#might upload to ao3

[dunmanticarchivistsmain]

@liauditore Liau I blame you for this my hand slipped and I lost consciousness and when I woke up I have these hamfisted words to bludgeon you with (ilu and your galaxyduo brain)

"Go on get you all out of here!" Pearl exclaimed, politely but insistently shoving people towards the exit. With a lot of mumbling and bumbling, and plenty of stumbling, Mumbo, Bdubs and Pearl managed to usher out the entire mess of people who have gathered for a sleepover at Pearl's. There was to be no sleeping over, since the day had consumed all of them with the sillies and Pearl had a task to complete tomorrow. So much to unpack from the day's activities; she felt completely drained but her heart was full… of something.

The distant slam of Bdubs' awkward trapdoors seemed to provoke a soft bork from Mailbox, interrupting Pearl's relaxing chore of tidying up after the visitors. She had to give him his nightly cuddles, stuffing him full of nonsensical coos and affection to last the lonely night on watch outside.

But it seems someone else was giving Mailbox a fair bit of attention already.

"Hi Scott, still here?"

Scott did not look up from his giving of scritches to Mailbox, who was quite content to sit at attention, looking curiously at this last overstaying visitor.

“I like your new home” he said at last.

Pearl turned around, taking in her measly mound. It was a very well shaped, perfectly-spherical-thank-you-very-much, mound of dirt. Half sunk into the ground with a cherry door. Mumbo seems really proud of her for it.

It wasn't much of a house at all really, by Pearl's critical builder eye. Not safe, whispered the ghost of a girl who built a tower in the sky.

And yet in this mound, in this home dug from the ground, Pearl's ears still rang with the echos of laughter, her eyes had run rivers of mirth, and her heart was full of something.

"It's al'right, I'm working on it" The lilt of her voice seemed to catch, in a throat once hoarse from unuse.

"Lookin' forward to what you'd build here Pearl, I'm sure it'll be something."

"Quite something indeed."

The silence seemed to stretch, like the gulf between the moon and stars, where the void sparkled with an infinite something.

And then, with a quirk of her lips and a tilt of her head, Pearl said "Go on home Scott its getting dark and late", indicating the silhoulette of the cherry canopy in the distance where Gem and the Scotts have made their base; the cherry wood staircases and the homey cottages drenched in the light of the moon's face.

Scott brightened as the tension snapped, straightened and with a laugh off he set,

"It’ll be alright, the moon is full tonight."

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: Post-Bad Romance, Cell tries to adjust to life on Quesadilla Island.

For Spiderbit Week Day Four: Murder Husbands

-

The island is a prison. And Cell knows prisons.

There are the wardens: the mysterious blank-faced bear things with guns and clipboards that follow the prisoners around asking questions and watching.

There are the prisoners: the idiots trapped on an island paradise and seemingly unwilling to try and escape.

There are the cells: buildings and statues and neighborhoods that the prisoners were allowed to make themselves that have security cameras watching every entrance and exit that the prisoners don't seem to know-slash-care about.

So. Prison.

"Pai? Why are you staring at Mister Roier like that?"

Prison. With children.

"Don't call me that," Cell snaps. "And he likes it, that's why. Go somewhere else."

The kid- assigned by the faceless overlords- just smiles cheekily in response. He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks onto his heels, head tilting slightly.

"Pais Tazer e Craft said I'm not supposed to talk to you," Richarlyson innocently says. His eyes are hidden behind his curls, but Cell can imagine that they're glittering mischievously.

Now, Cell knows that the kid is an evil genius. Like recognizes like: Cell doesn't remember much from his childhood, but he remembers looking at himself in a puddle of blood one morning after breakfast and seeing a smile that he recognizes now every time that he and Richarlyson see each other.

Richarlyson is a master manipulator. He's not even ten years old, but he can already poke and prod his government-assigned parents into doing what he wants. He hides behind childhood innocence and sweet smiles and sweeter words, but he's also a little asshole.

Of course, Roier adores him.

Of course, Cell doesn't want anything to do with him.

But what he does want is whatever Pac and Mike don't want, so he scowls and shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away.

Content, Richarlyson plops onto the grass and props his chin up in the palms of his hands. He watches Roier just as Cell was doing a moment ago, which is bound to make Roier fucking ecstatic.

Or, well, it would if Roier knew that the two of them were there watching him.

Since arriving on the island a week ago, Roier has managed to find himself an entirely new little family. He squeezed into their relationship like a strangler fig, and Jaiden and Bobby accepted him with open arms.

("Friendship", apparently. That's the thing the prisoners care about the most besides their artificially-created government spawn.

Friendship, and communication.

Idealists. Idiots.)

Roier has moved in with Jaiden and Bobby. He's decided that he's Bobby's father. He's decided that Cell is Bobby's other father, and he got Cell to agree with a knife subtly poking into his side.

Cell, meanwhile, lives in a cave. It reminds him too much of the island- the other island, not this one, but it's also natural, and the wardens don't know where it is. He's searched the area a dozen times over by now: no cameras.

One day, if he and Roier are stuck here long enough, he'll hollow it out by hand. He needs a place to keep his tools. He needs a place to hide his bed so nobody can destroy it.

He needs a place to torture Pac and Mike and teach him what real friendship looks like. Roier will be by his side, and they'll show them.

Cell doesn't miss Roier, though.

At all.

They spent three weeks practically together in the Brazilian countryside, and Roier is annoying, and Cell has had enough of him.

Entirely.

Roier is the only person besides Cell to know where the cave is. And he'll be the only one there when Cell shows Pac and Mike a real partnership. Because he and Roier are partners.

That's it.

(When introducing themselves to the other prisoners, this is how they did it:

Roier: Hola, hola! My name is Roier, I am Mexican, and I am engaged to Cell!

Cell: You can call me Cell, and I'm going to kill every one of you someday.

Roier: [Glares at Cell pointedly.]

Cell: [Sighing] And Roier and I are partners.)

Cell definitely isn't just annoyed that Roier decided to go and live with two strangers and not him.

That would be ridiculous.

Today, Roier is working on the garden with Bobby, and Cell is watching him from a hilltop a fair distance away. Jaiden is asleep. (She'd be asleep forever if Cell had anything to say about it, but that would make Roier upset. So.)

Roier glows in the sunlight. With proper access to a shower and shampoo and skincare, he's positively ethereal. His nails are freshly painted. His eyeliner is meticulous. His hair looks soft.

Richarlyson cocks his head in his hands to look up at Cell.

"Why don't you just... go hang out with him? Aren't you guys getting married?"

Cell's scowl only deepens. "Do you see a ring on either of our hands?"

There aren't any. Roier hasn't gotten any, and Cell sure as hell isn't about to start begging the wardens for silver and gold like the other prisoners would. He has dignity. He'll just dig up the materials himself and make them into rings. Somehow.

He scuffs the toe of his boot against the grass, kicking up some into the air.

"Besides," he says, voice softer despite his attempts to remain objective, "he's busy with his kid."

Roier had mentioned once that he had a child. His asshole (piece of shit bastard motherfucker evil-) ex killed the kid, and Roier killed the ex.

Cell doesn't know how old Roier's kid was when it died, but Roier seems to be doing just fine with ten-year-old Bobby. It's like he was born to be a parent, he's just so kind. He's gentle. He teases Bobby, and he teases the other brats on the island, but he doesn't go out of his way to hurt them.

Roier's smile when he's around kids is entirely different than it is when he's around Cell. His eyes are different, they're... they're just different.

"You're literally also Bobby's dad," Richarlyson dryly responds.

He pauses, and then he asks, "Wait, does that make me Bobby's brother?"

"No," is Cell's immediate response. "You aren't even my son."

"No, I am. Cucurucho says so."

"And I say you're not. You have Felps."

"And Pais Pac and Mike."

A foul taste fills Cell's mouth.

"See?" he says. "You already have plenty of parents. You don't need me."

"Maybe," Richarlyson acknowledges. He smiles, and Cell can't tell if he means it or not. "But I want you. You're cool!"

"I know that," Cell scoffs. "But you shouldn't be hanging around a killer, kid. None of the other kids will want to play with you."

"So what? They don't like me, anyway."

Ducking his head to look at the grass, Richarlyson starts tearing some of it up.

Cell winces. He... doesn't know how to deal with kids. It just isn't what he does. It's what Roier, does, but Roier is busy with his actual family now.

In the garden, Roier laughs. He drops a flower onto Bobby's head and ducks away playfully as Bobby swings his sword at him in retaliation.

(Roier's smile is beautiful. Cell doesn't know what beauty is anymore, but he knows this.)

During the war, BadBoyHalo once told Cell that he was too kind. He wouldn't survive that way, and he almost didn't. He didn't start winning battles until he started being mean, and he's been mean ever since. That's simply how the world works.

Cell rolls his eyes up towards the sky. With a grumble, he settles onto the grass next to Richarlyson.

"You're too young to be depressed," Cell says. "So stop that. If the other brats don't want to talk to you, then don't talk to them. They're assholes. Fuck 'em."

Richarlyson frowns. "But that's mean. I want to be their friend."

"And they don't want to be yours. What are you going to do about it?"

Bobby is chasing Roier around the garden, now. Cell loves watching Roier move, he's so... wow with everything he does: long limbs, muscles. Wow.

Richarlyson doesn't say anything for a moment, so Cell takes the silence as an opportunity to keep watching Roier. He wasn't lying earlier, Roier loves to be watched. He practically begs Cell to do it, and Cell is happy enough to play along.

(Sure, Roier hasn't moved in with him, and he hasn't gotten Cell a ring, and he hasn't really done much with Cell, but he wants to be stalked. Fucking freak.)

(Cell isn't much of a stalker, but he'll do it for Roier. He'd do anything for Roier, and isn't that a novel thought? This is a real partnership, fuck you, Pac and Mike.)

Eventually, Richarlyson lets the grass in his fingers fly into the wind.

"I'll make them be my friends?" he tries, looking to Cell for approval.

Cell shakes his head. "That doesn't work. I've tried, trust me. In prison, you have to force people to be your friends. Those relationships don't last. They'll stab you in the back at the first chance of an escape."

"Uuuuugh, then what?" Richarlyson groans. "They all hate me!"

"How do you know?"

"Uh, because they're all siblings and I'm not related to them? Duh?"

Wow, what a stupid kid. He really is Felps' son.

Sighing, Cell nudges Richarlyson's head with his hand. He maybe ruffles the kid's hair a little, but not purposefully.

"They don't know you, idiot," he explains. "How can you be friends if you're strangers? Have you even tried talking to them?"

"No. Because they hate me."

"They don't trust you. Big difference."

Looking right at Roier, Cell continues: "Trust is the most important part of any relationship. From trust comes honesty, and from honesty comes everything else. You need to prove to the other kids that they can trust you."

Richarlyson leans into Cell's touch, still frowning. "Okay, but how?"

Cell shrugs and yanks his hand away. "Hell if I know."

"You trust Mister Roier."

"He's- he's. Roier." Cell's heart twists fondly in his chest. "I don't even know how he did it."

"Oh," says Richarlyson. He smiles, then. "That's nice. You two really are partners, aren't you?"

Cell scoffs, "Of course we are."

"So that's why he's been staring at you for the past, like, five minutes."

"What?"

Cell blinks a few times, scrunches his eyebrows together.

Indeed, Roier is looking at him now. He's looking right at him, eyes glittering in the sun, smile so wide that his jaw has to be aching.

How did Cell not notice? Was he really so caught up with Richarlyson's kid drama? Ugh, he's getting weak. He needs to kill someone.

Roier waves a hand and shouts, "Gatinho!"

Cell raises his own hand in response. "Guapito."

"Come here! Bring our son with you!"

Richarlyson squirms happily at that.

"See?" he crows. "I am your son."

"Yeah, no," Cell huffs.

He stands, anyway, and he brushes the grass off of his pants.

He doesn't rush down the hill, not like Richarlyson does. He might run a little, and his heart might skip a beat as he gets closer, and his face might be fighting a smile, but he doesn't rush.

At all.

Roier meets him at the bottom of the hill with a hug so tight that Cell's lungs threaten to collapse inside of him.

"I missed you," Roier murmurs. "Don't leave me again."

