Eddie never thought he’d see Hopper’s police SUV and feel such immense relief. He knew he probably owed the man an apology, several in fact. He’d always given the chief a hard time, he couldn’t help it. Hopper was ‘the man’, part of the system that Eddie had spent so much time and energy railing against, but he was coming to realize that under all his rough exterior the chief was actually a good guy, and way less concerned about the law than he could have been. 

The driver's side door of the SUV opened and slammed closed, the sound echoing twice after as the rear passenger doors opened and closed. He wasn’t alone. 

Chrissy and Robin raced through the trees, making it to the cabin before Hopper had made his way around the other side of his car. 

Steve and Eddie turned to each other. Matching looks of surprise on their faces. 

“Are you guys okay?” Robin asked when they got close enough to not have to shout.

Eddie went down the steps to meet the two girls, Steve following close behind.

“Yeah we’re all fine, what are you doing here?”

Chrissy threw herself at him abruptly, hugging him tight. “I’m so sorry it’s all my fault.”

Eddie tried to look at Robin over her shoulder, searching for any clue as to what the girl in his arms meant, but she was already busy talking a mile a minute to Steve. 

He pulled back so he could see Chrissy's face. “What do you mean, Chris?”

“This, you having to run away from home and hide here. I should have known better than to come to your house last night. I should have known he’d follow me.”

“Wait, I thought, the fire- “ Eddie began, looking up to lock eyes with Hopper as he finally caught up to the group. “I thought this had something to do with the lab?”

“We’ll get to that in a bit but that's not why I gave you the signal to run. Jason Carver has been running around town all morning telling anyone who will listen that he saw Steve Harrington with you last night. That you’re the one who kidnapped him and have been holding him captive ever since. He also said you brainwashed his girlfriend and took Billy Hargrove prisoner. He thinks the D&D club at school is a front for your devil worshiping cult, and unfortunately there's a lot of small minded people in this town that want to believe him.”

“Fuck.”

Chapter 12

Thanks forever to @penny00dreadful for being the best friend, cheerleader, and beta in the whole fucking world💜

Taglist: @newtstabber @goodolefashionedloverboi @adaed5 @buckleybarnes @soaringornithopter @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @bestwifehaver @5ammi90 @sofadofax @ellietheasexylibrarian @manda-panda-monium @hardboiledleggs @mentallyundone @epiclazershark @herebedragons404 @estrellami-1 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @the-s-is-silent @brbsoulnomming @goinsteddie @steddie-there @yeahhhh-suga

[desultory-novice]

Hello! I had a silly idea :0 - Yume Nikki Fangame with Adeleine as protagonist.

She has the perfect age range and body type for it!

...I will say, I don't think Adeleine is a good fit for a YNFG protagonist thematically. Those games are often about exploring powerful subconscious TRAUMA through dreams. Can you imagine this Adeleine with the, "iya, iya" ("no, no") reaction in front of a door?

Now, while I've nitpicked once before on the issue the fandom (and I'm not innocent of it) has with stretching and squeezing Adeleine too much to try and cram her into any of a dozen different roles she's not a good match for because she's the only human member of the cast and–at least on the surface–the easiest one to project onto (Really, KIRBY should be the easiest one to project onto, and indeed, Kirby is primed for a YN fangame, as Ondaja already figured out! ^_-) her being seen as Kirby and friends' grounded-in-reality Christopher Robin does mean it at least wouldn't be that unusual/unexpected.

So let's explore the MOST cliche scenario we could use:

I call it, "Dess McGee's Adeleine" XD

Adeleine is a patient undergoing therapy in the real world because Dream Land, Popstar, and everyone there are merely delusions she's having to cope with something awful/frightening in her life. This is her "iya, iya", where she doesn't want to leave her bedroom and continue getting treated so she can face the real world. She wants to go back to sleep so she can keep crutching on her comfort fantasy, though the two "realities" are now battling in her subconscious.

Her dream realms might consist of twisted versions of familiar Kirby landscapes that have intersected with or been awkwardly fused with elements of the real world and various psychoses that might hint (but never explain) why she withdrew from reality in the first place.

The characters might superficially resemble the familiar Kirby cast but not be acting like themselves. Some would shake their heads and walk away or ignore her, some might act aggressively and blame her for trying to "kill them" by getting treatment (these would probably be your chasers), others might look normal but start to decay in a jumpscare-like manner if you interact using certain Effects.

One could even play with the Adeleine/Ado thing here. Perhaps "Adeleine" is part of the delusion. The forever-young child who never has to grow up while "Ado" already resembled someone in her late teens. You could have a series of chasers who look like Ado, or are tall and lanky and represent other aspects of becoming a "grown-up"

Among the Effects are things like Kracko and Ice Dragon as rideables of different speed + inducing various handy weather effects, as well as her trusty paintbrush which could have a variety of functions including a return to hub effect? She should have a Dark Matter-adjacent Effect too, as a former possession victim in 64.

She miiiight also have the crystal gun as her Weapon, though to be true to the YM-style, using it on people should be more violent and semi-permanent than expected. (Oh no, real world consequences are invading my comfort space!)  And of course, there is a "Ribbon" Effect that gives her fairy wings if you equip it.

The Good (?) End has Adeleine embrace her reality as the now grown up Ado and leave her room at last. The Bad (?) End has you go to sleep one last time, only to return to a fully restored, fully healed Dream Land with all her friends happy that she's back at last! ^_^

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Danny Phantom (and technically optional crossover) Prompt

Imagine, if you will, a not-aging Danny Fenton. There’s about a dozen ways to do this, but in this case—Danny still has a human lifespan, he just looks human (though, I won’t argue against any immortal Dannys). As Fenton, he’s just stuck at fourteen. Phantom, being a ghost whose appearance is based on what he sees himself as, does look older. By this point, he’s probably retired from superheroics—I just find unphased and jaded 18 year old Danny to be hilarious. So, he’s just like ‘I wanna go to college’.

So he does. He just. Always looks 14. His hair grows, he can build muscle, and he can definitely have dark eyes—but otherwise? Short ass 14 year old. He constantly has to prove that yes, he’s the real Danny Fenton, and no, this is not a scam. He eventually has to get meta-specific paperwork filled out—no need for the genetic test if the power is fairly obvious. (Of course, it’s possible to do this AU as not crossover, but then you’ll have to do the legwork of making it less odd that someone has superpowers, and whether that means everyone knows he’s Phantom, which might change some of the issues. It also doesn’t have to be DC, for instance, you could use Marvel or even My Hero Academia—ultimately, up to the writer.)

Anyways, he gets his degree(s), enters the workforce, and by the Ancients is it hard to be taken seriously. Even people who see his paperwork and know for a fact he’s a full fledged adult are just like, aw, poor kid, can’t even reach the top cabinets without stretching or climbing. So, while he could just keep being the most qualified 14-looking-adult, he’s quickly getting sick of it. He can’t even be a school teacher, none of his students will take him seriously! Not even the younger ones, cause even the other teachers aren’t respecting him.

There are about… three options available to him, up to whoever wants to pick up this sort of prompt.

1-he gets into acting or modeling. Or perhaps, stunt acting. And everyone is just a bit unnerved about how absolutely none of the nonsense seems to get to him, and he’s just… a little *too* bendy sometimes. He’d make a great scare actor, if he wasn’t terrible at scaring people.

2-he goes into the work force as Phantom in a cheap wig and terrible contacts. Half the time, he forgets at least one contact. Cue mystery of who the hell this guy is, because, for ONCE, someone actually paid attention to the paperwork and knows that he DOESN’T look like THAT.

3-he tries to get work in a slightly more remote position, where his colleagues are few to none. Of course, that is, until some hero or another such professional has to meet him in person, and gets one hell of a shock about who their expert on the computer has been all this time.

There’s of course the undercurrent of Danny’s experiences as a teen hero, so sometimes absolutely wild situations show up, and his stories are like, super weird. He thinks at least SOME of his experiences must be universal, and they’re… really, really not. The outlandish stories don’t help the whole ‘not taken serious’ thing, but then they turn out to be true. Bonus points to rogues or ghosts showing up to say hi and everyone is like WAS THAT A FUCKING DRAGON?! And Danny’s just like ‘yeah she was a beauty pageant coordinator in my hometown, we kept in touch. I helped put her brother in jail’. As if that did NOT just raise more questions than before.

Of course, use or don’t use what you want (such as, he does keep a public-ish position, or he just goes full villain to prove a point, or even somehow starts working undercover at schools and summer camps for xyz reasons, whether or not the Justice League finds him, what his degree(s) weee even in, etc etc), I just think that Forever Teen Danny stories are interesting.

Basically… it’s reverse Shazam, haha.

