#it always felt slightly off. maybe i was always just a little bit too cognizant that choices or not this is still bits and bytes

[bmpmp3]

no game trying to do some kind of metatexual morality thing making the player feel culpable for their actions by giving them the option to be nice or kill everyone has made me feel anywhere near how guilty and sick to my stomach Drakengard made me feel when you blast a bunch of enemies on the ground into nothing with Angelus. and it wasn't even About That

[nimbasa-librarian]

A Pretty Good Birthday

This was her first birthday in Unova

And it would be the first one she’d ever spent by herself. 

Okay, not entirely by herself. Drew and Daniel had been up and about and trilling happily at her, affectionately bopping her on the head as if to wish her a very happy 29th birthday. 

“Thank ya, thank ya” she pushed them off with a smile, carefully getting ready for the day.

Her birthday wasn’t public information - she’d made sure to keep those records private when she took her new job - so thankfully, there wouldn’t be any celebration waiting for her at work.

She hated that stuff, the anxiety killed her. 

Putting on her long coat, she checked her Xtrans briefly. No messages.

It was still night in Galar. She was sure she’d at least hear from her mother and father. Maybe Denton if he wasn’t busy, perhaps even Milo. 

She didn’t linger on Piers for longer than she must. 

Ready for her day, she motioned her Yamasks behind her, and she was off. 

She was waiting in the station near Ingo when her Xtrans went off, the soft jingle indicating that her mother and father were reaching out 

Wasn’t it like, 5 AM over here? 

She lifted the Xtrans, answering the call, and was greeted with - 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” 

The poor woman nearly jumped out of her skin 

“Oh, Sweet and Merciful Yvetal-” 

“Happy birthday, Anya!” 

She huffed “Thank you, Ma. That was spirited of you” 

“I wanted to make sure I caught you before work and woke your father up at the same time - win-win!” 

“Sure” her father grumbled in the background “Happy birthday, Annie” 

“Thank’s Pa” 

Ingo tilted his head at the conversation, but said nothing. Anya was too focused on the call, trading pleasantries with her parents. Though Drew did notice him, and almost seemed to motion for Ingo to also say happy birthday. 

He was alarmingly cognizant, even for a Yamask. 

The call ended with Anya shutting her extrans with one of those exasperated sighs that you only give with family. 

Ingo cleared his throat. 

“Hm?” 

“It is your birthday today?” 

“Oh” She looked a bit sheepish “Uh, yeah’ She nodded, adjusting her bag “Ma an’ Pa wanted to say it before I went to work. I should be hearin’ from my brother soon too. Maybe a few friends” 

Milo. It was just going to be Milo. 

Ingo took a second, before tipping his hat to her “Well, A very happy birthday to you, friend. May you receive no challengers today” 

The slightly delighted surprise in her eyes was enough of a thank you, but she verbalized it “Ah, thank ya, Ingo.” 

The train pulled into the stated, Ingo returning into “work mode” “STAY BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE! STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE!” 

“Have a good day, Ingo!” She rushed out before running to get on the train before it got too full. 

The day had been relatively lax, with her work taking her to a very, very delicate rebinding of a 400 year old novel about Lugia. 

It was written in an ancient dialect of Kantonian - a part of her wished she could read it. 

Her lunch occurred, and - for her birthday - she decided to take herself out to a little cafe that made a mean cup of Galarian coffee. It was a treat! 

What she was not expecting was Elesa to already be there, holding up a cup. She was dressed to the nines, as always, and waved Anya down perhaps too excitedly

“A little Ingo told me it was your birthday!” She grinned as Anya approached “I know we just met a few weeks ago, but I was gonna drop this off at the library for you as a little present - win-win!” 

“Ah… oh uh, thank ye, Elesa. Tha’ was unexpected” 

“I was in the area, and I think Ingo said this is your first birthday in Unova, so it felt apt to reach out” Elesa shrugged it off “Oh uh, also, I don’t think that Emmet is going to try anything, but just be prepared. You might get an Xtran message asking if you have plans after work” 

Anya blinked. Her expression clearly showed she hadn’t been expecting that. 

“... You okay?” 

“Uh…. a little overwhelmed, if I’m honest. I was expectin’ t’just… have a normal day” She admitted, Drew seemed to scowl, and let out an annoyed noise “Don’ give me tha’!” 

Elesa chuckled “Well, you’re the one that befriended the subway bosses. Can’t have a boring birthday with them. Trust me. I know” 

“Yama!” Daniel floated over to Elesa, giving her a little bop on the head. 

“He’s sayin’ thanks f’r the coffee on mah behalf. He does tha’ sometimes” 

“Awww, you’re so sweet” 

Daniel beamed at the praise. Drew did not seem impressed

“Well” Elesa checked her Xtrans “I have to go, but I’m glad I was able to get that. Ingo says you like Glarian Coffee with cream, not milk, right? That’s what I got” 

“Ah… yes.. Thank you again, Elesa. I appreciate this” 

“Don’t even mention it. And Happy Birthday!” 

Elesa waved, and left Anya there with her coffee

Huh.

She did, in fact, get a message from Emmet - a voice one

“HELLO ANYA! Ingo has informed me that today is your birthday?? That is verrrrrry wonderful! Happy birthday!! Please let me know if you have plans for your evening! Please be advised that I am on the clock, and will respond to any of your messages when I have a free moment between passing trains!” 

Anya nervously huffed “... d’ya think I should accept what’ever they offer?” 

Both of her Yamasks - in a rare moment of absolute agreement - nodded and nuzzled her head in tandem 

“Ah- ah! Y’two always muss up m’hair!” She playfully chuckled, pushing them away. 

The pokemon just smiled and appreciated her affection 

“Y’r right… can’t make good friends if ye don’ let them give ya kindness, hm?” 

Drew nodded sagely

Anya sighed, and raised the Xtrans to her face “Hello Emmet. I don’ have any plans after work t’night.” She sent the message “Alrightie, le’s ge’ back t’the Lugia text. We’re barely halfway through the bind scrapin. We gotta get workin!” 

“Yama!” 

“Yama!” 

The rest of the day was rather calm as she worked. 

When on a break, she checked her phone, seeing a message from Ingo

“Emmet wishes to invite you to dinner for your birthday. There is an all-you-can-eat place by the ferris wheel that offers free specialty desserts for birthdays. Would you be interested? It would be our treat” 

Oh

Anya’s smile looked almost, sad 

“Heh, Drew.. Remember for my twenty-fifth, when Piers an’ I did tha’ all you can eat karaoke place?” She recalled, distantly “Bastard got us kicked out… I’d never had so much fun” 

No, don’t - don’t think about it. He was the one that pushed you away, you didn’t do anything

Drew seemed to sense her distress, and let out an indignant “Yama!” Before “bonk”-ing her in the head with his stone as lightly as he could, snapping her out of it. 

“Right, right, can’t linger on all that.” she huffed “Okay, alright, I’m gonna say yes” 

“Ya!” Daniel cheered.

Drew nodded in approval, and Anya chuckled with a shake of her head 

“You two, honestly” 

She messages Ingo back promptly, and returns to work. 

By the time the day was over, she had in fact heard from Milo, who sent her a lovely video message with a happy birthday from his pokemon team - a kind gesture, along with a promise that, in a few months time, he’d be making the trek to Unova, and that he’d be delighted to play catch up, and perhaps even try out her challenge. 

She’d been filled with such a fuzzy feeling in her chest at that message. He’d always been an attentive friend. 

But the surprise message was from… Marnie. 

How has the girl gotten her Xtrans number? Had Milo given it to her? Denton perhaps? He has messaged her a happy birthday, and told her to expect more messages. 

But there it was, a brief voice message, addressed to her from a communicator in Spikemuth with the subject line “From Marnie” 

She stood at the door of the archive, having just locked it, and opened the message

“Hi Anya. Long time no talk.. I’ll keep this brief, uh, happy birthday? Milo messaged Piers but Piers is out, so I thought you should at least hear from me” The girl's teenage nonchalance was evident. “I hope you’re enjoying Unova. You’re a battle boss there, right? Uh, congrats, by the way” 

Anya felt like she was going to choke 

“Just.. have a happy birthday, okay? I miss you” 

And it ended. 

Anya stared at her Xtrans for a moment, not moving as she stared at the now listened to message, the little bar glowing in completion 

She was jostled from her stare by Drew, who whined  as loudly as he could manage to get her attention 

“Oh-! Oh..” She rubbed her face “Sorry - sorry Drew. Thank ye” Daniel also whined, bumping into her arm 

“Right, right. I should… respond. Yes” 

Anya took a moment, before pressing the record button 

“Hello Marnie. I’s good t’hear from ya. Y’sound like y’r doin’ well. I am having’ a good birthday, thank ye f’r messagin’ me. I appreciate it… Tell y’r brother I said hi. Chat with ya again soon, ‘m sure” 

She sent it before she could delete it, and took a deep breath. 

“Okay… okay” She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath “Time for dinner. Le’s go meet wit’ the subway twins. Huh?” 

Drew nodded almost sagely, and Daniel went so far as to wrap his arms around one of hers, and pulled her towards the stairs and the exit. 

She let herself get dragged up the stairs, and as she looked outside, she saw Ingo and Emmet standing at the bottom of the library stairs, Ingo giving her a polite wave. Emmet caught the action and turned around, giving her a bright, bright smile 

“Hello Anya! Are you ready to have a verrrrrry happy birthday?” 

Her expression broke into a smile that seemed almost relieved. 

“Certainly” She nodded, making her way down the stairs “Let’s get goin’”

-

After Dinner

Commissioned art by @nartothelar​

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays In Existentialism: Nerd 13

Previously on Nerd

“One more time,” Lexa called out, walking backwards to the other end of the lane, her sneakers kicking up some dust as she moved and watched the playback on her phone. 

“Your girlfriend is a little intense, eh?” Evan asked as he followed Clarke back to the start of their scene. 

Clarke looked up and wiped a little sweat from her brow as she watched Lexa move with Luna, talking about something, watching her phone while Luna juggled a camera and a script that’d seen better days. The messy waves were tamed, tied up and hidden by a baseball hat from her sister’s university, well-tattered and sweat-lined. The sleeves on her shirt were rolled up, exposing a slight bit of bicep, her jeans were caked in dirt and mud. 

“She’s hot though, right?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

“I’ll allow you to answer it just this once.” 

“In a weird way, yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Ow! What the fuck?” 

“She’s super hot in a normal way,” Clarke informed him after socking his arm. 

“I meant like, I never considered it. Like, weird in a way I hadn’t considered. I’d prefer not to think of her like that, but you made me.” 

“Good, and you’ll never think of her like that ever again.” 

“Let’s give it one more go, and this time, Evan, I want you to pause before you answer Clarke. I want her words to ring for a moment. Play it how you think your character would feel it. Just for fun.” 

He nodded and Clarke smiled at how serious Lexa was, how intricately she thought about the scene. They’d been at it for three weeks and were nearly finished, toiling away after school as best they could, and Clarke found that she didn’t think she was the world’s greatest actress, but that she did enjoy seeing her girlfriend doing something she was insanely passionate about. There’s a bit of magic in seeing someone happy about something they enjoy. As silly as it might have seemed, Clarke let her imagination wonder to the idea of Lexa actually achieving her dream, of making things. She jumped twenty years, and Lexa was the exact same person, but different, but better, somehow. It was silly, but it helped. 

“Notes for me, sir?” she ventured. 

“You’re perfect. Keep being perfect.” 

As silly as it was again, Clarke smiled proudly and ignored the eye roll Luna gave before setting up with the camera again. 

In reality, it was about six more takes, two more requested by Luna, three requested by Evan, and once by Clarke. It was infectious to care and try to do better. But they were finally done with all else, and the end somehow felt so final. Though she’d been hesitant to try, now that they’d created something, Clarke felt connected to the entire thing. 

“So when will I get to see the entire thing?” Clarke asked, carefully dropping a bag of equipment on Lexa’s bedroom floor. 

“Oh, uh, maybe at the end of the summer? It’ll go through a ton of work with Luna and myself, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do… I will definitely show you though as soon as it is done.” 

“I’d hope so.”

“Thank you for helping me with this,” Lexa offered as she ran her hand over the back of her neck. “I know you are really busy. SAT, work, school, pep squad.” 

“And you’re not?” 

“Well, yeah, but I chose this, and you were recruited,” she shrugged. 

With a sigh, Lexa plopped onto her bed, tired and spent from the busy weekend. 

“You can recruit me anytime,” Clarke promised. 

In a move that was still somewhat new to Lexa, hips circled her own, and knees gripped her thighs, and that led to a lot of feelings in her body, especially in the below the belt part that she hadn’t particularly figured out in the practical sense. Theoretically she knew exactly what was happening. 

Without saying anything else, Clarke removed her girlfriend’s ball cap and tossed it on the bed. Lexa held her hips, ran her hands up her thighs and squeezed there, careful not to move her eyes anywhere but Clarke’s face. But they closed on their own when hands ran along her temples, scratching the sweat and soreness away, melting her instantly. 

There’d been a truce ever since the dance. There’d been a few make outs that went slightly past polite. There’d been a few time hands wandered lazily where they might not have been allowed, but didn’t care about no trespassing signs. There hadn’t been Clarke in her lap though, and Lexa knew this was different. She made it different when her hands slid around hips and toward Clarke’s ass. She squeezed and she thought she’d died. 

By the time Clarke kissed her, Lexa realized she was on her back in her bed with the head cheerleader on top of her. When hips pushed against her, she realized she was going to stop. Hands went to her chest. Hands slid under her shirt. Hands slid under her bra and she pushed back against being pinned. 

It all disappeared in a second, and confused at the loss of lips and contact, Lexa opened her eyes and searched. Clarke sat there, hands braced on her stomach until she lifted her own shirt and tossed it on the floor. Scrambling, Lexa lifted herself, tangling her arms in an attempt at solidarity in taking clothes off only to be aided by an amused girlfriend. 

“Wow,” she whispered, taking her time to look over new skin before her. She kept her hands locked on Clarke’s hips despite wanting to move them. She let her eyes roam shamelessly. “You’re like… wow.” 

“Is this okay?” 

“Very okay.” 

“Thank God,” Clarke nodded before leaning back down, cupping Lexa’s face, and kissing her again, fiercer this time, if it were possible. 

Hips moved more this time. Breathing picked up more. Hands pulled, tugged, grasped tighter. They clawed at each other and at more, at what their bodies already knew how to do but their brains overthought and tempered. It was a battle of want and need and restraint, and in it, they both knew which was losing. 

In a shaky attempt, Lexa somehow unhooked Clarke’s bra. And in an instant her girlfriend was topless on top of her, and now her lower half was absolutely made of lava. It was painfully molten. 

“Oh… my…. Goodness,” she hummed. 

Clarke pressed her hands harder against Lexa’s ribs and rotated her hips. Lexa slid her hands up Clarke’s chest and squeezed. She watched her hands moved and touch and feel. She was touching someone else’s nipples for the first time ever, which was a weird thing to be cognizant of, but something that she never imagined desiring. But she did. And she wanted to memorize it entirely. She earned a hum and she pushed her hips up, in an off-kilter response to Clarke’s hips. 

“Hey Lex, you home, sweetheart?” a voice called out from down the hall. 

The spell was broken. The frantic, hot buildup was drenched in freezing cold water. The skin on display was covered with shirts as quickly as possible and the contact of bodies was broken with as much space as humanely possible placed between them. 

“Yeah, uh,” Lexa cleared her throat and tucked in her shirt for some reason as she stood, her legs wobbly and her head not much more sturdy. “Just got home.” 

“Your mom is bringing home dinner. She got sandwiches from the deli.” 

“Sounds good!” 

“Want to work on your car?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good, kiddo. I’m just going to go change.” 

Her father’s voice faded as he moved toward his room. Lexa leaned against her door and looked back at Clarke in her room. The blonde just pushed her hair out of her face and tried to adjust her shirt, tugging her bra slightly from the quick reassembly of her parts. Her lips were puffy. Her cheeks were bright red. She was perfect, Lexa realized. 

Lexa cleared her throat again and redid her pony tail. 

“So that was--”

“Really good,” Clarke finished. “Maybe we should… it’s good your dad-- we should talk about this, right?” 

“Um, yeah, I think.”

“Not right now though.” 

“Of course, yeah,” Lexa nodded, unsure exactly what was going to be discussed and even worse when it would be. She needed more context clues because too much had just occurred, and she was a specifics type of girl. 

“I should head home. I have to finish some physics homework and take a cold shower.” 

“Right, yeah. It was hot out there today and I kept you out in the sun.” 

“Okay, we definitely are going to have to have some conversations.” 

“Am I in trouble?” Lexa asked, cocking her head as Clarke picked up her backpack and shouldered it, making her way to the door. 

“Not at all. I just want to be able to talk about sex with you before we do it because I imagine you might need it, and to be honest I’m not sure how much longer I can survive how sexy you are.” 

Sex. Clarke wanted sex. They had almost, Lexa imagined. And Clarke was talking about sex with her and wanted to talk about sex with her and wanted to have sex with her and talk about the having of sex with her and they were going to have sex. Having sex was an option that they were going to talk because they were going to have sex and they should talk about it. It was going to be a thing that was discussed between the two of them because sex was going to happen and it might have almost happened and they should talk about the sex that almost and might also in the future happen. Sex. 

“I’m kidding,” Clarke assured Lexa, pressing her hand to the center of her chest and bringing her back from the place she just died and went to. “I can wait however long we need to, but I think we should talk about it so something like this doesn’t happen and we don’t have a clear line drawn or not drawn. Think about where your line is, I guess and then we can talk about it.”

“Okay.” 

Clarke kissed Lexa’s cheek and then her jaw and then her neck and then her lips. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Mhm. Yes. Me okay. I’m okay. Always ok.” 

“Did I melt your brain with the mention of sex?” Clarke smiled. 

“Yeah, kind of.” 

“No rush, I promise. Just like to be prepared.” 

“Like a boy scout.” 

“Don’t stress. I like you.” 

“Mmm,” Lexa nodded and tried to make her eyes not be completely huge, tried to make her heart stop throbbing in her pants and ears, tried to make her brain not explode or melt. 

“I’ll talk to you later. Have fun with your dad.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed and nodded as Clarke moved past her toward the door. “See you tomorrow.” 

In an instant, Clarke was gone, and Lexa looked down at her hands. They’d been on Clarke’s naked boobs. She looked at her hips. They’d been on Clarke’s thighs. She looked at her bed and how surprised she was that her body just did some of the things it did. She wasn’t sure what else it was capable of, but she decided she might need to do research. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“I need to talk to you about two things.” 

“Hey, I’m good, thanks for asking. Just cramming for some finals, but yeah I definitely have time to help you out.”

“Okay, good,” Lexa nodded to herself as she paced through the garage, twisting a wrench around as she moved, twirling it around her fingers. It all happened quite seriously as she surveyed the car as it was coming to life. 

The house was empty, her parents out on a date. Luna was coming over shortly to work on some of their film, but Lexa had a few things she wanted to get done on her car. More than anything though, she needed to speak with her sister desperately regarding many things in her life. 

“How have you been, Lex?” 

“Pretty good.” 

“Anything planned for the summer yet?” 

“I have an internship with a film crew that’ll be in town for a few weeks. My history teacher’s old college roommate is first camera. Some movie of the week thing for the holidays.” 

“Wow! Lex, that’s huge!” 

“I guess. But I need to know about sex. Sex with another girl. You’re in college. Have you had sex with another girl?”

Anya choked on her sip of coffee as she stopped walking down the sidewalk. She nearly dropped part of her armload of books, but managed to get a grip at the last moment. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t.” 

“I tried to ask Gus but he said he couldn’t talk to me about it, and I just need someone to tell me what to do because I’ve run out of online resources short of porn and to be honest I looked a few and I didn’t like it.” 

“Lots of information to unpack in this…” 

“What do I do or who do I talk to?” 

“Just give me a second, okay?”

With a sign, Lexa sat the phone down on the edge of the car and went about the tough work of running some wires through the rear panel. If she was doing something with her hand, then she didn’t have to repeat the word sex nine hundred times per minute in her brain. 

“You and Clarke are talking about having sex?” 

“We’re talking about talking about it.” 

“How long have you been dating?” 

“Um since beginning of November. Almost six months.” 

“Do you love her?” 

“I don’t know. I mean…” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed. She hadn’t thought of it like that. It seemed almost insane to quantify her feelings into one word. She was excited to always see Clarke, and when she had a bad day, Clarke was the only person she really wanted to see, and when she did, the bad day just melted away. How was she supposed to figure out if it was love when she couldn’t compare it to anything else? She got butterflies still, when she saw her girlfriend. And Lexa felt this weird need to do things for Clarke, without being asked. She was helpful and attentive because the payoff of Clarke’s smile was worth even a few minutes of forethought. But she hadn’t considered that love, but maybe it was. 

“I really don’t know. I like her a lot. I like how we are” 

“That’s fair. I guess I should rephrase it. What makes you think you’re ready to have sex?” 

“I really want to.” 

“Okay, yeah, well everyone really wants to have sex, but what makes you think you’re ready? Can you confidently say where your boundaries are? Are you ready to have a much more intimate relationship with someone?”

“I was kind of just looking for more help in the mechanics of it.” 

“That’s the easy part,” Anya smiled to herself as she took another sip of her coffee. The weather was changing, the spring breeze ruffled the trees so they loudly clamoured above as she moved with the crowd along the narrow sidewalk. “There’s a certain level of intimacy in having sex with someone, especially someone you really like. I’m not saying it’s good or bad, but it’s certainly different. Do you think you’re ready to do that?” 

“I think so,” Lexa murmured after a moment of contemplation. She tapped a screwdriver against her thigh and stared at a single screw. “I really want to make her feel good and I know that sounds stupid, but I just… Sometimes it’s easier to want to kiss her than tell her exactly what I feel. I want to show her.” 

“I can see how that would work. Just so long  as you take a good bit of time and really consider it. And remember, even if you agree, you can change your mind at any time.” 

“Ugh, not you too! Dad’s already given me a billion consent talks. I just want to go down on Clarke without making a fool of myself.” 

Anya couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the outburst, but she somehow managed to hold her phone away from her mouth as she did. It took her a moment to recover. 

“Just do what you like and listen to her. Ask her what she enjoys. Be receptive to how she sounds and moves. It’s really not that hard. Just give it your all.” 

“This is all fine advice, but I still don’t know how to actually do it.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t like leaving it up to chance.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. You care for Clarke and I think she’ll be able to show you a thing or two.” 

“What does that mean?” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed. 

“You’ll see.” 

“I really don’t like the sound of that.” 

“You will, I promise.” 

“Are you coming home this summer?” 

“I might. So, sex with your girlfriend, huh?” 

“Maybe. Is it weird that I just… I want everything to keep going how it has been? It’s been so easy and nice and I didn’t think dating Clarke would be so … so… easy?”

“That’s not weird at all. It sounds like you are having a good time.” 

“I’m going to ask her to go to prom.” 

“Wow,” Anya smiled to herself, doing her best to sound surprised by the news, as if it wasn’t customary to take once’s girlfriend to prom. “Are you going to do a big ask?” 

“Nah, I don’t think that’s me,” Lexa shrugged, even though no one would see it. “And I don’t think it’s Clarke. She’s not like… she’s not like what I would have thought. She’s better.” 

“You’ve got it bad.” 

“Nah.” 

It was nice to talk to her sister. It was nice to be put at ease, even if she just heard a bunch of stuff she already knew. Lexa wasn’t sure how it came to be that she was someone who talked to her sister every few days and actually filled her in on her life. She wasn’t sure how she enjoyed spending Saturday morning with her parents going on a hike or breakfast. She wasn’t sure how it came to be that the head cheerleader was soft and quiet and warm and made her feel like she was full of helium, but it was all happening, and Lexa felt herself open up to the world again without ever realizing she had been closed. 

XXXXXXXXXX

For an entire seventy-two hours, Lexa let it all rattle around in her head, the words and the ideas and the thought of it all. All at once it felt like she didn’t know what came next while also incredibly knowing and that held her stuck. She hadn’t thought to ask for more, and she wasn’t sure how to have it. She knew that it was important, and she knew that was a different step than the ones she’d already taken. 

Nothing seemed to change with Clarke though. 

