#obligatory post for “hands pulled me from the earth”!!!

[lifemod17]

He's singing this more gentle than usual. I need to go lie down. I am unwell 😭

Kia Forum night 1 || 09/17/2024

[kitkatt0430]

4,31,60 and whatever other ones you want for harrisco pleeease :)

4.) Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected’?

Harry is definitely the more over protective of the two. It caused friction in his relationship with Jesse and I could see that instinct trying to creep into things with him and Cisco too despite being well aware that Cisco can take care of himself.

I also tend to see Harry's 'she kicked me off my earth' reaction to Jesse getting upset over Harry's micromanagement and over protectiveness as evidence he has a bit of rejection sensitive dysphoria. And that also his instinct on feeling rejected was to seek out Cisco.

Whenever Harry starts leaning into that overprotectiveness too much, Cisco rather firmly tells Harry he needs to back it down. Sometimes they argue about it and it's them, sometimes there's shouting and the throwing of dry erase markers (not at each other). But Harry has trauma over losing loved ones and Cisco understands that and takes it very seriously. He isn't going to let Harry use that trauma as an excuse to be smothering or controlling, but it does help to remember where Harry's coming from when talking - or arguing - him down from a freak out.

Cisco can have a bit of an overprotective streak himself, though. And after the whole thing with DeVoe is over, Harry may have accepted what happened to him when it was essentially killing him but now he has to live with it and I think maybe sometimes the person he needs the most protecting from is from himself and his anger and frustration he struggles with while learning to live with the resulting brain damage. And Cisco really, really wants to protect him from that and it's the hardest thing to know that he can't make it all better. He can only really support Harry while he finds his way through.

31.) Can they sit side by side without touching the other or are they handsy? (lacing fingers, touching knees, etc.)

Oh they definitely are the handsy sort. Harry isn't the most touchy-feely of people, but when it comes to Cisco he's always reaching out. A hand on his shoulder, on his thigh, touching knees, arm around the shoulder. And he encourages Cisco to do the same. Not that Cisco needs much encouragement since he is a rather touchy-feely type.

By the time they start dating no one is surprised by this behavior in them, but when Harry started getting more demonstrative in their friendship before the dating started there was definitely some surprise. I think Jesse was very pleased to see it, though. The only person he'd felt comfortable being close with until then was her and now he finally had a support structure and a friend he was close enough with to be physically demonstrative with and tease about things? She was so very, very pleased. And even more so when Cisco and Harry finally got together.

60.) Who pulls the other closer when they’re sleeping?

Cisco expected this would be him most often. And certainly he does it a lot. But Harry is suuuuper grabby in his sleep. Holding on to Cisco like he never wants to let go.

And, barring trips to the bathroom where it is a pain to get free of those grabby hands, Cisco is pretty much fine with that.

[marshmallowsqoosh]

[Ghost (Band) | Ritual of Ascension: First Draft]

So I’m having... A Time(tm). AO3 being in limbo is proving kind of helpful, in that, it’s not... looming over my shoulder, but words still aren’t working too great. So I figured, hey, I can do some rough draft sharing/behind the scenes shit/lore posts

And I can queue them! Anyways, I’ll post the rough draft first and then, after it, will be a spiel of me just... babbling. Cuz I can.

Ritual of Ascension (goes to AO3 because I? Never posted a tumblr version for some reason??? uh...if people want it I... guess I can transfer it?) was the first fic I posted for Ghost but I don’t... think it was the first one I wrote...? I feel like Pro Memoria was, but I honestly don’t remember anymore. Anyways, here’s the first draft, before it turned into 7.5k worth of trauma.

obligatory content warning for character death. not as graphic as the published work, but still there.

The paralytic only lasts for a few minutes. Long enough to restrain everyone and gather their remaining ghouls.

 Terzo can't see anything to his sides, but he can hear the ventilator keeping Primo alive. He thinks he can hear Secondo trying to curse, but can't get his lips to move or make much more than a detached groaning that he suspects is meant to be a growl. It feels like a cruel joke. His mouth tastes metallic and his body feels... like nothing. He doesn't feel restraints but he doesn't feel his hands either. He only even knows he's alive because he blinks so... slowly. His eyes wander the room—dim and filled with the familiar incense of the Rituals.

He hears... voices. Muffled, like his ears are stuffed with cotton. Not voices he recognises through the thick haze. He can't even really make out the words or what's happening. He sees... a line of robed figures that he can't make faces out for. And... Ghouls. Unmarked Ghouls and... their Ghouls.

 Cowbell gets pushed forward. Even through the thick cotton, Terzo can hear the distressed noises coming from his throat. He doesn't fight being pushed to his knees, doesn't try to get away when a much larger Ghoul plants a foot in his back. He's still not fighting back—Terzo knows he can, he's wriggled his way out of fights before and away from Alpha trying to bully him and Earth trying to pull him off stage. He can get away, he has to—

 The sledgehammer comes down and shatters the mask. The body doesn't dissipate fast enough and a puddle of void lands a at the feet of onlookers. His heart pounds in his chest and he strains to move his body. Anger. Fear. The others need to run. They can get away, why aren't they running away.

 Special is next. He isn't distressed. He's furious. His mask has already been removed and he's clearly regressing to his feral state. But he doesn't snap at his captors, he doesn't fight being pushed down any more than Cowbell did. He looks over at Terzo for a split second—distress overriding the anger—and doesn't even flinch when the hammer comes down on him, next.

 Him. He's the reason they aren't running. Was it an exchange? Did the robed figures promise his safety if the Ghouls cooperated? With their deaths—?

 Earth is next, but... the executioner isn't the one that pushes him down. Earth kneels on his own; the executioner is pushing another Ghoul forward. One that stubbornly digs his heels in and tries to plant himself against the urging. Literally dig his heels in. Bare heels.

 Mountain.

 He keeps trying to get away; but the executioner just grips his shoulders and keeps him in place. He thinks Earth must say something—he can't make it out, even as his hearing starts to clear up. He can hear Mountain trying to muffle a terrified sob when the hammer gets pushed into his hands. He doesn't lift it until the executioner starts to make towards a table behind the other Ghouls. There's a protest before he swallows it and finally raises the hammer just enough that gravity can help the weak grip he has and the hammer shatters Earth's mask. He backs away as fast as he can, clearly still shaken up and desperate to be out of the room, but simply shuffled off to a corner.

 Each Ghoul gets their turn. Rain opts to taking Water's mask away and force him to dissolve to a puddle that melts into the void that seeps back into Hell, instead of shattering the mask. He refuses to let go of it, even when it gets him backhanded and knocks his own mask off. Not enough to shatter it or damage it; but enough that he starts losing his form until Swiss gets close enough to help him put the mask back on and gently leads him to the corner with Mountain. He still has Water's mask.

 Cirrus and Cumulus both turn away, relying instead on their control of the air around them to raise the hammer and letting it fall to shatter Air's mask. Terzo's positive he heard him tell the Ghoulettes it'll be alright.

 He's never seen Sodo scared. He's never seen him struggle like he does with the hammer. He thinks Sodo begs Alpha to just melt the mask. His fire isn't strong enough, Alpha's should be—but the executioner is quick to remind him that they aren't allowed to use their abilities or the deal is off the table. So it is an exchange.

 Omega's last. He doesn't fight, same as the others. But he doesn't look up at Aether. His attention stays on Terzo for as long as possible. He thinks he hears a whisper of I'm sorry, but can't discern if it's Omega or Aether.

 "Now then... we pass the robe properly."

 Terzo still can't move. He hears the protests from the new Ghouls—he hears overlapping exclamations of you lied! and you promised!—but he's too numb--physically and emotionally to care. His Ghouls would have died with him. They didn't need to be executed and Copia's Ghouls didn't need to be subjected to the trauma of killing them...

 But the deal wasn't for Copia's Ghouls. It was to control Terzo's Ghouls. He still can't talk. When he gets pushed down on the execution block, he can finally see his brothers. Primo is being kept alive just to see this. Secondo looks furious, even in his immobility. His head feels thick with fog again and he's only vaguely aware of arguing. He's only vaguely aware of the apologising above him.

 It wasn't supposed to be like this—this wasn't supposed to happen, I'm so sorry—

 He wants to tell Copia it's okay. He wants to tell the Ghouls it's okay. His brothers. He should probably just be grateful Father isn't here.

 If he were, they would make Terzo face him; the sounds of his father's voice are a desperate hallucination in his final moments. Father isn't actually in the room—

 I'm sorry, Valentino is the last thing he thinks he hears. But he still refuses to believe Father was there.

♠                          ♥                            ♠

So this was initially barely 1k and one of the earliest things I wrote if not the earliest. I didn’t know much about the lore (i.e. the second wave of Era 3) and I hadn’t looked too much into Era 1 or 2, at that time. 

Primo and Secondo’s Ghouls--while I’ve always believed Ghouls were generational--didn’t quite exist, yet, beyond Earth was Primo’s and transferred to Terzo.

I’m about ninty percent sure I wrote this after early drafts of Pro Memoria, because that was drafted up in response to my bestest enabler informing me of the theory that Terzo died during the embalming process, not when he was injected. And then this happened because he informed me of a tweet. Neither of us have the original tweet anymore, but the gists of it was 

"So we only saw terzo get poisoned, what if the others had to watch as they executed/decapitated him"

and this was the result lol.

Anyways some small fun facts:

(1) During the refining process to post as something coherent, I actually ended up falling down a hole of research into demonology and refreshing myself on the various entities in Hell, as I choose to believe each Ghoul is assigned to  specific Devil. (I’ve only really touched on it in the Ritual of Summoning chapters and it was mentioned, briefly, in the two Phantom pieces) and the executioners were initially going to have the seal of Eligos on them, as they were meant to tie into the transition between Prequelle and Impera. (As Eligos, according to the Ars Goetia, “knows the future of wars” and Impera’s theme is one of war.)

Unfortunately, I don’t think I actually got to that, past a brief mention of the sigil, but not one detailed enough to name them, because I was still figuring out how Ghouls operate, in my head, a the time.

(2) As with above, this was written before I’d given the Ghouls too much thought, as to how they operate, beyond “Hell-summoned void creatures given form”. As such, there are a few inconsistencies between this fic and the “main timeline” I write in, in that here Rain is able to remove Water’s mask and has his own knocked off; wherein the more refined timeline I work from now, the masks are more solidly attached to the Ghouls and cannot be removed without their summoner’s permission, up until Era 5, where their contracts have been altered to allow them free reign to remove their masks on their own, if they want (or specifically need) to.

It was also before I’d fully thought about how their powers work, implying a Fire Ghoul could melt theirs; this has since been refined that they can damage their masks by heating up (i.e., I am firmly of the belief that Sodo’s horns on his helmet are white because he’s overheated and burned the horns so many times and cooled them that they’ve simply lost the original black coating) but they cannot destroy them, even if they take them off and try that way.

(3) When refining the draft into the published version, I had learned about the second wave of Era 3 and did have a moment where I considered including Ifrit, Mist, Zephyr, and Pebble; but, I couldn’t quite justify juggling that many Ghouls at the time and I’ve no desire to rewrite something already published, even if I have found a way to viably do it. Maybe as a one off, one day;;

(4) In a second or third draft, I considered having Omega kill Terzo. While the idea was set aside, as it didn’t fit the theme of the story (passing on the robe, as it were), I do still have a variation of the scenario scribbled down somewhere. 

(5) I don’t actually have any other fun facts, I’m just still really proud of how this turned out, especially for it being such an early attempt at writing (as in like... a week after getting into the band... it’s fine)

So uh. yeah! I’ll probably queue up a few of these, there might even be some disembodied scribbles that got scrapped from the main projects or maybe some of the AU shenanigans. we’ll see. /)(\ thanks so much to anyone who took the time to read ♥

[boxfullaturtles]

16, 22, 29 for the fanfic asks!

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles? It kind of depends on what I'm working on, but a lot of the time the placeholder title ends up becoming the title lol If it's a one-shot, I likely come up with the title after it's finished, usually trying to pull from the themes of the fic or something that covers what the one-shot is about. For multi-chapters, the title doesn't tend to come until a while into writing it. "Adagio in Green" was just saved as "Obligatory Post-Movie Recovery Fic" until very recently, and that was only after I spent an hour or so making lists of title ideas.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing it? Just like with titles, it varies. Most of the time, I have a specific scene or scenes that I want to write and I'll try to find a way to wrap it up from there. For the one-shots like my Bad Things Happen Bingo, I generally have an end goal in mind as I don't usually like to leave those hanging ("We Were Born to Suffer and Love" is an exception to that). Fun facts: "Adagio in Green" does not currently have an ending and it is haunting me like too much garlic butter sauce...

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) so many options to choose from... Very well, he's a huge chunk I cut from "Mortal Shell" because, as much as I loved the idea, it was unfortunately ruining the pacing and took away from Mikey's part of the narrative [under a cut because it's LONG]

“What can I do to help?” Casey yells above the Prism’s increasingly louder screaming, one hand clutching his hockey saw and the other braced on Leo’s shell.

Leo’s glowing eyes wash Casey’s face in white-blue neon, “Well? You’re a Hamato, aren’t you? You heard Raph! Ninpō up, brother!”

Casey’s face goes through a rapid series of emotions, his eyes shining with tears he blinks stubbornly away, “B-but I’m not—I don’t—I’ve never done this before! I don’t think I even have Ninpō!”

“It is within you, Future Boy,” Splinter’s light joins Raph’s and Leo’s, a pillar of steadfast starlight, a comet blazing through the darkness. It sings and soars, strong and supportive, “You’ll find it.” He lays a paw on the Prism’s side and it’s screaming cranks up another notch.

“B-but,” Casey sputters, looking lost, “But I’m not like you!”

Donnie claps Casey on the shoulder as he passes, smirking at him, “Yeah? Well that never stopped April. Why would it stop you?” And then he is a fierce purple, blending easily between Raph and Leo, his hand on the Prism’s shoulder.

Mikey is nearly blown away by the onslaught of his family’s Ninpō sweeping over him, their power both comforting and crushing in equal measure. The hair-raising static of a lightning storm blazing blue, the clinical gleam of computers breathing violet ozone, the impenetrable crush of red earth, and the cold steel of a white moon lighting up the night. It presses against him, makes him want to wrap his arms around it all and pull it close. It’s his family, it’s them, it’s everything they are in gorgeous light and breath-taking glory.

And Casey stands like an uncertain shadow at Leonardo’s side.

Hesitantly, Mikey alights beside him and reaches out a hand.

His palm rests on Casey’s shoulder for a moment and he feels

guilt scared hopeful worry worry anxious nervous energy hope

(oh god it sounds like a Krang beast, it acts like one, I can’t do this, I can’t watch this, it’s too much)

not Michelangelo, please, I can’t go through this again

want to help want to help want to help want to help

before he gently slips inside.

Casey is a flower growing in the cracks of the pavement, hardy and determined and stubborn despite his circumstances. He is a forest after a fire has raged through it, slowly regrowing and mending, healing what has been hurt, restoring what has been lost. He is a shy and flickering cluster of fireflies in a dark field beneath faint starlight, uncertain and wary, but still blinking their messages out into the night, calling, calling, calling.

Mikey answers.

“Casey.”

“M-Master Michelangelo!? What!? How!?”

Mikey’s laugh is a summer breeze through the midnight field, “Like Leo said, you’re a Hamato, right?”

“I...I don’t—”

He’s not one hundred percent sure of what he’s doing, but Mikey follows his heart and his instinct. He reaches out and

the swarm of fireflies drift hesitantly towards the warm fire

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Mikey says. In the landscape of metaphors and symbolism, Mikey takes Casey’s hands in his own, orange fire swirling over tarnished gold, “We’re your family, Casey. We trust you to have our backs, just like you trust us to have yours.”

The dandelions falter in the shadows of fallen skyscrapers. A surge of black tar threatens to swallow them whole, bubbling from the pits of a future that will no longer happen and stinking of rot and bile.

Mikey can see the memories, the things Casey does not like to talk about. The ravaged world, the ruins, the tainted red sky, the air thin and choked with smoke, the sun gone. The earth is dead, nothing grows, thousands die.

But there is also hope. And warmth. And family.

A mother’s voice. A firm and steady hand. The flash of a sword he knows will always protect him. A beaming smile. The glow of screens. A sarcastic joke. A familiar laugh. The rough texture of a shell. A hand holding his.

“Hold onto that,” Mikey whispers to the fireflies gathering at his fingertips, “Remember them. It hurts, I know it hurts. But remember you were never alone. And you never will be.”

the fireflies are a dense pocket of light, bathed in the warmth of the dancing flames

“A ninja’s greatest weapon…!”

“We’ll see you again, Case.”

“Casey!”

“Casey!”

“We’re right here, I promise.”

“You’re safe.”

“Casey Jones…”

“I’m proud of you.”

and then they bloom

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

Mikey pulls away from Casey in a rush, twisting in midair with a grin on his face as he watches the boy light up. Bronze and gold glow from within him, spilling into his eyes until they sear a brilliant white-gold. His beacon is the mid-day sun glinting off the sides of cars, the rebar of construction sites, the highway signs on the overpass. He stands beside Leo and they both press their hands to the Prism.

The thing is screaming at such a high pitch now that it’s almost inaudible, streaks of metallic silver pouring from its face and now bubbling from some of the mystic scars on the arms. It stains the black wraps with a dull sheen and begins to drip over Raphael’s fingers. But he doesn’t let go.

Mikey moves to take his place beside his brothers and father, sliding his hand onto his body’s chest and flaring his own Ninpō in a cascade of flames. Light and color are flooding the room, the pressure of the power being generated enough to make the air vibrate and the arcade machines rattle. Through the blaze, between his brothers’ shoulders, Mikey can just make out Baron Draxum, starring in stunned awe sat the spectacle before him.

“What’s wrong, Mikey?” Leo’s voice, as clear and audible as if he had spoken the words aloud.

“Barry.” Mikey responds.

They all understand. In a single instantaneous moment, they simply know. All of them turn their heads to look at Baron Draxum, takes a startled step back at the sudden attention.

Splinter stretches out a hand, light curling off his palm in cool mist. An invitation.

Draxum hesitates. Then he moves forward and takes Splinter’s hand in his own, silver-white light wrapping tenderly around his wrist to pull him closer.

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

dabs in Hamato

yeah, originally was gonna have this bit of Barry and Casey both unlocking their Ninpo

buuuutttt it ruined the pacing, took away the focus from Mikey, and I feel like something that significant should be given more attention than just one scene like this, so it was cut and Casey gets like five lines in the whole fic now, sorry Casey

[crisis-on-infinite-batblogs]

"I want him to know it was me."

I've got feelings about Jason and Bruce's relationship, so let's talk about it. As always, I'm mixing up my own continuity cocktail of pre-crisis and post-crisis and adding just a little splash of headcanon for color.

The year is 1984. The comic is Batman #368

We all know this issue as the debut of Jason Todd as Robin. More accurately, it's his first appearance as an official Batman-sanctioned Robin. (See #366 when Jason steals Dick's uniform and flies to Guatemala).

Anyway, this issue starts with the first and (to my knowledge) the last voluntary and consensual passing of the Robin mantle. Isn't that fun?

Jason is ecstatic and goes to change into his newly bequeathed colors while Bruce and Dick exchange misty-eyed nods. There's fatherly hands on shoulders and lumps in their throats and it's all very sweet.

Dick shares with Bruce a hearty handshake before leaving the cave. Over his shoulder he calls out one final farewell: "So long, Robin. Be great." And when Dick's footsteps finally fade into the shadows:

Jason shares his worries about not receiving any credit for his acts. He knows that this is selfish, and he admits to being ashamed that he even said it. He's being incredibly honest and vulnerable with Bruce, which is something I feel we don't get to see often enough.

Bruce gives an obligatory speech about how Jason will be serving justice and saving lives. He says that with this job, there is no room for a big ego. But he also says "No need to be so hard on yourself, Jay."

And in a shocking twist, Good Parent Bruce Wayne is equally honest and vulnerable and shares this little anecdote with his son:

Bruce lays a gloved hand on the new Robin's narrow shoulders, and tells him in earnest that it gets easier. He says that with every innocent life saved, that need for recognition feels less urgent. With every look of relief and gratitude on the faces of would-be victims, the glory seems less important.

(and stepping into headcanon land:)

Jason takes a deep breath, and puts on a smile. "I know you're probably right, Batman... about it getting easier?"

His smile sinks into something closer to a grimace. "And I want to believe all that stuff you said about seeing the gratitude on people's faces, and--"

Jason's bitter laugh comes out as a huff. He looks down at his hands which fidget nervously in their brand new green gloves. When he continues, his voice is little more than a whisper.

"I want to help people... I-I want to be great, just like Dick said." Trying and failing to meet Bruce's gaze, Jason throws his eyes up to search the vaulted shadows of the cave. "It just sucks that no one will know it's really me."

Bruce is reminded, not the last time, that Jason is not Dick. The same lectures he gave the first Robin won't work half so well this time around. Jason's situation is fundamentally different. The kid is stepping into a pair of well worn shoes that won't be easy to fill. Bruce sighs, and pulls his son into a hug.

"You're beginning with a rich legacy behind you, Jason, and no one can ever know who's behind that mask." He rests his chin on top of the lad's head, and squeezes as if he could draw out every last bit of self-doubt. "... but I'll always know it's really you... and I will be so proud."

(and stepping back into canon:)

Seven-odd years have passed, and a countless number of odd things have happened. Jason was gone. He was dead... but then he comes back.

He comes back to loneliness, and hunger, and so much pain. He comes back to a world that he does not recognize, and he comes back to a Batman who is so different from the one he left behind.

Talia has been warned of the so-called "Pit Madness". Her father has told her of the rage and darkness that now live in young Jason's heart. He has told her that she's unleashed a pestilence upon the earth.

But her father is wrong. It is not rage that burns in Jason's heart, but a cold and calculated revenge.

One week later, and all the pieces are in place: Batman is six blocks away, staking out a bunch of Penguin's men, waiting on a weapons seller who will never show. This gives Jason just enough time to plant the bomb on the Batmobile. A combination of Lead Azide and RDX placed six inches behind the back left tire. As close as he can get to the fuel line. And then, all there is to do is wait until the bastard arrives.

Jason watches as the Bat makes his approach. He glares through the slatted window with his thumb hovering just above the button. He waits for his moment.

Batman walks wearily toward the car. Towards safety. Towards home. He doesn't yet sense any danger. He doesn't yet see Death lurking before him. He opens the door.

You made this happen. Jason thinks, his thumb pressing every so sightly upon the trigger.

You.

And then it happens. Batman enters the vehicle and the time has come.... but Jason can't do.

He did everything right. He planned it all with expert precision. He crossed every 't', and meticulously dotted each and every 'i', but when the moment of his glory is upon him, Jason realizes that it isn't what he wants.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's not what you think," he says to Talia.

"I'm gonna kill him," Jason says, "but he's gonna look me in the eye when he goes."

A cold wind screams across his face, brushing his dark hair into even darker eyes.

"When I take him from this world, I want him to know it was me."