Cell can't help it. He hugs Roier back just as tightly and grumbles, "Says the one ditching me to play house with some strangers. What do you mean, 'don't leave me again'?"

Roier gasps, and it sounds like he's going to cry for just a second.

But then he starts laughing, hard and loud.

"You're jealous!" he declares.

Cell feels himself flush red.

"No," he says, pushing himself out of Roier's grip and turning around entirely to face away from him. "I'm not."

But Roier just hugs him from behind, chin tucking itself right into the crook of Cell's neck.

"Thank you for watching me," he hums.

Cell grunts. For some reason, he can never speak properly around Roier. It's like his brain just shuts down, it's embarrassing.

He doesn't like being held from behind, though, so he grabs Roier's hands and turns back around. Roier, for whatever reason, twirls in Cell's loose hold like a ballerina.

"Wow," Richarlyson comments from somewhere out of sight and out of mind.

"Ew," Bobby agrees, equally ignorable.

Roier would look so good covered in blood right now, Cell thinks. Red is his color. Cell doesn't have a favorite color, but the closest thing he can think of would be the shade of red Roier's face always is when Cell is killing someone.

Leaning in close, Cell murmurs, "Screw the kids. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

Roier's eyes light up. "Brazilian?"

Cell ponders. And then he shakes his head. "Not worth the trouble. I'm thinking... Mexican?"

His voice pitches up slightly, questioning.

"Mmm, Quackity, Mariana, or Missa's place?" Roier asks.

For whatever reason, Cell thinks back to a week ago when Quackity and Mariana and Slime had tried stealing Richarlyson away from him... and the others. Missa behaved, he's safe (today.)

Cell's arms find themselves draping over Roier's shoulders loosely. Their heads lean closer together until their foreheads are pressed against each other.

Roier's eyelashes are long and beautiful. He doesn't really use mascara, so it's all natural. He flutters them delicately as Cell thinks.

"Quackity," Cell eventually decides. He smiles crookedly. "Fast food."

Roier's canines aren't as sharp as Cell's are, but he's still borderline vampiric. Wow.

Cell doesn't feel ready to kiss Roier yet- he's still working on speaking around him. But he still considers it as Roier looks up at him through his eyelashes.

One day, he thinks. What did Bad always say, "save it 'til marriage"? Cell can do that. He just needs to figure the rings out first.

"As you wish," Roier breathes.

The kids both groan and wander off to do their own thing elsewhere, but Cell couldn't care less. They aren't his, no matter what Roier says.

And they never will be.

[turtleplushi]

Art for chapter three of Hate Me Not :))

Maybe go read it if you haven't already hehe

[momo-t-daye]

...okay, so I suppose Christmas in 1995 was on a Monday and if the winter break is generally two weeks long and starts on the weekend before Christmas, then maybe the first Occlumency lesson (on a Monday evening) was on the 8th of January and Severus Snape was not yet 36 years old, but, ah, time is wobbly etc.

Has Severus taken the role of "Godmother" faster than Harry has managed to adapt to Sirius' revelation/declaration? Maybe, yes, probably. Does Voldy demand student drama and gossip from Severus? Yes.

Part Two

[whipbogard]

TwoBruce No Cape AU

The one where Bruce Wayne has never known Harvey Dent all his life and there's no Batman in Gotham.

A/N: so so SO ever since Two-Face discovered that Bruce is Batman in Detective Comics, ngl my brain has been on TwoBruce overdrive mode. I also have this fic WIP from ages ago where 2F tried to woo beloved billionaire Bruce Wayne without realizing that he's Batman and Harvey is just "uhh bro... you know what? nvm". So I thought what the heck lets just combine it with my other twobruce brainrots.

This au was supposed to be very self-indulgently nsfw thing--an elaboration of this art--but it has spiraled into a hugeass verse of its own since then so...

[arntyoujustcute]

I belong to the small Sektor girlie population and I was wondering if you would do a second part or another One-shot with Sektor （人´∀`*)

Well, only because you asked so nicely (And I hit writers block on my Bi-Han longfic, so this was nice distraction)

"Me and My Girl"

(Prequel to my other Sektor fic here, Strange Manicure")

Being not just the Lin Kuei’s Master Armorer, but a talented machinist and engineer, one would expect Sektor to see the obvious crush her little assistant had on her.

She was not that intelligent, unfortunately.

Everyone could see it. You followed her everywhere around the clan, waddling after her even when you’re not needed. You say it is because you simply enjoy spending your free time with your superior, and Sektor pays no mind to your habit and doesn't tell you to stop. Sometimes the other engineers in the workshop try to call you over, saying they need your assistance with some random task and you just talk back and say that Sektor requires you more, as you merely hold a flashlight for her as she pokes around an engine. Even the Grandmaster and his brothers are starting to get suspicious of your little game, Kuai Liang and Bi-Han exchanging a look every time they call for Sektor and you come in right next to her. It’s like a supervillain and her ridiculous sidekick; Sektor giving orders to her fellow engineers while you hold everything she needs. It would be cute, if it also wasn’t pathetic.

Sektor has given no clue that she returns your sentiment, and you are centimeters from the breaking point. You never cease with bragging about your commander’s bright mind, and you always have a hot cup of tea prepared for her before she has even asked for it. Barely do you complain when she loses her temper and raises her voice, rarely because of something you did, but because some other fool in the armory has done something to raise her blood pressure. She apologizes each time, citing her growing anger with the Grandmaster’s slowness at approving her new plans for the clan (Bi-Han swears he has grown past his father’s views, but the minute Sektor showed him her ideas for technological advances in biology, he shot her down with ridiculous statements such as “Why would you want to replace parts of your body with robotics?” and “The Lin Kuei has no need for firearms of THAT caliber!”. The world is progressing, and the Lin Kuei will NOT be left behind), and you accept it each time. She is as close to a stubborn narcissist as one could be without reaching the criteria, and hearing her actually, meaningly, say she is sorry is enough to make you ignore her biting words.

After you come to terms with ‘Yes, she can mean but she is also pretty and somehow makes me happy’ and decide to come clean and admit it, the only issue that remains is how to say it. You��ve tried twice now to go up to her and just admit to your crush, but the first time your tongue twisted and the words refused to come out of your throat, and Sektor stared at you strangely until she told you to just speak, making you give up your plan. The second time, Bi-Han called for her presence and made her leave you behind, making you curse your Grandmaster’s name later that night. Now on attempt number three, you are ready.

You think…well, hope, you are ready.

You choose a night where it will just be Sektor in the workshop by herself. You even go so far as to get her flowers, a beautiful bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath, and a new toolkit with a lock because someone has been taking her open-ended and allen wrenches and now she is short three different sizes. You’ve let her borrow yours in the meantime until she puts in an order for replacements, and the barely visible thankfully smirk on her oil covered face sent your heart pounding. Her giving that look to anyone else is enough to make the wild animal in you pace it’s cage and want to tear someone’s head off, and it assures you that you have to come clean, or you might lose your brain in this love.

You poke your head through the door, making sure it really was just Sektor as the armory's lone occupant before you sneak inside. You can see her halfway underneath some recon vehicle, sparking flying from whatever she is welding underneath it, and you stalk closer to the unaware female. You hide the flowers behind some equipment just in case this all goes south and you can have some dignity intact before taking your life out of embarrassment; Sektor has never shown interest in anyone in the time you have known her, and not even before according to some of the more veteran warriors and builders- you are already prepared for her rejection. 

Despite your fear, you are Lin Kuei, and you have been taught that being a coward would get you nothing in life. You grip the new toolkit in your sweaty palms, and walk closer to the woman you’ve been hopelessly pinning months over.

You’ve been assuming she hadn’t noticed your approach with the loud welding gun and being under a car, so you are startled when she turns the machine off and calls your name. Your spine is straight when she rolls out, and you have to control the urge to go over to her and fix her soot speckled hair. She tugs off her safety google and cotton mask, and you want to smile at the oil outline the goggles leave on her face.

“How did you hear me?” You ask, watching Sektor as she lifts herself off the floor. Her work demands a strong figure, and you carefully look away from the little sliver of skin you see on her stomach when she stands.

“I recognized your footsteps.” She reveals nonchalantly, and you physically cannot stop yourself from overthinking about that statement. ‘Recognize? Do I walk that loud? Do my shoes squeak and I've never noticed? Do I walk in tune to something? Oh my Gods does she get mad when I-’

“My time is precious, speak your mind.  My father is expecting me to have this project finished by nightfall.” Sektor breaks you free from your rambling mind. She doesn't look annoyed that you dazed off, and you'll never know how her face looks when she watches you and takes notice of the brand new toolkit in your hands. She is not annoyed by your mind break, not all, it gives her time to look at you unnoticed after all.

“Sorry, it's just…I, well.” You stuttered, sweaty hands fidgeting with the toolkit. The armorer looks at you, tapping her foot against the metal floor. Her work is time sensitive, and as much as she enjoys you, you are pushing it.

“Just, promise not to be mad, and if you don't approve, we can just ignore all of this and each other. I will go back to my own private work, and you don't have to speak with me anymore.” You rush out, each syllable a struggle. Sektor says nothing, making you more nervous, but the tilt of her head is enough of an approval to get you to move.

“First, this is for you.” You walk towards and and hold out the toolbox. Sektor actually looks stunned at the gift, hesitating before taking it. The box is a bright fiery red, and inside all of the tools are a shining silver. Everything will eventually find use in her work, and she blinks up at you.

“You didn't have to do this, I still have that replacement order on backlog but they won't take long to come in.” She says, still processing the gift. This large of a set wasn't inexpensive to get, and she has no idea why you would go out of your way to get her this…unless.

“I wanted to, especially after the others kept taking yours after you told them to stop.” You beam at her. You've been with-well, known her long enough to tell when the engineer is in a good mood, and her wide eyes and lack of stress in her shoulders shows her equivalent of shocked joy. 

“That's not all.” You speak, moving backwards to where you got the flowers hidden. Sektor moves to put the toolbox down and follows, curiosity peaked. You take a deep breath and then another, the thornless rose stems digging into your palms before you give up and turn around, holding out the gift like a bridal bouquet.

Sektor’s eyes widen at the flowers, blinking rapidly like they are an illusion that will disappear.

They are still there, and so are you.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't plan for it to go this far.” You apologize, trying to hide your embarrassed face by looking down at the floor. “I thought if I ignored it, it would go away. Obviously it didn’t work, and now I’m just…well.” You shrug, looking up with wet and pathetic puppy eyes. 

Sektor is quiet, almost lost in thought- the most off guard you have ever seen her. With each second, you lose hope. In your hands, the flowers shake, and you’re about to apologize and run away and bury yourself alive somewhere in the forest. Your shoulders and head fall, but they come back up when Sektor speaks.

“In my office, I have been working on a letter.” She remarked, still looking at the dark red roses and pure white baby's breath bouquet. 

“It's the fifth draft, all of its predecessors not to the level I wanted it to be, not saying what I wanted them to say.” The armorer keeps going, walking towards you. It would be useless to run; Sektor is one of the clan’s best children outside of the Grandmaster’s family, and she would easily catch up to you. You stay still, heart pounding, when she is close enough to touch. You can smell the motor oil on her clothes, and you have grown to love the sting of it in your nose.

"I was about to start another one tonight, but it seems that I can finally rest from my pitiful word working." Sektor muses, and you hold your breath. Please, is she-?

“If you are proposing a relationship between us, I accept.” She answers, smiling happily for once. She hardly ever let the corners of her mouth rise, always emotionless, always hard to read. Here, for you, she is willing to show delight. 

With her more subdued glee, your happiness is a loud burst of sunlight in the workshop. 

“YES!” Laughter bubbling out of your mouth, the flowers are dropped to the floor in favor of running at your new love. Sektor catches you easily, not even stumbling as strong arms go around your waist and pick you up off the floor. You throw your limbs around her shoulders and hips, and one of her hands travels further down to your thigh and provides better support. Her firm grip sends shivers down your spine, her warm fingers gently caressing your leg through your layer of clothing. 