[rationaliity]

CALICO — VOICELINES

interactive voices

first meeting : hi ! i’m calico, and this is tabby, we’re members of the planetary protection division. if ever you need us, feel free to shoot either one of us a text, we’ll do our best to help out !

greeting : is something wrong ? you look like you’re deep in thought. if something’s troubling you, you can tell me. i’ll listen, i promise.

parting : oh, hey ! i’m glad you look less stressed out now. did you figure it out ? ah, i’m happy for you ! busy days are even better when they’re finally done and you get to take a nap. 

about self: tabby : tabby : just because i’m a new addition to the cosmos, doesn’t mean that you, or anyone else, can try to pull one over on me. i’m a lot smarter than people give me credit for ! i have all of calico’s brains and none of her fear of confrontation. i say what i want when i want it. 

about self: memory loss : there’s a lot of things that i’m supposed to remember, but a lot of it eludes me to this day. a lot of doctors have given their two cents about it, including people that i’m sure  you know, but in the end, no one can truly know why so much is missing within me. unless they were on that dead planet with me, of course.

chat: planetary protection division : the ipc sends us out when a world has gone through a crisis and may not have the ability to pick itself back up. we collaborate with a lot of the ipc, including the strategic investment department and the intelligentsia guild. whatever we need to help a world, if we don’t have it, the other factions do.

chat: ipc : the ipc is filled with interesting members ! topaz and i are relatively close, and i’ve met aventurine a few times. now, that doctor.. i’ve met him more times than i can count, and every time has been… enlightening, to say the least.

tabby: enlightening ? you’re too busy ogling him to pay attention to what he’s saying.

hobbies : getting a cat nap in when i can is the only way i can keep up my strength, after all, i wanna be at peak performance in case anything happens. sleeping is so nice, you can go anywhere and be anyone in your dreams ~ 

tabby : i like collecting keychains ! i have a dozen probably from different planets that we’ve visted. i don’t have anything ot even put them on, i just have a bunch of them. 

annoyances : those times where you swear you have an hour left to nap but then your alarm rings.. the worst ever. 

something to share : the easiest way of taking care of yourself is to go about everything one step at a time. can’t get out of bed ? just wiggle your toes, or stretch. you’ll get there.

knowledge : the human body is beautifully resilient. you can go through hell and return still standing on your own feet. there’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it. 

about dr. ratio : ah, the doctor within the intelligentsia guild, a man of knowledge.. as elusive as he is, uhm, interesting.

tabby : and by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘handsome’. you can just say what you mean, calico.

about aventurine : i’ve never been in his shoes, so i don’t know what he’s gone through personally. i feel as though my amnesia makes me lucky comparatively. i don’t have to remember what i’ve been through.

about topaz : her love for anything cute and fluffy is adorable. one time, i bought her a fuzzy keychain from a planet i visited, and i swear i saw her tear up.

about raun mei : she is.. beautiful, from a distance. i can’t bring myself to approach her. life.. is more than an experiment. 

eidolon activation : the parts of me that i’ll never understand, why do you slumber ? 

character ascension : move forward, even if you can’t feel your feet. 

max level reached : we’re here because of the tireless work of other people. my accomplishments are not my own.

trace activation : a new skill ! perhaps i have earned a well deserve nap. what do you say, tabby ? 

added to team with dr. ratio : ah, d-doctor..! you’re here too ?

tabby : leave this to us, doctor. you can just stand there and look pretty. 

added to team with aventurine : we’ve gone through harder trials than this, i’m sure. i will protect you.

added to team with topaz : what a pleasant surprise, topaz ~ once we’re done here, i’ll take you out to eat.

added to team with raun mei : tabby : we’re here, miss, a testament to life itself. 

combat voices

battle begins : weakness break : i’m a tough cookie..!

battle begins : danger alert : stand behind me ! 

turn begins : i can take a punch or two.

turn idling : decisions…are hard..

basic atk : calico and tabby do not have any basic atk voiceovers

enhanced basic atk:  calico and tabby do not have any enhanced basic atk voiceovers.

skill 1 : we will not let you get hurt.

skill 2 : tabby : focus ! we can take this ! 

hit by light attack : i couldn’t even feel it !

hit by heavy attack : ow.. that’s going to bruise..

ultimate: activate : i will not fail you !

ultimate: unleash : my scars.. i carry them with the strength inside of me..!

talent 1 : hah, try again !

talent 2 : tabby : you’re weak !

downed : everything.. has lead me to this point.. 

return to battle : thank you, i will never forget this kindness. 

health recovery : i feel much better now !

technique : let me lead the way. 

battle won : another win, we’re on a roll today ! 

treasure opening 1 : we got lucky this time !

treasure opening 2 : tabby : does this count as stealing ? 

precious treasure opening : what nice stuff ! do you want to split ?

successful puzzle-solving 1 : hah ! i knew i was smart ! 

successful puzzle-solving 2 : tabby : are you going to go tell him ?

enemy target found : we’re stronger, i can tell. 

returning to town : can we go take a nap now ? i’m sleepy..

-> introduction | gallery | lightcone

[empressofmankind]

ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS

MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME

[Crocodile x F!OC]

Explicit - 5.5k words / 13 pages

(A/N) One large dick refusing to be contained, two bananawani for a picture perfectly framed. Three excellent sets of nightwear, and four shots that caught genuine care. 

Actually, a teenager's absolute worst nightmare.

Nico Robin is a teen in the cruel throes of puberty, peer pressure and that never-ending sense of social shame. For I realised a few days ago that she has a massive gap in her canon from about age 12-ish onward until Crocodile runs into her at 24. So, as her teens match up beautifully with the nuclear disaster that is Crocodile and Shiv's marriage, I decided that what this insane ship really needed was a teenager and zero tools to deal with it. Also, the notion of him having been stuck fake single-parenting Robin after everything went royaly south with Shivs just tickles me, personally.

This story is set around the same time period as ‘Hooked On You’ and ‘The House Always Win’, in Alabaste at Rainbase, mostly in and around Rain Dinners. Because apparently, I am not over these two.

It may be a tad less polished than my usual stuff, because I wrote it at the break of my Christmas morning to deliver it to you all on your Christmas day. Enjoy!

Tag(s): Teenage rage quit. Reprehensible parenting. Several amazing sexy lingerie modelling moments, courtesy of yours truly being horny on main on Christmas morning. We've also got dry humping, hand jobs, some good fingering and dicks breaking containment simply by being that darn large. Graphic sex. Excellent banther. Solid comedy, if I may say so myself. Absolutely filthy language. Shivs too. Girl made him lose his shit. Size difference is still relevant, stretching and edging too. I'd say orgasm denial, though neither was down for that one. At least they got to wreck eachother real good in the end. I'll be over there, helping Robin putting herself back into the system. I'd wanna disappear off the face of the earth, too.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

“You can't do this to me!” Robin all but stamped her feet.

Crocodile glanced away from Shivs to the fuming teenager, smoke escaping him as he caught her angry gaze. “I didn't realise we needed your permission.”

“This is humiliating!” she continued, beside herself with frustration. “I won't be able to show my face in public ever again!”

“You already can't, sweetie,” Shivs said in a tone not even on the same continent as comforting. “What with the World Government looking for you.”

“That’s not the point! You are murdering my social life!” Robin fumed as she glared at her adoptive parents. She'd sooner be an orphan again, she thought angrily. “Like, why are you even doing this? It's not like you need the money!”

Shivs tilted her head, taking the cigarillo from her mouth even. “It's fun?”

Robin switched her angry stare from her to Crocodile, but he was no help. Had the gall to chew that cigar as if he were actually thinking about it. 

“What she said,” he said through a cloud of smoke.

“Hrgh!” Robin balled her fists at them. “I hate you both!”

When neither particularly responded to her outburst aside from blowing out more smoke and perhaps raising an eyebrow, she turned and stormed out, slamming his office door. 

The Sphinxxx nightwear designer smoothed his tailored jacket with a nervous glance. “Will this be a problem, sir?”

“No.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

When the photographer's assistant dimmed the ambient light of Crocodile's office to a softly flickering orange, Shivs felt the shift in mood. Of the office space, yes. But also her own, and Crocodile’s. The fact that there were nearly a dozen strangers fussing about them didn’t kill it as much as you'd think.

They'd just changed into the lingerie they were meant to model and were undergoing the fussy attention of the two resident make up artists. It was a nice set, though privately Shivs thought, not quite their style.

Shivs wore a just below hip length tube dress of sheer dark fabric that reminded her of stockings. It had a strip of opaque black silk that went around her pubes and breast only. The effect was interesting, she supposed. Crocodile wore matching boxer briefs made of the same sheer material, with thin opaque strips circling around his hips. However, the patch of cloth meant to obscure his business did not quite do its job as intended. And the fact that it had a subtle black zipper down the middle that appeared to go all the way around seemed like a hazard to her. But, Stefano - the Sphinxx designer who had envisioned these - was not one to argue fashion with, they’d already discovered. 

Fortunately, she’d managed to keep Crocodile from blowing the whole thing off at the first confrontation. He sat smoking at his desk now, blowing out smoke and creating personal thunderclouds around his head as one of the make up artists fussed with him. Could be have been far worse. She’d count this a win.