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 2

A/N: the flower husbands do be kinda 😳 in this part so obligatory reminder that this is about their characters, not the irl people! anyway homoerotic swordfight lets gooooo (also look at me posting two days in a row hell yeah)

Warnings: arguing, violence, swordfighting, flirting

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost 

-

It was a good day. The sun was shining, Jimmy was finally getting some organization done in his empire- and then he showed up. Jimmy just about dropped the materials he was carrying to his storage building when he spotted Scott standing on his roof, looking down at it with a frown. Jimmy let out a frustrated groan, quickly hustling into the building to dump his materials in a chest and then back outside to glare up at Scott. He gave a cocky grin and a wave, and Jimmy let out another frustrated sound.

“What are you doing here?!” Jimmy demanded. Scott merely shrugged.

“I dunno, was bored. Decided to fly by. Your roof is terrible by the way,” Scott said, shifting his weight on the wood and grimacing when it gave a creak.

“What do you mean, my roof is terrible?!” Jimmy protested with a frown. He thought his buildings weren’t half bad! Sure, they were nothing fancy like Scott’s, but they made do! They were simple, Jimmy liked simple.

“I mean I can barely get a foothold here without feeling like I’m gonna fall off, it’s way too steep!” Scott replied with a grimace. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“My roofs aren’t meant to be perches, Scott. Besides, steep roofs are kind of the style around here!” Jimmy said, crossing his arms. He was slightly aware that he looked like a pouty toddler at the moment, but was too irritated by Scott’s presence to really care. Scott wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Jimmy, you wouldn’t know style if it smacked you in the face,” he retorted.

“Excuse you, I have a lot of style!” Jimmy protested.

“You wear a cod head,” Scott said flatly.

“Exactly!” Jimmy said, as if it was obvious. Scott rolled his eyes, and Jimmy scowled at him. Scott could have whatever opinions he wanted on Jimmy’s style, but his roofs were fine! He would show him, Jimmy could stand on top of the roof just fine if he wanted to! With a determined frown, Jimmy equipped his elytra and flew up to the roof, startling Scott slightly.

“What on earth are you doing?” Scott asked with a resigned sigh. Jimmy landed on the roof, and only wobbled a tiny bit before he caught his balance and stood on its steep slope just fine. Well, maybe not just fine, but he was trying to prove a point to Scott here. He didn’t need to know that Jimmy was frankly struggling with keeping his balance.

“See, it’s not too steep! I’m standing just fine!” Jimmy said proudly, putting his hands on his hips in a triumphant pose.

“You’re really trying to out-perch the person here with actual wings?” Scott scoffed, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy deflated slightly.

“Okay, well- it does sound dumb when you put it like that- but what does that say about you if the guy with an elytra can perch better than the guy with real wings!” Jimmy said, faltering only for a moment before regaining his confidence.

“Please, I’ve kept my balance on worse than this,” Scott huffed. A semi-victorious smirk came to Jimmy’s face, and Scott looked at him in confusion.

“Then why were you complaining about it?” Jimmy asked, voice cocky and a full on grin spreading over his face. Now it was Scott’s turn to look frustrated, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly for a few moments.

“I- well- that’s besides the point! I had to think of a functional purpose for why your roof was bad other than it was ugly, Katherine told me to play nice!” Scott finally shot back, moving forward and poking Jimmy in the chest. While it wasn’t even that hard, Jimmy nearly toppled over anyway, only saved by Scott rushing forward and grabbing his arm to steady him. Jimmy’s face suddenly felt warm at Scott’s touch, and he blamed it on the frustration he felt over what Scott had said.

“You’re only here because Katherine sent you?!” Jimmy asked, surprising himself at the disappointment that underlaid the annoyance in his tone. Scott let go of his arm with an eye roll.

“Why else would I visit you? And you’re welcome for not letting you go splat,” he scoffed.

“I would have been fine, I don’t need your help!” Jimmy shot back.

“Oh you definitely need help Jimmy, looking at the state of your roofs,” he retorted.

“For the last time, my roofs are FINE!” Jimmy shouted, shoving at Scott without really thinking about it. Scott stumbled backwards, and with a gasp Jimmy reached out for him- only for Scott to right himself with a powerful flap of his wings, blowing Jimmy backwards a bit. Jimmy opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped cold at the downright murderous look in Scott’s eyes. Scott had always been a tall, imposing figure- but with his wings flared, a hand on the hilt of his sword, and icy blue eyes glittering with anger- Jimmy was beginning to wish that he would take a moment to think before he did something like shove someone who was definitely better at fighting than him.

“Jimmy, you could have killed me,” Scott said, voice low and dangerous.

“But I didn’t! You caught yourself and- wait no Scott, wait- SCOTT!” Jimmy rambled, voice tapering off into an undignified shriek as Scott drew his sword and lunged forward. Jimmy managed to scramble to the side and avoid the strike, unsheathing his own sword as he did so.

“Wait for what, Jimmy? You attacked first,” Scott taunted as he raised his sword again, and Jimmy was barely able to block the blow in time, a resounding clang echoing through the swamp.

“Katherine said to play nice!” Jimmy protested, cringing internally a bit at how much he sounded like a whiny toddler.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Scott growled. Jimmy grit his teeth, pushing against Scott’s sword with his own and causing Scott to stumble backwards.

“Fine, then I’ll actually be able to fight you this time,” Jimmy said with a determined scowl.

“I’d like to see you try,” Scott taunted with a smirk. Jimmy advanced with a shout, Scott sidestepping to the side easily, the tips of his feathers barely brushing against Jimmy’s sword. Jimmy stumbled forward, unable to slow his momentum- until he toppled over the side of the building. Luckily he was able to glide down with his elytra just fine, but that didn’t stop him from glaring at Scott indignantly as he effortlessly landed on the ground. He ran at Scott again, slashing and jabbing but only growing more and more irritated as Scott easily deflected every blow.

“This is ridiculous!” Jimmy panted as he tried to catch his breath, while Scott didn’t have a single feather or hair out of place. Scott smirked, slowly circling as he lightly twirled his sword, adjusting his grip.

“It is, I thought you’d at least put up somewhat of a decent fight,” Scott said with a mock disappointed hum. Jimmy barely took a breath to reply before Scott lunged at him, and Jimmy brought up his sword to deflect- until Scott’s true target hit as his blade slid under the hilt of Jimmy’s sword and he brought his blade up harshly, causing Jimmy’s sword to fly out of his hands. Scott swung at him again, and Jimmy dodged the blow and made a break for his sword. Scott leapt after him, knocking Jimmy to the ground. His sword ended up stabbing into the ground, inches from Jimmy’s head. Jimmy let out a low sound of frustration, viciously jabbing his elbow back and unable to keep the satisfied smile off his face when his elbow connected with something solid, resulting in a shout of pain and frustration from Scott. The moment of victory was short lived as Jimmy tried to scramble up, but was yanked back down by Scott again.

The two of them grappled for control, each of them trying to get to their own sword but being pulled back by the other. Eventually Scott ended up on top of Jimmy, hands pinning his wrists to the ground and nose barely an inch from his. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Scott’s hair was rather disheveled from their fight, a few strands hanging from their usual place and brushing Jimmy’s forehead. And inexplicably, all Jimmy could think about was how he could kiss Scott if he wanted to. They were practically sharing the same air, and Scott was looking at him with something burning in his eyes despite the icy tone of their hue- Jimmy’s face flushed at the sudden rush of thoughts, how vividly he could envision the feel of Scott's lips on his own. Scott’s burning expression turned curious, and he smirked in a way that sent Jimmy’s stomach flip-flopping not unpleasantly. Scott shifted, until his breath was ghosting Jimmy’s ear- and oh this is how Jimmy died. Not with a sword through his stomach, but with whatever Scott was doing to make his insides squirm like that.

“If I had known you liked being pinned, I would have done so much sooner,” Scott said in a low croon, and whatever Jimmy had been feeling before was quickly replaced by irritation. He wanted nothing more than to shove Scott off of him, but seeing as his hands were pinned, he couldn’t.

“Get off of me,” Jimmy growled. Scott let out a short, low chuckle, and Jimmy internally cursed his body for shivering at the resulting breath against his ear.

“That’s not how this works, we’re fighting,” Scott said with amusement lacing his tone.

“Oh really? Cause you seemed very interested in something else a few moments ago,” Jimmy huffed, turning his head to try and glare at Scott. Scott relented and shifted so he was looking Jimmy in the eyes again.

“Only because you were blushing, you idiot,” Scott retorted with a laugh.

“I was not blushing! I just… my face gets red very easily, and fighting takes physical effort!” Jimmy protested.

“Uh huh,” Scott said with an unimpressed stare. Jimmy scrambled to think of something to say back, to maybe unbalance Scott as much as the winged elf had unbalanced him- but any train of thought was halted by a disapproving voice.

“You two are either getting along too well or you aren’t getting along at all,” Katherine said, and both Scott and Jimmy’s heads whipped over to see the head of House Blossom glaring at the two of them with her arms crossed.

“Oh. Hi, Katherine,” Scott said with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t you ‘hi, Katherine’ me! I knew sending you over her alone was a bad idea,” Katherine snapped, and Scott had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed.

“I don’t think Jimmy was complaining about this turn of events,” he muttered. Jimmy glared up at Scott incredulously.

“I very much AM complaining, get off of me!” he protested. Scott finally relented with a sigh, letting go of Jimmy’s wrists before getting up, wings shaking out any dirt and a hand smoothing his hair back to where it should be. Jimmy scowled, getting up as well, brushing the dirt off himself and adjusting his cod head. Scott walked over to where his sword was still buried in the ground and yanked it out with a grimace, looking it over before sheathing it. Jimmy’s sword was still lying a little ways away, and he walked over to it with a sigh.

“So what argument were you having before you decided it was necessary to solve it through swordfighting?” Katherine asked, disapproval lacing her voice.

“Jimmy pushed me off the roof,” Scott replied with a shrug.

“You pushed first! And you said my roofs were terrible!” Jimmy protested.

“I poked you, and your roofs are bad! That’s just a fact!” Scott retorted. Jimmy opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Katherine coming to stand in between them. Jimmy hadn’t even realized that they were moving closer to each other until Katherine had stepped in.

“That’s enough! Scott, I told you to be nice, and Jimmy I thought you were gonna try not to let things get to you too much!” Katherine reprimanded, gaze switching between the two of them. Both of them were silent for a moment, each looking a little sheepish but neither one wanting to be the first to own up to what they said. Jimmy’s eyes met Katherine’s, and she gestured towards Scott with a pointed expression. Scott looked baffled for a moment, while Jimmy simply sighed as he begrudgingly gave in to what Katherine was undoubtedly expecting. Jimmy looked to Scott, and the winged elf jumped slightly at the sudden solemn eye contact.

“I’m sorry for pushing you, I was frustrated and let my emotions get the better of me,” Jimmy said softly, and Scott blinked in surprise at the sincere apology. He was silent for a moment, until Katherine cleared her throat expectantly. Scott sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

“I.. I’m sorry too. I was trying to get a rise out of you, and I guess I shouldn’t have reacted so… extremely when I succeeded in that. And your roofs are… acceptable,” Scott said, looking like saying the last statement caused him physical pain. Jimmy laughed good-naturedly.

“You don’t have to lie about my roofs Scott, it’s fine. I know they could never compare to the grand-ness of Rivendell’s buildings- but apology accepted all the same,” Jimmy said, a pleasant bubbly feeling growing in his stomach at Scott’s resulting smile. Katherine looked far too pleased with herself as she grinned as her gaze shifted between the two of them. Scott was still looking at Jimmy though, something almost calculating in his expression, but softer. More… intrigued, maybe? Jimmy couldn’t quite decipher it. Scott suddenly looked away, clearing his throat.

“Well I uh… I think I’ve kept you long enough. From… doing whatever it was you uh. Were doing. Bye!” Scott said, taking off before Jimmy had a chance to say goodbye or even wave. Jimmy watched until Scott’s form grew smaller and smaller in the sky, feeling hopelessly confused. Katherine patted his arm gently, Jimmy only slightly jumping at the touch as he turned to look at her.

“Now that wasn’t so bad! Maybe the next meeting will actually go smoothly for once,” Katherine said brightly. Jimmy chuckled, looking back up at the sky, even if Scott was no longer in view.

“I think that’s a bit much to hope for us,” he said remorsefully. But all the same… he hoped that maybe Katherine was right.

-

MCYT General Fic Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123

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[ghostofstudentspast]

Obligatory (part 3)

Series masterlist

Warnings: a panic attack in the first half.

I am BACK! I finished this baby up this morning and while I won’t be posting as frequently anymore because of college I’ll still be posting/finishing up all my wips!

For the first time in your life, you would have given anything to stay at Hogwarts during the Holidays. Your house had lost its warmth and instead every shadow started to look like a ghost to you. Your father only left his study for dinner, where the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence as knives and forks scraped fine china. Your mother seemed light years away. She could often be found cleaning things unnecessarily, staring off into the distance and only ever casting you soft smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.

You could feel how the weight had shifted in the Pureblood community. Everyone was on edge and keeping secrets from each other. Christmas was a lackluster event in your house this year. Your mother had insisted on a tree and family dinner, but things felt strained. Not at all like the laughter filled Christmases you remembered growing up. Your mother had purchased an absurd number of expensive gifts, as if that would make up for the lack of holiday spirit. Clothes and jewelry and expensive quills littered the dresser in your bedroom and you didn’t want to touch a single item.

“Darling?” Your mother’s voice broke through your absent thoughts. “We’re expected at Malfoy manor in thirty, are you ready?”

You were perched on the edge of your bed, hands clasped in your lap to stop them from picking at the dark red material of your dress. You were vaguely aware of your mother coming to sit next to you on the bed and taking your hand in her own. Her fingers were warm and helped pull you back down to earth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t think-“she took a breath and didn’t continue.

All you could do was nod numbly as her thumb stroked the back of your hand. You hadn’t noticed your hand had been shaking until now. Raising your head to meet your mother’s gaze you saw how red her eyes were, how the purple bags were still prominent despite the makeup covering them, how she had faint tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“I know.” Your voice cracked as you nodded again, this time stronger.

“He’s going to be there tonight.” There was no need to say much more, her eyes betraying the fear that could never be voiced out loud.

“I’ll be good,” you offered her a lifeless smile, “I promise.”

The terrifying thought of seeing the Dark Lord in person hung over you all the way to Malfoy Manor. Stepping into the cold atmosphere of the ballroom did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest. Where once the parties thrown here had been lively, full of music and wine and chatter, now it was filled with hushed whispers and something stronger than wine.

“Can we talk?” Draco had appeared at your side like a shadow.

“No.” You didn’t meet his eyes and made to step away from him when a hush fell over the room.

There he stood, dark robes and snake slithering around his feet. The Dark Lord.

“My children,” his voice was high and sharp, “I’m so happy to see so many of you here tonight, proving once again who is loyal to our cause.” you doubted he had ever been happy in his existence.

As if he’d heard you speak his eyes locked on yours. A horrendous red colour, eyes like a snake, bored into your very existence. Your skin crawled and you felt like you might throw up at any moment.

“And our lovely bride and groom to be,” a smile creeped its way onto his face. It was less a smile and more a grimace. “The first in the new generation to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Wise.”

His eyes bored into yours and you could feel his magic pouring into your head. Pushing through your thoughts forcefully. Your heart rate sped up and your breathing hitched. The only thing that reminded you where you were was Draco’s hand resting on your lower back. You pushed all of your thoughts towards the back of your mind and focused on his finger tapping ever so slightly against you. You shot a glance at him and thought you saw his head shake the tiniest bit.

Legillimency, you could feel the Dark Lord prying at your memories. You knew he couldn’t go there, couldn’t know how disgusted he made you feel. You clenched your teeth and thought about the contract, you thought about marrying Draco, pushed the idea of loyalty forward with bile rising in your stomach.

“Continue with your festivities,” he finally broke eye contact and turned his eerie smile to the other guests as your shoulders drooped.

You felt exhausted. Like someone had just ran a bulldozer over your brain. He’d walked through your mind, through your thoughts. You’d never felt more exposed then at that moment.

“Excuse me,” you muttered to Malfoy and turned on your heel to slip away through the crowd of people.

Walking faster than normal you tried not to break into a run as your breathing became unsteady and panicked. You threw yourself into the large bathroom down the hall and threw the door shut before sliding onto the floor and letting out a painful sob.

Tears were streaming from your eyes as you desperately tried to control your breathing. He’d violated your mind. What if he’d seen something dangerous, you’d be endangering not only yourself but your family and friends. You sobbed pathetically, drawing your knees up to your chest and moving into the farthest corner of the room, away from the door. A soft knock at the door only added to the panic filling your veins. You shook your head and covered your ears, unable to breathe. Unable to tell them to leave you alone. Not even your sobs were audible anymore as you fought with your thoughts.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, he’s gone.” the voice was soft and kind and broke through your thoughts. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. “Breathe Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” the voice repeated until you did what it said. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Your breathing was shaky and didn’t quite fill your lungs but slowly you managed to control your air flow. Tears still running down your face and falling into your lap you uncovered your ears and opened your eyes. Across from you sat the last person you would want to see you like this.

“You’re okay.” Draco spoke softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You nodded, and he offered you a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t pity, instead it held understanding. “I get them too.” He confided without meeting your eyes.

“It’s new for me,” your voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to your ears. He nodded in understanding as you closed your eyes again, rubbing them with the palm of your hands, makeup smudged across your cheeks.

When you opened your eyes again Draco was gone just as quickly as he’d came in. The bathroom floor felt just a bit colder as you dropped your head back against the wall.

When you arrived back at Hogwarts the following week Draco made sure to give you space. You were grateful he hadn’t brought up the Christmas incident again and from the lack of pity in his friend’s eyes, you didn’t think he’d told them either. You did notice that he spent more time looking at you these days. He always wore an unreadable expression and his eyes still held a sharp calculating look but this time he was observing you.

It took a few days of him watching you for you to get fed up and resolve to talk to him. This is why you were currently following him out of the potions classroom and down the hall farther into the dungeons. He stopped about halfway to the Slytherin common room and rounded on you, arms cross and one blond eyebrow raised.

“Stalking me Y/L/N?” his lips almost quirked up into a smirk.

“Christmas, you said you wanted to talk to me,” you raised your chin, so you could look down your nose at him, “so talk.” If you kept up your snooty pureblood persona around him, it was easier to pretend he hadn’t seen the most vulnerable side of you.

“Right,” he let out a short laugh and shook his head, “I was going to tell you that I found something interesting in the Manor library over the break. It’s definitely not something we want to try as a first option but if you’re this desperate,” he dug through his bag and fished out an old leather-bound spell book.

“You found something to break the contract?” Your demeanor perked up and your eyes zeroed in on the book in his hands.

“Maybe,” his voice held an unspoken warning, “again, this is very much a desperate man’s last resort. Or in this case desperate woman.” He added seeing you fidget with your sleeves as he held out the book. “Don’t try anything without me.”

“Yeah, no of course not.” You snatched the book from his hand and immediately opened it to where Draco had folded the corner of a page. Skimming the title quickly you found your stomach rolling in unease, “This is blood magic.” You looked up at him with a frown.

“Yeah, which is why I don’t have high hopes for two underage wizards working it out safely.” He grimaced, “read it for yourself.” He motioned towards the book and turned to keep walking to the common room.

“No wait, Malfoy,” you chased him, still holding the book open to the folded page.

“I have bigger fish to fry Y/L/N,” he kept walking, his long strides taking him much faster than yours, “if you’re desperate enough to try blood magic, you know where to find me.” He sighed and left you standing by yourself clutching the book between your hands like your life depended on it.

Finding a free spot on a windowsill near the common room you began to read. The cold frost on the window had your wrapping your robed around you tightly as your eyes flicked between the pages. Blood sacrifice for magical contracts. No. Blood bonds and magical contracts. Also no. Breaking magical contracts with blood. Ah, that’s the one.

Magical contracts are rarely breakable. The witches and wizards who enter in a magic bound contract will be tied by said contract for the remainder of their lives. The only way to exit out of such a vow is for either party to pass on (ghosts cannot be held to a magical contract).

“I don’t want to kill him,” you rolled your eyes and kept reading.

It is therefore possible to trick the magic bond by imitating death. First, one or both parties must provide a vile of blood to be spilled on the original document. Second, one or both parties must take a dose of Draught of Living Death (instructions on pg. 66) and a half dose of calming draught (instructions on pg. 80) note; the users blood must be infused with both potions. These two potions will bring the user into a two-day long death-like state. This along with spilled blood on paper will render the contract useless as ‘one party will have passed on’ very briefly.

WARNING: taking too much of these potions or using too much blood can result in irreversible damage including but not limited to; loss of memory, narcolepsy, weakened magic, blood clots, death, etc.

You closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to process what you’d just read. Basically, there was a very slim chance that you’d be able to pull this off and a very large shot at accidentally inflicting lifelong damage. Or death.Unfortunately, in all of your time spent researching, this was the only viable option you had come across.

How much are you willing to risk to break this contract?

Series Taglist:��@xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes @aplaintart @jjjmaybank

[leatherbookmarking]

bilboo replied to your post

“[[MOR] this is very ‘mortifying ordeal etc’ BUT that would come up...”

I literally can't wait to write this bc in my head jc's disciples and servants LOVE HIM, he is grumpy ALWAYS but he's also endlessly fair and doesn't suffer bullshit, everybody is treated so well at lotus pier I LOVE ONE ANGRY SOUR MAN

YESSSS EVERYTHING PRECIOUS ON EARTH FOR THE GRAPEBOY

and now i’m thinking about, for example, some important conference everyone has to attend (even though it’s basically glorified small talk, and everyone DREADS it aside from sect leader yao, who is finally allowed to talk, and not stop talking, and he has five days) so at some point the disciples gather and exchange juicy gossip talk respectfully about their sect leaders, and

“surely you jiangs have it tough, i mean no offense, but sect leader jiang looks like he’s permanently on a verge of a meltdown--”

“--right, i’ve noticed that too, and the way he’s constantly clenching his teeth? he must be very good at cracking nuts, and i admire that, but at the same time, i can’t help but worry--”

“--and okay, you can punish me for that (in fact look, i am punishing myself as we speak), but i mean, his life can’t be that stressing now, all the serious stuff is long since over, so... i mean, you know... kind of makes you think that all this tension...”