Lexa still held her girlfriend’s hand between classes, and they still hung out and texted and kissed and no one said anything despite Lexa taking her sister’s advice to really think about what it all meant. 

She didn’t know what it meant. Not truly. 

“That’s it. I quit. My brain is melting out of my ears.”

With an exaggerated flourish, the body on the bed flopped over and tossed a notebook onto the floor. Eyes rolled back before a tongue hung out and Lexa smiled from her spot at her desk. The music played softly from the speaker on the bookshelf. It was already dark outside as they worked on studying, but the lights reflected so that outside didn’t exist at all. 

“Your brain isn’t melting. It’s just growing and growing and will soon explode.” 

“I think I prefer the melting,” Clarke sighed. 

Lexa smiled to herself because there was the head cheerleader laying in her bed. And Clarke was wearing her old soccer sweatshirt and she was tired from after work, but still stopped by before heading home just for a few hours of studying. 

“Would you like to go to prom with me?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah you,” Lexa decided, cocking her head slightly. The corpse in her room rolled over again and lifted her head. “With me.” 

“Was it the melting brain thing that really sold you?” 

“I just like how you look in my bed.” 

“Your bed is very comfortable.” 

“I thought about the sex thing and I don’t know if I’m ready right now, or by prom or whatever, but I want to just keep doing things slowly if that’s okay?” 

Clarke sat up so she was kneeling on the bed. She’d already rolled the sleeves of the sweatshirt that hung a little long on her. There was a hole over the letter on the left part of her chest. Her hair was falling out of a messy bun, and her cheeks had their dimples in them. Lexa took a moment to remember it. 

“That’s fine by me.” 

“It is?” 

“I like how fluid everything is with you. I just wanted you to be aware of what you were feeling and what your limits were.” 

“I don’t know them right now, but I’ll know them as things happen, if that’s okay.” 

“Very okay.” 

“Do you want to go to prom with me?” 

“Didn’t I already say yes?” 

“No.” 

“Well then, yes.” 

“Cool,” Lexa grinned, holding her chin on her palm. 

Clarke relaxed slightly and smiled back. 

“Cool.” 

NEXT

[secretshinigami]

All Noble Things

Author: @kiranatrix For: @resilicns Pairings/Characters: Near and Gevanni Rating/Warnings: Gen, no warnings Prompt: Near reflecting on his relationship with Wammy’s and L’s reputation Author’s notes: In How to Read, it says that Gevanni’s hobby is building ships in a bottle. So I imagined a scene where Near is observing Gevanni, now in the role of Watari, building a special ship. The time period is flexible but I imagined it after the C-Kira case and before the case with Minoru. This is a loose interpretation of your prompt but I hope you enjoy it!

—

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Gevanni.” Near didn’t look up as he carefully laid out another domino on the floor, perfectly spaced from its neighbor and approximately two centimeters from chaos. Pinched fingers pulled back carefully and twisted around a strand of white hair. “Two things, really.”

Gevanni looked up from his workbench as the long but comfortable silence between them was broken. Since Roger had died and he’d taken on the role of Watari, he was usually the question-asker. Would you like lunch now? Have you heard back about this or that piece of evidence? Did you have another nightmare last night? 

He’d gotten used to it, to Near. To being the bedrock that an island could rest upon. “Two questions?”

No, he was more of a species imported to Near’s world and being gradually altered by the isolation, evolving to fill his niche. But he had no complaints–it was a quiet, stable life and Near paid him well. He didn’t mind the solitude. “You’re exceeding your daily allotment. I’ll have to demand a raise if this keeps up.”

“I believe I gave you a raise just three months ago. If these demands keep up, I’ll have to find another Watari.” Near deadpanned it but his eyes flicked up briefly, and Rester knew he was joking. Another domino clinked against the terrazzo floors, this one with hand-carved scrimshaw detailing a breaching whale.

Gevanni snorted and turned back to the ship in a bottle he was working on. “Good luck finding someone else to source those pajamas with the specific blend of Pima cotton you prefer. I’ve kept that a secret. Iron-clad job security.” He grinned as he carefully reached a long wire into the bottle to pat down blue and white putty mimicking ocean waves. “So, what’s question number one?”

“Can you tie back my hair? It keeps getting in the way.” Near flicked a long strand over his shoulder but it fell again, dangling dangerously close to his creation. “Mind the–”

“Dominos? Yeah, I’m practically a ninja at this point.” Gevanni pushed his loupe glasses to the top of his head before carefully making his way over spiraling lines of set-up dominos to Near at the center. He knelt and pulled a hair-tie from his pocket, holding it between his teeth as he gathered up all the silvery strands. “Holf spill,” he murmured around the band. Near was stone-still as he made a quick and slightly messy ponytail, leaving some loose hair around the face for twirling. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” Near very briefly made eye contact as Gevanni went back to his workbench before looking back to his pile of dominos. He sorted through them for another scrimshaw piece. Gevanni had made a special set for him on his last birthday but he always saved them for the end. 

“Mmhm.” Gevanni slid back into his chair and picked up the little ship, a model of a 19th-century whaler. “So what was the second question?” 

“I was curious what you were working on.” Near let a domino tumble across his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. “You’ve never spent that much time on just one ship before.” He caught the domino with his thumb and placed it next in line. 

“Oh, so you noticed?” Gevanni held up the little whaler on his palm, clearly proud of the highly detailed craftsmanship. All the masts were down and tied with an array of strings that could be pulled up once it was in the bottle to raise them. “I guess this one’s special since it doesn’t really exist. Thought I’d challenge myself. It’s…well, it’s how I imagine the Pequod to look, the whaling ship in–“

“Moby Dick?” Near stared at the miniature vessel, head slightly cocked as he smoothed a loose strand of hair. “The ship Captain Ahab used to chase his white whale.”

Gevanni smiled. “That’s right. It’s one of my favorite books. Have you read it?” 

“Years ago. I remember not liking it very much. The whale killed him in the end.” Near placed the last couple of dominos and let out a long sigh. The moments before flicking the first piece were the ones he both cherished and dreaded. The satisfaction of creation could be drawn out like a  monotone note, but when it was finished, the spectacular destruction was often over too soon. So, he hesitated and stood up instead, padding to Gevanni’s workbench to watch more creation. 

“I bet you’d like the book more these days. Single-minded obsession to defeat a power past human control? Throwing all caution and sense of self-preservation to the wind? The thrill of the chase?” Gevanni arched a brow. “Can’t tell me that doesn’t sound familiar.”

Near frowned slightly and hunched in on himself. “I suppose you mean L. Or do you characterize me as so foolish?”

“You’re L now.” Gevanni disliked that he had to remind Near of that even now, years after the first L had died. “But yes, it reminds me of what Matsuda told us about your predecessor’s obsession with Kira. I never met the first L, but maybe I can understand him, in a way.” He quoted Melville, "All my means are sane, my motive and my object mad.’ You’re L but you’re not him, and I’m glad for it.”

Near wasn’t sure if he was glad for it or not. So many times over the years he’d compared himself to that avatar and wondered if he could measure up. Drily, “I guess that makes me Ishmael." 

"You survived, didn’t you? Lived to tell the tale and learn what he couldn’t." 

Gevanni turned back to the little ship, carefully threading another string through the rear-most mast. He worked quietly for a while, cognizant of Near’s focused attention and feeling sorry for bringing up the Kira case. It wasn’t often that Near took such an interest in his own projects, or perhaps the man was merely thinking about what he’d said. “Sit down, if you want to. I’m about to get to the exciting part.”

Near pulled a chair closer and slinked into it, one leg pulled tight to his chest and the other dangling off the end. “Which is the exciting part? Stuffing it into the bottle?”

“That’s part of it. The thrilling part for me is raising the masts and sails inside the bottle.” Gevanni pointed to the flat masts and the multiple lines of string leading from them. “If anything goes wrong or a string gets tangled…or some bit of glue doesn’t hold, well–”

“You’re screwed.” Near smiled faintly and rested his chin on his knee. “Hours of planning for one moment of glory. Or disaster.” It also sounded familiar, so familiar.

“Exactly.” Gevanni chuckled and looked over at Near, pleased to see that small, rare smile. That in itself was the product of so much patience, of hours spent in understanding and the slow building of confidence and trust. “Once I get the ship in, would you like to raise the sails?”

Near’s eyes widened and he rocked slightly in the chair. That was Gevanni’s moment of glory and he deserved it after so much time and hard work. The inlaid wood, the meticulous paint, the delicately carved and articulated ship’s wheel capped in brass. The hand-sewn sails and gold script that read Pequod on the ship’s side. Each detail was evidence that someone else had built this and he would only be stealing the best part, swooping in for the end of the trick.

“You built it so you should do it.” It didn’t help that he was worried about making a mistake and ruining it at the last moment. How would it even fit? Despite the masts lying flat, it seemed impossible that the ship would make it inside the bottle. “I don’t know how.”

Gevanni sensed Near’s hesitation and uncertainty, recognizing the subtle tics of anxiety. “I can show you. You’re great at stuff like this.” He motioned to the vast lines and towers of dominos filling the room. “Plus, I trust you.” 

When Near didn’t answer, he turned back to the ship, placing a small line of glue at the bottom and oh-so-carefully maneuvering it into the narrow mouth of the glass bottle and onto the ‘waves’ of translucent blue putty. It was a very tight fit and when it stuck down in the right position, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Not bad, huh?” The strings dangled from the bottle’s mouth as he held it up to show Near. “Offer still stands.”

Near wanted to do it, to try. Honestly, he wanted to ask Gevanni to show him how to build one of his own, how to trump the rigid enclosure and build something impossible inside. To raise it up not by magic but by human ingenuity and patience. A creation not to destroy but to keep.

“Alright.” His fingers moved from his hair to tentatively touch the white strings hanging from the bottle’s mouth. “All of them?”

“Just these.” Gevanni pointed out several lines connected to the three masts. “Don’t yank, just pull slowly until you feel resistance and I’ll tape them up.”

“If it works.”

Gevanni laughed quietly. “It’ll work. Stop stalling.”

Near mumbled, “I’m not stalling,” but stalled a moment more before gently tugging the strings. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat when all three masts raised in unison, perfectly aligned and straight. He smiled as Gevanni secured the strings, then slid off the chair to gaze at the bottle from the side. This floating world, this impossible thing that’s bottled the sea. “I can see why you like these so much.” 

“It passes the time.” Gevanni felt warm inside since it was rare that they connected like this, despite all the time spent in each other’s company. He glued the strings to the ship with a long wire and then cut them, leaving no trace of how it had really been made. Setting it on the bench to dry, he said, “Would you like to have it? I have about a dozen. I mean, if you want it.”

“As a warning against white whales?” Near smirked and climbed back into the chair. He fingered the hem of his specially-ordered Pima cotton pajamas, the exact blend he preferred. “Or for the memory of Ahab?”

“Neither? Or…maybe both.” Gevanni knew that so much had changed for Near when Kira died. Monster or not, that moment of destruction had ultimately felt unsatisfying. He knew Near struggled with assuming the name and reputation of L, a legacy that had become so confused in the mind of a world that would never know two L’s had died and a third now had to make peace with that. It was easier to bottle ships than emotions.

Mildly, “Or maybe just because it’s something we built together.” It was odd, but somehow it would mean a lot to him for Near to have it. “How about it?” 

Near found a loose string at the hem of his pants and yanked it, snapping the thread. He got up and crouched beside the winding, spiraling rows of dominos and pressed a slender finger against the first one. That catalyst set off the reaction, the staccato clack clack clack! that echoed in the high-ceilinged room. It was over in seconds and silence crept in again. 

“I’d like that.”

-End-

[The title comes from a quote in Moby Dick: "A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy. All noble things are touched with that.” It reminded me of  Gevanni’s rather solitary hobby as well as the occupation of solving cases as L.]

[nik-the-bik]

"Exchanging Body Heat" - Jekyll & Utterson Fic

Here I go combining the "snuggle for warmth" and "only one bed" cliches like the hack that I am.

Jekyll/Utterson is superior y'all

CW: Some hints of internalized homophobia from one of the characters. A character feels kinda guilty for having sexual thoughts and I definitely scaled it back from what it was in the first draft but if I need to go further please please please let me know.

Read more of my "Oh My God They Were Roommates" fics?

*****

It was late, bitterly cold, and the winter winds rattled against the ice-covered window as Henry Jekyll finally came back into the tiny room he shared with Gabriel Utterson.

“Any spare blankets left?” Gabriel asked, teeth chattering as he sat on his bed wrapped in nearly every sweater, jacket, and blanket that the two of them possessed.

“None,” Henry sighed, wrapping his own collection of sweaters and coats tighter against himself. He brushed a hand through his hair, which was getting far longer than he was used to and starting to grow out into a thick collection of curls. “I don’t know how we’re expected to sleep tonight.”

“I cannot believe that the school hasn’t found us any alternate housing,” Gabriel said. “How can we be expected to live through the winter with a hole in the building’s roof? It’s negligence, and quite frankly I’m willing to start a nasty petition to--”

“The hallways are freezing,” Jekyll murmured, coming to Gabriel seated on the bed.

“Are you alright?” Gabriel asked, lifting the blankets to let his best friend sit next to him and wrap himself in their warmth.

“I will be,” Henry smiled at him, his cheeks pink from the bitter air that dominated their dormitory.

Henry’s smile warmed Gabriel only slightly. “What are the others doing?”

“Well,” Henry began, “the folks who were able to reach the extra store of blankets first seem to have hoarded them all for themselves—”

“That’s kind of them—”

“--and there’s a collection of people camping out around the fireplace in the common room.”

“How many?”

“There’s barely any space to walk around them on the floor.”

“Dear Lord.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the shrieking of the wind outside.

“This never would have happened in that brand new building near the river that you would have been in if I hadn’t—” Henry began.

“Henry, don’t.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“None of this is your fault,” Gabriel said, staring hard at Jekyll. “I wouldn’t change my mind about living here with you for a moment.”

“I still wish that I could afford better.”

“And I wish your father wasn’t such an arse.”

Gabriel was pleased to see that Henry’s glum expression cracked into a small smile after that comment.

“Besides,” Gabriel said, “it’s really not unbearable when we’re both under these blankets together.”

Henry’s smile widened and cheeks grew a touch rosier. “That’s thermodynamics for you.”

“What now?”

“Thermodynamics,” Henry said, that small twinkle in his eye appearing as the topic turned to his favorite subjects. “Well, more like entropy, really. It’s when energy transfers from one thing to another as heat.”

“Oh.” “Entropy is neat because everything is always trying to reach thermal equilibrium. So, because you were warmer than I was under these blankets, your body is trying to warm up my body.”

Gabriel blushed. “That’s, uh—”

“Before, your body was just losing heat to the outside air, which was much cooler than your own temperature. Now that I’m here, and my temperature is maybe slightly warmer than the outside air, I’m helping you preserve more of that heat energy for yourself. Make sense?”

“Mmhmm,” Gabriel affirmed, suddenly unable to look at Henry without feeling flustered.

“And then a little friction should help too,” Henry said, teasing now as he started rubbing his hands rapidly over Gabriel’s shoulders, shaking him back and forth.

“Alright, alright, I get it, Chemist.”

“Well, thermodynamics is really more in the realm of physics—”

“A technicality. It’s all science stuff.”

“I thought little technicalities were important to Lawyers.”

Gabriel finally brought his gaze back to Henry’s and was filled with that comfortable fuzziness of seeing his friend looking so affectionately back at him.

“I guess what I’m trying to get at,” Henry said, glancing downward, “is that if we want to stay warm tonight, maybe it’s best if we stay close.”

Gabriel’s stomach flipped. “What? But—but how?”

“Well, I know it’s not ideal, but—” Henry started, his whole face blushing now.

“But?”

“But if we shared the same bed and used all of the blankets together, we’d probably avoid frostbite tonight.”

Gabriel gulped. Share a bed? Share an itty bitty single-person bed? With Henry? The two of them would have to be practically on top of each other!

“Do you really think—”

“I know it won’t be very comfortable at all, but—”

Gabriel’s mind began to wander to the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, Henry’s body beneath his--- his eyes flickered back up to Henry’s. “If it means surviving the night and being able to keep all of my fingers in the morning, I think we can manage.”

Henry gave him a shy smile in return. “I think we can manage. Just for a night.”

“There are plenty of worse people I could be doing this with, anyway,” Gabriel teased.

Henry laughed. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather explore entropy with.”

“God, Henry, when you say it like that—"

Both erupted into nervous giggles.

“Well—should we try to get some sleep then?” Henry offered. Gabriel felt his heart do a little skip as he nodded.

Neither of them bothered trying to clean up before going to sleep. They didn’t want to risk losing any of the warmth they had built up in their little blanket pile together. The two of them worked themselves into a position on Gabriel’s bed, which sat further from the very poorly insulated window than Henry’s. With Henry being the taller and broader of the two, and both a bit bulkier from all the sweaters, it was tricky finding a position where they could fit comfortably without Gabriel being cradled right up against his chest.

“Are you alright?” “Mmhmm.”

“Maybe if your arm goes—”

“Yeah.”

The two of them lay chest-to-chest, Gabriel just slightly on top of Henry, hands against his chest while his face rested in the crook of his friend’s neck. He felt the thrill of his heart fluttering in his chest, something he was all too cognizant of with Henry being oh-so close. He couldn’t deny how good it felt to be laying against him, the weight of a thick pile of blankets laying heavily over them both. Henry squirmed slightly underneath him.

“Do you mind if I--?” he asked, as he pulled his left arm, slightly trapped under Gabriel, out and instead draped it over his friend, resting it comfortably around his waist.

Gabriel blushed deeply, grateful that they had turned out the lights before laying down.

“Is this okay? If not, I can move,” Henry whispered.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. If I’m practically crushing you, you deserve to be as comfortable as possible,” he answered.

Henry sighed, and the two lay still for a moment.

“I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you. I know it’s weird, but—” Henry began.

“Henry, I’m alright,” Gabriel muttered, heart sinking. “Besides, there are plenty of worse people I could be with, remember?”

Henry chuckled. “Goodnight, Gabriel.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”

They grew quiet. The bit of Gabriel’s face that was exposed to the open air felt the chill of the room while the rest of him basked in the warmth of the little nest they had created together. Soon he became used to the gentle rhythm of Henry’s breathing as his friend quickly drifted off to sleep. Gabriel, however, wasn’t very tired at all.

It had been a little over a year now since Gabriel had realized his romantic feelings for Henry. He loved him, deeply, and was content to spend the rest of his days loving him as the best of friends if that was all Henry ever wanted. But there had been plenty of nights where the two laid separate in their own beds, Gabriel fantasizing about scenarios a bit too much like this one. He’d lay there, thoughts wandering to embarrassing places as Henry lay innocently on the other side of the room. He would never dare confess to these private desires and risk destroying his friendship with Henry, even though Gabriel had no idea how Henry would react if he ever did find out about his feelings. It’s not as though the topic of homosexuality had ever come up naturally…

A tiny part of him wanted to harbor hope. To hope that Henry cared for him too, that Henry could also—

Fear squandered that part of him though. Gabriel wasn’t one to let himself daydream like that for very long.

Still, here they were. And it had been Henry who had suggested cuddling to stay warm, hadn’t it? Did this even count as cuddling if it was utilitarian, the way he had tried to assure Henry that it was?

Cuddling or not, Gabriel couldn’t help but relish in this moment. It was almost perfect. He cherished the sound of Henry’s gentle breathing, his smell, the feel of Henry’s strong arms around him, the feeling of his chest beneath his hands…

It was around then that he felt Henry move beneath him. Henry sighed, pulled him closer, and –

Dear god. Had he felt Henry’s lips brushing against his forehead, or was he only imagining it? He could have sworn that it had felt like the softest, most delicate kiss.

Gabriel felt himself tense up and his breath catch. Surely that was an accident? A trick of the mind? Nothing but wishful thinking? It took all willpower he had inside of him to deny his instinct to snuggle closer to Henry, wrap his arms around him, kiss his neck, tangle their legs together—He felt his face grow hot and his breathing get shallower—mind exploring places that his hands would never dare. His heart was racing and surely, surely with how close they were, Henry must be able to feel it too?

A wicked thought sprung into his head, and before he had time to rationalize it away, Gabriel felt the devil seize his tongue.

“Henry, H-henry!” he whimpered.

Henry stirred and lifted his head just a little. “What is it?”

“I-I-I’m fr-freezing, please—”

“Come here, come here!” Henry pulled him still tighter to his chest and didn’t pause for a second when Gabriel threw his arms around him. Soon Gabriel could feel the firm pressure of Henry’s hand rubbing along his back, each movement sending his poor heart into a frenzy. A tiny part of him felt guilty deceiving him like this, tricking his friend into letting him delight in their bodies entangled together, indulging in his deepest fantasies.

Yet he had never, ever, felt so deliciously warm.

[away-from-anthills]

chapter four-

(emetophobia/body horror mention warning for this chapter)

The next morning, Antstar had names on his mind.

Coalpaw, Spiderpaw, and Sparrowpaw were set to have their warrior ceremonies in about a little more than a quarter moon. Spiderpaw was to take her final assessment in a few days, and Sparrowpaw was in the process of hers; Coalpaw’s was to begin the day after (but Antstar was fairly confident he’d pass). This was Antstar’s first warrior ceremony as a leader- and not only that, but one of the apprentices involved was his own, and he didn’t want to let Spiderpaw down. He had quite a soft spot for the little gray tabby- part of him wondered if, granted he made it as a leader that long, she could someday be his deputy, just as Shalestar had chosen him.

Coalpaw, he had already figured out, would make for a great Coalclaw. He was as built like a brick as a WindClan cat could be, big and muscly; and the name clicked off the tongue with the refreshing feeling of a cold spring of water.

Sparrowpaw’s defining trait, in his mind, was how much she wanted to be like her mother, Shadeflower, to the point she was training to be a permaqueen just like her. Sparrowshade for her, maybe?... No, that was almost too obvious, and she didn’t have the sly stealth one would expect of a -shade. Sparrowshadow? No, that was too long, and the syllables blended together too much when one tried to say it.

A blue-gray figure passed him. Antstar turned to see Toadpool, making his way to the fresh-kill pile.

“Toadpool,” he said gingerly as he paced up to the tom, “did your grandfather ever tell you how he named cats? For their warrior ceremonies, I mean.”

Toadpool thought for a moment, clicking his tongue. “He did tell me a little bit about it. Not much, though. Why?”

“I’m stuck on figuring out names for- well, you know.” He pointed to where Sparrowpaw was chatting with her uncle Webwhisker, the little brown tabby molly seeking advice for the hunting portion of her test. Antstar could overhear him soothingly reassuring her.

“Oh, Sparrowpaw. Well… she’s like her mother the most, isn’t she?”

“She is, and I was thinking of incorporating that in the name. She’d be pleased with that. But Sparrowshade doesn’t feel quite right.”

“You could try Sparrowflower,” Toadpool suggested. Antstar mumbled the name to himself a few times, but while it was a pretty name, it didn’t fit Sparrowpaw just right. She wanted to be like her mother, yes, but she had the boisterousness of her siblings; she would need something with a touch of playfulness.

Sparrowstem? Sparrowleaf?

“…Sparrowpetal, maybe?” Toadpool suggested, still scrounging for ideas as he nosed through the fresh-kill pile.

That was it! Sparrowpetal- easy to say, playful, but still reminiscent of Shadeflower.

“… I think that’ll do, Toadpool. Thank you.”

Toadpool nodded cheerfully and Antstar turned away, pacing back to his den where he could survey WindClan’s camp from. Antstar found himself quite liking Toadpool. He wasn’t intelligent in a bookish way, or even in a social way, but there was a quiet brilliance about him that he had to have inherited from Shalestar. And, as anxiety had tickled Antstar’s feet throughout his leadership thus far, Toadpool was something of a constant- always confident in his grandfather’s final choice… or, perhaps, too na��ve to ever think Shalestar could make mistakes.

Had it been a mistake?

There was a knot in the back of Antstar’s mind that was well on its way to thinking it had been.

Antstar looked across the clearing, hearing the whisper of his name on the wind. It was Sparkthistle- this time, conversing with Stoatslink and an old black molly.

The old black molly Antstar recognized as Crowflower, who had been leading nursery queen before Shadeflower had taken over the position a couple of seasons ago. She was retired, now, but even still she was one of the Clan’s most trusted cats, and it was she who set the tone of the elders’ den.

