#moped last lifeline

[thatdraggo]

Trying to convince myself that this isn’t going to be a killing game and that they’ll all hold hands or something.

Ignore fetped (fetus moped) I was trying to draw him curled up and cozy. For the unreleased object show last lifeline! Please check out the creator! You’ll find them in one of these tags probably. If not I will link their acc here!

Also uh head canon for red ink pen lol

[lovemyavatar]

STAR GIRL

| Lo'ak x F!Avatar!Reader |

Summary: time heals all wounds

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, reconciliation, (aged up) nsfw, switch Lo’ak, mating WHOOP WHOOP

chapter seven chapter nine

Chapter Eight

Lo’ak has never been quiet.

He’s never been one to sit still, to remain in one place for too long. He’s antsy by nature, constantly moving, acting on every whim that pops into his head. Nothing like his older brother, he’s reckless, impulsive, never too far from trouble.

It’s why his current subdued demeanor has caused such a stir within the clan. Things have been quiet, without event for a solid five day stretch. It’s nearly unheard of, going so long between stories of Lo’ak’s misadventures.

He’s simply goes about his business in silence. Completes his chores without protest, obeys orders the first time. Doesn’t argue with anyone, not even Jake. Not even Neytiri.

She’s tried, sitting beside him at meals, seeking him out during the day. She’ll run her fingers over his braids, cooing under her breath when he won’t even look at her. But he’s stonewalling her. Hasn’t even so much as spoken a single word to his mother since you left.

Whispers follow him like jagged shadows, questions of what happened and, where is Y/N making his ears twitch with unease.

For the first time in years, his family is truly worried. He’s been a bit of an outcast since childhood, marching to his own beat. But his head always remained high, spine straight with confidence despite his inclination toward loneliness.

It’s nothing like the picture of him now. Between duties he wanders aimlessly, eyes glazed and dull. There’s no energy behind his stride, he merely sulks around like a scorned child. His shoulders droop, as if heavy from the lingering devastation plaguing his soul.

When he doesn’t feel like moping openly, his sits near the edge of the forest, knees tucked into his chest, arms wrapped around himself as if they’re a lifeline, keeping him whole. If he’s feeling truly vindictive, if he wants to punish himself exceptionally hard, he’ll go to your secret spot and just cry.

The only thing that’s given him motivation to get out of bed, provided a tiny semblance of peace, are his continued efforts to win you back.

The day you left him, nearly a week ago, haunts him. It replays each time his eyes close, even if only to blink. He’s cursed himself a million times for letting you go, for watching you fly away as if the last several months meant nothing.

To him, they are everything.

And he’s determined to prove it to you. He hasn’t stopped looking after you, making sure you’re safe at the very least. He knows you’re hurting just as he is, but if anything harmed you physically—if your perfect skin acquired any scars because of him—he’d never forgive himself.

When you took to the sky that day, he was quick to follow on his own Ikran. He kept a wide birth between you, a large enough distance to remain undetected in your distracted state. Every sway, every near fall due to both your and the animal’s exhaustion made his heart drop.

You wandered for a bit, circling the area until you seemed to find whatever it was you were looking for. He trailed you all the way back to the lab, only Eywa knows how you actually managed to spot it while high above the clouds.

He found a place to hide among the trees, silently watching as you staggered your way inside the small building. Mixed emotions made his chest ache, relief that you were somewhere safe, and grief that it wasn’t with him.

There hasn’t been a single day where he doesn’t manage to sneak back to see you. He feels a bit like a creep, ducking into the foliage to watch you. The slight embarrassment isn’t nearly enough to deter him, every tiny glimpse only fanning the flame of determination.

The first day, you woke to find a bushel of plants outside the lab door. It was an odd mix of flowers and leaves, but nearly every color under the sun was present, creating a beautiful mix.

Next, a basket of yovo fruit, the same food the two of you shared during your first real encounter all those months ago.

Then, it was jewelry. Bracelets, arm bands, each piece expertly woven and adorned with personalized beads. Your fingertips spent extra time trailing over small letters, carved into the bead at the center of a choker. An L for him, the first letter of your name right beside it.

On the fourth day, you could tell he was getting desperate. When you opened the lab door, all that greeted you was your journal, placed neatly on the ground with your throat microphone laying on the cover. It made your breath hitch, eyes trailing up toward the trees. You scanned the area, unable to shake the feeling that he was close by.

He risked the wrath of his parents to get the items back for you, a thought that made your stomach twist with emotions you’d desperately tried ignoring.

On day five, there was nothing. You’d be lying if you said your ears hadn’t flattened in disappointment, heart hadn’t dropped at the idea that he’d given up on you. You retreated back into the lab, resuming your usual activities, though your mind was decidedly elsewhere.

You’ve barely slept, eaten only what Meg manages to shove into your hands when you aren’t paying attention. The pain in your chest has dulled to a constant ache, an all-consuming reminder of why you’re back here in the first place.

The days stretch on and on, as you yearn to be within the forest. Your soul cries out to be reunited with the clan, with Home Tree and the few people you know love and care about you, like Kiri and Tuk. Their sudden absence in your life has left a gaping hole, a wound now filled only with the bitter sting of loneliness.

But fear overrides your desire to flea toward familiarity. To go back there—to face Jake and Neytiri—it would be like walking yourself to the gallows. You’d be offering yourself for banishment, or worse. So, no matter how badly you want to return, you know it’s for the best if you don’t.

“Please, take pity on the poor boy.” Meg’s sudden voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts.

You look up from your work station, where everything is now packed neatly in cardboard boxes. Your eyes find her as she walks into the room, her own items held tightly in her arms. Your brows furrow with confusion, unsure what she’s referring to.

The two of you have talked endlessly about Lo’ak, and the subsequent downfall of your relationship. You’ve poured your heart out, barring every scar the two of you engrained in the organ. She’s listened and given much needed advice but still, the statement seems random.

“Oh, come on.” She unceremoniously dumps her armful of office supplies onto her desk, hand sweeping toward the lab door. “He’s been sulking out there for, like, three hours.”

Your eyes pop wide, heart leaping in your chest. Lo’ak is here? The thought makes your stomach twist with anxiety. You haven’t seen so much as a glimpse of him since your conversation in the forest all those days ago.

“Meg!” You chastise, gaze snapping toward the nearest window, shocked she waited this long to say anything.

“I thought you knew!” She’s quick to defend, hands raising in a show of surrender.

A slow breath leaves your lungs as your eyes hesitantly flick toward her again. Her expression softens at the look of turmoil written all over your face.

“You should go tell him the news.” Her voice is gentle, eyes knowing as she begins organizing her things.

Your chest tightens with uncertainty. Every second of every day since you left him, your heart has yearned to be close to his again. It’s taken much rationalization to prevent yourself from flying back to the clan and falling into his arms.

No matter how much you want him, miss him, ache for him, you’ve convinced yourself it’s just not what’s best. There are too many forces working against you. Too many voices calling out everything that’s wrong with the union.

Early on in the week, you resigned yourself to never seeing him again. The fact that he would be safe, would get to stay with his family, brought a bit of comfort to your shattered heart.

That is, until things changed here at the lab, forcing you to make a more permanent decision.

“Yeah.” You nod absently in agreement, bottom lip tucking between sharp teeth.

Your gaze flickers over the closed lab door, stomach dipping. You didn’t expect for it to happen like this. Honestly, you wanted this conversation to be on your terms. It would’ve been so much easier to tell him if you had time to rehearse, time to think about how to break the news gently.

“Go on.” Meg crosses the room with a dramatic roll of her eyes. Her hands wrap around your shoulders, firmly guiding you toward the door.

“Wait—” You panic a bit, unease tightening your chest. Your heels dig into the tiled floor, but it’s no use.

Within seconds, she rips the door open, shoving you outside with a hand against your back. Before you can even catch your balance, just as you turn around, the large metal slab slams in your face.

Your gaze is locked on the structure, heart slamming between your ribs. Your lungs tremble as you force a calming breath from your lips. A tap on the window beside the door makes your attention shift, landing on Meg as she shoos you away.

Your expression pinches, hands tightening into fists as you force yourself to face him.

He’s just scrambled up from the dirt, muscles rigid at the sound of movement for the first time since he arrived. He stands several feet away, looking every bit the mess you feel. His braids are unkempt, face sunken with the effects of barely eating or sleeping for nearly a week.

The sight of him sends a shockwave through your system. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the rush of emotion that overtakes you as his eyes desperately bore into yours. Your heart swells and clenches in your chest, stomach rolling with uncertainty.

“Why is everything in boxes?” The question releases from his lungs in one swift breath, voice barely above a broken whisper.

His gaze sweeps from your head to your toes, just to prove to himself that you’re still okay. That you’re really standing right here in front of him. He watches as you curl inward, arms wrapping around your middle, and his heart splinters. His hands ball into fists at his hips to prevent himself from reaching out.

You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. You’d almost forgotten how intense his gaze is, how he makes your stomach flutter with a simple glance.

“The lab is moving.” You visibly wince at the way his eyes bulge, wishing you’d found a more gentle way to phrase the bombshell.

“No, no.” He charges forward a few steps, arms outstretched before forcing himself to stop. To give you space. His breath catches, panic gripping his chest. “Y/N, you can’t do this.”

“Lo’ak…” You prod carefully, a tiny step closing another fraction of the distance between you.

“I know you're upset with me, but I—you can't just disappear!” His voice raises, aching to grab you and never let go. He wants nothing more than to throw you over his shoulder. Bring you back and force you to hear him out.

He can only take so much, and his resistance is wearing thin. It’s why he showed up today. He just couldn’t wait a second longer to see you, to talk to you. The need to fix things between you is overwhelming, he can’t focus on anything else until you’re back in his arms safely.

“Lo'ak.” His name is a pointed hiss as you step forward again, now only a foot of space separating you. One of your hands lifts, palm facing him in an attempt to calm his unease.

“Y/N, I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I'll even go with you!” His eyes round desperately, chin wobbling with rising emotion. “I don’t know how to do any of your science stuff, but I’ll learn! I’ll do anything—”

“Lo'ak!” You yell sharply, cutting off his panic before he completely unravels in front of you.

He stops, breath hitching. His vision blurs, devastation clawing at his chest as he imagines how unfulfilling a life of never seeing you again would be.

“I’m not going with them.” You catch his eyes, willing him to understand what you’re trying to say.

“What?” He breathes, truly expecting you to say anything but that.

It feels like his chest in caving in, a painful mix of emotion swelling between his ribs. A tiny flicker of hope ignites within his soul as his gaze searches yours, waiting for you to proclaim that this is all some sick joke.

“I want to come home.” The words fall from trembling lips, only a quiet murmur, but they set him ablaze.

When Meg told you about the move, and the correspondence they’d received just yesterday, it helped put your conflicting thoughts to rest. It was clear instantly what you should’ve known all along—there’s no better place for you than at Lo’ak’s side. Despite the forces stacked against you.

A ragged sob bursts from Lo’ak’s chest as he closes the distance between you. In an instant, his hands are on you, fingers sinking into the braids at the back of your head. He jerks you forward, claiming your lips with his in a bruising kiss.

You lean into him, arms winding around his neck to keep him close. Your mouth is feverish on his, a wild release of days of pent up longing. Tears roll freely from your eyes and his, coating both your cheeks with moisture. Your lips meld together, tongues exploring as if for the first time again.

When his lungs cry out from lack of air, he reluctantly pulls back, forehead pressing into yours. He feels like he might just die if he isn’t touching you in as many places as possible. Your chest heaves with the effort of calming your ragged breath.

He only manages to take in a single gulp before the need to reattach his lips to your skin becomes overwhelming. He peppers gentle kisses along your cheeks, the curve of your jaw, all the way down the column of your neck. When he reaches the place just above your collarbone, he pulls away, eyes catching on his craftsmanship.

“You’re wearing it.” He breathes, surprised. He hadn’t even noticed it until now.

“I haven’t taken it off.” One of your hands leaves his neck, fingertips running over the choker you’ve been wearing nonstop since it arrived.

His lips pull into a wobbly grin, heart exploding with relief. Maybe that means you forgive him, or that you’re willing to give him another chance at the very least. He leans forward to capture your lips again, but you sway back, keeping him a few inches away.

“Lo’ak—” You try, knowing what you need to tell him can’t wait much longer.

“No, don’t say anything.” His head shakes, heavy-lidded eyes searing a hole straight to your lower belly as he connects your lips again.

You hum against him, back arching as his fingers trail a light path down your spine. You can’t help but respond with equal passion after having no real contact with him for days. But still, the words gnaw at the back of your mind, forcing you to pull away with a gasp.

“It’s—this is important.” A small giggle bubbles in your chest as his brows pinch in irritation, lips chasing yours again.

He growls in displeasure as you deny him, arms tightening around your waist. One of your hands snakes between you, shoving against his chest lightly. He barely moves an inch, only giving you the tiniest fraction of space.

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you, you skxawng (idiot)!” You laugh, hand slapping against his chest lightly.

His brows lift, lips quirking into a tiny smile of disbelief. His wide eyes search yours, hot moisture blurring his vision. He blinks the tears away, a huge grin splitting his face as he drops his arms from around your waist. There’s barely a second for confusion to set in before his fingers hook the backs of your knees, pulling you off the ground.

You can’t help but yelp in surprise, legs closing around his hips instantly. Your ankles cross at his back, arms locking together behind his neck. There’s only an inch of space between you, just enough to smile down at him as he lifts his face toward yours.

“I’ll only ask once, I promise, I just need to hear it.” His eyes glimmer with hope, with desperation as they bore into yours. “Does this mean…?”

Fingertips dance along his temples, thumbs gently clearing the tears that have gathered beneath his eyes. Your smile deepens, heart swelling in your chest. For the first time in days, your mind is at ease. The pain in your chest is gone, replaced with nothing but warm affection.

“I’m yours, Lo’ak.” You watch as the whispered affirmation washes over him.

His eyes flutter closed, a contented smile lifting his lips. He lets out a sigh of relief, tense muscles finally releasing. One of his hands leaves your back to cradle your head as he guides your mouth back to his.

The kiss is gentle this time, soft and slow as he pours every last bit of his joy and love into you. You don’t even realize you’re moving until he steps over something, jostling your body in his arms slightly. You’re quick to deepen the kiss, limbs tightening around him.

He keeps moving, blindly carrying you to the place he knows his Ikran is waiting.

“I’ll send your stuff!” You hear Meg call out distantly, laughter shaking her voice. You wave her off without looking, without detaching yourself from Lo’ak.

The two of you keep moving like this, firmly wound together, lips passionately making up for lost time. Within another minute he has to pull away, reluctantly removing his lips from yours. His nose brushes yours, dragging up and down the smooth skin to maintain as much contact as possible.

“Hold on, baby.” He whispers, blindly connecting his and the Ikran’s queue before mounting its back.

You shift in his arms, surprise momentarily breaking the spell of rising lust. You hadn’t even realized it was here, didn’t even notice that he’d climbed the animal until warm hands gently guided you to sit in front of him.

Long fingers slip along your jaw, tenderly angling your face toward his. Glittering yellow shines down at you, a sort of broken uncertainty darkening it’s usual bright color.

“Are you sure about this? If you leave with me, I’m never letting you go.” He’s completely serious, voice rough as he makes the declaration.

If you do this, become his, there’s nothing that could ever pull you away from him again. He’ll stay by your side from sunrise to eclipse if that’s what it takes. Once you’re his nothing, and no one, will ever take you from him again.

“Lo’ak…” His name is a breathless whisper as your hands smooth over the column of his neck. “I’ve wanted you since you pointed an arrow at me, twice. I’ve wanted you since you taught me how to run, to climb, to hunt. I’ve wanted you during every training session, every game, every single moment we’ve been apart.”

“I want you. I love you. I see you.” Every affirmation is accented with a searing kiss on his lips.

You pull back, heavy-lidded gaze catching his as he shivers beneath you. The words cause a tremor to roll up his spine, stomach twisting with hot desire. It’s everything he’s been desperate to hear his entire life. The words, coming from your beautiful mouth, are almost enough to ruin him on the spot.

His lips claim yours in a rough kiss, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling within his chest. His Ikran shifts beneath you, large wings stretching as if getting ready to take flight.

“Eyes on the sky, yawnetu (love).” You pull away with a laugh, believing that in his current state, he would actually try to fly blind if it meant he could keep kissing you.

He grins down at you, pecking your lips one last time before taking to the sky. You settle into him, head resting against his chest, the steady thrum of his heart calming your still fried nerves. The journey is short, within minutes you're on the ground once again.

Lo'ak jumps deftly from his Ikran, disconnecting their queues before lifting a helping hand in your direction. He grins up at you, unable to hide the overwhelming joy he feels at having you by his side again. It still doesn't feel real. A tinge of anxiety still plagues the back of his mind with whispers that it's too good to be true, that he doesn't deserve you.

The second your feet meet the warm earth, he pulls you into him, arm snaking around your back to press your front against his chest. His free hand cups your jaw, guiding your mouth back to his. Your arms curl around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer.

He walks you backward, groaning into the kiss. Warmth fills his chest, overwhelms his senses as he’s overcome with the desire to make you his. You don’t even realize where you are, not until the sound of running water fills your ears as you move closer to the source.

You break away from the kiss, trying soothe ragged breaths, eyes scanning the area. A grin splits your lips as Lo’ak maintains contact, skimming his mouth down the column of your throat. A shiver rolls along your spine as you hold onto him, heart swelling with love and appreciation.

He’s brought you to the pond, the place you’ve shared so many special moments. It’s fitting, you think, for your reunion to happen here. Moisture prickles at the corners of your eyes at the small act of thoughtfulness.

“Lo’ak, there’s—there’s something I need to tell you…” You pant, head tilting back as his lips kiss and suckle at your collarbone.