“...aah--”

“--is because he doesn’t have... you know”

and the jiang disciples are just sitting here like :-) because on one hand, their first instinct is to vehemently deny everything, how dare you;

the second is to give the others a knowing look, lean forward and spill some of the secrets in a stage whisper, let those other disciples wander around for the rest of the conference, take one look at the scary sect leader jiang and experience internal anguish knowing this ruthless man is in fact in possession of three spiritual dogs and one dog dog, named apricot, pear, hunter and persimmon, you’re free to guess which is which, and he takes great pleasure in flipping their ears, then telling them “your ears are flipped, you know?”. yes, there is proof, but you’ll have to ask a-mei in private, sect leader has forbade her from ever talking about it to anyone, and if he hears her laughing like that, he will know;

the third is to keep silent, because really, where does one start?

there was one little girl, a-ming, who was so bad at archery it seemed almost like a conscious effort (even though of course it wasn’t, she was too young for that). most of her arrows missed the target completely, usually landing in the grass, other disciples’ targets or, on one memorable occasion, almost in sect leader jiang’s own person, because he just had to be taking a walk right next to that disaster of a lesson. a-ming burst into tears before sect leader even managed to drop the hand he caught the arrow with; tears so miserable and dramatic that something must have cracked in him, because a second later he was next to her, talking so quietly you couldn’t hear what he was saying, but, if one can allow themselves to theorize, probably trying to prove a-ming that he is, in fact, still in one piece, so there’s no reason to cry like that, now. and then, once she more or less calmed down, he positioned her little hands himself, checked if she was aiming at her own target (she was not), assured her that it’s obligatory to be bad in the beginning, how else does she expect to become good, and then, in what must have been a flash of godly wisdom, asked her, “do you see that point in the center of the target?”, to which a-ming replied with the saddest silence imaginable, and every single adult present suddenly felt very, very stupid

for obvious reasons the jiang sect has many young disciples, also those helping w/ pretty responsible things, like Finances and Trade and all this stuff i’m scared of, and many of those disciples have shared stories of fucking up, thinking “oh, that’s it. i’m going to die OR i’m getting kicked out of the sect into next thursday OR both” and getting scolded but also... somewhat encouraged? they’re not sure in what way, exactly, since everything sect leader jiang said sounded angry, but... one man who missed a line in a list of things to be shipped out has been told “no, you’re not leaving this sect unless sudden death takes you, and in that case i’ll be dragging your ghost to work here, do you think it’s so easy to find a good accountant?” and realized a week later that, in fact, yes, the good accountant was him

literally everyone and their dog has heard a threat of physical violence of sorts, including but not limited to (insert bone) breaking, dismemberment, flogging (regular or a few round with zidian to help you find the motivation to (crowley voice) DO BETTER!!!), drowning, etc, etc but no one has ever received it, mysteriously

several times, when young-but-old-enough-to-know-better disciples have Spoken when it wasn’t really their turn/position/the TIME to say anything, sect leader jiang raised his head and said, slowly and quietly, what the fuck did you say to me? most of them, pale as a sheet, said that nothing, nothing and drowned in their own apologies. one girl, though, repeated what she said, assuming that well, if she fucks up, she fucks up with style. sect leader jiang looked at her, looked at the Papers, looked at her again, and said “you’re right. thank you”

she was later found stress-sobbing

she was, much later, awarded a Position

maybe it is not exactly a proof of sect leader jiang being a good person per se, but there are rumors of the faces he pulls and things he mutters when reading Important Sect Correspondence, and it all makes everyone have warm thoughts

on the other hand, the insinuation that sect leader jiang is a bitch because of sexual tension and no one to resolve it with is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard, so there.

[friendlyneighborhoodsecretary]

3. Prompt: Gardening

By his third day of hiding out at the lakehouse post-Beck, Peter had run out of distractions. Going anywhere near his phone or the TV was out of the question. He couldn't concentrate well enough to do any of the suit tinkering or web fluid adjustments he would usually have fallen back on. He'd already made the rounds of the house, fixing the little leaks and squeaks and anything else he could mindlessly turn a wrench to (not that there were many in a Stark-built home). And there were only so many times a person could take a stroll around the same lake and skip the same stones and swing their legs off the same dock before they went thoroughly and irreversibly insane. He was all but vibrating with restless nerves. And being cooped up out here, where the silence of the woods pressed in on him like dungeon walls and the empty hours yawned ahead of him like a life sentence, wasn’t making it any easier.

By the time Pepper found him after lunch on the third day, he was dangling upside down from the eaves, absently shifting from foot to foot and counting the seconds to see how long it took before he fell. It was possible, Peter realized as he dropped sheepishly back down to the floorboards—just possible—that he might have already slipped over the edge.

“Trust me—I’ve seen worse.” Pepper hadn’t even batted an eye as she brushed off his sputtered explanations. She’d just gathered up the sunhats and the neat bundle of work gloves from the shelf by the door and towed him through the back door with the practiced efficiency of someone who was used to managing chaos before it tipped over into calamity. "Come with me.”

He trailed her reluctantly around the side of the house to the neat rows of raised beds that housed Pepper's garden. Carefully-staked tomato plants here, the scraggly foliage of carrot tops there, lines of squat goji bushes in one bed and the small round buds of new lettuces in another—there were a few things he could identify, but many more that were just...green. Green and vibrant and robust, leaves gently rustling in the hot July breeze and produce of varying sizes and shapes ripening in the sun. He was pulled from his inspection by Pepper pushing a pair of the gardening gloves into his hands and dropping a broad-brimmed sunhat over his eyes (“Yes, I know you’re superhuman, but I don’t think skin cancer discriminates like that”). There was a brief summary of which greens were intentional and which were intrusive, a deft demonstration of proper weed-yanking technique, and then Peter was shepherded to a row of carrots for practice. Pepper settled in amongst an adjacent patch of lettuce and left him to the job. For a moment, he just sat there, the grass prickling against his knees and the sweat beginning to bead up under the heavy gloves as he brooded. Gardening. What was he doing puttering around in the Starks’ backyard, gardening, while his actual life imploded out there in the real world? At least Pepper had earned the break—he caught snatches of her phone calls to the legal team, to the publicists, to all the people who were actually doing something about the mess he was in, and the reality that he wasn’t one of them stung every time.

Peter stared out over the sea of bobbing leaves and sighed. Still, if it wasn’t gardening, what else would it be? More waiting and wondering and wearing new tennis shoe trails in the track around the lake? One was about as productive as the other. Peter squared his shoulders and bent to the task in front of him. If he was going to lose his mind out in the wilderness, he might as well be helpful while he was doing it.

As it turned out after half of an hour’s worth of work, there was something weirdly soothing about kneeling in the dirt and burying yourself in the process of pinpointing what stayed and what went. In the careful concentration it took to yank up a stubborn weed without uprooting anything good that happened to be growing near it. In the calming repetition of pinching off a dead leaf here or a damaged stalk there. There were ladybugs crawling lazily along the stems, occasionally bumping against Peter’s fingertips a few times before they grudgingly redirected around him, and a few birds hopping cautiously along the rim of the beds, mining for unlucky creepy crawlies. It was a steady rhythm of activity—just enough of it to keep Peter’s mind from straying too far beyond the next bunch of nettles to dig out—with a refreshingly comfortable lack of pressure or tension.

Pepper didn't say much, but the silent companionship was…nice. In a way, it was soothing, too. Or, at the very least, a relief from May's fretting and Happy's hovering—not that there was anything wrong with either of those, per se, but when it was all you had day in and day out, it began to smother you alive. The summer sun beat down on his back, the breeze swept lazily across his brow, and for a while, time ceased to exist. There was nothing but the black earth under his hands and the scent of topsoil in his lungs and the steady cycle of the job.

"I started planting things a few months after we moved out here," Pepper said quietly, a solid hour into their work. "Not much at first—just enough to give us a reason to be out in the light rather than holing up inside."

"Us? Mr. Stark helped?" It was an odd image—Peter had always had trouble imagining Tony out in the country at all, let alone elbow-deep in a tangle of zucchini plants or hauling buckets of fertilizer. But then, most of life these days was odd—Tony was recovering from saving the literal universe with a snap of his fingers, Pepper was flicking aphids off of her tomato plants, and Peter felt increasingly more like he was just along for the ride.

Pepper’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

"I'm not sure 'help' is the right word given how some of those first few plants fared, but yes, he did pitch in. Under duress, sometimes, but it grew on him.” Peter let out an obligatory snort at the pun, and Pepper forged on, the faint smirk on her lips the only indication that she’d meant it as one. “I saw a quote once—a very, very cheesy Pinterest sort of thing—about planting a garden being an act of belief in having a tomorrow. And back then, right after the Blip, we needed any hope for tomorrow we could find. Or cultivate, as the case may be.”

“It was a good way to refocus. To step back and take a break from trying to put the world back together.” Pepper shot him a pointed look over the carrot tops, and Peter pointedly ignored it. “It was a good distraction, too. I think Tony spent at least five or six hours a day out here during the weeks before Morgan was born, when all we could do was wait for something to happen.”

Peter paused in chucking a handful of weedy foliage at the compost-bound pile that had sprung up between them. The relentless urge to find something, anything helpful to do had eased a little, but it was far from gone. He pursed his lips as he finally turned back to uproot another fistful.

"I just—I wish there was something I could do besides waiting out here. I mean, everything that’s happening is all my fault, but you're the one who's having to fix it and I know it has to be costing you an awful lot and—"

Pepper tipped her sunhat back to level him with a long, hard look that reminded him forcefully of May when she was gently, but firmly pointing out the obvious facts of life, such as "the homework won't do itself" or "the laundry will not make its way from the dryer to your room by magic" or “that Red Bull won’t give you actual wings, so you’d better not expect gravity to give you preferential treatment.”

"Peter. There isn't a single person in this house who wouldn't spend their last dime on making sure you get through this okay. And believe me when I say that we've got a long, long way to go before we even need to start worrying about burning through Stark Industries' supply of dimes."

Peter opened his mouth, a dozen arguments about his opinion of throwing other people’s money at his problems, about sitting on the sidelines while everyone else did the work, about running from the consequences of his own blunders all welling up on the tip of his tongue.  Pepper cut them off.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you in a few weeks, when things have settled a little more and there are fewer people agitating to have you arrested. When that happens, we’ll all work on fixing this together. Until then…try to take advantage of the rest.” Her voice softened. “I know it isn’t easy, Peter. But you’re wrong about it being your fault—and it certainly isn’t your sole responsibility to fix. You’ve got a lot of people on your team.” She coaxed the last tendrils of unwanted clover from her last row and rocked back on her heels. “And a whole lot of tomorrow to believe in. Even if it isn’t exactly what you were envisioning it would be a few weeks ago.”

"Thanks,” Peter murmured. It would’ve sounded trite from anyone else, but from Pepper—Pepper, whose practicality rivaled May’s and whose honesty could rival Happy’s (just in a more polished, less aggressively blunt way)—he could almost believe it. “Not just for this, but you know—for everything."

"Any time, kid.” Pepper shucked her gloves and brushed the dirt from her knees as she stood. She left him to it with a squeeze of his shoulder and an unshakably reassuring smile that Peter would hold onto for a long time to come. He stayed out in the green until the breeze blowing in off the lake had turned cool, and the twilight had started creeping in among the shadows of the pines. There was still a knot of unease in his chest when he finally meandered inside, but it was…smaller. More manageable. The driving restlessness of that morning had been driven out by the bone-deep exhaustion of a long afternoon in the heat and the distinctive tingle of a rising sunburn. It took a solid ten minutes to scrub the grit from his palms and the dirt from under his fingernails, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel like he'd completely wasted his day. He stumbled through a hazy shower and an even hazier dinner before he fell into bed. And for the first time since he'd arrived, sleep came without a fight. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was too tired to dread it. And while he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe in tomorrow…he didn’t dread the idea of meeting it, either.

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch4

This time the chapter art had me digging out the pencils.  Sorry Gordy - you’re looking a bit old and tired rather than the youthful Olympian I envisaged.

Also, more thanks to @willow-salix​ who helped me try and improve both wonky writing and wonky chins.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three

Chapter Four

The call connected but brought not the cheery tones of a brother but the now overly-familiar sound of yet another voicemail request to leave a message after the tone.  The last few days had been a litany of missed calls and crossed text messages.  Whenever he had a break between training and physio appointments the family seemed to be watching another event with phones off.  Whenever he returned from a gym or pool session there would be another blinking icon waiting for him.  Another failed attempt at contact.

It was great seeing the messages wishing him good luck followed by messages offering congratulations as he cleared his heat but it would have been nice to speak to his family in person.  Everyone else on the squad seemed to be able to schedule video calls with loved ones.  You would have thought that with such a large family he would have struck lucky at some point.  

Gordon scrolled through the call history.  Alan.  Scott.  Virgil.  Even John, the least sociable of his siblings and apparently with an allergy to small-talk, had made two attempts to reach him over the last few days.  And there, right at the bottom, one single attempt from his father to make contact shortly after his initial heat.  He wondered how the call would have gone.  Would he have received congratulations for making it to the final or would he have had to justify his second place finish?  It was too late to speculate now.  His coach was rapping impatiently on the door; it was time to head to the pool for the race of his life.  

The changing area was filled with the incomprehensible babble of a multitude of languages.  Old rivals sat alongside new upstarts.  Gordon plugged in his earphones in an attempt to drown out the sound and get into the zone.  He had been competing for long enough to know what worked for him; even his coach knew better than to try and intrude at this point.  The familiar playlist hammered into his head as he leant back against the cool tiles.  Eyes closed.  Breathing regulated by the sound of the beat.  He waited to be called through for his race.

The playlist wasn’t working.  He wasn’t normally prone to nerves but this was the big one, the race everyone had been talking about.  From the early whispers as a kid on the junior circuit through to actual squad selection the word ‘Olympics’ had never been far away.  This was the dream.  This would be his defining moment.  It was as if none of his other achievements mattered.  This was what he had been training for all these years.  Everything else was just a warm up.  

He checked his phone one last time.  Nothing new.  Of course there wasn’t, everyone would be up on the balcony already but it gave his hands something to do.  Every muscle felt jittery.  The announcement that it was time to go pool side had him bouncing up as though the starting gun itself had gone off.

xoxoxox

Alan practically hung over the balcony rail, straining to see the far end of the pool where the competitors would be making their entrance near the starting blocks.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him back and stopped him leaning out too far.  

“Steady there.  He’ll be out soon enough.  Don’t want you going into the water.”

Alan huffed at Scott but complied, sitting heavily back in his seat, eyes roving to the big screen that was showing a shot of the top end of the pool.  It was difficult to be patient when his brother would soon be competing in an Olympic final.  For most of the spectators it was just another race in the session but for the Tracys it was personal.  

It wasn’t just Alan that fidgeted with impatience though, there was an air of barely repressed excitement running through the family group, the atmosphere in the venue just served to increase the tension.  This was a big medals day in the pool and Team USA had already added a gold and two bronze to their total haul.  The swimming squad was representing their country well and showing that USA was a sporting force to be reckoned with.

A cheer rippled through the venue as the athletes entered.  A kaleidoscope of tracksuits parodying the flags and emblems of their nations appeared at the top end of the pool.  The yellow and green of Australia shone out amongst the variants of red, white and blue worn by the representatives of USA, Russia and France.  Eights athletes filed in to take their place on the seat behind their block.  Eight bodies jiggled legs and stretched out arms and shoulders.  Take a drink.  Adjust goggles.  An array of displacement activities and rituals as each competitor did what was needed to mentally prepare themselves for the task ahead.

At a signal from the officials eight figures stood and disrobed, exposing honed muscles and expanded shoulders.  Gordon, placed in lane six after his narrow inclusion in the final, bounced on the balls of his feet.  Slightly shorter than the average swimmer in the line up he was dwarfed by the Norwegian in lane five, his neighbour in the pool towered a good eight inches above the young American.  

There was no holding Alan back now and even his more self-controlled family were leaning forward against the railing to get a better view than that already offered by their front row seats.  Eyes were fixed on the distant figure fifty meters away at the far end of the pool.  

Giving a start of realisation and guilt that he had almost forgotten Alan dug into his backpack, pulling out the banner he had cajoled Virgil into painting.  He shoved the two ends into the hands of Scott and John who proceeded to tie it to the balcony so it could be seen hanging down from the guard rail.  It was impossible to read the expressions of the swimmers from this distance but Alan swore he could see Gordon turn and smile in their direction.  Whether this was true or not the others couldn’t tell but their squid certainly seemed to gain an air of calm after the banner was unfurled.

A further signal from the officials had the competitors stepping up on to their blocks.  Silence descended over the crowd.  

Poised.  

Taut.  

Ready.

The starting gun had eight figures launching into the water with enviable grace and speed.  

Stroke.  Glide.  Breathe.  Repeat.  Each competitor found their rhythm and gave the performance of their life.  

Ordinarily the pack would form a V shape.  An arrowhead through the water as those that had won their heats were graced with the more desirable centre lanes.  

Today was no ordinary day.

Today was the day Gordon Tracy dredged into reserves he barely knew he had.  Start strong, stay strong, end strong.  There was no let up in his pace and determination.  Focus and rhythm aligned.  The arrowhead was broken.  Soon the commentary was focussed on lane six and the seventeen year old competing in his first Olympics.  

Cheers erupted from the Tracy section as the swimmers reached the final board and triggered the timing pads.  From their seats aligned with the end of the pool they were in the perfect position to see Gordon hit home in first place.

For the swimmers in the water the rankings were less clear cut.  Without the benefit of a grandstand view eight sets of eyes were focussed on the board awaiting the final results.  Moments stretched into eternity as they waited for the official times.

1 USA GORDON TRACY 1:44.20 WR

There, on the first line of the board was the confirmation of not only his success but an achievement surpassing all hopes.  A world record.

The family watched as down in the water Gordon shook hands over the lane dividers with the swimmers to left and right.  He was a sportsman to the core and he congratulated those who had provided stiff competition.  Only then did he turn and wave to the balcony, acknowledging the family that had supported him through years of training then followed him to the opposite end of the Earth to witness his crowning glory.  The cameras tracked between the Tracy in the pool and the Tracys in the stand, capturing their moment of shared joy for eternity.

xoxoxox

The fluttering feeling in his stomach was off-putting to say the least and probably wasn’t helped by the two celery crunch bars and a glucose tablet he had inhaled after getting out the water, he knew they were needed after his intense energy usage though.  The last time he’d tried to skip the obligatory post-race refuel he had nearly taken a header off the podium as his blood sugars crashed.  He wondered if throwing up on an official was more embarrassing than fainting on them.  

The call to head out to the podium soon put a stop to the nerves as he was ushered back pool-side between the other two medallists.  This time there was no escaping the fact that all eyes were on him but there was no performance required; the joy spread across his face was pure and true.  This was the culmination of years of early morning training sessions.  Gym, yoga, vitamins, nutrition schedules.  Every missed party.  Every rejected invitation to go bowling.  The sacrifices he had made had come together to create one perfect moment.  

The medal, the anthem, the flowers; everything played out as he had imagined.  The flash of a thousand camera bulbs only partly responsible for the tears in his eyes.

His dream. 

Complete.

[fyrapartnersearch]

Get ready to form voltron!

Obligatory warning for a long post ahead: Whilst I know this post may be intimidating to some people. please do not let it put you off from reaching out to me :) “I say vol and you say tron! Vol…..” “Eh.... voltron?” “We’ll work on it.” Hello everyone! I hope you’re all doing well and that you’ve been able to stay safe and healthy during the pandemic (and that the easing of some restrictions depending on where you are has not negatively affected you). After binge watching legendary defender on netflix I’ve had the undying and uncontrollable urge to do a voltron rp. Now I bet you’re all wondering what I want and if you’re going to get to do some shipping.......we’ll I guess you’re just going to have to read on and find out. I’m looking for literate rper’s only. That means people who write in third person past tense, can give me at the very least one well thought out and fleshed paragraph (as well as be willing to write more when the situation calls for it) and has a decent grasp on their spelling, grammar and punctuation. I will not yell at you for the occasional bout of typonese but one liners, one worders, poorly written responses and lazy writing in general will not keep me around. If I can’t read what you’ve written and you’re not willing to put some effort in or correct it then there’s no point in me sticking around. I also require rper’s who’ve actually watched voltron whether it be legendary defender, defender of the universe or voltron force. If you’re someone whose a stickler for canon accuracy then I’m probably not the rper for you. When I rp in a fandom setting I treat it a bit like a base as in there’s rules to follow but I don’t have to follow them as if I’m reading the show script. To put it simply I value creativity and ideas that allow a different take on the characters and what could’ve happened. I only rp male alien or alien hybrid characters and they’re premade but flexible in how they’re written. I do not have pictures nor do I desire to spend endless hours of time to find a face claim of a creature that isn’t the typical different coloured humanoids you see in voltron. I have descriptions and that’s it. I do not care if your character is made up on the spot or if you prefer to rp as a canon character. Shippers......I’m sorry but I will not rp a canon character as anything other than a side. I do not rp them as mains so if you were looking for some sheith or klance I’m sorry to disappoint you. That being said you are free to play as any canon character you desire or an oc as I’m open to oc x oc pairings or oc x canon pairings (you being the canon character) and I do either MxM or FxM pairings. Romance and non fade to black smut will both occur in the rp but it must be slow burn. I do not do fast paced love at first sight as it’s just not something that holds my interest. No sub dom dynamics, switch dynamics only and please no characters whose entire personality is just one emotion or one trait they have. Guys.....please don’t call my aliens furries or whatever. I don’t rp generic spray painted humans and we’re rping in a world full of wacky and crazy aliens that have fur,scales,tails,multiple arms, etc so I find it Incredibly annoying to have a label forced on my character like it’s a bad thing. Alien means something not from earth, if a human was to be born on altea or daibazzal, it’d be considered an alien despite probably being a hundred percent human. If your view and comfort zone is restricted to aliens that look like an altean and nothing else then you needn’t not message me. I’m not going to make you rp with me if this is a dealbreaker so if you don’t heed this warning then you do not be rude after pulling a shocked pikachu. Be mature about it if you realise it’s a deal breaker rather than just blocking or suddenly deciding you no longer want to talk to me and that you’ll just ignore me till I unfriend you. DO NOT COME TO ME SAYING OR ASKING YOU WANNA DO A SHEITH RP/ DO YOU RP AS THESE CANON CHARACTERS! I cannot stress this enough. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer that I do not do canon character mains nor do I do rp’s solely for the purpose of shipping said rp characters. As I’ve said before, if you wanna play a canon character go ahead but I will not rp a canon character as anything other than a side. My oc’s are my mains. You and your characters must be 18+. I’m in my twenties and will not rp with a minor, especially since I have mature and adult themes in my rp’s that I do not want to get into trouble for Rping them with someone whose underaged. Underaged characters are just........a big no for the sole fact that my characters are adults and that i do not feel uncomfortable playing against underaged characters. You must be able to give me one or more responses a day. If it’s been two weeks since the last response and you’ve mysteriously disappeared then I’m not going to stick around for the day you decide to answer me. I do not like having my time wasted for any reason. My time zone is the eastern Australian time zone but I’m available and awake at odd hours so time zones aren’t too big of an issue for me. Remember that I’m looking for a long term partner, someone to carry an rp with for more than just a few days or a week and someone to write multiple stories with. I have tonnes of ideas and head cannons for the rp but I’m open to brainstorming and ideas. We can mix and match ideas till we get something we both like. I want this to be a shared job, don’t expect me to be the one to carry everything just cause I’m the one supplying the idea. Down below I’ve decided to list a couple of ideas that I have: New school defenders: the paladins of voltron have been defending the universe for years. Many stories of their countless victories, battles and struggles are something that every parent who was alive during the war told their children. Once the main three were taken out (haggar, lotor and zarkon) the paladins settled down to teaching the garrisons new generation of cadets. The new change in curriculum was welcome for many as well as a new change in ship style. To make sure that peace could be maintained in every quadrant of every galaxy the paladins of voltron has trained the cadets to fly animal styled space ships like the lions. The animal ship a pilot was assigned depended on their personality, strengths, weaknesses, how well they worked in a team and their style of fighting and piloting skills. The importance of team bonding was something the paladins basically preached. When news of the return of an old foe forces the paladins to return to their jobs as voltrons warriors and they suddenly disappear many write them off as dead or perhaps in distress. None of the superiors are interested to find out..... so who will? Lotor’s reign: It was unbelievable. It couldn’t be true. It had to not be true. Voltron taken down by lotor, son of the mighty emperor zarkon himself, and the paladins were now working for him without question as his top generals?! When the news had first hit many people had panicked whilst countless others had been slain for daring to believe and protest that it was all just some lie made up by the half galran prince who was now an emperor like his father before him. Princess Allura herself was locked away in an unknown location after refusing the cruel man’s hand in marriage so she is no help for what is now a lost hope. Lotor’s reign had well and truly begun all those years ago and it was holding steady. People had forgotten long ago that even in complete and utter darkness….one can always find a speck of light that burns bright no anger how small. Mirror mirror: For many years people believed the galra were a race of cruel, vicious, animalistic thinking beings whose only goal was to destroy and conquer words. No one would’ve ever believed that it was the peacekeeping alteans that had been working to plot the galaxy’s downfall. Voltron, belonged to the galrans, they’d been the ones who’d built it after all despite letting alfor pilot voltron’s right arm. When the king had been turned down on his idea to share the mighty robotic war machine he simply built his own. Five dragons that formed dracotron were what the alteans used as their voltron and weapon to conquer the galaxies. Emperor zarkon, under the advice of Haggar the witch, was one of the few world leaders who managed to get his people to safety. Ever since watching the great kingdoms that he’d known for almost ten thousand years fall under the alteans greed and obsession for power over peace, he prayed for miracle in whatever form he could get it in. When two young stragglers end up stranded on the galra’s second home world, the cards of fate are laid according to haggar, much to everyone else’s confusion. What could two lost souls possibly do to bring back what was lost to the alteans? Gamora’s guns: The guns of Gamora was a rebel group with the goal of foiling any plans of the altean empress allura. Led by the brave commander Sven and his somewhat neurotic sidekick Slav, the gun’s were spread far across the galaxy in little pockets of altean dominated space to keep tabs on the empires schemes and try their best to counteract them. The new recruits were aliens and humans from far and wide working together hand in hand to try and prevent a reign of terror from truly taking over. When plans for creating a super weapon fall on the ears of a trusted source, the newest batch of recruits are sent to locate, find and bring back the blueprints. Of course, such things are easier said than done. The chosen: Keith.lance.hunk.shiro (or Sven, depends on whether you want this to follow a legendary defender type story arc or one of the older series). Allura. Pidge. These were names that belonged to the universe's greatest heroes. Legends beyond all compare. They were champions of the universe and paladins of the mightiest robotic warrior to have ever been built: voltron. The great robot and the lions that formed it were well over ten thousand years old…..sadly for the paladins, they knew that they wouldn’t live to or beyond the great age their lions and oldest enemies had. The galaxy garrison had worked extra hard on ensuring that the next generation of pilots would be suitable candidates for the possibility of becoming voltron’s future paladins. Each paladin chose a student whom they felt like would be the most suitable to take their place and trained them with the knowledge that they were not the ones who had the final decision as to who flew who…..or even if they’d fly at all. What happens when one student fails and is rejected by not one but all the lions? What becomes of them and what is their place on team voltron? What happens to the rest of the team? Only time will tell, according to coran, such a thing has never happened before…...but what happens if it does? From all walks of life to the universe's greatest heroes: Shouldn’t have to explain this one too much. Forget the show paladins, bring your oc’s or next gens onto the table and let them take the stage! Before we reach the end of the post, here are some important reminders: 1: NO REACHING OUT TO ME ASKING FOR A CANON CHARACTER SHIPPING RP! I DO NOT DOUBLE SO DO NOT ASK! 2: DONT MESSAGE ME IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NOT VERY HUMANOID ALIENS! 3: NO GARY STU’S OR MARY SUES! GIVE YOUR CHARACTERS A PERSONALITY THAT ISN’T JUST ONE EMOTION OR TRAIT ONLY! For those who’ve read this thoroughly thank you and congratulations! If you’re at all interested please send me a request via one of the contacts below that says who you wanna be, which lion or paladin you think you’d most likely to be if you were in voltron, which idea you liked (or one of your own) and the numbers 123 to confirm you’ve read everything. My discord: tiberionsunsconqourer#6187 My telegram: Tiberionwars My hangouts: lleo52560@gmail.com Hope to write some awesome stories! Will accept requests as long as this ad is up.