“Calm down, look at the mess you have made already.” Sektor tries to scold, but it comes off insincere with the big grin on her face. The flowers are scattered to the floor, and will need to be picked up before someone else comes in. Her dirty shoulder length hair shakes dirt down to the floor, but you still tuck some of the loose strands behind her ear.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get them in just a moment.” You chirped from your place in her arms. You two look at each, a scene from a romantic film if there ever was one, lost in one another. You had next to no hope of reciprocating, but the letter Sektor spoke of, the hardest project she has ever had the honor of working on and the countless hours she must have spent trying to figure out exactly what to say to you to win your heart makes you want to cry happy tears. She is so perfect.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask sweetly, making the engineer smirk with confidence. “Or is it too soon? I don’t mind wait-”

She silences you with her mouth, leaning forward and capturing your sweet lips with her own. Sektor tastes like coffee covered up with mint, almost like she was always preparing herself for this moment. It’s the best taste you’ve ever had. Your happiness is feelable even now, the armorer able to feel your smile as you lean forward to deepen the kiss. Oil and dirt from her face transfers to your, making it obvious who exactly has been kissing you to everyone. Your legs tighten around her hips, and her hand on your leg slithers forward, groping and searching for a belt to tug free.

Her father’s project might just be a little late, unfortunately. His favorite daughter has found a new toy to study and take apart, and it will take her hours before she is satisfied with her beloved plaything, touching here and tugging there, figuring out what each caress does and what music she can get you to make.

Lucky you.

[avenin7]

He hears a clatter from the other room and the little rito’s curse. It makes him snort as he grabs his towel and bottle again, moving back into the main room where he left Revali sitting at his dining table.

Somehow the little rito is now on the floor. Staring miserably up at the crossbeams in her roost like they’ve somehow personally insulted him. “I hate you.” Revali says. Still glowering above him and Milap sits back in his armchair, taking a slow drag from his bottle.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” She snorts again, amused when Revali whips his head around to glare at her and groans as vertigo hits him even on the floor.

“You bitch.” He slurs. “I said I wanted to get drunk. Not be sent to Hylia.”

Milap reaches for the bowl of tree nuts on the side table. Popping one into their mouth unconcerned. “Not my fault you can’t handle your liquor.” She says around a full mouth. Particulates falling onto her feathers where her shirt is unlaced. “Maybe if you weren’t such a chickadee about it-“

“I am NOT!” Despite his obvious dizziness Revali forces himself up and turns towards her. Wing outstretched to keep his balance. “I am not a chickadee! Take that back.” They keked in the back of their throat, slouching further into the comfort of the plush wool chair and held the bottle outstretched to the little rito. Revali’s face sours further. Glaring at the bottle while he debates the benefit of looking like a wuss or potentially not waking up tomorrow.

“I ain’t got all night chickadee.” He shakes the bottle and Revali chatters irritably as he takes it. Ignoring him again, Milap takes the bowl properly into his wings. Crunching away happily while Revali dig his own grave into the worst hangover he’ll ever experience in his life.

“See??” He says as he finishes. “Not a chickadee.” Clumsily he sets the bottle down on the table. Talons dragging against the rug in a way that might actually trip him if he’s not careful.

“Watch it.” They snap. Tracking him as he stumbles his way around to the bookshelf to glare at their choice in literature. He pulls a book and Milap can’t be bothered to gripe at him for it, letting him leaf through it with a drunken disinterest.

“None of these are interesting. What do you even do when you’re noth smithing?”

Beak quirking as his lisp peaks through he nods his head towards the other chair. Revali ignores him and keeps browsing his books. “I sit. And enjoy the silence of not having children bother me.” The little rito crows, offended and drops his fifth edition Complete Metalsmith on the floor. Her beak grinds in irritation. That’s a good book.

“I am not a child!” Both their eyes are narrowed at one another and Revali stalks towards him. “Besides. You let the hylian brat hang around your smith all day when he’s here. He’s younger than me!” Milap clucks at him in the back of his throat and Revali trills back.

“Yes. He is quiet.” You are not. “And polite.” Which you are also not. Revali growls low and angry.

“I don’t know what everyone sees in him. He’s not that great.” The kids feathers are rising. Working himself up over nothing. Never a great idea to do in general and certainly not a good one when drunk. But they can’t be bothered to care too much. If they exhaust themselves putting out one fire, Revali will just light another. So they stand to fix the books he left out of order on the shelf and put his Master Smithing back in its rightful place. She can hear Revali pacing behind her. Chattering under his breath. “Yes. I suppose he’s strong! And skilled with a sword! And maybe easy on the eyes. And- ugh- Hylia forbid nice.” He hisses the last word. “But he’s egotistical! And his bowmanship is crap. And last time he came to the village he acted like I didn’t know what his horse was!” He turns indignantly gesturing in Milap’s direction. “I know what a horse is! I go outside.” Revali’s braids clatter when he shakes his head. “And besides! He’s not all that good looking! He’s got a slightly chipped front tooth and his hair is a weird texture and- and-“ Milap turns, brow raised as Revali flounders. Beak opening and closing as his drunken brain works in overtime.

“He’s short!” He settles on, staring unfocused at the rug. She can’t help but laugh at him again. Throwing a wing around his shoulder.

“Look, just cause you have a hate crush on the dove doesn’t mean he’s a bad kid.” Revali squawks angrily at his words and fumbles to get out from under his wing. Violently flapping his own.

“I do nOT have a crush-!!!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence and they watch in amusement as his feathers around his face flatten till he looks like a drowned cat. “I don’t know what makes you think I have a CRUSH but you’re wrong.” She chitters at him and leans into his space.

“Listen, I’m not the best for giving advice on this sort of thing. But it’s pretty obvious you have some kind of hate-crush-sex attraction thing going on with him.” He growls at her again and she just raises her brow in response. “Remember Alaida?” She says. His eyes widen and his crest raises and he stares blankly for a few minutes while the name processes until he chirps out and embarrassed sound.

“I- I didn’t- that wasn’t-! oh goddess……” Milap pats his shoulder and he buries his face in his wings mortified. “oh. how long was it that obvious? I’m so foolish. I’ve made an ass of myself.” She takes pity on his spiraling and grabs his shoulder again.

“Alright chickadee. You need to lay down. And eat something.” It’s a testament to how intoxicated he is that she has no problem dragging him down to the floor again. Shoving pillows and blankets at him until he’s at least semi cushioned. Stalking to her kitchenette, she grabs some dried salmon and fruit and a glass of water to balance in her wings and take back to the poor kid. Revali is chirping embarrassedly when they return. Head propped on his own knee, curled into a ball. “Eat.” They command. Pushing the jerky into Revali’s wing. He groans and shakes his head.

“Not ungry.”

“Don’t care. Your stomach is empty and you’re gonne feel like death tomorrow if you sleep like that.” They crouch to his level and force a beady red eye to meet Revali’s blown pupil. “Eat. Or I make you.” He groans again but complies slowly. Taking tiny nibbles of jerky with his eyes scrunched shut.

Content that he’ll not choke, she stands and makes for the kitchenette again. Though she can handle her own liquor well, she had quite a bit of that bottle too and she can feel her equilibrium is off. Pouring themself a glass of water and taking a sizable gulp he turns to snark over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want me to have to regurgitate for you now would you?” They laugh at the disgusted sound he makes.

“Oh gods— shut up. I might actually be sick.” Their keking laugh fills the house and she takes a sick pride in how Revali covers his head with a blanket to drown her out. Good. Maybe he’ll actually sleep now.

She returns to her chair and props her feet up on a stool and waits in the silence a while. Enjoying it. Until she can hear Revali’s soft snores filter out from under the blanket. He chuckles and reaches for a book beside him to read until sleep finally drags him under as well.

[true-blue-sonic]

I felt bad about having literally nothing ready for Silver week 2024, so I dragged this from the depths of my very being this evening, haha. Dreams of an Absolution mentions that every night Silver lays awake, and that is what gave me the inspiration for this fic. Hope you enjoyed!🍀

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Day 1: Dreams

A snippy “Sonic, wake up!” isn’t what Sonic likes to hear when getting roused from a comfortable nap.

It’s not the first time this has been said, he thinks. There’s been more of such demands around him, as have been some pushes. Maybe. The speedster has ignored them all, floating through his sweet dreams as he is-

Until his entire body is given a shake, somehow, and that doesn’t make much sense.

With a grumble the speedster opens one eye to glare at his disruptor. It’s a glare returned in kind: Silver’s crossed arms and bristling quills speak of plentiful irritation on the psychic’s side, as does the way Sonic gets dropped onto the ground again. But neither is anything new with Silver, Sonic’s still-half-asleep brain promptly decides, and thus he stretches with an elaborate yawn. This calm field of flowers between swaying grasses and white cotton clouds in the blue sky above do not lend themselves for hastiness and irritations.

“Something the matter?” he nods back at Silver after multiple seconds, in which Silver’s dry annoyance has grown tenfold.

“Yes," gets huffed back. "I’ve been trying to wake you for ages. Tails needs you, but he couldn’t reach you on your Miles Electric. And I went out to search for you because I thought something had happened, only to find you asleep in a field of flowers while refusing to get up?!”

Between that complaint Sonic has long jumped right to his feet, any thoughts about the calmness of flowers, grasses, clouds and skies forgotten.

“Oops,” he decrees, snatching the device in question and sheepishly studying the multiple missed calls on it. Yes, Tails had been talking extensively about a new invention he was going to test one of these days, and apparently the fated moment would have been hours ago. Not nice of him to let his pal hanging like that, Sonic admonishes himself. He’d best go there immediately to make up for it. “My bad. The flowers in this Zone are really nice to sleep in,” he offhandedly mentions to Silver, tucking the Miles Electric away again. “Still, thanks for waking me. Let’s go to Tails’.”

A shake of Silver’s head that Sonic would describe as rather judgemental is his response, the other turning on his heels and stalking away. “Tails already said you’d probably be in dreamland, since you didn’t respond,” gets called out over a grey-furred shoulder, Sonic laughing at that.

“He knows me too well. Yep, I was.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“So?”

“Dreaming is for late at night. If you're doing it during the day, you should at least be awake. Daydreaming isn't done while sleeping,” Silver states firmly, shaking out his bristling quills as a softer look forms on his face. He always looks more sunny like that, Sonic thinks every time he sees it. This time there’s even a little smile reserved for him. “But I’d been trying to wake you for a while already,” the psychic adds with a little snort. “It was impossible. You whined at me a couple of times, even.”

A full laugh slips past Sonic’s lips at the tease. “Did not.”

“Did so. Heard it myself.”

“That’s hardly proof,” Sonic winks back at him. “Besides, you can’t blame me for having nice dreams. I was flying through space and past galaxies, that’s far too neat to be woken up from so brusquely. Don’t you think?”

Pensively Silver rubs his chin. “That does sound nice. I guess dreaming of flying is quite special if you can’t fly normally?”

“I know what flying is like,” the speedster responds; he’s turned Super enough times for that to not be a mystery for him anymore. But it does leave him wondering… “You’re making it sound like you never dream the day away, heh. So what do you dream about?” he inquires, kicking into a brisk jog as Silver floats beside him into the air.

Silver’s brow furrows. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious. If flying in your dreams doesn’t faze you, then what does? What kinds of marvellous thoughts occupy your dreams?” Sonic smiles back; just something to fill the time between them on the journey back to Tails’ workshop, a few Zones over. And he doesn’t know the answer to his question anyway. He knows it from a lot of his friends: Amy dreams of him, she’s always been quite obvious about that, and Rouge dreams of gemstones, Knuckles of things around Angel Island, the Chaotix of money…

But what about Silver?

The almost staggeringly long silence that follows is rather suspicious, however.

“It’s nothing spectacular,” eventually breaks it, as does a deep sigh. “It’s just… things about the past, or the future.”

That doesn’t sound like sweet dreams, Sonic promptly decides. If they were, Silver would be more forward about it. “Nightmares?” he opens the opportunity for elaboration, though Silver slowly shakes his head at that.

“Not really… I just think a lot before I fall asleep, and then I’m so tired I don’t really dream that much anymore. It's not daydreaming because they're not nice thoughts, but...”

“You can't sleep because of it,” Sonic fills in. He’d add an inquiry if Silver is overthinking, and about what precisely, but he knows well enough that prodding doesn’t always go over well with his hot-headed friend. Yet, leaving the topic unmentioned otherwise doesn’t sit well with him either… “Silver, if you can’t sleep because you’re thinking too much, you can come to one of us,” he adds, giving the other a gentle nudge with his elbow. “We don’t mind, really. We’re here to help each other.”