Cussing, Shivs fumbled with the small clap of her necklace behind her neck.

“Turn around, doll,” Crocodile said.

She glanced up to find him beside her, and wondered if he’d used his abilities because the poor make up artist was staring in their direction like a particularly dimwitted calf. Or perhaps he’d simply been rude.

“Thanks,” she said as she turned, bending her neck as she felt his touch against it. It should be illegal that he could unclip those with one hand while she barely managed half the time with two.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” Stefano exclaimed as he came towards them, all hand gestures.

Shivs could tell from the way Crocodile’s touch abruptly stilled that the fashion designer better follow up with a good reason fast.

“Keep the jewellery, it is classy, distinguished,” Stefano said. “This is art.”

Shivs relaxed when she felt the weight of his hand shift against her neck, idly palming the tension from the muslces there. Good save, she thought.

“Ready when you are, Stef,” the photographer said as she tossed her cigarette bud into the nearest ash tray.

Stefano clapped his hands. “Let’s do this.”

An assistant hurried towards them with the ashtray for Crocodile to discard his smoke, but Stefano waved them away. “It adds character, atmosphere.”

And just as well, for it was only half way gone, and it was never a good time to make him stop.

Stefano motioned them towards the desk, though with far more grace this time. “Poses, if you please.”

“C’mon big guy,” Shivs said as she took the curve of his hook and tugged him up from his seat. He rose with due reluctance through a cloud of smoke.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

“They are magnificent!”

Stefano’s breathless exclamation at seeing the dozing bananawani on the rear deck of the casino was especially satisfying. The rest of his crew hung back, exchanging uncertain glances.

“They won’t do anything,” Crocodile rumbled around his cigar. He caught the designer’s gaze. “Unless I tell them to.”

“Haha, noted,” Stefano said with a small laugh soaked in anxiety.

Shivs slid her hand into Crocodile’s as they watched him harry his terrified crew into setting up. “You’re so mean.”

He glanced down at her, then at the busybodies. “Think they'll miss us for six minutes?” he rumbled as he blew out smoke.

“Only six?” she muttered into the skin of his bicep, pressing a kiss against it.

“Hrm.” 

There was a note of amusment under the grumpy noise though, and she was glad his mood had shifted for the better again.

“Oh, that is small,” Shivs chortled when they were shown what they’d be wearing this time. Both were unnecessarily complicated looking contraptions of thin black cord holding in place the most minimal bits of cloth necessary to pretend at decency. She cast a cheeky look up at Crocodile. "Can that even contain you?"

Turned out, it couldn’t.

The elastic had been too weak to keep his junk from doing exactly as it pleased, and she was fairly certain she’d cherish the visual of all of it ignoring the thong’s confines for a good long while. In the end, the poor tailor had to thread iron wire through the main cords. Once that was done, they tried again.

“Over here,” Stefano said as he directed them towards the corner of the deck with an unobstructed view of the oasis around Rain Dinners. From this angle, the rest of Rainbase city wasn’t visible and you could fancy yourself in the middle of the Alabaste desert.

“Would it be possible for one of them to be, well, closer?” he asked, his tone carefully polite.

Crocodile audibly patted his naked thigh and made the clack-clack sound from around his cigar that was usually the only warning some unfortunate soul got. Instantly, one of the massive creatures uncoiled from its nap and lumbered towards them, the deck shaking under its heavy steps.

Shivs rubbed the bananawani’s giant snout. “Hello handsome, you’re gonna be a supermodel too?” she cooed at it as the enormous beast settled down around them.

“P-perfect!” Stefano said, seeming equal measures excited and terrified. “Jace, framing?”

The photographer took aim, motioning them this way and that way before she raised a thumbs up. “Good shot. Got both the desert and the animal framing them.”

Shivs leaned against Crocodile’s thigh, a hand on his broad chest as she looked up at him. He reached around her, resting the curve of his hook against the small of her back.

“Turn a little to the camera, darling, just a little,” Jace said. “Yes, perfect. Hold that position.”

Ever so subtly, Shivs pressed up against his hip, a wave of languid pleasure rolling up her spine as if a quiet beach. The small huff that escaped her drew his attention immediately, his hooded gaze snapping unto hers.

“Let’s have a different one. Glass!" Stefano said as he gestured at one of his assistants, who immediately came over to them with a crystal tumbler. "Something sweet, I think. Hold it up as if you're sharing it."

"What was that, doll?" Crocodile rumbled under his breath as he held the tumbler between them, leaning in as if about to drink from it. His gaze snared hers. Every stealthy push of her pussy against his muscular thigh lit a spark of pleasure that threatened to catch fire in her core. The curve of his hook pressed against her lower back as her quiet pants clouded the glass. "You going to cum on my thigh with all of them watching?"

“Oh, perfect!” Stefano exclaimed, oblivious. “Please hold those expressions!”

“Don’t think he’ll be happy if I climb on your cock instead,” she whispered above the glass. "Though I am dying to."

She heard it as much as she felt it - the twack of snapping fabric and the sudden shift of his balls spilling against her thigh as his cock broke containment, erect for all to see.

“Oh-hoh!” Shivs chortled, leaning back as Crocodile cussed, sloshing the drink. He removed his arm from around her but his hook snagged on one of the uncountable bands of the delicate contraption she wore. It snapped and the whole thing came undone around her with a sigh of fabric that would have been satisfying if it had been intentional.

“Oh, dear!” Stefano, his voice pitching up two octaves as the tailor and his assistants rushed in to fix things. The photographer put away her camera and went for a smoke break.

Shivs struggled not to laugh at the tailor’s awkwardly cautious manner while Crocodile glared down at him. “That is never going to fit back in there.”

Stefano gave her a look more panicked than when Crocodile had threatened shutting all of this down. “What are we going to do?!”

Shivs shifted as the tailor’s assistant helped her into a bathrobe. “Well, Stefano,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. “I know what to do about that.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then clapped his hands.

“You heard the lady, everyone out! Out!”

“Soooo,” Shivs said when everyone was gone, running her hand up his hard shaft. “What are we going to do about this?”

Crocodile reached for the back of her head and drew her to him for a kiss. She responded greedily and he drank her eagerness in as the gluttonous creature within him stirred from sleep.

“If you put your pretty pussy around it, you're not coming off any time soon,” he rumbled against her lips when they parted.

"Tempting as that sounds, I suppose we can't."

He was rock hard as she fitted her palms around him, just below the head, and pulled down with short, firm tugs that drew rapidly louder grunts from him. Holding on to his hip, she straddled his thigh again and rode against him with a languid roll of her hips that send sparks of pleasure up her spine as she jerked him off.

When he reached down to rub her clit, she almost immediately lost it, so wound up the whole affair had left her.

"Cum. For me. Doll," he grunted near her ear, his breath hot bursts against the side of her neck.

She whined pitifully as a short, intense orgasm cut through her so sharp and clear that it brought tears to her eyes. Trembling against him as she clenched around his thigh, savouring the sweet after pleasure. When she recovered, his large cock throbbed in her grip, precum leaking down his shaft and running between her fingers.

“I need those pretty thighs of yours, sweetheart.”

“I need you inside me,” she complained as he dislodged her from his thigh. She reached for his neck, tried to drag him on top of her as she spread her legs. The reverberating groan that drew from him did things to her.

“No -ngh- honey.” He struggled to turn her around as she squirmed underneath him. He was this close to shoving his cock into her soaking pussy and fuck them both into a stupor.

Instead, he pulled her up unto her knees and then feet. He leaned unto his hand, dragging her up against him. The angle was awkward, but no matter. He hooked her thighs together, his cock straining between their soft, hot skin. He groaned as he pressed along her slick pussy.

She complained, fingers curling into fists on the wooden boards as she bucked back into his thrusts, his breath hot along her back.

“You wanted the damn photoshoot,” he grunted, picking up his pace. 

“I want y-you,” she whined, and he had to force his hook around her waist to keep her from tilting her hips trying to get his cock inside her.

If that happened, he wouldn't be able to stop.

He threw his weight around and leaned on his hook instead, so he could reach his hadn between her thighs.

“I know, doll,” he grunted as he rubbed two fingers roughly against her clit, drinking in the way her whines pitched into moans.

“I will - hrng- fuck you. So good. Later.”

“Oh-ah!” She cried out as a second orgasm rushed through her like an oncoming wave and he pounded himself through it with quick, hard thrusts between her trembling thighs. They squeezed around his shaft as he came with a low, drawn out groan that made the bananawani look up. She felt its timbre against her back as he dumped his load on the boards beneath them with a noise that made her bite her lip as she caught his gaze across her shoulder.

By the time the Sphinxxx crew dared approach, they’d settled beside the snoozing bananawani enjoying that glass of brandy and a smoke. It had hardly been enough, but his dick had gone soft and it took the edge off. That’d have to be enough.