[parkeraul]

anatomy | oneshot

a/n: i don’t know what it is but i had this stuck in my phone’s notes and i’m going to give it a try lol. i got inspired by a post here on tumblr and another one on twitter (both different, both NOT what you’re thinking they are) and this is like... nerdy!shawn? college!shawn? student!shawn? idk read it to find it out. plus, this is a work of fiction, so the situations named in here aren’t exactly what happens in real life, my dudes. i don’t know if this is how it happens, i’m assuming stuff just to give them an atmosphere. all built up for shawn and reader’s relationship to go somewhere on this imagine. sorry in advance to any medical students lmao.

shawn x reader  warnings: cursing, smut (?).  words: 7.272

It’s nearly 10pm in a saturday when he knocks on her door with his free hand, holding his book in his other hand kind of nervously. She tiptoes downstairs, quickly knotting the strap around her robe to cover her recent showered body. Her mind goes confused, wondering who might be standing outside at this time. Peeking through the magic eye, she can barely recognise the tall figure standing in front of her door with what she figured out as a backpack hanging on his back and something under his tattooed arm. She wasn’t expecting anyone from college because the finals were still happening and she finally managed to get home after passing hers, so everyone else should probably be stuck in their houses half studying, half praying. When she saw his hand coming up to curl in a fist next to the wooden material, she flicked the keys to the side and made sure to hold the upper part of her robe, pulling the edges together to cover her breasts and collarbone.  Opening the door, she meets him wearing a desperate expression on his flushed face. He sighs in relief before putting his shit together. “Shawn? What are you doing here?” She asks smiling insecurely, he doesn’t follow her though. “Thank God you’re home!” He vents and exhales heavily. “I know this is super weird and random, but I honestly don’t know who else to look for. I’m really sorry. God... I shouldn’t-“ “Spit it out, Mendes!” She giggles, opening the door a little bit more to show him somehow that she’s welcoming him. “You know you can count on me to something more than just having my veins available for you to train your blood-removal skills.” She winks and he smiles shyly, remembering how insecure he felt when first asking her to volunteer and be his pair to this class in specific.  

They’ve become pretty close, always getting paired for the classes because they knew that they were responsible and worked greatly together – always hitting high grades even in the most difficult subjects. Medical school is hard already, so they’ve found in each other an easier way to go through it all by supporting each other since their class is filled with so many selfish people. Shawn and Y/N were rarely hanging out when not in college – but more than friends, they are also something like partners in crime.  Although he had a very serious crush on her at first sight, he kept on doing his best to get rid of the feeling eventually, even though he knows he’s not 100% there, he thinks that he’s seen everything he could and his rational side is working constantly to make him get used to live next to her like a normal person would do (seeing her as a nice classmate who’s there for him, not someone who he wants to trace every single inch and experience his daydreams with). She finds him attractive, she can’t even lie. But she would never make a move considering how reserved he is, fearing that he might reject her right at first and never look at her face again. Things couldn’t get this awkward. 

Y/N opens some space for Shawn to step inside her living room and gives him a gentle smile, always reassuring him wordlessly that he can feel comfortable in her presence to ask whatever he wanted to ask – she felt more than glad to solve his doubts, actually. 

“I’m sorry for showing up so late and...” He finally sees that she’s wearing nothing but a black cotton robe and her hair is wet, clinging to her back. “Well, s-sorry for interrupting your s-shower, I-“ Shawn facepalms and rubs his forehead, trying to brush his nervousness off and find the right words to say. He doesn’t want to look like a creep. “Mendes, you’re rambling,” She warns him and closes the door, grabbing his stuff for him to have free hands to take off his coat and shoes. Knowing it, Shawn rapidly does it all before putting both hands together to wait for further instructions. “Stop apologising! You know I don’t care about it.”  Shawn knows that Y/N doesn’t really give a shit about things that some other people would do. She always says that a body is a body: it’s not an object and that a body and sex should be seen as something natural, not something who demands silly and unnecessary jokes when you look at it. And considering the partnership they’ve been developing, she felt more comfortable to talk to him about these things without stuttering or feeling embarassed. If they wanted to build a professional career, they had to deal with bodies normally. 

Maybe this is one of the reasons why they’ve never sat down to spill the tea about their secret little crushes. Shawn is a gentleman, of course, and that’s what keeps him fighting his willing to love on her like he never did with anyone else. He is misunderstanding her words, perhaps. She always talked to him about how much she hates when their classmates started joking and sexualizing human bodies like they were made for nothing more than sex. But that didn’t mean that she’s not into finding out how their touches can melt delightfully, because that’s been currently taking over her imaginations more often than she’d like it to – debating with her own mind how wrong is this, how awful it is of her to imagine Shawn maping her body with those intentions that she wishes her whole class could stop feeding. Maybe she had forgotten to say that, if they’re both agreeing on doing this, if their feelings are matching, then it’d be a whole another story (that she’d love to live intensely, thank you very much). This is such a hot mess.

She trails her way to the kitchen and he follows her before he can miss the sight of her. She points to the big island in the middle of her kitchen for him to sit as she places his book and backpack on top of it. “What’s going on, Shawnie Boy?” She asks while opening her fridge to look for something to eat to offer him. “Thank you for being way too nice, Y/N,” He chuckles to himself, also thanking the universe for crossing their ways. “I couldn’t pass Sally’s latest test and she’s going to eat me alive if I fuck up with the upcoming final exam.” Y/N grabs a box of grape juice to put on top of the island along with some Doritos she found on her cabinet. She thought he might probably want to sink down in unhealthy garbage to calm his damn nerves. “Sally is really unpredictable, isn’t she?” Y/N jokes and also grabs what’s left of her chocolate cake inside the oven to join the other stuff. “What was it about?”  “Anatomy,” Shawn says unpleasantly, grabbing the glass that Y/N is giving him so he can pour some juice to himself. “Women’s body kind of anatomy, more specifically. It makes me wanna give up on this damn class.” He opens the box and starts filling his glass with the deep purple liquid. “You actually can’t. This subject is... How do they say? Obligatory.” She says, staring at him and finishing setting the island with tiny plates and forks. “See? I know I should be studying music or whatever doesn’t envolve vulvas and labias.” His tone expresses all of his disappointment. Shawn hates to fail and also hates the whole process of learning from his mistakes. He never allowed himself to fuck it up even though he had no previous knowledge to execute something perfectly for the first time. “Keep thinking like that and you’ll end up seeing your own hand for the rest of your life.” Y/N is effortlessly pushing him over the edge of his stress, but he knew she was only playing around so he pretended not to care that much. He thought of replying her as boldly as she’s doing, but when she leaned forwards a little bit to cut a piece of cake, he accidentally saw her skin underneath the dark fabric – almost getting the view of the swell of her breasts. He swallowed harshly, immediately searching for his book to find the pages that have been driving him insane over the past weeks. ‘It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s okay.’ He quietly warns his own body. Shawn shakes his head and takes a generous sip of his juice and tries hard to blink and miss the view of her not even noticing what just happened and still trying to cut a perfect square to place on a plate. “I... Mm... Have been reading from page 45 to page 97 over and over again for two weeks straight and-“ He starts with difficulty and, as if it wasn’t hard enough for him now, she’s licking and sucking at her fork she used to set under her piece of cake to lift it up and off the tin while looking him deep in the eyes, waiting for him to conclude his first doubt of the night. She didn’t mean to seduce him on purpose, but if she only knew the way she is messing with his head right now, she’d probably do something much worse. 

Shawn feels like cursing all the words he knows out loud. 

He’s been managing to keep his first impressions controlled for years. Why is this shit coming up again like he’s seeing her for the first time in his life? His brain, always hungry for coherent answers, figured things out in a matter of seconds. When he understood it all, he came back to earth and denied his own instincts angrily. Hopefully, he would never ever need to explain this reason to anyone else. 

“And?” Y/N snaps him back to reality, removing the fork out of her mouth and clicking her tongue to finish the small taste she had from the tiny crumbles that were glued to the steel.  “And... I...” He keeps on turning the pages frantically, not wanting to waste time. Who knows that she wouldn’t get him lost between running to the closest bathroom to splash some water on his face and staying frozen in his seat to never get up again until he stops hardening against his sweatpants during this quick lack of words? “I c-couldn’t quite understand and memorize these parts and their functions.” Shawn fixes a single curl back to its place and then he points to the figure on his book.  “Really?” She frowns. How a smart and handsome guy like Shawn can’t understand simple explanations about a vagina? “Why have you circled this so many times? You can barely see what it is.” She points to a messy grey sketch.  “It’s the clitoris,” Shawn rolls his eyes and clears his throat before moving on. “Need to remind myself that this shit is killing me mercilessly with this stupid amount of nerve endings.”  “You wish, Shawn,” Slicing her cake, she jokes and wraps her lips around the fork once again. Shawn can literally feel the palms of his hands sweating and he swears to God he could explode at anytime. Why anatomy of the reproductive system? Why not microbiology or pharmacology? He knew he should be a pro by now. “You better take notes about this little thing in particular if you want to pass or make a girl squirm under you.” 

Can she stop?  Great.  Now he’s picturing it. 

“Plus, I can guarantee you that, once you get to find where it is and how it works, you’ll wish you could reciprocate the merciless part everyday.” 

This is not study. This is torture.  Bad grades and bad thoughts. The “perfect” combo.  Shawn gets his notebook and pencils out of his bag and works fast to find a blank page to start writing. 

The time flies by with her careful explanations.  Y/N might joke a lot with him but she knows when to talk seriously.  She’s patient to describe every single detail and say things once more in a different way for him to see it all in a different way.  She speaks; he writes and asks again. All happening in a loop and Shawn’s pretty surprised that the chills that were taking over his lower region were gone now. He’s been doing his best by looking down at the paper all the time, refusing to peek at her.  “No! Nah-nah-nah...” She says and stretches her arm to grab the eraser next to him. He falls out of his concentration and reacts by traveling his eyes from her fingers to the expansion of her covered arm and finishing at her now exposed collarbone. The scent of her moisturizer escapes her robe to invade his nostrils. He can’t help but inhale deeply as she brings the eraser to rub the words he’d been writing.  “What’s that on your clavicle?” Still studying her skin, he asks impulsively. Shit.  She looks at him and then down at her own body.  “Oh... This?” She sets the fabric to the side a little bit more, now almost showing her entire shoulder. Shawn feels like choking on his own air. “It’s just a little scar. Got it when trying to run away from my cousin once. Nails strong enough to mark me,” She remembers and giggles lowly. “Unfortunately not as cute as this one you have on your face.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

She just noticed that she revealed loudly one of her favourite things about him.  For the first time in the night, he smiles.  He feels his chest burning – still shyly – and she can’t take her eyes off his beautiful teeth, perfectly shaped and getting her missing the patterns of her breathing. 

From there, the tension between them seemed to grow more and more and the emotions blooming up from this atmosphere were screaming louder than words, intensifying not only their desires but also the other feelings coming to their surface. It was like throwing alcohol in a bonfire. And it’s certain that the flames were getting higher and higher.  They tried to focus one more time on whatever they were doing now (neither of them cared to understand exactly what it was), Shawn a lot more lost than her, already writing things that weren’t even about anatomy, he thought. 

“Nope!” She says again.  Erase, wipe the dust, explain again. 

The clock is ticking. 

“Shawn, no.”  By now, he was finishing his third glass of grape juice and she had completely given up on her cake. Fork hitting the plate aggressively as she bends over the cold marble to repeat her actions. Shawn rubs his face and runs his fingers through his dark curls.  Erase, wipe the dust, explain again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing?” If she was patient before, she’s not losing her shit for fucks sake. “Vulva is this external part, not the inside. The internal part is the vagina, down here in this entrance, see?” She’s pointing with his pencil and circling the spots with caution, because otherwise she might rip the page apart. Shawn drops his arms against the island and tilts his head to meet the hard surface, hitting his forehead and his sighs turns into a deep growl. 

Erase, wipe the dust. 

“God! Have you ever seen a pussy in your life?” He freezes in place and doesn’t get up, hoping she’s going somewhere else with this question. “Seriously! C’mere, I’ve got this kind of a plastic mould and you’ll touch this shit until the information gets inside your head somehow.” She stands in her feet and she knows that she’s being kinda rude. He doesn’t care, he knows he’s not going anywhere if she keeps on being all nice and shit but at the same time he’s so nervous that he wishes he could stay in that kitchen for the rest of his life until his problem goes away.  “I don’t really-” His voice comes out muffled by the white marble under his face.  “Mendes, you’re coming whether you want it or not!” She grabs his arm and pulls him off his seat. “I told you I’d help you and you know I won’t stop until I get my work done. Come on!”  He seizes the last seconds where his face is still hidden to smile. He loves how much she cares about him now and it seems to vanish away all of her impulsive attitudes before. She just wants him to succeed and once she gets a goal inside her mind, she ain’t stopping until she makes it happen.  Shawn gives up and she’s practically dragging him upstairs to her bedroom, steps punishing the degrees under her feet. 

“Get yourself comfortable, I’m gonna find this thing.” She says as if he even could. Shawn falls in her bed while she turns the lights on and goes to her shelf, eyeing all the spaces where that mould could be hiding into.  She tiptoes across her bedroom and checks every part of it like her life depends on it. 

Wardrobe? No.  Drawers? No.  Desk? No.  Under the bed? No.  Bookshelf? No. 

If the bedroom was even larger, she’d be running a marathon across it and the way she’s walking with powerful footsteps and picked up rhythm makes the hem of her robe swing and get loosened, sometimes showing the back of her thighs a little bit more and gradually exposing her chest.  And if Shawn felt like dying before, now he’s sure that he’s floating between heaven and hell so quickly that he can’t do anything else but widen his eyes in desperation, fight his own mind and press down on her mattress for dear life. “You can’t think like that. She’s your friend, she’s not a piece of meat. Control your damn hormones.” He whispers to himself and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s just another one of those stupid classmates of theirs or some kind of a weirdo who acts like he had never seen a semi-naked body before.  Although that yes, he had never.  Y/N might be cool about talking of sex and stuff, but he managed to just nod and agree. He never told her he was a virgin and something about the way she messes with him so easily makes him feel like organising a whole speech – in the most polite way ever – about how much he wants her to teach him everything: where to touch, how to touch and what to do to have her feeling not only relaxed in his presence but also pleased. If he only had the braveness, he’d be on his knees right now divided between begging for mercy or for a chance. 

She closes the last drawer where she guessed the plastic cast could be inside of and turns around with her hands covering her mouth. Shawn looks at her concerned expression and concludes that she’s thinking, considering how fast her eyes are running across the room. 

“Y/N, you don’t have to. It’s okay, I can find some other way...” Shawn tries to calm her and she tugs some strands, pulling them back and then dropping her arms down. She can’t think of anything else than this and she knows she might be taking a risk in here. She steps backwards to close her door and it gets Shawn frowning, gasping and blinking rapidly. What the hell is she doing? 

If he could’ve only guessed that some dreams can come true sometimes... 

“Mendes, don’t freak out, okay?” She looks at him worriedly and his grin is filled with doubts. He thought she was joking about his study routine or whatever happened a few seconds ago. But when he sees that her face ain’t changing to something more playful, he gulps once more. “You’re gonna have to do this in anyways in the final exam and, since you can’t even name things correctly, there’s no other way to do this. Tell me if you don’t wanna do this and I’ll stop.” She finishes and grabs the knot of her robe. In one fluid motion, she undoes it and the black fabric is pooling down around her feet. Right now she’s not thinking about her crush on him, she’s not trying to get him moaning her name. No. She’s trying to get anatomy inside his head because she’s been there before and she knows that, if he touches the wrong places, Sally is definitely not going to give him any other chances. There’s no dirty in here, there’s no seduction. She’s offering to a test just like she offered her veins once; or like when he let her feel his temperature and see if his throat was sore.  “What are you doing? Y/N, seriously...” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Cover up, you don’t need to do it for me.”  “Is that what you want? I’ll do if you’re feeling awkward on doing this,” She reassures him and catches her robe from the floor. “But I want you to know that I’m okay with it. It’s totally up to you.”  Shawn can feel his limbs turning into cold stones and his leg starts to shake uncontrollably. He feels like someone just threw a ball on fire to him and he knows he’s got the opportunity to put the fire down. He just doesn’t know how.  “C-Can you... like...” He rubs his face, still not looking at her (who’s covering her front with the robe now) and tries to make a smart decision. “Get under your covers so I... can... t-touch you without looking at you?”  “Is this going to make you feel more comfortable?”  “Y-Yes.”  “I’ll try to guide you then.” 

An inconvenient silence takes over the place and it had never been so annoying. He gets up, turning his back to her and she goes under her blanket, trying to feel less unsuited.  “Hold on. I’ll wash my hands before... you know...”  “Second door to the right.” 

A few minutes later, Shawn is back and not so afraid. She looks at him and sees that his hairline is wet, he might probably had splashed some water on his face before returning.  “Are you okay?” She asks, feeling her chest heaving in concern.  “I’m good,” He closes the door with his foot and keeps his hands in the air, away from any object. “Sure you wanna keep going? You don’t have to-”  “I’m sure,” She nods and he sits at the end of the bed. “With that I’m even feeling like a real patient now.” She points at his hands with her chin and chuckles bending her knees. He follows her and giggles too. He can’t even believe how amazing she is, he feels like nothing in this world can gift her enough for being this good to him.  “You can, like, start from my pubic bone and then you can say what you remember, you know?” She incentivates him. “When you get to touch those parts we were seeing down in there, you’ll tell me what it is and what is it for.”  He nods and she shifts her body up closer to the headboard, making some space for him to come forward and slip one hand under the blanket.  “Don’t you want me to wear gloves?”  “I’m out of gloves in here but I don’t really mind.” She says and he’s just going with her flow. “Showed you my exams before the tests, so you also know that I don’t have anything you should worry about.”  She’s giving him so many reasons to leave his nervousness behind that he’s feeling like he’d forgotten for a moment that, on top of it all, they’re still friends. They’re not strangers. They should count on each other and this is what she wants him to do, this is what he wants her to do.  “Go on, I trust you.” Her sweet tone reaches his ears and he smiles at her, so happy to know that she’s there for him and, more than anything else, she sees in him a person that she can trust. It’s just priceless.  “And I trust you,” Shawn responds and she smiles back at him, feeling more comfortable against her pillows. “Excuse me.” He asks before touching her and she nods in confirmation, allowing him to go on. Shawn knows that this is not his body, so he must have her approval and excuse to touch her.  His palm is softly sliding along the expansion of her shin to her knee and inner thigh, looking her deep in the eyes, attentive to any sign that she’s not liking it so he can stop. He wants to show her that he doesn’t wanna hurt her or do something harmful, so he rubs his thumb from side to side, caressing her and showing that he’s being so careful. She looks at her own ceiling, trying to keep her breathing calm and remain herself that she suggested it, so she must stay true to her pure intentions and leave her dirty thoughts locked and forbidden.  He reaches the spot she told him to look for. He stops moving when he gets there and waits for her to give him another permission.  “What’re you touching?” She asks.  Shawn gets it as a chastise and lifts his hand up, widening his eyes. She slips her arm under the blanket and places it back to where it was, making him gulp and miss a heartbeat.  “I’m not asking you to leave, Mendes,” She laughs. “I’m asking you what’s this specific spot you’re touching right now. This is still a test.”  His eyes are still wide as ever, comprehending her words and looking for the answer in his mind.  “The pubic mound... Okay...” He answers more to himself and tries to remember the words she made him take notes about. “It’s... a fibroadipose tissue that stays on top of the bone and it divides into the labia majora on either side of the pudendal cleft.”  “Very good,” She praises and he smiles, actually wanting to scream in happiness for answering correctly and in tension, because her words made his nerves sparkle somehow. ‘Just breathe’ he says to himself as a mantra. “You can feel it if you want to.”  The tips of his fingers press lightly against it, choosing random spots to feel and then he lets go of it. He can read about it in the books where his gravity is going to be centered.  “Should I keep going?” He asks.  “Yes, please.” 