Silver for his part only shrugs. “You will have to be with me every night, then. It's always the same thing."

“And that’s okay. We want to be, if it’ll make your dreams better.”

“I’ll think about it,” gets hummed back; the final thing said as Sonic’s brisk jog turns into a full run and Silver rushes beside him in silence.

Amidst Tails’ teasing about Sonic being a sleepyhead once the duo has returned to his workshop and extensive playing around with the new contraption Tails had wanted to try Sonic almost forgets what he and Silver have talked about, over the hours that the afternoon lasts still. But when the sun has sunk into the horizon and Sonic has crashed onto Tails’ couch after seeing his brother off to bed, a shuffle at the door makes his ears twitch.

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s Silver tiptoeing into the living room, with quiet breaths and softer footsteps.

Silver's eyes burn into him, the hairs on Sonic's spine prickling at the sensation. His friend stands frozen... but eventually the footsteps resume, until a weight sinks down at the very edge of the sofa's pillows. That golden stare is on Sonic still, but the speedster doesn't twitch a single quill in response, and eventually, slowly, Silver scoots closer. A lithe weight drops against Sonic's knees, small shuffles and minute movements following until Silver's tucked himself away into a little half-ball...

He’s close enough for Sonic to stretch out a hand and discreetly run his fingers over Silver’s.

The weight against his legs tenses immediately, but Sonic stays quiet. Silver doesn’t want him to talk or ask anything, he knows. But the quiet I’ll be with you is present between them: an assurance from Sonic’s side, and an acceptance from Silver’s.

And that’s how they lay, until Silver’s body has relaxed again and the other has finally, finally drifted off after the better part of an hour, Sonic refusing to let sleep claim him until his friend’s breaths have deepened and his usually-guarded face has softened like it had this afternoon.

“Have sweet dreams,” Sonic whispers into little grey ears, before turning around and sinking into them himself, with Silver’s breaths quiet but even as the speedster’s world becomes black too.

[bankholdup]

saw this post about how eddie had a rough childhood and might have trouble accepting love and a relationship. i was also thinking about a past relationship i was in and how much you can break your own heart wanting and pining over things that someone else could never give, so here have some angst.

Part Two | Part Three | read it on ao3

Part One:

Steve is a hopeless romantic, he knows this- has always known this. That's why he serial dates women, hoping to find someone that lights that fire within him, makes him feel whole and wanted and alive.

Maybe he's going out with the wrong girls. Maybe he's not asking the right questions. He never really figures out why it doesn't work out with any of them.

Something about Eddie Munson- yes, Eddie Munson- pulls Steve in. He feels like an enigma, like he knows everything about him and nothing at the same time. Wants to know everything about him, wants to spend every minute he can with him. Eddie is witty, he's funny, he's passionate. He's touchy and clingy in the best way, satiating some touch-starved craving that Steve didn't even realize he had until Eddie became a fixture in his friend group and life.

He gets that tight chest, butterfly, kind of anxious feeling around Eddie and now Steve knows, knows with every fiber of his being that he wants Eddie to be his boyfriend. He doesn't want to use the old Harrington charm, he just wants Eddie to want him as himself.

Steve starts first by being doting. It's Eddie’s birthday and they're all hanging out at Steve's place to celebrate. He sits Eddie down in the most comfortable chair in the living room with everyone, doesn't even let him get up, bring him beer and food and cake and his presents. He wants to show Eddie that he loves him and wants to take care of him. He continues it over the next few weeks, buying Eddie's favorite candy to sneak into the theater, bringing by his gas station order before hanging out or when he knows he'll run into him.

As time passes, Steve feels sick with how much he wants Eddie. He thinks about Eddie cuddling him in his bed, holding his hand, putting his arm around his waist- just being with him and loving him with all his heart. He wants Eddie to love like him back so much it makes his stomach hurt. So when he finally gets the courage to ask Eddie out, and Eddie rejects him. Saying something about how Steve and him wouldn't work out, and that Eddie isn't into dating. Steve's stomach falls straight through the ground as he tries to recover from the devastation.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@hpsaffics feb 10 - voyeurism/exhibitionism - 3.2k words (apologies hjfkjds) - NSFW

for ino @veryinnovative <3

There’s a sigh from behind Dorcas and then a body draping over her back where she’s in the pleasantly hot and salty smelling water all the way down to her shoulders.

A smile tugs at her lips and she reaches behind through the water for the backs of Pandora’s knees as the other tangles her arms above Dorcas’ chest.

Another heavy sigh, put upon and bordering on melodramatic—god, she really is so cute. Dorcas is gonna have to put her in timeout. Or maybe herself, for everyone’s collective safety. 

She keeps wading them through the water, following Regulus’ black head of curls, and then it’s a noise, a chilly nose nuzzling at the crook of Dorcas’ neck from behind and she can’t help but snicker, “Something wrong, mon cheri?”

Pandora sighs, like she’s faced with a pile of her least favourite work instead of the relaxing thermal bath they’re currently in.

“C’mon, sweets,” Dorcas gently scratches her short nails against Pandora’s bare knee, “Talk to me.”

Pandora mumbles something unintelligible into the hinge of her jaw and Dorcas dips lower into the water to mask the shiver that goes through her whole body.

“Couldn’t quite hear you there.”

Pandora harrumphs, legs tightening in the old around Dorcas’ hips. “Just– dunno,” she deflates slightly, cheek smushed against Dorcas’ shoulder, “Can’t seem to get out of my mood.”

Dorcas hums knowingly, drawing soothing circles on top of her thighs where she’s still holding onto her. Pandora and Evan had been arguing the whole car ride, she told Dorcas she’d slept awfully and when she dropped an open tupperware of fruit as they were packing Pandora nearly started crying. 

“Here,” Dorcas says, turning in the loose embrace and tugging the other girl around to her front, “C’mere, babe.”

Further up front it seems Barty has found a seating ledge under the water which he’s currently taking up as much space on as physically possible while Evan tugs Regulus closer, hooking a chin around his shoulder and watching Barty’s shenanigans with a smirk and glare respectively.

Once Pandora is settled in front of her, legs hooked around her hips and an adorably pitiful pout on her face, Dorcas can’t help but coo at her a little. Wide honey eyes, flecks of gold and her bleached curls sopping wet at the ends where they’re already dunked in the water. The sweetest rosy lips, the small, dark mole under the right corner of her mouth. Dorcas lifts a hand to hold her still by the chin and places a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

Pandora’s eyelids flutter a bit, the crease between her eyebrows mellowing and Drocas grins, feeling warmer from the inside out, which shouldn’t be quite possible given the bath temperature but never underestimate the charm of a Rosier, she guesses.

The Rosiers got that distinct air around them, too, that no matter the size of your balls makes you start to squirm after only so many minutes of them simply staring at you. Mustering, eyeing, scrutinising, assessing and Dorcas tries to ignore it now on Pandora as she manoeuvres them to one of the underwater pressure nozzles built on the side of the pool wall.

“How’s that feel?” Dorcas mumbles as she positions them in line of the nozzle, directed at Pandora’s back.

Her mouth falls open a little and then her eyes roll back with a groan, legs tightening around Dorcas once more and she has to swallow. Their breasts bump and there’s glitter on the white triangles covering Pandora’s but Dorcas can still see her pert nipples whenever they come up above the surface. Honestly, it’s highly distracting.

“This is better than sex,” Pandora announces, eyes closed in bliss right in front of Dorcas’ face.

A tug in Dorcas’ gut but her mouth tips into a grin, “Then you probably haven’t had any good sex lately.”

“You know I haven’t,” she whines, leaning back and it does something to Dorkas again. Yep, timeout should definitely be something to seriously be considered as of now.

Pandora tips her head back down and fixes Dorcas with a considering glance, lips contorted like it happens when she’s thinking. 

Uh oh.

“Cass,” and it’s unbearably sweet.

“Yeah?”

Pandora’s expression mellows and slips so fast into an amused grin Dorcas feels like experiencing whiplash. Her whole face lights up, pink colour returning to her tan skin and teeth shown in a brilliant smile, a gap between the two front incisors. And then she’s leaning in, giggling and whispering like she’s telling a secret, “The nozzle is blasting away my panties.”

Dorcas blinks and then her hands quickly abandon where she was kneading the muscle of Pandora’s thighs to scramble for the fabric of her swimming underwear. It is indeed all the way down at the crease of her thighs and Dorcas quickly tangles her fingers in to yank it back up as she side-steps the nozzle.

Pandora is laughing like it’s the most amusing thing in the world and Dorcas slips her tongue into the side of one cheek, glaring at her friend as she shakes in Dorcas’ hold.

They stay like this for a few moments, everything around them blurring to an unimportant background muffle as Pandora giggles sweetly into Dorcas’ neck and Dorcas tries not to bite into the elegant rounding of her shoulder or the jut of her collarbones. She’s wearing a small golden chain with a star pendant and a little purple amethyst. Dorcas’ birthstone.

Once she’s calmed down, Pandora pulls back but not far, grinning a little lopsided as she looks at Dorcas.

Dorcas wants to kiss her.

A bleached eyebrow raises pointedly, a predator playing, “You can take your hands off my ass now if you want.”

As if on reflex, Dorcas’ fingers tighten and she barely represses a noise when she, indeed, feels the meat of Pandora’s ass in them. Her heart skips a beat in her chest and then picks back up a little too strongly, “What if I don’t want to?”

Pandora hums, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, “Then don’t.”

Dorcas nods, lips tugging into a smirk and she leans in to place a kiss against Pandora’s cheek, to murmur in her ear, “Feel any better now?”

Pandora nods, her curls tickling Dorcas’ nose. “Still tense though.” Fingers slipping up between the roots of her braids.

“Think I can help with that?”

Another nod, a hum that’s more of a little moan and Dorcas tugs Pandora forward against her, delighting in the gasp she elicits.

Her mouth pulls into a grin, “Legs down, sweets.”

Pandora makes a noise in protest but she lets herself be handled when it’s clear Dorcas is pulling her over one of her thighs in the water.

She throws a look over the back of her shoulder to confirm that the others are still mostly outside of ear shot and otherwise occupied.

When she turns back Pandora is gazing up at her through her lashes with a slack mouth and Dorcas makes a noise in appreciation before she grabs her by the hips and starts a slow rhythm against her bare thigh.

It takes a moment to figure it out, what with the water slowing their movements but Dorcas knows it works when Pandora makes a little noise that sounds equally surprised as it does needy. One of her hands comes down to clutch at her waist, fingers slipping under the belly beads Dorcas is perpetually wearing and Dorcas can’t help but tug a little rougher on the next shift of hips.

“Kiss me?” Pandora whimpers, their noses only a hair width apart but Dorcas tips her head to the side and out of reach.

“We’re gonna get found out, love,” and Pandora’s eyebrows furrow again, a small, pathetic noise slipping out of her. “I know, baby, I know.” Dorcas coos, agitated, and throws another look over her shoulder. 

It’s still relatively empty, the boys busy with themselves and only another middle-aged woman farther back.

Well, fuck public decency. Dorcas turns and immediately captures Pandora in a kiss, a wet slide of lips that has Pandora’s hips stuttering and a whimpering like she’s getting it so good. Dorcas’ blood is thrumming with it.

It’s not like they haven’t done this before. Fumbling, inexperienced hands and shy giggles in Dorcas’ dorm once they’d both figured out they were onto women but it’s different now that they’re older. Adult, more sure of themselves, have dated and loved and tried themselves with others.

Still, it’s like driving by your childhood home, that’s not your house anymore but the tree still stands in the same place in the backyard and you still know which room exactly used to be yours. Where the kitchen is, where you used to eat your meals and where you piled on the couch for your parents to take a photo with an old digital camera of you and your friends all dressed up on your birthday.

Dorcas sucks the plush meat of Pandora’s lower lip between her lips, palm digging in right above her tailbone and a heel hooks around her ankle as Pandora shudders through her arousal, fingers clenching on Dorcas’ hip.

The fabric of her panties keeps dragging against Drocas’ skin and it’s dizzying, her hands moving on their own as they go to grab at Pandora’s ass again. 