“I can’t be the only one who sees it… Shalestar must have been out of his mind. All Antstar does is slip up. I think- personally- we’d be better off without him…”

Antstar’s windpipe tangled itself into a knot. Crowflower’s expression was slightly doubtful; Stoatslink, however, nodded, his brows low and his eyes dark with agreement.

Antstar felt his feet take him away. He dashed through the tunnel that led out of WindClan camp, the thorny weeds scratching at him as he neglected to pay attention to where he was going. The sky above him was just slightly overcast, with only a sliver of sunlight slinking through. Antstar felt dizzyingly sick.

WindClan brought you in. And they could surely bring you out.

Suddenly, Antstar stopped himself. Only a fox-length away lay the gorge that separated WindClan’s territory from RiverClan’s. In the distance, he could see a small RiverClan patrol, led by a red tabby with tufted ears. For a moment, she stopped, and gave him a friendly nod of acknowledgement. Antstar nodded back, and watched the patrol slip away, back behind the ferns and stones that RiverClan called home.

The gorge had always calmed him. Even as a kit, he remembered running off to sit by it, taking in the smell and the thrashsound of freshwater that echoed from the gorge’s two walls. There was something so deeply alluring about standing on its rim- so long, of course, as Antstar didn’t think too long about what would happen if he slipped.

“…Sir?”

Antstar, at first a tad startled, turned to see the unwavering gaze of Whitetooth. The nearly-white cat stood behind him, their ears turned to show a slight worry behind two teal eyes that were rarely privy to show emotion.

“…Sir, you left camp rather abruptly. You looked very worried. While I respect your confidentialities, Antstar- pray tell, what bothers you?”

Antstar’s tongue clammed up against his lips, but the Burmese tom couldn’t handle the stress that gripped his heart like a hawk talon. “…I was overhearing Sparkthistle talk to some others. And- she told them that they’d be better off without me. And maybe this is a crazy thought but- what if they go through with that? What if they start rebellion? What if everyone hates me, and when my back is turned they’ll all gang up on me and-“

“Calm yourself, sir: You are not the first or the last to feel this way. I am sure Shalestar, and all the leaders before him, felt very similarly.”

“But I’m not a Clan cat! Shalestar was!”

Whitetooth thought for a few seconds, their pointed snout turned towards the ground below. “You may not be. But there are cats in other Clans who are well loved despite being not of their Clan. Two of us medicine cats, even, were not born in their home Clans. Pebblesky of RiverClan left her ThunderClan birthplace to be in RiverClan, and Rosettepelt was a kittypet who was taken in by the Clan. Both of them are very well respected, and both are gifted at their craft despite that. I have the same faith in you, my friend.”

There was something innately calming in Whitetooth’s voice. It was deep, and smooth, and it felt like it was cradling Antstar’s soul and holding it close until the panic that had seized him earlier ebbed away.

It could be done, couldn’t it.

Everything would be fine.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar yelp of pain echoed across the WindClan sky.

“What was that?” asked Antstar. His ears suddenly pricked as he tried to detect the direction the unfamiliar sound was coming from- was it a trick the gorge was playing on him?

There was another cry. Whitetooth cantered away, their body seemingly remaining perfectly still as their legs cycled beneath them. Antstar followed his medicine cat across the territory, the grasses poking and prying at his sides, until the two were side by side on Outlook Rock. Suddenly, Antstar saw what Whitetooth detected: Six cats- cats Antstar had never seen before- near a bush of red berries. One was collapsed, quivering; the others nervously circled around their fallen associate with a mixture of confusion and terror.

Before Antstar could ask what was happening, Whitetooth sprang from the rock. Determination flashed in their teal eyes as they approached the group.

“What’s going on here?” they asked.

A small, old ginger molly opened her throat to speak, but before she could she was cut off by a much younger tawny-and-white tom. “Juniper had one of these little red berries, and- and he’s hurt! We don’t know why!”

Whitetooth nodded sagely. “I think I can help.” They picked up the unresponsive brown tabby- a small creature, about ShadowClan-size- and laid him belly-up before kneading their paws into the space just below the tom’s chest. One, two, three, four pushes and a chewed-up berry- along with a small, dark seed- went flying out of Juniper’s mouth.

Juniper’s eyes awoke with a start, revealing themselves to be a shade of deep green. He got up, swaying back and forth, and, after schlepping himself over to the corner of the pathway, vomited out whatever else had been in his belly.

“These are deathberries,” said Whitethroat, pointing with their brown tailtip to the bush that sat besides them. “The berry part is harmless, and can even have some medicinal qualities. However, each berry has a seed in the center that can easily claim a cat’s life are they not careful. Your friend here was lucky.”

“Juniper looks too sick to be lucky,” said a large dilute calico molly. She had a point- Juniper looked nauseous and barely cognizant of Whitetooth’s lesson. However, Whitetooth didn’t seem to grasp the point she was making.

“In addition- I’m sorry to say this, but you are trespassing on WindClan territory. We are kind to loners, and we will let you stay, but you cannot stay for too long.”

“The Clans!” said the young patched tawny tom. He was rather tall and very lean, and his paws looked as if he had never quite managed to grow into them. “I thought those were legends! There’s five of you, right? And you’re all noble, and honorable, and-“

“Enough, Baxter,” said a stern-looking old tuxedo molly, her face checkered with scars.

“Who is the leader of this group, anyway?” asked Antstar, trying his best not to be a sudden interruption. The little ginger molly that Baxter had previously interrupted stepped forward. She was very old, her red pelt practically hanging off of her bony frame like a discarded bullfighter’s cape. “I am. My name is Audrey, and these are my friends. I’ve been close to Shrike here-“ -she motioned to the old tuxedo molly- “for a very long time, and since then we have taken in these four cats. Lily was a barn cat who was forced to leave when a new family of Upwalkers took over the farm. Baxter and Stella wandered too far from their respective housefolk and never found their ways back. And Juniper was a rogue living on his own who decided to join us. We haven’t been very lucky in recent moons, however. There was a seventh of us, Bruno, but while we were traveling, he caught a sickness that he never recovered from.”

“I miss him,” reflected Baxter somberly.

Suddenly, a thought- perhaps an insane thought, perhaps a thought too idealistic to be reached without hurting oneself in the process- danced across Antstar’s mind. Of course- maybe some cats of WindClan could never be convinced Antstar could rule well. But what if- just what if- what if he could bring in cats who’d certainly have to think the world of him? “You could all come join us in WindClan!” Baxter looked immediately sold on the idea. Stella, the black cat beside him, also seemed to be immediately warming up to it. The others, however, were apprehensive.

“In WindClan,” started Antstar, putting on his best salesman voice, “everyone cares about each other. We have medicine cats, like Whitetooth here, who can heal the sick. We care for kits and the elderly, and everyone helps each other. There’s work to be done, of course- hunting, fighting; keeping the borders protected and the camp tidy. But when we’re all together, when we’re all asleep under the great big night sky- it’s all worth it.” Antstar almost believed himself for a moment.

“… But I’ve heard the Clans don’t like outsiders,” said Shrike, the gears in her head beginning to turn ever so slightly.

“Well- I was an outsider once. I was taken in by WindClan, too. And I’m their leader, now. Not all cats like outsiders- but they’ll warm up to the lot of you quickly. We’re a rather small Clan, so they will appreciate the extra help.”

“I’m afraid that Shrike and I are too old to do all that hunting and fighting,” said Audrey gently. Shrike seemed to disagree with her, but she didn’t say a word about it.

“The elders of WindClan are well cared for. All of you will be well cared for here, so long as you are loyal to our Clan and do your best.”

Slowly, reluctance bubbled into curiosity, and the little group of loners began to go along with the idea. Baxter and Stella seemed already sold; Juniper, Audrey, and Lily needed a bit of time to make up their minds, and Shrike was the hardest sell- even as they trekked through the tunnel into camp, Antstar got the feeling that she wasn’t entirely sure of WindClan’s merits.

Antstar noted that, just before they made the left turn home, Whitetooth seemed still drawn to the deathberry bush. It was like it had set off an electrical impulse in their mind, and Antstar couldn’t understand what about the deathberries was occupying the medicine cat’s mind.

It wasn’t long before WindClan cats began to approach the strange little group. Stripedwing, Webwhisker, and Molethroat greeted them amicably; Sparkthistle and Stoatslink, however, seemed apprehensive. Crowflower was already entrenched in conversation with Audrey as Antstar made his way up the Tallrock to start a meeting that would inaugurate them- but, just before he did so, a dark red tabby slunk up his side.

“Hello, Russetfoot,” said Antstar. He had not seen his deputy since the early morning, as Russetfoot had been out hunting with the apprentices for much of the day.

“Hi. I was going to ask- what, exactly, are those loners doing here?”

“They seem like a nice bunch of cats. I was going to make them apprentices- we are a small Clan, after all, and they seemed willing to join.”

Russetfoot’s green eyes flickered with a trace of apprehension. “…That’s nice, and we could use the extra help. But… this, so quickly? I support your decision- but could you maybe pipe down a bit before you make a choice like this again?”

Antstar knew that Russetfoot was simply offering critique. That was his job, as a deputy. Yet every time even the slightest trace of rejection crossed Antstar’s path, he felt like his stomach had been torn open and thrown into saltwater.

“… I’ll make sure to.” Away Russetfoot went to corral the crowd, and Antstar started the spiel.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Tallrock for a meeting.”

There was the shuffling of pawsteps and the silence of dying conversation, before the air cleared enough that Antstar could speak.

“Earlier today, while I was on a walk with my medicine cat Whitetooth, we ran into these six loners. Whitetooth was able to save one of them from an ailment, and from there they began to consider joining WindClan. They are capable of being fine members of this Clan, and so I have decided to allow them to join us. It will be up to them to prove themselves, but as they will become members of our community-“ -he glared at Sparkthistle, who glared right back- “I expect all of you to be kind and gentle. Remember that your leader was a loner once.”

Sparkthistle snickered something under her breath. Antstar, frankly, did not have the patience to listen to it.

“Baxter, Stella, Lily, Juniper. As members of WindClan, you are expected to take up names that pertain to this Clan’s tradition. Do you understand?”

The four cats nodded their heads. Baxter and Stella looked a tad reluctant to give up the names their housefolk had dubbed them.

“Alright. You are now Birchpaw, Nightpaw, Lilypaw, and Juniperpaw, respectively. While you are all old enough to be warriors, I have enlisted you as apprentices so you can spend the next half-moon or so learning about and adjusting to Clan life. Your mentors will be Sandwhisker, Emberheart, Stripedwing, and Rockscratch. Remember, you will not be apprentices for very long- but you still must make every moment count.”

There was some cheering from the crowd from some of the friendlier cats of WindClan, but there was also enough doubt that the air felt slightly palpable with it.

“And for Audrey and Shrike. These two cats, while dedicated and worthy, have admitted they are too old to be warriors. They will become elders and pass on their knowledge and skill to the Clan. As they are old, I am allowing them to keep their old names.”

Another cheer- another slice of doubt.

“Meeting dismissed. If any of the mentors or apprentices introduced today have questions, feel free to see me.”

That’ll solve the issue, Antstar thought. These cats are going to think the world of me, just as how I saw the world of Shalestar. The cats who doubt me will simply be outnumbered- and now, of course, I will be accepted.

As Antstar went off to the leaders’ den to enjoy a dormouse he had picked up from the fresh-kill pile, he felt Whitetooth following him once again. He looked up to see the cat- who seemed, as they almost always did, to have some indescribable answer.

“Meet me near the gorge tonight, when the moon is at its peak.”

Just as Antstar was about to ask why, the white cat with the brown tail slipped away into the medicine den and was gone.

That night, the thin veil of clouds that coated the sky dissipated, illuminating the WindClan camp with hair-tingling moonlight. WindClan cats slept in the open space of the sandy hollow, close together as if the night might try to pull any one of them away.

Antstar got up out of the leader’s den. Having to adjust to sleeping in a den, rather than in the open air with his Clanmates, was something that Antstar had found very difficult, although the leader’s den was shallow and amounted to little more than a slight cavity in the hollow’s wall The ceiling above him might keep him safe- but it hovered over him, leering, blocking the stars from his sight.

Antstar looked up. The moon had begun to grow thin ever so slightly, and it was at its highest point in its arc, positioned just above the silhouettes of the ShadowClan territory that lay beyond the Thunderpath.

It was time for whatever Whitetooth had wanted to tell him.

Antstar slipped out of camp and away, careful to not awaken any of his sleeping Clanmates. The night beckoned him. There was the distant hum of moths and the glow of fireflies across the moor. Night always comforted Antstar, especially as the days always felt too bright and too busy.

Whitetooth sat by the gorge, acknowledging Antstar with a nod. For a moment, they sat in the silence, with the only sounds coming from the rivers that coursed below. The moonlight reflected off of the water, giving Antstar and Whitetooth’s underbellies an eerie glow.

“Antstar. I know something has been bothering you. There’s a pebble stuck in the back of your head, and you’re not acting much like yourself.”

“… I just… worry. Does the Clan like me? What if they don’t? What if they kill me?”

“You have nothing to fear. If worst comes to worst… I have a solution.”

“… A solution?”

“Yes.” Whitetooth took a second, thinking of the words that were about to bounce off their own tongue. “Did you see the deathberry bushes from when we found those loner cats?”

“…Of course. Why?”

There was a glint in Whitetooth’s eye. It was not a glint of glee, or even of preparation. It was simple, honest, the glint of an apprentice following their mentor’s instruction or of a deputy awaiting their first task. And even yet, Antstar suddenly felt like he didn’t like where his medicine cat’s thoughts were headed.

“Sparkthistle is never going to accept you. She’ll die the way she is, stubborn, spiteful, shrill. But as long as she is around she presents a natural weakness to your leadership, correct?”

Antstar could only nod in agreement.

“Now, deathberry seeds serve another very important purpose. Remember a few moons ago, when that ShadowClan elder Mothfall passed away?” Antstar nodded again, keeping his head close to Whitetooth’s so he could hear Whitetooth’s voice as it became quieter and quieter. “It wasn’t old age or sickness that killed him. Mothfall had a massive lump that developed on his jaw, so large it nearly engulfed the size of his own head. It was horrific, and every moment it was there, he was in horrendous pain. Eventually, he could no longer sleep or eat because of it- he would just sit in the corner of the medicine den, withering, weeping with agony.”

Antstar’s ears flattened with horror at the image of the old ShadowClan tom that his mind was lending him. He had heard of such uncurable lumps, and had even seen a few Clanmates die from them- but nothing like what Whitetooth had just described.

“Now, it would be inhumane to let Mothfall continue surviving when he was barely living. If anything, he was dying a slow death already. But in ShadowClan-“ -they paused, thinking, letting Antstar process the direction they were about to carve with their tongue- “-in ShadowClan, the medicine cats use deathberries for that exact reason. Addertooth fed him a few. There was a moment of nausea and suffering, and then he was gone, and they buried him soon after. The next time we all visited the Moonstone together after that, Addertooth and Rosettepelt looked so relieved. They must have seen him in StarClan then; healthy, thriving, having left the agony of his mortal existence.”

Antstar nodded. But something in his belly felt deeply uneasy. “…But what does that have to do with Sparkthistle?”

“Well, Mothfall was never going to get better. Everyone knew that from the second the lump was first felt.” Whitetooth’s teal eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and their brown ears drew back. “And Sparkthistle is never going to get better, either.”

Antstar stepped back away from the gorge, the horror of what Whitetooth was about to suggest truly hitting him.

“It would be quick- and again, I would only ever do it if you asked me to. Sparkthistle herself would be in no pain- just the moment of nausea, and then she'd land among the stars.” They looked down below the earth, and then raised their chin up as if they were telling a dark joke. “Or in hell, maybe, if StarClan gets sick of her.”

“What- no!” Antstar had to fight to keep his vocal volume at a whisper. “What kind of leader do you take me for? I’m not killing my own Clanmate!”

Whitetooth backed away, and then craned their neck and cocked their head a little to the left. “Fine, then. I will only ever do what you ask me to. But think of this, Antstar, think of what you already know to be true. Sparkthistle is hurting your Clan. And- as a leader- it is your job to protect them…”

Antstar shook his head and walked away, leaving Whitetooth by the gorge. This had to be a bad dream. A rotten dream. He blinked to himself over and over, trying to wake himself up; the realization dawned on him that he was already awake in his reality. But Whitetooth had said they wouldn’t do anything of the sort were Antstar not okay with it, and they were so important to Antstar now that he couldn’t imagine ever mentioning what had just occurred and the things that had just been said to anyone else.

He went back into his den and began to ease into sleep as he heard Whitetooth arrive and slink into the medicine den. But after a moment of thought, he placed his head just out of the den, so the stars could still watch over him, and soon the thoughts of Sparkthistle and deathberries left him entirely as he fell into sleep’s awaiting arms.

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 5: Dawn

Word Count: 3,383

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter  ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  Wattpad Link

The early morning sunrise cast over the treetops of Konoha, painting the foliage in brilliant hues of orange and red. As Ayame walked towards the village's front gate, she felt optimistic about her journey with Kakashi and the likelihood of healing these shinobi. No one should have to go through such a painful and debilitating illness as she had. It was all up to her to find those scrolls and perform that jutsu. She was sure it would be executed smoothly. Hopefully.

On her back, she carried her rucksack, stuffed with tubes of all the medicinal herbs she may need, along with a handful of tools to craft medicine if required. These items, of course, were brought as a precautionary measure. She had no reason to believe that she would use any of them. Nevertheless, she brought them just in case.

Maybe she was too optimistic.

Her strappy sandals shuffled down the dirt street as she thought about the final time she had left Rōtasuagekure. She had no family left there or anywhere, for that matter. Nothing had prepared her for the devastation that originated within that village or the unsuspecting role her brother had played in it. How naive she had been.

She thought of her brother for a moment, the innocent little boy who she always perceived to be a child in her mind. He had grown up so quickly that she had hardly noticed his changing behavior until it was too late. His new ideologies had been molded by someone else. She blamed herself when she laid in bed at night, wondering if her life would have had a different outcome had she intervened earlier.

As she rounded the last corner before the main gate, she spotted Mrs. Genchi, a widowed old woman who still owned and ran the only tailor shop in the village. Ayame nodded her head in greeting as she passed by, watching as she swept the storefronts path with her withered broom.

"Good morning, Genchi-sama," Ayame hitched her rucksack further up her back.

"Good morning, Ayame-chan," The old woman continued to sweep, not looking up. Ayame wondered if the tailor shop owner questioned why she headed towards the gate with a backpack rather than towards the flower shop. She bit the inside of her cheek.

At the gate, the orange glow of the sunrise was at its brightest. It was almost blinding as it came over the horizon. The large wooden doors cast two dark shadows heading out of the Leaf. Against the brick column leaned the man everyone called Kakashi, his backpack at his feet and a book in one hand. Ayame assessed him as she drew closer, observing his profile that was concealed behind a mask. She absently wondered again why he covered his face.

"Morning," he greeted as she approached. She wondered if he had seen her coming, only for it to dawn on her moments later that he is taught to listen for footsteps.

"Good morning," Ayame nodded solemnly, unsure of how he treated the seriousness of the mission. He closed his book in one hand and turned to face her.

"It seems there are more shinobi that have returned ill this morning," Kakashi informed her grievously. His voice was quiet, not wanting anyone around to hear. She leaned closer. "So this mission is growing more urgent by the day. We still have time, but the situation is becoming more serious. This totals 14 shinobi that are hospitalized right now."

"Understood," Ayame stood up straight, ready.

"Lady Hokage has her assistant, Shizune working with the Medic Corps to formulate a backup drug in case our mission falls through," He explained, his thumb stroking the spine of his book absently.

"Right. We should get going then," she nodded, turning to the gate. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually," he reached into his backpack, revealing a pair of shin-high boots. She looked down and noticed he, too, was wearing the same kind.

"The tactical propper dispatched these to us. Hopefully, they will keep us protected from any underground threats."

Kakashi handed the boots to Ayame, who assessed them skeptically. Carefully, she took off her old sandals and replaced her feet with the boots.

"I mean, the rest of our body is exposed, though."

"I know. I already discussed it with them. But on such short notice, we just have to remain diligent in monitoring our surroundings. I know you do not have shinobi training, so don't worry about it. Just remain cognizant."

Ayame nodded, wiggling her feet in the boots. She could only imagine the sores that were to come after walking in these all day.

"Alright then. Ready?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Yes," Ayame responded, smiling slightly with excitement.  

"Lead the way," he said to her, his single eye squinting in a smile. She looked over at him, stunned that he was trusting her to guide them. But really, why wouldn't he? She smiled back, hitching her backpack up again as she began to walk in the direction of her old village.

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The two moved quickly, or at least as quickly as Ayame's feet allowed them to. She was not a shinobi by Konoha's standards, but she did happen to be in good shape. Kakashi, of course, could move much faster than she ever could. Regardless of his pace, he didn't let her fall behind.

The journey from Rōtasuagekure to Konoha had taken Ayame three days on foot by herself. Their pace today was much quicker, but she still anticipated they would need to stop at some point. Their conversations were light, mostly commentary on the scenery and the journey at hand. Often, he would pull out his book and read as they traveled. Ayame led the way, directing them to the best of her ability to her old village through thick foliage and dry dirt paths.

He asked her once if she wanted to stop to rest for a bit, but she declined, reminding him of their tight schedule. He had shrugged in response, allowing her to continue despite her evergrowing slumped shoulders.

"I think we should stop here for the night," Kakashi finally remarked hours later, assessing an opened space through what little light the day had left. Above them, an opening was naturally formed around a canopy of trees, displaying twilight's constellation of stars.

It was only when she stopped did she realize how exhausted her body was. She had been walking for 13 hours straight, eating little pellet-looking food Kakashi had offered her as they traveled. If it weren't for her sheer determination to save the men and women of Konoha, she would have surely collapsed hours ago.

She sat down on a rock nearby, feeling her feet scream in gratitude. Underneath her boots, she was sure her feet were littered with blisters. The darkness brought cooler temperatures. Ayame wasn't sure if it was her exhaustion or the cold that brought a slight chill to her spine.

"You look exhausted," he pointed out casually, collecting a few twigs nearby for a fire.

"I'm fine," she waved a dismissive hand, taking her backpack off. Her eyelids begged for sleep, and every inch of her body told her it was time to rest. She watched him perch the twigs up in a tent, preparing for a small fire. He put his hand down near the bottom of the pit, and a moment later, a spark of flame came up.

"Should we have a fire right now?" Ayame asked, looking around. "Won't it draw attention?"

"Yes," Kakashi agreed, standing up. "But I have no reason to believe we're in danger here. It's probably going to be cold tonight. Plus, I'll be awake. Someone has to keep watch."

"You're not going to sleep?" she asked him, unrolling and setting her blanket down for the evening near a small boulder. He sat on a rock close by, stoking the fire with a long stick.

"I'm fine," he responded assuredly, shrugging off his jonin jacket and carefully gathering it up to place on the ground next to him. Ayame stretched her legs out on her blanket and yawned as she rolled her shoulders. She looked over at him, feeling guilty for wanting to sleep while he kept guard.

"Shouldn't you rest, though? I'm sure you're just as tired as I am," Ayame asked. She watched as he pulled off his Konoha headband, his silver hair falling flatly over his forehead.

She couldn't quite place it, but there was something unusually stunning about his presence. The way his disheveled hair rested over his brow after a long day. The look of his body without his bulky green jacket, his shoulders hunched but broader than she initially perceived. She watched as he shifted one leg forward, his limb looking longer and more muscular at this distance. Ayame pushed her hair behind her ear, her eyes peering over his tightly wrapped ankles. She couldn't understand why she studied him so closely, but she felt warmth spread like wildfire throughout her body when she did. The flickering light of the fire and the late hour of the day blended together in her mind to create an exhilarating new feeling.

"I'll be alright," he said, looking up at her from across the fire. The flickering light of the flames danced across his shadowy face. He gave her a small, reassuring smile. She noticed his other eye, the long scar that ran across his lid and cheek, cutting right through his thin gray eyebrow and disappearing under his mask. When he smiled, his eyes creased at the corners. He looked like a different person without his headband and jacket.