Oh God, not please.

Both of them getting a type of disquietude after this word in particular.  She didn’t mean to say it, she knows that ‘please’ doesn’t even fit correctly to the moment but somehow it escaped from her lips nearing a state of beg. She couldn’t let him know. This is still forbidden.  He swallows harshly and moves down slowly, almost reaching his next stop. 

“Okay, stop.” She says and he immediately stays still. “I’m gonna ask you something very embarassing but necessary.”  “...Alright?!...” Shawn eyes her with concentration, trying to understand if he did something wrong at any point.  “Lick your finger before touching this next spot,” Unable to look him in the eyes, she asks and covers her face. This makes him comfortable to remove his hand and lick his index finger before she can see him doing it. “You shouldn’t do this to your patients, but I’m very sensitive and when it’s all dry it might hurt a little.”  “Okay,” He gets back to where he was before and sets his hand back down on her. “Was I here?”  “Yup,” She says popping her ‘p’. “You can touch it now.”  His touch is now wet and cold, making her shiver slightly and it glides easily. She removes her hands from her face but keeps her eyes shut to focus on not getting wetter than his finger.  “Clitoris.”  “Nope.”  “No?”  “Try to remember about the first time I yelled at you downstairs.”  “Oh, alright.” He tilts his head down and laughs to himself. His finger is moving so delicately that it’s nearly tickling her heat. She shifts her ankles further just a little so she can see that flushy face of his, eyes now looking up as he tries to find a blank spot where his sight can help his imagination to picture what it looks like as he touches her. “Clitoral foreskin? Clitoral hood?”  “Hood is better.”  “Fine,” He grins. “It’s a mucocutaneous tissue that covers and protects the clitoris. It can fully cover the clit sometimes, but it also can just partly cover it.”  “Thought you’d never get it right, not gonna lie.” She confesses and he moves his pretty greenish eyes to look at her, and she finally reciprocates.  “Thought you trusted me!”  It’s so good to interact as they typically do. It’s so good to feel more normal and less awkard. The two of them could now feel their bodies relaxing and free to get back to joking and playing. Nothing’s really planned for ages before acting, it’s just natural. This is what they were looking for.  His cold calloused finger goes down shortly and she lets a sigh fly from her lips, instantly biting at her bottom one. She writhes sparsely, trying not to do what she’d normally do if they weren’t studying.  “Clitoris? Is it here?”  “M-hm.” “Erectile nub placed at the top of the vulva. It has around 8.000 nerve endings and blood supply. Would you mind if I see it?”  She shakes her head in denial and grabs the cover up to reveal her lower half, making it rest on her stomach.  Shawn takes his finger away for a moment to see the little nub and memorize where it is. He thinks he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life; he never thought it’d look this beautiful.  Totally compelled, he licks his digit again and touches her clit, differently from before. Now, he’s softly drawing tiny circles around it and she accidentaly moans lowly. The tip of his finger is sliding so deliciously that she couldn’t even notice the time when she showed such weakness.  “If you keep doing like this, you’re gonna turn me on and-”  “How sensitive is it?” He cuts her off and, to be honest, he wasn’t even listening. All of his concentration got directed to her clit, now swelling under his control.  “What?”  “How sensitive is it? With so many nerve endings, it must be really delicate. Isn’t it?”  She’s not quite understanding.  Shouldn’t he know this already? Or was he one of those guys who never finds a clit during sex?  “It’s sensitive enough to get me excited,” She warns but it’s not like he’s giving a single damn right now. “But if you press it hard, then it’ll hurt me bad. Like... you can add a little bit more of pressure...”  And he immediately does, watching the way his finger works carefully but performing firmly now. She exhales strongly, trying so hard not to lose her shit.  “A little bit more...” She demands and he obeys. Where is this going? She can’t answer herself now that this feels so good. His touch rounding her clit, sometimes going from side to side and he takes his time feeling all the extension of it. “Don’t go further than this, otherwise it’ll only harm me.”  This amount of pressure was just perfect for her taste. Shawn doesn’t even know about this, but he keeps going and he even leans closer to see it better. Now there was no hell, it was just heaven. Heaven in the way her face contorts everytime he hits the center of her clit; heaven in the way her chest is moving up and down, trying not to lose the pattern of her respiration; heaven in the way her eyes squinted – but no completely – peeking at him with some struggle. He stops eyeing her heat, saving the last information he got from it and looks at her, eyes practically dark.  “Let’s move on to-”  “Can I put my mouth on it?”  Her jaw falls.  Such a question she didn’t know she needed to hear today.  She knew she wanted to, but never knew she needed it so bad.  “Are you asking to eat me out, Mendes?” For a minute there, she thinks she’s dreaming. Dreaming wildly. She promptly supports her body on her elbows and tosses her blanket away from her body.  “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry,” It’s like a force pushed him back to earth. He felt so intoxicated by her that his attention flew out to somewhere else. “I’m such a-”  “Do it.”  “What is it?”  “Do it,” She insists. Can’t miss the chance, can’t have him going back now. Not now. “You want it?” He nods kind of desperately. “Then show me what you can do.” She tilts her head to the side and smirks at him. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. Jesus Christ, she can get him around her finger so easily that he feels lucky that he was the one to get her around his finger previously. But how is he supposed to do this?  He decides to get started by kissing the inner part of her leg, planting wet kisses along her smooth skin and it feels so satisfying to have her skin exposing goosebumps under his touch. He’s getting closer and she sighs so sweetly that he’s hoping he’s doing the right thing.  The scent of her is driving him crazy, he can’t wait to know the taste.  “I-” He starts that old speech of explanation. He doesn’t want to but he feels like he needs to be honest with her and tell that he’s still a virgin. Lost and anxious to find himself. Find her.  “I know. I’ll guide you, don’t you worry about that.”  She’s just perfect. There’s no better definition inside his mind right now. He’s the opened book she loves to devour every single page of, absorbing the details and letting herself get immersed. She arranges her body on her bed to give him more space to lay down on his stomach and between her parted legs. When he finishes his trail of wet and hot kisses, she stands in one shoulder as her other arm goes to reach his brown curls that she loves so much.  “You can kiss it first,” She directs him. “See what it feels like against your lips and oh,” She moans because he wasted no time on licking his lips and kissing her clit. “G-Get yourself used to it, take your time to adjust yourself, no need to hurry.” But she didn’t really mean that. She does need the hurry, ‘cause she might collapse from this torture at any second.  Shawn tries the kissing, doing it from her clit and covering every inch of her lower lips then going back to the smaller ones. Over and over again, until he gets kinda bored. He wants to make her squirm like she said before in the kitchen. He wants to put his daydreams to a proof as quick as possible.  “You’re so wet,” He notices and is unaware of the effect it had on her. Her glistening pussy is inviting him and he wants to live in this for the rest of his days. He knows he has no experience, but this time, he doesn’t wait. He sinks his head down on her and his tongue is flattening against her heat to lick a stripe from her entrance to her clit, covering her with his mouth in order not to miss a single inch. And fuck she tastes so fuckin’ good. Nothing compared to his imagination.  “Oh my God,” Another moan slips out and she drops her head backwards, gotten my surprise. “That’s it...”  He embraces her thighs and her ankles are now resting on his back. His head buries in her pussy and she returns to look at him. It’s the best view in the world. Cheeks flushed and eyes closed, looking so serene and enjoying the taste of her like he never did with anything else. Shawn pulls her hips closer to him, growing hungrier and obsessed with this moment.  “Shawn!” She calls out and giggles, thinking that he’s also in the mood to play.  Not now.  “How hard can I suck you?” He pulls away, not going very far just to breathe and ask her.  “Hard enough to show me how bad you want me, not hard like a crazy animal would probably do.”  He groans against her heat and frowns in what he thinks it must be suffering. How can she get him so fragile to her? He feels his head spinning and she hasn’t even touched him back yet.  “What are you doing to me?” Shawn whispers, thinking out loud. He drags his tongue up and down against her boldly, mixing the wetness of his tongue with her wetness and it’s slow, painfully slow. She tugs his hair when she feels that tingling sensation down on her entrance and it spurs him on to try his first suction.  He does, giving her the best job he could do for the first time in his life.  “Close your mouth a little and suck harder.” She recommends and he promptly does. His lips are wrapped around her bundle of nerves as he licks her before, tongue gliding in circles and he’s keeping his tongue relaxed, what makes her see stars with this pleasant sensation. It’s so smooth and so tender that she’s afraid she’s going to pass out from the pleasure. He tries sucking for the second time and earns the perfect reaction from her: toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of her head and she gasps, body giving up against the mattress. She feels her clit throbbing and the way he sucks it is pushing her over the edge. It’s wet, it’s warm and so precise. “Fuck Shawn, fuck!” Her lungs are supplicating for air and she makes a good effort to look down at him again – eyeing her through his eyelashes – and, although he’s still finding a way to please her, he knows he’s being good, so he gives her a devilish smile. “Keep doing like this, baby, don’t stop...”  That’s it for him.  He tries to suck her again. It’s long he’s deliberately repeating series of suctions, having her crying out in her bed and arching her back. He tests it harder and faster and her hands instantly fly to grab his curls. Her moans are gradually turning into frantic screams and she’s trembling. Shawn Mendes never imagined he could get his friend shaking hectically with his mouth on her heat, sucking and licking her with his whole body and soul. His member is so hard inside his sweatpants but he doesn’t care, as long as she’s enjoying it, then he didn’t need something more. And he thinks she looks impossibly prettier with her beautiful lips parted to free her whimpers, sometimes smirking down at him to tease him; hair getting messier than her body quivering and being stopped by his large hands, caressing the sides of her waist and traveling down to the sides of her bum and legs, holding them forcefully so she wouldn’t escape from his touch.  “Shawn,” She gulps before moving on, throat dry from moaning uninterruptedly. “Pull away, I’m gonna come.”  With her clit gently tugged between his plump red lips, he shakes his head from side to side in denial lazily and it’s a new sensation to her, so so so good that her vision gloes blurry. Shawn just revealed himself not only stubborn in his studies but also in bed, and she’s so eager to dominate him like this...  He remembers about all the things they should be studying right now and maps her core to find her entrance with his index finger. Just as she taught him, he licks the digit and thrust it inside of her as soon as he finds it, bringing his mouth back to her clit to suck rapidly as his finger moves slowly. She fights back a loud scream, covering her mouth as she feels her pussy aching deliciously, searching for its release.  “Can you take two?” Shawn feels her walls squeezing his finger and doubts that she can keep another one.  “Yes, please.” She says through gritted teeth and it’s good to give this word the real meaning she wanted to give before. He pushes another finger into her and she moans once more, she doesn′t know how long she can wait. He thrusts the fingers so gingerly, not sure about what to do and what pace to pick. Was he hurting her?  “You’re so tight...” He comments so innocently, he thought that it wouldn’t be this constricted. He starts to imagine how heavenly his cock would feel hugged by her dripping pussy.  “Mendes,” She says under her breath. “I need you to go faster.”  “Like this?” He picks up his rhythm shyly.  “More.”  His digits are covered in her juices and moving with ease. She feels that knot on her stomach tightening and about to explode.  “More.” She begs and broken sobs are slipping past her lips. He goes deeper, fingers completely disappearing inside of her. “Right there! Oh, right there,” He finds her spot and her eyes roll to the back of her head once more, making Shawn dig the nails of his free hand into the skin of her thigh and suck at her bundle of nerves as fast as his fingers are working now. “Do it like this.” She can’t raise her hand right now to show due to her weakness but Shawn’s eyes are quick to find her fingers moving in a ‘come here’ motion and he immediately gives it to her. He can’t comprehend exactly where he’s taking her, but when she stops moaning and her legs starts shaking, he understands it. She’s feeling every inch of her core pulsating as her orgasm washes over her body and he can’t believe he just made her come. His fingers are slowing down and he pulls his mouth away, looking at her body coming down of her high. He removes his fingers slow and carefully and gives one last lick, catching what she released, and one last suck, her back arching for the last time.  He waits for her to settle down and get back to her senses before doing anything else. And when she does, she glances at him and silently invites him to come closer.  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She taps his strong chest as he crawls over her, knees supported by the mattress under her parted thighs and upper half covering her front. He must be kidding.  “Not really...” He vents, embarassed but glad that he provided her something nice. “But did... Did this just ruin what we have?”  “I honestly couldn’t care less if it did,” She spits out and he fears her next words. “I couldn’t fucking wait to have you like this since the very first day we spoke.”  “Would it be weird if I told you I feel the same way?”  “Nope. But that’s something you can save for later,” She pulls him by the shirt and pecks his lips, savouring the taste of herself on his lips. “I wanna make you feel good first. What do you think about that?”  “Glad you finally asked.” 

[altumvidetur]

Pacific Rim: Newmann Fic Recs

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I haven’t managed to read the whole Newmann tag yet (started on page 183, am now on page 77). From what I’ve gathered, most of these recs are from before Pacific Rim Uprising. I watched that movie (although I wish I hadn’t), so feel free to discuss it. I hope you like them!

“The Things That Stay” ‘verse, by singagainsoon

a collection of non-linear moments, snapshots, tiny dots on an endless timeline

i would kill to make you feel, by singagainsoon

Hermann gets really red when he’s mad - his ears, his cheeks, his stupid fucking cute nose. Even his neck gets these big red spots on it. It’s funny. It’s really, seriously funny.

i’ll be a rockin’, rollin’ bitch for you, by singagainsoon

“Don’t be foolish, Newton. I can think of a hundred better things for you to do with that mouth-“

Entomologist AU, by singagainsoon

Two weeks ago, he’d been in the midst of furiously tapping out an absolutely incensed email to the man who somehow managed to consistently infuriate him from another department, even, and what Hermann would have given then to strangle him, truly - and then Dr. Geiszler himself had appeared in Hermann’s doorway, toeing the carpet with his scuffed up Doc Martens and asking if they might try to talk things out over dinner.

Hermann hadn’t known it was a date.

they did the mash!, by singagainsoon

obligatory newt-wears-a-sexy-halloween-costume-and-hermann-has-to-rail-him-because-he-can’t-help-himself ficlet!! tis the season!!

(video) call me at any time, by singagainsoon

When Newt finds himself away from Hermann for a business trip of sorts, they figure out fairly quickly that they won’t last until Newton comes home.

Good Vibrations, by singagainsoon

“Newton, are you quite certain about this?”

Newt smiles, gives the odd-shaped dildo in his hand a teasing wave and sets it aside in favor of the vibrator. His face seems to hint at something along the lines of Funny Thing To Say When You’ve Just Had A Dildo In Your Ass, but he doesn’t say it.

-

my lovely, talented friend and fellow writer gaby commissioned me to write this piece and let me tell you i had the time of my life (as did hermann, i’m sure)

A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love, by singagainsoon

“You’re terribly lucky, darling, that my father is away,” he says, voice low, smoothing his palm over Newton’s wind-tousled hair.

Eating In, by singagainsoon

It really was supposed to be just a massage.

you make me feel so young, by zach_stone

In the wake of saving the world, Hermann decided to appreciate the little things.

Or, Hermann and Newt go grocery shopping. And, because it’s Newt, shenanigans ensue.

seven minutes in heaven, by zach_stone

Hermann was enjoying a quiet, peaceful morning when Newton burst into the lab and shoved both of them into a closet.

in other words, i love you, by zach_stone

Newt is having a difficult day. Hermann has an idea to make it better.

hold me in this wild, wild world, by zach_stone

Hermann didn’t often allow himself to cry. Humanity was barreling towards the end of days, and he simply didn’t have time to fall to pieces, not when people needed him — needed his work. But four rangers had died. He decided he could allow himself one small moment of grief.

–

Or, some Hermann-centric hurt/comfort because I just want to give him a hug. Set pre-canon.

it might be over soon, by zach_stone

To celebrate a victory, Newt steals a bottle of booze and he and Hermann drink, argue, and maybe finally act on their feelings.

hey i just met you (and this is crazy), by zach_stone

Newt Geiszler accidentally texts the wrong number when trying to message his roommate Raleigh, and instead winds up texting Hermann Gottlieb, who he’s never met.

(AKA a college texting AU that I promise was absolutely necessary)

worthy of celebration, by zach_stone

It’s a well-known fact around the Shatterdome that Hermann does not like his birthday. This year, Newt’s determined to change that.

lab-appropriate decor, by zach_stone

“For god’s sake, Newton, that is wildly inappropriate,” Hermann snapped. “Those things are not cute, they are abominations. I don’t know why I’m surprised, once again you prove that you have no tact —” “Oh, give it a rest, Hermann,” Newton retorted, rolling his eyes. “It’s not an abomination, it’s two feet tall and made of plastic.”

Or, some backstory to the one of the kaiju figures in Hermann’s lab in Uprising.

The Geiszler & Gottlieb Post-Saving-the-World Lecture Tour, by zach_stone

Following Newt and Hermann as they tour universities, argue across podiums, and fall in love.

feel your heartlines, by zach_stone

Newt and Hermann cuddling on the couch at the end of a lazy summer day.

We Don’t Skip A Beat, by decadent_mousse

Summary by me: Newt, Hermann, and their heartbeat over the years. 

the lure of adventure, by zach_stone

Newt is a reckless treasure hunter. Hermann is an intrepid journalist. On their search for some long-lost treasure, they run into a little more trouble than they bargained for.

AU based loosely on the Uncharted video game series - no knowledge of the games needed to understand the fic!

wouldn’t it be nice, by zach_stone

Newt and Hermann spend a day at the beach.

take your time, make it slow, by zach_stone

Hermann was far from shy in bed, but was quick to brush off Newt’s insistent (and one hundred percent correct, Newt might add) claims that he was the sexiest person to walk the earth. Well, if Hermann wouldn’t believe his words, then maybe he’d believe his actions. And Newt was nothing if not a man of action.

–

Prompt fill for Newmann Porn Fest 2018: “Body Worship” !!

when you are close to me, i shiver, by zach_stone

When the heating goes out in the lab, Newt comes up with a great idea on how to stay warm.

–

Another fic for the Newmann Porn Fest 2018! Prompt was “huddling together for warmth” ;)

it suits you, by zach_stone

“Newton, for goodness’ sake, can we just — no.” Hermann frowned at the selections Newt held up in front of him. A pair of overalls and a red-and-black flannel shirt, both Newt’s. “I am not wearing dungarees.” “Okay, first of all, cute that you call them dungarees,” Newt said, grinning. “Second of all, you would look very cute in these, they’re seasonal, and I am not kidding when I say you’ll ruin your slacks if you wear them to a farm.” He wiggled the overalls in Hermann’s direction, the buckles on the braces jingling as he did so. Hermann let out a long-suffering sigh, mostly for show. He really did need to invest in a pair of jeans.

–

Fic for the Newmann SFW Fest! Prompts were “sharing clothes/personal items” and “pumpkin/apple picking”

ease my slumber, by zach_stone

Newt can’t sleep; luckily, Hermann’s got a really soothing voice.

–

Or, a conversation about how Hermann would have a good voice for ASMR turned into this.

pick up and start again, by zach_stone

“This,” Hermann says imperiously, glaring at Newt from the other side of the elevator, “is your fault.”

Newt whips around to face him so fast he almost loses his balance. “My fault?! How the hell is this my fault?!” He gestures wildly at the elevator door. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot it was my personal responsibility to make sure this piece of shit elevator is maintained so I don’t get trapped in it with the most annoying person in the Shatterdome —”

“You’re always trapped with yourself though, aren’t you?” Hermann sneers, and Newt lets out a hysterical bark of laughter. This cannot be happening. Of all the times for the elevator to break down between floors, it has to happen now, when he and Hermann are in the midst of a fight that’s quickly blown itself out of proportion.

–

Newt and Hermann get stuck in an elevator, and are forced to work out some of their shit.

just your touch could cure my lonesome blood, by zach_stone

Four times all Newt needed was a hug from Hermann, and one time it was the other way around.

(Or, sentimental cuddling: the fic.)

Heart and Soul, by zach_stone

A quiet day in the lab is interrupted when Newt coerces Hermann into playing piano with him.

My contribution to The Last Line of Defense Zine (spring 2019)!

Lullaby & Rain, by j_gabrielle

It still blows his mind, still makes him stop in his frenetic need to move, speak and think whenever he remembers that Hermann…

Whatever Hermann is to him these days.

Carry Me To You, by j_gabrielle

For the prompt on the kink meme that asked for; Hermann/Newton. Lab sex

the world ablaze, that’s the best for me, by postcardmystery

Summary by me: Newt and Hermann are two unstoppable forces of nature.

Please, Sir, May I Have Another, by eigengrau

It isn’t until Newt is bent over the desk, papers and glass specimen jars strewn about like the debris of a hurricane, white-knuckling the hard stainless steel with his pants around his ankles, that he realizes the gravity of the situation.

Hide and Seek, by DoubleStashed

Summary by me: Hermann Gottlieb - life and love for Newt Geiszler.

pull the trigger without thinking, by liginamite

It’s manageable for the first few days. Shared emotions, shared thoughts, words spoken in unison. But it’s only when they share a nightmare born of memories that it finally occurs to them that maybe this isn’t going to go away.

Rechtsbrecher, by Ezlebe

“If you’ve lost your key again, you’re not getting another,” Hermann says, sidestepping past Newton’s hunched form on the steps.

Darling, by BeeLove

In which Newton rides Hermann for all he’s worth. Or at least tries to.

unravelling, by kiyala

It’s been a while since Newton’s taken his meds. Hermann begins to notice.

All of Your Flaws and All of My Flaws, by CinnamonCake

Hermann is still there tomorrow and the day after and Newton tries to not break his face with the door again.

and i fell fine, by ohgod

The other night I dreamt of knives, continental drift divide –

what history has given me, by kiyala

In which Newton is a girl and she really doesn’t have the time for your shit.