She slumps forward, forehead against her collarbones and moaning when Dorcas pushes her down more vigorously.

“Shh,” Dorcas makes, grinning and fucking high off bringing her best girl friend off, “Gotta stay quiet for me, angel.”

Another pitiful noise and Dorcas angles her face up again to steal another kiss, licking into Pandora’s mouth when it pliantly parts for her.

“Cass,” an audible swallow, “Cassy.”

Dorcas sucks in a breath when Pandora starts palming at the swell of her breast, “Hm?”

“’s not enough,” her shoulders draw up helplessly as she grinds down deliriously. “Need mgh—”

“More?” and Pandora nods her head furiously, kissing at Dorcas’ neck, hot and open mouthed. “Want my fingers, bébé?”

“Ah– oui. Please, please.”

Dorcas detaches her gently, hands cupping her cheeks for another slow kiss before she turns Pandora in her arms and leans her against the edge of the pool.

“Keep breathing for me, love.”

Pandora tzks, throws an eye roll over her shoulder as she wiggles her hips underwater, “I know how to breathe.”

Dorcas’ grin stretches so wide her cheeks stain from it, “Try telling me again once I have you on the edge of your orgasm, yeah?”

Pandora’s mouth drops open, slightly affronted, but then closes it quickly as he lets out a whine through clenched teeth when Dorcas slides her panties to the side without preamble.

It’s easy enough to slip the tip of her finger through where Pandora is slick, satiny heat, heaven on earth and they let out a mutual, soft groan when she sheathes it in all the way to the last knuckle. Twisting, turning and then pumping in and out at a pace that makes Pandora’s grip turn white knuckled.

“More,” she gasps after a few moments, toes curling into Dorcas’ calf.

Dorcas hums, places a sweet kiss on the jut of her shoulder blade, “Where are your manners, Dora? Patience is a virtue.”

“Cassy,” the tone of her voice like sharp claws swiping out for Dorcas’ aorta. A frustrated whine, “Need you.”

Dorcas’ grin widens and she lets her teeth graze against her neck, watching her shiver, “Ask nicely?”

A noise that says fuck you, then relenting, “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?”

Her head sinks between her drawn shoulders, the straps of her white bikini top stretched taut, “Please, give me another finger, putain.”

“See?” Dorcas teases, prodding at her wet entrance with the tip of her ring finger, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Pandora moans into the crook of her own arm, “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Mm, because you were basically begging for me to fuck you?”

“Cass.”

“Because you were in a foul mood and I’m such a good friend I’ll go to any lengths to make you feel better—even though you’re being a difficult little brat,” Dorcas snakes her second hand under the garment, circling Pandora’s clit, immediately making her stutter on her inhale.

Pandora grits her teeth, throwing a glare over her shoulder that’s ruined by her swollen mouth and the blush tinting her cheeks, “Since when have you become someone to put people in their place during sex.”

Dorcas grins and leans in, letting their lips brush, “Since you’ve become more confident and quick to open your smart mouth and talk back.”

The helpless moan tumbling out of Pandora gets swallowed by Dorcas’ hungry mouth. Their teeth click with the angle, lips catching on each other and once Dorcas properly rubs over that small bundle of nerves Pandora starts erratically jerking her hips, fucking herself back on Dorcas’ fingers but also grinding into the stimulation.

There’s a loud bark of laughter from behind and Dorcas’ head spins around to watch Barty try and entangle himself with Evan. Regulus is half in their menacing clutches as well, looking entirely unamused but Dorcas knows it’s a harmless farce from the lack of crease between his brows.

They make eye contact for a second and then Regulus’ head snaps back around to her again, mouth falling open a bit and Dorcas’ ministrations falter for a second.

Pandora makes a displeased noise and Dorcas would literally rather drown herself right now than stop so she places a placating kiss to the side of Pandora’s neck before she turns again, giving Regulus a pleading look.

Regulus cocks his head a little, eyes narrowing in a way that say Really? and maybe if Dorcas wasn’t two fingers deep in their girl friend’s delightfully slick pussy she’d stick out her tongue at him. Like this, she simply matches him, daring him to say anything that would steer attention towards and interrupt them.

And because Regulus is a good friend, he turns with an eye roll and makes an effort to sidle up closer to Barty and Evan to keep their attention focused away from what ungodly things the latter’s twin sister is subjected to at the other end of the pool.

“Fuck,” Pandora mutters, throwing her head back against Dorcas’ shoulder, back arched beautifully, hiccuping a breath when Dorcas rolls her clit between thumb and index.

Dorcas’ sucks on the soft skin of Pandora’s neck in response, “How’s your breathing, doll?”

“Fuck you,” she gasps out and Dorcas chuckles against the hot skin, “Don’t fucking stop.”

Dorcas grunts, wrist aching but she wouldn’t dream it, “Promise, sweets. Just be as pretty and good for me as you always are.”

Pandora moans, high pitched, “Good for you?”

“So good,” Dorcas groans, the pulse between her own legs throbbing, “Love having you with me all the time. Smartest girl, prettiest thing to look at.”

Pandora nods—so good for her—and then presses out a strangled, “Love you.”

Dorcas nods, too, braids slipping over her shoulder. “I know,” because she does know. They all love each other unconditionally, irrevocably, unquestionably and they all know it.

The sweetest guttural noise evades Pandora, a distinct edge to the sound that makes Dorcas’ hair stand on end, vibrating with how bad she wants her. “Gonna cum for me, sweets?”

“Yeah,” Pandora whimpers, breath coming in short little bursts, working up to her orgasm as Dorcas keeps the stimulation up, mouthing at the tendons of her neck besides the stupid white bikini halter string.

Her noises increase in pitch, body tensing between Dorcas’ arms and cunt tightening around her fingers and because when Dorcas wants something she goes all in she presses her mouth up against the shell of Pandora’s ear, “Just for me, huh? All for me, sweets, c’mon. Be good and cum for me.”

“Cass,” Pandora chides, moans, and then she’s falling apart. Trembling and shaking, panting and whimpering as she convulses around Dorcas’ fingers in lapping waves of blinding hot pleasure.

Dorcas tips her head forward and watches greedily as Pandora’s lips drop open in a silent cry, brows furrowed, the water lapping between her cleavage and looking like a god damn piece of art. She slows her fingers, keeps the two inside unmoving, pressed deep inside and strokes against her clit gentler as Pandora comes crashing back down gradually.

She slumps back against Dorcas with an exhausted moan, voice raspy and panting shallowly. Slowly coming to again, eyelids fluttering and blowing out an errant curl that’s fallen into her face.

It makes Dorcas’ lips slip into a satisfied grin and she presses a lingering kiss against the other’s flushed cheek, trailing a flutter of closed lips down her jaw and neck as she carefully removes her fingers and slides the swimwear panties back into place.

Pandora makes a little mournful noise but she tips her head to the side in welcome, sighing sweetly when Dorcas’ arms come together in front of her stomach.

The second Dorcas detaches her lips Pandora turns in the embrace and slinks her own palms up Dorcas’ stomach and around, fingers tracing the knobs of spine as she eagerly chases Drocas’ mouth for more.

They stay like this for a few moments, a couple minutes maybe, where they just let their bodies do what they do best—be close with each other and do what feels good. It feels familiar and a little oddly so, like they’re practised in it, almost, like it’s something they do on a daily. But Dorcas basks in it, in the way Pandora’s tongue nudging against hers with the perfect amount of pressure just feels right.

When they draw back Pandora looks less flushed but her cheeks are rosy all the same and her mouth ridiculously swollen, looking downright edible where she licks at the little spit Dorcas left there, whiskey eyes drunk but not hazy and fond where they look right back at her.

“So?” Dorcas asks, stealing another kiss.

Pandora rolls her eyes with a grin, “‘So’ what?”

“Nozzle or sex?” Dorcas smiles toothily.

Pandora’s face slips into a put upon frown, “Now don’t let this get to your head.”

“Oh,” Dorcas makes, waving a hand, “That’s already too late, I’m afraid to say, mon cheri.”

“Incorrigible.”

Dorcas hums, smiling against Pandora’s lips when she tips her chin back up for another kiss.

“Well, well, well,” Barty’s voice comes leering from right behind Dorcas and she sighs. Every era of peace must come to an end, she supposes. “What do we have over here, huh? The two beauties all entangled in each other?”

Regulus is hanging off of his back and watching with a self-satisfied expression, like Dorcas owes him now that he successfully distracted his fucking boyfriends for a continues five minutes so she could take care of Pandora in her time of need.

“Keep your tongue out of my sister’s mouth where I can see it, hm, Meadows?” Evan drawls, sidling up next to Barty.

Dorcas looks back over in time to see Pandora scrunching her nose at Evan childishly and then immediately licking a flat stripe up the side of Dorcas’ face. 

A muscle in Evan’s jaw ticks and then Pandora’s fingers are digging into the hinge of Dorcas’, making her open her mouth and shamelessly licking inside, making a whole show of doing exactly what her brother asked her not to do.

God, Dorcas is gonna put a fucking ring on her.

[happyk44]

When Annabeth becomes pregnant at twenty-three, everyone is excited. Percy, most of all. They get married in a small shotgun ceremony inside the safe haven of New Rome, mortal and godly parents in attendance, friends shedding tears of joy.

She gives birth a month early to a screaming, underweight bundle of joy. Everyone adores their son. He has fuzzy hints of black hair and wide curious gray eyes. He doesn't cry much after his birth, is abnormally quiet, observing everyone who holds him like he sees something more beneath the surface.

His quiet demeanour reminds Hazel a lot of Nico. When she mentions this in passing, Annabeth laughs quietly and squeezes baby Oliver's chubby fist. "He does, doesn't he?"

Her words sound unbelievably fond. The tone doesn't shock Hazel - she knows that the three of them have gotten close recently - but it seems... odd. Misplaced in its meaning.

She finishes off her final protective ward on Oliver's crib. "Has he met him yet?"

Annabeth hums. "He was here this morning."

She doesn't say anything more, and before Hazel can ask, she effortlessly glides the conversation to Hazel's training as a witch. Hazel takes the hint and lets the conversation change without any complaint.

-

Grover counts himself lucky in many regards. He's got a wonderful wife. He's Lord of the Wild. He hasn't been eaten alive by any monsters yet. All but one of the kids he's brought to camp are living successful happy lives.

And he knows the truth about Oliver.

They never talk about it - the circumstances that brought him into the world. It was just a few hints here and there in conversation, before he cuts the cord and just asks.

"Nico is Oliver's biological father, isn't he?".

Percy doesn’t even hesitate. "Yeah."

Grover watches from the kitchen, Percy at his side, as Nico emerges from what everyone thinks is the guest room, but Grover is confident is actually Nico's room. Oliver sits on his hip. The one year old is bundled up from head to toe. Nico himself has a matching beanie - bright blue with a warped crochet design of a yellow fish. He waves Oliver's little hand their way before disappearing into the shadows.

The two of them come back a couple hours later with In-and-Out takeout bags. Oliver is chewing on a lone french fry. He falls into Percy's arms with ease. Nico smiles kindly at Grover and comes to sit at Percy's side on the couch. Their thighs press together.

Grover doesn't ask about it.

They're happy. He can tell just by looking at them. Whatever thing is happening between the three of them, they're okay.

That's all that matters.

-

Piper loves Annabeth, she does. But she also believes in integrity. Oliver is three years old and the shadows tremble when he's annoyed. The air goes cold and frigid when he's upset. He doesn't talk very loud, but he's perceptive.

It's one hour into Piper's babysitting time when Oliver tells her that her grandfather says hello and she pieces it together. Oliver doesn't understand what he's done, the secret he's just revealed. She asks him to get her grandfather to tell him a story, just like he used to tell her. Oliver reaches out with one hand, and Piper's world turns upside down.

Annabeth and Percy come home two hours later, laughing and carrying a goodie bag from the restaurant. Grandpa Tom left half an hour ago, right when Oliver murmured a sleepy, "I'm tired", and let go of his hand. Piper doesn't know if he's still around, watching her. But it's the idea that he is, that keeps her brave.

When Percy disappears down the hall to check in on his sleeping son, Piper corners Annabeth in the kitchen.

"Are you cheating on Percy?" she whispers.

Annabeth blinks at her, startled. "What?"