He hums against you in protest, his only response other than continuing to lavish your skin with adoration. Your brows furrow, hands moving to cradle the sides of his head. A tiny moan spills from your lips when he licks a slow line down to the swell of your breasts.

“It’s important.” You insist, the words eating at the back of your mind, threatening to break the blissful spell of his touch. Just the thought of telling him, of ruining such a wonderful moment, has your stomach twisting with anxiety. But you know it’s necessary. “It might change things.”

His head shakes in your hold, pulling away just enough to brush his nose along yours.

“Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” The words are a breathless promise against your lips as he kisses them softly. “Please, just tell me after.”

He moves back again, rounded eyes boring into yours. Within the bright yellow swirls love, hope, worry, and finally, a tinge of desperation. He’s silently pleading with you not to do this, not to say anything that could potentially pull you from him. From this moment.

A soft breath leaves your lips, fingers smoothing into his braids. His eyes flutter, head tilting back slightly as the sensation washes over him. His shoulders drop, tension leaving his tired muscles as he gives into the feeling of the light tug against his scalp.

“After what exactly?” Your lips quirk into a tiny smirk, voice teasing as you watch him melt at your simple touch.

His eyes pop open, heavy-lidded and a bit dazed as they catch yours. “Did you really think you’d be leaving here without becoming my mate?”

A shiver rolls down your spine, heat settling in your lower belly at his hoarse tone. His sweltering gaze flicks to your mouth for a brief moment before his lips claim yours in a passionate kiss.

He can’t get enough. No matter how much of his skin touches yours, he wants—needs more. Something intense swells in his chest, makes him feel lightheaded, knees buckling under his weight. He folds to the earth slowly, taking you down with him.

You don’t skip a beat, easily settling into his lap. Your thighs part, creating space for him to slide between them as your knees press into the dirt on either side of his hips. A stream of low moans waft over you, and you realize he’s trembling.

Your hands smooth down his hair, cupping the sides of his neck gently. The soft press of your fingers under his jaw guides him back, just enough to allow you to pepper sweet kisses over the overheated skin of his face.

“Lo’ak?” You breathe, slightly concerned by his flustered state.

“I-I need…” His chest heaves with ragged pants as his eyes glimmer up at you, almost pleadingly.

It’s all too much, having you in his arms again. Knowing that you’re safe, that you love him the way he loves you, it’s overwhelming in the best way possible. The rush of emotion he’s desperately been avoiding for days crashes over him relentlessly, making his mind go fuzzy.

Sharp teeth catch your lower lip, slick center clenching with desire as you realize what’s going on. He’s fallen into this state before, after particularly hard days with his dad or siblings. It’s few and far between, his natural inclination toward dominance usually taking precedence.

Right now, he needs reassurance, praise, and you’re more than happy to give it to him.

“Okay, it’s okay.” You coo softly, lips trailing a searing path along his throat. His head tilts back, giving you space to explore sticky skin. “I got you.”

Your hips grind against the hard length trapped beneath his loincloth, your own garment moistening at the idea of taking care of him. His jaw goes slack, mouth falling open as soft moans rumble from his chest.

“Oel ngati kameie (I see you).” Your voice is a low whisper directly into his ear, tongue flicking against the outer edge.

It twitches under your light touch, flattening against his head. He shifts beneath you, a quiet whimper leaving his open mouth. Slowly, one of your hands snakes down his chest, his stomach, all the way to his straining cock.

His hips jerk when you squeeze him gently, warm breath fanning your chest as his forehead falls into you, grunting at the surge of pleasure. Gently, you untie the strings securing his loincloth, letting his cock spring free. It bounces against his stomach, heavy with desire.

“I love you.” You murmur into his hair, free hand massaging his scalp while the other lightly grips his cock.

Another broken whimper rumbles against your chest as you pump him slowly. His arms tighten around your middle, trapping your arm within the minuscule space between you. Warmth floods you system when he drags his fangs against your collarbone, suckling bruises into your skin along the way.

Your pace increases, fingers twisting so your thumb can catch the underside of his tip the way that makes him fall apart. His hips rut into yours, jostling you a bit, a low groan vibrating from his chest to yours. You can’t help but grind down onto him, seeking relief for your aching core.

His palms trail down your sides, long fingers curling around your waist. Without warning, he lifts you, easily maneuvering you into the position he wants. One of his hands grips your knee, untucking it from around his back so he can settle you onto one of his legs.

Heat prickles at your skin when your slick sex lands firmly against one of his thighs. The muscle flexes beneath you, creating much needed friction. You hum in satisfaction, rolling yourself over his leg at a steady pace.

His head lifts, heavy-lidded eyes searching for yours. But they’re already closed, head thrown back in ecstasy as the coil of pleasure tightens in your lower belly. They pop open at the sensation of fingers around your throat, squeezing gently to get your attention.

“Look at me, baby girl.” He rasps, trying desperately to stave off his mounting release.

Your breath hitches, an unbearably hot wave of desire landing between your legs at the sudden show of dominance. Your head lifts, eyes catching his in a heated standoff. His chest heaves, heart thrumming wildly between his ribs.

After a few beats you can’t take it anymore, the warmth in your core, the longing in your chest too intense to ignore for a second longer. Your free arm winds around his neck, fingers blindly searching until they find his queue.

A hoarse gasp lodges in his throat as you guide the thick braid forward, bringing it between your bodies. Your other hand leaves his cock, now coated with precum, quickly grabbing your own queue.

“Are—are you sure?” He pants, feeling like his chest might rupture at any moment. Excitement and apprehension swell within him, as he silently begs Eywa that you won’t deny him this time.

“Yes.” The confirmation is a breathless sound against his skin as you lean forward, pressing your forehead into his for support.

You’ve never been more sure of anything as you bring the ends of your queues together, tendrils curling into one another.

Sensation explodes within you, more intense than you’ve ever felt before. Every piece of Lo’ak rushes into you. His thoughts, emotions, the weight of your body against his. It’s all there, as if you’re experiencing it yourself. It makes your spine straighten, muscles tensing against the onslaught of stimulation.

Beneath you, Lo’ak’s eyes pop open, pupils blowing wide as he feels everything. Every shift and sway of your body against his. The way you love him, cherish him is overwhelming, the flood of affirmation swelling around his heart until he fears it may give out.

His skin warms, shocked at the depth of your feelings for him. It surpasses even his wildest dreams, the most outlandish fantasies he never allowed himself to dwell on. He can't help but moan desperately, hand leaving your throat to eagerly tear at the tie of your loincloth.

Once your glistening pussy is on display for him, he grips your hips, lifting you from his thigh to drag your slit along his throbbing length. A long moan falls from your lips, arms winding around his neck as he teases your entrance. The two of you have never done this, never gone this far.

You've both explored each other's bodies, brought each other pleasure, but this always seemed too intimate. Too sacred for anything other than this moment, when you come together as one before Eywa.

Lo'ak's entire body is quaking with the effort of holding back, of taking this slow for you. If it was up to him, he'd ram his cock into your waiting pussy hard enough to make you see stars, claiming you as his once and for all. But he wants this to happen on your terms, wants you to feel in control of how this happens for the first time.

“Just...just do it!” You gasp, seeing everything he's imagining so clearly in your own mind, the idea may as well have been yours.

“Fuck.” He groans, having forgotten about the bond, forgotten that your thoughts are temporarily shared.

His fingers twitch against your hips, hold tightening to an almost painful level. Growing impatient, you reach down between your sticky hips, fingers curling around his hard cock. He grunts against your temple, lips trailing a searing path down the side of your face.

You align his tip with your entrance, sinking down onto him in one swift motion. A loud cry leaves your lips, head thrown back as his thick cock bottoms out, stretching your slick walls. Your muscles spasm around him, the pleasurable sting bringing tears to your eyes.

“Shit! Slow down, baby. You're going to hurt yourself.” Lo'ak's jaw clenches, vice-like grip forcing you to still on his lap.

“I—I'm okay.” You pant, overcome with the unfamiliar burn of his girth inside you.

“I can fucking feel it.” He snaps, voice hoarse as he fights the urge to move. One of his hands curls around the back of your neck, jerking your head up so your eyes are forced to meet his. “Now ride me. Slowly.”

You have no choice but to obey the command, body responding faster than your brain can catch up. Your hips lift, eyes fluttering at the friction against your most intimate place. Heated gazes remain locked as you lower yourself back down, quiet moans fanning the skin of his face.

Your lips part, jaw falling slack as you find a comfortable rhythm. It's such an odd sensation, feeling both your body and his. You feel the way his cock throbs, aching to find release. The hardness, the strength against your soft warmth, it's incredible and overwhelming all at once.

Lo’ak grunts with every thrust, eyes fluttering when you clench and tremble around him. He leans forward, face nuzzling against yours until he finds your lips. The kiss is languid, passionate as your hips continue their unhurried pace.

The now familiar coil of pleasure in your lower belly makes your breath hitch, muscles tightening in preparation for an intense orgasm. One of your hands leaves his neck, knowing you need more to get there. This feels better than you could’ve ever imagined, but part of you wishes he would take control, would dominate you the way you know he wants to.

Your fingers have barely just grazed your clit when Lo’ak suddenly shifts positions. He raises onto his knees, arms holding you tightly as he lowers you onto the ground, until your back falls against the warm earth.

There’s only enough time to suck in a single breath before his cock rams into you roughly. The air lodges in your chest, spine bowing as white-hot pleasure grips you.

“Is this what you want, star girl?” He rasps into your ear, holding himself up with a hand on either side of your head.

You whimper at the nickname, uncontrollable moans falling from your swollen lips. Your skin scrapes against the coarse grass with the force of his thrusts as he fucks you hard. A yelp of surprise echoes through the trees when he nips at the skin of your neck, lightly enough not to draw blood, just to produce a pleasurable sting.

“Need your words, baby girl.” His hips tremble and jerk as his own orgasm quickly approaches.

“Yes, yes, Lo’ak! Fuck me! Make me yours!” You wail, moisture prickling at the corners of your eyes.

He growls, deep within his chest, pace becoming feverish as he chases both your release and his. One of his hands closes around your neck lightly, the other moving down to circle your clit. The moment his rough skin touches yours, you explode, the most intense wave of pleasure you’ve ever experienced ripping through you.

You scream, chanting his name like a prayer as your core tightens, clamping down on his cock before trembling with the force of your orgasm. He instantly follows, a long moan rumbling between you as he spills into your pulsing sex. His cock presses so deeply into your pussy he feels the resistance of your womb, the sensation making his eyes roll back.

“That’s one.” He pants above you, ragged breaths falling from his heaving chest as he leans back, sweltering gaze flicking over your glistening body.

“What?” Your brows pinch in confusion, mind hazy with lingering desire. Your eyelids droop, muscles falling slack beneath him as the afterglow of your release washes over you.

The corner of his lips quirks in a self-assured grin as he peers down at you, totally fucked out from his cock. It makes his chest swell with pride, a new possessiveness fanning the flames of his love for you. Now that he has you fully, now that you’re his in the eyes of the Great Mother, there’s nothing that could separate him from you.

“I’m making you cum at least once for every day that my own stupidity kept you from me.” He declares easily, loving the sight of your eyes popping wide in surprise.

“Oh, god.” You giggle, unsure if your body is up to the task.

“Come on, muntxa (mate).” He pulls his cock from your sopping pussy gently, shuttering at the way your walls clench around him. “Let’s get cleaned up so I can have my way with you again.”

You can’t help but match his huge grin, lips finding his in a sweet kiss as he helps you onto your feet slowly. His arms wrap around your waist, hugging you to his chest as he gradually lowers you both into the cool water of the pond, queues still connected.

A contented sigh falls from your swollen lips, head rolling back into the soothing water. This is how the two of you spend the remaining hours of eclipse. Swimming, kissing, murmuring sweet nothings as you make up for lost time. Lo’ak makes good on his promise, lavishing your body with levels of pleasure previously unknown well into the night.

By the time the sun peaks around the moon, you’re fast asleep against the earth, back flush to his chest, arms and legs entwined. The outside world totally forgotten as you sink into each other, into the newfound bond you share.

Inside your little bubble of bliss, nothing can hurt you, can try to tear you apart. You relish in the warmth, the love you two share. As long as you have that, it doesn’t matter what’s waiting for you around the corner.

The dark storm clouds of doubt have long parted, replaced with a calm assurance that no matter what reality greets you the next day, you’ll walk through it together.

taglist:

@bajadotcom @darksxder @fanboyluvr @dakotali @kaymarnun @mxshrooms009 @violet-violenc @neteyamforlife @cleverzonkwombatsludge @dazecrea @lcovelymaria @faeraella @bxbyalixo @nurayastories @emoballs69 @little-bunnybabe @callsignhotshot @idga-fudgeicle @alexandra-001 @avidreader3107 @goddesslilithmoriarty @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @gwolf92 @danyxthirstae01 @dreamimix @dreamersbelieveinus @lovekeeho @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @abbersreads @jakesullyssluttt @keii-nn @hopelesslydevotedloser @quest-for-pluto @liyahsocorro @wingedghostpepper @ricecakeslove @gretesstuff @deserticwren @behindthearcane @neteyams-wifee @tomhreader @eywas-heir @lovedbychoi @b0rednb1tchy @neqeyam

@jackiehollanderr @belos-simp69 @daeneeryss @mazemymirror @daughterofthequeen

[apomaro-mellow]

Turkey Day

Read on AO3

"So help me god Dustin if you make us late-"

"I'm almost ready! Jesus! Keep your pants on!"

Dustin was stuffing things into his suitcase. He had procrastinated on packing and last night he totally meant to finish it but lost track talking to Suzie and Eddie was a total hypocrite.

"I bet if I had to wait on you and Steve you'd tell me patience is a virtue."

"Steve and I never made you miss a plane!"

Dustin ignored him and hefted the suitcase, going past him to leave his room and bound down the stairs. Steve was waiting in the car, having won rock, paper, scissors on going to get Dustin.

"Bye mom!"

"Have fun Dusty!", Claudia called out.

When she had finally relented to letting Dustin go all the way to California for Thanksgiving, she thought at first that she'd simply mope around the house. She and Dustin had only a few more holidays together before he went off to college after all. But then Karen had handed her a pamphlet to a resort and now Claudia was also off to a sunny destination for the next few days.

"We'll keep him out of trouble Mrs. Henderson!", Steve called out from the driver's seat.

"Alright, alright, let's go let's gooooo", Eddie urged.

"What's his deal?", Dustin asked as he fell into the backseat. "We've still got a ton of time."

"He's a little nervous", Steve said as he began to pull out.

Dustin took a closer look and saw Eddie was restlessly tapping his finger on his leg and bobbing his knee at the same time. "Oh. Is it your first time flying?"

Eddie looked in the rearview mirror and saw the look of glee on the kid's face. "Don't look so happy about it."

They drove up to the Sinclair's and Erica was waiting on the front porch while Lucas was just coming out of the house.

"Took you long enough. You said this time on the DOT", Erica said while Steve put her suitcase in the trunk.

"Watch the turkey!", Eddie shouted from the front seat.

"He's actually bringing that thing on the plane?", Lucas looked incredulously at the cooler sitting in the trunk.

"You'd think that thing was his baby it's so precious to him", Steve said as he closed the trunk.

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

Nancy prided herself on her planning. When she had a goal, she executed it. Even if the person with her wasn't the most competent person. She loved Robin dearly, but past experiences had put her in that 'not so competent' category. It was mostly her nerves. Robin was brilliant and insightful but when her nerves got the better of her, that part of her brain basically shut down.

So Nancy was totally prepared to have to drag her to the plane and coax her until take off and soothe her during the ride and gave them plenty of cushion time during her planning so that there was no way they'd be late.

But Robin was not afraid of flying. Not even a little anxious. Nancy almost brought it up to ask why but didn't want to seem like she was belittling or underestimating her.

In fact, it was about two hours into the flight, that Nancy was being comforted by Robin. Nancy had fallen asleep. The ride had been smooth so far. But suddenly there was turbulence and Nancy was being shaken awake.

The rumbling of the Upside Down.

Being shaken by Steve as Vecna released her from her nightmare.

The earthquake that shook her home.

She let out a sound and even though no one turned to look at her, she felt like she might as well have been screeching in fear.

"Hey, hey, you doin' alright there?", Robin asked, touching the top of Nancy's hand.

She took it like a lifeline and held it tight, trying to take some deep breaths. "Just...", she gulped deep, trying not to seem like a madwoman on a plane. "Just a little surprised by the bump."

"I know right? Whoever thought of speed bumps in the air? Guess there's no air cops to keep pilots honest so they gotta think of other ways." Robin left off with a little chuckle and for the first time today she sounded nervous.

Nancy rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, only catching at the last second how Robin's breath hitched. Robin then started to fill the silence with school work. This thing they had was still new and exciting. And getting to explore it while at college, away from Hawkins, and Steve, and Jonathan, was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her.

In the dark of the plane's cabin, Nancy kissed Robin's knuckles and that made her rambling even more frantic. Nancy let her go on, it was exactly what she needed.

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

"Check the turkey."

"I'm not checkin' the turkey."

"Eddie I know I said it's like your baby, but I didn't mean it."

"Too late. My baby goes where I go."

Steve leveled a look. One that said 'it's me or the bird'. And Eddie honest to god looked like he was considering it before handing off the turkey to be checked under the plane.

For all his posturing, Eddie was glad that he wasn't clutching a cooler when they finally settled into their seats. He'd much rather be clutching Steve's hand.

"Just breathe", Steve said whenever the hold turned to iron.

Steve was in the aisle seat. Eddie was in the middle with Erica at the window. Dustin and Lucas sat behind them. Eddie kept from shouting during take off but had yet to get comfortable, his entire body stiff as a board.