Solving For X, by griesly

No matter what opinion Doctor Gottlieb had proclaimed concerning his tattoos on numerous occasions, Newt knew the score. He’d glimpsed a heady rush of somewhat mortified appreciation, just an old memory surfacing in the Drift from the first time Newt rolled up his sleeves in the lab. He could still feel it like a taut string in Hermann’s mind, in the same way he knew his lab partner was too surly to ever admit it. It was all tangled up with his impression of the way Newt approached the world, a precisely calibrated instrument in one hand and a nail-bat in the other. Newt had to smile at the way Hermann saw him, a churlish adolescent and a half-mad genius all wrapped up in a hurricane.

…or, sometimes even the sharpest minds in the PPDC can be excused for a being a bit dense.

Towards, by orphan_account

Based vaguely off the Lemony Snicket quote: “When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them.”

Hermann finds Newt in the lab after the clock stops, and realizes that sometimes all you can do is wait.

Dear Diary,, by ohgod

That is way, way, WAY too close to my whole InuYasha phase. Do-over!

the night will go on, by ohgod

Mako is sheltered, Herc is old, Raleigh doesn’t want to know about any of this, and Tendo is a perpetual asshole.

I Get My Kicks Above the Waistline, Sunshine, by ambitiousbutrubbish

Summary by me: Newton’s exploration of his asexuality.

corpus callosum, by hieronyma

1 + 1 = 1.

when it’s broken, it’s perfect, by liginamite

Love is not divided up into neat little graphs and numbers and theorems, able to be charted if one only took the time and effort to do so. No, love is… it is unpredictable and volatile. Hermann doesn’t really do unpredictable and volatile, but with Newt he doesn’t have much of a say in the matter.

After the Rockets Calm, by callmejude

written for the kink meme prompt: “The morning after Newt and Hermann sleep together for the first time, Hermann comes over all ridiculously British and can’t cope with the intimacy and loss of inhibition. Newt is having none of that nonsense and tells him to quit fussing and come back to bed for snuggles.”

behind us, by kiyala

After the Breach is closed, Newt asks Hermann to go to Boston with him. Hermann doesn’t leave.

They Say It’s Your Birthday, by callmejude

for the kink meme prompt: These two have worked together for many years, and obviously have had to continue working through special occasions, including their birthdays. I know they strongly disliked each other, but deep down they are good friends and I’d love to see anything (slashy or friendshippy) showing how they acknowledge or celebrate birthdays. I’m betting Newt is secretly into baking and Hermann comes in one day on his birthday not expecting anyone to even know, only to find a Kaiju shaped cake on his desk with a sparkler or a candle stuck messily in the centre. Or or or Newt comes in on his 30th birthday and he’s like depressed and absurdly quiet for the day cause he’s not ready to be that old and Hermann realizes why he’s being all docile so he takes off at lunch only to return with pizza and stuff to cheer Newt up and celebrate his birthday. OR YOU KNOW ANYTHING YOU WANT.

within reason, by kiyala

Newt goes to the Skull Temple after the Breach is closed. Hermann goes with him.

pull you through the mirror (before you come undone), by griesly

The War is over. The war is over, and everyone else has something important to do and somewhere else to be except Newt.

shaken, by kiyala

Newton has nightmares. Sometimes, Hermann has them too. 

Imagine Sisyphus Happy, by Jenni_Snake

They’re colonists… we’ve practically terraformed it for them. -Dr. Newton Geiszler

“The thing we saw with the Europeans was that they wanted their new world enough: they didn’t care who stood in their way.” -Dr. Melanie Mountain Horse

“Do not rely not on the likelihood of the enemy’s not coming, but on our own readiness to receive them.” -Sun Tsu

“The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor. … I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one’s burden again. … One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” -Albert Camus

How The Light Gets In, by griesly

He’d told Hermann time and time again that he didn’t love the kaiju, he studied them with a curiosity born from a life-long fascination with the giants of the earth. Newt had always been the dinosaur kid – still was, if he was being honest with himself, and the kaiju were the biggest, most awe inspiring terrors he’d ever seen.

the body is not an apology, by BeeLove

In which Hermann triggers some of Newton’s insecurities and strives to make up for it.

When Two Substances Collide, by Emileesaurus and ripkord

Doctors Geiszler and Gottlieb — the first ones in and the last ones out. Thirteen scenes from the countdown to the end of the world.

Scar, by mlle

A tiny thing written for Jaegercon Bingo.

Not every tattoo makes a scar.

I’ve got nothing to say but it’s ok, by madness_and_smiles

Newt’s burned into Hermann’s brain now, like an itch he can’t scratch. Whenever they’re in the same room together – which Newt likes to make sure is almost always – there’s the low hum at the back of his mind telling him Newt is there and Newt is feeling and breathing and sometimes they feel and breathe in unison and it makes Hermann drop his chalk.

in which kaiju guts were not part of the wedding vows, by orphan_account

“You’ve got your glower face on,” Newt remarked above him, and Hermann opened his eyes just to scowl at Newt’s concerned face.

“I am a thread away from murdering my own science team, so, yes, I suppose a glower here and there would not go amiss.”

Seeing in Color, by what_alchemy

The Dr. Geiszler Hermann had found in the publications — printed pages worn with constant handling and tucked into his briefcase for easy access — was an eloquent scientist whose work functioned at a level far above almost anyone else Hermann had ever encountered in the field, and yet he neither patronized his readers nor expressed himself in the inexplicable jargon which so infected much academic work. He was singular in his intelligence. Hermann thought this was a man he could understand — and who could understand him in turn.

More fool he.

Kämpfen, by Huntsmonsters

“The point is that Hermann loves numbers like they were his children, except that Hermann hates children. He loves them and the way they go together the way Newt loves every sample that enters his collection, the way he loves tattoo needles and his books of scribbled anatomical drawings and the harried, barely legible, 4 in the morning notes scrawled around them when the first pieces of a freshly dead Kaiju come in. These are the tools with which they carve themselves, the knives and chisels and guides, the planes on which their shapes are made. Hermann is held up by his cane, but it isn’t the reason he’s standing. They’ve both gone through the rabbit hole and come out again with something clenched in their fists. ”

In which arguments are had over equations and entrails, vivisections are banned, and Newt uses ink to prepare for the possibility of death.

I Was the Match And You Were The Rock, by griesly

Written for the Jaegercon Bingo Square: ‘The Drift’

'Hermann is strong and solid and stable even if no one else at the PPDC would ever think so, Newt knows so, and come to think of it, he always has. He just never knew the man’s mind would be so goddamn beautiful, so bright and full of purpose and satisfaction at a job well done that somehow, impossibly, included him.’

Lucky Number Seven, by griesly

'Newton?’ Hermann called out, only to hear an answering 'Shhh!’ issue from behind a moving curtain. He appeared to have cordoned off an area in the back corner of the lab with heavy screens, labeled 'Light-Sensitive Specimens – DO NOT TOUCH.’ Newton poked his head around the corner with a slightly manic grin.

'Lock the door,’ he advised before motioning Hermann enthusiastically over to a break in a thick curtain. Hermann frowned and paced across the room, wondering what could possibly be so important and so secretive that Newton would have to obfuscate its very existence.

Whatever it was, Hermann was certain he wasn’t going to like it.

autoclave, by cynicalRaconteur

Or: How the fuck is she so attractive, she dresses like my grandfather, I want to punch myself in the face: the Newt Geiszler story.

nyctophobia (into the light of the dark black night), by orphan_account

“See, the thing about birthdays is they’re totally an annual thing,” Newt explained, handing Hermann his latte. “And I’ve known you for, what, twelve years? Thirteen?”

“Fifteen,” Hermann interjected tersely. “And a half.”

Do you have Prince Albert in a can?, by mwestbelle

Newt has a Prince Albert piercing. That’s about it.

This Most Beautiful System, by rosepetalfall

Like Watson and Crick, Newton Geiszler and Hedda Gottlieb are two scientific names almost invariably thought of together.

-

Hedda Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler grow up, save the world, conquer academia, defy the odds, do some ill-advised things, do some brilliant things, and learn about love. Not necessarily in that order.

In the Midst of the Blackest Storm, by TrufflesTheMushroom

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, at the precipice of our hope, at the new beginning of our time, we can choose not only to believe in ourselves, but in each other. Tomorrow, there will not be a single person on our shores who shall stand alone. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow we will face the monsters that are at our door and take the fight to them. Tomorrow, we are facing the apocalypse. As one.

Or: Tendo Choi used to coerce every Jaeger Strike Team in the Hong Kong Shatterdome into boosting its dwindling funds with shady black market deals, and this is how he gets everyone to slowly become a family once more as the world faces the re-opening of the Breach and humanity’s darkest hour.

Or: How To Trust When All Seems Hopeless

i forget the difference between seduction and arson, by gyzym

Ignition and cognition.

animals trapped (the cage is full), by liginamite

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? The world doesn’t have time for affection, for intimacy, for anything more than quickly coming and cleaning off and heading back to work like nothing ever happened.

The Mathematician’s Answer, by ConstanceComment

“Prosper our handiwork; O prosper the work of our hands.” — Psalm 90

People Might Laugh at Your Tattoos, by callmejude

It’s armor.

Conversations You Don’t Know We’re Having, by adventuring

The spleen was doing something very uncooperative now, turning colors no alien spleen was meant to turn, and oh god, was something bubbling? That could not be good. “No, baby, no, I can fix this, I can do better, just give me one more chance,” he begged it, ignoring Hermann’s baffled, “Pardon?” in his ear. He grabbed frantically at the tongs, fumbling them, realized he probably couldn’t fix this situation one-handed, and said to Hermann, “Gotta go, important work to be done.”

“Newton, I swear to you, do not hang up this phone, follow my instructions—”

“No time, man, science is happening,” he said, and then without thought tacked on, “Bye, love you,” and threw the phone in what was likely the direction of his desk, not bothering to end the call. Hermann probably kept talking, but hello, science.

California King, by notastranger

Hermann is not a sleep cuddler. Bummer.

that every man might have need of other, by lymricks

In the few hours it took to reconcile Newton’s gone with Newton left, Hermann had created an elaborate fantasy: Newton kidnapped, Newton taken, Newton needing to be saved. He had not considered that leaving had been Newton’s idea. He had not thought it would be voluntary.

You Lost, Doctor?, by hailtherandom

“The next morning, Hermine goes to work with a clear head. It sticks for all of about thirteen minutes, until Newt walks into the offices in a pair of jeans and an old, threadbare undershirt instead of her usual button-down, and numbers flicker out of Hermine’s mind like lights in a Jaeger. Newt glances up and shoots her a filthy grin, then drops her coat on her desk and pulls out a pair of gloves. Hermine loses whole equations to the kaiju rippling over the muscles in Newt’s forearms.”

Private in Public, by spirogyra

Dr. Newton Geiszler and Dr. Hermann Gottlieb get introduced to life in a shatterdome, and somehow survive showering together for ten years even when they’re on separate continents.

Nightmares, by beckettemory

“Hermann frowned, remembering the bags under Newton’s eyes and the constant bubbling of the coffee maker in the corner brewing pot after pot of strong coffee all day.” ——————- Hermann, sore after a long day, passes the laboratory and realises that, though well into the night, Newton is still working, and has been acting strangely for a few days.

Lights On, by berlynn_wohl

Hermann’s solitude and shame was an immovable object inside him. He had yet to find out that it would soon encounter an unstoppable force.

Not While I’m Around, by callmejude

written for the kinkmeme prompt: In all the years they’ve worked with each other, Hermann can’t remember ever seeing Newt angry - upset and frustrated, maybe, but never angry. Sure, they argue and raise their voices at each other all the time, but that’s just lively intellectual discourse - they’re never really mad at each other. Hermann has always just kind of assumed that Newton is so easy going that nothing can set him off.

And then someone messes with Hermann, and Newton absolutely explodes with rage.

Come Away To The Water, by funnylookingfella

The Kaiju War is over, there are no Jaegers left, the mourning period has passed… but the hive mind lingers.

A Little Friendly Challenge, by moonblossom

Newt knows how to get Hermann to cooperate.

I wear your granddad’s clothes, I look incredible., by notastranger

Newton comes up with what he thinks is a hilarious Halloween costume. Things do not go as planned.

venus in fleurs, by indications

6.7k of boring-ass white boys touchin dicks

so it goes, by liginamite

The world needs Newton Geiszler, and with that thought in mind, it’s Hermann that drifts with the Kaiju instead.

sugar, spice, and graduate programs, by classyfanperson

Newt works at a coffee shop. Hermann is studying abroad at MIT. Pumpkin lattes are good for the soul.

Good Day for Ghosts, by cryogenia

Hermann wakes into the new world, and carries the remains of the old with him.

Equality, by pickleplum

“‘Immediate family only’ is our policy and no amount of yelling at me will change it, Doctor Geiszler. Unless you are Doctor Gottlieb are long-lost brothers, you need to calm down and wait in the reception area or we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Newt makes a very loud exasperated noise and throws his hands in the air, but turns and marches into the waiting room. He drops himself onto a couch and pulls at his hair in frustration. I’m going to behave, he tells himself firmly. I’m not going to freak out over this total bullshit and get myself tossed out of here. No way. I can do this.

no man is an island, by narcomanic

Running away from the hive mind is easier said than done, especially when you’ve been so clever all your life that you never had to learn how to ask for help.

Time Will Crawl and Our Mouths Run Dry, by hailtherandom

It was Hermann’s idea, oddly enough. Sometimes Newt never quite believes that, thinks he made it up in a dream or a drunken haze, because Hermann, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, does not suggest things like that. But he did, and Newt laughed in his face, and then blinked a few times and said, “what, really?” “Yes, really,” Hermann said. “It’s logical, Newton, if you take a moment to think about it.” — Hermann and Newt. Mutual handjobs at twenty-one hundred hours every Wednesday and Friday. Slight complications develop.

After Zero, by what_alchemy

The war is over. Hermann and Newt get on with their [sex] lives.

More Than I Can Return, by callmejude

written for the kinkmeme prompt: “Newt likes to flirt with Hermann, the fact that he never flirts back does not discourage him at all. An outsider might think that Newt is foolishly in love with someone who doesn’t care about him back at all. But one day in the lab out of nowhere, Hermann says, "Alright, what if I just bring you off with my hand? Will that make you more bearable?”

Newt’s thrilled and doesn’t miss a beat. “God, Hermann, a handy would be awesome right now! Thanks, man!”, all while he’s unzipping his fly and grabbing the surgical lube for improper use.

From then on they start hooking up whenever it pleases both of them. Sometimes handjobs, sometimes frottage, occasionally one will penetrate the other. But most importantly, Newt never stops calling Hermann “man” or “dude” during the act, and keeps talking as if Hermann was just doing him a mundane favour, or he was doing a favour for Hermann.

It isn’t until they sit on the sofa in Hermann’s room one night, cuddling up and making out after a taxing workday, with no signs of anyone unclothing or unzipping, that Newt thinks maybe affection has something to do with it.“

Jackpot, by notastranger

People say some strange things when coming out of anesthesia.

Cleaning Days, by jotc

All Hermann Gottlieb wanted was a clean lab space of his own.

Feels Like Reckless Driving, by lakehymn

“Did you just say I’m right about something?” Newton asks, feigning shock. Then he lightheartedly elbows Hermann in the ribs and adds, “I always knew you loved me.”

everyone needs a place (it shouldn’t be inside someone else), by orphan_account

His brain goes a gazillion miles an hour in loopy misdirectional circles, and when he dreams he dreams of kaiju biology, of being back in their lab, of sharp elbows in a small bed.

Chatter, by berlynn_wohl

“What do you think? Is today going to be a good day?”

Unhappy Campers (or Why You Can’t Perform CPR on Someone Who’s Still Breathing), by Jenni_Snake

A summer science camp field trip to the mountains. What could be more fun? Probably anything, especially for a group of nerdy science kids.

Hermann Gottlieb’s Stacker Pentecost Obsession Trapper Keeper, by what_alchemy

Hermann has a giant man crush on Stacker.

Newt finds it delightful. Herc, not so much.

what’s your rush, by Byacolate

Summary by me: An elaboration of Hermann and Newt’s relationship before and after the closing of the Breach.

Baby, You’re Hotter than my Bunsen Burner, by SkysongMA

They argue like they breathe—but that’s not all there is to it. Newt flirts, and it’s disgusting.

It’s not that Hermann minds flirting. The Kaidonovskies have propositioned everyone in the PPDC, or so it seems, and Tendo has intimated more than once that he wouldn’t mind spending some time in the lab, “talking numbers.” The Shatterdome is a small place. One has to practice somewhere.

It’s just that Newt is so bad at it.

Becoming History, by Scientia_Fantasia

Sure, the phrase “crotchety old man who obviously pays no attention to the current scientific community” may have snuck its way into one of the letters, but hey, that’s what you get for calling Up-And-Coming Scientific Rockstar Newton Geiszler “some kid.” Like, the guy had it coming. Really.

It Is not Heaven, It Is Home, by bravinto

Finding the love of your life is awfully anticlimactic.

Fleece, by berlynn_wohl

Newt and Hermann enjoy a day of terminally fluffy domesticity, with maybe a few minutes set aside for shenanigans on the sofa. Also, monsters (duh).

For What It’s Worth, I’d Do It Again, by callmejude

Between finding Newton seizing on the floor and running to get Pentecost, Hermann needs to make sure Newton is okay.

The Stretch and Pull of Disused Hearts, by billiethepoet

Newt notices that the move to the Anchorage Shatterdome is affecting Hermann’s leg. So Newt builds him a hot yoga studio out of spare parts and an abandoned storage closet. Obviously.

Best Cock On The Block, by hobbitdragon

They’ve been so close and yet so far for fourteen years now, but the drift is the pebble that starts the avalanche of change. (By which we mean sex)

This started out as a short ficlet and quickly grew beyond ficlet status into a full-blown fic. I guess I really wanted to write more trans smut.

The Seconds In Between, by orphan_account

Sort of a day in the life of Hermann (and Newt, always with Newt). Mostly, I had a lot of tiny little headcanons and then tried to spin them all together in a fic.

hallo mutti, hallo vati, by classyfanperson

Newt and Hermann visit the Gottlieb family after the Breach is closed. Some are happier to see them than others.

The Cost of Craving Dark Instead of Light, by sonnie

Summary by me: Monica Schwartz and her son, Newton. 

The Two Weirdos Who Work In The Lab, by berlynn_wohl

Two vignettes about the worst kept secret in the Shatterdome.

he’s thunderstorms, by mundaneanarchy

Wherein Newt maybe possibly has a teeny tiny itsy bitsy almost microscopic crush on a certain grumpy old mathematician and Hermann falls and can’t get up. Angsty pining ensues. (explicit for chapter 2)

Never Done with Killing Time, by orphan_account

In between one day and the next, there’s always some time for some loving.

Quantum Degeneracy, by trell

Newt makes a sound from where he’s hidden behind his kaiju, behind his arms, and then he croaks, "I can’t play anymore.”

Hermann’s eyes flick to the electric keyboard sitting near Newt’s desk—a paper-covered, disorganized disaster of a thing—and he says, quietly, “Ah.”

the best laid plans, by liginamite

The plan, you see, was to totally sex Hermann up immediately after the world was saved. But you know that old saying about well-laid plans.

Generated Affects, by trell

Twelve is you washing your hands ten times up to the elbow in the space of the half an hour you spend prepping kaiju entrails for long-term cryo. It’s him that stops you, him that struggles over to the sink on his cane and grabs you by the wrists, hands fitting perfectly over the open maws of Hundun and Yamarashi, and he says “Stop,” and “Newton, think, this isn’t like you, it is like—” and the me hangs unspoken but you get it, let him guide you over to a bench in the lab and force you to sit still long enough to tone down the compulsion.

five times newt proposed to hermann and the one time he said yes, by mundaneanarchy

title is self explanatory.

alternate title: the fear of falling apart

warning: cheesy and kinda dumb

macho dudes in lace undies, by mundaneanarchy

Summary by me: Newt, Hermann and a lingerie kink.

one last kiss while we’re far too young to die, by mundaneanarchy

Newt and Hermann meet, fall in love, hate each other, lose each other, find each other, kiss drunkenly, save/destroy the world, and get married. All in that order.

it is one way to live, by fuckener

Newt would stay stuck in the wartime if nobody tried pulling him out of it.

Black Velvet Rabbits rockstar AU, by spirogyra

Summary by me: In which Hermann is the number one fan of Newt’s rock band, The Black Velvet Rabbits.

Sea Swept, by cypress_tree

A high seas fantasy AU in which Hermann is a ship’s navigator and Newton is found washed up among flotsam.

there are no atheists in foxholes, by liginamite

Newt and Hermann have been feeling off since they helped to cancel the apocalypse. They’re losing time, long black-outs, periods of aggression. The feeling that there’s something else, something they can’t pin down.

The thing is, the Kaiju drift left something behind in the both of them, and it’s determined to get out.

Can’t Wait for You to Shut Me Up, by callmejude

written for the kink meme prompt: “Hermann tells Newt to shut up, Newt tells Hermann to make him. They make out. That’s the prompt.”

(That may have been the prompt but I admit to it going much further than that.)

Dead Letter Chorus, by QuokkaFoxtrot

It’s if you’ve never heard anything true. But we will try 'til the next time or the last time. Dead Letter Chorus - You Am I

Newt owns a coffee shop. Hermann is a tenured professor at the local university. Their relationship has its ups and downs.

Also: Chuck is a champion barista, Mako is a world travelling Direct Trade negotiator, Stacker and Herc play a lot of chess, and Tendo owns Shatterdome Records.

Much coffee is consumed. (Except by Hermann who is a priss about how his tea should be prepared.)

bones, sinking like stones, by mundaneanarchy

You don’t love him. You don’t love him even though you do, you know you do, you know you do so much it hurts, but you don’t.

have yourself a merry little christmas, by classyfanperson

Hermann isn’t going home for Hanukkah, so Newt insists they both visit his family back home. They continue to not talk about their feelings.

Or: A Very Geiszler Christmas.

Newton Geiszler’s 11 Ways to Save the World, by kaijukonjou

Keep to yourself, keep your chin up, and maybe you’ll make it out in one piece.

Five Times Newt And Hermann Kiss While They Are Drunk, by luceluceluceluce

A brief timeline of the apocalypse from the perspective of a pair of nerds: a story of science, alcohol, and love.

Become What We’ve Always Been, by irisbleufic

Hermann doesn’t have enough time to experience a crisis over Newton’s response to his unvoiced request; he’s drifting into that self-same lethargy, eyelids heavy, his arm across the cane gone slack.

it wouldn’t be make believe, by infinituity

“By the way, dude,” he says, and he reaches down both to grab his notepad as well as to avoid looking at Hermann, “my parents think we’re dating.”

Instead of the expected angry yelling, he gets only silence in response, so he looks up to see Hermann opening his mouth to speak, reconsidering, closing it, and repeating. After several more repeats than strictly necessary, he sighs and slumps down in his seat.

“Of course they do,” he says.

sweet as anything, by classyfanperson

Newt is embarrassed about certain aspects of her body. Hermine is considerably more enthusiastic.

The Statistics of Touch, by WheresPeebs

Alternate Title: If You Would Just Stop Interrupting Each Other, Everything Would Be Worked Out in the First Friggin’ Paragraph.

Hermann is uncomfortable with public displays of… well, anything. It causes problems.

First, by cypress_tree

Newt and Hermann’s first time is Newt’s first first time.