"Are you cheating on Percy?" Piper whispers again, trying not to hide the urgency in her voice.

Annabeth is cool as she puts the leftovers in the fridge. "Why do you think I'm cheating on Percy?"

The question is easily answered, yes or no, and Annabeth's side-stepping is obvious and painful to Piper's heart. She changes gears. "Is Nico Oliver's dad?"

Annabeth pauses. It feels like hours. Then she closes the fridge door and crosses her arms over her chest. "People can have more than one dad, Piper."

Piper scowls and gets in close. "Does Percy know?"

Warm hands plant on both her shoulders. "He knows," Annabeth says, her voice soft. "And I'm not cheating on him."

Piper can't tell if Annabeth is lying. She wants to say more, ask more, but Percy's footsteps are loudly closing in. She takes a few steps back just as Percy rounds into the kitchen and slips an arm over Annabeth's shoulders. The image is sickly sweet. The two of them gaze happily at each other. They're so painfully in love.

Piper's stomach clenches.

The three of them stay up an extra hour. Percy is oblivious to the tension ruminating off of Piper. Annabeth seems fine though. It only stresses her out more. When she finally turns in, she doesn't know how to feel. She pauses just inside the guest room, the door pinched open. She can hear the two of them talking quietly in the hall. Oliver's bedroom door squeaks open.

Another voice, one Piper hasn't heard in a couple months, teases Percy from nearby. Percy protests his protective habits. Piper peeks through the gap. Nico is leaning against the wall. He's smiling widely in Annabeth's direction. Percy is oblivious, sneaking into Oliver's room. Annabeth takes Nico's hand. He pulls her close.

Piper relaxes for a minute. Maybe she doesn't have to say anything, maybe Percy will catch them before they can drift apart.

Or maybe he'll walk out of Oliver's room, shove Annabeth away and dive into Nico's mouth greedy, like he's starved for breath and Nico's mouth is oxygen. Maybe he'll tangle his hands into Nico's hair and push him into the wall with a low growl.

They don't separate, not really. Instead Percy drags Nico towards his - their - bedroom, Annabeth laughing as she follows.

The door clicks shut behind them. Piper takes a step back before pulling her own door closed. In the morning, Nico is gone and Percy is making pancakes. When Oliver asks for pomegranate juice, Piper passes it to him from the fridge and says nothing.

-

Leo doesn't know where this new baby came from. Annabeth wasn't pregnant the last time he saw her, but there's definitely a newborn asleep in the corner of their combined workshop. Annabeth doesn't even let him ask about the kid, just throws revised plans for their latest project in his direction before answering her screaming phone.

Oliver is there next to the baby, rocking her back and forth in her carrier. A picture book sits on his knee. He blinks up at Leo as he approaches. Leo likes Oliver. He's quiet and isn't afraid to use a hammer. The baby girl has small curls of black hair. She is bundled up in a fish-printed blanket.

"Who's this, big man?" Leo asks, squatting down to get a closer look.

The four year old stares at him. Then, "Ariel. She's my sister." He pauses, before adding, "She's really loud."

"When did your mom get a baby?"

Oliver stares some more before answering. "My uncle made her yesterday."

Leo doesn't know what to say to that.

-

Oliver and Ariel are joined a year later by a third and final child. While Ariel's origins are still speculated by anyone not in the know, it's clear from Annabeth's round belly where Eve was going to emerge from. She has thin wispy hair so blonde it blends into her skin. Her bright sea green eyes mimic her father's.

But Nico is her favourite. By now everyone knows not to bat an eye when instead of "Daddy" or "Mommy", her first word is "Papa". She reaches for him more than anyone else. As soon as she is old enough to crawl, her favourite place to wiggle towards is his lap.

Frank watches as she tries to pull herself to a stand. He runs a hand over the head of a nearby cat. It purrs loudly. Nearby Nico's hands are outstretched, ready to catch her if she falls.

Like Grover, he cuts the cord fast. "Is she yours too?"

Nico doesn't falter. "No."

Eve doesn't make it to a stand, but gets close enough before she falls face first into Nico's arms. He bundles her up to his chest and she squeals, reaching out with one hand to tug at his necklace.

He doesn't wear the camp beads anymore. Instead, it's a silver band looped through a golden chain. The band has three different jewels studded into it - a diamond, an aquamarine gem, and an onyx. What each jewel represents isn't a question. The fact that Percy and Annabeth wear the same silver band just above their wedding rings isn't much of a question either.

Frank takes Eve when offered and holds her close. Her green eyes look exactly like her father's, look exactly like her sister's. Her blonde hair is soft against each stroke of his fingers.

Nico comes back with drinks. Frank doesn't go for them when offered, content with where he is. Nico puts his can next to his foot, before lowering himself back to the ground. Frank watches him for a moment.

Then, "I thought you were gay."

Nico shrugs as he pops the top to his soda. "Annabeth's pretty," is all he says after a slow sip and Frank snorts.

He hands Eve back when Nico reaches for her. "Is that why Oliver was first?"

Nico's grin is wicked sharp, but happy in all its angles. "No," he says. "That's because I'm pretty."

-

Jason watches as Ariel and Eve team up to drown their older brother in the lake. In retaliation, he summons skeletons that ignore Ariel but grab at Eve. She screams, loud and unholy, as she’s tossed through the air and lands with a gigantic splash. Oliver pulls himself out of the water, shaking wet black hair out of his face. Ariel bats her eyes at him as he approaches, unafraid even as he picks her up and tosses her into the lake himself.

The two girls laugh as they surface, before swimming speedy laps around each other. With a short scowl, Oliver settles on the towel next to Jason. He does not enjoy swimming. Jason remembers the first summer after his birth.

They had tucked his feet into the water to splash and he’d screamed bloody murder. People joked about how Percy’s ocean powers clearly hadn’t made themselves known yet. But now it was pretty well known that Oliver didn’t have any ocean powers.

It had been pretty funny when Ariel came around. She took to the water like a fish and Oliver had panicked himself into a stressed out ball around the edges of the lake before he accidentally summoned a dozen ghosts to wrestle her from Percy’s arms and bring her back to the safety of dry land.

Percy hadn’t been allowed to hold Ariel for the rest of the day after that. If he tried, shadows would whip at him with Oliver’s frustration. He stayed tucked around his little sister while she cooed at the ghosts still protectively hovering nearby.

After that, everyone had pieced together what they had already started guessing at, if not outright knew.

The three of them never said how, or why, or even when, it had all come together for them, but they seemed happy nonetheless. And Jason was good with that. Nico deserved to be happy in whatever shape or form that came in. He didn't bat an eye whenever Nico kissed Annabeth's cheek before leaving with Jason. He didn't question it whenever the two of them came back and Percy clung onto him like needy barnacle.

Nico would flush a soft pink, and his smile was gentle, almost hidden sometimes. But he was happy, genuinely happy.

And that made Jason warm to see.

He pulls out the book Oliver had packed for their day out. Oliver puts on his glasses, thin round frames just like Uncle Jason’s, rolls over onto his stomach, and begins reading. In the lake, the girls are still splashing one another. A couple times they glance over at Oliver, like they’re thinking about pulling him into their game. But they know better than to bother their brother when he’s reading.

Oliver hums curiously and kicks his legs. Jason glances at him. “Good book?”

“Yes,” Oliver says.

He still speaks quietly and slow, each word a deliberate thought. It makes him the worst person to argue with. Ariel and Eve get loud and passionate - Ariel like Annabeth, cutting sharp like a knife, each spit of her words an uncontrolled punch; Eve like Percy, thunderous and vibrant, fast and off the cuff.

Watching the three of them fight a genuine fight is a masterclass in terror. The last time it’d happened - Eve blowing out Ariel’s candles on her sixth birthday and Ariel throwing a tantrum that exploded cake all over Oliver’s face - Jason had thought the whole city was going to be destroyed with every scream and thrown punch.

It had taken nearly half an hour to separate them. Oliver remained furious, refusing to cry even as Jason helped him wash the cake out of his hair, and stubbornly avoiding everyone for the rest of the day. Eve, like her mother, refused to admit she was wrong, steadfast in her determination not to apologize (although she caved fast when Nico came back with Ariel). Ariel got over it fast, she always did, which Jason found hilarious considering how emotional each of her fathers’ were. But her eyes remained red rimmed and she would tear up each time she caught sight of her siblings’ bruises.

She hit the hardest. Always did.

But when they fought together? In defense of one another? Amazing to see. It reminded Jason of the wolves, of the Cohort - working in tandem with one another, flying seamlessly off one another. A well oiled machine, each cog fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle. Oliver was the leader, in charge of each attack, Eve assisting in his command, and Ariel the powerhouse ready to take aim.

It’s clear where they picked it from.

-

The kids are half-asleep in a pile on the floor as Nico crawls across the couch cushions and into Annabeth’s lap. He dangles mistletoe above her head. She laughs and rises up for a kiss. In the chair nearby, Percy watches with half a grin across his face.

“That’s gross,” Eve mutters tiredly.

“Go back to sleep,” Nico calls back before kissing Annabeth again.

Ariel makes a gagging noise. Oliver swats at her before he slips out of their pile to rise slow to his feet. His glasses are lopsided on his face, but he doesn’t fix them. Instead he leans down to pull both girls to their feet. Eve yawns as she ducks her face into his shoulder. He slides one arm across each of their shoulders before tucking them in close and dragging them off to bed.

Percy pushes off the chair and flops against Nico’s back. Annabeth groans under the added weight.

“Seaweed Brain,” she grumbles. “Get your fat ass off my boyfriend.”

“Fat?” Percy huffs. He leans in harder. Nico laughs while Annabeth groans louder. “Woman, I am toned.”

“You have a dad bod,” Nico says. He tilts his head back and Percy accepts a kiss.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t put any weight on your bones.”

Nico rolls his eyes. Percy squeezes his hips and pulls away. Annabeth breathes easy, and then easier when Nico pulls himself from her lap. Percy turns off the TV as Annabeth rises groggily to her feet. Nico tucks her under his arm, and the two waddle off to bed.

Percy crawls in soon after.

In the morning, Eve will ask for pancakes, which Percy will make while she helps. Ariel will braid Nico’s hair in the bathroom and he will braid hers. Oliver will argue with Annabeth about the philosophy of Plato.

In the evening, the kids will ask the question that no one else has ever been brave enough to ask. And without falter, their parents will answer.

It was never a secret to begin with.

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One day, in mid August of ‘85, Dustin shows up at Steve’s front door, completely unannounced. It’s the middle of the night and Steve has half the mind to reprimand Dustin about curfew and biking alone in the dark. But when his vision finally focuses on Dustin’s expression, Steve sees panic in his eyes; fear. At first, his heart plummets and he thinks not again, not so soon. But then Dustin says-

“I killed that guy. Didn’t I?”

And every other thought in Steve’s mind crumbles like ash. 

“The Russian,” Dustin clarifies in Steve’s silence. “The doctor.” 

Steve remembers. 

Bald, round glasses. 

Stale coffee breath. 

Pliers pulling his nail. 

He can’t speak, throat closing up. 

Dustin keeps talking, rambling like Robin does when she’s panicked. “They used those cattle prods to stun demogorgons, Steve. Do you have any idea how many volts that thing held? He- He fell, like-”

“Dustin,” Steve says - rasps it out because his throat is dry but he needs to stop Dustin’s spiral. 

Rendered silent, Dustin looks up at Steve with wide, glistening eyes. He’s expecting an answer, but Steve doesn’t have one. He can’t think beyond the sight of Dustin standing before him in a matching pajama set and untied shoes, like he didn’t have the time or mind to fasten them up because he was in too much of a rush to come here. To seek out Steve, in the middle of the night. Steve, who should be able to help because that’s his job; he’s the protector, the older brother Dustin can come to for comfort. 

Except that Steve was woken with a start just five minutes ago when Dustin started pounding on his front door and he thought it was the Russians coming back for him, his mind still half lost to the nightmare he was having; all blood and bone saws and Robin’s screams. Part of him is itching to call her, like maybe she somehow died back there and Steve has been imagining her this whole time and he just needs to hear her mom answer the phone and say, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, honey’. 