“Shit,” Shivs said when she noticed the incriminatingly bar-shaped bruises streaking her left hip.

“Not to worry,” Stefano said quickly. “We can retouch that away.”

“I like it,” Crocodile rumbled against her ear as his fingertips traced her hip.

Shivs stretched against him, nestling into his hold as she sipped the brandy.

“Bet you do,” she said against the glass.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

“Ohhh, it has a little tail! I love that!” Shivs exclaimed when Crocodile had turned around to go where Stefano pointed them.

The last set of nightwear the Sphinxxx designer had brought for them to model was distinctly seasonal. And though not usually one for these kinds of things, Shivs had to admit she didn’t hate it. Predictably, she was wearing a Mrs Santa ensemble that comprised a very short red velvet skirt edged in genuine white fur that felt sinful soft against her skin. It came paired with an impressively v-necked hooded crop top in the same style. She’d opted for stockings and red heels to go with it, because it felt half-finished without them. Stefano had been thrilled.

However, instead of matching Crocodile with a Santa-inspired outfit, they’d actually gone for a reindeer. A very big, very hunky reindeer. 

The outfit comprised a short sleeved top that barely reached to his midrif and struggled to contain his pects, and boxer briefs with cut outs at the thighs that only just managed to contain him. The whole affair was a seasonal chocolate brown, except for the smudge of white on the chest, thighs and butt. It had taken some convincing to get him to wear it. Nevermind, the antlered headband. But that, and the boxer brief’s little reindeer tail delivered the whole thing to grace.

No, she definitely didn’t hate it.

They had returned inside, to Rain Dinners' primary casino floor, which had already been decorated the previous weekend for the upcoming season. Stefano had been conflicted about where they’d do the shoot - by the oiled wood and polished brass of the Grand Café bar, or at the colonnade with the nightlights of Rainbase through the window wall? Shivs had casually suggested they could do the shoot at her table, and he’d loved that.

“No, no, lay down flat. Pretend it's grass and this is summer - yes,” Stefano said as Shivs laid down on her stomach on the poker table, leaning on her elbows with her hands under her chin and idly kicking up her feet.

“Good, perfect!” His tone was as cheerful as the decor as he handed her the poker cards. “Hold ‘em like you mean it, darling.”

“Devil’s in the details.” Shivs winked as she tossed the third card back to him, then put down the right amount of community cards as well. “That’s a little too much.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Crocodile rumbled not even pretending to lower his voice as he leaned over her as instructed.

That drew awkward looks from everyone, and a chortle from her that settled pleasantly in the pit of his stomach as he leaned unto his hand and pretended to be interested in the cards instead of the feel of her damp cunt against his cock. The moist spot discolouring her panties under the short skirt hadn’t lied.

“No, not quite,” Stefano rubbed his chin, then snapped his fingers. “Indicate one of the cards.”

“Well, that’s a solid tell,” Shivs said with a snort.

“Art, art! This is art, not an actual game,” Stefano protested. “Go on, please.”

Crocodile shifted his weight unto his hand, indicating one of the two cards Shivs held with the tip of his hook.

“A little nearer - perfect!”

He leaned in closer as the camera clicked, pressing his cock against her firm butt. “You look like a seasonal treat good enough to eat, doll,” he grunted under his breath.

Shivs arched her back with a little noise, spreading her thighs more to accommodate him. She glanced away from the cards to catch his gaze from the corner of her eye. “Don’t tempt me to take you up on that, Blitzen.”

The rumble at the back of his throat as she felt his cock stiffen against her made her smile at the cards.

When they rounded up the last shot, Stefano came towards them positively aglow. “This was wonderful,” he said in a near reverent tone. “Stunning. Perfect.”

Crocodile lit a cigar, letting the praise shower him. Shivs suspected it smoothed his rankled humours from earlier today.

“Let me gift you any one of these,” the Sphinxxx designer added. “It would be my honour.”

“These ones,” Shivs said immediately. It was the little tail, truly.

Crocodile glanced down at her through a cloud of smoke. Amusement tugged his lips around his cigar.

“What she said.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

“That what you want, doll?” Crocodile said as he ran his hand up her side and under the top’s red velvet to palm her breast.

“Yes. It will turn out to be the best picture,” Shivs said as she laid down on her stomach and leaned on her elbows, hands under her chin. They were in their bedroom, facing the floor length mirrors opposite the curving window wall, wearing the seasonal set that she’d claimed for them. A cheeky glance at him from across her shoulder. “And I want to see it already.”

“You do look good, doll.” He pushed the short skirt up, fingers running through the soft fur edge and against her warm skin. He palmed her firm butt, pulling the cheeks apart. Her crimson panties were soaked, just as they’d been during the photo shoot. 

“My own seasonal treat,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her shoulder, sliding fingers under her panties and between her wet folds. Her little huff when he pushed two into her slick cunt made his cock throb for its tight embrace. “I wanted to rail you every time your pretty pussy pressed against me.”

“Wish you had,” Shivs said as she arched into his touch, pressed her hips into his palm as his fingers drew sparks of pleasure from her core with their every move. She spread her legs further, wanting him against her the way he’d been during the photo shoot. “Wani, please. Need to feel you against me, on top of me. Like that. Again.”

She whined when he withdrew his fingers, and moaned when she felt his hips and weight settle against her instead. Their gazes crossed in the mirror.

“That what you’d do, doll?” he asked as he leaned over her, all but cheek to cheek as he dry humped against her butt, making her feel his erection. “Come to the stable at night and let all the good reindeer stuff your tight, needy hole like a little slut?”

“I only know a bad one,” she replied with half a moan. “But his cock is the best one.”

“Is that so?” he grunted as he pulled the boxer brief’s crotch out of the way and pushed his hard shaft along her clothed cunt and groaned at how wet the thin fabric of her panties felt.

“He always fucks me good and proper,” she said between huffs of need, pressing back against him to feel more. “I love how his thick dick spreads me open, fills me so fucking good.”

“Like this?” He pulled the soaked fabric aside and shoved his hard cock into her in one smooth thrust, the slick noise of her soaking cunt drawing him in incriminatingly loud in the quiet bedroom.

Her moan broke and set fire to the desire that had been smoldering in his loins.

“Oh, yess!” she whined when she felt him bottom out, stretching her so deliciously around him. The tip boldly pushed against her back walls, wanting to go further still. She cramped around him when he stayed put, pushed back against his hips. “F-fuck me.”

He watched her squirm and claw at their bedsheets. Felt her squeeze so tightly around his shaft it made him clench his teeth. He leaned close against her, his breath hot against the back of her neck. “What’s that, doll?”

“F-fuck - ngh- me, damnit,” she cursed as she pushed back against him, desperate for friction, any friction. “Make me f-feel your thick cock. You filthy beast.”

“Beast?” he rumbled with a firm thrust that wrested a groan from him as he blunted against the back wall of her tight hole.

“A-ah! Yes!” she whined half muffled into a fistfull of sheets. “More. Damnit.”

“More?” he grunted into her ear as he locked his hand around her shoulder and his hook behind the far edge of their bed. He wanted, no, needed, to hear her scream for him.

“Ye-ah! Yes!” She’d all but buried her face in their bedsheets, fingers clenching around the pale silk.

“Didn’t my little honey want to see?” he said as he struggled to control himself, hold back from recklessly thrusting into her wet, cramping pussy a moment longer. He pushed her chin up with his index finger as he started pounding his cock into her with thrusts that shook her whole frame. Thrusts whose wet slaps filled their bedroom as the slick noises of her soaking pussy eagerly taking him made him hungry for more. Much more.

“Look up, doll.”

The horny greed in her gaze when they met in the mirror made him groan as his cock throbbed. She was perfect, and his. She fed the ravenous beast within him the way no one else did. No one else could. Not any more. Not ever.

“Scream -ngh - for me, honey,” he grunted as he strained into his pushes, groaning as he forcefully pulled himself up by his hook with long, deep thrusts that damn near made him see stars. She screamed for him then as she watched him wreck her, shattering her cries with his thrusts. And when she started cramping around him, his low cries joined hers as he spilled his load deep in her tight cunt.

Feeling his arm give way under him, he turned to fall on his side into the rumped sheets beside her, drawing her with him as he rode out his orgasm with languid thrusts. She turned her head up and they kissed as he reached under her top again. She made a delightfully hazy noise against his lips when he stroke her hard nipple.

The timid knock at the doorpost drew an irritated grunt from him that made her want to fuck him again.

It was Anthony, his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling. He was holding something, a magazine by the look of it.

“What.” Crocodile grunted.

“The draft print came in, sir,” Anthony said as he held out the magazine, gaze never straying. “They will hit the shelves tomorrow, I was told. Unless, of course, you object.”

“Oh!” Shivs was up and rising so fast that he groaned when his cock slid from her tight pussy. He rolled unto his back and watched his cum leak down her thighs as she grabbed his dress shirt and shrugged it on while trotting to his secretary. He reached for the night stand without bothering to get up, flipping a cigar from the box laying atop of it.