Roses are red, and if that’s kaiju blue so help me Newton, by unnecessary

Summary by me: Newton and Hermann have some communication problems. 

point me in the direction of the last setting sun, by orphan_account

They were two women standing against the end of the world.

Urine Trouble, by kinkitsecretkinkitsafe

Hermann has a thing for watersports. Newt finds out.

breathing free and even, by classyfanperson

He’s working on it. They’re working on it.

High-Five for Hatesex, by kinkitsecretkinkitsafe

Summary by me: Newton has a thing for Hermann and justifies it as hate!sex. He might be wrong.

Counterpoint, by kinkitsecretkinkitsafe

Summary by me: Sequel to High-Five for Hatesex.

a thousand spiders down the drain, by Byacolate

Children can be so cruel to boys who pick flowers.

Secret Agent Scientist, by Malteaser

Written for the prompt: Hermann, secret badass; He has something cool like a fencing saber installed in his cane and when someone fucks with them he kicks their ass and keeps talking like nothing happened.

A Little Kindness Goes a Long Way, by patster223

Newt liked to purposefully annoy Hermann in order to get rough sex. Which worked out great, until Hermann found out about it and decided to punish Newt by giving him excruciatingly nice sex.

cross my heart and take me with you, by drashian

The first time Hermann meets Newton Geiszler, they are pleasant with each other for about 10 minutes until suddenly they’re duking it out about Hermann’s theories of transdimensional transport.

The second time Hermann meets Newton Geiszler, they just start yelling.

The third time Hermann meets Newton Geiszler, it is in the toxic blue haze of the Drift.

Anthology ‘Verse (& Related Errata), by irisbleufic

Summary by me: a study of the relationship between Hermann and Newt, from the beginning to the future.

Parallax / Perihelion, by irisbleufic 

Parallax—the apparent displacement of an observed object due to a change in the position of the observer; from the Greek, παράλλαξις (“alteration”). / Perihelion—the point in the orbit of an asteroid, comet, planet, or other celestial body where it is nearest to the sun (again from the Greek, περιήλιο).

One-Week Rule, by irisbleufic

Somebody’s got a stick up his theoretical vortex. Starting this off with a bang?

We’re Revolutionaries Now, by AxolotlQueen

One really shouldn’t attempt to cut one’s own hair.

(Or, Hermione Gottlieb gives herself a bad haircut and Newton Geiszler helps out.)

Newton Geiszler and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Interns, by cambion and casdere

“I know, it’s all a bit silly,” he admits.

“You always get a bit silly about your crushes, yeah?” She teases easily, and Hermann nearly spits out his mouthful of soup. Jasmine gives him another concerned look, but he waves her away.

“Vanessa, can you please not,” he hisses under his breath, and she laughs with the phone pulled away from her face, sounding like distant bells, and he feels taken back to high school, and remembers the fumbling idiocy of his crush on her, and knows immediately she is right, and he ought to give up the fight. He has a crush, an honest to God crush, and at his age! He knows, surely, it started with his fascination of the man’s intellect, but he also knows how quickly and easily he was drawn into his off-kilter charisma, as well.

or: hermann and newt are college professors, newt is working on his sixth doctorate, hermann is nursing a nasty crush, and i fit way too much into one chapter

scene after scene, by drashian

Everything had been banking on the world ending.

It doesn’t end, though, and that leaves everyone with this big hole where the future they didn’t plan for suddenly stretches ahead of them.

Newt struggles and reaches to fill that hole, and comes up with two things: Hermann Gottlieb and a cross-country road trip.

Chalk It Up To Love, by patster223

Newt replaced all of Hermann’s white pieces of chalk with pink ones. Or: the one in which chalk is a form of courtship, Hermann is head-over-heels, and somehow the entire Shatterdome gets involved.

The Apple In Our Hands, by irisbleufic

Summary: 1950!AU in which Newt is a cryptozoologist trying to find the Loch Ness monster, Hermann is more or less the same, and they have to share a cabin in Scotland.

Ice to Meet You, by patster223

Hermann is eating a rather phallic-looking popsicle and Newt is pretty sure he might actually die from sexual frustration.

In Sweden, and Elsewhere, by rillrill

Newt had just thrown down his end of the half-assembled bookshelf and shouted, “Whatever! It still makes no sense that two acclaimed and accomplished scientists with the combined brainpower of four average adults can’t put together a goddamn shelf!” Because, seriously, he can build an improvised neural bridge out of old lab machinery and an ancient Mr. Coffee, but he’s undone by three missing pegs? Fuck this.

Newt and Hermann rebuild, relocate, accept the Nobel Prize for Physics, fight over furniture, and strive to carve out a space for themselves in a world where they’re inextricably linked - in the the press, in their personal lives, and in their own heads.

Magic and Progress, by patster223

The Hogwarts AU in which Newt is a wizard, Hermann is a Muggle, and somehow they manage to save the world and love each other anyway.

Self-Destruct, by pinkmoon

“He learns how to never be wrong. He learns how to be indispensable. He realizes it makes him unstoppable.

Newton Geiszler is one tick away from self-destructing for the rest of his life.”

A character study of Newt’s lifetime of risky behavior and predilection for taking risks of the “rock star” sort. (Spanning many years, continents, arguments, and accidents, but landing, unexpectedly, in a happy ending.)

Today Your Barista Is: Hella Fucking Gay, by unnecessary

Hermann is a professor. The barista at the coffee shop across the street is cute and very, very single.

It is inevitable, really.

Predictable, by cypress_tree

It’s a movie date, but they’re not really watching the movie.

Adventures In Knitting, by decadent_mousse

Newt decides to knit Hermann a sweater, with… mixed results.

You’ve Taken A Pizza My Heart, by decadent_mousse

Hermann and Newt are so busy with work, they don’t get much time to go out to dinner, so Newt decides to improvise.

Fear of a Name, by uhnonniemiss

Newt and Hermann never could decide on how to define what they are to each other. It takes several years, thousands of kisses, a vat of acid, a big fight, and a sunny Boston evening to help them choose.

every day I fight a war against the mirror, by thekaidonovskys

“It came at a price,” he says. “To understand them, I had to learn how to fear them.”

Cut to the Chase, by patster223

Hermann needs a haircut. He does not need the cute hairdresser to flirt with him, he does not need a scalp massage, and he does not need anything trendy or stylish done to his hair.

Thankfully, these are things that happen anyway. Barbershop AU, featuring hairdresser!Newt and smitten!Hermann.

The Sublime, by Lucretius

The waves are coming closer to them now, and yes, the tide is coming to them with crescendo crashes.

The white fringe of sea is mere fathoms away.

“Can we?” Hermann asks.

And it is the question that one asks because, the choice having been made in what feels like another lifetime, now, for the first time, there is someone here, here, right here—who can see a way of being and seeing long dormant under so many layers of performing and seeming.

Recover, by irisbleufic

You’re my new favorite blanket. Come inside?

Untoward, by LemonScience33

Newton licks his bottom lip. “Maybe, um…” he says.

Newton doesn’t continue. Hermann wills his breathing to remain steady. “Yes?”

Newton shrugs casually. “Maybe we could give each other a hand,” he says. “Just two friends… you know, helping each other out.”

Knocking Socks, by decadent_mousse

Hermann and Newt go sock-shopping.

Listening, by cypress_tree

Newt has a dirty talk kink, and Hermann has a really nice voice.

Act Together, by irisbleufic

“You know I’m only a liar when it matters, right?”

You + Me = Happiness ², by steviekat

The thing is, Newt had never really put much thought into the future. The future of K-Science? Sure! Her own? To be fair, this probably better than anything she could have imagined.

Got Your Back, by Doooooooom

The workload is taking its toll on Hermann’s shoulders. Luckily, Newt is a dab hand at shoulder massages.

That’s one way to shut you up, by offensiveagentpie

Based on this fanart by pixiepunch.

Hermann tries a new tactic to get Newt to be quiet for once.

wash us away, by thekaidonovskys

Thank god Hermann undresses after he’s entered the bathroom, or else walking in to find Newt sitting on the bench top would have been much much worse.

visions are seldom what they seem, by mundaneanarchy

Hermann likes Tchaikovsky. Newt likes Hermann.

The Sun On Your Face (I’m Freezing That Frame), by irisbleufic

“Hate to break it to you,” Newton whispers, kissing Hermann’s neck with a happy sigh before letting his head drop to rest against Hermann’s shoulder, “but we’re busted in five, four, three—”

“Your ass is mine, Geiszler!” shouts Officer Hak, barging into the lab. “You too, Doctor Gottlieb. If you think you can get off so easy—”

The Good Old Days, by decadent_mousse

Hermann and Newt go scavenging for supplies during a blackout and get more than they bargained for.

A Proper Family Christmas, by uhnonniemiss

When Hermann ends up in the medical wing, he looks all set to spend Christmas by himself. Not if Newt gets a say in it, though.

Or, in which adopted and blood family save the Holidays

The Friendmas Ficlet Collection, by cypress_tree

A collection of five unrelated ficlets written as Christmas gifts for friends:

geniusbee: Hermann hurt/comfort patster223: Hermann wearing nail polish thehorrorinsymmetry: Hermann in lingerie bravinto: belly rubs decadentmousse: Harvest Moon AU

Aftershocks, by tastewithouttalent

“Hermann has to stumble away because the Drift is still too fresh and he can’t tell the heat of Newton’s body apart from his own anymore.” The impact of the Drift hits Hermann, and he and Newt don’t make it back to the laboratory.

Au Naturel, by decadent_mousse

Newt gives Hermann a wake up call during a very boring meeting.

Fortune’s Favor, by tamerofdarkstars

In which there is kissing, the end of the world, the subsequent salvation of the world, and more kissing.

Fills Trope_Bingo: Round 4 - Celebratory Kiss

Bump in the Night, by unicornsandbutane

Newt’s made a mistake, and it’s really a subjective matter whether it was a poor decision altogether or just a mere miscalculation. Regardless, he is forced to phone Hermann in the middle of the night, to deal with the consequences.

But the Gesture is Ruined, by cypress_tree

Five times Hermann tried to be romantic, one time he succeeded without even meaning to. A K-Sci romcom, basically.

Strange Bedfellows, by decadent_mousse

When Hermann and Newt first arrive at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, a paperwork mix-up forces them to share a room for awhile.

followed your ashes into outer space, by parpar

The numbers of the War Clock ticked down to zero, and the resulting euphoria was thick as smoke in the air. The assortment of PPDC members and civilian contractors were in an uproar, and Hermann and Newton made their way down the LOCCENT steps to stand in the midst of it.

When Tendo had finally managed to get Mako and Raleigh to stop hugging and cooperate with the rescue team, Newton had leaned his forehead into the curve of Hermann’s shoulder.

“We actually pulled it off,” he had whispered. “We did it, holy shit, it’s over.” Hermann had gracefully ignored the tears soaking into his collar and patted his colleague on the back while he pulled himself together.

Occupational Hazard, by decadent_mousse

Hermann overworks himself and gets a migraine.

In Space No One Can Hear You Mop, by decadent_mousse

Hermann and Newt are janitors sent to a derelict ship to clean things up after a group of aliens massacred the entire crew… but are they the only ones on board?

Liminality, by what_alchemy

What we know, after.

Fortuna Favet, by Mipeltaja

Newton seemed to think one could invoke good fortune simply by being bold enough or loud enough, a notion Hermann found utterly ridiculous.

It wasn’t that Hermann didn’t believe chance could on occasion work in his favour, it was just that life had taught him not to rely on it.

Brainspace and Kinkspace, by Emmalyn

Summary by me: Newt and Hermann exploring some of the delights of kinky sex.

Desperate Times, by decadent_mousse

Newt finds Hermann in a terrible state.

Matchsnaking, by patster223

There is a snake in Hermann’s apartment. This is not how he wanted to start his day.

Apartment neighbors AU where Newt’s snake keeps sneaking into Hermann’s apartment.

Put a Pin in That, by unicornsandbutane

Newt tries to convince Hermann to participate in a charity event. What ensues might be classed as ‘hijinks’, ‘shenanigans’, or ‘hilarity’, depending upon your perspective.

Remains, by berlynn_wohl

Newt and Hermann wrap Christmas presents and talk about death.

You Love Me Not, by mundaneanarchy

A story of love and coping with love told from the second-person perspective of Newt.

Newt loves Hermann and Hermann loves Newt but sometimes it’s not that easy.

Statiscally Significant Other, by unicornsandbutane

Flattery will get you everywhere.

Or, the fic computerbaby on tumblr requested, in which Newt compliments Hermann and Hermann is really really into it.

Pasta Aisle, by cypress_tree

Hermann and Newt meet for the first time in a grocery store. Hermann helps Newt grab something off a high shelf. Newt takes offense.

Disconnect, Connect Again, by cypress_tree

Raising Newt Geiszler has never been easy. Seeing him fall in love can be harder.

The development of Newt and Hermann’s relationship, from Jacob Geiszler’s point-of-view.

Spaces Between, by adropofred

Newt had not realised, somehow, that the world not ending would mean it would stubbornly keep on turning without waiting for him to catch up.

So what? He’s a scientist. He’ll do some catching up of his own and lose himself in the labyrinth of his and Hermann’s brains and their bodies.

This is absolutely not to be considered hiding, not that they can hide much anymore.

The Six Million Pillows Man, by adropofred

As it turns out, Hermann’s room is nothing special. His bed, on the other end, is very, very special.

Of course, Newt wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t find a way to turn this revelation into a situation where he could put his foot in his mouth.

Time For You and Time For Me, by patster223

A collection of Newmann prompts that I’ve filled on my tumblr. Contains: AUs, pining, flirting, bickering, several chapters of Hermann’s filthy exhibitionist kink, and two nerds learning to love each other in as many ways as possible.

The Beholder, by ItsClydeBitches

Written for the Newmann-uendo Hurt/Comfort challenge.

Hermann is feeling pretty insecure about his body. He’s unattractive. That’s a fact. Luckily Newton Geiszler’s number one law is still in place:

Hermann Gottlieb is ALWAYS wrong.

we’ll leave our tracks untraceable, by confused_android

When she steps off the plane in Logan International, something tight in her shoulders cracks, loosens, and she shakes free the last barb the PPDC had through her spine, through her brain, keeping her tense and wary for most of a decade. She yanks her heavy suitcase off of the carousel, identifiable by the years of layered duct tape repairing a seam that could once have been stitched, and flags the first taxi that will stop for her.

Permanent Ink, by mundaneanarchy

Inspired by this piece of fanart (http://rockstar-ologist.tumblr.com/post/126950663313) by rockstar-ologist

Newt gets Hermann’s initials tattooed on his hand. A month into their relationship. Hermann isn’t too happy about it.

Castaways’ Window, by Chancy_Lurking

“There are no words for the thoughts he has in that moment, because they are not his thoughts.”

Rings, by perniciousLizard

Three scenes, post movie. They’re happy.

Right Hand: Heart, by QuokkaFoxtrot

Two beers. That was all it took these days.

Dance In The Graveyards, by LemonScience33

As they round the next corner and lights come on, Newt’s first thought is, This had better be worth it, because we’re definitely gonna get caught.

His second thought is, That is the skull of Otachi’s baby, with lights strung over it.

His third thought is, This is definitely worth it.

Sweater Wars, by paenteom

Hermann takes his fashion illiteracy to new, festive levels. Newt is forced to retaliate.

Die Musik Kommt, by romangold

Maybe everyone’s drowning in the day, the night, memories and regrets and guilts, in relief, in pure, unadulterated happiness. Maybe they’re all dying.

Hermann finds Newt after the apocalypse is cancelled, and the two realize that perhaps they aren’t so toxic together after all.

Nigel, by uhnonniemiss

A particularly harsh snowstorm has brought the boiler- and Hermann- to a standstill.

(My piece for the 2015 Pacrim Holiday Swap!)

Etude, Op. 25 No. 12, by romangold

The climax always resolves to major, no matter how many times you play the piece. And the heroes always win, despite the amount of times you rewind to the beginning or fast-forward to the end.

sharing half our genes, and nothing in between, by getmean

“Christ, Hermann, is this a letterman jacket?” Newt cried, spinning and holding it up with a level of glee he hadn’t reached since he got that salivary gland from Mutavore. “How cliché can you get?”

Plausible Possibility, by cissues

Newt and Hermann experience some odd post-drift effects.

mountains sunk below the sea, by getmean

Newton has been, and always will be, what his father calls a ‘tough nut to crack’, but has an element of horrifying vulnerability that makes Hermann’s skin crawl. He selfishly likes Newton best when all his walls are intact.

netflix and chill, by w0rm

Hermann does the Netflix, Newt does the chill.

How to Deal with Accidental Neural Oversharing and Other Scientific Conundrums, by yourguardianangel

The world has not ended. Operation Pitfall is successful. Celebrations are had. But how are two snarky scientists meant to cope with having way too much of each others internal monologues retroactively overlaid with their own memories?

(with smut, that’s how.)

It’s All Good, by spirogyra

Thoughtless words, hurt feelings, cryptic statements, the drift makes things easier and more difficult, but in the end… it’s all good.

追伸, by lamphouse

“If I recall correctly, this is the man who confessed to wanting a pet Godzilla for his twentieth birthday, is it not? Glass houses, Dr. Geiszler.”

It takes two months for Newton Geiszler to fall in love. It takes thirty months, around two hundred letters, several time zones, and two missed-ish connections for him to actually admit it.

it’s alright, don’t you let it inside, by areunasty

They’re taking Gipsy Danger out for a trial run, and Newt watches with mild interest as the mech slices cleanly through the ocean. He thinks that if he was that big anything would be easy. Loving someone difficult, being loved, the quiet and painful twist of Hermann’s mouth whenever he looks at Newt recently.

The Price of Ghost Drifting, by confettiinmyhair

Newt is home early. Hermann has a surprise.

concentric circles, by lamphouse

It’s times like these that Hermann finds himself checking and double-checking his list of reasons why he works at the library. It’s also times like these that prove why nowhere on said list does it mention the people he works with.

The Boyfriend Experience, by berylnn_wohl

In the Shatterdome, Hermann confesses his disappointment that his and Newt’s relationship lacks romance. After the war is over, Newt vows to spend one year righting this wrong as they travel the world together on a lecture tour.

Everything We Never Said, by JennaCupcakes

Newt has a few regrets about his drift with Hermann. Namely, that he’s had a crush on the guy for a while and really doesn’t want him to find out.

Echoes in the Well of Silence, by unicornsandbutane

Hermann can hear Newton through the ducts.

Wishbone, by cypress_tree

Hermann doesn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so Newt invites him over for food, family, and a little bit of flirting. Just a warm, fuzzy college AU to get you through the holidays.

Do Scientists Dream of Cloned Sheep?, by paenteom

Newt fumbles with the key card before he finally manages to swipe it, throws the door open and freezes.

There’s only one bed.

It’s massive, and covered in the fluffiest blanket he has ever seen, but it’s undeniably singular.

“Uh,” he says. “Awkward.”

Laughter, Confession, by cypress_tree

He’s nervous and awkward and he’s afraid he’ll mess up, but god, he wants this so bad.

Proving a Point, by steampunkepsilon

Newt thinks Hermann is a shy, reserved, vanilla kind of guy. Newt is wrong, and Hermann has sources.

Slumber Sequence, by strigine

Summary by me: Newton and Hermann’s sleeping habits.

Clean Clock, by cissues

'“So, you’re that guy, huh?” The man says, finally. He has his back to the newly emptied and even more newly dirtied sink and Hermann’s gaze is fixated on the encrusted plates and wine-stained glassware.’

Or, where Hermann is a hermit and also a clean freak with messy roommates.

Linguistics, by cypress_tree

Literally just a thousand words of Newt masturbating while listening to Hermann give an interview on a podcast.

i ain’t holy, i ain’t close, by queenofthestarrrs

The end of the world feels like home.

tell me you’ll love me for a million years, by buckgaybarnes

Hermann is working late, so Newt decides to be a great husband and tackle their chores. He mostly succeeds.

lost connection, by orphan_account

When the Shatterdome stays open for continuing research, the K-Science team realizes they’ll actually have to deal with the after-effects of their Drift.

Trial and Error, by cypress_tree

A romantic comedy of errors in which Newt and Hermann try to spice things up….and fail spectacularly.

Mixed Signals, by SkysongMA

After the Drift, Hermann starts having sex dreams.

Newt’s sex dreams.

That are all about Hermann.

Oh Mein Me, by junkiechurch

You wonder how a heart like his could ever love a man like you.

clothes (or a lack thereof), by orphan_account

Once the war is over, Hermann and Newt move in together. Newt realizes how little clothing they actually own.

[freudensteins-monster]

I wish you would write a fic where Loki and Sigyn try to one-up each other pranking Thor, Valkyrie and the Avengers while on Earth. (Thanks, and Happy New Year! xoxo)

Dear Anon, I know you probably don’t remember sending me this ask, considering you sent it on New Years Day - two years ago - but better later than never, right? (Set post-Ragnarok, minus Thanos)

Loki’s return to Earth had notexactly been celebrated, but the Avengers needed him on an upcoming mission so hispresence was tolerated. Eventually they reached the end of their patience andso he was sent to annoy Doctor Strange at the New York Sanctum. He had to begrudgingly admit that theircollection of magical knowledge and artifacts was impressive, though it paledin comparison to Asgard’s. And didn’t he feel that loss keenly? He’d managed tosquirrel away almost a hundred of his most treasured volumes into his personalpocket dimension during his all to brief reign as king but there were hundreds of thousandsmore that had been lost to the fires of Ragnarok.

The Sanctum also held another mysterioustreasure.

“Sigyn? Is that name supposed tomean something to me?” Loki replied with disinterest, not bothering to raisehis eyes from his latest book.

“It should,” Strange smirked.“She’s your wife reincarnated.”

At that Loki deigned to raise hiseyes, flitting from the irritating Strange to the mortified initiate besidehim. She was fair of face and hair, the latter pulled back in elaborate braidsthat fell down to her shoulder blades, and she wore thick gloves on her hands inaddition to the standard burgundy garb of any initiate of Kamar-Taj.

“Is this a reference to yourlurid mythologies?” Loki drawled. “Because in truth I have never taken a wife.Though if you wish me to take her off your hands I would require a substantialdowry, say the Axe of Angarrumus? I received Thor’s name in Stark’s wintersolstice gift giving game and such a weapon would mean I don’t have to lowermyself to visiting one of Midgard’s marketplaces.”

Rather than reply Strange huffedwith irritation and flounced out of the room (the sorcerer may have justturned, the Cape of Levitation did all the flouncing). The woman gave him acurt bow before disappearing into the rows of shelving, and Loki would haveforgotten all about her the moment she was gone from his sight if Strangehadn’t screamed his name as he stormed back into the library less than a minutelater.

Loki laughed. He couldn’t helpit. The Sorcerer Supreme was standing in the middle of the room, his dark bluerobes now emerald green and his famed cloak a blinding gold, as his face turnedan interesting shade of red. It was the best thing he’d seen since the Hulk hadthrown Thor around like a ragdoll in the arena.

“What? It wasn’t me,” Loki arguedas Strange continued to glare at him after he’d been able to stop laughing.

With one flick of his wrists thesorcerer changed his robes back to their original hue and with another he cutthe legs off Loki’s chair, causing the Asgardian to fall on his ass with athud.