It wasn't until Erica started talking to him, first nudging him on hints for the next campaign, which Eddie was always tightlipped about, and then getting his advice on this one boy at school, did Steve feel his grip loosen, his body soften, and then eventually Eddie let go of his hand altogether.

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

Max watched as Joyce and Nancy moved about the kitchen like a well oiled machine, getting things prepped for cooking tomorrow. Sometimes Jonathan came in as well to help. Sometimes Mike tried to get a snack and Nancy would bat him away while Joyce handed him a little something and sent him on his way. She always gave Robin something though.

It was odd having this many people in the house and no shouting. At least, no mad shouting. Well, no mad shouting with violent intent. Nancy and Mike bickered a lot. She had left Hawkins earlier than anyone else, having the excuse of needing extra travel time. She was still in a wheelchair, and that made most things more difficult, but it also meant she got prime seating in the Byer household.

It meant she could watch the magic of Thanksgiving right before her eyes. Joyce and Jonathan had taken care of most of the shopping, apparently Eddie Munson was adamant about bringing the turkey, but since Nancy arrived with Robin, things were taking shape.

Honestly, it was an atmosphere she was unfamiliar with, but one she could get used to.

Thanksgiving Day - Meal time: Six Hours

It was early in the morning, about six when the Byers phone began to ring. Nancy had been finalizing the menu, so she was the one to answer, much to Steve's chagrin. He would've preferred if someone answered and could've just told Nancy themselves.

"What do you mean, you're going to be late?", Nancy asked. In her attempt to whisper in order to keep from waking anyone, it came out more like a hiss. She turned her voice a little more gentle. "What happened?"

"They lost the turkey."

If Nancy strained to hear, she could make out Eddie's voice, distressed, presumably speaking with an airport employee. Nancy really sympathized with Steve's position. It couldn't be easy dealing with Eddie and three kids but-

"You're supposed to be here to help."

"Argyle's already here to pick us up, we just gotta find the bird and we're off."

"Steve..."

"Trust me, Nance."

"I trust you", she said, leaving it unspoken that she was still unsure about Eddie.

"And that's all I need."

The call ended and Steve turned to see Eddie staring at the baggage claim carousel like he was contemplating going down the tunnel to find the turkey himself. Steve grabbed him by the back of the shirt and felt like he was grabbing a puppy by the scruff and not his intelligent boyfriend.

Meanwhile, back at the house, people were starting to wake up. Joyce, Hopper, and El were making breakfast. The smells from the kitchen were already beginning to fill the house and rouse the rest from their sleep. Breakfast was a lazy affair where the residents and guests came in as they pleased, sampled some and then went off.

Once everyone had eaten, Nancy basically closed off the kitchen to anyone who wasn't involved with the dinner.

Meal time: 4 hours and 15 minutes

The phone rang again and this time Robin answered and Steve thanked all powers that be.

"Tell Nancy we're gonna be a little late."

"Something's holding up Steve and the gang", Robin announced to the kitchen.

"What?!" Nancy stopped her chopping to take the phone. "What is it this time, did Eddie lose his head?"

"No, Dustin lost his lunch, or his breakfast I guess. Argyle was taking us to this place for breakfast burritos, you know I figured you guys'd be done with breakfast by the time we got there and Argyle said get anything but the fish and you know Dustin, that kid hears 'don't' and goes right for it and-"

Steve paused and Nancy could hear retching in the background. "Is he okay?"

"He will be. Just needs to get it out of his system. We're gonna be here til he does."

"I found my turkey, Wheeler!", Eddie crashed into the conversation.

"That's great news!", Nancy said, genuinely happy. It wasn't Thanksgiving without one. "But Steve, you really have to get here soon."

"We're coming. I promise, I won't let you down."

"Can't you give me a little more than that?"

Steve glanced at Eddie, who gave him a look of confusion. "Can you go and check on the kids?', Steve asked.

"Yeah, sure thing man."

Eddie walked away but turned back to see Steve practically whispering into the pay phone. Now what kind of secrets was he sharing with Nancy Wheeler?

Meal time: 3 hours

Robin was talking with Murray while Max was broadening El's horizons via the Thanksgiving Day Parade on tv. Will chimed in whenever he could. Mike was being surly in the corner, having been officially banned from the kitchen.

Nancy and Jonathan were helping Joyce with some of it but it was slow goings without Steve and every time someone outside the kitchen asked about it, Nancy wanted to tell but couldn't. It was that they needed Steve's assistance. But he had something they desperately needed. Just as Nancy was about to throw in the towel (right into the sink), a bunch of voices were heard from the front door.

"Where's my better half?", Steve called out right before Robin launched herself at him. The separation due to college had been torture. Eddie didn't balk at Steve's choice of words. He'd come to accept that Steve and Robin were basically two halves a whole.

"Alright, let's get this party started right!", Eddie made a beeline for the kitchen to get ready with the turkey.

"Get in there dingus, I'm starving!", Robin began shoving Steve towards it as well.

"Damn, I don't even get a break? I've been shuffling around a gaggle of kids since yesterday."

"Hungry!", Robin shouted.

Once in the kitchen, Nancy looked at him expectantly. Eddie was already preparing the turkey, suddenly in his element.

"I got the stuff", Steve said with a confident smile.

Nancy let out a breath of relief. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get started", she beamed.

The kitchen was a rotation of Nancy, Steve, Joyce, Hopper, Jonathan, and Eddie. Robin was the only one allowed in to get snacks for herself and others. The rotation allowed some to take a break and rest their feet before continuing the time honored tradition of Thanksgiving day cooking.

As the time neared, stomach growls reached their peak and the kids were glancing at the kitchen more often, weighing their odds at sneaking something more substantial. When the turkey was in the oven, Eddie took over the entertainment, having been handed the grand task to keep little fingers out of pies.

There was a moment when Steve was taking a breather and watching Eddie re-tell a story from his freshman year, voices and all, totally enthralling every young ear and he couldn't keep the adoration off his face if he tried. Eddie caught his gaze and winked. Neither noticed Murray watching them from over the rim of his hot cider.

"Dinner is served!", Joyce announced.

It was a near stampede and Hopper had to raise his voice like he was corralling wild animals. The dining room was set with extra, mismatched chairs and at first no one noticed the index cards that accompanied every dish, figuring it was just to tell what it was. Seemed a bit unnnecessary with the fairly tradiitonal spread until Dustin recognized the handwriting on one.

"Is this my mom's glazed ham?"

"Dude, gross", Mike said.

Dustin slapped him on the arm. "Her ham recipe!"

Sure enough, Claudia Henderson's handwriting was on the card, detailing how to make her famous ham.

"And this is dad's potatoes", Erica pointed out.

"You got our parents to write down our favorites?", Max asked as she saw her mom's recipe for sweet potato casserole. Something she hadn't actually had in years, but had fond memories of when she had been much younger. She couldn't belive her mother actually remembered how much she liked it.

"It was Steve's idea", Nancy smiled.

"I just thought even if you weren't home, you should have the taste of it."

"Which is why I needed him to be on time with the recipe cards", she jabbed him with her finger.

"So that's the secret you two were hiding", Eddie said.

"Sorry I didn't tell ya dude, but you can't keep a secret to save your life", Steve grinned.

With the sweet gesture recognized, dinner started in earnest. Eddie's turkey was amazing and totally worth it. But you didn't hear that from Lucas. After the meal, there was a laze for about ten minutes before the kids were up again, some starting a football game outside, others watching specials and going for seconds and dessert.

As the sun got low, there was an argument on what movie to end the day with. Some were ready to get the next holiday started with a Christmas movie while others were staunchly against it.

"I can't believe you're siding with the enemy", Eddie said.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Christmas is about family, being grateful, and a big meal. It's practically the same holiday."

"But you don't get presents on Thanksgiving", Erica said. "Unless I missed something."

They eventually settled on a non-holiday themed family film, something to lull most of the house to sleep with a full belly. Partway through the movie, both Steve and Eddie got up to go to the kitchen to nibble on something and Murray followed soon after. He came in just at the right time to see Eddie hip-check Steve away from the apple pie to get himself a bite and to watch Steve gaze intensely at Eddie's lips while he licked the crumbs away.

"Okay, let's just cut to the chase", Murray said, startling them both. "Which is that you two need to cut to the chase before any of these kids see something they're not supposed to see."

"What is he talking about?", Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged. "I have no idea. The pie? That we should get a plate?"

"I'm talking about you two", Murray clarified. "The glances. The touches. The bickering like an old married couple. Just put us and yourselves out of this misery and admit you're into each other."

Eddie's eyes got big and Steve's jaw dropped.

"I know for a fact Joyce has got a guest room in here. It won't be empty for long but I figure two healthy young men can hash it out in the time it takes for a kid's movie to end."

"But we-he and I-the two of us are-"

"No, no, no Stevie, he's right", Eddie said, interrupting his boyfriend's attempt at an explanation. "We need to be honest with our feelings. The feelings we've been feeling for so long but never once spoke out loud."

"Eddie-"

"I won't hear a word of it until you hear my full confession", Eddie took Steve's hand and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm absolutely crazy about you, Steve Harrington."

Steve bit his lip and surrounded by Eddie like this it was easy to forget there was a strange man just a few feet from them. "Fuck it. Let's go."

"Have fun boys", Murray saw them off as they went up the stairs.

Another couple actualized, thanks to him. Too wrapped up in patting himself on the back, he missed the giggling and Steve batting Eddie's hands away before they were out of sight of the rest of the house.

The movie went on and by the end of it, just about everyone was asleep. Joyce and Hopper looked at them all, and decided to leave them there except for Max, who had a proper inflatable bed to sleep in.

Seeing all of the kids, all of their kids, slumbering peacefully, safe and warm and full of love not just from them but from all of their families, they truly had a lot to be grateful for.

[chromatix-wastaken]

Hey is it alright if I draw Moped? I saw his reference and he is my boy now /pos

Go ahead !! Like most shows, making fanart of any of the LL characters is completely fine as long as it’s PG-13. (I mean gore is fine too ig but please spoil it to anyone who dares consider it.)

…wait, is it even possible to spoiler images on Tumblr?

I’ll be able to find any LL fanart easier if it’s under at least one of these specific tags btw: last lifeline, last lifeline osc

[billconrad]

Writing Saved My Writing

    I was miserable four weeks ago. It started with bad news about my father. He has Parkinson’s, and the disease is getting much worse. My friend has diabetic health issues and is not doing well. One of my big weekly highlights is to go to the swap meet. I discovered that the land was sold, and their last day would be December. I enjoy watching movies, and the Netflix DVD service ended that week. The final straw was a critical book review. From the text, it was clear that the reviewer did not read more than a few pages, but they still left a dreadful review.

    It was a miserable time, and I moped around for two days. Fortunately, I had a solution. When I get down in the dumps, I have developed a routine. It involves bike rides, hiking, walking, and talking to friends and family. This self-analysis inspired me to make a significant change.

    It was time to stop writing. It had not succeeded and was taking time away from essential activities. As I grappled with the logistics of shutting down my writing empire, I realized it was Tuesday. On Wednesday, I typically publish an article.

    I was in no mood to create something epic, and I tersely edited a mostly ready article. (We Don’t Have to Write About It). The resulting article was not my best, which confirmed that I should stop writing entirely.

    This line of thinking upset me further, and I got into a tangent about an old grade school friend, Marco Zirino. “Wow, I should write something about that guy. But this is not a usual topic.” I put my negatives aside and wrote all about Marco. The words flew onto my screen, inspiring me to develop many new topics.

    After four solid hours, I noticed something unexpected. I felt better. What about my father and friend? I was not happy about their situation, but I was no longer depressed. And that painful review? It hurt, but I created something from thin air (the Marco Zirino article). How many people can do that? Was it good? The article received many compliments, proving it was a solid accomplishment.

    Writing was supposed to be a hobby and not a lifeline. Yes, it is creative, but I never expected it to be a lifesaver. That was something new. What was going on? The same thing that has always been going on. I like to write. Why? It provides a great sense of freedom, is rewarding, and is an excellent outlet for my thoughts. Plus, I learn from my mistakes and grow as a person.

    The core of my problem was that I had been treating writing time like a job. This meant I had expectations, goals, and deadlines. This experience taught me to take a step back and get more enjoyment. This will help my mental outlook, readers, family, and friends.

    You’re the best -Bill

    November 01, 2023

    Hey book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

    Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

    Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

    These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

[kcjhutchins]

Depths of Depression

Down, down I go To the cold I know… Sinking faster below the surface Wishing I knew a service… All I see is misery and woe It’s what one sees down below… The glimmer of lights fading No hope for wading… It ends in darkness Seeing the light less… You’ll never claw yourself out Just sink and mope about! Forget what makes life worth living And embrace the end of forgiving! Yet there may still reside a voice Giving us a glimmer of choice. Hold your breath and you’ll get through After all you know it’s true! Use the tools to ask for help Before you start eating the kelp! From my side I pull the pouch A handful of items which don’t slouch, Helpful for some days But not for today, Yet there was one among the rest A glass bottle to write to the best. With pen in hand I scribble away Hoping the ink will stay! A last bit of effort I release My final act please get it! Please! Fading away I almost didn’t find The lifeline I thought a trick of my mind! Two hands wrap tightly on the rope As I was rewarding for my belief in hope! She pulls me on deck with a hug and kiss Telling me how much she loves me and would miss! The happiness we found together And how we could storm any weather! Slowly, happiness returns To the point it burns. Yet I feel the icy depths call And I know again I’ll fall… So, keep her close and near Or you’ll lose it all I fear…

[luminarot]

“He was an asshole!” Patrick agrees, the complaint a much-needed catharsis, but it pales in comparison to the feeling of Lennon’s hand folding over his own. Bruising knuckles cling to her like a lifeline, squeezing back despite the sting of scrapes he’d been moping over only a few minutes ago; now, there’s just the warmth of her beside him, sitting with him, their hands and fates intertwined like some groovy cosmic beam of reassurance. He can always count on Lenny to make him feel better.

It's far from the first time he's butted heads with someone for a closed mind, his outspoken views reflecting technicolor in a miserable world of black-and-white — and it won't be the last time he bleeds for it, either, even if it makes him feel like shit to feed into all the fighting. Still, he'd rather this than stand there doing nothing while someone else suffers. If that means Lenny is the only one besides his own sister who knows his warm heart, then maybe that's the way it has to be; he'd never want to play nice with the same people who bully his best friend all the time, anyway.

God, he can't fucking wait to get out of here. It's his favorite dream, one he's more than grateful Lennon brings up now when he needs it.

“Right on, moonbaby," Patrick agrees, his voice slightly strained. There's a humor that twinkles in his eyes regardless, though, suddenly lighting up at a memory of kinder scenes. "We gotta get out of this place. If it’s the last thing we ever do.”

He can't sing right now, not with the way his face is throbbing, but the words keep rhythm anyway as he practically beams back at Lenny, bloodied teeth and all. And maybe he tries to hum a little anyway when he finishes the chorus, just because the words mean so much.

"There’s a better life for me and you!”

lennon could tell that laughter probably hurt his bruising face. though, she can't help but move in a little closer, a look of fondness on her tanned, freckled features. if you look closely, you could see her razorback tan lines from her tennis dress as her sleeve slides over her shoulder. her clothes were always a little too big for her, always hand me downs from some daughter of a woman her mother was friend's with. he's such a gentle soul. he's trying not to cry because of the pain. the laughter caused him pain. she wished she could take it all away from him.

she can't help but scoff at her response, shaking her head. "god, what fuckin' assholes." she'll cross one, gangly leg over the other as the hand on her knee moves to grasp at his own hand, giving his hand a squeeze. living in a small town and having different views on the world? forget about it! lennon also had her fair share of bullies. especially the one's that would call her a whore or a slut. the usual.

"not a lot of people here like hippies," she'll give him a soft pout. "that's why we gotta get outta here. you and me,"

[gay-ghosts-committing-crimes]

But the Way That You Act Isn’t Good for Your Health

AO3 link here

Summary: Once upon a time, Alex's parents were cool. They cared deeply about him and his friends. Once upon a time, Alex hadn’t come out yet. OR Five times Alex’s parents were there for him and his friends, and the one time they weren’t.

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, mention of conversion therapy

Words: 3,899

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant-blog-blog @real-smooth @juline-dizznee @it-tastes-like-lizard​

1. 

Alex's stomach twisted and his fingers twisted into the hem of his shirt, tugging and pulling at it like it was a lifeline. The yelling outside continued. Beside him Luke patted his arm, his nine year-old face screwed up in concern for his friend. On his other side sat Reggie, leaning close and fidgeting with Alex's free hand. He was solemn too, but in a different way than Luke, closer to Alex's anxious tap-dancing heart.

Alex's chin jerked up as his dad opened the driver's seat door and stepped in, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on Reggie's hand.

"What's going on?" He asked, when his mom finally got in as well. It was supposed to be a fun outing for the boys; The day was warm and the beach was open, and the three nine year-old boys were tired of being cooped up inside. He stopped twisting at his shirt and his fingers moved to tapping at his leg when his parents shared a look. 

Reggie pressed closer to his side, and Luke did his best to put his arm around them both.

"I've got you," He said gravely, his soft voice offset by the slight whistle caused by the gap left behind where a top tooth had once lived.

Alex's parents finished their silent conversation and Mary, Alex's mom, turned to face them.

"Sometimes people get angry and don't act well, but that doesn't mean it's right, okay? That man out there is one of those people right now, so you boys and I are going to stay in the car for a little bit while Mr. Mercer gets out and makes sure the man doesn't hurt that young lady, that sound good?"

Alex nodded and his breathing evened a little bit. The yelling was scary, but he knew his dad could handle it, his dad was the strongest man in the whole world.

Reaching across the console, Mr. Mercer gave Mrs. Mercer's hand a light squeeze.

"I'll be alright, Mary." Alex's mom gave a soft smile and nodded, but the crinkle in her brow stayed in its place.