But he remembers Dustin charging in, remembers watching him strike the doctor right in the chest and how he fell to the ground, limp, and didn’t get back up. Knows that everyone is safe, no matter what his brain tries to tell him. Robin and Erica are sleeping in their beds, and Dustin is standing on his front door step, bike discarded on the ground next to the Bimmer. 

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “Get in here.” 

He ushers Dustin in with a hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them, and heads to the living room. Dustin just keeps looking at him, like Steve has all the answers. Like Steve can make it all better. Can say the voltage wouldn’t have killed him, as if the possibility that he’s still out there wouldn’t send himself into a panic attack. 

“Steve,” Dustin says, and it sounds like a plea; the way his voice lisps, wet and small. 

He’s only thirteen.

“I killed a person,” Dustin says. 

And Steve gets it, sort of. It doesn’t matter that the person Dustin killed was evil and cruel, just like it didn’t matter that Billy Hargrove was about to kill Lucas when Steve stepped in between them. He still didn’t want to hurt someone. Each punch felt like too much, like if he punched any harder, he’d do some serious damage. And Billy would have deserved it - as horrible as it feels to think that after his sacrifice - but Steve didn’t want to be the one to do it. That’s not who he is. He’s a protector, not a fighter. Not a killer. That breaks something in a person, as is made clear by the crack in Dustin’s voice. It took something from him. The little bit of innocence Dustin had left. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet and almost apologetic. “You did.” 

Dustin’s face falls, as if he really did want Steve to say otherwise. But avoiding the truth won’t help anything. 

“But- But you saved me, okay?” he says, like he’s asking if that truth is enough.

Dustin’s eyes flash with something Steve can’t identify. 

“Me and Robin,” Steve continues. “You saved us. If you hadn’t done what you did- What you had to do…”

His nightmares have answered that hypothetical too well. 

He shakes it off, puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder instead.

“You saved us. You did good, Dustin. Okay? That’s what’s important here.” 

Dustin's face crumples and before Steve can blink, he’s got an armful of the kid. He’s still bruised, ribs only just recovering from the break, and it hurts. But he wraps Dustin up in his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric through. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve soothes, voice low. "You're okay. I've got you, buddy."

He’s not coddling him or trying to get him to stop crying- he just talks so Dustin knows he’s there. Tells him how grateful he is for Dustin taking care of him and Robin when they were messed up, for being so brave when he busted into that room. He talks until Dustin is quiet against him, left with his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a while, but Steve doesn’t mind - just rubs his back and rests his cheek against his curls. 

“Your mom know you’re here?” he asks softly. 

Dustin shakes his head. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” 

Dustin nods. 

Steve checks his watch over Dustin’s shoulder. It’s almost midnight. He sighs. 

“Remind me to send her flowers or something as an apology for waking her up right now,” Steve says, light-hearted, trying to make Dustin laugh.

But Dustin just sniffles, guilty. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. It’s fine. Take your shoes off and head on upstairs, yeah? I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re with me.” 

Dustin pulls back, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve and Steve tries not to cringe. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

It’s not entirely selfless, calling Dustin’s mom. If he calls Mrs Henderson, he can call Robin right after without Dustin knowing. He has a feeling she’ll be awake at this time too anyway. He thinks he might call the Sinclairs as well, wants to make sure Erica is okay. 

And as long as Dustin stays the night, Steve knows that at least he’s safe, spread out right beside him, taking up the whole bed. Can make sure Dustin sleeps through the night, can be there if he has a nightmare that his mom wouldn’t be able to calm him down from. 

Steve ruffles Dustin’s hair, smiling at how he pushes into it like a cat. “It’s no problem.”

[ceiling-karasu]

Jollin and the Festival

The afternoon before the start of the Dano Dragon Boat festival, Nayeon greeted Jollin as he returned home from his rounds, chattering happily as usual. As the spring crops came in around her family farm, the bunny had come by multiple times in the past few weeks to borrow the cart he used for larger courier and mail deliveries around his assigned area of Flower Hill.

Jollin did not mind. Nayeon only borrowed it when she knew he was going to have a light load the next day, or had the day off. And besides, letting her borrow the cart increased the chances of her gifting him a few extra bits of produce as a neighborly thanks, a luxury unheard of back when he was a half-starved laborer in the Weasel Kingdoms.

The entire community seemed to think he was too malnourished for his own good, not knowing that his thinner body and less fluffy tail was due to him being a dormouse scout for the enemy, and not actually a squirrel as they assumed. He dreaded to think about what would happen if they figured it out. Then again, instead of publicly exposing him, they would likely contact the Cherry Valley command center, who would explain that yes, he had actually defected long ago, and was happily being used as bait to lure out other scouts who may have escaped the roundup of the other Tokgasi agents. Or so the hedgehog and squirrel commander had assumed, and continued to believe.

“…I do hope you are able to attend the festival, tomorrow! I just hope it is not interrupted by the Weasel Unit, but surely not even they would be inconsiderate enough to attack a peaceful festival when an international crowd is around. Even I get to perform on stage in the afternoon! I have been practicing in every free moment I get! But I won’t tell you what I am performing. It’s a secret you will have to see for yourself,” Nayeon could hardly keep still as she laughed, bold and shy at the same time.

Jollin could guess that she would probably perform a dance, perhaps in tune to some folk music, or even an opera song. Over the last few weeks, she had taken to wearing a traditional hanbok- or chosŏn-ot, as Flower Hill called them- in every spare moment, twirling as she moved. Even Jollin had noticed her gracefulness, which made her a prime candidate for one of the floating dances performed on the peninsula. He had heard of those, although it had previously been a delicate spectacle reserved only for the weasels and other upper class groups in their mansions and theaters. Granted, she still had to work, so the chima was not as long as to cover the boots, and was not adorned in complex patterns, but she would likely be wearing a proper version at the festival. Still, even he knew not to spoil the surprise, needing to fake some cheerfulness and mimic the excitement of the fools of the country.

“Oh! I simply cannot wait! The Command Center does need me to deliver a few packages tomorrow, but I bet they will need to be taken to the festival anyway,” he laughed. Really, the commanders had already approached him with intel that another Tokgasi agent was to appear at the festival, and wanted him, the supposed defector, to hunt them down. “But it will be getting dark soon! You had best be on your way home so you can help the others with the crops! Otherwise, you will all have to do it in the dark, and that can be dangerous! You might oversleep.”

“Yes, sir!” The bunny tittered She waved, then quickly moved down the path and around the hills towards her home, pulling the cart.

Jollin was not necessarily worried about Nayeon being out alone in the dark. Granted, the Tokgasi survivors were hiding out in the area, but it was unlikely they would go for her. There was a danger of a rouge scout taking her hostage to try and get the dormouse courier to shelter them, of course, thinking that they were close friends. But he knew that despite her looks, Nayeon had already been through the mandatory conscription of Flower Hill. She should know how to fight off an attacker, especially given her grandfather being a top general.

Which made him wonder if she was really the happy, bubbly bunny she appeared to be. As far as he was concerned, his paranoia over her being a plant by Cherry Valley was fully justified. Particularly after her grandfather, the doddering old retired soldier, who would absentmindedly, in his loneliness and age, give away secrets about Flower Hill’s defenses and movements, had turned out to be a fully in charge general, who was feeding him false information as part of a Flower Hill plot to use an enemy scout to destabilize the opposing army. Apparently, Flower Hill, as with other nations, were surprisingly fine with allowing a scout to live and work in their homeland. However, the fact that the scout was not sending the false information back to his handlers as they had planned was an actual problem, as it meant that Weasel Unit forces were not falling into traps that had been set up. It forced the general to drop his charade early out of frustration, and for the Flower Hill commanders to formally induct him as a defector from the enemy.

So, what about his granddaughter, Nayeon? Living so close to the Command Center, it was possible that her role to play was to casually drop information on what he should be doing, in a way that would not sound like an order, should he prove obstinate to demands. Come to the festival, a loud place he had no interest in, and stand near a stage, possibly to meet up and chat with a ‘friendly’ hedgehog about infiltration he had seen other than the Weasel Unit soldiers who had been purposefully invited.

On the other hand, she could simply be that innocent, somehow. It would be a bad idea to question her. If it was the latter, and she found out he was one of the enemies? I wouldn’t see her as often. There would go all the extra food, and news from around Flower Hill that he did need to pass on to his handlers. As far as he could tell, she had no parents, and lived with her grandfather, and given the current war and occupations, there was usually a reason for that.

So, being a bit paranoid about what he said and did was reasonable. The commanders and the soldiers saw it as typical mouse nervousness, while the citizens out of conscription saw him as a poor shellshocked victim from the border, afraid to make friends in case he lost them again. Let both those groups believe that. It makes it easier to meet up with Tokgasi alone.

Which was another reason Jollin needed Nayeon to leave so early. He could see the smudge on one of the stones leading up to the walkway to his house his own house. Someone like him, a Tokgasi scout, would easily recognize the faint Weasel Unit symbol on the ground, signaling that there was a message for him. Jollin lay a hand on the fence post, waiting for Nayeon to shift positions, so the straw hat hanging off his back would block her view of his hand snatching the calling card from Tokgasi affixed to the fence post.

My own house. He hardly could have dreamed of having his own private residence in his previous country. Small, but his own. His own bedroom, a main room, working plumbing in a bathroom, and closets for extra clothing of all things. And the fools had just given this to him, either thinking he was one of their own, or had happily switched sides.

He could get an even greater house if he gave Flower Hill over to Tokgasi and the Weasel Unit. A larger home, with luxuries Flower Hill eschewed, maybe even his own servants, as he had seen other mice get for procuring a great victory for their weasel masters, should they be so inclined.

And perhaps, despite how nice they had been, the thought that Flower Hill fully deserved destruction for their inaction towards the suffering taking place in Usuhan Jiyeog still arose. Just sitting back and not interfering as his people starved and died of sickness, hardly having a care in the world about those who had slighted them generations ago. Jollin had seen the firepower around Cherry Valley and elsewhere, knew that with precision strikes they could have easily wiped out the leaders and most of the Weasel Unit, making their country safer, but they were too soft to do so. Once the weasels were gone, most of the mice would likely starve to death without overseers telling them what to do, so Flower Hill should not have to worry about that.

Still, the firepower he had been allowed to casually see gave him pause in reporting anything.

Either way, there would be a meeting tonight. The message noted to leave the door unlocked.

……………………………………………………………………….

The hill in front of his house blocked his view of the valley below, and he assumed that hedgehogs would spy on him from there. Which meant it was a perfect area for Tokgasi and his agents, along with other scouts, to survey as well to make sure they were not being watched.

The mice gathered in the main room, some watching the windows to make sure no one snuck up on the house. Nervous fools, Jollin noted. One of these days, during one of these meetings, someone was going to make a mistake and capture a hedgehog who passed by, instead of hiding. The smarter infiltrators had run away when Tokgasi’s scout ring had collapsed, helped by Jollin’s instructions on the lax security that appeared during specific times. He had heard the other mice whispering rumors of Geumbanji’s mercenary group running a series of safe-houses for deserters, ending somewhere near the border of Chaand Hadia.

Which, while an odd tactic for mercenaries to use, made perfect sense. Geumbanji himself needed to lie low, now that Flower Hill had realized he was a traitor, and with other countries likely keeping a lookout for him as well, he might be bored. Besides, he would get money, news, and supplies from the traffic, while Flower Hill could watch a steady stream of soldiers leave the ranks of the Weasel Unit. The gold ringed mouse could run his mercenary operation from anywhere.

Fleeing to Chaand Hadia had also been one of his possible routes for desertion, but the stories he had heard about the endless food supply and idiotic citizens of Flower Hill who would just give him things had been too tempting. Besides, he would rather see if the foreign country he knew almost nothing about would actually welcome mice and allow them to assimilate. Best not to be among the first. Even if not, he could still hide somewhere.

But that was not important at the moment. Tokgasi was giving him orders.

“We have finally managed to make contact with the second scout we have embedded around the Command Center. We know that he will be at the festival working security, which is good for us to sneak in. Once you make your deliveries, seek him out and give him this message,” Tokgasi handed him a light pink data chip. “These will give him his next instructions.”

“Activating the sleeper agent, eh?” Jollin snickered, trying his best to sound like a typical mouse, fawning over his boss.