“Thank you, Tony,” Shivs said as she accepted the magazine from him.

“No problem, ma’am,” Anthony said without meeting her gaze, keeping it diligently up. “If there is nothing else?”

“Absolutely nill,” Crocodile said as he sat up and lit the cigar, and his secretary quickly made himself scarce.

“Look what they put on the cover,” Shivs said, clearly delighted, as she came towards him, proudly showing that seasonal shot she’d loved so well she’d made him wreck her like that not five minutes ago.

“Seems you got your wish,” he huffed through a puff of smoke as he reached out to her with hook and hand. 

She chortled as she took hold of his hook and let him draw her into his lap. “This sensationalist line they added about seasonal fun at the casino makes it sound like we got a whole something here for select guests, haha.”

“No, no other reindeer,” he grumbled, making her laugh.

“Don’t you worry,” she said as she sat up to press a kiss against his lips, hand stroking across his lower stomach. “None could hope to compare.”

The molified noise he made in response made her smile as she curled up against him with the magazine. “It looks so pretty,” she said as she ran her fingers across the full colour pages.

“That’s because you’re in it,” he said as he looked at them from above her shoulder. The article was a little ways into the middle of the fashion magazine. Eleven pages of quality photographs and there wasn’t a single one they didn’t like. It was only when she paged back to the front that they noticed the envelope taped into the inner cover.

There was a note in it emblazoned with the Sphinxx calligraphy, and a stack of photographs.

‘It was a delight and honour to work with the both of you. These did not make the cut, but I dare say I’d be in trouble if I did away with them, wouldn’t I?

Con affetto, Masotti Stefano.'

The delight with which she went through the additional pictures made the creature coil inside him with a purr.

“Oh, but these came out nice too?” Shivs said as she held one up. 

It looked like a candid shot as they walked to their intended spot during the shoot in his office. He’d just taken a draw from his cigar, a fond glance shrouded in smoke as she tugged him along by his hook, glancing over her shoulder with a smile as radiant as the desert sun.

Crocodile plucked it from her fingers. “This one will sit in my office.”

“I want a bigger print of this one,” she said as she shielded another one from view. He tugged at her shoulder with his hook to see. It was one from the second location, outside, with the bananawani. On it, he sat in one of the cast iron deck chairs, the large animal and the sprawling Rainbase oasis behind him. She stood against his inner thigh, leaning into him as she held up a lighter so he could light his cigar. It was a good shot, except for the part where all of his everything was breaching containment from the frightfully complicated thong. 

“I am going to hang it at my table,” she declared as she held it against her chest.

“Absolutely not!” he objected, smoke escaping him as he tried to snatch it from her.

She dodged and laughed, rolling off his lap amid a flock of scattering photographs. Then jumped up, the incriminating picture held high in hand. “Maybe that'll keep 'em piped down!”

He tangled himself out of the blasted sheets, biting down on his cigar as he gave chase. 

“Get back here!”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Robin basked in the bright, sunny morning as she sauntered down Rainbase’s boulevard with her bestie, Miguella. They’d gotten the largest, fanciest lattes they could find and she had put them on Crocodile’s tab. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t taste better for it.

“We could go to All Stars or Seven Palms tonight?” Miguella said as she stirred her straw through the whipcream of her latte.

“All Stars.” Robin let the latte’s creamy texture take over her thoughts for a moment. “They’ll know to find us in Seven Palms, we go there too often.”

“They’re mad at you?”

“I am mad at them.”

Robin scowled. It was always excessively embarrassing when they did something like this, even when it was just lame old suit brands. She didn’t need to hear from everyone and their dog how good they looked, how amazing they were, and how lucky she was. She hated it here. She’d run away if she actually had anywhere else she could go without being turned in on sight. 

It was strange, though, for they hadn’t even tried to curfew her the past weekend. Perhaps they felt bad and hadn’t gone through with it? That’d be a first.

As they sauntered down the boulevard, not all its souvenir and food stands had opened yet. And the lady at the corner kiosk was just dragging the ‘newly arrived’ stand outside.

And that’s where she saw it.

Rendered in glossy full-colour, proud as could be on the front of Fashion First. Them. How dare? Her on her stomach on one of the casino’s poker tables, wearing the skimpiest sexy-Santa skirt and top you could still put on a front cover without being delegated to the randy back corner of a 24/7 shop. And him, dressed up as a goddamn reindeer, leaning over her back in what couldn’t possibly be an accidental posing. They pretended to be engrossed by the cards she was holding, but Robin knew better. She could fucking tell from their stupid horny glances.

Standing there, in the sunny, quiet boulevard. She thought she might actually scream.

“Hey! Aren’t that your parents?” Miguella said, and had the gall to chortle about it.

“They are NOT my parents, and they are dead to me!” Robin screamed, and stormed off.

🐊 🐊 🐊

Horny hell seat reservations - @tiredemomama @smut-goblin @ruledbyproblematique @momodwriter @littlemountainwolf @fanaticsnail @feral-artistry - have a very merry Christmas with a shot of crocaine on the house.

[miradelletarot]

I'm here to help with your bad mood!! Ten thousand hugs coming your way stat! 🫂🫂🫂💕

If you need something to take your mind off of things, and if you have the energy for it, maybe you could write something about Gale with a Cleric! Reader who worships a deity of light that he's never heard of. Bonus points if they actually have some of that deity's power and totally save his ass with it.

(This may or may not be inspired by my Cleric of Hylia OC where my Tav's name is Sheik and she worships Hylia from the legend of zelda. Idk how much you know about Zelda so sorry if you're unfamiliar with it ;-;)

I really really hope tomorrow goes better for you, and every other day after that. You deserve the best and only the best, sweetie. Have some cake 🎂

Sorry it took me literally *forever* to get to this, but I hope you like what I came up with. For context, I decided on using Sarenrae (which I know is a Pathfinder deity, not a D&D one,) but I assumed that Gale would at least have some BASIC knowledge on every known deity in the Forgotten Realms so I wanted to lean into something that would be truly known. Sure, I'm crossing the streams, but it's a system I am semi-familiar with, and thought it would be a neat touch. (plus, I thought it would be cool asf for our cleric to call upon her, and basically level up on the battlefield. because...ya know. turn that badass dial up to 11.) Also, even though i grew up with Zelda, i was not allowed to play video games as a kid so I know NOTHING about it. Should I play it? perhaps. Will I? probably not. I barely have two braincells to rub together half the time, and I use them both on writing or sleeping these days lol. So, I hope you like the bit of creative license I took with this one. Regardless, THANK YOU so much for the ask! This has been so fun to take these prompts and stretch my writing abilities a little, diving into ideas I never considered (except for the Sagora x Gale one...i really ran to the moon with that lmao).

So here you go! Cleric!Reader x Gale, saving Gale's ass in the shadow cursed lands. (I kept it neutral as to their relationship so it could be seen as friendship if said reader was not interested in the romance aspect of things). cw: some canon-typical/D&D-typical violence

You and your companions ventured into the Shadow Cursed lands, overwhelmed by the depths of emptiness and darkness that lurked throughout. As you walked you could almost feel threads of your very soul being tugged on, draining you piece by piece.

You stop, closing your eyes – which normally wouldn’t be a good idea, but your companions had your back – and you did your best to focus all of your energy on anything that wasn’t the curse. Your connection with the divine was barely able to break though enough to guide you to a familiar sensation.

Last Light.

“This way,” you call out as you open your eyes and begin to walk forward, your companions following you.  It isn’t long before you make your way into an ambush, surrounded by vine and needle blights. “Shit!” You hiss as you’re struck by a cluster of spindly thorns from afar. You brace yourself, weapon drawn, and spells at the ready, prepared to defend your friends.

You do your best to fight them at a distance, finding out very quickly that the needle blights explode on death, and spray out a flurry of needles as a last attempt at retribution for invading their land. “AH!” Gale cries out, his shield spell flickering out as about a dozen or so needles jut out from his robes sending him reeling backward. “Gale!” Before you can reach him, he backs up directly into a vine blight, its spindly arms wrapping around him tightly. He lets out a blood-curdling scream as it constricts around him, and pushes some of the needles deeper into his flesh. You watch in horror as he loses consciousness knowing you can’t help him just yet lest you succumb to a similar fate. Your eyes light up like a bronze fire, a guttural incantation emerging from your lips. Desperate. Angry. Surrounding you is the manifestation of your rage in the form of spiritual guardians, bathing you in a soft glow as they purge the evil around you and your friends. 

For a brief moment, Gale groans, his eyes fluttering open as a surge of deep golden light flashes before him, and his body falls lip to the ground.

Behind shut eyes, he’s aware of that light…how it fades, then brightens again.

“Hang on, Gale! I’ve got you!” Your words sound more like a desperate plea than a promise, words he can scarcely make out in his daze.