"I know Paul, I love you." A quick kiss was pressed to her knuckles and then he was out of the car, the door closed behind him.

The three boys waited with bated breath as the shouting paused, started up again and then stopped abruptly. There was a low discussion, and even through the car Alex could tell the words were angry. He took Reggie's small hands in his own -he knew how his friend got when people yelled- and rubbed it with his thumb. Reggie gave him an appreciative smile, and Alex smiled back, glad that the action had helped calm them both down. A man rushed past the front of the car, pausing a moment to aim a kick at it before running off, swearing profusely. The three boys jolted and Mary's hand flew to her mouth with a gasp, but he didn't come back and they relaxed a fraction.

After another minute, Mr. Mercer returned to the car, slipping into the driver's seat silently and sitting there for a long moment. Finally he moved, putting the car in reverse and getting ready to pull out, then stopped abruptly. He turned to the backseat, studying the boys' faces.

"Boys?"

"Yes, Mr. Mercer?" they responded in unison.

"Always respect women. Treat them decent and keep them safe, okay? And the same goes for you, if someone isn't treating you right, get out of there, you deserve to be safe." The boys shared wide-eyed glances as Mr. Mercer started pulling out again, but they nodded anyway.

It took a long time for the boys to start talking again, but eventually the silence was broken by Luke, who elbowed Alex in the ribs.

"I think your dad is a superhero, 'Lex."

Alex thought of the girl his dad had protected, her face shiny with tears when he had managed to twist around in his seat to look, shiny but relieved, and he agreed. His dad was a superhero.

~~

2.

"Hey 'Lex? Is it... Is it okay if I come over to your house for a sleepover? Bobby can't and Luke-" Alex was already asking his mom before Reggie even finished his stumbling words, his voice tinny through the Mercer family's Nokia, knowing after a few years of friendship that his voice only wobbled on days where it was too much for him to be alone.

(Alone with two people. Two people who never stopped fighting for long except to criticize the kid that did everything to make them happy. Everything except be enough, apparently. Alex sometimes wished it was okay to want people to go to hell, but Reggie didn't want that, and his mom said that was bad... Still, Alex was Not a Fan of the Peters’ parents.)

And if Bobby wasn't available...

Bobby had shown up about a year prior, and Reggie had immediately decided that he was going to be a part of their friend-group. To Bobby's credit, he seemed to be fond of Reggie, and that was a quick in to the group in Luke and Alex's book. After a while, Bobby grew to be the one Reggie went to when he needed someone, but couldn't handle being around everybody. He'd go over to Bobby's and all of the other boy's gruffness would melt at the sight of him, and Bobby would make it okay.

Bobby was Reggie’s go-to, but Reggie was coming to him, so Alex needed to be there for Reggie.

"Mom?" He waited patiently as she finished putting the casserole she had been preparing in the oven, her blonde hair shimmering and haloed in the evening light coming in through the kitchen windows, and he was reminded of the art of Mary, Jesus’ mother, and how a golden halo had adorned her head too. His mom brushed her hands off and peeked in the oven one last time before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turning to face him, eyes smiling.

“What’s up, bug?”

“Can Reggie come over?” And then her eyes were softening even more, and for a moment Alex wondered if Mary was as kind as his mom. His mom who always made sure to give Reggie an extra hug, to praise Luke on his singing, and to press a kiss to Bobby’s head and laugh when he twisted away and pretended that he hated it, even though a smile tugged at his lips. His mom who always knew just how to cheer his friends up. Alex thought about it for a minute more and then decided no, his mom was the kindest and prettiest out of all the moms, even Jesus’.

“Of course he can, I’ll even make my special macaroni and cheese!” Alex’s mom gave a small grin and ushered Alex back out of the kitchen. “Now scooch! I’ve got to finish the casserole.”

He giggled and let Reggie know that he could stay, that it was gonna be okay, that Reggie could probably even bring over the guitar he was starting to learn how to play, and they could jam together. 

He glanced back at his mom, her hair still gold in the light, and grinned at her soft, tired, and slightly sad smile. She blew a kiss and tucked a strand of gold behind her ear, and then Alex was away again, cheering his friend up over the phone while he gathered some stuff for their sleepover.

~~

3.

Alex heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face; He had a terrible headache, and the way practice was going? He wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the band did too.

“Okay Luke, I get we want this perfect, but it’s hot and I have a headache, is there any way we could take a quick breather?” 

Luke, surprisingly, just gave a loose nod and flopped onto their couch, face in a weak scowl, more brought on by frustration at the music than any anger towards Alex. It had been a rough week at home for him, and in his mind their struggle with this song was probably one more confirmation that his mom was right, that his music was only dragging him and his friends down.

It tore Alex apart, to see Luke like that, so he slumped onto the space beside Luke, elbowing him slightly before relaxing into the cushion, making sure to “annoyingly” slouch against Luke. The couch was big enough for all four of them to squeeze together, and had taken three of them to carry it into the Mercer’s garage the day they had found it at some estate sale the summer before, and now it was a regular occurrence to find the boys gathered together, bodies tangled together haphazardly on the worn piece of furniture.

Soon, Bobby joined in, grumbling about how sweaty Luke was, but taking the time to ruffle his hair before settling in, patting the spot beside him for Reggie to take. Luke swatted at Bobby’s hand and rolled his eyes as he half-heartedly tried to shove Alex away, inevitably giving in to the crushing affection of his friends and sighing heavily.

They sat that way for a stretch, silence strung between them like unlit Christmas lights; Noticeable, and somehow liminal, waiting for something to flick them on. The thick air felt like an inverted weighted blanket, just as heavy but the direct opposite of comfortable, and Alex lazily found himself wondering if they should add Christmas lights to the garage.

“Alright, enough of the moping guys, we’ll get this!!” And then Luke was hopping up off the couch, so what if it was clear that the pep in his voice was fake? He turned back to the boys and swung his arms wide, “We just gotta take a short break and come back and whip this song.”

His smile was achingly wide (and painfully put-on) but Alex found himself smiling back. Luke might be a hardheaded dumbass sometimes, but they were still friends, and Alex wanted Luke to see that he wasn’t the failure he thought he was.

“Sure, because we were the ones moping,” Alex rolled his eyes and heaved himself up, tugging Reggie up behind him, and headed to the door, yelling back over his shoulder- 

“Last one into my parent’s kitchen gets the armchair!”

The rest of the boys launched after him, knowing the stakes of being forced to sit alone on the Mercer’s uncomfortable armchair versus being able to crowd together on their couch was more important than whatever claims of friendship came before. Bobby attempted to shove Luke behind him, only managing to allow Reggie to get a head start, and scuffled at the doorway, Luke pulling at his shirt and biting at his hand.

“No fair man, I was already farther away!!”

Alex only laughed, throwing open the door to his house and making a break for the couch as the other boys tumbled in after him.

“Hey mom!” He called out, “The boys are trying to kill m-” He was interrupted by a decorative pillow to the face and a crow of laughter from Luke as Reggie gave Bobby a high-five.

“Oh hi boys, I didn’t know you’d be coming in today! Reggie, it’s so nice to see you again, how’s your sister?” Mary Mercer walked in smiling from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. 

“And Luke!! I haven’t seen you in weeks besides creeping into our garage to play that marvelous music of yours. When do you plan on giving us a concert? I expect a friends and family discount of course,” She winked and gave a small chuckle.

“Paul and I have loved hearing you boys practice, and you’ve developed so much just this summer! Of course, I’ve always loved your music, but lyrically? Why, you’ve become a genius when it comes to lyrics. We’re so proud of you.”

She squeezed Bobby’s shoulder and gave him a fond smile before heading back to the kitchen.

“I made some sugar cookies and lemonade; I’d planned to bring it out to you boys, but since you’re inside now… Well, might as well enjoy the air conditioning.”

Luke, who had practically bloomed like a flower previously wilting, followed her into the kitchen, his smile now genuine and brighter than the sun itself, and the rest of the band followed.

~

“Say Mrs. Mercer, do you think we really could do a concert?”

The boys had sat down at the kitchen table, quickly downing most of the cookies, and Luke had taken the pause in eating to probe what Mrs. Mercer had said earlier. She stilled from where she stood at the sink and hesitated before turning to look at the boys with a gentle smile.

“Of course I do, Luke. Mr. Mercer and I have always admired your talents, and all of you boys are amazing musicians. I would love to see you build your skills even more, and I’m certain other people would adore your music.”

Alex watched as Luke grinned and tucked into another cookie, warmth filling his chest.

And later, when his mom pulled him aside and asked if Luke was doing alright, he pulled her into a tight hug and replied, “I’m pretty sure he’s doing a lot better, thanks to you.”

~~

4.

Alex wasn’t sure what to think when his chest started tightening and his breathing became erratic and painful. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he had a terrible hidden sickness and now something had triggered it and, oh God maybe he was dying.

He was dying and he didn’t tell his mom that he loved her that morning, and Luke didn’t know that he was one of the most incredible songwriters Alex had ever known. He couldn’t breathe and Reggie didn’t know that he meant the world to Alex, and Bobby didn’t know just how fucking much Alex cared and how much he loved it when Bobby gave him one of his rare hugs.

Because now Alex was dying and he couldn’t breathe and everything was foggy and maybe he was sobbing but his chest was so tight that he couldn’t see how he could breathe in enough to cry, let alone sob. And this was it, wasn’t it? Alex was dying alone and it was so fucking stupid because how did he go from writing his essay for English homework to this? To this sobbing panicked mess, rocking on the floor?

He was fucking dying and it was on his kitchen floor. And he was freezing and sweating and God, his stomach hurt too and maybe he wasn’t dying, maybe Alex was just going to lay there and be tortured.  Nope, he was going to die, and holy fuck he wasn’t ready for heaven. His heart was going a mile a minute, and of course this was going to be how he died and-

His death was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and Alex tried jerking away but he couldn’t move. He could only shake and suck in for breath as the hand carefully pulled him into a sitting position and a low voice started pushing through the fog in his brain.

“Alex? Alex, bud… breathe with me, okay? It’ll be okay.”

But how could he fucking breathe? How could Alex breathe when it felt like his heart was going to explode at any second, his lungs captured in a vice, when his mind couldn’t hold onto a single thought for more than a second-

“Alex, you gotta work with me kid, you just gotta breathe, okay? Breathe in for as long as you can, and then hold that breath. You got it ‘Lex, c’mon, breathe with me. Alright, slow breath out now- you got it-”

And then the hand was his father, and the voice telling him to breathe was his dad, telling him he loved him and that it was okay, that Alex was okay.

Alex kept breathing, and his dad kept holding his hand, and telling him he could do it, that he was proud. Eventually Alex’s heart rate slowed, and while he felt nauseous and exhausted, he could breathe now.

It was okay, he was okay.

“Dad?”

“Yeah ‘Lex?”

“I… Thank you.”

“Always kiddo. And Alex?” Alex looked up at his dad and gave a weak hum. “If you have another panic attack, tell me? You don’t need to be going through that alone.”

Alex nodded and sagged back into his father’s waiting arms.

He was okay.

~~

5.

“Alex! C’mere really quick, I need your help with something!”

Alex looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor of his room at the sound of his dad’s voice. He sighed and pushed himself up, ruffling Bobby’s hair on his way out. The band had been brainstorming which songs to perform at their next gig, not that it was going to be very big, but Alex figured that Luke and Reggie were more of the brains of that particular operation, so he set off without a complaint.

Bobby swatted at his hand and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and leaving Reggie and Luke to be the only one’s actually going through their songs.

“Yeah dad?” Alex leaned over the staircase railing, eyeing the way his father sat hunched over at the table, a scratch piece of paper in front of him, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. Paul Mercer was a tall man with piercing blue eyes, soft brown hair, and a wry smile. Alex liked to think he took after him, aside for the blondness of his own hair.

“Ah, Alex. Can you come over here? I’m making a list.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at that.

“O….kay?” He hopped off the last step and pulled up a chair beside his dad, taking a closer glance at the paper.

Extra blankets

Extra pillows

(extra clothes??)

Pool money for mini fridge

Add loft

“Dad, what’s all this for?”

His father scrubbed a hand over his face, pulling his hand down to rest his chin on his palm.

“I’ve been thinking, well, your mother and I have been, and… your friends…”

“Yeah?” Alex’s voice was sharp, but his dad was acting weird, and he was protective of the boys.

“They don’t have the best home life, so your mom and I were thinking about making the garage more your space. The couch is already in there, so we figured, if you boys wanted, to give it fully to the band. Blankets and pillows for when one of them needs to stay over, a fridge, which, granted, you boys would need to pay for part of it, some odds and ends you boys might need. What do you think?”

Alex turned his eyes up to his father’s and worked his jaw, his throat tight.

“Dad… That’d be great, yeah.”

His dad’s face broke into a relieved smile, and he clapped Alex on the back.

“Alright, well then. You can go back up, but if you think of anything to add, I’m drawing blanks for anything else.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks dad.”

When Alex walked back into his room a few minutes later, Luke and Bobby in an arm-wrestling competition on his bed, Reggie egging them on, he rolled his eyes and smiled.

He was grateful that his parents cared as much for these dumbasses as he did.

“Alright boys, break it up!” He sat on the bed with them, giving a yelp when Bobby launched at him and put him in a headlock before rubbing his knuckles on his head.

He smiled.

~~

+1.

“Supper’s ready!” Mary Mercer called from the dining room, and Alex took a shaky breath and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his shirt before walking into the room and sitting at the table.

His dad wandered in next, pressing a kiss to his mom’s forehead, and settling hard into the chair across from Alex.

“Ah! Chicken pot pie! Delicious.”

Alex gave a half-hearted nod of agreement, his stomach churning as he eyed the food in front of him. This was usually one of his favourite meals.

“Well, shall we say grace?” The family of three held hands, Mr. Mercer saying a short blessing while Alex sent up his own frantic plea.

Just let them accept me, God, please.

“-Amen.”

Mrs. Mercer began serving the food and Alex waited anxiously until all of their plates were full to interject.

“Hey mom, dad?” His stomach twisted harder, and he felt his face already heating up. His parents waited expectantly, his mom smiling encouragingly and his father giving a nod. He could do this.

“I’ve been thinking about this, and… I’ve been really struggling with it. It’s been this way as long as I remember, it’s not a big thing it’s just- I’m gay.”

There. It was out.

Alex’s shoulders were hunched, and his eyes tightly closed. A piece of silverware clattered on a plate, a gasp. Good sign or bad sign? Good sign or-

An awkward throat-clearing. 

“Son.” His dad’s voice was low and oh shit, Alex had misjudged this and his dad wasn’t happy and-

He opened his eyes.

Fuck.

His father’s eyes were full of anger, and his mother… Alex’s mom sat in shock, her hand covering her mouth, the tablecloth in front of her a mess of food, her abandoned fork lying prone and vulnerable. Alex found himself relating to it.

“Alexander…” his mom tried, pausing a moment before giving a small unbelieving scoff. “Surely you’re joking. You know our family isn’t like that.”

“And!” Mr. Mercer added, “It’s not funny either.”

Alex’s stomach dropped even further.

“No, dad- mom- I’m actually gay. That’s just part of who I am! I’m still Alex, I just. Can’t make myself like girls.” And he should have stopped. He should have stopped before he even said anything, but he was anxious and why weren’t his parents saying it was okay? Why weren’t they saying they still loved him? And-

“I… like boys instead.”

If words could be knives then they could also be nails, and Alex had just successfully finished the construction of his very own coffin.

A chair slid across the floor, and then his father was pointing angrily and telling him to “get to his fucking room” but Mr. Mercer didn’t yell, and he didn’t swear. Mr. Mercer helped Alex through panic attacks over school, and told him stories about the ocean, and Mr. Mercer never, ever swore.

Except Alex was stumbling, shell-shocked and heartbroken, up the stairs and to his room, and his dad was turning back to his mom and saying “How the hell did we raise him to be a homosexual?” and Alex’s eyes were filling with tears, his chest was tightening up, and he couldn’t breathe.

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it and sliding to the ground as his breathing became even more ragged. Alex wasn’t okay and his parents weren’t okay with him, and as he felt another panic attack coming over him, he used the breathing exercises that the very same man who was now talking about kicking him out, had taught him.

Alex fell asleep to the sound of raised voices.

He woke up to a conversion therapy camp’s pamphlet being shoved under his door.

[firewoodfigs]

and A and B collapsed in it, exhausted

ERI!!! ILY 🥰💕

VADE ILY MORE <3 tysm for the prompt and I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to it, but I hope you enjoy!! :')

(side note: this kinda spiralled out of control so it might be a better idea to read it on ao3 instead LMAO)

                                        xxxxx

There are a few things that her mind manages to dimly register before it loses focus.

One, the ongoing chaos around her — the yelling and screaming and the achingly familiar smell of smoke. Riza hopes that means the unit is safe, that the mission has succeeded. Adrenaline rushes through her veins as she struggles to remain alert, but her faculties are stubbornly uncooperative, and the only thing it really manages to absorb at the moment is pain.

Pain. Her hand is drenched, sticky. Riza inhales shakily, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. She’s bleeding from her side, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out as she presses down on her side. Her efforts are in vain; blood continues to drip on broken cobblestone like water from a leaking tap. She’ll probably need a blood transfusion or two. Riza just hopes she hasn’t punctured a lung (though she can certainly feel the makings and telltale signs of a broken rib or two).

The last thing she hears a voice she’d recognise anywhere — Hawkeye, stay with me. Stay awake, you hear me?Instinctively, Riza tries to obey the command, but it’s hard when pain is spreading through her chest like an exploding star; when she can barely catch her breath. She picks up on the desperation in his voice as he lapses into informality — Riza, stay with me, please. You’re going to be okay— and manages to choke out an apology before her consciousness flickers like a spoiled lamp. She wants to tell him to not worry, to tell him how she’s truly felt for the past decade, but the last spots of light in her vision seems to fade away, somewhere far beyond her reach, and —

And then her world turns to black.