"I'm sure I'll doze off for a little bit at some point," he assured her, looking up at the sky above. The light flickered off his Adam's apple.

"Thank you for your patience today," she said, leaning back on her elbows, "I'm sure it was painful for you to walk so slowly. But we should get there early tomorrow."

"It was a nice change of pace," Kakashi slid down his bottom down into the dirt, using the rock he had just used to rest his back. Bending his knee, he flickered his eye back over to her.

"I was thinking," she heard him say, "You said this Tsukamu root had lasting effects on your chakra reserves. Have you trained to attempt to gain some of that lost chakra back?"

Ayame looked over at him, surprised. "I - I have not, really. Or rather, I'm not really sure how. I mean, I know how to exercise and train. But my chakra was always just something that was there and then one day, it wasn't. I had no guidance on how to get it back."

"What happened when you were low on chakra in your old village?"

"We would be sent to do other work, and someone else would come in to take our place of growing the flowers. My cousins and I were cycled through. One day it would be me growing, and the next day it was someone else."

Kakashi nodded, looking at the fire, and a rueful leer appeared beneath his mask, "Sounds like they just used you."

"Yeah," Ayame agreed dismally.

"I'm sorry about your clan, by the way," Kakashi looked over at her somberly. "What you said yesterday, it must have been difficult."

Ayame frowned, looking down at her lap and picking at fingertips. "I just wish I could have saved them."

"I'm sure you couldn't have saved them all and yourself."

"I could have tried."

Kakashi looked over at her, observing her as she nervously fiddled with her fingers. In the orange light of the fire, he could see a layer of coiled frizz haloed around her braid. He found this comforting, although he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because of how hard she had worked to get here today, with no formal training as a shinobi to go long distances in short periods. Yet her determination had surprised him.

An owl hooted in the distance, reminding him of the one he heard last night in Tsunade's office.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he said finally, his eyes locked on her.

"But I could have prevented it if I had paid more attention to what my brother was up to. Why he wasn't around when he should have been. I just figured he had other duties, and we covered for him. I didn't expect him to be ..."

Kakashi nodded his head, understanding. "Regardless, you can't change what happened. You just have to deal with the reality and move on."

Ayame looked up at the fire, the glowing flames licking at the sticks he had placed in a pile. Frowning, she thought of her brother, her own blood, the reason she had no family left. Did she miss them? Of course. But did she yearn for the never-ending labor and mistreatment? No. Certainly not.

"But I don't think your charka situation is a lost cause," Kakashi said, shifting his tone. She watched him kick a small rock with his sandal. "You said you haven't trained, but have you tried other methods?"

Ayame looked over at him,  "I think my case is a bit different, wouldn't you say?"

"But have you tried?" Kakashi countered. His tone was tenacious but lighthearted in nature. She considered just ignoring him, not wanting to rehash her inability to conduct chakra. But when she looked over at him, he raised his eyebrows in anticipation of her response.

"I haven't," she tried to push back a smile that crept up on her quickly. "As I said, I would imagine my circumstance is different."

"I'm assuming no one ever taught you what is actually going on inside your body," Kakashi returned. This felt like banter between two friends, not between two people who had just met less than 24 hours ago and were shipped out together on a time-crunched mission. Or perhaps he was flirting with her. Ayame pursed her lips, not taking the bait.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Ayame yawned, stretching her arms. Didn't want to seem too interested, she thought.

"I mean, I don't have to tell you," He quipped, reflecting back her disinterested tone. He stood up, stretching his arms as well. "I just thought maybe you'd want to know what's really going on."

Ayame's ears perked up, and she looked up at him, his back turned to her as he gathered a few more branches in the brush behind them.

"What do you mean, what's really going on? I would think I know more of what's happening in my body than you do."

"That may be true," he said as he stood with a twig in his hand. "But you were never taught the basics of your chakra network. It's not some central point in your body. It's a system of vessels that channel through you. I saw you earlier when we were walking with my eye, and your chakra network isn't as damaged as you believe it is."

"I'm sorry?" Ayame felt her face flush as she quickly looked over at him. She was grateful for the darkness around them.

As she spoke, he turned to her, his left eye opened. Her brain couldn't quite comprehend what she was looking at—the red glow of it, the spinning iris. His complete gaze assessed her, looking through her like a window.

"With my Sharingan, I can see some of your chakra network. When you were walking in front of me today, I used it to see if your network had been severed where you were previously injured. My assumption was correct, and it wasn't, but it is severely damaged."

"Severely damaged," Ayame repeated, looking down at the fire.

"Yes," he turned back around and shut his left eye as he gathered more sticks for the fire.

"If your network was severed, you wouldn't be able to use any of your chakra," he said, sitting back down. "But as you showed us last night, you can. You are able to maneuver some chakra through your body with some health repercussions. But that doesn't mean it can't be mended and used. It just may take extra energy to push your chakra through the channel."

"And how do I do that?" Ayame asked skeptically.

Kakashi casually threw a few twigs into the fire. "Today, you used a good amount of energy to get here. More so, I would say, than you do on a regular basis. Although you may feel drained, your body should have generated chakra through your physical movements."

"Is this what you were thinking about all day?" Ayame laughed. "I understand. But how do I push it through? It's not like you can widen an injured vessel."

"That will come from healing and spiritual energy," Kakashi explained, "healing can be done back in Konoha. I'm sure you've never seen someone for this injury, right?"

"No," Ayame replied. "I never thought to."

"I doubt it can be healed completely at this point, but it's worth a try."

"And this spiritual energy?"

"Spiritual energy and physical energy is what chakra is made of. Physical energy manifests from training or exertion. Spiritual energy, however, comes from within," the silver-haired shinobi explained, holding a twig between his hands. She watched as he twirled it around his fingers. "Think of it as mental stamina. You can increase it by experience or meditation. Have you ever meditated?"

Ayame shook her head, feeling inferior for never having learned any of this. There was a whole world out there she had never been exposed to. Even within the confines of her new home, she had never learned any of this.

"I don't do it often, but it is a good method to use when you are just learning to hone your chakra or learning a different chakra nature," Kakashi explained. "I can teach you - if you want. Or maybe you could try it in the morning before we leave. I think it would help."

He looked over at her, waiting for a response. The pensive ambiance of the sparking fire and the evening's cool breeze enveloped their little huddle. Looking over at him, Ayame gently smiled, nodding. His gaze was penetrating; the twinkling of his dark eye in the fire stirred something in her stomach.

"I will," she said finally.

He smiled softly at her. His eyes locked with hers, and she could see the smile under his mask with the unsteady light of the burning fire. Despite the crisp air of the night, heat washed over her body like a wave against rocks. Time seemed to slow, even for a few seconds. At that moment, it was just the two of them in that forest: no illness, no mission, no timeline. Just his dark eye staring softly into hers. The wrinkle of his eyes when he smiled felt like an electrical shock to her body.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate your help."

He watched her lips curl with each word. Something twisted in his lower stomach, and he swallowed. He looked away and chuckling softly, immediately regretting severing their connection. He scolded himself for letting his nerves got the best of him. The feeling that had just washed over him was unlike anything he was familiar with. As a man who was rarely ever shaken, he felt jarred by the experience. He was a calm man, dedicated to his role as a shinobi of the Leaf. Something as potent as that feeling would only distract him, he reminded himself.

"No problem," he responded, scratching the back of his neck uneasily. Ayame looked down, smiling softly to herself. This felt quite childlike, but nevertheless, she found herself savoring it.

"Get some sleep," Kakashi said finally, pulling out a battered orange book from his back pocket. He was clearly flustered, she thought. "We have to leave before dawn, so we don't have long. So get some rest. I'll be right here."

Ayame nodded and laid down on her blanket, her heart still pounding in her chest from such a small interaction.

"Thank you," Ayame said again, turning to face away from him. She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "Goodnight, Kakashi."

A pause.

"Goodnight, Ayame."  

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A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry no screenshots this week, it seems my Sims is acting up. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I rewrote it about 4 times, as I wasn’t sure where I wanted it to go. But I’m very excited to keep going :) Thank you for reading! <3 

[dekuscrybaby]

starry nights

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

request: no, just felt soft for tsukki

word count: 2.5k+ words

warnings: fluff with barely any plot, a few curse words (?), unedited, maybe ooc tsukki, CHEESY AS HELL, the ending is booty bc i couldn’t find a way to end it

a/n: i wrote this as gender neutral as i could bc i’m a useless hetero so if something is not gn friendly pls let me know!

summary: who knew a stressful night could turn so soft with the help of a certain blonde?

after such a long day, there was nothing more you wanted than a nice relaxing evening before falling into a deep sleep.

the idea of finally getting home and showering after sweating at the boy’s volleyball practice, seeing as you were a manager, sounded amazing. what sounded even better was eating dinner and retiring to your room where you could listen to music in bed as you slowly feel yourself drift off into your dreams.

unfortunately, the only thing you received once you got home was a hard chair pressing uncomfortably into your bottom as you scribbled various formulas onto your notebook.

you were attempting to solve yet another dumb math problem that was assigned to you earlier that day, but you were finding that the results weren’t making any sense. they were far too large to be the correct answer. or were they too small?

you sighed frustratedly as your head began to pound and your butt was beginning to numb. you mentally reminded yourself to ask your parents for a comfier desk chair as soon as possible.

after another failed attempt at the stupid trigonometry problem in your textbook, you felt yourself begin to spiral. your muscles began to tense up and for some reason, your head felt like it was spinning, the pounding only getting stronger. the moment you found yourself struggling to breathe, you decided that it was time to take a break before things escalated any further.

you pushed yourself away from your desk to stretch for a little and to clear your head, hoping it’d be enough to finally let you solve the problem afterward. you might have also done it to get some blood flowing back in your ass, but that’s not the focus of this.

you paced around your room for a couple of minutes before you heard a slight buzzing sound in the room. halting your movement, you turned your head towards the sound and realized it was coming from your phone, which was lying in the middle of your bed.

walking over to your bed, you flopped yourself onto the soft mattress after taking your phone into your hands. upon realizing that your boyfriend was calling you, you clicked on the green accept call button and pressed the device to your ear.

“hey, what’s up?” you spoke as you made yourself comfortable on your bed, grabbing one of your stuffed animals and holding it close to your chest.

“why haven’t you replied to me?” tsukishima grumbles quietly.

“uhh, i did? i’m literally speaking with you, aren’t i?” you raised an eyebrow even if he couldn’t see it.

“i’m talking about my texts, dumbass. i sent you like ten in the last fifteen minutes,” he sighed.

you pulled your phone away and glanced at your notifications, which only proved your boyfriend’s statement to be true. 

frowning slightly you turned your attention back to the call, “sorry, tsukki. i didn’t see your messages until right now.”

back in his own room, tsukishima could be found rolling his eyes at your lack of attention towards him. a quick glance at his alarm clock at his bedside had other worries streaming into his head.

“what are you doing that’s so important at this hour anyway?” the blonde questioned as he sat up on his own bed.

“homework, what else would i be doing?” you replied.

“i don’t know, maybe getting ready for bed? it’s almost ten pm, y/n. you need eight hours of sleep,” he scolded you.

“i know, i know. you remind me of that at least twice a week,” you grumbled halfheartedly.

tsukishima chuckled softly, knowing you were probably pouting at this point, “clearly i need to remind you more often since it’s not getting through your puny brain.”

the pout you wore grew even wider, just as tsukishima imagined it to, “hey, it’s not that puny!”

you could hear your boyfriend laugh a bit louder as you also say up on your bed, cradling the plush closer to your chest, “i don’t know, you come in pretty close to hinata and kageyama.”

“that’s far from the truth and you know it! we’re literally in the same class,” you huffed.

“that doesn’t mean much, sweetheart,” he teased you.

“fuck you,” you laughed softly.

“you wish,” he retorted playfully. “anyway, meet me at the park we pass by when i walk you home as soon as we get off the phone.”

“come again?” you questioned. not really believing what you were hearing, you got out of bed for some reason believing that being up would tell you your hearing was off.

“meet me at the park by your house,” he repeated. 

“you want me to do what?” you asked once again, your mind not wrapping around the command just yet.

“last time i checked, you weren’t deaf. just trust me and meet me there.”

“tsukki, like you said earlier, it’s almost ten at night.” where was your boyfriend heading with this? he isn’t even the spontaneous type! so where was this going?

well, obviously the park but why?

“i’m aware, i can tell time, y/n.” tsukki rolled his eyes slightly.

“it’s also wednesday night, a weeknight,” you continued as you began to walk to your closet.

“i’m also cognizant of that as well. i own a calendar,” he replied.

“we have school tomorrow, kei. you remember that? school? the building we go to and learn in?” you mumbled, still not believing that your boyfriend wanted to meet up at such a late hour.

think about it, tsukishima is an incredibly intelligent boy. he’s probably one of the smartest kids you know. probably even one of the best students in general and he’s asking you to hang out on a school night? after he nags at you about studying for your classes and sleeping at reasonable hours? 

even if he, himself, doesn’t sleep at reasonable hours, but he insists you do it at least.

something’s up.

“how many times do i have to tell you that i know what these things are?” he scoffed quietly.

“as many times as it takes for you to come to your senses,” you retaliated as you quickly grabbed one of the hoodies in your wardrobe, coincidentally it was one you stole from the blonde.

“you say that as if you’re not already getting ready to meet me there,” he teased you as he began to laugh quietly at how predictable you were to him.

“how are you so sure about that, four-eyes?” you replied as you slipped your head into the hoodie that was a few sizes too big.

“i’m sure for two reasons actually,” he began, the tone in his voice sounding extremely confident as he seemed to know you inside and out. 

“one, i know that regardless of what situation you’re in, you don’t pass up on an opportunity to see me because you’re literally a lovesick puppy. two, i can hear rustling through the phone, and taking that first reason in mind, i’m going to safely assume that you’re grabbing a hoodie and some shoes so you can come out and meet me.”

“you know, i really do hate you sometimes. you’re a pain in the ass,” you spoke, voice slightly muffled by the hoodie covering your mouth slightly.

“yeah, yeah, but you know you love it. i’ll see you there,” he chuckled before hanging up on you, leaving you alone in your quiet bedroom, the scent of his cologne still lingering on the fabric that wrapped your body in a warm embrace.

once you broke out of your haze, you quietly maneuvered out of your bedroom, making way towards the front door. you slipped on your shoes once you got to the doorway and pulled the door open as quietly as possible, to avoid any unwanted confrontation with your parents, before slipping into the cool and quiet night. 

hands intertwined in the hoodie’s pocket, you briskly walked towards the small park a few blocks away from your own house, impatient to see your boyfriend.

sure, you had seen him a few hours prior to this but you could never get enough time with the blonde. time spent with him always flew by and you found yourself craving his attention more and more as your time with him increased as well.

you knew the feeling was mutual, hence why you two were sneaking out to see each other. but still, seeing such a stoic, and a rather asshole-ish, person like tsukishima act so soft and vulnerable in your presence made you want to risk it all for him. a little scolding or tighter limitations on your freedoms for a few days were worth the time you’d spend with your lover.

glancing up at the sky as the park’s playground began approaching your field of vision, you noticed how clear tonight’s sky appeared to be. no cloud in sight, just miles, and miles of countless stars littering the dark night sky. 

the perfect conditions from some stargazing, you smiled softly at the realization.

refocusing your eyes in front of you, you noticed a rather lanky figure sit on one of the swings, awkwardly shifting himself forward and backward. 

“hey, stranger,” you piped up as you took a seat beside his own swing.

“funny seeing you here, hmm?” he turned to look at you, a teasing expression lying lazily upon his face as he briefly eyed your appearance. more than likely, noticing his hoodie engulfing your figure. 

“yeah, extremely funny. so funny that you had to beg me to come out here.”

“yeah, i really begged for it. i felt as if i would die if i didn’t see you, almost got down on my knees.” he rolled his eyes playfully.

“well, you did have to ask me a handful of times before i agreed to come down. so, yeah, i’d like to think you begged for it,” you mimicked his actions. “just admit that you missed me, to make up for the fact that i snuck out of my house for you. after curfew, may i add on.”

“you act as if i didn’t sneak out of my own house, after curfew as well,” he retorted.

“would admitting that you missed me kill you?” you pouted, crossing your arms together.

“fine, fine. i missed you, okay? happy?” he said as he leaned towards your side, long fingers caressing your side which only made you squirm as it tickled.

you laughed softly before nodding and stretching an arm out in his direction, allowing him to link your pinkies together, a form of affection worth more than a kiss in your relationship. 

“so what made you bring me out on a night like this? i was working on some real important trigonometry homework when you interrupted me, and let me mention once again that it’s a school night.”

tsukishima went back to swinging himself on the swing, his pinky being interlaced with yours caused you to begin to sway yourself on the swing as well.

“after i noticed that you didn’t reply to my messages, i figured that you’d gotten too wound up in your homework. i knew you could need a small break from it all and hearing how tense you sounded over the call, only confirmed it for me,” a small blush rose into his pale cheeks.

“you knew that i was starting to get stressed? tsukki,” your voice began to soften more. “you seriously knew that just by one phone call and a lack of replies?”

he scoffed quietly, attempting to look like he didn’t care but the rising heat appearing on his cheeks and ears told you otherwise, “don’t go making it sound like that, it was just obvious.”

you began to grin at the obvious timidness your boy was exuding, “so let me guess, you noticed i was feeling upset so you decided to help me clear my mind by spending some time with me.” 

“tch, you wish.”

you moved your hand to properly interlace your entire hand with his own, squeezing it gently.

“that’s really sweet of you, kei. i appreciate it so much, it’s exactly what i needed,” you beamed under the moonlight, something tsukishima couldn’t help but find beautiful, his expression softening once again.

“this one trig problem was really getting to me. i was so relieved to hear my phone ring as it gave me an excuse to take a longer break, and it was an even greater relief when it was you who was calling.” as you were speaking, a slight breeze swept up and began to lightly run through your locks, which only caused tsukishima to continue admiring you.

“you know, you’re actually really cute, especially under this moonlight,” he said as he pulled your intertwined hands up to his lips, gently brushing his lips against your knuckles before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“are you insinuating that you used to think i wasn’t cute?” you rose one of your eyebrows mischievously, wanting to fluster the unusually soft boy.

he sighed dramatically, letting go of your hand, “and you ruined it. i was trying to express my undying love for you and you just had to ruin the mood.”

“well don’t let that stop you, i’m still listening!” you attempted to salvage the soft moment as kei began to laugh before he rose from his swing, extending a hand to you.

“maybe i’ll give it another shot after we get a nicer view of the stars.” you could have sworn you saw a twinkle in his eyes when he said this, but nonetheless you stood up to take his hand.

hand-in-hand you both walked to the playground, getting on it and finding yourselves seated at the very top, the starry much clearer at the slightly elevated altitude.

not wanting to ruin the quiet atmosphere, you turned your head upwards, a small smile on your face as you raked your eyes through the endless clusters of stars.

as you continued to observe the space above you, tsukki turned his attention to focus on your delicate features making his smile reappear. there was just something about tonight that made you look so ethereal, he just couldn’t help but fall for you even harder.

“you okay?” you asked when you finally felt his stare on you.

“yeah, i just can’t take my eyes off you,” he breathed out, which led you to smile at him, your heartwarming at the sight of how in love he looked.

“you’re so cute, kei.” you leaned your body on his, your head finding a home on the space between his shoulder and neck.

tsukishima didn’t waste any time wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer to him and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. in return you pressed a kiss to his lower jaw, your smile pressing against his skin.

with that, no more words were expressed. everything that needed to be said was done in your respective kisses but also the lovesick grins that you both wore for the remainder of that night.

your starry night with your own little moon pressed right against your body.

[readingaccountability]

snow crash - neal stephenson

my playlist (because of The Way That I Am)

final thoughts:

okay, im going to be honest right out of the gate- i cant decide whether this is a book id recommend or not. it was really fun for the most part, but personally there was a lot more exposition than id like. the early portions of the novel have exposition which feels completely fair, mostly things relating to worldbuilding. stephenson creates his own vision of future america, and some places online referred to it as cyberpunk, and some as post-cyberpunk. id be more in the latter camp, mostly due to the way he plays with tropes, leaving the reader unsure of which will be subverted and which wont.

the use of language was really fun, and i enjoyed the worldbuilding a lot. his vision of a futuristic capitalistic earth feels surreal in its immediacy and recognizability. the back jacket blurb ends with "a future america so bizarre, so outrageous, you'll recognize it immediately." which, yeah. a texan info-tech magnate? two competing corporations owning the highway system? suburban city-states? this was another enjoyable thing- everything was colorfully named, and names treated totally normally, which kind of poked fun at how we have everyday things named very ludicrously and for the most part we are totally blind to it.

one aspect i really enjoyed was that the author often doesn't make certain things clear to the audience, until he does, and then it becomes necessary to reassess the entire story and setting. this goes to underscore the theme of the importance of information and the ways we take it in and perceive the world based upon it. for example, we don't learn that y.t. is fifteen until maybe 75 pages in, at which point a lot makes sense in retrospect. the same thing occurs in the worldbuilding, as suddenly a detail is given in passing and the reader must incorporate it into the setting, which by default we assume to be similar in many ways to our idea of america. it keeps the reader on their toes as well as furthering the worldbuilding. for the most part, the tech stuff didnt feel outdated to me, despite being a future projected out from '92.

however, aspects of the book are definitely very 1992. id put these into two camps: the first, being that the book does at different times use slurs. the main character is black and asian, the n word is used a few times by racist side-character/antagonist types, as are a few other racial slurs. there was also the occasional usage of the r slur, within the narrative prose itself, rather than usage as an insult within dialogue.

the protagonist, who is named, unfortunately, hiro protagonist, is a great character and felt very fleshed out to me, though at times he reminded me more of dirk strider than normally would be ideal. (its obvious that stephenson and andrew hussie are of a similar type of writer, and play with similar tropes, lmao.) hiro is a man of many worlds. he seems to shift between them easily, though never fully existing in any of them. this is reflected in his background, both in his biracial identity and in having been raised on a myriad of army bases. this is layered further in his fluidity in interacting with both reality and the metaverse, yet remaining slightly, consistently aloof. fascinatingly the first moment i sensed this drop was when we meet juanita- aka where his real and meta realities coincide. the description of them as the adam and eve of the metaverse is both insanely romantic and thematically key (good god i wish we had more than like, two conversations between them). juanita designed the facial component to metaverse avatars, doing the majority of this work when the two were together, and hiro can see echoes of both their facial tics in the face of every avatar in the metaverse. in a way, by having done this work juanita is positioned by the narrative as one of the gods of this digital realm. she is also hiro's call to action, being aware of the coming trouble and alerting him to it, as well as connecting him to the informational database he needs to prepare.

y.t., the secondary protagonist, fucking ruled. i loved that she was just a fifteen year old punkass kid whose mom doesnt know how crazy this part time job is. y.t. being worried about her mom was a great thread throughout, and a really good balance to how obviously independent y.t. is. i do wish there had been a chance to explain more about her background (she has a dad who left who is mentioned in a throwaway sentence, and a boyfriend who is mentioned near the beginning but never again.) i really enjoyed how obviously hyperaware y.t. was at all times about her own place within the insanities of the setting, while also consistently writing her as a teen maybe in way too deep who thinks about things in typically teenage ways. but like, that wasn't ever held against her? the narrative meets her where she is. it was honestly awesome. HOWEVER,

i absolutely hated the raven and y.t. scenes. how creepy!!! he basically statutory rapes her!!! we know hes at least late 20s early 30s, because hes the same age as hiro. if this sort of content is upsetting to read for you, i definitely do NOT recommend this book. (if you want to avoid reading these bits: ch 47 y.t. meets raven, ch 50 they are in a bar eating, ch 52 things happen that result in y.t.'s anti-assault device activating- she did not activate it on purpose, but forgot it was there- and raven is knocked out.)

please PLEASE dont take any of the following analysis as like, trying to be apologetic towards this scenes. because again they were awful and hard to get through and really gross. but im also cognizant that the author was obviously trying to convey something by making the choice, like the way it was written is obviously not condoning this sort of thing.

i think maybe what stephenson was trying to get at with that, was that we see hiro internally negate any potential for anything untoward with y.t. basically immediately, since he kind of senses that she might have a small crush on him (though this doesnt last more than a fleeting moment, especially from her perspective). vs raven, whose 'poor impulse control' warning tattoo eventually elicits a sarcastic remark from hiro after he finds out raven and y.t. were "a thing". i really dont think hiro knew how far it went? like it was just suuuper weird, but i figured it was meant narratively to 1. execute the chekovs gun of y.t.'s anti-assault device, 2. contrast hiro and raven (especially considering the bike-racing argument where theyre telling the story together, which is supposed to parallel them, while contrasting the differences in how they ended up?), and 3. just to get raven unconscious, i guess. but good god it was weird and i hated every second of it, why couldnt the device have like, activated way earlier?? gah. fucking upsetting. moving past that!

honestly i was really frustrated by how little screentime juanita got, because the way she was introduced was so fucking interesting and then shes mostly off doing her own thing. the bits of explanation she gives at the end about what she was up to on the raft are so sparse and im like damn, can we get a little bit of her pov in here? please? that would have ruled. additionally, shes supposed to be hiros love interest, but we see so little of them interacting outside her intro scenes. a huge portion of why hiro is getting into the sumerian mythology is literally framed as something that will help him understand juanita, but we dont get to see him talk to her about it barely at all.

the supporting characters were quite fun, i particularly liked the librarian. big surprise, i liked the overly literal ai information-dispensor, lmfao. watching him and hiro interact reminded me SO hard of geordi laforge having honest to god conversations with the computer where he tries to coax information out of it, aka one of my favorite little aspects of tng.

and lastly, the major plot themes themselves. i adore the way stephenson approached action, it was very entertaining. usually i cant really visualize action scenes written out, but his use of language was really really effective and engaging. the plot itself was absolutely fascinating, though i found the premise pretty contrived. which isnt bad in itself, i was fully suspending my disbelief until the last hundred pages or so. which for a 550+ page book, isnt too bad.

i did like the approach of linking the ancient to the modern, that is always really neat. and i think ultimately stephenson did it in an interesting way, not how i would have done it, but definitely interesting! creating these ideas about information infrastructures, and there being words that can access those and be used to control people, was wild. not sure if i agree about the equating of religion to a virus, though he did specifically establish that it was more the approach to religion, than religion itself. (maybe if juanita had been more goddamn present in the narrative that could have been elaborated on a little more. literally her perspective would have been perfect in balancing that out!!)

ultimately what did me in was the very very very long winded MONOLOGUE where hiro re-explained the whole premise, in ways that didnt really neatly organize into a cohesive argument. a lot of the scenes where hiro talks to the librarian, which are interspersed throughout the book, are really exposition heavy, because stephenson is rooting his ideas in historical concepts that need to be explained to both hiro and the audience. and i thought all that was fine, because it was a conversation where hiro was grappling with the information, and he was figuring it out along with the reader, and most importantly it was a conversation between him and the librarian computer program.

howeverrr later on we get a full rehash of all that, where hiro makes clear some stuff that was just implied for the reader, and hes literally just telling these important men whats up in this big long monologue. utterly worthless. i kept reading it and going YEAH, we KNOW, we know this we know this. and the important men barely interjected. it added basically nothing to our understanding of the situation, other than reframing it. but everything added was already an implicit thing, and didnt really need to be said again.

the resolution to the book was stellar, the last 30-40 pages, once hiro is onto the raft, were great. ultimately after reading and giving some time to digest it, i think it was a solidly great book with a few big drawbacks near the end, but which dont carry through and sully the ending.