He draws in a sharp breath as you and your fellow companions pluck the needles from him one by one, his eyes thrown open from the pain, but all he can see is you. Bathed in the brightest light he’s ever seen, and the color of a Waterdhavian sunset, your hands are outstretched towards him, his breathing begins to settle as you chant to your deity. Sarenrae? Dawnflower? What are these names?He’s not familiar with either of those names, but you keep chanting them, and each time you do, he can breathe a bit deeper, see a little clearer. “Gale??” You whisper as he sits up, and the radiance that surrounded you has dimmed once again.

He lifts his hand to his chest, clutching his robes. For a moment, he simply sits in silence, wrestling with his own mortality. When he finally looks at you with disbelief. “What was that? What you did just now?” You ponder for a moment, not even entirely sure what it was yourself. After all, these abilities were new to you, a new blessing from your goddess. Not that you never healed anyone before, but your light was stronger, brighter, more radiant than even you had ever experienced. “I – I’m not entirely sure. I just called upon Sarenrae…The Dawnflower. Our lady of healing light. It is with her blessings that I shine so brightly.” You pause, taking in everything that just transpired before you give him a gentle smile. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” You stand and help him to his feet, allowing yourselves a moment to dust off your clothes, and check for any other immediate injuries.

“You have my most sincere thanks.” He bows before you, and smiles as he straightens up again.

You bow your head and offer a half-smile in return. “You’re most welcome. Now, let’s find our way to the Inn, shall we?”

[heartofmortis]

✶ Evenstar

. *. ⋆ CHAPTER 14

gif by @houseofamidala

pairing: anakin skywalker x oc

word count: 5.1k

✶ . *. ⋆ read on ao3 & wattpad

Anakin sat slouched on the sofa. He watched Oberyn pace across his room, working on one of his datapads while also talking with his brother. It amused Anakin that his brother could not stay put in one place — perhaps it was a Skywalker thing: always on the move. Oberyn was trying to set Anakin on another task to follow Elia around. This time she had to go North to Aphelion’s second largest city, Nolwenn, which lay protected in a carefully designed dome to protect all of the planet’s history. If the thought of exploring did not intrigue him so much, Anakin would be putting up a far greater fight.

“Why aren’t you going?” Anakin asked when Oberyn set his datapad down at last and collapsed into the armchair across from his brother.

“It’s a wedding thing,” Oberyn answered. “I’m not allowed to go. It’s supposed to be a bad omen or something.”

Suddenly, Anakin wanted to stick out his bottom lip and ask to stay with his brother. If he was to be in this wedding, he wanted to be by his brother’s side. Especially not when he was trying to avoid the Princess after he confessed his fears about his mother to her. But equally, he also did not want to sound like a silly little kid.

“And besides, I would really appreciate it if you accompanied El and Lilith.” Oberyn leaned forward as he spoke. “Nolwenn is very anti-war. And even though El opposes it too, I can’t let her be caught in the middle of something.”

Anakin gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

So now Anakin was stuck on a very long train journey with dozens of other passengers travelling North. The worst part of the journey was that the train could only travel underground. Elia had explained it to him as they boarded the isolated first class. The North was inhospitable and was constantly ravaged by violent snowstorms and freezing temperatures. It was the antithesis of Tatooine in Anakin’s eyes, and he was intrigued to see it. Therefore, to keep Aphelion connected, underground tunnels had been dug out — stretching all the way around the planet, as well as from Alora to Nolwenn. Anakin knew that mining used to be one of Aphelion’s main trades, but now he could see the degree to which they worked.

To pass the time, and to avoid the Princess and her friend, Anakin sat quietly by himself and meditated. (Obi-Wan would be proud.) Beneath the surface realigning his focus to the Force, Anakin could not explain it but the Force felt very strong here. Anakin realised he had not dwelled on it since they arrived, his head being preoccupied with a dozen other things that felt more important at the time.

Suddenly, Anakin felt a bumping against his knee. “Artoo!” He heard Elia scold as he opened his eyes to see that the Princess’ astromech had come to inspect him.

Anakin knew this blue-and-white R2 unit. They had met on Tatooine nine years ago — R2-D2 had never been far from Fallon Uttara’s heels. Anakin had met many astromechs and R-series droids, but never had he encountered a droid with Artoo’s personality and modifications. The young Jedi enjoyed talking with fellow mechanics and wondered what he could learn from this droid’s creator. Anakin thought of his own droid he had made as a boy — C-3PO, unfinished in Anakin’s eagerness to run away to Coruscant with his brother and new friends, abandoned to the always unforgiving sands of Tatooine. (He thought about his mother again and almost wished he could stop.)

“Hey, buddy,” Anakin said to the droid with a smile. He found himself chuckling as Artoo recounted his favourite — and least favourite — memories from Tatooine. (Most droids had their memories wiped often, especially those involved with politics or a Crown, so Anakin was quite surprised when Artoo beeped along about events like they were yesterday.)

Took hours to clean the sand out of all my gears. The droid ended with a trill, still not amused by the Tatooine climate.

Anakin laughed, truly. There were scarce beings who understood what Tatooine was like. While most of him wanted to forget his past, Anakin found it refreshing to confide in someone — or something — that had a slight understanding of what hardships he used to face. Even if it was only the weather. “You could pay me a million credits and I wouldn’t go back there willingly. I still don’t like sand.”

Don’t blame you. If droids could laugh, Artoo was doing it. Anakin grinned.

“Aphelion’s beaches are far softer and prettier than desert sands,” Lilith commented, peering over the top of her sketchbook. Anakin looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Lei, you should show him.”

Anakin watched a smile grow across the Princess’ face, light spilling into her soft brown eyes. The glow faltered when Elia looked at him. Whatever she was trying to hide, she did it well. (Anakin wasn’t sure why he noticed the way her expression changed.) “Neptune is wonderful,” she told him. “The villages are really pretty and the ocean is especially beautiful on a clear day.”

Anakin nodded without more of a reply. He trusted Elia’s opinion far more than Lilith’s. He didn’t think Athena had ever mentioned her planet’s beaches before — perhaps that was because Rhea was from Hemera and their beaches were famous galaxy-wide for being near perfect, or perhaps it was because Athena had always preferred Naboo to her homeworld. Anakin realised that Athena’s distance from the location was likely rather to do with her accident taking place there (Anakin still did not entirely know what happened that day — besides knowing that Elia was at the centre of why Queen Ianthe had made the decision to take her daughter out of the Jedi Order with Chancellor Palpatine’s support.) Elia caught his eye and the same dots connected in her head. She looked away from him and did not look back at him for the rest of the journey.

Despite knowing that Nolwenn was a city enclosed in a protective dome, Anakin still expected the city to merge into the surrounding landscape and be covered in a pretty layer of snow. Instead, the city was dominated by tall and sleek skyscrapers, reaching towards the sun, and many smaller districts that felt more familiar to the rest of Aphelion’s infrastructure that Anakin had seen. It was an interesting mix of metal and brick across the city, but Anakin didn’t think they clashed uncomfortably. The core of the city contained the highest concentration of high rise buildings — Anakin assumed the massive data vaults were either stored in them, or underneath. When he looked up, Anakin could see the raging snowstorm through the clear bubble. Its howls were muted by the gentle hum of the bustling city, but Anakin could imagine what it sounded like.

“We’re going to my Mum’s first,” Lilith informed Anakin as she and Elia linked arms and began walking down one of the neat cobbled streets outside the train station. Artoo gave the young Jedi a nudge to follow close behind the girls.

Lilith’s mother lived in a modest building. A small, two-storey home, tucked away in the artist’s corner of the city. Caught between two identical houses on a street of sameness, all that made each house stand apart was their painted exterior walls: some were one shade of pastel, others had intricate forest landscapes or constellations. Lilith’s mother’s house was on the simpler side: the brick wall was painted in a pale pink with delicate white and blue flowers drawn on vines looping around the windows.

Verena Stark looked just like her daughter: the same dark curls and snowy complexion. They even shared paint splatters across their fingers. Anakin’s mother was desert-warm, roughened by sand and hard work. Verena had the same maternal warmth that Anakin recognised in other women, but she bore more resemblance to a soft, crackling fire, her hands marked by splinters from old paintbrushes and her eyes tired from staring at colourful canvases. If Anakin looked at Lilith, he would have seen a similar fire — only burning more fitfully; weakened by snowstorms but bright against the sun’s glow.

Verena welcomed her daughter and Elia with tight hugs and admittance to soft prayers that they would arrive safely. When her gaze fell to Anakin, she gave him a pleasant smile — a flicker of silent remarks passed between her and the girls. Years of knowing and quiet secrets that Anakin was not privy to. But he did not care — especially when Verena brought them into her kitchen, bags abandoned at the door, and offered them a plate of warm cookies. Anakin wondered where Lilith’s loyalty had been led astray for her to leave Elia alone the other night when the young Jedi got the impression that Verena would not have imparted cheap abandon to her only daughter. It wasn’t really Anakin’s business (but it felt like it).