—

When she finally wakes, her world is an astonishing shade of white.

Riza blinks groggily. She would have pushed herself into a sitting position, but the dull ache in her side seems to hint that that would be a spectacularly stupid thing to do. So she continues lying down, feeling very much like an invalid. Her nose wrinkles at the nauseating stench. Antiseptics. Disinfectants.

The hospital.

Riza bites back a groan and, this time, fighting any sense of rationality and self-preservation, attempts to seat herself up. She hears a matronly voice fussing over her predicament — something about her being as stubborn as Colonel Mustang had described her to be, and would have snorted aloud at the hypocrisy if the morphine hadn’t done its job so expediently.

Riza falls back asleep, the pain slowly ebbing away as a hand reaches out to gently stroke her hair.

—

The next time Riza wakes, her world is spinning, tilting on its axis to create an indecipherable blur of colour. There are, however, blobs of light swimming in her vision, warm and golden —  daylight? It must be daytime, then.

Riza swallows a pained groan and forces her eyelids open. Her vision is hazy, but she notes, to her dismay, that the ceiling is still conspicuously white. That must mean she’s still in the hospital. She clears her throat and blinks, hard, thinking it might just be a hallucination or a side effect of having too much morphine in her system, but her surroundings remain the same.

The only difference this time is the voice that greets her. It’s deep and decidedly masculine, one that she would recognise anywhere. (One that has been haunting her dreams.)

“Are you awake, Lieutenant?”

“I am,” Riza mumbles. She will never understand how her body can be so tired even after she’s slept so much. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been out for. “How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days,” Roy whispers, and she immediately detects the worry in his voice. She wonders if he’s gotten much sleep over the past two days; the dark circles lining his concerned eyes tells her that he hasn’t. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

Riza shakes her head lightly in an effort to dispel some of the dizziness. Slowly, she tries to ease herself into a sitting position, wincing as a sudden wave of pain surges through her abdomen.

“Lieutenant!” he half-yells, chidingly. Riza winces again when he circles his arms around her torso without any warning. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Hypocrite,” Riza manages, weakly.

Another burst of pain renders her speechless soon enough, and then she’s gripping onto the bed rail like it’s a lifeline.

Roy ignores her comment well enough. Gently, he adjusts her back into bed, the hem of his black wooden scarf tickling her cheek as he does so. She mutters something about propriety and regulations, but Roy ignores that as well, instead bringing a cup of water to her lips. Riza sips at it slowly. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was; it makes her feel like she's just swallowed sandpaper. Like she’s back in the desert.

Riza mumbles a thanks when she’s done and leans back against the hard pillow, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunrays. She is so very tired. She thinks she could use another shot of morphine, possibly another day in bed, but there are bigger, more important things at hand, like —

“How did the rest of the mission go?”

“We’ve managed to sort everything out, Lieutenant,” Roy reassures, frowning at her priorities. “Don’t worry about it. Worry about yourself, first.”

“You’re being hypocritical again, sir.”

“Maybe, but we can save this argument for another time.” His tone brooks no disagreement, and before Riza can so much as protest he’s already taken the liberty of laying her back down. “For now, rest.”

“I’ve been resting for two days, sir.”

“Clearly, you haven’t had enough,” he says, smirking in a way that makes her want to pull the trigger on him. Regrettably, though, the hospital has a no-arms policy, and she finds that even the pistol that she always keeps hidden on her thigh has been removed. Riza huffs. “Since you haven’t shot me yet for putting you in bed.”

“I will soon enough,” Riza mutters, but the words sound tauntingly hollow to her ears. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy again. She can feel herself slowly ebbing away, drifting back into a void.

“I look forward to that. And Lieutenant?”

“Yes?”

As much as she tries to fight it, being awake for the past ten minutes has taken a toll on her still-battered body, and she’s unbelievably exhausted. Being so drugged up probably doesn’t help, either.

“Do not, under any circumstances, risk your life like that for me. Ever again.”

That’s what a bodyguard is for, is what Riza wants to say, but sleep reclaims her before she can properly protest, and it’s dark again. (She thinks she’d managed to articulate a resolute no, though.)

—

The rest of the unit, along with Rebecca, visits her the next morning.

Riza manages to remain civil and courteous throughout the entirety of their fussing — which is a miracle, she thinks, when Rebecca and Havoc are sobbing like she’s actually dead. (Riza rolls her eyes and pats Rebecca on her hand when nobody’s looking, hoping the contact will provide some confirmation that she is still in fact among the living.)

Falman, Breda and Fuery are, thankfully, a lot more composed than them, although Fuery himself looks like he’s well on the verge of crying too. Riza distracts him expertly with questions about Hayate’s well-being, and he perks up immediately at the mention of her beloved pup (who’s presently under his care, because he’s the only one she can entrust Hayate with).

“Alright, alright, the Lieutenant needs her rest,” Roy announces at last, much to her relief. As much as she appreciates their concern, she does need her rest, and she will probably need an extra dose of morphine, too; Riza can feel the ache in her side starting to flare up again. “It’s time to go.”

Riza hears a chorus of get well soon, Lieutenant, mingled with a couple of tearful goodbyes. (Rebecca mumbles something about Roy being a selfish prick who’s kidnapping Riza for himself and warns Riza against Stockholm syndrome. Riza rolls her eyes and tells Rebecca to stay away from shitty soap operas.)

Riza waves at them as Roy ushers them out. When the room is empty again, he turns his undivided focus back to her, and asks, “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?”

“I’m fine,” Riza insists, although her mind is already devising a way to ask for morphine without him noticing. She’s sure that he’ll kick up a fuss if he realises that she’s in pain; the last thing she needs is him moping around day and night like a kicked puppy.

Slowly, like she’s testing the waters, Riza eases herself up - with some uninvited assistance from her commanding officer - and breathes heavily, resting her head on the pillow. She notes the weird contraption around her waist and stifles a childish groan. The fact that it’s still there means that she’ll probably be wheelchair-bound for a while, but she’s already starting to feel restless from being stuck in bed for so long. (Riza wonders if this was how Roy had felt, when he had been hospitalised after his affray with Lust. She thinks she can better empathise with his decision to recklessly discharge himself now.)

“Are you hungry?” Roy asks suddenly. Riza shakes her head, but he continues anyway. “I made chicken soup.”

Riza watches, somewhat nonplussed as he extracts a thermal flask from an insulated bag and sets everything up on the overbed table. The sudden role reversal discomfits her a little. Riza feels strangely out of her element, being cared for like this (when it’s normally the other way round).

“Thank you, sir,” she says, both embarrassed and touched by his concern. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself —”

“It’s no trouble at all, Lieutenant,” he interjects gently, smiling.

Riza shrugs and sips at the homemade soup wordlessly. The warm liquid glides down her throat easily enough, and she lets out a hum of approval, pleasantly surprised by the sudden display of culinary talent from her commanding officer.

“This is really good, by the way. Since when did you learn how to make such good chicken soup?”

“Since ten tries and a burnt kitchen.”

Riza almost sputters. “What?”

“Just kidding. I’m not that bad of a cook,” he says, grinning as he ladles out a bowl for himself.  Riza stares at him disbelievingly. Burning down a kitchen is not something altogether impossible for him, considering his track record of culinary mishaps. “Really, Lieutenant. Give me some credit. I’ve improved quite a fair bit since my days as a teenage boy.”

“Well, this proves it, for sure,” she says, and his grin widens.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Riza offers a small smile of her own in return.

“I do, thank you.”

They eat in companionable silence. Riza is relieved to note that his mood has improved somewhat. since the last time she’d been awake. She might’ve been too drugged up to fully comprehend her surroundings previously, but she had been conscious enough to note the anger and frustration, the worry in his tone when he’d reprimanded her for her recklessness. And it’s easy to understand why was mad; he’s always had a peculiar habit of putting his subordinates above his own well-being.

Still, Riza doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong. She’s simply doing her job, and he’s simply being overprotective. She is his bodyguard, after all, and that itself entails sacrifice where necessary. And she would do it, in the blink of an eye, if it means keeping him out of harm’s way.

But Riza also knows him well enough to know when to back down from a losing argument, and so she simply pretends that conversation never happened. She’s satisfied with the way things are between them — for now, at least.

Above all, she’s just relieved to see that he’s safe.

—

Later in the afternoon, a nurse comes in to check on Riza.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better,” she says, even as the growing ache in her side threatens to expose her lie. Roy looks at her, unconvinced, and Riza feels a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse to give the nurse a hug when she ushers Roy out for privacy reasons. She’s not really the hugging sort, but this nurse - Jade, Riza notes, from the little white name tag hanging from her breast pocket - definitely deserves one. “When can I be discharged?”

“Not so soon, my dear.” Jade clucks her tongue, as if disappointed that Riza had even asked such a thing. “We’ll have to keep you around for at least a week more, but you should be able to start physiotherapy in a couple of weeks.”

Riza visibly cringes when she hears this. Two weeks is a long time to be hospitalised, and she’ll probably be out of commission for a while at this rate — especially if physiotherapy is involved. (Throw in an overprotective boss in the mix, and she’s basically done for.)

“Is it possible for us to start physio earlier?”

“No such luck, sweetie,” and Riza cringes again, this time at the term of endearment. She’s always been a little uncomfortable around nurses like these, simply because the military doctors are usually the stoic, no-nonsense with no time for coddling.

(Between the two, though, she’s not sure which she prefers, but Riza decides she just hates hospitals in general. The rooms are stifling and smell like a mortician’s lab, even though it’s a place that is technically supposed to keep her alive and nurse her back to health.)

“I’ll be fine. Really, I’m feeling much better already.”

Jade sighs, the disapproval apparent on her pretty face. “Have you even tried walking yet?”

“No, but -”

“Good, you shouldn’t. You’ll have to use a wheelchair for a few days, before switching to a walking frame.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Jade confirms, sounding a little more apologetic this time. “I would strongly advise against trying — unless you want to risk worsening your injury, you’re better off staying in bed.”

Riza frowns, very much displeased with her current predicament. As she’d predicted, she is, in fact, wheelchair-bound, but she hadn’t thought that she would have to rely on a walking frame, too. She’s never had to rely on one before — not since she was first trying to learn how to skate on the rink that one winter as a girl of ten.

“I’m sorry,” Jade says, patting her on the hand sympathetically. “I’m sure you’ll get better soon, with time and rest.”

Riza shrugs, feigning nonchalance. She’s irritated at the situation, but there's really not much she can do right now other than rest. Besides, her commanding officer will find a way to keep her here somehow even if she tries to escape.

“Alright. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, do you need anything else? More painkillers, perhaps?”

Riza nods grimly. She turns away as the nurse administers another dose of morphine, and adjusts herself on the pillows in helpless resignation as she waits for it to take effect.

“Take good care of her. She’s a stubborn one.”

Riza hears these words faintly, through the charged, cottony silence filling her drug-addled mind. She tries to protest, but the words seem to come out like garbled nonsense, and the last thing she hears before falling back into unconsciousness is something that both irks and warms her heart immensely.

“I will.”

—

Riza begins her first physiotherapy session exactly a week later.

By some stroke of luck, she’d managed to bring it forward, after proving to the doctors that she had, in fact, made a rather speedy recovery — even if said recovery meant that she was still mostly stuck to a wheelchair. Her commanding officer hadn’t been too pleased, of course, but it was still worth being able to get out of her room and get up on her own two feet.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. Recovery is an agonisingly slow, painful process. Riza finds herself trembling, just from supporting herself with a walking frame. It feels like someone is repeatedly stabbing her at her side, and she has to pause every now and then just to catch her breath.

Riza grimaces. She hasn’t felt this winded since the last time she’d had an awful case of bronchitis. Her legs are like jelly, and there’s a sheen of sweat that’s starting to stick to her fringe from all the heaving and wincing she’s been doing the past five minutes.

Still, Riza forces herself to keep going. She’s had worse, anyway, and this is nothing compared to the survival camps she’d endured back in the academy.

(It’s also nothing compared to what Havoc is going through.)

“Now try to put your left foot forward, Miss Hawkeye,” the physiotherapist says, and Riza follows suit, thinking of her friend as she takes her first steps. “Very good, now slowly, with the other foot.”

Riza continues as instructed, even as a fresh jolt of pain shoots through her side. Riza grits her teeth and staggers forward. She has to do this. She has to get better soon for the unit, for him. It’s bad enough that he’s already missing one subordinate, and she would rather die trying than be a liability.

(The thought of being an additional burden on his already worn shoulders is simply unbearable.)

—

“How did your first session go?” Roy asks later that evening, when he comes around to visit her. It’s already way past visiting hours, but Riza doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s probably charmed some poor, ingenuous nurse into breaking the rules and letting him in.

“Fine.”

Roy frowns. “I still think you should have waited for a bit longer before —”

“I’m fine,” Riza insists. The exhaustion is beginning to creep up on her, and she doesn’t think she can sustain much of a conversation - much less an argument - today. Riza notes the dark rings under his eyes and immediately softens. Guilt creeps into an overworked system, urging her towards a feeble attempt at reassurance. “I promise, sir. Don’t worry about me.”

Roy stares at her meaningfully, and then sighs as if to say, you know that’s an impossible request. He offers a wry smile.

“Alright,” he says, making himself comfortable on her bedside stool. He folds his arms across his chest and yawns, joking about increased paperwork and reduced efficiency in his absence, but Riza can tell that he’s still in a sombre mood; she doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s been beating himself up over her current situation.

Riza knows, however, that it’s not something that he’s particularly keen on discussing, and so she plays along with a teasing shrug.

“I hope you’re not slacking off, sir.”

“Oh, you know me. I wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ve known you long enough to know about your atrocious work ethic, sir.”

He laughs. “I’ll work on that, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

—

Roy continues visiting her the following evenings, after her physiotherapy sessions. He’d insisted on tagging along at first, but Riza had convinced him that it was better for her to do them alone. It’s bad enough that the nurses are starting to think that there’s something more than a strictly professional relationship between them.

Besides, he’d made a promise to not skive off at work. That had been enough to get him off her back in the afternoons, but not enough, apparently, to prevent him from breaking in and visiting her at night.

“You don’t have to come every day, sir,” Riza says, because she knows he’s been basically shuttling between her and Havoc. The fatigue is obvious on his face; his complexion is paler than usual, taking on an almost sickly tone, and the rings under his eyes are starting to become almost bruise-like.

“Nonsense,” he scoffs. Riza rolls her eyes, because he’stalking nonsense. “I’m fine.”

“You look tired.”

“Is that meant to be a jibe at my appearance?”

“Yes,” she deadpans, pointing at the stubbles on his chin. “You haven’t even shaved today.”

Roy waves a dismissive hand as he carefully pours out her favourite congee into a bowl. “I still managed to charm my way in, so I’m sure I’m still as good looking as ever.”

“With all due respect, sir, you’re not.”

“Really, now, don’t be insubordinate —”

“I’m serious, sir.”

Roy regards her with abject horror, and heads to the bathroom to fix his stubbles while she slowly savours the steaming bowl of congee that he’s left on the table. Roy leaves an hour later, and at first Riza thinks he’ll take a hint and take the day off tomorrow, but he shows up the following evening, anyway, remarkably clean-shaven this time.

—

As much as Riza knows that her expectations are unrealistic, it’s disheartening to see that she’s still having trouble walking. It’s been nearly two weeks since surgery, and she’s received feedback that she’s making tremendous progress in physiotherapy, but it’s still too slow. She’s still not discharged. She’s still not allowed back at work, she’s still mostly confined to bed, and —

And she’s still useless.

She hates it, of course, but there’s really not much she can do right now. She can’t return to work without her commanding officer filing a restraining order of some sort, and she can’t discharge herself without an entire army of hospital staff hot on her tails.

She can, however, get past the nurses who are a little too preoccupied with the rumour mill. And so she does. Riza wheels herself furtively into a lift without attracting attention, and, having brought along her inconvenience of a walking frame, takes her rehabilitation into her own hands. She ventures out into the hospital garden, clumsily pushing herself towards standing. The floor is cold and the air tastes salty, but it’s the most alive she’s felt in ages. Her first step is shaky, and so is the next, but she is walking without supervision. Taking baby steps.

Riza smiles, even as her arms tremble from having to hold up her entire weight. She soldiers on anyway, persisting in her hobbling. It’s a strangely liberating feeling to walk by herself after weeks of enduring multiple sets of watchful, paranoid eyes.

But maybe she’s overestimated herself. The ache in her side returns with a vengeance, without warning, causing her to pause in her tracks.

Riza leans against the railings, gasping for breath. She presses a hand to her side as another wave of pain strikes. She’s a far cry from her usual athleticism, now. She doubts she’ll be able to ace the annual military fitness test this year like she normally does (she’s never fallen below the gold standard since graduating from the academy).

“Hawkeye!”

Riza stumbles when she hears her name. She only just manages to latch onto a nearby railing, but her limbs seem hellbent on giving way. She braces herself for the impact, expecting to fall flat on her face, but a hand reaches out to steady her from behind just before she crashes to the floor.

A little more than relieved, Riza exhales shakily and clutches onto her walking frame, with both hands this time.

“Hawkeye,” she hears again, and she knows instantly that she’s in for an (unnecessary) lecture.

“Sir,” she heaves. “I’m alright. Sorry for the scare.”

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Roy exclaims, and she shushes him with a displeased glare.

“Keep it down, please. We’re in a hospital.”

“Exactly,” he huffs, his voice taking on a reprimanding tone. “You shouldn’t be out and running about by yourself. Where are those nurses, anyway? Why isn’t anyone keeping you company? What if —”

“Sir,” Riza stresses, her irritation seeping through. The last thing she needs right now is to be treated like a helpless child. What she needs, actually, is some affirmation that she’s still a valuable asset to the team. Still useful. “I’m fine. You worry too much.”