[vannahfanfics]

Hiya dear! Okay so for the Tokka requests here’s the first one lol. We all know Sokka is an AMAZING*cough* artist. How about a little story of Sokka teaching Toph how to illustrate? Perhaps the results are a LITTLE bit abstract 🤣

Hey, dear! Finally managing to get through a couple of requests ~sigh~ So here’s one of yours! :) 

Category: Friendship Fluff

Characters: Sokka, Toph

Requested By: @deliazeedork

Scritch scritch. Scritch scritch. 

Toph’s ears perked at the light scratching noises floating across the breeze. The sounds mingled with the rustling leaves of the trees surrounding them and the babbling brook that extended just five and a half yards from where she was perched on her sleeping bag, nibbling on some jerky. Occasionally, Katara and Aang’s grunts and yells eclipsed the faint scraping; the two splashed about in the small river practicing their waterbending. Toph had grumped that the Avatar ought to be practicing his earthbending, but the flighty individual had replied that one always ought to review old knowledge lest it be forgotten. Damn philosopher. 

Scritch scritch scratch. 

The persistent scratching yanked Toph out of her slightly unflattering thoughts of her pupil. Toph could not “see” from her current position, so she shoved the rest of the jerky in her mouth and stood up to press the soles of her feet against the grass. The soft, pillowy green stuff and the air pockets bubbling in the loamy soil always eclipsed her sight somewhat, turning the standard crystal-clear vibration images into grainy static. She grimaced as she wiggled her toes, concentrating hard on the small vibrations trembling the forest layer’s dirt particles. After a minute, a hazy image of Sokka reclined underneath a tree scrawling avidly on a paper pad materialized into view.

Toph’s jaw worked against the jerky as she stared through her mind’s eye at the boy. From the way he hunched over the pad, drawing the pencil across the parchment in alternating long, smooth strokes and quick little flicks, Sokka was deeply absorbed in his work. However, Toph was bored out of her mind just sitting there chomping on the dehydrated meat, so she wasted no time in tromping over to the Water Tribe boy. 

“Oi. Whatcha doodlin’?” she quipped as she padded across the grassy clearing to him. She kept careful track of his vibrations to avoid accidentally tripping right over him in her slightly impaired state. In the gray haze of her reconstructed image of the world, she saw Sokka glance up before returning his eyes to his work. 

“Just the river and the trees,” he responded simply. The scritching sounds echoed much louder in her ears now that Toph stood by him. She thought she would find them irritating, but the gentle scraping of the soft lead against the parchment was surprisingly soothing. Without asking permission to breach the aura of solitude encapsulating him, Toph plopped down next to him and reclined against the sturdy trunk of the oak tree. Though she could not see the leaves quivering in the breeze above her head, as they were too high up for their vibrations to reach the sensitive soles of her feet, she could hear them dancing eagerly along the streams of wind rustling their green skirts. Toph’s mouth twitched. 

She knew they were green because that’s what everyone said, but what did green look like? Sokka’s eyes were blue, too, according to what she’d heard, but what did blue look like? With a glance down, she noticed that Sokka actually switched between several pencils piled neatly beside his thigh, which shifted slightly each time that his fingers rifled through them to choose the right one. Those must be colored pencils, she reasoned. However, to her, they just looked like nondistinct gray-black sticks. As her mood soured, a frown tugged down on her lips. 

Toph didn’t dwell on her blindness often, but it was times like these where she bitterly wished she were normal, at least for a few minutes. 

“Toph?” Sokka blinked. She twitched as he called her name, but continued to keep her sightless gaze on her lap. 

“Sokka…” Her voice joined the flutters of the greenery around them, a dandelion seed plucked from her mouth to spirit away into the distance. “Would you… Describe it to me?” 

Toph couldn’t see the expression on her face, but she imagined from the prolonged silence that he stared incredulously at her. Perhaps he had his hand clamped over his lips, struggling to contain snickers of derision. Toph felt sudden anger bubbling up inside her blood. Just as she clenched her fists and opened her mouth to shout, “Fine! Then don’t!”, Sokka interrupted her. 

“Sure, Toph.” 

The ire dissolved from Toph’s bones like snow under the heat of the first spring sun. Her cheeks warmed as she felt Sokka shift beside her, his leg brushing against hers for a brief moment. The embarrassment clouded her mind for a moment, nearly preventing her from hearing Sokka’s description of the surrounding area. 

“Okay, so…” he began with a sweeping gesture at the open space. “About five yards- maybe six?- is the river-” 

“No,” Toph interjected sharply. When Sokka flinched, she blushed darker; she hadn’t meant for her words to sound so harsh. She fidgeted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, willing her voice to be softer this time. “Not that. Your drawing. I want to ‘see’ your drawing.” Another confused silence settled between them. Toph’s cheeks burned hotter than the sun now; if the tension had melted from her body before, it was now baking back in. “I-I know that you’re drawing, but I can’t ‘see’ it. All I see is a blank piece of paper.” 

“Oh,” he said simply with a glance down at the drawing pad. With a quiet, “hmmm,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully; she knew so because his right arm jumped lightly against her deltoid with every little stroke of his index finger across his chin. “Okay! Here, I have an idea.” 

Before she could object, Sokka scooted up against her and grabbed her left arm. Her body tensed immediately, but Sokka ignored her rigid form to tug her arm over the drawing pad. A pleasant hum rumbled from his chest, followed by a self-satisfied snicker, probably appreciating his genius before he’d even conducted his little experiment. Gently, Sokka guided the pads of her fingers down onto the soft paper. Toph sharply inhaled, instantly mystified by the pencil wax’s very subtle indentations on the white page. 

“So, this is the river,” Sokka began. He guided her fingers in a winding pattern over the swirling bands decorating the page with tender pressure against her wrist. “Running water has a characteristic pattern, you know,” he smirked amusedly, “like flowing ribbons running side-by-side.” Toph’s eyebrows cinched as she struggled to relate the foreign feelings triggering the nerve endings in her fingers to his words. She managed to form the image of streaming bands enclosed within the boundaries of a bank, swirling together and flowing from left to right. Though likely dramatized, Toph found the picture incredibly soothing. 

“And then, on the far side, there are tons and tons of oak trees.” With a simple flick of her wrist, her fingers jumped over the page to land on the sketched bank. Sokka guided her fingers to trace them up the barked trunks to the stretching branches and the ovoid leaves bunched around the stems. “The branches split off from the trunk, and more from those and more from those, all the way down to skinny little twigs. That’s where the leaves spring from, shiny and waxy-looking, thousands of ‘em! They fill up the tree to make it look, umm, kind of like broccoli?” Toph snorted at the image of broccolis standing at attention next to the pretty river she’d created in her head. 

“Yeah, I know, it isn’t the best comparison. Anyway, the light filters in between the leaves, and it creates a dapple effect on the ground. Imagine little blobs of light just playing over the grass, swaying with every gust of wind.” Toph had to admit that the premise was sublime; broccoli-looking trees aside, she imagined lighter areas near her river, small smears bobbing back and forth as the leaves danced back and forth in the breeze. 

“On this side,” Sokka continued, pulling her hand to his illustrated near shore, “a patch of wildflowers bloom a little off the bank. Their flowers are small-,” He traced the little bunches of petals with the tip of her index finger. “-with pollen patches in the middle. Actually…” He leaned over to pick up something. Toph gasped as she felt something incredibly soft ghost over her hand. “Here’s one. Feel it.” Carefully, afraid to damage the delicate structure, she turned the plucked flower over and over in her hand. Tactile differentiation allowed her to form a three-dimensional image of it in her mind. However, instead of populating just that small area with the little buds, she painted the entire grassy field with them. 

Tears welled up into the corners of her eyes. When she blinked, her lashes dislodged them and sent them rolling down her cheeks. 

“Beautiful. It sounds beautiful, Sokka,” she murmured. Sokka’s arm jumped against hers again as he released a bashful chuckle. 

“I’m sure whatever you’re imagining is far more artistic than what I’ve got,” he sighed wistfully with a glance down at his drawing. Toph shook her head, causing Sokka to flash her a crooked smile, which she could just barely see with her limited vibration feeling. “Heh. You’re in an awfully good mood today.” 

“Don’t push it,” she growled, hand snapping up to yank hard down on his earlobe. He yelped, immediately slapping his hand to his ear to gingerly cradle the now aching tissue. However, a serene smile decorated her face. 

Maybe being blind had its problems, but she’d much rather Sokka describe his art to her like this instead of merely being able to see it. It came alive in her mind, the flowing water and dancing leaves and little flowers, a world inside her own cognizance that no one else could see. All that brought forth by Sokka’s simple drawing and poetic words. 

“You think I could draw?” she asked, turning to blink curiously at him. Sokka let out a small “urk!” before grabbing his child pensively once more. With an affirmative grunt, he smiled again and flipped the drawing pad to a new page. Toph stretched out his legs as he leaned sideways to place the drawing pad in her lap. When he held out a pencil, she plucked it from his grasp, feeling heat rise to her cheeks when their fingers brushed slightly. 

“Okay, Toph. Let’s start with the river…” 

With her sightless eyes fixed on the blank canvas before her, Toph glided her hand across the page as Sokka voice instructions in her ear. Occasionally he’d reach over to adjust her movement, demonstrating it with passive motion of her wrist and fingers to allow her to memorize the muscle action. Guided by Sokka’s gentle direction, Toph penciled the landscape around them bit by bit. When she set the pencil down to stroke the parchment with the pads of her fingers to trace the tenuous grooves and peaks of the wax pressed into the fibers, Toph was delighted. She could re-create almost the same image, meaning that her drawing was an actual landscape and not just senseless scribbles. 

“Thanks, Sokka.” 

“No problem! I’m a little jealous, honestly. Keep it up, and you’ll replace me as the gang’s artist, and then what do I have? Only my devilishly handsome looks and impeccable wit?” he sighed dramatically, placing the backside of his hand against his forehead in a gesture of woe. Toph laughed loudly. 

“Nope. You’ll just be our group idiot.” 

“Gee, thanks,” he huffed and elbowed her slightly in the ribs. Toph squealed at the ticklish sensation that bloomed in the intercostal spaces as his elbow rubbed against the curved bones. With a broad smile, she regarded her drawing again. 

“Can I keep it?” 

“Of course,” he said, taking the drawing pad from her. She heard a loud ripping sound, and then the flapping of the paper as he set it down on her lap. She hurriedly gripped the edge between her fingers, lest the wind blow it away. “An artist deserves to be able to marvel their masterpiece anytime they choose.” Toph smiled happily and hugged the illustration to her chest, with a careful amount of pressure to avoid crinkling it. 

Yes, she would marvel her masterpiece because it was just another reminder that Toph was capable of anything and everything despite her eyes. A particularly prominent gust of wind blew through the area, causing the leaves and limbs above to shake wildly. As their cacophony filled the air, Toph smiled widely, imagining their wild quivers in her mind. 

Normal sight was so overrated.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[punkpoemprose]

Comatose- Kristanna Bodyguard AU

Hi @frenzy5150! I’m your secret santa! So sorry I’m a wee bit late on the posting! I’ve been having an... interesting weekend to say the least. You said that you wanted some hurt/ comfort and some Kristanna being loving dorks, and I intended fully to deliver on both counts. I wrote this in the universe of my bodyguard AU X X which I hope is alright! I hope you like it!

Now with Art by the lovely @epbaker

Universe: Modern Royalty/ Bodyguard AU Rating: T (Teen & Up) Length: 3226 Words

Kristoff combed his fingers through Anna’s hair as Elsa left for the night. They’d said that they would take shifts, but really it was more that they both sat at her bedside all day and well into the night, only taking breaks for the two hours in the day where nurse rotations and other hospital policies asked respectfully that they wait in a room other than Anna’s. They had, however, made the agreement that it made much more sense for Kristoff to stay with Anna between the hours of midnight and 9am as, despite the fact that the hospital had excellent security, particularly in the royal wing, Kristoff was her bodyguard after all. He was also her fiancé, although no one outside Elsa and a handful of others were aware of that.

“I miss you Anna,” he whispered, tucking bits of hair back behind her ear. “Wake up soon, okay?”

Her car had been struck by a drunk driver while she had been returning from a visit to a children’s hospital, and while she’d been able to walk away from the crash, she’d been on the ground by the time Kristoff could extricate himself from the security car following hers. He’d been the one to hold her until the ambulance arrived. He was always the one holding onto her after something awful happened and it made him ill. He’d wanted to be her in car security, but she’d insisted that she didn’t need him there.

Of course, it was because they’d had an argument that morning about when they should be going public with their engagement, and she hadn’t wanted him so close by until they’d both cooled down. He���d expected to find himself in her bedroom before the end of the night to talk things out and work off their stress and anxiety in the way they usually did once her heavy soundproofed bedroom door had closed.

It was four days after that now, and he hadn’t even been able to tell her that he was sorry for asking her to wait, and for presuming to know what would be best for her. The doctors said that she would be waking up “soon” and “any time now” for the last few days, but the tabloids were already running half mad stories such as “Arendelle’s Princess on Deathbed! Queen Silent on Sister’s Condition!” and “Assassination Attempt on Crown Princess??? Palace Insiders Confirm!”. Kristoff frankly, didn’t care if it was all some kind of PR nightmare, or if people in their tiny kingdom were wondering what was going on. He only cared about Anna.

The doctors were optimistic that she’d make a full recovery, but the longer she stayed comatose, the less certain anyone felt. Of course he wasn’t a stupid man, he knew that she must have hit her head fairly hard in the crash, but when people tossed around phrases like “possible traumatic brain injury” and “uncertain recovery period” he felt less confident.

He let his hand shift, trailing his fingers gently over her arm. The doctor had told them that keeping her stimulated would help. It felt strange to touch Anna so openly, and technically without her consent. There’d never been a day that had gone by where she’d objected to his touch, and in fact she was often the one to initiate contact when he didn’t instantly do so. He liked the way she looked at him when he was touching her the way he was now. She’d give him a conspiratorial smile and lean into him, her eyes pleading with him not to stop. He’d thought a couple times since she’d been admitted that maybe she was smiling when he spoke to her or when he touched her, but he couldn’t be sure.

He wasn’t even sure that she’d want him there when she woke. They hadn’t been on particularly good terms before the crash, and it made him wish that he’d just taken the time to talk with her about the reasons why he was worried about making a public announcement of their engagement. He wished that he’d been in the car with her when it had been hit, not that he had any certainty that it would have made any difference, but if nothing else he would have liked to have been there for her when it happened instead of being there seconds after.

The only thing he was certain of was that he loved her very much and that the doctor had said to keep her senses working, and so at least for the next hour that’s exactly what he planned to do.

He held her hand and shifted so that his other hand could trail slowly up and down her arm.

“Do you know how many deliveries of flowers and chocolates I had to send elsewhere today feisty pants?”

He paused, as if she would answer, and was only slightly disappointed when she didn’t.

“You wouldn’t believe how many gifts people are sending you. You’re very popular my Princess. I keep telling the delivery people that we can’t bring the gifts into your room because it’s a safety concern, but I keep having the guards safety check all the sunflowers first. You should see it in here Anna, it’s like the fields we used to play in as kids, you can’t turn without bumping into a sunflower. I think the doctors are going to tell me any minute now that I need to get some out of here because they can hardly make it to your bed.”

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross her lips but he couldn’t tell for certain. He had toyed with the idea of kissing her. She’d loved fairy tales when they were young, and it would be just like Anna to wake up to true loves kiss. He didn’t want to test the theory, not only because kissing her lips while she was out felt uncomfortable to him in a way it never had before when she’d simply been asleep, and also because he knew that there would be nothing more disappointing to him than her not waking up if he did so.

Instead he settled for kissing her forehead. He leaned in close to her, just looking at her face for a moment, taking her in, noticing the lack of expression on her face, like a baseline from which he might determine if she was cognizant at all of what he was about to do. He pressed his lips to her forehead, just below her hairline, and let his lips rest there for a moment. He tried to be gentle, he wanted her to feel his kiss, but not any pain on her nearby bruises.

“When you wake up,” he muttered against her skin, “I’m going to beg your forgiveness and kiss you senseless if you’ll let me. Then I’ll go check through all those gifts and let you eat as much chocolate as you want, hell I’ll have some sent over from the castle or that fancy chocolatier you hire for all the parties if you want.”

He pulled back slightly and noticed no changes on her face, something that he had half expected, and yet something that still disappointed him more than anything.

“I hope you can hear me Anna, because I love it when you hold me to a promise. I’d be happy to hear you yell at me about the engagement or about not being in the car with you. I just want to hear your voice baby.”

He shook his head, “You know they don’t want me to keep Sven here with you, but I think I’ll bring him tomorrow. Maybe dog slobber is just what you need, yeah? If you don’t mind being covered in dog hair I’ll fight someone on the rules, I know he misses you and I’m sure you miss him too. He’s just moping around according to everyone else on staff and I think maybe you’d do well to have him around.”

When she still didn’t respond he sighed and readjusted his gun belt and turned his walkie down to just audible. He wasn’t on the clock, he hadn’t been since the accident, but he was still prepared, even as he was about to fall asleep in the chair beside her bed.

“Please wake up Anna,” he said again, this time softer, “Or just give me a sign you hear me please. I’m going crazy missing you.”

He closed his eyes, and almost swore that he felt her hand make the tiniest squeeze against his own.

***

Anna blinked against the light. It was harsh and fluorescent, and it hurt her eyes. They stung anyway, like they were too dry, and her head felt like it was full of rocks. She felt like she was suffering through the worst hangover she’d ever had in her life, but she couldn’t quite recall drinking anything. She only remembered being in a car and now she was somewhere with a strange ceiling and her limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.

She couldn’t really even move her head though with a little bit of effort she managed to roll it to the side slightly as she blinked her eyes again and again, trying to remoisten them even slightly. When she managed to make a somewhat full head roll to the side she felt the crick in her neck begin to abate and saw a bleary eyed Kristoff looking at her.

She opened her mouth to speak but found her throat too dry to produce much of anything for noise. Her “Kris?” came out like something more of a squawking sound than any real word.

He was off his feet in an instant, calling for someone to come into the room, and just as quickly as he’d moved, there were dozens of people around her, there were lights in her eyes, someone scratching notes down on a clipboard and while Anna was somehow tangentially aware that this was all somehow important, it was also all rather annoying to her, particularly because she couldn’t see Kristoff anymore and she didn’t know any of the people around her.

She opened her mouth to speak again and she, this time with a bit more concentration managed to call out his name somewhat satisfactorily.

Then he was there, on his phone, but there, with one hand extending toward her. She saw the worry in his eyes, the bags under his eyes and his mussed hair. He was usually so put together and calm, so prepared for the worst, so to see him that way caused her great concern. Her arms still felt heavy, but she managed to reach her hand up, albeit shaking as she did so, to take his hand. Everything was too loud or too quiet. She knew people were talking but she couldn’t quite hear what was being said, she was mostly watching their mouths move and listening to her own heartbeat above the din of everything else.

Kristoff squeezed her hand and said something to one of the people scurrying around her. She couldn’t figure out what he had said, but she calmed at the sound of his voice. If he was there things were going to be alright, whenever Kristoff was there everything was alright.

Soon enough the crowd of noisy people left the room, and Anna was quite embarrassed with herself that it was only when the last scrub wearing nurse left that she realized that she was in the hospital. Kristoff was seating himself, once again next to her bed when she started working through the fog in her head to figure out how to ask him how she’d ended up there.

“What the hell?”

When he started laughing she smiled.

“You’ve been in a coma for five days and the first thing you say to me, other than my name is ‘What the hell’? The doctors were worried about you being yourself when you woke up,” he said with a grin that lit up his whole face, erasing the look of exhaustion and replacing it with more of the exasperated look she was familiar with.  “But sounds to me like you’re fine.”

Anna shook her head slightly, it still felt heavy and she had a headache, but it was bearable. It took her a little longer than usual to process what he was saying, but she knew he was teasing her just from his tone, and that was good. She liked it when he teased her.

“I’ve been…?” She was still having some difficulties responding, but she could feel words coming back to her, and her throat, while still scratchy, was no longer at odds with her tongue, allowing things to come out of her mouth more or less as she wanted them to.

“In a coma. Anna you’ve been in a coma. The doctor said you might not remember what happened. Do you remember why you’re here? Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” she replied quickly, having already had the thought, “No. I don’t know. Well you said coma, but why?”

He frowned then and she immediately pouted in return. She didn’t like it when he frowned.

“We were on the way back from the children’s hospital on the other side of the city and we got to an intersection and there was a crash. You walked away, then fell unconscious.”

Anna frowned then fully, “Oh no! Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile returned to his lips.

“Just like you to come out of a coma, find out what put you in it and ask about everyone else.”

She nodded, because yes, it was like her, and she knew it, and that felt good.

“No,” he added, “no one else was seriously hurt, just some scrapes and bruises, you took the brunt of the crash. The driver walked away too. He’s in a cell somewhere waiting for a court date.”

She didn’t like the sounds of that, “It’s not serious is it?”