“How long are you guys staying for?” Verena asked as she and her visitors took seats in her living room.

“Not as long as I would like,” Elia admitted. “We’re here on ‘official business’,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

Anakin’s attention was caught by the number of paintings that adorned the walls — most were incredible, but there were a number of crude illustrations made by a child. Every piece was dated and named. Anakin noticed that while most of the works were obviously Lilith’s, there were some with Elia’s name attached. He knew nothing about what good artwork technically was, but he thought Elia’s was very good — he recognised the lakes of Naboo and the city of Theed, as well as purple Apheli moorland and mountain ranges.

His obvious distraction caused a shift in conversation as the women around him slipped into whispered conversation. Anakin tried not to eavesdrop, even though he was in the same room as them. He only paid attention when Elia offered to help Verena bring their empty cookie plates into the kitchen. Lilith did not look sideways at him, and Anakin didn’t particularly care. He didn’t mean to listen in to Elia and Verena’s conversation in the next room, but he was intrigued when they mentioned him. They spoke in hushed whispers, all too aware of their company, but Anakin caught snippets.

“Is he the one you used to talk about all the time?” Anakin overheard Verena ask. He did not catch Elia’s response, but she tumbled back into the living room a moment later. Anakin wasn’t sure why he cared, but he wanted to know what Elia said about him. Her cheeks were tinged pink. For all Anakin’s power in the Force, the Princess was still a mystery to him. He didn’t know how to read her.

“We should get going,” Elia told Anakin as she lingered in the doorway. There was a distance kept between them with Lilith in between. “We have another short journey to go.”

R2-D2 stayed behind at the house with Verena while Elia and Anakin set off for the caves. Elia could not wait to get this over with. Lilith had an art show on the other side of the artist’s district and Elia was bitter that she could not also attend. Their art-related hobbies were what bound Elia and Lilith together at fourteen years old, and Elia still wished she was free to create whatever she wanted like Lilith could.

The route to the mineral caves was simple. Nolwenn was a well-connected city with most of its traffic sitting at ground level to keep the sky clear. Three streets away from Lilith’s house was a taxi hub, where Elia hailed a droid-driven speeder for her and Anakin. The speeder took them to the other side of the city. Like the royal palace and Alora, Nolwenn was built close to a mountain range — the second biggest on the planet. Another mile-long tunnel ran deep below the city into one of the mountains. There laid the caves.

Elia explained the ritual to Anakin on the walk into the mountain. It was a silly old thing that came about before Aphelion became a matriarchy, all about female purity. Oberyn also thought it was a stupid thing as he did not have to undergo any such ritual. There was a silver lining that Elia found worthwhile was that the caves were laced with minerals that had a dozen healing properties that she could not name. Her scientific knowledge was limited to her school education; Zara Palpatine, Elia’s sister on a few technicalities, had tried teaching her some things, but Elia had less interest in learning why the galaxy worked in the way it did. Elia did not share the vast majority of Aphelion’s superstitions and she was hardly religious, so all she really cared for was the caves being pretty.

And the mineral caves were pretty. Even deep underground, the caverns were lit brightly by light beams bouncing off crystals lodged in the walls of stone, and the air still felt fresh with the calming scent of petrichor and not of damp, like she had been expecting. Elia walked towards the water and crouched down, dipping her fingers beneath the surface. Supposedly, the mineral pools were still warmed by dragonfire. She set down her bag of dry clothes next to the pool and slipped out of her shoes. Anakin stood somewhere behind her. When Elia stepped into the water, the fabric of her dress rose to float and stuck to her legs when she submerged up to her waist. She took a few more steps to see where the water deepened before reaching out and letting the water pull her under.

She felt weightless, floating in the water, and dove deeper. There were gaps of light in the bottom of the pool that poured water into the deeper ponds. The mineral pools all fed each other, using the melting snow as their birth point and fell through crevices through the mined out insides of the mountains. The water would eventually feed into Nolwenn’s water filtration system and be used by everyone in the city. The water cleansing reduced many of the mountain’s minerals, which was why girls travelled into the high points of the caves where the water was most healing.

When she came back up for air, she pushed her hair out of her face so it was slicked back against her head. Elia found her gaze reaching towards Anakin. “You can come in too,” she said. “It’s only husbands that aren’t supposed to come in with their future wives. The water is quite nice actually.”

“Do I need to wear a white dress as well?” Elia liked the way he laughed.

Elia rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushed pink from the warm water, and rose to stand where the water only met her waist. The bodice and skirt of her dress had transformed and was now stained lilac. “It represents a transformation: leaving an old life behind. Traditionally men visit Neptune to bathe in the salt water to shed layers of their past. But I know Oberyn wanted to follow more Naboo traditions, so I don’t know what he’ll be getting up to.”

Anakin huffed a little. “He was always better at looking to the future and letting go of the past than me.”

Elia nodded. She had gotten that impression from Oberyn early on. She waded back, deeper into the water. “It’s never too late to try, if you want to.”

She watched as Anakin stared at the ripples in the water before he confessed shyly, “I don’t know how to swim.”

For a moment, Elia wondered if she had forgotten that the Skywalker boys grew up on a desert planet, but Oberyn loved to swim with her in the lakes on Naboo. Was a Jedi’s life simply that restricted? She gave him an honest smile. “Don’t worry. I can show you.”

Anakin looked very uncertain, but he complied and shrugged off the outer layers of his Jedi robes and let them pool next to Elia’s bag. He moved tentatively, unsure. Elia offered a hand to guide him but he did not take it. She half-expected him to panic when in the water, but he watched and copied her instructions calmly. Elia showed him the way to float and move his arms to cut through the water. But she kept distance between them — they were already in close quarters, he wouldn’t want her any closer (not when the last time she was alone and secluded with a Jedi, Athena almost died). Anakin was a quick learner, a natural. She was ready to teach him another stroke when they were interrupted by a great tremble in the ground.

The shallow water in the pool sloshed over the edge and ripples broke the previously undisturbed surfaces of the other smaller pools in their room of the cavern.

Anakin turned to look at her. His short curls stuck to his forehead. “You guys have earthquakes and you brought us to a cave.”

Elia felt her stomach sink, like she was being pulled to the drain. “We aren’t supposed to… Aphelion only has quakes far out to sea where they can’t hurt anyone.”

Anakin dove towards Elia, pulling her under the water by her waist as the ceiling began to crumble and drop rock on top of them. Elia reached back to the surface, snatching back their discarded belongings. Anakin also surfaced for breath. They watched as the cracks in the ceiling grew bigger, water from the pools above them started leaking inside. The tunnels that led in and out of each room were much smaller and likely to be cut off quickly.

“Do you see the cracks of light where the water pulls you to?” Elia watched as Anakin followed where she was pointing and she nodded. “Dive for them, we can escape through the tunnels down there.”

They both took a deep breath and dove again. The water was clear enough for them both to see where they were going. Elia dove first as she was more experienced. But she had not yet gone this deep. All the pools fed into each other through tiny streams between rocks and drains that took away water so the highest pools would not overfill. But when Elia reached the bottom, the gap was not big enough for either of them to squeeze through. She tried to point it out to Anakin without inhaling any water before she began trying to break the rocks surrounding the drain. There were already cracks in the surface, they just needed to be bigger.

Anakin pushed her out of the way and reached out with the Force. The cracks in the rock grew bigger but did not fall away until Anakin was able to break them away with his hands. Like a plug being pulled, Elia and Anakin fell through the ceiling. The water cushioned their fall and they were lucky that the rocks fell around them and did not hit them. Elia was grateful to breathe again when she surfaced in the next pool and gasped for air. She dragged herself out of the new pool. This room was darker, the floor flooded by the overspill of the other rooms. But the walls were sturdier and the tremors were gone.

“Do you know what way to go?” Anakin asked, gaining his footing next to her.

“Not exactly, but all paths lead the same way.”

He motioned for her to lead and they took off running before another earthquake, or aftershock, appeared.

They reached the mouth of the cave quickly and slowed to a staggered walk. Dripping wet and breathless, Elia promised herself, I am never doing that again.

Elia noticed a small number of visitors approaching the cave with a guide. They all stared at Elia and Anakin. “You shouldn’t go in there right now. The earthquake made the ground unstable, it isn’t safe.”

Every one of the newcomers stared at her and glanced at their companions like she was crazy.

“What earthquake?” the tour guide asked.

Elia turned to Anakin. Perhaps she was crazy. But he was giving her the same expression of disbelief. The tour guide quickly rallied the group and they set off into the caves, all of them looking back at Elia and Anakin. The Elia noticed blood staining his hands.

“Sweet gods, are you okay?”

Anakin shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Elia made him sit down on one of the nicely placed rocks outside the cave. She pulled him around by the wrist and found some damp but clean fabric to clean the deep, but not threatening, cut across Anakin’s hand. He winced but complied as she fashioned him a makeshift bandage.