“You’re not helping with that, Lieutenant.”

“The last I recalled, you were running around with a similar injury.”

“Yes, but I was an idiot, and you’re not.”

Riza smiles. “I can’t say you’re wrong there.”

“Anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat as if to regain some of his lost dignity. “You were nearly caught in an explosion, and then shot by a bullet. That’s far worse than getting impaled in the gut.”

“When you put it like that, I’m not too sure which is worse, sir,” Riza says. As much as she appreciates his concern, the double standard is beginning to grate on her nerves; she thinks he should at least be grateful she hasn’t broken out of the hospital by sheer force yet.

Roy huffs. “Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

To that, Riza simply shrugs. She leans back against a nearby vending machine, enjoying the fresh air and dim lights for a bit before being forced to go back.

Roy regards her with a meaningful look like he’s debating whether to scold her or something else. Something she doesn’t want to expressly acknowledge. Not yet, at least — not during this crucial period of their lives that could very well dictate how the rest of it will go.

(But this is how it’s always been, Riza thinks. They’ve never needed words to convey the unutterable. In many ways, their actions have always spoken louder than its verbal counterparts, and it’s probably best for them to keep it this way, to suppress the felonious sentiments that they’ve already kept so closely guarded for years.)

“Put your feet on top of mine, Hawkeye.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it. You’re not that heavy,” he says, gently pulling her forward so that she no longer has the vending machine for support. Something nudges at her toes, and Riza raises a brow, as if to question whether he’s genuinely serious about this. “Go on.”

“You could end up with two broken feet, sir —”

“In which case I’ll get an extended leave from work, so really, that’s a win-win.”

“Seems like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Riza says. She laughs quietly at his antics, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s smirking triumphantly, like he’s just bested her in a game of chess.

“Of course I have. Now get on, it’s better than walking around like you’re fully recovered.”

And because she knows better than to fight a losing argument, Riza just does as she’s told.

Gingerly, she puts her feet on top of his, mindful to not fracture anything. Roy pulls her close to him, wrapping his arms around her torso — whether to prevent falling, or to embrace her, she’s not sure, but she doesn’t mind, not really. Being shackled to a hospital bed for two weeks is enough to make her crave and cave into human contact.

“This feels an awful lot like we’re dancing, sir.”

“Again, a win-win.”

She rolls her eyes. “How very opportunistic of you.”

Laughter rumbles from his chest, genuine and unbridled.

“You know me. I would never pass up on an opportunity to dance with my favourite subordinate.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your message to Havoc, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, and Riza bites back a laugh at the obvious sarcasm. “Alright, now just follow my lead. Move your left foot back.”

She does as she’s told, again. Roy repeats his instructions for the other foot, and the cycle repeats, until they’re trudging around in small circles. It’s like graceless dancing, Riza thinks, observing him silently as he frowns from concentrating so intensely on their every step. It’s just like when he’d first tried to teach her how to dance. (Dancing around campfires during the pumpkin harvest had never really been her thing - in part because it involved copious amounts of socialising and talking, and in part because she was born with two left feet - but it had been Roy’s, evidently. She hadn’t the heart to rain on his parade, and so had reluctantly obliged when he’d asked her to dance.)

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, sir.”

His frown deepens, and he stops moving for a moment.

“Are you tired?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“You always say that,” he murmurs. “But I don’t want you to overdo it. Let’s get you back.”

Riza sighs resignedly. She is starting to feel exhausted, but there’s a part of her that doesn’t want this shared, private moment to end, either. She’s been enjoying it more than she should. More than she would ever admit.

“Alright,” she says, but Roy surprises her and pulls her in for a hug.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re not useless, Riza. Not at all.”

Her throat runs dry.

“Sir?”

“I know you’ve probably been feeling that way,” he continues, running a hand through her hair, now limp and sickeningly dry from all the time spent away from sunshine and conditioner. “Which is why you’ve been pushing yourself so hard. But I promise you you’re not. You could never be.”

Riza chews on her bottom lip contemplatively. She wants to ask how he’d read her mind, but there’s no point asking questions that she already knows the answers to. They’ve known each other for a long time, after all (she knows he must’ve been thinking the same thing during his earlier convalescence, too).

“I - thank you, sir.”

Roy nods, his chin tickling the top of her head.

“Besides, that word is meant for me, not for you.”

Riza laughs, but it comes out muffled as he continues stroking the back of her head.

“Your level of self-awareness today is off the charts.”

“I know,” he smirks. “Shall we?”

She nods, and Roy guides her back into her wheelchair. Their extensive experience with covert operations is particularly handy during a time like this; Roy manages to somehow evade all of the staff on duty and successfully wheels her back into her room without arousing suspicion.

Riza is so enervated that she practically sinks into the mattress without protest, even as Roy helps her in. She eyes him as he makes himself comfortable - as comfortable as one can be - in the old, lumpy chair beside her.

“Sir,” she croaks out. Riza clears her throat and tries again. “Sir.”

“Yes?”

Riza shifts a little to make space. She’s thankful that it’s already evening; she’s pretty sure she’s blushing by now, because she’s never been so bold, so forward before. (He’s usually the one taking initiative when it comes to things like this, but the unhealthy pallor in his skin is enough for her to make an exception.)

“You should rest, too.”

“I am, Hawkeye.”

She shifts a little more to the side. He gets the hint.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely —”

“I'm not asking.”

Roy laughs, but he slides in any way, military regulations and meddlesome nurses be damned. They’ll be fine, Riza thinks; the nurses aren’t known to be particularly alert past midnight. Besides, Roy is probably sensible enough to get out before dawn, and if he’s not, he’ll probably charm or bribe his way out somehow. She’s not normally so cavalier about breaking the rules, but Roy deserves a night of proper rest, at least. It’s the least she can do after all he’s done for her.

“If you say so.”

“I didn’t,” Riza insists, stifling a yawn. She’s so tired that she thinks she might fall asleep while talking. “Get some rest, sir.”

“You too, Hawkeye,” he says, yawning as he pulls the miserable excuse of a blanket over them both. “Sleep well.”

Riza feels the ghost of a kiss on her temple, before her world becomes blissfully dark.

[tumbledfreckles]

ahh you’re definitely one of my favourite writers for the marauders i absolutely ADORE your work!! if you ever have the time and energy, could u write something short and fun and sweet for lily and sirius being bffs? 🥺

Thank you so much! I’m sorry I’ve been sitting on this for awhile. It’s probably more on the short and sweet than the fun side, but I got some banter in there for you. Blackevans forever! 

“What are you doing?”

Lily looked up, more out of curiosity than anything else. His tone should have been harsh. It should have been filled with derision and anger and hatred. It wasn’t. “Nothing.”

“No?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Not a thing,” she patted the ground next to her. “Want to sit?”

He sat, sliding down the wall with the same grace that he did everything else. He sat, and he watched her, and Lily tried not to fidget under his gaze.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

He snorted, “Evans, the time for pretending has passed.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Evans.”

She huffed, “Fine. But I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” he turned toward her, his shoulder sinking into the wall as he looked her up and down. “Because we need to.”

Lily finally placed the tone in his voice. It was concern. Her heart melted a little bit. “But why?” she tried but failed to keep the whine out of her pitch.

“Because you agreed to this. You wanted this. And now, your running away.”

“I’m not running. I’m sitting,” stubborn to the last, was Lily.

“Lily,” his voice was soft, as was the hand that swept back hair from her face so he could see it better. “It’s going to be okay.”

“But what if it isn’t,” she caught his hand mid-air, held it desperately. “What if all of this is a disaster. What then?”

“You try again,” he reassured her, squeezing her fingers and rubbing his thumb across them. “And, let’s face it, it probably will be a disaster.”

“Thanks!” Lily managed to stick him with her best glare, despite holding him like a lifeline.

“Prongs has wanted to date you for at least a year now. Probably longer. He wouldn’t tell us if it was, we’d just take the mick out of him all the more. He’s going to be so nervous he’ll probably knock a drink in your lap, pull a chair out from under you, smack you on the forehead trying to kiss you,” Sirius laughed to himself at the mental imagery.

“It’s not funny,” Lily tried not to laugh herself, feeling her chest tighten with nerves, but also with that heart stopping, butterfly causing feeling she got whenever she thought of James.

“Oh, it is. It so is,” Sirius smiled as he stopped chuckling. “But you know why it’s going to be okay?”

“Why?”

“Because that boy, my brother, wants nothing else than to make you happy. And to be at your side. So, even if he stuffs it all up, he’s going to go out of his way to make it the best date you’ve ever had,” Sirius stood, brushing off his trousers before reaching down for her. “And Prongs has never failed, at anything. He just keeps trying until he gets it right. So, come on.”

Lily allowed herself to be hoisted up into the air, falling into step next to her friend back towards the Common Room. “Thanks, Sirius. For coming to find me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius waved her off. “It was self-serving really. I couldn’t listen to him mope all day if you stood him up.”

“Still though,” Lily reached an arm out to snag him by the waist, pulling Sirius into a hug as they walked along. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Sirius wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. “You look great, you know.”

“I know.”

“Prongs had to change his shirt five times,” Sirius whispered conspiratorially. “Make sure you compliment on it. And how it matches his socks.”

“Naturally. It’s only good first date etiquette, after all.”

“And you’re such an expert on that, huh? Running away before the first date could start, is that in the handbook too? Something to tell the grandchildren anyway, how you almost got away,” Sirius poked at her side, laughing, before yelping and ducking away. “Merlin, woman! Oi! Quit hitting me!”

[theendofeverafter]

Apple White: A Character Study (Chapter 2)

Below are my notes on Apple White’s character in Ever After High, specifically in Chapter 2. My Thronecoming notes will come in a separate post, as will my thoughts on most of the specials. As such, this post will be a bit shorter than my last one. Also, there isn’t as much material regarding Apple in Chapter 2, so a big part of this will be some thoughts on other characters. I anticipate I’ll have more Apple-specific content in Thronecoming.

CHAPTER 2

- (Side note: I love the friendship trio of Briar, Cupid, and Hopper)

- (Side note: Duchess being the tallest female character gives me life. I like that she's imposing in her stature and her personality.)

- It's sad that Apple's entire understanding of love is about finding "predetermined princes". She's never had a chance to explore her own ideas about what love might be. This is why I'm really glad that Daring isn't her Prince Charming.

- (Side note: Raven likes to pretend that she doesn't care about Daring's good looks, but she was extremely excited when she thought that he was her secret admirer. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? Daring is supposed to defeat her in "their" story, and I'm sure heroes like him weren't the friendliest to children of villains.)

- Love how Apple's mind is completely blown when she sees a Royal dating a Rebel

- For once Apple doesn't keep up appearances on camera and in person: when Raven is being interviewed by Blondie, she rushes into the room crying and kicks her feet against the bed. She gives a mopey interview herself, and she continues to mope in her classes until Ashlynn confronts her.

- "Ash, this is hard for me." Sis PLEASE I'm begging you to think about other people and their feelings. Nice job (temporarily) breaking up a nice couple.

- (Side note: Duchess + Sparrow <3)

- A piece of Apple's heart shattered when Ashlynn left the Royals to become a Rebel lmao

- I'm finished 😂 Apple saw Ashlynn and Hunter having a moment in the spotlight and she said "not on my watch!" I promise you can enjoy your life without making everything about yourself

- (yes I realize that her facial expression is likely due to her reconsidering her stance against Rebel-Royal relationships, but my interpretation is funnier to me)

- "…I might think you're doing the wrong thing, but I want you to know that we'll always be friends, no matter what." What a backhanded statement lmaooo

- Apple is mean wtf, she doesn't want Raven to take Princessology just because she's the daughter of a villain. Raven's going to rule a kingdom someday, right? Shouldn't she learn the ropes?

- Also, she assumes Home Evilnomics is Raven's favorite class. I highly doubt that's the case.

- This "competition" is one-sided. Raven wasn't even competing with Apple. She dropped Princessology like 10 minutes in, whereas Apple dug herself into a hole with Home Evilnomics. Considering Apple is supposed to be an A+ student, I'm sure she's horrified to think about what a poor grade in the class could do to her GPA (or FPA, I guess). In conclusion, Duchess Swan for valedictorian.

- Apple gets a baking contest for her birthday and a school-wide celebration. I suppose she's the princess of Ever After, but this seems a little too much for one 16-year-old girl.

- Blondie is Apple's ride or die for real. What kind of friend volunteers to be a taste-tester at a school attended by future fairytale villains?

- (Side note: I love how Ashlynn now eats lunch with Hunter and the Rebels. They're probably much more interesting to talk to than the Royals.)

- Apple learns an important lesson from Cedar that I think is underrated (also, if you didn't know, Apple and Cedar have the same voice actress and it's very noticeable). Apple's been raised to think that beauty is the most important thing because that's what saves girls like her. Huntsmen help her escape. Woodland creatures fawn over her. Princes can't help but run to her aid at the slightest bit of misfortune. It's her only lifeline as someone who will be targeted by a villain. Cedar, on the other hand, is a character who needs inner qualities to help her have a good life. No one cares if she or people like her are pretty. She needs a quick wit, intelligence, and good personality traits. It's good to see Apple encountering something that contradicts her worldview and accepting it.

- (Side note: I don’t think it’s cool that Mattel portrayed Sparrow as a bad musician. He can obviously play the guitar well. It'd be way more interesting if he and his band were serious musicians trying to build a following, in my opinion. I'll probably pursue that storyline in my own story.)

- (Side note: Maddie gets the least amount of characterization for a main/supporting character in the entire series. That's very odd to me. She's the comic relief, the wild card, and someone who can move the plot along when the characters get stuck. But we don't hear much about her otherwise, which sucks since she's my favorite character. How does she really feel about having to live in Ever After? Who is her mother [or does she even have one?] Is she content with taking over her father's tea shoppe, or does she have other aspirations? She feels very "frozen in time" to me.)

- (Side note: Lizzie + Daring. That is all.)

- It's interesting how Apple knows she can use male attention to her advantage and does so eagerly. I mean, who wouldn't?

- Good on her for using her power to enact change quickly (in regards to the ducks).

- (Semi-side note: Who else isn't surprised that Blondie is the decision maker for the group? She's probably the "let me speak to your supervisor" girl of every friend group when they go out together.)

- (Side note: My headcanon is that Lizzie is the shortest girl in their year. She's obviously smaller than the people from Ever After, as most Wonderlandians are, and Courtly's "Little Lizzie Hearts" comment adds to this. I should probably now mention that another headcanon of mine is that Humphrey Dumpty and Nina Thumbell are a year below the main cast...)

CONCLUSION

Not much has changed with Apple. Her character has already been established, and most of what she does here reinforces her traits. You do see a slight shift during the True Hearts Day saga, but in my opinion it’s nothing substantial. Currently gearing up for Thronecoming b/c I know we’re gonna get the full Apple experience in that movie lmao

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 16

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625552318938611712/the-long-way-around-chapter-15

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 3050

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

I sigh, pulling on my tennis shoes. “Can we do this later? I’m not feeling it.” It’s only been six hours since our last drill, I haven’t heard from Jasper, and the burn in my throat has yet to fade from six hours ago. I just want to be left alone.

“No.” Rosalie’s voice is firm, and she reaches down a hand to pull me up. “You need to be consistent otherwise you’ll lose progress. No more moping.” Now, she gives me a shove towards my bedroom door, “I’ve let this go on for too long.”

Childishly, I take slow steps towards the door. I really just want to get back in bed and watch some Netflix or something. “It’s not like it’s your fault. I’m just not in the mood.”

“Look,” Rosalie sighs, placing her hands on her hips. “Being away from your mate is hard, I get it. Emmett and I hate being away from each other, but-”

Her words register, and I have to cut her off. It’s something that’s been bothering me since the fight, when Cora addressed Jasper. She’d asked him if he was willing to die in the place of his mate, and she’d meant me. And now, Rosalie throws the term casually into conversation. My mind floats back to that discussion Jasper and I had all those months ago, about mates, and I know that the term is anything but casual; it’s equivalent to an eternal, undying commitment.

“Yeah, about that.” Rosalie’s eyebrows raise, presumably at being interrupted, but she speaks no further. I play with my fingers, glad Jasper’s not here to feel my insecurity and nervousness. It might give him the wrong impression. “That word has been thrown around a lot recently.”

Now, a smile quirks across Rosalie’s lips. “Does that bother you?”

“No, not bother,” I’m quick to correct. “It definitely does not bother me, it just…y’know, means a lot.”

“And that worries you?” This time, her guess is correct.

Timidly, I nod. It feels dumb to be admitting all of this, but it’s the truth. “It just feels so fast to be feeling this way.”

Rosalie takes a small step towards me, and her voice is kind when she speaks. “You guys go at whatever pace feels comfortable for you. All I’ll say, is when you know, you know. And there’s no going back.” She heaves a sigh, and then smiles. “Now, get your butt in the backyard. You are not getting out of training just cause you’re in love.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow her out of the house. I’ll have to make time to mull over my thoughts later, when I’m alone.

When we reach the backyard, which is really just a clearing in between the massive house and the forest, Emmett is waiting, and so is a scent that throws me into an immediate predator-like crouch.

“Emmett, you’re supposed to wait until she’s prepared to open the bag,” Rosalie chides, looking at me warily.

Emmett shrugs, a wide, unbothered grin across his face. “I’m taking it up a notch.”

Just the fact that I can register their conversation shows me how far I’ve come. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been laser-focused on the squishy bag fifty yards from me. I use the knowledge of my progress as a lifeline and force myself out of my crouch.