“Drunk driving,” he said back, “And he went through a police barricade to get into the intersection in the first place, so yeah, pretty bad.”

She frowned again and teared up a little bit, “That’s so sad. Does he have a family?”

He rolled his eyes but scooted closer to her bed and leaned in close, “I’d say you hit your head too hard, but no. It really is just like you to start worrying about the family of the drunk driver that put you into the hospital.”

She smiled and made the effort to put her arm up to pull him in closer. She wanted a kiss and she would have one.

“I’m the Princess. It’s my duty to look after my people, even when they make mistakes.”

Kristoff sighed and kissed her. She knew that he knew that arguing with her was futile. She was still a little confused and it was taking her a little longer than normal to think about what she wanted to do or say, but Kristoff knew her and she knew him.

She also knew that she was supposed to be mad at him. Or at least she was pretty sure that she was much earlier in the day, before the crash. He’d made her take the ring he’d bought her off before they went to the hospital. He didn’t want people to know that they were engaged until they made the official announcement, and she’d been ready to go tell the world since he’d popped the question. It seemed silly now, for them to have fought about it. She had wanted to announce it to the world, but she should have been ready to give him a little more time before he had an even bigger spotlight placed on him. She should have been more willing to be flexible.

“I’m sorry we argued,” she said just as the thought came to mind. “But I’m glad you weren’t in the car.”

He huffed, “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“I remember everything important.”

He grinned slightly and gave her another kiss, this time on her forehead, “So the car crash isn’t important?”

“Not as much as arguing with you,” she said in return, confident in her answer despite the look he was giving her over it. “I’m sorry, we can wait before we say anything.”

He grinned, “Well it’s a little late for that,” he said gently, “I had to tell the hospital staff I was your fiancé for them to let me stay in the room instead of outside the door and when they didn’t believe me your sister confirmed it. While they’re supposed to be quiet about it, but you know someone will overhear something and it’ll be front page news any day now, if it isn’t already.”

She smiled, “Does that mean I can wear the ring?”

He leaned back and picked up her hand in his own before placing a kiss on her knuckles, “You already are.”

She glanced over to see that she was in fact wearing the ring he’d given her just a few weeks prior. The stone didn’t glitter quite so much under the fluorescents as it did in the sunlight, but it was absolutely her ring.

“I kept it in my pocket after we fought, and I put it on your finger after the doctor’s gave me permission. I hope you don’t mind.”

He seemed almost sheepish, but she was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t mind the fact that I’m never taking it off again.”

She felt more awake now. Things were making sense, her brain was getting up to speed and she was able to move a little better.

He chuckled, “Even in the shower?”

She grinned, “Especially in the shower. You never know, some water droplets in the kingdom might not know I’m a taken woman.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time letting her take her fill of him. She relaxed into the mattress and sighed against his lips, her hands, while still heavy, moving to card through his hair. They only broke apart when a nurse came in and coughed politely. She needed to check some kind of level and informed Anna and Kristoff both that her royal majesty had just arrived again to check on her sister.

Anna had a feeling that it was less of a notice to her than it was an indication to Kristoff that he might want to unmuss his hair. When she left to fetch Anna a pitcher of fresh cold water, Anna giggled.

“We were caught! So much for constant vigilance Mr. Bodyguard.”

He smiled and leaned back down to kiss her again, “Oh I knew we were getting caught,” he said before resting his forehead on hers, “I just didn’t care.”

Anna giggled again and did her best to straighten herself before her sister arrived. She felt like she needed a shower, and maybe also a tray of chocolate cookies, and also maybe for Kristoff to take her back home as soon as possible and give her some specific affection that she knew neither of them would like very much to be caught in the act of.

[the-quiet-winds]

You Need a Blue Sky Holiday (part two)

so a lot of people loved the soft! so have a nice bit of hurt and soft by your favorite toby and lucy, @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i

[part one]

i’m just going to chuck a trigger warning for self-deprecation and VERY ACCIDENTAL self-harm

also i posted a oneshot at 1am for those of you who didn’t see it, and you can read it here

[Part 2: The Point is They Laugh at What You Say]

it kind of amazes jane how much the next few minutes remind her of that first time katherine came over, between the sleepy delight in her eyes at the bowl of casserole jane hands her and how fast that bowl is scarfed down. it makes jane wonder if katherine is really even eating anything when she’s by herself. 

she can’t dwell on this thought, though. as soon as they eat, katherine insists on putting a movie on. jane props the laptop in her lap, putting her feet up on the coffee table, letting katherine assume her favorite position of curled up against her.

later that night, just before three, jane is awoken by sounds in the apartment. she sits up, rubs her eyes, and listens. 

they found like feeble whimpers. crying, perhaps? 

she slowly stands up and follows them to katherine’s room, where the girl is twitching and jolting in her sleep, tiny noises of fear and distress poking through the silent room.

she approaches katherine’s bed slowly, switching on the bedside lamp and kneeling down next to her. she leaves a gap between her and the bed, just so katherine doesn’t wake up to some figure looming above her.

“kat,” she murmurs softly. “love, wake up.”

katherine doesn’t seem to notice her. in fact, her noises seem to get louder and more distressed the longer jane watches, and so jane reaches out and gently shakes katherine’s shoulder.

“love, it’s okay, i’m here. jane’s here.”

katherine lets out a noise like a wounded dog as she wrenches away from the hand on her shoulder. her eyes snap open, but jane can see that katherine is still trapped in a nightmare, not cognizant enough to realize it’s jane next to her, it’s someone who won’t hurt her, it’s someone who won’t let her be hurt. she begins to back slowly across the bed. 

“please don’t hurt me,” katherine begs, voice raspy with sleep and fear. 

“it’s just me, love,” jane says quietly and evenly. “it’s jane.”

katherine doesn’t see or hear her, continuing to move backwards across the bed until there is no more bed, sending her sprawling onto the floor on her back with a harsh thump.

the shock of hitting the floor seems to bring her out of the nightmare, but as jane approaches she can see the confusion and disoriented fear on katherine’s face.

“wh-” she mumbles, wincing in pain as she sits up. “i- jane?” she asks, looking up at her. “what’s going on?”

despite the fact that katherine is usually several inches taller than her, jane can’t help but notice how small katherine seems right now as she draws in on herself, folded into a tiny ball and looking up at jane for reassurance.

“it’s okay, kat,” jane crouches down next to her. “you were just having a nightmare.”

katherine sours slightly at the realization, mumbling words that jane can’t make out. 

then katherine looks at her, wide eyed and still afraid, and jane sits down next to her, leaning her back against the bed. 

katherine immediately lunges at her, inviting herself into jane’s warm embrace and tucking her head so far on jane’s shoulder her face was all but in the crook of jane’s neck.

jane lets katherine seek refuge in her arms, running a comforting hand over katherine’s back. the girl is still practically trembling from her nightmare and jane wants nothing more than to remove all the pain from her life. all she can do, though, is do her best to keep katherine calm and make her feel safe.

katherine mumbles something and jane looks over to her.

“what was that, love?”

she can feel katherine’s face heating up with embarrassment, and katherine pulls away from her shoulder just enough to ask her, “could you sing for me?”

jane gives her a soft smile and kisses the top of her head. “of course, love. what would you like me to sing?”

katherine shrugs. “anything really,” she mumbles. 

jane thinks for a moment, before beginning to sing in a quiet voice.

the song is unfamiliar to katherine, but that gentle emotion and loving tone in jane’s voice is always recognizable and makes her feel so safe. it’s something she wishes she could bottle up and save for later.

katherine closes her eyes as she listens. jane’s voice soothes her into a slightly calmer state, and katherine can’t help but feel protected, taken care of.

then it suddenly hits her. yet again, katherine was making jane’s life harder when she should have been making it easier. jane was a guest, and so far katherine has made her go shopping, make the dinner and now she was comforting katherine, who couldn’t even go one night without causing a scene. guilt bubbles up in her stomach and her eyes snap open.

jane feels katherine stiffen and her singing tapers off. 

“kat? are you alright, love?”

katherine doesn’t make a response, instead beginning to shuffle away from jane. she’s still trembling and wide-eyed, but she won’t let jane see just how much she wants to stay and let jane comfort her. but jane deserves to sleep.

katherine looks down. “i’m okay now,” she says quietly.

jane frowns slightly. “are you sure, love? you’re still...” she trails off, not wanting to bring attention to the fact she could still see katherine shaking slightly. katherine nods, still not looking at her properly.

“i’m sure. thank you for your help but i’m fine, now.”

jane doesn’t want to leave, not when katherine was clearly lying, but she also doesn’t want to push katherine, not when everything had been going so well. she’s not sure what’s brought about this sudden change in katherine, and frankly it worries her.

she studies katherine for a moment longer. “alright,” she finally concedes. she leans forward and gently kisses katherine’s forehead, not missing the way the girl stiffens slightly at the contact. “i’ll see you in the morning, love.”

she slowly stands up and makes her way to the door, giving katherine ample time to call her back. but she doesn’t. katherine just sits on the floor, trembling, looking downward.

katherine doesn’t get any more sleep that night, nor does she even make it back to her bed. she leans against the bed frame from her position on the floor and hugs her knees to her chest, staring at a spot on the wooden floorboards.

she can hear the occasional creak from the rickety pull-out bed in the living room as jane turns over in her sleep, and she wants nothing more than to go and seek comfort. she can’t, though, not tonight, when she’s already caused so much trouble for her.

unlike how katherine imagined, however, jane wasn’t getting much sleep either. she can’t stop thinking about katherine in the other room, and keeps one ear out in case she has another nightmare.

she, too, wants to rush in and hold katherine close, let her cry out all the grief as jane sweeps her hand through her hair and sings a quiet song.

she wants that more than anything, frankly, and she can’t figure out why for the life of her. 

her mind flits back to that evening at the store. she had felt a deep, albeit quick flicker of some strong emotion when the cashier had mistaken her and katherine for mother and daughter. 

she says aloud, just for the hell of it, something that had been rattling around her mind since the encounter. her words are quiet in the otherwise silent apartment. 

“katherine seymour,” she mumbles with a somewhat stupid grin, “daughter of jane seymour.”

her brain plays out a little fantasy, where they’d been born in this century, and maybe she’d adopted a little girl with long dark hair and a radiant smile, and katherine could be an ordinary kid and jane would be her mother. the thought sends warmth to jane’s heart and she allows herself to think it for a few more seconds, before reality comes crashing down around her.

she shouldn’t be doing this, not when katherine was so fragile. she probably only came to jane for comfort because jane was kind to her, not because she wanted any kind of mother-daughter relationship like the one jane kept imagining.

the reminder of the night creeps by, before it’s a time when jane can feasibly say she can get up. 

she moves very quietly in katherine’s kitchen, not wanting to disturb the girl she thought was sleeping. she fixes herself a cup of tea and sits back on the squeaky pull-out couch mattress.

she wouldn’t complain, as katherine was going out of her way to help her, but she wishes that she’d known about how katherine lived before now. there wasn’t much food, nightmares obviously weren’t a rarity...it makes jane’s heart ache at the thought.

even the mostly bare empty apartment had a somewhat disheartening energy, and jane can’t imagine what it’s like for katherine when she’s here alone on cold evenings. no wonder katherine always took a little while to get comfortable in rehearsals, no wonder she rushed through any food that jane brought her. in hindsight, jane thinks, she should have realised how katherine was living and done something about it sooner. there’s a small blessing in Jane’s mind though, that they were about to start their tour soon, and jane makes it her mission to look after katherine on their travels. she deserves that at the very least.

she’s well into her second mug of tea when katherine emerges from her bedroom, bags dark and heavy under her eyes. she probably didn’t get much more sleep than jane herself. 

“good morning,” jane says gently. “how are you feeling, love?”

katherine’s eyes flicker to the low lights in the kitchen, then to the mug in jane’s hand and she gives a tiny sigh. she couldn’t even get herself up early enough to give her guest some tea. 

she really was quite useless, katherine thinks angrily and desperately, unhelpful and just no-good.

she’s too wrapped up in her self-loathing to register the question, and instead she tries to do anything to be a good host.

“would you like some breakfast?” she asks hurriedly. she’s sure she has some bread somewhere, she can at least make some toast and be somewhat competent. jane looks slightly concerned.

“kat, if you don’t have anything then that’s okay, I can-”

“i’ve got it,” katherine says, slightly harsher than she meant to. she rushes into the kitchen and manages to scrounge up two slices of bread which she shoves into the toaster. it’s not really enough for both of them, so jane can have them both, she decides. then she opens the fridge and stares into it, hoping to find some kind of butter or jam.

the mostly empty fridge stares back at her. katherine’s heart sinks and she desperately tries to think of something she can serve the toast with, until a burning smell snaps her out of her reverie.

“kat!” jane yelps. she jumps up and hurries into the kitchen. she brushes past katherine and unplugs the toaster, where the two pieces of bread inside were unrecognizably charred. after letting them cool, she pulls them out and puts them in the garbage, then looks at kat. 

the girl looks like she’s near tears, about to crumble at any moment, staring at the floor and digging her nails into her palms.

“oh, kat,” jane sighs, taking a step towards her. “it’s okay-”

“it’s not okay!” katherine says, nails creating crescent shaped indents in the skin of her palms. “i can’t even make you breakfast!”

“kat, i don’t mind about breakfast,” jane says softly, but katherine shakes her head.

“it’s not just breakfast. it’s everything! why can’t I...” tears start to prick in her eyes and she sniffles. “why am i so useless?”

jane’s expression turns shocked. “no, kat,” she says firmly. “you’re far from useless, i promise-“

“but i can’t do anything right!” katherine cries. “ever since you got here you’ve done everything for me! you bought groceries, made food...last night.” her voice chokes out and her nails dig even tighter, until jane can see tiny drops of red appearing on her palms. when she speaks again, her voice is ring and weak. “i wish i was just better...for you. you deserve better.”

“kat,” jane says, firmly but gently taking katherine’s hands in hers to stop her from digging her nails in any more. “i don’t need you to be ‘better’, whatever that means. all i ever want is for you to be happy and safe. i didn’t take you shopping and make dinner because you’re ‘useless’- and let me tell you, kat, you’re far from useless. i did it because you deserve to have a nice home-cooked meal and not have to worry about how you’re going to do it.”

“but you do so much for me,” katherine chokes out, half sobbing. “i just wanted to do something for you, and i can’t even be good enough for one night.”

“love, no,” jane protests firmly. “you are more than ‘good enough’, darling. you always have been and you always will be,” she insists, a fierce and protective passion in her voice. “please never think otherwise.”

katherine splutters our protesting syllables but never forms a full thought other than “no” or “but.”

“but nothing,” jane says. “you are wonderful and lovely and perfect and anything but ‘useless’, katherine seymour.” the name slips out without a thought, last night’s fantasy still fresh in her mind.

there’s a few moments of silence between them, katherine lifting her gaze to look at jane with wide eyes.

“howard,” jane suddenly rushes out. “you’re anything but useless, katherine howard.” it’s a pretty desperate attempt to save face; they both very clearly heard what jane had said, but to jane’s relief katherine doesn’t seem horrified by the slip-up, although she’s not sure if katherine’s just avoiding it to be polite.

katherine’s mind is in overdrive, unable to put jane’s slipped tongue from her mind. 

it meant something to jane, it had to, for her to say something like that. she had to mean something. jane thought of katherine as family, enough to share her last name, albeit accidentally.

she searches jane’s face for any malevolence, but finds only that same caring, gentle look in her eyes that makes katherine’s insides feel like butter. 

she looks back down at her feet. “thanks, jane,” she mumbles.

jane smiles softly. “i mean it, love.” she runs her thumb gently over the wounded skin of katherine’s palms. “now, lets get these cleaned up, shall we?”

katherine doesn’t have much in the way of first aid, but jane finds some plasters and takes some time wiping away the blood with a damp piece of tissue, before covering the tiny grazes with the plasters. katherine sits there quietly and lets jane patch her up, and when she’s done jane gives one of the plasters a quick kiss, as if katherine was a little girl who believed in being able to kiss cuts better. “there. all done.”

katherine tries to ignore the fact that the almost maternal display of affection actually did make her feel slightly better and she gives jane a tiny smile. “thanks.”

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

[jessahmewren]

“i didn’t know it could be like this” Chapter 5: Tea /Queen /Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 7 | 8 |  9 | 10

Summary:  Tea with Benefits plus soft poly feels

Rated E: Everyone be aware here be smut

Chapter 5 of ?

Pairings: Brian May/Roger Taylor, Brian May/Freddie Mercury, (it’s Poly Ya’ll)

Words: 2783

Also on AO3

tagging @another-random-girl​ and @morewyckedthanyou​

-0-0-0-

“I like him.” 

Roger silked through John’s hair, humming softly in that high voice he knew he liked so well.  They were up early for a Sunday, their only day off.  The morning sun was sifting through the curtains, washing them in a warm glow. 

“Like who?” Roger intoned quietly, his fingers still raking gently through John’s hair.  He was propped on an elbow, face painted in golden light. 

“Freddie,” John whispered.  He looked up quickly to meet Roger’s eyes, tongue snaking out nervously to wet his lips.

“Freddie from the club?  The bloke who visits you?”  Roger was grinning mischievously, and John pushed on his bare chest, nearly making him fall over. 

“Don’t make this any harder than it is, you twat.”

Roger huffed a laugh, his hand in John’s hair still and waiting. 

John raised up, rolling partway to meet him.  “Well aren’t you going to say something?” 

Roger just smiled, the hand in John’s hair traveling down to caress his face.  “I know you like him, love.  He likes you, too.” 

John’s face fell, a deep frown creasing his forehead.  “But what—what does that mean for us?”

Roger swept his thumb over the full bottom lip as if he could wipe away the frown.  “Oh Deaky.  Do you love me?” 

John’s eyes lit, suddenly wet and sparkling in the morning light.  He held Roger’s face in his hands.  “More than anything Roggie.  More than anything in this world.” 

“Then it doesn’t mean anything…not for us.”

John looked up at him with large eyes.  “So, you’re ok with it?” 

Roger kissed him, sweet and slow.  “Of course.”  He blushed a little.  “Besides, Brian and I like each other too.” 

John laughed, biting at his lip.  He let his forehead fall comfortably against Roger’s, feeling the warmth of his skin against his.  Roger was his, and he was Roger’s, but could they belong to someone else?

---

Brian had cleaned the flat twice.  The couch and throw pillows had been fluffed and the rug had been vacuumed.  The small kitchen gleamed and smelled of lemon.  Just as Brian was making the rounds again with a feather duster, Freddie burst through the door carrying a bag of groceries, ambling over to the kitchen area and setting them down with a  grunt. 

“Bloody hell, Bri, I can see myself in this fucking counter.  Overdoing it much?”  He began pulling out his wares one by one.  The original plan was for tea, but when Bri had sent him to the store, he knew this was going to be a full on meal.  Bri always got domestic when he was nervous. 

Brian looked at him crossly as he fluffed another pillow.  “I just want everything to be perfect,” he groused.  Freddie came up behind him, letting his arms ease around his waist.  “Relax Bri, you’re trying too hard.” 

Brian sighed. 

“The boys will love everything you’ve done, I know it.” 

Brian gave Freddie’s hands a little squeeze.  “You know I love you, right Freddie?” 

Freddie dropped his forehead to rest between the taller man’s shoulders.  “I know you do, darling.  And I love you so much.”  He tightened his arms around him.  “Do you want me to get started on the lasagna? 

Brian chuffed, tensing instantly.  “You’ll burn down the flat, Fred.  You know that.” 

Freddie pulled away, lightly slapping his arm.  “I know that, you sod.  I just said that to get you to stop cleaning.  Now come on, I’ll set the table at least.” 

Brian caught Freddie’s arm, pulling him back to him before he could get too far.  “I love you,” he said before claiming his lips. 

Freddie grinned.  “You already said that.” 

There was a smile on his face as Brian took in his slightly pink cheeks.  “I don’t care,” he said.

---

Roger and John held hands on The Tube, John’s leg restlessly bouncing alongside Roger’s.  Roger smiled, placing a calming hand on his thigh. 

“Don’t be so nervous, love.  It’s only tea and biscuits.” 

John nodded primly, trying to smile.  He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rumble and flashing lights of The Tube rock the anxiety out of him.  He had worn his best shirt and jeans and to Roger looked good enough to eat. 

They’d finally gotten out of bed and worked up enough courage to sift through their scant street clothes to pick out something presentable enough to wear to make the four mile journey across town to the off campus flat Brian and Freddie shared. 

The Tube dumped them out a few blocks from the address Brian had given them, and the fresh air was welcome.  It was a lovely Sunday for London, crisp and cool, and the sun was warm on their backs as they made their way along the city streets. 

Freddie and Brian had a red front door. That was John’s last cognizant thought before Roger was knocking and the door was swinging open and Freddie was on the other side. 

He looks really good was the second thought.  But Freddie always did…always dressed like he was going somewhere special, and today was no different.  Freddie was dressed in low-cut green shirt, very sheer, and tight satin pants to match.  He hurried them inside, muttering something about them catching cold when it couldn’t have been warmer outside. 

Roger and John just stood uncomfortably just inside the threshold of the neat little flat, not really sure what to do next.  John felt something warm on his arm, and he looked down and Roger was reaching for his hand. 

The flat was so much nicer than theirs. They had furniture and more than one window and even a television.  It smelled good too, like tomato sauce and lemons and home. 

Something warm and sharp stirred in John when he saw their record player in the living room.  They’d had to sell theirs, but still had their records. 

“Hi guys, so glad you made it!”  Brian came out of the bedroom, untying an apron from around his waist that said ‘Your Opinion Wasn’t in the Recipe,’ his already curly hair floofed and a bit of tomato sauce on his cheek.  Freddie tutted, licking his thumb to scrub off the offending spot, causing Brian to playfully slap his hand away. 

“Would you both like some wine?”  He went over to the kitchen counter and checked a timer.  “The vegetarian lasagna is almost done.  We can lounge on the couch and have a chat until then, maybe listen to some records.” 

Brian knew he was talking fast, trying too hard, but they both looked so delightfully sweet and a bit lost standing there in his doorway.  He just wanted to take and hug them both. 

“We’re good, thanks,” Roger said politely, ignoring John’s attempt at eye contact. 

“Ok then,” Brian said gently, “Would you like to sit down?”

John smiled, finally speaking up.  “That would be lovely.” 

Freddie led them to the seating area while Brian fetched tea.  There was a couch and chair there, the couch barely enough room for all of them.  Roger elected to take the chair facing the couch and patted his lap for John to sit in it.

Brian came in with a small tea service…a neat white ceramic teapot with mismatched mugs that Roger found rather charming.  He looked up and smiled at him, taking a sugar and milk, while John took his with only sugar. 

“You have a lovely home,” Roger said as Brian settled beside Freddie on the couch.  John nodded, sipping his tea.  “Yes, thank you so much for inviting us over.” 

They sat in companionable silence for awhile, until Freddie gently nudged Brian, clearing his throat. 

Brian straightened up.  “Um, boys, Freddie and I both care about you a great deal.” 

Roger swallowed, rubbing gentle circles over John’s back.  “We care about you too,” he said quietly.

Brian looked at Freddie, beaming, and Freddie expressed a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.  “That’s wonderful news, darling.  We were hoping you did.” 

John smiled softly at him, and Freddie returned it.  “Why don’t you join us on the couch,” Freddie suggested, looking at John and then Roger. 

Roger’s hand went lower on John’s back.  “There’s not enough room,” he said softly. 

Brian smiled, patting his lap.  “Oh, we’ll make do.  Come join us.”

Roger looked at John, and John gave him a small nod, smiling.  The two stood, approaching the couch hand in hand.  Roger settled in Brian’s lap, and John in Freddie’s, facing each other. 

Brian put his arms around Roger almost immediately, feeling the warmth of the young man through his clothes.  He ran his hand up his back, under his jacket, just to feel a little closer to him. 

John was soft and perfect on Freddie’s lap, and Freddie could scarcely wait for the day when John would ride his cock, proud and graceful and strong, but until then this would have to do.  He leaned forward, his nose in his hair, and took in a long breath.

Roger could feel Brian stiffen beneath him, and though the man shifted under him in an attempt to hide it, he found it incredibly erotic.  He’d never had anyone other than John be attracted to him like this before, with clothes on and him not on his knees.  It made him feel wanted…desired.  Sexy even. 