“I’ve seen people use the Force to heal,” she commented. “Sometimes I wish I could connect to it.”

“The Force is very strange here,” Anakin said. “It feels different on other planets, but Aphelion is something else. Every time I try and meditate or try to use it, I feel some resistance. I have never had trouble using the Force before.”

Elia was curious. Her experiences with the Jedi, and the Force, were very limited but they fascinated her. “Just here, or in thr capital too?”

“Everywhere. It’s this planet. It clouds things.”

Elia chuckled. “Aphelion is just a planet. Maybe the Chosen One just needs to give it a better chance.”

Anakin gave a disapproving huff. “I have given it plenty of chances.”

“The people, yes. The planet less so.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I’d rather have the people like me.”

“Because they named you their hero?”

“Yes.” The Jedi frowned and pulled his hand out of her grasp to finish tying the bandage himself. Elia sat back and watched him to it wrong but she did not want to correct him.

Elia gave a half hearted laugh. “Is one title not enough for you? The Chosen One and the Hero.”

“I didn’t want to be the Chosen One.” Anakin bit back. “At least here, they gave me the title because I did something. I know I’m going to be the best at what I do. It’s written in the stars that I will bring balance to the Force but…”

“It’s a lot of pressure. I understand.”

He shook his head. “No you don’t. No one does. You’re a princess. You breathe and everyone loves you.”

Elia frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Like you do? Everyone pities me, same as you. You were born great. I was born nothing, the same as everyone else. It was chance and horrid, rotten luck that I stand here now. You have a lot, you should not take that for granted.” She stood and bundled up her stuff. “Let us please get back to the city so we can get my wedding done with and then we can leave each other alone.” Anakin stared at her and gave a small nod and they moved to Bevin their journey back into the city.

They were almost dry when they walked back through the city. They had walked in silence the whole way. Elia was quite tired of Anakin’s ego and his distaste that he could barely hide for a moment. She wanted to make a brief stop at one of her favourite bookshops to pick up a gift for Eden, and then she could go home.

The wedding was close now and Elia would not need to leave the palace again. Anakin would have no need to stay near her any longer. And yet it still weighed heavily on her heart that he refused to give her anything. She understood his reasons to feel protective over Athena — they were best friends; Elia felt the same way towards Lilith and Oberyn. She was mostly frustrated at herself that she still hung onto the hopeless, wretched feelings that had followed her since she was fourteen on Naboo, racing around Theed with Anakin. (Every part of Elia that was still Alana clung to the past with a steel grip.) She would just have to force herself to move on, push Alana further away.

The city centre was busier than Elia normally saw it in the times she had visited before. Nolwenn had a large population, but people did not often come together in vast groups unless there was a celebration or the market was fully stocked. But when Elia looked closer at the crowd as she and Anakin found themselves unwillingly brought into it, she saw dozens of signs being waved in their air.

“Look,” Elia said with a smile, “they don’t want this Bill to pass either. I just wish the Senate would see it too.”

“I wouldn’t celebrate these people’s decisions too soon — look.” Anakin pointed beyond the peace signs. Elia’s chest tightened as she saw dozens of posters of the Apheli crown or throne wreathed in flames. “You need to get out of here. Now.”

Elia shook her head. “They’re protesting. I should see what their complaints are so we can fix them–”

The crowd came closer together, trapping the Jedi and the Princess in the masses. Chants were being thrown around, graffiti strewn across buildings. Panic seized in Elia’s chest. These people hated her family. They hated this wedding. She heard a voice ring out — shaming each member of the royal family. Including Elia. They thought her plea for peace was a disguise for her ‘Separatist sympathies’? It was completely untrue, but they believed it. They hated her too.

Strong hands fell onto Elia’s waist, pulling her free from the crowd. She stumbled, trying to hide her face. Anakin was in front of her, steadying her when they broke free. Elia curled her hands into fists and ignored the stab of her nails cutting into her palms. What had she done wrong? She did not agree with her mother all the time, but Elia did not doubt that (besides the wedding), Ianthe Valarys had her planet’s best interests at heart. That was why she had Alerie join Padmé’s opposition. The people did not truly hate them, did they? Elia had never sat in on one of her mother’s meetings with her advisors and staff. Did the Queen know what her people thought? Elia wished she could talk to all of these protestors, these people — hear their grievances and tell the people that Aphelion was strong, that her adoptive family cared. But she did not even like speaking up in her lessons at university. What help could she truly give? She did not know how to fight, how to convince. She only stood as a shield when trouble came. Trouble she could not predict in any way that was helpful. (Not like little Eden’s vast and spiralling dreams, or Aerrik’s precise and rare glimpses of the future.) She was just there. Always just there. She was nothing. She did not even know why Ianthe had taken her in. She was just Alana. Alana the scared girl. Alana who froze when the fire came. She would never stop the flames. She would never run into them.

Elia scarcely noticed when the crowd noticed she was there. All she saw between her gasping breaths and stinging blurred vision was the shouts and the flash of Anakin’s lightsaber. He took her hand, begging her to come with him. Elia could imagine the crowd chasing them with torches and pitchforks.

They stopped running four streets away when no protestors were anywhere behind them. Anakin tugged Elia into an alleyway. He was saying things — telling her to breathe, helping her to do so, telling her they were safe. Worry creased his features, and then Anakin started talking. She didn’t hear him fully at first but whatever place Elia had found herself stuck in, Anakin was helping her come back.

Elia braced herself against the wall, dropping her head into her hands and muttered out a string of apologies. She had never seen so many people angry at her family before. Even if she seldom felt like one, Elia was still a Valarys in almost every way.

“It’s fine. Don’t apologise,” Anakin said. His hands caught around her wrists. “Just let me get you back to somewhere safe, okay?”

The walk back to Verena’s house was thankfully short. No one was in when they arrived, but Elia knew where the spare key was kept and she let herself and Anakin in. Despite all that had happened, Elia still found a way to feel glad for the experience in the caves. The minerals still gave her a numbing calmness.

Damp hair coiled back and pinned behind her head, Elia nibbled chocolate biscuits in the kitchen. The house was quiet, peaceful. At least it was until Anakin found her.

He lingered in the doorway, leaving space between them. “I wanted to thank you, properly, for the caves,” he said. “Not just showing me how to swim, but you were quick thinking and you saved us both.”

Elia shrugged and licked crumbs off her fingers as she turned to face him. “You would have done the same.”

Anakin gave a short laugh. “I probably wouldn’t have taken us through a safer route.” He paused and began to move closer to her. “I, um, also wanted to apologise for what I said after. I don’t pity you.”

“It makes no difference. You still don’t like me.”

“No. That’s not true. It’s–”

“Complicated,” Elia mused. Isn’t everything. “It’s fine. You’re Athena’s friend. I understand.”

Anakin shook his head. He was stood in front of her now, catching her between him and the kitchen counter. “No. It isn’t just about Thena. It’s more than that. I…”

He was looking at her like he often did. Elia did not like the way he confused her — sometimes he would not look at her. Then he couldn't stop (like he was doing now). But he wasn’t looking at her with distaste. Maybe half of the looks he gave her weren’t of dislike. But she could not explain how he was looking at her now. There was an odd light in his eye that she had not seen before. She liked when he looked at her, it made her feel fluttery and girlish — but this was different.

“Anakin…” His name was heavy and left her lips softly. He was gazing down at her — his eyes mapping her face. Elia’s breath caught in her throat, they were inches apart and she could feel the warmth of his body quell the goosebumps across her skin. “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Before Elia had to define his expression and question the heat that was rising across her body, the front door unlocked and swung open. Her heart raced. Elia broke free from their eye contact and fled the kitchen. She hated this, hated him. And she wanted to go home.

[nachtsoklein]

what time is it? i'm late for work.

the morning after.

tail reaches out to turn the clock - face on the nightstand towards them, frowning as he reads out the hour. a yawn, fangs reflecting the morning sun. ❛ it's not even seven ... ❜ & yet his side grows colder in jaina's rush nonetheless. head falling back into his pillow, the crawler sighs, sleep - heavy lids falling back shut.

listening to the sounds of shuffling & dressing, it strikes that he's been perhaps spoiled for his mutation, so used to simply ... bamfing places, his teleportation improving in ease & maximum distance practically each day, that being in a rush is an experience largely reserved for the field these days. there's some definite guilt for keeping jaina up for so long, certainly having done no favors to her typical sleeping habit. only some, though. looking over at her busy - body form, kurt can note a reduction of the usual tightness in her shoulder - blades.

he allows a smile to himself before drawing himself to sitting up, stretching shoulders & neck as he goes, scanning for his own clothes even as he speaks up. ❛ i could bamf you over to your office, spare you the transport time. how far is it from here — a dozen kilometers or so, right ?? i can do that in one jaunt. it's the least i could do. ❜