The footsteps racing toward me give barely a second to react before I’m slammed onto the ground with the force of a freight train. I snarl, fighting to get the dead weight off of me. The weight snarls back, and I recognize the sound instantly as that of another vampire. He must have smelled the blood and come to fight me for it. With that knowledge, my new goal becomes escape and, if possible, escape plus satisfaction in the form of guzzling the packaged human blood. But my first priority is set. With a growl, I grip the shoulders of my assailant, using my strength and my ability to put him on the ground. The man gasps in response to my attack, and soon a groan is drawn from his lips. My hands tingle, the only physical sign that I’d used my powers. Once the man is on the ground, I hold him down with a knee on his chest. I’m about to hit him with a wave of fire to further incapacitate him, when I notice the contorted, yet familiar, face below me.

“Arthur,” I gasp, hurrying off of him.

He takes a few steadying breaths but looks at me with a glint in his eye. “Nice job.”

“Yes,” another voice agrees as Edward hurries to join our group. “That was very controlled, Y/n.”

“Controlled?” I’m sure my eyes must be bulging comically. “I about made my friend think he’d been set on fire just so I could have some packaged blood.”

The blood. I freeze as I realize I had been ignoring it. Not unaware of it, exactly, just not prioritizing it. Experimentally, I take a shallow breath through my mouth. The fire ignites, but I fight through it. I take another breath, and another, eventually working up to a deep breath through my nose. That hits me the hardest, but with gritted teeth and much effort, I push down the urge to follow the scent.

Oh wow.

My face breaks in a grin to match that of Rose, Emmett, Arthur, and Edward.

Even now, fully aware of the sweet smell, I can ignore the urge to go after it. The temptation, as well as the painful burn in my throat, are very much present, but I can control my instincts. I am controlled.

“Aha!” I exclaim in joy and jump in the air, elevating about twelve feet before crashing back into the ground, leaving a small crater.

I bask in the congratulation from my friends as well as in my newfound optimism. Maybe Jasper is right. We might actually be able to go on a trip soon, just the two of us.

I swallow at the implication.

We’ve never been alone before for an extended period of time. Even our two trips to the waterfall were relatively brief.

Now that I know it’s a real possibility, I ache for uninterrupted time with Jasper.

But then my thoughts shift and I’m returned to a state of worry as I face the harsh reality that none of us have heard from either Carlisle, Esme, or Jasper in well over six hours.

The fact that Edward hears my thoughts and can offer no reassurance makes me feel even worse.

Emmett notices the shift in my mood. “Wanna wrestle?”

Usually I refrain, but right now, that actually sounds kind of fun. At the very least, it will distract me.

Hesitantly, I nod, and Emmett grins widely. After tossing the now tightly closed bag to Rosalie (who discards it safely), Emmett draws me further away from the house.

“Esme will kill us if she comes back to crushed brick,” he explains.

Edward chortles. “What, again?”

“Hey you’re next baby bro,” Emmett teases, his grin never slipping.

We circle each other for a few minutes. Then, with barely any warning, he lunges.

We grapple. I’ve been a vampire for nearly eleven months now, and my newborn strength is all but gone. Emmett is definitely stronger than me. My advantages lie in my speed—Emmett’s size makes him slightly slower than others—and in my ability. Still, I’m very hesitant to cause my lovable friend pain, so I keep a tight reign on my powers.

Emmett manages to get his arms around my middle and tosses me about two hundred yards. I slam into a tree, taking it down with me. But before it has a chance to hit the ground, I’m standing in front of Emmett, using his shoulders to throw him off balance. Just as I’m about to kick him in the stomach, a low move, I know, Edward’s phone rings. Immediately, we all freeze, guessing who will be on the other end of the call, but in the dark as to what news they will provide.

“Carlisle?” Edward’s voice is terse, a vocal expression of the feelings raging inside my heart. Please, please let Jasper be okay.

“Edward, we are on our way home. The conversation went well.” Carlisle’s voice is calm, optimistic even, and my friends exhale sighs of relief. I can’t quite relax yet though. Not until…

Thankfully, Edward hears the frantic tone to my thoughts and takes pity.

“Is everyone alright? Where are Esme and Jasper?”

“Everyone is just fine. Esme is checking us out and Jasper’s running a quick errand before we leave for the airport.”

I let out a shaky breath, nearly falling to the ground as all the tension leaves my body. He’s okay. He’s coming home.

“Wonderful,” Edward enthuses. “When should we expect you?”

“Our flight is supposed to land around five tomorrow morning, and we should reach the house around eight.”

The three hour drive between our small town and the nearest international airport suddenly seems incredibly rude. Perhaps…

Immediately, Edward shakes his head in my direction. “You’re not ready for that.”

“But you said I was controlled!” Inwardly, I cringe. My voice sounds like that of a whiny teenager.

“Controlled for the exercises, yes, but it will be completely different when you’re surrounded by humans, even if you stay in the car,” he tacks on, knowing my next argument. “Besides, Carlisle parked his Mercedes at the airport. It makes no sense to drive there when he already has a car waiting.”

I fight back a groan. I just want to see Jasper. I miss his hugs, his scent, the feel of his hand in mine, the way he smirks when I tug on his hair, cuddling up and reading or watching movies, the sound of his laugh-

Edward’s kind chuckle breaks through my thoughts. “Just eighteen more hours.”

Pursing my lips, I check my watch. It’s just past two-thirty. I can distract myself for seventeen hours and twenty-four minutes. Right?

Edward focuses back on his conversation with Carlisle, but I tune him out. I can get all the details later, from Jasper. All that matters now is that they’re safe, they’re coming home, and that the mission was successful.

I think of ways to fill my time. Hunting would certainly be a fun occupation, but I quickly dismiss the idea. Jasper will want to go when he returns, and I would rather go with him. Heck, we might get a whole family trip out of it if Carlisle and Esme need to go, too. I could kill a few more hours wrestling with Emmett though, eventually, we were sure to get sick of throwing each other around. Randomly, a thought strikes me, and a smile spreads across my face.

“Bella, Alice, Rose” I call, hurrying back towards the house.

{***}

Seven grueling hours later, we’ve amassed our supplies. Paint cans and pillows and fabric and wood and brushes and tools and baskets and a million other tiny objects crowd my room. It seemed much larger before we crammed all this in.

While the girls had kindly set up a room for me after my transformation, it lacked, well, me. The style was very generic and resembled more of a guest room than someone’s personal space.

I decided it was time for a change.

Bella lost interest hours ago and was now off somewhere with Edward, so Rose had roped Emmett into being our fourth set of hands.

“I like the pink, but that’s just me,” Emmett contributes, sounding surprisingly emphatic.

Rosalie groans. “I asked for base colors, not accent colors.”

Emmett makes a face that quite explicitly communicates the word, ‘geesh.’

I hold back a laugh and instead focus on studying the samples of paint in front of me. One in particular stands out, and I relay my decision to the group. We begin painting, each of us taking a wall. Arthur seems to feel left out and joins us about halfway through, and Rosalie puts him to work building a window seat.

Soon, my walls boast a calming sage color, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Yes. Arthur’s constructed a lovely window seat complete with little doors on the bottom to give me extra storage, and I thank him profusely. It’s truly beautiful. Alice disappears and comes back with the perfect lace curtains, and I actually squeal. I would have never thought to include lace but, seeing it in context, I can’t deny that it’s just perfect.

To add a bit of depth (in Rosalie’s words, anyway), we throw in some hints of lavender, cream, and brown. Pleased with my reaction to his window seat, Arthur and Alice craft a bookshelf, and then leave in search of the perfect chair and table. While they’re gone, Rosalie, Emmett, and I talk bedding. After a surprising amount of arguing, we decide on a cream duvet and many pillows in variations of cream, lavender, and coffee.

Alice must have been notified of our decisions (by means of text or supernatural premonition, I don’t know), and returns bearing many gifts. She and Arthur set the items gently on my bedroom floor: a dusty pink vintage chair, a carefully distressed cream circular end table, a small cream pillow (presumably for the chair), a handful of startlingly large blankets, and hanging twinkly lights for above my bed. I about burst with excitement.

Not about to be outdone, Emmett leaves and returns exactly one hour later bearing a huge flat-screen TV. He grins as he and Arthur rebuild the bookshelf into a larger bookshelf-entertainment center-combo. It’s truly awesome.

With five hours before Jasper’s arrival, my room is finished. I can’t help but beam as we slide the last of my books into place on the carefully organized shelf.

“You guys….” Emotion makes my voice tight. In my, albeit fuzzy, human memory, I can’t locate a time when my friends had gone to such lengths to help me, to make me happy. I’m truly, deeply grateful for these people I get to call my friends. More than that, my family. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They respond with smiles and an easy chorus of phrases diminishing their instrumental roles. I just pull them in for a group hug, which is met with varying levels of appreciation, and can’t help but laugh.

They leave me alone to enjoy my new space but also so they can finish cleaning up before Esme gets home. I feel bad, them having to take trips to the dump and various stores on my behalf, but Edward is right. I’m not ready to be surrounded by actual humans. Still, I’m eager to show Jasper my progress. He’ll be proud of me.

The thought of my love—for, as much as it scares me to think of him that way, he surely is— causes me to pause. Now that my room is all nice, it seems unfair for him to have to come home to find his untouched. A flash of a weak human memory confirms my theory: I had just returned from a week long school trip and found my room clean with freshly washed sheets. Someone—my mom or my dad?—had figured I would be tired and knew I would appreciate the act. Hopefully, Jasper would too. I exit my room and turn up the staircase to the top floor. Jasper’s room is located at the eastern corner of the house, and I head in that direction. When I get to his door, I pause. I’d been in here many times before, but never without him. Would he be upset? Would he consider this an invasion of his privacy? Those fears nearly send me back down the stairs but, reviewing what I know of his character, Jasper wouldn’t be angry. He probably wouldn’t even care. So, I push the door open.

Jasper’s scent, while faint, hits me, and I close my eyes, savoring. It’s been days since I’ve been surrounded by the comforting warmth of him, and my heart aches for his return.

I want to kick myself for being so besotted. Who was I, that I would be reduced to such sadness at just a few days away from my boyfriend?

I sigh, knowing the truth.

But he’s not just my boyfriend. Jasper is my mate. Neither of us is human anymore, so human standards cannot apply to us. What I feel for him is so completely…more than any human could ever even conceive of feeling.

I swallow under the weight of my admission. Put simply, I know deep in my gut that Jasper and I will be together for eternity. And, if death ever tries to do us part, it will not succeed. Whether in after-life or whatever comes next, we will be together.

Oof.

Needing to focus on something other than these intensities, I hurry to Jasper’s bed and strip the sheets and pillowcases. His room is spotless, so there’s not much work for me there. Still, while his bedding is in the washer, I busy myself with dusting, While wiping off one of his shelves, I find a couple of my books I’d noticed were missing, and roll my eyes. Thief. In retaliation, I take his favorite chessboard and shove it under my bed. Now, we’re even.

Once the bedding is finished drying, I replace it and smooth it out, making the bed as best I can. Vampirism is supposed to make you good at everything, but I can’t quite replicate the tightly fitted corners Jasper creates with ease. Eh, good enough. Besides, it’s the thought that counts, right?

I replenish the washing machine with Carlisle and Esme’s bedding next, not wanting to leave them out. Just because I’m not ridiculously in love with them doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have freshly washed sheets too, right?

By the time I’m done with my various cleaning, it’s only two hours until Jasper’s arrival. Alice can sense my anticipation, and invites me to watch a movie with her. I accept but, instead of focusing on the classic plot, count down the minutes until I can hear the car’s wheels on the drive.

A/n Thank you for all your kind words on my last update! Each reply, like, and reblog makes me smile and I truly appreciate you taking the time out of your day to do that! Don’t forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625820783935160320/the-long-way-around-chapter-17

Tag list: @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13 @triscuitcracker @deviantly-gayy @sleepywinnie847 @vexingcosmos @avalongrey @artms-blnd

[mashnotesofthemythopoeic]

Weird Old Fanfic

I found this in a file literally labeled ‘Weird Old Fanfic’. I have no memory of it. I must have just read ‘Howl’ or perhaps Allen Ginsberg once took a stab at XF fic.

Two FBI agents walk into a bar. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

____________________

It is dark. Far above the sweating tar pole swanning a hellish fan of liqueur, dimming the back of his hand down to a bleached corpsish cling—what dark! —stamping out the universes in this present pot-hole. They are knee-deep in it, swamping through the pools like marsh gas, coats floating, lifelines flung. Munch of T-minus under four feet and the swag of coat sleeve brushing his hand like a validating stamp. Without her sound he would not know if he is level. Balance forsakes the gimbals in his ears—turns him on end, the hands flung out like levels—crunch crunch—pothole opening out and knees giving, staggering and toe-feeling with his hand closed suddenly on her arm.

The building's lights flag them, beer neon falling over chipped caliche and shocking rut and sinkhole. He steps in water and side-winds back toward her, biting his lip, shaking his foot. Beyond the dumpster corral a ghostly hoarse hound in a tumult of affection on a chain. They feel their way up onto the porch, and he just faintly lays claim to her fifth lumbar vertebra so that they both know it and don't know it, so that the dark universe both knows and doesn't know, and he looks down into the breathy parallel world of her eyes and yanks the stave on the log door, releasing a yeasty blast of air.

The jukebox is the brightest spot in the room, and they stand beside it, eyes pinched, a row of locals like tree stumps along the bar swiveling with slow arboreal intent, boots crossed on the cross pieces of barstools, and a blatting elk head, caps and mittens and a shriveled bra on the points of its enormous varnished antlers, presiding. Mulder says evening to peel their eyes off Scully. Take a bathymetric sounding, it'll last longer. Or even just a bath. The elk’s tongue, in eternal bugle, must be wood painted pink. The lower point of its blackened cape at the bottom of the shield is thick as grizzly hair, not that he is cozily familiar with either species.

Scully sinks down at a table against the wall beneath a sign that reads ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beerholder’ and he holds his beer and loves that a quirk of planetary concurrence can make even the dumbest signs relevant.

'I don't know, maybe I think I'm starting to feel a little down, a little hopeless,' she says brightly.

'Place is working its magic, eh?' he says.

'A little lonely,' she adds, just guessing at the details. 'Like we're running out of things to talk about.'

Mulder snorts appreciatively. 'Can this be all there is to life?' he asks with a rhetorical flourish, but the hint of loneliness and longing is genuine and delicious, because of how she looks by candlelight, and because they have each other and they don't have each other.

'Thankfully, no.' She settles back, amused. 'You know, Mulder, we are un-people,' she says. 'We don't know how to mope. How to kill time. We make ineffective barflies.'

They have never been able to not have a conversation. You want to talk about Pagan Medieval trance music? You want to discuss how the gantry connects to the launch lug? You want to talk about the honey in the rock?

Her eyes move about the points of his face. The spitting candle jar contains crossed matchsticks and a floating moth. She is looking hard for something within him, and he watches her search, their gazes crossing like tractor beams. It's hard to say if she finds it, because she looks down and sips thoughtfully at her foamy glass. She turns her watch upon her wrist. 'What do you think the universe is, Mulder—nothing or everything?' she asks.

Mulder, ever an un-person, slumming, finds it impossible—impossible—to see her in the same light. He looks around, at the elk head, the hot-girl chainsaw calendar, the patrons lumped along the bar, and, then, right in front of him, Dana Scully.

'Maybe a little bit of both?' he asks, and nods. He holds up his beer glass. 'Present company excluded, a little bit of both.'

[hqrbinger]

HI CURSE !!!

7, 9, 11 for the oc ask game for both bito & satoru pLEASEEE :D !!!

QUILLLL MY LOVE <333 TYSM FOR ASKING HEHE ILYSM

bito

7. how would they react to eating something that was spicier than they expected it to be?

she'd still probably not say anything 😭😭 i mean she'd def react, she'll probably cough, maybe put a hand over her mouth as she chews before chugging water after but yeah kinda anticlimactic KJAHAKJLSDFS

9. if someone gave them flowers, what would they do with them? (copied from last ask!)

bito really has a tendency to hold on to gifts given to her by friends like theyre her lifeline. if a friend gifts her flowers, she'll probably let them sit in a vase for a day or so before hang drying them to keep <3

11. how do they feel about casual endearments? (babe, etc) (copied from last ask!)

this def depends on context SKDJHSFD if some random person says it to her she'll ignore it (if theyre persistent, they'll receive a snide comment or two) but if theyre from someone she's close with, she'll smile a little, she really likes them (one of her love languages is words of affirmation so they kinda fit in <3 hehe)

satoru

7. how would they react to eating something that was spicier than they expected it to be?

ok so i like to think that satoru thinks he has a high spice tolerance, but he really doesn't. mans will lose a fight to spices INSTANTLY LMFAOAOA

bro he might just spit it out tbh 😭😭that or he'll make it a big deal when it's not, an overreactive lil dramatic bitchboy i love him sm

9. if someone gave them flowers, what would they do with them? (copied from last ask!)

ohmygod, he doesn't really know how to take care of them, but he is SO EXCITED TO RECIEVE THEM 😭😭 he will put them in a vase and look at them all the time and then probably mope around and whine when they start wilting and dying <//3

11. how do they feel about casual endearments? (babe, etc) (copied from last ask!)

HES SUCH A WHORE FOR THEM, PLEASE CALL HIM NICKNAMES OR CASUAL ENDEARMENTS

it honestly depends on the person, but if u call him handsome, pretty, babe, sweetheart, etc........ THE SMILE THAT WILL BE ON HIS FACE HEAD IN HANDS

[ronninoir]

Can I Steal You For A Second? Chapter 25

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Chapter 25

Marinette was not okay. She woke up Monday morning, almost forgetting about the Rose Ceremony last night and all that had conspired. She almost didn’t believe it, until she ran to Hanna’s room and saw nothing. Marinette just stood there, staring at the empty space, remembering how they had helped her pack just like every other week yesterday afternoon, not realizing that it really would be her last time in this room.