He fell into John, grabbing his hands as they met in the air.  His lips met his in a messy kiss, teeth and tongues clashing and moans ringing out in the small flat as Roger ground his hips down on Brian’s erection, enjoying the way the man’s breath hitched. 

Brian scraped his nails down Roger’s back, finally finding the hem of his shirt.  “Why don’t you boys show us how you appreciate each other,” Brian said, his voice dreamy. 

John looked up at Freddie, almost as if asking permission, and Freddie nodded, his eyes hazy with lust.  “Down you go love.” 

They pushed back the coffee table, tossing down Brian’s carefully fluffed throw pillows onto the rug. 

Roger and John just looked at each other at first, their eyes dark and breathing heavy.  Roger hadn’t been this turned on in ages, and he could feel the piercing gaze of the two men on the couch, making him even harder.  He didn’t think he would ever like being watched, but he did. He loved it. 

John walked on his knees, pulling Roger toward him sloppily so that he fell forward into him.  John groaned, straining in his pants, running his palm over his erection to relieve some of the friction.  He heard sloppy kisses and moans from the two men watching them, and it made him wild with lust. 

“Come here baby.  Tell me what you need.” 

John stripped the denim jacket off of Roger’s shoulders, kissing him roughly.  He whimpered, whining softly, the sound going straight to his cock.  Roger’s cheeks were wet, tears of frustration already dampening his face.  “I’m gonna get you off baby, don’t worry.  I’ll be so good to you.  Always so good to you,” John murmured into his slender neck, causing Roger to sigh as John continued to strip him.  He thread his arms out of his shirt, taking a moment to claim his mouth, to tug at his pretty blond hair. 

Roger groaned, grinding into John with a low whine.  “Fuck me.”

John nipped at his neck, ignoring the groans and fumblings from the couch.  “You sure baby?  That's what you want?” 

Roger exhaled sharply.  “Yeah.  Fuck me.  Make me take it.” 

John chuckled.  “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Roger just sighed.  “Fuck me John.” 

Brian steadily stroked his cock with one hand, the beautiful scene in front of him unfolding far beyond any fantasy he could conjure.  With the other hand, he pulled out a bottle of lube from an end table and tossed it to the two. 

John was beautiful too, he found himself thinking.  That long hair and somewhat angelic face.  And the way he was taking charge, leading Roger through the scene.  Brian turned to Freddie, stealing a kiss. 

Roger couldn’t get his pants off fast enough.  His cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled, and he wondered briefly how tea became this so quickly.  Not that he was complaining. 

John helped him out of his jeans, hands trailing up his thighs to rest along his hips.  Roger squirmed, head going back against a pillow and stealing a glance at Brian.  He smiled, watching the man take his pleasure, high color in his cheeks and his shirt undone. 

Then John closed his mouth over a nipple, and his eyes slipped shut. 

A series of whines left the blond’s mouth, only encouraging John.  “On your knees love…so you can look at Brian and Freddie,” he said with a kiss to his cheek. 

Roger swallowed thickly, going up on his knees and locking eyes with Brian.  His gaze slid to Freddie, who was looking at him hotly, his hand on his cock. 

It made him feel powerful to know he had that much effect on them. 

John’s fingers were cold but welcome as they probed his opening, his eyes rolling softly in his head.  He bit his lip, his head dipping slightly. 

“Don’t be quiet, darling,” Freddie said suddenly.  “To hell with the neighbors.” 

Roger smiled, his mouth quirking up until John punched a moan out of him as he slipped another finger inside.  He was working up a good rhythm by now, and Roger rocked on his knees, pushing against him, seeking the friction John just wouldn’t give him. 

The third finger did it.  He cried out, and John angled his fingers into that spot inside him that made his thighs tremble. He could feel his cock leaking and he reached back to stroke it, distributing some of his weight onto the pillows. 

“You ok,” John asked him, a little breathless with his own need.  “You still want me to fuck you or you want to get off like this?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Roger said, his voice strained.  “Go ahead.” 

Roger lost the fingers as John pulled his hips up flush with his, fingers digging in as he pressed into him.  Two quick jerks and he was fully seated. 

Roger loved John, but he hated this part.  Tears prickled his eyes, and his teeth dug into his bottom lip.  Little puffs of breath feathered his hair as his nerves settled. 

“It’s ok baby,” John cooed as he let him adjust to the feeling of him inside of him.  “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Roger huffed, angry with himself and his own hangups.  “I know that John.”  He reached back, sighing in relief when he found John’s hand.  “You can move now.” 

John leaned into him, making slow, easy strokes, feeling his orgasm build.  The worry in Brian and Freddie’s face had dissipated some, but he could feel Brian’s coiled tension as an almost palpable presence.  Both of them had questions, and it was understandable. 

John angled his hips, careful to hit Roger’s prostate, making him moan and thrust back against him.  He draped himself over Roger’s back, placing sloppy kisses at the base of his neck.  “I love you Roggie,” he whispered, and Roger grunted in response.  John picked up the pace, rocking into him with a bit more force, a hand sneaking around to work Roger’s cock. 

He keened, hitching back against him.  “You gonna come for me love?  Give the boys a show?” 

Roger only moaned, his head thrown back, the hot, full feeling of John inside him blanking his mind.  Brian's eyes were on him, expression soft and somewhat curious.  Roger wanted to kiss it off his face.    

Freddie couldn’t take his eyes off of John…the way the young man was so gentle with Roger, the way they were together.  Freddie watched Roger’s pretty open mouth, wanting very badly to fill it.

Roger could feel his orgasm building, the flames of it licking his skin.  With a few more pumps of his hand, Roger was coming hard and fast, his vision whited out and struggling to stay upright as John fucked him through his own climax. 

Brian was covering him with a blanket as John kissed his hair.  Freddie gently stroked his face.  Somewhere, a kitchen timer went off. 

Brian was away then, tending the lasagna.  Freddie stretched out beside John, stretching his arm across both John and Roger.  “Mind if I snuggle up?” he said smoothly, nuzzling John’s shoulder. 

Roger closed his eyes against the warm hands on him, comforting and familiar.  The aroma of melted cheese and oregano filled the flat, and his stomach rumbled.  So this is what it feels like to belong to something different, Roger thought before his eyes drifted closed, something more. 

-0-0-0-

[geekmama]

Dream Baby

Yay! I managed to write something! Many thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for feedback and editing.

After the "Sherrinford debacle", Sherlock's waking mind may once again be entirely focused on The Game, but even the World’s Only Consulting Detective can’t control his dreams... 

He woke with a convulsive gasp, and lay blinking at his surroundings for a long minute, the incongruity of the moment striking him with devastating force. 

Three months after the Sherrinford debacle, he had thought everything was once again in order. His flat (and its surrounding environs) had been repaired. He and Mycroft had weathered their parents’ wrath and dismay. A positive relationship with his mad sister was being established. 

And he and Molly Hooper were, once again, good friends. 

Just friends. 

Though, in that case, how was he to explain his current state: body still a-tremble, sheets now in need of laundering (and not by Hudders, he could just picture the speculative, teasing gleam she’d throw at him), and his dream still vividly, vibrantly with him? 

He found himself swallowing hard, his inner eye helplessly riveted on the slender yet shapely form of dream-Molly, her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow, sheets rumpled beneath her, and her smile… sated, yet oddly innocent, and completely loving… took his breath away. 

There was a helpless twitch of reviving desire against the already damp sheets, and he groaned, cursing, threw off the covers and fairly leapt from the bed, and stood there for a moment, swaying. 

Was he some spotty adolescent, unable to master his baser instincts? 

This entire episode must be deleted immediately! 

And yet, as he stripped the bed, throwing the evidence of his discomfiture in a pile on the floor, and repaired, with what dignity he could muster, to his new state-of-the-art and beautifully tiled shower, he found his determination to delete fading. 

And this was what philosophers and theologians warned about. 

Temptation, thy name is Woman. 

And, more specifically, in this case, Molly Hooper. 

How on earth can that be? he asked himself as he soaped himself down, annoyed and strangely flustered. 

And, again, inspired by that vision of her smile. 

Not to mention the rest of her. 

He cursed again. 

He should turn the shower straight to cold. 

Was this the way to think about his friend? 

Was this the way a man of mature years and disciplined habit behaved, even in the privacy of his own flat? 

The warm water ran down his body. The warm eyes of Dream-Molly swam through his brain, enticing. 

No. Enchanting.

He sighed, and finally leaned his forehead against the cool tile. 

Apparently this was the way such a man behaved. 

He closed his eyes to the world and was lost in that ephemeral vision… sighed again… and surrendered to the moment.

 *

 He had thought the dream would fade, as most dreams do, dissolving into a misty subconscious, leaving, perhaps, a warm afterglow, but affecting day to day existence very minimally. 

This did not prove to be the case. 

Strangely, every detail of that dream remained alive in his mind, and he found himself returning to it over and over as the hours and days passed. 

He did not contact Molly. For one thing, she had gone out of town for a few days, traveling to the Lake District with a couple of her co-workers – both women, thank God, or he suspected he would have been piqued toward intervention. And after her return… Dream-Molly still plaguing him… bewitching him… there was a dearth of legitimate reasons to visit Barts – Lestrade was fairly astounded at the lull in criminal activity – and Sherlock was reluctant to visit his Siren’s native ground for the less orthodox purposes that had served in the past. 

This lack of real life Molly seemed to do little to assuage Sherlock’s predilection for Dream-Molly’s companionship. He began to wonder, in fact, if Dream-Molly’s perfection would taint his view of the actual woman – which might be a good thing, considering what his imagination and subconscious were capable of in Dream-Molly’s regard. Disappointment might yet cure him of this sudden, very strange obsession, and things could go back to… to what they had been before. 

That his heart invariably sank at this idea told him how contorted had become his thought processes. He would have said deformed, but could not quite bring himself to use such a derogatory term in relation to his… beloved. 

He was sitting in his new chair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea supplied by his landlady (who was still unaware of his state of unrest, thank God), when this description… this endearment… occurred to him. 

Beloved. 

Well, she was, of course. Had been, as a friend, for many years. 

But Dream-Molly was… different. So much more. 

Ridiculous, he told himself for the hundredth time. 

Or was it? 

There was only one way of knowing. 

And fortunately for his sanity (for he had begun to wonder about it, of late), Lestrade called that very evening regarding a possible homicide that looked to be a seven, if not an eight. 

A visit to Barts morgue was in the offing. 

And, ever-cognizant of Molly’s schedule, Sherlock knew that she would be on duty.

 *

 He swept in as per his habit, and there she was… there it was, as she turned to greet her visitors: that smile that lit not only her countenance but her whole being. The element of satiation might be missing, but the happiness, the love was there, as in his dream. He found himself halting in his tracks, and felt an odd tingling against his cheeks. 

My God, he was blushing! 

Her smile was fading at his hesitancy, and she suddenly looked concerned. 

“Molly!” he blurted, forestalling the question on her lips, “It’s good to see you. Can you show us Mr. Steed? Lestrade here has promised me an eight, but I’m reserving judgement until I see the body.” 

“Yes… yes, of course. Hello, Greg.” 

“Evening, Molly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? But the forces of evil never rest quiet for long – much to Sherlock’s gratification.” 

Sherlock said, with a slight wince, “Gratification is hardly the word, in spite of what you may have assumed in the past.” 

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Assumptions be damned, you’ve always been like a kid in a candy shop when there’s something wicked afoot. Though maybe recent events have changed things up a bit?” 

“Yes. Well. How could they not?” Sherlock said, glancing furtively at Molly. He felt heat in his cheeks again, and said abruptly, “Mr. Steed, Molly? None of us wish to be at this all night.” And then his heart sank as he realized how that must have sounded to her. Like the old Sherlock. 

Who, in many ways, was no more. 

And indeed, a look of annoyance slightly diluted the fondness of her gaze, though there was still a question in her eyes, too. However, she obediently turned to do his bidding and Sherlock stood silently watching her comply. Studying her. 

Wondering what it would be like to ease that lab coat off her shoulders, let it fall to the ground… slip his fingers beneath the edges of that cherry-bedecked cardigan… brush his thumbs over the sensitive peaks that swelled beneath the flowered cotton of her blouse and the soft lace of her bra … take in her look of surprise… wonder… her small gasp of pleasure… 

“Here he is, John Steed, age 41,” said Molly. “The preliminary exam showed deep slashes to the abdomen reminiscent of the ritual suicide customs of Japan. Unfortunately not deep enough to sever the descending aorta.” 

Lestrade grimaced. “So, a helluva death. Poor devil.” 

“Yes,” muttered Sherlock, though he was rather thankful than not for the gruesome distraction. 

It was all business for the next quarter hour or so as they examined the corpse and questioned Molly on particulars. 

“Murder,” Sherlock said, finally. “I’m nearly certain of it. Lestrade, can we get a look at his flat?” 

“Sure. But it can wait until morning, eh? I have a meeting at nine that I can’t miss, but after that I’m your man. Say 11:30. Shall I pick you up?” 

“No, text me the address and I’ll meet you.” 

“Right.” Lestrade gave Molly a grateful smile. “You’re the best, love. Thanks for taking us in on such short notice.” 

“Always happy,” she said, returning Lestrade’s smile with great sincerity. 

Almost too great. Sherlock felt a familiar twinge that he suddenly realized was jealousy. 

Bloody hell. Had he never known himself at all? 

His consternation was obviously writ large on his face, for when she turned to bid him farewell the words died on her lips and her brows rose. “Sherlock?” she queried uncertainly. 

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “Your shift ends soon, do you fancy some takeaway? I can wait for you.” 

Her eyes widened. Perplexed. But also gratified. “Yes. I… yes! That would be lovely!” 

Lestrade was observing the two of them with amused interest, of course. However, all he said was, “Well! In that case I’ll take my leave.” 

“Yes, off you go,” said Sherlock. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good night, Greg,” Molly said, laughter in her voice. But as soon as the door swung to in the detective’s wake, she turned to Sherlock, eyeing him curiously. “Sherlock, is everything alright?” 

“Yes, certainly. I mean…” His voice trailed off as fear, confusion, chagrin warred for primacy in his breast. 

But he could not lie to her. He would not. 

“Molly… there is… something,” he said finally. “But it should wait until we’re back at the flat. Is that… acceptable?” 

“Yes. Of course,” she replied, smiling again, though somewhat worriedly. “Just let me finish a couple of things and I’m with you.”

 *

 He wanted to take her hand as they were leaving Barts, but did not dare. He glanced down at her as the lift rose to the ground floor and wondered at his trepidation. It was only Molly. But somehow, now, he knew she was so much more. Everything, really. His better half, as old husbands said of their wives, being aware of so much history between them, good and bad, Heaven and Hell, and siting it as a matter of course. 

There was a great deal between him and Molly Hooper, and it was past time the Heaven outweighed the Hell. 

It was a black night, not too cold, but drizzling rain, and unfortunately, for once, his ability to flag down a cab failed him. 

“Let’s take the Tube,” Molly said, giving his coat sleeve a tug, near the wrist, and leading the way, a last flash of her smile seen in the pool of light by Barts’ doors before they were swallowed up by the night. 

He turned his hand swiftly and caught hers. He knew she turned to look up at him in surprise, but he ignored it, and together they walked up the street. 

Almost immediately the rain began to increase, from a drizzle to a shower. 

“Oh, no!” said Molly, laughing as they walked faster – and then five seconds later she gave a squawk of dismay as the heavens opened and they were caught in a real downpour. 

“Come on!” Sherlock shouted. Together they hurried across the silver and gold of the lamplit street to a place he knew, the side entrance to an office building that was situated down a few stairs, a well drained and solidly sheltered alcove at the foot of the tower of steel and glass. “Careful!” he admonished, as she slipped a bit and half fell down the ill-lit steps, but as he steadied her he found she was still laughing. 

They fetched up against the solid door and, in that small, cold space, hidden by the noisy curtain of rain, he took his life in his hands, bent, and swiftly kissed her. 

He felt her small gasp, felt her stiffen, felt her small hands clutch at his coat. He drew back slightly, and he knew she was staring up at him, trying to see him in the black night. 

“Sherlock?” 

She sounded so shocked that his fear reared up again. “I… I suppose I should have asked first.” 

There was a moment’s hesitation. And then she kissed him. 

A sound escaped him that he could not but acknowledge was a small moan of relief, and he slipped his arms about her slight form, pulling her close against him, his head bent to hers, her kiss turning to kisses, tentative, yet eager, too, the moment stretching out, his heart thudding in an admixture of wonder and delight. 

They were both panting a bit when they finally paused for breath. And Molly said, “Sherlock… is this… what is this something?” 

“I dreamt of you,” he said, shamed. And, at the same time, thrilled. 

“A dream? Wh-what sort of dream?” 

He gave a chuff of laughter. “The sort I haven’t had in years,” he admitted, cheeks burning again, and infinitely grateful for the blind, cool night. “Molly… I know you will always be my friend. But… I want more. And you… you still think of me in that way… don’t you?” 

Her hand rose to caress – he turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm – her slim fingers brushed the wet curls from his forehead. And she was silent for a long moment, 

But then she spoke. “Are you sure? I mean—“ 

He kissed her again, with nothing tentative about it this time, showing her a little of the passion that was so new to him: a shining, beautiful thing with which to show his love. 

He had never thought of carnal relations in this light. But with Molly… 

When it ended, and they were forehead to forehead, warm breaths mingling, keeping the cold at bay, he demanded, low and intent, “Do you still want me in that way?” 

“Yes. Of course I do,” she said, her voice shaking. 

They held each other, then, for a time, and those moments were replete with such tenderness, such heart-filling love, that neither of them noticed when the downpour slackened, faded, then turned to mist.

 *

 It was past nine when the small sounds of the arrival of morning tea served to wake Sherlock, still lying abed, snug and warm with his Beloved. His Better Half. 

His Molly. 

His Molly. 

“Oh! Oh!” came Hudders’ startled coo, and he could not repress a crooked grin. She must have noticed the pile of discarded raiment: still damp coats, Molly’s cherry cardigan and flowered blouse, his own shirt – the aubergine Dolce and Gabbana, worn last night as extra insurance, what with the whole of his future happiness at stake. Shoes, too. But not trousers or underthings. 

The bedroom had been the place for that… and the beginning of intimacies… well, that he had only dreamt of. 

Prolonged, and oft repeated, through the hours, and the dark night, and the sound of rain. 

Intimacies that had left them both wrung out… probably a bit sore… and yet even now he could feel renewed desire seeping through him. His fingers twitched against her skin, 

Hudders was leaving – his landlady now knew which way the wind blew and he had no doubt he and Molly would be subjected to some twitting and smug laughter when they eventually emerged from their nest. 

And now Molly was waking. 

She moved… groaned a little, and when he loosened his embrace, she turned onto her back. 

He followed, for fear suddenly prodded him once more. 

What did she think of all this in the light of a new day? 

But there had been no need to worry. 

There was nothing but love in the brown eyes that looked into his… her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow… the sheets rumpled beneath her... 

Beneath them. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft, and edged with that now-familiar admixture of wonder and delight. 

And her smile… that smile… took his breath away. 

 ~.~

[thisgarbagepicker]

“Detailed Reports” - Reylo Weekly Challenge Flash Fiction

My contribution to the second @two-halves-of-reylo Tumblr weekly challenge, “Sand” theme.

“Detailed Reports: East Beach, Junari Point, Chandrila” (AO3)

Words: 3,893

Rating: M (for fluff, thwarted beach sex, and sand … so much sand, enemy of Skywalkers everywhere)

Summary: We all know Kylo Ren is a huge nerd who used to write up detailed post-flight reports of the Silencer for the First Order. 

So what happens when, during their post-war travels, Rey discovers that he’s been keeping equally detailed reports rating all the places they’ve had sex? She offers him a new idea, of course (but not until after she gives him a hard time for some of his word choices).

“Kylo’s detailed post-flight reports allow Sienar-Jaemus techs to refine onboard systems, with an eye toward the day when shipyards will begin mass-producing silencers for the regime’s frontline units.” - Star Wars: The Last Jedi Incredible Cross-Sections

                                                          +++

“‘Report: Island Hut. Ahch-To. Centaxday. Evening.’”

Seated at the desk near the lounge window, Kylo straightened automatically at the sound of Rey’s voice. It took him a moment to process what she was saying. When he did, he immediately recognized those words. Alone, they were harmless enough. Clustered together as they were now, they were incriminating. His eyes widened a fraction. He looked over his shoulder at her and found to his dismay that what he thought was happening, was indeed happening.

Rey was standing in the doorway, posture stiff, her eyebrows and mouth drawn in knowing superiority. In her hands was a slim volume of parchment bound in brown, waterproofed, ostensibly unassuming canvas. Except apparently it was not unassuming enough, because somehow, she had found it, and somehow, she’d been intrigued enough to open it and read what she found inside.

Of course she had. Kylo should have known better and taken more care. And now she was lingering just outside of the bedroom where she had found it, relating the contents aloud as if giving a report.

Which she was. Just not one she was supposed to be aware of.

“Rey. What are you doing?”

But for a slight raise in her eyebrows, she ignored him and continued in a clipped, formal tone that altered the familiar lilt of her accent. “‘Cold and raining, thunder. Despite attempts to mitigate obvious limitations, stone bench leaves much to be desired. Holdovers from’—”

“Rey. Stop.” He pushed back from the desk a bit, hands braced on the edge. He was trying very hard, and failing equally hard, to remain calm. “Where did you find that?”

His mounting alarm only amused her. Fighting the tug of a smirk at the corner of her mouth, she went on after stealing a glance at him to make sure he wasn’t actually approaching her to take the book away.

“‘Holdovers from ascetic lifestyles in general probably not ideal locations for strenuous carnal activity.’” Here she paused abruptly, because her face had contorted in a barely concealed burst of laughter. She looked at him, eyes bright and shoulders quivering with smug delight. “‘Strenuous carnal activity,’ Ben? ‘Carnal’? Really?”

As all this was going on Kylo stood and started across the room toward her, but she dodged away from his grasp and back into the bedroom, where she leapt nimbly onto the bed and backed herself against the wall, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet as he halted in the doorway.

From her perch above him, she dived back in, her words becoming less intelligible as her gasps of laughter increased in frequency.

“… ‘not ideal for strenuous carnal activity. Effects of Force connection nevertheless deeply intensified.’ Parenthetical note, ‘Most likely due to Force-sensitive nature of island. Worth exploring this theory further. Often.’ End parenthetical. Hmm. ‘Resulted in extreme heightening of shared physical sensation and emotional cognizance throughout the act, increased stamina, as well as levitation.’”

“Rey. I’m—”

“‘Levitation helped with problem of unforgiving stone bench. Excellent. Also for consideration: loud and repeated sex on sacred island’”—Her head cocked and her voice took on a tone of greatly exaggerated curiosity—“‘mildly irreverent or completely sacrilegious?’”

This was too much. Lips pressed tightly together and jaw set, Kylo reached out a hand and tapped into the Force. The book flew effortlessly from Rey’s hands to his. Robbed of her prize, she dropped to the bed and dissolved into giggles as he stalked back to the lounge with the book, face burning.

Her amusement only lasted so long without a stimulus, and in a minute or so she quieted and emerged from the bedroom to join him. He was back in his chair at the desk by then and studiously ignoring her, trying to focus on the star map projected from the datapad in front of him. She stopped behind him and draped her arms over his shoulders, letting her head loll around to look at the side of his face.

“You’re a little pink, you know,” she said.

He frowned. “So are you. Have a good laugh?”

“I was just looking for a comb and thought you would have one in your bag.” She sounded vaguely conciliatory, and her breath tickled his neck. “But I saw this little book, and you know I like your handwriting. So I thought I’d have a look. I assumed it was just some sort of ledger where you kept track of expenses or something. I didn’t think it would be your …” Her voice quavered again, and he felt the laughter rising in her chest where she was leaning into him. “… secret … sex diary of … carnal activities.”

“How much did you read?”

She released him and moved around to sit on the edge of the desk. He noticed her eyes scanning the general area. She was looking for the book. Good luck to her: he was sitting on it.

“The first few pages.” Her eyes narrowed. “Er. Half, maybe. All the stuff about the Falcon. The outpost on Charissia. Your ship. That field on Birren, speeder on Coruscant, meditation retreat on Gatalenta. A few hotels. Some of the Ahch-To stuff. Also, the bit about—”

“Okay, okay.”