“Naturally! It is time that we start to make our moves to prepare to strike.” Tokgasi smiled back, all previous suspicion of Jollin being a traitor who deserted gone from his mind

“Alright, it should be easy enough, sir! I will complete my mission!” Jollin saluted properly.

The other mice smiled and cheered softly, not wanting to arouse suspicion from outside, if anyone was lurking.

Well, this is interesting. Two Weasel Unit scouts embedded in the command center could spell doom for Flower Hill. But Flower Hill also expected him to find a scout at the festival, which meant that they might already know, betraying the remainder of his own little group of friends.

Jollin supposed he would have to see how it would go.

…………….

End Part One

[unsiredtribrid]

hosie and 38

"Josie," Hope says, tapping her foot impatiently against the siphon's leg. She's unconscious, so it's not like it'll do anything, but Hope is easily annoyed in this state and wants her to wake up already.

She heard from Kol once that having your humanity off was a blast to some vampires, but for her it felt like she was always irritable. But maybe if people made any semblance of an effort to be less disappointing, she wouldn’t have to be so irritated so often.

Josie had said she would let Hope feed on her as long as she didn't kill any more of the locals, but now she's already passed out after hardly even a sip from the tribrid.

Her body is heavy and warm in Hope's arms and the tribrid’s heightened senses tell her the girl’s heart is still beating and her blood still flowing. She hadn’t drained her completely, she’d just gotten a little carried away because, well… Josie tastes good.

Way better than anyone she had fed on in the past week in her travels. It’s another reason why she wants Josie to wake up– it’s not like she cares about her, or anything.

“Jo,” she says again, giving her an insistent shake. “I’m still hungry. If you don’t wake up in five, someone’s getting turned into my personal juice box.” Even despite her ravenous hunger, the words come out sounding bored, as if she barely even cares about that.

It’s snarky, but she doesn’t expect it to actually work. Josie stirs in her arms, her bleary brown eyes cracking open. “W-What happened?” she mumbles, looking disoriented. It would almost be cute, if Hope still had the humanity to think so. Besides, it’s just an objective fact that Josie is cute. It’s not like it means anything if Hope notices. “Wait…”

Her voice sounds almost sleepy, despite the fact she’d been passed out and not from a nap. But Hope can feel the vampiric veins blossoming beneath her eyes, glancing down at the blood still smeared on Josie’s neck from where she was feeding earlier. She wants more. 

“Did I faint?” Josie asks groggily, struggling against Hope’s body as she rights herself, standing on her own two feet. Hope doesn’t let go of her, arms still wrapped around her shoulders and middle to support her as she tries to gain her balance. Her fangs are sharpening in her mouth as she stares at the small trickle of blood on Josie’s neck.

“You fainted,” Hope agrees, deadpan. “Pretty melodramatic, if you ask me. You could’ve just tried flirting, if you wanted me to hold you.” The words are teasing and bold and the part of her that’s locked away, deep beneath it all, wonders faintly if she ever would’ve had the courage to say this to Josie with her humanity. Maybe she would have, in a different life.

But her words have a surprising effect on the siphon, who blushes profusely as her hand comes up to press against her bloody neck. Deep brown eyes meet Hope’s sharp blue ones, looking uncertain and shining with emotion that the tribrid can’t even begin to pinpoint. “You know it wouldn’t be right if I did that…” she says uneasily, glancing away. Hope can tell she’s recalling their past together; their shared history. Hope knows intimately what it was like for Josie to lose control to the darkness. The problem is that all of the emotion she felt about that situation– and about Josie, too– is locked away behind impenetrable glass in her mind. All she feels now is numbness. Anger. Hunger.

“We had a deal,” Hope reminds her callously, stepping towards her, arms encircling her waist possessively, almost to encourage Josie to lean into her.

She doesn’t fight it. Josie, cheeks burning, leans her head to the side to reveal her neck once more. “Just go easy this time… I accidentally siphoned you while you were drinking too fast and it went to my head.”

Hope is sure that she would feel flattered by how far Josie is going for her right now, if she could feel. The ghost of emotion passes by, not stirring anything meaningful in her. She brushes Josie’s hair out of the way with slender fingers, leaning down to sink her fangs into the siphon’s soft flesh.

[burinazar]

im editing that stupid 16k threesome fic i wrote in July to keep from going insane while preparing for my move and it sure is. something. there’s actually a lot of good stuff it’s not nearly as hokey as i remembered but i’m actually having some logistical issues editing this stupid mostly-sex-and-internal-monologue story.

the main thing but not the only thing is that I’d like to break it into three chapters but am having trouble choosing pleasing points to do so. another problem that was actually fairly interesting to figure out was “POV character (Be) watches another character (Vue) contemplate her relationship to a third one (Waz) and the writing and wording leaves ample room for interpretation on whether ‘what he thinks she feels’, ‘what she really feels’, and ‘what the author writing this feels’ are all the same or potentially of sync, rather than our POV character having perfect insight that doubles as an author tract” but i think I got that one figured out in the end

(also i originally for some reason decided to do a big stupid and edit it directly in ao3 draft form, probably thinking I’d be done in a couple days so it was fine, and you can guess what happened to it. that was so dispiriting that i abandoned it for six months. but it really is like, literally done and should get edited and uploaded)

[bi-focal12]

Idolish7 fanfic- Morning (1,210 words)

a friend showed me this clip of Idolish7 and i've been binging the show ever since

this is my contribution to the fandom lol

--

“Iorin,” Tamaki whined, slumping into the doorframe of their dorm bathroom, still dressed in his pajamas. “Where’s my toothbrush?”

Iori continued straightening his school tie in the mirror, sparing an irritated glance towards his team member. “I’m not your mother.”

Tamaki’s head slumped lower on the frame. “But Iorin, it’s not there.”

“Where else would it be?” Iori shot back, thankful that Tamaki’s closed eyes allowed him to stealthily tally up the toothbrushes scattered around the sink. 

Iori’s toothbrush was resting upright in the cup meant for toothbrushes, as was Sogo-san’s and Yamato-san’s. Nagi-san’s- an obnoxiously pink, wand-shaped thing- was beside the cup at least, and Mitsuki’s was balanced on the tiny line of counter ledge the same way he’d done since they were young, and Nanase-san’s was in the shower like a heathen. 

Tamaki’s toothbrush was not there. 

“King pudding,” Tamaki mumbled. 

Iori stomped on his foot and Tamaki jerked to attention with a cry. “Don’t you dare fall asleep!” Iori chastised. 

“But-”

“Either go find it or go buy a new one, but if you’re late getting back I will leave for school without you.”

Tamaki yawned. “I’ll just have a mint.”

Iori frowned. “That’s unsanitary.”

“Then I’ll ask the manager for one.”

“That’s rude.” Iori pushed past Tamaki to exit the bathroom. “She’s way too busy already to go running errands for you.”

Tamaki groaned, letting Iori’s small nudge of his shoulder turn into a slow-motion pantomime of being shoved to the ground. “I just won’t go to school then,” he said, curling up on the hallway’s dirty carpet. 

Iori huffed and stepped over Tamaki’s limp body to make his way towards the kitchen where Sogo-san, predictably, sat at the table nursing a warm cup of tea. 

The mug was halfway to his lips when he noticed Iori’s approach and he paused, smiling. “Oh, Iori-kun. Good mo-”

“Tamaki’s on the ground because he’s lazy and can’t find his toothbrush and won’t go buy a new one and if he tries to leave the house with me without cleaning his mouth I might kill him.”

Sogo-san hardly blinked while Iori explained the situation, and only after a long sip of tea that had Iori tapping his foot on the ground in impatience did he finally say, “You’re not really a morning person, are you, Iori-kun?”

Iori frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sogo-san smiled gently. “You’re just normally a lot more…level-headed.”

“I’m being level-headed,” Iori huffed, “I went and got you, didn’t I?’

Sogo-san blinked. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Iori, maturely, resisted the urge to groan aloud and walked (not stomped) to the fridge instead to pour himself a glass of orange juice. As he watched the glass fill with bright pulpy liquid, he mentally recited, it’s good for you, there are antioxidants, it helps your gut and when he felt marginally more relaxed he turned to Sogo-san. Calmly. 

“You manage him for Mezzo, don’t you?”

Sogo-san made a so-so gesture with his head, mouth twisting with uncertainty and what were probably thoughts he wouldn’t dare let escape his polite mouth. 

“So manage him,” Iori demanded, downing his glass in one go and depositing it in the sink where it belonged. He wrinkled his nose at the myriad of cups still littering the counter from yesterday. 

Iori lived with a horde of pigs. 

Sogo-san continued to drink his tea, lightly tapping out the melody to one of their most recent songs on the tabletop with the soft pad of his fingertip.

The clock continued to tick away. 

Iori marched to the chair directly opposite him and stared- maturely and unflinchingly. 

Ten seconds, Iori predicted. 

Sogo-san’s tapping turned more forced, his gaze darting anywhere but Iori. 

Eight…

“He’s not my responsibility, you know.”

Iori lightly tipped his head in acknowledgement, then let his gaze track pointedly over all the empty chairs surrounding them. 

Six…

“Tamaki-kun needs to learn to do things for himself,” Sogo-san pointed out. “This could be a learning experience!”

Iori raised his eyebrow. 

Sogo-san’s mouth twisted. 

Four…

“This isn’t even Mezzo related. Not really.”

Iori scoffed. 

Three…

“Maybe…maybe he’s already gone looking for his toothbrush?” he suggested hopefully. 

Two…

Iori discreetly held his breath, hoping to punctuate the perfect silence permeating the dorms. There was absolutely no toothbrush-related ruffling. 

One. 

“Oh, fine,” Sogo-san sighed, rising unhappily from the table and pointing a finger towards Iori, “but I’m not his keeper.”

“Uh-huh,” Iori agreed lightly. 

“I’m not,” Sogo-san repeated, denial thick on his tongue as he walked toward the bathroom, tea still in hand. 

“And I don’t have a thing for idiots,” Iori murmured under his breath. 

There were still fifteen minutes before he and Tamaki needed to leave for school so maybe he could just shut his eyes for a-

Nanase-san suddenly pulled out the chair beside Iori and shot him a grin far too sunny for the early morning hour, placing two plates of toast down. “You don’t have a what?” he asked pleasantly, sliding one toward Iori. 

Iori squinted in the face of such brightness, then cleared his throat.

“Nothing. Is this all you know how to make?”

Nanase-san’s bright smile melted into a frown. “I told you I’ve never lived on my own before,” he complained. 

Iori took a bite of the offering, pleased. 

“You’re pathetic.”

“I am not,” Nanase-san denied halfheartedly, too used to this particular insult to rise to the bait like he had when they had first formed Idolish7. 

Iori would just have to try harder, then. 

“You didn’t even make anything at all! How’re you gonna stay healthy for the group if you’re skipping meals, huh?”

Iori spared a glance at Nanase’s overly sincere expression to ensure he wasn’t making things up but no, Nanase’s best rebuttal was an earnest appeal to Iori’s health. 

How cute. 

Iori cleared his throat. “How could I cook with Tamaki-kun making such a fuss?”

“What? Tamaki’s still asleep in the hallway.”

A spike of irritation shot through Iori. After he’d gone through all that effort to get Sogo-san to solve the problem, too. 

“He better not be. I’ll kill him.”

Nanase-san laughed, unfairly awake and amused at such an early hour. His right hand rested comfortably on the back of Iori’s chair. “You’re not much of a morning person, are you?”

Iori was…not sure what kind of a person he was, yet. 

Still, he knew he found delight in giving Nanase-san a hard time and, mature as he was, Iori couldn’t see a reason to give that up when it made him feel so pleasantly warm. 

Iori shrugged carelessly, tucking away any hint of the smile he felt growing in his chest. “Maybe I’d be cheerier if you didn’t burn my toast.”

“What?” Nanase-san exclaimed. “No way! I didn’t burn anything!”

Iori stared at him blanky until Nanase-san began to fidget, his cheeks taking on a bit of the color Iori worked so hard to see everyday. 

“Well,” Nanase-san mumbled, eyes darting away, “you ate it anyway so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Iori rose from the table and placed his empty plate in the sink, where it belonged, lips curling upward only with Nanase-san at his back. 

“I’m very polite, Nanase-san.”

“Polite my ass.”