A couple of minutes later, Juliette joined her, standing in the doorway next to Marinette, staring at the room. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But most of all, she needed to talk to Adrien.

Marinette and Juliette didn’t leave each other’s side all day. In fact, they barely left Hanna’s room. They just sat in there, on her bed, in silence and occasionally told stories of times they had shared. Marinette felt as though she and Juliette were mourning Hanna, even though she was very much so alive. Her time on the show, however, had ended, and they both knew they needed to get it all out of their systems now, before the date card showed up tomorrow and they moved on to a new week. They had already decided they weren’t going to be like Zoe, moping around until she got kicked off herself.

Marinette had almost forgotten about her patrol with Chat that night, until Juliette excused herself for a shower and an early lights-out, Marinette mimicking the thought, headed to her room. She was very grateful that Juliette was still there, at least to make the sting of losing Hanna feel a little less, since she had someone to share it with.

When she got to their meeting spot, Ladybug was suddenly very anxious. She had never felt this upset with something Adrien had done, and she didn’t know how far she could go into the patrol without bringing it up.

Turns out, not very far.

As soon as Chat stepped onto the rooftop, Ladybug dropped her transformation and blurted out, “What the hell happened last night?”

Chat, being the smart man that he was, quickly dropped his transformation as well so that Adrien was standing in front of her. He looked uneasy and very very confused at her line of thinking. He did however, try to play it off. “Well, it’s nice to see you too Bugaboo.”

“Don’t you Bugaboo me. What in the world made you keep Lila and send Hanna, of all people, home?”

Marinette watched Adrien’s face drop and his left hand automatically reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Oh,” was all he said in response.

Marinette knew she needed to give him a chance to speak to explain his actions, which she figured there was a good reason for, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been so upset about Hanna leaving and the fact that Lila got to stay only fueled her frustration. Seeing Adrien standing in front of her on this rooftop in a secluded part of Paris looking uncomfortable and in no way sorry for his actions made her frustration turn into anger very quickly. 

“Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Oh?!” Marinette was fuming, so much so that she started pacing, unable to stand still with all of the anger floating around in her. “You decided to keep the evilest person in Paris on the show giving her the illusion that she has a chance to win your heart, and in exchange decided to send home the sweetest, kindest, friendliest person who actually cares about you and was such a good friend to me.” Marinette gave out an angry sigh/screech that would have woken the neighbors if there were any in this area.

“Marinette I can explain—”

“Oh?” Marinette interrupted. Internally, she was yelling at herself to stop talking and yet this part of her that was sick of Lila and her crap and just having to deal with all just snapped and that part of her won out and she knew there would be nothing to stop her from this rant until she ran out of things to say. “You can explain? Yes, Adrien, please explain to me why you would keep this girl who has been bullying me the entirety of the show, that you even have proof that she has been targeting me, and instead get rid of one of my best friends and allies!”

Adrien waited a beat before opening his mouth to talk. “Marinette,” he said softly, gently taking a small step towards her, as if she were some wild animal waiting to attack him. Which, once she thought about it, she kind of was. “I need you to realize how much say my Father really has in this show.” At the mention of Gabriel, Marinette rolled her eyes. Adrien paused in his slow walk at the motion, but continued to speak in that same soft voice. “Something about Lila freaks my Father out, and I have to keep her on the show at least until the Top 3. I think it may have something to do with her dad being a diplomat, but that is one point that my Father won’t budge on.”

“So?” Marinette asked, fire in her voice. “Why does your dad have to rule your life? Stand up to him, Adrien, tell him what you’re really thinking and show him that you are an adult who can make his own damned decisions.”

Adrien was right in front of her now, and she could see the worry and sadness in those beautiful green eyes as his hands gently found hers. “Marinette,” he whispered, his voice even softer now, “You do realize that if it’s just going to be me and you at the end, that everyone else will have to go.” Marinette huffed out air exasperatedly, realizing that he was right but not wanting to admit it. “I hated sending Hanna home, especially knowing what she means to you, but I had to. Lila showed me that there is a heart in there on Saturday, so I decided to give her another chance. Hanna just happened to be the first one that you truly cared about that I had to send home because it was time.” 

All of what Adrien was saying made sense, and yet... “Lila showed you she has a heart?” Marinette asked icily, her anger cooling into something much much worse. “I thought the decision to keep her was because of your father, not because you decided she’s a decent human being.”

She released his grip and walked to the other side of the rooftop, sitting aggressively on the edge, and debating whether to transform and storm off or stay and continue to be mad at Adrien. She ended up choosing the latter.

She heard his footsteps and knew he had followed her before he spoke, “You didn’t see the way she was Saturday night. She looked defeated and was upset and crying. When we talked, I really thought that Lila had a heart in there, some sort of shield that she had decided to put down for me.” Adrien paused, but Marinette waited for him to continue, none of that eliciting a comment from her. After a moment, Adrien let out a sigh. “Marinette, I know you don’t like her, but I don’t like leaving any of these relationships in a bad way. You saw what happened to Sofia. Lila would have been an akuma that would be vicious both mad or sad, and she was broken on Saturday. I’m keeping her on the show to appease both my Father and myself, so that I won’t feel as guilty if she gets turned into an akuma.”

 Marinette hadn’t thought about that, how Adrien felt after Sofia’s akuma. She knew that every time she accidentally pushed someone to be transformed into an akuma, she always felt guilty, but grateful that she could at least do something to help them.

Her anger subsided slightly, and she was about to tell him so when Adrien spoke up once again from behind her.

“Marinette, do you want to go home?” Adrien asked, softly. So softly, she almost thought she had imagined the words. Marinette whipped around, and noted that although Adrien had followed her, he remained standing a good distance away from her. When she looked at him, he wasn’t making eye contact with her, and was instead studying his feet.

“I can’t go home, Adrien, we have to patrol.” She quipped, rolling her eyes and turning back towards the Paris skyline.

“That’s not what I meant,”

Marinette didn’t even bother to turn around, her annoyance obvious in her tone. “Well, then what did you mean?”

“Do you want me to send you home from the show?”

Marinette froze. She slowly turned back around and faced Adrien, reading his posture a completely different way. He looked like a dejected kitty that had been kicked out of the house in the rain and was coming to the realization that he may not be let back in. She quickly got up and ran towards him, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Adrien Agreste, where in the world did you get that idea?” Her voice was significantly softer, her anger dissipating at his thought process.

“You’re mad at me, I just figured you were done. That you wanted to leave and forget I or the show ever existed.” When she looked in those eyes, she again saw the worry and sadness in them, but this time she understood that those were because of her. Worry that she would feel the need to leave, and overwhelming sadness that she would actually do so. 

“Oh, Kitty, that’s not how these work.” She reached out and cupped his cheek and was relieved when he leaned into the touch. “People in relationships get in fights all the time. My parents are constantly bickering over little things and my mom gets mad at my papa a lot, but they get through it and solve their problems and then they love each other even more after it’s all done.” She pulled him into a hug and just held him. He was clutching her as if she was his lifeline, which she may just be.

“We bicker and fight all the time as Ladybug and Chat Noir, what made you think that this was anything different?” Marinette asked as they broke apart.

Adrien’s face pinked and he dropped eye contact once again before he answered, “That relationship is permanent. We can’t quit saving Paris, and I knew we couldn’t quit being partners no matter what. So, I just assumed we fixed our problems and forgave each other solely because of how much Paris needed us together. But, you and me as our regular selves, well, you have to choose me and I figured that if you’re this mad at me, you may not want to choose me anymore.” 

His voice slowly tapered off at the end, so Marinette had to strain to hear the end of the sentence, but when she realized what he said, her heart dropped. She didn’t know what she could have done in the past seven years to make him see their relationship differently, but she’s glad that she was able to show him how proper relationships, both friendships and dating relationships work now. And she could show him what unconditional love looks like, and how much he deserves to be loved that way.

 “Oh, Adrien,” she sighed as she embraced him again, this time their lips meeting. Marinette poured her love into the kiss, hoping Adrien would realize her point without any words being necessary.

When they broke apart, she whispered, “Adrien, it’s going to take a lot more than me being angry at you for me to leave you. I’ve stuck with you for 7 years through good times and bad, and I don’t plan to quit anytime soon.”

Adrien let out a sigh of relief, which showed on his face as well, as he wrapped her into a hug. “Will you marry me?” he breathed into her hair. 

The question caused butterflies of excitement to stir in her, but she pushed the thoughts about their future away as she whispered, “It’s not time for that, silly. We still have a couple of weeks to go, and you still have to meet my parents first.” 

That caused Adrien to pull away from Marinette and blush slightly. His expression changed slightly as he studied her before hesitantly asking, “So, you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Marinette considered for a minute, and realized that she would never be able to stay mad at him for long. She had burned through most of her anger with the yelling and figured they could come back to the “Lila has a heart” conversation and discuss that without the yelling and anger present.

“No, I’m done being angry for now,” she answered calmly, which caused Adrien to let out a small laugh of relief. “Just,” she started, trying to figure out how to phrase what she was thinking, “let me know next time? Like just give me a heads up when Juliette has to go home, so I can be better prepared.”

Adrien nodded solemnly, “I will,” he promised, before pulling her into another hug.

Marinette savored the feeling of having Adrien’s arms around her before she pulled away and brought them both back to reality. “We really need to go patrol.”

Adrien sighed softly before giving her a kiss on her forehead, “You’re right, Bug, we need to go protect Paris.” 

They quickly found their kwamis hiding behind an air conditioning unit, trying to look as though they weren’t spying on the two of them from afar.

Once they had both transformed, they made quick work of their patrol. They were however stopped short when they came across a rogue akuma, just flying around Paris looking for a victim to akumatize. Ladybug made quick work of purifying it, but it wasn’t until she was back in her bed at the mansion as Marinette that the thought occurred to her that the akuma could have been coming for her before she burned out all of her anger on that rooftop.

~~~

Hello everyone! I hope you don't hate us too much after that last chapter, but hopefully Marinette vocalized some of your feelings tonight for you! 

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“promise me, you’ll live a great life without me”

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker

Type: Angst (just pure angst, I’m so sorry)

Word count: 1,779

TW: character death (canon), grief, dissociation, depression

Ao3 link

"They all agreed that once everything was done, they’d call to say everyone was safe. Martin was using it as a lifeline, waiting to hear Tim’s voice on the other end."

or

Martin's view of the season 3 finale

“Martin? There you are.” It must be Melanie since there were only the two of them left, everyone else was away or in jail at this point. Martin sat at his desk looking through a box of statements trying to piece together what goes with what. It helped him to stay busy, if he stayed busy he didn’t have to think about anything. He didn’t have to think about what Elias had shown him, he didn't have to think about where the rest of the team were and he especially didn’t have to think about the fact that they might not come back. That Tim might not come back. 

“What’s wrong? Are they back?” He knew he was getting ahead of himself but he couldn’t help it. He needed to make sure everyone was safe.

“No, uh, there’s a tape for you. It was on Elias’s desk.” Melanie had been in there cleaning up a bit and also snooping around to see if she could find anything to use against him. She handed Martin the tape and his heart stopped when he read the label.

“It’s… it’s from Tim?” Martin could feel his chest start to tighten. 

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Martin barely acknowledged Melanie leaving the room. He practically ran to Jon’s office to get the cassette player and turned it on.

Martin immediately turned it off. There was no way he was listening to that. He couldn't listen to the love of his life say goodbye, especially not when he was probably still alive and on his way back. He wandered through to the break room and flicked on the kettle, barely noticing Melanie sitting at the table in the middle of the room.

Hey Martin, 

I felt like I needed to say something in case this whole plan went south. I made sure Elias knew so hopefully you won't have to hear this unless I haven’t made it back to you. 

“So, what was all that about?” Martin could tell she was trying to be friendly but they weren’t really that close. He appreciated it anyway. 

“Nothing, yet.”

“Well that sounds ominous as fuck. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay.” Martin cracked a tiny smile at the gesture but it felt forced and unnatural. They sat there in silence for a while, staring at the phone in the middle of the table. They all agreed that once everything was done, they’d call to say everyone was safe. Martin was using it as a lifeline, waiting to hear Tim’s voice on the other end. He was snapped out of his daze when Melanie put her hand on his shoulder. It felt like barely any time had passed but it must have been a while because he could see the sun start to set outside. 

“Martin, it’s time to go home.” He looked up at her and all he saw was [pity].

“They said they would call. Melanie, why haven’t they called?” He could feel tears start to prick at his eyes.

“Maybe they just forgot, I mean you know how forgetful Tim and Jon can be.” Her face was pulled into an awkward smile, Martin thinks it was supposed to be comforting.

“Yeah… maybe.” Martin's eyes drifted back to the phone.

“How about I take you home? We can order some takeout and maybe watch a movie to take your mind off things.” Melanie placed her hand on Martin’s shoulder. The pressure was grounding him but he wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing. He slowly nodded and stood up, feeling his joints protest slightly.

“Okay, good. I’ll go grab our coats and I’ll meet you at the front door.” Martin moved slowly, his mind still sitting at the table. He blinked and he was outside the front door with his coat on, waiting for Melanie to lock up. He blinked again and he was at his front door fumbling to get his keys out of his pocket. 

As soon as they were inside his phone started to ring. Martin almost dropped it while he scrambled to get it out of his coat pocket. 

“Hello? Tim, is that you?” He almost choked on the desperation in his voice. 

“Uh, no. It’s Basira.” 

“Oh, Basira. How is everyone? Are you on your way back?” Martin heard her sigh.

“Martin, I uh...I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Just spit it out Basira!”

“They’re gone. Daisy, Tim. They’re both gone. I saw the explosion but they were all still inside. I got out before but I was the only one. Jon’s in critical condition. You should come visit, I’m not sure if he’s… You should come.” Martin couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute and he could pick out a single thought. “Martin?”

“Thank you, Basira. I hope you’re okay.” He hung up before he got an answer. “You need to leave.”

“Martin, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone like this-”

“I SAID LEAVE!” Martin could feel his whole body shaking. As soon as he heard his door shut he collapsed onto the couch, sobs racking his body. He lay there, crying himself to sleep. 

The next morning Martin woke up empty. He ached all over and not just from sleeping on his couch. He dragged himself up and decided to go shower, he had work to do after all. He went through his usual routine but it all felt pointless, hollow, like there was something missing. Someone missing. Getting into the archives was the same. The hours he spent there felt like they dragged on for eternity. That was until he got home again and he realised this was so much worse. He couldn’t bear to stay there any longer so he got back in his car and drove to the hospital. Basira had messaged him earlier that day what hospital Jon was admitted to and it wasn’t too far thankfully. 

The silence of the drive was jarring compared to the usual joyful sounds of Tim singing along to the radio and Martin giggling at his dramatics. Martin felt it in his chest, there was something missing and there always would be. He sat by Jon’s bed, just staring at him. There was some awful part of him deep down that wished it was Tim in that bed instead of Jon. He knew that it was bad to think that but he couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t understand why Jon was the only one to survive. 

Martin sat there for a few hours before he packed up and went home. He didn’t dare go into his bedroom. He couldn’t look at his bed, the bed he’d shared with Tim. He could barely sit on the couch, his mind being flooded with the fact that he’ll never sit and watch movies with Tim there again, never cuddle him again, never see him again. But the bedroom was worse. He tried to sleep on his couch but he just couldn’t. He ended up cleaning all night until he was supposed to go into work. 

Martin went through his work day exhausted and hollow again. He stayed out of the way, avoiding conversation as much as he could and pretending he was fine when he couldn’t. This was easy as barely anyone was in the archives. Because they’re all dead or hurt his mind kindly reminded him. He worked well into the night after everyone had left, waiting for his mind to calm a bit so he could sleep in the cot they had in the storage room. Ever since the Jane Prentiss incident they kept the cot there, mostly because Jon had a habit of staying late which would result in someone forcing him to take a nap because he refused to go home. Martin continued this routine of working late, sleeping in the cot, only going home to shower and get fresh clothes.

About a week later he lay there waiting for sleep to overtake him. But something kept playing on his mind. The tape. He hadn’t listened to the tape yet. He knew it was only a matter of time and he missed Tim’s voice. So he got up and grabbed the cassette player and placed the tape he kept in his bag inside. Martin sat and stared at the player, he couldn’t find it in himself to press play. He took a deep breathe in and pressed play.

Hey Martin, 

I felt like I needed to say something in case this whole plan went south. I made sure Elias knew so hopefully you won't have to hear this unless I haven’t made it back to you. 

Tears started to blur Martin's vision. He knew that this was the last time he would hear Tim say.

I really hope you don’t have to listen to this but honestly? I don’t know if there would be a better way to go. Of course, I’d much rather stay here with you but, this thing- it took my brother, it took Sasha from us. I have to make it pay, whatever it takes. 

Martin felt the familiar burning of tears pouring down his cheeks. He wanted to grab Tim. Go back in time and grab him, tell him not to go.

I know these past two years have been hard but I need you to promise me something. Promise me you’ll live a great life without me. I don’t want you to mope around like I did these past couple months, don’t be angry. I know you Martin, and if you go around blaming yourself then you won’t be able to live. You’ve got to get out there Martin! For me. 

Martin felt his chest ache as he tried to quiet his sobs with the sleeve of his jumper. It was one of the extra soft ones Tim had gotten him for christmas. He got Tim to wear them quite a bit so some of them even smelled like him. 

God, this is so ironic isn’t it? I hate these fucking things and yet this is how I might be saying goodbye to you. Alright, I guess this is it my love. I’ll see you in the next life. I love you Martin, don’t forget that.

And with that the tape clicked off. He let his tears flow freely, he was so loud he thought that someone was going to call someone. But it was 2am and he was alone. He pressed the rewind button and pressed play to start it again. He fell asleep to the sounds of Tim.