She paused, then said quickly, “I started flipping to random pages.”

“Evidently.”

“It’s funny!” she insisted, prodding him in the shoulder.

“Thanks.” Kylo looked at her blandly. “Did you read all the parts about how much you always want snacks afterward and get crumbs everywhere?”

“Oh, come on.” Rey did look apologetic now, though he could tell she still thought he was overreacting and was getting far more entertainment out of this than he was. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? I have some good input, you know.”

His first instinct was to say that he hadn’t told her about it because it was his. After the war ended, all Rey had wanted to do was travel, so that was what they’d been doing. One day, he supposed they’d stop somewhere and decide to stay. For now, home was each other, and he knew that she kept a journal of the places they had seen. It was mostly on a datapad, but she drew pictures for each entry, too, and those were beautiful. Still, he only ever looked at it after asking her, or when she offered. He loved when she shared these things with him, but he also knew that they were hers.

On the other hand, maybe he was attributing too much weight to that, and this. Rey always seemed to think it strange when he asked permission to see her journal, and her question now was fair. When he’d started his own travel project on a whim one night after she’d fallen asleep, Kylo feared she would find the habit off-putting, and he thought it was something that would be of more interest to himself than to her. As far as he was concerned, he was doing it for her, since she only stood to benefit from whatever he gleaned. But she had a point. If he was recording only his own impressions of the places they had been together in his very specific and sometimes slightly smutty travelogue, he was probably missing a considerable amount of crucial perspective. Damn.

When he didn’t answer, she leaned close to him. “So is that a record of every time we’ve performed ‘carnal activities,’ or—”

“Please stop saying it like that. I wrote it one time.” He smirked despite himself and wrapped an arm around her waist to coax her off the desk top and into his lap. “And no. Just the … uh. First time in any location. In case I want to remember what’s worth revisiting.”

“Some of them were very detailed,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I’m surprised you didn’t draw pictures.”

“Unless you’re looking to add a nightmarish quality to it, be glad I don’t. I’m not a good artist.”

They were both silent for a moment, then started laughing. His embarrassment over the book being found shifted to embarrassment over his reaction to her finding it. Nothing he’d written was anything she didn’t already know, or shouldn’t know. And if she’d stumbled across any of the marginalia digressing into how much he adored her and wanted to please her, so be it. That too, he hoped, was nothing she didn’t already know.

Rey leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him again, pressing a light, sucking kiss under his ear. “I’m sorry I laughed at it. I like your weird, fussy reports. I like that you hand write them. Some of them were almost a bit too much fun to read, actually.” She nipped at his earlobe. “You have quite an eye for detail.”

He snickered.

“As long as there’s not some hidden appendix where you’re rating me or anything like that,” she added.

“Never,” he murmured, catching her lips with his. “You’re always perfect. It would be completely unnecessary.”

He felt her lips against his curve into a smile.

“But in the spirit of being forthcoming, you should know that there is a section about the foods you’ve asked for.” He tipped her slightly against the desk until she tilted her head back for him to pepper a few kisses down her throat. He knew it would tickle her eventually, and sure enough, a moment later she squirmed against him and laughed.

“Can I make a suggestion for your next one?” she said as she straightened back up, cheeks flushed. “Aside from letting me help write it.”

“You can.” Holding her against him, he stood and plopped her back on the desk, a little harder than intended, barely avoiding crushing the datapad beneath her. He grinned and slowly slipped a hand under her shirt to caress her skin and brush a thumb along the side of her breast. “Is it … hotel suite desk, Junari Point, Chandrila, Primeday, near sundown?”

She snorted, indulging his roaming hands and wrapping her legs behind him to pull him more snugly to her, and stretched up to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Good guess. Worth considering. But no.”

“What then?” He felt her hands doing something where they were clasped behind his neck. One kept massaging at his shoulder, like a distraction, but the other was unaccounted for. He frowned and leaned back a little.

“There are at least three beaches within walking distance of this place. And sunset is about an hour from now.” She was still doing something behind his back, and he still couldn’t tell what it was. But she was also holding him fast between her thighs, and he was reluctant to stop fondling her. “Once they’ve closed them up to the public, want to sneak out there for a swim when it’s dark? I promise it would lead to more than swimming and another first for your records.”

“Ah.” Truthfully, Kylo had some immediate reservations. The legality was a nonissue, as was the potential for getting caught, but he could think of several things that might see this proposed excursion rank near the bottom when it came to places worth revisiting for their purposes. Or he could be wrong. “Good one.”

“Mm hm …” She was definitely up to something. He tried to crane his neck around but was blocked by her still leaning on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

He heard the faint sound of pages turning and grimaced as it came to him. When he stood, he’d also left the record book he was sitting on fully exposed for her to notice and reclaim. “You’re reading the book again, aren’t you.”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat and tightened her legs around him to scoot forward and rub against him in a way that was absolutely intended to keep him from trying to take it back. It was working. “Report: Cabin. Gallo Mountains. Naboo. Zhellday. Afternoon, post-sparring.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Should I continue reading?” She drew her free hand up into his hair and scratched her nails lightly along his scalp. “Refresh your memory? You gave it high marks, and I think I remember something from it I wouldn’t mind trying again. Before dinner. If you stop interrupting me.”

“I’m listening.” He hoisted her up off the desk and carried her back into the bedroom.

                                                         +++

It was a fortunate thing that Chandrila’s twin moons were as bright tonight as they were, or this might have been more difficult. So far, Kylo had to admit that his qualms about Rey’s earlier idea were seemingly unfounded. The hour was late enough that there was very little chance of anyone stumbling upon them in the midst of their tryst—though they were still close to a popular seaside area with several busy bars, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that others might have the same idea. However, as they drew closer to the water, Rey dropped her blanket and bag unceremoniously in the sand and started shedding articles of clothing, and any lingering concerns Kylo may have had vanished as he followed suit.

The swimming part of their clandestine trip to the beach was, as she had intimated it might be, rather short. It wasn’t the point of being here, and they could enjoy the ocean in daylight. So after they had spent some time wading in the cool water and letting themselves be pushed around by the mild movements of the tide, Rey made off toward the shore, beckoning him along with her. By the time they reached the spot they’d left their things piled, they already had their mouths and hands all over each other. She broke away just long enough to lay the blanket out, then pulled him down onto it with her. Traction on the beach being what it was, they both slipped a little and ended up in a tangled heap, kicking some sand onto the blanket with them.

Kylo didn’t mind that. There were other things that were more interesting to him at present, such as the way the moons bathed Rey’s body in silver and made him just want to stop and look at her for hours, trace his hands slowly over every luminous curve and edge of her, watch her face change in the pale light. The way her soaking hair stuck around her ears and neck as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive places there. The way the water drying on his body made her hands grasp at him a little more firmly than usual as they sought purchase on his still-slick skin. For a while, with each lingering caress or press of skin to skin or flash of the pleasure and security and affection she was feeling, it was easy to entertain the notion that this could not possibly go wrong.

Soon enough his face was between her legs, one of them draped over his shoulder and the other crooked against him. He was kissing and lavishing the inside of her thighs one at time, drawing his tongue along them in broad, slow strokes, teasing her with his mouth and hands as her breath came in sighs and her muscles tensed and relaxed in anticipation. He was delighting in the taste of her skin and the sea salt that had dried there as it had on her face and breasts and stomach and every other part of her his lips had touched and would touch. He was … suddenly aware of something in his mouth that had not been there a moment before and definitely did not belong there.

It was sand. Just a few granules, but impossible to ignore and very, very annoying. Trying not to be obvious and kill the mood, Kylo paused, turned his head as discreetly as possible, and spit quietly toward the blanket. Rey’s hand, which had been wound into his hair, loosened a little, then tightened again questioningly as her leg pressed his shoulder.

“What are you—did you just spit on me?” Her breath was short but she managed to sound alarmed anyway.

There was still sand in Kylo’s mouth. He could feel it crunching around in his teeth and scraping against the roof of his mouth when he swallowed. Trying to spit it out had hardly done anything. In fact, it seemed to have somehow made it worse. His tongue felt suddenly very dry—though that was more nerves now than the fault of sand or salt. Still, he doubted either of those were helping.

“No,” he said belatedly. His eyes settled on her leg. It was caked with stripes of damp sand. He could see clearly where his tongue and teeth had left marks in it. He considered spitting again, or trying to wipe his tongue off on the back of his hand, but thought better of it after what she’d asked him. “I’m not. It’s— You have— Sorry. It’s either that or I start choking on sand.”

“What?”

Her leg dropped from his shoulder and she sat up, pushing herself back a bit. As if on cue, Rey grimaced and wriggled around, her eyes scanning the blanket, which had become all but useless as their ceaseless movement wrinkled and bunched it beneath them. Reflexively, she lifted her arms and brushed her hands briskly against her legs. The movement only succeeded in redistributing the already considerable amount of sand that Kylo could now see clung not only to her thighs but was stippled over most of her body.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” she said with remarkable composure. “But there is definitely sand in my ass. And also … oh.” She frowned and squirmed again and seemed to be considering something, which Kylo had to give her credit for, because right now he mostly wanted to cancel this altogether and leave. Her head tilted and she held up her hands as if in concession. “It’s fine. We’ll just straighten this back out. Maybe I should be on top?”

“Maybe not,” he said instantly, recoiling. “I’m having the exact same problem as you are. I’m not about to lie back down in that and make it worse.”

“It can only get so much worse.” Kylo thought that was charmingly optimistic. He himself was doubtful, as he was almost positive something microscopic had just bitten his toe. Bugs were just what they needed now. Rey shifted onto her knees and moved closer to him, where he was crouched awkwardly and trying to keep as much of himself on the blanket and off the sand as possible, as if it even mattered at this point. She wasn’t giving up. “What if I sort of … get down in front of you … and you come up behind me and—”

“Rey, please. Are you familiar with the concept of chafing?” As if he was afraid she was going to throw herself onto him, he scooted back a little and immediately winced as something gritty rubbed very uncomfortably in a place he had not previously considered it possible for sand to settle. “I am not putting any part of myself in or even on you like this. I’m relatively certain I have sand gathering in places I did not know existed. Maybe you’re used to sand in your … everything, but I’m not.”

“I’m not used to having sand anywhere. I was always very well covered on Jakku, thanks.” Rey sat back on the blanket, obviously annoyed but willing to see reason. She picked a clump of seaweed from her hair and tossed it away. “This sand is different. It’s all … wet and sticky. But you’re right. This was a mistake.”

“Huge.” He settled next to her and tried not to think about how itchy he was or about the fact that he absolutely was not hard anymore. That hadn’t happened before, and maybe he would have been embarrassed, but at the moment he was too generally irritated by everything else. He cast about for his shirt or pants, more than ready to be done with this. “So.”

Rey, who had been fishing around in her bag, held up a half-empty bottle of some dark liquid. “Want some glowwine?”

“No.” He looked at her incredulously and returned to trying to sort their jumbled clothing. “It isn’t even alcoholic.”

“It’s not, but you’re incredibly tense right now. You could use the extra endorphins.” As if to prove her point, she uncorked it and took a long swig, her throat bobbing several times before she broke away and offered the bottle to him. He couldn’t help looking her over and thinking what a terrible waste this was. “I’m trying to help.”

Reluctantly, he accepted it and took a pull. It was sweet and effervescent on his tongue and warm in his throat and belly, and it did make him feel moderately lighter within a few moments. Rey was watching him with a loopy grin. The mood-enhancing wine was clearly doing more for her than it was for him. But that look she was giving him, like she had never been happier to see another person, was better by far.

“I think,” she declared, getting abruptly to her feet and gathering her clothing where he’d placed them, “we should go back to the room, have a nice shower to get all this off us, and watch some holos.”

He was not going to argue with the new plan. In the context of the rest of their travels so far, this had been a harrowing experience. They dressed in a hurry after brushing as much sand from their skin as possible and trudged up the beach to sneak back out the way they’d come in, passing the bottle of glowwine back and forth as they went.

“Hey,” Kylo said loudly as they neared the entry point, now fully feeling the effect of the glowwine, his own euphoria compounded by his strong perception of Rey’s. “Remember that time you slashed my face open with a lightsaber?”

Rey was walking with her head tipped back and letting the last drops of wine drip into her open mouth. “Yes.”

“Overall, I think I’d rate that experience as slightly better than this one.”

“Wow. I don’t think you’re being dramatic enough.” Rey glanced around and tried to balance the empty bottle on her head, giggling to herself when it tipped instead and Kylo caught it. She sidled up to him and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist. “Are you going to write that down in your report of this?”

“Maybe I am,” he said, pushing the bottle back into her hands.

“Make sure you include the part where you acted like some sand in your mouth was the end of the world.”

“Of course. I’ll add it right after the paragraph in which I detail the fact that you clearly have a sand fetish.”

“I don’t!” She laughed and swatted at the back of his thighs with the bottle. “You’re a monster.”

Kylo grinned and scooped her up, letting her hang back over his shoulder. “Yes I am.”

                                                          +++

Report: East Beach. Junari Point. Chandrila. Primeday. Late night. Clear skies. Nothing of consequence to report. Would not attempt again. I hate sand.

[innerpostmentality]

Discoveries 1

A warning about this piece. It postulates a polyamorous relationship between the TRR characters of Liam, Drake and the MC. If this disturbs you please just opt out of reading this. 

This takes place on the camping trip in TRR Book 2 after the Tea Party

Character are: Bastien, Liam, Drake, and Siobhan (mc) Rating: NSFW Relationship: +

Now playing as Siobhan

You lie awake in your tent thinking about everything that has happened since coming to Cordonia. Sleep eludes you like a master spy and you laugh at yourself remembering back to the week before you met Liam. The conversation you had with Daniel about your romantic doldrums. Now, .....Liam, and Drake... King Liam you correct yourself. A king is in love with you. A king who may be the best man you've ever met. And then there is Drake... Drake who is always there to save you. Drake with his midnight eyes and smart ass mouth and marshmallow heart, and sinner's kiss. Your body stirs to your core with desire remembering that forfeit kiss, gift of Never Have I Ever. Somehow, if everything works out you are going to wind up having a choice. How do you chose one half of a heart over another? Idiot. Only you could screw your life up enough to fall in love with two really great men.

Flipping over, again... visions of a chicken on a spit come to you even as you roll. You glance through your tent flap across the moonlit camp and see your friend's tents, Liam's on the other side of the banked campfire a bit under the forest canopy, Hana's to your right, Maxwell's just beyond Hana's, Drake's to your left. Then you notice a muted light from the base of the flap of Liam's tent. You only hesitate a moment before padding silently to Liam's tent. You quietly open the flap to go in and freeze in shock.

Before you Liam is naked lying on his side his face pressed into a pillow. Drake kneels over him thrusting into him vigorously from behind while he pumps Liam's cock. Over the rush of blood in your ears you hear Liam's muffled groans and see him come even as he reaches to hold Drake's hand and contain his semen. Drake arches straining into him and finds his own completion as he softly cries Liam's name.

You stumble backward, your vision tunneling in shock. But you see Drake's eyes open and then going wide as he sees you even as you turn and run. In the moonlight you run down the path you hiked up a life time ago. You run til you stub your toe on a stone. Then you hobble on. Not able to wrap your head around what you saw, senselessly trying to find your way back to the reality you thought you knew. Suddenly arms grab you halting your flight.

"Lady Siobhan?" Bastien is holding you. Looking concerned. "Lady Siobhan, are you alright? Is everything okay?"

You look at him but can't meet his eyes.

"Take me home."

Bastien wraps an arm securely around you and starts to lead you down the path murmuring in his headset. "All positions report." A moment later he realizes you are hobbling and sweeps you up in his arms carrying you down the trail to a black security vehicle which he opens without setting you down and sits you in the back seat. He keeps his eyes on you as he listens to his head set and tense moments pass while you imagine his other guards report in. Finally you see his posture relax ever so slightly.  "You're hurt."

"No."

"Lady Siobhan, it wasn't a question. Your foot is injured. I need to look at it."

You watch him as he pulls a huge first aid kit from the back. And you giggle as the absurdity of a first aid kit that belongs in an ambulance to handle medical assistance for a disaster zone being used to treat your silly stubbed toe hits you. Bastien looks at you with even more concern as he very gently examines your toe, cleans it and tapes it to the one next to it. "I don't think it's broken." he tells you. Then looks up searching your eyes. "Do you need medical assistance?" Bastien's voice is very soft and low, gentle like you've never heard it before and you finally lock eyes with him. You understand that He's actually worried that you may have been assaulted.

"No.... I'm .... I just need to think." You shake your head and try your best to put on your most assuring voice. Trying to think of something you can say that would be plausible that wouldn't betray Liam and Drake. You sniff and realize you've been crying. Bastien looks at you very carefully holding your gaze til there's a knock on the window of the car. You jump away from the window like a shot went off.

Liam is there in his sweat pants and undershirt his dark hair disheveled, looking as worried as you've ever seen him. Bastien looks at him. Then back at you without rolling the window down. There is pain in his voice as he softly asks you, "Lady Siobhan, are you willing to speak to his Majesty? I will take you from here right now if you wish. I will stay right here with you if you wish. Or I can give you privacy. In this I leave the choice to you."

You look through the window at Liam and instantly read the despair radiating from him and your heart shatters in a thousand pieces at the pain you see there. You take a deep breath, close your eyes a moment and then look at Bastien. "Bastien....Thank you." You struggle with your instinct that wants you to flee, just run away. You know in the depth of your soul that would be the absolute worst thing for everyone. But the temptation is strong to run and maybe tomorrow you'll wake up and it will all be back like you thought it was. Finally you look at Bastien."I will speak with Liam. I really need to speak to him privately. Can you give us some time?"

Bastien looks at you a moment longer then nods. "I won't be far." He hands you the handkerchief from his pocket and squeezes your hand before leaving the vehicle.

You see Liam ask him if you are okay. Bastien looks at you for a moment before looking back at Liam for a long moment. And telling him simply that he should speak with you. Bastien pointedly opens the front door of the vehicle for Liam to get in which he does after hesitating for the briefest of moments. Bastien closes the door and walks a few feet away still in sight of the vehicle.

"Siobhan," Liam's voice breaks as he whispers your name and looks at you his eyes are black in the light from the dash. "I never... we never.." He struggles, foundering as he tries to find a way to express himself. "I'm so sorry." You see the tears in his eyes as he manages this.

You hold up a hand. Your voice is harsher than you intend, strained with emotion. "I don't want your apology." You feel fresh tears streak down your face. "Fuck." You swipe the tears off your face. "Are you gay?"

Liam looks at you solemnly holding your eyes. "No.... I love you... I also love Drake. I guess that makes me Bi? Polyamorous?" He grimaces as though putting a name to it has somehow made it real for him, something he has to deal with.

You close your eyes when he says this weighing what that means to you. Finally you look at him again. "Does Bastien know about you and Drake?"

Liam holds your gaze and runs his hand through his rumpled hair before finally answering. "I don't think so. But I wouldn't swear it. Bastien knows a lot." "Siobhan, we never, ever intended to hurt you."

Fixing him with your gaze your voice only shakes a little, "Drake said it, all these damn secrets and lies... The court is so damned bored they make their own misery for entertainment." You shake your head. "So what was the plan Liam? When were you going to tell me?"

He looks like you just slapped him. He drops his eyes. "Never." his voice is a broken whisper. "We were... we were saying goodbye, in a way."

You shoot him an incredulous stare. "Fuck. Stay here. I'm coming back don't you dare move." You open your door and hop out wincing as your sore toe hits the ground and twinges.

Immediately Bastien comes over to you. "Lady Siobhan?"

You lay a hand on his arm. "Bastien, we have some issues we need to get resolved. Could you please get Drake for us?"

He looks at you a moment and you see him almost smile. "Of course my lady. I'm pleased you seem somewhat recovered."

"We're getting there." You give him a small smile before turning to get back in the vehicle.

"Liam, Bastien is going to get Drake. We are going to have a talk."

There's a cross between astonishment, confusion, and hope in Liam's face as he gazes at you.

You sit back in the middle of the back seat staring at Liam for a long time before finally asking. "How long have you and Drake been together?"

He looks at you squarely, "You mean how long have we been lovers?"

"Yes. How long have you and Drake been lovers?"

He considers thinking back. "I've loved him since we were children. But we didn't become intimate until I guess I was eighteen? It was right before he was leaving for university. I told him how I felt. He said it was all the more reason he needed to leave. The crown wasn't mine. So I didn't see a problem. Drake was more... cognizant." He shakes his head. "I pushed. He broke against his better judgment I think. We made love. He left for school the next morning. He was gone two years and then there was an assassination attempt. It hit me that everyone I'd ever loved left or died...." You see the pain etch his features as he recalls the past.

"Liam," you start as Drake knocks on the front window.

You motion at him to get in. And he looks at you a long moment before looking at Liam. Liam nods and he climbs in. "Siobhan... I'm sorry." It may be the most sober you've ever heard Drake sound.

Irish fire lights your green eyes as you stare at him and speak very softly. "That is the second apology I've heard tonight." You run your hand through your hair and sigh. "I told Liam I didn't want to hear apologies. I've changed my mind."

"Siobhan... I never meant, neither of us ever meant to hurt you." Drake meets your eyes. "I never lied to you, MacLachlan."

You shake your head. "Only by omission." You look at each of them in turn. "And I've been lying too. To both of you. And myself." You sigh. "This ends now. Both of you please come here."

They look at you a long moment then at each other before getting out to join you in the back seat. One on either side of you. You take their hands. They each squeeze your hand as they take it. "Here's my truth. Really simple. I have somehow managed to fall hopelessly in love with both of you. I've been trying to figure out what I was going to do if I cleared my name and Liam broke up with Madeleine and proposed." You laugh but there's no mirth in it. "I kept telling myself I didn't have to think about that because it hadn't happened, might not ever happen. Liam you are the best, kindest, most thoughtful, and desirable man I've ever known and I love you soul deep." You look Liam in the eyes and lean over and kiss him softly. Never letting go of either of their hands. Then you squeeze their hands and continue shifting your focus to Drake, "From the moment I stepped on the plane to come here and you let your snark loose it was like throwing a magnet into steel filings. The more you resisted the more I was attracted. And you were always there when I needed you. Your loyalty to Liam just affirmed what I already knew in my heart that deep down you were the very best person. And I love you and want you with all that I am or ever hope to be."

You see Drake meet Liam's eyes for a brief moment then his eyes lock with yours and he reaches up and holds your face and kisses you deeply and you feel the tremble of his emotion in his hands as he strokes your ear gently with his thumb. "I love you, MacLachlan."

You look at Drake a moment and then look over to Liam. "Liam, did you know this? Before now?"

He looks at you and nods then looks at Drake. "We spoke."

"And did you know that this is the first time he ever told me that?" You turn your gaze to Drake even as you tell Liam this. "I have a little problem with that to be honest."

"I asked Liam before you got here Drake, what the plan was? When you were going to tell me about your love. He said that you were "saying goodbye" and that there wasn't a plan for me to ever know that you are in love with each other." You look away from them out into the night where Bastien stands vigil. And you remember losing your parents.

Drake squeezes your hand, "Siobhan we know it's impossible. Always has been. Liam must marry a woman who can give him children. The council will demand it. Cordonia will demand it. And he is so damn fortunate to have found you, a woman who he truly loves. We will clear your name. And if you love him like you say then you will have a blessed, joyful life together. I love you both too much to ever interfere with that. Your happiness, Liam's happiness is everything to me."

"So you don't think that we could all be happy together? That we could all love each other? You have decided that the only way this works is if love that has lasted for years is sacrificed for convention? You love each other but don't want to share? You each love me but don't want to share me with the man you love? I thought you were both more generous, more secure than that."

Liam and Drake look at each other trying to process what you are telling them.

Finally Liam looks at you and brings your hand he's been holding to his mouth to kiss it. "I always under estimate you. I never thought... I was afraid I'd lose you if you knew...I'm sorry."

You lean over and kiss Liam deeply. "That's the apology I wanted."

You break the kiss and look at Drake then Liam. "Don't ever throw love away. It's too rare and precious." They both look at each other and slowly smile then look at you and swoop in to kiss your cheek and you grin.

"Just please trust our love enough to be honest. And include me, don't cut me out of the decisions that are going to impact all our lives."