Loki was dusting himself off whenthe woman, Sigyn, reappeared, a heavy tome in her arms and a small smileplaying on her lips.

“It was nice to meet you,” she saidin lightly accented English before leaving the room via a portal she’dconjured.

Loki stared at the space she hadoccupied for a long minute before smiling to himself, “Interesting.”

In the days leading up to theMidgard winter solstice celebrations Loki thought of the curious Sigyn often,and though he frequented the Sanctum he had not seen her again, and dared notask Strange as to her whereabouts and give away his interest. In the end she came to him, arriving via a portal on the balcony of Stark’stower along with Strange and two other sorcerers, a hour late for Stark’sChristmas party.

Since they had last crossed pathsSigyn had apparently completed her training, having exchanged her initiaterobes for more formal ones of grey overlayed with a dark purple sleeveless coatwith silver embroidery. She still wore gloves the same shade as her robes, andtoyed nervously with the bindings. Stark was being his obnoxious self as heintroduced the sorcerers to the rest of the superheroes, scientists, andobligatory celebrities gathered on the 68th floor, and just as Lokiwas sure that Strange was about to push Stark through a portal to the farreaches of the universe, the Man of Iron was distracted by his AI systemintroducing the newest arrivals to step off the elevator – in Latin. Their hostsufficiently distracted, the sorcerers began to mingle (Strange making for oneJane Foster, the next smartest person in the room, much to Thor’s thinly veiledannoyance), and Loki made his way over to Sigyn.

“That was a nice trick.”

“I have no idea what you’retalking about,” she replied automatically as she took a glass of somethingbubbly from a passing waiter.

“Of course you don’t,” Lokismiled. “Just as I have no idea what’s going on over there,” he said, pointingto the bar where Valkyrie was trying drink after drink, growing more frustratedas each turned to water on her tongue.

Sigyn stifled a laugh beforegazing around the room in search of her next target. The slight twitching ofher fingers was the only indication that she had made her play and it was a fewminutes before Loki understood what it was. There was a small commotion acrossthe room and the man out of time stumbled away from a group of overly affectionatedebutantes, a sprig of mistletoe followed him. If he stayed in one place forlonger than five seconds the mistletoe hovered over his head and the peopleclosest to him felt compelled to kiss him. It resulted in the good captainrunning laps of the room as he cursed Stark for inventing some sort ofmistletoe drone.

As the party guests laughed Sigynraised an eyebrow in challenge but before Loki could contemplate his next movea loud slap rang out. All eyes turned to find Doctor Strange getting chewed outby Doctor Foster before the petite brunette stormed off.

Sigyn gasped. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t me. Itseems as though the Sorcerer Supreme is fully capable of making an ass out ofhimself without my assistance.”

They watched as Thor made tofollow Doctor Foster and the moment he caught up with her Loki sliced the airwith his arm, sending the former lovers flying into a storage closet at the endof the hall. He immediately sealed the room – no one would be able to heartheir cries for aid and for all Thor’s strength he would not be able to breakout of the room before dawn’s first light hit the tower.

“Really?” Sigyn scoffed.

“They have been tiptoeing aroundeach other for weeks. It’s been painful to watch. One way or another it endstonight.”

“Fair enough,” she mused as hersharp gazed scanned the room. With a sly smile she ran a finger around the rimof her glass and half the room fell silent before findingthemselves singing a rather passionate rendition of “Santa Claus is Comin’ ToTown”.

Loki barely had a moment to enjoythe confusion before he felt a sharp pinch between his ribs.

“That’s enough,” the widowcommanded, pressing a blade so hard against his side it pierced through hisleather vestments.

Before Loki could proclaim hisinnocence Sigyn took a sip from her glass and the chaos fizzled out intoconfused laughter and the sounds of drinks being topped up. Loki breathed asigh of relief as the blade was removed from his side.

“If you can’t behave yourself itmight be better for your health if you retired for the evening,” the widowsuggested before rejoining her friends.

“Haha,” Sigyn chortled into herdrink. “You lose.”

“How so?”

“You got caught,” Sigyn repliedas though it were obvious.

“But it wasn’t my trick.”

“It still counts.”

“It does not!”

“It does too!”

In a fit of frustration, and inan effort to best his sparring partner, Loki threw a glamour over Sigyn,ridding her of her robes and dressing her in a glittering golden gown similarto those he had seen a few models in attendance wearing. The figure-hugginggown was quite alluring on her, as was the amount of exposed flesh, until onegot to her now glove-free hands which were misshapen with leathery scars. Sigyndropped her champagne glass with an anguished scream when she realised whatLoki had done, angry tears filling her eyes when she felt the room staring ather. She turned on her heel and summoned a portal with her sling ring,disappearing in a shower of sparks.

“What did you do?” Strange sighedirritably as he appeared at Loki’s side.

“I may have taken things a steptoo far,” Loki conceded.

“You don’t say.”

“Is there any way to follow her?”

With another put upon sigh,Strange summoned a portal for him.

“If my favourite student doesn’tcome back, neither should you,” Strange warned before shoving him through.

The portal closed and Loki foundhimself face first in the snow. He righted himself and in the grey light he wasable to follow Sigyn’s footprints towards a church and the cemetery behind it.He found her seated before a headstone once again dressed in her in grey andpurple robes. Her gloves were lying on the ground beside her and her misshapenhands sat in her lap. Loki approached cautiously and when she failed to attackhim he sat down next to her, joining Sigyn in staring silently at the headstoneof one Marta Magnusson.

“Most days I can forget aboutthem,” she said without preamble, turning her scarred hands this way and that. “But thensomeone will comment on my gloves and I remember it anew. If I don’t wear them I have to put up with looks of disgust or pity. I’m notsure which is worse.”

“…How did it happen?”

“When I was but a child my fatherthrew me into the fireplace during one of his drunken rages, pushed me down bythe heel of his boot, my little hands pushing back against the burning logs asflames licked my face. It felt like hours of agony but my mother assured me itwas only seconds, either way the damage was done. Recovery was almost aspainful, and whenever I cried about it my mother would wipe away my tears andsay, “Women are defined by what they can endure, little Sigyn, so it is in allthe great stories, and you are far too strong to give up now.”

She fell silent then, content toignore her companion in favour of losing herself to long buried memories. Itstretched on long enough to make Loki fidget, a dozen empty platitude dying onhis silver tongue.

“I’m not showing you mine,” hemuttered, just loud enough to draw Sigyn’s attention.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not showing you my scars soyou’ll think us even,” he bit out petulantly. “Just know that I have them. Also,”he added with a belligerent sigh, “I’m sorry for bringing yours to light the wayI did. It was cruel.”

She accepted his apology with abrief nod but made no move to bury her past once more and leave the frozen cemetery. Loki sighed again, cursing his newfound sentimentality, and outstretcheda hand towards the headstone. Within minutes an ice sculpture formed behind itin the shape of a mother embracing her child. The child may have resembled Sigynbut, Loki realised too late, the mother was most definitely Frigga.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up inappreciation but as she turned to Loki her smiled faded. Loki followed her gazeto his outstretched hand, now azure blue. Chastened, he gave it frustratedshake as though his true heritage was something he could easily rid himself of.He crossed his arms to hide it from view until it returned to his prefershade and avoided meeting her eyes.

“Can you only manipulate ice?”she asked, surprising Loki.

“What?”

“Is it only ice you can create?”she repeated, smiling as her eyes drifted skyward to the flurries of snowflakesthat drifted past on the wind.

Loki, sensing mischief, smiledback. “What did you have in mind?”

The karaoke portion of Stark’s Christmasparty was due to begin, but as the host took the stage a blizzard developed outof thin air, pouring in from the balcony and blanketing the room with snow.Panicked and freezing guests sought to escape it but where met with icy gales thatpushed them back from the elevators and stairwells.

It disappeared as quickly as it came but left the entire floor covered in two feet of snow. Stark was thefirst to regain his senses, but before he could call for Loki’s head his ownwas struck with an icy projectile. He turned on the spot to find the SorcererSupreme smirking back at him, his cocky cloak dusting snow off whatever its equivalentto hands were.

“Oh, it’s on now, Strange.”

Loki hoisted himself up onto thebar and helped himself to an abandoned glass of champagne, laughing at thechaos before him as dozens of enhanced individuals engaged in an all-outsnowball war. Sigyn joined him moments later after quickly forming a portal withher sling ring to divert a wayward snowball down the back of Wong’s robes.

Loki beamed at his partner inmischief and pushed a drink into her gloved hand. “To what doesn’t kill us,” hetoasted.

Sigyn laughed and clinked herglass against his. “May it always make us a riot at parties.”

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.6

Summary:  The guys finally make time for a date night after their first week back to work. Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings/ Content: More fluff! And a truly adorable tiny tipsy Steve. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Oh boy, lovelies... it’s time we get our first peek at Emma! I’m so excited for what’s to come now that she’s arrived in their lives. Terribly sorry this is going up two hours later than usual. I got lost for the past few hours working on a reader x non-binary Bucky fic. I’ll probably never post it but omg I’m having so much fun writing it. Hope everyone is having a good weekend so far! XOXO  - Ash

Chapter Six

Friday was their first day off after working three days in a row. It felt luxurious to sleep in together and take their time planning a grocery trip over morning coffee and omelets. 

“Let’s go out and celebrate tonight.” Bucky suggested on their way back from the store. They had passed by the local bar countless times but had never bothered stopping in. Neither of them had ever really been drinkers and Steve had absolutely no tolerance for it anymore. Bucky found it endearing how after decades of not being able to get drunk Steve would flush from head to toe and giggle over everything after a single glass of wine. 

“We always say we’re gonna go. Might as well try it out.” Steve agreed with a shrug. 

After a long day of doing absolutely nothing, Bucky reminded Steve of their date night and took over the bathroom for what felt like an eon to get ready. 

“Come on!” Steve called as he flopped down on the bed. He had been ready to go for twenty minutes and couldn’t understand what on earth Bucky could still be doing in there. He’d gotten ready when he heard the shower turn off and he hadn’t been quick about it. Steve had paired his standard khakis with his nicest blue cashmere sweater. The one that Bucky said made his eyes glow impossibly blue. It had been a Christmas gift from Pepper and he loved how soft it was. 

Bucky emerged a few minutes later and the sight of him had Steve’s mouth going dry. Bucky had picked out a charcoal button up shirt and black skinny jeans that did unspeakable things for his thick thighs. His hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders, the top half pulled up in a small bun at the back of his head, and he had trimmed his beard so it was little more than dark scruff again. Steve couldn’t wait to feel it scraping across his skin and wondered how much of him would be covered in beard burn the following day. “You okay there, Rogers?” Bucky asked with a wicked smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Steve swallowed and nodded. “Just peachy.” He said through a tight throat.

“You still want to go out or would you rather stay in?” Buck sauntered over to where Steve had sat up on the edge of the bed. 

Steve looked up at Bucky, fighting for control over his raging hormones. “You look too good to be at home on a Friday night.” He told him honestly. “I wanna take you out and show you off a little.” 

Bucky preened at Steve’s words, “I don’t know, I think you’ll be the one getting shown off. I love that sweater on you. You look like every good dream I’ve ever had come to life.” 

“Mm. Smooth talker.” Steve all but purred as Bucky leaned down to kiss him. 

It was with great difficulty they pulled themselves apart to head down the block for dinner but they managed after several whispered promises of ‘later’. 

Matty’s Bar was sweltering inside despite the frigid February weather. They shucked their coats and gloves off as soon as they found two open seats on the far side of the bar where it was quieter. Bucky couldn’t help his smile watching Steve clear the fog from his glasses and struggle up onto the tall barstool. It was so much like their dance hall nights in the ‘30s that his heart ached with fondness. The bar wasn’t overly crowded, most people staying home because of the cold, but it was still a Friday night in the city. They looked around admiring the old school dive bar ambiance with framed pictures on every wall, the obligatory mirrored wall behind the bar, and the dark wood surfaces everywhere. It was inviting in its simplicity; the kind of place you could come to alone and still feel like you were a part of something. Steve wished they had ventured in sooner and Bucky had to agree. The menu was basic but they didn’t need anything fancy. Hell, everything was fancy in the twenty first century compared to what they’d had back in The Great Depression. 

The bartender was busy but made time to smile down at them and hold up a finger signaling she’d be another minute. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her and Steve took a second glance to see what had caught Bucky’s eye. He watched as the bartender hurried down to their end of the bar, a bright smile on her face as she greeted them and set out napkins for drinks. It was obvious what had caught Bucky’s attention because she had captured Steve’s too. The woman looked like she was in her mid to late twenties and was a good inch or two shorter than Steve with hair so long it swayed in a thick auburn column all the way down to the small of her back despite being pulled up in a ponytail. Her full lips were pulled into a wide smile and her hazel eyes shone honey brown and moss green in the bar’s lowlight. It was difficult to see because of the bar but Steve appreciated the rounded curves of what he could see of her body. He wished he could draw her, so perfectly feminine and beautiful. He would make her a goddess reclining in the sea, nymphs floating above her, a modern day Birth of Venus. 

Thankfully Bucky was paying attention while Steve daydreamed. He ordered them each a Makers Mark on the rocks which the bartender had in front of them in a blink. “You ready to pick your jaw up off the floor?” Bucky whispered quietly into Steve’s good ear. 

“Shut up, jerk. I saw you making eyes at her too.” Steve replied just as quietly.

Bucky made a scoffing noise, “You’d have to blind not to make eyes at her.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Steve clinked his glass against Bucky’s and the two men chuckled at their foolishness. It had been a lifetime since they had admired a pretty dame together and even longer still since they had taken one home together. 

They ordered a few plates to share when their drinks were finished and Steve was regretting drinking before eating. Bucky ordered another whiskey while Steve sensibly stuck to water for a bit until he could get some food in him. Bucky’s version of the serum didn’t make him completely immune to the effects of alcohol but it would take significantly more than the average person and even then he only got a pleasant buzz. 

The bartender, who’s name they learned was Emma, gave Steve a sympathetic look when she handed him his water and promised their food was coming up soon. Bucky watched her as she moved back down to the opposite end of the bar to help other patrons and Steve kicked him lightly. “You know, it’s not nice to be so smitten with someone other than your date.” He joked lightly. 

Bucky gave him a long, exasperated look, “You know I love you, punk. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve smirked and leaned over so he could rest his head against Bucky’s shoulder. He was blissfully happy to be able to take Bucky out on a real date without the fear of being beaten or jailed. It had taken some time after waking up from the ice to fully understand how much easier queer folk had it in the twenty first century and years later it still made him overjoyed. Being himself wasn’t a death sentence anymore. The world wasn’t perfect and there would always be homophobic people but it was nothing compared to the widespread hatred and fear they’d hidden from in the ‘30s and ‘40s. Back then, any time they had wanted to go out on a date they had to find a pair of girls to take along to be their “real” dates. It was always awkward and disappointing for all parties involved.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, Stevie? You’re awfully quiet.” Bucky asked pressing a kiss into Steve’s hair. 

“We have it so good, Buck.” Steve told him, still buzzed from the bourbon, “I never dreamed we’d have it this good.” 

“You and me both. But here we are.” Bucky tried not to dwell on the time he was with HYDRA and after he’d escaped when he truly believed he was nothing more than a weapon. The idea that he would be not just alive but thriving and in love would have been beyond anything he could have dreamed up back then. 

Emma swung down with their plates interrupting their suddenly maudlin moment. They tucked into the food and people watched as the crowd thinned out while a storm picked up outside. It was down to them and two other bar-flies by the time they finished their meal and were nursing another round of drinks. Steve felt like someone had loosened his bones as the bourbon hit his system again. His metabolism was shit and while he normally hated that, it was kind of nice to feel the warm buzz of alcohol again after so many years of not. 

“It’s getting bad out there.” Emma commented when she stopped by to check on them. “You guys live close by?” 

Bucky nodded, “Right down the block. We’re not afraid of a little snow though.” 

“Oh good. The city takes forever doing the sidewalks and it can be rough going.” 

“It’s sweet of you to worry, doll.” Bucky flashed her the grin Steve had seen melt even the hardest hearted old nuns at St. Agnes back in the day. Steve swooned a little just being in proximity to it. 

“Doll?” Emma snorted in amusement, seemingly immune to his charm. 

“Shit, sorry, I know that’s not polite anymore. I meant no disrespect.”

“What are you, eighty years old?” 

“Try a hundred and seven.” Steve giggled before he could stop himself. 

Bucky looked over, wide eyed at Steve who had not only outed their identities but honest to god giggled. Emma chuckled but was assessing them, wondering what the joke was. Bucky pulled the sleeve up a little on his left arm, exposing more of the shining dark metal, the gold accents catching in the light. 

“Oh.” Emma murmured. There was no mistaking that arm. “Wow.” She failed for words again. “But you’re…” she looked at Steve, recognizing him from the history books but not understanding how he was at least a foot shorter than when she’d seen him on TV a year ago. 

Steve watched her confusion with amusement. He hadn’t been recognized since the incident and he was too tipsy to care. “Shhh.” He held a finger up to his lips conspiratorially. “Bruce made a whoops and I went weeee” Steve made a shrinking motion with his forefinger and thumb causing Bucky to lay his head down on the bar in embarrassment.

“Wow.” Emma repeated, unsure of what to say to that. 

Bucky lifted his head, ready to get his inebriated partner home and tucked into bed. “Sorry, someone doesn’t know how to hold his liquor anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Emma assured him, “I’m a total lightweight too. I can cash you guys out if you want.” 

“Yeah, that would be great. And if you could just not, ya know…” Bucky hated having to ask for her silence but the last thing they needed was the world knowing what had happened to Steve.

“Oh!” Emma exclaimed, knowing exactly where he was going. “No, of course not. You guys deserve your privacy just like anyone else.” 

Bucky was relieved, sensing the honesty in her voice. “Thank you. Not everyone feels that way.” 

Emma nodded sympathetically and handed him their check. Bucky made sure he left a more than generous tip before helping Steve into his coat. “Come on, big guy. We gotta get you home to bed.” He told him placatingly. 

“Mmm. I like our bed.” Steve mused. 

Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders and steered him towards the door. “Come on pal, keep it moving or I’ll pick you up and carry you, like it or not.” 

Steve giggled and waved over-enthusiastically at Emma who bit back a laugh and waved goodbye to him. 

Back in the safety of their apartment Bucky helped Steve undress and practically poured him into bed.

“Hey Buck.” Steve said in a too loud whisper, “It’s later. Remember? Later…”  He wasn’t any closer to sober but Steve Rogers had always been a feisty little shit and some things never changed. 

Bucky was tempted, he always was by Steve, but he wasn’t about to start something up when Steve would most likely be asleep within minutes. Bucky grasped the hand that was busy exploring and held it close to his chest. “I know, but it’ll be later later too and right now you need sleep.” 

“Aww Buck no.” Steve whined. 

“Come ’ere and I’ll even let you be the little spoon.” 

Steve rolled over in a whirlwind of blankets and blonde hair, scooting back so Bucky could wrap himself around him. “I love the little spoon.” He said sleepily. 

“I know, pal. Get some rest.” Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s hair and listened to the sound of Steve’s breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[antomec]

the ice is thicker than you think

bitch im back. is what i always say but this time i really mean it sdfjshdsj some of my friends (@ceruleanshockwave + @kaatseye + @zerefserigala + @gaymirajane) got me into jelray and then i birthed this after two weeks of writing constipation so please reblog and love it :”D

please refrain from calling me a lazy bitch for not capitalising. it is a writing style. grow up.

you can also find this on AO3 and FF.net!

words: 742

pairing: jelray

summary: obligatory "i don't know how to skate, but you seem like you do and i thought, hey, maybe you could teach me how to skate?" AU that this fandom needs

okay, so maybe the stranger is cute.

the stranger's on his ass on the ice and gray can't help but laugh at him. he's far away enough that there's no chance of him being heard, but for one terrifying moment, the stranger turns his head to look directly at him.

gray doesn't breathe. it's a long moment, but the stranger finally turns away and looks at the girl next him. she's a tiny thing, couldn't be more than ten years old, but she seems to have undertaken the duty of teaching the stranger how to skate.

so far, it's a mess, and gray's been secretly enjoying it from his post at the counter. a lady with two young boys arrive, and gray takes a few minutes to help them out. they leave soon enough, and gray resumes people watching. there’s only a couple of people on the ice, but the particular person gray’s been looking at has suddenly disappeared. he frowns in disappointment.

“looking for me?” a voice says, and gray flies out of his chair.

“oh no, are you okay?” the voice laughs, and suddenly there’s a pair of hands on gray’s arms and pulling him up from the ground. finally, he gets a chance to look at who’s helping him – it’s the cute stranger.

“do you normally frighten people like this?” gray retorts, taking his seat back at the counter. he takes a moment to assess the stranger, and he’s surprised to see a very large tattoo above and below his eye. that must have hurt quite a bit.

“only the ones that have been staring at me for a good while,” the stranger says, and gray’s heart drops. so he had noticed him.

“i’m jellal,” he continues, sticking out a hand, and gray weakly grabs it, still too shocked that he was noticed.

and suddenly jellal’s face is very close to gray’s, and gray freezes. jellal raises an eyebrow, and says, “this is the moment where you tell me your name.” he cracks a smile afterwards, and gray slowly mirrors him.

“gray,” he introduces himself, and out of simple plain curiosity, he asks “who was that little girl with you?”

jellal’s eyes widen. “that’s my sister, wendy. i really hope you weren’t staring at her.”

gray starts spluttering. “n-no! i was staring at you, not your sister! oh god no.”

jellal cracks a smile and hops on to the counter. “hah. got you to admit you were staring at me.”

gray just stares at him. this was absolutely not how he expected his day to go when he woke up. all he wanted was to stare at cute boys and go home, he didn’t want to be put on the spot like this. he had a bad habit of freezing around cute boys, and he just knew he wasn’t going to change with jellal.

“hello? earth to gray?” jellal asks cutely, waving his hand in front of his face. gray starts, and jellal pulls back from him. “i was wondering,” jellal begins – and wow, jellal really is cute, and the way he uses his hands to speak is even cuter – “if you knew how to skate? because i wouldn’t mind lessons from a cute boy like you.”

gray blinks. once. twice. once more for good luck. and then before his brain can stop him, he blurts out, “yes. i know how to skate. and i’d love to teach you.”

“then it’s a date!” jellal says, clapping his hands and hopping off the counter. “then come on, let’s get going!”

“wait, wait, i can’t just leave that quickly, i’ve got a counter to run,” gray says.

jellal pouts, and he adjusts his scarf. “then when does your shift end?”

“in fifteen minutes,” gray says quickly. “until then, we could – i don’t know – keep each other company?”

jellal goes quiet for a moment, and gray internally panics for a second. this is it, he ruined it, he ruined another date, he–

“i’d like that,” jellal interrupts. “but before that, i need to to find my sister and tell her that i don’t need her help anymore,” he adds. “i’ll be back in a minute.”

jellal waves, and waddles away, but he stops after a few steps, comes back and kisses gray on the cheek. “you better teach me how to skate,” he says, patting gray’s cheek. and then jellal leaves for good.

this is definitely not what he expected this morning.